Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, BEING THE PROLOGUE ΤΟ ΤΗΕ SATIRE S.. SHUT, fhut the door, good John! fatige'd I said, The Dog-ftar rages! nay 'tis past a doubt, Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, They stop the chariot, and they board the barge. 10 Is there a Parfon, much beṁus'd in beer,. 15 A maudlin Poetefs, a rhyming Peer, VER. 1. Shut, but the door, good John!] John Searl, his old and faithful fervant; whom he has remembered, under that character, in his Will. VER. 13. Mint] A place to which infolvent debtors retired, to enjoy an illegal protection, which they were there fuffered to afford one another, from the perfecution of their creditors. A Clerk, foredoom'd his father's foul to cross, 25 Is there, who, lock'd from ink and paper, fcrawls grace, With honeft anguish, and an aching head; 30 35 This faving counsel, "Keep your piece nine years." 40 Nine years! cries he, who high in Drury-lane, Lull'd by foft Zephyrs thro' the broken pane, Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before Term ends, Oblig'd by hunger, and request of friends: VARIATION S. After ver. 20. in the MS. Is there a Bard in durance? turn them free, With all their brandifh'd reams they run to me: Is there a 'Prentice, having feen two plays, Who would do fomething in his Sempftrefs' praife VER. 29. in the 1ft Ed. Dear Doctor, tell me, is not this a curfe? 50 "The piece, you think, is incorrect? why take it, 45 "I'm all fubmiffion, what you'd have it, make it." Three things another's modest wishes bound, My Friendship, and a Prologue, and ten pound. Pitholeon fends to me: "You know his Grace, "I want a Patron; afk him for a Place." Pitholeon libell'd me-" but here's a letter "Informs you, Sir, t'was when he knew no better. "Dare you refufe him? Curl invites to dine, "He'll write a Journal, or he'll turn Divine." Blefs me! a packet." "Tis a ftranger fues, "A Virgin Tragedy, an Orphan Mufe." If I diflike it, "Furies, death and rage!" "Commend it to the Stage If I approve, There (thank my stars) my whole commiffion ends, The players and I are, luckily, no friends. Fir'd that the house reject him, 55 60 "'Sdeath I'll print it, "And fhame the fools-Your int'reft, Sir, with Lintot." Lintot, dull rogue! will think your price too much : "Not, Sir, if you revise it, and retouch.” All my demurs but double his attacks; 65 At last he whispers, "Do; and we go fnacks." Sir, let me fee your works and you no more. 70 VER. 49. Pitholeon] The name taken from a foolish Poet of Rhodes, who pretended much to Greek. Schol. in Horat. l. 1. Dr. Bentley pretends, that this Pitholeon libelled Cæfar alfo. See notes on Hor. Sat. 10. 1. i. VARIATION S. VER. 53. in the MS. If you refufe, he goes, as fates incline, VER. 60. in the former Ed. Cibber and I are luckily no friends. His very Minifter who spy'd them first, (Some fay his Queen) was forc'd to speak, or burft. And is not mine, my friend, a forer case, When ev'ry coxcomb perks them in my face? 76 A. Good friend, forbear! you deal in dang❜rous things, You think this cruel? take it for a rule, No creature fmarts fo little as a fool. 80 Let peals of laughter, Codrus! round thee break, 85 The creature's at his dirty work again, VER. 72. Queen] The ftory is told, by fome, of his Barber, but by Chaucer of his Queen. See Wife of Bath's Tale in Dryden's Fables. VER. 80. That fecret to each fool, that he's an Afs:] i. e. that his ears (his marks of folly) are visible. VER. 88. Alluding to Horace: Si fractus illabatur orbis, Spider, is much more poetical But Poets fhould be cautious VER. 92. The creature's at his dirty work again,] This metamorphofing, as it were, the Scribler into a than a comparison would have been. how they employ this figure; for where the likeness is not very ftriking, instead of giving force, they become obfcure. thing concurs to make them run into one another. They both fpin; not from the bead [reafon] but from the guts [paffions and prejudices], and fuch a thread than can entangle none but creatures weaker than themselves. Here every Thron'd on the center of his thin designs, Still to one Bishop Philips feem a wit? 95 100 Still Sappho-A. Hold; for God fake-you'll offend, No names be calm-learn prudence of a friend : I too could write, and I am twice as tall; But foes like thefe-P. One Flatt'rer's worse than all. Of all mad creatures, if the learn'd are right, It is the flaver kills, and not the bite. A fool quite angry is quite innocent: Alas! 'tis ten times worse when they repent. 105 110 115 VER. 98. free-mafons Moor?] He was of this fociety, and fre quently headed their proceffions. VARIATION S. VER. 111. in the MS. For fong, for filence fome expect a bribe: |