"
LETTER VII.
FROM MESSRS. LACKINGTON AND CO. TO THOMAS MOORE, ESQ.
Per Post, Sir, we send your MS.--look it thro'--
Very sorry--but can't undertake--'twouldn't do.
Clever work, Sir!--would _get up_ prodigiously well--
Its only defect is--it never would sell.
And tho' _Statesmen_ may glory in being _unbought_,
In an _Author_ 'tis not so desirable thought.
Hard times, Sir, most books are too dear to be read--
Tho' the _gold_ of Good-sense and Wit's _small-change_ are fled,
Yet the paper we Publishers pass, in their stead,
Rises higher each day, and ('tis frightful to think it)
Not even such names as Fitzgerald's can sink it!
However, Sir--if you're for trying again,
And at somewhat that's vendible--we are your men.
Since the Chevalier Carr[1] took to marrying lately,
The Trade is in want of a _Traveller_ greatly--
No job, Sir, more easy--your _Country_ once planned,
A month aboard ship and a fortnight on land
Puts your Quarto of Travels, Sir, clean out of hand.
An East-India pamphlet's a thing that would tell--
And a lick at the Papists is _sure_ to sell well.
Or--supposing you've nothing _original_ in you--
Write Parodies, Sir, and such fame it will win you,
You'll get to the Blue-stocking Routs of Albinia![2]
(Mind--_not_ to her _dinners_--a _second-hand_ Muse
Mustn't think of aspiring to _mess_ with the _Blues_.
Pages:
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046