Something in the Markette faster, faster than was ever sold before
Till the bird-en of your hopes is ‘Read it o’er—read it o’er.’
Quoth the Author, ‘Nothing more!’”
“But the Author still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I plac’d the faded Manuscript in front of Author, book and door,
Then into its beauties sinking, I betook myself to thinking
What this young aspiring Author with his Manuscript, and more;
What this bold, presumptuous Youth, with his head bor’d through a bore,
Meant in saying, ‘Read it o’er!’”
“Thus I sat, engaged in reading, but no syllable revealing,