that the Scheme of paying Debts by a Tax on Vices, is not one fyllable mine, but of a young Clergy-man whom I countenance; he told me it was built upon a paffage in Gulliver, where a Projector hath fomething upon the fame Thought. This young Man is the most hopeful we have: a book of his Poems was printed in London; Dr. D- is one of his Patrons: he is marry'd and has children, and makes up about 100%. a year, on which he lives decently. The utmost stretch of his ambition is, to gather up as much fuperfluous money as will give him a fight of you, and half an hour of your prefence; after which he will return home in full fatisfaction, and in proper time die in peace.

My poetical fountain is drain'd, and I profess, I grow gradually fo dry, that a Rhime with me is almost as hard to find as a Guinea; and even profe fpeculations tire me almost as much. Yet I have a thing in profe, begun above twentyeight years ago, and almost finish'd. It will make a four fhilling Volume, and is such a perfection of folly, that you shall never hear of it till it is printed, and then you shall be left to guess a. Nay I have another of the fame age, which will require a long time to perfect, and is worse than the former, in which I will ferve you the fame way. I heard lately from Mr.

who

a Polite Conversation.

promises

promises to be less lazy in order to mend his fortune. But women who live by their beauty, and men by their wit, are feldom provident enough to confider that both Wit and Beauty will go off with years, and there is no living upon the credit of what is past.

I am in great concern to hear of my Lady Bolingbroke's ill health returned upon her, and, I doubt, my Lord will find Dawley too solitary without her. In that, neither he nor you are companions young enough for me, and, I believe, the best part of the reason why men are faid to grow children when they are old, is because they cannot entertain themselves with thinking; which is the very cafe of little boys and girls, who love to be noify among their play-fellows. I am told Mrs. Pope is without pain, and I have not heard of a more gentle decay, without uneafiness to herself or friends; yet I cannot but pity you, who are ten times the greater fufferer, by having the perfon you most love, so long before you, and dying daily; and pray God it may not affect your mind or your health.

I

LET

a

LETTER LXII.

Mr. PoPE to Dr. SWIFT.

Dec. 5, 1732.

T is not a time to complain that you have

IT

not answered me two letters (in the last of which I was impatient under some fears:) It is not now indeed a time to think of myself, when one of the nearest and longest tyes I have ever had, is broken all on a fudden, by the unexpected death of poor Mr. Gay. An inflammatory fever hurried him out of this life in three days. He died last night at nine o'clock, not deprived of his fenfes entirely at last, and poffeffing them perfectly till within five hours. He asked of you a few hours before, when in acute torment by the inflammation in his bowels and breast. His effects are in the Duke of Queensbury's cuftody. His fifters, we fuppofe, will be his heirs, who are two widows; as yet it is not known whether or no he left a will. Good God! how often are we to die before we go quite off this stage? In every friend

"On my dear friend

"Mr. Gay's death: Re"ceived December 15. but "not read till the 20th, "by an Impulse, foreboding

"fome Misfortune." [This note is indors'd on the original letter in Dr. Swift's hand.]

P.

we

we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part. God keep those we have left! few are worth praying for, and one's felf the least of all.

I shall never fee you now, I believe; one of your principal calls to England is at an end. Indeed he was the most amiable by far, his qualities were the gentleft; but I love you as well and as firmly. Would to God the man we have loft had not been fo amiable, nor fo good! but that's a wifh for our own fakes, not for his. Sure if Innocence and integrity can deserve Happiness, it must be his. Adieu, I can add nothing to what you will feel, and diminish nothing from it. Yet write to me, and foon. Believe no man now living loves you better, I believe no man ever did, than

A. POPE.

Dr. Arbuthnot, whofe humanity you know, heartily commends himself to you. All poffible diligence and affection has been shown, and continued attendance on this melancholy occafion. Once more adieu, and write to one who is truly disconfolate.

Dear Sir,

I am forry that the renewal of our correfpondence should be upon fuch a melancholy occafion. Poor Mr. Gay died of an inflammaVOL. IX.

e

tion,

tion, and, I believe, at laft a mortification of the bowels; it was the most precipitate case I ever knew, having cut him off in three days. He was attended by two Physicians befides myfelf. I believed the distemper mortal from the beginning. I have not had the pleasure of a line from you these two years; I wrote one about your health, to which I had no answer, you all health and happiness, being with great affection and refpect, Sir,

I wish

Your, &c.

LETTER LXIII.

Dublin, 1732-3.

Received yours with a few lines from the Doctor, and the account of our lofing Mr. Gay, upon which event I fhall fay nothing. I am only concerned that long living hath. not hardened me for even in this kingdom, and in a few days paft, two perfons of great merit, whom I loved very well, have died in the prime of their years, but a little above thirty. would endeavour to comfort myself upon the lofs of friends, as I do upon the lofs of money; by turning to my account-book, and seeing whether I have enough left for my fupport; but in the former cafe I find I have not, any

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