thought proper to ſacrifice his profit to his ſafety, and diſcontinue it.
By uſing too much freedom with the character of Pope, he provoked that gentleman, who with great ſpirit ſtigmatized him in his Dunciad. In his ſecond book Mr. Pope places before the eyes of the dunces the phantom of a poet. He ſeems willing to give ſome account of the poſſibility of dulneſs making a wit, which can be done no otherwiſe than by chance. The lines which have relation to Mr. More are ſo elegantly ſatyric, that it probably will not diſpleaſe our readers to find them inſerted here.
A poet’s form ſhe plac’d before their eyes,
And bad the nimbleſt racer ſeize the prize;
No meagre muſe-rid mope, aduſt and thin,
In a dun night gown of his own looſe ſkin,
But ſuch a bulk as no twelve bards could raiſe,
Twelve ſtarv’ling bards of theſe degenerate days.
All as a partridge plump, full-fed, and fair,
She form’d this image of well-bodied air,
With pert, flat eyes, ſhe window’d well its head,
A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead,
And empty words ſhe gave, and founding ſtrain,
But ſenſeleſs, lifeleſs! idol void and vain!
Never was daſh’d out at one lucky hit,
A fool ſo juſt a copy of a wit;
So like, that critics ſaid, and courtiers ſwore,
A wit it was, and call’d the phantom More.
Though theſe lines of Pope are ſufficiently ſatirical, yet it ſeems they very little affected Mr. More. A gentleman intimately acquainted with him informs us, that he has heard Mr. More ſeveral times repeat thoſe lines, without diſcover-
