Part 3

Well then! upon the great Success of this enormous Play, _The Non-Juror_, poor Mr. _Pope_ laments the Decay of Poetry; though the Impoliteness of the Piece is his only insinuated Objection against it. How nice are the Nostrils of this delicate Critick! This indeed is a Scent, that those wide-mouth'd Hounds the Daily-Paper Criticks could never hit off! though they pursued it with the Imputation of every Offence that could run down a Play: Yet Impoliteness at least they oversaw. No! they did not disguise their real dislike, as the prudent Mr. _Pope_ did; They all fairly spoke out, and in full Cry open'd against it, only for its so audaciously exposing the sacred Character of a lurking, treason-hatching Jesuit, and for inhumanly ridiculing the conscientious Cause of an honest deluded Jacobite Gentleman. Now may we not as well say to Mr. Pope, _Hinc illae lachrymae_! Here was his real Disgust to the Play! For if Impoliteness could have so offended him, he would never have bestowed such Encomiums upon the _Beggars Opera_, which whatever Beauties it might boast, Politeness certainly was not one of its most striking Features. No, no! if the Play had not so impudently fallen upon the poor Enemies of the Government, Mr. _Pope_, possibly, might have been less an Enemy to the Play: But he has a charitable Heart, and cannot bear to see his Friends derided in their Distress: Therefore you may have observed, whenever the Government censures a Man of Consequence for any extraordinary Disaffection to it; then is Mr. _Pope_'s time generously to brighten and lift him up with Virtues, which never had been so conspicuous in him before. Now though he may be led into all this, by his thinking it a Religious Duty; yet those who are of a different Religion may sure be equally excused, if they should notwithstanding look upon him as their Enemy. But to my Purpose.

Whatever might be his real Objections to it, Mr. _Pope_ is, at least, so just to the Play, as to own it had great Success, though it grieved him to see it; perhaps too he would have been more grieved, had he then known, that his late Majesty, when I had the Honour to kiss his Hand, upon my presenting my Dedication of it, was graciously pleased, out of his Royal Bounty, to order me two hundred Pounds for it. Yes, Sir! 'tis true--such was the Depravity of the Time, you will say, and so enormous was the Reward of _such a Play as The Non-Juror_!

This brings to my Memory (what I cannot help smiling at) the bountiful Banter, you at this time endeavoured to put upon me. This was the Fact I had, not long before, been a Subscriber to your _Homer_: And now, to make up our Poetical Accounts, as you call'd it, you sent me a Note, with four Guineas inclosed, for four Tickets, for the Author's Day of _such a Play as The Non-Juror_. So unexpected a Favour made me conclude, there must be something at the bottom of it, which an indifferent Eye might have overlooked: However I sent you the Tickets with a written Acknowledgment; for I was willing you should think the kind Appearance had passed upon me; though every Gentleman I told it to laugh'd at my Credulity, wondering I should not see, you had plainly done this, in scorn of my Subscription to your _Homer_. Which, to say the Truth, I never had the least doubt of, but did not think myself so far obliged to gratify your Pride, as to shew any sign of my feeling the Hurt you intended me. Though, as this was in the Infancy of your Disinclination to me, I confess, I might have been better pleased, would your Temper have suffered me to have been upon better Terms with you: But so it is! of such insensible Stuff am I made, that I have been rated by my Friends, for not being surprized, or grieved at Disappointments. This I only offer as an early Instance of our different Dispositions. My Subscription had no Disguise, I thought it due to the Merit of Mr. _Pope_: But that his Bounty to me rose from the same Motive, I am afraid would be Vanity in me to suppose.

