"Who broke no promife, ferv'd no private end, 70 EPISTLE TO DR. ARBUTHNOT: BEING THE PROLOGUE TO THE SAT. I RE S. ADVERTISEMENT то The first publication of this Epiftle. TH HIS paper is a fort of bill of complaint, begun, many years fince, and drawn up by fnatches, as the feveral occafions offered. I had no thoughts of publishing it, till it pleafed fome perfons of Rank and. Fortune [the Authors of Verfes to the Imitator of Horace, and of an Epistle to a Doctor of Divinity from a Nobleman at Hampton-Court] to attack, in a very extraordinary manner, not only my Writings (of which, being public, the Public is judge) but my Perfon, Morals, and Family, whereof, to those who know me not, a truer information may be requifite. Being divided between the neceffity to fay fomething of myself, and my own lazinefs to undertake fo aukward a tafk, I thought it the shortest way to put the laft hand to this Epiftle. If it have any thing pleafing, it will be that by which I am most defirous to please, the Truth and the Sentiment; and if any thing offenfive, it will be only to those I am least forry to offend, the vicious or the ungenerous. Many will know their own pictures in it, there being not a circumftance but what is true: but I have, for the most part, fpared their Names; and they may efcape being laughed at, if they please. I would have fome of them to know, it was owing to the request of the learned and candid Friend to whom it is infcribed, that I make not as free Ufe of theirs as they have done of mine. However, I thall have this advantage, and honour, on my fide, that whereas, by their proceeding, any abuse may be directed at any man, no injury can poffibly be done by mine, fince a nameless Character can never be found out, but by its truth and likeness. P. HUT, fhut the door, good John! fatigu'd I said, The Dog-ftar rages! nay, 'tis past a doubt, Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, What walls can guard me, or what fhades can hide? They pierce my thickets, through my Grot they glide. By land, by water, they renew the charge; They ftop the chariot, and they board the barge. 10 No place is facred, not the Church is free, Ev'n Sunday fhines no Sabbath day to me; Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme, Happy! to catch me, juft at Dinner-time. Is there a Parfon, much bemus'd in beer, A maudlin Poetefs, a rhyming Peer, 15 A Clerk, foredoom'd his father's foul to crofs, Arthur, whofe giddy fon neglects the Laws, Friend to my Life! (which did you not prolong, 25 30 VARIATIONS. After ver. 20, in the MS. Is there a Bard in durance? turn them free, Ver. 29, in the 1st Ed. Dear Doctor, tell me, is not this a curfe? Say, is their anger, or their friendship worse? Seiz'd and ty'd down to judge, how wretched I! With honeft anguish, and an aching head; 35 This faving counsel, "Keep your piece nine years." 40 “The piece, you think, is incorrect? why take it; 45 "Informs you, Sir, 'twas when he knew no better. "Commend it to the Stage." VARIATION. Ver. 53, in the MS. 50 55 If you refufe, he goes, as fates incline, To plague Sir Robert, or to turn Divine. L 4 There |