A letter to the Reverend Mr. Dean Swift, occasion'd by a satire said to be written by him, entitled, A dedication to a great man, ... By a sparkish pamphleteer of Button's Coffee-house

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A LETTER To the Reverend Mr. Dean Swift, &c.

Dear Doctor,

I Thank you, in the Name of the Publick, for your continuing to be useful, notwithstanding you are a dignify'd Churchman. The celebrated Lord Falkland, talking of the Clergy in the House of Commons, said, That as their Preaching was the Cause of their Preferment, so they made their Preferment the Cause of their not Preaching; and, when I knew you were made a Dean, I grew in mortal Fear that you would live like your Brethren, and be good for nothing. I confess a Deanary is a very good Reason for being idle; and we infer that you are of the same Mind, from your not having once set the three Kingdoms a-laughing in five Years together; whereas you used formerly, when you had Wit in Pocketfulls, and no Money, to be tickling the Sides of Mankind once a Week, at least: What a Misfortune is it, that the rich Man should always thus spoil the merry Fellow?

I my self find it by Experience, that Plenty is a damn'd Baulk to Mirth; for I am always dull in Proportion to my Cash, and witty in Proportion to the Feebleness of my Purse: When I am Master of a few Half Crowns, you would swear, by my Looks and Heaviness, I were an elder Brother, or an Alderman, such a magisterial Stupidity do I carry about me: However, for my Comfort, I am seldom attack'd by this Fit of Lethargy above once a Year.

On the other Hand, when there is a Famine in my Fob, my Head is in the best Plight in the World, and I can write a Pamphlet in half an Hour. NEC ONUS, NEC FRAENUM; a Colt, or a Girl, or a young Cat, has not more Tricks and Liveliness.

One Day, (I shall never forget it!) as I was raising a Ghost, or describing a Monster, or committing a horrid and bloody Murder, Faith, I can't tell which, but one of them it was, and the Press and the Hawkers both stood still for it; I say, upon that self-same Day, when I began, with my usual Elegance, to flourish and form my Periods, I felt an unusual Slowness in my Invention; and my Fancy, though I pump'd it again and again, and drew it by all its Teats, would not yield one Drop of Milk, and I could not, for the Heart of me, make my Readers wonder.

In this deplorable and never-enough to be lamented Dulness, what does me I do, but search first in my Noddle, and then in my Breeches, for the strange Ground of my present Woe and Unfruitfulness; and, to my great Astonishment, in a private Corner of my Pocket lurk'd a crooked Sixpence, unfelt 'till then by human Finger. The Reason of its long Imprisonment was, that in many Months I had never sent my Hand on any Message into my Pocket, as well knowing it had no Business there.

As soon as I had laid my Hands on this single Inhabitant, I resolv'd to make an Example of him, and drown'd him immediately, without Mercy, in half a Pint of Sherry. I then went readily and chearfully to work, and having now neither Lett nor Molestation, finish'd my Ghost with good Reputation to my self; for it was reckon'd the very best and most terrible Apparition that haunted Grubstreet that Evening.

I have not met with such another Obstacle in all the numerous Pamphlets which I have since produc'd. While I have any Cash, I neither think, nor speak, nor write, but ramble, and drink, and pay; and when I can pull out no more Money, I pull out my Inkhorn, and grow witty again. N. B. For three Weeks past, I have been a Wit without Interruption.

I appeal to you, dear Doctor, whether the Case, which I have been here describing, was not once yours, while your Circumstances were yet but lean, and your Purse Grey-Hound-gutted.

I was therefore not a little surpriz'd to find you writing, in Spight of your Gold and your Deanary. I at first imagin'd there might be a general Famine in Ireland, and that you were reduc'd to dine upon your Wit again; but the Mirth and Festivity of your Book reliev'd me instantly from all Apprehension of this Kind, and I have since consider'd you as only venting your Spleen against a Piece of fulsome Roguery, which continues still to go on in shameless Luxuriancy.

