The Works of Alexander Pope, with notes and illustrations by himself and others. To which are added a new life of the author ... and occasional remarks by W. Roscoe

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THE WORKS OF ALEXANDER POPE, ESQ. WITH NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS BY HIMSELF AND OTHERS. TO WHICH ARE ADDED, A NEW LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, AN ESTIMATE OF HIS POETICAL CHARACTER AND WRITINGS, AND OCCASIONAL REMARKS, BY WILLIAM ROSCOE, ESQ. IN TEN VOLUMES. VOL. IX. LONDON: PRINTED FOR C. AND J. RIVINGTON ; T. CADELL ; LONGMAN, HURST, REES DRME, BROWN, AND GREEN J J. CUTHELL J J. NUNN J J. AND W.T.CLARKE; JEFFERY AND SON J J. AND A. ARCH ; R. H. EVANS J JOHN RICHARDSON J 3. M. RICHARDSON ; J. MAWMAN ; R, SCHOLEY ; J. BOOKER J J. BOHN ; S. BAGSTER, J. BOOTH; BALDWIN, CRADOCK, AND JOY ; HARDING, LETARD, AND TRIPHOOK j G. AND W. B. WHITTAKER ; R. SAUNDER5 J J.DUNCAN; E. EDWARDS J KINGS- BURY, PARBURY, AND ALLEN; G. MACKIE J HURST, ROBINSON, AND CO. : GOSSLING AND ECLEY ; J. SETCHELL J J. BAIN; AND C. WICKSTEAD ; AND DEIGHTON AND SONS, CAMBRIDGE!

AND A. BLACK, AND J. FAIRBAIRN, EDINBURGH. 1824. J. M'Creery, 'J'ooks-court, Cliaiuery lane, London. CONTENTS OF THE NINTH VOLUME. LETTERS TO AND FROM LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. Letter Page I. 1 o Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, inclosing a Letter to a Lady, and wishing to see Lady Mary before she goes to Constantinople ....... 5 II. To a Lady, inclosed in the preceding letter 6 III. To Lady Mary. Assurances of his sincerity. His sensations on parting with her, and wishes for her happiness . . . . 8 The original sketch of the same letter as published by Mr. Bowles . . . .14 IV. From Lady Mary. That distance has increased her faith in his friendship; description of the Opera of Alcina, as performed at Vienna . . . . . . .18 V. To Lady Mary. Attends her in spirit on her journey. In order to love mankind we must love individuals . . . .21 VI.

To Lady Mary. Cannot have too many of her letters, finds he shall write more freely to her the further she goes . . .25 VII. To Lady Mary. Wishes for her pleasant vol. ix. b --*1!7** i COMTENTS. II Lettei Page journey, and that he might be able to meet her abroad . . . . . .28 The original sketch of the two preceding letters as published by Warburton . . 30 VIII. To Lady Mary. His romantic admiration of her ; is more desirous of hearing of herself than of what she sees . . . .33 The original draught of the foregoing letter as retained by Pope ... .40 To Lady Mary. Desires she will write to him, and requests she will bring him a fair Circassian slave 44 IX X To Lady Mary. Alarmed at her illness, and wishes he could accompany her . . 49 XI From Lady Mary. Apologies for silence. Description of Prince Lichtenstein's Villa at Vienna 52 XII.

Letter I. To Lady Mary Wortley Montagu

* MADAM, Tuesday Morning. So natural as I find it is to me to neglect every body else in your company, I am sensible I ought to do any thing that might please you ; and I fancied upon recollection, our writing the letter you proposed was of that nature. I therefore sate down to my part of it last night, when I should have gone out of town. Whether or no you will order me, in recompence, to see you again, I leave to you ; for indeed I find I begin to behave my- * Eldest daughter of Evelyn, Duke of Kingston, born about 1690, and married in 1712, to Edward Wortley Montagu, cousin of Lord Halifax. He was appointed ambassador to the Porte in June, 1716, and began his journey to Constantinople in August, in the same year, accompanied by Lady Mary. His recal took place in Oct. 1717 ; but he did not commence his journey home wards till June, 1718, and arrived in England at the end of Octo ber in the same year.

It is necessary to state these periods to elucidate the following letters, several of which are without date ; a neglect of which Pope in one instance accuses Lady Mary, but of which he appears to have been himself at least equally guilty. self worse to you than to any other woman, as I value you more ; and yet, if I thought I should not see you again, I would say some things here, which I could not to your person. For I would not have you die deceived in me ; that is, go to Constantinople without knowing that I am to some degree of extravagance, as well as with the utmost reason, Madam, Your, &c.

