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 forg'd 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,

Th' 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 ev'ry worthy mind;
And mine as man, who feel for all mankind.
F. You're strangely proud.

190

201

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 sham'd by ridicule alone.

O sacred weapon! left for truth's defence,
Sole dread of folly, vice, and insolence!
To all but heav'n-directed hands deny'd,

210

The Muse may give thee, but the Gods must guide: Rev'rent 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 slumb'ring 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 them 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,
Not Boileau turn the feather to a star.

Not so, when diadem'd with rays divine,

220

230

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 Stair;
Such as on Hough's unsully'd mitre shine,
Or beam, good Digby, from a heart like thine.
Let envy howl, while heav'n's whole chorus sings,
And bark at honour not confer'd by kings;
Let flatt'ry sick'ning 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;

240

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 degen'rate line.

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

250

NOTES.

PROLOGUE TO THE SATIRES AND EPISTLES.

1735.

An Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. In Warburton's ed. (1751) entitled, An Apology for Himself and his Writings.

John Arbuthnot, M.D., Fellow of the College of Physicians, and Physician in Ordinary to Queen Anne. He had wit, and not only literature, but even learning. His 'Tables of Ancient Coins, Weights, and Measures' (1727) was for a long time the standard work on the subject. He lived with the wits of the Tory party, and formed one of the Scriblerus Club (1714), of which Harley, Atterbury, Pope, Congreve, Gay, and Swift were members. At the date of this Epistle he had retired to Hampstead, 'so reduced by a dropsy and an asthma, that I could neither sleep, breathe, eat, or move.' Letter to Swift, Oct. 4, 1734. He died Feb. 27, 1735. The Epistle was published in January of that year. Cowper (Letters, March 21, 1784) says of Johnson's Poets: I know not but one might search these eight volumes with a candle to find a man, and not find one, unless, perhaps, Arbuthnot were he.'

The line of argument by which satire is defended in this Epistle is sketched in a letter actually written by Pope to Arbuthnot, July 26, 1734. It is a reply to a letter in which Arbuthnot exhorts the poet to continue to satirize vice and folly, but with a due regard to your own safety.'

Johnson, Life of Pope: The Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot seems to be derived in its first design from Boileau's address "à son esprit," Satire 9. They are both an apology by the poet for satire.'

A remote resemblance may be traced to Young's Two Epistles to Mr. Pope, concerning the Authors of the Age, (1730).

1. 1. good John. Pope's Will, Carruther's Life, p. 453: To my servant, John Searle, who has faithfully and ably served me many years, I give the sum of £100.' He is called 'the gardener' in the Plan of Mr. Pope's Garden, 1745. In 1735 he had been with Pope eleven years.