In this impartial Glafs, my Mufe intends Fair to expose myself, my Foes, my Friends; Publish the present Age, but where my Text Is Vice too high, referve it to the next.

Peace is my dear Delight, not Fleury's more;
But touch me, and no Minifter fo fore.
Whoe'er offends at fome unlucky Time,
Slides into Verfe and hitches into Rhyme;
Sacred to Ridicule his whole Life long,
And the fad Burthen of fome merry Song.

To this his Friend makes Answer, that it is dangerous, and that there are People who take Revenges upon fuch Occafions; infinuating, that a Sixpenny Drug may chance to cut him off in the Middle of a Song: To which he makes this bold and open Reply:

What? arm'd for Virtue when I point the Pen,
Brand the bold Front of fhameless, guilty Men,
Dash the proud Gamefter in his gilded Car,
Bare the mean Heart that lurks beneath a Star;
Can there be wanting, to defend her Cause,
Lights of the Church, or Guardians of the Laws?
Could penfion'd Boileau lafh in honest Strain
Flatt'rers and Bigots ev'n in Louis'_Reign?
Could Laureate Dryden Pimp and Fry'r engage,
Yet neither Charles nor James fall in a Rage?
And I not strip the Gilding off a Knave,
Un-plac'd, un-penfion'd, no Man's Heir, or Slave?
I will, or perifh in the gen'rous Cause:

Hear this and tremble! you, who 'fcape the Laws.
Yes, while I live, no rich or noble Knave
Shall walk in Peace, and Credit, to his Grave.

In this Satire, (though we point not out the Place, it being too harfh) the forenamed Lady of Quality and great Wit is faid to be ftruck at, or at least the imagined fo; for now, comes into the Publick: Verfes addrefs'd to the Imitator, of the first Satire of the Second Book of Horace, BY A LADY; where she takes a Fling at him about his Birth.

Hard as thy Heart, and as thy Birth obscure.

She, having taking it upon Trust, that Mr. Pope was meanly born; whereas, we have already prov'd him to be defcended from genteel Families. But, this angry Lady let's nothing flip, that might any way contribute to the making Mr. Pope look mean and contemptible; fhe calls his Numbers crabbed, and makes a ftinging Reflection on the Badness of his Perfon.

Thine is but fuch an Image of his Pen,
As thou thyfelf art of the Sons of Men:
Where our own Species in Burlesque we trace,
A Sign-poft Likeness of the noble Race;
That is at once Refemblance and Disgrace.

}

Horace can laugh, is delicate, is clear; You, only coarfely rail, or darkly fneer: His Stile is elegant, his Diction pure, Whilft none thy crabbed Numbers can endure. If he has Thorns, they all on Roses grow; Thine like rude Thiftles, and mean Brambles show, With this Exception, that tho' rank the Soil, Weeds as they are, they seem produc'd by Toil. Satire fhould like a polish'd Razor keen, Wound with a Touch, that's scarcely felt or feen.

She keeps up her Spirit, and after having (as fhe thinks) lower'd his Pride pretty handfomely, the endeavours to infult him:

"

Is this the Thing to keep Mankind in Awe,
To make thofe tremble who efcape the Law?
Is this the Ridicule to live fo long,

The deathlefs Satire, and immortal Song?
No: like thy felf-blown Praife, thy Scandal flies;
And, as we're told of Wafps, it ftings and dies.

It was faid, that this Lady was one of those who hired the Perfons to wait for Mr. Pope in HamWalks; and, indeed, in another Part of this Poem, the feems to hint at fomething like it:

When God created Thee, one would believe,
He faid the fame as to the Snake of Eve;
To human Race Antipathy declare,

Twixt them and Thee be everlafting War.
But oh! the Sequel of the Sentence dread,
And whilft you bruife their Heel, beware your Head.
Nor think thy Weakness fhall be thy Defence;
The Female Scold's Protection in Offence.
Sure 'tis as fair to beat who cannot fight,
As 'tis to libel thofe who cannot write.
And if thou draw'ft thy Pen to aid the Law,
Others a Cudgel, or a RoD, may draw.
If none with Vengeance yet thy Crimes purfue,
Or give thy manifold Affronts their Due:
If Limbs unbroken, Skin without a Stain,
Unwhipt, unblanketted, unkick'd, unflain,
That wretched little Carcafs you retain ;
The Reason is, not that the World wants Eyes;
But thou'rt fo mean, they fee, and they defpife.

