What a provoking intrusion! Just as I ha...

What a provoking intrusion! Just as I had worked myself into the true spirit of poetry!— I shan’t recover my ideas this half hour. ’Tis a most barbarous thing that a man’s retirement cannot be sacred. (Sits down to write.) Ye fighting,— no, that was not it,— ye — ye — ye — O curse it, (Stamping.) if I have not forgot all I was going to say! That unfeeling, impenetrable fool has lost me more ideas than would have made a fresh man’s reputation. I’d rather have given a hundred guineas than have seen her. I protest, I was upon the point of making as good a poem as any in the language,— my numbers flowed,— my thoughts were ready,— my words glided,— but now, all is gone!— all gone & evaporated! (Claps his hand on his forehead.) Here’s nothing left! Nothing in the world!— What shall I do to compose myself? Suppose I read?— Why, where the deuce are all the things gone? (Looking over his papers.) O, here,— I wonder how my epigram will read today,— I think I’ll show it to Censor,— he has seen nothing like it of late;— I’ll pass it off for some dead poet’s, or he’ll never do it justice;— let’s see, suppose Pope?— no, it’s too smart for Pope,— Pope never wrote any thing like it!— well then, suppose —