A
RECEIPT
FOR
WRITING
A
NOVEL
.
Would
you
a
fav'rite
novel
make
,
Try
hard
your
reader's
heart
to
break
,
For
who
is
pleas'd
,
if
not
tormented
?
(
Novels
for
that
were
first
invented
)
.
'Gainst
nature
,
reason
,
sense
,
combine
To
carry
on
your
bold
design
,
And
those
ingredients
I
shall
mention
,
Compounded
with
your
own
invention
,
I'm
sure
will
answer
my
intention
.
Of
love
take
first
a
due
proportion
—
It
serves
to
keep
the
heart
in
motion
:
Of
jealousy
a
powerful
zest
,
Of
all
tormenting
passions
best
;
Of
horror
mix
a
copious
share
,
And
duels
you
must
never
spare
;
Hysteric
fits
at
least
a
score
,
Or
,
if
you
find
occasion
,
more
;
But
fainting
fits
you
need
not
measure
,
The
fair
ones
have
them
at
their
pleasure
;
Of
sighs
and
groans
take
no
account
,
But
throw
them
in
to
vast
amount
;
A
frantic
fever
you
may
add
,
Most
authors
make
their
lovers
mad
;
Rack
well
your
hero's
nerves
and
heart
,
And
let
your
heroine
take
her
part
;
Her
fine
blue
eyes
were
made
to
weep
,
Nor
should
she
ever
taste
of
sleep
;
Ply
her
with
terrors
day
or
night
,
And
keep
her
always
in
a
fright
,
But
in
a
carriage
when
you
get
her
,
Be
sure
you
fairly
overset
her
;
If
she
will
break
her
bones
—
why
let
her
:
Again
,
if
e'er
she
walks
abroad
,
Of
course
you
bring
some
wicked
lord
,
Who
with
three
ruffians
snaps
his
prey
,
And
to
a
castle
speeds
away
;
There
close
confin'd
in
haunted
tower
,
You
leave
your
captive
in
his
power
,
Till
dead
with
horror
and
dismay
,
She
scales
the
walls
and
flies
away
.
Now
you
contrive
the
lovers
meeting
,
To
set
your
reader's
heart
a
beating
,
But
ere
they've
had
a
moment's
leisure
,
Be
sure
to
interrupt
their
pleasure
;
Provide
yourself
with
fresh
alarms
To
tear
'em
from
each
other's
arms
;
No
matter
by
what
fate
they're
parted
,
So
that
you
keep
them
broken-hearted
.
A
cruel
father
some
prepare
To
drag
her
by
her
flaxen
hair
;
Some
raise
a
storm
,
and
some
a
ghost
,
Take
either
,
which
may
please
you
most
.
But
this
you
must
with
care
observe
,
That
when
you've
wound
up
every
nerve
With
expectation
,
hope
and
fear
,
Hero
and
heroine
must
disappear
.
Some
fill
one
book
,
some
two
without
'em
,
And
ne'er
concern
their
heads
about
'em
,
This
greatly
rests
the
writer's
brain
,
For
any
story
,
that
gives
pain
,
You
now
throw
in
—
no
matter
what
,
However
foreign
to
the
plot
,
So
it
but
serves
to
swell
the
book
,
You
foist
it
in
with
desperate
hook
—
A
masquerade
,
a
murder'd
peer
,
His
throat
just
cut
from
ear
to
ear
—
A
rake
turn'd
hermit
—
a
fond
maid
Run
mad
,
by
some
false
loon
betray'd
—
These
stores
supply
the
female
pen
,
Which
writes
them
o'er
and
o'er
again
,
And
readers
likewise
may
be
found
To
circulate
them
round
and
round
.
Now
at
your
fable's
close
devise
Some
grand
event
to
give
surprize
—
Suppose
your
hero
knows
no
mother
—
Suppose
he
proves
the
heroine's
brother
—
This
at
one
stroke
dissolves
each
tie
,
Far
as
from
east
to
west
they
fly
:
At
length
when
every
woe's
expended
,
And
your
last
volume's
nearly
ended
,
Clear
the
mistake
,
and
introduce
Some
tatt'ling
nurse
to
cut
the
noose
,
The
spell
is
broke
—
again
they
meet
Expiring
at
each
other's
feet
;
Their
friends
lie
breathless
on
the
floor
—
You
drop
your
pen
;
you
can
no
more
—
And
ere
your
reader
can
recover
,
They're
married
—
and
your
history's
over
.