.

The epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, which seems to be derived, in its first
design, from Boileau's Address _a son Esprit_, was published in January,
1735, about a month before the death of him to whom it is inscribed. It
is to be regretted, that either honour or pleasure should have been
missed by Arbuthnot; a man estimable for his learning, amiable for his
life, and venerable for his piety.

Arbuthnot was a man of great comprehension, skilful in his profession,
versed in the sciences, acquainted with ancient literature, and able to
animate his mass of knowledge by a bright and active imagination; a
scholar with great brilliancy of wit; a wit, who, in the crowd of life,
retained and discovered a noble ardour of religious zeal.

In this poem Pope seems to reckon with the publick. He vindicates
himself from censures; and with dignity, rather than arrogance, enforces
his own claims to kindness and respect.

Into this poem are interwoven several paragraphs which had been before
printed as a fragment, and among them the satirical lines upon Addison,
of which the last couplet has been twice corrected. It was at first,

Who would not smile if such a man there be?
Who would not laugh if Addison were he?

Then,

Who would not grieve if such a man there be?
Who would not laugh if Addison were he?

At last it is,

Who but must laugh if such a man there be?
Who would not weep if Atticus were he?

He was at this time at open war with lord Hervey, who had distinguished
himself as a steady adherent to the ministry; and, being offended with a
contemptuous answer to one of his pamphlets[136], had summoned Pulteney
to a duel. Whether he or Pope made the first attack, perhaps, cannot now
be easily known: he had written an invective against Pope, whom he
calls, "Hard as thy heart, and as thy birth obscure;" and hints that his
father was a _hatter_[137]. To this Pope wrote a reply in verse and
prose; the verses are in this poem; and the prose, though it was never
sent, is printed among his letters; but to a cool reader of the present
time exhibits nothing but tedious malignity.

His last satires, of the general kind, were two dialogues, named, from
the year in which they were published, Seventeen Hundred and
Thirty-eight. In these poems many are praised, and many are reproached.
Pope was then entangled in the opposition; a follower of the prince of
Wales, who dined at his house, and the friend of many who