Such as they are, my thoughts in measure flow. Convinced, determined, I in prose begin, But ere I write one sentence, verse creeps in, And taints me through and through; by this good light, In verse I talk by day, I dream by night! 50 If now and then I curse, my curses chime, Nor can I pray, unless I pray in rhyme. E'en now I err, in spite of Common Sense, And my confession doubles my offence. Rest then, my friends;--spare, spare your precious breath, And be your slumbers not less sound than death; Perturbed spirits rest, nor thus appear, To waste your counsels in a spendthrift's ear; On your grave lessons I cannot subsist, Nor even in verse become economist. 60 Rest then, my friends; nor, hateful to my eyes, Let Envy, in the shape of Pity, rise To blast me ere my time; with patience wait, ('Tis no long interval) propitious Fate Shall glut your pride, and every son of phlegm Find ample room to censure and condemn. Read some three hundred lines (no easy task, _But probably the last that I shall ask_), And give me up for ever; wait one hour, Nay not so much, revenge is in your power, 70 And ye may cry, ere Time hath turn'd his glass, Lo! what we prophesied is come to pass. Let those, who poetry in poems claim, Or not read this, or only read to blame; Let those who are by Fiction's charms enslaved, Return me thanks for half-a-crown well saved; Let those who love a little gall in rhyme Postpone their purchase now, and call next time; Let those who, void of Nature, look for Art, Take up their money, and in peace depart; 80 Let those who energy of diction prize, For Billingsgate quit Flexney,[329] and be wise: Here is no lie, no gall, no art, no force, Mean are the words, and such as come of course; The subject not less simple than the lay; A plain, unlabour'd Journey of a Day. Far from me now be every tuneful maid, I neither ask, nor can receive their aid. Pegasus turn'd into a common hack, Alone I jog, and keep the beaten track, 90 Nor would I have the Sisters of the hill Behold their bard in such a dishabille. Absent, but only absent for a time, Let them caress some dearer son of Rhyme; Let them, as far as decency permits, Without suspicion, play the fool with wits, 'Gainst fools be guarded; 'tis a certain rule, Wits are safe things; there's danger in a fool. Let them, though modest, Gray more modest woo; Let them with Mason bleat, and bray, and coo; 100 Let them with Franklin,[330] proud of some small Greek, Make Sophocles, disguised, in English speak; Let them, with Glover,[331] o'er Medea doze; Let them, with Dodsley, wail Cleone's[332] woes, Whilst he, fine feeling creature, all in tears, Melts as they melt, and weeps with weeping peers; Let them, with simple Whitehead[333] taught to creep Silent and soft, lay Fontenelle asleep; Let them with Browne,[334] contrive, no vulgar trick,