EPISTLE to Dr. ARBUTHNOT, BEING THE PROLOGUE *... P. TO THE SATIRE S. HUT, fhut the door, good John! fatigu'd SH Tye up the knocker, fay I'm fick, I'm dead, Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide? They stop the chariot, and they board the barge. to 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. Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme, Happy! to catch me, juft at Dinner-time. Is there a Parfon, much be-mus'd in beer, A maudlin Poetèfs, a rhyming Peer, 15 A Clerk, foredoom'd his father's foul to cross, Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain. Friend to my Life! (which did not you prolong, The world had wanted many an idle fong) 25 After ver. 20. in the MS. Is there a Bard in durance? turn them free, VER. 29. in the 1ft Ed. Dear Doctor, tell me, is not this a curfe? Say, is their anger, or their friendship worse? VER. 13. Mint.] A place to which infolvent debtors retired, to enjoy an illegal protection, which they were there fuffered to ford, one another, from the perfecution of their creditors. What Drop or Noftrum can this plague remove? 30 If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead. I fit with fad civility, I read With honest anguish, and an aching head; 39 This faving counfel, "Keep your piece nine years." 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: "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 modeft wishes bound, My Friendship, and a Prologue, and ten pound. Pitholeon fends to me: 66 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, 'twas when he knew no better. 50 VER. 49. Pitholeon] The name taken from a foolish Poet of Rhodes, who pretended much to Greek. Schol. in Horat. I. r. Dr. Bentley pretends, that this Pitholeon libelled Cæfar alfo, See notes on Hor. Sat. 10. 1, i, "Dare you refufe him? Curl invites to dine, "He'll write a Journal, or he'll turn Divine." Blefs me! a packet." "Tis a stranger fues, 55 "A Virgin Tragedy, an Orphan Mufe." If I dislike it, "Furies, death and rage!" If I approve," Commend it to the Stage." There (thank my ftars) my whole commiffion ends, The Play'rs and I are, luckily, no friends. 60 Fir'd that the house reject him, " 'Sdeath I'll print it, "And fhame the fools-Your int'reft, Sir, with Lintot." Lintot, dull rogue! will think your price too much: At laft he whispers, "Do; and we go fnacks." His very Minister who spy'd them first, 65 70 (Some fay his Queen) was forc'd to speak, or burft. VER. 53. in the MS. VARIATIONS. If you refufe, he goes, as fates incliné, To plague Sir Robert, or to turn Divine. VER. 60. in the former Ed. Cibber and I are luckily no friends. VIR. 72. Queen] The story is told, by fome, of his Barber, but by Chaucer of his Queen. See Wife of Bath's Tale in Dryden's Fables. 76 And is not mine, my friend, a forer cafe, You think this cruel? take it for a rule, 80 Let peals of laughter, Codrus! round thee break, 85 The creature's at his dirty work again, 90 VER. 80. That fecret to each fool, that he's an Afs:] i, e. that his ears (his marks of folly) are visiblę. VER. 88. Alluding to Horace, Si fractus illabatur orbis, Impavidum ferient ruinæ. P. VER. 92. The creature's at his dirty work again,] This metamorphofing, as it were, the Scribler into a Spider is much more poetical than a comparison would have been. But Poets should be cautious how they employ this figure; for where the likeness is not very striking, instead of giving force, they become obfcure. Here, every thing concurs to make them run into one another, |