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 thehonest Heartof 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 Passion, 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 yourDunciadthunder out such poeticalAnathemason your own Enemies, for doing you no worse Injuries than whatyou 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 fromJacob’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.Jacobomitted 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 MissMolly—Ay, ay, you may thinkmy 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 whatJacobsays of me, that I am good for something, yet you notwithstanding have cunningly discover’d, that I am not good forevery 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 ofThree 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 younot to be asham’d of mine. Or if you don’t like this Advice, let me give you some from the wiserSpanishProverb, which says,That a Man should never throw Stones, that has glass 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 inver.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 AirNew Wizards rise: HereBooth,andCibberthere:Booth,in his cloudy Tabernacle shrin’d,On grinning DragonsCibbermounts 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 thattoo: But if you meant it only as a pleasant Abuse, you have done it with infinite Drollery indeed! Beside, the Name ofCibber, 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 poorSettle, 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, orCibbere’erShould wag two Serpent-Tails inSmithfieldFair.
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,Eusdenshall wear the Bays,Cibberpreside 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,
“Eusdenno sooner died, but his Place of Laureat was supply’d byCibber, in the Year 1730, on which was made the following Epigram.” (May I not believe by yourself?)In merryOld 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,ThatCibbercan serve both for Fool and for Poet.
“Eusdenno sooner died, but his Place of Laureat was supply’d byCibber, in the Year 1730, on which was made the following Epigram.” (May I not believe by yourself?)
In merryOld 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,ThatCibbercan 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 sayCibberwould never have complain’d of Mr.Pope,
——Si sic——Omnia dixisset———Juv.
If he had never said any worse of him. But hold, MasterCibber! 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 youDearPope,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, aHigh Courage of Wit, is the fairest Pretence to be theKing’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 yourDunciad, 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, inyour 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 ownConscience, though I dare not make the same Trust to yourWit: For that you have oftenspokeworse (merely to shew your Wit) than you could possiblythinkof me, almost all your Readers, that observe your Good-naturewill easilybelieve.
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 uponCibber, than upon any other Person or Occasion whatsoever: I therefore could wish the Reader may have sometimes considered those Passages, 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 railat me! but let us see upon what Occasion you own this Felicity. Speaking of an impertinent Author, who teized you to recommend hisVirgin Tragedyto the Stage, you at last happily got rid of him with this Excuse——
There (thank my Stars) my whole Commission ends,Cibberand 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 forgiveMe, because I had it in my Power to forgiveYou: For, asDrydensays,
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 Assertion 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 inThe Miller of Mansfield, that your manner of treating Me had in no sort any Influence uponmy Judgment. For you may remember, sometime before that Piece was acted, I accidentally met you, in a Visit to the late GeneralDormer, 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 Assistance 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’rsand 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 Justiceomit 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 nobody 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, orParnassianSneer?And has notColleytoo his Lord, and Whore?&c.
If I thought the Christian Name ofColleycould 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 pass 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 Whore!Now suppose, Sir, upon the same Occasion, thatColleyas happily inspired as Mr.Pope, had turned the same Verse uponHim, and with only the Name changed had made it run thus—
And has notSawneytoo his Lord and Whore?
