Now, Sir, give me leave to open your _Dunciad_, that we may see what Work your Wit has made with my Name there.

When the G.o.ddess of _Dulness_ is shewing her Works to her chosen Son, she closes the Variety with letting him see, _ver._ 235.

_How, with less Reading than makes Felons 'scape Less human Genius than G.o.d gives an Ape, Small Thanks to_ France, _and none to_ Rome, _or_ Greece, _A patch'd, vamp'd, future, old, reviv'd, new Piece, 'Twixt_ Plautus, Fletcher, Congreve _and_ Corneille, _Can make a_ Cibber, Johnson, _or_ Ozell.

And pray, Sir, why my Name, under this scurvy Picture? I flatter myself, that if you had not put it there, no body else would have thought it like me, nor can I easily believe that you yourself do: but perhaps you imagin'd it would be a laughing Ornament to your Verse, and had a mind to divert other Peoples Spleen with it, as well as your own. Now let me hold up my Head a little, and then we shall see how far the Features. .h.i.t me! If indeed I had never produc'd any Plays, but those I alter'd of other Authors, your Reflexion then might have had something nearer an Excuse for it: But yet, if many of those Plays have liv'd the longer for my meddling with them, the Sting of your Satyr only wounds the Air, or at best debases it to impotent Railing. For you know very well that _Richard the Third_, _The Fop's Fortune_, _The Double Gallant_, and some others, that had been dead to the Stage out of all Memory, have since been in a constant course of Acting above these thirty or forty Years.

Nor did even _Dryden_ think it any Diminution of his Fame to take the same liberty with _The Tempest_, and the _Troilus and Cressida_ of _Shakespear_; and tho' his Skill might be superior to mine, yet while my Success has been equal to his, why then will you have me so ill-favouredly like the Dunce you have drawn for me? Or do those alter'd Plays at all take from the Merit of those more successful Pieces, which were entirely my own? Is a Tailor, that can make a new Coat well, the worse Workman, because he can mend an old one? When a Man is abus'd, he has a right to speak even laudable Truths of himself, to confront his Slanderer. Let me therefore add, that my first Comedy of _The Fool in Fashion_ was as much (though not so valuable) an Original, as any one Work Mr. _Pope_ himself has produc'd. It is now forty-seven Years since its first Appearance upon the Stage, where it has kept its Station, to this very Day, without ever lying one Winter dormant. And what Part of this Play, Sir, can you charge with a Theft either from any _French_ Author, from _Plautus_, _Fletcher_, _Congreve_, or _Corneille_? Nine Years after this I brought on _The Careless Husband_, with still greater Success; and was that too

_A patch'd, vamp'd, future, old, reviv'd, new Piece?_

Let the many living Spectators of these Plays then judge between us, whether the above Verses, you have so unmercifully besmear'd me with, were fit to come from the _honest Heart_ of a Satyrist, who would be thought, like you, the upright Censor of Mankind. Indeed, indeed, Sir, this Libel was below you! How could you be so wanting to yourself as not to consider, that Satyr, without Truth, tho' flowing in the finest Numbers, recoils upon its Author, and must, at other times, render him suspected of Prejudice, even where he may be just; as Frauds, in Religion, make more Atheists than Converts? And the bad Heart, Mr.

_Pope_, that points an Injury with Verse, makes it the more unpardonable, as it is not the Result of sudden Pa.s.sion, but of an indulg'd and slowly meditating Ill-nature; and I am afraid yours, in this Article, is so palpable, that I am almost asham'd to have made it so serious a Reply.

What a merry mixt Mortal has Nature made you? that can thus debase that Strength and Excellence of Genius she has endow'd you with, to the lowest human Weakness, that of offering unprovok'd Injuries; nay, at the Hazard of your being ridiculous too, as you must be, when the Venom you spit falls short of your Aim! For I shall never believe your Verses have done me the Harm you intended, or lost me one Friend, or added a single Soul to the number of my Enemies, though so many thousands that know me, may have read them. How then could your blind Impatience in your _Dunciad_ thunder out such poetical _Anathemas_ on your own Enemies, for doing you no worse Injuries than what you think it no Crime in yourself to offer to another?

