Let no one think it strange, or foreign to Mr. Pope, that we thus largely discourse, and shall dif course comparatively, on thefe Poets with him, for he fill'd up all his Time almost in fuch a Way; take from his Life his Perufal and Comparing the Poets, his Converfation about Literature with his Friends, receiving Letters on learned Subjects and Criticifm from them, and writing again to them all, Mr. Pope's active Part of Life would not fill one Sheet of Paper. The two greatest Actions of his Life are, that he went from London when young to live at Windfor-Foreft, and in the Year 1716 moved to Twickenham, for the Remainder of his Days: See his Letter to Mr. Blount, confeffing the fame; it is dated June 22. I F a Regard both to publick and private Affairs, may plead a lawful Excufe in Behalf of a negligent Correfpondent, I have really a very good Title to it. I cannot fay, whether 'tis a Felicity or Unhappiness, that I am obliged at this Time to give up my whole Application to Homer; when, without that Employment, my Thoughts must turn upon what is lefs agreeable, the Violence, Madness, and Refentment, of modern (*) War-makers, which are likely to prove (to fome People at leaft) more fatal, than the fame Qualities in Achilles did to his unfortunate Countrymen. Tho' the Change of my Scene of Life from Windfor-Foreft to the Side of the Thames be one of the grand Æras of my Days, and may be called a notable Period in fo inconfiderable a Hiftory; yet you can fearce imagine any Hero paffing from one Stage of Life to another with fo much Tranquility, fo eafy a This was written in the Year of the Affair at Preston. a Transition, and fo laudable a Behaviour. I am become fo truly a Citizen of the World (according to Plato's Expreffion) that I look with equal Indifference on what I have loft, and on what I have gain'd. The Times and Amusements paft are not more like a Dream to me, than those which are present: I lie in a refreshing Kind of Inaction, and have one Comfort at least from Obscurity, that the Darkness helps me to fleep the better. I now and then reflect upon the Enjoyment of my Friends, whom I fancy I remember much as feperate Spirits do us, at tender Intervals, neither interrupting their own Employments, nor altogether carelefs of ours; but, in general, conftantly wifhing us well, and hoping to have us one Day in their Company. To grow indifferent to the World, is to grow philofophical or religious; (whichfoever of those Turns we chance to take) and indeed the World is fuch a Thing, as one that thinks pretty much, must either laugh at, or be angry with: But if we laugh at it, they fay we are proud; and if we are angry with it, they fay we are ill-natur'd. So the moft politick Way is to feem always better pleas'd than one can be, greater Admirers, greater Lovers, and, in fhort, greater Fools than we really are: So fhall we live comfortably with our Families, quietly with our Neighbours, favour'd by our Mafters, and happy with our Miftreffes. I have filled my Paper, and fo adieu. So that all Readers will be difappointed, who look. into the Life of Mr. Pope, expecting to find any thing elfe but a Gentleman, a Scholar, and a Poet. He filled no Office or Place, was involv'd in no LawSuits, was no Traveller, mov'd but little from one Place to another, never married and confined his Conver Converfation within the Circle of his Friends; in fhort, his Life was wholly a State of Inaction, and spent in Converfation, Study, and Books: Upon this Subject, and we hope you will believe what he himfelf fays, he writes (eight Years before the forementioned Letter) to Henry Cromwell, Efq; April 27, 1708. Have nothing to fay to you in this Letter; but I was refolv'd to write to you to tell you fo. Why should not I content myself with so many great Examples, of deep Divines, profound Cafuifts, grave Philofophers; who have written not Letters only, but whole Tomes and voluminous Treatifes about Nothing? Why should a Fellow, like me, who all his Life does nothing, be afham'd to write nothing? and that to one who has nothing to do but to read it? But perhaps you'll fay, the whole World has fomething to do, fomething to talk af, fomething to wish for, fomething to be employ'd about: But, pray, Sir, caft up the Account, put all these Somethings together, and what is the Sum Total but just Nothing? I have no more to fay, but to defire you to give my Service (that is nothing) to your Friends, and to believe that I am nothing more than, Dear Sir, &c. This Humour rather grew on him than abated, and he often faid, His Time was employ'd in multiplying of Nothings. It was his taking fo much Leisure that gave him an Opportunity to honour our Language, and oblige the World with fo many fine Pieces, he never feems to wish to have been in the bufy Part of the World, and never but once feem'd to repent his having liv'd fingle, that is in a Letter to to his dear Friend, Mr. Blount, (deareft except Mr. Gay) the Date of it is October the 21st, 1721. Dear Sir, Our very kind and obliging Manner of enquir ing after me, among the firft Concerns of Life at your Refufcitation, fhould have been fooner anfwer'd and acknowledg'd. I fincerely rejoice at your Recovery from an Illness that gave me lefs Pain than it did you, only from my Ignorance of it. Ifhould have elfe been seriously and deeply afflicted, in the Thought of your Danger by a Fever. I think it a fine and a natural Thought, which I lately read in a Letter of Montaigne's, publifh'd by P. Cofte, give ing an Account of the laft Words of an intimate Frind of his: Adieu my Friend! The Pain I feel "will foon be over, but I grieve for that you are to feel, which is to laft you for Life." I join with your Family in giving God Thanks for lending us a worthy Man fomewhat longer. The Comforts you receive from their Attendance, put me in mind of what old Fletcher of Saltonne faid one Day to me. Alas, I have nothing to do but to die; I' am a poor Individual; no Creature to wish, or to fear, for my Life or Death: 'Tis the only Reafon I have to repent being a fingle Man; now I grow old, I am like a Tree without a Prop, and without young Trees to grow round me, for Company and Defence. This, we believe, will justify us in proceeding in our further Difcourfe on Paftoral, intending to continue our Comparison of the Authors under our Confideration, as well as to bring forward fome of their greatest Beauties, which every Reader may not have feen in fo good a Light. Befides that Air of Piety which ought always to accompany the Character of a Shepherd, there is generally generally, by the beft Poets, thrown in a little Superftition, making them, for Want of more Knowledge, take for granted the Power of Magick and Witchcraft; this appears in all the fix paftoral Poets about which we are now speaking, Guarini too, in the last Scene of the fecond Act, when Corifca has left her falfe Hair and Head-dress in the Hands of the Satyr, makes him call out to the Nymphs and Shepherds to come and fee a Miracle, he at first imagining, that by fome Magick, fhe had run away from him and left her Head in his Hands; it is the common Method of all these Poets, to give their Rea ders to understand that they themselves had no Belief in Magick, fo that the Satyr is foon undeceiv'd, finding it to be nothing but a drefs'd up Ornament for the Head of that old Coquet, which was defign'd as a gentle Satire upon thofe Italian Ladies who at that Time wore falfe Hair; but this now is grown fo common as well there as in France, and here in England too, that it is no longer wondered at. Taffo, in like Manner introduces Amintas, in his Complaint to Thyrfis, faying, that his hard Lot was prophecy'd to him by Mopfus: All my hard Fate me Mopfus did foretel, But Thyrfis (under which Name the Poet figures himself) foon undeceives him, and lets him know, that the pretended Fortune-teller was only an Impoftor, and that what he had told him was not in fu-, ture Fate, but Words fpoke only to deject and frighten him; he inftances himself, who having Inclination to fee the great City, as well as having fome. Bufinefs |