« ZurückWeiter »
hanged who would take it away. It was this that made me write. The sense of my faults made me correct: besides that it was as pleasant to me to correct as to write.
At p. 9. 1. 2.-In the first place I own that I have used my best endeavours to the finishing these pieces. That I made what advantage I could of the judgment of authors dead and living; and that I omitted no means in my power to be informed of my errors by my friends and my enemies : And that I expect no favour on account of my youth, business, want of health, or any such idle excuses. But the true reason they are not yet more correct is owing to the confideration how short a time they, and I, have to live. A man that can expect but fixty years may be ashamed to employ thirty in meafuring fyllables and bringing sense and rhyme together. We spend our youth in pursuit of riches or fame, in hopes to enjoy them when we are old, and when we are old, we find it is too late to enjoy any thing. I therefore hope the Wits will pardon me, if I reserve some of my time to save my soul; and that some wise men will be of my opinion, even if I should think a part of it better spent in the enjoyments of life than in pleasing the critics.
ON MR. POPE AND HIS POEMS,
BY HIS GRACE
DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.
Caring for nothing but what Ease requir’d;
Encomiums fuit not this cenforious time,
so wonderful, sublime a thing As the great ILIAD, fcarce could make me fing;
Ver. 11.] This is the common place cant of men tir'd with business and courts. “ This is mere moral babble.” Comus, p. 806.
Except I justly could at once commend
'Tis great delight to laugh at some mens ways, But a much greater to give Merit praise.
TO MR. POPE.
ON HIS PASTORALS.
n these more dull, as more censorious days,
When few dare give, and fewer merit praise,
Your strains are regularly bold, and please
40 With virgin charms, and native excellence. Yet long her Modesty those charms concealid, 'Till by mens Envy to the world reveal'd; For Wits industrious to their trouble feem, And needs will envy what they must esteem. 45
VER. 28. Sylvan Mufe] From Boileau's Art of Poetry, Chant. 2. 1. 1. Pope seems to have corrected these lines. VOL. I.
Live and enjoy theit spite! nor mourn that fate, Which would, if Virgil liv'd, on Virgil wait ; Whofe Muse did once, like thine, in plains delight; Thine shall, like his, foon take a higher flight; So Larks, which first from lowly fields arise, 50 Mount by degrees, and reach at last the skies.
TO MR. POPE,
ON HIS WINDSOR-FOREST.
AIL, facred Bard! a Muse unknown before
Salutes thee from the bleak Atlantic shore. To our dark world thy shining page is shown, And Windsor's gay retreat becomes our own, The Eastern pomp had just bespoke our care, And India pour'd her gaudy treasures here: 6 A various spoil adorn'd our naked land, The pride of Persia glitter'd on our strand, And China's earth was cast on common sand: Tofs'd
and down the glofly fragments lay, And dress’d the rocky shelves, and pav'd the painted