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P. See, now I keep the secret, and not you! The bribing statesman-F. Hold, too high you go. P. The bribed elector-F. There you stoop too low.

P. I fain would please you, if I knew with what; Tell me which knave is lawful game, which not? Must great offenders, once escaped the crown, Like royal harts, be never more run down? Admit your law to spare the knight requires, As beasts of nature, may we hunt the squires? Suppose I censure-you know what I meanTo save a Bishop, may I name a Dean?

F. A Dean, Sir? No: his fortune is not made, You hurt a man that's rising in the trade.

P. If not the tradesman who set up to-day, Much less the 'prentice who to-morrow may. Down, down, proud Satire! though a realm be spoil'd,

Arraign no mightier thief than wretched Wild1;
Or, if a court or country's made a job,
Go drench a pickpocket, and join the mob.

But, Sir, I beg you, (for the love of vice !)
The matter's weighty, pray consider twice;
Have you less pity for the needy cheat,
The poor and friendless villain, than the great?
Alas! the small discredit of a bribe

Scarce hurts the lawyer, but undoes the scribe.
Then better sure it charity becomes

To tax Directors, who (thank God) have plums;
Still better, Ministers; or if the thing
May pinch even there-why lay it on a king.
F. Stop! stop!

P. Must Satire, then, not rise nor fall?
Speak out, and bid me blame no rogues at all.
F. Yes, strike that Wild, I'll justify the blow.
P. Strike why the man was hang'd ten years
Who now that obsolete example fears?
Even Peter trembles only for his ears2.

[ago:

F. What always Peter? Peter thinks you mad, You make men desperate if they once are bad: Else might he take to virtue some years henceP. As S-k, if he lives, will love the PRINCE. F. Strange spleen to S-k!

P. Do I wrong the man! God knows, I praise a courtier where I can. When I confess, there is who feels for fame, And melts to goodness, need I SCARB'ROW name 3? Pleased let me own, in Esher's peaceful grove', (Where Kent and nature vie for PELHAM'S love) The scene, the master, opening to my view, I sit and dream I see my CRAGGS anew! Even in a bishop I can spy desert; Secker is decent, Rundel has a heart: Manners with candour are to Benson given, To Berkley, every virtue under heaven.

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3 Earl of, and Knight of the Garter, whose personal attachment to the King appeared from his steady adherence to the royal interest, after his resignation of his great employment of Master of the Horse, and whose known honour and virtue made him esteemed by all parties.

4 The house and gardens of Esher, in Surrey, belonging to the Honourable Mr. Pelham, brother of the Duke of Newcastle. The author could not have given a more amiable idea of his character than in comparing him to Mr. Cragga.

But does the court a worthy man remove?
That instant, I declare, he has my love:
I shun his zenith, court his mild decline;
Thus SOMERS once, and HALIFAX, were mine,
Oft, in the clear, still mirror of retreat,
I studied SHREWSBURY7, the wise and great:
CARLETON'S calm sense, and STANHOPE'S noble
flame,

Compared, and knew their gen'rous end the same:
How pleasing ATTERBURY'S softer hour!
How shined the soul, unconquer'd in the Tower!
How can I PULT'NEY, CHESTERFIELD forget,
While Roman spirit charms, and Attic wit?
ARGYLL, the state's whole thunder born to wield,
And shake alike the senate and the field?
Or WYNDHAM 10, just to freedom and the throne,
The master of our passions, and his own?
Names, which I long have loved, nor loved in vain,
Rank'd with their friends, not number'd with their
train;

And if yet higher the proud list should end,
Still let me say! No follower, but a friend.

Yet think not friendship only prompts my lays;
I follow Virtue: where she shines, I praise:
Point she to Priest or Elder, Whig or Tory,
Or round a Quaker's beaver cast a glory.
I never (to my sorrow I declare)
Dined with the MAN of Ross, or my LORD MAYOR
Some, in their choice of friends (nay, look not grave)
Have still a secret bias to a knave:

To find an honest man I beat about,
And love him, court him, praise him, in or out.
F. Then why so few commended?

P. Not so fierce;
Find you the virtue, and I'll find the verse.
But random praise-the task can ne'er be done;
Each mother asks it for her booby son,
Each widow asks it for the best of men,
For him she weeps, for him she weds again.
Praise cannot stoop, like Satire, to the ground;
The number may be hang'd, but not be crown'd.
Enough for half the greatest of these days,
To 'scape my censure, not expect my praise.
Are they not rich? what more can they pretend?
Dare they to hope a poet for their friend?
What RICHELIEU wanted, LOUIS scarce could gain,
And what young AMMON wish'd, but wish'd in vain.

