THE DUNCIA D. ΑΝ Heroic Poem. IN THREE BOOKS. DUBLIN, Printed, LONDON Re- THE PUBLISHER TO THE READER. It will be found a true observation, tho' somewhat surprising, that when any scandal is vented against a man of the highest distinction and character either in the State or in Literature, the publick in general afford it a most quiet reception, and the larger part accept it as favourably as if it were some kindness done to themselves: Whereas if a known scoundrel or blockhead chance to be but touch'd upon, a whole legion is up in Arms, and it becomes the common Cause of all Scriblers, Booksellers, and Printers whatsoever. Not to search too deeply into the reason hereof, I will only observe as a Fact, that every week for these two Months past, the town has been persecuted with Pamphlets, Advertisements, Letters, and weekly Essays, not only against the Wit and Writings, but against the Character and Person, of Mr. Pope. And that of all those men who have received pleasure from his Writings (which by modest computation may be about a hundred thousand in these Kingdoms of England and Ireland, not to mention Jersey, Guernsey, the Orcades, those in the New World, and Foreigners who have translated him into their languages) of all this number, not a man hath stood up to say one word in his defence. The only exception is the Author of the following Poem, who doubtless had either a better insight into the grounds of this clamour, or a better opinion of Mr. Pope's integrity, join'd with a greater personal love for him, than any other of his numerous friends and admirers. Further, that he was in his peculiar intimacy, appears from the knowledge he manifests of the most private Authors of all the anonymous pieces against him, and from his having in this Poem attacked no man living, who had not before printed and published against this particular Gentleman. How I became possest of it, is of no concern to the Reader; but it would have been a wrong to him, had I detain'd this publication: since those Names which are its chief ornaments, die off daily so fast, as must render it too soon unintelligible. If it provoke the Author to give us a more perfect edition, I have my end. Who he is, I cannot say, and (which is great pity) there is certainly |