scribed,1 that I make not as free use of theirs as they have done of mine. However, I shall have this advantage and honour on my side, that whereas, by their proceeding, any abuse may be directed at any man, no injury can possibly be done by mine, since a nameless character can never be found out, but by its truth and likeness.

P. SHUT, shut the door, good John!' fatigued, I said,

Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead.
The dog-star rages! nay, 'tis past a doubt,
All Bedlam, or Parnassus is let out:

Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,
They rave, recite, and madden round the land.

What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide?
They pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide;
By land, by water, they renew the charge;
They stop the chariot, and they board the barge.
No place is sacred, not the church is free;

Even Sunday shines no Sabbath day to me;

Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme, Happy to catch me just at dinner-time.

Is there a parson, much bemused in beer,
A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer,

A clerk, foredoomed his father's soul to cross,
Who pens a stanza, when he should engross?
Is there, who, locked from ink and paper, scrawls
With desp❜rate charcoal round his darkened walls?

1 Dr. Arbuthnot. He was a Scotch physician, who came to London, and originally taught mathematics. But being accidentally called in to attend Prince George of Denmark at Epsom, he became his Highness's physician, and Queen Anne's also. He was author of many satirical and political works; he wrote also on natural history and mathematics. His chief work was one entitled "Tables of Ancient Weights and Measures." He engaged with Pope and Swift to write a satire on human learning called Memoirs of Martin Scriblerus," but the project was not carried out. "Arbuthnot was a man of great sweetness of temper, and had much more learning than either Pope or Swift. is known that he gave many hints to Pope, Gay, and Swift of some of the most sterling parts of their works. He frequently and ably defended the cause of revelation against Bolingbroke and Chesterfield." -Warton.

2 John Searle, his old and faithful servant.

It

3 A place to which insolvent debtors retired, to enjoy an, illegal protection, which they were there suffered to afford one another, from the persecution of their creditors.-Warburton.

All fly to Twitenham, and in humble strain
Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain.
Arthur,' whose giddy son neglects the laws,
Imputes to me and my d―d works the cause.
Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope,
And curses wit, and poetry, and Pope.

Friend to my life (which did not you prolong,
The world had wanted many an idle song)
What drop or nostrum can this plague remove?
Or which must end me, a fool's wrath or love!
A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped,

If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead.
Seized and tied down to judge, how wretched T'
Who can't be silent, and who will not lie.
To laugh, were want of goodness and of grace,
And to be grave, exceeds all pow'r of face.
I sit with sad civility, I read

With honest anguish, and an aching head;*
And drop at last, but in unwilling ears,

This saving counsel, "Keep your piece nine years."
Nine years!" cries he, who high in Drury Lane,
Lulled by soft zephyrs through the broken pane,
Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before term ends,
Obliged by hunger, and request of friends:

"The piece, you think, is incorrect? why, take it,
I'm all submission, what you'd have it, make it."
Three things another's modest wishes bound,
My friendship, and a prologue, and ten pound.
Pitholeon sends to me: "You know his grace,.
I want a patron; ask him for a place."
Pitholeon libelled me,-"but here's a letter
Informs you, sir, 'twas when he knew no bette
Dare you refuse him? Curll invites to dine,
He'll write a journal,* or he'll turn divine."

Bless me! a packet.- ""Tis a stranger sues,

1 Arthur Moore, a politician of the period. His son. James Moore (afterwards James Moore-Smythe), was a great friend of Teresa Blount. See note at p.

2 Pope suffered constantly from headache.

3The name is taken from a foolish poet of Rhodes, who pretended to much Greek. Schol. in Horat. P. I. Dr. Bentley pretends that this Pitholeon libelled Cæsar also.-Pope.

4 Meaning the "London Journal;" a paper in favour of Sir R. Walpole's ministry. Bishop Hoadly wrote in it, as did Dr. Bland. -Warton.

A virgin tragedy, an orphan muse."

If I dislike it, "Furies, death, and rage!"
If I approve, "Commend it to the stage."

There (thank my stars) my whole commission ends,
The play'rs and I are, luckily, no friends.

Fired that the house reject him, "'Sdeath, I'll print it. And shame the fools- -Your int'rest, sir, with Lintot!"

Lintot, dull rogue! will think your price too much: "Not, sir, if you revise it, and retouch."

All my demurs but double his attacks;

At last he whispers, "Do; and we get snacks."
Glad of a quarrel, straight I clap the door,
"Sir, let me see your works and you no more."
"Tis sung, when Midas' ears began to spring,'
(Midas, a sacred person and a king)

His very minister who spied them first,

(Some say his queen') was forced to speak, or burst. And is not mine, my friend, a sorer case,

When ev'ry coxcomb perks them in my face?

A. Good friend, forbear! you deal in dang❜rous things.

I'd never name queens, ministers, or kings;
Keep close to ears, and those let asses prick;
'Tis nothing- P. Nothing? if they bite and kick?
Out with it, Dunciad! let the secret pass,

That secret to each fool, that he's an ass:

The truth once told (and wherefore should we lie?) The queen of Midas slept, and so may I.

