more ado) you have a valuable foul; and wit, fenfe, and worth enough, to make me reckon it (provided you will permit it) one of the happinesses of my life to have been made acquainted with you.

I do not know, on the other hand, what you can think of me; but this, for a beginning, I will venture to engage, that whoever takes me for a poet, or a wit, (as they call it,) takes me for a creature of lefs value than I am: and that where-ever I profefs it, you fhall find me a much better man, that is, a much better friend, or at least a much lefs faulty one, than I am a poet. That whatever zeal I may have, or whatever regard I may fhew, for things I truly am so pleased with as your entertaining writings; yet I fhall ftill have more for your person, and for your health, and for your happiness. I would, with as much readinefs, play the apothecary or the nurse, to mend your head-aches, as I would play the critic to improve your verses. I have seriously looked over and over those you intrufted me with; and affure you, Madam, I would as foon cheat in any other truft, as in this. I fincerely tell you, I can mend them very little, and only in trifles, not worth writing about; but will tell you every tittle when I have the happiness to fee you.

I am more concerned than you can reafonably believe, for the ill state of health you are at present under but I will appeal to time, to fhew you how

fincerely

fincerely I am, (if I live long enough to prove myself

what I truly am,) Madam,

Your most faithful fervant,

A. POPE.

I am very fick all the while I write this letter, which I hope will be an excufe for its being fo fcribbled.

MADAM,

LETTER VIII.

Twitenham, Nov. 9.

IT happened that when I determined to answer yours, by the post that followed my receipt of it, I was prevented from the firft proof I have had the happiness to give you of my warmth and readiness, in returning the epitaph, with my fincere condolements with you on that melancholy fubject. But nevertheless I refolved to fend you the one, though unattended by the other: I begged Mrs. H inclofe it, that you might at leaft fee I had not the power to delay a moment the doing what you bid me; especially when the occafion of obeying your commands was such, as must affect every admirer and well-wisher of honour and virtue in the nation.

to

You

You had it in the very blots, the better to compare the places; and I can only fay it was done to the best of my judgment, and to the extent of my fincerity.

Yet

I do not wonder that you decline the poetical amusement I proposed to you, at this time. I know (from what little I know of your heart) enough at leaft to convince me, it must be too deeply concerned at the lofs, not only of so great, and fo near a relation; but of a good man (a lofs this age can hardly ever afford to bear, and not often can sustain). perhaps it is one of the best things that can be faid of poetry, that it helps us to pafs over the toils and troubles of this tiresome journey, our life; as horses are encouraged and spirited up, by the jingling of bells about their heads. Indeed, as to myself, I have been used to this odd cordial, so long, that it has no effect upon me: but you, Madam, are in your honeymoon of poetry; you have seen only the fmiles, and enjoyed the careffes, of Apollo. Nothing is fo pleasant to a mufe as the first children of the imagination; but when once fhe comes to find it meer conjugal duty, and the care of her numerous progeny daily grows upon her, it is all a four tax for past pleasure. As the Pfalmift fays on another occafion, the age of a mufe is fcarce above five and twenty: all the rest is labour and forrow. I find by experience that his own fiddle is no great pleasure to a common fiddler, after once the first good conceit of himself is lost.

I long at last to be acquainted with you; and Mrs.

H tells me you fhall foon be in town, and I bleft with the vifion I have fo long defired. Pray believe I worship you as much, and fend my addresses to you as often as to any female Saint in Heaven: it is certain I fee you as little, unless it be in my sleep; and that way too, holy hermits are vifited by the Saints themselves.

I am, without figures and metaphors, yours and hope you will think, I have fpent all my fiction in my poetry; fo that I have nothing but plain truth left for my profe; with which I am ever, Madam,

Your faithful humble fervant.

MADAM,

LETTER IX.

Five o'clock.

I

THINK it a full proof of that unlucky star, which upon too many occafions I have experienced; that this first, this only day that I fhould have owned happy beyond expectation (for I did not till yesterday hope to have feen you fo foon) I must be forced not. to do it. I am too fick (indeed very ill) to go out fo far, and lie on a bed at my doctor's house, as a kind of force upon him to get me better with all hafte.

I am scarce able to fee thefe few lines I write; to wish you health and pleasure enough not to mifs me to-day, and myself patience to bear being absent from you as well as I can being ill. I am truly, Your faithful fervant,

MADAM,

A. POPE.

LETTER X.

Jan. 17, 173.

AF

FTER a very long expectation and daily hopes of the fatisfaction of feeing and converfing with you, I am still deprived of it in a manner that is the most afflicting, because it is occafioned by your illness and your misfortune. I can bear my own, I affure you, much better and thus to find you loft to me, at the time that I hoped to have regained you, doubles the concern I should naturally feel in being deprived of any pleasure whatever.

Mrs. H

can beft exprefs to you the concern of a friend, who esteems and pities: for fhe has the liberty to express it in her actions, and the fatiffaction of attending on you in your indifpofition.

I wish fincerely your condition were not fuch as to debar me from telling you in perfon how truly I

am