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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=539324" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Poet and the Dun</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'These are messengers<br>That feelingly persuade me what I am.' -Shakspeare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Comes a dun in the morning and raps at my door-<br>'I made bold to call-'tis a twelvemonth and more-<br>I'm sorry, believe me, to trouble you thus, sir-<br>But Job would be paid, sir, had Job been a mercer.'<br>My friend, have but patience-'Ay, these are your ways.'<br>I have got but one shilling to serve me two days-<br>But, sir-prithee take it, and tell your attorney,<br>If I han't paid your bill, I have paid for your journey.<br>Well, now thou art gone, let me govern my passion,<br>And calmly consider-consider? vexation!<br>What whore that must paint, and must put on false locks,<br>And counterfeit joy in the pangs of the pox?<br>What beggar's wife's nephew, now starved, and now beaten,<br>Who, wanting to eat, fears himself shall be eaten?<br>What porter, what turnspit, can deem his case hard?<br>Or what Dun boast of patience that thinks of a Bard?<br>Well, I'll leave this poor trade, for no trade can be poorer,<br>Turn shoe-boy, or courtier, or pimp, or procurer;<br>Get love, and respect, and good living, and pelf,<br>And dun some poor dog of a poet myself.<br>One's credit, however, of course will grow better.<br>Here enters the footman, and brings me a letter:<br>'Dear Sir! I received your obliging epistle;<br>Your fame is secure-bid the critics go whistle.<br>I read over with wonder the poem you sent me,<br>And I must speak your praises, no soul shall prevent me.<br>The audience, believe me, cried out, every line<br>Was strong, was affecting, was just, was divine;<br>All pregnant as gold is, with worth, weight, and beauty,<br>And to hide such a genius was-far from your duty.<br>I foresee that the court will be hugely delighted:<br>Sir Richard, for much a less genius, was knighted:<br>Adieu, my good friend! and for high life prepare ye;<br>I could say much more, but you're modest, I spare ye.'<br>Quite fired with the flattery, I call for my paper,<br>And waste that, and health, and my time, and my taper;<br>I scribble till morn, when, with wrath no small store,<br>Comes my old friend the mercer, and raps at my door.<br>'Ah, Friend! 'tis but idle to make such a pother;<br>Fate, Fate has ordain'd us to plague one another.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Shenstone">William Shenstone</a><div class=q>
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That feelingly persuade me what I am.' -Shakspeare.

Comes a dun in the morning and raps at my door-
'I made bold to call-'tis a twelvemonth and more-
I'm sorry, believe me, to trouble you thus, sir-
But Job would be paid, si..."></div>
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