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Title: The Rape of the Lock, and Other Poems

Author: Alexander Pope

Release date: January 1, 2006 [eBook #9800]
Most recently updated: December 26, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9800

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAPE OF THE LOCK,
AND OTHER POEMS ***

Pope's

The
Rape

of the
Lock

and
other
poems

edited with
introduction
and notes by

Thomas
Marc
Parrott

this edition
1906

Table of Contents

Preface
Introduction
Chief Dates in Pope's Life

The Rape of the Lock

An Essay on Criticism

Contents (tabulated)
An Essay on Criticism

An Essay on Man, Epistle I
The Design
Argument of Epistle I (tabulated)
Epistle I

An Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot
Advertisement to the First Publication
Epistle to Dr Arbuthnot

Ode on Solitude

The Descent of Dullness (from The Dunciad, Book IV)

Epitaph on Gay

Notes on:
The Rape of the Lock
An Essay on Criticism
An Essay on Man, Epistle I
An Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot
An Ode on Solitude
The Descent of Dullness
The Epitaph on Gay

Appendix: First Edition of the Rape of the Lock

Preface

It has been the aim of the editor in preparing this little book to get together sufficient
material to afford a student in one of our high schools or colleges adequate and typical
specimens of the vigorous and versatile genius of Alexander Pope. With this purpose he
has included in addition to The Rape of the Lock, the Essay on Criticism as furnishing
the standard by which Pope himself expected his work to be judged, the First Epistle of
the Essay on Man as a characteristic example of his didactic poetry, and the Epistle to
Arbuthnot, both for its exhibition of Pope's genius as a satirist and for the picture it
gives of the poet himself. To these are added the famous close of the Dunciad, the Ode
to Solitude, a specimen of Pope's infrequent lyric note, and the Epitaph on Gay.

The first edition of The Rape of the Lock has been given as an appendix in order that the
student may have the opportunity of comparing the two forms of this poem, and of
realizing the admirable art with which Pope blended old and new in the version that is
now the only one known to the average reader. The text throughout is that of the Globe
Edition prepared by Professor A. W. Ward.

The editor can lay no claim to originality in the notes with which he has attempted to
explain and illustrate these poems. He is indebted at every step to the labors of earlier
editors, particularly to Elwin, Courthope, Pattison, and Hales. If he has added anything
of his own, it has been in the way of defining certain words whose meaning or
connotation has changed since the time of Pope, and in paraphrasing certain passages to
bring out a meaning which has been partially obscured by the poet's effort after brevity
and concision.

In the general introduction the editor has aimed not so much to recite the facts of Pope's
life as to draw the portrait of a man whom he believes to have been too often
misunderstood and misrepresented. The special introductions to the various poems are
intended to acquaint the student with the circumstances under which they were
composed, to trace their literary genesis and relationships, and, whenever necessary, to
give an outline of the train of thought which they embody. In conclusion the editor
would express the hope that his labors in the preparation of this book may help, if only
in some slight degree, to stimulate the study of the work of a poet who, with all his
limitations, remains one of the abiding glories of English literature, and may contribute
not less to a proper appreciation of a man who with all his faults was, on the evidence
of those who knew him best, not only a great poet, but a very human and lovable
personality.

T. M. P. Princeton University, June 4, 1906.

Contents

Introduction

Perhaps no other great poet in English Literature has been so differently judged at
different times as Alexander Pope. Accepted almost on his first appearance as one of the
leading poets of the day, he rapidly became recognized as the foremost man of letters of
his age. He held this position throughout his life, and for over half a century after his
death his works were considered not only as masterpieces, but as the finest models of
poetry. With the change of poetic temper that occurred at the beginning of the
nineteenth century Pope's fame was overshadowed. The romantic poets and critics even
raised the question whether Pope was a poet at all. And as his poetical fame diminished,
the harsh judgments of his personal character increased. It is almost incredible with
what exulting bitterness critics and editors of Pope have tracked out and exposed his
petty intrigues, exaggerated his delinquencies, misrepresented his actions, attempted in
short to blast his character as a man.

Both as a man and as a poet Pope is sadly in need of a defender to-day. And a defense is
by no means impossible. The depreciation of Pope's poetry springs, in the main, from
an attempt to measure it by other standards than those which he and his age recognized.
The attacks upon his character are due, in large measure, to a misunderstanding of the
spirit of the times in which he lived and to a forgetfulness of the special circumstances
of his own life. Tried in a fair court by impartial judges Pope as a poet would be
awarded a place, if not among the noblest singers, at least high among poets of the
second order. And the flaws of character which even his warmest apologist must admit
would on the one hand be explained, if not excused, by circumstances, and on the other
more than counterbalanced by the existence of noble qualities to which his assailants
seem to have been quite blind.

Alexander Pope was born in London on May 21, 1688. His father was a Roman
Catholic linen draper, who had married a second time. Pope was the only child of this
marriage, and seems to have been a delicate, sweet-tempered, precocious, and, perhaps,
a rather spoiled child.

Pope's religion and his chronic ill-health are two facts of the highest importance to be
taken into consideration in any study of his life or judgment of his character. The high
hopes of the Catholics for a restoration of their religion had been totally destroyed by
the Revolution of 1688. During all Pope's lifetime they were a sect at once feared,
hated, and oppressed by the severest laws. They were excluded from the schools and
universities, they were burdened with double taxes, and forbidden to acquire real estate.
All public careers were closed to them, and their property and even their persons were

in times of excitement at the mercy of informers. In the last year of Pope's life a
proclamation was issued forbidding Catholics to come within ten miles of London, and
Pope himself, in spite of his influential friends, thought it wise to comply with this
edict. A fierce outburst of persecution often evokes in the persecuted some of the
noblest qualities of human nature; but a long-continued and crushing tyranny that
extends to all the details of daily life is only too likely to have the most unfortunate
results on those who are subjected to it. And as a matter of fact we find that the well-to-
do Catholics of Pope's day lived in an atmosphere of disaffection, political intrigue, and
evasion of the law, most unfavorable for the development of that frank, courageous, and
patriotic spirit for the lack of which Pope himself has so often been made the object of
reproach.

In a well-known passage of the Epistle to Arbuthnot, Pope has spoken of his life as one
long disease. He was in fact a humpbacked dwarf, not over four feet six inches in
height, with long, spider-like legs and arms. He was subject to violent headaches, and
his face was lined and contracted with the marks of suffering. In youth he so completely
ruined his health by perpetual studies that his life was despaired of, and only the most
careful treatment saved him from an early death. Toward the close of his life he became
so weak that he could neither dress nor undress without assistance. He had to be laced
up in stiff stays in order to sit erect, and wore a fur doublet and three pairs of stockings
to protect himself against the cold. With these physical defects he had the extreme
sensitiveness of mind that usually accompanies chronic ill health, and this sensitiveness
was outraged incessantly by the brutal customs of the age. Pope's enemies made as free
with his person as with his poetry, and there is little doubt that he felt the former attacks
the more bitterly of the two. Dennis, his first critic, called him "a short squab
gentleman, the very bow of the God of love; his outward form is downright monkey." A
rival poet whom he had offended hung up a rod in a coffee house where men of letters
resorted, and threatened to whip Pope like a naughty child if he showed his face there. It
is said, though perhaps not on the best authority, that when Pope once forgot himself so
far as to make love to Lady Mary Wortley Montague, the lady's answer was "a fit of
immoderate laughter." In an appendix to the Dunciad Pope collected some of the
epithets with which his enemies had pelted him, "an ape," "an ass," "a frog," "a
coward," "a fool," "a little abject thing." He affected, indeed, to despise his assailants,
but there is only too good evidence that their poisoned arrows rankled in his heart.
Richardson, the painter, found him one day reading the latest abusive pamphlet. "These
things are my diversion," said the poet, striving to put the best face on it; but as he read,
his friends saw his features "writhen with anguish," and prayed to be delivered from all
such "diversions" as these. Pope's enemies and their savage abuse are mostly forgotten
to-day. Pope's furious retorts have been secured to immortality by his genius. It would
have been nobler, no doubt, to have answered by silence only; but before one condemns
Pope it is only fair to realize the causes of his bitterness.

Pope's education was short and irregular. He was taught the rudiments of Latin and

Greek by his family priest, attended for a brief period a school in the country and
another in London, and at the early age of twelve left school altogether, and settling
down at his father's house in the country began to read to his heart's delight. He roamed
through the classic poets, translating passages that pleased him, went up for a time to
London to get lessons in French and Italian, and above all read with eagerness and
attention the works of older English poets, — Spenser, Waller, and Dryden. He had
already, it would seem, determined to become a poet, and his father, delighted with the
clever boy's talent, used to set him topics, force him to correct his verses over and over,
and finally, when satisfied, dismiss him with the praise, "These are good rhymes." He
wrote a comedy, a tragedy, an epic poem, all of which he afterward destroyed and, as he
laughingly confessed in later years, he thought himself "the greatest genius that ever
was."

Pope was not alone, however, in holding a high opinion of his talents. While still a boy
in his teens he was taken up and patronized by a number of gentlemen, Trumbull,
Walsh, and Cromwell, all dabblers in poetry and criticism. He was introduced to the
dramatist Wycherly, nearly fifty years his senior, and helped to polish some of the old
man's verses. His own works were passed about in manuscript from hand to hand till
one of them came to the eyes of Dryden's old publisher, Tonson. Tonson wrote Pope a
respectful letter asking for the honor of being allowed to publish them. One may fancy
the delight with which the sixteen-year-old boy received this offer. It is a proof of
Pope's patience as well as his precocity that he delayed three years before accepting it.
It was not till 1709 that his first published verses, the Pastorals, a fragment translated
from Homer, and a modernized version of one of the Canterbury Tales, appeared in
Tonson's Miscellany.

With the publication of the Pastorals, Pope embarked upon his life as a man of letters.
They seem to have brought him a certain recognition, but hardly fame. That he obtained
by his next poem, the Essay on Criticism, which appeared in 1711. It was applauded in
the Spectator, and Pope seems about this time to have made the acquaintance of
Addison and the little senate which met in Button's coffee house. His poem the Messiah
appeared in the Spectator in May 1712; the first draft of The Rape of the Lock in a
poetical miscellany in the same year, and Addison's request, in 1713, that he compose a
prologue for the tragedy of Cato set the final stamp upon his rank as a poet.

Pope's friendly relations with Addison and his circle were not, however, long continued.
In the year 1713 he gradually drew away from them and came under the influence of
Swift, then at the height of his power in political and social life. Swift introduced him to
the brilliant Tories, politicians and lovers of letters, Harley, Bolingbroke, and Atterbury,
who were then at the head of affairs. Pope's new friends seem to have treated him with a
deference which he had never experienced before, and which bound him to them in
unbroken affection. Harley used to regret that Pope's religion rendered him legally
incapable of holding a sinecure office in the government, such as was frequently

bestowed in those days upon men of letters, and Swift jestingly offered the young poet
twenty guineas to become a Protestant. But now, as later, Pope was firmly resolved not
to abandon the faith of his parents for the sake of worldly advantage. And in order to
secure the independence he valued so highly he resolved to embark upon the great work
of his life, the translation of Homer.

"What led me into that," he told a friend long after, "was purely the want of money.
I had then none; not even to buy books."

It seems that about this time, 1713, Pope's father had experienced some heavy financial
losses, and the poet, whose receipts in money had so far been by no means in proportion
to the reputation his works had brought him, now resolved to use that reputation as a
means of securing from the public a sum which would at least keep him for life from
poverty or the necessity of begging for patronage. It is worth noting that Pope was the
first Englishman of letters who threw himself thus boldly upon the public and earned
his living by his pen.

The arrangements for the publication and sale of Pope's translation of Homer were
made with care and pushed on with enthusiasm. He issued in 1713 his proposals for an
edition to be published by subscription, and his friends at once became enthusiastic
canvassers. We have a characteristic picture of Swift at this time, bustling about a
crowded ante-chamber, and informing the company that the best poet in England was
Mr. Pope (a Papist) who had begun a translation of Homer for which they must all
subscribe, "for," says he, "the author shall not begin to print till I have a thousand
guineas for him." The work was to be in six volumes, each costing a guinea. Pope
obtained 575 subscribers, many of whom took more than one set. Lintot, the publisher,
gave Pope £1200 for the work and agreed to supply the subscription copies free of
charge. As a result Pope made something between £5000 and £6000, a sum absolutely
unprecedented in the history of English literature, and amply sufficient to make him
independent for life.

But the sum was honestly earned by hard and wearisome work. Pope was no Greek
scholar; it is said, indeed, that he was just able to make out the sense of the original with
a translation. And in addition to the fifteen thousand lines of the Iliad, he had engaged
to furnish an introduction and notes. At first the magnitude of the undertaking
frightened him.

"What terrible moments," he said to Spence, "does one feel after one has engaged
for a large work. In the beginning of my translating the Iliad, I wished anybody
would hang me a hundred times. It sat so heavily on my mind at first that I often
used to dream of it and do sometimes still."

In spite of his discouragement, however, and of the ill health which so constantly beset
him, Pope fell gallantly upon his task, and as time went on came almost to enjoy it. He
used to translate thirty or forty verses in the morning before rising and, in his own
characteristic phrase, "piddled over them for the rest of the day." He used every
assistance possible, drew freely upon the scholarship of friends, corrected and
recorrected with a view to obtaining clearness and point, and finally succeeded in
producing a version which not only satisfied his own critical judgment, but was at once
accepted by the English-speaking world as the standard translation of Homer.

The first volume came out in June, 1715, and to Pope's dismay and wrath a rival
translation appeared almost simultaneously. Tickell, one of Addison's "little senate," had
also begun a translation of the Iliad, and although he announced in the preface that he
intended to withdraw in favor of Pope and take up a translation of the Odyssey, the
poet's suspicions were at once aroused. And they were quickly fanned into a flame by
the gossip of the town which reported that Addison, the recognized authority in literary
criticism, pronounced Tickell's version "the best that ever was in any language." Rumor
went so far, in fact, as to hint pretty broadly that Addison himself was the author, in
part, at least, of Tickell's book; and Pope, who had been encouraged by Addison to
begin his long task, felt at once that he had been betrayed. His resentment was all the
more bitter since he fancied that Addison, now at the height of his power and prosperity
in the world of letters and of politics, had attempted to ruin an enterprise on which the
younger man had set all his hopes of success and independence, for no better reason
than literary jealousy and political estrangement. We know now that Pope was
mistaken, but there was beyond question some reason at the time for his thinking as he
did, and it is to the bitterness which this incident caused in his mind that we owe the
famous satiric portrait of Addison as Atticus.

The last volume of the Iliad appeared in the spring of 1720, and in it Pope gave a
renewed proof of his independence by dedicating the whole work, not to some lord who
would have rewarded him with a handsome present, but to his old acquaintance,
Congreve, the last survivor of the brilliant comic dramatists of Dryden's day. And now
resting for a time from his long labors, Pope turned to the adornment and cultivation of
the little house and garden that he had leased at Twickenham.

Pope's father had died in 1717, and the poet, rejecting politely but firmly the suggestion
of his friend, Atterbury, that he might now turn Protestant, devoted himself with double
tenderness to the care of his aged and infirm mother. He brought her with him to
Twickenham, where she lived till 1733, dying in that year at the great age of ninety-one.
It may have been partly on her account that Pope pitched upon Twickenham as his
abiding place. Beautifully situated on the banks of the Thames, it was at once a quiet
country place and yet of easy access to London, to Hampton Court, or to Kew. The five
acres of land that lay about the house furnished Pope with inexhaustible entertainment
for the rest of his life. He "twisted and twirled and harmonized" his bit of ground "till it

appeared two or three sweet little lawns opening and opening beyond one another, the
whole surrounded by impenetrable woods." Following the taste of his times in
landscape gardening, he adorned his lawns with artificial mounds, a shell temple, an
obelisk, and a colonnade. But the crowning glory was the grotto, a tunnel decorated
fantastically with shells and bits of looking-glass, which Pope dug under a road that ran
through his grounds. Here Pope received in state, and his house and garden was for
years the center of the most brilliant society in England. Here Swift came on his rare
visits from Ireland, and Bolingbroke on his return from exile. Arbuthnot, Pope's beloved
physician, was a frequent visitor, and Peterborough, one of the most distinguished of
English soldiers, condescended to help lay out the garden. Congreve came too, at times,
and Gay, the laziest and most good-natured of poets. Nor was the society of women
lacking at these gatherings. Lady Mary Wortley Montague, the wittiest woman in
England, was often there, until her bitter quarrel with the poet; the grim old Duchess of
Marlborough appeared once or twice in Pope's last years; and the Princess of Wales
came with her husband to inspire the leaders of the opposition to the hated Walpole and
the miserly king. And from first to last, the good angel of the place was the blue-eyed,
sweet-tempered Patty Blount, Pope's best and dearest friend. Not long after the
completion of the Iliad, Pope undertook to edit Shakespeare, and completed the work in
1724. The edition is, of course, quite superseded now, but it has its place in the history
of Shakespearean studies as the first that made an effort, though irregular and
incomplete, to restore the true text by collation and conjecture. It has its place, too, in
the story of Pope's life, since the bitter criticism which it received, all the more
unpleasant to the poet since it was in the main true, was one of the principal causes of
his writing the Dunciad. Between the publication of his edition of Shakespeare,
however, and the appearance of the Dunciad, Pope resolved to complete his translation
of Homer, and with the assistance of a pair of friends, got out a version of the Odyssey
in 1725. Like the Iliad, this was published by subscription, and as in the former case the
greatest men in England were eager to show their appreciation of the poet by filling up
his lists. Sir Robert Walpole, the great Whig statesman, took ten copies, and Harley, the
fallen Tory leader, put himself, his wife, and his daughter down for sixteen. Pope made,
it is said, about £3700 by this work.

In 1726, Swift visited Pope and encouraged him to complete a satire which he seems
already to have begun on the dull critics and hack writers of the day. For one cause or
another its publication was deferred until 1728, when it appeared under the title of the
Dunciad. Here Pope declared open war upon his enemies. All those who had attacked
his works, abused his character, or scoffed at his personal deformities, were caricatured
as ridiculous and sometimes disgusting figures in a mock epic poem celebrating the
accession of a new monarch to the throne of Dullness. The Dunciad is little read to-day
except by professed students of English letters, but it made, naturally enough, a great
stir at the time and vastly provoked the wrath of all the dunces whose names it dragged
to light. Pope has often been blamed for stooping to such ignoble combat, and in
particular for the coarseness of his abuse, and for his bitter jests upon the poverty of his

opponents. But it must be remembered that no living writer had been so scandalously
abused as Pope, and no writer that ever lived was by nature so quick to feel and to
resent insult. The undoubted coarseness of the work is in part due to the gross license of
the times in speech and writing, and more particularly to the influence of Swift, at this
time predominant over Pope. And in regard to Pope's trick of taunting his enemies with
poverty, it must frankly be confessed that he seized upon this charge as a ready and
telling weapon. Pope was at heart one of the most charitable of men. In the days of his
prosperity he is said to have given away one eighth of his income. And he was always
quick to succor merit in distress; he pensioned the poet Savage and he tried to secure
patronage for Johnson. But for the wretched hack writers of the common press who had
barked against him he had no mercy, and he struck them with the first rod that lay ready
to his hands.

During his work on the Dunciad, Pope came into intimate relations with Bolingbroke,
who in 1725 had returned from his long exile in France and had settled at Dawley
within easy reach of Pope's villa at Twickenham. Bolingbroke was beyond doubt one of
the most brilliant and stimulating minds of his age. Without depth of intellect or solidity
of character, he was at once a philosopher, a statesman, a scholar, and a fascinating
talker. Pope, who had already made his acquaintance, was delighted to renew and
improve their intimacy, and soon came wholly under the influence of his splendid
friend. It is hardly too much to say that all the rest of Pope's work is directly traceable to
Bolingbroke. The Essay on Man was built up on the precepts of Bolingbroke's
philosophy; the Imitations of Horace were undertaken at Bolingbroke's suggestion; and
the whole tone of Pope's political and social satire during the years from 1731 to 1738
reflects the spirit of that opposition to the administration of Walpole and to the growing
influence of the commercial class, which was at once inspired and directed by
Bolingbroke. And yet it is exactly in the work of this period that we find the best and
with perhaps one exception, the Essay on Man, the most original, work of Pope. He has
obtained an absolute command over his instrument of expression. In his hands the
heroic couplet sings, and laughs, and chats, and thunders. He has turned from the
ignoble warfare with the dunces to satirize courtly frivolity and wickedness in high
places. And most important of all to the student of Pope, it is in these last works that his
personality is most clearly revealed. It has been well said that the best introduction to
the study of Pope, the man, is to get the Epistle to Arbuthnot by heart.

Pope gradually persuaded himself that all the works of these years, the Essay on Man,
the Satires, Epistles, and Moral Essays, were but parts of one stupendous whole. He
told Spence in the last years of his life:

"I had once thought of completing my ethic work in four books. — The first, you
know, is on the Nature of Man [the Essay on Man]; the second would have been on
knowledge and its limits — here would have come in an Essay on Education, part
of which I have inserted in the Dunciad [i.e. in the Fourth Book, published in

1742]. The third was to have treated of Government, both ecclesiastical and civil
— and this was what chiefly stopped my going on. I could not have said what I
would have said without provoking every church on the face of the earth; and I did
not care for living always in boiling water. — This part would have come into my
Brutus [an epic poem which Pope never completed], which is planned already. The
fourth would have been on Morality; in eight or nine of the most concerning
branches of it."

It is difficult, if not impossible, to believe that Pope with his irregular methods of work
and illogical habit of thought had planned so vast and elaborate a system before he
began its execution. It is far more likely that he followed his old method of composing
on the inspiration of the moment, and produced the works in question with little thought
of their relation or interdependence. But in the last years of his life, when he had made
the acquaintance of Warburton, and was engaged in reviewing and perfecting the works
of this period, he noticed their general similarity in form and spirit, and, possibly under
Warburton's influence, conceived the notion of combining and supplementing them to
form that "Greater Essay on Man" of which he spoke to Spence, and of which
Warburton himself has given us a detailed account.

Warburton, a wide-read, pompous, and polemical clergyman, had introduced himself to
the notice of Pope by a defense of the philosophical and religious principles of the
Essay on Man. In spite of the influence of the free-thinking Bolingbroke, Pope still
remained a member of the Catholic church and sincerely believed himself to be an
orthodox, though liberal, Christian, and he had, in consequence, been greatly
disconcerted by a criticism of his poem published in Switzerland and lately translated
into English. Its author, Pierre de Crousaz, maintained, and with a considerable degree
of truth, that the principles of Pope's poem if pushed to their logical conclusion were
destructive to religion and would rank their author rather among atheists than defenders
of the faith. The very word "atheist" was at that day sufficient to put the man to whom it
was applied beyond the pale of polite society, and Pope, who quite lacked the ability to
refute in logical argument the attack of de Crousaz, was proportionately delighted when
Warburton came forward in his defense, and in a series of letters asserted that Pope's
whole intention was to vindicate the ways of God to man, and that de Crousaz had
mistaken his purpose and misunderstood his language. Pope's gratitude to his defender
knew no bounds; he declared that Warburton understood the Essay better than he did
himself; he pronounced him the greatest critic he ever knew, secured an introduction to
him, introduced him to his own rich and influential friends, in short made the man's
fortune for him outright. When the University of Oxford hesitated to give Warburton,
who had never attended a university, the degree of D.D., Pope declined to accept the
degree of D.C.L. which had been offered him at the same time, and wrote the Fourth
Book of the Dunciad to satirize the stupidity of the university authorities. In
conjunction with Warburton he proceeded further to revise the whole poem, for which
his new friend wrote notes and a ponderous introduction, and made the capital mistake

of substituting the frivolous, but clever, Colley Gibber, with whom he had recently
become embroiled, for his old enemy, Theobald, as the hero. And the last year of his life
was spent in getting out new editions of his poems accompanied by elaborate
commentaries from the pen of Warburton.

In the spring of 1744, it was evident that Pope was failing fast. In addition to his other
ailments he was now attacked by an asthmatical dropsy, which no efforts of his
physicians could remove. Yet he continued to work almost to the last, and distributed
copies of his Ethic Epistles to his friends about three weeks before his death, with the
smiling remark that like the dying Socrates he was dispensing his morality among his
friends. His mind began to wander; he complained that he saw all things as through a
curtain, and told Spence once "with a smile of great pleasure and with the greatest
softness" that he had seen a vision. His friends were devoted in their attendance.
Bolingbroke sat weeping by his chair, and on Spence's remarking how Pope with every
rally was always saying something kindly of his friends, replied:

"I never in my life knew a man that had so tender a heart for his particular friends,
or a more general friendship for mankind. I have known him these thirty years; and
value myself more for that man's love than"

— here his head dropped and his voice broke in tears. It was noticed that whenever
Patty Blount came into the room, the dying flame of life flashed up in a momentary
glow. At the very end a friend reminded Pope that as a professed Catholic he ought to
send for a priest. The dying man replied that he did not believe it essential, but thanked
him for the suggestion. When the priest appeared, Pope attempted to rise from his bed
that he might receive the sacrament kneeling, and the priest came out from the sick
room "penetrated to the last degree with the state of mind in which he found his
penitent, resigned and wrapt up in the love of God and man." The hope that sustained
Pope to the end was that of immortality.

"I am so certain of the soul's being immortal," he whispered, almost with his last
breath, "that I seem to feel it within me, as it were by intuition."

He died on the evening of May 30, so quietly that his friends hardly knew that the end
had come. He was buried in Twickenham Church, near the monument he had erected to
his parents, and his coffin was carried to the grave by six of the poorest men of the
parish.

It is plain even from so slight a sketch as this that the common conception of Pope as
"the wicked wasp of Twickenham," a bitter, jealous, and malignant spirit, is utterly out
of accord with the facts of his life. Pope's faults of character lie on the surface, and the
most perceptible is that which has done him most harm in the eyes of English-speaking
men. He was by nature, perhaps by training also, untruthful. If he seldom stooped to an

outright lie, he never hesitated to equivocate; and students of his life have found that it
is seldom possible to take his word on any point where his own works or interests were
concerned. I have already attempted to point out the probable cause of this defect; and it
is, moreover, worth while to remark that Pope's manifold intrigues and evasions were
mainly of the defensive order. He plotted and quibbled not so much to injure others as
to protect himself. To charge Pope with treachery to his friends, as has sometimes been
done, is wholly to misunderstand his character.

Another flaw, one can hardly call it a vice, in Pope's character was his constant practice
of considering everything that came in his way as copy. It was this which led him to
reclaim his early letters from his friends, to alter, rewrite, and redate them, utterly
unconscious of the trouble which he was preparing for his future biographers. The
letters, he thought, were good reading but not so good as he could make them, and he
set to work to improve them with all an artist's zeal, and without a trace of a historian's
care for facts. It was this which led him to embody in his description of a rich fool's
splendid house and park certain unmistakable traces of a living nobleman's estate and to
start in genuine amazement and regret when the world insisted on identifying the
nobleman and the fool. And when Pope had once done a good piece of work, he had all
an artist's reluctance to destroy it. He kept bits of verse by him for years and inserted
them into appropriate places in his poems. This habit it was that brought about perhaps
the gravest charge that has ever been made against Pope, that of accepting £1000 to
suppress a satiric portrait of the old Duchess of Marlborough, and yet of publishing it in
a revision of a poem that he was engaged on just before his death. The truth seems to be
that Pope had drawn this portrait in days when he was at bitter enmity with the
Duchess, and after the reconcilement that took place, unwilling to suppress it entirely,
had worked it over, and added passages out of keeping with the first design, but
pointing to another lady with whom he was now at odds. Pope's behavior, we must
admit, was not altogether creditable, but it was that of an artist reluctant to throw away
good work, not that of a ruffian who stabs a woman he has taken money to spare.

Finally Pope was throughout his life, and notably in his later years, the victim of an
irritable temper and a quick, abusive tongue. His irritability sprang in part, we may
believe, from his physical sufferings, even more, however, from the exquisitely
sensitive heart which made him feel a coarse insult as others would a blow. And of the
coarseness of the insults that were heaped upon Pope no one except the careful student
of his life can have any conception. His genius, his morals, his person, his parents, and
his religion were overwhelmed in one indiscriminate flood of abuse. Too high spirited
to submit tamely to these attacks, too irritable to laugh at them, he struck back, and his
weapon was personal satire which cut like a whip and left a brand like a hot iron. And if
at times, as in the case of Addison, Pope was mistaken in his object and assaulted one
who was in no sense his enemy, the fault lies not so much in his alleged malice as in the
unhappy state of warfare in which he lived.

Over against the faults of Pope we may set more than one noble characteristic. The
sensitive heart and impulsive temper that led him so often into bitter warfare, made him
also most susceptible to kindness and quick to pity suffering. He was essentially of a
tender and loving nature, a devoted son, and a loyal friend, unwearied in acts of
kindness and generosity. His ruling passion, to use his own phrase, was a devotion to
letters, and he determined as early and worked as diligently to make himself a poet as
ever Milton did. His wretched body was dominated by a high and eager mind, and he
combined in an unparalleled degree the fiery energy of the born poet with the tireless
patience of the trained artist.

But perhaps the most remarkable characteristic of Pope is his manly independence. In
an age when almost without exception his fellow-writers stooped to accept a great
man's patronage or sold their talents into the slavery of politics, Pope stood aloof from
patron and from party. He repeatedly declined offers of money that were made him,
even when no condition was attached. He refused to change his religion, though he was
far from being a devout Catholic, in order to secure a comfortable place. He relied upon
his genius alone for his support, and his genius gave him all that he asked, a modest
competency. His relations with his rich and powerful friends were marked by the same
independent spirit. He never cringed or flattered, but met them on even terms, and
raised himself by merit alone from his position as the unknown son of an humble
shopkeeper to be the friend and associate of the greatest fortunes and most powerful
minds in England. It is not too much to say that the career of a man of letters as we
know it to-day, a career at once honorable and independent, takes its rise from the life
and work of Alexander Pope.

The long controversies that have raged about Pope's rank as a poet seem at last to be
drawing to a close; and it has become possible to strike a balance between the
exaggerated praise of his contemporaries and the reckless depreciation of romantic
critics. That he is not a poet of the first order is plain, if for no other reason than that he
never produced a work in any of the greatest forms of poetry. The drama, the epic, the
lyric, were all outside his range. On the other hand, unless a definition of poetry be
framed — and Dr. Johnson has well remarked that "to circumscribe poetry by a
definition will only show the narrowness of the definer" — which shall exclude all
gnomic and satiric verse, and so debar the claims of Hesiod, Juvenal, and Boileau, it is
impossible to deny that Pope is a true poet. Certain qualities of the highest poet Pope no
doubt lacked, lofty imagination, intense passion, wide human sympathy. But within the
narrow field which he marked out for his own he approaches perfection as nearly as any
English poet, and Pope's merit consists not merely in the smoothness of his verse or the
polish of separate epigrams, as is so often stated, but quite as much in the vigor of his
conceptions and the unity and careful proportion of each poem as a whole. It is not too
much to say that The Rape of the Lock is one of the best-planned poems in any
language. It is as symmetrical and exquisitely finished as a Grecian temple.

Historically Pope represents the fullest embodiment of that spirit which began to appear
in English literature about the middle of the seventeenth century, and which we are
accustomed to call the "classical" spirit. In essence this movement was a protest against
the irregularity and individual license of earlier poets. Instead of far-fetched wit and
fanciful diction, the classical school erected the standards of common sense in
conception and directness in expression. And in so doing they restored poetry which
had become the diversion of the few to the possession of the many. Pope, for example,
is preeminently the poet of his time. He dealt with topics that were of general interest to
the society in which he lived; he pictured life as he saw it about him. And this accounts
for his prompt and general acceptance by the world of his day.

For the student of English literature Pope's work has a threefold value. It represents the
highest achievement of one of the great movements in the developments of English
verse. It reflects with unerring accuracy the life and thought of his time — not merely
the outward life of beau and belle in the days of Queen Anne, but the ideals of the age
in art, philosophy, and politics. And finally it teaches as hardly any other body of
English verse can be said to do, the perennial value of conscious and controlling art.
Pope's work lives and will live while English poetry is read, not because of its
inspiration, imagination, or depth of thought, but by its unity of design, vigor of
expression, and perfection of finish — by those qualities, in short, which show the poet
as an artist in verse.

Contents

Chief Dates In Pope's Life

1688 Born, May 21

1700 Moves to Binfield

1709 Pastorals

1711 Essay on Criticism

1711-12 Contributes to Spectator

1712 Rape of the Lock, first form

1713 Windsor Forest

1713 Issues proposals for translation of Homer

1714 Rape of the Lock, second form

1715 First volume of the Iliad

1715 Temple of Fame

1717 Pope's father dies

1717 Works, including some new poems

1719 Settles at Twickenham

1720 Sixth and last volume of the Iliad

1722 Begins translation of Odyssey

1725 Edits Shakespeare

1726 Finishes translation of Odyssey

1727-8 Miscellanies by Pope and Swift

1728-9 Dunciad

1731-2 Moral Essays: Of Taste, Of the Use of Riches

1733-4 Essay on Man

1733-8 Satires and Epistles

1735 Works

1735 Letters published by Curll

1741 Works in Prose; vol. II. includes the correspondence with Swift

1742 Fourth book of Dunciad

1742 Revised Dunciad

1744 Died, May 30

1751 First collected edition, published by Warburton, 9 vols.

Contents

The Rape of the Lock

An heroi-comical poem

Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare capillos;
Sed juvat, hoc precibus me tribuisse tuis.

