All figns of loathing; but fince I am in,
I must pay mine, and my forefathers fin
To the last farthing. Therefore to my power
Toughly and ftubbornly I bear; but th' hower
Of mercy now was come: he tries to bring
Me to pay a fine, to 'fcape a torturing,

And says, Sir, can you spare me? I faid, Willingly;
Nay, Sir, can you spare me a crown? Thankfully I
Gave it, as ransom; but as fidlers, still,
Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will
Thrust one more jig upon you: fo did he
With his long complimented thanks vex me.
But he is gone, thanks to his needy want,
And the Prerogative of
His thanks were ended, when I (which did fee

my Crown; fcant

All the Court fill'd with more ftrange things than he)

NOTES.

Ran

finuated something to his disparagement at Court. Pope, how. ever, had no right to complain, confidering the acrimony of his abuse, and his known principles. I have no doubt he was induced to verify this Satire, that he might more covertly point his fatire against Courts and Kings.

VER. 184. Bear me,] These four lines are wonderfully sublime. His impatience in this region of vice, is like that of Virgil in the region of heat. They both call out, as if they were half stifled by the fulphury air of the place,

"O qui me gelidis ——”

"Oh quickly bear me hence”

WARBURTON.

The next twenty two lines are not only far fuperior to the Original, but, perhaps, equal to any Pope ever wrote, or to any in our language in rhyme. The 188th and 189th lines in the first Edition ran thus,

Here ftill reflection led on fober thought,
Which Fancy colour'd and a Vifion wrought.

I quak'd at heart; and still afraid, to see
All the Court fill'd with ftranger things than he,
Ran out as fast, as one that pays his bail

180

And dreads more actions, hurries from a jail.
Bear me, fome God! oh quickly bear me hence
To wholesome Solitude, the nurse of sense: 185
Where Contemplation prunes her ruffled wings,
And the free foul looks down to pity Kings!
There fober thought purfu'd th' amufing theme,
Till Fancy colour'd it, and form'd a Dream.
A Vision hermits can to Hell transport,

And forc'd ev'n me to see the damn'd at Court.

190

Not

NOTES.

It may indeed be urged, that thefe lines, though containing exquifite poetry, are not of an uniform tone with the reft of the piece. But fuch a frigid objection ought to vanish before so much excellence. WARTON.

VER. 184. Bear me, fome God, &c.] Pope appears to have adopted his expreffion from Hughes's Thought in a Garden;

Delightful manfion! bleft retreat!
Where all is filent, all is fweet!

Here Contemplation prunes her wings :
The raptur'd Mufe more tuneful fings.

Nor is it improbable, that Pope retained in memory Mrs. Chandler's beautiful verfes on Solitude:

Sweet Solitude, the Muse's dear delight,
Serene thy day, and peaceful is thy night :
Thou nurse of Innocence, fair Virtue's friend!
Silent, tho' rapturous, pleasures thee attend.
Nature in ev'ry object points the road,
Whence Contemplation wings my foul to God.

WAKEFIELD.
Contemplation prunes her wings," is from Milton.

Ran from thence with fuch, or more haste than one
Who fears more actions, doth hafte from prison.
At home in wholesome folitariness

My piteous foul began the wretchedness

Of fuitors at court to mourn, and a trance
Like his, who dreamt he saw hell, did advance
Itself o'er me: fuch men as he faw there

I faw at court, and worse and more. Low fear
Becomes the guilty, not th' accufer: Then,
Shall I, none's flave, of high-born or rais'd men
Fear frowns; and my mistress Truth, betray thee
For th' huffing, bragart, puft nobility?
No, no, thou which fince yesterday hast been,
Almost about the whole world, haft thou seen,
O Sun, in all thy journey, vanity,

Such as fwells the bladder of our court? I

NOTES.