5 John Lord Somers died in 1716. He had been Lord Keeper in the reign of William III., who took from him the seals in 1700. The author had the honour of knowing him in 1706. A faithful, able, and incorrupt Minister, who, to qualities of a consummate statesman, added those of a man of learning and politeness.

6A peer no less distinguished by his love of letters than his abilities in parliament. He was disgraced in 1710, on the change of Q. Anne's ministry.

7 Charles Talbot, Duke of Shrewsbury, had been Secre tary of State, Ambassador in France, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, Lord Chamberlain, and Lord Treasurer. He several times quitted his employments, and was often recalled. He died in 1718.

8 Hen. Boyle, Lord Carleton (nephew of the famous | Robert Boyle,) who was Secretary of State under William III. and President of the Council under Q. Anne.

9 James, Earl of Stanhope. A nobleman of equal courage, spirit, and learning, General in Spain, and Secretary of State.

10 Sir William Wyndham, Chancellor of the Exchequer under Queen Anne, made early a considerable figure; but since a much greater, both by his ability and eloquence, joined with the utmost judgment and temper.

No power the muse's friendship can command;
No power when virtue claims it, can withstand:
To Cato, Virgil paid one honest line;
O let my country's friends illumine mine!
-What are you thinking? F. Faith, the thought's
no sin,

I think your friends are out, and would be in.
P. If merely to come in, Sir, they go out,
The way they take is strangely roundabout.
F. They too may be corrupted, you'll allow ?
P. I only call those knaves who are so now.
Is that too little? Come, then, I'll comply-
Spirit of Arnall! aid me while I lie.
COBHAM'S a coward, POLWARTH is a slave,
And LYTTELTON a dark designing knave,
ST. JOHN has ever been a wealthy fool-
But let me add, SIR ROBERT'S mighty dull,
Has never made a friend in private life,
And was, besides, a tyrant to his wife.

But pray, when others praise him, do I blame?
Call Verres, Wolsey, any odious name?
Why rail they then, if but a wreath of mine,
O all-accomplish'd ST. JOHN! deck thy shrine?
What? shall each spur-gall'd hackney of the day,
When Paxton gives him double pots and pay,
Or each new-pension'd sycophant, pretend
To break my windows if I treat a friend;
Then wisely plead, to me they meant no hurt,
But 'twas my guest at whom they threw the dirt?
Sure, if I spare the Minister, no rules
Of honour bind me, not to maul his tools;
Sure, if they cannot cut, it may be said
His saws are toothless, and his hatchet's lead.
It anger'd TURENNE, once upon a day,
To see a footman kick'd that took his pay:
But when he heard the affront the fellow gave,
Knew one a man of honour, one a knave;
The prudent general turn'd it to a jest,
And begg'd he'd take the pains to kick the rest:
Which not at present having time to do-

F. Hold, Sir! for God's sake, where's the affront to you?

Against your worship when had Sherlock writ?
Or Page pour'd forth the torrent of his wit?
Or grant the bard whose distich all commend
In power a servant, out of power a friend]3
To Walpole guilty of some venial sin;
What's that to you, who ne'er was out nor in?
The priest whose flattery be-dropp'd the crown,
How hurt he you? he only stain'd the
gown.
And how did, pray, the florid youth offend,
Whose speech you took, and gave it to a friend?
P. Faith, it imports not much from whom it
Whoever borrow'd could not be to blame, [came;
Since the whole House did afterwards the same.
Let courtly wits to wits afford supply,
As hog to hog in huts of Westphaly;
If one through Nature's bounty or his lord's,
Has what the frugal dirty soil affords,

From him the next receives it, thick or thin,
pure a mess almost as it came in ;

As

Look for him in his place, Dunc. B. ii. Ver. 315.

2 The Hon. Hugh Hume, son of Alexander, Earl of Marchmont, grandson of Patrick, Earl of Marchmont, and distinguished, like them, in the cause of liberty.

? A verse taken out of a poem to Sir R. W. Spoken not of any particular priest, but of many priests.

This seems to allude to a complaint made ver. 71 of the preceding dialogue.

