am fure the whole entertainment would have been to his relish. Gay has got fo much money by walking the streets, that he is ready to fet up his equipage: he is just going to the Bank to negociate some exchange bills. Mr. Pope delays his fecond volume of his Homer till the martial spirit of the rebels is quite quelled, it being judged that the first part did some harm that way. Our love again and again to the dear Dean; fuimus Tories; I can fay no more. ARBUTHNOT. WHEN a man is confcious that he does no good himself, the next thing is to caufe others to do fome. I may claim some merit this way, in hastening this testimonial from your friends above writing: their love to you indeed wants no fpur, their ink wants no pen, their pen wants no hand, their hand wants no heart, and fo forth (after the manner of Rabelais, which is betwixt fome meaning and no meaning); and yet it may be faid, when present thought and opportunity is wanting, their pens want ink, their hands want pens, their hearts want hands, etc. till time, place, and conveniency concur to fet them a-writing, as at prefent, a fociable meeting, a good dinner, warm fire, and an easy fituation do, to the joint labour and pleasure of this epiftle. Wherein * The Poem of Trivia, or the Art of Walking the Streets, by Gay. Wherein if I fhould fay nothing I should fay much, (much being included in my love,) though my love be fuch, that if I should fay much, I should yet say nothing, it being (as Cowley fays) equally impoffible either to conceal or to exprefs it. If I were to tell you the thing I wifh above all things, it is to see you again; the next is to fee here your treatise of Zoilus with the Batrachomuomachia, and the Pervigilium Veneris, both which poems are master-pieces in feveral kinds; and I question not the profe is as excellent in its fort, as the Effay on Homer. Nothing can be more glorious to that great author, than that the fame hand which raised his best statue, and decked it with its old laurels, should also hang up the scare-crow of his miferable critic, and gibbet up the carcafe of Zoilus, to the terror of the writings of pofterity. More, and much more, upon this and a thousand other fubjects will be the matter of my next letter, wherein I muft open all the friend to you. At this time I must be content with telling you, I am faithfully, your most affectionate and humble servant, A. POPE. I * MUST Own I have long owed you a letter, but you muft own you have owed me one a good deal longer. Befides, I have but two people in the whole kingdom of Ireland to take care of; the Dean and you: but you have feveral who complain of your neglect in England. Mr. Gay complains, Mr. Harcourt complains, Mr. Jervas complains, Mr. Arbuthnot complains, my Lord complains; I complain. (Take notice of this figure of iteration, when you make your next fermon.) Some fay, you are in deep discontent at the new turn of affairs; others, that you are fo much in the Archbishop's good graces, that you will not correfpond with any that have seen the laft miniftry. Some affirm, you have quarrelled with Pope (whole friends they obferve daily fall from him, on account of his fatirical and comical dispofition); others, that you are infinuating yourself into the opinion of the ingenious Mr. What-do-ye-call-him. Some think you are preparing your Sermons for the prefs, and others that you will transform them into effays, and moral discourses. But the only excuse that I will allow you is, your attention to the life of Zoilus. * Bolingbroke. Zoilus. The frogs already feem to croak for their transportation to England, and are fenfible how much that Doctor is curfed and hated, who introduced their species into your nation; therefore, as you dread the wrath of St. Patrick, fend them hither, and rid your kingdom of those pernicious and loquacious animals. I have at length received your poem out of Mr. Addifon's hands, which fhall be fent as foon as you order it, and in what manner you fhall appoint. I fhall, in the mean time, give Mr. Tooke a packet for you, confifting of divers merry pieces; Mr. Gay's new farce; Mr. Burnet's Letter to Mr. Pope; Mr. Pope's Temple of Fame; Mr. Thomas Burnet's Grumbler on Mr. Gay; and the Bishop of Ailfbury's Elegy, written either by Mr. Cary or fome other hand. Mr. Pope is reading a letter, and in the mean time I make ufe of the pen, to testify my uneafinefs in not hearing from you. I find fuccefs, even in the most trivial things, raises the indignation of fcribblers: for I, for my What-d'-ye-call-it, could neither escape the fury of Mr. Burnet, or the German Doctor; then where will rage end, when Homer is to be tranflated? Let Zoilus haften to your friend's affiftance, and envious criticifm fhall be no more. I am in hopes that we order our affairs fo, as to meet this fummer at the Bath; for Mr. Pope and myself have thoughts of taking a trip thither.. You fhall preach, and we will write lampoons, for it is esteemed as great an honour to leave the Bath for fear of a broken head, as for a Terræ |