Advice to the Grub Street Verse-writers

    Ye poets ragged and forlorn,

      Down from your garrets haste;

    Ye rhymers, dead as soon as born,

      Not yet consign'd to paste;

    I know a trick to make you thrive;

      O, 'tis a quaint device:

    Your still-born poems shall revive,

      And scorn to wrap up spice.

    Get all your verses printed fair,

    Then let them well be dried;

  And Curll must have a special care

    To leave the margin wide.

    Lend these to paper-sparing Pope;

    And when he sets to write,

  No letter with an envelope

    Could give him more delight.

    When Pope has fill'd the margins round,

    Why then recall your loan;

  Sell them to Curll for fifty pound,

    And swear they are your own.