By this an Obfervation may be made, that this Lady's Pen is fharp enough, and too fharp for her Subject; for all muft own Mr. Pope's Numbers not crabbed, that he is not thorny, and full of Thistles and

and Brambles, the Beauty of his Person is not contended for, fo that the Lady got nothing there; neither was Mr. Pope ever defpis'd fɔ, as to be thought too mean for Notice: Tho' we think the Lady's Anger juft, yet had the fhow'd the real Injury the receiv'd by his Reports or Pen, and prov'd what was faid or wrote to have been Falfhood, Mr. Pope, in the Opinion of moral People, would have fuffer'd more; for now nothing is feen but the Lady's Refentment, while the Caufe, or pretended Caufe, lies conceal'd. Mr. Pope, towards the latter End of his Time, faid, that fetting apart Raillery and the Love of Satire, he wifh'd he had never offended this Lady; which Repentance will, we hope, palliate and mitigate any too hard Sentence from the Ladies on him. 'Tis great Pity that any private Pique should fo far influence Wits and Scholars, as to divide them against themselves; they have already too many Enemies, the Ignorant, the Dull, even the Schools and Colleges are Seminaries for their Foes, and the reverend Tutor breathes his No-fpirit into the Pupil. If the few (tho' they are but few) of Wit,' Senfe, Tafte, and Learning, would unite, the Dunces would either reform, or elfe it would be eafy to keep them quiet; now they riggle to the Bar, up to the Pulpit, and higher up, where none but wife and good Men ought to fit.

The Second Satire of Horace, which Mr. Pope has imitated, is chiefly a Satire againft Luxury and bad Oeconomy, and takes Occafion to fhow the Waste of fome, and the fordid Penurioufnefs of others, recommending the Medium to him that knows how to live properly, then fhows the great Advantages of Temperance, and the contrary:

04

Now

Now hear what Bleffings Temperance can bring:
(Thus faid our Friend, and what he said I fing)
Firft Health: The Stomach (cramm'd from ev'ry
ATomb of boil'd,androast, and Flesh, and Fish, [Dish,
Where Bile, and Wind, and Phlegm, and ácid Jar,
And all the Man is one inteftine War)
Remembers oft the School-boy's fimple Fare,
The temp'rate Sleeps, and Spirits light as Air.

How pale each worshipful and rev'rend Gueft
Rife from a Clergy, or a City, Feaft!
What Life in all that ample Body, fay,
What heav'nly Particle infpires the Clay?
The Soul fubfides, and wickedly inclines
To feem but mortal, ev'n in found Divines.

Then speaking of the Boaft of prodigious Wealth, our Author again darts his Satire at the Family of our greatest and most fuccessful Soldier and General of the Age, not excepting Prince Eugene : +

Oh Impudence of Wealth! with all thy Store, How darft thou let one worthy Man be poor? Shall half the new-built Churches round thee fall? Make Keys, build Bridges, or repair Whitehall; Or to thy Country let that Heap be lent, As M- o's was,-but not at Five per Cent. These Words he puts into the Mouth of Mr. Bethel, a Gentleman of fingular Probity, Temperance, Humility, and Good-nature. After this Mr. Pope defcribes his own Manner of Living, and concludes, that Fortune, if fhe leaves but a little, a prudent Man will make the most of it, and be content :

Fortune not much of humbling me can boaft; Though double-tax'd, how little have I loft?

My