The blessed benefit, not there confined,
Drops to the third, who nuzzles close behind;
From tail to mouth they feed and they carouse:
The last full fairly gives it to the House.
F. This filthy simile, this beastly line
Quite turns my stomach--

P. So does flattery mine;
And all your courtly civet-cats can vent,
Perfume to you, to me is excrement.
But hear me further-Japhet', 'tis agreed,
Writ not, and Chartres scarce could write or read;
In all the courts of Pindus guiltless quite;
But pens can forge, my friend, that cannot write;
And must no egg in Japhet's face be thrown,
Because the deed he forged was not my own?
Must never patriot then declaim at gin,
Unless, good man! he has been fairly in?
No zealous pastor blame a failing spouse,
Without a staring reason on his brows?
And each blasphemer quite escape the rod,
Because the insult's not on man, but God?

Ask you what provocation I have had ?
The strong antipathy of good to bad.
When truth or virtue an affront endures,
The affront is mine, my friend, and should be yours.
Mine, as a foe profess'd to false pretence,
Who think a coxcomb's honour like his sense;
Mine, as a friend to every worthy mind;

And mine as man, who feel for all mankind 7.
F. You're strangely proud.

P. So proud, I am no slave:
So impudent, I own myself no knave:
So odd, my country's ruin makes me grave.
Yes, I am proud; I must be proud to see
Men, not afraid of God, afraid of me:
Safe from the bar, the pulpit, and the throne,
Yet touch'd and shamed by ridicule alone.

O sacred weapon! left for truth's defence, Sole dread of folly, vice, and insolence! To all but Heaven-directed hands denied, The muse may give thee, but the gods must guide: Reverent I touch thee! but with honest zeal; To rouse the watchmen of the public weal, To virtue's work provoke the tardy Hall, And goad the prelate slumbering in his stall. Ye tinsel insects! whom a court maintains, That counts your beauties only by your stains, Spin all your cobwebs o'er the eye of day! The MUSE's wing shall brush you all away: All his grace preaches, all his lordship sings, All that makes saints of queens, and gods of kings; All, all but truth, drops dead-born from the press, Like the last gazette, or the last address.

When black ambition stains a public cause", A monarch's sword when mad vain-glory draws, Not Waller's wreath can hide the nation's scar, Nor Boileau turn the feather to a star 10.

See the Epistle to Lord Bathurst.

7 From Terence:

"Homo sum: humani nihil a me alienum puto."

• Weak and slight sophistry against virtue and honour. Thin colours over vice, as unable to hide the light of truth as cobwebs to shade the sun.

The case of Cromwell in the civil war of England, and of Louis XIV. in his conquest of the Low Countries.

10 Sce his Ode on Namur, where (to use his own words) "Il a fait un astre de la plume blanche que le roy porte ordinairement à son chapeau, et qui est en effet une espèce de comète, fatale à nos ennemis."

Not so, when diadem'd with rays divine, Touch'd with the flame that breaks from Virtue's

shrine,

Her priestess Muse forbids the good to die,

And opes the temple of Eternity.

**

There, other trophies deck the truly brave,
Than such as Anstis casts into the grave;
Far other stars than * and wear,
And may descend to Mordington from STAIR2;
(Such as on HOUGH'S 3 unsullied mitre shine,
Or beam, good DIGBY, from a heart like thine ;)
Let Envy howl, while heaven's whole chorus sings,
And bark at honour not conferr'd by kings;
Let Flattery sickening see the incense rise,
Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies:
Truth guards the poet, sanctifies the line,
And makes immortal, verse as mean as mine.

Yes, the last pen for freedom let me draw, When Truth stands trembling on the edge of law; Here, last of Britons! let your names be read; Are none, none living? let me praise the dead, And for that cause which made your fathers shine, Fall by the votes of their degenerate line.

F. Alas! alas! pray end what you began, And write next winter more Essays on Man1.

ON RECEIVING FROM THE

RT. HON. THE LADY FRANCES SHIRLEY A STANDISH AND TWO PENS.

YES, I beheld the Athenian queen

Descend in all her sober charms; "And take" (she said, and smiled serene) "Take at this hand celestial arms :

"Secure the radiant weapons wield;

This golden lance shall guard desert, And if a vice dares keep the field,

This steel shall stab it to the heart."

Awed, on my bended knees I fell,

Received the weapons of the sky; And dipt them in the sable well,

The fount of fame or infamy.

The chief herald at arms. It is the custom, at the funeral of great peers, to cast into the grave the broken staves and ensigns of honour.

2 John Dalrymple, Earl of Stair, Knight of the Thistle, served in all the wars under the Duke of Marlborough, and afterwards as ambassador in France.