In your Remarks upon the above Verses, your Wit, unwilling to have done with me, throws out an ironical Sneer at my Attempts in Tragedy: Let us see how far it disgraces me.

After your quoting the following Paragraph from _Jacob's Lives of the Dramatick Poets_, viz.

"Mr. _Colley Cibber_, an Author, and an Actor, of a good share of Wit and uncommon Vivacity, which are much improv'd by the Conversation he enjoys, which is of the best," _&c._

Then say you,

"Mr. _Jacob_ omitted to remark, that he is particularly admirable in Tragedy."

Ay, Sir, and your Remark has omitted too, that (with all his Commendations) I can't dance upon the Rope, or make a Saddle, nor play upon the Organ.--Augh! my dear, dear Mr. _Pope_! how could a Man of your stinging Capacity let so tame, so low a Reflexion escape him? Why this hardly rises above the pretty Malice of Miss _Molly_--_Ay, ay, you may think my Sister as handsome as you please, but if you were to see her Legs--I know what I know_! And so, with all these Imperfections upon me, the Triumph of your Observation amounts to this: That tho' you should allow, by what _Jacob_ says of me, that I am good for something, yet you notwithstanding have cunningly discover'd, that I am not good for _every thing_. Well, Sir, and am not I very well off, if you have nothing worse to say of me? But if I have made so many crowded Theatres laugh, and in the right Place too, for above forty Years together, am I to make up the Number of your Dunces, because I have not the equal Talent of making them cry too? Make it your own Case: Is what you have excell'd in at all the worse, for your having so dismally dabbled (as I before observ'd) in the Farce of _Three Hours after Marriage_? _Non omnia possumus omnes_, is an allow'd Excuse for the Insufficiencies of all Mankind; and if, as you see, you too must sometimes be forc'd to take shelter under it, as well as myself, what mighty Reason will the World have to laugh at my Weakness in Tragedy, more than at yours in Comedy? Or, to make us Both still easier in the matter, if you will say, you are not asham'd of your Weakness, I will promise you not to be asham'd of mine. Or if you don't like this Advice, let me give you some from the wiser _Spanish_ Proverb, which says, _That a Man should never throw Stones, that has gla.s.s Windows in his Head_.

Upon the whole, your languid Ill-will in this Remark, makes so sickly a Figure, that one would think it were quite exhausted; for it must run low indeed, when you are reduc'd to impute the want of an Excellence, as a Shame to me. But in _ver._ 261, your whole Barrel of Spleen seems not to have a Drop more in it, though you have tilted it to the highest: For there you are forc'd to tell a downright Fib, and hang me up in a Light where no body ever saw me: As for Example, speaking of the Absurdity of Theatrical Pantomimes, you say

_When lo! to dark Encounter in mid Air New Wizards rise: Here_ Booth, _and_ Cibber _there:_ Booth, _in his cloudy Tabernacle shrin'd, On grinning Dragons_ Cibber _mounts the Wind._

If you, figuratively, mean by this, that I was an Encourager of those Fooleries, you are mistaken; for it is not true: If you intend it literally, that I was Dunce enough to mount a Machine, there is as little Truth in that too: But if you meant it only as a pleasant Abuse, you have done it with infinite Drollery indeed! Beside, the Name of _Cibber_, you know, always implies Satyr in the Sound, and never fails to keep the Flatness or Modesty of a Verse in countenance.

Some Pages after, indeed, in pretty near the same Light, you seem to have a little negative Kindness for me, _ver._ 287, where you make poor _Settle_, lamenting his own Fate, say,

_But lo! in me, what Authors have to brag on, Reduc'd at last to hiss, in my own Dragon, Avert it, Heav'n, that thou, or_ Cibber _e'er Should wag two Serpent-Tails in_ Smithfield _Fair._

If this does not imply, that you think me fit for little else, it is only another barren Verse with my Name in it: If it does mean so; why----I wish you may never be toss'd in a Blanket, and so the Kindness is even on both Sides. But again you are at me, _ver._ 320, speaking of the King of Dunces Reign, you have these Lines:

_Beneath whose Reign,_ Eusden _shall wear the Bays,_ Cibber _preside Lord-Chancellor of Plays._

This I presume you offer as one of the heavy Enormities of the Stage-Government, when I had a Share in it. But as you have not given an Instance in which this Enormity appear'd, how is it possible (unless I had your Talent of Self-Commendation) to bring any Proofs in my Favour? I must therefore submit it to Publick Judgment how full your Reflexion hits, or is wide of me, and can only say to it in the mean time,--_Valeat quantum valere potest_.

