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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.
One dedicates in high heroic profe,

105

And ridicules beyond a hundred foes :

110

One from all Grubftreet will my fame defend,

And more abufive, calls himself my friend.

This prints my Letters, that expects a bribe,
And others roar aloud, "Subfcribe, fubfcribe."
There are, who to my perfon pay their court: 115
I cough like Horace, and, tho' lean, am short,
Ammon's great fon one shoulder had too high,
Such Ovid's nofe, and "Sir! you have an Eye-
Go on, obliging creatures, make me fee
All that difgrac'd my Betters, met in me.
Say for my comfort, languishing in bed,

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For fong, for filence fome expect a bribe;
And others roar aloud, "Subscribe, fubfcribe."
Time, praise, or money, is the least they crave;
Yet each declares the other fool or knave.

120

And when I die, be fure you let me know
Great Homer dy'd three thousand years ago.

Why did I write? what fin to me unknown 125 Dipt me in ink, my parents', or my own?

As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame,

I lifp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.
I left no calling for this idle trade,

No duty broke, no father disobey'd.

130

The Mufe but ferv'd to ease some friend, not Wife,
To help me thro' this long disease, my Life,
To fecond, ARBUTHNOT! thy Art and Care,
And teach, the Being you preferv'd, to bear.

But why then publish? Granville the polite,
And knowing Walsh, would tell me I could write;
Well-natur'd Garth inflam'd with early praise,
And Congreve lov❜d, and Swift endur'd my lays ;

135

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But, Friend, this shape, which You and Curl a admire,
Came not from Ammon's fon, but from my Sire b:
And for my head, if you'll the truth excuse,
I had it from my Mother, not the Muse.
Happy, if he, in whom these frailties join'd,
Had heir'd as well the virtues of the mind.

Curl fet up his head for a fign. His Father was crooked.
His mother was much afflicted with head-achs.

140

The courtly Talbot, Somers, Sheffield read,
Ev'n mitred Rochester would nod the head,
And St. John's felf (great Dryden's friends before)
With open arms receiv'd one Poet more.
Happy my ftudies, when by these approv❜d!
Happier their author, when by these belov'd!
From these the world will judge of men and books,
Not from the Burnets, Oldmixons, and Cooks.

NOTES.

146

VER. 139. Talbot, &c.] All these were Patrons or Admirers of Mr. Dryden; though a fcandalous libel against him, entitled, Dryden's Satyr to his Mufe, has been printed in the name of the Lard Somers, of which he was wholly ignorant.

These are the perfons to whofe account the Author charges the publication of his firft pieces: perfons, with whom he was converfant (and he adds beloved) at 16 or 17 years of age; an early period for fuch acquaintance. The catalogue might be made yet more illuftrious, had he not confined it to that time when he writ the Paftorals and Windfor Foreft, on which he paffes a fort of Cenfure in the lines following,

While pure Defcription held the place of Senfe? &c. P. VER. 146. Burnets, &c.] Authors of fecret and scandalous History.

Ibid. Burnets, Oldmixons, and Cooks.] By no means Authors of the fame clafs, though the violence of party might hurry them into the fame mistakes. But if the first offended this way, it was only through an honeft warmth of temper, that allowed too little to an excellent understanding. The other two, with very bad heads, had hearts ftill worse.

150

Soft were my numbers; who could take offence While pure Description held the place of Senfe? Like gentle Fanny's was my flow'ry theme, A painted mistrefs, or a purling ftream. Yet then did Gildon draw his venal quill; I wish'd the man a dinner, and fate ftill. Yet then did Dennis rave in furious fret; I never anfwer'd, I was not in debt.

If want provok'd, or madness made them print, 155
I wag'd no war with Bedlam or the Mint.

Did fome more sober Critic come abroad;
If wrong, I fmil'd; if right, I kifs'd the rod.
Pains, reading, ftudy, are their just pretence,
And all they want is spirit, tafte, and sense.
Comma's and points they fet exactly right,
And 'twere a fin to rob them of their mite.
Yet ne'er one sprig of laurel grac'd these ribalds,
From flashing Bentley down to pidling Tibalds:

NOTES.

160

VER. 150. A painted meadow, or a purling stream, is a

verfe of Mr. Addison.

P.

VER. 164. flashing Bentley] This great man, with all his faults, deferved to be put into better company. The following words of Cicero defcribe him not amifs. "Ha"buit à natura genus quoddam acuminis, quod etiam arte "limaverat, quod erat in reprehendendis verbis verfutum "et follers: fed fæpe ftomachofum, nonnunquam frigidum, interdum etiam facetum."

166

Each wight, who reads not, and but fcans and spells,
Each Word-catcher, that lives on fyllables,
Ev'n fuch fmall Critics fome regard may claim,
Preferv'd in Milton's or in Shakespear's name.
Pretty in amber to observe the forms

Of hairs, or ftraws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms!
The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare,
But wonder how the devil they got there.
Were others angry: I excus'd them too;
Well might they rage, I gave them but their due.
As man's true merit 'tis not hard to find;
But each man's fecret ftandard in his mind,

NOTES.

169

175

VER. 169. Pretty! in amber to obferve the forms, &c.] Our Poet had the full pleasure of this amufement foon after the publication of his Shakespear. Nor has his Friend been lefs entertained fince the appearance of his edition of the fame poet. The liquid Amber of whofe Wit has lately licked up, and enrolled fuch a quantity of these Infects, and of tribes fo grotesque and various, as would have puzzled Reaumur to give names to. Two or three of them it may not be amifs to preferve and keep alive. Such as the Rev. Mr. J. Upton, Thomas Edwards, Efq; and, to make up the Triumvirate, their learned Coadjutor, that very refpectable perfonage, Mr. THEOPHILUS CIBBER. As to the poetic imagery of this paffage, it has been much and justly admired; for the most deteftable things in nature, as a toad, or a beetle, become pleafing when well reprefented in a work of Art. But it is no less eminent for the beauty of the thought. For though a fcribler exifts by being thus incorporated, yet he exifts intombed, a lasting monument of the wrath of the Muses.

VER. 173. Were others angry:] The Poets.

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