To a Person Who Wrote Ill, and Spoke Worse Against Me

LIE, Philo, untouch'd on my peaceable shelf;
Nor take it amiss, that so little I heed thee :
I've no envy to thee, and some love to myself:
Then why should I answer ; since first I must read thee ?

Drunk with Helicon's waters and double brew'd bub,
Be a linguist, a poet, a critic, a wag ;
To the solid delight of thy well-judging club,
To the damage alone of thy bookseller Brag.

Pursue me with satire : what harm is there in't ?
But from all viva voce reflection forbear :
There can be no danger from what thou shalt print:
There may be a little from what thou may'st swear.