Yet, if you only prize your favourite thought, As critics kindly do, and authors ought; If your cool friend annoy you now and then, And cross whole pages with his plaguy pen; No matter, throw your ornaments aside,-- Better let him than all the world deride. Give light to passages too much in shade, Nor let a doubt obscure one verse you've made; 800 Your friend's a "Johnson," not to leave one word, However trifling, which may seem absurd; Such erring trifles lead to serious ills, And furnish food for critics, or their quills. [76] As the Scotch fiddle, with its touching tune, Or the sad influence of the angry Moon, All men avoid bad writers' ready tongues, As yawning waiters fly [77] Fitzscribble's lungs; [cii] Yet on he mouths--ten minutes--tedious each [ciii] [78] As Prelate's homily, or placeman's speech; 810 Long as the last years of a lingering lease, When Riot pauses until Rents increase. While such a minstrel, muttering fustian, strays O'er hedge and ditch, through unfrequented ways, If by some chance he walks into a well, And shouts for succour with stentorian yell, "A rope! help, Christians, as ye hope for grace!" Nor woman, man, nor child will stir a pace; For there his carcass he might freely fling, [civ] From frenzy, or the humour of the thing. 820 Though this has happened to more Bards than one; I'll tell you Budgell's story,--and have done. Budgell, a rogue and rhymester, for no good, (Unless his case be much misunderstood) When teased with creditors' continual claims, "To die like Cato," [79] leapt into the Thames! And therefore be it lawful through the town For any Bard to poison, hang, or drown. Who saves the intended Suicide receives Small thanks from him who loathes the life he leaves; [cv] 830 And, sooth to say, mad poets must not lose The Glory of that death they freely choose. Nor is it certain that some sorts of verse [cvi] Prick not the Poet's conscience as a curse; Dosed [80] with vile drams on Sunday he was found, Or got a child on consecrated ground! And hence is haunted with a rhyming rage-- Feared like a bear just bursting from his cage. If free, all fly his versifying fit, Fatal at once to Simpleton or Wit: 840 But 'him', unhappy! whom he seizes,--'him' He flays with Recitation limb by limb; Probes to the quick where'er he makes his breach, And gorges like a Lawyer--or a Leech. [The last page of 'MS. M.' is dated-- BYRON, Capuchin Convent, Athens. 'March 14th, 1811'. The following memorandum, in Byron's handwriting, is also inscribed on the last page: "722 lines, and 4 inserted after and now counted, in all 726.--B. "Since this several lines are added.--B. June 14th, 1811. "Copied fair at Malta, May 3rd, 1811.--B." BYRON, 'March 11th and 12th', Athens. 1811. ['MS. L. (a)'.]