Would not the Satyr have been equally just? Or would any sober Reader have seen more inthe Line, than a wide mouthful of Ill-Manners? Or would my professing myself a Satyrist give me a Title 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 thatColleyorSawneyin 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, theLord; Why—we have both had him, and sometimes thesameLord; 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 suchordinaryCompany. Well, but if so! thenwhyso, good Mr.Pope? If either of us could begoodCompany, 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 sometimeshave 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 choosingColleyto laugh at, as at other times in his picking upSawney, 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, theWhore, there indeed, I doubt you will have the better of me; for I must own, that I believe I know more ofyourwhoring than you do ofmine; because I don’t recollect that ever I made you the least Confidence ofmyAmours, though I have been very near an Eye-Witness ofYours——By the way, gentle Reader, don’t you think, to say only,a Man has his Whore, without some particular Circumstances 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.Popehas so particularly picked me out of the Number tomake an Example of: Why may I not take the same Liberty, and even single him out for another to keep me in Countenance? He must excuse me, then, if in what I am going to relate, I am reduced to make bold with a little private Conversation: But as he has shewn no Mercy toColley, why should so unprovok’d an Aggressor expect any for himself? And if Truth hurts him, I can’t help it. He may remember, then (or if he won’t I will) whenButton’s Coffee-house was in vogue, and so long ago, as when he had not translated above two or three Books ofHomer; there was a late young Nobleman (as much hisLordas mine) who had a good deal of wicked Humour, and who, though he was fond of having Wits in his Company, was not so restrained by his Conscience, but that he lov’d to laugh at any merry Mischief he could do them: This noble Wag, I say, in his usualGayetè de Cœur, with another Gentleman still in Being, one Evening slily seduced the celebrated Mr.Popeas a Wit, and myself as a Laugher, to a certain House of Carnal Recreation, near theHay-Market; where his Lordship’s Frolick propos’d was to slip his littleHomer, as he call’d him, at a Girl of the Game, that he might see what sort ofFigure a Man of his Size, Sobriety, and Vigour (in Verse) would make, when the frail Fit of Love had got into him; in which he so far succeeded, that the smirking Damsel, who serv’d us with Tea, happen’d to have Charms sufficient to tempt the little-tiny Manhood of Mr.Popeinto the next Room with her: at which you may imagine, his Lordship was in as much Joy, at what might happen within, as our small Friend could probably be in Possession of it: But I (forgive me all ye mortified Mortals whom his fell Satyr has since fallen upon) observing he had staid as long as without hazard of his Health he might, I,
Prick’d to it by foolish Honesty and Love,
AsShakespearsays, without Ceremony, threw open the Door upon him, where I found this little hasty Hero, like a terribleTom Tit, pertly perching upon the Mount of Love! But such was my Surprize, that I fairly laid hold of his Heels, and actually drew him down safe and sound from his Danger. My Lord, who staid tittering without, in hopes the sweet Mischief he came for would have been compleated, upon my giving an Account of the Action within, began to curse, and call me an hundred silly Puppies, for myimpertinently spoiling the Sport; to which with great Gravity I reply’d; pray, my Lord, consider what I have done was, in regard to the Honour of our Nation! For would you have had so glorious a Work as that of makingHomerspeak elegantEnglish, cut short by laying up our little Gentleman of a Malady, which his thin Body might never have been cured of? No, my Lord!Homerwould have been too serious a Sacrifice to our Evening Merriment. Now as hisHomerhas since been so happily compleated, who can say, that the World may not have been obliged to the kindly Care ofColleythat so great a Work ever came to Perfection?
And now again, gentle Reader, let it be judged, whether theLordand theWhoreabove-mention’d might not, with equal Justice, have been apply’d to soberSawneythe Satyrist, as toColleythe Criminal?
Though I confess Recrimination to be but a poor Defence for one’s own Faults; yet when the Guilty are Accusers, it seems but just, to make use of any Truth, that may invalidate their Evidence: I therefore hope, whatever the serious Reader may think amiss in this Story, will be excused, by my being so hardly driven to tell it.
I could wish too, it might be observed, that whatever Faults I find with the Morals of Mr.Pope, I charge none to his Poetical Capacity, but chiefly to hisRuling Passion, which is so much his Master, that we must allow, his inimitable Verse is generally warmest, where his too fond Indulgence of that Passion inspires it. How much brighter still might that Genius shine, could it be equally inspired by Good-nature!