You think this cruel? take it for a rule,

No creature smarts so little as a fool.

Let peals of laughter, Codrus! round thee break,
Thou unconcerned canst hear the mighty crack:
Pit, box, and gall'ry in convulsions hurled,
Thou stand'st unshook amidst a bursting world.
Who shames a scribbler? break one cobweb through,

1 Alludes to a tragedy called the "Virgin Queen," by Mr. R. Barford, published 1729, who displeased Pope by daring to adopt the fine machinery of his sylphs in an heroi-comical poem called "The Assembly," 1726.-Warton.

2 The famous bookseller.

3 Midas had ass's ears given him for preferring Pan's music to Apollo's.

The story is told, by some, of his barber, but by Chaucer of his queen. See "Wife of Bath's Tale" in "Dryden's Fables."-Pope,

He spins the slight, self-pleasing thread anew;
Destroy his fib or sophistry in vain,
The creature's at his dirty work again,
Throned in the centre of his thin designs,
Proud of a vast extent of flimsy lines!
Whom have I hurt? has poet yet, or peer,
Lost the arched eye-brow, or Parnassian sneer?
And has not Colley1 still his lord, and w
His butchers Henley, his freemasons Moore?
Does not one table Bavius still admit?
Still to one Bishop Philips seem a wit?3
Still Sappho A. Hold! for God's sake-you'll

2

?

[offend,

No names!-be calm!-learn prudence of a friend!
I too could write, and I am twice as tall;
But foes like these P. One flatt'rer's worse than

[all.

Of all mad creatures, if the learned are right,

It is the slaver kills, and not the bite.

A fool quite angry is quite innocent;
Alas! 'tis ten times worse when they repent.
One dedicates in high heroic prose,
And ridicules beyond a hundred foes,
One from all Grub street will my fame defend,
And, more abusive, calls himself my friend.
This prints my letters, that expects a bribe,
And others roar aloud, "Subscribe, Subscribe."
There are, who to my person pay their court:
I cough like Horace, and, though lean, am short;
Ammon's great son one shoulder had too high,
Such Ovid's nose, and "Sir! you have an eye"-
Go on, obliging creatures, make me see
All that disgraced my betters, met in me.
Say for my comfort, languishing in bed,
Just so immortal Maro held his head."
And when I die, be sure you let me know
Great Homer died three thousand years ago.

66

4

1 Cibber, the hero of the "Dunciad."

2 This alludes to Henley, commonly called Orator Henley, who declaimed on Sundays on religious subjects, and on Wednesdays on the sciences. His oratory was among the butchers in Newport Market and Butcher Row. Moore has been already named. He often headed Masonic processions.-Bowles.

This was Bishop Boulter, who was Ambrose Philips' great friend and patron. He was made Primate of Ireland, "where," says Johnson, "his piety and charity will be long remembered."-Bowles.

* Alexander the Great.

Why did I write? what sin to me unknown
Dipt me in ink, my parents', or my own?
As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame,

I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came,"
I left no calling for this idle trade,

No duty broke, no father disobeyed.

The muse but served to ease some friend, not wife,
To help me through this long disease, my life,
To second, Arbuthnot! thy art and care,

And teach, the being you preserved, to bear.

A. But why then publish? P. Granville the polite, And knowing Walsh, would tell me I could write; Well-natured Garth inflamed with early praise; And Congreve loved, and Swift endured my lays; The courtly Talbot,' Somers, Sheffield read; Even mitred Rochester' would nod the head, And St. John's self (great Dryden's friend before) With open arms received one poet more. Happy my studies, when by these approved! Happier their author, when by these beloved! From these the world will judge of men and books, Not from the Burnets, Oldmixons, and Cookes.3 Soft were thy numbers; who could take offence, While pure description held the place of sense? Like gentle Fanny's was my flowery theme; A painted mistress, or a purling stream.* Yet then did Gildon draw his venal quill;

1 He began to write further back than he could remember.

2 All these were patrons or admirers of Mr. Dryden; though a scandalous libel against him entitled "Dryden's Satire to his Muse," haз been printed in the name of the Lord Somers, of which he was wholly ignoraut.

These are the persons to whose account the author charges the publication of his first pieces: persons with whom he was conversant (and he adds beloved) at sixteen or seventeen years of age, an early period for such acquaintance. The catalogue might be made yet more illus trious, had he not confined it to that time when he wrote the " Pastorals" and "Windsor Forest," on which he passes a sort of censure in the lines following,

While pure description held the place of sense, &c.-Pope.

3 Atterbury, Bishop of Rochester. This was his gesture when pleased.-Warton.

4 Authors of secret and scandalous history. By no means authors of the same class, though the violence of party might hurry them into the same mistakes. But if the first offended this way, it was only through an honest warmth of temper, that allowed too little to an excellent understanding. The other two, with very bad heads, had hearts still worse. Warburton.

5 Meaning the "Rape of the Lock" and "Windsor Forest."-Warburton. A painted meadow, &c. is a verse of Mr. Addison.-Pope.

6 Charles Gildon. He spent his property, and lived to repair his for. tunes by writing abusive pamphlets.-Bowles.