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TO DR. ARBUTHNOT.

9

And now the Poem, which holds fo much of the DRAMA, and opens with all the diforder and vexation that every kind of impertinence and flander could occafion, concludes with the utmost calmness and ferenity, in the retired enjoyment of all the tender offices of FRIENDSHIP and PIETY [ 388 to the end.]

P.

HUT, fhut the door, good John! fatigu'd

SHUT I faid,

Tye up the knocker, fay I'm fick, I'm dead.
The Dog-star rages! nay 'tis past a doubt,
All Bedlam, or Parnaffus, is let out:

Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,

They rave, recite, and madden round the land.

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And now vile Poets rife before the light,

And walk, like Marg’ret's Ghost, at dead of night.

5

a Written by one MALLOCK. Since rifen, by due degrees, from a maker of Ballads, to a maker of Lives. He made L. B.'s life, and by ill hap forgot he was a Philofopher: he is now about making the D. of M.'s. Be not furprized, therefore, gentle reader, if he fhould forget that his Grace was a General. This is he, to whom Mr. P. in his laft nefs, in spite of the Duchefs's prohibition, gave livery and feifin of APOLLO, in due form of Law. How they came to lay their heads together, to convey away Parnaffus to a ftranger, Mr. M. can beft tell. But it proved a bad bargain, and he has fince arraigned his dead Patron for a Cheat. Happy for him, Mr. P. had more Gods than one and, in the difpofal of his ftock, Apollo's fpurious fon, the French Phoebus, fell to his fhare; and he has found him not fo deaf to his invocation as the aforefaid God of verfe. SCRIBL.

NOTES.

VER. 1. Shut, fhut the door, good John!] John Searle, his old and faithful fervant whom he has remembered, under that character, in his Will.

TO DR. ARBUTHNOT.

9

And now the 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 calmness and serenity, in the retired enjoyment of all the tender offices of FRIENDSHIP and PIETY [. 388. to the end.]

EPISTLE to Dr. ARBUTHNOT,

BEING THE

PROLOGUE

P.

ΤΟ THE

SATI RE S.

HUT, fhut the door, good John! fatigu'd

SHUT faid,

Tye up the knocker, fay I'm fick, I'm dead.

The Dog-star rages! nay 'tis past a doubt,

All Bedlam, or Parnaffus, is let out:

Fire in each eye,

and papers

in each hand,

They rave, recite, and madden round the land.

NOTES.

VER. 1. Shut, fhut the door, good John !] John Searl, his old and faithful servant: whom he has remembered, under that character, in his Will.

VOL. IV.

* B 5

APPENDIX VI.

VERSIONS OF THE CHARACTER OF ATTICUS.

I. THE CHARACTER AS PRINTED IN CYTHEREIA,

PUBLISHED IN 1723.

IF Dennis writes and rails in furious Pet,
I'll answer Dennis when I am in debt;
If meagre Gildon draws his meaner quill,

I wish the man a dinner and sit still :

But should there one whose better stars conspire
To form a Bard, and raise a genius higher :
Blest with each Talent, and each Art to please,
And born to Live, Converse, and Write with ease;
Should such a One, resolved to reign alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no Brother near the Throne,
View him with Jealous, yet with Scornful Eyes,
Hate him for Arts, that caused Himself to rise;
Damn with faint Praise, assent with Civil Leer,
And without sneering teach the rest to Sneer;
Alike reserved to blame or to command,
A tim'rous Foe, and a suspicious Friend:
Fearing e'en Fools; by Flatterers besieged,
And so obliging that he ne'er obliged ;
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
Just hit the Fault, and hesitate Dislike:
Who when Two Wits on rival Themes contest,
Approves of both, but likes the Worst the Best.
Like CATO, give his little Senate Laws,
And sits attentive to his own Applause,
While Wits and Templars ev'ry Sentence raise,
And wonder with a foolish Face of Praise
Who would not laugh if such a man there be?
Who would not weep, if ADDISON were he.

