character not discriminated by any shining or emi- [ subjects, he must be forgiven if he sometimes wannent peculiarities; yet that which really makes, ders in generalities, and utters the same praises though not the splendour, the felicity of life, and over different tombs. that which every wise man will choose for his final, and lasting companion in the languor of age, in the quiet of privacy, when he departs weary and disgusted from the ostentatious, the volatile, and the vain. Of such a character, which the dull overlook, and the gay despise, it was fit that the value should be made known, and the dignity established. Domestic virtue, as it is exerted without great occasions, or conspicuous consequences, in an even unnoted tenor, required the genius of Pope to display it in such a manner as might attract regard, and enforce reverence. Who can forbear to lament that this amiable woman has no name in the verses? If the particular lines of this inscription be examined, it will appear less faulty than the rest. There is scarcely one line taken from commonplaces, unless it be that in which only Virtue is said to be our own. I once heard a Lady of great beauty and excellence object to the fourth line, that it contained an unnatural and incredible panegyric. Of this, let the ladies judge. ON THE MONUMENT OF THE HON. ROBERT DIGBY AND OF HIS SISTER Erected by their Father the Lord Digby, in the Go! fair example of untainted youth, Of modest wisdom, and pacific truth; Composed in sufferings, and in joy sedate, Good without noise, without pretension great. Just of thy word, in every thought sincere, The scantiness of human praises can scarcely be made more apparent, than by remarking how often Pope has, in the few epitaphs which he composed, found it necessary to borrow from himself. The fourteen epitaphs which he has written, comprise about a hundred and forty lines, in which there are more repetitions than will easily be found in all the rest of his works. In the eight lines which make the character of Digby, there is scarce any thought, or word, which may not be found in the other epitaphs. The ninth line, which is far the strongest and most elegant, is borrowed from Dryden. The conclusion is the same with that on Harcourt, but is here more elegant and better connected. ON SIR GODFREY KNELLER, In Westminster Abbey, 1723. Kneller! by Heaven, and not a master taught, Living, great Nature fear'd he might outvie Of this epitaph the first couplet is good, the second not bad, the third is deformed with a broken metaphor, the word crowned not being appliacable to the honours or lays; and the fourth is not only borrowed from the epitaph on Raphael, but of a Who knew no wish but what the world might hear: very harsh construction. Of softest manners, unaffected mind, Lover of peace, and friend of human kind. And thou, blest maid! attendant on his doom, Yet take these tears; mortality's relief, ON GENERAL HENRY WITHERS, In Westminster Abbey, 1729. Here, Withers, rest! thou bravest, gentlest mind, This epitaph contains of the brother only a general indiscriminate character, and of the sister tells nothing but that she died. The difficulty in writing epitaphs is to give a particular and appropriate praise. This, however, is not always to be performed, whatever be the diligence or ability of the writer; for, the greater part of mankind have no character at all, have little that distinguishes them from others equally good or bad, and therefore nothing can be said of them which may not be applied with equal propriety to a thousand more. It is indeed no great panegyric, that there is inclosed in this tomb one who was born in one year, and died in another; yet many useful and amiable lives have The third couplet is more happy; the value exbeen spent, which leave little materials for any pressed for him by different sorts of men, raises other memorial. These are however not the pro-him to esteem; there is yet something of the comper subjects of poetry; and whenever friendship, mon cant of superficial satirists, who suppose that or any other motive, obliges a poet to write on such the insincerity of a courtier destroys all his sensa The epitaph on Withers affords another instance of common-places, though somewhat diversified, by mingled qualities, and the peculiarity of a profession. The second couplet is abrupt, general, and unpleasing; exclamation seldom succeeds in our language, and, I think, it may be observed that the particle O! used at the beginning of the sentence, always offends. tions, and that he is equally a dissembler to the for a poet. The wit of man, and the simplicity of living and the dead. At the third couplet I should wish the epitaph to close, but that I should be unwilling to lose the two next lines, which yet are dearly bought if they cannot be retained without the four that follow them. ON MR. ELIJAH FENTON, At Easthamstead in Berkshire, 1730. Whom heaven kept sacred from the Proud and Great; Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear; From Nature's temperate feast rose satisfied, a child, make a poor and vulgar contrast, and raise no ideas of excellence either intellectual or moral. In the next couplet rage is less properly introduced after the mention of mildness and gentleness, which are made the constituents of his character; for a man so mild and gentle to temper his rage, was not