IT is a just image given us by Mr. Congreve of the situation of an author, where he mentions a POET ambitious of praise, and a CRITIC picking his pocket. It is, indeed, almost im­possible for any man to distinguish himself in the literary world, without having a gang of these people swarming about him; though he has at the same time this consolation, that all such petty larceny attempts are a mark of his fame; and the unpro­voked abuse of ill-designing persons is, in its own nature, invo­luntary praise.

The author of the following trifle has had his share of this kind of trouble ever since his name has been heard of: he has boasted, upon a former occasion, of the honour a certain reverend writer did him by his calumny; but, as if that was not suffi­cient, his name is now adorned with a PARSON CHURCHILL. This last person's hand he has felt in his pocket twice in a very short time: in the Rosciad it was but a dip, and away; but as if [Page ii]this astonishing genius, who has lately amazed mankind, had improved in his trade, in his Apology he has attempted to make an intire rummage. Whether he has taken any thing out of the present writer's pocket, is a point not very certain; so that the loss, however, cannot be very great.

But it may be asked, Can the Reverend Mr. Churchill, Curate of St. John's, Westminster, be considered as Mr. Murphy's lite­rary pickpocket, when he boldly owns his name, and shews himself to the public?—In answer to this, it should be consi­dered, that these people have various ways of doing their busi­ness. Some of them sneak in alleys, and little lurking holes, and, as a gentleman passes by, they make a snatch at his pocket; and should they prove so unfortunate as to give an alarm, and meet with a short turn, " Pray remember the poor—for the love of—" Others of them go more daringly to work— ‘Bob, do you see that gentleman yonder?—shall I DO him?’— ‘ Ay! ay! cries Bob, do him by all means.’— ‘ So I will—Link your honour—light your honour across the street—my name is CHARLEY DUNGHILL— I ply here every night, your honour—’ Then on he runs, twirling his link almost in your face;—gives you an unlucky splash, and, in your sudden confusion, makes a snap at your handkerchief: his friends admire his dexterity; he is proclaimed abroad for a notable clever fellow; you are told he is a bruiser into the bargain, and handles an OAK-STICK won­derfully! [Page iii]This will be acknowledged to be the case among the pilferers in our common streets; and among their brethren of the quill the conduct is so similar, that the writer of the subsequent Ode cannot consider the REVEREND CHARLES CHURCHILL in any other light than that of a CRITIC PICKING HIS POCKET; and as he is well informed that Mr. John Fielding has attained many points, highly serviceable to society, by quick notice and sudden pursuit among the nimble-fingered race, who infest this metropolis, he is in hopes that the same means will operate equally in the literary world. For this purpose, he now thinks proper to celebrate the egregious endowments of this New Adventurer; desiring it may be remembered, that this is the first notice he has given of him: for, notwithstanding the insinuations of Mr. Churchill and his friends, be it hereby known, that Mr. Murphy never wrote, or caused to be written, directly or indirectly, a single line in the Critical Review. In justice, however, to the public, and him­self, he thinks it now incumbent on him to give the best de­scription he can of the man who has, at two different times, made an attempt upon him. Should this furious Drawcansir, after this, think proper to proceed in his design, Mr. Murphy, in consideration of his being unbeneficed, and reflecting how hard the present dearness of provisions, and the late Tax upon PORTER, must bear upon the Reverend Bard, most heartily gives his consent to be abused by him "Body, Soul, and Muse," as often as thirst or [Page iv]hunger shall prompt his genius: and should he be told hereafter, that the author of unpoetic libels is not hurt in his preferment, but that "to one bishop, Churchill seems a wit," he promises him to repine less at his success, though provoked, than Mr. Churchill and his little faction seem, unprovoked, to have done at Mr. Murphy's.

Lincoln's-Inn, 11 th June, 1761.

P. S. To some particular ideas and modes of expression, which will be found in the following lines, the author persuades himself, that they who are acquainted with the stile and colouring of Mr. Dryden in the Mac Flecknoe, and Mr. Pope in the Dunciad, will take no exception, unless they should chuse to criticise the too manifest inferiority of his genius.