I Dear Sir, LETTER VII. TO THE SAME. Twickenham, March 14, 1731. AM not more happy, nor feel a greater ease in comparison of my former pain, in the recovery from my rheumatism, than in that from your difpleasure. Be affured, no little offenders ever fhall be distinguished more by me. Your dedication pleases me almost equally with the poem; our hearts beat just together, in regard to men of power and quality: but a series of infirmities (for my whole life has been but one long disease) has hindered me from following your advices. I this day have writ to Lord Peterborough a letter with your poem. The familiarity in which we have lived fome years, makes it not unufual, in either him or me, to tell each other any thing that pleases us: otherwise you might think it arrogant in me to pretend to put fo good a thing into his hands, in which I have no merit. Your mention of our friend Mr. Mallet I thank you for, and should be glad he would give me an opportunity of thanking you in perfon, who am, with fincerity, Sir, Your, etc. Dear Sir, LETTER VIII. TO THE SAME. Twickenham, April 4, 1731. T is a ferious pleasure to me to find you concerned, IT that I should do your good fenfe and discernment the justice it deserves. It is impoffible for me not to think just what you would have me on this head; the whole spirit and meaning of your poem fhews all little thoughts to be strangers to your foul. I happen to know many particulars relating to the Earl of Peterborough's conduct, and just glory, in that scene you draw fo well: but no man ought (I think) to attempt what you aim at, or can pretend to do him more honour than what you yourself here have done; except himself: I have long preffed him to put together many papers lying by him, to that end. On this late occafion he told me you had formerly endeavoured the fame, and it comes into my mind, that, on many of those papers, I've seen an endorsement A. H. which I fancy might be thofe you overlooked. My Lord spoke of you with great regard, and told me how narrowly you both miffed of going together on an adventurous expedition*. The real reason I carried him your poem was, that I imagined you would never fend it him, of all mankind; and that I was truly pleased with it. On an expedition to the West Indies. I am I am troubled to reflect, how unequal a corre fpondent I am to you, partly through want of health, (for I have fince had a fever,) partly through want of fpirits, and want of folitude; for the last thing we poets care to own, is the other want, that of abilities. But I am fenfibly pleased with your letter, not only with that which feemed to prompt it, but with the things faid in it: and I thank you for both-Believe me defirous to fee you: when, and where, you fhall determine; though I wish it were here: you'll fee a place feeming more fit for me than it is; looking poetical, yet too much in the world: romantic and not retired: however, I can lock up all avenues to it fometimes, and I know no better reason for doing fo, or for shutting out the world, than to enjoy fuch an one as yourself. I am, Sir, with esteem and fincerity, Dear Sir, LETTER IX. TO THE SAME. Your, etc. September 3, 1731. I HAVE been, and yet am, totally confined by my mother's relapse, if that can be called fo, which is rather a constant and regular decay. She is now on her laft bed, in all probability, from whence she has not not risen in fome weeks, yet in no direct pain, but a perpetual languor. I fuffer for her, for myself, and for you, in the reflection of what you have felt at the fide of a fick bed, which I now feel, and of what I probably foon fhall suffer, which you now fuffer, in the lofs of one's best friend. I have wished (ever fince I faw your letter) to ask you, fince you find your own house a scene of forrows, to pass fome days in mine; which I begin to think I fhall foon have the fame melancholy reafon to fhun. In the mean time, I make a fort of amusement of this melancholy fituation itself, and try to derive a comfort in imagining I give fome to her. I am seldom prompted to poetry in these circumstances; yet I'll send you a few lines I fent t'other day from her bed-fide to a particular friend. Indeed I want fpirits and matter, to fend you any thing else, or on any other fubject. Thefe too are spiritless, and incorrect. While ev'ry joy, fuccessful youth! is thine, Me long, ah long! may these soft cares engage; With lenient arts prolong a parent's breath, Make languor fmile, and smooth the bed of death. Excuse this, in a man who is weak and wounded, but not by his enemies, but for his friends. I wish you the continuance of all that is yet dear to you in life, and am truly Yours. LETTER X. TO THE SAME. Dear Sir, September 29, 1731. I RETURN you the inclofed the day after I received it, left it should retard your finishing the copy, now the year draws toward winter: and though I am in a great hurry, which allows me to fay little, only to tell you, in my Lord's name and my own, that we think you fhew even more friendship and confidence in us, than we have hitherto been justly entitled to, from any use our opinion could be of, to a judgment fo good as your own. We are fully fatiffied; and 'tis but a word or two, that I can carp, with the utmost and most extended severity of a friend. It will be with infinitely greater promptitude, and pleasure, that I shall speak (every where) my real approbation and esteem of the performance, in which I fhall do no more than difcharge my confcience. I wifh fincerely, I could as well ferve you in promoting its success, as I can testify it deferves all fuccefs. You |