In your Remark upon the same Lines you say,

"_Eusden_ no sooner died, but his Place of Laureat was supply'd by _Cibber_, in the Year 1730, on which was made the following Epigram." (May I not believe by yourself?)

_In merry_ Old England, _it once was a Rule, The King had his Poet, and also his Fool.

But now we're so frugal, I'd have you to know it, That_ Cibber _can serve both for Fool and for Poet._

Ay, marry Sir! here you souse me with a Witness! This is a Triumph indeed! I can hardly help laughing at this myself; for, _Se non e vero, ben Trovato_! A good Jest is a good Thing, let it fall upon who it will: I dare say _Cibber_ would never have complain'd of Mr. _Pope_,

----_Si sic_ ----_Omnia dixisset_------ Juv.

If he had never said any worse of him. But hold, Master _Cibber_! why may not you as well turn this pleasant Epigram into an involuntary Compliment? for a King's Fool was no body's Fool but his Master's, and had not his Name for nothing; as for Example,

_Those Fools of old, if Fame says true, Were chiefly chosen for their Wit; Why then, call'd Fools? because, like you Dear_ Pope, _too Bold in shewing it._

And so, if I am the King's Fool; now, Sir, pray whose Fool are you? 'Tis pity, methinks, you should be out of Employment: for, if a satyrical Intrepidity, or, as you somewhere call it, a _High Courage of Wit_, is the fairest Pretence to be the _King's Fool_, I don't know a Wit in the World so fit to fill up the Post as yourself.

Thus, Sir, I have endeavour'd to shake off all the Dirt in your _Dunciad_, unless of here and there some little Spots of your Ill-will, that were not worth tiring the Reader's Patience with my Notice of them.

But I have some more foul way to trot through still, in your Epistles and Satyrs, _&c._ Now whether I shall come home the filthy Fellow, or the clean contrary Man to what you make me, I will venture to leave to your own _Conscience_, though I dare not make the same Trust to your _Wit_: For that you have often _spoke_ worse (merely to shew your Wit) than you could possibly _think_ of me, almost all your Readers, that observe your Good-nature _will easily_ believe.

However, to shew I am not blind to your Merit, I own your Epistle to Dr.

_Arbuthnot_ (though I there find myself contemptibly spoken of) gives me more Delight in the whole, than any one Poem of the kind I ever read.

The only Prejudice or wrong Bias of Judgment, I am afraid I may be guilty of is, when I cannot help thinking, that your Wit is more remarkably bare and barren, whenever it would fall foul upon _Cibber_, than upon any other Person or Occasion whatsoever: I therefore could wish the Reader may have sometimes considered those Pa.s.sages, that if I do you Injustice, he may as justly condemn me for it.

In this Epistle ver. 59. of your Folio Edition, you seem to bless yourself, that you are not my Friend! no wonder then, you rail at me!

but let us see upon what Occasion you own this Felicity. Speaking of an impertinent Author, who teized you to recommend his _Virgin Tragedy_ to the Stage, you at last happily got rid of him with this Excuse----

_There (thank my Stars) my whole Commission ends,_ Cibber _and I, are luckily no Friends._

If you chose not to be mine, Sir, it does not follow, that it was equally my Choice not to be yours: But perhaps you thought me your Enemy, because you were conscious you had injur'd me, and therefore were resolv'd never to forgive _Me_, because I had it in my Power to forgive _You_: For, as _Dryden_ says,

_Forgiveness, to the Injur'd does belong; But they ne'er pardon who have done the Wrong._

