[Footnote 21: The commendation of his own goodness is a theme which constantly recurs in Pope, as if he hoped to conceal his delinquencies by his loud profession of the contrary qualities. The topic is introduced into this preface in a forced manner, and treated with singular weakness. Intellectual capacity and literary pre-eminence are no security for moral excellence; and it was idle to ask the public to forget his reputation as a poet, which was his sole claim to fame, and to commemorate him for virtues of which the world had no proof, and which, if they were real, he shared with thousands.]

[Footnote 22: This was written in 1716; did our author recollect this sentiment in 1729[8]?--WARTON.

Warton alludes to the Dunciad, but to have "insulted adversaries with ill language" was only one out of several particulars, in which Pope's subsequent career belied the protestations in his preface.]

[Footnote 23: This far-fetched excuse of Pope for rebuking the vanity of contemporary poets, was a clumsy expedient to gratify his own vanity in proclaiming to the world that "he had been encouraged by the great, and commended by the eminent." He had not much t.i.tle to reprove the vanity of his brethren, when, in the same sentence, he recorded the praise which the different orders of mankind had bestowed upon himself.]

PREFACE TO POPE'S WORKS.

VOL. II. 4TO, 1735.

THE AUTHOR TO THE READER.

All I had to say of my writings is contained in my preface to the first of these volumes, printed for J. Tonson, and B. Lintot in quarto and folio in the year 1717; and all I have to say of myself will be found in my last Epistle.[1] I have nothing to add, but that this volume, and the above-mentioned contain whatsoever I have written, and[2] designed for the press, except my translation of the Iliad (with my preface and notes), of twelve books of the Odyssey, with the postscript (not the notes), the preface to Shakespeare, and a few Spectators[3] and Guardians. Whatever besides I have written, or joined in writing with Dr. Swift, Dr. Arbuthnot, or Mr. Gay (the only persons with whom I ever wrote in conjunction) are to be found in the four volumes of Miscellanies by us published.[4] I think them too inconsiderable to be separated and reprinted here; nevertheless, that none of my faults may be imputed to another, I must own that of the prose part, the Thoughts on Various Subjects at the end of the second volume, were wholly mine; and of the verses, the Happy Life of a Country Parson, the Alley in imitation of Spenser, the characters of Macer, Artimesia, and Phryne, the Verses to Mrs. M[artha] B[lount] on her Birth-day, and a few epigrams.[5] It will be but justice to me to believe that nothing more is mine, notwithstanding all that has been published in my name, or added to my[6] miscellanies since 1717,[7] by any bookseller whatsoever.

A. POPE.

_Jan. 1, 1734-{5}._

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: In the reprint of this preface in 1740, Pope added the words, "to Dr. Arbuthnot."]

[Footnote 2: In the octavo of 1735, Pope omitted the words "written, and." In 1740 he again inserted them, and omitted the words, "and designed for the press."]

[Footnote 3: The Messiah was first published in the Spectator, but as it was also inserted in the quarto of 1717, the poet cannot have included it among the pieces which were not contained in either the first or second volume of his works. His only other known contribution to the Spectator was a short letter in No. 532, Nov. 10, 1712, on the verses which the Emperor Hadrian spoke when he was dying. The "few Spectators"

to which Pope referred have not been identified, and since he never reproduced, or particularised them, it may be taken for granted that they were of slight importance.]

[Footnote 4: In the edition of 1740 Pope affixed to this sentence the clause, "or make part of the Memoirs of Scriblerus, not yet printed."

His enumeration of the Scriblerus among his genuine productions was doubtless the consequence of his resolution to publish it, and it accordingly appeared in 1741 in the second volume of his prose works.]

[Footnote 5: The pa.s.sage from "I think" down to "epigrams," was left out in 1740, for Pope soon admitted into his collected works those pieces in the Miscellanies which he here said were "too inconsiderable to be reprinted."]

[Footnote 6: "Any" in the edition of 1740.]

[Footnote 7: He omitted "1717" in 1740. His insinuation that none of the other pieces ascribed to him were genuine, is in his ordinary style of equivocation, and is now known to be erroneous.]

RECOMMENDATORY POEMS.[1]

JOHN SHEFFIELD, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.[2]

ON MR. POPE AND HIS POEMS.

With age decayed, with courts and bus'ness tired, Caring for nothing but what ease required; Too dully serious for the muses' sport, And from the critics safe arrived in port; I little thought of launching forth again, 5 Amidst advent'rous rovers of the pen: And after so much undeserved success, Thus hazarding at last to make it less.

Encomiums suit not this censorious time, Itself a subject for satiric rhyme; 10 Ignorance honoured, wit and worth defamed, Folly triumphant, and ev'n Homer blamed!

But to this genius, joined with so much art, Such various learning mixed in ev'ry part, Poets are bound a loud applause to pay; 15 Apollo bids it, and they must obey.

And yet so wonderful, sublime a thing As the great Iliad, scarce could make me sing, Except I justly could at once commend A good companion, and as firm a friend, 20 One moral, or a mere well-natured deed Can all desert in sciences exceed.

'Tis great delight to laugh at some men's ways, But a much greater to give merit praise.

ANNE, COUNTESS OF WINCHELSEA.[3]

TO MR. POPE.

The muse, of ev'ry heav'nly gift allowed To be the chief, is public, though not proud.

