THE SUCCESSFUL AUTHOR.

When Fate presents us with the Bays,

We prize the Praiser, not the Praise.

We scarcely think our Fame eternal

If vouched for by the Farthing Journal;

But when the Craftsman's self has spoken,

We take it for a certain Token.

This an Example best will show,

Derived from DENNIS DIDEROT.

A hackney Author, who'd essayed

All Hazards of the scribbling Trade;

And failed to live by every Mode,

From Persian Tale to Birthday Ode;

Embarked at last, thro’ pure Starvation,

In Theologic Speculation.

‘ Tis commonly affirmed his Pen

Had been most orthodox till then;

But oft, as SOCRATES has said,

The Stomach's stronger than the Head;

And, for a sudden Change of Creed,

There is no Jesuit like Need.

Then, too,‘ twas cheap; he took it all,

By force of Habit, from the Gaul.

He showed ( the Trick is nowise new )

That Nothing we believe is true;

But chiefly that Mistake is rife

Touching the point of After-Life;

Here all were wrong from PLATO down:

His Price ( in Boards ) was Half-a-Crown.

The Thing created quite a Scare:—

He got a Letter from VOLTAIRE,

Naming him Ami and Confrère;

Besides two most attractive Offers

Of Chaplaincies from noted Scoffers.

He fell forthwith his Head to lift,

To talk of “I and DR. SW — FT;”

And brag, at Clubs, as one who spoke,

On equal Terms, with BOLINGBROKE.

But, at the last, a Missive came

That put the Copestone to his Fame.

The Boy who brought it would not wait:

It bore a Covent-Garden Date;—

A woful Sheet with doubtful Ink.

And Air of Bridewell or the Clink,

It ran in this wise:— Learned Sir!

We, whose Subscriptions follow here,

Desire to state our Fellow-feeling

In this Religion you're revealing.

You make it plain that if so be

We‘ scape on Earth from Tyburn Tree,

There's nothing left for us to fear

In this — or any other Sphere.

We offer you our Thanks; and hope

Your Honor, too, may cheat the Rope!

With that came all the Names beneath,

As BLUESKIN, JERRY CLINCH, MACHEATH,

BET CARELESS, and the Rest — a Score

Of Rogues and Bona Robas more.

This Newgate Calendar he read:

‘ Tis not recorded what he said.