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.”
Pitholeon libell’d me. “But here’s a letter
Informs you, sir, ’twas 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,
A virgin tragedy, an orphan muse.”
If I dislike it, “Juries, death, and rage!”