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Lord Jefferies a challenge, which was not accepted; and Mr. Dryden publickly declaring he would watch every opportunity to fight him, his Lordship thought fit to leave the town upon it, and Mr. Dryden never could meet him after.

Gen. Dict.

8. Let Sporus tremble-A. What? that thing of filk,

Sporus, that mere white curd of ass's milk ?
Satire or fenfe, alas! can Sporus feel?
Who breaks a butter-fly upon a wheel ?

P. Yet let me flag this bug with gilded wings,
This painted child of dirt that ftinks and stings;
Whose buz the witty and the fair annoys,
Yet wit ne'er taftes, and beauty ne'er enjoys:
So well bred fpaniels civilly delight,
In mumbling of the game they dare not bite.
Eternal fmiles his emptinefs betray,

As shallow ftreams run dimpling all the way.

I have inferted the most striking part of this character as an inftance of wit and poignant fatire. It is worked up with all imaginable art; and receives an infinite deal of beauty from the epithets, with which he has painted Sporus, thing of filk, mere white curd of ass's milk, a butter-fly, a bug with gilded wings, a painted child of dirt. And the fimile that concludes the paffage is exceffively beautiful.

9: Let the two Curls of town and court, abuse His father, mother, body, foul, and mufe.

Every age and nation have their Curls. Monf. de Voltaire fpeaks with great humour on this fubject. "But the most curious fecret of all, fays he, for an honest bookfeller, is to take care to print, at the end of the book he publishes, all the abuse and ribaldry that has G 2 been

been written against the author. Nothing is better calculated to whet the curiofity of the reader, and to quicken the fale. remember, among the execrable editions that have been printed in Holland of my pretended works, an artful editor of Amfterdam, who was de firous to fink the credit of an impreffion printed at the Hague, thought proper to add, by way of appendix, a collection of all the ribaldry he could fcrape together, that had been written against me. The firft words of this collection called me a fnarling cur. I found this book at Magdeburg, in the hands of the poft-mafter, who never ceafed telling me what an eloquent piece it was. Lately two worthy booksellers of Amfterdam, after having disfigured, as much as in them lay, the Henriade, and my other pieces, did me the honour to acquaint me by letter,

that,

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that, if I perfifted in my intention of permitting a better edition of my works to be published at Drefden, than that which they were then engaged in, they fhould hold themfelves bound in conscience to publish against me a volume of the most atrocious calumnies, on the fineft writing-paper, with a large margin, and the most beautiful letter they could procure. They have been as good as their words with me. It is pity fuch valuable collections'fhould have been bu. ried in oblivion. Formerly, when there were eight or nine hundred thousand volumes fewer in Europe than at prefent, those pieces of fcandal had their effect, People read with extreme relish in Scaga, lier, that Cardinal Bellarmin was an atheift, the reverend father. Clarius a drunkard, and that the reverend father

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Clotton had fold himself to the Devil. These were happy days; but, alas! every thing degenerates."

Voltaire's works, vol. xiii. p. 258.

10. O friend! may each domestic bliss be thine! Be no unpleafing melancholy mine :

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!
On cares like these if length of days attend,

May heaven to blefs thofe days preserve my

friend,

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Preferve him focial, chearful, and ferene,
And just as rich as when he ferv'd a Queen.

A. Whether that bleffing be deny'd or giv❜n,
Thus far was right; the rest belongs to heav'n.

What a noble conclufion is this of the prologue to the Satires? Thefe lines are fo excessively pleafing, pathetic, and

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