for description. He was starving; I supported him, and my father
cloathed him, 'till his tragedy was brought on the stage, where it
met with success in the representation, tho' acted by the young part
of the company, in the summer season; whatever might be the merit of
his play, his necessities were too pressing to wait 'till winter for
its performance. When it was just going to be published (as I met
with uncommon encouragement in my young attempt in the part of
Somerset) he repeated to me a most extraordinary compliment, as he
might then think it, which, he said, he intended to make me in his
preface. Neither my youth (for I was then but 18) or vanity, was so
devoid of judgment, as to prevent my objecting to it. I told him, I
imagined this extravagancy would have so contrary an effect to his
intention, that what he kindly meant for praise, might be
misinterpreted, or render him liable to censure, and me to ridicule;
I insisted on his omitting it: contrary to his usual obstinacy, he
consented, and sent his orders to the Printer to leave it out; it
was too late; the sheets were all work'd off, and the play was
advertised to come out (as it did) the next day. T.C.
[7A] _Published about the year_ 1743.
* * * * *
ALEXANDER POPE, Esq;
This illustrious poet was born at London, in 1688, and was descended
from a good family of that name, in Oxfordshire, the head of which was
the earl of Downe, whose sole heiress married the earl of Lindsey. His
father, a man of primitive simplicity, and integrity of manners, was a
merchant of London, who upon the Revolution quitted trade, and converted
his effects into money, amounting to near 10,000 l. with which he
retired into the country; and died in 1717, at the age of 75.
Our poet's mother, who lived to a very advanced age, being 93 years old
when she died, in 1733, was the daughter of William Turner, Esq; of
York. She had three brothers, one of whom was killed, another died in
the service of king Charles; and the eldest following his fortunes, and
becoming a general officer in Spain, left her what estate remained after
sequestration, and forfeitures of her family. To these circumstances our
poet alludes in his epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, in which he mentions his
parents.
Of gentle blood (part shed in honour's cause,
While yet in Britain, honour had applause)
Each parent sprang,--What fortune pray?--their own,
And better got than Bestia's from the throne.
Born to no pride, inheriting no strife,
Nor marrying discord in a noble wife;
Stranger to civil and religious rage,
The good man walked innoxious thro' his age:
No courts he saw; no suits would ever try;
Nor dar'd an oath, nor hazarded a lye:
Unlearn'd, he knew no schoolmen's subtle art,
No language, but the language of the heart:
By nature honest, by experience wise,
Healthy by temp'rance, and by exercise;
His life though long, to sickness past unknown,
His death was instant and without a groan.
The education of our great author was attended with circumstances very
singular; and some of them extremely unfavourable; but the amazing force
of his genius fully compensated the want of any advantage in his
earliest instruction. He owed the knowledge of his letters to an aunt;
and having learned very early to read, took great delight in it, and
taught himself to write by copying after printed books, the characters
of which he could imitate to great perfection. He began to compose
verses, farther back than he could well remember; and at eight years of
age, when he was put under one Taverner a priest, who taught him the
rudiments of the Latin and Greek tongues at the same time, he met with
Ogilby's Homer, which gave him great delight; and this was encreased by
Sandys's Ovid: The raptures which these authors, even in the disguise of
such translations, then yielded him, were so strong, that he spoke of
them with pleasure ever after. From Mr. Taverner's tuition he was sent
to a private school at Twiford, near Winchester, where he continued
about a year, and was then removed to another near Hyde Park Corner; but
was so unfortunate as to lose under his two last masters, what he had
acquired under the first.
While he remained at this school, being permitted to go to the
play-house, with some of his school fellows of a more advanced age, he
was so charmed with dramatic representations, that he formed the
translation of the Iliad into a play, from several of the speeches in
Ogilby's translation, connected with verses of his own; and the several
parts were performed by the upper boys of the school, except that of
Ajax by the master's gardener. At the age of 12 our young poet, went
with his father to reside at his house at Binfield, in Windsor forest,
where he was for a few months under the tuition of another priest, with
as little success as before; so that he resolved now to become his own
master, by reading those Classic Writers which gave him most
entertainment; and by this method, at fifteen he gained a ready habit in
the learned languages, to which he soon after added the French and
Italian. Upon his retreat to the forest, he became first acquainted with
the writings of Waller, Spenser and Dryden; in the last of which he
immediately found what he wanted; and the poems of that excellent writer
were never out of his hands; they became his model, and from them alone
he learned the whole magic of his versification.
The first of our author's compositions now extant in print, is an Ode on
Solitude, written before he was twelve years old: Which, consider'd as
the production of so early an age, is a perfect master piece; nor need
he have been ashamed of it, had it been written in the meridian of his
genius. While it breathes the most delicate spirit of poetry, it at the
same time demonstrates his love of solitude, and the rational pleasures
which attend the retreats of a contented country life.
Two years after this he translated the first Book of Statius' Thebais,
and wrote a copy of verses on Silence, in imitation of the Earl of
Rochester's poem on Nothing[1]. Thus we find him no sooner capable of
holding the pen, than he employed it in writing verses,
"_He lisp'd [Transcriber's note: 'lips'd' in original] in Numbers, for
the Numbers came_."
Though we have had frequent opportunity to observe, that poets have
given early displays of genius, yet we cannot recollect, that among the
inspired tribe, one can be found who at the age of twelve could produce
so animated an Ode; or at the age of fourteen translate from the Latin.
It has been reported indeed, concerning Mr. Dryden, that when he was at
Westminster-School, the master who had assigned a poetical task to some
of the boys, of writing a Paraphrase on our Saviour's Miracle, of
turning Water into Wine, was perfectly astonished when young Dryden
presented him with the following line, which he asserted was the best
comment could be written upon it.
The conscious water saw its God, and blush'd.
This was the only instance of an early appearance of genius in this
great man, for he was turn'd of 30 before he acquired any reputation; an
age in which Mr. Pope's was in its full distinction.
The year following that in which Mr. Pope wrote his poem on Silence, he
began an Epic Poem, intitled Alcander, which he afterwards very
judiciously committed to the flames, as he did likewise a Comedy, and a
Tragedy; the latter taken from a story in the legend of St. Genevieve;
both of these being the product of those early days. But his Pastorals,
which were written in 1704, when he was only 16 years of age, were
esteemed by Sir William Trumbull, Mr. Granville, Mr. Wycherley, Mr.
Walsh and others of his friends, too valuable to be condemned to the
same fate.
Mr. Pope's Pastorals are four, viz.
Spring, address'd to Sir William Trumbull,
Summer, to Dr. Garth.
Autumn, to Mr. Wycherley.
Winter, in memory of Mrs. Tempest.
The three great writers of Pastoral Dialogue, which Mr. Pope in some
measure seems to imitate, are Theocritus, Virgil, and Spenser. Mr. Pope
is of opinion, that Theocritus excells all others in nature and
simplicity.
That Virgil, who copies Theocritus, refines on his original; and in all
points in which judgment has the principal part is much superior to his
master.
That among the moderns, their success has been, greatest who have most
endeavoured to make these antients their pattern. The most considerable
genius appears in the famous Tasso, and our Spenser. Tasso in his Aminta
has far excelled all the pastoral writers, as in his Gierusalemme he has
outdone the Epic Poets of his own country. But as this piece seems to
have been the original of a new sort of poem, the Pastoral Comedy, in
Italy, it cannot so well be considered as a copy of the antients.
Spenser's Calendar, in Mr. Dryden's opinion, is the most compleat work
of this kind, which any nation has produced ever since the time of
Virgil. But this he said before Mr. Pope's Pastorals appeared.
Mr. Walsh pronounces on our Shepherd's Boy (as Mr. Pope called himself)
the following judgment, in a letter to Mr. Wycherly.
'The verses are very tender and easy. The author seems to have a
particular genius for that kind of poetry, and a judgment that much
exceeds the years, you told me he was of. It is no flattery at all to
say, that Virgil had written nothing so good at his age. I shall take it
as a favour if you will bring me acquainted with him; and if he will
give himself the trouble, any morning, to call at my house, I shall be
very glad to read the verses with him, and give him him my opinion of
the particulars more largely than I can well do in this letter.'
Thus early was Mr. Pope introduced to the acquaintance of men of genius,
and so improved every advantage, that he made a more rapid progress
towards a consummation in fame, than any of our former English poets.
His Messiah; his Windsor-Forest, the first part of which was written at
the same time with his pastorals; his Essay on Criticism in 1709, and
his Rape of the Lock in 1712, established his poetical character in such
a manner, that he was called upon by the public voice, to enrich our
language with the translation of the Iliad; which he began at 25, and
executed in five years. This was published for his own benefit, by
subscription, the only kind of reward, which he received for his
writings, which do honour to our age and country: His religion rendering
him incapable of a place, which the lord treasurer Oxford used to
express his concern for, but without offering him a pension, as the earl
of Halifax, and Mr. Secretary Craggs afterwards did, though Mr. Pope
declined it.
The reputation of Mr. Pope gaining every day upon the world, he was
caressed, flattered, and railed at; according as he was feared, or loved
by different persons. Mr. Wycherley was amongst the first authors of
established reputation, who contributed to advance his fame, and with
whom he for some time lived in the most unreserved intimacy. This poet,
in his old age, conceived a design of publishing his poems, and as he
was but a very imperfect master of numbers, he entrusted his manuscripts
to Mr. Pope, and submitted them to his correction. The freedom which our
young bard was under a necessity to use, in order to polish and refine
what was in the original, rough, unharmonious, and indelicate, proved
disgustful to the old gentleman, then near 70, who, perhaps, was a
little ashamed, that a boy at 16 should so severely correct his works.
Letters of dissatisfaction were written by Mr. Wycherley, and at last he
informed him, in few words, that he was going out of town, without
mentioning to what place, and did not expect to hear from him 'till he
came back. This cold indifference extorted from Mr. Pope a protestation,
that nothing should induce him ever to write to him again.
Notwithstanding this peevish behaviour of Mr. Wycherley, occasioned by
jealousy and infirmities, Mr. Pope preserved a constant respect and
reverence for him while he lived, and after his death lamented him. In a
letter to Edward Blount, esq; written immediately upon the death of this
poet, he has there related some anecdotes of Wycherly, which we shall
insert here, especially as they are not taken notice of in his life.
'DEAR SIR,
'I know of nothing that will be so interesting to you, at present, as
some circumstances of the last act of that eminent comic poet, and our
friend, Wycherley. He had often told me, as, I doubt not, he did all his
acquaintance, that he would marry, as soon as his life was despaired of:
accordingly, a few days before his death, he underwent the ceremony, and
joined together those two sacraments, which, wise men say, should be the
last we receive; for, if you observe, matrimony is placed after extreme
unction in our catechism, as a kind of hint of the order of time in
which they are to be taken. The old man then lay down, satisfied in the
conscience of having, by this one act, paid his just debts, obliged a
woman, who, he was told, had merit, and shewn a heroic resentment of
the ill usage of his next heir. Some hundred pounds which he had with
the lady, discharged those debts; a jointure of four hundred a year made
her a recompence; and the nephew he left to comfort himself, as well as
he could, with the miserable remains of a mortgaged estate. I saw our
friend twice after this was done, less peevish in his sickness, than he
used to be in his health, neither much afraid of dying, nor (which in
him had been more likely) much ashamed of marrying. The evening before
he expired, he called his young wife to the bed side, and earnestly
entreated her not to deny him one request, the last he should ever make.
Upon her assurance of consenting to it, he told her, my dear, it is only
this, that you will never marry an old man again. I cannot help
remarking, that sickness, which often destroys both wit and wisdom, yet
seldom has power to remove that talent we call humour. Mr. Wycherley
shewed this even in this last compliment, though, I think, his request a
little hard; for why should he bar her from doubling her jointure on the
same easy terms.'
One of the most affecting and tender compositions of Mr. Pope, is, his
Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady, built on a true story. We
are informed in the Life of Pope, for which Curl obtained a patent, that
this young lady was a particular favourite of the poet, though it is not
ascertained whether he himself was the person from whom she was removed.