Mart, [Epigr, XII. 84.]

To Mrs. Arabella Fermor

Madam,

It will be in vain to deny that I have some regard for this piece, since I dedicate it to
You. Yet you may bear me witness, it was intended only to divert a few young Ladies,
who have good sense and good humour enough to laugh not only at their sex's little
unguarded follies, but at their own. But as it was communicated with the air of a Secret,
it soon found its way into the world. An imperfect copy having been offer'd to a
Bookseller, you had the good-nature for my sake to consent to the publication of one
more correct: This I was forc'd to, before I had executed half my design, for the
Machinery was entirely wanting to compleat it.

The Machinery, Madam, is a term invented by the Critics, to signify that part which the
Deities, Angels, or Dæmons are made to act in a Poem: For the ancient Poets are in one
respect like many modern Ladies: let an action be never so trivial in itself, they always
make it appear of the utmost importance. These Machines I determined to raise on a
very new and odd foundation, the Rosicrucian doctrine of Spirits.

I know how disagreeable it is to make use of hard words before a Lady; but't is so much
the concern of a Poet to have his works understood, and particularly by your Sex, that
you must give me leave to explain two or three difficult terms.

The Rosicrucians are a people I must bring you acquainted with. The best account I
know of them is in a French book call'd Le Comte de Gabalis, which both in its title and

size is so like a Novel, that many of the Fair Sex have read it for one by mistake.
According to these Gentlemen, the four Elements are inhabited by Spirits, which they
call Sylphs, Gnomes, Nymphs, and Salamanders. The Gnomes or Dæmons of Earth
delight in mischief; but the Sylphs whose habitation is in the Air, are the best-
condition'd creatures imaginable. For they say, any mortals may enjoy the most intimate
familiarities with these gentle Spirits, upon a condition very easy to all true Adepts, an
inviolate preservation of Chastity.

As to the following Canto's, all the passages of them are as fabulous, as the Vision at
the beginning, or the Transformation at the end; (except the loss of your Hair, which I
always mention with reverence). The Human persons are as fictitious as the airy ones;
and the character of Belinda, as it is now manag'd, resembles you in nothing but in
Beauty.

If this Poem had as many Graces as there are in your Person, or in your Mind, yet I
could never hope it should pass thro' the world half so Uncensur'd as You have done.
But let its fortune be what it will, mine is happy enough, to have given me this occasion
of assuring you that I am, with the truest esteem, Madam,

Your most obedient, Humble Servant,

A. Pope

Canto I

What dire offence from am'rous causes springs,
What mighty contests rise from trivial things,
I sing — This verse to Caryl, Muse! is due:
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view:
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise, 5
If She inspire, and He approve my lays.

Say what strange motive, Goddess! could compel
A well-bred Lord t' assault a gentle Belle?
O say what stranger cause, yet unexplor'd,

Could make a gentle Belle reject a Lord? 10
In tasks so bold, can little men engage,
And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty Rage?

Sol thro' white curtains shot a tim'rous ray,
And oped those eyes that must eclipse the day:
Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake, 15
And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake:
Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knock'd the ground,
And the press'd watch return'd a silver sound.
Belinda still her downy pillow prest,
Her guardian Sylph prolong'd the balmy rest: 20
'Twas He had summon'd to her silent bed
The morning-dream that hover'd o'er her head;
A Youth more glitt'ring than a Birth-night Beau,
(That ev'n in slumber caus'd her cheek to glow)
Seem'd to her ear his winning lips to lay, 25
And thus in whispers said, or seem'd to say.
Fairest of mortals, thou distinguish'd care
Of thousand bright Inhabitants of Air!
If e'er one vision touch.'d thy infant thought,
Of all the Nurse and all the Priest have taught;
Of airy Elves by moonlight shadows seen, 30
The silver token, and the circled green,
Or virgins visited by Angel-pow'rs,
With golden crowns and wreaths of heav'nly flow'rs;
Hear and believe! thy own importance know,
Nor bound thy narrow views to things below. 35
Some secret truths, from learned pride conceal'd,
To Maids alone and Children are reveal'd:
What tho' no credit doubting Wits may give?
The Fair and Innocent shall still believe.
Know, then, unnumber'd Spirits round thee fly, 40
The light Militia of the lower sky:
These, tho' unseen, are ever on the wing,
Hang o'er the Box, and hover round the Ring.
Think what an equipage thou hast in Air,
And view with scorn two Pages and a Chair. 45
As now your own, our beings were of old,
And once inclos'd in Woman's beauteous mould;
Thence, by a soft transition, we repair
From earthly Vehicles to these of air.
Think not, when Woman's transient breath is fled 50

That all her vanities at once are dead;
Succeeding vanities she still regards,
And tho' she plays no more, o'erlooks the cards.
Her joy in gilded Chariots, when alive,
And love of Ombre, after death survive. 55
For when the Fair in all their pride expire,
To their first Elements their Souls retire:
The Sprites of fiery Termagants in Flame
Mount up, and take a Salamander's name.
Soft yielding minds to Water glide away, 60
And sip, with Nymphs, their elemental Tea.
The graver Prude sinks downward to a Gnome,
In search of mischief still on Earth to roam.
The light Coquettes in Sylphs aloft repair,
And sport and flutter in the fields of Air. 65

"Know further yet; whoever fair and chaste
Rejects mankind, is by some Sylph embrac'd:
For Spirits, freed from mortal laws, with ease
Assume what sexes and what shapes they please.
What guards the purity of melting Maids, 70
In courtly balls, and midnight masquerades,
Safe from the treach'rous friend, the daring spark,
The glance by day, the whisper in the dark,
When kind occasion prompts their warm desires,
When music softens, and when dancing fires? 75
'Tis but their Sylph, the wise Celestials know,
Tho' Honour is the word with Men below.

Some nymphs there are, too conscious of their face,
For life predestin'd to the Gnomes' embrace.
These swell their prospects and exalt their pride, 80
When offers are disdain'd, and love deny'd:
Then gay Ideas crowd the vacant brain,
While Peers, and Dukes, and all their sweeping train,
And Garters, Stars, and Coronets appear,
And in soft sounds, Your Grace salutes their ear. 85
'T is these that early taint the female soul,
Instruct the eyes of young Coquettes to roll,
Teach Infant-cheeks a bidden blush to know,
And little hearts to flutter at a Beau.
90
Oft, when the world imagine women stray,

The Sylphs thro' mystic mazes guide their way,
Thro' all the giddy circle they pursue,
And old impertinence expel by new.
What tender maid but must a victim fall
To one man's treat, but for another's ball? 95
When Florio speaks what virgin could withstand,
If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand?
With varying vanities, from ev'ry part,
They shift the moving Toyshop of their heart;
Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots sword-knots strive, 100
Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches drive.
This erring mortals Levity may call;
Oh blind to truth! the Sylphs contrive it all.

Of these am I, who thy protection claim, 105
A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name.
Late, as I rang'd the crystal wilds of air,
In the clear Mirror of thy ruling Star
I saw, alas! some dread event impend,
Ere to the main this morning sun descend, 110
But heav'n reveals not what, or how, or where:
Warn'd by the Sylph, oh pious maid, beware!
This to disclose is all thy guardian can:
Beware of all, but most beware of Man!"

He said; when Shock, who thought she slept too long, 115
Leap'd up, and wak'd his mistress with his tongue.
'T was then, Belinda, if report say true,
Thy eyes first open'd on a Billet-doux;
Wounds, Charms, and Ardors were no sooner read,
But all the Vision vanish'd from thy head. 120

And now, unveil'd, the Toilet stands display'd,
Each silver Vase in mystic order laid.
First, rob'd in white, the Nymph intent adores,
With head uncover'd, the Cosmetic pow'rs.
A heav'nly image in the glass appears, 125
To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears;
Th' inferior Priestess, at her altar's side,
Trembling begins the sacred rites of Pride.
Unnumber'd treasures ope at once, and here
The various off'rings of the world appear; 130
From each she nicely culls with curious toil,

And decks the Goddess with the glitt'ring spoil.
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks,
And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.
The Tortoise here and Elephant unite, 135
Transformed to combs, the speckled, and the white.
Here files of pins extend their shining rows,
Puffs, Powders, Patches, Bibles, Billet-doux.
Now awful Beauty puts on all its arms;
The fair each moment rises in her charms, 140
Repairs her smiles, awakens ev'ry grace,
And calls forth all the wonders of her face;
Sees by degrees a purer blush arise,
And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes.
The busy Sylphs surround their darling care, 145
These set the head, and those divide the hair,
Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the gown:
And Betty's prais'd for labours not her own.

Canto II

Not with more glories, in th' etherial
plain,
The Sun first rises o'er the purpled main,
Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams
Launch'd on the bosom of the silver 5
Thames.
Fair Nymphs, and well-drest Youths
around her shone.
But ev'ry eye was fix'd on her alone.
On her white breast a sparkling Cross she 10
wore,
Which Jews might kiss, and Infidels
adore.
Her lively looks a sprightly mind

disclose, 15
Quick as her eyes, and as unfix'd as those:
Favours to none, to all she smiles
extends;
Oft she rejects, but never once offends.
Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers
strike, 20
And, like the sun, they shine on all alike.
Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of
pride,
Might hide her faults, if Belles had faults
to hide: 25
If to her share some female errors fall,
Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em
all.

This Nymph, to the destruction of
mankind, 30
Nourish'd two Locks, which graceful
hung behind
In equal curls, and well conspir'd to deck
With shining ringlets the smooth iv'ry
neck.
Love in these labyrinths his slaves 35
detains,
And mighty hearts are held in slender
chains.
With hairy springes we the birds betray,
Slight lines of hair surprise the finny prey, 40
Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare,
And beauty draws us with a single hair.

Th' advent'rous Baron the bright locks
admir'd; 45
He saw, he wish'd, and to the prize
aspir'd.
Resolv'd to win, he meditates the way,
By force to ravish, or by fraud betray;
For when success a Lover's toil attends,
Few ask, if fraud or force attain'd his 50
ends.

For this, ere Phœbus rose, he had implor'd

Propitious heav'n, and ev'ry pow'r ador'd,
But chiefly Love — to Love an Altar 55
built,
Of twelve vast French Romances, neatly
gilt.
There lay three garters, half a pair of
gloves; 60
And all the trophies of his former loves;
With tender Billet-doux he lights the
pyre,
And breathes three am'rous sighs to raise
the fire. 65
Then prostrate falls, and begs with ardent
eyes
Soon to obtain, and long possess the
prize:
The pow'rs gave ear, and granted half his 70
pray'r,
The rest, the winds dispers'd in empty air.

But now secure the painted vessel glides,
The sun-beams trembling on the floating
tides: 75
While melting music steals upon the sky,
And soften'd sounds along the waters die;
Smooth flow the waves, the Zephyrs
gently play,
Belinda smil'd, and all the world was gay. 80
All but the Sylph — with careful thoughts
opprest,
Th' impending woe sat heavy on his
breast.
He summons strait his Denizens of air; 85
The lucid squadrons round the sails
repair:
Soft o'er the shrouds aërial whispers
breathe,
That seem'd but Zephyrs to the train 90
beneath.
Some to the sun their insect-wings
unfold,
Waft on the breeze, or sink in clouds of
gold;

Transparent forms, too fine for mortal 95
sight,
Their fluid bodies half dissolv'd in light,
Loose to the wind their airy garments
flew,
Thin glitt'ring textures of the filmy dew, 100
Dipt in the richest tincture of the skies,
Where light disports in ever-mingling
dyes,
While ev'ry beam new transient colours
flings,
Colours that change whene'er they wave 105
their wings.
Amid the circle, on the gilded mast,
Superior by the head, was Ariel plac'd;
His purple pinions op'ning to the sun,
He rais'd his azure wand, and thus begun. 110

Ye Sylphs and Sylphids, to your chief
give ear!
Fays, Fairies, Genii, Elves, and Dæmons,
hear! 115
Ye know the spheres and various tasks
assign'd
By laws eternal to th' aërial kind.
Some in the fields of purest Æther play,
And bask and whiten in the blaze of day.
Some guide the course of wand'ring orbs 120
on high,
Or roll the planets thro' the boundless sky.
Some less refin'd, beneath the moon's
pale light
Pursue the stars that shoot athwart the
night, 125
Or suck the mists in grosser air below,
Or dip their pinions in the painted bow,
Or brew fierce tempests on the wintry
main,
Or o'er the glebe distil the kindly rain. 130
Others on earth o'er human race preside,
Watch all their ways, and all their actions
guide:
Of these the chief the care of Nations

own, 135
And guard with Arms divine the British
Throne.

Our humbler province is to tend the Fair,
Not a less pleasing, tho' less glorious
care; 140
To save the powder from too rude a gale,
Nor let th' imprison'd-essences exhale;
To draw fresh colours from the vernal
flow'rs;
To steal from rainbows e'er they drop in
show'rs
A brighter wash; to curl their waving
hairs,
Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs;
Nay oft, in dreams, invention we bestow,
To change a Flounce, or add a Furbelow.

This day, black Omens threat the brightest
Fair,
That e'er deserv'd a watchful spirit's care;
Some dire disaster, or by force, or slight;
But what, or where, the fates have wrapt
in night.
Whether the nymph shall break Diana's
law,
Or some frail China jar receive a flaw;
Or stain her honour or her new brocade;
Forget her pray'rs, or miss a masquerade;
Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball;
Or whether Heav'n has doom'd that Shock
must fall.
Haste, then, ye spirits! to your charge
repair:
The flutt'ring fan be Zephyretta's care;
The drops to thee, Brillante, we consign;
And, Momentilla, let the watch be thine;
Do thou, Crispissa, tend her fav'rite Lock;
Ariel himself shall be the guard of Shock.

To fifty chosen Sylphs, of special note,
We trust th' important charge, the

Petticoat:
Oft have we known that seven-fold fence
to fail,
Tho' stiff with hoops, and arm'd with ribs
of whale;
Form a strong line about the silver bound,
And guard the wide circumference
around.

Whatever spirit, careless of his charge,
His post neglects, or leaves the fair at
large,
Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o'ertake
his sins,
Be stopp'd in vials, or transfix'd with
pins;
Or plung'd in lakes of bitter washes lie,
Or wedg'd whole ages in a bodkin's eye:
Gums and Pomatums shall his flight
restrain,
While clogg'd he beats his silken wings in
vain;
Or Alum styptics with contracting pow'r
Shrink his thin essence like a rivel'd
flow'r:
Or, as Ixion fix'd, the wretch shall feel
The giddy motion of the whirling Mill,
In fumes of burning Chocolate shall glow,
And tremble at the sea that froths below!

He spoke; the spirits from the sails
descend;
Some, orb in orb, around the nymph
extend;
Some thrid the mazy ringlets of her hair;
Some hang upon the pendants of her ear:
With beating hearts the dire event they
wait,
Anxious, and trembling for the birth of
Fate.

Canto III

Close by those meads, for ever crown'd
with flow'rs,
Where Thames with pride surveys his
rising tow'rs,
There stands a structure of majestic 5
frame,
Which from the neighb'ring Hampton
takes its name.
Here Britain's statesmen oft the fall
foredoom
Of foreign Tyrants and of Nymphs at 10
home;
Here thou, great Anna! whom three
realms obey.
Dost sometimes counsel take — and
sometimes Tea. 15

Hither the heroes and the nymphs resort,
To taste awhile the pleasures of a Court;
In various talk th' instructive hours they
past,
Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last; 20
One speaks the glory of the British
Queen,
And one describes a charming Indian
screen;
A third interprets motions, looks, and 25
eyes;
At ev'ry word a reputation dies.
Snuff, or the fan, supply each pause of
chat,
With singing, laughing, ogling, and all 30
that.

Mean while, declining from the noon of

day,
The sun obliquely shoots his burning ray;
The hungry Judges soon the sentence 35
sign,
And wretches hang that jury-men may
dine;
The merchant from th' Exchange returns
in peace, 40
And the long labours of the Toilet cease.
Belinda now, whom thirst of fame invites,
Burns to encounter two advent'rous
Knights,
At Ombre singly to decide their doom;
And swells her breast with conquests yet 45
to come.
Straight the three bands prepare in arms
to join,
Each band the number of the sacred nine.

Soon as she spreads her hand, th' aërial 50
guard
Descend, and sit on each important card:
First Ariel perch'd upon a Matadore,
Then each, according to the rank they
bore; 55
For Sylphs, yet mindful of their ancient
race,
Are, as when women, wondrous fond of
place.
Behold, four Kings in majesty rever'd, 60
With hoary whiskers and a forky beard;
And four fair Queens whose hands
sustain a flow'r,
Th' expressive emblem of their softer
pow'r;
Four Knaves in garbs succinct, a trusty 65
band,
Caps on their heads, and halberts in their
hand;
And particolour'd troops, a shining train,
Draw forth to combat on the velvet plain. 70

The skilful Nymph reviews her force with

care:
Let Spades be trumps! she said, and
trumps they were. 75

Now move to war her sable Matadores,
In show like leaders of the swarthy
Moors.
Spadillio first, unconquerable Lord!
Led off two captive trumps, and swept the 80
board.
As many more Manillio forc'd to yield,
And march'd a victor from the verdant
field.
Him Basto follow'd, but his fate more 85
hard
Gain'd but one trump and one Plebeian
card.
With his broad sabre next, a chief in
years,
The hoary Majesty of Spades appears, 90
Puts forth one manly leg, to sight
reveal'd,
The rest, his many-colour'd robe
conceal'd.
The rebel Knave, who dares his prince 95
engage,
Proves the just victim of his royal rage.
Ev'n mighty Pam, that Kings and Queens
o'erthrew
And mow'd down armies in the fights of 100
Lu,
Sad chance of war! now destitute of aid,
Falls undistinguish'd by the victor spade!

Thus far both armies to Belinda yield;
Now to the Baron fate inclines the field. 105
His warlike Amazon her host invades,
Th' imperial consort of the crown of
Spades.
The Club's black Tyrant first her victim
dy'd, 110
Spite of his haughty mien, and barb'rous
pride:

What boots the regal circle on his head,
His giant limbs, in state unwieldy spread;
That long behind he trails his pompous 115
robe,
And, of all monarchs, only grasps the
globe?

The Baron now his Diamonds pours 120
apace;
Th' embroider'd King who shows but half
his face,
And his refulgent Queen, with pow'rs
combin'd
Of broken troops an easy conquest find. 125
Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, in wild disorder
seen,
With throngs promiscuous strow the level
green.
Thus when dispers'd a routed army runs, 130
Of Asia's troops, and Afric's sable sons,
With like confusion different nations fly,
Of various habit, and of various dye,
The pierc'd battalions dis-united fall,
In heaps on heaps; one fate o'erwhelms 135
them all.

The Knave of Diamonds tries his wily
arts,
And wins (oh shameful chance!) the 140
Queen of Hearts.
At this, the blood the virgin's cheek
forsook,
A livid paleness spreads o'er all her look;
She sees, and trembles at th' approaching 145
ill,
Just in the jaws of ruin, and Codille.
And now (as oft in some distemper'd
State)
On one nice Trick depends the gen'ral
fate. 150
An Ace of Hearts steps forth: The King
unseen
Lurk'd in her hand, and mourn'd his

captive Queen:
He springs to Vengeance with an eager
pace, 155
And falls like thunder on the prostrate
Ace.
The nymph exulting fills with shouts the
sky;
The walls, the woods, and long canals 160
reply.

Oh thoughtless mortals! ever blind to
fate,
Too soon dejected, and too soon elate.
Sudden, these honours shall be snatch'd 165
away,
And curs'd for ever this victorious day.

For lo! the board with cups and spoons is
crown'd, 170
The berries crackle, and the mill turns
round;
On shining Altars of Japan they raise
The silver lamp; the fiery spirits blaze:
From silver spouts the grateful liquors 175
glide,
While China's earth receives the smoking
tide:
At once they gratify their scent and taste,
And frequent cups prolong the rich
repast.
Straight hover round the Fair her airy
band;
Some, as she sipp'd, the fuming liquor
fann'd,
Some o'er her lap their careful plumes
display'd,
Trembling, and conscious of the rich
brocade.
Coffee, (which makes the politician wise,
And see thro' all things with his half-shut
eyes)
Sent up in vapours to the Baron's brain
New Stratagems, the radiant Lock to gain.

Ah cease, rash youth! desist ere't is too
late,
Fear the just Gods, and think of Scylla's
Fate!
Chang'd to a bird, and sent to flit in air,
She dearly pays for Nisus' injur'd hair!

But when to mischief mortals bend their
will,
How soon they find fit instruments of ill!
Just then, Clarissa drew with tempting
grace
A two-edg'd weapon from her shining
case:
So Ladies in Romance assist their Knight,
Present the spear, and arm him for the
fight.
He takes the gift with rev'rence, and
extends
The little engine on his fingers' ends;
This just behind Belinda's neck he spread,
As o'er the fragrant steams she bends her
head.
Swift to the Lock a thousand Sprites
repair,
A thousand wings, by turns, blow back
the hair;
And thrice they twitch'd the diamond in
her ear;
Thrice she look'd back, and thrice the foe
drew near.
Just in that instant, anxious Ariel sought
The close recesses of the Virgin's thought;
As on the nosegay in her breast reclin'd,
He watch'd th' Ideas rising in her mind,
Sudden he view'd, in spite of all her art,
An earthly Lover lurking at her heart.
Amaz'd, confus'd, he found his pow'r
expir'd,
Resign'd to fate, and with a sigh retir'd.

The Peer now spreads the glitt'ring Forfex
wide,

T' inclose the Lock; now joins it, to
divide.
Ev'n then, before the fatal engine clos'd,
A wretched Sylph too fondly interpos'd;
Fate urg'd the shears, and cut the Sylph in
twain,
(But airy substance soon unites again)
The meeting points the sacred hair
dissever
From the fair head, for ever, and for ever!

Then flash'd the living lightning from her
eyes,
And screams of horror rend th' affrighted
skies.
Not louder shrieks to pitying heav'n are
cast,
When husbands, or when lapdogs breathe
their last;
Or when rich China vessels fall'n from
high,
In glitt'ring dust and painted fragments
lie!

Let wreaths of triumph now my temples
twine
(The victor cry'd) the glorious Prize is
mine!
While fish in streams, or birds delight in
air,
Or in a coach and six the British Fair,
As long as Atalantis shall be read,
Or the small pillow grace a Lady's bed,
While visits shall be paid on solemn days,
When num'rous wax-lights in bright order
blaze,
While nymphs take treats, or assignations
give,
So long my honour, name, and praise
shall live!
What Time would spare, from Steel
receives its date,
And monuments, like men, submit to

fate!
Steel could the labour of the Gods
destroy,
And strike to dust th' imperial tow'rs of
Troy;
Steel could the works of mortal pride
confound,
And hew triumphal arches to the ground.
What wonder then, fair nymph! thy hairs
should feel,
The conqu'ring force of unresisted steel?

Canto IV

But anxious cares the pensive nymph
oppress'd,
And secret passions labour'd in her breast.
Not youthful kings in battle seiz'd alive,
Not scornful virgins who their charms 5
survive,
Not ardent lovers robb'd of all their bliss,
Not ancient ladies when refus'd a kiss,
Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die,
Not Cynthia when her manteau's pinn'd 10
awry,
E'er felt such rage, resentment, and
despair,
As thou, sad Virgin! for thy ravish'd Hair.
15
For, that sad moment, when the Sylphs
withdrew
And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew,
Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite,
As ever sully'd the fair face of light, 20

Down to the central earth, his proper
scene,
Repair'd to search the gloomy Cave of
Spleen.
25
Swift on his sooty pinions flits the
Gnome,
And in a vapour reach'd the dismal dome.
No cheerful breeze this sullen region
knows, 30
The dreaded East is all the wind that
blows.
Here in a grotto, shelter'd close from air,
And screen'd in shades from day's
detested glare, 35
She sighs for ever on her pensive bed,
Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head.

Two handmaids wait the throne: alike in
place, 40
But diff'ring far in figure and in face.
Here stood Ill-nature like an ancient maid,
Her wrinkled form in black and white
array'd;
With store of pray'rs, for mornings, 45
nights, and noons,
Her hand is fill'd; her bosom with
lampoons.
There Affectation, with a sickly mien,
Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen, 50
Practis'd to lisp, and hang the head aside.
Faints into airs, and languishes with
pride,
On the rich quilt sinks with becoming
woe, 55
Wrapt in a gown, for sickness, and for
show.
The fair ones feel such maladies as these,
When each new night-dress gives a new
disease. 60

A constant Vapour o'er the palace flies;
Strange phantoms rising as the mists

arise;
Dreadful, as hermit's dreams in haunted 65
shades,
Or bright, as visions of expiring maids.
Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling
spires,
Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple 70
fires:
Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes,
And crystal domes, and angels in
machines.
75
Unnumber'd throngs on every side are
seen,
Of bodies chang'd to various forms by
Spleen.
Here living Tea-pots stand, one arm held 80
out,
One bent; the handle this, and that the
spout:
A Pipkin there, like Homer's Tripod
walks; 85
Here sighs a Jar, and there a Goose-pie
talks;
Men prove with child, as pow'rful fancy
works,
And maids turn'd bottles, call aloud for 90
corks.

Safe past the Gnome thro' this fantastic
band,
A branch of healing Spleenwort in his 95
hand.
Then thus address'd the pow'r: "Hail,
wayward Queen!
Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen:
Parent of vapours and of female wit, 100
Who give th' hysteric, or poetic fit,
On various tempers act by various ways,
Make some take physic, others scribble
plays;
Who cause the proud their visits to delay, 105
And send the godly in a pet to pray.

A nymph there is, that all thy pow'r
disdains,
And thousands more in equal mirth
maintains. 110
But oh! if e'er thy Gnome could spoil a
grace,
Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face,
Like Citron-waters matrons cheeks
inflame, 115
Or change complexions at a losing game;
If e'er with airy horns I planted heads,
Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds,
Or caus'd suspicion when no soul was
rude, 120
Or discompos'd the head-dress of a Prude,
Or e'er to costive lap-dog gave disease,
Which not the tears of brightest eyes
could ease:
Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin, 125
That single act gives half the world the
spleen."

The Goddess with a discontented air
Seems to reject him, tho' she grants his 130
pray'r.
A wond'rous Bag with both her hands she
binds,
Like that where once Ulysses held the
winds; 135
There she collects the force of female
lungs,
Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of
tongues.
A Vial next she fills with fainting fears, 140
Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing
tears.
The Gnome rejoicing bears her gifts
away,
Spreads his black wings, and slowly 145
mounts to day.

Sunk in Thalestris' arms the nymph he
found,

Her eyes dejected and her hair unbound. 150
Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he
rent,
And all the Furies issu'd at the vent.
Belinda burns with more than mortal ire,
And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire. 155
"O wretched maid!" she spread her hands,
and cry'd,
(While Hampton's echoes, "Wretched
maid!" reply'd)
"Was it for this you took such constant 160
care
The bodkin, comb, and essence to
prepare?
For this your locks in paper durance
bound, 165
For this with tort'ring irons wreath'd
around?
For this with fillets strain'd your tender
head,
And bravely bore the double loads of 170
lead?
Gods! shall the ravisher display your hair,
While the Fops envy, and the Ladies
stare!
Honour forbid! at whose unrivall'd shrine 175
Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our sex resign.
Methinks already I your tears survey,
Already hear the horrid things they say,
Already see you a degraded toast,
And all your honour in a whisper lost!
How shall I, then, your helpless fame
defend?
'T will then be infamy to seem your
friend!
And shall this prize, th' inestimable prize,
Expos'd thro' crystal to the gazing eyes,
And heighten'd by the diamond's circling
rays,
On that rapacious hand for ever blaze?
Sooner shall grass in Hyde-park Circus
grow,
And wits take lodgings in the sound of

Bow;
Sooner let earth, air, sea, to Chaos fall,
Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish
all!"

She said; then raging to Sir Plume repairs,
And bids her Beau demand the precious
hairs;
(Sir Plume of amber snuff-box justly
vain,
And the nice conduct of a clouded cane)
With earnest eyes, and round unthinking
face,
He first the snuff-box open'd, then the
case,
And thus broke out — "My Lord, why,
what the devil?
"Z — ds! damn the lock! 'fore Gad, you
must be civil!
Plague on't!'t is past a jest — nay prithee,
pox!
Give her the hair" — he spoke, and rapp'd
his box.

"It grieves me much" (reply'd the Peer
again)
"Who speaks so well should ever speak in
vain.
But by this Lock, this sacred Lock I
swear,
(Which never more shall join its parted
hair;
Which never more its honours shall
renew,
Clipp'd from the lovely head where late it
grew)
That while my nostrils draw the vital air,
This hand, which won it, shall for ever
wear."
He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph
spread
The long-contended honours of her head.

But Umbriel, hateful Gnome! forbears not
so;
He breaks the Vial whence the sorrows
flow.
Then see! the nymph in beauteous grief
appears,
Her eyes half-languishing, half-drown'd
in tears;
On her heav'd bosom hung her drooping
head,
Which, with a sigh, she rais'd; and thus
she said.
"For ever curs'd be this detested day,
Which snatch'd my best, my fav'rite curl
away!
Happy! ah ten times happy had I been,
If Hampton-Court these eyes had never
seen!
Yet am not I the first mistaken maid,
By love of Courts to num'rous ills
betray'd.
Oh had I rather un-admir'd remain'd
In some lone isle, or distant Northern
land;
Where the gilt Chariot never marks the
way,
Where none learn Ombre, none e'er taste
Bohea!
There kept my charms conceal'd from
mortal eye,
Like roses, that in deserts bloom and die.
What mov'd my mind with youthful
Lords to roam?
Oh had I stay'd, and said my pray'rs at
home!
'T was this, the morning omens seem'd to
tell,
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-
box fell;
The tott'ring China shook without a wind.
Nay, Poll sat mute, and Shock was most
unkind!
A Sylph too warn'd me of the threats of

fate,
In mystic visions, now believ'd too late!
See the poor remnants of these slighted
hairs!
My hands shall rend what ev'n thy rapine
spares:
These in two sable ringlets taught to
break,
Once gave new beauties to the snowy
neck;
The sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone,
And in its fellow's fate foresees its own;
Uncurl'd it hangs, the fatal shears
demands,
And tempts once more thy sacrilegious
hands.
Oh hadst thou, cruel! been content to
seize
Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but
these!"

Canto V

She said: the pitying audience melt in
tears.
But Fate and Jove had stopp'd the Baron's
ears.
In vain Thalestris with reproach assails, 5
For who can move when fair Belinda
fails?
Not half so fix'd the Trojan could remain,
While Anna begg'd and Dido rag'd in
vain.
Then grave Clarissa graceful wav'd her 10

fan;
Silence ensu'd, and thus the nymph
began.

"Say why are Beauties prais'd and 15
honour'd most,
The wise man's passion, and the vain
man's toast?
Why deck'd with all that land and sea
afford, 20
Why Angels call'd, and Angel-like
ador'd?
Why round our coaches crowd the white-
glov'd Beaux,
Why bows the side-box from its inmost 25
rows;
How vain are all these glories, all our
pains,
Unless good sense preserve what beauty
gains: 30
That men may say, when we the front-box
grace:
'Behold the first in virtue as in face!'
Oh! if to dance all night, and dress all
day,
Charm'd the small-pox, or chas'd old-age 35
away;
Who would not scorn what housewife's
cares produce,
Or who would learn one earthly thing of
use? 40
To patch, nay ogle, might become a Saint,
Nor could it sure be such a sin to paint.
But since, alas! frail beauty must decay,
Curl'd or uncurl'd, since Locks will turn
to grey;
Since painted, or not painted, all shall 45
fade,
And she who scorns a man, must die a
maid;
What then remains but well our pow'r to
use, 50
And keep good-humour still whate'er we

lose?
And trust me, dear! good-humour can
prevail,
When airs, and flights, and screams, and
scolding fail. 55
Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may
roll;
Charms strike the sight, but merit wins
the soul."

So spoke the Dame, but no applause 60
ensu'd;
Belinda frown'd, Thalestris call'd her
Prude.
"To arms, to arms!" the fierce Virago
cries, 65
And swift as lightning to the combat flies.
All side in parties, and begin th' attack;
Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough
whalebones crack;
Heroes' and Heroines' shouts confus'dly
rise, 70
And bass, and treble voices strike the
skies.
No common weapons in their hands are
found,
Like Gods they fight, nor dread a mortal
wound.
75
So when bold Homer makes the Gods
engage,
And heav'nly breasts with human
passions rage;
'Gainst Pallas, Mars; Latona, Hermes 80
arms;
And all Olympus rings with loud alarms:
Jove's thunder roars, heav'n trembles all
around,
Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing 85
deeps resound:
Earth shakes her nodding tow'rs, the
ground gives way.
And the pale ghosts start at the flash of

day!
90
Triumphant Umbriel on a sconce's height
Clapp'd his glad wings, and sate to view
the fight:
Propp'd on the bodkin spears, the Sprites
survey 95
The growing combat, or assist the fray.