difficult. The next line is inharmonious in its sound, and mean in its conception; the opposition is obvious, and the word lash used absolutely, and without any modification, is gross and improper. To be above temptation in poverty, and free from corruption among the Great, is indeed such a peculiarity as deserved notice. But to be a safe companion, is a praise merely negative, arising not from possession of virtue, but the absence of vice, and that one of the most odious. As little can be added to his character, by asserting that he was lamented in his end. Every man that dies is, at least by the writer of his epitaph, supposed to be lamented; and therefore this general lamentation does no honour to Gay. The first couplet of this epitaph is borrowed from Crashaw. The four next lines contain a species of The first eight lines have no grammar; the adpraise peculiar, original, and just. Here, there-jectives are without any substantives and the epifore, the inscription should have ended, the latter thets without a subject. part containing nothing but what is common to The thought in the last line, that Gay is buried every man who is wise and good. The character in the bosoms of the worthy and the good, who are of Fenton was so amiable that I cannot forbear to distinguished only to lengthen the line, is so dark wish for some poet or biographer to display it that few understand it; and so harsh, when it is more fully for the advantage of posterity. If he explained, that still fewer approve. did not stand in the first rank of genius, he may claim a place in the second; and, whatever criticism may object to his writings, censure could find very little to blame in his life. ON MR. GAY, In Westminster Abbey, 1732. Of manners gentle, of affections mild; As Gay was the favourite of our author, this epitaph was probably written with an uncommon degree of attention; yet it is not more successfully executed than the rest, for it will not always happen that the success of a poet is proportionate to his labour. The same observation may be extended to all works of imagination, which are often influenced by causes wholly out of the performer's power, by hints of which he perceives not the origin, by sudden elevations of mind which he cannot produce in himself, and which sometimes rise when he expects them least. The two parts of the first line are only echoes of each other; gentle manners and mild affections, if they mean any thing, must mean the same. That Gay was a man in wit is a very frigid commendation; to have the wit of a man is not much! F INTENDED FOR SIR ISAAC NEWTON, In Westminster Abbey. Testantus, Tempus, Natur, Cœlum: Hoc marmoe fatetur. Nature, and Nature's laws, lay hid in night: Of this epitaph, short as it is, the faults seem not to be very few. Why part should be Latin, and part English, is not easy to discover. In the Latin the opposition of Immortalis and Mortalis, is a mere sound, or a mere quibble; he is not immortal in any sense contrary to that in which he is mortal. In the verses the thought is obvious, and the words night and light are too nearly allied. ON EDMUND DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. If modest youth, with cool reflection crown'd, This epitaph Mr. Warburton prefers to the rest; [that though he wrote the epitaph in a state of unbut I know not for what reason. To crown with certainty, yet it could not be laid over him till his reflection, is surely a mode of speech approaching grave was made. Such is the folly of wit when it to nonsense. Opening virtues blooming round, is is ill employed. something like tautology: the six following lines The world has but little new; even this wretchare poor and prosaic. Art is in another couplet edness seems to have been borrowed from the folused for arts, that a rhyme may be had to heart. lowing tuneless lines; The six last lines are the best, but not excellent. The rest of his sepulchral performances hardly deserve the notice of criticism. The contemptible 'Dialogue' between HE and SHE should have been suppressed for the author's sake. In his last epitaph on himself, in which he attempts to be jocular upon one of the few things that make wise men serious, he confounds the living man with the dead: Under this stone, or under this sill, Or under this turf, &c. Ludovici Areosti humantur ossa Nam scire haud potuit futura, sed nec Surely Ariosto did not venture to expect that his When a man is once buried, the question, under trifle would have ever had such an illustrious imiwhat he is buried, is easily decided. He forgot, tator. THE POETICAL WORKS OF ALEXANDER POPE. PREFACE. I AM inclined to think that both the writers of books, | I wish we had the humanity to reflect, that even the and the readers of them, are generally not a little un-worst authors might, in their endeavour to please us, reasonable in their expectations. The first seem to deserve something at our hands. We have no cause fancy that the world must approve whatever they pro- to quarrel with them but for their obstinacy in perduce, and the latter to imagine that authors are obliged sisting to write; and this, too, may admit of aileviato please them at any rate. Methinks, as on the one ting circumstances. Their particular friends may be hand no single man is born with a right of controlling either ignorant or insincere; and the rest of the world the opinions of all the