Think

VER. 192. Not Dante dreaming] It is only within a few years that the merits of this great and original Poet were attended to, and made known in this country. And this feems to be owing to a translation of the very pathetic story of Count Ugolino; to the judicious and fpirited fummary given of this poem, in the 31ft fection of the History of English Poetry; and to Mr. Hayley's elegant translation of the three cantos of the Inferno. Notwithstanding the feeble and tasteless attacks of Voltaire, real judges will ever think that it abounds in many ftrokes of the true fublime, and the pathetic, though mix'd with the ftrongeft traits of the fatiric. With what vigour and vehemence has he justly lafhed the profligacy, the tyranny, and the corruptions of the Church of Rome, being one of the very first writers that called her the Great Harlot in the Apocalypfe, canto 19, of the Inferno? Nor has he been lefs fevere on cruel and defpotic princes; and in one

place

Not Dante dreaming all th' infernal state
Beheld fuch scenes of envy, fin, and hate.
Base Fear becomes the guilty, not the free;
Suits Tyrants, Plunderers, but fuits not me:
Shall I, the Terror of this finful town,
Care, if a liv'ry'd Lord or fmile or frown?
Who cannot flatter, and deteft who can,
Tremble before a noble Serving-man?
O my fair mistress, Truth! fhall I quit thee
For huffing, braggart, puff'd Nobility?
Thou, who fince yesterday hast roll'd o'er all
The bufy, idle blockheads of the ball,
Haft thou, oh Sun! beheld an emptier fort,
Than fuch as fwell this bladder of a court?

NOTES.

195

200

205

Now

place makes Hugh Capet confefs that his father was a butcher: Figliuol d' un' Beccaio di Parigi. Purgat. canto 20 and own himself the cause and origin of much mischief to Christendom :

I fui radice de la mala pianta,

Che la terra Chriftiana tutta aduggia,

Si che buon frutto rado se ne schianta,

I only just add, that Mr. Addison appears not to have read Dante, from his never once referring to him in his Criticisms on Milton, who was fuch an admirer and imitator of this great Italian Poet. Algarotti juftly laments the loss of an ineftimable treature, a copy of Dante, which Michael Angelo had enriched with defigns drawn with his pen, on the margin of each leaf. Dante was justly ftyled, Il poeta dell' evidenza.

These first stanzas of the 24th canto of the Inferno, printed in Dodfley's Mufæum, No. 2. page 57. is by Mr. Spence. Voltaire abfurdly calls Il Inferno, "Ce Salmigondis." WARTON.

Think he which made your Waxen* garden, and
Transported it from Italy, to ftand

With us at London, flouts our Courtiers; for
Juft fuch gay painted things, which no fap, nor
Taft have in them, ours are; and natural

Some of the stocks are t; their fruits bastard all.
'Tis ten a Clock and past; all whom the mues,
Baloun, or tennis, diet, or the stews

Had all the morning held, now the fecond
Time made ready, that day, in flocks are found
In the Prefence, and I (God pardon me)
As fresh and fweet their Apparels be, as be
Their fields they fold to buy them. For a king
Those hofe are, cry the flatterers; and bring
Them next week to the theatre to fell.

Wants reach all states: me seems they do as well
At stage, as courts; all are players. Whoe'er looks
(For themselves dare not go) o'er Cheapfide books,

NOTES.

Shall

A fhow of the Italian Garden in Waxwork, in the time of King James the First.

† i. e. of wood.

РОРЕ.

WARBURTON.

VER. 206. Court in wax!] A famous fhew of the Court of France, in Wax-work.

POPE.

VER. 213. At Figs', at White's.] White's was a noted gaming. houfe: Fig's, a Prize fighter's Academy, where the young Nobility received inftruction in thofe days: It was alfo customary for the Nobility and Gentry to visit the condemned criminals in NewPOPE. gate.

VER. 218. "That's Velvet] Much fuperior to the Original in brevity and elegance: the next line is a stricture on the act for

licenfing