EPISTLE to Dr Arbuthnot.

ADVERTISEMENT to the First Publication.

His paper is a fort of bill of complaint, begun

ΤΗ

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 laziness to undertake so aukward a task, I thought it the shortest way to put the laft hand to this Epistle. 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 sorry to offend, the vicious or the ungenerous.

Many will know their own pictures in it, there being not a circumstance 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 know, it was owing to the request of the learned and candid Friend to

whom it is inscribed, that I make

not as free use of However, I shall

theirs as they have done of mine.

have this advantage, and honour, on my fide, that whereas, by their proceeding, any abufe 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.

N. Frankendaal, culps.

Shut shut the Door good John: fatigued Tsaid Tye up the Knocker, say I'm sick I'm dead.

Ep, to Arbuthnot.

EPISTLE

P.

to Dr Arbuthnot

BEING THE

PROLOGUE

TO THЕ

SATIRES.

HUT, fhut the door, good John! fatigu'd, I said,

SHUT

Tye up the knocker, fay I'm fick, I'm dead,

The Dog-ftar rages! nay 'tis paft a doubt,

All Bedlam, or Parnaffus, is let out:

Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,
They rave, recite, and madden round the land.
What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide?
They pierce my thickets, thro' my Grot they glide,
By land, by water, they renew the charge,

5

They ftop the chariot, and they board the barge. To
No place is facred, not the Church is free,
Ev'n Sunday fhiues no Sabbath-day to me:
Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme
Happy! to catch me, juft at Dinner-time.

VER. 1. Shut, fhut the door, good John !] John Searl, his old and faithful fervant, whom he has remembered, under that character, in his Will.