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'Till Ifis' Elders reel, their Pupils Sport,

And Alma Mater lie diffolv'd in Port!
Enough, enough, the raptur'd Monarch cries,
And thro' the Ivory Gate the Vision flies.

Thus it was imagined this Satire had had the finishing Stroke put to it, and those who were hurt began to cry out; the fricken Deer began to weep, and Dennis looking a few Years back, begins a heavy Complaint, and fays,

"About that Time I received a Letter from him, “which I have ftill by me, in which he acknow"ledged his Offences paft, and express'd an hypocri❝tical Sorrow for them.

"But no fooner did he believe that Time had caufed thefe Things to be forgot, than he relaps'd "into ten Times the Folly and the Madness that "ever he had fhewn before. He not only attack'd ❝ feveral Perfons of far greater Merit than himself, "but like a mad Indian that runs a muck, ftruck at "every Thing that came in his Way, without Di"ftinétion of Friend or Foe, Acquaintance or "Stranger, Merit or Unworthinefs, Wisdom or "Folly, Vice or Virtue; like a blind Beetle, that "in its blundering Flight bruises itself against every Object it meets, and does not fail to knock itself "down by the impotent Blows which it gives to "others.

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"He has not only ftruck at very different Perfons, "without any manner of Diftinction, but has thrown "his rhetorical Flowers, of Fool, Blockhead, Scoun"drel, promifcuously at them all; as if he wifely "thought, that he was the only foul mouth'd Fel"low in England, or had fo much of the Fool, "Blockhead, Dunce, Scoundrel within him, that "they have the fame Effect on his Mind that Jaun

"dice would upon his Eyes, and make every Thing "without him to be in Appearance, what in Reali66 ty is within him.

"Nothing is more easy than to give foul Lan"guage, which a Fool is more capable of giving to "a wife Man, than a wife Man to a Fool; because "nothing incapacitates a Man so much for it as good "Senfe, good Nature, good Breeding, and common "Difcretion; and nothing qualifies a Man more for "it, than his being a Clown, a Fool, a Barbarian, "and a Brute. The calling a Man a Fool, Dunce, "Blockhead, Scoundrel, if it does not find him fo, "it does by no means make him fo. But if it does "not find him so, it gives him who calls him so, an "unquestionable Title to those Terms himself. As "this is the Language of the Rabble of Mankind, "the more any one brings himself to use it, the "more he fets himself upon an infamous Level with "the Scum and Off-fcouring of Things."

A great deal of this is true, and if what he says farther be fo, we do not pretend to justify our Author, any farther than to fay, their Bickerings and Contentions were come to fuch an Height, they did not care what they did to vex one another: What Mr. Dennis alledges against our Author is :

"In the Height of his Profeffions of Friendship " for Mr. Addison, he could not bear the Success of "Cato, but prevails upon Barnard Lintot to engage "me to write and publish Remarks upon that Tra"gedy; which after I had done, Pope, the better to " conceal himself from Mr. Addifon and his Friends, "writes and publishes a fcandalous Pamphlet, equally ❝ foolish and villainous, in which he pretends that I "was in the Hands of a Quack who cures Mad-men. "So weak is the Capacity of this little Gentleman, "that he did not know that he had done an odious

"Thing; an Action detefted even by those whom "he fondly defign'd to oblige by it: For Mr. AddiJon was fo far from approving of it, that he enga"ged Sir Richard Steele to write to me, and to af

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fure me that he knew nothing of that Pamphlet " 'till he faw it in Print, that he was very forry to "fee it, and that whenever he fhould think fit to "answer my Remarks on his Tragedy, he would do "it in a Manner to which I should have no juft Ex"ception. Thus Mr. Addison acted like a Man of "Honour."

Here we hope the Reader will take Notice, he does not fay that Mr. Pope practis'd with him himself to publish Remarks against Mr. Addison's Cato, but that he prevail'd with Lintot to do it; which might be only a Surmife of his, or a Falfehood of the Bookfeller's.