Now though I may have less Reason to complain of his Severity, than many others, who may have less deserv’d it: Yet by his crowding me into so many of his Satyrs, it is plain his Ill-will is oftner at Work uponCibber, than upon any Mortal he has had a mind to make a Dunce, or a Devil of: And as there are about half a Score remaining Verses, whereCibberstill fills up the Numbers, and which I have not yet produced, I think it will pretty near make good my Observation: Most of them, ’tis true, are so slight Marks of his Disfavour, that I can charge them with little more, than a mere idle Liberty with my Name; I shall therefore leave the greater part of them without farther Observation to make the most of their Meaning. Some few of them however (perhaps from my want ofJudgment) seem so ambiguous, as to want a little Explanation.
In his First Epistle of the Second Book ofHorace, ver. 86, speaking of the Uncertainty of the publick Judgment upon Dramatick Authors, after naming the best, he concludes his List of them thus:
But for the Passions,Southernsure, andRowe.These, only these support the crouded Stage,From eldestHeywooddown toCibber’s Age.
Here he positively excludesCibberfrom any Share in supporting the Stage as an Author; and yet, in the Lines immediately following, he seems to allow it him, by something so like a Commendation, that if it be one, it is at the same time a Contradiction toCibber’s being the Dunce, which theDunciadhas made of him. But I appeal to the Verses; here they are—ver.87.
All this may be; the Peoples Voice is odd,It is, and it is not the Voice of God.ToGammer Gurtonif it give the Bays,And yet denyThe Careless HusbandPraise.
Now ifThe Careless Husbanddeserv’d Praise, and had it, must it not (without comparing it with the Works of the above-cited Authors)have had its Share in supporting the Stage? which Mr.Popemight as well have allow’d it to have had, as to have given it the Commendation he seems to do: I say (seems) because is saying (if) the People deny’d it Praise, seems to imply theyhaddeny’d it; or if they hadnotdeny’d it, (which is true) then his Censure upon the People is false. Upon the whole, the Meaning of these Verses stands in so confus’d a Light, that I confess I don’t clearly discern it. ’Tis true, the late GeneralDormerintimated to me, that he believ’d Mr.Popeintended them as a Compliment toThe Careless Husband; but if it be a Compliment, I rather believe it was a Compliment to that Gentleman’s Good-nature, who told me a little before this Epistle was publish’d, that he had been making Interest for a little Mercy to his FriendColleyin it. But this, it seems, was all he could get for him: However, had his Wit stopt here, and said no more of me, for that Gentleman’s sake, I might have thank’d him: But whatever Restraint he might be under then, after this Gentleman’s Decease we shall see he had none upon him: For now out comes a newDunciad, where, in the first twenty Lines he takes a freshLick at the Laureat; as Fidlers and Prize-fighters alwaysgive us a Flourish before they come to the Tune or the Battle in earnest. Come then, let us see what your mighty Mountain is in Labour of? Oh! here we have it!New Dun.ver.20. Dulness mounts the Throne,&c.and——
Soft in her Lap her Laureat Son reclines.
Hah! fast asleep it seems! No, that’s a little too strong.PertandDullat least you might have allow’d me; but as seldom asleep as any Fool.——Sure your own Eyes could not be open, when so lame and solemn a Conceit came from you: What, am I only to be Dull, and Dull still, and again, and for ever? But this, I suppose, is one of yourDecies repetita placebit’s. For, in other Words, you have really said this of me ten times before—No, it must be written in a Dream, and according toDryden’s Description of dead Midnight too, where, among other strong Images, he gives us this—
Even Lust andEnvysleep.
Now, Sir, had notYourEnvy been as fast as a fat Alderman in Sermon-time, you would certainly have thrown out something more spirited than so trite a Repetition could comeup to. But it is the Nature of Malevolence, it seems, when it gets a spiteful Saying by the end, not to be tired of it so soon as its Hearers are.——Well, and what then? you will say; it lets the World see at least, that you are resolv’d to writeAbout me, andAbout me, to the last. In fine, Mr.Pope, this yawning Wit would make one think you had got into the Laureat’s Place, and were taking a Nap yourself.