Widely extensive is the poet's aim, And in each verse he draws a bill on fame.

For none have writ (whatever they pretend) 5 Singly to raise a patron, or a friend; But whatsoe'er the theme or object be, Some commendations to themselves foresee.

Then let us find, in your foregoing page, The celebrating poems of the age; 10 Nor by injurious scruples think it fit To hide their judgments who applaud your wit.

But let their pens to yours the heralds prove, Who strive for you as Greece for Homer strove; Whilst he who best your poetry a.s.serts, 15 a.s.serts his own, by sympathy of parts.

Me panegyric verse does not inspire, Who never well can praise what I admire; Nor in those lofty trials dare appear, But gently drop this counsel in your ear. 20 Go on, to gain applauses by desert, Inform the head, whilst you dissolve the heart; Inflame the soldier with harmonious rage, Elate the young, and gravely warm the sage; Allure with tender verse the female race, 25 And give their darling pa.s.sion courtly grace; Describe the Forest still in rural strains, With vernal sweets fresh breathing from the plains.

Your tales be easy, natural, and gay, Nor all the poet in that part display; 30 Nor let the critic there his skill unfold, For Boccace thus, and Chaucer tales have told.

Soothe, as you only can, each diff'ring taste, And for the future charm as in the past.

Then should the verse of ev'ry artful hand 35 Before your numbers eminently stand; In you no vanity could thence be shown, Unless, since short in beauty of your own, Some envious scribbler might in spite declare, That for comparison you placed them there. 40 But envy could not against you succeed, } 'Tis not from friends that write, or foes that read; } Censure or praise must from ourselves proceed. }

MR. WYCHERLEY.

TO MR. POPE, ON HIS PASTORALS.[4]

In these more dull, as more censorious days, When few dare give, and fewer merit praise, A muse sincere, that never flatt'ry knew, Pays what to friendship and desert is due.

Young, yet judicious; in your verse are found 5 Art strength'ning nature, sense improved by sound.

Unlike those wits whose numbers glide along So smooth, no thought e'er interrupts the song:[5]

Laboriously enervate they appear, And write not to the head, but to the ear: 10 Our minds unmoved and unconcerned they lull, And are at best most musically dull: So purling streams with even murmurs creep, And hush the heavy hearers into sleep.

As smoothest speech is most deceitful found, } 15 The smoothest numbers oft are empty sound, } And leave our lab'ring fancy quite aground.[6] } But wit and judgment join at once in you, Sprightly as youth, as age consummate too: Your strains are regularly bold, and please } 20 With unforced care, and unaffected ease, } With proper thoughts, and lively images: } Such as by nature to the ancients shown, Fancy improves, and judgment makes your own: For great men's fashions to be followed are, 25 Although disgraceful 'tis their clothes to wear.

Some in a polished style write pastoral, Arcadia speaks the language of the Mall; Like some fair shepherdess, the sylvan muse,[7]

Decked in those flow'rs her native fields produce, 30 With modest charms would in plain neatness please, } But seems a dowdy in the courtly dress, } Whose awkward finery allures us less.[8] } But the true measure of the shepherd's wit Should, like his garb, be for the country fit: 35 Yet must his pure and unaffected thought More nicely than the common swain's be wrought.

So, with becoming art, the players dress In silks the shepherd and the shepherdess; Yet still unchanged the form and mode remain, 40 Shaped like the homely russet of the swain.

Your rural muse appears to justify The long lost graces of simplicity: So rural beauties captivate our sense With virgin charms, and native excellence. 45 Yet long her modesty those charms concealed, 'Till by men's envy to the world revealed; For wits industrious to their trouble seem, And needs will envy what they must esteem.

Live and enjoy their spite! nor mourn that fate, 50 Which would, if Virgil lived, on Virgil wait; Whose muse did once, like thine, in plains delight; Thine shall, like his, soon take a higher flight; So larks, which first from lowly fields arise, Mount by degrees, and reach at last the skies. 55

FR. KNAPP.[9]

TO MR. POPE, ON HIS WINDSOR FOREST.[10]

_Killala, in the county of Mayo, in Ireland, June 7, 1715._

Hail, sacred bard! a muse unknown before Salutes thee from the bleak Atlantic sh.o.r.e.

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, 5 And India poured her gaudy treasures here: A various spoil adorned our naked land, } The pride of Persia glittered on our strand, } And China's earth was cast on common sand: } Tossed up and down the glossy fragments lay, 10 And dressed the rocky shelves, and paved the painted bay.

Thy treasures next arrived: and now we boast A n.o.bler cargo on our barren coast: From thy luxuriant Forest we receive More lasting glories than the East can give. 15 Where'er we dip in thy delightful page, What pompous scenes our busy thoughts engage!

The pompous scenes in all their pride appear, Fresh in the page, as in the grove they were; Nor half so true the fair Lodona shows 20 The sylvan state that on her border grows, While she the wond'ring shepherd entertains With a new Windsor in her wat'ry plains; Thy juster lays the lucid wave surpa.s.s, The living scene is in the muse's gla.s.s. 25 Nor sweeter notes the echoing forests cheer, When Philomela sits and warbles there, Than when you sing the greens and op'ning glades, And give us harmony as well as shades: A t.i.tian's hand might draw the grove, but you 30 Can paint the grove, and add the music too.