the great Love and Esteem there was between them, that we do not find the Earl of Burlington's Name in Mr. Pope's Will, we do not mean otherwise than that it might have been expected, that out of Mr. Pope's Collection of Books, and other Curiofities, fomething might have been found, which might have remain'd with my Lord, as a Memorial of the long Friendfhp between them--This Epiftle, of which we are now about to speak, is a Corollary to the preceeding. Ás that treated of the Extremes of Avarice and Profufion, this takes up one Branch of the latter, the Vanity of Expence in People of Quality or Fortune, and the Poet admires that Mifers fhould be fo anxious to heap up Riches, which they never can have Enjoyment of, and Prodigals fpend fo much Money, in what they have no Tafte of; he ridicules feveral patch'd Buildings, and Buildings of ill Tafte, to tafte Architecture he fays, Senfe fhould be previous, of which the chief Proof is to follow Nature, and adapt all to the Nature and Ufe of the Place, the Beauties not forced into it, but refulting from it.

After this, Mr. Pope goes on with a Description, intended to comprize the Principles of a false Tafte of Magnificence, and to exemplify what was faid before, that nothing but good Senfe can attain it; the first wrong Principle is to think that true Greatness confifts in Size and Dimenfion, whereas, let the Work be ever so vaft, unless the Parts cohere in one Harmony, it will be but a great many Littlenesles put together, there must be no Difproportion, nor the Ends and Bounds must not be feen at once, which, however large, will diminish both the Grandeur and the Surprize. Mr. Pope fays thus:

At Timon's Villa let us pafs a Day, Where all

cry out, "what Sums are thrown away!

So

So proud, fo grand, of that stupendous Air,
Soft and Agreeable come never there.
Greatnefs, with Timon, dwells in fuch a Draught
As brings all Brobdignag before your Thought.
To compass this, his Building is a Town,
His Pond an Ocean, his Parterre a Down:
Who but muft laugh, the Mafter when he fees?
A puny Infect, fhiv'ring at a Breeze.

Lo, what huge Heaps of Littleness around!
The Whole, a labour'd Quarry above Ground.
Two Cupids fquirt before: a Lake behind
Improves the Keenness of a northern Wind.
His Gardens next your Admiration call,
On ev'ry Side you look, behold the Wall!
No pleafing Intricacies intervene,
No artful Wildness to perplex the Scene;
Grove nods at Grove, each Alley has a Brother,
And half the Platform juft reflects the other.
The fuffr'ing Eye inverted Nature fees,
Trees cut to Statues, Statues thick as Trees,
With here a Fountain, never to be play'd,
And there a Summer-Houfe that knows no Shade.
Here Amphitrite fails thro" Myrtle Bowers;
There Gladiators fight, or die in Flow'rs;
Un-water'd fee the drooping Sea-horfe mourn,
And Swallows rooft in Nilus' dufty Urn,

My Lord advances with majeftick Mien,
Smit with the mighty Pleasure, to be feen:
But foftby regular Approach-not yet-
Firft thro' the Length of yon hot Terras fweat,
And when up ten fteep Slopes you've dragg'd your
Juft at his Study-door he'll bless your Eyes. [Thighs,
His Study? with what Authors is it ftor'd?
In Books, not Authors, curious is my Lord;
To all their dated Backs he turns you round
Thefe Aldus printed, those Du Sueil has bound.

དམན་

E

Lo fome are Vellom, and the Reft as good buc
For, all his Lordship knows, but they are Wood.
For Lock or Milton 'tis in vain to look, ebms)
Thefe Shelves admit not any modern Book. A
and
And now the Chappel's filver Bell you hear? o
That fummons you to all the Pride of Pray're
Light Quirks of Mufick, broken and uneven,
Make the Soul dance upon a Jig to Heav'n.
On painted Cielings you devoutly ftare,
Where prawf the Saints of Verrio, or Laguerre
On gilded Clouds in fair Expansion Be,
And bring all Paradife before your Eye
To reft, the Cufhion and foft Dean invite,
Who never mentions Hell to Ears polite.
But hark! The chiming Clocks to Dinner call,
A hundred Footsteps fcrape the Marble Hall: ov
The rich Beaufet well-colour'd Serpents grace, t
And gaping Tritons fpew to wath your Face
Is this a Dinner? this a Genial' Room?
No, 'tis a Temple, and a Hecatomb; 01709 2007 1
A folemn Sacrifice, perform'd in State, 19 7/
You drink by Meafure, and to Minutes eat.
So quick retires each flying Course, you'd swear
Sancho's dread Doctor and his Wand were there.
Between each Act the trembling Salvers ring
From Soup to Sweet-wine, and God bless the King
In Plenty ftarving, tantaliz'd in State,
And complaintly help'd to all T hate
Treated, carefs'd, and tir'd, I take my
Sick of his civil Pride from Morn to Eve;
I curfe fuch lavifh Coft, and little Skill,
And fwear no Day was ever paft fo ill;