But, perhaps, there may be a concealed Brightness in this Verse, which your Notes may more plainly illustrate: let us see then what your fictitious Friend and FlattererScriblerussays to it. Why, first he mangles a Paragraph which he quotes from myApologyfor my own Life,Chap.2. and then makes his particular Use of it. But as I have my Uses to make of it as well as himself, I shall beg leave to give it the Reader without his Castrations. He begins it thus,
“When I find my Name in the Satyrical Works of this Poet,”&c.
But I say,——
“When I, therefore, find my Name,at length, in the Satyrical Worksof our most celebrated living Author”——
Now, Sir, I must beg your Pardon, but I cannot think it was your meer Modesty that left out the Title I have given you, because you have so often suffer’d your FriendScriblerus(that is yourself) in your Notes to make you Compliments of a much higher Nature. But, perhaps, you were unwilling to let the Reader observe, that though you had so often befoul’d my Name in your Satyrs, I could still give you the Language due to a Gentleman, which, perhaps, at the same time too, might have put him in mind of the poor and pitiful Return you have made to it. But to go on with our Paragraph——He again continues it thus——
“I never look upon it as any Malice meant to me, but Profit to himself”——
But where is my Parenthesis, Mr.Filch? If you are asham’d of it, I have no reason to be so, and therefore the Reader shall have it: My Sentence then runs thus——
“I never look upon those Lines as Malice meant to me (for he knows I never provok’d it)&c.
These last Words indeed might have star’d you too full in the Face, not to have putyour Conscience out of countenance. But a Wit of your Intrepidity, I see, is above that vulgar Weakness.
After this sneaking Omission, you have still the same Scruple against some other Lines in the Text to come: But as you serveyourPurposes by leaving them out, you must give me leave to servemineby supplying them. I shall therefore give the Reader the rest entire, and only mark what you don’t choose should be known inItalicks, viz.
“One of his Points must be to have many Readers: He considers, that my Face and Name are more known thanthose ofmanyThousands of more Consequencein the Kingdom, that, therefore,right or wrong, a Lick at the Laureat will always be a sure Bait,ad captandum vulgus, to catch him little Readers:And that to gratify the unlearned, by now and then interspersing those merry Sacrifices of an old Acquaintance to their Taste, in a Piece of quite right Poetical Craft.”
Now, Sir, is there any thing in this Paragraph (which you have so maim’d and sneer’d at) that, taken all together, could merit the injurious Reception you have given it? OughtI, for this, to have had the stale Affront ofDull, andImpudent, repeated upon me? or could it have lessen’d the Honour of your Understanding, to have taken this quiet Resentment of your frequent ill Usage in good part? Or had it not rather been a Mark of your Justice and Generosity, not to have pursued me with fresh Instances of your Ill-will upon it? or, on the contrary, could you be so weak as to Envy me the Patience I was master of, and therefore could not bear to be, in any light, upon amicable Terms with me? I hope your Temper is not so unhappy as to be offended, or in pain, when your Insults are return’d with Civilities? or so vainly uncharitable as to value yourself for laughing at my Folly, in supposing you never had any real malicious Intention against me? No, you could not, sure, believe, the World would take it for granted, thateverylow, vile Thing you had said of me, was evidentlytrue? How then can you hold me in such Derision, for finding your Freedom with my Name, a better Excuse than you yourself are able to give, or are willing to accept of? or, admitting, that my deceived Opinion of your Goodness was so much real Simplicity and Ignorance, was not even That, at least,pardonable? Might it not have been taken in a more favourable Sense by any Man of the least Candour or Humanity? But—I am afraid, Mr.Pope, the severely different Returns you have made to it, are Indications of a Heart I want a Name for.
Upon the whole, while you are capable of giving such a trifling Turn to my Patience, I see but very little Hopes of my ever removing your Prejudice: for in your Notes upon the above Paragraph (to which I refer the Reader) you treat me more like a rejected Flatterer, than a Critick: But, I hope, you now find that I have at least taken off that Imputation, by my using no Reserve in shewing the World from what you have said ofMe, what I think ofYou. Had not therefore this last Usage of me been so particular, I scarce believe the Importunity of my Friends, or the Inclination I have to gratify them, would have prevailed with me to have taken this publick Notice of whatever Names you had formerly call’d me.
