EPISTLE TO DR. ARBUTHNOT.

An Apology for Himself and his Writings.

Ep. to Dr. Arbuthnot.] AT the time of publishing this Epiftle, the Poet's patience was exhausted by the endless impertinence of Poetafters of all ranks and conditions; as well thofe who courted his favour, as thofe who envied his reputation. So that now he had refolved to quit his hands of both together, by the publication of a DUNCIAD. This defign he communicated to his excellent friend Dr. ARBUTHNOT; who, although as a man of Wit and Learning he might not have been difpleafed to fee their common injuries revenged on this pernicious Tribe; yet, as our Author's friend and phyfician, he was folicitous of his cafe and health; and therefore unwilling he fhould provoke fo large and powerful a party.

Their difference of opinion, in this matter, gives occafion to the following Dialogue. Where, in a natural and familiar detail of all his Provocations, both from flatterers and flanderers, our Author has artfully interwoven an Apology for his moral and poetic Character.

For after having told his cafe, and humorously applied to his Phyfician in the manner one would ask for a receipt to kill Vermin, he ftraight goes on, in the common character of afkers of advice, to tell his Doétor, that he had already taken his party, and determined of his remedy. But using a preamble, and introducing it (in the way of Poets), with a fimile, in which the names of Kings, Queens, and Miniflers of State happen to be mentioned, his Friend takes the alarm, and begs him to forbear; advises him to flick to his subject, and to be easy under fo com. mon a calamity.

To make fo light of his disaster provokes the Poet: he breaks the thread of his difcourfe, which was to lead his Friend gently, and by degrees, into his project; and abruptly tells him the application of his fimile at once,

"Out with it, DUNCIAD! let the fecret pafs," &c. But recollecting the humanity and tendernefs of his Friend, which, he apprehends, might be a little fhocked at the apparent

feverity

feverity of fuch a proceeding, he affures him, that his good-nature is alarmed without caufe; for that nothing has lefs feeling than this fort of offenders; which he illuftrates in the Examples of a damn'd Poet, a detected Slanderer, a Table-Parafite, a ChurchBuffoon, and a Party-Writer (from ver. 1. to 101.)

But, in this enumeration, coming again to Names, his Friend once more ftops him; and bids him confider what hoftilities this general attack would fet on foot. So much the better, replies the Poet; for, confidering the strong antipathy of bad to good, enemies they will always be, either open or fecret: and it admits of no queftion, but a Slanderer is lefs hurtful than a Flatterer. For, fays he, (in a pleasant Simile addreffed to his Friend's profeffion)

"Of all mad creatures, if the learn'd are right,

It is the flaver kills, and not the bite."

And how abject and exceffive the flattery of these creatures was, he fhews, by obferving, that they praised him even for his infirmities; his bad health, and his inconvenient fhape (ver. 100 to 125.)

But ftill it might be faid, that if he could bear this evil annexed to Authorship no better, he should not have written at all. To this he answers, by lamenting the natural bent of his difpofition; which, from his very birth, had drawn him towards Poetry so ftrongly, as if it were in execution of some secret decree of Heaven for crimes unknown. But though he offended in becoming an Author, he offended in nothing elfe. For his early verfes were perfectly innocent and harmless,

"Like gentle Fanny's was my flowing theme,

A painted mistress, or a purling stream.”

Yet even then, he tells us, two enraged and hungry Critics fell upon him without any provocation. But this might have been borne, as the common lot of diftinction. But it was his peculiar ill. fortune to create a jealousy in One; whom, not only many good offices done by our Author to him and his friends, but a fimilitude of genius and ftudies might have inclined to a reciprocal affection and fupport: On the contrary, that otherwise amiable perfon, being, by nature, timorous and fufpicious; by education, a partyman; and, by circumstances of fortune, befet with flatterers and pick-thanks; regarded our Author as his Rival, fet up by a contrary Faction, with views deftructive of public liberty, and

that Perfon's reputation. And all this, with as little provocation from Mr. Pope's conduct in his poetic, as in his civil character.

For though he had got a Name (the reputation of which he agreeably rallies, in the defcription he gives of it) yet he never, even when moft in fafhion, fet up fora Patron, or a Dictator amongst the Wits; but ftill kept retired in his ufual privacy; leaving the whole Caftalian flate, as he calls it, to a Mock-Mecenas, whom he next defcribes (ver. 124. to 261.)

And, ftruck with the fenfe of that dignity and cafe which fupport the character of a true Poet, he breaks out into a passionate vow for a continuance of the full Liberty infeparable from it. And to fhew how well he deferves it, and how fafely he might be trusted with it, he concludes his wish with a defcription of his temper and difpofition (ver. 26c to 271.)