Letter II

* TO A LADY.f [Written on one column of a letter, while Lady M. wrote to the Lady's Husband on the other.] The wits would say, that this must needs be a dull letter, because it is a married one. I am afraid indeed you will find what spirit there is must be on the side of the wife, and the husband's part, as usual, will prove the dullest. What an unequal * This is probably the letter that Pope refers to in the preceding. f Lady Rich, wife of Sir Robert Rich. She was a daughter of Col. Griffin, and had an appointment about the person of the Princess of Wales. She is celebrated by Fenton, in his Epistle to Lady Margaret Cavendish Harley, in the following lines : " And like seraphic Rich, with zeal serene, In sweet assemblage all their graces join'd To language, mode, and manners more refin'd. That angel form, with chaste attraction gay, Mild as the dove-eyed morn awakes the May, Of noblest youths will reign the public care, Their joy, their wish, their wonder, and despair." pair are put together in this sheet? in which, though we sin, it is you must do penance.

When you look on both sides of this paper, you may fancy that our words (according to a Scripture ex pression) are as a two-edged sword, whereof Lady M. is the shining blade, and I only the handle. But I cannot proceed without so far mortifying Sir Robert as to tell him, that she writes this purely in obedience to me, and that it is but one of those honours a husband receives for the sake of his wife. It is making court but ill to one fine woman to shew her the regard we have for another ; and yet I must own there is not a period of this epistle but squints towards another over-against it. It will be in vain to dissemble : your penetrating eyes cannot but discover, how all the letters that compose these words lean forward after Lady M.'s letters, which seem to bend as much from mine, and fly from them as fast as they are able.

Ungrateful letters that they are ! which give them selves to another man, in the very presence of him who will yield to no mortal, in knowing how to value them. You will think I forgot myself, and am not writing to you ; but, let me tell you, it is you for get yourself in that thought, for you are almost the only woman to whom one can safely address the praises of another. Besides, can you imagine a man of my importance so stupid, as to say fine things to you before your husband ? Let us see how far Lady M. herself dares do anything like it, with all the wit and address she is mistress of. If Sir Robert can be so ignorant (now he is left to himself in the country,) to imagine any such mat ter, let him know from me, that here in town, every thing that lady says is taken for satire. For my part, every body knows it is my constant prac tice to speak truth, and I never do it more than when I call myself Your, &c.

Letter III

* TO LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. [As published in her Works.] MADAM, Twickenham, Aug. 12, 1716. I can say little to recommend the letters I am beginning to write to you, but that they will be the most impartial representations of a free heart, and the truest copies you ever saw, though of a very mean original. Not a feature will be softened, or any advantageous light employed to * Of this letter two copies have been published with variations in the reading, viz. one by the Editors of Pope from the original draught retained by him, and the other by Mr. Dallaway, from the copy sent to Lady Mary and preserved amongst her papers. It is on the variations between these copies, that attempts have been made to prove, that Pope, in his printed letters, suppressed the gross or indecent passages which appear in those actually sent ; and that he was privy to the publication of his letters by Curll, and even corrected them for the press ; on which account it has been thought expedient to give also the original draught as re tained by Pope, that the reader may be enabled to judge how far such charges are well founded. make the ugly thing a little less hideous, but you shall find it in all respects most horribly like.

You will do me an injustice if you look upon any thing I shall say from this instant, as a compliment either to you or to myself: whatever I write will be the real thought of that hour, and I know you will no more expect it of me to persevere till death, in every sentiment or notion I now set down, than you would imagine a man's face should never change after his picture was once drawn. The freedom 1 shall use in this manner of thinking aloud (as somebody calls it), or talking upon paper, may indeed prove me a fool, but it will prove me one of the best sort of fools, the honest ones. And since what folly we have will infallibly buoy up at one time or other in spite of all our art to keep it down, it is almost foolish to take any pains to conceal it at all, and almost knavish to do it from those that are our friends.

If Momus's project had taken, of having windows in our breasts, I should be for carrying it further, and making those windows casements : that while a man shewed his heart to all the world, he might do something more for his friends, e'en take it out, and trust it to their handling. I think I love you as well as king Herod could Herodias (though I never had so much as one dance with you), and would as freely give you my heart in a dish as he did another's head. But since Jupiter will not have it so, I must be content to shew my taste in life, as I do my taste in painting, by loving to have as little drapery as possible, because it is good to use people to what they must be acquainted with ; and there will certainly come some day of judgment to uncover every soul of us. We shall then see how the prudes of this world owed all their fine figure only to their being a little straiter laced, and that they were naturally as arrant squabs as those that went more loose, nay, as those that never girded their loins at all.

But a particular reason to engage you to write your thoughts the more freely to me, is, that I am confident no one knows you better. For I find, when others express their opinion of you, it falls very short of mine, and I am sure, at the same time, theirs is such as you would think sufficiently in your favour. You may easily imagine how desirous I must be of a correspondence with a person who had taught me long ago, that it was as possible to esteem at first sight, as to love : and who has since ruined me for all the conversation of one sex, and almost all the friendship of the other. I am but too sen sible, through your means, that the company of men wants a certain softness to recommend it, and that of women wants every thing else. How often have I been quietly going to take possession of that tranquillity and indolence I had so long found in the country, when one evening of your conver sation has spoiled me for a solitaire too ?

Books have lost their effect upon me ; and I was con vinced since I saw you, that there is something more powerful than philosophy, and, since I heard you, that there is one alive wiser than all the sages. A plague of female wisdom ! it makes a man ten times more uneasy than his own ! What is very strange, Virtue herself, when you have the dressing her, is too amiable for one's repose. What a world of good might you have done in your time, if you had allowed half the fine gentlemen who have seen you to have but conversed with you? They would have been strangely caught, while they thought only to fall in love with a fair face, and you had bewitched them with reason and virtue ; two beauties that the very fops pretend to have no acquaintance with. The unhappy distance at which we correspond,* * Lady Montagu was at this time at Constantinople.

Pope has here suppressed part of the Letter, which may be seen in Dal laway's edition. The grossness of it will sufficiently explain Pope's meaning ; and I have little doubt, but that the Lady, dis daining the stiff and formal mode of female manners at that time prevalent, made the Lover believe he might proceed a step farther than decorum would allow. As the passage alluded to may be seen, the reader will perceive that here Pope has certainly exhibited, without disguise, (as he says in the beginning of the Let ters,) the " impartial representation of a free heart." His pictures were indeed so free, that he must have a strange opinion of her, if he could suppose she would not resent it. Bowles. On the above note it must be observed that Lady Mary was not at Constantinople when this letter was written.

She had only just left England, and this was the first letter addressed to her by Pope after her departure. Pope has not suppressed any thing in this passage, as may be seen by comparing the two letters now given. What could be the motive of Mr. Bowles for making so unfounded an assertion, it is for him to explain. This removes a great many of those punctilious restric tions and decorums that oftentimes in nearer con versation prejudice truth to save good breeding. I may now hear of my faults, and you of your good qualities, without a blush on either side. We converse upon such unfortunate generous terms as exclude the regards of fear, shame, or design in either of us. And methinks it would be as un generous a part to impose even in a single thought upon each other, in this state of separation, as for spirits of a different sphere, who have so little intercourse with us, to employ that little (as some would make us think they do), in putting tricks and delusions upon poor mortals.

Let me begin, then, madam, by asking you a question, which may enable me to judge better of my own conduct than most instances of my life. In what manner did I behave the last hour I saw you ? What degree of concern did I discover when I felt a misfortune, which I hope you never will feel, that of parting from what one most esteems ? For if my parting looked but like that of your common acquaintance, I am the greatest of all the hypocrites that ever decency made. I never since pass by the house but with the This comparison will also show that there are no passages in the letter, as published by Mr. Dallaway, more gross than those in the other copy ; whence it appears that Pope did not " proceed a step further than decorum would allow," and consequently that the gross imputation thrown out by Mr. Bowles on Lady Mary, that she had made the lover believe he might do so, is as unfounded as it is injurious. same sort of melancholy that we feel upon seeing the tomb of a friend, which only serves to put us in mind of what we have lost.

I reflect upon the circumstances of your departure, your behaviour in what I may call your last moments, and I in dulge a gloomy kind of satisfaction in thinking you gave some of those last moments to me. I would fain imagine this was not accidental, but proceeded from a penetration which I know you have in finding out the truth of peoples sentiments, and that you were not unwilling the last man that would have parted with you should be the last that did. I really looked upon you then, as the friends of Curtius might have done upon that hero in the instant he was devoting himself to glory, and running to be lost, out of generosity. I was obliged to admire your resolution in as great a degree as I deplored it ; and could only wish that Heaven would reward so much merit as was to be taken from us, with all the felicity it could enjoy elsewhere.

