What, must the Theatre Manager be paid-- Our Gold for what his Carpenter has made-- Must we pay Stars we never did Contract, And cannot hiss at?--Oh, the sorry trade! LXXX Oh Thou, who dost with cool sarcastic Grin Scorn the poor Magazine my Story's in, Though Thou impute to ignorance my Work, I know how bad 't will be, ere I begin! LXXXI Oh Thou, whose Taste demandeth silly Tales, Damning the Author when he Tries and Fails, Let us toss up to see which one is Worse-- Thy Fault or mine--Which is it, Heads or Tails? * * * * * LXXXII As, for his Luncheon Hour, away had slipp'd The Editor, his Office-Boy I tipp'd, And once again before the Sacred Desk I stood, surrounded by much Manuscript. LXXXIII Manuscripts of all Sizes, great and small, Upon that Desk, in Numbers to appall! And Some looked very interesting; some I saw no Sign of Merit in, at all. LXXXIV Said one among them--"Surely not in vain My Author has exhausted all his Brain In writing me, to be rejected here-- I'd hate to have to be sent back again!" LXXXV Then said a Second--"Ne'er a Girl or Boy Such Stuff as I am really could enjoy: Yet He who wrote me, when I am return'd, Will me with Curse and bitter Wrath destroy!" LXXXVI After a literary Silence spake A Manuscript of Henry James's make; "They sneer at me for being so occult: But Kipling's found such Stuff is going to Take!" LXXXVII Whereat some one of the typewritten Lot-- I think it was Cy Brady's--waxing hot-- "All this of Shop and Patter--Tell me then, Who buys--Who reads--the Stuff that boils _my_ Pot?" LXXXVIII "Why," said another, "Some there are who tell Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell The luckless Tales he marr'd in making--Pish! He's a blamed Fool, Any Old Thing will sell!" LXXXIX "Well," murmur'd one, "Let whoso write or buy, My words with long Oblivion are gone dry: But bind me new, let Christy illustrate, Methinks I'd sell at Christmas time; I'll try!" XC So while the Manuscripts were wisely speaking, The Editor came in whom I was seeking: And then they signall'd to me, "Brother! Brother! Yours is rejected! You had best be sneaking!" * * * * * XCI Though Carnegie for Literature provide, He tombs a Body whence the Life has died, And no one seems to turn a single leaf Upon the unfrequented Classic side, XCII Unless to see some First Edition rare, Or curious styles of Binding to compare; Art's True Believers know their Aldus well, But of the Author bound, are unaware! XCIII Indeed, Rare Books that they have yearn'd for long Have done their Literary Taste much wrong: Reprints of Burton will not sell to-day (I mean the stupid Burton) for a Song! XCIV Indeed, such First Editions oft before I envied, but they proved to be a Bore. Why, are not Tenth Editions still more rare? Mine are! Why are they not worth even more? XCV