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118 No, grammercy ! Toil to gain reputation By one small sonnet, 'stead of making many? No, gramuiercy ! Or flatter sorry bunglers ? Be terrorised by every prating paper ? Say ceaselessly, Oh had I but the chance Of a fair notice in the Mercury ! Grammercy, no ! Grow pale, fear, calculate? Prefer to make a visit to a rhyme ? Seek introductions, draw petitions up ? No, grammercy ! and no ! and no again ! But sing! Dream, laugh, go lightly, solitary, free, With eyes that look straight forward fearless voice! To cock your beaver just the way you choose, For ' yes ' OP ' no ' show fight, or turn a rhyme ! To work without one thought of gain or fame, To realise that journey to the moon ! Never to pen a line that has not sprung Straight from the heart within. Embracing theu Modesty, say to oneself, ' Good my friend, Be thou content with flowers, fruit, nay, leaves, But pluck them from no garden but thine own ! ' And then, if glory come by chance your way, To pay no tribute unto Caesar, none, But keep the merit all your own ! In short, Disdaining tendrils of the parasite, To be content, if neither oak nor elm Not to mount high, perchance, but mount alone ! Alone, an if you will ! But not with hand 'Gainst every man ! How in the devil's name Have you conceived this lunatic idea, To make foes for yourself at every turn!