I have but one Article more of your high-spirited Wit to examine, and then I shall close our Account. Inver.524 of the same Poem, you have this Expression,viz.
CibberianForehead———
By which I find you modestly meanCibber’s Impudence; And, by the Place it stands in, you offer it as a Sample of thestrongestImpudence.——Sir, your humble Servant——But pray, Sir, in your Epistle to Dr.Arbuthnot, (where, by the way, in your ample Description of a Great Poet, you slily hook in a whole Hat-full of Virtues to your own Character) have not you this particular Line among them?viz.
And thought aLye,in Verse or Prose the same.
Now, Sir, if you can get all your Readers to believe me as Impudent as you make me, your Verse, with the Lye in it, may have a good Chance to be thought true: ifnot, the Lye in your Verse will never get out of it.
This, I confess, is only arguing with the same Confidence that you sometimes write; that is, we both flatly affirm, and equally expect to be believ’d. But here, indeed, your Talent has something the better of me; for any Accusation, in smooth Verse, will always sound well, though it is not tied downto have a Tittle of Truth in it; when the strongest Defence in poor humble Prose, not having that harmonious Advantage, takes no body by the Ear: And yet every one must allow this may be very hard upon an innocent Man: For suppose, in Prose now, I were as confidently to insist, that you were anHonest, Good-natur’d, Inoffensive Creature, would my barely saying so be any Proof of it? No, sure! Why then might it not be suppos’d an equal Truth, that Both our Assertions were equally false?Yours, when you call meImpudent;Mine, when I call youModest, &c. If, indeed, you could say, that with a remarkable Shyness, I had avoided any Places of publick Resort, or that I had there met with Coldness, Reproof, Insult, or any of the usual Rebuffs that Impudence is liable to, or had been reduced to retire from that part of the World I had impudently offended, yourCibberian Foreheadthen might have been as just and as sore a Brand as the Hangman could have apply’d to me. But as I am not yet under that Misfortune, and while the general Benevolence of my Superiors still suffers me to stand my ground, or occasionally to sit down with them, I hope it will be thought that rather thePapal, thantheCibberianForehead, ought to be out of Countenance. But it is time to have done with you.
In your Advertisement to your first Satyr of your second Book ofHorace, you have this just Observation.
To a true Satyrist, nothing is so odious, as a Libeller.
Now, that you are often an admirable Satyrist, no Man of true Taste can deny: But, that you are always aTrue(that is ajust) one, is a Question not yet decided in your Favour. I shall not take upon me to prove the Injuries of your Pen, which many candid Readers, in the behalf of others, complain of: But if the gross things you have said of so inconsiderable a Man as myself, have exceeded the limited Province of atrueSatyrist, they are sufficient to have forfeited your Claim to that Title. For if a Man, from his being admitted the best Poet, imagines himself so much lifted above the World, that he has a Right to run a muck, and make sport with the Characters of all Ranks of People, to soil and begrime every Face that is obnoxious to his ungovernable Spleen or Envy: Can so vain, so inconsiderate, soelated an Insolence, amongst all the Follies he has lash’d, and laugh’d at, find a Subject fitter for Satyr than Himself? How many other different good Qualities ought such a Temper to have in Balance of this One bad one, this abuse of his Genius, by so injurious a Pride and Self-sufficiency? And though it must be granted, that a true Genius never grows in a barren Soil, and therefore implies, that great Parts and Knowledge only could have produced it; Yet it must be allow’d too, that the fairest Fruits of the Mind may lose a great deal of their naturally delicious Taste, when blighted by Ill-nature. How strict a Guard then ought thetrueSatyrist to set upon his private Passions! How clear a Head! a Heart how candid, how impartial, how incapable of Injustice! What Integrity of Life, what general Benevolence, what exemplary Virtues ought that happy Man to be master of, who, from such ample Merit, raises himself to an Office of that Trust and Dignity, as that of our Universal Censor? A Man so qualified, indeed, might be a truly publick Benefit, such a one, and only such a one, might have an uncontested Right——
————To point the Pen,Brand the bold Front of shameless, guilty Men;Dash the proud Gamester, in his gilded Car,Bare the mean Heart that lurks beneath a Star.
