Homer in a Nutshell, or, His War Between the Frogs and the Mice (Parker)/Dedication
To Sir R. L.
SIR,
You know the Sacredness of Liberty and Property. Now all stragling Apologues fall to you as Lord of the Mannor, and the very Ghost of Æsop (no very agreable Appartion, you may imagin) of Poggius, Abstemius, and my own old blind Author too for Company, durst I with-hold the Due, wou'd e'ry Night draw my Curtains 'till You had Justice done You. Besides as Duty and real Interest are ever inseparable, so particularly in the present Instance it's the Privilege of Your humble Imitators that by doing You Fealty they challenge Your Protection, the very end of Government, when at the same time too our Tribute's but a Peppercorn-rent, make the best on't, and Your Subjects are more beholden to You for accepting, than You to them for paying their Acknowledgments.
I have frequently wonder'd at the Confidence of Authors in expecting to be gratify'd for their Dedications, and oftener at the Weakness of Patrons, that they'll vouchsafe 'em those dishonourable Encouragements. For first, it's Ten to One but the great Man catches a Tartar, or provides for a Bantling that is not worth a Clout: Or secondly, if he has reason to be proud of his Purchase, all the Glory and Encomium of the Epistle smells abominably rank of Confederacy and Bargain. Mæcenas but spoils his own Market while he makes a liberal Art a mercenary one; and when the Orator or the Poet is to draw his Picture beyond the Life, he cann't be contented unless he set for't with a Cap and Bells forsooth! of his own providing. In a Word, the Fee shou'd rather accrue to the Patron from the Scribler, and little enough at last too considering what a Cause he's oblig'd to attend: Now my little harmless homely Ditty Petitions for no more than barely the benefit of the two Capital Letters aforesaid. It applys in forma Pauperis, and the Translator will magnify Your Charity both in his Author's Name and in his own, if You'll keep his Calliope in countenance gratis. Nay indeed the whole is but a Cur'sy to my Dancing-Master, pardon the levity of the Allusion. You were my Apollo, my Helicon, and my Muses; that Ocean of true Wit and good Sense from which the Drill, as to all that's tolerable in it, derives itself, and into which it as naturally returns, 'though at the expence of its Acrimony in the Circulation.
But hold! 'tis high time to enter upon the main Business of an Epistle Dedicatory, the Patron's Apotheosis. And what now must I extol? Your Integrity, Constancy and Courage? Alas! 'tis a long time ago since these pass'd for recommendatory Qualities; nay of very dangerous Consequence might it prove to us Both, at this time o' Day, should I blurt out a Syllable in favour of 'em. Your Letters then, your Judgment, your Wit, your Prudence? That were as much as to say all the World did not already admire 'em, ever excepting my Brother C———; and I verily believe too, even he, cou'd the Man have as good an Opinion of any Body as of himself, wou'd entertain it of you.
How then shall I manage my Address? Assume the modish Figure call'd Apophasis or Whispering aloud, and run you a long Division upon your several Excellencies with a Not to mention 'em? Or shall I tell you that your Modesty being a Nusance to the rest of your Virtues, I had rather be wanting in my Duty to Them, than most inhumanely torture That? Nauseous, vile, pedantick Forms! and as prostituted Common-places as Panegyrick itself! What remains therefore but the liberty of making this brief, bare, and simple, yet candid Profession, that I am,
Honour'd SIR,
Most sincerely and most humbly
Your Servant, as oblig'd,
S. Parker.