rest, so, on the other, the world in general is too well bred to shock them with a has no title to demand that the whole care and time of truth which generally their booksellers are the first any particular person should be sacrificed to its enter that inform them of. This happens not till they have tainment; therefore I cannot but believe that writers spent too much of their time to apply to any profesand readers are under equal obligations, for as much sion which might better fit their talents, and till such fame or pleasure as each affords the other. talents as they have are so far discredited as to be of but small service to them. For (what is the hardest case imaginable) the reputation of a man generally depends upon the first step he makes in the world; and people will establish their opinion of us from what we do at that season when we have least judg ment to direct us. Every one acknowledges it would be a wild notion to expect perfection in any work of man; and yet one would think the contrary was taken for granted, by the judgment commonly passed upon poems. A critic supposes he has done his part, if he proves a writer to have failed in an expression, or erred in any particular point; and can it then be wondered at, if the poets in On the other hand, a good poet no sooner comgeneral seem resolved not to own themselves in any municates his works with the same desire of inforerror? For as long as one side will make no allow-mation, but it is imagined he is a vain young creature, ances, the other will be brought to no acknowledg- given up to the ambition of fame, when perhaps the poor man is all the while trembling with the fear of ments. I am afraid this extreme zeal on both sides is ill-being ridiculous. If he is made to hope he may please placed; Poetry and Criticism being by no means the the world, he falls under very unlucky circumstances; universal concern of the world, but only the affair for, from the moment he prints, he must expect to of idle men who write in their closets, and of idle hear no more truth than if he were a prince or a men who read there. beauty. If he has not very good sense, (and indeed Yet sure, upon the whole, a bad author deserves there are twenty men of wit for one man of sense,) better usage than a bad critic; for a writer's endea- his living thus in a course of flattery may put him vour, for the most part, is to please his readers, and in no small danger of becoming a coxcomb; if he he fails merely through the misfortune of an ill- has, he will, consequently, have so much diffidence judgment; but such a critic's is to put them out of as not to reap any great satisfaction from his praise; humour: a design he could never go upon without since, if it be given to his face, it can scarce be disboth that and an ill-temper. tinguished from flattery; and if in his absence, it is I think a good deal may be said to extenuate the hard to be certain of it. Were he sure to be comfaults of bad poets. What we call a Genius is hard mended by the best and most knowing, he is as sure to be distinguished by a man himself from a strong of being envied by the worst and most ignorant, inclination; and if his genius be ever so great, he which are the majority; for it is with a fine genius as cannot at first discover it in any other way, than by with a fine fashion; all those are displeased at it who giving way to that prevalent propensity which renders are not able to follow it; and it is to be feared that him the more liable to be mistaken. The only me-esteem will seldom do any man so much good as illthod he has, is to make the experiment by writing, will does him harm. Then there is a third class of and appealing to the judgment of others. Now, if people, who make the largest part of mankind, those he happens to write ill (which is certainly no sin in of ordinary or indifferent capacities, and these, to a itself) he is immediately made an object of ridicule. man, will hate or suspect him; a hundred honest 43 as well say our faces are not our own, because they are like our fathers; and indeed it is very unreasonable that people should expect us to be scholars, and yet be angry to find us so. gentlemen will dread him as a wit, and a hundred fis but the knowledge of the sense of our predeces innocent women as a satirist. In a word, whatever sors. Therefore they who say our thoughts are not be his fate in poetry, it is ten to one but he must give our own, because they resemble the Ancients, may up all the reasonable aims of life for it. There are, indeed, some advantages accruing from a genius to poetry, and they are all I can think of, the agreeable power of self-amusement when a man is idle or alone; the privilege of being admitted into the best company; and the freedom of saying as many careless things as other people, without being so severely remarked upon. I fairly confess that I have served myself all I could by reading; that I made use of the judgment of authors dead and living; that I omitted no means in my power to be informed of my errors, both by my friends and enemies: but the true reason these pieces are not more correct, is owing to the consideration how short a time they and I have to live: one may be ashamed to consume half one's days in bringing sense and rhyme together; and what critic can be so unreasonable, as not to leave a man time enough for any more serious employment, or