your _Cibberian
Forehead_ then might have been as just and as sore a Brand as the
Hangman could have apply'd to me. But as I am not yet under that
Misfortune, and while the general Benevolence of my Superiors still
suffers me to stand my ground, or occasionally to sit down with them, I
hope it will be thought that rather the _Papal_, than the _Cibberian_
Forehead, ought to be out of Countenance. But it is time to have done
with you.

In your Advertisement to your first Satyr of your second Book of
_Horace_, you have this just Observation.

_To a true Satyrist, nothing is so odious, as a Libeller._

Now, that you are often an admirable Satyrist, no Man of true Taste can
deny: But, that you are always a _True_ (that is a _just_) one, is a
Question not yet decided in your Favour. I shall not take upon me to
prove the Injuries of your Pen, which many candid Readers, in the behalf
of others, complain of: But if the gross things you have said of so
inconsiderable a Man as myself, have exceeded the limited Province of a
_true_ Satyrist, they are sufficient to have forfeited your Claim to
that Title. For if a Man, from his being admitted the best Poet,
imagines himself so much lifted above the World, that he has a Right to
run a muck, and make sport with the Characters of all Ranks of People,
to soil and begrime every Face that is obnoxious to his ungovernable
Spleen or Envy: Can so vain, so inconsiderate, so elated an Insolence,
amongst all the Follies he has lash'd, and laugh'd at, find a Subject
fitter for Satyr than Himself? How many other different good Qualities
ought such a Temper to have in Balance of this One bad one, this abuse
of his Genius, by so injurious a Pride and Self-sufficiency? And though
it must be granted, that a true Genius never grows in a barren Soil, and
therefore implies, that great Parts and Knowledge only could have
produced it; Yet it must be allow'd too, that the fairest Fruits of the
Mind may lose a great deal of their naturally delicious Taste, when
blighted by Ill-nature. How strict a Guard then ought the _true_
Satyrist to set upon his private Passions! How clear a Head! a Heart how
candid, how impartial, how incapable of Injustice! What Integrity of
Life, what general Benevolence, what exemplary Virtues ought that happy
Man to be master of, who, from such ample Merit, raises himself to an
Office of that Trust and Dignity, as that of our Universal Censor? A Man
so qualified, indeed, mi