Advice to an Author

Thou! who art thirsty for a poet's name, Panting for perpetuity of fame; O! tremble to increase the Muses tribe, 'Till Mother Griffiths has receiv'd a bribe: If praise, like hers, can make thy piece go down, Th' insurance premium is but half a crown; And who can blame her? for the bawd must pay In ready cash the hirelings of a day: Else would the movement of the press stand still, And low-bred Scandal drop her venal quill. Yet sure one bard 'tis better to pursue Thro' the black numbers of a dull Review, And maim a work without the skill to carve, Than that a whole Society should starve.