All this dread ORDER break - for whom? for thee? Vile worm! Oh Madness! Pride! Impiety! IX. What if the foot, ordain'd the dust to tread, All are but parts of one stupendous whole, As full, as perfect, in vile Man that mourns, X. Cease then, nor ORDER Imperfection name: Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear: 260 265 270 275 280 285 All Chance, Direction, which thou canst not see; And, spite of Pride, in erring Reason's spite, One truth is clear, WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT. 290 EPISTLE TO DR ARBUTHNOT Advertisement to the first publication of this Epistle THIS paper is a sort of bill of complaint, begun many years since, and drawn up by snatches, as the several occasions offered. I had no thoughts of publishing it, till it pleased some Persons of Rank and Fortune (the Authors of Verses 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 Person, Morals, and Family, whereof, to those who know me not, a truer information may be requisite. Being divided between the necessity to say something of myself, and my own laziness to undertake so awkward a task, I thought it the shortest way to put the last hand to this Epistle. If it have any thing pleasing, it will be that by which I am most desirous to please, the Truth and the Sentiment; and if any thing offensive, 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, spared their Names, and they may escape being laughed at, if they please. I would have some 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 theirs as they have done of mine. However, I shall have this advantage, and honour, on my side, that whereas, by their proceeding, any abuse may be directed at any man, no injury can possibly be done by mine, since a nameless character can never be found out, but by its truth and likeness. P. P. SHUT, shut the door, good John! fatigu'd, I said, Tie up the knocker, say I 'm sick, I 'm dead. 5 They rave, recite, and madden round the land. They stop the chariot, and they board the barge. Is there a Parson, much bemus'd in beer, A Clerk, foredoom'd his father's soul to cross, Friend to my Life! (which did not you prolong, With honest anguish, and an aching head; And drop at last, but in unwilling ears, Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before Term ends, "I want a Patron; ask him for a Place." Bless me! a packet." "T is a stranger sues, A Virgin Tragedy, an Orphan Muse." If I dislike it, "Furies, death and rage!" There (thank my stars) my whole Commission ends, Fir'd that the house reject him, "'Sdeath I 'll print it, Lintot, dull rogue! will think your price too much:' "And shame the fools- Your Int'rest, Sir, with Lintot!" "Not, Sir, if you revise it, and retouch.” All my demurs but double his Attacks; At last he whispers, "Do; and we go snacks." 40 45 50 55 60 65 Sir, let me see your works and you no more. 'T is sung, when Midas' Ears began to spring, (Midas, a sacred person and a king) 70 His very Minister who spy'd them first, |