Vane.

My dear Denham! I never _publish_ anything. In a wilderness of
mediocrity obscurity is fame.

Denham.

Yes, a well-advertised obscurity. But surely you _have_ published
poems?

Vane.

Where have you lived, my dear fellow? I breathe a poem into the air,
and the world hears. If some one prints it, can I help it? One does
not print, wake, and become famous; one becomes famous, and the
world awakes, cackles, and prints one.

Fitzgerald.

By-the-bye, Vane, there's a quatrain in your "In the House of
Hathor" I wanted to ask you about.

Vane.

Which?

Fitzgerald.

Let me see--it begins: