 | An Epistle to Mr. Pope |  |
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AN EPISTLE TO Mr. POPE.
Superiour Qualities alike will raise
The Voice of Envy, as the Voice of Praise:
The Foes of Merit are its nicest Touch;
And Virtue's ever sure to meet with such:
Where Wit and Wisdom grace the noble Mind,
With every Soul adorning Beauty join'd;
Should Dulness there some Parasite engage,
To bark out Satyr with a toothless Rage,
Wou'd it not every Indignation move,
And more indear us to the Man we love?
Thou God of Wit, thou perfect Excellence,
Thou bright Accomplishment, thou Soul of Sense!
O that my Pen could make thy Praises known,
With such immortal Numbers as thy own!
When in exalted Measures you declare
The Deeds of Heroes, and the Sons of War:
These are not Fortune's, these no Gifts of Chance,
But Heaven-born Wisdom's bright Inheritance:
Wisdom that fills with every prosperous Gale,
The spreading Wings of Fancy's swelling Sail.
Immortal Pope!—stop for a while my Strain,
Pause for a Space:—Mysterious Name!
It speaks Eternity and everlasting Fame.
The Voice of Envy, as the Voice of Praise:
The Foes of Merit are its nicest Touch;
And Virtue's ever sure to meet with such:
Where Wit and Wisdom grace the noble Mind,
With every Soul adorning Beauty join'd;
Should Dulness there some Parasite engage,
To bark out Satyr with a toothless Rage,
Wou'd it not every Indignation move,
And more indear us to the Man we love?
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Thou bright Accomplishment, thou Soul of Sense!
O that my Pen could make thy Praises known,
With such immortal Numbers as thy own!
When in exalted Measures you declare
The Deeds of Heroes, and the Sons of War:
These are not Fortune's, these no Gifts of Chance,
But Heaven-born Wisdom's bright Inheritance:
Wisdom that fills with every prosperous Gale,
The spreading Wings of Fancy's swelling Sail.
Immortal Pope!—stop for a while my Strain,
Pause for a Space:—Mysterious Name!
It speaks Eternity and everlasting Fame.
'Tis thine alone to captivate the Ear,
While Wit upon the Heart strikes deep and clear,
With vary'd Mien the vary'd Thought t'express,
And give each diff'rent Face a diff'rent Dress;
To every Object you just Lights dispense,
And make the Sound the Picture of the Sense:
Whene'er you shew us to a rustick Scene,
The Verse complies in Lowness with the Theme;
But when a pompous Palace greets our Eyes,
Words swell proportion'd to the Fabrick's Size.
How heavy moves some Pageantry of State,
When six proud Steeds drag slow the cumberous Weight?
But then, how fleet and light without Delay,
O'er the Lawn bounds the hunted Deer away?
In every Line redundant Beauties flow,
Thicker than hoary Flakes of Winter Snow,
When the bleak North her fleecy Treasure yields,
A silent Tempest on the naked Fields.
While Wit upon the Heart strikes deep and clear,
With vary'd Mien the vary'd Thought t'express,
And give each diff'rent Face a diff'rent Dress;
To every Object you just Lights dispense,
And make the Sound the Picture of the Sense:
Whene'er you shew us to a rustick Scene,
The Verse complies in Lowness with the Theme;
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Words swell proportion'd to the Fabrick's Size.
How heavy moves some Pageantry of State,
When six proud Steeds drag slow the cumberous Weight?
But then, how fleet and light without Delay,
O'er the Lawn bounds the hunted Deer away?
In every Line redundant Beauties flow,
Thicker than hoary Flakes of Winter Snow,
When the bleak North her fleecy Treasure yields,
A silent Tempest on the naked Fields.
'Tis not the Harmony your Lines impart,
The inimitable Ease, the matchless Art,
Nor an illustrious Genius, which alone
Proclaim you Phœbus most distinguish'd Son,
But in Thee Albion sees her Language soar,
To greater Glory than it knew before,
Nor shall succeeding Ages make it more.
This Envy sees, for this ye shall have Hate,
The more invet'rate, as ye shine more great.
Greece found a Wretch who durst her Homer blame,
And two vile Romans slander'd Virgil's Name;
Nor shall thy Lawrels 'scape.—
Curs'd by some Villain's Tongue whom Honour flies,
Fated alike, with equal Fame you rise;
Like theirs, your spreading honours shall increase,
Crown'd with Rome's trophies, and the Spoils of Greece.
Thus when Alcides in his Cradle lay,
By Juno destin'd for the Serpents Prey;
The smiling Godhead seiz'd his venom'd Foes,
From whose grip'd throats a black contagion rose;
While with their forked tongues they vainly threat,
Their Opposition makes the Victor great.
The inimitable Ease, the matchless Art,
Nor an illustrious Genius, which alone
Proclaim you Phœbus most distinguish'd Son,
But in Thee Albion sees her Language soar,
To greater Glory than it knew before,
Nor shall succeeding Ages make it more.
This Envy sees, for this ye shall have Hate,
The more invet'rate, as ye shine more great.
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And two vile Romans slander'd Virgil's Name;
Nor shall thy Lawrels 'scape.—
Curs'd by some Villain's Tongue whom Honour flies,
Fated alike, with equal Fame you rise;
Like theirs, your spreading honours shall increase,
Crown'd with Rome's trophies, and the Spoils of Greece.
Thus when Alcides in his Cradle lay,
By Juno destin'd for the Serpents Prey;
The smiling Godhead seiz'd his venom'd Foes,
From whose grip'd throats a black contagion rose;
While with their forked tongues they vainly threat,
Their Opposition makes the Victor great.
Thrice happy Bard, whose Foes alike proclaim
His rising Greatness by their Fall and Shame,
Better a thousand Vipers die like these,
Than to destroy one Infant Hercules;
Thy Glory's their Reproach, 'tis that they fear,
And would obscure, that they might shine when near.
Vain Flattery, while on his Palms ye gaze,
Blinded by malice, ye see nought to praise.
Thus Heaven's refulgence round the Apostle shone,
In tenfold Glory, brighter than the Sun;
The radiant Blaze oppress'd his aking Sight,
And he fell blind amidst the Glare of Light.
His rising Greatness by their Fall and Shame,
Better a thousand Vipers die like these,
Than to destroy one Infant Hercules;
Thy Glory's their Reproach, 'tis that they fear,
And would obscure, that they might shine when near.
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Blinded by malice, ye see nought to praise.
Thus Heaven's refulgence round the Apostle shone,
In tenfold Glory, brighter than the Sun;
The radiant Blaze oppress'd his aking Sight,
And he fell blind amidst the Glare of Light.
See with what Majesty He drives away,
The scatter'd Darkness like the God of Day;
Crown'd with surpassing Brightness from on high,
And looks the sole Dominion of the Sky;
At whose Appearance, the inspired Throng
Hide their diminish'd Heads, and cease their Song;
With strict Attention to thy Rules divine,
They strike new Beauties, by observing thine.
The scatter'd Darkness like the God of Day;
Crown'd with surpassing Brightness from on high,
And looks the sole Dominion of the Sky;
At whose Appearance, the inspired Throng
Hide their diminish'd Heads, and cease their Song;
With strict Attention to thy Rules divine,
They strike new Beauties, by observing thine.
Others there are who by no Rules advance,
But ever trust to arbitrary Chance.
Of all this frantick Herd, the worst is he,
That in proud Dulness joins with Quality,
His Lordship's Fool, or Poet, or what not,
A Pimp, to the Right Honourable Sot;
As when a fauning Spaniel you caress,
The Puppy's Fondness often daubs your Dress;
So do these Sycophants oft blunder Satyr,
E'en when they play the fulsome Dedicator.
Shou'd you prophanely hint the wealthy Fool,
Uncensur'd, has no title to be dull;
Or talk of Wretches, who with Honours proud,
Daily deride their Betters in the Crowd;
That these, or those, their Benefits bestow,
Not for the sake of Virtue, but the Show;
Up starts some half-starv'd Hackney Sonneteer,
And tells his Patron, with a learned Sneer,
'Tis him you mean,—observe an't please your ---
Scarce truer doth the Glass reflect your Face.
Be mine, Revenge, that Task to me belongs,
Whirpools and Storms, let me redress your wrongs.
Archilocus was gaulless, but I'll write,
My Mercy shall kill surer than his Spite,
No more the chearful Sun these Eyes shall bless,
Till I produce an Offering for the Press.
