Is the poison [and dagger] you boast in your jaws, trow?
Are you still in your cart with _convitia ex plaustro_?
But to scold is your trade, which I soon should be foil'd in,
For scolding is just _quasi diceres_--school-din:
And I think I may say, you could many good shillings get,
Were you drest like a bawd, and sold oysters at Billingsgate;
But coach it or cart it, I'd have you know, sirrah,
I'll write, though I'm forced to write in a wheelbarrow;
Nay, hector and swagger, you'll still find me stanch,
And you and your cart shall give me _carte blanche_.
Since you write in a cart, keep it _tecta et sarta_,
'Tis all you have for it; 'tis your best Magna Carta;
And I love you so well, as I told you long ago,
That I'll ne'er give my vote for _Delenda Cart-ago_.
Now you write from your cellar, I find out your art,
You rhyme as folks fence, in _tierce_ and in _cart_:
Your ink is your poison, your pen is what not;
Your ink is your drink, your pen is your pot.
To my goddess Melpomene, pride of her sex,
I gave, as you beg, your most humble respects:
The rest of your compliment I dare not tell her,
For she never descends so low as the cellar;
But before you can put yourself under her banners,
She declares from her throne you must learn better manners.
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