Friend to my Life! (which did not you prolong, The world had wanted many an idle song) What _Drop_ or _Nostrum_ can this plague remove? Or which must end me, a Fool's wrath or love? 30 A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped, If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead. Seiz'd and tied down to judge, how wretched I! Who can't be silent, and who will not lie. To laugh, were want of goodness and of grace, 35 And to be grave, exceeds all Pow'r of face. I sit with sad civility, I read With honest anguish, and an aching head; And drop at last, but in unwilling ears, This saving counsel, "Keep your piece nine years." 40 "Nine years!" cries he, who high in Drury-lane, Lull'd by soft Zephyrs thro' the broken pane, Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before _Term_ ends, Oblig'd by hunger, and request of friends: "The piece, you think, is incorrect? why, take it, 45 I'm all submission, what you'd have it, make it." Three things another's modest wishes bound, My Friendship, and a Prologue, and ten pound. Pitholeon sends to me: "You know his Grace I want a Patron; ask him for a Place." 50 "Pitholeon libell'd me,"--"but here's a letter Informs you, Sir, 't was when he knew no better. Dare you refuse him? Curll invites to dine," "He'll write a _Journal_, or he'll turn Divine." Bless me! a packet.--"'Tis a stranger sues, 55 A Virgin Tragedy, an Orphan Muse." If I dislike it, "Furies, death and rage!" If I approve, "Commend it to the Stage." There (thank my stars) my whole Commission ends, The Play'rs and I are, luckily, no friends, 60 Fir'd that the house reject him, "'Sdeath I'll print it, And shame the fools--Your Int'rest, Sir, with Lintot!" 'Lintot, dull rogue! will think your price too much:' "Not, Sir, if you revise it, and retouch." All my demurs but double his Attacks; 65 At last he whispers, "Do; and we go snacks." Glad of a quarrel, straight I clap the door, Sir, let me see your works and you no more. 'Tis sung, when Midas' Ears began to spring, (Midas, a sacred person and a king) 70 His very Minister who spy'd them first, (Some say his Queen) was forc'd to speak, or burst. And is not mine, my friend, a sorer case, When ev'ry coxcomb perks them in my face? A. Good friend, forbear! you deal in dang'rous things. 75 I'd never name Queens, Ministers, or Kings; Keep close to Ears, and those let asses prick; 'Tis nothing--P. Nothing? if they bite and kick? Out with it, DUNCIAD! let the secret pass, That secret to each fool, that he's an Ass: 80 The truth once told (and wherefore should we lie?) The Queen of Midas slept, and so may I.