A certain Nobleman, known by the Letters H-y in the Dunciad, and in another Poem of our Author's by that of my Lord Fanny, took it into his Head to write an Epiftle to a Doctor of Divinity, in which he endeavours to prove all Manner of Weaknesses and Abfurdities on Mr. Pope: It concludes with the following Lines:

Since fuch you'll find most Men of our Degree, Excuse the Ignorance appears in me.

Nor marvel whilft that Ign'rance I rehearse,
That still I know enough to do't in Verse;

Guiltless of Thought, each Blockhead may compose
This nothing-meaning Verse, as faft as Profe.
And Pope with Juftice of fuch Lines may say,
His Lordship fpins a Thoufand in a Day.

Such Pope himself might write, who ne'er could think;
He who at Crambo plays with Pen and Ink;

And

And is call'd Poet, 'cause in Rhyme he wrote,
What Dacier conftrued, and what Homer thought;
But in Reality this Jingler's Claim,

Or to an Author's, or a Poet's Name,
A Judge of Writing would no more admit,
Than each dull Dictionary's Claim to Wit;
That nothing gives you at its own Expence,
But a few modern Words for antient Senfe.
'Tis thus, whene'er Pope writes he's forc'd to go
And beg a little Senfe, as School-Boys do:
"For all cannot invent, who can tranflate;
"No more than those who cloath us can create.'
When we see Celia fhining in Brocade,

Who thinks 'tis Hinchclif all that Beauty made?
And Pope in his beft Works we only find
The gaudy Hinchclif of fome beauteous Mind.
To bid his Genius work without that Aid,
Would be as much mistaking of his Trade,
As 'twould to bid your Hatter make a Head:
Since this Mechanick's, like the other's Pains,
Are all for dreffing other People's Brains.
But had he not, to his eternal Shame,
By trying to deferve a Sat'rift's Name,
Prov'd he can ne'er invent, but to defame;
Had not his Tafte and Riches lately fhown,
When he would talk of Genius to the Town,
How ill he chufes, if he trufts his own;
Had he in modern Language only wrote

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Thofe Rules which Horace and which Vida taught;
On Garth or Boileau's Model built his Fame,
Or fold Broome's Labours printed with Pope's Name
Had he ne'er aim'd at any Work befide,
In Glory then he might have liv'd and dy'd
And ever been, tho' not with Genius fir'd,
By School-Boys quoted, and by Girls admir'd.

So

So much for Pope.

And were I not afraid, Tho' I write more, that you no more would read, I now would try to jumble into Rhyme

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Th' Account you afk, of how we pass our Time;
But by the Manner of your fpending yours,
Guefs, and you'll not be very wide of ours..
For Courts are only larger Families,

The Growth of each, few Truths, and many Lies ;
Like you we lounge, and feaft, and play, and chatter;
In private fatirize, in publick flatter.

Few to each other, all to one Point true,
Which one I shan't nor need explain,

Adieu.

This Letter was answered in a Poem called Tit for Tat, where the Satire ran ftrong upon the Effeminacy of his Person, and his dangling after the Court:

Ne'er made for Ufe, juft fit for Show;

Half Wit, half Fool, half Man, half Beau.

We don't find the Gentlemen who vented their Anger were any Thing cooler afterwards than before," fome feem'd more enraged than ever; and it was reported that Perfons were hired to meet Mr. Pope in the Dusk of the Evening, to infult, seize and lafh him naked with Rods, which (in the Opinion of the Town) was done in Ham-Walks, and in a few Days ftarts from the Prefs:

A true and faithful Account of à late horrid and barbarous Whipping committed on the Body of SAUNEY POPE, a Poet; as he was innocently walking in Ham-Walks, near the River of Thames, meditating Verfes for the Good of the Publick. Supposed to be done by two evil difpofed Perfons, out of Spite and Revenge, for a harmless Lampoon which the faid Poet had writ upon them.

THERE

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