And He, whose fustian's so sublimely bad, .
It is not Poetry, but prose run mad:
All these, my modest Satire bad translate,
And own'd that nine such Poets made a Tate. 190
How did they fume, and stamp, and roar, and chafe!
And swear, not Addison himself was safe.

Peace to all such! but were there One whose fires True Genius kindles, and fair Fame inspires;

Notes. Ver. 186. Means not, but blunders round about a meaning :) A case common both to Poets and Critics of a certain order; only with this difference, that the Poet writes himself out of his own meaning; and the Critic never gets into another man's. Yet both keep going on, and blundering round about their subject, as benighted people are wont to do, who seek for an entrance which they cannot find.

Ver. 189. All these, my modest Satire bad translate,] See their works, in the Translations of classical books by several hands.

Ver. 190. — nine such Poets, &c.] Alluding, not to the nine Mufes, but to nine Taylors.

Ver. 192. And swear, not Addison himself was safe.] This is an artful preparative for the following transition; and finely obviates what might be thought unfavourably of the severity of the satire, by those who were strangers to the provocation.

Ver. 193. But were there One whose fires &c.] Our Poet's friendship with Mr. Addison began in the year 1713. It was cultivated, on both sides, with all the marks of mutual esteem and affection, and constant intercourse of good offices. Mr. Addison was always commending moderation, warned his friend against a blind attachment to party, and blamed Steele for his indiscreet zeal. The translation of the Iliad being now on foot, he recommended it to the public, and joined with the Tories in pushing the subscription; but at the same time advised Mr. Pope not to be content with the applause of one half of the nation. On the other hand, Mr. Pope made his friend's Interest, his own (sce note on ý 215. 1 Ep. Bi ii. of Hor.) and, when

Of all mad creatures, if the learn’d are right, 105
It is the slaver kills, and not the bite.
A fool quite angry is quite innocent:
Alas! 'tis ten times worse when they repent.

One dedicates in high heroic prose,
And ridicules beyond a hundred foes : 110
One from all Grubstreet will my fame defend,
And more abusive, calls himself my friend.
This prints my Letters, that expects a bribe,
And others roar aloud, “ Subscribe, subscribe.”

There are, who to my person pay their court:115 I cough like Horace, and, tho' lean, am short, Ammon's great son one shoulder had too high, Such Ovid's nose, and“ Sir! you have an Eye--Go on, obliging creatures, make me fee All that disgrac'd my Betters, met in me. 120

VARIATIONS.
Ver. 111. in the MS.

For song, for filence some expect a bribe;
And other roar aloud, « Subscribe, subscribe.”
Time, praise, or money, is the least they crave;
Yet each declares the other fool or knave.

Notes. Ver. 118. Sir, you have an Eye] It is remarkable that amongst these compliments on his infirmities and deformities, he mentions his eye, which was fine, sharp, and piercing. It was done to intimate, that flattery was as odious to him when there was some ground for commendation, as when there was none.

Say for my comfort, languishing in bed,
" Just so immortal Maro held his head:”
And when I die, be sure you let me know
Great Homer dy'd three thousand years ago.

Why did I write? what sin to me unknown 125
Dipt me in ink, my parents', or my own?
As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame,
I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came. i

VARIATIONS.
After R 124. in the MS.

But, friend, this shape, which You and Curl * admire,
Came not from Ammon's son, but from my Sire :
And for my head, if you'll the truth excuse,
I had it from my Mother, not che Muse.
Happy, if he, in whom these frailties join'd,

Had heir'd as well the virtues of the mind. · Curl set up his head for a sign. b His Father was crooked. His Mother was much afflicted with head-achs.