While thro' the press enrag'd Thalestris
flies,
And scatters death around from both her
eyes, 100
A Beau and Witling perish'd in the throng,
One died in metaphor, and one in song.
"O cruel nymph! a living death I bear,"
Cry'd Dapperwit, and sunk beside his
chair.
A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards 105
cast,
"Those eyes are made so killing" — was
his last.
Thus on Mæander's flow'ry margin lies
Th' expiring Swan, and as he sings he 110
dies.

When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa
down,
Chloe stepp'd in, and kill'd him with a
frown; 115
She smil'd to see the doughty hero slain,
But, at her smile, the Beau reviv'd again.

Now Jove suspends his golden scales in
air, 120
Weighs the Men's wits against the Lady's
hair;
The doubtful beam long nods from side to
side;
At length the wits mount up, the hairs
subside. 125

See, fierce Belinda on the Baron flies,

With more than usual lightning in her
eyes:
Nor fear'd the Chief th' unequal fight to 130
try,
Who sought no more than on his foe to
die.
But this bold Lord with manly strength
endu'd,
She with one finger and a thumb subdu'd: 135
Just where the breath of life his nostrils
drew,
A charge of Snuff the wily virgin threw;
The Gnomes direct, to ev'ry atom just,
The pungent grains of titillating dust. 140
Sudden, with starting tears each eye
o'erflows,
And the high dome re-echoes to his nose.

Now meet thy fate, incens'd Belinda
cry'd, 145
And drew a deadly bodkin from her side.
(The same, his ancient personage to deck,
Her great great grandsire wore about his
neck,
In three seal-rings; which after, melted 150
down,
Form'd a vast buckle for his widow's
gown:
Her infant grandame's whistle next it
grew,
The bells she jingled, and the whistle
blew;
Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's
hairs,
Which long she wore, and now Belinda
wears.)

"Boast not my fall" (he cry'd) "insulting
foe!
Thou by some other shalt be laid as low,
Nor think, to die dejects my lofty mind:
All that I dread is leaving you behind!
Rather than so, ah let me still survive,

And burn in Cupid's flames — but burn
alive."

"Restore the Lock!" she cries; and all
around
"Restore the Lock!" the vaulted roofs
rebound.
Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain
Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his
pain.
But see how oft ambitious aims are
cross'd,
And chiefs contend 'till all the prize is
lost!
The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept
with pain,
In ev'ry place is sought, but sought in
vain:
With such a prize no mortal must be blest,
So heav'n decrees! with heav'n who can
contest?

Some thought it mounted to the Lunar
sphere,
Since all things lost on earth are treasur'd
there.
There Hero's wits are kept in pond'rous
vases,
And beau's in snuff-boxes and tweezer-
cases.
There broken vows and death-bed alms
are found,
And lovers' hearts with ends of riband
bound,
The courtier's promises, and sick man's
pray'rs,
The smiles of harlots, and the tears of
heirs,
Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea,
Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of casuistry.

But trust the Muse — she saw it upward
rise,

Tho' mark'd by none but quick, poetic
eyes:
(So Rome's great founder to the heav'ns
withdrew,
To Proculus alone confess'd in view)
A sudden Star, it shot thro' liquid air,
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair.
Not Berenice's Locks first rose so bright,
The heav'ns bespangling with dishevell'd
light.
The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies,
And pleas'd pursue its progress thro' the
skies.

This the Beau monde shall from the Mall
survey,
And hail with music its propitious ray.
This the blest Lover shall for Venus take,
And send up vows from Rosamonda's
lake.
This Partridge soon shall view in
cloudless skies,
When next he looks thro' Galileo's eyes;
And hence th' egregious wizard shall
foredoom
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.
Then cease, bright Nymph! to mourn thy
ravish'd hair,
Which adds new glory to the shining
sphere!
Not all the tresses that fair head can boast,
Shall draw such envy as the Lock you
lost.
For, after all the murders of your eye,
When, after millions slain, yourself shall
die:
When those fair suns shall set, as set they
must,
And all those tresses shall be laid in dust,
This Lock, the Muse shall consecrate to
fame,
And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's
name.

Contents

An Essay on Criticism

Contents

Part Line Topic

I That 'tis as great a fault to judge ill, as to write ill, and a
1
Introduction more dangerous one to the public.
9-18 That a true Taste is as rare to be found, as a true Genius.
That most men are born with some Taste, but spoiled by
19-25
false Education.
26-45 The multitude of Critics, and causes of them.
That we are to study our own Taste, and know the Limits
46-67
of it.
68-87 Nature the best guide of Judgment.
Improv'd by Art and Rules, — which are but methodis'd
88
Nature.
id-110 Rules derived from the Practice of the Ancient Poets.
That therefore the Ancients are necessary to be studyd, by
120-138
a Critic, particularly Homer and Virgil.
140-180 Of Licenses, and the use of them by the Ancients.
181 etc. Reverence due to the Ancients, and praise of them.
II
Causes hindering a true Judgment
201→
208 1. Pride
215 2. Imperfect Learning
233-288 3. Judging by parts, and not by the whole.
288, 305,
Critics in Wit, Language, Versification, only.
399 etc.
384 4. Being too hard to please, or too apt to admire.
5. Partiality — too much Love to a Sect, — to the
394
Ancients or Moderns.
408 6. Prejudice or Prevention.
424 7. Singularity.
430 8. Inconstancy.

452 etc. 9. Party Spirit.
466 10. Envy.
508 etc. Against Envy, and in praise of Good-nature.
526 etc. When Severity is chiefly to be used by Critics.
III
v. 560→
563 Rules for the Conduct of Manners in a Critic.
566 1. Candour, Modesty.
572 Good-breeding.
578 Sincerity, and Freedom of advice.
584 2. When one's Counsel is to be restrained.
600 Character of an incorrigible Poet.
610 And of an impertinent Critic, etc.
629 Character of a good Critic.
The History of Criticism, and Characters of the best
645
Critics, Aristotle,
653 Horace,
665 Dionysius,
667 Petronius,
670 Quintilian,
675 Longinus.
693 Of the Decay of Criticism, and its Revival. Erasmus,
705 Vida,
714 Boileau,
725 Lord Roscommon, etc.
Conclusion

Contents

An Essay on Criticism

'Tis hard to say, if greater want of skill
Appear in writing or in judging ill;
But, of the two, less dang'rous is th' offence
To tire our patience, than mislead our sense.
Some few in that, but numbers err in this, 5
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;
A fool might once himself alone expose,
Now one in verse makes many more in prose.

'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own. 10
In Poets as true genius is but rare,
True Taste as seldom is the Critic's share;
Both must alike from Heav'n derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who themselves excel, 15
And censure freely who have written well.
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not Critics to their judgment too?

Yet if we look more closely, we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind: 20
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right.
(But as the slightest sketch, if justly trac'd,
(Is by ill-colouring but the more disgrac'd,
(So by false learning is good sense defac'd: 25
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools.

In search of wit these lose their common sense,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can, or cannot write, 30
Or with a Rival's, or an Eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side.
If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite,
There are who judge still worse than he can write. 35

Some have at first for Wits, then Poets past,
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain fools at last.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pass,

As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learn'd witlings, num'rous in our isle, 40
As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,
Their generation's so equivocal:
To tell 'em, would a hundred tongues require,
Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire. 45

But you who seek to give and merit fame,
And justly bear a Critic's noble name,
Be sure yourself and your own reach to know,
How far your genius, taste, and learning go;
Launch not beyond your depth, but be discreet, 50
And mark that point where sense and dulness meet.

Nature to all things fix'd the limits fit,
And wisely curb'd proud man's pretending wit.
As on the land while here the ocean gains,
In other parts it leaves wide sandy plains; 55
Thus in the soul while memory prevails,
The solid pow'r of understanding fails;
Where beams of warm imagination play,
The memory's soft figures melt away.
One science only will one genius fit; 60
So vast is art, so narrow human wit:
Not only bounded to peculiar arts,
But oft in those confin'd to single parts.
Like kings we lose the conquests gain'd before,
By vain ambition still to make them more; 65
Each might his sev'ral province well command,
Would all but stoop to what they understand.

First follow Nature, and your judgment frame
By her just standard, which is still the same:
Unerring Nature, still divinely bright, 70
One clear, unchang'd, and universal light,
Life, force, and beauty, must to all impart,
At once the source, and end, and test of Art.
Art from that fund each just supply provides,
Works without show, and without pomp presides: 75
In some fair body thus th' informing soul
With spirits feeds, with vigour fills the whole,
Each motion guides, and ev'ry nerve sustains;

Itself unseen, but in th' effects, remains.
Some, to whom Heav'n in wit has been profuse, 80
Want as much more, to turn it to its use;
For wit and judgment often are at strife,
Tho' meant each other's aid, like man and wife.
'T is more to guide, than spur the Muse's steed;
Restrain his fury, than provoke his speed; 85
The winged courser, like a gen'rous horse,
Shows most true mettle when you check his course.

Those Rules of old discovered, not devis'd,
Are Nature still, but Nature methodiz'd;
Nature, like liberty, is but restrain'd 90
By the same laws which first herself ordain'd.
Hear how learn'd Greece her useful rules indites,
When to repress, and when indulge our flights:
High on Parnassus' top her sons she show'd,
And pointed out those arduous paths they trod;
Held from afar, aloft, th' immortal prize, 95
And urg'd the rest by equal steps to rise.
Just precepts thus from great examples giv'n,
She drew from them what they deriv'd from Heav'n.
The gen'rous Critic fann'd the Poet's fire,
And taught the world with reason to admire. 100
Then Criticism the Muse's handmaid prov'd,
To dress her charms, and make her more belov'd:
But following wits from that intention stray'd,
Who could not win the mistress, woo'd the maid;
Against the Poets their own arms they turn'd, 105
Sure to hate most the men from whom they learn'd.
So modern 'Pothecaries, taught the art
By Doctor's bills to play the Doctor's part,
Bold in the practice of mistaken rules,
Prescribe, apply, and call their masters fools. 110
Some on the leaves of ancient authors prey,
Nor time nor moths e'er spoil'd so much as they.
Some drily plain, without invention's aid,
Write dull receipts how poems may be made.
These leave the sense, their learning to display, 115
And those explain the meaning quite away.

You then whose judgment the right course would steer,
Know well each Ancient's proper character;

His fable, subject, scope in ev'ry page;
Religion, Country, genius of his Age: 120
Without all these at once before your eyes,
Cavil you may, but never criticize.
Be Homer's works your study and delight,
Read them by day, and meditate by night;
Thence form your judgment, thence your maxims bring, 125
And trace the Muses upward to their spring.
Still with itself compar'd, his text peruse;
And let your comment be the Mantuan Muse.

When first young Maro in his boundless mind
A work t' outlast immortal Rome design'd, 130
Perhaps he seem'd above the critic's law,
And but from Nature's fountains scorn'd to draw:
But when t' examine ev'ry part he came,
Nature and Homer were, he found, the same.
Convinc'd, amaz'd, he checks the bold design; 135
And rules as strict his labour'd work confine,
As if the Stagirite o'erlook'd each line.
Learn hence for ancient rules a just esteem;
To copy nature is to copy them.

Some beauties yet no Precepts can declare, 140
For there's a happiness as well as care.
Music resembles Poetry, in each
Are nameless graces which no methods teach,
And which a master-hand alone can reach.
If, where the rules not far enough extend,
(Since rules were made but to promote their end) 145
Some lucky Licence answer to the full
Th' intent propos'd, that Licence is a rule.
Thus Pegasus, a nearer way to take,
May boldly deviate from the common track;
From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, 150
And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art,
Which without passing thro' the judgment, gains
The heart, and all its end at once attains.
In prospects thus, some objects please our eyes,
Which out of nature's common order rise, 155
The shapeless rock, or hanging precipice.
Great wits sometimes may gloriously offend,
And rise to faults true Critics dare not mend.

But tho' the Ancients thus their rules invade,
(As Kings dispense with laws themselves have made) 160
Moderns, beware! or if you must offend
Against the precept, ne'er transgress its End;
Let it be seldom, and compell'd by need;
And have, at least, their precedent to plead.
The Critic else proceeds without remorse, 165
Seizes your fame, and puts his laws in force.
I know there are, to whose presumptuous thoughts
Those freer beauties, ev'n in them, seem faults.
Some figures monstrous and mis-shap'd appear,
Consider'd singly, or beheld too near, 170
Which, but proportion'd to their light, or place,
Due distance reconciles to form and grace.
A prudent chief not always must display
His pow'rs in equal ranks, and fair array.
But with th' occasion and the place comply, 175
Conceal his force, nay seem sometimes to fly.
Those oft are stratagems which error seem,
Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream.

Still green with bays each ancient Altar stands, 180
Above the reach of sacrilegious hands;
Secure from Flames, from Envy's fiercer rage,
Destructive War, and all-involving Age.
See, from each clime the learn'd their incense bring!
Hear, in all tongues consenting Pæans ring!
In praise so just let ev'ry voice be join'd, 185
And fill the gen'ral chorus of mankind.
Hail, Bards triumphant! born in happier days;
Immortal heirs of universal praise!
Whose honours with increase of ages grow,
As streams roll down, enlarging as they flow; 190
Nations unborn your mighty names shall sound,
And worlds applaud that must not yet be found!
Oh may some spark of your celestial fire,
The last, the meanest of your sons inspire,
(That on weak wings, from far, pursues your flights; 195
Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes)
To teach vain Wits a science little known,
T' admire superior sense, and doubt their own!

Of all the Causes which conspire to blind 200

Man's erring judgment, and misguide the mind,
What the weak head with strongest bias rules,
Is Pride, the never-failing voice of fools.
Whatever nature has in worth denied,
She gives in large recruits of needful pride;
For as in bodies, thus in souls, we find 205
What wants in blood and spirits, swell'd with wind:
Pride, where wit fails, steps in to our defence,
And fills up all the mighty Void of sense.
If once right reason drives that cloud away,
Truth breaks upon us with resistless day. 210
Trust not yourself; but your defects to know,
Make use of ev'ry friend — and ev'ry foe.

A little learning is a dang'rous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.
There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, 215
And drinking largely sobers us again.
Fir'd at first sight with what the Muse imparts,
In fearless youth we tempt the heights of Arts,
While from the bounded level of our mind
Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind; 220
But more advanc'd, behold with strange surprise
New distant scenes of endless science rise!
So pleas'd at first the tow'ring Alps we try,
Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky,
Th' eternal snows appear already past, 225
And the first clouds and mountains seem the last;
But, those attain'd, we tremble to survey
The growing labours of the lengthen'd way,
Th' increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes,
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise! 230

A perfect Judge will read each work of Wit
With the same spirit that its author writ:
Survey the Whole, nor seek slight faults to find
Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind;
Nor lose, for that malignant dull delight, 235
The gen'rous pleasure to be charm'd with Wit.
But in such lays as neither ebb, nor flow,
Correctly cold, and regularly low,
That shunning faults, one quiet tenour keep,
We cannot blame indeed — but we may sleep. 240

In wit, as nature, what affects our hearts
Is not th' exactness of peculiar parts;
'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call,
But the joint force and full result of all.
Thus when we view some well-proportion'd dome, 245
(The world's just wonder, and ev'n thine, O Rome!)
No single parts unequally surprize,
All comes united to th' admiring eyes;
No monstrous height, or breadth, or length appear;
The Whole at once is bold, and regular. 250

Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see,
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.
In every work regard the writer's End,
Since none can compass more than they intend;
And if the means be just, the conduct true, 255
Applause, in spight of trivial faults, is due;
As men of breeding, sometimes men of wit,
T' avoid great errors, must the less commit:
Neglect the rules each verbal Critic lays,
For not to know some trifles, is a praise. 260
Most Critics, fond of some subservient art,
Still make the Whole depend upon a Part:
They talk of principles, but notions prize,
And all to one lov'd Folly sacrifice.
265
Once on a time, La Mancha's Knight, they say,
A certain bard encount'ring on the way,
Discours'd in terms as just, with looks as sage,
As e'er could Dennis of the Grecian stage;
Concluding all were desp'rate sots and fools,
Who durst depart from Aristotle's rules. 270
Our Author, happy in a judge so nice,
Produc'd his Play, and begg'd the Knight's advice;
Made him observe the subject, and the plot,
The manners, passions, unities; what not?
All which, exact to rule, were brought about, 275
Were but a Combat in the lists left out.
"What! leave the Combat out?" exclaims the Knight;
Yes, or we must renounce the Stagirite.
"Not so, by Heav'n" (he answers in a rage),
"Knights, squires, and steeds, must enter on the stage." 280
So vast a throng the stage can ne'er contain.

"Then build a new, or act it in a plain."

Thus Critics, of less judgment than caprice,
Curious not knowing, not exact but nice,
Form short Ideas; and offend in arts 285
(As most in manners) by a love to parts.

Some to Conceit alone their taste confine,
And glitt'ring thoughts struck out at ev'ry line;
Pleas'd with a work where nothing's just or fit;
One glaring Chaos and wild heap of wit. 290
Poets like painters, thus, unskill'd to trace
The naked nature and the living grace,
With gold and jewels cover ev'ry part,
And hide with ornaments their want of art.
True Wit is Nature to advantage dress'd, 295
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd;
Something, whose truth convinc'd at sight we find,
That gives us back the image of our mind.
As shades more sweetly recommend the light,
So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit. 300
For works may have more wit than does 'em good,
As bodies perish thro' excess of blood.

Others for Language all their care express,
And value books, as women men, for Dress:
Their praise is still — the Style is excellent: 305
The Sense, they humbly take upon content.
Words are like leaves; and where they most abound,
Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found,
False Eloquence, like the prismatic glass,
Its gaudy colours spreads on ev'ry place; 310
The face of Nature we no more survey,
All glares alike, without distinction gay:
But true expression, like th' unchanging Sun,
Clears and improves whate'er it shines upon,
It gilds all objects, but it alters none. 315
Expression is the dress of thought, and still
Appears more decent, as more suitable;
A vile conceit in pompous words express'd,
Is like a clown in regal purple dress'd:
For diff'rent styles with diff'rent subjects sort, 320
As several garbs with country, town, and court.

Some by old words to fame have made pretence,
Ancients in phrase, mere moderns in their sense;
Such labour'd nothings, in so strange a style,
Amaze th' unlearn'd, and make the learned smile. 325
(Unlucky, as Fungoso in the play,
(These sparks with awkward vanity display
(What the fine gentleman wore yesterday;
And but so mimic ancient wits at best,
As apes our grandsires, in their doublets drest. 330
In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold;
Alike fantastic, if too new, or old:
Be not the first by whom the new are try'd,
Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.
335
But most by Numbers judge a Poet's song;
And smooth or rough, with them is right or wrong:
In the bright Muse though thousand charms conspire,
Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire;
(Who haunt Parnassus but to please their ear,
(Not mend their minds; as some to Church repair, 340
(Not for the doctrine, but the music there.
These equal syllables alone require,
Tho' oft the ear the open vowe's tire;
While expletives their feeble aid do join;
And ten low words oft creep in one dull line: 345
While they ring round the same unvary'd chimes,
With sure returns of still expected rhymes;
Where-e'er you find "the cooling western breeze,"
In the next line, it "whispers through the trees:"
If crystal streams "with pleasing murmurs creep," 350
The reader's threaten'd (not in vain) with "sleep:"
Then, at the last and only couplet fraught
With some unmeaning thing they call a thought,
A needless Alexandrine ends the song
That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along. 355
Leave such to tune their own dull rhymes, and know
What's roundly smooth or languishingly slow;
And praise the easy vigour of a line,
Where Denham's strength, and Waller's sweetness join.
True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, 360
As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.
'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence,

The sound must seem an Echo to the sense:
Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; 365
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore,
The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar:
When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw,
The line too labours, and the words move slow;
Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, 370
Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main.
Hear how Timotheus' varied lays surprize,
And bid alternate passions fall and rise!
While, at each change, the son of Libyan Jove
Now burns with glory, and then melts with love, 375
Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow,
Now sighs steal out, and tears begin to flow:
Persians and Greeks like turns of nature found,
And the world's victor stood subdu'd by Sound!
The pow'r of Music all our hearts allow, 380
And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now.

Avoid Extremes; and shun the fault of such,
Who still are pleas'd too little or too much.
At ev'ry trifle scorn to take offence,
That always shows great pride, or little sense; 385
Those heads, as stomachs, are not sure the best,
Which nauseate all, and nothing can digest.
Yet let not each gay Turn thy rapture move;
For fools admire, but men of sense approve:
As things seem large which we thro' mists descry, 390
Dulness is ever apt to magnify.

Some foreign writers, some our own despise;
The Ancients only, or the Moderns prize.
Thus Wit, like Faith, by each man is apply'd
To one small sect, and all are damn'd beside. 395
Meanly they seek the blessing to confine,
And force that sun but on a part to shine,
Which not alone the southern wit sublimes,
But ripens spirits in cold northern climes;
Which from the first has shone on ages past, 400
Enlights the present, and shall warm the last;
Tho' each may feel increases and decays,
And see now clearer and now darker days.

Regard not then if Wit be old or new,
But blame the false, and value still the true. 405

Some ne'er advance a Judgment of their own,
But catch the spreading notion of the Town;
They reason and conclude by precedent,
And own stale nonsense which they ne'er invent.
Some judge of author's names, not works, and then 410
Nor praise nor blame the writings, but the men.
Of all this servile herd the worst is he
That in proud dulness joins with Quality,
A constant Critic at the great man's board,
To fetch and carry nonsense for my Lord. 415
What woful stuff this madrigal would be,
In some starv'd hackney sonneteer, or me?
But let a Lord once own the happy lines,
How the wit brightens! how the style refines!
Before his sacred name flies ev'ry fault, 420
And each exalted stanza teems with thought!

The Vulgar thus through Imitation err;
As oft the Learn'd by being singular;
So much they scorn the crowd, that if the throng
By chance go right, they purposely go wrong; 425
So Schismatics the plain believers quit,
And are but damn'd for having too much wit.
Some praise at morning what they blame at night;
But always think the last opinion right.
A Muse by these is like a mistress us'd, 430
This hour she's idoliz'd, the next abus'd;
While their weak heads like towns unfortify'd,
'Twixt sense and nonsense daily change their side.
Ask them the cause; they're wiser still, they say;
And still to-morrow's wiser than to-day. 435
We think our fathers fools, so wise we grow,
Our wiser sons, no doubt, will think us so.
Once School-divines this zealous isle o'er-spread;
Who knew most Sentences, was deepest read;
Faith, Gospel, all, seem'd made to be disputed, 440
And none had sense enough to be confuted:
Scotists and Thomists, now, in peace remain,
Amidst their kindred cobwebs in Duck-lane.
If Faith itself has diff'rent dresses worn,

What wonder modes in Wit should take their turn? 445
Oft', leaving what is natural and fit,
The current folly proves the ready wit;
And authors think their reputation safe,
Which lives as long as fools are pleas'd to laugh.
Some valuing those of their own side or mind, 450
Still make themselves the measure of mankind:
Fondly we think we honour merit then,
When we but praise ourselves in other men.

Parties in Wit attend on those of State, 455
And public faction doubles private hate.
Pride, Malice, Folly, against Dryden rose,
In various shapes of Parsons, Critics, Beaus;
But sense surviv'd, when merry jests were past;
For rising merit will buoy up at last.
Might he return, and bless once more our eyes, 460
New Blackmores and new Milbourns must arise:
Nay should great Homer lift his awful head,
Zoilus again would start up from the dead.
Envy will merit, as its shade, pursue;
But like a shadow, proves the substance true; 465
For envy'd Wit, like Sol eclips'd, makes known
Th' opposing body's grossness, not its own,
When first that sun too pow'rful beams displays,
It draws up vapours which obscure its rays;
But ev'n those clouds at last adorn its way, 470
Reflect new glories, and augment the day.

Be thou the first true merit to befriend;
His praise is lost, who stays, till all commend.
Short is the date, alas, of modern rhymes,
And 'tis but just to let them live betimes. 475
No longer now that golden age appears,
When Patriarch-wits surviv'd a thousand years:
Now length of Fame (our second life) is lost,
And bare threescore is all ev'n that can boast;
Our sons their fathers' failing language see, 480
And such as Chaucer is, shall Dryden be.
So when the faithful pencil has design'd
Some bright Idea of the master's mind,
Where a new world leaps out at his command,
And ready Nature waits upon his hand; 485

When the ripe colours soften and unite,
And sweetly melt into just shade and light;
When mellowing years their full perfection give,
And each bold figure just begins to live,
The treach'rous colours the fair art betray, 490
And all the bright creation fades away!

Unhappy Wit, like most mistaken things,
Atones not for that envy which it brings.
In youth alone its empty praise we boast,
But soon the short-liv'd vanity is lost: 495
Like some fair flow'r the early spring supplies.
That gaily blooms, but ev'n in blooming dies.
What is this Wit, which must our cares employ?
The owner's wife, that other men enjoy;
Then most our trouble still when most admir'd, 500
And still the more we give, the more requir'd;
Whose fame with pains we guard, but lose with ease,
Sure some to vex, but never all to please;
'Tis what the vicious fear, the virtuous shun,
By fools't is hated, and by knaves undone! 505

If Wit so much from Ign'rance undergo,
Ah let not Learning too commence its foe!
Of old, those met rewards who could excel,
And such were prais'd who but endeavour'd well:
Tho' triumphs were to gen'rals only due, 510
Crowns were reserv'd to grace the soldiers too,
Now, they who reach Parnassus' lofty crown,
Employ their pains to spurn some others down;
And while self-love each jealous writer rules,
Contending wits become the sport of fools: 515
But still the worst with most regret commend,
For each ill Author is as bad a Friend.
To what base ends, and by what abject ways,
Are mortals urg'd thro' sacred lust of praise!
Ah ne'er so dire a thirst of glory boast, 520
Nor in the Critic let the Man be lost.
Good-nature and good-sense must ever join;
To err is human, to forgive, divine.

But if in noble minds some dregs remain 525
Not yet purg'd off, of spleen and sour disdain;

Discharge that rage on more provoking crimes,
Nor fear a dearth in these flagitious times.
No pardon vile Obscenity should find,
Tho' wit and art conspire to move your mind;
But Dulness with Obscenity must prove 530
As shameful sure as Impotence in love.
In the fat age of pleasure wealth and ease
Sprung the rank weed, and thriv'd with large increase:
When love was all an easy Monarch's care;
Seldom at council, never in a war: 535
Jilts rul'd the state, and statesmen farces writ;
Nay wits had pensions, and young Lords had wit:
The Fair sate panting at a Courtier's play,
And not a Mask went unimprov'd away:
The modest fan was lifted up no more, 540
And Virgins smil'd at what they blush'd before.
The following licence of a Foreign reign
Did all the dregs of bold Socinus drain;
Then unbelieving priests reform'd the nation,
And taught more pleasant methods of salvation; 545
Where Heav'n's free subjects might their rights dispute,
Lest God himself should seem too absolute:
Pulpits their sacred satire learn'd to spare,
And Vice admir'd to find a flatt'rer there!
Encourag'd thus, Wit's Titans brav'd the skies, 550
And the press groan'd with licens'd blasphemies.
These monsters, Critics! with your darts engage,
Here point your thunder, and exhaust your rage!
Yet shun their fault, who, scandalously nice,
Will needs mistake an author into vice; 555
All seems infected that th' infected spy,
As all looks yellow to the jaundic'd eye.

Learn then what Morals Critics ought to show,
For't is but half a Judge's task, to know.
'Tis not enough, taste, judgment, learning, join; 560
In all you speak, let truth and candour shine:
That not alone what to your sense is due
All may allow; but seek your friendship too.

Be silent always when you doubt your sense; 565
And speak, tho' sure, with seeming diffidence:
Some positive, persisting fops we know,

Who, if once wrong, will needs be always so;
But you, with pleasure own your errors past,
And make each day a Critic on the last.
570
'T is not enough, your counsel still be true;
Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do;
Men must be taught as if you taught them not,
And things unknown propos'd as things forgot.
Without Good Breeding, truth is disapprov'd;
That only makes superior sense belov'd. 575

Be niggards of advice on no pretence;
For the worst avarice is that of sense.
With mean complacence ne'er betray your trust,
Nor be so civil as to prove unjust.
Fear not the anger of the wise to raise; 580
Those best can bear reproof, who merit praise.

'T were well might critics still this freedom take,
But Appius reddens at each word you speak,
And stares, tremendous, with a threat'ning eye,
Like some fierce Tyrant in old tapestry. 585
Fear most to tax an Honourable fool,
Whose right it is, uncensur'd, to be dull;
Such, without wit, are Poets when they please,
As without learning they can take Degrees.
Leave dang'rous truths to unsuccessful Satires, 590
And flattery to fulsome Dedicators,
Whom, when they praise, the world believes no more,
Than when they promise to give scribbling o'er.
'T is best sometimes your censure to restrain,
And charitably let the dull be vain: 595
Your silence there is better than your spite,
For who can rail so long as they can write?
Still humming on, their drowsy course they keep,
And lash'd so long, like tops, are lash'd asleep.
False steps but help them to renew the race, 600
As, after stumbling, Jades will mend their pace.
What crowds of these, impenitently bold,
In sounds and jingling syllables grown old,
Still run on Poets, in a raging vein,
Ev'n to the dregs and squeezings of the brain, 605
Strain out the last dull droppings of their sense,

And rhyme with all the rage of Impotence.

Such shameless Bards we have; and yet't is true,
There are as mad abandon'd Critics too.
The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read, 610
With loads of learned lumber in his head,
With his own tongue still edifies his ears,
And always list'ning to himself appears.
All books he reads, and all he reads assails.
From Dryden's Fables down to Durfey's Tales. 615
With him, most authors steal their works, or buy;
Garth did not write his own Dispensary.

Name a new Play, and he's the Poet's friend,
Nay show'd his faults — but when would Poets mend?
No place so sacred from such fops is barr'd, 620
Nor is Paul's church more safe than Paul's churchyard:
Nay, fly to Altars; there they'll talk you dead:
For Fools rush in where Angels fear to tread.
(Distrustful sense with modest caution speaks,
(It still looks home, and short excursions makes; 625
(But rattling nonsense in full volleys breaks,
And never shock'd, and never turn'd aside,
Bursts out, resistless, with a thund'ring tide.

But where's the man, who counsel can bestow, 630
Still pleas'd to teach, and yet not proud to know?
Unbiass'd, or by favour, or by spite;
Not dully prepossess'd, nor blindly right;
Tho' learn'd, well-bred; and tho' well-bred, sincere,
Modestly bold, and humanly severe:
Who to a friend his faults can freely show, 635
And gladly praise the merit of a foe?
Blest with a taste exact, yet unconfin'd;
A knowledge both of books and human kind:
Gen'rous converse; a soul exempt from pride;
And love to praise, with reason on his side? 640

Such once were Critics; such the happy few,
Athens and Rome in better ages knew.
The mighty Stagirite first left the shore,
Spread all his sails, and durst the deeps explore:
He steer'd securely, and discover'd far, 645

Led by the light of the Mæonian Star.
Poets, a race long unconfin'd, and free,
Still fond and proud of savage liberty,
Receiv'd his laws; and stood convinc'd 't was fit,
Who conquer'd Nature, should preside o'er Wit. 650

Horace still charms with graceful negligence,
And without method talks us into sense,
Will, like a friend, familiarly convey
The truest notions in the easiest way.
He, who supreme in judgment, as in wit, 655
Might boldly censure, as he boldly writ,
Yet judg'd with coolness, tho' he sung with fire;
His Precepts teach but what his works inspire.
Our Critics take a contrary extreme,
They judge with fury, but they write with fle'me: 660
Nor suffers Horace more in wrong Translations
By Wits, than Critics in as wrong Quotations.

See Dionysius Homer's thoughts refine,
And call new beauties forth from ev'ry line!
Fancy and art in gay Petronius please, 665
The scholar's learning, with the courtier's ease.

In grave Quintilian's copious work, we find
The justest rules, and clearest method join'd:
Thus useful arms in magazines we place,
All rang'd in order, and dispos'd with grace, 670
But less to please the eye, than arm the hand,
Still fit for use, and ready at command.

Thee, bold Longinus! all the Nine inspire,
And bless their Critic with a Poet's fire.
An ardent Judge, who zealous in his trust, 675
With warmth gives sentence, yet is always just;
Whose own example strengthens all his laws;
And is himself that great Sublime he draws.

Thus long succeeding Critics justly reign'd, 680
Licence repress'd, and useful laws ordain'd.
Learning and Rome alike in empire grew;
And Arts still follow'd where her Eagles flew;
From the same foes, at last, both felt their doom,

And the same age saw Learning fall, and Rome.
With Tyranny, then Superstition join'd, 685
As that the body, this enslav'd the mind;
Much was believ'd, but little understood,
And to be dull was constru'd to be good;
A second deluge Learning thus o'er-run,
And the Monks finish'd what the Goths begun. 690

At length Erasmus, that great injur'd name,
(The glory of the Priesthood, and the shame!)
Stemm'd the wild torrent of a barb'rous age,
And drove those holy Vandals off the stage.
695
But see! each Muse, in Leo's golden days,
Starts from her trance, and trims her wither'd bays,
Rome's ancient Genius, o'er its ruins spread,
Shakes off the dust, and rears his rev'rend head.
Then Sculpture and her sister-arts revive;
Stones leap'd to form, and rocks began to live; 700
With sweeter notes each rising Temple rung;
A Raphael painted, and a Vida sung.
Immortal Vida: on whose honour'd brow
The Poet's bays and Critic's ivy grow:
Cremona now shal ever boast thy name, 705
As next in place to Mantua, next in fame!

But soon by impious arms from Latium chas'd,
Their ancient bounds the banish'd Muses pass'd;
Thence Arts o'er all the northern world advance,
But Critic-learning flourish'd most in France: 710
The rules a nation, born to serve, obeys;
And Boileau still in right of Horace sways.
But we, brave Britons, foreign laws despis'd,
And kept unconquer'd, and unciviliz'd;
Fierce for the liberties of wit, and bold, 715
We still defy'd the Romans, as of old.
Yet some there were, among the sounder few
Of those who less presum'd, and better knew,
Who durst assert the juster ancient cause,
And here restor'd Wit's fundamental laws. 720
Such was the Muse, whose rules and practice tell,
"Nature's chief Master-piece is writing well."

Such was Roscommon, not more learn'd than good,
With manners gen'rous as his noble blood;
To him the wit of Greece and Rome was known, 725
And ev'ry author's merit, but his own.
Such late was Walsh — the Muse's judge and friend,
Who justly knew to blame or to commend;
To failings mild, but zealous for desert;
The clearest head, and the sincerest heart. 730
This humble praise, lamented shade! receive,
This praise at least a grateful Muse may give:
The Muse, whose early voice you taught to sing,
Prescrib'd her heights, and prun'd her tender wing,
(Her guide now lost) no more attempts to rise, 735
But in low numbers short excursions tries:
Content, if hence th' unlearn'd their wants may view,
The learn'd reflect on what before they knew:
Careless of censure, nor too fond of fame;
Still pleas'd to praise, yet not afraid to blame, 740
Averse alike to flatter, or offend;
Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.

Contents

An Essay on Man, Epistle I

To H. St. John Lord Bolingbroke

The Design

Having proposed to write some pieces on Human Life and Manners, such as
(to use my Lord Bacon's expression) come home to Men's Business and
Bosoms, I thought it more satisfactory to begin with considering Man in the
abstract, his Nature and his State; since, to prove any moral duty, to enforce
any moral precept, or to examine the perfection or imperfection of any
creature whatsoever, it is necessary first to know what condition and
relation it is placed in, and what is the proper end and purpose of its being.

The science of Human Nature is, like all other sciences, reduced to a few
clear points: There are not many certain truths in this world. It is therefore
in the Anatomy of the mind as in that of the Body; more good will accrue to
mankind by attending to the large, open, and perceptible parts, than by
studying too much such finer nerves and vessels, the conformations and
uses of which will for ever escape our observation. The disputes are all
upon these last, and, I will venture to say, they have less sharpened the wits
than the hearts of men against each other, and have diminished the practice,
more than advanced the theory of Morality. If I could flatter myself that this
Essay has any merit, it is in steering betwixt the extremes of doctrines
seemingly opposite, in passing over terms utterly unintelligible, and in
forming a temperate yet not inconsistent, and a short yet not imperfect
system of Ethics.

This I might have done in prose, but I chose verse, and even rhyme, for two
reasons. The one will appear obvious; that principles, maxims, or precepts
so written, both strike the reader more strongly at first, and are more easily

retained by him afterwards: The other may seem odd, but is true, I found I
could express them more shortly this way than in prose itself; and nothing is
more certain, than that much of the force as well as grace of arguments or
instructions, depends on their conciseness. I was unable to treat this part of
my subject more in detail, without becoming dry and tedious; or more
poetically, without sacrificing perspicuity to ornament, without wandring
from the precision, or breaking the chain of reasoning: If any man can unite
all these without diminution of any of them, I freely confess he will
compass a thing above my capacity.

What is now published, is only to be considered as a general Map of Man,
marking out no more than the greater parts, their extent, their limits, and
their connection, and leaving the particular to be more fully delineated in
the charts which are to follow. Consequently, these Epistles in their progress
(if I have health and leisure to make any progress) will be less dry, and
more susceptible of poetical ornament. I am here only opening the
fountains, and clearing the passage. To deduce the rivers, to follow them in
their course, and to observe their effects, may be a task more agreeable.

P.

Contents

Argument of Epistle I

Of the Nature and State of Man, with respect to the Universe.

Of Man in the abstract.

section lines topic
That we can judge only with regard to our own
I 17 &c. system, being ignorant of the relations of systems
and things.
That Man is not to be deemed imperfect, but a Being
suited to his place and rank in the creation,
II 35 &c.
agreeable to the general Order of things, and
conformable to Ends and Relations to him unknown.
That it is partly upon his ignorance of future events,
III 77 &c. and partly upon the hope of a future state, that all
his happiness in the present depends.
The pride of aiming at more knowledge, and
pretending to more Perfections, the cause of Man's
error and misery. The impiety of putting himself in
IV 109 &c.
the place of God, and judging of the fitness or
unfitness, perfection or imperfection, justice or
injustice of his dispensations.
The absurdity of conceiting himself the final cause of
V 131 &c. the creation, or expecting that perfection in the
moral world, which is not in the natural.
The unreasonableness of his complaints against
Providence, while on the one hand he demands the
Perfections of the Angels, and on the other the bodily
VI 173 &c.
qualifications of the Brutes; though, to possess any
of the sensitive faculties in a higher degree, would
render him miserable.
That throughout the whole visible world, an
universal order and gradation in the sensual and
mental faculties is observed, which causes a
VII 207 subordination of creature to creature, and of all
creatures to Man. The gradations of sense, instinct,
thought, reflection, reason; that Reason alone
countervails fill the other faculties.
VIII 233 How much further this order and subordination of
living creatures may extend, above and below us;

were any part of which broken, not that part only,
but the whole connected creation must be destroyed.
The extravagance, madness, and pride of such a
IX 250
desire.
The consequence of all, the absolute submission due
X 281→end to Providence, both as to our present and future
state.

Contents

Epistle I

Awake, my St. John! leave all
meaner things
To low ambition, and the pride of
Kings.
Let us (since Life can little more 5
supply
Than just to look about us and to die)
Expatiate free o'er all this scene of
Man;
A mighty maze! but not without a 10
plan;
A Wild, where weeds and flow'rs
promiscuous shoot;
Or Garden, tempting with forbidden
fruit. 15
Together let us beat this ample field,
Try what the open, what the covert

yield;
The latent tracts, the giddy heights,
explore
Of all who blindly creep, or sightless
soar;
Eye Nature's walks, shoot Folly as it
flies,
And catch the Manners living as they
rise;
Laugh where we must, be candid
where we can;
But vindicate the ways of God to
Man.

I Say first, of God above, or Man
below,
What can we reason, but from what
we know? 20
Of Man, what see we but his station
here,
From which to reason, or to which
refer?
Thro' worlds unnumber'd tho' the God 25
be known,
'Tis ours to trace him only in our own.
He, who thro' vast immensity can
pierce,
See worlds on worlds compose one 30
universe,
Observe how system into system
runs,
What other planets circle other suns,
What vary'd Being peoples ev'ry star,
May tell why Heav'n has made us as
we are.
But of this frame the bearings, and

the ties,
The strong connexions, nice
dependencies,
Gradations just, has thy pervading
soul
Look'd thro'? or can a part contain the
whole?

Is the great chain, that draws all to
agree,
And drawn supports, upheld by God,
or thee?

II Presumptuous Man! the reason 35
wouldst thou find,
Why form'd so weak, so little, and so
blind?
First, if thou canst, the harder reason
guess, 40
Why form'd no weaker, blinder, and
no less?
Ask of thy mother earth, why oaks
are made
Taller or stronger than the weeds they
shade? 45
Or ask of yonder argent fields above,
Why Jove's satellites are less than
Jove?

Of Systems possible, if 'tis confest 50
That Wisdom infinite must form the
best,
Where all must full or not coherent
be,
And all that rises, rise in due degree;
Then, in the scale of reas'ning life, 'tis 55

plain,
There must be, somewhere, such a
rank as Man:
And all the question (wrangle e'er so
long) 60
Is only this, if God has plac'd him
wrong?

Respecting Man, whatever wrong we
call,
May, must be right, as relative to all. 65
In human works, tho' labour'd on with
pain,
A thousand movements scarce one
purpose gain;
In God's, one single can its end
produce; 70
Yet serves to second too some other
use.
So Man, who here seems principal
alone,
Perhaps acts second to some sphere 75
unknown,
Touches some wheel, or verges to
some goal;
'Tis but a part we see, and not a
whole.

When the proud steed shall know
why Man restrains
His fiery course, or drives him o'er
the plains:
When the dull Ox, why now he
breaks the clod,
Is now a victim, and now Ægypt's
God:
Then shall Man's pride and dulness

comprehend
His actions', passions', being's, use
and end;
Why doing, suff'ring, check'd,
impell'd; and why
This hour a slave, the next a deity.

Then say not Man's imperfect, Heav'n
in fault;
Say rather, Man's as perfect as he
ought:
His knowledge measur'd to his state
and place;
His time a moment, and a point his
space.
If to be perfect in a certain sphere,
What matter, soon or late, or here or
there?
The blest to day is as completely so,,
As who began a thousand years ago.

III Heav'n from all creatures hides the
book of Fate,
All but the page prescrib'd, their
present state: 80
From brutes what men, from men
what spirits know:
Or who could suffer Being here
below?
The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to- 85
day,
Had he thy Reason, would he skip
and play?
Pleas'd to the last, he crops the
flow'ry food, 90
And licks the hand just rais'd to shed

his blood.
Oh blindness to the future! kindly
giv'n,
That each may fill the circle mark'd
by Heav'n: 95
Who sees with equal eye, as God of
all,
A hero perish, or a sparrow fall,
Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd,
And now a bubble burst, and now a
world. 100

Hope humbly then: with trembling
pinions soar;
Wait the great teacher Death; and
God adore. 105
What future bliss, he gives not thee
to know,
But gives that Hope to be thy
blessing now.
Hope springs eternal in the human 110
breast:
Man never Is, but always To be
blest:
The soul, uneasy and confin'd from
home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to
come.

Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutor'd
mind
Sees God in clouds, or hears him in
the wind:
His soul, proud Science never taught
to stray
Far as the solar walk, or milky way;
Yet simple Nature to his hope has

giv'n,
Behind the cloud-topt hill, an
humbler heav'n;
Some safer world in depth of woods
embrac'd,
Some happier island in the watry
waste,
Where slaves once more their native
land behold,
No fiends torment, no Christians
thirst for gold.
To Be, contents his natural desire,
He asks no Angel's wing, no
Seraph's fire;
But thinks, admitted to that equal
sky,
His faithful dog shall bear him
company.

IV Go, wiser thou! and, in thy scale of
sense,
Weight thy Opinion against 115
Providence;
Call imperfection what thou fancy'st
such,
Say, here he gives too little, there
too much: 120
Destroy all Creatures for thy sport or
gust,
Yet cry, If Man's unhappy, God's
unjust;
If Man alone engross not Heav'n's
high care, 125
Alone made perfect here, immortal
there:
Snatch from his hand the balance

and the rod,
Re-judge his justice, be the God of 130
God.
In Pride, in reas'ning Pride, our error
lies;
All quit their sphere, and rush into
the skies.

Pride still is aiming at the blest
abodes,
Men would be Angels, Angels would
be Gods.
Aspiring to be Gods, if Angels fell,
Aspiring to be Angels, Men rebel:
And who but wishes to invert the
laws
Of Order, sins against th' Eternal
Cause.

V Ask for what end the heav'nly bodies
shine,
Earth for whose use? Pride answers,
"'Tis for mine:
For me kind Nature wakes her genial 135
Pow'r,
Suckles each herb, and spreads out
ev'ry flow'r;
Annual for me, the grape, the rose
renew
The juice nectareous, and the balmy 140
dew;
For me, the mine a thousand
treasures brings;
For me, health gushes from a
thousand springs;
Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me 145

rise;
My foot-stool earth, my canopy the
skies."

But errs not Nature from his 150
gracious end,
From burning suns when livid
deaths descend,
When earthquakes swallow, or when
tempests sweep 155
Towns to one grave, whole nations
to the deep?
"No, ('tis reply'd) the first Almighty
Cause
Acts not by partial, but by gen'ral 160
laws;
Th' exceptions few; some change
since all began:
And what created perfect?" — Why
then Man?
If the great end be human 165
Happiness,
Then Nature deviates; and can Man
do less?
As much that end a constant course
requires 170
Of show'rs and sun-shine, as of
Man's desires;
As much eternal springs and
cloudless skies,
As Men for ever temp'rate, calm,
and wise.
If plagues or earthquakes break not
Heav'n's design,
Why then a Borgia, or a Catiline?
Who knows but he, whose hand the
lightning forms,

Who heaves old Ocean, and who
wings the storms;
Pours fierce Ambition in a Caesar's
mind,
Or turns young Ammon loose to
scourge mankind?
From pride, from pride, our very
reas'ning springs;
Account for moral, as for nat'ral
things:
Why charge we Heav'n in those, in
these acquit?
In both, to reason right is to submit.

Better for Us, perhaps, it might
appear,
Were there all harmony, all virtue
here;
That never air or ocean felt the wind;
That never passion discompos'd the
mind.
But All subsists by elemental strife;
And Passions are the elements of
Life.
The gen'ral Order, since the whole
began,
Is kept in Nature, and is kept in
Man.

VI What would this Man? Now upward
will he soar,
And little less than Angel, would be 175
more;
Now looking downwards, just as
griev'd appears
To want the strength of bulls, the fur

of bears. 180
Made for his use all creatures if he
call,
Say what their use, had he the
pow'rs of all?
Nature to these, without profusion, 185
kind,
The proper organs, proper pow'rs
assign'd;
Each seeming want compensated of
course,
Here with degrees of swiftness, there 190
of force;
All in exact proportion to the state;
Nothing to add, and nothing to
abate.
Each beast, each insect, happy in its 195
own:
Is Heav'n unkind to Man, and Man
alone?
Shall he alone, whom rational we
call, 200
Be pleas'd with nothing, if not
bless'd with all?

The bliss of Man (could Pride that
blessing find) 205
Is not to act or think beyond
mankind;
No pow'rs of body or of soul to
share,
But what his nature and his state can
bear.
Why has not Man a microscopic
eye?
For this plain reason, Man is not a
Fly.

Say what the use, were finer optics
giv'n,
T' inspect a mite, not comprehend
the heav'n?
Or touch, if tremblingly alive all
o'er,
To smart and agonize at every pore?
Or quick effluvia darting thro' the
brain,
Die of a rose in aromatic pain?
If Nature thunder'd in his op'ning
ears,
And stunn'd him with the music of
the spheres,
How would he wish that Heav'n had
left him still
The whisp'ring Zephyr, and the
purling rill?
Who finds not Providence all good
and wise,
Alike in what it gives, and what
denies?

VII Far as Creation's ample range
extends,
The scale of sensual, mental pow'rs
ascends: 210
Mark how it mounts, to Man's
imperial race,
From the green myriads in the
peopled grass:
What modes of sight betwixt each 215
wide extreme,
The mole's dim curtain, and the
lynx's beam:
Of smell, the headlong lioness

between, 220
And hound sagacious on the tainted
green:
Of hearing, from the life that fills
the Flood,
To that which warbles thro' the 225
vernal wood:
The spider's touch, how exquisitely
fine!
Feels at each thread, and lives along
the line: 230
In the nice bee, what sense so subtly
true
From pois'nous herbs extracts the
healing dew?
How Instinct varies in the grov'lling
swine,
Compar'd, half-reas'ning elephant,
with thine!
'Twixt that, and Reason, what a nice
barrier,
For ever sep'rate, yet for ever near!
Remembrance and Reflection how
ally'd;
What thin partitions Sense from
Thought divide:
And Middle natures, how they long
to join,
Yet never pass th' insuperable line!
Without this just gradation, could
they be
Subjected, these to those, or all to
thee?
The pow'rs of all subdu'd by thee
alone,
Is not thy Reason all these pow'rs in
one?

VIII See, thro' this air, this ocean, and
this earth,
All matter quick, and bursting into 235
birth.
Above, how high, progressive life
may go!
Around, how wide! how deep
extend below! 240
Vast chain of Being! which from
God began,
Natures ethereal, human, angel,
man,
Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye 245
can see,
No glass can reach; from Infinite to
thee,
From thee to Nothing. — On
superior pow'rs
Were we to press, inferior might on 250
ours:
Or in the full creation leave a void,
Where, one step broken, the great
scale's destroy'd:
From Nature's chain whatever link 255
you strike,
Tenth or ten thousandth, breaks the
chain alike.

And, if each system in gradation roll
Alike essential to th' amazing
Whole,
The least confusion but in one, not
all
That system only, but the Whole
must fall.

Let Earth unbalanc'd from her orbit
fly,
Planets and Suns run lawless thro'
the sky;
Let ruling Angels from their spheres
be hurl'd,
Being on Being wreck'd, and world
on world;
Heav'n's whole foundations to their
centre nod,
And Nature tremble to the throne of
God.
All this dread Order break — for
whom? for thee?
Vile worm! — Oh Madness! Pride!
Impiety!

IX What if the foot, ordain'd the dust to
tread, 260
Or hand, to toil, aspir'd to be the
head?
What if the head, the eye, or ear
repin'd
To serve mere engines to the ruling 265
Mind?
Just as absurd for any part to claim
To be another, in this gen'ral frame:
Just as absurd, to mourn the tasks or
pains, 270
The great directing Mind of All
ordains.

All are but parts of one stupendous
whole, 275
Whose body Nature is, and God the
soul;

That, chang'd thro' all, and yet in all
the same;
Great in the earth, as in th' ethereal 280
frame;
Warms in the sun, refreshes in the
breeze,
Glows in the stars, and blossoms in
the trees,
Lives thro' all life, extends thro' all
extent,
Spreads undivided, operates
unspent;
Breathes in our soul, informs our
mortal part,
As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart:
As full, as perfect, in vile Man that
mourns,
As the rapt Seraph that adores and
burns:
To him no high, no low, no great, no
small;
He fills, he bounds, connects, and
equals all.

X Cease then, nor Order Imperfection
name:
Our proper bliss depends on what
we blame.
Know thy own point: This kind, this 285
due degree
Of blindness, weakness, Heav'n
bestows on thee.
Submit. — In this, or any other
sphere, 290
Secure to be as blest as thou canst
bear:

Safe in the hand of one disposing
Pow'r,
Or in the natal, or the mortal hour.
All Nature is but Art, unknown to
thee;
All Chance, Direction, which thou
canst not see;
All Discord, Harmony not
understood;
All partial Evil, universal Good:
And, spite of Pride, in erring
Reason's spite,
One truth is clear, Whatever Is, Is
Right.

Contents

Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot

Advertisement to the first publication of this Epistle

This paper is a sort of bill of complaint, begun many years since, and drawn
up by snatches, as the several occasions offered. I had no thoughts of
publishing it, till it pleased some Persons of Rank and Fortune (the Authors
of Verses to the Imitator of Horace, and of an Epistle to a Doctor of
Divinity from a Nobleman at Hampton Court) to attack, in a very
extraordinary manner, not only my Writings (of which, being public, the
Public is judge), but my Person, Morals, and Family, whereof, to those who
know me not, a truer information may be requisite. Being divided between
the necessity to say something of myself, and my own laziness to undertake
so awkward a task, I thought it the shortest way to put the last hand to this
Epistle. If it have any thing pleasing, it will be that by which I am most
desirous to please, the Truth and the Sentiment; and if any thing offensive, it
will be only to those I am least sorry to offend, the vicious or the
ungenerous.

Many will know their own pictures in it, there being not a circumstance but
what is true; but I have, for the most part, spared their Names, and they may
escape being laughed at, if they please.

I would have some of them know, it was owing to the request of the learned
and candid Friend to whom it is inscribed, that I make not as free use of
theirs as they have done of mine. However, I shall have this advantage, and
honour, on my side, that whereas, by their proceeding, any abuse may be
directed at any man, no injury can possibly be done by mine, since a
nameless character can never be found out, but by its truth and likeness.

P.

Contents

Epistle to Dr Arnuthnot

P. shut, shut the door, good John! fatigu'd, I said,
Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead.
The Dog-star rages! nay't is past a doubt,
All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out:
Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, 5
They rave, recite, and madden round the land.

What walls can guard me, or what shade can hide?
They pierce my thickets, thro' my Grot they glide;
By land, by water, they renew the charge;
They stop the chariot, and they board the barge. 10
No place is sacred, not the Church is free;
Ev'n Sunday shines no Sabbath-day to me;
Then from the Mint walks forth the Man of rhyme,
Happy to catch me just at Dinner-time.

Is there a Parson, much bemus'd in beer, 15
A maudlin Poetess, a rhyming Peer,
A Clerk, foredoom'd his father's soul to cross,
Who pens a Stanza, when he should engross?
Is there, who, lock'd from ink and paper, scrawls
With desp'rate charcoal round his darken'd walls? 20
All fly to Twit'nam, and in humble strain
Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain.
Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the Laws,
Imputes to me and my damn'd works the cause:

Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope, 25
And curses Wit, and Poetry, and Pope.

Friend to my Life! (which did not you prolong,
The world had wanted many an idle song)
What Drop or Nostrum can this plague remove?
Or which must end me, a Fool's wrath or love? 30
A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped,
If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead.
Seiz'd and tied down to judge, how wretched I!
Who can't be silent, and who will not lie.
To laugh, were want of goodness and of grace, 35
And to be grave, exceeds all Pow'r of face.
I sit with sad civility, I read
With honest anguish, and an aching head;
And drop at last, but in unwilling ears,
This saving counsel, "Keep your piece nine years." 40

"Nine years!" cries he, who high in Drury-lane,
Lull'd by soft Zephyrs thro' the broken pane,
Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before Term ends,
Oblig'd by hunger, and request of friends:
"The piece, you think, is incorrect? why, take it, 45
I'm all submission, what you'd have it, make it."

Three things another's modest wishes bound,
My Friendship, and a Prologue, and ten pound.

Pitholeon sends to me: "You know his Grace 50
I want a Patron; ask him for a Place."
"Pitholeon libell'd me," — "but here's a letter
Informs you, Sir, 't was when he knew no better.
Dare you refuse him? Curll invites to dine",
"He'll write a Journal, or he'll turn Divine."
55
Bless me! a packet. — "'Tis a stranger sues,
A Virgin Tragedy, an Orphan Muse."

If I dislike it, "Furies, death and rage!"
If I approve, "Commend it to the Stage."
There (thank my stars) my whole Commission ends, 60
The Play'rs and I are, luckily, no friends,
Fir'd that the house reject him, "'Sdeath I'll print it,
And shame the fools — Your Int'rest, Sir, with Lintot!"
'Lintot, dull rogue! will think your price too much:'
"Not, Sir, if you revise it, and retouch." 65
All my demurs but double his Attacks;
At last he whispers, "Do; and we go snacks."
Glad of a quarrel, straight I clap the door,
Sir, let me see your works and you no more.

'Tis sung, when Midas' Ears began to spring, 70
(Midas, a sacred person and a king)
His very Minister who spy'd them first,
(Some say his Queen) was forc'd to speak, or burst.
And is not mine, my friend, a sorer case,
When ev'ry coxcomb perks them in my face? 75
A. Good friend, forbear! you deal in dang'rous things.
I'd never name Queens, Ministers, or Kings;
Keep close to Ears, and those let asses prick;
'Tis nothing — P. Nothing? if they bite and kick?
Out with it, Dunciad! let the secret pass, 80
That secret to each fool, that he's an Ass:
The truth once told (and wherefore should we lie?)
The Queen of Midas slept, and so may I.

You think this cruel? take it for a rule,
No creature smarts so little as a fool. 85
Let peals of laughter, Codrus! round thee break,
Thou unconcern'd canst hear the mighty crack:
Pit, Box, and gall'ry in convulsions hurl'd,
Thou stand'st unshook amidst a bursting world.
Who shames a Scribbler? break one cobweb thro', 90
He spins the slight, self-pleasing thread anew:
Destroy his fib or sophistry, in vain,

The creature's at his dirty work again,
Thron'd in the centre of his thin designs,
Proud of a vast extent of flimsy lines! 95
Whom have I hurt? has Poet yet, or Peer
Lost the arch'd eye-brow, or Parnassian sneer?

*****

Does not one table Bavius still admit?
Still to one Bishop Philips seem a wit?
Still Sappho — A. Hold! for God's sake — you 'll offend, 100
No Names! — be calm! — learn prudence of a friend!
I too could write, and I am twice as tall;
But foes like these — P. One Flatt'rer's worse than all.
Of all mad creatures, if the learn'd are right,
It is the slaver kills, and not the bite. 105
A fool quite angry is quite innocent:
Alas! 'tis ten times worse when they repent.

One dedicates in high heroic prose,
And ridicules beyond a hundred foes:
One from all Grubstreet will my fame defend, 110
And more abusive, calls himself my friend.
This prints my Letters, that expects a bribe,
And others roar aloud, "Subscribe, subscribe."

There are, who to my person pay their court:
I cough like Horace, and, tho' lean, am short, 115
Ammon's great son one shoulder had too high,
Such Ovid's nose, and "Sir! you have an Eye" —
Go on, obliging creatures, make me see
All that disgrac'd my Betters, met in me.
Say for my comfort, languishing in bed, 120
"Just so immortal Maro held his head:"
And when I die, be sure you let me know
Great Homer died three thousand years ago.

Why did I write? what sin to me unknown
Dipt me in ink, my parents', or my own? 125
As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame,
I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.
I left no calling for this idle trade,
No duty broke, no father disobey'd.
The Muse but serv'd to ease some friend, not Wife, 130
To help me thro' this long disease, my Life,
To second, Arbuthnot! thy Art and Care,
And teach the Being you preserv'd, to bear.

But why then publish? Granville the polite,
And knowing Walsh, would tell me I could write; 135
Well-natur'd Garth inflam'd with early praise;
And Congreve lov'd, and Swift endur'd my lays;
The courtly Talbot, Somers, Sheffield, read;
Ev'n mitred Rochester would nod the head,
And St. John's self (great Dryden's friends before) 140
With open arms receiv'd one Poet more.
Happy my studies, when by these approv'd!
Happier their author, when by these belov'd!
From these the world will judge of men and books,
Not from the Burnets, Oldmixons, and Cookes.
145
Soft were my numbers; who could take offence,
While pure Description held the place of Sense?
Like gentle Fanny's was my flow'ry theme,
A painted mistress, or a purling stream.
Yet then did Gildon draw his venal quill; — 150
I wish'd the man a dinner, and sat still.
Yet then did Dennis rave in furious fret;
I never answer'd, — I was not in debt.
If want provok'd, or madness made them print,
I wag'd no war with Bedlam or the Mint.
155
Did some more sober Critic come abroad;
If wrong, I smil'd; if right, I kiss'd the rod.

Pains, reading, study, are their just pretence,
And all they want is spirit, taste, and sense.
Commas and points they set exactly right, 160
And 'twere a sin to rob them of their mite.
Yet ne'er one sprig of laurel grac'd these ribalds,
From slashing Bentley down to pidling Tibalds:
Each wight, who reads not, and but scans and spells,
Each Word-catcher, that lives on syllables, 165
Ev'n such small Critics some regard may claim,
Preserv'd in Milton's or in Shakespeare's name.
Pretty! in amber to observe the forms
Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms!
The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, 170
But wonder how the devil they got there.

Were others angry: I excus'd them too;
Well might they rage, I gave them but their due.
A man's true merit 'tis not hard to find;
But each man's secret standard in his mind, 175
That Casting-weight pride adds to emptiness,
This, who can gratify? for who can guess?
The Bard whom pilfer'd Pastorals renown,
Who turns a Persian tale for half a Crown,
Just writes to make his barrenness appear, 180
And strains, from hard-bound brains, eight lines a year;
He, who still wanting, tho' he lives on theft,
Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left:
And He, who now to sense, now nonsense leaning,
Means not, but blunders round about a meaning: 185
And He, whose fustian's so sublimely bad,
It is not Poetry, but prose run mad:
All these, my modest Satire bade translate,
And own'd that nine such Poets made a Tate.
How did they fume, and stamp, and roar, and chafe! 190
And swear, not Addison himself was safe.

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: 195
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no brother 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, 200
And without sneering, teach the rest 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; 205
Dreading ev'n fools, by Flatterers besieg'd,
And so obliging, that he ne'er oblig'd;
Like Cato, give his little Senate laws,
And sit attentive to his own applause;
While Wits and Templars ev'ry sentence raise, 210
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?

What tho' my Name stood rubric on the walls
Or plaister'd posts, with claps, in capitals? 215
Or smoking forth, a hundred hawkers' load,5
On wings of winds came flying all abroad?
I sought no homage from the Race that write;
I kept, like Asian Monarchs, from their sight:
Poems I heeded (now be-rhym'd so long) 220
No more than thou, great George! a birth-day song.
I ne'er with wits or witlings pass'd my days,
To spread about the itch of verse and praise;
Nor like a puppy, daggled thro' the town,
To fetch and carry sing-song up and down; 225
Nor at Rehearsals sweat, and mouth'd, and cry'd,
With handkerchief and orange at my side;

But sick of fops, and poetry, and prate,
To Bufo left the whole Castalian state.

Proud as Apollo on his forked hill, 230
Sat full-blown Bufo, puff'd by ev'ry quill;
Fed with soft Dedication all day long.
Horace and he went hand in hand in song.
His Library (where busts of Poets dead
And a true Pindar stood without a head,) 235
Receiv'd of wits an undistinguish'd race,
Who first his judgment ask'd, and then a place:
Much they extoll'd his pictures, much his seat,
And flatter'd ev'ry day, and some days eat:
Till grown more frugal in his riper days, 240
He paid some bards with port, and some with praise;
To some a dry rehearsal saw assign'd,
And others (harder still) he paid in kind.
Dryden alone (what wonder?) came not nigh,
Dryden alone escap'd this judging eye: 245
But still the Great have kindness in reserve,
He help'd to bury whom he help'd to starve.

May some choice patron bless each gray goose quill!
May ev'ry Bavius have his Bufo still!
So, when a Statesman wants a day's defence, 250
Or Envy holds a whole week's war with Sense,
Or simple pride for flatt'ry makes demands,
May dunce by dunce be whistled off my hands!
Blest be the Great! for those they take away.
And those they left me; for they left me Gay; 255
Left me to see neglected Genius bloom,
Neglected die, and tell it on his tomb:
Of all thy blameless life the sole return
My Verse, and Queenb'ry weeping o'er thy urn.

Oh let me live my own, and die so too! 260
(To live and die is all I have to do:)

Maintain a Poet's dignity and ease,
And see what friends, and read what books I please;
Above a Patron, tho' I condescend
Sometimes to call a minister my friend. 265
I was not born for Courts or great affairs;
I pay my debts, believe, and say my pray'rs;
Can sleep without a Poem in my head;
Nor know, if Dennis be alive or dead.

Why am I ask'd what next shall see the light? 270
Heav'ns! was I born for nothing but to write?
Has Life no joys for me? or, (to be grave)
Have I no friend to serve, no soul to save?
"I found him close with Swift" — 'Indeed? no doubt,'
(Cries prating Balbus) 'something will come out.' 275
'Tis all in vain, deny it as I will.
'No, such a Genius never can lie still;'
And then for mine obligingly mistakes
The first Lampoon Sir Will, or Bubo makes.
Poor guiltless I! and can I choose but smile, 280
When ev'ry Coxcomb knows me by my Style?

Curst be the verse, how well soe'er it flow,
That tends to make one worthy man my foe,
Give Virtue scandal, Innocence a fear,
Or from the soft-eyed Virgin steal a tear! 285
But he who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace,
Insults fall'n worth, or Beauty in distress,
Who loves a Lie, lame slander helps about,
Who writes a Libel, or who copies out:
That Fop, whose pride affects a patron's name, 290
Yet absent, wounds an author's honest fame:
Who can your merit selfishly approve.
And show the sense of it without the love;
Who has the vanity to call you friend,
Yet wants the honour, injur'd, to defend; 295
Who tells whate'er you think, whate'er you say,

And, if he lie not, must at least betray:
Who to the Dean, and silver bell can swear,
And sees at Canons what was never there;
Who reads, but with a lust to misapply, 300
Make Satire a Lampoon, and Fiction, Lie.
A lash like mine no honest man shall dread,
But all such babbling blockheads in his stead.

Let Sporus tremble — A. What? that thing of silk,
Sporus, that mere white curd of Ass's milk? 305
Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel?
Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?
P. Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings,
This painted child of dirt, that stinks and stings;
Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys, 310
Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys:
So well-bred spaniels civilly delight
In mumbling of the game they dare not bite.
Eternal smiles his emptiness betray,
As shallow streams run dimpling all the way. 315
Whether in florid impotence he speaks,
And, as the prompter breathes, the puppet squeaks;
Or at the ear of Eve, familiar Toad,
Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad,
In puns, or politics, or tales, or lies, 320
Or spite, or smut, or rhymes, or blasphemies.
(His wit all see-saw, between that and this,
(Now high, now low, now master up, now miss,
(And he himself one vile Antithesis.
Amphibious thing! that acting either part, 325
The trifling head or the corrupted heart,
Fop at the toilet, flatt'rer at the board,
Now trips a Lady, and now struts a Lord.
Eve's tempter thus the Rabbins have exprest,
A Cherub's face, a reptile all the rest; 330
Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust;
Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.

Not Fortune's worshipper, nor fashion's fool,
Not Lucre's madman, nor Ambition's tool,
Not proud, nor servile; — be one Poet's praise, 335
That, if he pleas'd, he pleas'd by manly ways:
That Flatt'ry, ev'n to Kings, he held a shame,
And thought a Lie in verse or prose the same.
That not in Fancy's maze he wander'd long,
But stoop'd to Truth, and moraliz'd his song: 340
That not for Fame, but Virtue's better end,
He stood the furious foe, the timid friend,
The damning critic, half approving wit,
The coxcomb hit, or fearing to be hit;
Laugh'd at the loss of friends he never had, 345
The dull, the proud, the wicked, and the mad;
The distant threats of vengeance on his head,
The blow unfelt, the tear he never shed;
The tale reviv'd, the lie so oft o'erthrown,
Th' imputed trash, and dulness not his own; 350
The morals blacken'd when the writings scape,
The libell'd person, and the pictur'd shape;
Abuse, on all he lov'd, or lov'd him, spread,
A friend in exile, or a father, dead;
The whisper, that to greatness still too near, 355
Perhaps, yet vibrates on his Sov'reign's ear: —
Welcome for thee, fair Virtue! all the past;
For thee, fair Virtue! welcome ev'n the last!
A. But why insult the poor, affront the great?
P. A knave's a knave, to me, in ev'ry state: 360
Alike my scorn, if he succeed or fail,
Sporus at court, or Japhet in a jail
A hireling scribbler, or a hireling peer,
Knight of the post corrupt, or of the shire;
If on a Pillory, or near a Throne, 365
He gain his Prince's ear, or lose his own.
Yet soft by nature, more a dupe than wit,
Sappho can tell you how this man was bit;

This dreaded Sat'rist Dennis will confess
Foe to his pride, but friend to his distress: 370
So humble, he has knock'd at Tibbald's door,
Has drunk with Cibber, nay has rhym'd for Moore.
Full ten years slander'd, did he once reply?
Three thousand suns went down on Welsted's lie.
To please a Mistress one aspers'd his life; 375
He lash'd him not, but let her be his wife.
Let Budgel charge low Grubstreet on his quill,
And write whate'er he pleas'd, except his Will;
Let the two Curlls of Town and Court, abuse
His father, mother, body, soul, and muse. 380
Yet why? that Father held it for a rule,
It was a sin to call our neighbour fool:
That harmless Mother thought no wife a whore:
Hear this, and spare his family, James Moore!
Unspotted names, and memorable long! 385
If there be force in Virtue, or in Song.

Of gentle blood (part shed in Honour's cause.
While yet in Britain Honour had applause)
Each parent sprung — A. What fortune, pray? — P. Their own,
And better got, than Bestia's from the throne. 390
Born to no Pride, inheriting no Strife,
Nor marrying Discord in a noble wife,
Stranger to civil and religious rage,
The good man walk'd innoxious thro' his age.
Nor Courts he saw, no suits would ever try, 395
Nor dar'd an Oath, nor hazarded a Lie.
Un-learn'd, he knew no schoolman's subtle art,
No language, but the language of the heart.
By Nature honest, by Experience wise,
Healthy by temp'rance, and by exercise; 400
His life, tho' long, to sickness past unknown,
His death was instant, and without a groan.
O grant me, thus to live, and thus to die!
Who sprung from Kings shall know less joy than I.

O Friend! may each domestic bliss be thine! 405
Be no unpleasing Melancholy mine:
Me, let the tender office long engage,
To rock the cradle of reposing Age,
With lenient arts extend a Mother's breath,
Make Languor smile, and smooth the bed of Death, 410
Explore the thought, explain the asking eye,
And keep a while one parent from the sky!
On cares like these if length of days attend,
May Heav'n, to bless those days, preserve my friend,
Preserve him social, cheerful, and serene, 415
And just as rich as when he serv'd a Queen.
A. Whether that blessing be deny'd or giv'n,
Thus far was right, the rest belongs to Heav'n.

Contents

Ode on Solitude

Happy the man whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 5
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.

Blest, who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away, 10
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,

Sound sleep by night; study and ease,
Together mixt; sweet recreation;
And Innocence, which most does please 15
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die,
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie. 20

Contents

The Descent of Dullness

from The Dunciad, Book IV.

In vain, in vain — the all-composing Hour
Resistless falls: the Muse obeys the Pow'r.
She comes! she comes! the sable Throne behold
Of Night primæval and of Chaos old!
Before her, Fancy's gilded clouds decay, 5
And all its varying Rain-bows die away.
Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires,
The meteor drops, and in a flash expires.
As one by one, at dread Medea's strain,
The sick'ning stars fade off th' ethereal plain; 10
As Argus' eyes by Hermes' wand opprest,
Clos'd one by one to everlasting rest;
Thus at her felt approach, and secret might,
Art after Art goes out, and all is Night.
See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled, 15
Mountains of Casuistry heap'd o'er her head!
Philosophy, that lean'd on Heav'n before,
Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more.
Physic of Metaphysic begs defence,
And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense! 20
See Mystery to Mathematics fly!
In vain! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die.
Religion blushing veils her sacred fires,
And unawares Morality expires.
For public Flame, nor private, dares to shine; 25
Nor human Spark is left, nor Glimpse divine!

Lo! thy dread Empire, Chaos! is restor'd;
Light dies before thy uncreating word;
Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall,
And universal Darkness buries All. 30

Contents

Epitaph on Gay

In Westminster Abbey, 1732

Of Manners gentle, of Affections mild;
In Wit, a Man; Simplicity, a Child:
With native Humour temp'ring virtuous Rage,
Form'd to delight at once and lash the age:
Above Temptation, in a low Estate, 5
And uncorrupted, ev'n among the Great:
A safe Companion, and an easy Friend,
Unblam'd thro' Life, lamented in thy End.
These are Thy Honours! not that here thy Bust
Is mix'd with Heroes, or with Kings thy dust; 10
But that the Worthy and the Good shall say,
Striking their pensive bosoms — Here lies Gay.

Contents

Notes on The Rape of the Lock

Introduction

In 1711 Pope, who had just published his Essay on Criticism, was looking
about for new worlds to conquer. A fortunate chance threw in his way a
subject exactly suited to his tastes and powers. He seized upon it, dashed off
his first sketch in less than a fortnight, and published it anonymously in a
Miscellany issued by Lintot in 1712. But the theme had taken firm root in
his mind. Dissatisfied with his first treatment of it, he determined, against
the advice of the best critic of the day, to recast the work, and lift it from a
mere society jeu d'esprit into an elaborate mock-heroic poem. He did so and
won a complete success. Even yet, however, he was not completely
satisfied and from time to time he added a touch to his work until he finally
produced the finished picture which we know as The Rape of the Lock. As it
stands, it is an almost flawless masterpiece, a brilliant picture and light-
hearted mockery of the gay society of Queen Anne's day, on the whole the
most satisfactory creation of Pope's genius, and, perhaps, the best example
of the mock-heroic in any literature.

The occasion which gave rise to The Rape of the Lock has been so often
related that it requires only a brief restatement. Among the Catholic families
of Queen Anne's day, who formed a little society of their own, Miss
Arabella Fermor was a reigning belle. In a youthful frolic which
overstepped the bounds of propriety Lord Petre, a young nobleman of her
acquaintance, cut off a lock of her hair. The lady was offended, the two
families took up the quarrel, a lasting estrangement, possibly even a duel,
was threatened. At this juncture a common friend of the two families, a Mr.
Caryll, nephew of a well-known Jacobite exile for whom he is sometimes
mistaken, suggested to Pope "to write a poem to make a jest of it," and so
kill the quarrel with laughter. Pope consented, wrote his first draft of The

Rape of the Lock, and passed it about in manuscript. Pope says himself that
it had its effect in the two families; certainly nothing more is heard of the
feud. How Miss Fermor received the poem is a little uncertain. Pope
complains in a letter written some months after the poem had appeared in
print that "the celebrated lady is offended." According to Johnson she liked
the verses well enough to show them to her friends, and a niece of hers said
years afterward that Mr. Pope's praise had made her aunt "very troublesome
and conceited." It is not improbable that Belinda was both flattered and
offended. Delighted with the praise of her beauty she may none the less
have felt called upon to play the part of the offended lady when the poem
got about and the ribald wits of the day began to read into it double
meanings which reflected upon her reputation. To soothe her ruffled
feelings Pope dedicated the second edition of the poem to her in a delightful
letter in which he thanked her for having permitted the publication of the
first edition to forestall an imperfect copy offered to a bookseller, declared
that the character of Belinda resembled her in nothing but in beauty, and
affirmed that he could never hope that his poem should pass through the
world half so uncensured as she had done. It would seem that the modern
critics who have undertaken to champion Miss Fermor against what they
are pleased to term the revolting behavior of the poet are fighting a needless
battle. A pretty girl who would long since have been forgotten sat as an
unconscious model to a great poet; he made her the central figure in a
brilliant picture and rendered her name immortal. That is the whole story,
and when carping critics begin to search the poem for the improprieties of
conduct to which they say Pope alluded, one has but to answer in Pope's
own words.

If to her share some female errors fall,
Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em all.

Pope's statement in the dedication that he had been forced into publishing
the first draft of the poem before his design of enlarging it was half
executed is probably to be taken, like many of his statements, with a
sufficient grain of salt. Pope had a curious habit of protesting that he was
forced into publishing his letters, poems, and other trifles, merely to
forestall the appearance of unauthorized editions. It is more likely that it
was the undoubted success of The Rape of the Lock in its first form which

gave him the idea of working up the sketch into a complete mock-heroic
poem.

Examples of such a poem were familiar enough to Pope. Not to go back to
the pseudo-Homeric mock epic which relates the battle of the frogs and
mice, Vida in Italy and Boileau in France, with both of whom Pope, as the
Essay on Criticism shows, was well acquainted, had done work of this kind.
Vida's description of the game of chess in his Scacchia Ludus certainly gave
him the model for the game of ombre in the third canto of The Rape of the
Lock; Boileau's Lutrin probably suggested to him the idea of using the
mock-heroic for the purposes of satire.

Now it was a dogma of the critical creed of the day, which Pope devoutly
accepted, that every epic must have a well-recognized "machinery."
Machinery, as he kindly explained to Miss Fermor, was a "term invented by
the critics to signify that part which the deities, angels, or demons are made
to act in a poem," in short for the whole supernatural element. Such
machinery was quite wanting in the first draft of the Rape; it must be
supplied if the poem was to be a true epic, even of the comic kind. And the
machinery must be of a nature which would lend itself to the light satiric
tone of the poem. What was it to be? The employment of what we may call
Christian machinery, the angels and devils of Tasso and Milton, was, of
course, out of the question. The employment of the classic machinery was
almost as impossible. It would have been hard for such an admirer of the
classics as Pope to have taken the deities of Olympus otherwise than
seriously. And even if he had been able to treat them humorously, the humor
would have been a form of burlesque quite at variance with what he had set
out to accomplish. For Pope's purpose, springing naturally from the
occasion which set him to writing the Rape, was not to burlesque what was
naturally lofty by exhibiting it in a degraded light, but to show the true
littleness of the trivial by treating it in a grandiose and mock-heroic fashion,
to make the quarrel over the stolen lock ridiculous by raising it to the plane
of the epic contest before the walls of Troy.

In his perplexity a happy thought, little less in fact than an inspiration of
genius, came to Pope. He had been reading a book by a clever French abbé
treating in a satiric fashion of the doctrines of the so-called Rosicrucians, in

particular of their ideas of elemental spirits and the influence of these spirits
upon human affairs. Here was the machinery he was looking for made to his
hand. There would be no burlesque in introducing the Rosicrucian sylphs
and gnomes into a mock-heroic poem, for few people, certainly not the
author of the Comte de Gabalis, took them seriously. Yet the widespread
popularity of this book, to say nothing of the existence of certain
Rosicrucian societies, had rendered their names familiar to the society for
which Pope wrote. He had but to weave them into the action of his poem,
and the brilliant little sketch of society was transformed into a true mock-
epic.

The manner in which this interweaving was accomplished is one of the
most satisfactory evidences of Pope's artistic genius. He was proud of it
himself. "The making the machinery, and what was published before, hit so
well together, is," he told Spencer, "I think, one of the greatest proofs of
judgment of anything I ever did." And he might well be proud. Macaulay, in
a well-known passage, has pointed out how seldom in the history of
literature such a recasting of a poem has been successfully accomplished.
But Pope's revision of The Rape of the Lock was so successful that the
original form was practically done away with. No one reads it now but
professed students of the literature of Queen Anne's time. And so artfully
has the new matter been woven into the old that if the recasting of The Rape
of the Lock were not a commonplace even in school histories of English
literature, not one reader in a hundred would suspect that the original sketch
had been revised and enlarged to more than twice its length. It would be an
interesting task for the student to compare the two forms printed in this
edition, to note exactly what has been added, and the reasons for its
addition, and to mark how Pope has smoothed the junctures and blended the
old and the new. Nothing that he could do would admit him more intimately
to the secrets of Pope's mastery of his art.

A word must be said in closing as to the merits of The Rape of the Lock and
its position in English literature. In the first place it is an inimitable picture
of one phase, at least, of the life of the time, of the gay, witty, heartless
society of Queen Anne's day. Slowly recovering from the licentious
excesses of the Restoration, society at this time was perhaps unmoral rather
than immoral. It was quite without ideals, unless indeed the conventions of

"good form" may be dignified by that name. It lacked the brilliant
enthusiasm of Elizabethan times as well as the religious earnestness of the
Puritans and the devotion to patriotic and social ideals which marked a later
age. Nothing, perhaps, is more characteristic of the age than its attitude
toward women. It affected indeed a tone of high-flown adoration which
thinly veiled a cynical contempt. It styled woman a goddess and really
regarded her as little better than a doll. The passion of love had fallen from
the high estate it once possessed and become the mere relaxation of the idle
moments of a man of fashion.

In the comedies of Congreve, for example, a lover even if honestly in love
thinks it as incumbent upon him to make light of his passion before his
friends as to exaggerate it in all the forms of affected compliment before his
mistress.

In The Rape of the Lock Pope has caught and fixed forever the atmosphere
of this age. It is not the mere outward form and circumstance, the manners
and customs, the patching, powdering, ogling, gambling, of the day that he
has reproduced, though his account of these would alone suffice to secure
the poem immortality as a contribution to the history of society. The
essential spirit of the age breathes from every line. No great English poem
is at once so brilliant and so empty, so artistic, and yet so devoid of the
ideals on which all high art rests. It is incorrect, I think, to consider Pope in
The Rape of the Lock as the satirist of his age. He was indeed clever enough
to perceive its follies, and witty enough to make sport of them, but it is
much to be doubted whether he was wise enough at this time to raise his
eyes to anything better. In the social satires of Pope's great admirer, Byron,
we are at no loss to perceive the ideal of personal liberty which the poet
opposes to the conventions he tears to shreds. Is it possible to discover in
The Rape of the Lock any substitute for Belinda's fancies and the Baron's
freaks? The speech of Clarissa which Pope inserted as an afterthought to
point the moral of the poem recommends Belinda to trust to merit rather
than to charms. But "merit" is explicitly identified with good humor, a very
amiable quality, but hardly of the highest rank among the moral virtues.
And the avowed end and purpose of "merit" is merely to preserve what
beauty gains, the flattering attentions of the other sex, — surely the lowest
ideal ever set before womankind. The truth is, I think, that The Rape of the

Lock represents Pope's attitude toward the social life of his time in the
period of his brilliant youth. He was at once dazzled, amused, and delighted
by the gay world in which he found himself. The apples of pleasure had not
yet turned to ashes on his lips, and it is the poet's sympathy with the world
he paints which gives to the poem the air, most characteristic of the age
itself, of easy, idle, unthinking gayety. We would not have it otherwise.
There are sermons and satires in abundance in English literature, but there
is only one Rape of the Lock.

The form of the poem is in perfect correspondence with its spirit. There is
an immense advance over the Essay on Criticism in ease, polish, and
balance of matter and manner. And it is not merely in matters of detail that
the supremacy of the latter poem is apparent. The Rape of the Lock is
remarkable among all Pope's longer poems as the one complete and perfect
whole. It is no mosaic of brilliant epigrams, but an organic creation. It is
impossible to detach any one of its witty paragraphs and read it with the
same pleasure it arouses when read in its proper connection. Thalestris' call
to arms and Clarissa's moral reproof are integral parts of the poem. And as a
result, perhaps, of its essential unity The Rape of the Lock bears witness to
the presence of a power in Pope that we should hardly have suspected from
his other works, the power of dramatic characterization. Elsewhere he has
shown himself a master of brilliant portraiture, but Belinda, the Baron, and
Thalestris are something more than portraits. They are living people, acting
and speaking with admirable consistency. Even the little sketch of Sir
Plume is instinct with life.

Finally The Rape of the Lock, in its limitations and defects, no less than in
its excellencies, represents a whole period of English poetry, the period
which reaches with but few exceptions from Dryden to Wordsworth. The
creed which dominated poetic composition during this period is discussed
in the introduction to the Essay on Criticism, and is admirably illustrated in
that poem itself. Its repression of individuality, its insistence upon the
necessity of following in the footsteps of the classic poets, and of checking
the outbursts of imagination by the rules of common sense, simply
incapacitated the poets of the period from producing works of the highest
order. And its insistence upon man as he appeared in the conventional,
urban society of the day as the one true theme of poetry, its belief that the

end of poetry was to instruct and improve either by positive teaching or by
negative satire, still further limited its field. One must remember in
attempting an estimate of The Rape of the Lock that it was composed with
an undoubting acceptance of this creed and within all these narrowing
limitations. And when this is borne in mind, it is hardly too much to say that
the poem attains the highest point possible. In its treatment of the
supernatural it is as original as a poem could be at that day. The brilliancy
of its picture of contemporary society could not be heightened by a single
stroke. Its satire is swift and keen, but never ill natured. And the personality
of Pope himself shines through every line. Johnson advised authors who
wished to attain a perfect style to give their days and nights to a study of
Addison. With equal justice one might advise students who wish to catch
the spirit of our so-called Augustan age, and to realize at once the
limitations and possibilities of its poetry, to devote themselves to the study
of The Rape of the Lock.

line reference meaning
the title of Mrs. was still given in Pope's
Dedication Mrs. Arabella time to unmarried ladies as soon as they
were old enough to enter society.
the the first mention of the Rosicrucians is in a
Rosicrucian book published in Germany in 1614, inviting
doctrine all scholars to join the ranks of a secret
society said to have been founded two
centuries before by a certain Christian
Rosenkreuz who had mastered the hidden
wisdom of the East. It seems probable that
this book was an elaborate hoax, but it was
taken seriously at the time, and the
seventeenth century saw the formation of
numerous groups of "Brothers of the Rosy
Cross." They dabbled in alchemy,
spiritualism, and magic, and mingled
modern science with superstitions handed

down from ancient times. Pope probably
knew nothing more of them than what he
had read in Le Comte de Gabalis.

This was the work of a French abbé, de
Montfaucon Villars (1635-1673), who was
well known in his day both as a preacher and
a man of letters. It is really a satire upon the
fashionable mystical studies, but treats in a
tone of pretended seriousness of secret
sciences, of elemental spirits, and of their
intercourse with men. It was translated into
English in 1680 and again in 1714.

Canto I

Pope opens his mock-epic with the usual
epic formula, the statement of the subject.
Compare the first lines of the Iliad, the
Æneid, and Paradise Lost. In l. 7 he goes on
1-2
to call upon the "goddess," i.e. the muse, to
relate the cause of the rape. This, too, is an
epic formula. Compare Æneid, I, 8, and
Paradise Lost, I, 27-33.
see Introduction. In accordance with his
wish his name was not printed in the editions
3 Caryl
of the poem that came out in Pope's lifetime,
appearing there only as C — — or C — — l.
a name used by Pope to denote Miss Fermor,
4 Belinda
the heroine of The Rape of the Lock
This line is almost a translation of a line in
the Æneid (I, 11), where Virgil asks if it be
12
possible that such fierce passions (as Juno's)
should exist in the minds of gods.
13 Sol a good instance of the fondness which Pope
shared with most poets of his time for giving

classical names to objects of nature. This
trick was supposed to adorn and elevate
poetic diction. Try to find other instances of
this in The Rape of the Lock.
Why is the sun's ray called "tim'rous"?
It was an old convention that lovers were so
troubled by their passion that they could not
sleep. In the Prologue to the Canterbury
Tales (ll. 97-98), Chaucer says of the young
squire:

16 So hote he lovede, that by nightertale
He sleep namore than dooth a
nightingale.

Pope, of course, is laughing at the easy-
going lovers of his day who in spite of their
troubles sleep very comfortably till noon.
The lady on awaking rang a little hand-bell
that stood on a table by her bed to call her
maid. Then as the maid did not appear at
17
once she tapped impatiently on the floor
with the heel of her slipper. The watch in the
next line was a repeater.
All the rest of this canto was added in the
second edition of the poem. See pp. 84-86.
19 Pope did not notice that he describes Belinda
as waking in I. 14 and still asleep and
dreaming in II. 19-116.
guardian
20 compare ll. 67-78
Sylph
a fine gentleman in his best clothes, such as
a Birth-night
23 he would wear at a ball on the occasion of a
Beau
royal birthday.
30 The nurse would have told Belinda the old
tales of fairies who danced by moonlight on
rings in the greensward, and dropped silver

coins into the shoes of tidy little maids. The
priest, on the other hand, would have
repeated to her the legend of St. Cecilia and
her guardian angel who once appeared in
bodily form to her husband holding two rose
garlands gathered in Paradise, or of St.
Dorothea, who sent an angel messenger with
a basket of heavenly fruits and flowers to
convert the pagan Theophilus.
42 militia used here in the general sense of "soldiery."
44 the box in the theater.
the drive in Hyde Park, where the ladies of
the ring
society took the air.
a sedan chair in which ladies used to be
46 a chair carried about. Why is Belinda told to scorn
it?
What is the meaning of "vehicles" in this
50
line?
the fashionable game of cards in Pope's day.
56 Ombre See his account of a game in Canto III and
the notes on that passage.
57-67 See Introduction
69-70 Compare Paradise Lost, I, 423-431.
conscious of their face: proud of their
79
beauty.
the gnomes who urge the vain beauties to
81 These disdain all offers of love and play the part of
prudes.
the garter is the badge of the Knights of the
Garter, an order founded by Edward III, to
which only noble princes and noblemen of
garters, stars, the highest rank were admitted. "Stars" are
85
and coronets the jeweled decorations worn by members of
other noble orders. "Coronets" are the
inferior crowns worn by princes and nobles,
not by sovereigns.

the title bestowed in England on a duchess
— The idea in this passage, ll. 83-86, is that
86 "Your Grace" the gnomes fill the girls' minds with hopes of
a splendid marriage and so induce them to
"deny love."
94 impertinence purposeless flirtation.
Florio ... poetic names for fine gentlemen; no special
97-98
Damon individuals are meant.
100 Why is a woman's heart called a "toy-shop"?
tassels worn at the hilts of swords. In Pope's
101 Sword-knots day every gentleman carried a sword, and
these sword-knots were often very gay.
who thy
105 protection what is the exact meaning of his phrase?
claim
thy ruling the star that controls thy destinies, a
108
Star reference to the old belief in astrology.
Belinda's pet dog. His name would seem to
115 Shock
show that he was a rough-haired terrier.
Does this line mean that Belinda had never
118
seen a billet-doux before?
Wounds,
the usual language of a love-letter at this
119 Charms, and
time.
Ardors
the deities that preside over a lady's toilet.
Note the playful satire with which Pope
the Cosmetic
124 describes Belinda's toilet as if it were a
pow'rs
religious ceremony. Who is "th' inferior
priestess" in l. 127?
131 nicely carefully.
134 Arabia famous for its perfumes.
145 set the head arrange the head-dress.
147 Betty Belinda's maid.

Canto II

4 Launch'd embarked
25 springes snares
the finny a characteristic instance of Pope's preference
26
prey or circumlocution to a direct phrase.
A regular formula in classical epics. In Virgil
(XI, 794-795) Phœbus grants part of the
35-36
prayer of Arruns; the other part he scatters to
the light winds.
these romances were the customary reading
of society in Pope's day when there were as
vast French yet no English novels. Some of them were of
38
Romances enormous length. Addison found several of
them in a typical lady's library, great folio
volumes, finely bound in gilt (Spectator, 37).
so in Homer (1-25), while all the rest of the
All but the army is sleeping Agamemnon is disturbed by
58
Sylph fear of the doom impending over the Greeks
at the hands of Hector.
60 Waft wave, or flutter.
so in Homer (Iliad, III, 225-227) Ajax is
Superior by
70 described as towering over the other Greeks
the head
by head and shoulders.
73 sylphids a feminine form of "sylphs."
This formal opening of Ariel's address to his
74 followers is a parody of a passage in
Paradise Lost, V, 600-601.
either "worlds" or in a more general sense
75 spheres
"regions."
What are the "wandering orbs," and how do
79
they differ from planets in l. 80?
97 a wash a lotion for the complexion.

Diana, the virgin huntress, was in a peculiar
105
sense the goddess of chastity.
the taste for collecting old china was
comparatively new in England at this time. It
106 China jar had been introduced from Holland by Queen
Anne's sister, Queen Mary, and was eagerly
caught up by fashionable society.
113 The drops the diamond earrings.
the huge hoop skirt which had recently
become fashionable. Addison, in a humorous
118 the Petticoat
paper in the Tatler (No. 116), describes one
as about twenty-four yards in circumference.
128 bodkin a large needle.
133 rivel'd an obsolete raiment of "obrivelled."
according to classical mythology Ixion was
133 Ixion punished for his sins by being bound forever
upon a whirling wheel.
the mill in which cakes of chocolate were
134 Mill ground up preparatory to making the
beverage.
138 orb in orb in concentric circles.
139 thrid a variant form of "thread."

Canto III

Hampton Court, a palace on the Thames, a
few miles above London. It was begun by
Wolsey, and much enlarged by William III.
Queen Anne visited it occasionally, and
3 a structure cabinet meetings were sometimes held there.
Pope insinuates (l. 6) that the statesmen who
met in these councils were as interested in
the conquest of English ladies as of foreign
enemies.
8 Tea was still in Queen Anne's day a luxury
confined to the rich. It cost, in 1710, from

twelve to twenty-eight shillings per pound.
The heroes
the boating party which started for Hampton
9 and the
Court in Canto II.
nymphs
Snuff-taking had just become fashionable at
this time. The practice is said to date from
1702, when an English admiral brought back
fifty tons of snuff found on board some
Spanish ships which he had captured in Vigo
Bay.

17 In the Spectator for August 8, 1711, a mock
advertisement is inserted professing to teach
"the exercise of the snuff-box according to
the most fashionable airs and motions," and
in the number for April 4, 1712, Steele
protests against "an impertinent custom the
fine women have lately fallen into of taking
snuff."
the usual dinner hour in Queen Anne's reign
was about 3 P.M. Fashionable people dined
at 4, or later. This allowed the fashionable
22 dine
lady who rose at noon time to do a little
shopping and perform "the long labours of
the toilet."
two ...
26 one of these was the baron, see l. 66.
Knights
27 Ombre a game of cards invented in Spain. It takes
its name from the Spanish phrase originally
used by the player who declared trumps: "Yo
soy l'hombre," i. e. I am the man. It could be
played by three, five, or nine players, but the
usual number was three as here. Each of
these received nine cards, and one of them
named the trump and thus became the
"ombre," who played against the two others.
If either of the ombre's opponents took more

tricks than the ombre, it was "codille" (l. 92).
This meant that the opponent took the stake
and the ombre had to replace it for the next
hand.

A peculiar feature of ombre is the rank, or
value, of the cards. The three best cards were
called "matadores," a Spanish word meaning
"killers." The first of these matadores was
"Spadillio," the ace of spades; the third was
"Basto," the ace of clubs. The second,
"Manillio," varied according to the suit. If a
black suit were declared, Maniilio was the
two of trumps; if a red suit, Manillio was the
seven of trumps. It is worth noting also that
the red aces were inferior to the face cards of
their suits except when a red suit was trump.

A brief analysis of the game played on this
occasion will clear up the passage and leave
the reader free to admire the ingenuity with
which Pope has described the contest in
terms of epic poetry.

Belinda declares spades trumps and so
becomes the "ombre." She leads one after
the other the three matadores; and takes
three tricks. She then leads the next highest
card, the king of spades, and wins a fourth
trick. Being out of trumps she now leads the
king of clubs; but the baron, who has
actually held more spades than Belinda,
trumps it with the queen of spades. All the
trumps are now exhausted and the baron's
long suit of diamonds is established. He
takes the sixth, seventh, and eighth tricks
with the king, queen, and knave of

diamonds, respectively. Everything now
depends on the last trick, since Belinda and
the baron each have taken four. The baron
leads the ace of hearts and Belinda takes it
with the king, thus escaping "codille" and
winning the stake.
the sacred
30 the nine Muses.
nine
41 succint tucked up.
one Plebeian one of Belinda's opponents is now out of
54
card trumps and discards a low card on her lead.
a term applied to the knave of clubs which
61 Pam was always the highest card in Lu, another
popular game of that day.
the jeweled ball which forms one of the
regalia of a monarch. The aspect of playing
74 the globe cards has changed not a little since Pope's
day, but the globe is still to be seen on the
king of clubs.
Clubs, these are the losing cards played by Belinda
79 Diamonds, and the third player on the baron's winning
Hearts diamonds.
Pope's old enemy, Dennis, objected to the
impropriety of Belinda's filling the sky with
exulting shouts, and some modern critics
have been foolish enough to echo his
objection. The whole scene is a masterpiece
99
of the mock-heroic. The game is a battle, the
cards are warriors, and Belinda's
exclamations of pleasure at winning are in
the same fashion magnified into the cheers
of a victorious army.
the canals which run through the splendid
100 long canals gardens of Hampton Court, laid out by
William III in the Dutch fashion.

it would seem from this phrase that coffee
was at that time roasted as well as ground in
the drawing-room. In a letter written shortly
after the date of this poem Pope describes
Swift as roasting coffee "with his own hands
in an engine made for that purpose."

The berries Coffee had been introduced into England
106
crackle about the middle of the seventeenth century.
In 1657 a barber who had opened one of the
first coffeehouses in London was indicted
for "making and selling a sort of liquor
called coffee, as a great nuisance and
prejudice of the neighborhood." In Pope's
time there were nearly three thousand
coffee-houses in London.
The mill the coffee-mill.
Altars of
107 japanned stands for the lamps.
Japan
The parenthesis in these lines contains a hit
at the would-be omniscient politicians who
haunted the coffee-houses of Queen Anne's
117-118 day, and who professed their ability to see
through all problems of state with their eyes
half-shut. Pope jestingly attributes their
wisdom to the inspiring power of coffee.
the daughter of King Nisus in Grecian
legends. Nisus had a purple hair and so long
as it was untouched he was unconquerable.
Scylla fell in love with one of his enemies
122 Scylla
and pulled out the hair while Nisus slept. For
this crime she was turned into a bird. The
story is told in full in Ovid's
Metamorphoses, Bk. VIII.
127 Clarissa it does not appear that Pope had any
individual lady in mind. We do not know, at

least, that any lady instigated or aided Lord
Petre to cut off the lock.
we know nothing of any love affair of Miss
Fermor's. Pope mentions the "earthly lover"
An earthly here to account for Ariel's desertion of
144
Lover Belinda, for he could only protect her so
long as she "rejected mankind"; compare
Canto I, ll. 67-68.
147 Forfex a Latin word meaning scissors.
Pope borrowed this idea from Milton, who
represents the wound inflicted on Satan, by
the Archangel Michael as healing
immediately:
152
Th' ethereal substance closed
Not long divisible.

Paradise Lost, VI, 330-331.
The New Atalantis, a four-volume
"cornucopia of scandal" involving almost
every public character of the day, was
published by a Mrs. Manley in 1709. It was
165 Atalantis very widely read. The Spectator found it,
along with a key which revealed the
identities of its characters, in the lady's
library already mentioned (Spectator, No.
37).
a richly decorated pillow which fashionable
ladies used to prop them up in bed when
the small
166 they received morning visits from
pillow
gentlemen. Addison gives an account of such
a visit in the Spectator, No. 45.
days of marriage or mourning, on which at
167 solemn days
this time formal calls were paid.
the labour of the walls of Troy built by Apollo and
173
the gods Neptune for King Laomedon.
178 unresisted irresistible.

Canto IV

a fanciful name for any fashionable lady. No
8 Cynthia
individual is meant.
manteau a loose upper garment for women.
the word is used here as a personification of
melancholy, or low spirits. It was not an
16 Spleen uncommon affectation in England at this
time. A letter to the Spectator, No. 53, calls
it "the distemper of the great and the polite."
Umbriel, who in accordance with his nature
17 the Gnome now proceeds to stir up trouble. Compare
Canto I, ll. 63-64.
The bitter east wind which put every one
20 into a bad humor was supposed to be one of
the main causes of the spleen.
23 She the goddess of the spleen. Compare l. 79.
84 Megrim headache.
29 store a large supply.
the modern dressing-gown. The line means
that whenever a fashionable beauty bought a
38 night-dress new dressing-gown she pretended to be ill in
order to show her new possession to
sympathetic friends who called on her.
these are the visions, dreadful or delightful,
40 phantoms of the disordered imagination produced by
spleen.
like the serpent which Milton describes in
snakes on
43 Paradise Lost, IX, 501-502, "erect amidst
rolling spires
his circling spires."
46 angels in angels coming to help their votaries. The
machines word "machine" here has an old-fashioned
technical sense. It was first used to describe
the apparatus by which a god was let down
upon the stage of the Greek theater. Since a

god was only introduced at a critical moment
to help the distressed hero, the phrase, "deus
ex machina," came to mean a god who
rendered aid. Pope transfers it here to angels.
Pope now describes the mad fancies of
47 throngs people so affected by spleen as to imagine
themselves transformed to inanimate objects.
a little jar. Homer (Iliad, XVIII, 373-377)
tells how Vulcan had made twenty
51 pipkin wonderful tripods on living wheels that
moved from place to place of their own
accord.
Pope in a note to this poem says that a lady
52 of his time actually imagined herself to be a
goose-pie.
so Æneas bore a magic branch to protect him
56 A branch when he descended to the infernal regions
(Æneid, VI, 136-143).
a sort of fern which was once supposed to be
Spleenwort
a remedy against the spleen.
58 the sex women.
a form of spleen to which women were
supposed to be peculiarly liable, something
59 vapours like our modern hysteria. It seems to have
taken its name from the fogs of England
which were thought to cause it.
Belinda, who had always been so light-
65 a nymph hearted that she had never been a victim of
the spleen.
a liqueur made by distilling brandy with the
89 Citron-waters rind of citrons. It was a fashionable drink for
ladies at this time.
71 Made men suspicious of their wives.
82 Ulysses Homer (Odyssey, X, 1-25) tells how Æolus,
the god of the winds, gave Ulysses a wallet
of oxhide in which all the winds that might

oppose his journey homeward were closely
bound up.
the name of a warlike queen of the Amazons.
Pope uses it here for a friend of Belinda's,
89 Thalestris who excites her to revenge herself for the
rape of her lock. It is said that this friend was
a certain Mrs. Morley.
curl papers used to be fastened with strips of
102 loads of lead
lead.
105 Honour female reputation.
109 toast a slang term in Pope's day for a reigning
beauty whose health was regularly drunk by
her admirers. Steele (Tatler, No. 24) says
that the term had its rise from an accident
that happened at Bath in the reign of Charles
II. A famous beauty was bathing there in
public, and one of her admirers filled a glass
with the water in which she stood and drank
her health.

"There was in the place," says Steele "a
gay fellow, half-fuddled, who offered to
jump in, and swore though he liked not
the liquor, he would have the Toast. He
was opposed in his resolution; yet this
whim gave foundation to the present
honor which is done to the lady we
mention in our liquors, who has ever
since been called a Toast."

To understand the point of the story one
must know that it was an old custom to put a
bit of toast in hot drinks.

In this line in the poem Thalestris insinuates
that if Belinda submits tamely to the rape of

the lock, her position as a toast will be
forfeited.
Thalestris supposes that the baron will have
the lock set in a ring under a bit of crystal.
113-116
Old-fashioned hair-rings of this kind are still
to be seen.
the Ring of Canto I, l. 44. Grass was not
Hyde-park
117 likely to grow there so long as it remained
Circus
the fashionable place to drive.
within hearing of the bells of the church of
St. Mary le Bow in Cheapside. So far back
as Ben Jonson's time (Eastward Ho, I, ii, 36)
in the sound
118 it was the mark of the unfashionable middle-
of Bow
class citizen to live in this quarter. A "wit" in
Queen Anne's day would have scorned to
lodge there.
this was Sir George Brown, brother of Mrs.
Morley (Thalestris). He was not unnaturally
offended at the picture drawn of him in this
poem. Pope told a friend many years later
that
121 Sir Plume
"nobody was angry but Sir George
Brown, and he was a good deal so, and
for a long time. He could not bear that
Sir Plume should talk nothing but
nonsense."

a cane of polished wood with cloudlike
markings. In the Tatler, Mr. Bickerstaff sits
in judgment on canes, and takes away a
cane, "curiously clouded, with a transparent
a clouded
124 amber head, and a blue ribband to hang upon
cane
his wrist," from a young gentleman as a
piece of idle foppery. There are some
amusing remarks on the "conduct" of canes
in the same essay.

The baron's oath is a parody of the oath of
133
Achilles (Iliad, I, 234).
The breaking of the bottle of sorrows, etc., is
142 the cause of Belinda's change of mood from
wrath as in l. 93 to tears, 143-144.
the gilt the painted and gilded coach in which ladies
155
Chariot took the air in London.
tea, the name comes from a range of hills in
156 Bohea China where a certain kind of tea was
grown.
the box which held the little bits of black
sticking-plaster with which ladies used to
adorn their faces. According to Addison
162 the patch-box
(Spectator, No. 81), ladies even went so far
in this fad as to patch on one side of the face
or the other, according to their politics.

Canto V

Æneas, who left Carthage in spite of the
5 the Trojan wrath of Dido and the entreaties of her sister
Anna.
Pope inserted these lines in a late revision in
1717, in order, as he said, to open more
7-36 clearly the moral of the poem. The speech of
Clarissa is a parody of a famous speech by
Sarpedon in the Iliad, XII, 310-328.
At this time the gentlemen always sat in the
14 side boxes of the theater; the ladies in the
front boxes.
As vaccination had not yet been introduced,
20 small-pox was at this time a terribly dreaded
scourge.
23 In the Spectator, No. 23, there is inserted a
mock advertisement, professing to teach the
whole art of ogling, the church ogle, the

playhouse ogle, a flying ogle fit for the ring,
etc.
Painting the face was a common practice of
the belles of this time. The Spectator, No.
24
41, contains a bitter attack on the painted
ladies whom it calls the "Picts."
a fierce, masculine woman, here used for
37 virago
Thalestris.
In the Iliad (Bk. XX) the gods are
represented as taking sides for the Greeks
45 and Trojans and fighting among themselves.
Pallas opposes Ares, or Mars; and Hermes,
Latona.
the hill on whose summit the gods were
48 Olympus supposed to dwell, often used for heaven
itself.
used here for the sea over which Neptune
50 Neptune
presided.
a sconce's the top of an ornamental bracket for holding
53
height candles.
61 Explain the metaphor in this line.
The quotation is from a song in an opera
64
called Camilla.
The Mæander is a river in Asia Minor. Ovid
65 (Heroides, VII, 1-2) represents the swan as
singing his death-song on its banks.
Chloe: a fanciful name. No real person is
68
meant.
The figure of Jove weighing the issue of a
battle in his scales is found in the Iliad, VIII,
69-73. Milton imitated it in Paradise Lost,
71 IX, 996-1004. When the men's wits mounted
it showed that they were lighter, less
important, than the lady's hair, and so were
destined to lose the battle.

This pedigree of Belinda's bodkin is a
89-96 parody of Homer's account of Agamemnon's
scepter (Iliad, II, 100-108).
In Shakespeare's play Othello fiercely
demands to see a handkerchief which he has
105-106
given his wife, and takes her inability to
show it to him as a proof of her infidelity.
the lunar sphere: it was an old superstition
that everything lost on earth went to the
moon. An Italian poet, Ariosto, uses this
113 notion in a poem with which Pope was
familiar (Orlando Furioso, Canto XXXIV),
and from which he borrowed some of his
ideas for the cave of Spleen.
Why does Pope include "tomes of casuistry"
122
in this collection?
There was a legend that Romulus never died,
but had been caught up to the skies in a
storm. Proculus, a Roman senator, said that
125
Romulus had descended from heaven and
spoken to him and then ascended again
(Livy, I, 16).
: Berenice was an Egyptian queen who
dedicated a lock of hair for her husband's
Berenice's
129 safe return from war. It was said afterward to
Locks
have become a constellation, and a Greek
poet wrote some verses on the marvel.
132 Why were the Sylphs pleased?
the upper side of St. James's park in London,
133 the Mall
a favorite place at this time for promenades.
Rosamonda's a pond near one of the gates of St. James's
136
lake park, a favorite rendezvous for lovers.
137 Partridge an almanac maker of Pope's day who was
given to prophesying future events. Shortly
before this poem was written Swift had
issued a mock almanac foretelling that

Partridge would die on a certain day. When
that day came Swift got out a pamphlet
giving a full account of Partridge's death. In
spite of the poor man's protests, Swift and
his friends kept on insisting that he was
dead. He was still living, however, when
Pope wrote this poem. Why does Pope call
him "th' egregious wizard"?
Galileo's the telescope, first used by the Italian
138
eyes astronomer Galileo.
Louis XIV of France, the great enemy of
140
England at this time.
here used to denote the Roman Catholic
Rome
Church.
an allusion to the old notion that all the stars
the shining were set in one sphere in the sky. Belinda's
143
sphere lost lock, now a star, is said to add a new
light to this sphere.
147 What are the "fair suns"?

Contents

Notes on An Essay on Criticism

Introduction

The Essay on Criticism was the first really important work that Pope gave
to the world. He had been composing verses from early boyhood, and had
actually published a set of Pastorals which had attracted some attention. He
was already known to the literary set of London coffeehouses as a young
man of keen wit and high promise, but to the reading public at large he was
as yet an unknown quantity. With the appearance of the Essay, Pope not
only sprang at once into the full light of publicity, but seized almost
undisputed that position as the first of living English poets which he was to
retain unchallenged till his death. Even after his death down to the
Romantic revival, in fact, Pope's supremacy was an article of critical faith,
and this supremacy was in no small measure founded upon the
acknowledged merits of the Essay on Criticism. Johnson, the last great
representative of Pope's own school of thought in matters literary, held that
the poet had never excelled this early work and gave it as his deliberate
opinion that if Pope had written nothing else, the Essay would have placed
him among the first poets and the first critics. The Essay on Criticism is
hardly an epoch-making poem, but it certainly "made" Alexander Pope.

The poem was published anonymously in the spring of 1711, when Pope
was twenty-three years old. There has been considerable dispute as to the
date of its composition; but the facts seem to be that it was begun in 1707
and finished in 1709 when Pope had it printed, not for publication, but for
purposes of further correction. As it stands, therefore, it represents a work
planned at the close of Pope's precocious youth, and executed and polished
in the first flush of his manhood. And it is quite fair to say that considering
the age of its author the Essay on Criticism is one of the most remarkable
works in English.

Not that there is anything particularly original about the Essay. On the
contrary, it is one of the most conventional of all Pope's works. It has
nothing of the lively fancy of The Rape of the Lock, little or nothing of the
personal note which stamps the later satires and epistles as so peculiarly
Pope's own. Apart from its brilliant epigrammatic expression the Essay on
Criticism might have been written by almost any man of letters in Queen
Anne's day who took the trouble to think a little about the laws of literature,
and who thought about those laws strictly in accordance with the accepted
conventions of his time. Pope is not in the least to be blamed for this lack of
originality. Profound original criticism is perhaps the very last thing to be
expected of a brilliant boy, and Pope was little more when he planned this
work. But boy as he was, he had already accomplished an immense amount
of desultory reading, not only in literature proper, but in literary criticism as
well. He told Spence in later years that in his youth he had gone through all
the best critics, naming especially Quintilian, Rapin, and Bossu. A mere
cursory reading of the Essay shows that he had also studied Horace, Vida,
and Boileau. Before he began to write he had, so he told Spence, "digested
all the matter of the poem into prose." In other words, then, the Essay on
Criticism is at once the result of Pope's early studies, the embodiment of the
received literary doctrines of his age, and, as a consecutive study of his
poems shows, the programme in accordance with which, making due
allowance for certain exceptions and inconsistencies, he evolved the main
body of his work.

It would, however, be a mistake to treat, as did Pope's first editor, the Essay
on Criticism as a methodical, elaborate, and systematic treatise. Pope,
indeed, was flattered to have a scholar of such recognized authority as
Warburton to interpret his works, and permitted him to print a commentary
upon the Essay, which is quite as long and infinitely duller than the original.
But the true nature of the poem is indicated by its title. It is not an Art of
Poetry such as Boileau composed, but an Essay. And by the word "essay,"
Pope meant exactly what Bacon did, — a tentative sketch, a series of
detached thoughts upon a subject, not a complete study or a methodical
treatise. All that we know of Pope's method of study, habit of thought, and
practice of composition goes to support this opinion. He read widely but
desultorily; thought swiftly and brilliantly, but illogically and

inconsistently; and composed in minute sections, on the backs of letters and
scraps of waste paper, fragments which he afterward united, rather than
blended, to make a complete poem, a mosaic, rather than a picture.

Yet the Essay is by no means the "collection of independent maxims tied
together by the printer, but having no natural order," which De Quincey
pronounced it to be. It falls naturally into three parts. The first deals with
the rules derived by classic critics from the practice of great poets, and ever
since of binding force both in the composition and in the criticism of poetry.
The second analyzes with admirable sagacity the causes of faulty criticism
as pride, imperfect learning, prejudice, and so on. The third part discusses
the qualities which a true critic should possess, good taste, learning,
modesty, frankness, and tact, and concludes with a brief sketch of the
history of criticism from Aristotle to Walsh. This is the general outline of
the poem, sufficient, I think, to show that it is not a mere bundle of poetic
formulæ. But within these broad limits the thought of the poem wanders
freely, and is quite rambling, inconsistent, and illogical enough to show that
Pope is not formulating an exact and definitely determined system of
thought.

Such indeed was, I fancy, hardly his purpose. It was rather to give clear,
vivid, and convincing expression to certain ideas which were at that time
generally accepted as orthodox in the realm of literary criticism. No better
expression of these ideas can be found anywhere than in the Essay itself,
but a brief statement in simple prose of some of the most important may
serve as a guide to the young student of the essay.

In the first place, the ultimate source alike of poetry and criticism is a
certain intuitive faculty, common to all men, though more highly developed
in some than others, called Reason, or, sometimes, Good Sense. The first
rule for the budding poet or critic is "Follow Nature." This, by the way,
sounds rather modern, and might be accepted by any romantic poet. But by
"Nature" was meant not at all the natural impulses of the individual, but
those rules founded upon the natural and common reason of mankind which
the ancient critics had extracted and codified from the practice of the
ancient poets. Pope says explicitly "to follow nature is to follow them;" and

Essay on Criticism seriously.

And yet it has even for us of to-day a real value. Our age absolutely lacks a
standard of literary criticism; and of all standards the one least likely to be
accepted is that of Pope and his fellow-believers. Individual taste reigns
supreme in this democratic age, and one man's judgment is as good as,
perhaps a little better than, another's. But even this democratic and
individual age may profit by turning back for a time to consider some of the
general truths, as valid to-day as ever, to which Pope gave such inimitable
expression, or to study the outlines of that noble picture of the true critic
which St. Beuve declared every professed critic should frame and hang up
in his study. An age which seems at times upon the point of throwing
classical studies overboard as useless lumber might do far worse than listen
to the eloquent tribute which the poet pays to the great writers of antiquity.
And finally nothing could be more salutary for an age in which literature
itself has caught something of the taint of the prevailing commercialism
than to bathe itself again in that spirit of sincere and disinterested love of
letters which breathes throughout the Essay and which, in spite of all his
errors, and jealousies, and petty vices, was the master-passion of Alexander
Pope.

line reference meaning
the word has here its original meaning of "judge,"
6 censure
not its modern "judge severely" or "blame."
Because each foolish poem provokes a host of
8
foolish commentators and critics.
15- This assertion that only a good writer can be a fair
16 critic is not to be accepted without reservation.
17 wit The word "wit" has a number of different
meanings in this poem, and the student should be
careful to discriminate between them. It means

1. mind, intellect, l. 61;
2. learning, culture, l 727;

3. imagination, genius, l. 82;
4. the power to discover amusing analogies, or
the apt expression of such an analogy, ll. 449,
297;
5. a man possessed of wit in its various
significations, l. 45;

this last form usually occurs in the plural, ll. 104,
539.
the maze of the labyrinth of conflicting systems of thought,
26
schools especially of criticism.
coxcombs ... what is the difference in meaning between these
21
fools words in this passage?
In this couplet Pope hits off the spiteful envy of
conceited critics toward successful writers. If the
30- critic can write himself, he hates the author as a
31 rival; if he cannot, he entertains against him the
deep grudge an incapable man so often cherishes
toward an effective worker.
a poetaster whose name has been handed down by
Virgil and Horace. His name, like that of his
34 Mævius
associate, Bavius, has become a by-word for a
wretched scribbler.
here thought of as the god of poetry. The true poet
was inspired by Apollo; but a poetaster like
Apollo
Mævius wrote without inspiration, as it were, in
spite of the god.
40- Pope here compares "half-learned" critics to the
43 animals which old writers reported were bred
from the Nile mud. In Antony and Cleopatra, for
example, Lepidus says, "Your serpent of Egypt is
bred now of your mud by the operation of your
sun; so is your crocodile." Pope thinks of these
animals as in the unformed stage, part "kindled
into life, part a lump of mud." So these critics are
unfinished things for which no proper name can
be found. "Equivocal generation" is the old term

used to denote spontaneous generation of this sort.
Pope applies it here to critics without proper
training who spring spontaneously from the mire
of ignorance.
44 tell count
The idea is that a vain wit's tongue could out-talk
45
a hundred ordinary men's.
53 pretending wit presuming, or ambitious mind.
This is the old threefold division of the human
memory ... mind. Pope means that where one of these
56-
understanding faculties is above the average in any individual,
58
imagination another of them is sure to fall below. Is this
always the case?
63 peculiar arts special branches of knowledge.
In what sense can nature be called the source, the
73
end, and the test of art?
th' informing
76 explanation
soul
80- What two meanings are attached to "wit" in this
81 couplet?
84 'Tis more it is more important.
Pegasus, the winged horse of Greek mythology,
the Muse's
was supposed to be the horse of the Muses and
steed
came to be considered a symbol of poetic genius.
86 gen'rous high-bred.
What is the difference between "discovered" and
88
"devised"?
the Muses were supposed to dwell on the top of
Parnassus, a mountain in Greece. Great poets are
94 Parnassus' top
here thought of as having climbed the mountain to
dwell with the Muses.
96 What is (cf. text) "the immortal prize"?
i. e. learned Greece, especially Greek criticism,
which obtained the rules of poetry from the
99 She
practice of great poets, and, as it were,
systematized their inspiration.

104 following wits later scholars.
What is meant by "the mistress" and "the maid" in
105
this line?
109 Doctor's bills prescriptions.
These are the prosy commentators on great poets,
112 whose dreary notes often disgust readers with the
original.
120 fable a plot.
What is the difference between "cavil" and
123
"criticise"?
the poetry of Virgil, which Pope thinks the best
the Mantuan
129 commentary on Homer. In what sense is this to be
Muse
understood?
Virgil, whose full name was Publius Vergilius
Maro, Pope here praises Virgil's well-known
130 Maro imitation of Homer. Since "nature and Homer
were the same," a young poet like Virgil could do
nothing better than copy Homer.
Aristotle, a native of Stagyra, was the first and
one of the greatest of literary critics. His "rules"
138 the Stagirite were drawn from the practice of great poets, and
so, according to Pope, to imitate Homer was to
obey the "ancient rules."
There are some beauties in poetry which cannot
141
be explained by criticism.
used here to express the peculiar charm of
spontaneous poetic expression as contrasted with
142 happiness
"care," 'i.e.' the art of revising and improving,
which can be taught.
152 vulgar bounds the limitations imposed upon ordinary writers.
157 out of ... rise surpass the ordinary scenes of nature.
159 Great wits poets of real genius.
160 faults here used in the sense of irregularities, exceptions
to the rules of poetry. When these are justified by
the poet's genius, true critics do not presume to
correct them. In many editions this couplet comes

after l. 151. This was Pope's first arrangement, but
he later shifted it to its present position.
the Stuart kings claimed the right to "dispense
with laws," that is, to set them aside in special
instances. In 1686 eleven out of twelve English
judges decided in a test case that "it is a privilege
inseparably connected with the sovereignty of the
king to dispense with penal laws, and that
162 As Kings
according to his own judgment." The English
people very naturally felt that such a privilege
opened the door to absolute monarchy, and after
the fall of James II, Parliament declared in 1689
that "the pretended power of suspending of laws
... without the consent of Parliament, is illegal."
the purpose of every law of poetry, namely, to
please the reader. This purpose must not be
164 its End
"transgressed," 'i.e.' forgotten by those who wish
to make exceptions to these laws.
166 their precedent the example of classic poets.
things in the classic poets which to carping critics
stratagems ...
179 seem faults are often clever devices to make a
error
deeper impression on the reader.
Horace in his Art of Poetry used this figure to
imply that even the greatest poet sometimes made
180 Homer nods
mistakes. Pope very neatly suggests that it may be
the critic rather than the poet who is asleep.
used here to denote the works of the great classic
each ancient writers. The whole passage down to l. 200 is a
181
Altar noble outburst of enthusiasm for the poets whom
Pope had read so eagerly in early youth.
consenting
186 unanimous hymns of praise.
Pæans
are not destined to be discovered till some future
194 must ... found
time.
196 Who is "the last, the meanest of your sons"?
203 bias mental bent, or inclination.

This line is based upon physiological theories
which are now obsolete. According to these wind
or air supplied the lack of blood or of animal
208 spirits in imperfectly constituted bodies. To such
bodies Pope compares those ill-regulated minds
where a deficiency of learning and natural ability
is supplied by self-conceit.
the spring of the Muses, who were called Pierides
The Pierian in Greek mythology. It is used here as a symbol
216
spring for learning, particularly for the study of
literature.
the lengths the great spaces of learning that lie behind the first
222
behind objects of our study.
This fine simile is one of the best expressions in
English verse of the modesty of the true scholar,
due to his realization of the boundless extent of
knowledge. It was such a feeling that led Sir Isaac
Newton to say after all his wonderful discoveries,

225- "I do not know what I may appear to the
232 world, but to myself I seem to have been
only like a boy playing on the seashore and
diverting myself in now and then finding a
smoother pebble or a prettier shell than
ordinary whilst the great ocean of truth lay
all the time undiscovered before me."

224 peculiar parts individual parts.
there are so many splendid churches in Rome that
an inhabitant of this city would be less inclined
than a stranger to wonder at the perfect
ev'n thine, O proportions of any of them. But there are two, at
248
Rome least, the Pantheon and St. Peter's, which might
justly evoke the admiration even of a Roman. It
was probably of one of these that Pope was
thinking.

What is the difference between "principles" and
265
"notions" in this line?
Don Quixote. The anecdote that follows is not
taken from Cervantes' novel, but from a
continuation of it by an author calling himself
Avellanada. The story is that Don Quixote once
fell in with a scholar who had written a play about
a persecuted queen of Bohemia. Her innocence in
the original story was established by a combat in
the lists, but this the poet proposed to omit as
La Mancha's contrary to the rules of Aristotle. The Don,
265
Knight although professing great respect for Aristotle,
insisted that the combat was the best part of the
story and must be acted, even if a special theater
had to be built for the purpose, or the play given
in the open fields. Pope quotes this anecdote to
show how some critics in spite of their professed
acceptance of general rules are so prejudiced in
favor of a minor point as to judge a whole work of
art from one standpoint only.
John Dennis, a playwright and critic of Pope's
time. Pope and he were engaged in frequent
quarrels, but this first reference to him in Pope's
270 Dennis works is distinctly complimentary. The line
probably refers to some remarks by Dennis on the
Grecian stage in his Impartial Critic, a pamphlet
published in 1693.
discriminating; in l. 286 the meaning is "over-
273 nice
scrupulous, finicky."
according to the laws of dramatic composition
generally accepted in Pope's day, a play must
observe the unities of subject, place, and time.
That is, it must have one main theme, not a
276 unities
number of diverse stories, for its plot; all the
scenes must be laid in one place, or as nearly so as
possible; and the action must be begun and
finished within the space of twenty-four hours.

286 curious fastidious, over-particular.
by too diligent attention to particular parts of a
by a love to
288 work of art, which hinders them from forming a
parts
true judgment of the work as a whole.
an uncommon or fantastic expression of thought.
"Conceits" had been much sought after by the
289 conceit
poets who wrote in the first half of the
seventeenth century.
here opposed to the "conceit" of which Pope has
297 True Wit been speaking. It is defined as a natural idea
expressed in fit words.
whose truth ... of whose truth we find ourselves at once
299
find convinced.
take upon
308 take for granted.
content
Show how Pope uses the simile of the "prismatic
311-
glass" to distinguish between "false eloquence"
317
and "true expression."
319 decent becoming
a character in Ben Jonson's Every Man out of his
Humour. He is the son of a miserly farmer, and
328 Fungoso
tries hard, though all in vain, to imitate the dress
and manners of a fine gentleman.
329 These sparks these would-be dandies.
337 Numbers rhythm, meter.
haunt read poetry. — ear:' note that in Pope's day this
341
Parnassus word rhymed with "repair" and "there."
344 these critics who care for the meter only in poetry insist
on the proper number of syllables in a line, no
matter what sort of sound or sense results. For
instance, they do not object to a series of "open
vowels," i. e. hiatuses caused by the juxtaposition
of such words as "tho" and "oft," "the" and "ear."
Line 345 is composed especially to show how
feeble a rhythm results from such a succession of
"open vowels." They do not object to bolstering

up a line with "expletives," such as "do" in l. 346,
nor to using ten "low words," i.e. short,
monosyllabic words to make up a line.
With this line Pope passes unconsciously from
speaking of bad critics to denouncing some of the
347
errors of bad poets, who keep on using hackneyed
phrases and worn-out metrical devices.
a line of six iambic feet, such as l. 357, written
356 Alexandrine especially to illustrate this form. Why does Pope
use the adjective "needless" here?
Waller and Denham were poets of the century
before Pope; they are almost forgotten to-day, but
were extravagantly admired in his time. Waller
began and Denham continued the fashion of
Denham's writing in "closed" heroic couplets, i.e. in verses
strength ... where the sense is for the most part contained
361
Waller's within one couplet and does not run over into the
sweetness next as had been the fashion in earlier verse.
Dryden said that "the excellence and dignity of
rhyme were never fully known till Mr. Waller
taught it," and the same critic spoke of Denham's
poetry as "majestic and correct."
one of the heroes of the Iliad. He is represented
more than once as hurling huge stones at his
enemies. Note that Pope has endeavored in this
370 Ajax
and the following line to convey the sense of
effort and struggle. What means does he employ?
Do you think he succeeds?
a heroine who appears in the latter part of the
Æneid fighting against the Trojan invaders of
Italy. Virgil says that she was so swift of foot that
she might have run over a field of wheat without
372 Camilla
breaking the stalks, or across the sea without
wetting her feet. Pope attempts in l. 373 to
reproduce in the sound and movement of his verse
the sense of swift flight.

a Greek poet and singer who was said to have
played and sung before Alexander the Great. The
374 Timotheus
reference in this passage is to Dryden's famous
poem, Alexander's Feast.
Alexander the Great, who boasted that he was the
son of Jupiter. The famous oracle of Jupiter
the son of
376 Ammon situated in the Libyan desert was visited
Libyan Jove
by Alexander, who was said to have learned there
the secret of his parentage.
this fine compliment is paid to a poet whom Pope
was proud to acknowledge as his master. "I
learned versification wholly from Dryden's
383 Dryden works," he once said. Pope's admiration for
Dryden dated from early youth, and while still a
boy he induced a friend to take him to see the old
poet in his favorite coffee-house.
not used in our modern sense, but in its original
meaning, "to wonder at." According to Pope, it is
391 admire only fools who are lost in wonder at the beauties
of a poem; wise men "approve," i.e. test and
pronounce them good.
Pope acknowledged that in these lines he was
396- alluding to the uncharitable belief of his fellow-
7 Catholics that all outside the fold of the Catholic
church were sure to be damned.
400 sublimes purifies
404 each each age.
joins with
415 takes sides with "the quality," i.e. people of rank.
Quality
Are so clever that they refuse to accept the
429 common and true belief, and so forfeit their
salvation.
the reference is to a mediaeval treatise on
Theology, by Peter Lombard, called the Book of
441 sentences
Sentences. It was long used as a university text-
book.

mediæval scholars, followers respectively of Duns
Scotus and Thomas Aquinas. A long dispute raged
between their disciples. In this couplet Pope
points out that the dispute is now forgotten, and
Scotists and the books of the old disputants lie covered with
444
Thomists cobwebs in Duck-lane, a street in London where
second-hand books were sold in Pope's day. He
calls the cobwebs "kindred," because the
arguments of Thomists and Scotists were as fine
spun as a spider's web.
"The latest fashionable folly is the test, or the
proof, of a quick, up-to-date wit." In other words,
449
to be generally accepted an author must accept the
current fashion, foolish though it may be.
This was especially true in Pope's day when
literature was so closely connected with politics
457 that an author's work was praised or blamed not
upon its merits, but according to his, and the
critic's, politics.
Dryden, the head of English letters in the
generation before Pope, had been bitterly assailed
on various charges by parsons, like Jeremy
Parsons,
459 Collier, critics like Milbourn, and fine gentlemen
Critics, Beaus
like the Duke of Buckingham. But his works
remained when the jests that were made against
them were forgotten.
Sir Richard Blackmore, a famous doctor in
Dryden's day, was also a very dull and
voluminous writer. He attacked Dryden in a poem
463
called A Satire against Wit. Luke Milbourn was a
clergyman of the same period, who abused
Dryden's translation of Virgil.
465 Zoilus a Greek critic who attacked Homer.
481 The English language and the public taste had
changed very rapidly during the century preceding
Pope. He imagined that these changes would
continue so that no poet's reputation would last

longer than a man's life, "bare threescore," and
Dryden's poetry would come to be as hard to
understand and as little read as Chaucer's at that
time. It is worth noting that both Dryden and Pope
rewrote parts of Chaucer in modern English.
Explain why "wit" is feared by wicked men and
506-
shunned by the virtuous, hated by fools, and
7
"undone" or ruined by knaves.
521 sacred accursed, like the Latin sacer.
527 spleen bad temper.
the reign of Charles II, as ll. 536-537 show, when
534 the fat age
literature became notoriously licentious.
loose women like Lady Castlemaine and the
Duchess of Portsmouth had great influence on the
Jilts ...
538 politics of Charles II's time, and statesmen of that
statesmen
day like Buckingham and Etheredge wrote
comedies.
it was not uncommon in Restoration times for
ladies to wear a mask in public, especially at the
541 mask
theater. Here the word is used to denote the
woman who wore a mask.
the reign of William III, a Dutchman. Pope, as a
Tory and a Catholic, hated the memory of
a Foreign
544 William, and here asserts, rather unfairly, that his
reign
age was marked by an increase of heresy and
infidelity.
the name of two famous heretics, uncle and
545 Socinus nephew, of the sixteenth century, who denied the
divinity of Christ.
Pope insinuates here that the clergy under William
III hated an absolute monarch so much that they
549
even encouraged their hearers to question the
absolute power of God.
551 admir'd see note to l. 391.
552 Wit's Titans wits who defied heaven as the old Titans did the
gods. The reference is to a group of freethinkers

who came into prominence in King William's
reign.
scandalously so over-particular as to find cause for scandal
556
nice where none exists.
mistake an
mistakenly read into an author vicious ideas
557 author into
which are not really to be found in his work.
vice
Things that men really do not know must be
575 brought forward modestly as if they had only been
forgotten for a time.
577 that only good-breeding alone
a nickname for John Dennis, taken from his
tragedy, Appius and Virginia, which appeared two
years before the Essay on Criticism. Lines 585-
585 Appius
587 hit off some of the personal characteristics of
this hot-tempered critic. "Tremendous" was a
favorite word with Dennis.
588 tax blame, find fault with.
In Pope's time noblemen could take degrees at the
591 English universities without passing the regular
examinations.
Dryden's Fables published in 1700 represented
the very best narrative poetry of the greatest poet
617 of his day. D'Urfey's Tales, on the other hand,
published in 1704 and 1706, were collections of
dull and obscene doggerel by a wretched poet.
618 with him according to "the bookful blockhead."
a well-known doctor of the day, who wrote a
much admired mock-heroic poem called The
619 Garth
Dispensary. His enemies asserted that he was not
really the author of the poem.
Such foolish critics are just as ready to pour out
their opinions on a man in St. Paul's cathedral as
623
in the bookseller's shops in the square around the
church, which is called St. Paul's churchyard.
632 proud to know proud of his knowledge.

636 humanly an old form for "humanely."
642 love to praise a love of praising men.
Homer. Mæonia, or Lydia, was a district in Asia
648 Mæonian Star which was said to have been the birthplace of
Homer.
conquered Aristotle was a master of all the knowledge of
652
Nature nature extant in his day.
the famous Latin poet whose Ars Poetica was one
653 Horace
of Pope's models for the Essay on Criticism.
phlegm, according to old ideas of physiology, one
of the four "humours" or fluids which composed
662 fle'me
the body. Where it abounded it made men dull and
heavy, or as we still say "phlegmatic."
A rather confused couplet. It means, "Horace
663- suffers as much by the misquotations critics make
4 from his work as by the bad translations that wits
make of them."
Dionysius of Halicarnassus, a famous Greek
665 Dionysius critic. Pope's manner of reference to him seems to
show that he had never read his works.
a courtier and man of letters of the time of Nero.
667 Petronius Only a few lines of his remaining work contain
any criticism.
Quintilian's the Institutiones Oratoriæ of Quintilianus, a
669
work famous Latin critic of the first century A.D.
a Greek critic of the third century A.D., who
composed a famous work called A Treatise on the
Sublime. It is a work showing high imagination as
675 Longinus
well as careful reasoning, and hence Pope speaks
of the author as inspired by the Nine, i. e. the
Muses.
692 The willful hatred of the monks for the works of
classical antiquity tended to complete that
destruction of old books which the Goths began
when they sacked the Roman cities. Many ancient
writings were erased, for example, in order to get

parchment for monkish chronicles and
commentaries.
perhaps the greatest scholar of the Renaissance.
Pope calls him the "glory of the priesthood" on
account of his being a monk of such extraordinary
693 Erasmus
learning, and "the shame" of his order, because he
was so abused by monks in his lifetime. Is this a
good antithesis?
the pontificate of Leo X (1513-1521). Leo himself
was a generous patron of art and learning. He paid
particular attention to sacred music (l. 703), and
Leo's golden engaged Raphael to decorate the Vatican with
697
days frescoes. Vida (l. 704) was an Italian poet of his
time, who became famous by the excellence of his
Latin verse. One of his poems was on the art of
poetry, and it is to this that Pope refers in l. 706.
707- Cremona was the birthplace of Vida; Mantua, of
8 Virgil.
The allusion is to the sack of Rome by the
709 Constable Bourbon's army in 1527. This marked
the end of the golden age of arts in Italy.
a French poet and critic (1636-1711). His L'Art
714 Boileau
Poetique is founded on Horace's Ars Poetica.
i. e. the genius, of John Sheffield (1649-1720),
Duke of Buckingham (not to be confounded with
723 the Muse
Dryden's enemy). Line 724 is quoted from his
Essay on Poetry.
Wentworth Dillon (1633-1684), Earl of
725 Roscommon Roscommon, author of a translation of the Ars
Poetica and of An Essay on Translated Verse.
729 Walsh a commonplace poet (1663-1708), but apparently
a good critic. Dryden, in fact, called him the best
critic in the nation. He was an early friend and
judicious adviser of Pope himself, who showed
him much of his early work, including the first
draft of this very poem. Pope was sincerely

attached to him, and this tribute to his dead friend
is marked by deep and genuine feeling.
such as this Essay on Criticism instead of longer
and more ambitious poems which Pope planned
short and in part executed in his boyhood. There is no
738
excursions reason to believe with Mr. Elwin that this passage
proves that Pope formed the design of the poem
after the death of Walsh.

Contents

Notes on An Essay on Man, Epistle I

Introduction

The Essay on Man is the longest and in some ways the most important work
of the third period of Pope's career. It corresponds closely to his early work,
the Essay on Criticism. Like the earlier work, the Essay on Man is a
didactic poem, written primarily to diffuse and popularize certain ideas of
the poet. As in the earlier work these ideas are by no means original with
Pope, but were the common property of a school of thinkers in his day. As
in the Essay on Criticism, Pope here attempts to show that these ideas have
their origin in nature and are consistent with the common sense of man.
And finally the merit of the later work, even more than of the earlier, is due
to the force and brilliancy of detached passages rather than to any coherent,
consistent, and well-balanced system which it presents.

The close of the seventeenth century and beginning of the eighteenth was
marked by a change of ground in the sphere of religious controversy. The
old debates between the Catholic and Protestant churches gradually died out
as these two branches of Western Christianity settled down in quiet
possession of the territory they still occupy. In their place arose a vigorous
controversy on the first principles of religion in general, on the nature of
God, the origin of evil, the place of man in the universe, and the respective
merits of optimism and pessimism as philosophic theories. The
controversialists as a rule either rejected or neglected the dogmas of
revealed religion and based their arguments upon real or supposed facts of
history, physical nature, and the mental processes and moral characteristics
of man. In this controversy the two parties at times were curiously mingled.
Orthodox clergymen used arguments which justified a strong suspicion of
their orthodoxy; and avowed freethinkers bitterly disclaimed the imputation
of atheism and wrote in terms that might be easily adopted by a devout

believer.

Into this controversy Pope was led by his deepening intimacy with
Bolingbroke, who had returned from France in 1725 and settled at his
country place within a few miles of Twickenham. During his long exile
Bolingbroke had amused himself with the study of moral philosophy and
natural religion, and in his frequent intercourse with Pope he poured out his
new-found opinions with all the fluency, vigor, and polish which made him
so famous among the orators and talkers of the day. Bolingbroke's views
were for that time distinctly heterodox, and, if logically developed, led to
complete agnosticism. But he seems to have avoided a complete statement
of his ideas to Pope, possibly for fear of shocking or frightening the
sensitive little poet who still remained a professed Catholic. Pope, however,
was very far from being a strict Catholic, and indeed prided himself on the
breadth and liberality of his opinions. He was, therefore, at once fascinated
and stimulated by the eloquent conversation of Bolingbroke, and resolved
to write a philosophical poem in which to embody the ideas they held in
common. Bolingbroke approved of the idea, and went so far as to furnish
the poet with seven or eight sheets of notes "to direct the plan in general
and to supply matter for particular epistles." Lord Bathurst, who knew both
Pope and Bolingbroke, went so far as to say in later years that the Essay
was originally composed by Bolingbroke in prose and that Pope only put it
into verse. But this is undoubtedly an exaggeration of what Pope himself
frankly acknowledged, that the poem was composed under the influence of
Bolingbroke, that in the main it reflected his opinions, and that Bolingbroke
had assisted him in the general plan and in numerous details. Very properly,
therefore, the poem is addressed to Bolingbroke and begins and closes with
a direct address to the poet's "guide, philosopher, and friend."

In substance the Essay on Man is a discussion of the moral order of the
world. Its purpose is "to vindicate the ways of God to man," and it may
therefore be regarded as an attempt to confute the skeptics who argued from
the existence of evil in the world and the wretchedness of man's existence to
the impossibility of belief in an all-good and all-wise God. It attempts to do
this, not by an appeal to revelation or the doctrines of Christianity, but
simply on the basis of a common-sense interpretation of the facts of
existence.

A brief outline of the poem will show the general tenor of Pope's argument.

The first epistle deals with the nature and state of man with respect to the
universe. It insists on the limitations of man's knowledge, and the
consequent absurdity of his presuming to murmur against God. It teaches
that the universe was not made for man, but that man with all his apparent
imperfections is exactly fitted to the place which he occupies in the
universe. In the physical universe all things work together for good,
although certain aspects of nature seem evil to man, and likewise in the
moral universe all things, even man's passions and crimes conduce to the
general good of the whole. Finally it urges calm submission and
acquiescence in what is hard to understand, since "one truth is clear, —
whatever is, is right."

The second epistle deals with the nature of man as an individual. It begins
by urging men to abandon vain questionings of God's providence and to
take up the consideration of their own natures, for "the proper study of
mankind is man." Pope points out that the two cardinal principles of man's
nature are self-love and reason, the first an impelling, the second a
regulating power. The aim of both these principles is pleasure, by which
Pope means happiness, which he takes for the highest good. Each man is
dominated by a master passion, and it is the proper function of reason to
control this passion for good and to make it bear fruit in virtue. No man is
wholly virtuous or vicious, and Heaven uses the mingled qualities of men to
bind them together in mutual interdependence, and makes the various
passions and imperfections of mankind serve the general good. And the
final conclusion is that "though man's a fool, yet God is wise."

The third epistle treats of the nature of man with respect to society. All
creatures, Pope asserts, are bound together and live not for themselves
alone, but man is preeminently a social being. The first state of man was the
state of nature when he lived in innocent ignorance with his fellow-
creatures. Obeying the voice of nature, man learned to copy and improve
upon the instincts of the animals, to build, to plow, to spin, to unite in
societies like those of ants and bees. The first form of government was
patriarchal; then monarchies arose in which virtue, "in arms or arts," made

one man ruler over many. In either case the origin of true government as of
true religion was love. Gradually force crept in and uniting with superstition
gave rise to tyranny and false religions. Poets and patriots, however,
restored the ancient faith and taught power's due use by showing the
necessity of harmony in the state. Pope concludes by asserting the folly of
contention for forms of government or modes of faith. The common end of
government as of religion is the general good. It may be noticed in passing
that Pope's account of the evolution of society bears even less relation to
historical facts than does his account of the development of literature in the
Essay on Criticism.

The last epistle discusses the nature of happiness, "our being's end and
aim." Happiness is attainable by all men who think right and mean well. It
consists not in individual, but in mutual pleasure. It does not consist in
external things, mere gifts of fortune, but in health, peace, and competence.
Virtuous men are, indeed, subject to calamities of nature; but God cannot be
expected to suspend the operation of general laws to spare the virtuous.
Objectors who would construct a system in which all virtuous men are
blest, are challenged to define the virtuous and to specify what is meant by
blessings. Honors, nobility, fame, superior talents, often merely serve to
make their possessors unhappy. Virtue alone is happiness, and virtue
consists in a recognition of the laws of Providence, and in love for one's
fellow-man.

Even this brief outline will show, I think, some of the inconsistencies and
omissions of Pope's train of thought. A careful examination of his
arguments in detail would be wholly out of place here. The reader who
wishes to pursue the subject further may consult Warburton's elaborate
vindication of Pope's argument, and Elwin's equally prosy refutation, or
better still the admirable summary by Leslie Stephen in the chapter on this
poem in his life of Pope (English Men of Letters). No one is now likely to
turn to the writer of the early eighteenth century for a system of the
universe, least of all to a writer so incapable of exact or systematic thinking
as Alexander Pope. If the Essay on Man has any claim to be read to-day, it
must be as a piece of literature pure and simple. For philosophy and poetry
combined, Browning and Tennyson lie nearer to our age and mode of
thought than Pope.

Even regarded as a piece of literature the Essay on Man cannot, I think,
claim the highest place among Pope's works. It obtained, indeed, a success
at home and abroad such as was achieved by no other English poem until
the appearance of Childe Harold. It was translated into French, German,
Italian, Portuguese, Polish, and Latin. It was imitated by Wieland, praised
by Voltaire, and quoted by Kant. But this success was due in part to the
accuracy with which it reflected ideas which were the common property of
its age, in part to the extraordinary vigor and finish of its epigrams, which
made it one of the most quotable of English poems. But as a whole the
Essay is not a great poem. The poet is evidently struggling with a subject
that is too weighty for him, and at times he staggers and sinks beneath his
burden. The second and third books in particular are, it must be confessed,
with the exception of one or two fine outbursts, little better than dull, and
dullness is not a quality one is accustomed to associate with Pope. The
Essay on Man lacks the bright humor and imaginative artistry of The Rape
of the Lock, and the lively portraiture, vigorous satire, and strong personal
note of the Moral Epistles and Imitations of Horace. Pope is at his best
when he is dealing with a concrete world of men and women as they lived
and moved in the London of his day; he is at his worst when he is
attempting to seize and render abstract ideas.

Yet the Essay on Man is a very remarkable work. In the first place, it shows
Pope's wonderful power of expression. No one can read the poem for the
first time without meeting on page after page phrases and epigrams which
have become part of the common currency of our language. Pope's
"precision and firmness of touch," to quote the apt statement of Leslie
Stephen, "enables him to get the greatest possible meaning into a narrow
compass. He uses only one epithet, but it is the right one." Even when the
thought is commonplace enough, the felicity of the expression gives it a
new and effective force. And there are whole passages where Pope rises
high above the mere coining of epigrams. As I have tried to show in my
notes he composed by separate paragraphs, and when he chances upon a
topic that appeals to his imagination or touches his heart, we get an outburst
of poetry that shines in splendid contrast to the prosaic plainness of its
surroundings. Such, for example, are the noble verses that tell of the
immanence of God in his creation at the close of the first epistle, or the

magnificent invective against tyranny and superstition in the third (ll. 241-
268).

Finally the Essay on Man is of interest in what it tells us of Pope himself.
Mr. Elwin's idea that in the Essay on Man Pope, "partly the dupe, partly the
accomplice of Bolingbroke," was attempting craftily to undermine the
foundations of religion, is a notion curiously compounded of critical
blindness and theological rancor. In spite of all its incoherencies and
futilities the Essay is an honest attempt to express Pope's opinions,
borrowed in part, of course, from his admired friend, but in part the current
notions of his age, on some of the greatest questions that have perplexed the
mind of man. And Pope's attitude toward the questions is that of the best
minds of his day, at once religious, independent, and sincere. He
acknowledges the omnipotence and benevolence of God, confesses the
limitations and imperfections of human knowledge, teaches humility in the
presence of unanswerable problems, urges submission to Divine
Providence, extols virtue as the true source of happiness, and love of man as
an essential of virtue. If we study the Essay on Man as the reasoned
argument of a philosopher, we shall turn from it with something like
contempt; if we read it as the expression of a poet's sentiments, we shall, I
think, leave it with an admiration warmer than before for a character that
has been so much abused and so little understood as that of Pope.

line reference meaning

The
Design

in the dedication of his Essays (1625) to
Bacon's Buckingham, Bacon speaks of them as the most
2
expression popular of his writings, "for that, as it seems,
they come home to men's business and bosoms."
11 anatomy dissection

Epistle
I

Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke, Pope's
1 St. John "guide, philosopher, and friend," under whose
influence the Essay on Man was composed.
5 expatiate range, wander.
Pope says that this line alludes to the subject of
this first Epistle, "the state of man here and
hereafter, disposed by Providence, though to him
unknown." The next two lines allude to the main
6 topics of the three remaining epistles, "the
constitution of the human mind ... the
temptations of misapplied self-love, and the
wrong pursuits of power, pleasure, and false
happiness."
the metaphor is drawn from hunting. Note how
9 beat ... field
it is elaborated in the following lines.
the first are the ignorant and indifferent; those
blindly creep
who "sightless soar" are the presumptuous who
12 ... sightless
reason blindly about things too high for human
soar
knowledge.
15 candid lenient, free from harsh judgments.
An adaptation of a well-known line of Milton's
16
Paradise Lost, l, 26.
Pope lays down as the basis of his system that
all argument about man or God must be based
17-23
upon what we know of man's present life, and of
God's workings in this world of ours.
the universe. Compare Hamlet, II, ii, 310, "this
29 this frame
goodly frame, the earth."
nice
30 subtle inter-relations.
dependencies
Gradations
31 exact shades of difference.
just

the mind of man, which is but a part of the
32 a part
whole universe.
according to Homer, Jove, the supreme God,
sustained the whole creation by a golden chain.
the great
33 Milton also makes use of this idea of the visible
chain
universe as linked to heaven in a golden chain,
Paradise Lost, II, 1004-1006, and 1051-1052.
yonder argent the sky spangled with silvery stars. The phrase is
41
fields borrowed from Milton, Paradise Lost, III, 460.
42 Jove the planet Jupiter.
Pope preserves here the Latin pronunciation,
satellites
four syllables, with the accent on the antepenult.
Pope here takes it for granted that our universe,
inasmuch as it is the work of God's infinite
wisdom, must be the best system possible. If this
43-40 be granted, he says, it is plain that man must
have a place somewhere in this system, and the
only question is whether "God has placed him
wrong."
Every grade in creation must be complete, so as
to join with that which is beneath and with that
45
which is above it or there would be a lack of
coherency, a break, somewhere in the system.
47 reas'ning life conscious mental life.
Pope argues here that since man is a part of the
best possible system, whatever seems wrong in
him must be right when considered in relation to
51-60
the whole order of the universe. It is only our
ignorance of this order which keeps us from
realizing this fact.
the word "movement" is understood after
55 one single
"single."
Pope here illustrates his preceding argument by
analogy. We can know no more of God's purpose
61-8
in the ordering of our lives than the animals can
know of our ordering of theirs.

One of the gods of the Egyptians was the sacred
64 Ægypt's God
bull, Apis.
worshiped as a god, like the Egyptian kings and
68 a deity
Roman emperors.
Pope now goes on to argue that on the basis of
what has been proved we ought not to regard
man as an imperfect being, but rather as one
69-76 who is perfectly adapted to his place in the
universe. His knowledge, for example, is
measured by the brief time he has to live and the
brief space he can survey.
pronounced in Pope's day as rhyming with
69 fault
"ought."
These lines are really out of place. They first
appeared after l. 98; then Pope struck them out
altogether. Just before his death he put them into
their present place on the advice of Warburton,
73-6
who probably approved of them because of their
reference to a future state of bliss. It is plain that
they interfere with the regular argument of the
poem.
This line is grammatically dependent upon
79
"hides," l. 77.
used here in the sense of "luxurious life." The
81 riot
lamb is slain to provide for some feast.
i. e. God. Hence the relative "who" in the next
86 Heav'n
line.
Pope urges man to comfort himself with hope,
92-8
seeing that he cannot know the future.
What future the words "shall be" are to be understood after
93
bliss this phrase.
96 Point out the exact meaning of this familiar line.
97 from home away from its true home, the life to come. This
line represents one of the alterations which
Warburton induced Pope to make. The poet first
wrote "confined at home," thus representing this

life as the home of the soul. His friend led him
to make the change in order to express more
clearly his belief in the soul's immortality.
Show how "rests" and "expatiates" in this line
89
contrast with "uneasy" and "confined" in l. 97.
In this famous passage Pope shows how the
belief in immortality is found even among the
most ignorant tribes. This is to Pope an
99-112 argument that the soul must be immortal, since
only Nature, or God working through Nature,
could have implanted this conception in the
Indian's mind.
the solar
102 the sun's path in the heavens.
walk
the milky some old philosophers held that the souls of
way good men went thither after death.
Pope means that the ignorant Indian had no
conception of a heaven reserved for the just such
as Greek sages and Christian believers have. All
he believes in is "an humbler heaven," where he
...
shall be free from the evils of this life. Line 108
has special reference to the tortures inflicted
upon the natives of Mexico and Peru by the
avaricious Spanish conquerors.
He is contented with a future existence, without
109-10
asking for the glories of the Christian's heaven.
impartial heaven, for the heaven of the Indians
111 equal sky
was open to all men, good or bad.
In this passage Pope blames those civilized men
who, though they should be wiser than the
113-30 Indian, murmur against the decrees of God. The
imperative verbs "weigh," "call," "say," etc., are
used satirically.
the scale, or means of judgment, which our
113 scale of sense
senses give us.
117 gust the pleasure of taste.

The murmurers are dissatisfied that man is not at
once perfect in his present state and destined to
120
immortality, although such gifts have been given
to no other creature.
reas'ning the pride of the intellect which assumes to
123
pride condemn God's providence.
In this passage Pope imagines a dialogue
between one of the proud murmurers he has
described and himself. His opponent insists that
the world was made primarily for man's
enjoyment (ll. 132-140). Pope asks whether
nature does not seem to swerve from this end of
promoting human happiness in times of
pestilence, earthquake, and tempest (ll. 141-
144). The other answers that these are only rare
exceptions to the general laws, due perhaps to
some change in nature since the world began (ll.
131-
145-148). Pope replies by asking why there
172
should not be exceptions in the moral as well as
in the physical world; may not great villains be
compared to terrible catastrophes in nature (ll.
148-156)? He goes on to say that no one but
God can answer this question, that our human
reasoning springs from pride, and that the true
course of reasoning is simply to submit (ll. 156-
164). He then suggests that "passions," by which
he means vices, are as necessary a part of the
moral order as storms of the physical world (ll.
165-172).
142 livid deaths pestilence
Pope was perhaps thinking of a terrible
earthquake and flood that had caused great loss
143-4
of life in Chili the year before this poem
appeared.
then Nature Nature departs from her regular order on such
150
deviates occasions as these catastrophes.

151 that end human happiness, as in l. 149.
Cæsar Borgia, the wicked son of Pope
Alexander VI, and Catiline are mentioned here
156
as portents in the moral world parallel to plagues
and earthquakes in the physical.
young Alexander the Great. See note on Essay on
160
Ammon Criticism, l. 376.
Why do we accuse God for permitting
163 wickedness when we do not blame Him for
permitting evil in the natural world?
166 there in nature
here in man
In this section Pope reproves those who are
dissatisfied with man's faculties. He points out
that all animals, man included, have powers
173-
suited to their position in the world (ll. 179-188),
206
and asserts that if man had keener senses than he
now has, he would be exposed to evils from
which he now is free (ll. 193-203).
176 to want to lack
177 Paraphrase this line in prose.
181 compensated accented on the antepenult.
the place which the creature occupies in the
183 the state
natural world.
195 finer optics keener power of sight.
a noun, subject of "were given," understood
197 touch
from l. 195.
pungent odors. The construction is very
condensed here; "effluvia" may be regarded like
199 quick effluvia "touch" as a subject of "were given" (l. 195); but
one would expect rather a phrase to denote a
keener sense of smell than man now possesses.
202 music of the it was an old belief that the stars and planets
spheres uttered musical notes as they moved along their
courses. These notes made up the "harmony of
the spheres." Shakespeare ('Merchant of Venice',

V, 64-5) says that our senses are too dull to hear
it. Pope, following a passage in Cicero's
Somnium Scipionis, suggests that this music is
too loud for human senses.
Pope now goes on to show how in the animal
world there is an exact gradation of the faculties
207- of sense and of the powers of instinct. Man
232 alone is endowed with reason which is more
than equivalent to all these powers and makes
him lord over all animals.
The mole is almost blind; the lynx was supposed
212
to be the most keen-sighted of animals.
The lion was supposed by Pope to hunt by sight
213-4 alone as the dog by scent. What does he mean by
"the tainted green"?
Fishes are almost deaf, while birds are very
215-6
quick of hearing.
219 nice keenly discriminating.
healing dew healthful honey.
The power of instinct which is barely
221-
perceptible in the pig amounts almost to the
222
power of reason in the elephant.
pronounced like the French 'barrière', as a word
223 barrier
of two syllables with the accent on the last.
Sense ...
226 sensation and reason.
Thought
intermediate natures, which long to unite with
middle
227 those above or below them. The exact sense is
natures
not very clear.
233-58 In this passage Pope insists that the chain of
being stretches unbroken from God through man
to the lowest created forms. If any link in this
chain were broken, as would happen if men
possessed higher faculties than are now assigned
them, the whole universe would be thrown into

confusion. This is another answer to those who
complain of the imperfections of man's nature.
living. Pope does not discriminate between
234 quick
organic and inorganic matter.
240 glass microscope
Inferior beings might then press upon us. If they
242-44 did not, a fatal gap would be left by our ascent in
the scale.
Pope imagines the universe to be composed of
an infinite number of systems like ours. Since
each of these is essential to the orderly
247 each system arrangement of the universe, any disorder such
as he has imagined would have infinitely
destructive consequences. These are described in
ll. 251-257.
In these lines Pope speaks of God as the soul of
267-80 the world in an outburst of really exalted
enthusiasm that is rare enough in his work.
269 that a relative pronoun referring to "soul," l. 268.
th' ethereal
270 the heavens
frame
this has been called "a vile antithesis," on the
ground that there is no reason why hair and heart
should be contrasted. But Pope may have had in
mind the saying of Christ. "the very hairs of
as perfect in a your head are all numbered." The hairs are
276
hair as heart spoken of here as the least important part of the
body; the heart, on the other hand, has always
been thought of as the most important organ.
There is, therefore, a real antithesis between the
two.
Seraph ... the seraphim according to old commentators are
278
burns on fire with the love of God.
280 equals all makes all things equal. This does not seem
consistent with the idea of the gradations of
existence which Pope has been preaching

throughout this Epistle. Possibly it means that all
things high and low are filled alike with the
divine spirit and in this sense all things are
equal. But one must not expect to find exact and
consistent philosophy in the Essay on Man.
Here Pope sums up the argument of this Epistle,
urging man to recognize his ignorance, to be
281-94
content with his seeming imperfections, and to
realize that "whatever is, is right."
our proper
282 our happiness as men.
bliss
283 point appointed place in the universe.
286 Secure sure.
Hobbes, an English philosopher with whose
work Pope was, no doubt, acquainted, says,
289
"Nature is the art whereby God governs the
world."

Contents

An Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot

Introduction

Next to The Rape of the Lock, I think, the Epistle to Arbuthnot is the most
interesting and the most important of Pope's poems — the most important
since it shows the master poet of the age employing his ripened powers in
the field most suitable for their display, that of personal satire, the most
interesting, because, unlike his former satiric poem the Dunciad, it is not
mere invective, but gives us, as no other poem of Pope's can be said to do, a
portrait of the poet himself.

Like most of Pope's poems, the Epistle to Arbuthnot owes its existence to
an objective cause. This was the poet's wish to justify himself against a
series of savage attacks, which had recently been directed against him. If
Pope had expected by the publication of the Dunciad to crush the herd of
scribblers who had been for years abusing him, he must have been woefully
disappointed. On the contrary, the roar of insult and calumny rose louder
than ever, and new voices were added to the chorus. In the year 1733 two
enemies entered the field against Pope such as he had never yet had to
encounter — enemies of high social position, of acknowledged wit, and of a
certain, though as the sequel proved quite inadequate, talent for satire.
These were Lady Mary Wortley Montague and Lord John Hervey.

Lady Mary had been for years acknowledged as one of the wittiest, most
learned, and most beautiful women of her day. Pope seems to have met her
in 1715 and at once joined the train of her admirers. When she accompanied
her husband on his embassy to Constantinople in the following year, the
poet entered into a long correspondence with her, protesting in the most
elaborate fashion his undying devotion. On her return he induced her to
settle with her husband at Twickenham. Here he continued his attentions,

half real, half in the affected gallantry of the day, until, to quote the lady's
own words to her daughter many years after,

"at some ill-chosen time when she least expected what romancers call
a declaration, he made such passionate love to her, as, in spite of her
utmost endeavours to be angry and look grave, provoked an
immoderate fit of laughter,"

and, she added, from that moment Pope became her implacable enemy.
Certainly by the time Pope began to write the Dunciad he was so far
estranged from his old friend that he permitted himself in that poem a
scoffing allusion to a scandal in which she had recently become involved.
The lady answered, or the poet thought that she did, with an anonymous
pamphlet, A Pop upon Pope, describing a castigation, wholly imaginary,
said to have been inflicted upon the poet as a proper reward for his satire.
After this, of course, all hope of a reconciliation was at an end, and in his
satires and epistles Pope repeatedly introduced Lady Mary under various
titles in the most offensive fashion. In his first Imitation of Horace,
published in February, 1733, he referred in the most unpardonable manner
to a certain Sappho, and the dangers attendant upon any acquaintance with
her. Lady Mary was foolish enough to apply the lines to herself and to send
a common friend to remonstrate with Pope. He coolly replied that he was
surprised that Lady Mary should feel hurt, since the lines could only apply
to certain women, naming four notorious scribblers, whose lives were as
immoral as their works. Such an answer was by no means calculated to turn
away the lady's wrath, and for an ally in the campaign of anonymous abuse
that she now planned she sought out her friend Lord Hervey. John Hervey,
called by courtesy Lord Hervey, the second son of the Earl of Bristol, was
one of the most prominent figures at the court of George II. He had been
made vice-chamberlain of the royal household in 1730, and was the
intimate friend and confidential adviser of Queen Caroline. Clever, affable,
unprincipled, and cynical, he was a perfect type of the Georgian courtier to
whom loyalty, patriotism, honesty, and honor were so many synonyms for
folly. He was effeminate in habits and appearance, but notoriously
licentious; he affected to scoff at learning but made some pretense to
literature, and had written Four Epistles after the Manner of Ovid, and
numerous political pamphlets. Pope, who had some slight personal

acquaintance with him, disliked his political connections and probably
despised his verses, and in the Imitation already mentioned had alluded to
him under the title of Lord Fanny as capable of turning out a thousand lines
of verse a day. This was sufficient cause, if cause were needed, to induce
Hervey to join Lady Mary in her warfare against Pope.

The first blow was struck in an anonymous poem, probably the combined
work of the two allies, called Verses addressed to the Imitator of Horace,
which appeared in March, 1733, and it was followed up in August by an
Epistle from a Nobleman to a Doctor of Divinity, which also appeared
anonymously, but was well known to be the work of Lord Hervey. In these
poems Pope was abused in the most unmeasured terms. His work was
styled a mere collection of libels; he had no invention except in defamation;
he was a mere pretender to genius. His morals were not left unimpeached;
he was charged with selling other men's work printed in his name, — a
gross distortion of his employing assistants in the translation of the
Odyssey, — he was ungrateful, unjust, a foe to human kind, an enemy like
the devil to all that have being. The noble authors, probably well aware how
they could give the most pain, proceeded to attack his family and his
distorted person. His parents were obscure and vulgar people; and he
himself a wretched outcast:

with the emblem of [his] crooked mind
Marked on [his] back like Cain by God's own hand.

And to cap the climax, as soon as these shameful libels were in print, Lord
Hervey bustled off to show them to the Queen and to laugh with her over
the fine way in which he had put down the bitter little poet.

In order to understand and appreciate Pope's reception of these attacks, we
must recall to ourselves the position in which he lived. He was a Catholic,
and I have already (Introduction) called attention to the precarious, tenure
by which the Catholics of his time held their goods, their persons, their very
lives, in security. He was the intimate of Bolingbroke, of all men living the
most detested by the court, and his noble friends were almost without
exception the avowed enemies of the court party. Pope had good reason to
fear that the malice of his enemies might not be content to stop with abusive

doggerel. But he was not in the least intimidated. On the contrary, he broke
out in a fine flame of wrath against Lord Hervey, whom he evidently
considered the chief offender, challenged his enemy to disavow the Epistle,
and on his declining to do so, proceeded to make what he called "a proper
reply" in a prose Letter to a Noble Lord. This masterly piece of satire was
passed about from hand to hand, but never printed. We are told that Sir
Robert Walpole, who found Hervey a convenient tool in court intrigues,
bribed Pope not to print it by securing a good position in France for one of
the priests who had watched over the poet's youth. If this story be true, and
we have Horace Walpole's authority for it, we may well imagine that the
entry of the bribe, like that of Uncle Toby's oath, was blotted out by a tear
from the books of the Recording Angel.

But Pope was by no means disposed to let the attacks go without an answer
of some kind, and the particular form which his answer took seems to have
been suggested by a letter from Arbuthnot.

"I make it my last request," wrote his beloved physician, now sinking
fast under the diseases that brought him to the grave, "that you
continue that noble disdain and abhorrence of vice, which you seem so
naturally endued with, but still with a due regard to your own safety;
and study more to reform than to chastise, though the one often cannot
be effected without the other."

"I took very kindly your advice," Pope replied, "... and it has worked
so much upon me considering the time and state you gave it in, that I
determined to address to you one of my epistles written by piecemeal
many years, and which I have now made haste to put together; wherein
the question is stated, what were, and are my motives of writing, the
objections to them, and my answers."

In other words, the Epistle to Arbuthnot which we see that Pope was
working over at the date of this letter, August 25, 1734, was, in the old-
fashioned phrase, his Apologia, his defense of his life and work.

As usual, Pope's account of his work cannot be taken literally. A
comparison of dates shows that the Epistle instead of having been "written

by piecemeal many years" is essentially the work of one impulse, the desire
to vindicate his character, his parents, and his work from the aspersions cast
upon them by Lord Hervey and Lady Mary. The exceptions to this
statement are two, or possibly three, passages which we know to have been
written earlier and worked into the poem with infinite art.

The first of these is the famous portrait of Addison as Atticus. I have
already spoken of the reasons that led to Pope's breach with Addison
(Introduction); and there is good reason to believe that this portrait sprang
directly from Pope's bitter feeling toward the elder writer for his preference
of Tickell's translation. The lines were certainly written in Addison's
lifetime, though we may be permitted to doubt whether Pope really did send
them to him, as he once asserted. They did not appear in print, however, till
four years after Addison's death, when they were printed apparently without
Pope's consent in a volume of miscellanies. It is interesting to note that in
this form the full name "Addison" appeared in the last line. Some time later
Pope acknowledged the verses and printed them with a few changes in his
Miscellany of 1727, substituting the more decorous "A — -n" for the
"Addison" of the first text. Finally he worked over the passage again and
inserted it, for a purpose that will be shown later, in the Epistle to
Arbuthnot.

It is not worth while to discuss here the justice or injustice of this famous
portrait. In fact, the question hardly deserves to be raised. The passage is
admittedly a satire, and a satire makes no claim to be a just and final
sentence. Admitting, as we must, that Pope was in the wrong in his quarrel
with Addison, we may well admit that he has not done him full justice. But
we must equally admit that the picture is drawn with wonderful skill, that
praise and blame are deftly mingled, and that the satire is all the more
severe because of its frank admission of the great man's merits. And it must
also be said that Pope has hit off some of the faults of Addison's character,
— his coldness, his self-complacency, his quiet sneer, his indulgence of
flattering fools — in a way that none of his biographers have done. That
Pope was not blind to Addison's chief merit as an author is fully shown by a
passage in a later poem, less well known than the portrait of Atticus, but
well worth quotation. After speaking of the licentiousness of literature in
Restoration days, he goes on to say:

In our own (excuse some courtly stains)
No whiter page than Addison's remains,
He from the taste obscene reclaims our youth,
And sets the passions on the side of truth,
Forms the soft bosom with the gentlest art,
And pours each human virtue in the heart.

Epistle to Augustus, II. 215-220.

If Pope was unjust to Addison the man, he at least made amends to Addison
the moralist.

The second passage that may have had an independent existence before the
Epistle was conceived is the portrait of Bufo, ll. 229-247. There is reason to
believe that this attack was first aimed at Bubb Doddington, a courtier of
Hervey's class, though hardly of so finished a type, to whom Pope alludes
as Bubo in l. 278. When Pope was working on the Epistle, however, he saw
an opportunity to vindicate his own independence of patronage by a satiric
portrait of the great Mæcenas of his younger days, Lord Halifax, who had
ventured some foolish criticisms on Pope's translation of the Iliad, and
seems to have expected that the poet should dedicate the great work to him
in return for an offer of a pension which he made and Pope declined. There
is no reason to believe that Pope cherished any very bitter resentment
toward Halifax. On the contrary, in a poem published some years after the
Epistle he boasted of his friendship with Halifax, naming him outright, and
adding in a note that the noble lord was no less distinguished by his love of
letters than his abilities in Parliament.

The third passage, a tender reference to his mother's age and weakness, was
written at least as early as 1731, — Mrs. Pope died in 1733, — and was
incorporated in the Epistle to round it off with a picture of the poet absorbed
in his filial duties at the very time that Hervey and Lady Mary were heaping
abuse upon him, as a monster devoid of all good qualities. And now having
discussed the various insertions in the Epistle, let us look for a moment at
the poem as a whole, and see what is the nature of Pope's defense of himself
and of his reply to his enemies.

It is cast in the form of a dialogue between the poet himself and Arbuthnot.
Pope begins by complaining of the misfortunes which his reputation as a
successful man of letters has brought upon him. He is a mark for all the
starving scribblers of the town who besiege him for advice,
recommendations, and hard cash. Is it not enough to make a man write
Dunciads? Arbuthnot warns him against the danger of making foes (ll. 101-
104), but Pope replies that his flatterers are even more intolerable than his
open enemies. And with a little outburst of impatience, such as we may well
imagine him to have indulged in during his later years, he cries:

Why did I write? What sin to me unknown
Dipt me in ink, my parents' or my own?

and begins with l. 125 his poetical autobiography. He tells of his first
childish efforts, of poetry taken up "to help me thro' this long disease my
life," and then goes on to speak of the noble and famous friends who had
praised his early work and urged him to try his fortune in the open field of
letters. He speaks of his first poems, the Pastorals and Windsor Forest,
harmless as Hervey's own verses, and tells how even then critics like
Dennis fell foul of him. Rival authors hated him, too, especially such
pilfering bards as Philips. This he could endure, but the coldness and even
jealousy of such a man as Addison — and here appears the famous portrait
of Atticus — was another matter, serious enough to draw tears from all
lovers of mankind.

Passing on (l. 213) to the days of his great success when his Homer was the
talk of the town, he asserts his ignorance of all the arts of puffery and his
independence of mutual admiration societies. He left those who wished a
patron to the tender mercies of Halifax, who fed fat on flattery and repaid
his flatterers merely with a good word or a seat at his table. After all, the
poet could afford to lose the society of Bufo's toadies while such a friend as
Gay was left him (l. 254).

After an eloquent expression of his wish for independence (ll. 261-270), he
goes on to speak of the babbling friends who insist that he is always
meditating some new satire, and persist in recognizing some wretched
poetaster's lampoon as his. And so by a natural transition Pope comes to

speak of his own satiric poems and their aims. He says, and rightly, that he
has never attacked virtue or innocence. He reserves his lash for those who
trample on their neighbors and insult "fallen worth," for cold or treacherous
friends, liars, and babbling blockheads. Let Sporus (Hervey) tremble (l.
303). Arbuthnot interposes herewith an ejaculation of contemptuous pity; is
it really worth the poet's while to castigate such a slight thing as Hervey,
that "mere white curd"? But Pope has suffered too much from Hervey's
insolence to stay his hand, and he now proceeds to lay on the lash with
equal fury and precision, drawing blood at every stroke, until we seem to
see the wretched fop writhing and shrieking beneath the whip. And then
with a magnificent transition he goes on (ll. 332-337) to draw a portrait of
himself. Here, he says in effect, is the real man that Sporus has so maligned.
The portrait is idealized, of course; one could hardly expect a poet speaking
in his own defense in reply to venomous attacks to dissect his own character
with the stern impartiality of the critics of the succeeding century, but it is
in all essentials a portrait at once impressive and true.

Arbuthnot again interrupts (l. 358) to ask why he spares neither the poor nor
the great in his satire, and Pope replies that he hates knaves in every rank of
life. Yet by nature, he insists, he is of an easy temper, more readily deceived
than angered, and in a long catalogue of instances he illustrates his own
patience and good nature (ll. 366-385). It must be frankly confessed that
these lines do not ring true. Pope might in the heat of argument convince
himself that he was humble and slow to wrath, but he has never succeeded
in convincing his readers.

With l. 382 Pope turns to the defense of his family, which, as we have seen,
his enemies had abused as base and obscure. He draws a noble picture of
his dead father, "by nature honest, by experience wise" simple, modest, and
temperate, and passes to the description of himself watching over the last
years of his old mother, his sole care to

Explore the thought, explain the asking eye
And keep a while one parent from the sky.

If the length of days which Heaven has promised those who honor father
and mother fall to his lot, may Heaven preserve him such a friend as

Arbuthnot to bless those days. And Arbuthnot closes the dialogue with a
word which is meant, I think, to sum up the whole discussion and to
pronounce the verdict that Pope's life had been good and honorable.

Whether that blessing1 be deny'd or giv'n,
Thus far was right, the rest belongs to Heav'n.

It seems hardly necessary to point out the merits of so patent a masterpiece
as the Epistle to Arbuthnot. In order to enjoy it to the full, indeed, one must
know something of the life of the author, of the circumstances under which
it was written, and, in general, of the social and political life of the time.
But even without this special knowledge no reader can fail to appreciate the
marvelous ease, fluency, and poignancy of this admirable satire. There is
nothing like it in our language except Pope's other satires, and of all his
satires it is, by common consent, easily the first. It surpasses the satiric
poetry of Dryden in pungency and depth of feeling as easily as it does that
of Byron in polish and artistic restraint. Its range of tone is remarkable. At
times it reads like glorified conversation, as in the opening lines; at times it
flames and quivers with emotion, as in the assault on Hervey, or in the
defense of his parents. Even in the limited field of satiric portraiture there is
a wide difference between the manner in which Pope has drawn the portrait
of Atticus and that of Sporus. The latter is a masterpiece of pure invective;
no allowances are made, no lights relieve the darkness of the shadows, the
portrait is frankly inhuman. It is the product of an unrestrained outburst of
bitter passion. The portrait of Atticus, on the other hand, was, as we know,
the work of years. It is the product not of an outburst of fury, but of a slowly
growing and intense dislike, which, while recognizing the merits of its
object, fastened with peculiar power upon his faults and weaknesses. The
studious restraint which controls the satirist's hand makes it only the more
effective. We know well enough that the portrait is not a fair one, but we are
forced to remind ourselves of this at every step to avoid the spell which
Pope's apparent impartiality casts over our judgments. The whole passage
reads not so much like the heated plea of an advocate as the measured
summing-up of a judge, and the last couplet falls on our ears with the
inevitability of a final sentence. But the peculiar merit of the Epistle to
Arbuthnot consists neither in the ease and polish of its style, nor in the vigor
and effectiveness of its satire, but in the insight it gives us into the heart and

mind of the poet himself. It presents an ideal picture of Pope, the man and
the author, of his life, his friendships, his love of his parents, his literary
relationships and aims. And it is quite futile to object, as some critics have
done, that this picture is not exactly in accordance with the known facts of
Pope's life. No great man can be tried and judged on the mere record of his
acts. We must know the circumstances that shaped these, and the motives
that inspired them. A man's ideals, if genuinely held and honestly followed,
are perhaps even more valuable contributions to our final estimate of the
man himself than all he did or left undone.

All I could never be,
All, men ignored in me,
This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped.

And in the Epistle to Arbuthnot we recognize in Pope ideals of
independence, of devotion to his art, of simple living, of loyal friendship,
and of filial piety which shine in splendid contrast with the gross, servile,
and cynically immoral tone of the age and society in which he lived.

Footnote 1: i. e. the blessing of Arbuthnot's future companionship, for
which Pope (l. 413) had just prayed.
return to footnote mark

line reference meaning
Dr. John Arbuthnot, one of Pope's most
Advertisement intimate friends, had been physician to
Queen Anne, and was a man of letters as
well as a doctor. Arbuthnot, Pope, and
Swift had combined to get out a volume of
Miscellanies in 1737. His health was

failing rapidly at this time, and he died a
month or so after the appearance of this
Epistle.

Epistle

1 John John Searle, Pope's faithful servant.
a lunatic asylum in London in Pope's day.
Notice how Pope mentions, in the same
4 Bedlam breath, Bedlam and Parnassus, the hill of
the Muses which poets might well be
supposed to haunt.
8 thickets the groves surrounding Pope's villa.
Grot. see Introduction [grotto]
10 the chariot the coach in which Pope drove.
the boat in which Pope was rowed upon
the barge
the Thames.
a district in London where debtors were
free from arrest. As they could not be
13 the Mint arrested anywhere on Sunday, Pope
represents them as taking that day to inflict
their visits on him.
probably a certain Eusden, who had some
15 parson pretensions to letters, but who ruined
himself by drink.
17 clerk a law clerk.
18 engross write legal papers.
An imaginary portrait of a mad poet who
keeps on writing verses even in his cell in
19-20 Bedlam. Pope may have been thinking of
Lee, a dramatist of Dryden's day who was
confined for a time in this asylum.
23 Arthur Arthur Moore, a member of Parliament for
some years and well known in London
society. His "giddy son," James Moore,
who took the name of Moore Smythe,

dabbled in letters and was a bitter enemy of
Pope.
Robert Lord Walpole, whose wife deserted
25 Cornus him in 1734. Horace Walpole speaks of her
as half mad.
31 sped done for.
Pope's counsel to delay the publication of
the works read to him is borrowed from
40
Horace: "nonumque prematur in annum"
'(Ars Poetica, 388).'
like Grub Street, a haunt of poor authors at
41 Drury-land
this time.
before before the season is over; that is, as soon as
43
Term ends the poem is written.
for a play. Of course a prologue by the
48 a Prologue famous Mr. Pope would be of great value
to a poor and unknown dramatist.
the name of a foolish poet mentioned by
Horace. Pope uses it here for his enemy
Welsted, mentioned in l. 373. — 'his
49 Pitholeon Grace:' the title given a Duke in Great
Britain. The Duke here referred to is said
to be the Duke of Argyle, one of the most
influential of the great Whig lords.
a notorious publisher of the day, and an
enemy of Pope. The implication is that if
53 Curll Pope will not grant Pitholeon's request, the
latter will accept Curll's invitation and
concoct a new libel against the poet.
Pope was one of the few men of letters of
his day who had not written a play, and he
60
was at this time on bad terms with certain
actors.
Bernard Lintot, the publisher of Pope's
62
translation of Homer.

share the profits. Pope represents the
66 go snacks unknown dramatist as trying to bribe him
to give a favorable report of the play.
an old legend tells us that Midas was
presented with a pair of ass's ears by an
angry god whose music he had slighted.
His barber, or, Chaucer says, his queen,
69 Midas
discovered the change which Midas had
tried to conceal, and unable to keep the
secret whispered it to the reeds in the river,
who straightway spread the news abroad.
With this line Arbuthnot is supposed to
75 take up the conversation. This is indicated
here and elsewhere by the letter A.
79 Dunciad see Introduction
a name borrowed from Juvenal to denote a
foolish poet. Pope uses it here for some
85 Codrus conceited dramatist who thinks none the
less of himself because his tragedy is
rejected with shouts of laughter.
96 Explain the exact meaning of this line.
a stock name for a bad poet. See note on
97 Bavius
Essay on Criticism, l. 34.
Ambrose Philips, author among other
things of a set of Pastorals that appeared in
98 Philips the same volume with Pope, 1709. Pope
and he soon became bitter enemies. He was
patronized by a Bishop Boulter.
Here as elsewhere Pope uses the name of
99 Sappho the Greek poetess for his enemy, Lady
Mary Wortley Montague.
a wretched street in London, inhabited in
109 Grubstreet Pope's day by hack writers, most of whom
were his enemies.
111 Curll (see note to l. 53) had printed a number of
Pope's letters without the poet's consent

some years before this poem was written.
Pope here describes the flatterers who were
foolish enough to pay him personal
compliments. They compare him to Horace
who was short like Pope, though fat, and
who seems to have suffered from colds;
113-32 also to Alexander, one of whose shoulders
was higher than the other, and to Ovid,
whose other name, Naso, might indicate
that long noses were a characteristic
feature of his family. Pope really had large
and beautiful eyes. Maro, l. 122, is Virgil.
With this line Pope begins an account of
123 his life as a poet. For his precocity, see
Introduction.
129 ease amuse, entertain.
the reference is, perhaps, to Martha Blount,
'friend, not Pope's friend, and may have been meant as
Wife:' a contradiction of his reported secret
marriage to her.
to endure the pains and troubles of an
132 to bear
invalid's life.
George Granville, Lord Lansdowne, a poet
133 Granville and patron of letters to whom Pope had
dedicated his Windsor Forest.
134 Walsh see note on Essay on Criticism, l. 729.
Sir Samuel Garth, like Arbuthnot, a doctor,
135 Garth a man of letters, and an early friend of
Pope.
Charles Talbot, Duke of Shrewsbury; John,
Lord Somers; and John Sheffield, Duke of
137
Buckingham; all leading statesmen and
patrons of literature in Queen Anne's day.
Francis Atterbury, Bishop of Rochester, an
138 Rochester
intimate friend of Pope.

Bolingbroke. For Pope's relations with
139 St. John him, see introduction to the Essay on Man,
p. 116.
Gilbert Burnet and John Oldmixon had
written historical works from the Whig
point of view. Roger Cooke, a now
143 forgotten writer, had published a Detection
of the Court and State of England. Pope in
a note on this line calls them all three
authors of secret and scandalous history.
The reference is to Pope's early descriptive
146
poems, the Pastorals and Windsor Forest.
gentle a sneer at Lord Hervey's verses. See the
147
Fanny's introduction to this poem.
a critic of the time who had repeatedly
attacked Pope. The poet told Spence that
149 Gildon
he had heard Addison gave Gildon ten
pounds to slander him.
151 Dennis see note on Essay on Criticism. l. 270.
Pope was sensible enough to profit by the
criticisms even of his enemies. He
kiss'd the
156 corrected several passages in the Essay on
rod
Criticism which Dennis had properly found
fault with.
the most famous scholar of Pope's day.
Pope disliked him because of his criticism
of the poet's translation of the Iliad, "good
verses, but not Homer." The epithet
162 Bentley
"slashing" refers to Bentley's edition of
Paradise Lost in which he altered and
corrected the poet's text to suit his own
ideas.
Tibbalds Lewis Theobald (pronounced Tibbald), a
scholar who had attacked Pope's edition of
Shakespeare. Pope calls him "piddling"

because of his scrupulous attention to
details.
Philips, see note on l. 98. Pope claimed
that Philips's Pastorals were plagiarized
177 the Bard from Spenser, and other poets. Philips,
also, translated some Persian Tales for the
low figure of half a crown apiece.
suggested that they translate other men's
bade
187 work, since they could write nothing
translate
valuable of their own.
a poetaster of the generation before Pope.
188 Tate He is remembered as the part author of a
doggerel version of the Psalms.
For a discussion of this famous passage,
191-212
see introduction to the Epistle.
it was formerly the practice for a Turkish
monarch when succeeding to the throne to
196 the Turk
have all his brothers murdered so as to do
away with possible rivals.
Addison was hearty enough when he cared
to praise his friends. Pope is thinking of the
199 faint praise
coldness with which Addison treated his
Pastorals as compared to those of Philips.
note the old-fashioned pronunciation to
206 oblig'd
rhyme with "besieged."
an unmistakable allusion to Addison's
tragedy in which the famous Roman
207 Cato
appears laying down the law to the
remnants of the Senate.
students of law at the "Temple" in London
who prided themselves on their good taste
209 Templars
in literature. A body of them came on
purpose to applaud 'Cato' on the first night.
raise exalt, praise.
laugh ...
211-2 explain the reason for these actions.
weep

Addison's name was given in the first
version of this passage. Then it was
changed to "A — -n." Addison had been
Atticus mentioned in the Spectator (No. 150)
under the name of Atticus as "in every way
one of the greatest geniuses the age has
produced."
Lintot, Pope's old publisher, used to stick
rubric on
213 up the titles of new books in red letters on
the walls
the walls of his shop.
214 with claps with clap-bills, posters.
215 smoking hot from the press.
George II, king of England at this time. His
220 George
indifference to literature was notorious.
the picture of a proud but grudging patron
of letters which follows was first meant for
Bubb Doddington, a courtier and patron of
letters at the time the poem was written. In
order to connect it more closely with the
time of which he was writing, Pope added
ll. 243-246, which pointed to Charles
Montague, Earl of Halifax. Halifax was
himself a poet and affected to be a great
228 Bufo
patron of poetry, but his enemies accused
him of only giving his clients "good words
and good dinners." Pope tells an amusing
story of Montague's comments on his
translation of the Iliad (Spence, Anecdotes,
p. 134). But Halifax subscribed for ten
copies of the translation, so that Pope, at
least, could not complain of his lack of
generosity.
Castalian
the kingdom of poets
state
His name was coupled with that of Horace
232
as a poet and critic.

Pindar some headless statue which Bufo insisted
234 without a was a genuine classic figure of Pindar, the
head famous Greek lyric poet.
237 his seat his country seat.
paid in
242 What does this phrase mean?
kind
Dryden died in 1700. He had been poor
and obliged to work hard for a living in his
last years, but hardly had to starve. Halifax
offered to pay the expenses of his funeral
243 and contribute five hundred pounds for a
monument, and Pope not unreasonably
suggests that some of this bounty might
have been bestowed on Dryden in his
lifetime.
When a politician wants a writer to put in a
day's work in defending him. Walpole, for
example, who cared nothing for poetry,
249
spent large sums in retaining writers to
defend him in the journals and pamphlets
of the day.
John Gay, the author of some very
entertaining verses, was an intimate friend
of Pope. On account of some supposed
satirical allusions his opera Polly was
refused a license, and when his friends, the
254 Duke and Duchess of Queensberry (see l.
260) solicited subscriptions for it in the
palace, they were driven from the court.
Gay died in 1732, and Pope wrote an
epitaph for his tomb in Westminster Abbey.
It is to this that he alludes in l. 258.
Balbus is said to mean the Earl of Kinnoul,
274 Balbus at one time an acquaintance of Pope and
Swift.

Sir William Yonge, a Whig politician
whom Pope disliked. He seems to have
278
written occasional verses. Bubo is Bubo
Doddington (see note on l 230).
In the Fourth Moral Essay, published in
1731 as an Epistle to the Earl of
Burlington, Pope had given a satirical
description of a nobleman's house and
grounds, adorned and laid out at vast
expense, but in bad taste. Certain features
of this description were taken from
Canons, the splendid country place of the
Duke of Chandos, and the duke was at
297-8 once identified by a scandal-loving public
with the Timon of the poem. In the
description Pope speaks of the silver bell
which calls worshipers to Timon's chapel,
and of the soft Dean preaching there "who
never mentions Hell to ears polite." In this
passage of the Epistle to Arbuthnot he is
protesting against the people who swore
that they could identify the bell and the
Dean as belonging to the chapel at Canons.
a favorite of Nero, used here for Lord
303 Sporus
Hervey. See introduction to this poem.
Hervey was obliged by bad health to keep
304 ass's milk a strict diet, and a cup of ass's milk was his
daily drink.
painted Hervey was accustomed to paint his face
308
child like a woman.
317-9 Pope is thinking of Milton's striking
description of Satan "squat like a toad" by
the ear of the sleeping Eve (Paradise Lost,
IV, 800). In this passage "Eve" refers to
Queen Caroline with whom Hervey was on
intimate terms. It is said that he used to
have a seat in the queen's hunting chaise

"where he sat close behind her perched at
her ear".
Pope borrowed this telling phrase from a
now pamphlet against Hervey written by
322 master up, Pulteney, a political opponent, in which the
now miss former is called "a pretty little master-
miss."
the Council board where Hervey sat as
326 the board
member of the Privy Council.
An allusion to the old pictures of the
328-9 serpent in Eden with a snake's body and a
woman's, or angel's, face.
330 parts talents, natural gifts.
An allusion to Pope's abandoning the
imaginative topics to his early poems, as
338-9 the Pastorals and The Rape of the Lock,
and turning to didactic verse as in the
Essay on Man, and the Moral Epistles.
An allusion to a story circulated, in an
abusive pamphlet called A Pop upon Pope,
347
that the poet had been whipped for his
satire and that he had cried like a child.
Dull and scandalous poems printed under
349 Pope's name, or attributed to him by his
enemies.
the pictur'd Pope was especially hurt by the caricatures
351
shape which exaggerated his personal deformity.
a friend is probably Bishop Atterbury, then in exile
353
exile for his Jacobite opinions.
Another reference to Hervey who was
354-5 suspected of poisoning the mind of the
King against Pope.
Japhet Crooke, a notorious forger of the
time. He died in prison in 1734, after
361 Japhet
having had his nose slit and ears cropped
for his crimes; see below, l. 365.

a slang term for a professional witness
ready to, swear to anything for money. A
Knight of
363 knight of the shire, on the other hand, is the
the post
representative of a county in the House of
Commons.
tricked, taken in, a piece of Queen Anne
slang. The allusion is probably to the way
367 bit in which Lady Mary Wortley Montague
allowed Pope to make love to her and then
laughed at him.
in 1733, when old Dennis was in great
friend to poverty, a play was performed for his
369
his distress benefit, for which Pope obligingly wrote a
prologue.
Colley Gibber, actor and poet laureate.
Pope speaks as if it were an act of
371
condescension for him to have drunk with
Gibber.''
James Moore Smythe (see note on l. 23),
whom Pope used to meet at the house of
the Blounts. He wrote a comedy, The Rival
Modes, in which he introduced six lines
that Pope had written. Pope apparently had
Moore
given him leave to do so, and then
retracted his permission. But Moore used
them without the permission and an
undignified quarrel arose as to the true
authorship of the passage.
a hack writer of the day, had falsely
charged Pope with being responsible for
373 Welsted the death of the lady who is celebrated in
Pope's Elegy to the Memory of an
Unfortunate Lady.
374-5 There is an allusion here that has never
been fully explained. Possibly the passage
refers to Teresa Blount whom Pope
suspected of having circulated slanderous

reports concerning his relations with her
sister.
Suffered Budgell to attribute to his (Pope's)
pen the slanderous gossip of the Grub
Street Journal, — a paper to which Pope
did, as a matter of fact, contribute — and
let him (Budgell) write anything he pleased
except his (Pope's) will. Budgell, a distant
376-7
cousin of Addison's, fell into bad habits
after his friend's death. He was strongly
suspected of having forged a will by which
Dr. Tindal of Oxford left him a
considerable sum of money. He finally
drowned himself in the Thames.
Curll, the bookseller, and Lord Hervey
whom Pope here couples with him because
the two
378 of Hervey's vulgar abuse of Pope's
Curlls
personal deformities and obscure
parentage.
Why should they abuse Pope's inoffensive
380 yet why
parents? Compare the following lines.
Moore's own mother was suspected of
383
loose conduct.
Pope asserted, perhaps incorrectly, that his
Of gentle father belonged to a gentleman's family,
blood ... the head of which was the Earl of Downe.
386-8
each His mother was the daughter of a Yorkshire
parent gentleman, who lost two sons in the
service of Charles I (cf. l. 386).
probably the elder Horace Walpole, who
389 Bestia
was in receipt of a handsome pension.
An allusion to Addison's unhappy marriage
391
with the Countess of Warwick.
393 the good Pope's father, who as a devout Roman
man Catholic refused to take the oath of
allegiance (cf. l. 395), or risk the

equivocations sanctioned by the
"schoolmen," i.e. the Catholic casuists of
the day (l. 398).
Arbuthnot, to whom the epistle is
404 friend
addressed.
The first draft of these appeared in a letter
to Aaron Hill, September 3, 1731, where
Pope speaks of having sent them "the other
day to a particular friend," perhaps the poet
405-11 Thomson. Mrs. Pope, who was very old
and feeble, was of course alive when they
were first written, but died more than a
year before the passage appeared in its
revised form in this Epistle.
An allusion to the promise contained in the
412
fifth commandment.
Arbuthnot had been Queen Anne's doctor,
served a
415 but was driven out of his rooms in the
Queen
palace after her death.
long life for Arbuthnot. It was, in fact,
that
416 denied, for he died a month or so after the
blessing
appearance of the Epistle.

Contents

Notes on An Ode on Solitude

Pope says that this delightful little poem was written at the early age of
twelve. It first appeared in a letter to his friend, Henry Cromwell, dated July
17, 1709. There are several variations between this first form and that in
which it was finally published, and it is probable that Pope thought enough
of his boyish production to subject it to repeated revision. Its spirit is
characteristic of a side of Pope's nature that is often forgotten. He was,
indeed, the poet of the society of his day, urban, cultured, and pleasure-
loving; but to the end of his days he retained a love for the quiet charm of
country life which he had come to feel in his boyhood at Binfield, and for
which he early withdrew from the whirl and dissipations of London to the
groves and the grotto of his villa at Twickenham.

Contents / Contents, p. 2

Notes on The Descent of Dullness

In the fourth book of the Dunciad, Pope abandons the satire on the
pretenders to literary fame which had run through the earlier books, and
flies at higher game. He represents the Goddess Dullness as "coming in her
majesty to destroy Order and Science, and to substitute the Kingdom of the
Dull upon earth." He attacks the pedantry and formalism of university
education in his day, the dissipation and false taste of the traveled gentry,
the foolish pretensions to learning of collectors and virtuosi, and the
daringly irreverent speculations of freethinkers and infidels. At the close of
the book he represents the Goddess as dismissing her worshipers with a
speech which she concludes with "a yawn of extraordinary virtue." Under
its influence "all nature nods," and pulpits, colleges, and Parliament
succumb. The poem closes with the magnificent description of the descent
of Dullness and her final conquest of art, philosophy, and religion. It is said
that Pope himself admired these lines so much that he could not repeat them
without his voice faltering with emotion. "And well it might, sir," said Dr.
Johnson when this anecdote was repeated to him, "for they are noble lines."
And Thackeray in his lecture on Pope in The English Humorists says:

"In these astonishing lines Pope reaches, I think, to the very greatest
height which his sublime art has attained, and shows himself the equal
of all poets of all times. It is the brightest ardor, the loftiest assertion of
truth, the most generous wisdom, illustrated by the noblest poetic
figure, and spoken in words the aptest, grandest, and most
harmonious."

Contents / Contents, p. 2

Notes on The Epitaph on Gay

John Gay, the idlest, best-natured, and best-loved man of letters of his day,
was the special friend of Pope. His early work, The Shepherd's Week, was
planned as a parody on the Pastorals of Pope's rival, Ambrose Philips, and
Pope assisted him in the composition of his luckless farce, Three Hours
after Marriage. When Gay's opera Polly was forbidden by the licenser, and
Gay's patrons, the Duke and Duchess of Queensberry, were driven from
court for soliciting subscriptions for him, Pope warmly espoused his cause.
Gay died in 1732 and was buried in Westminster Abbey. Pope's epitaph for
his tomb was first published in the quarto edition of Pope's works in 1735
— Johnson, in his discussion of Pope's epitaphs (Lives of the Poets),
devotes a couple of pages of somewhat captious criticism to these lines; but
they have at least the virtue of simplicity and sincerity, and are at once an
admirable portrait of the man and a lasting tribute to the poet Gay.

Contents / Contents, p. 2

Appendix

The Rape of the Lock: First Edition

Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare capillos
Sed juvat, hoc precibus me tribuisse tuis.

Mart.

Canto I

What dire offence from am'rous
causes springs,
What mighty quarrels rise from
trivial things,
I sing — This verse to C — l, 5
Muse! is due:
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe
to view:
Slight is the subject, but not so
the praise,
If she inspire, and he approve my 10
lays.

Say what strange motive,
goddess! could compel
A well-bred lord t' assault a
gentle belle? 15
O say what stranger cause, yet
unexplored,
Could make a gentle belle reject
a lord?
And dwells such rage in softest 20
bosoms then,
And lodge such daring souls in
little men?

Sol through white curtains did his 25
beams display,
And ope'd those eyes which
brighter shine than they,
Shock just had giv'n himself the
rousing shake, 30
And nymphs prepared their
chocolate to take;
Thrice the wrought slipper
knocked against the ground,
And striking watches the tenth
hour resound. 35
Belinda rose, and midst attending
dames,
Launched on the bosom of the
silver Thames:
A train of well-dressed youths 40
around her shone,
And ev'ry eye was fixed on her
alone:
On her white breast a sparkling
cross she wore
Which Jews might kiss and 45
infidels adore.

Her lively looks a sprightly mind
disclose,
Quick as her eyes, and as unfixed
as those: 50
Favours to none, to all she smiles
extends;
Oft she rejects, but never once
offends.
Bright as the sun, her eyes the
gazers strike, 55
And, like the sun, they shine on
all alike.
Yet graceful ease, and sweetness
void of pride,
Might hide her faults, if belles 60
had faults to hide:
If to her share some female errors
fall,
Look on her face, and you'll
forgive 'em all.
65
This nymph, to the destruction of
mankind,
Nourished two locks, which
graceful hung behind
In equal curls, and well conspired 70
to deck
With shining ringlets her smooth
iv'ry neck.
Love in these labyrinths his
slaves detains,
And mighty hearts are held in 75
slender chains.
With hairy springes we the birds
betray,
Slight lines of hair surprise the
finny prey, 80

Fair tresses man's imperial race
insnare,
And beauty draws us with a
single hair.

Th' adventurous baron the bright 85
locks admired;
He saw, he wished, and to the
prize aspired.
Resolved to win, he meditates the
way, 90
By force to ravish, or by fraud
betray;
For when success a lover's toil
attends,
Few ask if fraud or force attained 95
his ends.

For this, ere Phoebus rose, he had
implored
Propitious heav'n, and every 100
pow'r adored,
But chiefly Love — to Love an
altar built,
Of twelve vast French romances,
neatly gilt.
There lay the sword-knot Sylvia's 105
hands had sewn
With Flavia's busk that oft had
wrapped his own:
A fan, a garter, half a pair of
gloves, 110
And all the trophies of his former
loves.
With tender billets-doux he lights
the pire,
And breathes three am'rous sighs 115

to raise the fire.
Then prostrate falls, and begs
with ardent eyes
Soon to obtain, and long possess
the prize:
The pow'rs gave ear, and granted 120
half his pray'r,
The rest the winds dispersed in
empty air.

Close by those meads, for ever 125
crowned with flow'rs,
Where Thames with pride
surveys his rising tow'rs,
There stands a structure of
majestic frame, 130
Which from the neighb'ring
Hampton takes its name.
Here Britain's statesmen oft the
fall foredoom
Of foreign tyrants, and of
nymphs at home; 135
Here thou, great Anna! whom
three realms obey,
Dost sometimes counsel take —
and sometimes tea.
140
Hither our nymphs and heroes
did resort,
To taste awhile the pleasures of a
court;
In various talk the cheerful hours
they passed,
Of who was bit, or who capotted
last;
This speaks the glory of the
British queen,

And that describes a charming
Indian screen;
A third interprets motions, looks,
and eyes;
At ev'ry word a reputation dies.
Snuff, or the fan, supply each
pause of chat,
With singing, laughing, ogling,
and all that.

Now when, declining from the
noon of day,
The sun obliquely shoots his
burning ray;
When hungry judges soon the
sentence sign,
And wretches hang that jurymen
may dine;
When merchants from th'
Exchange return in peace,
And the long labours of the toilet
cease,
The board's with cups and
spoons, alternate, crowned,
The berries crackle, and the mill
turns round;
On shining altars of Japan they
raise
The silver lamp, and fiery spirits
blaze:
From silver spouts the grateful
liquors glide,
While China's earth receives the
smoking tide.
At once they gratify their smell
and taste,
While frequent cups prolong the

rich repast.
Coffee (which makes the
politician wise,
And see through all things with
his half-shut eyes)
Sent up in vapours to the baron's
brain
New stratagems, the radiant lock
to gain.
Ah cease, rash youth! desist ere't
is too late,
Fear the just gods, and think of
Scylla's fate!
Changed to a bird, and sent to flit
in air,
She dearly pays for Nisus' injured
hair!

But when to mischief mortals
bend their mind,
How soon fit instruments of ill
they find!
Just then, Clarissa drew with
tempting grace
A two-edged weapon from her
shining case:
So ladies, in romance, assist their
knight,
Present the spear, and arm him
for the fight;
He takes the gift with rev'rence,
and extends
The little engine on his fingers'
ends;
This just behind Belinda's neck
he spread,
As o'er the fragrant steams she