May that person for whom you have left all the world, be so just as to prefer you to all the world. I believe his good understanding has engaged him to do so hitherto, and I think his gratitude must for the future. May you continue to think him worthy of whatever you have done ; may you ever look upon him with the eyes of a first lover, nay, if possible, with all the unreasonable happy fondness of an unexperienced one, surrounded with all the enchantments and ideas of romance and poetry. In a word, may you receive from him as many pleasures and gratifications as even I think you can give. I wish this from my heart, and while I examine what passes there in regard to you, I cannot but glory in my own heart that it is capable of so much generosity. I am, with all unalterable esteem and sincerity, Madam, Your most faithful obedient humble servant, A. Pope.

Original Sketch of the preceding Letter, as published in Bowles's Edition of the Works of Pope. I can say little to recommend the letters I shall write to you, but that they will be the most impar tial representations of a free heart, and the truest copies you ever saw, though of a very mean original. Not a feature will be softened, or any advantageous light employed to make the ugly thing a little less hideous ; but you shall find it, in all respects, most horribly like. You will do me an in justice if you look upon any thing I shall say from this instant, as a compliment either to you or to myself: whatever I write will be the real thought of that hour ; and I know you will no more expect it of me to persevere till death, in every sentiment or notion I now set down, than you would imagine a man's face should never change when once his picture was drawn.

The freedom I shall use in this manner of thinking aloud, may indeed prove me a fool ; but it will prove me one of the best sort of fools, the honest ones. And since what folly we have, will infalli bly buoy up at one time or other in spite of all our art to keep it down, methinks, it is almost foolish to take any pains to conceal it at all, and almost knavish to do it from those that are our friends. If Momus's project had taken, of having windows in our breasts, I should be for carrying it further, and making those windows casements ; that while a man showed his heart to all the world, he might do something more for his friends ; even give it them, and trust it to their handling. I think I love you as well as king Herod did Herodias, (though I never had so much as one dance with you,) and would as freely give you my heart in a dish, as he did another's head.

But since Jupiter will not have it so, I must be content to shew my taste in life, as I do my taste in painting, by loving to have as little drapery as possible. Not that I think every body naked altogether so fine a sight as yourself and a few more would be, but because it is good to use people to what they must be ac quainted with : and there will certainly come some day of judgment or other, to uncover every soul of us. We shall then see that the prudes of this world owed all their fine figure only to their being straiter-laced than the rest ; and that they are naturally as arrant squabs as those that went more loose, nay as those that never girded their loins at all. But a particular reason that may engage you to write your thoughts the more freely to me, is, that I am confident no one knows you better ; for I find, when others express their thoughts of you, they fall very short of mine, and, I know, at the same time, theirs are such as you would think suf ficiently in your favour.

You may easily imagine how desirous I must be of a correspondence with a person, who had taught me long ago that it was as possible to esteem at first sight, as to love : and who has since ruined me for all the conversation of one sex, and almost all the friendship of the other. I am but too sensible, through your means, that the company of men wants a certain softness to recommend it, and that of women wants every thing else. How often have I been quietly going to take possession of that tranquillity and indolence I had so long found in the country ; when one evening of your conversa tion has spoiled me for a solitaire ! Books have lost their effect upon me, and I was convinced since I saw you, that there is one alive wiser than all the sages. A plague rf)f female wisdom ! it makes a man ten times more uneasy than his own.

What is very strange, Virtue herself (when you have the dressing her) is too amiable for one's repose. You might have done a world of good in your time, if you had allowed half the fine gentle men who have seen you, to have conversed with you; they would have been strangely bit, while they thought only to fall in love with a fair lady, and you had bewitched them with reason and virtue; two beauties that the very fops pretend to no acquaintance with. The unhappy distance at which we correspond, removes a great many of those restrictions and punctilious decorums, that oftentimes in nearer conversation prejudice truth, to save good breed ing. I may now hear of my faults, and you of your good qualities, without a blush ; we converse upon such unfortunate generous terms, as exclude the regards of fear, shame, or design, in either of us.

