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Dear Doctor, I have Read your Play

George Gordon Lord Byron 1788 (London) – 1824 (Missolonghi, Aetolia)

Dear Doctor, I have read your play,
  Which is a good one in its way,
  Purges the eyes, and moves the bowels,
  And drenches handkerchiefs like towels
  With tears that, in a flux of grief,
  Afford hysterical relief
  To shatter'd nerves and quicken'd pulses,
  Which your catastrophe convulses.
  I like your moral and machinery;
  Your plot, too, has such scope for scenery!
  Your dialogue is apt and smart;
  The play's concoction full of art;
  Your hero raves, your heroine cries,
  All stab, and everybody dies;
  In short, your tragedy would be
  The very thing to hear and see;
  And for a piece of publication,
  If I decline on this occasion,
  It is not that I am not sensible
  To merits in themselves ostensible,
  But--and I grieve to speak it--plays
  Are drugs--mere drugs, Sir, nowadays.
  I had a heavy loss by Manuel --
  Too lucky if it prove not annual--
  And Sotheby, with his damn'd Orestes
  (Which, by the way, the old bore's best is),
  Has lain so very long on hand
  That I despair of all demand;
  I've advertis'd--but see my books,
  Or only watch my shopman's looks;
  Still Ivan , Ina and such lumber
  My back-shop glut, my shelves encumber.
  There's Byron too, who once did better,
  Has sent me--folded in a letter--
  A sort of--it's no more a drama
  Than Darnley , Ivan or Kehama :
  So alter'd since last year his pen is,
  I think he's lost his wits at Venice,
  Or drain'd his brains away as stallion
  To some dark-eyed and warm Italian;
  In short, Sir, what with one and t'other,
  I dare not venture on another.
  I write in haste; excuse each blunder;
  The coaches through the street so thunder!
  My room's so full; we've Gifford here
  Reading MSS with Hookham Frere,
  Pronouncing on the nouns and particles
  Of some of our forthcoming articles,
  The Quarterly --ah, Sir, if you
  Had but the genius to review!
  A smart critique upon St. Helena,
  Or if you only would but tell in a
  Short compass what--but, to resume;
  As I was saying, Sir, the room--
  The room's so full of wits and bards,
  Crabbes, Campbells, Crokers, Freres and Wards,
  And others, neither bards nor wits--
  My humble tenement admits
  All persons in the dress of Gent.,
  From Mr. Hammond to Dog Dent.
  A party dines with me today,
  All clever men who make their way:
  Crabbe, Malcolm, Hamilton and Chantrey
  Are all partakers of my pantry.
  They're at this moment in discussion
  On poor De Sta{:e}l's late dissolution.
  Her book, they say, was in advance--
  Pray Heaven she tell the truth of France!
  'Tis said she certainly was married
  To Rocca, and had twice miscarried,
  No--not miscarried, I opine--
  But brought to bed at forty nine.
  Some say she died a Papist; some
  Are of opinion that's a hum;
  I don't know that--the fellow, Schlegel,
  Was very likely to inveigle
  A dying person in compunction
  To try the extremity of unction.
  But peace be with her! for a woman
  Her talents surely were uncommon.
  Her publisher (and public too)
  The hour of her demise may rue,
  For never more within his shop he--
  Pray--was she not interr'd at Coppet?
  Thus run our time and tongues away;
  But, to return, Sir, to your play;
  Sorry, Sir, but I cannot deal,
  Unless 'twere acted by O'Neill.
  My hands are full--my head so busy,
  I'm almost dead--and always dizzy;
  And so, with endless truth and hurry,
  Dear Doctor, I am yours,

 JOHN MURRAY

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

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George Gordon Lord Byron

George Gordon Byron, 6th Baron Byron, known simply as Lord Byron, was an English poet, peer and politician who became a revolutionary in the Greek War of Independence, and is considered one of the leading figures of the Romantic movement. He is regarded as one of the greatest English poets and remains widely read and influential. Among his best-known works are the lengthy narrative poems Don Juan and Childe Harold's Pilgrimage; many of his shorter lyrics in Hebrew Melodies also became popular. He travelled extensively across Europe, especially in Italy, where he lived for seven years in the cities of Venice, Ravenna, and Pisa. During his stay in Italy he frequently visited his friend and fellow poet Percy Bysshe Shelley. Later in life Byron joined the Greek War of Independence fighting the Ottoman Empire and died of disease leading a campaign during that war, for which Greeks revere him as a national hero. He died in 1824 at the age of 36 from a fever contracted after the First and Second Siege of Missolonghi. His only legitimate child, Ada Lovelace, is regarded as a foundational figure in the field of computer programming based on her notes for Charles Babbage's Analytical Engine. Byron's illegitimate children include Allegra Byron, who died in childhood, and possibly Elizabeth Medora Leigh.  more…

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    "Dear Doctor, I have Read your Play" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 12 May 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/15052/dear-doctor,-i-have-read-your-play>.

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