HISTORY furniſhes us with Examples of many Satyrical Authors who have fallen Sacrifices to Revenge, but not of any Bookſellers that I know of, except the unfortunate Subject of the following Papers; I mean Mr. Edmund Curll, at the Bible and Dial in Fleetſtreet, who was Yeſterday poiſon'd by Mr. Pope, after having liv'd many Years an Inſtance of the mild Temper of the Britiſh Nation.

Every Body knows that the ſaid Mr. Edmund Curll, on Monday the 26th Inſtant, publiſh'd a Satyrical Piece, entituled Court Poems, in the Preface whereof they were attributed to a Lady of Quality, Mr. Pope, or Mr. Gay; by which indiſcreet Method, though he had eſcaped one Revenge, there were ſtill two behind in reſerve.

Now on the Wedneſday enſuing, between the Hours of 10 and 11, Mr. Lintott, a neighb'ring Bookſeller, deſir'd a Conference with Mr. Curll about ſettling the Title Page of Wiquefort's Ambaſſador, inviting him at the ſame Time to take a Whet together. Mr. Pope, (who is not the only Inſtance how Perſons of bright Parts may be carry'd away by the Inſtigations of the Devil) found Means to convey himſelf into the ſame Room, under pretence of Buſineſs with Mr. Lintott, who it ſeems is the Printer of his Homer. This Gentleman with a ſeeming Coolneſs, reprimanded Mr. Curll for wrongfully aſcribing to him the aforeſaid Poems: He excuſed himſelf, by declaring that one of his Authors (Mr. Oldmixon by Name) gave the Copies to the Preſs, and wrote the Preface. Upon this Mr. Pope (being to all appearance reconcil'd) very civilly drank a Glaſs of Sack to Mr. Curll, which he as civilly pledged; and tho' the Liquor in Colour and Taſte differ'd not from common Sack, yet was it plain by the Pangs this unhappy Stationer felt ſoon after, that ſome poiſonous Drug had been ſecretly infuſed therein.

About Eleven a Clock he went home, where his Wife obſerving his Colour chang'd, ſaid, Are you not Sick, my Dear? He reply'd, Bloody Sick; and incontinently fell a vomiting and ſtraining in an uncommon and unnatural Manner, the Contents of his vomiting being as Green as Graſs. His Wife had been juſt reading a Book of her Husband's printing, concerning Jane Wenham, the famous Witch of Hartford, and her Mind miſgave her that he was bewitch'd; but he ſoon let her know that he ſuſpected Poiſon, and recounted to her, between the Intervals of his Yawnings and Reachings, every Circumſtance of his Interview with Mr. Pope.

Mr. Lintott in the mean Time coming in, was extremely afrighted at the ſudden Alteration he obſerved in him: Brother Curll, ſays he, I fear you have got the vomiting Diſtemper, which (I have heard) kills in half an Hour. This comes from your not following my Advice, to drink old Hock as I do, and abſtain from Sack. Mr. Curll reply'd, in a moving Tone, Your Author's Sack I fear has done my Buſineſs. Z _… ds, ſays Mr. Lintott, My Author!—Why did not you drink old Hock? Notwithſtanding which rough Remonſtrance, he did in the moſt friendly Manner preſs him to take warm Water; but Mr. Curll did with great Obſtinacy refuſe it; which made Mr. Lintott infer, that he choſe to die, as thinking to recover greater Damages.

All this Time the Symptoms encreas'd violently, with acute Pains in the lower Belly. Brother Lintott, ſays he, I perceive my laſt Hour approaching, do me the friendly Office to call my Partner, Mr. Pemberton, that we may ſettle our Worldly Affairs. Mr. Lintott, like a kind Neighbour, was haſtening out of the Room, while Mr. Curll rav'd aloud in this Manner, If I ſurvive this, I will be revenged on Tonſon, it was he firſt detected me as the Printer of theſe Poems, and I will reprint theſe very Poems in his Name. His Wife admoniſh'd him not to think of Revenge, but to take care of his Stock and his Soul: And in the ſame Inſtant, Mr. Lintott (whoſe Goodneſs can never be enough applauded) return'd with Mr. Pemberton. After ſome Tears jointly ſhed by theſe Humane Bookſellers, Mr. Curll, being (as he ſaid) in his perfect Senſes though in great bodily Pain, immediately proceeded to make a verbal Will (Mrs. Curll having firſt put on his Night Cap) in the following Manner.

Here Mr. Pemberton interrupted, and would by no Means conſent to this Article, about which ſome Diſpute might have ariſen, unbecoming a dying Perſon, if Mr. Lintott had not interpoſed, and Mr. Curll vomited.

What this poor unfortunate Man ſpoke afterwards, was ſo indiſtinct, and in ſuch broken Accents, (being perpetually interrupted by Vomitings) that the Reader is intreated to excuſe the Confuſion and Imperfection of this Account.

The Caſe of Impotence was my beſt Support all the laſt long Vacation.

In this laſt Paragraph Mr. Curll's Voice grew more free, for his Vomitings abated upon his Dejections, and he ſpoke what follows from his Cloſe-ſtole.

While he was ſpeaking theſe Words, Mr. Oldmixon enter'd. Ah! Mr. Oldmixon (ſaid poor Mr. Curll) to what a Condition have your Works reduced me! I die a Martyr to that unlucky Preface. However, in theſe my laſt Moments, I will be juſt to all Men; you ſhall have your Third Share of the Court Poems, as was ſtipulated. When I am dead, where will you find another Bookſeller? Your Proteſtant Packet might have ſupported you, had you writ a little leſs ſcurrilouſly, There is a mean in all things.

Then turning to Mr. Pemberton, he told him, he had ſeveral Taking Title Pages that only wanted Treatiſes to be wrote to them, and earneſtly entreated, that when they were writ, his Heirs might have ſome Share of the Profit of them.

After he had ſaid this he fell into horrible Gripings, upon which Mr. Lintott advis'd him to repeat the Lord's Prayer. He deſir'd his Wife to ſtep into the Shop for a Common-Prayer-Book, and read it by the Help of a Candle, without Heſitation. He clos'd the Book, fetch'd a Groan, and recommended to Mrs. Curll to give Forty Shillings to the Poor of the Pariſh of St. Dunſtan's, and a Week's Wages Advance to each of his Gentlemen Authors, with ſome ſmall Gratuity in particular to Mrs. Centlivre.

The poor Man continued for ſome Hours with all his diſconſolate Family about him in Tears, expecting his final Diſſolution; when of a ſudden he was ſurprizingly relieved by a plentiful foetid Stool, which obliged them all to retire out of the Room. Notwithſtanding, it is judged by Sir Richard Bl _… e, that the Poyſon is ſtill latent in his Body, and will infallibly deſtroy him by ſlow Degrees, in leſs than a Month. It is to be hoped the other Enemies of this wretched Stationer, will not further purſue their Revenge, or ſhorten this ſmall Period of his miſerable Life.