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The morals blacken'd when the writings 'scape,
The libel'd perfon, and the pictur'd shape;
Abuse, on all he lov'd, or lov'd him, fpread,
A friend in exile, or a father, dead;
The whifper, that to greatness ftill too near,
Perhaps, yet vibrates on his Sov'REIGN's ear-
Welcome for thee, fair Virtue! all the paft:
For thee, fair Virtue! welcome ev'n the last!

A. But why infult the poor, affront the great? 350
P. A knave's a knave, to me, in ev'ry ftate;
Alike my fcorn, if he fucceed or fail,
Sporus at court, or Japhet in a jail,
A hireling feribler, or a hireling peer,
Knight of the poft corrupt, or of the fhire;
If on a Pillory, or near a Throne,
He gain his Prince's ear, or lofe his own.

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VER. 354. Abufe, on all he lov'd, or lov'd him, spread,] Namely on the Duke of Buckingham, the Earl of Burlington, Lord Bathurst, Lord Bolingbroke, Bishop Atterbury, Dr. Swift, Dr. Arbuthnot, Mr. Gay, his Friends, his Parents, and his very Nurse, afperfed in printed papers, by James Moore, G. Ducket, L. Weifted, Tho. Bentley, and other obfcure perfons.

VER 357. Perhaps, yet vibrates] What force and elegance of expreffion! which, in one word, conveys to us the phyfical effects of found, and the moral effects of an often repeated fcandal.

VER. 359. For thee, fair Virtue! welcome ev'n the last!] This line is remarkable for prefenting us with the most amiable image of fteady Virtue, mixed with a modeft concern for his being forced to undergo the fevereft proofs of his love for it, which was the being thought hardly of by his SOVEREIGN.

Yet foft by nature, more a dupe than wit, Sappho can tell you how this man was bit: This dreaded Sat'rift Dennis will confefs Foe to his pride, but friend to his distress: So humble, he has knock'd at Tibbald's door, Has drunk with Cibber, nay has rhym'd for Moor. Full ten years flander'd, did he once reply? Three thousand funs went down on Welfied's lye. To please a Miftrefs one afpers'd his life: He lafh'd him not, but let her be his wife : Let Budgel charge low Grubftreet on his quill, And write whate'er he pleas'd, except his Will;



VER. 368. in the MS.

Once, and but once, his heedlefs youth was bit,
And lik'd that dang'rous thing, a female wit:
Safe as he thought, tho' all the prudent chid;
He writ no Libels, but my Lady did :

Great odds in am'rous or poetic game,

Where Woman's is the fin, and Man's the fhame.


VER. 374. ten years] It was fo long after many libels before the Author of the Dunciad published that poem, till when, he never writ a word in answer to the many fcurrilities and falsehoods concerning him.

VER. 375. Welfted's lye.] This man had the impudence to tell in print, that Mr. P. had occafioned a Lady's death, and to name a perfon he never heard of. He also published that he libell'd the Duke of Chandos; with whom, (it was added) that he had lived in familiarity, and received from him a prefent of five bundred pounds: the falsehood of both which is known to his Grace. Mr. P. never received any prefent, farther than the subscription for Homer, from him, or from any great Man whatsoever.

VER. 378. Let Budgel] Budgel, in a weekly pamphlet called the Bee, beftowed much abuse on him, in the imagination that he

Let the two Curls of town and Court, abuse
His father, mother, body, foul, and muse,


writ fome things about the Laft Will of Dr. Tindal, in the GrubAreet Journal; a Paper wherein he never had the least hand, direction, or supervisal, nor the least knowledge of its Author.

VER. 379. except bis Will;] Alluding to Tindal's Will: by which, and other indirect practices, Budgel, to the exclufion of the next heir, a nephew, got to himself almost the whole fortune of a man entirely unrelated to him.

