The fault was with the public, who chose to fit the cap.

His friend remonstrates in the Epilogue against his personal satire.

"Come on, then, Satire, general, unconfined," exclaims the poet, Spread thy broad wing and souse on all the kind * * * * * Ye reverend atheists.

(Friend) Scandal! name them! who?
(Pope) Why, that's the thing you bade me not to do.
Who starved a sister, who forswore a debt, I never named; the town's inquiring yet.
The pois'ning dame-- (F.) You mean-- (P.) I don't.

(F.) You do.
(P.) See, now, I keep the secret, and not you! It must in fact be admitted that from the purely artistic point of view, Pope is right.