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Suppose the Author of the Dunciad bless'd
With all the Gifts that ever Bard possess'd,
'Twas still ignoble to exert his Skill
Against the weaker Brethren of the Quill:
The artful Fencer never cares to fight
A Bungler, lest he loses credit by't:
Besides, in Quarrels, 'tis against the Law,
For Masters of the Science first to draw;
'Tis like a Bully to unsheath a Sword
Upon a peaceful Friend we think a Cow'rd,
Or to provoke, with an ill Pen or Tongue,
A Man too patient to revenge the Wrong.

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Scarce would the meanest of the scribling Crew
Abuse his Friends, to please he knows not who:
Or, prompt by Envy and the hopes of Praise,
Forfeit at once all title to the Baies,
By rudely making Men of Sense his Sport,
And pointing ill-bred Satyr at the Court.