Fairest Valentine, the unfeigned wishe of your humble votary,

Jo. Dryden.

LETTER II.
TO [JOHN WILMOT,] EARL OF ROCHESTER.

MY LORD, Tuesday. [July, 1673.]58

I have accused my selfe this month together, for not writing to you. I have called my selfe by the names I deserved, of unmannerly and ungratefull. I have been uneasy, and taken up the resolutions of a man, who is betwixt sin and repentance, convinc’d of what he ought to do, and yet unable to do better. At the last, I deferred it so long, that I almost grew hardened in the neglect; and thought I had suffered so much in your good opinion, that it was in vain to hope I could redeem it. So dangerous a thing it is to be inclin’d to sloath, that I must confess, once for all, I was ready to quit all manner of obligations, and to receive, as if it were my due, the most handsome compliment, couch’d in the best language I have read, and this too from my Lord of Rochester, without shewing myself sensible of the favour. If your Lordship could condescend so far to say all those things to me, which I ought to have say’d to you, it might reasonably be concluded, that you had enchanted me to believe those praises, and that I owned them in my silence. ’Twas this consideration that moved me at last to put off my idleness. And now the shame of seeing my selfe overpay’d so much for an ill Dedication, has made me almost repent of my address. I find, it is not for me to contend any way with your Lordship, who can write better on the meanest subject, then I can on the best. I have only engaged my selfe in a new debt, when I had hoped to cancell a part of the old one; and should either have chosen some other patron, whom it was in my power to have obliged by speaking better of him then he deserv’d, or have made your Lordship only a hearty Dedication of the respect and honour I had for you, without giving you the occasion to conquer me, as you have done, at my own weapon.

My only relief is, that what I have written is publique, and I am so much my own friend as to conceal your Lordship’s letter; for that which would have given vanity to any other poet, has only given me confusion.

You see, my Lord, how far you have push’d me; I dare not own the honour you have done me, for fear of shewing it to my own disadvantage. You are that rerum natura of your own Lucretius;

You are above any incense I can give you, and have all the happiness of an idle life, join’d with the good-nature of an active. Your friends in town are ready to envy the leisure you have given your selfe in the country, though they know you are only their steward, and that you treasure up but so much health as you intend to spend on them in winter. In the mean time, you have withdrawn your selfe from attendance, the curse of courts; you may think on what you please, and that as little as you please; for, in my opinion, thinking it selfe is a kind of pain to a witty man; he finds so much more in it to disquiet than to please him. But I hope your Lordship will not omitt the occasion of laughing at the great Duke of B[uckingham,] who is so uneasy to him selfe by pursuing the honour of lieutenant-general, which flyes him, that he can enjoy nothing he possesses,60 though, at the same time, he is so unfit to command an army, that he is the only man in the three nations, who does not know it; yet he still picques himself, like his father, to find another Isle of Rhe in Zealand;61 thinking this disappointment an injury to him, which is indeed a favour, and will not be satisfied but with his own ruin and with ours. ’Tis a strange quality in a man to love idleness so well as to destroy his estate by it; and yet, at the same time, to pursue so violently the most toilsome and most unpleasant part of business. These observations would soon run into lampoon, if I had not forsworn that dangerous part of wit; not so much out of good-nature, but lest from the inborn vanity of poets I should shew it to others, and betray my selfe to a worse mischief than what I do to my enemy. This has been lately the case of Etherege, who, translating a satyr of Boileau’s, and changing the French names for English, read it so often, that it came to their ears who were concern’d, and forced him to leave off the design, e’re it were half finish’d. Two of the verses I remember:

But one of his friends imagin’d those names not enough for the dignity of a satyr, and chang’d them thus:

Because I deal not in satyr, I have sent your Lordship a prologue and epilogue, which I made for our players, when they went down to Oxford. I hear they have succeeded; and by the event your Lordship will judge how easy ’tis to pass any thing upon an university, and how gross flattery the learned will endure.67 If your Lordship had been in town, and I in the country, I durst not have entertained you with three pages of a letter; but I know they are very ill things which can be tedious to a man, who is fourscore miles from Covent Garden. ’Tis upon this confidence, that I dare almost promise to entertain you with a thousand bagatelles every week, and not to be serious in any part of my letter, but that wherein I take leave to call myself your Lordship’s

Most obedient servant, John Dryden.

LETTER III.

