A LETTER to the Reverend Mr. Dean Swift, occafioned by a SATIRE faid to be written by him,

ENTITLED,

A Dedication to a Great Man, concerning Dedi cations. Difcovering, among other wonderful Secrets, what will be the prefent Pofture of Affairs a Thousand Years bence.

By a Sparkish Pamphleteer of BUTTON's CoffeeHouse.

A Letter to the Reverend Mr. Dean Swift,

&c.

I

Dear Doctor,

Thank you, in the Name of the Publick, for your continuing to be useful, notwithstanding you are a dignified Churchman. The celebrated Lord Falkland, talking of the Clergy in the House of Commons, faid, That as their Preaching was the Caufe of their Preferment, fo 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

confefs

confefs a Deanery is a very good Reafon for being idle; and we infer that you are of the fame Mind, from your not having once fet the three Kingdoms a laughing in five Years together; whereas you used formerly, when you had Wit in Pocket-fulls, and no Money, to be tickling the Sides of Mankind once a Week at leaft: What a Misfortune is it, that the rich Man fhould always thus fpoil the merry Fellow?

I myself find it by Experience, that Plenty is a damned Baulk to Mirth; for I am always dull in proportion to my Cash, and witty in proportion to the Feebleness of my Purfe: When I am Master of a few Half Crowns, you would fwear, by my Looks and Heavinefs, I were an elder Brother, or an Alderman, fuch a magifterial Stupidity do I carry about me: However, for my Comfort, I am seldom attacked 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 Froenum; 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 raifing a Ghost, or defcribing a Monster, or commiting a horrid and bloody Murder, Faith, I cannot tell which, but one of them it was, and the Prefs and the Hawkers both food' ftill for it; I fay, upon that felf-fame Day, when I began, with my ufual Elegance, to flourish and form my Periods, I felt an unusual Slownefs in my Invention; and my Fancy, though I pumped 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 do, but fearch first in my Noddle, and then in my Breeches, for the frange Ground of my prefeat Woe and Unfruitfulness; and to my great Astonishment, in a private Corner of my Pocket lurked a crooked Sixpence, unfelt till then by human Finger. The Reason of its long Imprisonment was, that in many Months I had never fent my Hand on any Mellage into my Pocket, as well knowing it had no Bufinefs there.

As foon as I had laid my Hands on this fingle Inhabitant, I refolved to make an Example of him, and drown him immediately, without Mercy, in Half a Pint of Sherry. I then went readily and chearfully to work, and having now neither Lett nor Moleftation, finished my Ghoft with good Reputation to myfelf; for it was reckoned the very best and most terrible Apparition that haunted Grub Street that Evening.

I have not met with fuch another Obstacle in all the numerous Pamphlets which I have fince produced. While I have any Cafh, I neither think, nor fpeak, 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 paft, I have been a Wit without Interruption.

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

I was therefore not a little furprised to find you writing, in Spight of your Gold and your Deanery. I at first imagined there might be a general Famine in Ireland, and that you were reduced to dine upon your Wit again; but the Mirth and Feftivity of your Book relieved me instantly from all Apprehenfion

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of this Kind, and I have fince confidered you as only venting your Spleen againfta Piece of fulfome Roguery, which continues ftill to go on in fhameless Luxuriancy.

Generally speaking you can as easily grope out Colour and Complexion with your Fingers, and pore into the Nature of Harmony with your Eyes, as difcover the Characters of great Perfons in the Descriptions which are made of them in Dedications.

Your Essay upon that Subject was certainly very ufeful and feasonable; and 1 think you are owned to have executed it with juft Wit and Severity.

Will the Quality never fee, that in these Panegyricks which Authors fell them, they are firft bely'd and and then cheated: The Language, in moft of thofe Cafes, is in Truth no other than this My Lord, give me twenty Guineas, and I will deceive you. Every Man who is decked in a Character which does not become him, is so far dreffed in a Fool's Coat and Cap, and exposed 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 loft or corrupted when bestowed by improper or mercenary Hands.

I knew a pretty young Girl in a Country Village, who, over-fond of her own Praife, became a Property to a poor Rogue in the Parish, who was ignorant of all Things but Fawning. This Fellow used to wait on Mrs. Betty every Morning, and fhe being a Shop-keeper, his ufual Salutation was, Lord love your Heart, Mrs. Betty, you be main handsome, will you give me a Pipe of Tobacco? Am I, Ifaac? (answers Mrs. Betty) let me fee your Box; and then fhe fills it. Thus Ifaac extols her out of a Quartern of Gut and Dry every Day fhe lives; and though the young Woman is really handfome, fhe and her Beauty are become a By-word, and, all the Country round, she is called nothing but Ifaac's beft Virginia.

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There is but one Way of carrying Flattery to a greater Height than it is already arrived to. All Patrons have been, Time out of Mind, perfectly wife, perfectly just, perfectly valiant, perfectly witty, and perfectly beautiful; all Patrons are fo, because all Authors have faid fo. Now what remains to be done for the Improvement of Flattery? even this: Let the Poet buckle himfelf in Armour, and, mounting a mettled Steed, fally forth into the Streets and Highways, and challenge to fingle Combat any bold Varlet who dare affert that all the reft of the World are in the leaft Degree comparable for Virtue and Beauty, and all that to one fingle Lord or Lady, who is, perhaps, if known, defpifed by all the reft of the World.

I expect the Thanks of our Authors for this Hint of mine, which yet I have borrowed from themfelves. Confidering what feveral of them have threatened long ago, and do, upon Occafion, still threaten, I have waited a good while to fee them grafp the Lance, and fall into the immediate Practice of this Piece of Author-Errantry, after having most humbly invoked his Grace, or her Ladyship to be propitious, &c.

Says one Author,

I know, Sir, your Modefty will be tortured by what I have here afferted, but I am refolved to maintain my Point to the last Drop of my Pen.

This Author, I doubt, carried his Quixotifm 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