And, methinks, it would be as paltry a part, to impose (even in a single thought) upon each other in this state of separation, as for spirits of a different sphere, who have so little intercourse with us, to employ that little (as some would make us think they do) in putting tricks and delusions upon poor mortals. Let me begin then, Madam, by asking you a question, that may enable me to judge better of my own conduct than most instances of my life. In what manner did I behave in the last hour I saw you ? What degrea of concern did I discover, when I felt a misfortune, which, I hope, you will never feel, that of parting from what one most esteems ? for if my parting looked but like that of your common acquaintance, I am the greatest of all the hypocrites that ever decency made. I never since pass by your house but with the same sort of melancholy that we feel upon seeing the tomb of a friend, which only serves to put us in mind of what we have lost.

I reflect upon the circumstances of your departure, which I was there a witness of, (your behaviour in what I may call VOL. ix. c your last moments,) and I indulge a gloomy kind of pleasure in thinking that those last moments were given to me. I would fain imagine that this was not accidental, but proceeded from a penetration, which I know you have, in finding out the truth of people's sentiments ; and that you are willing, the last man that would have parted from you, should be the last that did. I really looked upon you just as the friends of Curtius might have done upon that hero, at the instant when he was devoting himself to glory, and running to be lost out of generosity : I was obliged to admire your resolution, in as great a degree as I deplored it : and had only to wish, that Heaven would re ward so much virtue as was to be taken from us, with all the felicities it could enjoy elsewhere ! I am, &c.

Letter IV. From Lady Mary Wortley Montagu

Vienna, Sept. 14, 1716. Perhaps you will laugh at me, for thanking you very gravely for all the obliging concern you ex press for me. It is certain that I may, if I please take the fine things you say to me for wit and raillery, and, it may be, it would be taking them right. But I never, in my life, was half so well disposed to believe you in earnest, as I am at present, and that distance which makes the continuation of your friendship improbable, has very much increased my faith in it. I find that I have (as well as the rest of my sex) whatever face I set on it, a strong disposition to believe in miracles. Do not fancy, however, that I am infected by the air of these popish countries ; I have, indeed, so far wandered from the discipline of the church of Eng land, as to have been last Sunday at the opera, which was performed in the garden of the Favorita, and I was so much pleased with it, I have not yet repented my seeing it.

Nothing of that kind ever was more magnificent ; and I can easily believe, what I am told, that the decorations and habits cost the emperor thirty thousand pounds sterling. The stage was built over a very large canal, and at the beginning of the second act, divided into two parts, discovering the water, on which there im mediately came, from different parts, two fleets of little gilded vessels, that gave the representation of a naval fight. It is not easy to imagine the beauty of this scene, which I took particular no tice of. But all the rest were perfectly fine in their kind. The story of the opera is the enchant ment of Alcina, which gives opportunities for a great variety of machines and changes of the scenes, which are performed with a surprizing swiftness. The theatre is so large, that it is hard to carry the eye to the end of it, and the habits in the utmost magnificence, to the number of one hundred and eight.

No house could hold such large decora tions ; but the ladies all sitting in the open air, exc2 poses them to great inconveniences ; for there is but one canopy for the imperial family ; and the first night it was represented, a shower of rain happening, the opera was broken off, and the com pany crowded away in such confusion, that I was almost squeezed to death. But if their operas are thus delightful, their comedies are, in as high a de gree, ridiculous. They have but one playhouse, where I had the curiosity to go to a German comedy, and was very glad it happened to be the story of Amphitryon. As that subject has been al ready handled by a Latin, French, and English poet, I was curious to see what an Austrian author would make of it. I understand enough of that language to comprehend the greatest part of it, and besides I took with me a lady who had the goodness to explain to me every word.

The way is to take a box which holds four, for yourself and company. The fixed price is a gold ducat. I thought the house very low and dark ; but I con fess the comedy admirably recompensed that de fect. I never laughed so much in my life. It be gan with Jupiter's falling in love out of a peep hole in the clouds, and ended with the birth of Hercules. But what was most pleasant was the use Jupiter made of his metamorphosis, for you no sooner saw him under the figure of Amphitryon, but instead of flying to Alcmena, with the raptures Mr. Dryden puts into his mouth, he sends for Amphitryon's tailor, and cheats him of a laced coat, and his banker of a bag of money, a Jew of a diamond ring, and bespeaks a great supper in his name ; and the greatest part of the comedy turns upon poor Amphitryon's being tormented by these people for their debts.