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that shall not hinder me from employing myself also in a way which they do not like. The givers of trouble one day shall have their share of it another; that at last they may be induced to let me be quiet, and live to myself with the few (the very few) friends I like; for that is the point, the single point I now aim at though, I know the generality of the world who are acquainted with my intentions and views, think the very reverse of this character belongs to me. I don't know how I have rambled into this account of myself; when I sat down to write, I had no thought of making that any part of my letter.

You might have been sure without my telling you, that my right hand is at ease; else I should not have overflowed at this rate. And yet I have not done, for there is a kind intimation in the end of yours, which I understood, because it seeems to tend towards employing me in something that is agreeable to you. Pray explain yourself, and believe that you have not an acquaintance in the world that would be more in earnest on such an occasion than I, for I love you, as well as esteem you.

All the while I have been writing, Pain, and a fine Thrush, have been severally endeavouring to call off my attention; but both in vain, nor should I yet part with you, but that the turning over a new leaf frights me a little, and makes me resolve to break through a new temptation, before it has taken too fast hold

on me.

I am, etc.

LETTER XVIII.

FROM THE SAME.

June 15, 1722.

You have generally written first, after our parting; I will now be beforehand with you in my enquiries, how you got home, and how you do, and whether you met with Lord *, and delivered my civil reproach to him, in the manner I desired? I suppose you did not, because I have heard nothing either from you or from him on that head; as, I suppose, I might have done if you had found him.

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I am sick of these men of quality; and the more so, the oftener I have any business to transact with them. They look upon it as one of their distinguishing privileges, not to be punctual in any business, of how great importance soever; nor to set other people at ease, with the loss of the least part of their own. This conduct of his vexes me; but to what purpose? or how can I alter it?

I long to see the original мs. of Milton: but don't know how to come at it, without your repeated assistance.

I hope you won't utterly forget what passed in the coach about Samson Agonistes". I shall not press

7 Dr. Johnson thought differently about this Tragedy; written evidently and happily in the style and manner of Eschylus; and said, "that it was deficient in both requisites of a true Aristotelic middle. Its intermediate parts have neither cause nor consequence; neither hasten, nor retard, the catastrophe." To which opinion the judicious Mr. Twining accedes. What Dr. Warburton said of it is wonderfully ridiculous; that Milton "chose the sub

you as to time, but some time or other I wish you would review and polish that piece. If upon a new perusal of it (which I desire you to make) you think as I do, that it is written in the very spirit of the Ancients; it deserves your care, and is capable of being improved, with little trouble, into a perfect model and standard of Tragic poetry-always allowing for its being a story taken out of the Bible; which is an objection that at this time of day I know is not to be got over.

I am, etc.

LETTER. XIX.

July 27.

I HAVE been as constantly at Twitenham as your Lordship has at Bromley, ever since you saw Lord ject for the sake of the satire on bad wives ;" and that the subjects of this tragedy, and Paradise Lost, were not very different, "the fall of two heroes by a woman." Milton, in this drama, has given an example of every species of measure which the English language is capable of exhibiting; not only in the Choruses, but in the Dialogue part. The chief parts of the Dialogue (though there is a great variety of measure in the Choruses of the Greek Tragedies) are in Iambic verse. I recollect but three places in which Hexameter verses are introduced in the Greek Tragedies, once in the Trachiniæ, once in the Philoctetes of Sophocles, and once in the Troades of Euripides. Voltaire wrote an opera on this subject of Samson, 1732, which was set to music by Rameau, but was never performed. He has inserted Choruses to Venus and Adonis; and the piece finishes by introducing Samson, actually pulling down the Temple, on the stage, and crushing all the Assembly, which Milton has flung into so fine a narration; and the Opera is ended by Samson's saying, "J'ai reparé ma honte, et j'expire en vainqueur." And yet this was the man that dared to deride the irregularities of Shakspeare.

Bathurst. At the time of the Duke of Marlbo rough's funeral, I intend to lie at the Deanery, and moralize one evening with you on the vanity of human Glory.

The Dutchess's letter concerns me nearly, and you know it, who know all my thoughts without disguise : I must keep clear of Flattery; I will, and as this is an honest resolution, I dare hope your Lordship will not be so unconcerned for my keeping it, as not to assist me in so doing. I beg therefore you would represent thus much at least to her Grace, that as to the fear she seems touched with [That the Duke's memory should have no advantage but what he must give himself, without being beholden to any one friend], your Lordship may certainly, and agreeable to your character, both of rigid honour and Christian plainness, tell her, that no man can have any other advantage: and that all offsprings of friends in such a case pass for nothing. Be but so good as to confirm what I've represented to her, that an inscription in the ancient way, plain, pompous, yet modest, will be the most uncommon, and therefore the most distinguishing manner of doing it. And so, I hope, she will be satisfied, the Duke's honour be preserved, and my integrity also: which is too sacred a thing to be forfeited, in consideration of any little (or what people of quality may call great) Honour or distinction whatever, which those of their rank can bestow on one of mine; and which indeed they are apt to overrate, but never so much as when

• The Dutchess of Buckingham. W.

they imagine us under any obligation to say one untrue word in their favour.

I can only thank you, my Lord, for the kind transition you make from common business, to that which is the only real business of every reasonable creature. Indeed I think more of it than you imagine, though not so much as I ought. I am pleased with those Latin verses extremely, which are so very good that I thought them yours, till you called them an Horatian Cento, and then I recollected the disjecta membra poeta. I won't pretend I am so totally in those sentiments which you compliment me with, as as I yet hope to be you tell me I have them, as the civilest method to put me in mind how much it fits me to have them. I ought, first, to prepare my mind by a better knowledge even of good profane writers, especially the Moralists, etc. before I can be worthy of tasting that supreme of books, and sublime of all writings. In which, as in all the intermediate ones, you may (if your friendship and charity toward me continue so far) be the best guide to

Your, etc.

LETTER XX.

FROM THE BISHOP OF ROCHESTER.

July 30, 1722.

I HAVE written to the Dutchess9 just as you desired, and referred her to our meeting in town for a farther

• Dutchess of Buckingham. W.

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