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EPISTLE

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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 quite exhausted by the endless impertinence of Poetafters of all ranks and conditions; as well those who courted his favour, as those 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 difpleased to see their common injuries revenged on this pernicious Tribe; yet, as our Author's Friend and Phyfician, wasfolicitous of his eafe and health; and therefore unwilling he should 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 humouroufly applied to his Physician in the manner one would afk for a Receipt to kill Vermin, he strait goes on, in the common Character of Askers of advice, to tell his Doctor 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 Simile, in which he names Kings, Queens, and Minifters of State, his Friend takes the alarm, begs him to forbear, to stick to his fubject, and to be eafy under so common 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 Simile, at once,

Out with it, Dunciad! let the fecret pass, &c.

But recollecting the humanity and tenderness of his Friend, which, he apprehends, might be a little fhocked at the apparent severity of such a proceeding, he affures him, that his good-nature is alarmed without a caufe, for that nothing has lefs feeling than this fort of Offenders; which he illustrates in the Examples of a damn'd Poet, a detected Slanderer, a Table-Parafite, a Church-Buffoon, and a Party-Writer [from 1 to 100.]

But, in this enumeration, coming again to Names, his Friend once more ftops him, and bids him confider what hoftilities this general attack will 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.

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And how abject and exceffive the flattery of these creatures was, fhews, by obferving, that they praifed him even for his infirmities; his bad health, and his inconvenient shape [ 100 to 125.]

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

Like gentle Fanny's was my flowing theme,

A painted mistress, or a purling ftream.

Yet even then, he tells us, two enraged and hungry Critics fell upon him, without the leaft provocation. But this might have been borne, as the common lot of diftinction. But it was his peculiar il-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 otherwife amiable Perfon, being, by nature, timorous and fufpicious; by education a party-man; and, by the circumftances 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 his friends 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 most in fashion, set up for a Patron, or a Dictator amongst the Wits; but ftill kept in his ufual privacy; leaving the whole Caftalian ftate, as he calls it, to a Mock-Mecenas, whom he next defcribes [ 125 to 261.]

And, ftruck with the fenfe of that dignity and felicity infeparable from the character of a true Poet, he breaks out into a paffionate vow for a continuance of the full Liberty attendant on it. And to fhew how well he deserves it, and how fafely he might be trusted with it, he concludes his wish with a description of his temper and disposition [ 261 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 benevolence, with other people.

Befides, 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 least 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 beft vein of poetry, if made at the expence of Truth or Innocence.

Curft be the verfe, how well fo e'er it flow,
That tends to make one worthy man my foe;
Give Virtue fcandal, Innocence d fear,

Or from the Joft-ey'd virgin fteal a tear.

(Sentiments, which no efforts of genius, without the concurrence of the heart, could have expreffed in ftrains fo exquifitely fublime) that the fole object of his refentment was vice and bafenefs. In the detection of which, he artfully takes occafion to speak of that by which he himself had been injured and offended and concludes with the character of one who had wantonly outraged him, and in the moft fenfible manner [271 to 334.]

And here, moved again with fresh indignation at his flanderers, he takes the advice of Horace, fume fuperbiam quæfitam meritis, and draws a fine picture of his moral and poetic conduct through life. In which he fhews that not fame, but VIRTUE was the comftant object of his ambition: that for this he opposed himself to all the violence of Cabals, and the treacheries of Courts: the various iniquities of which having distinctly specified, he fums them up in that most atrocious and fenfible of all, [ 334 to 359]

The whisper, that to greatness ftill too near,
Perhaps yet vibrates on his Sov'REIGN's ear.
Welcome for thee, fair Virtue! all the past:
For thee, fair Virtue! welcome ev'n the last.

But here again his Friend interrupts the ftrains of his divine enthusiasm, and defires him to clear up an 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 DrawingRoom [ 359 to 368.]

But left this fhould give his Reader the idea of a favage intractable Virtue, which could bear with nothing, and would pardon nothing, he takes to himself the shame of owning that he was of fo eafy a nature, as to be duped by the flenderest appearances, a pretence to Virtue in a witty Woman: fo forgiving, that he had fought out the object of his beneficence in a perfonal Enemy: fo humble, that he had fubmitted to the conversation of bad Poets: and fo forbearing, that he had curbed in his refentment under the moft fhocking of all calumnies, abufes on his Father and Mother [✯ 368 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 defcription 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 smooth the bed of Death;

Explore the thought, explain the asking eye,

And keep a while one Parent from the sky!

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