ba

T

6

v

BTW AY

JA

2.

Ꭲ . 61

Leave,

Thefe
Jul

"ino grodna tor

a

*This is a Tet, a Reverend Dean of Peterborough preaching at Court, threathed the Sinner with Punishment Gina Pace which he thought it not decent to name in

fo polite an Affembly,"

་་

a

Thefe Lines to a certain Grandee, no less than à Duke, gave great Offence, the Defeription was too plaih not to be known (as the malicious Town faid) who was pointed at at first Sight," and many Persons began to think that Mr. Pope was out of his Place in attacking à Peer and one of the firft Rank, in fo publick a Manner, and Terms of fo little Refpect, Numbers of Complaints were made, the Duke himfelf wrote Mr. Pope a Letter, and made him fenfible, that he ought to have confin'd himself to a made Character, and not pretend to give for a real one, what altogether belong'd to no Body in fhort, Mr. Pope began to wifh he had not pufh'd the Matter fo far, but there was no receding, all he could do was a little to palliate the Bufinefs, and partly deny that the Character was meant for that noble Duke, and this he chofe to do, or rather got Mr. Cleland to do, in a Letter to his dear and intrinfick Friend Mr. Gay, dated December 16, 17 ng 80 A son

14

2016

I Am

3

Am astonish'd at the Complaints occafioned by a late Epiftle to the Earl of Burlington ;_and I fhould be afflicted, were there the leaft juft Ground for them. Had the Writer attack'd Vice, at a Time when it is not only tolerated, but triumphant, and fo far from being conceal'd as a Defect, that it is proclaim'd with Oftentation as a Merit; I should have been apprehenfive of the Confequence: Had he fatiriz'd Gamefters of a hundred thoufand Pounds Fortune, acquir'd by fuch Methods as are daily in Practice, and almoft univerfally encourag'd: Had he over warmly defended the Religion of his Country, against fuch Books as come from every Prefs, are publickly vended in every Shop, and greedily bought by almoft every Rank of Men; or had he called our excellent Weekly Writers by the fame Names which

*

they

they openly beftow on the greatest Men in the Miniftry, and out of the Miniftry, for which they are all unpunish'd, and most rewarded: In any of thefe Cafes, indeed, I might have judged him too prefumptuous, and perhaps have trembled for his Rafhness.

I could not but hope better for this mall and modeft Epiftle, which attacks no one Vice whatsoever; which deals only in Folly, and not Folly in general, but a fingle Species of it; that only Branch, for the oppofite Excellency to which, the noble Lord to whom it is written muft neceffarily be celebrated. I fancied it might escape Cenfure, especially feeing how tenderly thofe Follies are treated, and really lefs accus'd, than apologiz❜d for.

Yet hence the Poor are cloth'd, the Hungry fed Health to himself, and to his Infants Bread,

Lab'rer bears

ay

Is this fuch a Crime, that to impute it to a Man muft be a grievous Offence? 'tis an innocent Folly, and much more beneficent than the Want of it; for ill Tafte employs more Hands, and diffufes Expence more than a good one. Is it a moral Defect? No, it is but a natural one a want of Tafte. It is what the beft good Man living may be liable to: The worthieft Peer may live exemplary in an ill-favour'd Houfe, and the beft reputed Citizen may be pleas'd with a vile Garden. I thought (I fay) the Author had the common Liberty to obferve a Defect, and to compliment a Friend for a Quality that distinguishes him: Which I know not how any Quality fhould do, if we were not to remark that it was wanting in others.

"

But they fay the Satire is Perfonal. I thought it could not be fo, because all its Reflections are on Things. His Reflections are not on the Man, but on