This young lady was of very high birth, possessed an opulent fortune,
and under the tutorage of an uncle, who gave her an education suitable
to her titles and pretensions. She was esteemed a match for the greatest
peer in the realm, but, in her early years, she suffered her heart to be
engaged by a young gentleman, and in consequence of this attachment,
rejected offers made to her by persons of quality, seconded by the
sollicitations of her uncle. Her guardian being surprized at this
behaviour, set spies upon her, to find out the real cause of her
indifference. Her correspondence with her lover was soon discovered,
and, when urged upon that topic, she had too much truth and honour to
deny it. The uncle finding, that she would make no efforts to disengage
her affection, after a little time forced her abroad, where she was
received with a ceremony due to her quality, but restricted from the
conversation of every one, but the spies of this severe guardian, so
that it was impossible for her lover even to have a letter delivered to
her hands. She languished in this place a considerable time, bore an
infinite deal of sickness, and was overwhelmed with the profoundest
sorrow. Nature being wearied out with continual distress, and being
driven at last to despair, the unfortunate lady, as Mr. Pope justly
calls her, put an end to her own life, having bribed a maid servant to
procure her a sword. She was found upon the ground weltering in her
blood. The severity of the laws of the place, where this fair
unfortunate perished, denied her Christian burial, and she was interred
without solemnity, or even any attendants to perform the last offices of
the dead, except some young people of the neighbourhood, who saw her put
into common ground, and strewed the grave with flowers.
The poet in the elegy takes occasion to mingle with the tears of sorrow,
just reproaches upon her cruel uncle, who drove her to this violation.
But thou, false guardian of a charge too good,
Thou base betrayer of a brother's blood!
See on those ruby lips the trembling breath,
Those cheeks now fading at the blast of death:
Lifeless the breast, which warm'd the world before,
And those love-darting eyes must roll no more.
The conclusion of this elegy is irresistably affecting.
So peaceful rests, without a stone, a name,
Which once had beauty, titles, wealth and fame,
How lov'd, how honoured once, avails thee not,
To whom related, or by whom begot;
A heap of dust alone remains of thee;
'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!
No poem of our author's more deservedly obtained him reputation, than
his Essay on Criticism. Mr. Addison, in his Spectator, No. 253, has
celebrated it with such profuse terms of admiration, that it is really
astonishing, to find the same man endeavouring afterwards to diminish
that fame he had contributed to raise so high.
The art of criticism (says he) which was published some months ago, is a
master-piece in its kind. The observations follow one another, like
those in Horace's Art of Poetry, without that methodical regularity,
which would have been requisite in a prose writer. They are some of them
uncommon, but such as the reader must assent to, when he sees them
explained with that elegance and perspicuity in which they are
delivered. As for those which are the most known, and the most received,
they are placed in so beautiful a light, and illustrated with such apt
allusions, that they have in them all the graces of novelty, and make
the reader, who was before acquainted with them, still more convinced of
their truth and solidity. And here give me leave to mention, what
Monsieur Boileau has so well enlarged upon, in the preface to his works;
that wit and fine writing do not consist so much in advancing things
that are new, as in giving things that are known an agreeable turn. It
is impossible for us, who live in the latter ages of the world, to make
observations in criticism, morality, or any art and science, which have
not been touched upon by others. We have little else left us, but to
represent the common sense of mankind in more strong, more beautiful, or
more uncommon lights. If a reader examines Horace's Art of Poetry, he
will find but few precepts in it, which he may not meet with in
Aristotle, and which were not commonly known by all the poets of the
Augustan age. His way of expressing, and applying them, not his
invention of them, is what we are chiefly to admire.--
"Longinus, in his Reflexions, has given us the same kind of sublime,
which he observes in the several passages which occasioned them. I
cannot but take notice, that our English author has, after the same
manner, exemplified several of his precepts, in the very precepts
themselves." He then produces some instances of a particular kind of
beauty in the numbers, and concludes with saying, that "we have three
poems in our tongue of the same nature, and each a master-piece in its
kind: The Essay on Translated Verse, the Essay on the Art of Poetry, and
the Essay on Criticism." [Transcriber's note: Opening quotes missing in
original.]