3 Dr. John Hough, Bishop of Worcester, and the Lord Digby: the one an assertor of the church of England, in opposition to the false measures of King James II.; the other as firmly attached to the cause of that king: both acting out of principle, and equally men of honour and virtue.

4 This was the last poem of the kind printed by our author, with a resolution to publish no more, but to enter thus, in the most plain and solemn manner he could, a sort of PROTEST against that insuperable corruption and depravity of manners which he had been so unhappy as to live to see. Could he have hoped to have amended any, he had continued those attacks; but bad men were grown so shameless and so powerful, that ridicule was become as unsafe as it was ineffectual. The poem raised him, as he knew it would, some enemies: but he had reason to be satisfied with the approbation of good men, and the testimony ofhis own conscience.

“What well? what weapon ?" (Flavia cries)
"A standish, steel and golden pen!
It came from Bertrand's, not the skies;
I gave
it you to write again.
"But, friend, take heed whom you attack;
You'll bring a house (I mean of peers)
Red, blue, and green, nay white and black,
L and all about your ears.

"You'd write as smooth again on glass,
And run, on ivory, so glib,
As not to stick at fool or ass,
Nor stop at flattery or fib.
"Athenian queen! and sober charms!
I tell ye, fool, there's nothing in't:
"Tis Venus, Venus gives these arms;
In Dryden's Virgil see the print.
"Come, if you'll be a quiet soul,

That dares tell neither truth nor lies,
I'll list you in the harmless roll
Of those that sing of these poor eyes."

TO

THE AUTHOR OF A POEM ENTITLED "SUCCESSIO,"

[ELKANAH SETTLE.]

BEGONE, ye critics! and restrain your spite,
Codrus writes on, and will for ever write:
The heaviest muse the swiftest course has gone,
As clocks run fastest when most lead is on.
What though no bees around your cradle flew,
Nor on your lips distill'd their golden dew?
Yet have we oft discover'd in their stead
A swarm of drones, that buzz'd about your head.
When you, like Orpheus, strike the warbling lyre,
Attentive blocks stand round you and admire.
Wit pass'd through thee no longer is the same,
As meat digested takes a different name;
But sense must sure thy safest plunder be,
Since no reprisals can be made on thee.
Thus thou may'st rise, and in thy daring flight
(Tho' ne'er so weighty) reach a wondrous height:
So forced from engines, lead itself can fly,
And ponderous slugs move nimbly through the sky.
Sure Bavius copied Mævius to the full,
And Chorilus taught Codrus to be dull;
Therefore, dear friend, at my advice give o'er
This needless labour; and contend no more
To prove a dull succession to be true,
Since 'tis enough we find it so in you.

1740.

A FRAGMENT OF A POEM.

O WRETCHED B! jealous now of all,
What God, what mortal, shall prevent thy fall!
Turn, turn thy eyes from wicked men in place,
And see what succour from the patriot race.
C, his own proud dupe, thinks monarchs things
Made just for him, as other fools for kings;
Controls, decides, insults thee every hour,
And antedates the hatred due to power.

Thro' clouds of passion P's views are clear, He foams a patriot to subside a peer ;'

Impatient sees his country bought and sold,
And damns the market where he takes no gold.
Grave, righteous S jogs on till, past belief,
He finds himself companion with a thief.

To purge and let thee blood, with fire and sword,
Is all the help stern S would afford.
That those who bind and rob thee, would not kill,
Good Chopes, and candidly sits still.
Of Ch-s W who speaks at all,
No more than of Sir Har-y or Sir P— ?
Whose names once up, they thought it was not

wrong

To lie in bed, but sure they lay too long.
Gr, Cm, B-t, pay thee due regards,
Unless the ladies bid them mind their cards.

with wit that must

And Cd, who speaks so well and writes, Whom (saving W.) every S. harper bites.

must needs

Whose wit and
equally provoke one,
Finds thee, at best, the butt to crack his joke on.
As for the rest, each winter up they run,
And all are clear, that something must be done.
Then urged by C-
-t, or by C- t stopp'd,
Inflamed by P-
and by P- dropp'd;
They follow reverently each wondrous wight,
Amazed that one can read, that one can write :
So geese to gander prone obedience keep,
Hiss if he hiss, and if he slumber, sleep.
Till having done whate'er was fit or fine,
Utter'd a speech, and ask'd their friends to dine;
Each hurries back to his paternal ground,
Content but for five shillings in the pound;
Yearly defeated, yearly hopes they give,
And all agree, Sir Robert cannot live.

