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 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.
_Pope_ has so particularly picked me out of the Number to make 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 to _Colley_, 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) when _Button_'s Coffee-house was in vogue, and so long ago, as
when he had not translated above two or three Books of _Homer_; there
was a late young Nobleman (as much his _Lord_ as 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 usual _Gayete de Coeur_, with another Gentleman still in Being,
one Evening slily seduced the celebrated Mr. _Pope_ as a Wit, and myself
as a Laugher, to a certain House of Carnal Recreation, near the
_Hay-Market_; where his Lordship's Frolick propos'd was to slip his
little _Homer_, as he call'd him, at a Girl of the Game, that he might
see what sort of Figure 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. _Pope_ into 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,_
As _Shakespear_ says, without Ceremony, threw open the Door upon him,
where I found this little hasty Hero, like a terrible _Tom 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 my impertinently 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 making _Homer_ speak elegant _English_, cut
short by laying up our little Gentleman of a Malady, which his thin Body
might never have been cured of? No, my Lord! _Homer_ would have been too
serious a Sacrifice to our Evening Merriment. Now as his _Homer_ has
since been so happily compleated, who can say, that the World may not
have been obliged to the kindly Care of _Colley_ that so great a Work
ever came to Perfection?
And now again, gentle Reader, let it be judged, whether the _Lord_ and
the _Whore_ above-mention'd might not, with equal Justice, have been
apply'd to sober _Sawney_ the Satyrist, as to _Colley_ the 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 his _Ruling 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 upon
_Cibber_, 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, where
_Cibber_ still 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
of Judgment) seem so ambiguous, as to want a little Explanation.
In his First Epistle of the Second Book of _Horace_, 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,_ Southern _sure, and_ Rowe.
_These, only these support the crouded Stage,
From eldest_ Heywood _down to_ Cibber_'s Age_.
Here he positively excludes _Cibber_ from 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 to _Cibber_'s being the
Dunce, which the _Dunciad_ has 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.
To_ Gammer Gurton _if it give the Bays,
And yet deny_ The Careless Husband _Praise._
Now if _The Careless Husband_ deserv'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. _Pope_ might 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 they _had_ deny'd it; or if they had _not_
deny'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
General _Dormer_ intimated to me, that he believ'd Mr. _Pope_ intended
them as a Compliment to _The 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 Friend
_Colley_ in 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 new _Dunciad_, where, in the first
twenty Lines he takes a fresh _Lick at the Laureat_; as Fidlers and
Prize-fighters always give 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. _Pert_ and
_Dull_ at 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 your _Decies
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 to
_Dryden_'s Description of dead Midnight too, where, among other strong
Images, he gives us this--
_Even Lust and_ Envy _sleep._
Now, Sir, had not _Your_ Envy 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 come up 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 write
_About me_, and _About 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 Flatterer _Scriblerus_ says to it. Why, first he
mangles a Paragraph which he quotes from my _Apology_ for 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
Works _of 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 Friend _Scriblerus_ (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 put your 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 serve _your_ Purposes
by leaving them out, you must give me leave to serve _mine_ by supplying
them. I shall therefore give the Reader the rest entire, and only mark
what you don't choose should be known in _Italicks_, viz.
"_One of his Points must be to have many Readers_: He considers,
that my Face and Name are more known than _those of_ many
_Thousands of more Consequence_ in 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? Ought I, for this, to have had the stale
Affront of _Dull_, and _Impudent_, 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, that _every_ low, vile Thing you
had said of me, was evidently _true_? 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 of _Me_, what I think of _You_. 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. In _ver._ 524 of the same Poem, you have
this Expression, _viz._
Cibberian _Forehead_------
By which I find you modestly mean _Cibber_'s Impudence; And, by the
Place it stands in, you offer it as a Sample of the _strongest_
Impudence.----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 a_ Lye, _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: if _not_, 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 down to 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 an _Honest, 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 me _Impudent_;
_Mine_, when I call you _Modest_, &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, your _Cibberian
Forehead_ then 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 the _Papal_, than the _Cibberian_
Forehead, 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 of
_Horace_, 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 a _True_ (that is a _just_) 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 a
_true_ Satyrist, 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, so elated 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 the _true_
Satyrist 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 cum solus_----never in better Company
than when alone: But as you have well observed in your Essay----
_Not always_ Actions _shew 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 says _Pride_
guides his Steps, _&c._ which, indeed, makes the Antithesis to _Humble_
much 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
his Acquaintance 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, as _Shakespear_ says, _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 at
_Button_'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. But if 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 in _that_, you will indeed be, what no body else, in haste will
be, A better Poet, than you _Are_. And so, Sir, I am, just as much as
you believe me to be,
_Your Humble Servant_,
COLLEY CIBBER.
_July_ the 7th 1742.
WILLIAM ANDREWS CLARK
MEMORIAL LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES
THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY
PUBLICATIONS IN PRINT
The Augustan Reprint Society
PUBLICATIONS IN PRINT
1948-1949
16. Henry Nevil Payne, _The Fatal Jealousie_ (1673).
17. Nicholas Rowe, _Some Account of the Life of Mr. William Shakespear_
(1709).
18. Anonymous, "Of Genius," in _The Occasional Paper_, Vol. III, No. 10
(1719), and Aaron Hill, Preface to _The Creation_ (1720).
1949-1950
19. Susanna Centlivre, _The Busie Body_ (1709).
20. Lewis Theobald, _Preface to the Works of Shakespeare_ (1734).
22. Samuel Johnson, _The Vanity of Human Wishes_ (1749), and two
_Rambler_ papers (1750).
23. John Dryden, _His Majesties Declaration Defended_ (1681).
1951-1952
26. Charles Macklin, _The Man of the World_ (1792).
31. Thomas Gray, _An Elegy Wrote in a Country Churchyard_ (1751), and
_The Eton College Manuscript_.
1952-1953
41. Bernard Mandeville, _A Letter to Dion_ (1732).
1962-1963
98. Selected Hymns Taken Out of Mr. Herbert's _Temple ..._ (1697).
1964-1965
109. Sir William Temple, _An Essay Upon the Original and Nature of
Government_ (1680).
110. John Tutchin, _Selected Poems_ (1685-1700).
111. Anonymous, _Political Justice_ (1736).
112. Robert Dodsley, _An Essay on Fable_ (1764).
113. T. R., _An Essay Concerning Critical and Curious Learning_ (1698).
114. Two Poems Against Pope: Leonard Welsted, _One Epistle to Mr. A.
Pope_ (1730), and Anonymous, _The Blatant Beast_ (1742).
1965-1966
115. Daniel Defoe and others, _Accounts of the Apparition of Mrs. Veal_.
116. Charles Macklin, _The Covent Garden Theatre_ (1752).
117. Sir Roger L'Estrange, _Citt and Bumpkin_ (1680).
118. Henry More, _Enthusiasmus Triumphatus_ (1662).
119. Thomas Traherne, _Meditations on the Six Days of the Creation_
(1717).
120. Bernard Mandeville, _Aesop Dress'd or a Collection of Fables_
(1740).
1966-1967
123. Edmond Malone, _Cursory Observations on the Poems Attributed to Mr.
Thomas Rowley_ (1782).
124. Anonymous, _The Female Wits_ (1704).
125. Anonymous, _The Scribleriad_ (1742). Lord Hervey, _The Difference
Between Verbal and Practical Virtue_ (1742).
1967-1968
129. Lawrence Echard, _Prefaces to Terence's Comedies_ (1694) and
_Plautus's Comedies_ (1694).
1968-1969