If our best Authors, when teiz'd by these Triflers, have not been Masters of this Indifference, I should not wonder if it were disbeliev'd in me; but when it is consider'd that I have allow'd my never having been disturb'd into a Reply has proceeded as much from Vanity as from Philosophy,[44] the Matter then may not seem so incredible: And tho' I confess the complete Revenge of making them Immortal Dunces in Immortal Verse might be glorious; yet, if you will call it Insensibility in me never to have winc'd at them, even that Insensibility has its happiness, and what could Glory give me more?[45] For my part, I have always had the comfort to think, whenever they design'd me a Disfavour, it generally flew back into their own Faces, as it happens to Children when they squirt at their Play-fellows against the Wind. If a Scribbler cannot be easy because he fancies I have too good an Opinion of my own Productions, let him write on and mortify; I owe him not the Charity to be out of temper myself merely to keep him quiet or give him Joy: Nor, in reality, can I see why any thing misrepresented, tho' believ'd of me by Persons to whom I am unknown, ought to give me any more Concern than what may be thought of me in Lapland: 'Tis with those with whom I am to live only, where my Character can affect me; and I will venture to say, he must find out a new way of Writing that will make me pass my Time there less agreeably.

You see, Sir, how hard it is for a Man that is talking of himself to know when to give over; but if you are tired, lay me aside till you have a fresh Appetite; if not, I'll tell you a Story.

In the Year 1730 there were many Authors whose Merit wanted nothing but Interest to recommend them to the vacant Laurel, and who took it ill to see it at last conferred upon a Comedian; insomuch, that they were resolved at least to shew specimens of their superior Pretensions, and accordingly enliven'd the publick Papers with ingenious Epigrams and satyrical Flirts at the unworthy Successor;[46] These Papers my Friends with a wicked Smile would often put into my Hands and desire me to read them fairly in Company: This was a Challenge which I never declin'd, and, to do my doughty Antagonists Justice, I always read them with as much impartial Spirit as if I had writ them myself. While I was thus beset on all sides, there happen'd to step forth a poetical Knight-Errant to my Assistance, who was hardy enough to publish some compassionate Stanzas in my Favour. These, you may be sure, the Raillery of my Friends could do no less than say I had written to myself. To deny it I knew would but have confirmed their pretended Suspicion: I therefore told them, since it gave them such Joy to believe them my own, I would do my best to make the whole Town think so too. As the Oddness of this Reply was I knew what would not be easily comprehended, I desired them to have a Days patience, and I would print an Explanation to it: To conclude, in two Days after I sent this Letter, with some doggerel Rhimes at the Bottom,

To the Author of the Whitehall Evening-Post.

SIR,

The Verses to the Laureat in yours of Saturday last have occasion'd the following Reply, which I hope you'll give a Place in your next, to shew that we can be quick as well as smart upon a proper Occasion: And, as I think it the lowest Mark of a Scoundrel to make bold with any Man's Character in Print without subscribing the true Name of the Author; I therefore desire, if the Laureat is concern'd enough to ask the Question, that you will tell him my Name and where I live; till then, I beg leave to be known by no other than that of,

Your Servant,
Francis Fairplay.
Monday, Jan. 11, 1730.

These were the Verses.[47]

I.

Ah, hah! Sir Coll, is that thy Way,

Thy own dull Praise to write?

And wou'd'st thou stand so sure a Lay?

No, that's too stale a Bite.