This, and nothing else, could be the Reason of so profound a Silence in so great a Mysterymonger, to remedy which Loss to the Publick, I an unworthy Scribler, and faint Copier of that great Artist, presume with aching Heart, and trembling Hand, to draw the Veil which shades the political Pamphlet in Question; and show it to my loving Countrymen in Puris Naturalibus.
If I succeed in this, I hope Mr. L——t, who all the World knows is a rare Chap to his Authors, will speedily employ me to unriddle, or at least make a Plot to the Rival Modes, which it seems the Author has omitted: it is true, he ought to have given it the Bookseller with the Copy, but has not so done, which makes me wonder he is not sued for Breach of Covenant; but what is that to me, if I get a Job by the Bargain? Let Booksellers beware how they buy Plays without Plots for the future.
I narrowly miss’d solving the Problem called Wagner and Abericock; Mr. B—— had spoke to Mr. W—— to speak to Mr. C——, who had just consented to employ me, after having made me abate half my demand: But Houses running thin, Colley had undertaken the Job himself to save Charges; intending at the same Time, to annex a severe Criticism on Pluto and Proserpine.
This, gentle Reader, will, I hope, induce you to look on me as a Writer of some Regard, and at the same Time,
to make a little Allowance for whatever Errors my great Hurry may occasion, being obliged to write Night and Day, Sundays and working Days, without the least Assistance. All our Journeymen Writers being now turned Masters, I am left to shift for my self; but am bringing up my Wife to the Business, and doubt not but a long War, and our mutual Industry, may rub off old Scores, and make us begin a new Reckoning with all Mankind; Pamphleteering having been so dead for many Years last past, that (God forgive me!) I have been oftentimes tempted to write Treason for mere Sustenance.
But Thanks to better Stars and better Days, the Pen revives, and Authors flourish; more Money can be made now of a Play, nay, though it be a scurvy One, than Dryden got by all his Works. Therefore now or never is the Time to strike while the Iron is hot, to write my self out of Debt, and into Place, and then grow idle and laugh at the World, as my Betters have done before me.
[INTRODUCTION.]
W hen a Book has met with Success, it never wants a Father; there being those good natured Souls in the World, who, rather than let Mankind think such Productions sprang of themselves, will own the Vagabond Brat, and thereby become Fathers of other Mens Offsprings.
This was the Fate of Dumpling, whose real Father did not take more Care to conceal himself, than some did to be thought its Author; but if any one will recollect the Time of its Publication, they will find it within