Notes. VER. 127. As yet a child, &c.] He used to say, that he began to write verses further back than he could remember. When he was eight years old, Ogilby's Homer fell in his way, and delighted him extremely ; it was followed by Sandys'Ovid; and the raptures these then gave him were so strong, that he spoke of them with pleasure ever after. About ten, being at school at Hide-park-corner, where he was much neglected, and suffered to go to the Comedy with the greater boys, he turned the transactions of the Iliad into a play, made up of a number of speeches from Ogilby's translation, tacked together with verses of his own. He had the address to persuade the upper boys to act it; he even prevailed on the Master's Gardener to represent Ajax; and contrived to have all the actors dreiled after the pictures in his favourite Ogilby. At twelve he went with

VOL. IV.

spoke of e Hide-parthe comed into a

I left no calling for this idle trade,
No duty broke, no father disobey'd. 130
The Muse but serv'd to ease some friend, not Wife,
To help me thro’ this long disease, my Life,
To second, ARBUTHNOT! thy Art and Care,
And teach, the Being you preserv'd, to bear.

But why then publish ? Granville the polite, 135
And knowing Walsh, would tell me I could write;
Well-natur'd Garth inflam'd with early praise,
And Congreve lov’d, and Swift endur’d my lays;

The courtly Talbot, Somers, Sheffield read,
Ev'n mitred Rochester would nod the head, 140

Notes.
his Father into the Forest: and then got first acquainted with
the writings of Waller, Spencer, and Dryden ; in the order I
have named them. On the first sight of Dryden, he found he
had what he wanted. His Poems were never out of his hands;
they became his model; and from them alone he learnt the
whole magic of his versification. This year he began an epic
Poem, the fame which Bp. Atterbury, long afterwards, per-
suaded him to burn. Besides this, he wrote, in those early days,
a Comedy and Tragedy, the latter taken from a story in the
Legend of St. Genevieve. They both deservedly underwent
the same fate. As he began his Pastorals soon after, he used
to say pleasantly, that he had literally followed the example of
Virgil, who tells us, Cum canerem reges et pralia, &c.

Ver. 130. no father di fobey'd.] When Mr. Pope was yet a Child, his Father, though no Poet, would set him to make English verses. He was pretty difficult to please, and would often fend the boy back to new turn them. When they were to his mind, he took great pleasure in them, and would say, These are good rhymes.

VER. 139. Talbet, &c.] All these were Patrons or Admirers of Mr. Dryden; though a scandalous libel againit him, entitled,

And St. John's self (great Dryden's friends before)
With open arms receiv'd one Poet more.
Happy my studies, when by these approv'd!
Happier their author, when by these beloy'd!
From these the world will judge of men and books,
Not from the Burnets, Oldmixons, and Cooks. 146

Soft were my numbers; who could take offence While puse Description held the place of Sense ?

Notes. Dryden's Satyr to his Muse, has been printed in the name of the Lord Somiers, of which he was wholly ignorant.

These are the persons to whose account the Author charges the publication of his first pieces : persons, with whom he was conversant (and he adds beloved) at 16 er 17 years of age; an early period for such acquaintance. The catalogue might be made yet more illustrious, had he not confined it to that time when he writ the Pafiorals and Windfor Forest, on which he palles a sort of Censure in the lines following

While pure Description held the place of Sense ? &c. P. Ver. 146. Burnets, &c.] Authors of secret and scandalous History.

Ibid. Burnets, Oidmixons, and Cooks.] By no means Au. thors of the same class, though the violence of party might hurry them into the same mistakes. But if the first offended this way, it was only through an honest warmth of temper, that allowed too little to an excellent understanding. The other two, with very bad heads, had hearts still worse.

Ver. 148. While pure Defcriprion held the place of Sense?1 He uses pure equivocally, to fignify either chaste or empty, and has given in this line what he eficemed the true Character of descriptive poetry, as it is called. A composition, in his opinion, as absurd as a feast made up of sauces. The use of a pictoresque imagination is to brighten and adorn good sense; lo that to employ it only in description, is like childrens delighting in á prism for the sake of its gaudy colours; which when frugally