If I approve, “Commend it to the stage.”
There (thank my stars!), my whole commission ends;
The players and I are luckily no friends.
Fir’d that the house reject him, “’Sdeath! I’ll print it,
And shame the fools. Your interest, 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;
At last he whispers, “Do, and we go snacks.”
Glad of a quarrel, straight I clap the door: