Epistle from Mr. Murray to Dr. Polidori by Lord Byron

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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.

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