VER. 381, His father, mother, &c.] In fome of Curl's and other pamphlets, Mr. Pope's father was faid to be a Mechanic, a Hatter, a Farmer, nay a Bankrupt. Eut, what is ftranger, a Nobleman (if such a reflection could be thought to come from a Nobleman) had dropt an allufion to that pitiful untruth, in a paper call'd an Epifile to a Doctor of Divinity: And the following line,

Hard as thy Heart, and as thy Birth obfcure,

had fallen from a like Courtly pen, in certain Verfes to the Imitator of Horace. Mr. Pope's Father was of a Gentleman's Family in Oxfordshire, the head of which was the Earl of Downe, whofe fole Heiress married the Earl of Lindsey-His mother was the daughter of William Turnor, Efq. of York: She had three brothers, one of whom was killed, another died in the service of King Charles; the eldeft following his fortunes, and becoming a general officer in Spain, left her what eftate remained after the fequeftrations and forfeitures of her family-Mr. Pope died in 1717, aged 75; She in 1733. aged 93, a very few weeks after this poem was finished. The following infcription was placed by their fon on their Monu ment in the parish of Twickenham, in Middlesex.

D. O. M.



Yet why? that Father held it for a rule,
It was a fin to call our neighbour fool:
That harmless Mother thought no wife a whore:
Hear this, and fpare his family, James Moore! 385
Unfpotted names, and memorable long!
If there be force in Virtue, or in Song.

Of gentle blood (part fhed in Honour's caufe,
While yet in Britain Honour had applause)
Each parent fprung-A. What fortune, pray?-
P. Their own,


And better got, than Beftia's from the throne.
Born to no Pride, inheriting no Strife,
Nor marrying Discord in a noble wife,
Stranger to civil and religious rage,
The good man walk'd innoxious thro' his age. 395
No Courts he faw, no fuits would ever try,
Nor dar'd an Oath, nor hazarded a Lye.

VER. 390. A. What fortune, pray ?] His friend's perfonating the Town in this place, and affuming its impertinent curiofity, gives great fpirit to the ridicule of the question.-Julian has a parallel ftroke, in his farcaftic difcourfe to the people of Antioch, where he tells them a story out of Plutarch, concerning Cato; who, when he came near their City, found their youth under arms, and the magiftrates in their robes of office. On which alighting, in an ill humour with his friends, who he imagined had informed them of his approach, the mafter of the ceremonies came up, and, advancing before the company, accofted him in this manner; "Stranger, how far off is Deme

trius?" Now this Demetrius (fays Julian) was one of Pompey's freedmen, and immenfely rich. You will ask me what he was worth; for I know nothing fo likely to excite your curiofity. Why, truly, for this, you must confult Demophilas the Bithynian, whofe mecdotes turn chiefly upon subjects of this bigh importance.

Unlearn'd, he knew no schoolman's fubtile art,
No language, but the language of the heart.
By Nature honest, by Experience wise,
Healthy by temp'rance, and by exercife;
His life, tho' long, to fickness past unknown,
His death was inftant, and without a groan.
O grant me, thus to live, and thus to die!
Who fprung from Kings fhall know lefs joy than I.
O Friend! may each domeftic blifs be thine!
Be no unpleafing Melancholy mine:
Me, let the tender office long engage,


To rock the cradle of repofing Age,

With lenient arts extend a Mother's breath,
Make Languor smile, and smooth the bed of Death,
Explore the thought, explain the asking eye,

And keep a while one parent from the sky!
On cares like these if length of days attend,
May Heav'n, to bless those days, preserve my friend,
Preferve him focial, chearful, and ferene,
And just as rich as when he ferv'd a QUEEN.
A. Whether that blefling be deny'd or giv'n,
Thus far was right, the rest belongs to Heav'n.



After VER. 405. in the MS.

And of myself, too, fomething must I say?
Take then this verfe, the trifie of a day.
And if it live, it lives but to commend
The man whofe heart has ne'er forgot a friend,
Or head, an Author: Critic, yet polite,

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