Generally speaking, you can as easily grope out Colour and Complextion with your Fingers, and pore into the Nature of Harmony with your Eyes, as discover the Characters of Great Persons in the Descriptions which are made of them in Dedications.

Your Essay upon that Subject was certainly very useful and seasonable; and I think you are own'd to have executed it with just Wit and Severity.

Will the Quality never see, that in these Panegyricks which Authors sell them, they are first bely'd and then cheated? The Language, in most of those Cases, is in Truth no other than this—My Lord, give me 20 Guineas and I will deceive you. Every Man who is deck'd in a Character which does not become him, is so far dress'd in a Fool's Coat and Cap, and expos'd to the Grin and Contempt of all that can see it, that is, every Body but himself.

Fame is a fleeting tender Thing, and even where it is due, it is lost or corrupted when bestow'd by improper or mercenary Hands.

I knew a pretty young Girl in a Country Village, who, over-fond of her own Praise, became a Property to a poor Rogue in the Parish, who was ignorant of all Things but Fawning. This Fellow us'd to wait on Mrs. Betty every Morning, and she being a Shopkeeper, his usual Salutation was, Lord love your Heart, Mrs. Betty, you be main handsome, will you give me a Pipe of Tobacco? Am I, Isaac? (answers Mrs. Betty) let me see your Box; and then she fills it. Thus Isaac extolls her out of a Quartern of Cut and Dry every Day she lives; and tho' the young Woman is really handsome, she and her Beauty are become a By-word, and, all the Country round, she is call'd nothing but Isaac's Best Virginia.

There is but one Way of carrying Flattery to a greater Height than it is already arriv'd to. All Patrons have been, Time out of Mind, perfectly wise, perfectly just, perfectly valiant, perfectly witty, and perfectly beautiful; all Patrons are so, because all Authors have said so. Now what remains to be done for the Improvement of Flattery? even this: Let the Poet buckle himself in Armour, and, mounting a mettl'd Steed, sally forth into the Streets and Highways, and challenge to single Combat any bold Varlet who dare assert that all the rest of the World are, in the least Degree, comparable for Virtue, and Beauty, and all that, to one single Lord or Lady, who is, perhaps, if known, despis'd by all the rest of the World.

I expect the Thanks of our Authors for this Hint of mine, which yet I have borrow'd from themselves. Considering what several of them have threaten'd long ago, and do, upon Occasion, still threaten, I have waited a good while to see them grasp the Lance, and fall into the immediate Practice of this Piece of Author-Errantry, after having most humbly invok'd his Grace, or her Ladyship, to be propitious, &c.

Says one Author,

—I know, Sir, your Modesty will be tortur'd by what I have here asserted, but I am resolv'd to maintain my Point to the last Drop of my Pen.

This Author, I doubt, carry'd his Quixotism too far; he threatens to attack the noble Squire himself, in Defence of the noble Squire himself.

Another runs his Head against the Universe, in Behalf of his Lord and Patron, and cries,

My Lord,

In Spight of the Growlings of an envious World, I will maintain it, in the Face of Mankind, that your Lordship is, in all Respects, the Only most—and most—and most—and most—and most—

He goes on in telling a great many more Lies, which I do not care to repeat: You see he makes a Curr of the Universe, and sets it a-growling at my Lord, who is a much greater Man than Mr. Universe himself: And then he threatens to run Mankind through the Body, if they do not own with him, that my Lord is, in all Respects, the sweetest Creature in the three Parishes.

A Third boldly pronounces,

—This Character, which I have drawn of your Grace I will stand by, and support, while I have Life or Limb. This was a She-Author, and whether by her supporting and her Limbs, she did not mean bawdy, I am not sure: But I think the Meaning of the next is plain, when she tells her youthful Peer, that ‘ Though he had committed sufficient Ravages among the Sex, yet the Loveliness of his Looks, and the Firmness of his Make, made her conclude he was but beginning. ’

In this Manner it is that you Poets and Parsons create Gods, and invent Religions, and then force us, that are but Laymen and Readers, to worship the one, and submit to the other, on Pain of being damn'd and knock'd down.