The following Note and Letter contains the determination of a dispute, and probably of a wager, which had been referred to our author by the parties. It concerns a passage in Creech’s “Lucretius,” and probably was written soon after the publication of that translation in 1682, when it was a recent subject of conversation. The full passage in “Lucretius” runs thus:

Which Creech thus renders:

The translation of Creech is at least complicated and unintelligible; and I am uncertain whether even Dryden’s explanation renders it grammatical. Dryden speaks elsewhere with great applause of Creech’s translation.

The original of this decision (in Dryden’s hand-writing) is in the possession of Mrs White of Bownham-hall, Gloucestershire, and was most obligingly communicated to the editor by that lady, through the medium of Mr Constable of Edinburgh.

The two verses, concerning which the dispute is rais’d, are these:

The question arising from them is, whether any true grammatical construction can be made of them? The objection is, that there is no nominative case appearing to the word perish, or that can be understood to belong to it.

I have considered the verses, and find the authour of them to have notoriously bungled; that he has plac’d the words as confus’dly as if he had studied to do so. This notwithstanding, the very words, without adding or diminishing in theire proper sence, (or at least what the authour meanes,) may run thus:—Besides, if what ever yeares prevaile over, should wholly perish, and its matter faile.

I pronounce therefore, as impartially as I can upon the whole, that there is a nominative case, and that figurative, so as Terence and Virgil, amongst others, use it; that is, the whole clause precedent is the nominative case to perish. My reason is this, and I think it obvious; let the question be ask’d, what it is that should wholly perish, or that perishes? The answer will be, That which yeares prevaile over. If you will not admit a clause to be in construction a nominative case, the word thing, illud, or quodcunque, is to be understood, either of which words, in the femine gender, agree with res, so that he meanes what ever thing time prevails over shou’d wholly perish, and its matter faile.

Lucretius, his Latine runs thus:

which ought to have been translated thus:

I translated it whatever purposely, to shew, that thing is to be understood; which, as the words are heere plac’d, is so very perspicuous, that the nominative case cannot be doubted.

The word, perish, used by Mr Creech, is a verb neuter; where Lucretius puts perimit, which is active; a licence which, in translating a philosophical poet, ought not to be taken; for some reason, which I have not room to give. But to comfort the loser, I am apt to believe, that the cross-grain confused verse put him so much out of patience, that he wou’d not suspect it of any sence.

SIR,

The company having done me so great an honour as to make me their judge, I desire from you the favour of presenting my acknowledgments to them; and shou’d be proud to heere from you, whether they rest satisfyed in my opinion, who am,

Sir, Your most humble servant, John Dryden.68

LETTER IV.
TO THE REV. DR BUSBY.

HONOUR’D SIR, Wednesday Morning, [1682.]

We have, with much ado, recover’d my younger sonn,69 who came home extreamly sick of a violent cold, and, as he thinks him selfe, a chine-cough. The truth is, his constitution is very tender; yet his desire of learning, I hope, will inable him to brush through the college. He is allwayes gratefully acknowledging your fatherly kindnesse to him; and very willing to his poore power, to do all things which may continue it. I have no more to add, but only to wish the eldest may also deserve some part of your good opinion; for I believe him to be of vertuous and pious inclinations; and for both, I dare assure you, that they can promise to them selves no farther share of my indulgence, then while they carry them selves with that reverence to you, and that honesty to all others, as becomes them. I am, honour’d Sir,

Your most obedient servant and scholar, John Dryden.70

LETTER V.
TO THE REV. DR BUSBY.

SIR, [1682.]

If I could have found in my selfe a fitting temper to have waited upon you, I had done it the day you dismissed my sonn71 from the college; for he did the message: and by what I find from Mr Meredith, as it was delivered by you to him; namely, that you desired to see me, and had somewhat to say to me concerning him. I observ’d likewise somewhat of kindnesse in it, that you sent him away, that you might not have occasion to correct him. I examin’d the business, and found, it concern’d his having been custos72 foure or five dayes together. But if he admonished, and was not believed, because other boyes combined to discredit him with false witnesseing, and to save them selves, perhaps his crime is not so great. Another fault, it seems, he made, which was going into one Hawkes his house, with some others; which you hapning to see, sent your servant to know who they were, and he onely returned you my sonn’s name; so the rest escaped.