This, Sir, is the only natural Excuse, I can form, for your being my Enemy. As to your blunt a.s.sertion of my certain Prejudice to any thing, that had your Recommendation to the Stage, which your above Lines would insinuate; I gave you a late Instance in _The Miller of Mansfield_, that your manner of treating Me had in no sort any Influence upon my Judgment. For you may remember, sometime before that Piece was acted, I accidentally met you, in a Visit to the late General _Dormer_, who, though he might be your good Friend, was not for that Reason the less a Friend to Me: There you join'd with that Gentleman, in asking my Advice and a.s.sistance in that Author's behalf; which as I had read the Piece, though I had then never seen the Man, I gave, in such manner, as I thought might best serve him: And if I don't over-rate my Recommendation, I believe its way to the Stage was made the more easy by it. This Fact, then, does in no kind make good your Insinuation, that my Enmity to you would not suffer me to like any thing that you liked; which though you call your good Fortune in Verse, yet in Prose, you see, it happens not to be true. But I am glad to find, in your smaller Edition, that your Conscience has since given this Line some Correction; for there you have taken off a little of its Edge; it there runs only thus----

The Play'rs _and I, are luckily no Friends._

This is so uncommon an Instance, of your checking your Temper and taking a little Shame to yourself, that I could not in Justice omit my Notice of it. I am of opinion too, that the Indecency of the next Verse, you spill upon me, would admit of an equal Correction. In excusing the Freedom of your Satyr, you urge that it galls no body, because n.o.body minds it enough to be mended by it. This is your Plea----

_Whom have I hurt! has Poet yet, or Peer, Lost the arched Eye-brow, or_ Parna.s.sian _Sneer?

And has not_ Colley _too his Lord, and Wh.o.r.e?_ &c.

If I thought the Christian Name of _Colley_ could belong to any other Man than myself, I would insist upon my Right of not supposing you meant this last Line to Me; because it is equally applicable to five thousand other People: But as your Good-will to me is a little too well known, to pa.s.s it as imaginable that you could intend it for any one else, I am afraid I must abide it.

Well then! _Colley has his Lord and Wh.o.r.e!_ Now suppose, Sir, upon the same Occasion, that _Colley_ as happily inspired as Mr. _Pope_, had turned the same Verse upon _Him_, and with only the Name changed had made it run thus--

_And has not_ Sawney _too his Lord and Wh.o.r.e?_

Would not the Satyr have been equally just? Or would any sober Reader have seen more in the Line, than a wide mouthful of Ill-Manners? Or would my professing myself a Satyrist give me a t.i.tle to wipe my foul Pen upon the Face of every Man I did not like? Or would my Impudence be less Impudence in Verse than in Prose? or in private Company? What ought I to expect less, than that you would knock me down for it? unless the happy Weakness of my Person might be my Protection? Why then may I not insist that _Colley_ or _Sawney_ in the Verse would make no Difference in the Satyr! Now let us examine how far there would be Truth in it on either Side.

As to the first Part of the Charge, the _Lord_; Why--we have both had him, and sometimes the _same_ Lord; but as there is neither Vice nor Folly in keeping our Betters Company; the Wit or Satyr of the Verse! can only point at my Lord for keeping such _ordinary_ Company. Well, but if so! then _why_ so, good Mr. _Pope_? If either of us could be _good_ Company, our being professed Poets, I hope would be no Objection to my Lord's sometimes making one with us? and though I don't pretend to write like you, yet all the Requisites to make a good Companion are not confined to Poetry! No, Sir, even a Man's inoffensive Follies and Blunders may sometimes have their Merits at the best Table; and in those, I am sure, you won't pretend to vie with me: Why then may not my Lord be as much in the Right, in his sometimes choosing _Colley_ to laugh at, as at other times in his picking up _Sawney_, whom he can only admire?

Thus far, then, I hope we are upon a par; for the Lord, you see, will fit either of us.

As to the latter Charge, the _Wh.o.r.e_, there indeed, I doubt you will have the better of me; for I must own, that I believe I know more of _your_ whoring than you do of _mine_; because I don't recollect that ever I made you the least Confidence of _my_ Amours, though I have been very near an Eye-Witness of _Yours_----By the way, gentle Reader, don't you think, to say only, _a Man has his Wh.o.r.e_, without some particular Circ.u.mstances to aggravate the Vice, is the flattest Piece of Satyr that ever fell from the formidable Pen of Mr. _Pope_? because (_defendit numerus_) take the first ten thousand Men you meet, and I believe, you would be no Loser, if you betted ten to one that every single Sinner of them, one with another, had been guilty of the same Frailty. But as Mr.