There is another whimsical Fact relating to this Play, which common Fame, just after the Run of it, charged to Mr. _Pope_: Had I his Sagacity in detecting concealed Authors, or his laborious Curiosity to know them, I do not doubt but I might bring my Fact to a Proof upon him; but let my Suspicion speak for itself. At this time then there came out a Pamphlet (the Title I have forgot) but the given Name of the Author was _Barnevelt_, which every body believed to be fictitious. The Purport of this odd Piece of Wit was to prove, that _The Non-Juror_ in its Design, its Characters, and almost every Scene of it, was a closely couched Jacobite Libel against the Government: And, in troth, the Charge was in some places so shrewdly maintained, that I almost liked the Jest myself; at least, it was so much above the Spirit, and Invention of the Daily-Paper Satyrists, that all the sensible Readers I met with, without Hesitation gave it to Mr. _Pope_. And what afterwards left me no doubt of it was, that he published the same Charge against his own _Rape of the Lock_, proving even the Design of that too, by the same sort of merry Innuendos, to have been as audacious a Libel, as the other Pamphlet had made _The Non-Juror_. In a word, there is so much Similitude of Stile, and Thought, in these two Pieces, that it is scarce possible to give them to different Authors. 'Tis true, at first Sight, there appears no great Motive for Mr. _Pope_ to have written either of them, more than to exercise the Wantonness of his Fancy: But some People thought, he might have farther Views in this Frolick. He might hope, that the honest Vulgar would take literally, his making a Libel of _The Non-Juror_, and from thence have a good Chance of his turning the Stream of their Favour against it. As for his playing the same game with his _Rape of the Lock_, that he was, at least, sure could do him no harm; but on the contrary he might hope, that such a ludicrous Self-accusation might soften, or wipe off any severe Imputation that had lain upon other parts of his Writings, which had not been thought equally Innocent of a real Disaffection. This way of owning Guilt in a wrong Place, is a common Artifice to hide it in a right one. Now though every Reader is not obliged to take all I have said for Evidence in this Case; yet there may be others, that are not obliged to refuse it. Let it therefore avail no more, than in reality it ought to do.

Since, as you say, in one of your Letters to Mr. _Addison_, "_To be uncensured and to be obscure is the same thing_;" I hope then to appear in a better Light, by quoting some of your farther Flirts at _The Non-Juror_.

In your Correspondence with Mr. _Digby_ p. 150. complaining of People's Insensibility to good Writing, you say (with your usual sneer upon the same Play)

"The Stage is the only Place we seem alive at: There indeed we stare, and roar, and clap Hands for King _George_ and the Government.

This could be meant of no Play, but _The Non-Juror_, because no other had made the Enemies of the King and Government so ridiculous; and therefore, it seems, you think the Town as ridiculous to roar and clap at it. But, Sir, as so many of the Government's Friends were willing to excuse its Faults for the Honesty of its Intention; so, if you were not of that Number, I do not wonder you had so strong a Reason to dislike it. In the same Letter too, this wicked Play runs so much in your Head, that in the favourable Character you there give of the Lady _Scudamore_, you make it a particular Merit in her, that she had not then even

_Seen_ Cibber_'s Play of the_ Non-juror.

I presume, at least, she had heard Mr. _Pope_'s Opinion of it, and then indeed the Lady might be in the right.

I suppose by this time you will say, I have tir'd your Patience; but I do assure you I have not said so much upon this Head, merely to commemorate the Applauses of _The Non-juror_, as to shew the World one of your best Reasons for having so often publish'd your Contempt of the Author. And yet, methinks, the Good-nature which you so frequently labour to have thought a part of your Character, might have inclin'd you to a little more Mercy for an old Acquaintance: Nay, in your Epistle to Dr. _Arbuthnot_, ver. 373, you are so good as to say, you have been so humble as to _drink with Cibber_. Sure then, such Humility might at least have given the Devil his Due: for, black as I am, I have still some Merit to you, in the profess'd Pleasure I always took in your Writings? But alas! if the Friendship between yourself and Mr. _Addison_, (which with such mutual Warmth you have profess'd in your publish'd Letters) could not protect him from that insatiable Rage of Satyr that so often runs away with you, how could so frivolous a Fellow as I am (whose Friendship you never cared for) hope to escape it? However, I still comfort myself in one Advantage I have over you, that of never having deserved your being my Enemy.

You see, Sir, with what passive Submission I have hitherto complained to you: but now give me leave to speak an honest Truth, without caring how far it may displease you. If I thought, then, that your Ill-nature were half as hurtful to me, as I believe it is to yourself, I am not sure I could be half so easy under it. I am told, there is a Serpent in some of the _Indies_, that never stings a Man without leaving its own Life in the Wound: I have forgot the Name of it, and therefore cannot give it you. Or if this be too hard upon you, permit me at least to say, your Spleen is sometimes like that of the little angry Bee, which, in doing less Mischief than the Serpent, yet (as _Virgil_ says) meets with the same Fate.----_Animasque in vulnere ponunt._ Why then may I not wish you would be advis'd by a Fact which actually happen'd at the _Tower_ Guard? An honest lusty Grenadier, while a little creeping Creature of an Ensign, for some trifling Fault, was impotently laying him on with his Cane, quietly folded his Arms across, and shaking his Head, only reply'd to this valiant Officer, "Have a care, dear Captain! don't strike so hard! upon my Soul you will hurt yourself!"

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 Goddess 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 God 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 hit 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 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 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 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 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 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 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._