Page images
PDF
EPUB

SIR,

LETTER XXV.

MR. POPE TO MR. DUNCOMBE.

Twickenham, Oct. 20, 1734.

I AM obliged for the favour of yours. I have looked for the letter Mr. Hughes sent me, but cannot find it. I had a great regard for his merit, modesty, and softness of manners. He writ to me a few days before his death, concerning his

mascus was, of the class of the mediocribus in prose and verse," made it necessary to sink the first. Warton.

Dr. Warton thinks much higher of Pope's opinion of Hughes, than can be justified by a perusal of this letter, which appears to me to be equivocal. The letter, however, as here given, is but a part of what Pope wrote to Mr. Jabez Hughes, and was probably taken from Mr. Duncombe's Preface to Hughes's Works, 2 vols. 1735. In Hughes's Correspondence, published by Mr. Duncombe in 1772, we have the entire letter, which is dated Feb. 26, 1719-20. (This letter is before given.) The other part of Dr. Warton's note appears to be founded on two mistakes, which are rather singular in him, who was the editor of Pope, and added or left out what he pleased. In the first place there is no letter sunk at all: the one he alludes to appeared in vol. ix. and is numbered 76, as in the present edition; and secondly, the opinion that Hughes should be ranked among the mediocribus was not Pope's, but Swift's. It is true, that Pope assented to it, but in a manner which does not appear to me to contrast very strongly with his former sentiments. After fifteen years, the sensations occasioned by the singular circumstance of Hughes having expired on the first night his tragedy was acted, may be supposed to yield to a calm examination of his whole Works then published, some of which, it is probable, Pope had never before seen, or known to be his. It may be necessary to attempt to vindicate Pope's sincerity in this instance. C.

Bowles.

play of the "Siege of Damascus," which is the only letter I can meet with.

I thank you for the part you are pleased to take, both in regard to my health (which has, I thank God, been as good as usual) and to my reputation, my poetical welfare, which I resign as much to Providence as the other. But truly I had not the least thought of stealing applause, by suppressing my name to that Essay.* I wanted only to hear truth, and was more afraid of my partial friends than enemies. Besides, I really was humble and diffident enough to distrust my own performance. All I can say of it is, that I know it to be an honest one. I am, Sir, Your, &c.

SIR,

LETTER XXVI.

TO MR. DUNCOMBE.

Twickenham, May 6, 1735.

MANY thanks for your kind present, in which I find several pleasing and very correct pieces of his (Mr. Hughes's), which were new to me. I beg you to accept of the new volume of my things, just printed, which will be delivered you by Mr. Dodsley, the author of the Toy-shop, who has just set up (as) a bookseller; and I doubt not, as he has more sense, so will have more honesty, than most of his profession. I am, Sir,

Your, &c.

* Essay on Man, published without a name. Bowles.

SIR,

LETTER XXVII.

TO MR. DUNCOMBE.

Twickenham, Nov. 5, 1734.

I AM extremely willing to bear any testimony of my real regard for Mr. Hughes, and therefore what you mention of my letter to his brother, after his death, will be a greater instance of the sincerity with which it was given: it is perfectly at your service. I thank you for the tenderness with which you deal in this matter toward me, and I esteem you for that which you shew to the memory of your kinsman. I doubt not but you will discharge it in a becoming manner; and am, Sir,

Your, &c.

SIR,

LETTER XXVIII.

TO MR. DUNCOMBE.

Saturday, Nov. 23, 1734.

My absence from home prevented my receiving your two letters till this day. I would else have read your tragedy willingly; and I beg you not to take amiss that I return your presents of the tickets, since it is not in my power to be there next week, through indispensable obligations in the country at some distance. I think your prologue* a good one; and I think of players as I * This prologue (which was afterwards spoken by Mr. Milward VOL. VIII.

2 P

always thought of players, and of the son as I thought of the father. I sincerely wish you success, and am, Sir, Your, &c.

LETTER XXIX.

FROM MR. PITT, THE TRANSLATOR OF VIRGIL, TO

DEAR JO,

I

MR. SPENCE.

July 18, Blandford, 1726.

AM entering into proposals with a bookseller for printing a little miscellany of my own performances, consisting of some originals and select translations. I beg you to be altogether silent in the matter. Mr. Pope has used so little of the 23rd Odyssey that I gave Dr. Young, that if I put it in among the rest I shall hardly incur any danger of the penalty concerning the patent. However I will not presume to publish a single line of it after Mr. Pope's Translation, if you advise me (as I desire you to do sincerely) to the contrary. I shall send you a small specimen of my translation, which if you approve of, I can assure you the remainder of the book is not inferior to it.

THE nurse all wild with transport seem'd to swim,
Joy wing'd her feet and lighten'd ev'ry limb;
Then to the room with speed impatient borne,
Flew with the tidings of her lord's return.

with applause) had been just returned to the author, with great contempt, by Mr. Theophilus Cibber.

Warton.

[ocr errors]

There bending o'er the sleeping queen, she cries:
"Rise, my Penelope, my daughter, rise
To see Ulysses, thy long-absent spouse,
Thy soul's desire, and lord of all thy vows:
Tho' late, he comes, and in his rage has slain,
For all their wrongs, the haughty suitor train."

"Ah Euryclea," she replies, "you rave;
The gods resume that reason which they gave;
For heaven deep wisdom to the fool supplies,
But oft infatuates and confounds the wise.
And wisdom once was thine! but now I find
The gods have ruin'd thy distemper'd mind.
How could you hope your fiction to impose?
Was it to flatter or deride my woes?
How could you break a sleep with talk so vain,
That held my sorrows in so soft a chain?
A sleep so sweet I never could enjoy
Since my dear lord left Ithaca for Troy:
Curs'd Troy-oh! why did I thy name disclose?
Thy fatal name awakens all my woes:
But fly-some other had provok'd my rage,
And you but owe your pardon to your age."

"No artful tales, no studied lies, I frame,
Ulysses lives (rejoins the reverend dame)
In that dishonour'd stranger's close disguise,
Long has he pass'd all unsuspecting eyes,
All but thy son's-and long has he suppress'd
The well-concerted secret in his breast;
Till his brave father should his foes defeat,
**And the close scheme of his revenge complete."

Swift as the word the queen transported sprung,
And round the dame in strict embraces hung;
Then as the big round tears began to roll,
Spoke the quick doubts and hurry of her soul.

"If my victorious hero safe arrives,
If my dear lord, Ulysses, still survives,
Tell me, oh tell me, how he fought alone?
How were such multitudes destroy'd by one?

« PreviousContinue »