But ever trust to arbitrary Chance.
Of all this frantick Herd, the worst is he,
That in proud Dulness joins with Quality,
His Lordship's Fool, or Poet, or what not,
A Pimp, to the Right Honourable Sot;
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The Puppy's Fondness often daubs your Dress;
So do these Sycophants oft blunder Satyr,
E'en when they play the fulsome Dedicator.
Shou'd you prophanely hint the wealthy Fool,
Uncensur'd, has no title to be dull;
Or talk of Wretches, who with Honours proud,
Daily deride their Betters in the Crowd;
That these, or those, their Benefits bestow,
Not for the sake of Virtue, but the Show;
Up starts some half-starv'd Hackney Sonneteer,
And tells his Patron, with a learned Sneer,
'Tis him you mean,—observe an't please your ---
Scarce truer doth the Glass reflect your Face.
Be mine, Revenge, that Task to me belongs,
Whirpools and Storms, let me redress your wrongs.
Archilocus was gaulless, but I'll write,
My Mercy shall kill surer than his Spite,
No more the chearful Sun these Eyes shall bless,
Till I produce an Offering for the Press.
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He say'd, nor stay'd for a Reply, but flew,
With mighty Rage to make his Promise true,
To a known Cellar, where no prying Ray
Informs the dark Inhabitant of Day;
Where the laborious Mole, depriv'd of Sight,
Seeks a safe Lodging, and abhors the Light;
In whose deep Cavern sculks the speckl'd Toad,
Associate Monsters of the vermin Brood.
Thither he hies,—sore throbs with aking Pain,
For four long Month-like Weeks his lab'ring Brain;
So Ogilby's fair sculptur'd Tales declare,
A Mountain labour'd with a hopeful Heir;
A Shout scales Heaven, all cry a Mouse is born,
And what the People fear'd, now proves their Scorn.
With mighty Rage to make his Promise true,
To a known Cellar, where no prying Ray
Informs the dark Inhabitant of Day;
Where the laborious Mole, depriv'd of Sight,
Seeks a safe Lodging, and abhors the Light;
In whose deep Cavern sculks the speckl'd Toad,
Associate Monsters of the vermin Brood.
Thither he hies,—sore throbs with aking Pain,
For four long Month-like Weeks his lab'ring Brain;
So Ogilby's fair sculptur'd Tales declare,
A Mountain labour'd with a hopeful Heir;
A Shout scales Heaven, all cry a Mouse is born,
And what the People fear'd, now proves their Scorn.
To all Productions Nature fix'd a Rule,
And Time is wanting, to complete a Fool;
W---d alone, confirm'd in Youth appears,
A forward Blockhead from his infant Years;
Mature in dulness, he outstript all Time,
And was both ripe and mellow e're his Prime.
Thus oft in Orchards we neglected see
The Fruit that tumbl'd from its Parent Tree;
The untimely Product lies upon the Grass,
Scorn'd, trod, and p---st upon by all that pass.
And Time is wanting, to complete a Fool;
W---d alone, confirm'd in Youth appears,
A forward Blockhead from his infant Years;
Mature in dulness, he outstript all Time,
And was both ripe and mellow e're his Prime.
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The Fruit that tumbl'd from its Parent Tree;
The untimely Product lies upon the Grass,
Scorn'd, trod, and p---st upon by all that pass.
True Taste is not with Prodigals more rare,
Than a true Judgment is the Poet's share;
Where'er the glorious Blessing is bestow'd,
We trace the bright Appearance of a God.
With You alone, the heavenly Gifts remain,
No Cloud can darken, and no Shade can stain,
Your Voice can in the doubtful Mind create,
As firm Opinion as the hand of Fate;
Who if fresh Aids for Chastisement she'd raise,
That Folly Pope condemns, let W---d praise.
Than a true Judgment is the Poet's share;
Where'er the glorious Blessing is bestow'd,
We trace the bright Appearance of a God.
With You alone, the heavenly Gifts remain,
No Cloud can darken, and no Shade can stain,
Your Voice can in the doubtful Mind create,
As firm Opinion as the hand of Fate;
Who if fresh Aids for Chastisement she'd raise,
That Folly Pope condemns, let W---d praise.
FINIS.
| An Epistle to Mr. Pope | |