thing of yours to come abroad; which in this age, wherein wit and true fenfe is more fcarce than money, is a piece of fuch cruelty as your best friends can hardly pardon. I hope you will repent and amend; I could offer many reasons to this purpose, and fuch as you cannot answer with any fincerity; but that I dare not enlarge, for fear of engaging in a ftyle of Compliment, which has been fo abused by fools and knaves, that it is become almoft fcanda lous. I conclude therefore with an affurance which hall never vary, of my being ever, &c.

LETTER II.

Sir WILLIAM TRUMBULL to Mr. POPE.

April 9, 1708.

Have this moment received the favour of yours

of the 8th inftant; and will make you a true excufe (tho' perhaps no very good one) that I deferred the troubling you with a letter, when I fent back your papers, in hopes of fecing you at Binfield before this time. If I had met with any fault in your performance, I fhould freely now (as I have done too prefumptuously in converfation with you) tell you my opinion; which I have frequently ventured to give you, rather in compliance with your defires than that I could think it reasonable. For I am not yet fatisfied upon what grounds I can pretend to judge of poetry, who have never been practifed in the art. There may poffibly be fome happy genius's, who may judge of fome of the natural beauties of a poem, as a man may of the proportions of a building, without having read Vitruvius, or knowing any thing of the rules of architecture: but this, tho' it may fometimes be in the right, must be fubL 4

ject

ject to many mistakes, and is certainly but a fuper. ficial knowledge; without entring into the art, the methods, and the particular excellencies of the whole compofure, in all the parts of it.

Befides my want of skill, I have another reason why I ought to fufpect myself, by reason of the great affection I have for you; which might give too much bias to be kind to every thing that comes from you. But after all, I muft fay (and I do it with an old-fashioned fincerity) that I entirely approve of your tranflation of thofe pieces of Homer, both as to the verfification and the true sense that shines thro the whole Nay I am confirmed in my former application to you, and give me leave to renew it upon this occafion, that you would proceed in tranflating that incomparable Poet, to make him fpeak good English, to drefs his admirable characters in your proper, fignificant, and expreffive conceptions, and to make his works as ufeful and instructive to this degenerate age, as he was to our friend Horace, when he read him at Prænefte: Qui, quid fit pulchrum, quid turpe, quid utile, quid non, &c. I break off with that quid non? with which I confess I am charm'd.

Upon the whole matter I intreat you to fend this presently to be added to the Mifcellanies, and, I hope, it will come time enough for that purpose.

I have nothing to fay of my Nephew B.'s obfervations, for he fent them to me fo late, that I had not time to confider them; I dare fay he endeavoured very faithfully (though, he told me, very haftily) to execute your commands.

All I can add is, that if your excess of modesty fhould hinder you from publishing this Effay, I fhall only be forry that I have no more credit with you, to perfwade you to oblige the public, and very particularly, dear Sir,

Your, &c.

LET

LETTER III.

Sir WILLIAM TRUMBULL to Mr. POPE.

I

March 6, 1713.

'Think a hafty scribble fhows more what flows from the heart, than a letter after Balzac's manner in ftudied phrases; therefore I will tell you as fast as I can, that I have received your favour of the 26th past, with your kind prefent of The Rape of the Lock. You have given me the trueft fatiffaction imaginable not only in making good the just opinion I have ever had of your reach of thought, and my Idea of your comprehenfive genius; but likewife in that pleasure I take as an Englishman to fee the French, even Boileau himself in his Lutrin, out-done in your poem: for you defcend, leviore plecro, to all the nicer touches, that your own obfervation and wit furnish, on such a fubject as requires the finest strokes and the livelieft imagination. But I must say no more (tho' I could a great deal) on what pleases me so much: and henceforth, I hope, you will never condemn me of partiality, fince I only swim with the ftream, and approve of what all men of good tafte (notwithstanding the jarring of Parties) muft and do univerfally applaud. I now come to what is of vaft moment, I mean the prefervation of your health, and beg of you earnestly to get out of all Tavern-company, and fly away tanquam ex incendio. What a mifery is it for you to be deftroy'd by the foolish kindness ('tis all one whether real or pretended) of those who are able to bear the poison of bad wine, and to engage you in fo unequal a combat? As to Homer, by all I can learn, bufinefs is done: therefore come away and your take a little time to breathe in the country I beg

now

now for my own fake, but much more for yours; has faid to you more than once,

methinks Mr.

Heu fuge, nate dea, teque his, ait, eripe flammis!

I am,

Your, &c.

LETTER IV.

To Sir WILLIAM TRUMBULL,

March 12, 1713,

Hough any thing you write is fure to be a

TH

T pleasure to me, yet I muft own your laft let

ter made me uneafy; you really ufe a ftyle of compliment, which I expect as 'little as I deferve it. I know 'tis a common opinion that a young fcribler is as ill pleas'd to hear truth as a young lady. From the moment one fets up for an author, one must be treated as ceremoniously, that is as unfaithfully,

As a King's Favourite, or as a King,

This proceeding, join'd to that natural vanity which firft makes a man an author, is certainly enough to render him a coxcomb for life. But I muft grant it is a juft judgment upon poets, that they, whofe chief pretence is Wit, fhould be treated as they themselves treat Fools, that is, be cajol'd with praises. And, I believe, Poets are the only poor fellows in the world whom any body will flatter.

I would not be thought to fay this, as if the obliging letter you fent me deferv'd this imputation, only it put me in mind of it; and I fancy one may apply to one's friend what Cæfar faid of his wife': "It was not fufficient that he knew her to be chafte "himself, but she should not be fo much as fuf"pected."

As

As to the wonderful difcoveries, and all the good news you are pleas'd to tell me of myself, I treat it, as you who are in the secret, treat common news, as groundless reports of things at a distance; which I, who look into the true fprings of the affair, in my own breast, know to have no foundation at all. For Fame, tho' it be (as Milton finely calls it) the laft infirmity of noble minds, is fcarce fo ftrong a temptation as to warrant our lofs of time here: it can never make us lie down contentedly on a death-bed, (as fome of the Ancients are faid to have done with that thought.) You, Sir, have yourself taught me, that an eafy fituation at that hour can proceed from no ambition lefs noble than that of an eternal felicity, which is unattainable by the ftrongeft endeavours of the wit, but may be gain'd by the fincere intentions of the heart only. As in the next world, fo in this, the only folid bleffings are owing to the goodness of the mind, not the extent of the capacity: friendship here is an emanation from the fame fource as beatitude there: the fame benevolence and grateful difpofition that qualifies us for the one, if extended farther, makes us partakers of the other. The utmoft point of my defires in my prefent ftate terminates in the fociety and good-will of worthy men, which I look upon as no ill earnest and foretaste of the fociety and alliance of happy fouls hereafter.

The continuance of your favours to me is what not only makes me happy, but caufes me to fet fome value upon myself as a part of your care. The instances I daily meet with of thefe agreeable awakenings of friendship, are of too pleafing a nature not to be acknowledged whenever I think of you. I

am

Your, &c.

LET