II. THE MS. AT LONGLEAT WRITTEN SOME TIME BEFORE 1724.

If meagre Gildon draws his venal quill3

I wish the man a dinner, and sit still;

1 This is clearly a misprint for "hint."

2 The Translators of Homer, viz., Himself and Mr. Tickell. (Sic in orig.)

3 The "venal quill" in this line, shows that this version was posterior to that published in Cythereia. The alteration was probably made in consequence of the report that the

If D-s rhymes and raves in furious fret,
I'll answer D-s when I am in debt:
Hunger and Malice makes such authors print,
And who'll wage war with Bedlam or the Mint?
But were there one whom better stars conspire
To bless, whom Titan touched with purer fire,
Who born with Talents, bred in Arts to please,
Was formed to write, converse, and live with ease:
Should such a man too fond to rule alone,

Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the Throne ;
View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes,
And hate for arts that caused himself to rise;
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil Leer,
And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer;
Or pleased to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
Just hint a Fault, and hesitate Dislike;
Alike reserved to blame or to commend
A tim'rous foe and a suspicious friend;
Fearing e'en fools, by flatterers besieged,
And so obliging that he ne'er obliged,

Who when two wits on rival themes contest,
Approves them both, but likes the worst the best:
Like Cato gives his little Senate laws,
And sits attentive to his own applause ;

While Fops and Templars every sentence raise,

And wonder with a foolish face of praise:
What pity, Heaven, if such a man there be,
Who would not weep if A-n were he?

III. CURLL'S MISCELLANY. 1727.

If Dennis writes and rails with furious Pet,
I'll answer Dennis when I am in debt;
If meaner Gildon draws his venal quill,
I wish the wretch a dinner, and sit still :
Tis Hunger, and not Malice makes them print,
And who'd wage war with Bedlam or the Mint?
But were there one whom better Stars conspire
To form a Bard, and raise his Genius higher,
Blest with each Talent, and each art to please,
And born to write, converse, and live with Ease,
Shou'd such a Man, too fond to Reign alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no Brother near the Throne?
View him with scornful yet with jealous Eyes,
And hate for Arts which caused Himself to rise.
Damn with faint Praise, assent with civil Leer,
And without sneering-teach the rest to Sneer:
Wishing to wound-and yet afraid to strike;
Just hint a Fault, ànd hesitate Dislike:

verses had been written after Addison's death, and shows that Pope had thus early formed in his mind the story by which he afterwards sought to rebut the damaging charge against him.

VOL. III.-POETRY.

N N

Alike reserved to blame or to commend,
A tim'rous Foe, and a suspicious Friend :
Fearing e'en Fools, by Flatterers besieged,
And so obliging that he ne'er obliged :
Who when two Wits on rival Themes contest,
Approves of each, yet likes the worst the best ;
Like Cato gives his little Senate Laws,
And sits attentive to his own Applause ;
Whilst Wits and Templars every sentence raise,
And wonder with a foolish Face of Praise;
Who wou'd not laugh if such a Man there be,
Who would not weep if Addison were he ??

IV. FRAGMENT OF A SATIRE.

PUBLISHED IN THE

MISCELLANY OF 1727.

If meagre Gildon draws his venal Quill,
I wish the Man a Dinner, and sit still;
If dreadful D- -s raves in furious Fret,
I'll answer D- -s when I am in debt;
Tis Hunger, and not Malice, makes them print,
And who'll wage War with Bedlam or the Mint ?
Should some more sober Critics come abroad,
If wrong, I smile; if right, I kiss the Rod.
Pains, Reading, Study, are their just Pretence,
And all they want is Spirit, Taste, and Sense.
Commas and Points they set exactly right;
And 'twere a Sin to rob them of their Mite.
In future Ages how their Fame will spread,
For routing Triplets, and restoring ed.
Yet ne'er one Sprig of Laurel graced those Ribalds,
From sanguine Sew-down to piddling T-s,
Who thinks he reads when he but scans and spells,
A Word-catcher, that lives on Syllables.

Yet even this Creature may some Notice claim,
Wrapt round and sanctified with Shakespeare's name;
Pretty, in Amber to observe the forms

Of Hairs, or Straws, or Dirt, or Grubs, or Worms :
The Thing, we know, is neither rich nor rare,

But wonder how the Devil it got there.

Are others angry? I excuse them too,

Well may they rage; I gave them but their Due.
Each man's true Merit 'tis not hard to find;
But each Man's secret Standard in his Mind,
That casting Weight, Pride adds to Emptiness;
This who can gratify? For who can guess?
The Wretch whom pilfered Pastorals renown,
Who turns a Persian Tale for half a crown,

The Translators of Homer, viz., Himself and Mr. Tickell.

2 Curll, it will be seen, must have taken this version from some copy of the Character, differing both from that published in Cythereia and that sent to Lord Harley. Judging from the Fragment in the Miscellany, Curll's version was the earlier.

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