But should another (though of equal Genius) whose Mind were either sour’d by Ill-nature, personal Prejudice, or the Lust of Railing, usurp that Province to the Abuse of it. Not all his pompous Power of Verse could shield him from as odious a Censure, as such, his guilty Pen could throw upon the Innocent, or undeserving to be slander’d. What then must be the Consequence? Why naturally this: That such an Indulgence of his Passions, so let loose upon the World, would, at last, reduce him to fly from it! For sure the Avoidance, the Slights, the scouling Eyes of every mixt Company he might fall into, would be a Mortification no vain-glorious Man would stand, that had a Retreat from it. Here then, let us suppose him an involuntary Philosopher, affecting to be——Nunquam minus solus, quam cùm solus——never in better Company than when alone: But as you have well observed in your Essay——
Not alwaysActionsshew the Man—Not therefore humble He, who seeks Retreat,Guilt guides his Steps, and makes him shun the Great.
(I beg your Pardon, I have made a Mistake; Your Verse saysPrideguides his Steps,&c.which, indeed, makes the Antithesis toHumblemuch stronger, and more to your Purpose; but it will serve mine as it is, so the Error is scarce worth a Correction.) But to return to our Satyrical Exile,——Whom though we have supposed to be oftner alone, than an inoffensive Man need wish to be; yet we must imagine that the Fame of his Wit would sometimes bring him Company: For Wits, like handsome Women, though they wish one another at the Devil, are my Dear, and my Dear! whenever they meet: Nay some Men are so fond of Wit, that they would mix with the Devil himself if they could laugh with him: If therefore any of this careless Cast came to kill an Hour with him, how would his smiling Verse gloss over the Curse of his Confinement, and with a flowing animated Vanity commemorate the peculiar Honours they had paid him?
But alas! would his high Heart be contented, in his having the Choice of hisAcquaintance so limited? How many for their Friends, others for themselves, and some too in the Dread of being the future Objects of his Spleen, would he feel had undesired the Knowledge or the Sight of him! But what’s all this to you, Mr.Pope? For, asShakespearsays,Let the gall’d Horse wince, our Withers are unwrung! But however, if it be not too late, it can do you no harm to look about you: For if this is not as yet your Condition, I remember many Years ago, to have seen you, though in a less Degree, in a Scrape, that then did not look, as if you would be long out of another. When you used to pass your Hours atButton’s, you were even there remarkable for your satyrical Itch of Provocation; scarce was there a Gentleman of any Pretension to Wit, whom your unguarded Temper had not fallen upon, in some biting Epigram; among which you once caught a Pastoral Tartar, whose Resentment, that your Punishment might be proportion’d to the Smart of your Poetry, had stuck up a Birchen Rod in the Room, to be ready, whenever you might come within reach of it; and at this rate you writ and rallied, and writ on, till you rhym’d yourself quite out of the Coffee-house. Butif Solitude pleases you, who shall say you are not in the right to enjoy it? Perhaps too, by this time you may be upon a par with Mankind, and care as little for their Company as they do for Yours: Though I rather hope you have chosen to be so shut up, in order to make yourself a better Man. If you succeed inthat, you will indeed be, what no body else, in haste will be, A better Poet, than youAre. And so, Sir, I am, just as much as you believe me to be,
Your Humble Servant,
Colley Cibber.
Julythe 7th1742.
WILLIAM ANDREWS CLARKMEMORIAL LIBRARYUNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES
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