Mr. Pope to the Honourable

July 13, 1714.

I CAN not tell from any thing in your letter, whether you received a long one from me about a fortnight since. It was principally intended to thank you for the last obliging favour you did me; and perhaps for that reason you pass it in silence. I there launched into some account of my temporal affairs; and I intend now to give you some hints of my spiritual. The conclusion of your letter, in which you tell me you prayed for me, drawing this upon me. Nothing can be more kind than the hint you give me of the vanity of human sciences, which, I assure you, I am daily more convinced of; and indeed, I have, for some years past, looked upon all of them as no better than amusements. To make them the ultimate end of our pursuit, is a miserable and short ambition, which will drop from us at every little disappointment here; and, even in case of no disappointments here, will infallibly desert us hereafter. The utmost fame they are capable of bestowing, is never worth the pains they cost us, and the time they lose us. If you attain the summit of your desires that way, those who envy you, will do you harm; and of those who admire you, few will do you good. And at the upshot, after a life of perpetual application, you reflect that you have been doing nothing for yourself: and that the same or less in dustry might have gained you a friendship, that can never deceive or end; a satisfaction, which praise cannot bestow, nor vanity feel; and a glory, which though, in one respect like fame, not to be had till after death, yet shall be felt and enjoyed to

eternity. These, dear sir, are unfeignedly my sen timents, whenever I think at all; for half the things that employ our heads, deserve not the name of thoughts; they are only stronger dreams of impressions upon the imaginations. Our schemes of government, our systems of philosophy, our golden worlds of poetry, are all but so many shadowy images, and airy prospects, which arise to us so much the livelier and more frequent, as we are more overcast with the darkness, and disturbed with the fumes, of human vanity.

The same thing that makes old men willing to leave this world, makes me willing to leave poetry; long habit and weariness of the same track. I should be sorry and ashamed, to go on jingling to the last step, like a wagoner's horse, in the same road; and so leave my bells to the next silly animal that will be proud of them. That man makes a mean figure in the eyes of Reason, who is measuring syllable and coupling rhymes, when he should be mending his own soul, and securing his own immortality. If I had not this opinion, I should be unworthy even of these small and limited parts which God has given me; and unworthy of the friendship of such a man as you.

I am your, &c.

ALEXANDER POPE.

Dr. Atterbury, bishop of Rochester, to Mr. Pope.

Bromley, May 25, 1722.

I HAD much ado to get hither last night, the water being so rough that the ferrymen were unwilling to venture. The first thing I saw this morning, after my eyes were open, was your letter; for

the freedom and kindness of which I thank you. Let all compliments be laid aside between us for the fu ture; and depend upon me as your faithful friend in all things in my power, as one who truly values you, and wishes you all manner of happiness. I thank you and your mother for my kind reception; which has left a pleasing impression upon me, that will not soon be effaced.

Lord

has pressed me to see him at and told me in a manner betwixt kindness and resentment, that it is but a few miles beyond Twick enham.

I have but a little time left, and a great deal to do in it and I must expect that ill health will ren. der a good share of it useless; and, therefore, what is likely to be left at the foot of the account, ought by me to be cherished, and not thrown away in compliment. You know the motto of my sun-dial 'Vivite, ait, fugio.' I will, as far as I am able, follow its advice, and cut off all unnecessary avoIcations and amusements. There are those who

intended to employ me this winter in a way I do not like: if they persist in their intentions, I must apply myself, as well as I can, to the work which they cut out for me. But that shall not hinder me froin employing myself also in a way which they do not like; 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 this is the point, the single point I now aim at; though I know, the generality of the world, who are unacquainted with my intentions and views, think the very reverse of this character belongs to me. I do not 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 seems 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, only 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 of me. I am, &c.

ATTERBURY.

John Dryden to the Right Hon. Charles Montague. October, 1699.

SIR,

THESE Verses* had waited on you with the former, but that they wanted that correction which I have given them, that they may the better endure the sight of so great a judge and poet. I am now in fear that I have purged them out of their spirit; as our master Busby used to whip a boy so long, till he made him a confirmed blockhead. My cousin Dryden saw them in the country; and the greatest exception he made to them was, a satire

*The Epistle to his cousin, John Dryden, Esq. of Ches terton.

against the Dutch valour in the last war. He desired me to omit it (to use his own words) "out of the respect he had to his sovereign." I obeyed his commands, and left only the praises, which I think are due to the gallantry of my own countrymen. In the description which I have made of a parliament man, I think I have not only drawn the features of my worthy kinsman, but have also given my opinion of what an Englishman in parliament ought to be; and deliver it as a memorial of my own principles to all posterity. I have consulted the judgment of my unbiassed friends, who have some of them the honour to be known to you; and they think there is nothing which can justly give offence in that part of the poem. I say not this to cast a blind on your judgment, (which I could not do, if I endeavoured it,) but to assure you, that nothing relating to the public shall stand without your permission: for it were to want common sense to desire your patronage, and resolve to disoblige you and as I will not hazard my hopes of your protection, by refusing to obey you in any. thing I can perform with my conscience and my honour, so I am very confident you will never impose any other terms on me.-) -My thoughts at present are fixed on Homer; and by my translation of the first Iliad, I find him a poet more according to my genius than Virgil, and consequently hope I may do him more justice, in his fiery way of writing; which, as it is liable to more faults, so it is capable of more beauties than the exactness and sobriety of Virgil. Since 't is for my country's honour as well as for my own, that I undertake this task, I despair not of being encouraged in it by your favour, who am, sir, your most obedient servant, JOHN DRYDEN.