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
wi