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Night, as I was pondering of late On all the Mis'ries of my hapless Fate, Cursing my rhiming Stars, raving in Vain At all the Pow'rs, which over Poets reign: In came a ghastly Shape, all pale and thin, As some poor Sinner, who by Priest had been Under a long Lent's Penance, starv'd and whip'd, Or parboil'd Lecher, late from Hot-house crept; Famish'd his Looks appeared, his Eyes sunk in, Like Morning-Gown about him hung his Skin; A Wreath of Lawrel on his Head he wore, A Book, inscrib'd the Fairy Queen, he bore.

By this I knew him, rose, and bow'd, and said, ' Hail reverend Ghost! all hail most sacred Shade ' Why this great Visit? why vouchsaf'd to me, ' The meanest of thy British Progeny? ' Com'st thou in my uncall'd, unhallow'd Muse, ' Some of thy mighty Spirit to infuse: ' If so; lay on thy Hands, ordain me fit ' For the high Cure, and Ministry of Wit: ' Let me (I beg) thy great Instructions claim, ' Teach me to tread the glorious Paths of Fame. ' Teach me (for none does better know than thou) ' How, like thy self, I may immortal grow. Thus