plication of the symbol.* However it be, either of these precepts is extremely proper to be followed at this season; and I cannot but applaud your resolution of continuing in what you call your cave in the forest, this winter; and preferring the noise of breaking ice to that of breaking statesmen, the rage of storms to that of parties, the fury and ravage of floods and tempests, to the precipitancy of some and the ruin of others, which, I fear, will be our daily prospects in London. I sincerely wish myself with you, to contemplate the wonders of God in the firmament, rather than the madness of man on the earth. But I never had so much cause as now to complain of my poetical star, that fixes me, at this tumultuous time, to attend the jingling of rhymes and the measuring of syllables; to be almost the only trifler in the nation; and as ridiculous as the poet in Petronius, who, while all the rest in the ship were either labouring or praying for life, was scratching his head in a little room, to write a fine description of the tempest. You tell me, you like the sound of no arms but those of Achilles: for my part I like them as little as any other arms. I listed myself in the battles of Homer, and I am no sooner in war, but, like most other folks, I wish myself out again. I heartily join with you in wishing quiet to our * This idea recurs in the correspondence with Mr. Blount, Letter III. These Letters shew the agitation that prevailed during the unhappy commotions in 1715. native country; quiet in the state, which, like charity in religion, is too much the perfection and happiness of either, to be broken or violated, on any pretence or prospect whatsoever. Fire and sword, and fire and faggot, are equally my aversion. I can pray for opposite parties, and for opposite religions, with great sincerity. I think to be a lover of one's country is a glorious elogy, but I do not think it so great an one as to be a lover of mankind. I sometimes celebrate you under these denominations, and join your health with that of the whole world; a truly catholic health, which far excels the poor, narrow-spirited, ridiculous healths now in fashion, to this church or that church. Whatever our teachers may say, they must give us leave at least to wish generously. These, dear Sir, are my general dispositions; but, whenever I pray or wish for particulars, you are one of the first in the thoughts and affections of Your, etc. LETTER IX. FROM SIR WILLIAM TRUMBULL. January 19, 1715-16. I SHOULD be ashamed of my long idleness, in not acknowledging your kind advice about Echo, and your most ingenious explanation of it relating to popular tumults, which I own to be very useful; and yet give me leave to tell you, that I keep myself to a shorter receipt of the same Pythagoras, which is Silence; and this I shall observe, if not the whole time of his discipline, yet at least till your return into this country. I am obliged further to this method, by the most severe weather I ever felt; when, though I keep as near by the fire-side as may be, yet gelidus concrevit frigore sanguis; and often I apprehend the circulation of the blood begins to be stopped. I have further great losses (to a poor farmer) of my poor oxen. Intereunt pecudes, stant circumfusa pruinis Corpora magna boúm, etc. Pray comfort me if you can, by telling me that your second volume of Homer is not frozen; for it must be expressed very poetically, to say now, that the presses sweat. I cannot forbear to add a piece of artifice I have been guilty of on occasion of my being obliged to congratulate the birth-day of a friend of mine; when finding I had no materials of my own, I very frankly sent him your imitation of Martial's epigram on Antonius Primus.* This * Jam numerat placido felix Antonius ævo, etc. At length my friend (while time with still career Such, has been applauded so much, that I am in danger of commencing poet, perhaps laureat, (pray desire my good friend Mr. Rowe to enter a caveat,) provided you will further increase my stock in this bank. In which proceeding I have laid the foundation of my estate, and as honestly as many others have begun theirs. But now being a little fearful, as young beginners often are, I offer to you (for I have concealed the true author) whether you will give me orders to declare who is the father of this fine child or not. Whatever you determine, my fingers, pen, and ink are so frozen, that I cannot thank you more at large. You will forgive this and all other faults of, dear Sir, Your, etc. Such, such a man extends his life's short space, Pope. |