In the Lives of Addison and Tickell, we have thrown out some general
hints concerning the quarrel which subsisted between our poet and the
former of these gentlemen; here it will not be improper to give a more
particular account of it.
The author of Mist's Journal positively asserts, 'that Mr. Addison
raised Pope from obscurity, obtained him the acquaintance and friendship
of the whole body of our nobility, and transferred his powerful
influence with those great men to this rising bard, who frequently
levied by that means, unusual contributions on the public.[Transcriber's
note: 'pubic' in original.] No sooner was his body lifeless, but this
author reviving his resentment, libelled the memory of his departed
friend, and what was still more heinous, made the scandal public.'
When this charge of ingratitude and dishonour was published against Mr.
Pope, to acquit himself of it, he called upon any nobleman, whose
friendship, or any one gentleman, whose subscription Mr. Addison had
procured to our author, to stand forth, and declare it, that truth might
appear. But the whole libel was proved a malicious story, by many
persons of distinction, who, several years before Mr. Addison's decease,
approved those verses denominated a libel, but which were, 'tis said, a
friendly rebuke, sent privately in our author's own hand, to Mr. Addison
himself, and never made public, 'till by Curl in his Miscellanies, 12mo.
1727. The lines indeed are elegantly satirical, and, in the opinion of
many unprejudiced judges, who had opportunities of knowing the character
of Mr. Addison, are no ill representation of him. Speaking of the
poetical triflers of the times, who had declared against him, he makes a
sudden transition to Addison.
Peace to all such! But were there one whose fires
True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires,
Blest with each talent, and each art to please,
And born to write, converse, and live with ease;
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no rival near the throne,
View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes,
And hate for arts, that caus'd himself to rise;
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,
And, without sneering, others teach to sneer;
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike;
Alike reserv'd to blame or to commend,
A tim'rous foe, and a suspicious friend;
Dreading even fools; by flatt'rers besieg'd;
And so obliging, that he ne'er oblig'd.
Like Cato give his little senate laws,
[Transcriber's note: 'litttle' in original]
And sit attentive to his own applause;
While Wits and Templars ev'ry sentence raise,
And wonder with a foolish face of praise.
Who but must laugh, if such a man there be!
Who would not weep, if Atticus were he!
Some readers may think these lines severe, but the treatment he received
from Mr. Addison, was more than sufficient to justify them, which will
appear when we particularize an interview between these two poetical
antagonists, procured by the warm sollicitations of Sir Richard Steele,
who was present at it, as well as Mr. Gay.
Mr. Jervas being one day in company with Mr. Addison, the conversation
turned upon Mr. Pope, for whom Addison, at that time, expressed the
highest regard, and assured Mr. Jervas, that he would make use not only
of his interest, but of his art likewise, to do Mr. Pope service; he
then said, he did not mean his art of poetry, but his art at court, and
protested, notwithstanding many insinuations were spread, that it shall
not be his fault, if there was not the best understanding and
intelligence between them. He observed, that Dr. Swift might have
carried him too far among the enemy, during the animosity, but now all
was safe, and Mr. Pope, in his opinion, was escaped. When Mr. Jervas
communicated this conversation to Mr. Pope, he made this reply: 'The
friendly office you endeavour to do between Mr. Addison and me deserves
acknowledgments on my part. You thoroughly know my regard to his
character, and my readiness to testify it by all ways in my power; you
also thoroughly knew the meanness of that proceeding of Mr. Phillips, to
make a man I so highly value suspect my disposition towards him. But as,
after all, Mr. Addison must be judge in what regards himself, and as he
has seemed not to be a very just one to me, so I must own to you, I
expect nothing but civility from him, how much soever I wish for his
friendship; and as for any offers of real kindness or service which it
is in his power to do me, I should be ashamed to receive them from a
man, who has no better opinion of my morals, than to think me a party
man, nor of my temper, than to believe me capable of maligning, or
envying another's reputation as a poet. In a word, Mr. Addison is sure
of my respect at all times, and of my real friendship, whenever he shall
think fit to know me for what I am.'