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 careTo leave the margin wide.
Lend these to paper-sparing Pope;And when he sets to write,No letter with an envelopeCould 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.
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