Befides thefe, he has alter'd the Merchant's Tale from Chaucer, and the Wife of Bath's Prologue, both which are a little obfcene, but that being ori-ginally Chaucer's Fault, we will not charge it to the Account of our Poet who has fome Crimes of that Nature to anfwer for for himself, which we fhall take Notice of in a proper Place. He tranflated Sapho to Phaon from Ovid's Epiftles, and Vertumnus and Pomona, and the Fable of Dryope from his Metamorphofis, and wrote feveral other fmall Poems, fome of which hereafter we shall fpeak farther about a Prologue to Cato much admir'd, and an Epilogue to Jane Shore, never fpoke, but defign'd for Mrs. Oldfield.

But we cannot help taking immediate Notice of his Ode for Mufick on Santa Cecilia's Day. Mr. Dryden had gain'd fuch prodigious Fame by his Feast of Alexander, that the Poets after him were generally laugh'd at in their Attempts that Way. Mr. Pope however ventur'd after many Solicitations, much Encouragement, putting forward, and a Certainty of Applaufe from one Quarter, and has plainly fhewn, that he was not the Judge of Harmony and adapting Words to Mufick that Dryden was. It is indeed, as to the Poetical Part, the worft of our Poet's Performances, except an Attempt in the fame Way.

In two Chorus's to the Tragedy of Brutus, not made publick thefe are ftill worfe, and Mr. Pope was fo fenfible of this that he turn'd his Pen no more this Way.

As to the Sense and Design of the Ode on Santa Cecilia's Day they are not bad; but Mr. Dryden's Ode is more mufical without being fet, than any Mufick can make our Poet's. In the Sense Mr. Dryden has made in Alexander's Feaft one grofs Mi

stake,

ftake, it is rather a Contradiction than Nonfense. He begins:

'Twas at the Royal Feaft for Perfia won By Philip's warlike Son.

Where he openly acknowledges him to be the Son of Philip. A very little while afterwards:

The Song began from Jove
Who left his blifsful Seats above,
(Such is the Power of mighty Love)
A Dragon's fiery Form bely'd the God,
Sublime on verdant Spires he rode,
When he the fair Olympia prefs'd,

And while he fought her fnowy Breast ;
Then round her flender Waift he curv'd, [World.
And stamp'd an Image of himself, a Sovereign of the
Where he declares him the Son of Jupiter. Of
Mr. Pope's Ode, the two following Stanza's are the
beft. Orpheus seeking his Wife Eurydice in the
Shades, addreffes himself to the Infernal Deities:

By the Streams that ever flow,
By the fragrant Winds that blow
O'er th' Elyfian Flowers
By thofe happy Souls who dwell
In yellow Meads of Afpodel,
Or Amarinthine Bowers:
By the Heroe's armed Shades
Glitt'ring thro' the gloomy Glades.
By the Youth's that dy'd for Love,.
Wand'ring in the Myrtle Grove,
Reftore, reftore Eurydice to Life;
Oh take the Husband, or return the Wife!
He fung, and Hell confented
To hear the Poet's Pray'r ;

Stern

Stern Proferpine relented,
And gave him back the Fair.
Thus Song could prevail

O'er Death and o'er Hell,

A Conqueft how hard and how glorious!
Tho' Fate had faft bound her

With Styx nine Times round her,
Yet Mufick and Love were victorious.

But foon, too foon, the Lover turns his Eyes:
Again fhe falls, again fhe dies, fhe dies!
How wilt thou now the fatal Sifters move?
No Crime was thine, if 'tis no Crime to love.
Now under hanging Mountains,

Befide the Falls of Fountains,
Or where Hebrus wanders,
Rolling in Meanders,
All alone,

Unheard, unknown,
He makes his Moan;
And calls her Ghoft

For ever, ever loft!
Now with Furies furrounded,
Defpairing, confounded,

He trembles, he glows,
Amidft Rhodope's Shows :

See, wild as the Winds, o'er the Defart he flies;
Hark! Hamus refounds with the Bacchanals Cries;
-Ah fee, he dies!

Yet ev❜n in Death Eurydice he fung,
Eurydice ftill trembled on his Tongue,
Eurydice the Woods,

Eurydice the Floods,

Eurydice the Rocks and hollow Mountains rung.

I shall add a Word or two more concerning the Effay on Criticifm, Mr. Pope having then some DiffiVOL. I. G

dence

dence of himself, or at least feeming to have it, sent a Copy of that Poem to Sir William Trumbull, who was fo charm'd with it, that he wrote Mr. Pope a Letter concluding thus: "All I can add is, that if your Excefs of Modefty fhould hinder you from "publishing this Eflay, I fhall only be forry I have 66 no more Credit with you to perfuade you to oblige "the Publick, and in particular, Dear Sir, &c."

As to Mr. Dennis's Remarks on it, Mr. Lintot fhew'd them to Mr. Pope before they were publish'd, and afterwards our Author fent them to the Hon. 7. C. Efq; with a Letter, where is feen that Mr. Pope in fome Places fubmits to his Lafh, and promifes to alter fome of the Faults pointed at in any future Edition that might be printed:

June 15, 1711.

Send you Dennis's Remarks on the (*) Effay, which equally abound in juft Criticifms and fine Railleries: The few Obfervations in my Hand in the Margins, are what a Morning's Leifure permitted me to make, purely for your Perufal. For I am of Opinion, that fuch a Critick as you will find him by the latter Part of his Book, is but one Way to be. properly answered, and that Way I would not take after what he informs me in his Preface, that he is at this Time perfecuted by Fortune: This I knew not before; if I had, his Name had been spared in the Efay for that only Reafon. I can't conceive what Ground he had for fo exceffive a Refentment; nor imagine how thofe three (†) Lines can be call'd a Reflection

(*) On Criticism.
(†) But Appius reddens at each Word you speak,
And ftares tremendous with a threatning Eye,
Like fome fierce Tyrant in old Tapestry.

A

Reflection on his Perfon, which only describe him fubject a little to Anger on fome Occafions. I have heard of Combatants fo very furious, as to fall down themselves with that very Blow which they defign'd to lay heavy on their Antagonists. But if Mr. Dennis's Rage proceeds only from a Zeal to difcourage young and unexperienc'd Writers from fcribbling, he fhould frighten us with his Verse not Profe: For I have often known, that when all the Precepts in the World would not reclaim a Sinner, fome very fad Example has done the Business. Yet to give this Man his Due, he has objected to one or two Lines with Reason, and I will alter 'em in Cafe of another Edition: I will make my Enemy do me a Kindness where he meant an Injury, and fo ferve instead of a Friend. What he obferves at the Bottom of Page 20th of his Reflections, was objected to by yourself, and had been mended but for the Hafte of the Prefs: 'Tis right Hibernian, and I confefs it what the Englife call a Bull in the Expreffion, tho' the Senfe be manifeft enough: Mr. Dennis's Bulls are feldom in the Expreffion, they are always in the Sense."

I fhall certainly never make the leaft Reply to him, not only because you advise me, but because I have ever been of Opinion, that if a Book can't answer for itself to the Publick, 'tis to no Sort of Purpose for its Author to do it. If I am wrong in any Sentiment of that Efay, I proteft fincerely, I don't defire all the World fhould be deceiv'd (which would be of very ill Confequence) merely that I myself may be thought right (which is of very little Confequence.) I'd be the firft to recant, for the Benefit of others, and the Glory of myself; for (as I take it) when a Man owns himself to have been in an Error, he does but tell you in other Words, that he is wifer than he was. But I have had an Advantage by G 2 the