I have no fault to find with my sonn’s punishment; for that is, and ought to be, reserv’d to any master, much more to you, who have been his father’s. But your man was certainly to blame to name him onely; and ’tis onely my respect to you, that I do not take notice of it to him. My first rash resolutions were, to have brought things past any composure, by immediately sending for my sonn’s things out of college; but upon recollection, I find, I have a double tye upon me not to do it: one, my obligations to you for my education; another, my great tendernesse of doeing any thing offensive to my Lord Bishop of Rochester,73 as cheife governour of the college. It does not consist with the honour I beare him and you to go so precipitately to worke; no, not so much as to have any difference with you, if it can possibly be avoyded. Yet, as my sonn stands now, I cannot see with what credit he can be elected; for, being but sixth, and (as you are pleased to judge,) not deserving that neither, I know not whether he may not go immediately to Cambridge, as well as one of his own election went to Oxford this yeare74 by your consent. I will say nothing of my second sonn, but that, after you had been pleased to advise me to waite on my Lord Bishop for his favour, I found he might have had the first place, if you had not opposed it; and I likewise found at the election, that, by the pains you had taken with him, he in some sort deserved it.

I hope, Sir, when you have given your selfe the trouble to read thus farr, you, who are a prudent man, will consider, that none complaine, but they desire to be reconciled at the same time: there is no mild expostulation, at least, which does not intimate a kindness and respect in him who makes it. Be pleas’d, if there be no merit on my side, to make it your own act of grace to be what you were formerly to my sonn. I have done something, so far to conquer my own spirit as to ask it; and, indeed, I know not with what face to go to my Lord Bishop, and to tell him I am takeing away both my sonns; for though I shall tell him no occasion, it will looke like a disrespect to my old master, of which I will not be guilty, if it be possible. I shall add no more, but hope I shall be so satisfyed with a favourable answer from you, which I promise to my selfe from your goodnesse and moderation, that I shall still have occasion to continue,

Sir, Your most obliged humble servant, John Dryden.75

LETTER VI.
TO LAURENCE HYDE, EARL OF ROCHESTER76

MY LORD, [Perhaps August 1683.]

I know not whether my Lord Sunderland has interceded with your Lordship for half a yeare of my salary; but I have two other advocates, my extreme wants, even almost to arresting, and my ill health, which cannot be repaired without immediate retireing into the country. A quarter’s allowance is but the Jesuit’s powder to my disease; the fit will return a fortnight hence. If I durst, I would plead a little merit, and some hazards of my life from the common enemyes; my refuseing advantages offered by them, and neglecting my beneficiall tudyes, for the King’s service: but I only thinke I merit not to sterve. I never apply’d myselfe to any interest contrary to your Lordship’s; and on some occasions, perhaps not known to you, have not been unserviceable to the memory and reputation of my Lord, your father.77 After this, my Lord, my conscience assures me, I may write boldly, though I cannot speake to you. I have three sonns growing to man’s estate; I breed them all up to learning, beyond my fortune; but they are too hopefull to be neglected, though I want. Be pleased to looke on me with an eye of compassion. Some small employment would render my condition easy. The King is not unsatisfied of me; the Duke has often promised me his assistance; and your Lordship is the conduit through which they passe, either in the Customes, or the Appeals of the Excise,78 or some other way, meanes cannot be wanting, if you please to have the will. ’Tis enough for one age to have neglected Mr Cowley, and sterv’d Mr Butler; but neither of them had the happiness to live till your Lordship’s ministry. In the meane time, be pleased to give me a gracious and speedy answer to my present request of halfe a yeare’s pention for my necessityes. I am going to write somewhat by his Majesty’s command,79 and cannot stir into the country for my health and studies, till I secure my family from want. You have many petitions of this nature, and cannot satisfy all; but I hope, from your goodness, to be made an exception to your general rules,80 because I am, with all sincerity,

Your Lordship’s Most obedient humble servant, John Dryden.

LETTER VII.
TO MR JACOB TONSON.

The letters to Tonson are without dates. I have retained those which Mr Malone has attached to them, from circumstances of internal evidence which it seems unnecessary to detail, but which appear in general satisfactory, though not given as absolutely conclusive.

MR TONSON, Monday Morning, [1684.]

The two melons you sent I received before your letter, which came foure houres after: I tasted one of them, which was too good to need an excuse; the other is yet untouched. You have written diverse things which give me great satisfaction; particularly that the History of the League is commended: and I hope the onely thing I feared in it is not found out.81 Take it all together, and I dare say without vanity, ’tis the best translation of any history in English, though I cannot say ’tis the best history; but that is no fault of mine. I am glad my Lord Duke of Ormond has one: I did not forget him; but I thought his sorrows were too fresh upon him to receive a present of that nature.82 For my Lord Roscommon’s Essay,83 I am of your opinion, that you should reprint it, and that you may safely venture on a thousand more. In my verses before it, pray let the printer mend his errour, and let the line stand thus:

Charles his copy85 is all true. The other faults my Lord Roscommon will mend in the booke, or Mr Chetwood86 for him, if my Lord be gone for Ireland; of which, pray send me word.

Your opinion of the Miscellanyes87 is likewise mine: I will for once lay by the “Religio Laici,” till another time. But I must also add, that since we are to have nothing but new, I am resolved we will have nothing but good, whomever we disoblige. You will have of mine, four Odes of Horace, which I have already translated; another small translation of forty lines from Lucretius; the whole story of Nisus and Eurialus, both in the fifth and the ninth of Virgil’s Æneids: and I care not who translates them beside me; for let him be friend or foe, I will please myself, and not give off in consideration of any man. There will be forty lines more of Virgil in another place, to answer those of Lucretius: I meane those very lines which Montagne has compared in those two poets; and Homer shall sleep on for me,—I will not now meddle with him. And for the Act which remains of the Opera,88 I believe I shall have no leysure to mind it, after I have done what I proposed; for my business here is to unweary my selfe after my studyes, not to drudge.

I am very glad you have pay’d Mr Jones, because he has carryed him selfe so gentlemanlike to me; and, if ever it lyes in my power, I will requite it. I desire to know whether the Duke’s House are makeing cloaths, and putting things in a readiness for the singing Opera, to be played immediately after Michaelmasse.89 For the actors in the two playes90 which are to be acted of mine this winter, I had spoken with Mr Betterton by chance at the Coffee-house the afternoon before I came away; and I believe that the persons were all agreed on, to be just the same you mentioned; only Octavia was to be Mrs Butler, in case Mrs Cooke were not on the stage; and I know not whether Mrs Percival, who is a comedian, will do well for Benzayda.

I came hither for health, and had a kind of hectique feavour for a fortnight of the time: I am now much better. Poore Jack91 is not yet recovered of an intermitting feavour, of which this is the twelfth day; but he mends, and now begins to eat flesh: to add to this, my man, with over care of him, is fallen ill too, of the same distemper; so that I am deep in doctors, ’pothecaries, and nurses: but though many in this country fall sick of feavours, few or none dye. Your friend, Charles,92 continues well. If you have any extraordinary newes, I should be glad to heare it. I will answer Mr Butler’s letter next week; for it requires no hast.

I am yours, John Dryden.

LETTER VIII.
FROM JACOB TONSON TO JOHN DRYDEN, ESQ.

SIR, [Probably written in Jan. or Feb. 1692-3.]93

I have here returned y^e Ovid, w^ch I read w^th a great deal of pleasure, and think nothing can be more entertaining; but by this letter you find I am not soe well satisfied as perhaps you might think. I hope at y^e same time the matter of fact I lay down in this letter will appear grounds for it, and w^ch I beg you wou’d concider of; and then I believe I shall at least bee excused.

You may please, S^r, to remember, that upon my first proposal about y^e 3^d Miscellany, I offer’d fifty pounds, and talk’d of several authours, without naming Ovid. You ask’d if it shou’d not be guynneas, and said I shou’d not repent it; upon w^ch I imediately comply’d, and left it wholy to you what, and for y^e quantity too: and I declare it was the farthest in y^e world from my thoughts that by leaving it to you I shou’d have the less. Thus the case stood when you went into Essex. After I came out of Northamptonshire I wrote to you, and reseived a letter dated Monday Oct. 3^d, 92, from w^ch letter I now write word for word what followes:

“I am translating about six hundred lines, or somewhat less, of y^e first book of the Metamorphoses. If I cannot get my price, w^ch shall be twenty guynneas, I will translate the whole book; w^ch coming out before the whole translation, will spoyl Tate’s undertakings. ’Tis one of the best I have ever made, and very pleasant. This, w^th Heroe and Leander, and the piece of Homer, (or, if it be not enough, I will add more,) will make a good part of a Miscellany.”

Those, S^r, are y^e very words, and y^e onely ones in that letter relating to that affair; and y^e Monday following you came to town.—After your arrivall you shew’d Mr Motteaux what you had done, (w^ch he told me was to y^e end of y^e story of Daphnis,) [Daphne,] and demanded, as you mention’d in your letter, twenty guyneas, w^ch that bookseller refus’d. Now, S^r, I the rather believe there was just soe much done, by reason y^e number of lines you mention in yo^r letter agrees w^th y^e quantity of lines that soe much of y^e first book makes; w^ch upon counting y^e Ovid, I find to be in y^e Lattin 566, in y^e English 759; and y^e bookseller told me there was noe more demanded of him for it.—Now, S^r, what I entreat you wou’d please to consider of is this: that it is reasonable for me to expect at least as much favour from you as a strange bookseller; and I will never believe y^t it can be in yo^r nature to use one y^e worse for leaveing it to you; and if the matter of fact as I state it be true, (and upon my word what I mention I can shew you in yo^r letter,) then pray, S^r, consider how much dearer I pay then you offered it to y^e other bookseller; for he might have had to y^e end of y^e story of Daphnis for 20 guynneas, w^ch is in yo^r translation ... 759 lines; And then suppose 20 guyneas more for the same number ... 759 lines, ————- that makes for 40 guyneas 1518 lines; and all that I have for fifty guyneas are but 1446; soe that, if I have noe more, I pay 10 guyneas above 40, and have 72 lines less for fifty, in proportion, than the other bookseller shou’d have had for 40, at y^e rate you offered him y^e first part. This is, Sir, what I shall take as a great favour if you please to think of. I had intentions of letting you know this before; but till I had paid y^e money, I would not ask to see the book, nor count the lines, least it shou’d look like a design of not keeping my word. When you have looked over y^e rest of what you have already translated, I desire you would send it; and I own y^t if you don’t think fit to add something more, I must submit: ’tis wholly at yo^r choice, for I left it intirely to you; but I believe you cannot imagine I expected soe little; for you were pleased to use me much kindlyer in Juvenall, w^ch is not reckon’d soe easy to translate as Ovid. S^r, I humbly beg yo^r pardon for this long letter, and upon my word I had rather have yo^r good will than any man’s alive; and, whatever you are pleased to doe, will alway acknowledge my self, S^r,

Yo^r most obliged humble Serv^t, J. Tonson.

LETTER IX.
TO MR JACOB TONSON.94

MR TONSON, August 30. [1693.]

I am much asham’d of my self, that I am so much behind-hand with you in kindness. Above all things I am sensible of your good nature, in bearing me company to this place, wherein, besides the cost, you must needs neglect your own business; but I will endeavour to make you some amends; and therefore I desire you to command me something for your service. I am sure you thought my Lord Radclyffe95 wou’d have done something: I ghess’d more truly, that he cou’d not; but I was too far ingag’d to desist, though I was tempted to it by the melancholique prospect I had of it. I have translated six hundred lines of Ovid; but I believe I shall not compasse his 772 lines under nine hundred or more of mine.—This time I cannot write to my wife, because he who is to carry my letter to Oundle, will not stay till I can write another. Pray, Sir, let her know that I am well; and for feare the few damsins shou’d be all gone, desire her to buy me a sieve-full, to preserve whole, and not in mash.96

I intend to come up at least a week before Michaelmass; for Sir Matthew97 is gone abroad, I suspect a wooeing, and his caleche is gone with him: so that I have been but thrice at Tichmarsh, of which you were with me once. This disappointment makes the place wearysome to me, which otherwise wou’d be pleasant.

About a fortnight ago I had an intimation from a friend by letter, that one of the secretaryes, I suppose Trenchard,98 had informed the queen, that I had abus’d her government (those were the words) in my Epistle to my Lord Radcliffe; and that thereupon she had commanded her historiographer, Rymer, to fall upon my playes; which he assures me is now doeing. I doubt not his malice, from a former hint you gave me; and if he be employ’d, I am confident ’tis of his own seeking; who, you know, has spoken slightly of me in his last critique:99 and that gave me occasion to snarl againe.100 In your next, let me know what you can learn of this matter. I am Mr Congreve’s true lover, and desire you to tell him, how kindly I take his often remembrances of me: I wish him all prosperity, and hope I shall never loose his affection; nor yours, Sir, as being

Your most faithfull, And much obliged Servant, John Dryden.

I had all your letters.

Sir Matthew had your book when he came home last; and desir’d me to give you his acknowledgements.

LETTER X.
MR JOHN DENNIS101 TO MR DRYDEN.

DEAR SIR,

You may see already by this presumptuous greeting, that encouragement gives as much assurance to friendship, as it imparts to love. You may see too, that a friend may sometimes proceed to acknowledge affection, by the very same degrees by which a lover declares his passion. This last at first confesses esteem, yet owns no passion but admiration. But as soon as he is animated by one kind expression, his look, his style, and his very soul are altered. But as sovereign beauties know very well, that he who confesses he esteems and admires them, implies that he loves them, or is inclined to love them: a person of Mr Dryden’s exalted genius, can discern very well, that when we esteem him highly, ’tis respect restrains us, if we say no more. For where great esteem is without affection, ’tis often attended with envy, if not with hate; which passions detract even when they commend, and silence is their highest panegyrick. ’Tis indeed impossible, that I should refuse to love a man, who has so often given me all the pleasure that the most insatiable mind can desire: when at any time I have been dejected by disappointments, or tormented by cruel passions, the recourse to your verses has calm’d my soul, or raised it to transports which made it contemn tranquillity. But though you have so often given me all the pleasure I was able to bear, I have reason to complain of you on this account, that you have confined my delight to a narrower compass. Suckling, Cowley, and Denham, who formerly ravished me in every part of them, now appear tasteless to me in most; and Waller himself, with all his gallantry, and all that admirable art of his turns, appears three quarters prose to me. Thus ’tis plain, that your Muse has done me an injury; but she has made me amends for it. For she is like those extraordinary women, who, besides the regularity of their charming features, besides their engaging wit, have secret, unaccountable, enchanting graces; which though they have been long and often enjoyed, make them always new and always desirable.—I return you my hearty thanks for your most obliging letter. I had been very unreasonable, if I had repined that the favour arrived no sooner. ’Tis allowable to grumble at the delaying a payment; but to murmur at the deferring a benefit, is to be impudently ungrateful beforehand. The commendations which you give me, exceedingly sooth my vanity. For you with a breath can bestow or confirm reputation; a whole numberless people proclaims the praise which you give, and the judgments of three mighty kingdoms appear to depend upon yours. The people gave me some little applause before; but to whom, when they are in the humour, will they not give it? and to whom, when they are froward, will they not refuse it? Reputation with them depends upon chance, unless they are guided by those above them. They are but the keepers, as it were, of the lottery which Fortune sets up for renown; upon which Fame is bound to attend with her trumpet, and sound when men draw the prizes. Thus I had rather have your approbation than the applause of Fame. Her commendation argues good luck, but Mr Dryden’s implies desert. Whatever low opinion I have hitherto had of myself, I have so great a value for your judgment, that, for the sake of that, I shall be willing henceforward to believe that I am not wholly desertless; but that you may find me still more supportable, I shall endeavour to compensate whatever I want in those glittering qualities, by which the world is dazzled, with truth, with faith, and with zeal to serve you; qualities which for their rarity, might be objects of wonder, but that men dare not appear to admire them, because their admiration would manifestly declare their want of them. Thus, Sir, let me assure you, that though you are acquainted with several gentlemen, whose eloquence and wit may capacitate them to offer their service with more address to you, yet no one can declare himself, with greater chearfulness, or with greater fidelity, or with more profound respect than myself,

LETTER XI.
TO MR JOHN DENNIS. [In answer to the foregoing.]

MY DEAR MR DENNIS, [Probably March 1693-4.]

When I read a letter so full of my commendations as your last, I cannot but consider you as the master of a vast treasure, who having more than enough for yourself, are forced to ebb out upon your friends. You have indeed the best right to give them, since you have them in propriety; but they are no more mine when I receive them than the light of the moon can be allowed to be her own, who shines but by the reflexion of her brother. Your own poetry is a more powerful example, to prove that the modern writers may enter into comparison with the ancients, than any which Perrault could produce in France: yet neither he, nor you, who are a better critick, can persuade me, that there is any room left for a solid commendation at this time of day, at least for me.

If I undertake the translation of Virgil, the little which I can perform will shew at least, that no man is fit to write after him, in a barbarous modern tongue. Neither will his machines be of any service to a Christian poet. We see how ineffectually they have been tryed by Tasso, and by Ariosto. It is using them too dully, if we only make devils of his gods: as if, for example, I would raise a storm, and make use of Æolus, with this only difference of calling him Prince of the Air; what invention of mine would there be in this? or who would not see Virgil thorough me; only the same trick played over again by a bungling juggler? Boileau has well observed, that it is an easy matter in a Christian poem, for God to bring the Devil to reason. I think I have given a better hint for new machines in my preface to Juvenal; where I have particularly recommended two subjects, one of King Arthur’s conquest of the Saxons, and the other of the Black Prince in his conquest of Spain. But the guardian angels of monarchys and kingdoms are not to be touched by every hand: a man must be deeply conversant in the Platonic philosophy, to deal with them; and therefore I may reasonably expect, that no poet of our age will presume to handle those machines, for fear of discovering his own ignorance; or if he should, he might perhaps be ingrateful enough not to own me for his benefactour.102

After I have confessed thus much of our modern heroic poetry, I cannot but conclude with Mr Rymer, that our English comedy is far beyond any thing of the ancients: and notwithstanding our irregularities, so is our tragedy. Shakspeare had a genius for it; and we know, in spite of Mr Rymer, that genius alone is a greater virtue (if I may so call it) than all other qualifications put together. You see what success this learned critick has found in the world, after his blaspheming Shakspeare.103 Almost all the faults which he has discovered are truly there; yet who will read Mr Rymer, or not read Shakspeare? For my own part I reverence Mr Rymer’s learning, but I detest his ill-nature and his arrogance. I indeed, and such as I, have reason to be afraid of him, but Shakspeare has not.104

There is another part of poetry, in which the English stand almost upon an equal foot with the ancients; and it is that which we call Pindarique; introduced, but not perfected, by our famous Mr Cowley: and of this, Sir, you are certainly one of the greatest masters. You have the sublimity of sense as well as sound, and know how far the boldness of a poet may lawfully extend. I could wish you would cultivate this kind of Ode; and reduce it either to the same measures which Pindar used, or give new measures of your own. For, as it is, it looks like a vast tract of land newly discovered: the soil is wonderfully fruitful, but unmanured; overstocked with inhabitants, but almost all savages, without laws, arts, arms, or policy.

I remember, poor Nat. Lee, who was then upon the verge of madness, yet made a sober and a witty answer to a bad poet, who told him, “It was an easie thing to write like a madman:” “No,” said he, “it is very difficult to write like a madman, but it is a very easie matter to write like a fool.” Otway and he are safe by death from all attacks, but we poor poets militant (to use Mr Cowley’s expression) are at the mercy of wretched scribblers: and when they cannot fasten upon our verses, they fall upon our morals, our principles of state, and religion. For my principles of religion, I will not justifie them to you: I know yours are far different. For the same reason, I shall say nothing of my principles of state. I believe you and yours follow the dictates of your reason, as I in mine do those of my conscience. If I thought myself in an errour, I would retract it. I am sure that I suffer for them; and Milton makes even the Devil say, that no creature is in love with pain. For my morals betwixt man and man, I am not to be my own judge. I appeal to the world, if I have deceived or defrauded any man: and for my private conversation, they who see me every day can be the best witnesses, whether or no it be blameless and inoffensive. Hitherto I have no reason to complain that men of either party shun my company. I have never been an impudent beggar at the doors of noblemen: my visits have indeed been too rare to be unacceptable; and but just enough to testifie my gratitude for their bounty, which I have frequently received, but always unasked, as themselves will witness.

I have written more than I needed to you on this subject; for I dare say you justifie me to yourself. As for that which I first intended for the principal subject of this letter, which is my friend’s passion and his design of marriage, on better consideration I have changed my mind; for having had the honour to see my dear friend Wycherly’s letter to him on that occasion, I find nothing to be added or amended. But as well as I love Mr Wycherly, I confess I love myself so well, that I will not shew how much I am inferiour to him in wit and judgment, by undertaking any thing after him. There is Moses and the Prophets in his council. Jupiter and Juno, as the poets tell us, made Tiresias their umpire in a certain merry dispute, which fell out in heaven betwixt them. Tiresias, you know, had been of both sexes, and therefore was a proper judge; our friend Mr Wycherly is full as competent an arbitrator; he has been a bachelor, and marryed man, and is now a widower. Virgil says of Ceneus,