This naturally leads him to complain of his Friends, when they confider him in no other view than that of an Author; as if he had neither the fame right to the enjoyments of life, the fame concern for his higheft interefts, or the fame difpofitions of bene volence, with other people.

Belides, he now admonishes them, in his turn, that they do not confider to what they expofe him, when they urge him to write on; namely, to the fufpicions and the displeasure of a Court; who are made to believe, he is always writing; or at leaft to the foolish criticisms of court-fycophants, who pretend to find him, by his ftyle, in the immoral libels of every idle fcribler: though he, in the mean time, be fo far from countenancing fuch worthless trash in others, that he would be ready to execrate even his own best vein of poetry, if made at the expence of Truth and Innocence:

"Curft be the verse, how well foe'er it flow,
That tends to make one worthy man my

Give Virtue fcandal, Innocence a fear,

foe:

Or from the foft-ey'd Virgin steal a tear.”

Sentiments, which no effort of genius, without the concurrence of the heart, could have expressed in strains fo exquifitely fublime. That the fole object of his refentment was vice and bafeness: In the detection of which, he artfully takes occafion to speak of that by which he himfelf had been injured and offended: and concludes with the character of One who had wantonly outraged him, and in the most fenfible manner (ver. 270 to 334.)

And here, moved again with fresh indignation at his flanderers, he takes the advice of Horace, fume fuperbiam quafitam meritis, and

draws

draws a fine picture of his moral and poetic conduct through life. In which he fhews that not fame, but VIRTUE, was the conftant object of his ambition: that for this he oppofed himself to all the violence of Cabals, and the treacheries of Courts: the various iniquities of which having diftinctly specified, he fums them up in that most atrocious and fenfible of all (ver. 333 to 360.),

"The whifper, that to greatnefs ftill too near,
vibrates on his Sov'REIGN's ear.

Perhaps yet

Welcome for thee, fair Virtue! all the paft:

For thee, fair Virtue! welcome ev'n the laft."

But here again his Friend interrupts the strains of his divine en thufiafm; and defires him to clear up one objection made to his Conduct at Court. "That it was inhumane to infult the Poor, "and ill breeding to affront the Great." To which he replies, That indeed in his purfuit of Vice,he rarely confidered how Knavery was circumftanced; but followed it, with his vengeance, indifferently, whether it led to the Pillory, or the Drawing-Room (ver. 359 to 363.).

But left this fhould give his Reader the idea of a favage in. tractable virtue, which could bear with nothing, and would pardon nothing, he takes to himself the shame of owning that he was of so easy a nature, as to be duped by the flendereft appearances; a pretence to virtue in a witty woman: so forgiving, that he had fought out the object of his beneficence in a perfonal enemy: fo humble, that he had fubmitted to the converfation of bad poets: and fo forbearing, that he had curbed in his refentment under the moft fhocking of all provocations, abufes on his Father and Mother (ver. 367 to 388.).

This naturally leads him to give a fhort account of their births, fortunes, and difpofitions; which ends with the tenderest wishes for the happinefs of his Friend; intermixed with the most pathetic defeription of that filial Piety, in the exercife of which he makes his own happiness to confift:

"Me, let the tender office long engage

To rock the Cradle of repofing Age;

With lenient arts extend a Mother's breath,

Make Languor fmile, and fmooth the bed of Death;
Explore the thought, explain the afking eye,

And keep a while one Parent from the sky !"

And

And now this incomparable Poem, which holds fo much of the DRAMA, and opens with all the disorder and vexation that every kind of impertinence and flander could occafion, concludes with the utmost calmnefs and ferenity, in the retired enjoyment of all the tender offices of FRIENDSHIP and PIETY (ver. 387 to the End). WARBURTON.

In this kind of writing, Pope is unrivalled; the Imitation has all the air of an original, and is at once lively, pointed, and happy.

One Imitation from Horace has been, for obvious reafons, rejected. I must ever feel regret, that my late respected master was fo inconfiderate as to admit it in his Edition. Pope certainly never owned it. How indeed could he own a production written in his earlier day, which "called virtue, hypocrite ;" and was doubly odious, as coming from a man who professed, with fuch parade,

"In virtue's cause to draw the Pen!"

It were also to be wifhed, that charity had induced him a moment to pause, before he published some lines, which uo provocation from woman to man could justify: I need not point them out. Let us alfo remember, that Satire in verse must be deliberate, and therefore is leis excufable. I am not attempting to plead the caufe of affected candour; but of thofe feelings, which distinguish the man, and the gentleman.