My works at home, but run them down abroad?
I stoop not, I, to catch the rabble's votes
By cheap refreshments or by cast-off coats,
Nor haunt the benches where your pedants swarm,
Prepared by turns to listen and perform.
That's what this whimpering means. Suppose I say
"Your theatres have ne'er been in my way,
Nor I in theirs: large audiences require
Some heavier metal than my thin-drawn wire:"
"You put me off," he answers, "with a sneer:
Your works are kept for Jove's imperial ear:
Yes, you're a paragon of bards, you think,
And no one else brews nectar fit to drink."
What can I do? 'tis an unequal match;
For if my nose can sniff, his nails can scratch:
I say the place won't suit me, and cry shame;
"E'en fencers get a break 'twixt game and game."
Games oft have ugly issue: they beget
Unhealthy competition, fume and fret:
And fume and fret engender in their turn
Battles that bleed, and enmities that burn.
_-_tailpiece_from_page_146.jpg)