And it is most natural, in the Business of Falshood and Forgery, for those that have an Interest in their Maintainance, to appear, as much as is possible, in great Earnest; and, in Order to it, to punish and inveigh against all that dare see so well as to distinguish the monstrous Features and Deformities of your Deities and Doctrines.

Suppose now I cannot, with all my Opticks perceive, that the Eyes of a certain Earl are so very brillant, or, that the Ceremonies of a certain Church are so very decent; you must, to be consistent with your selves, and of Importance with the Multitude, censure and destroy me, for being an obstinate Enemy to the Church and the Earl; for should the People, by hearing my Reasons, come to embrace my Opinions, it might be my Turn next to direct and govern your seeing and your believing.

I should not, dear Doctor, have fallen into these Reflections here, had it not come suddenly into my Mind, that they are not unlike those I have heard you make formerly, before you were convinc'd and converted by a Deanary.

Some have wonder'd how Doctor Swift, whose Affection to the Church was never doubted, tho' his Christianity was ever question'd, should think the worse of some of the Clergy for their Trampling upon Loyalty and Oaths; and, for all his Reverence for the late Q— and her Counsellors, should make such honourable Mention of King George and his Ministers; but as it is well known you never were a Slave to Constancy and Principle, we can easily account for this your Behaviour, and in Defence of it say, That in this Instance, you have put off Prejudice, and resum'd your Understanding.

Besides this, others alledge, that your Panegyrick is contradictory to your Banter upon Dedications: But this you have your self answer'd in your Preface to the fourth Edition, in which you have the following Lines.

'As to the Characters and Inscriptions at the End, I still think them so just, that I am not like to repent of them; which may serve to shew me as much a Friend to well-grounded Panegyrick, as I ever shall be a Foe to all false Colouring. There is no such Thing as Praise and Blame, where they are not apply'd; and as I take upon me to expose the one, I think I need ask no Pardon for attempting to practice the other.'

It remains now for me to entertain you with some Remarks on the present State of this Town, which no Man knew some Years ago better than your self.

And to begin with that which, with Gentlemen of your Faculty, claims Precedence of the King himself, the GOOD CHURCH of ENGLAND, I am sorry to tell you, she is in the same puny, complaining Condition, which you, Mr. Dean, left her in; and languishes so immoderately, that if she do not very shortly kick up her reverend Heel, and depart this establish'd Life, your Brethren, the Parsons, are false Prophets; for they have not only, with one Mouth, predicted her Downfal these thirty Years, but are, at this very Juncture, preaching the paralytick old Lady's Funeral-Oration every Sunday that passes: So that if she be not already stone-dead, there's no believing the Cassock.

The Spreading of Reports that the King is in Danger, or dead, is generally, if not always, taken as a Mark of Disaffection, and as such punishable. If the forging of Tales concerning the Danger of the Church may be judg'd by the like Rule, I doubt most of her pious Sons will be found errant Bastards.

The present Tottering State of that Venerable Matron, proceeds from the dreadful Power which a new Act of Parliament gives to old Women to teach Children to read. From hence it is orthodoxly concluded, that the said old Women will, like Giants and Generals, head an Army of Infants, arm'd with Psalters and Horn-books, against the Hierarchy. Add to all this another terrible Circumstance; a Man may now venture to hear. Tom Bradbury without being ruin'd by the Forfeiture of his Place, and the neglected Priesthood can have no other Vengeance upon such a Delinquent, but barely CURSING him.

A Quaker in Kent, when he was press'd by a zealous Tory to conform to the establish'd Church, made this roguish, reasonable Answer, Friend, thee may'st spare thy Breath and Perswasion; I will never be of that CHURCH which is always in Danger: And some People, as arch and atheistical as our Quaker, are ready to tell you, that neither their Principles nor their Noses will allow them to communicate with a Church, which, if our latest Advices from the Pulpit be true, is already stinking in her Sepulchre.