more agreeable amusement? I believe if any one, early in his life, should contemplate the dangerous fate of authors, he would scarce be of their number on any consideration. The life of a wit is a warfare upon earth; and the present spirit of the learned world is such, that to attempt to serve it, any way, one must have the constancy of a martyr, and a resolution to suffer for its sake. I could wish people would believe, what I am pretty certain they will not, that I have been much The only plea I shall use for the favour of the publess concerned about fame than I durst declare till lic is, that I have as great a respect for it as most this occasion, when, methinks, I should find more authors have for themselves; and that I have sacricredit than I could heretofore, since my writings ficed much of my own self-love for its sake, in prehave had their fate already, and it is too late to think venting not only many mean things from seeing the of prepossessing the reader in their favour. I would light, but many which I thought tolerable. I would plead it as some merit in me, that the world has never not be like those authors who forgive themselves been prepared for these trifles by prefaces, biassed by some particular lines for the sake of a whole poem, recommendation, dazzled with the names of great and, vice versa, a whole poem for the sake of some patrons, wheedled with fine reasons and pretences, particular lines. I believe no one qualification is so or troubled with excuses. I confess it was want of likely to make a good writer as the power of rejectconsideration that made me an author; I writ, being his own thoughts; and it must be this, if any thing, cause it amused me; I corrected, because it was as that can give me a chance to be one. For what I pleasant to me to correct as to write; and I published, because I was told I might please such as it was a credit to please. To what degree I have done this I am really ignorant: I had too much fondness for my productions to judge of them at first, and too much judgment to be pleased with them at last; but I have reason to think they can have no reputation which will continue long, or which deserves to do so; for they have always fallen short, not only of what I read of others, but even of my own ideas of poetry. If any one should imagine I am not in earnest, I desire him to reflect, that the Ancients (to say the least of them) had as much genius as we; and that to take more pains, and employ more time, cannot fail to produce more complete pieces. They constantly applied themselves not only to that art, but to that single branch of an art to which their talent was most powerfully bent; and it was the business of their lives to correct and finish their works for posterity. If we can pretend to have used the same industry, let us expect the same immortality; though, if we took the same care, we should still lie under a further misfortune; they writ in languages that became universal and everlasting, while ours are extremely limited both in extent and in duration. A mighty foundation for our pride! when the utmost we can hope is but to be read in one island, and to be thrown aside at the end of one age. have published, I can only hope to be pardoned; but for what I have burned, I deserve to be praised. On this account the world is under some obligation to me, and owes me the justice, in return, to look upon no verses as mine that are not inserted in this Collection. And perhaps nothing could make it worth my while to own what are really so, but to avoid the imputation of so many dull and immoral things as, partly by malice, and partly by ignorance, have been ascribed to me. I must further acquit myself of the presumption of having lent my name to recommend any miscellanies or works of other men; a thing I never thought becoming a person who has hardly credit enough to answer for his own. In this office of collecting my pieces, I am altogether uncertain whether to look upon myself as a man building a monument, or burying the dead. If time shall make it the former, may these poems, as long as they last, remain as a testimony that their author never made his talents subservient to the mean and unworthy ends of party or self-interest; the gratification of public prejudices or private passions; the flattery of the undeserving, or the insult of the unfortunate. If I have written well, let it be considered, that it is what no man can do without good sense, a quality that not only renders one capable of being a good writer, but a good man. And if I have made any acquisition in the opinion of any one under the notion of the former, let it be continued to me under no other title than that of the latter. All that is left us is to recommend our productions by the imitation of the Ancients: and it will be found But if this publication be only a more solemn funetrue, that, in every age, the highest character for sense ral of my remains, I desire it may be known that I and learning has been obtained by those who have die in charity, and in my senses; without any murmurs been most indebted to them. For, to say truth, against the justice of this age, or any mad appeals to whatever is very good sense, must have been com- posterity. I declare, I shall think the world in the mon sense in all times; and what we call Learning, right, and quietly submit to every truth which time |