Rise, rise, great W, fated to appear,
Spite of thyself, a glorious minister!
Speak the loud language princes
And treat with half the .

At length to B

kind, as to thy

Espouse the nation, you

What can thy H

Dress in Dutch

Though still he travels on no bad pretence,

To show.

-y, II

Or those foul copies of thy face and tongue, Veracious W- and frontless Young; Sagacious Bub, so late a friend, and there So late a foe, yet more sagacious H-? Hervey and Hervey's school, F-, HYea, moral Ebor, or religious Winton. How! what can O-w, what can D The wisdom of the one and other chair, N- laugh, or D's sager,

-n,

Or thy dread truncheon, M.'s mighty peer? What help from J's opiates canst thou draw, Or H -k's quibbles voted into law?

C., that Roman in his nose alone, Who hears all causes, B—, but thy own, Or those proud fools whom nature, rank, and fate Made fit companions for the sword of state.

Can the light packhorse, or the heavy steer, The sowzing prelate, or the sweating peer, Drag out with all its dirt and all its weight, The lumbering carriage of thy broken state? Alas! the people curse, the carman swears, The drivers quarrel, and the master stares.

The plague is on thee, Britain, and who tries To save thee in the infectious office dies. The first firm P-y soon resign'd his breath, Brave S- -w loved thee, and was lied to death. Good M-m-t's fate tore P -th from thy side, And thy last sigh was heard when W. Thy nobles sl s, thy se-s bought with gold, Thy clergy perjured, thy whole people sold. An atheista ""'s ad

Blotch thee all o'er, and sink

Alas! on one alone our all relies,

Let him be honest, and he must be wise
Let him no trifler from his

Nor like his .

. . still a

-m died.

school,

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THE DUNCIAD',

IN FOUR BOOKS.

PRINTED ACCORDING TO THE COMPLETE COPY FOUND IN THE YEAR 1742; WITH THE PROLEGOMENA OF SCRIBLERUS, AND NOTES VARIORUM. TO WHICH ARE ADDED, SEVERAL NOTES NOW FIRST PUBLISHED, THE HYPER-CRITICS

OF ARISTARCHUS, AND HIS DISSERTATION ON THE HERO OF THE POEM,

Tandem Phobus adest, morsusque inferre parantem
Congelat, et patulos, ut erant, indurat hiatus.-OVID.

ADVERTISEMENT TO THE READER.

I HAVE long had a design of giving some sort of notes on the works of this poet. Before I had the happiness of his acquaintance, I had written a commentary on his Essay on Man, and have since finished another on the Essay on Criticism. There was one already on the Dunciad, which had met with general approbation: but I still thought some additions were wanting (of a more serious kind) to the humorous notes of Scriblerus, and even to those written by Mr. Cleland, Dr. Arbuthnot, and others. I had lately the pleasure to pass some months with the anthor in the country, where I prevailed upon him to do what I had long desired, and favour me with his explana

tion of several passages in his works. It happened, that just at that juncture was published a ridiculous book against him, full of personal reflections, which furnished him with a lucky opportunity of improving this poem, by giving it the only thing it wanted, a more considerable hero. He was always sensible of its defect in that particular, and owned he had let it pass with the hero it had, purely for want of a better; not entertaining the

1 The Dunciad is here reprinted from the last and the only complete edition issued during the life of the author, and approved by him; with the sole addition of the variations in the poem noticed by Warburton in his edition published after the death of Pope.

least expectation that such an one was reserved for this post, as has since obtained the laurel: but since that had happened, he could no longer deny this justice either to him or the Dunciad.

And yet I will venture to say, there was another motive which had still more weight with our author: this person was one, who from every folly (not to say vice) of which another would be ashamed, has constantly derived a vanity and therefore was the man in the world who would least be hurt by it.

BY AUTHORITY.