The Right Reverend and right learned Lord Bishop of London, differs from many of his Clergy upon this Head, and seems of Opinion, that the establish'd Church has still some Existence.

This orthodox, primitive Bishop has lately writ a perspicuous and perswasive Epistle to the Priests of his Diocese, and in it warns them, with a paternal Tenderness, against the new Doxologies of ancient Hereticks. Besides, he tells them, that if they neglect their Duty to God and the King, they are liable to pay five Pounds; and his Lordship, no doubt, knew what Arguments were like to be of most Force with them.

We have had lately two new Plays; one is, Sir Walter Raleigh, a Tragedy: It is acted with good Applause at the New House, its own native Worth hiding, in a good Degree, the Insufficiency of some of the Actors. You will find in it many beautiful Thoughts and Lines.

The other is a new Play of an ancient Poet; it is call'd, The Masquerade, and acted in Drury-Lane: It fill'd the House a few Nights with People and Hissing; but that Theatre never fails having a large Audience, tho' they act Charles Johnson or Tom Thumb.

This Winter has produc'd but few Pamphlets which the Town has vouchsafed to smile on. You know, to be sure, what Acceptance your Essay upon Dedications has met with; and there is an Apology for Parson Alberoni, which has already run to the ninth Edition. This little Book is such a Thorn in the Sides of the Clergy, that it is every where taken for granted you are the Author of it. So that you are this Year, as you used to be, at the Head of all the Pamphleteers in Great Britain.

I am just now told, that the Right Honourable the Players and Privy Counsellors in the Old House, have found out that they are a Ministry within themselves, and have notify'd the same, in Form, to my Lord Chamberlain, by the Mouth of their Plenipo and Copyer in Chief, the well bred Mr. Colley Cibber: But, I hear, his Grace frowns upon these Actors of State, and is almost provok'd to shut up their Palace, because they were saucy to him, and pleaded their Patent for it.

Vice and Dulness, Dear Doctor, never reign'd more irresistibly, than they do at the very Time of the signing and sealing hereof. Our Wits leave us in Pairs; Grath and Row are just gone, and others, of their Spirit and Genius, are in a fair Way to follow them; but Debauchery, Beaus, and Insolence, gather Ground and Numbers. For my Part, I cannot help foreseeing and dreading the Day, when it will be as unfashionable to be Witty, as 'tis now to be Good-natur'd or Sober.

I am, Dear Doctor, your Friend and Servant. P. A.
Covent-Garden, Jan. 30, 1718/9.

A LETTER To the Reverend Mr. Dean Swift, &c.

Price Three Pence.

A LETTER To the Reverend Mr. Dean Swift, Occasion'd by a SATIRE Said to be written by Him, ENTITLED, A DEDICATION to a GREAT MAN, concerning DEDICATIONS. Discovering, among other wonderful SECRETS, what will be the present Posture of Affairs a thousand Years hence.

By a Sparkish Pamphleteer of BUTTON's Coffee-House.

LONDON, Printed for James Roberts in Warwick-Lane. 1719.

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Title statement

A letter to the Reverend Mr. Dean Swift, occasion'd by a satire said to be written by him, entitled, A dedication to a great man, ... By a sparkish pamphleteer of Button's Coffee-house

Arbuthnot, John, 1667-1735.

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http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/5399

ID [isbn10]

1106023986

ID [isbn13]

9781106023988

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K116675.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3305670917

ID [ECSS]

1003800500

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— A letter to the Reverend Mr. Dean Swift, occasion'd by a satire said to be written by him, entitled, A dedication to a great man, ... By a sparkish pamphleteer of Button's Coffee-house, Arbuthnot, John, 1667-1735.. 22p. ; 8⁰. London :: printed for James Roberts,. 1719.. [Signed at end: P. A., i.e. John Arbuthnot.] [With a half-title.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT154622.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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