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DEAR MR. POPE,

LETTER CII.

FROM THE SAME.

I INTENDED to have breakfasted with James Eckersall at Drayton, but heard by the way of his being in London, so I jogg'd to Hammersmith in 5 hours and a half without drawing bit. Yesterday I gave a printed proposal to Lord Halifax, and spoke to the Duke of Devonshire to join my Lord Wharton's interest, and move your affair, that we may set 'em a going about the counties.

I have not yet seen the dear Archdeacon, who is at his old lodgings in St. James's place, nor the Dean; but have just read a thing entitled a Prefatory Epistle, concerning some remarks to be published on Homer's Iliad, occasioned by the proposals of Mr. Pope towards a new English Version of that poem-To the Rev. Dr. Swift, Dean of St. Patrick's-by Richd. Fiddes, B. D. Chaplain to the Right Hon. the Earl of Oxford.-Auápтnu' ev’yevés — Long.-To Mr. Pope from the author, in manuscript.-All the foregoing elegances at proper distances, and Italianized according to form. It came too late for the coach, and is too big for my privileges of frank---8vo. 120 pages---marbled paper.

I find so many party strokes in it, that I am afraid it may do your proposals more harm than good.

My Lord Halifax talked of a design to send for you to Bushy-Park, I believe with a coach-and-six, or light chaise, but did not name the precise time.-

I publish your having done the first book and begun -I received the cloak bag safe-I hope you did not pay carriage. I can't yet guess when I shall be ready for Sir William's service.

I

am, etc.

DEAR MR. POPE,

LETTER CIII.

FROM THE SAME.

I HAD your last in due time.

Shall I send you the 1007. in bills or cash? and when?

Gay had a copy of the Farewell, with your injunctions. No other extant.

Lord Harvey had the Homer and letter, and bids me thank the author.

I hear nothing of the Sermon. The generality

will take it for the Dean's, and that will hurt neither you nor him.

Gay will be with you on Saturday next. He also works hard.

Your old sword went with the carrier, and was tyed to the other things with a cord, and my folks say very fast. You must make the carrier responsible. Mine will swear to the delivery, &c.

No books for you from Lintot.

Mrs. Raines, a young lady in the city, and one of my shepherdesses, takes one of the volumes, has paid her 2 guineas, and is to be a subscriber in your next list.

I also got 2 guineas from the Marquis of Dorchester.

Philip sent me a note for receipts to be conveyed to the 11 members of the late Hanover club. Pray let me have their names by the first. I send to Mr. Merrils to day, &c.

Lintot sent me Tickell's Homer for your government. I could not forbear comparing, and do not know what the devil is got into my head, but I fancy I could make a more poetical translation in a fortnight (excepting a very few lines).

It seems it's publisht merely to show as a specimen of his ability for the Odysses. Fortescue would have Gay publish a version of the first book of the Odysses, and tell the world 'tis only to bespeak their approbation and favour for a translation of Statius, or any other poet. In short, we are merry, whether we are wise or no.-My respects to dear Sir William, and his good lady and son, and am concerned for any deficiency in his countenance, but I am in no pain for the paltry Basso Relievo.

DEAR SIR,

LETTER CIV.

FROM

Yours, etc.

Saturday Night.

I REALLY intended to have been with you today; but having been disappointed yesterday of meeting Mr. Selwyn, and going to the Exchequer

about my salary to-day, and to Mrs. Howard's to meet him, made it too late; so that I made a visit this morning to Mr. Congreve, where I found Lord Cobham. They both enquired kindly for you, and wished to see you soon. Mr. Fortescue could not have come with me, but intends the latter end of next week to see you at Twickenham. I have seen our friend Dean Berkeley, who was very solicitous about your health and welfare. He is now so full of his Bermudas project, that he hath printed his proposal, and hath been with the Bishop of London about it. Mrs. Howard desired me to tell you that she had a present of beech-mast, which this year hath been particularly good. When 'tis wanted she would have you send to her. I writ to you yesterday, and am in hopes that Mrs. Pope will soon be so well that you may be able to come to town for a day or so about your business. I really am this evening very much out of order with the cholic, but I hope a night's rest will relieve me. I wish Mrs. Pope and you all health and happiness. Pray give my service to her.

LETTER CV.

FROM MR. PITT, THE TRANSLATOR OF VIRGIL, TO MR. SPENCE.

DEAR JO,

July 18, Blandford, 1726. I AM entering into proposals with a bookseller for printing a little miscellany of my own performances, consisting of some originals and select Translations.

I beg you to be altogether silent in the matter. Mr. Pope has used so little of the 23d Odyssey that I gave Dr. Younge, that if I put it in among the rest I shall hardly incur any danger of the penalty concerning the patent. However, I will not presume to publish a single line of it after Mr. Pope's Translation, if you advise me (as I desire you to do sincerely) to the contrary. I shall send you a small specimen of my Translation, which if you approve of, I can assure you the remainder of the book is not inferior to it.

THE nurse all wild with transport seem'd to swim,
Joy wing'd her feet and lighten'd every limb;
Then to the room with speed impatient borne
Flew with the tidings of her lord's return.
There bending o'er the sleeping Queen, she cries,
Rise, my Penelope, my daughter, rise
To see Ulysses thy long absent spouse,
Thy soul's desire and lord of all thy vows:
Tho' late, he comes, and in his rage has slain,
For all their wrongs, the haughty suitor train.
Ah Euryclea, she replies, you rave;

The gods resume that reason which they gave;
For Heav'n deep wisdom to the fool supplies,
But oft infatuates and confounds the wise.
And wisdom once was thine! but now I find
The gods have ruin'd thy distemper'd mind.
How could you hope your fiction to impose?
Was it to flatter or deride my woes?
How could you break a sleep with talk so vain
That held my sorrows in so soft a chain?

A sleep so sweet I never could enjoy
Since my dear lord left Ithaca for Troy :
Curst Troy-oh! why did I thy name disclose?
Thy fatal name awakens all my woes :
But fly-some other had provok'd my rage,
And you but owe your pardon to your age.
No artful tales, no studied lies, I frame,
Ulysses lives (rejoins the rev'rend dame)

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