W. W.

BY VIRTUE OF THE AUTHORITY IN US VESTED BY THE ACT FOR SUBJECTING POETS TO THE POWER OF A LICENSER, WE HAVE REVISED THIS PIECE; WHERE, FINDING THE STYLE AND APPELLATION OF KING TO HAVE BEEN GIVEN TO A CERTAIN PRETENDER, Pseudo-POET, OR PHANTOM, OF THE NAME OF TIBBALD; AND APPREHENDING THE SAME MAY BE DEEMED IN SOME SORT A REFLECTION ON MAJESTY, OR AT LEAST AN INSULT ON THAT LEGAL AUTHORITY WHICH HAS BESTOWED ON ANOTHER PERSON THE CROWN OF POESY: WE HAVE ORDERED THE SAID PRETENDER, PSEUDO-POET, OR PHANTOM, UTTERLY TO VANISH AND EVAFORATE OUT OF THIS WORK AND DO DECLARE THE SAID THRONE OF POESY FROM HENCEFORTH TO BE ABDICATED AND VACANT, UNLESS DULY AND LAWFULLY SUPPLIED BY THE LAUREATE HIMSELF. AND IT IS HEREBY ENACTED, THAT NO OTHER PERSON DO PRESUME TO FILL THE SAME.

MARTINUS SCRIBLERUS

ж. сч.

HIS PROLEGOMENA AND ILLUSTRATIONS TO THE DUNCIAD: WITH THE HYPER-CRITICS OF ARISTARCHUS.

A LETTER TO THE PUBLISHER, OCCASIONED BY THE FIRST CORRECT EDITION OF THE DUNCIAD.

Ir is with pleasure I hear, that you have procured a correct copy of the DUNCIAD, which the many surreptitious ones have rendered so necessary and it is yet with more, that I am informed it will be attended with a COMMENTARY: a work so requisite, that I cannot think the author himself would have omitted it, had he approved of the first appearance of this poem.

Such notes as have occurred to me I herewith send you: you will oblige me by inserting them amongst those which are, or will be, transmitted to you by others; since not only the author's friends, but even strangers, appear engaged by humanity, to take some care of an orphan of so much genius and spirit, which its parent seems to have abandoned from the very beginning, and suffered to step into the world naked, unguarded,

and unattended.

It was upon reading some of the abusive papers lately published, that my great regard to a person, whose friendship I esteem as one of the chief honours of my life, and a much greater respect to truth, than to him or any man living, engaged me in inquiries, of which the inclosed notes are the truit.

I perceived, that most of these authors had been (doubtless very wisely) the first aggressors. They had tried, 'till they were weary, what was to be got by railing at each other: nobody was either concerned or surprised, if this or that scribbler was proved a dunce. But every one was curious to read what could be said to prove Mr. POPE one, and was ready to pay something for such a discovery: a stratagem, which would they fairly own, it might not only reconcile them to me, but screen them from the resentment of their lawful superiors, whom they daily abuse, only (as I charitably hope) to get that by them, which they cannot get from them.

I found this was not all: ill success in that had transported them to personal abuse, either of himself, or (what I think he could less forgive) of his friends. They had called men of virtue and honour bad men, long before he had either leisure or inclination to call them bad writers: and some had been such old offenders, that he had quite forgotten their persons as well as their slanders, 'till they were pleased to revive them.

Now what had Mr. POPE done before, to incense them? He had published those works which are in the hands of every body, in which not the least | mention is made of any of them. And what has he done since? He has laughed, and written the DUNCIAD. What has that said of them? A very serious truth, which the public had said before, that they were dull: and what it had no sooner said, but they themselves were at great pains to procure or even purchase room in the prints, to testify under their hands to the truth of it.

I should still have been silent, if either I had seen any inclination in my friend to be serious with such accusers, or if they had only meddled with his writings; since whoever publishes, puts himself on his trial by his country. But when his moral character was attacked, and in a manner from which neither truth nor virtue can secure the most innocent, in a manner, which, though it annihilates the credit of the accusation with the just and impartial, yet aggravates very much the guilt of the accusers; I mean by authors without names: then I thought, since the danger was common to all, the concern ought to be so; and that it was an act of justice to detect the authors, not only on this account, but as many of them are the same who for several years past have made free with the greatest names in church and state, exposed to the world the private misfortunes of families, abused all, even to women, and whose prostituted papers (for one or other party, in the unhappy divisions of their country) have insulted the fallen, the friendless, the exiled, and the dead.

Besides this, which I take to be a public concern, I have already confessed I had a private one. I am one of that number who have long loved and esteemed Mr. POPE; and had often declared it was not his capacity or writings (which we ever thought the least valuable part of his character) but the honest, open, and beneficent man, that we most esteemed, and loved in him. Now, these people say were believed, I must appear to all my friends either a fool, or a knave; either imposed on myself, or imposing on them; so that I am as much interested in the confutation of these calumnies, as he is himself.

what

I am no author, and consequently not to be

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