To be belov'd, ah! What avails it thee?
Or me, to have a Lover, fo, belov'd?

Why, cruel Fate, doft thou the Hearts divide,
Which Love has join'd? Or why, perfidious Love,.
Doft thou, what Destiny divides unite?

Happy the Brutes! to whom kind Nature gives,
No Laws in Love, but those of Love alone:
Inhuman human Laws, give Death for Love.
If it be fuch a Pleafure to tranfgrefs,
And not to offend, be yet fo neceffary;
O too imperfect Nature, Law t'oppose!
O Law too hard, free Nature to restrain !
That Love which is afraid of Death is light,
Ah! would ro Heaven that nothing elfe but Death,
Stood between thee and me: O facred Virtue !
Thou, who to Souls above the Vulgar rais'd,
A Power inviolable art alone,

With thy Severity, all foft Defires

I kill within; and like an harmless Victim,
To thee I confecrate: Pardon, Mirtillo,
If I am cruel, where I muft not pity:
O pardon her, who in her Looks and Words,
Seems a fierce Enemy, but is at Heart,
A tender Lover; if thou feek Revenge,
What greater canft thou have than thine own Grief?
For if thou art my Heart, as fuch thou art,
In Oppofition, both to Heav'n and Earth,

Then if thou weep or figh, thofe Tears are thine,
They are my Blood, and all thofe Sighs my Breath;
ThofegrievousPains, those Griefs and Groans of thine,
Are not thy Pains, are not thy Griefs, but mine.

In this fingle Paffage Guarini has, in our Opinion, outgone all other Poets in this Subject of Complaint,

Let

Let no one think it ftrange, or foreign to Mr. Pope, that we thus largely difcourfe, and fhall difcourse comparatively, on thefe Poets with him, for he fill'd up all his Time almost in such a Way; take from his Life his Perufal and Comparing the Poets, his Converfation about Literature with his Friends, receiving Letters on learned Subjects and Criticism from them, and writing again to them all, Mr. Pope's active Part of Life would not fill one Sheet of Paper. The two greatest Actions of his Life are, that he went from London when young to live at Windfor-Foreft, and in the Year 1716 moved to Twickenham, for the Remainder of his Days: See his Letter to Mr. Blount, confeffing the fame; it is dated June 22...

Fa Regard both to publick and private Affairs, may plead a lawful Excufe in Behalf of a negli gent Correfpondent, I have really a very good Title to it. I cannot fay, whether 'tis a Felicity or Unhappiness, that I am obliged at this Time to give up my whole Application to Homer; when, without that Employment, my Thoughts muft turn upon what is lefs agreeable, the Violence, Madness, and Refentment, of modern (*) War-makers, which are likely to prove (to fome People at least) more fatal, than the fame Qualities in Achilles did to his unfortunate Countrymen.

Tho' the Change of my Scene of Life from Windfor-Foreft to the Side of the Thames be one of the grand Eras of my Days, and may be called a notable Period in fo inconfiderable a Hiftory; yet you can scarce imagine any Hero paffing from one Stage of Life to another with fo much Tranquility, fo eafy

a

(*) This was written in the Year of the Affair at Preston.

a Tranfition, and fo laudable a Behaviour. I am become fo truly a Citizen of the World (according to Plato's Expreffion) that I look with equal Indifference on what I have loft, and on what I have gain’d. The Times and Amusements paft are not more like a Dream to me, than thofe which are prefent: I lie in a refreshing Kind of Inaction, and have one Comfort at least from Obfcurity, that the Darkness helps me to fleep the better. I now and then reflect upon the Enjoyment of my Friends, whom I fancy I remember much as feperate Spirits do us, at tender Intervals, neither interrupting their own Employments, nor altogether carelefs of ours; but, in general, conftantly wishing us well, and hoping to have us one Day in their Company.

To grow indifferent to the World, is to grow philofophical or religious; (whichfoever of thofe Turas we chance to take) and indeed the World is fuch a Thing, as one that thinks pretty much, muft either laugh at, or be angry with: But if we laugh at it, they fay we are proud; and if we are angry with it, they fay we are ill-natur'd. So the most politick Way is to feem always better pleas'd than one can be, greater Admirers, greater Lovers, and, in fhort, greater Fools than we really are: So fhall we live comfortably with our Families, quietly with our Neighbours, favour'd by our Mafters, and happy with our Miftreffes. I have filled my Paper,

and fo adieu.

So that all Readers will be disappointed, who look into the Life of Mr. Pope, expecting to find any thing elfe but a Gentleman, a Scholar, and a Poet. He filled no Office or Place, was involv'd in no LawSuits, was no Traveller, mov'd but little from one Place to another, never married and confined his

Conver

Converfation within the Circle of his Friends; in short, his Life was wholly a State of Inaction, and spent in Conversation, Study, and Books: Upon this Subject, and we hope you will believe what he himself fays, he writes (eight Years before the forementioned Letter) to Henry Cromwell, Efq; April 27, 1708.

I

Have nothing to fay to you in this Letter; but I was refolv'd to write to you to tell you fo. Why should not I content myself with fo many great Examples, of deep Divines, profound Cafuifts, grave Philofophers; who have written not Letters only, but whole Tomes and voluminous Treatifes about Nothing? Why fhould a Fellow, like me, who all his Life does nothing, be asham'd to write nothing? and that to one who has nothing to do but to read it? But perhaps you'll fay, the whole World has fome thing to do, fomething to talk of, fomething to wish for, fomething to be employ'd about: But, pray, Sir, caft up the Account, put all these Somethings together, and what is the Sum Total but juft Nothing? I have no more to fay, but to defire you to give my Service (that is nothing) to your Friends, and to believe that I am nothing more than, Dear Sir, &c.

This Humour rather grew on him than abated, and he often faid, His Time was employ'd in multiplying of Nothings. It was his taking fo much Leifure that gave him an Opportunity to honour our Language, and oblige the World with fo many fine Pieces, he never feems to wish to have been in the bufy Part of the World, and never but once feem'd to repent his having liv'd fingle, that is in a Letter

to

to his dear Friend, Mr. Blount, (dearest except Mr. Gay the Date of it is October the 21ft, 1721.

Dear Sir,

Y

Our very kind and obliging Manner of enquiring after me, among the firft Concerns of Life at your Refufcitation, fhould have been fooner anfwer'd and acknowledg'd. I fincerely rejoice at your Recovery from an Illness that gave me lefs Pain than it did you, only from my Ignorance of it. Ifhould have elfe been ferioufly and deeply afflicted, in the Thought of your Danger by a Fever. I think it a fine and a natural Thought, which I lately read in a Letter of Montaigne's, publifh'd by P. Cofte, giving an Account of the laft Words of an intimate Frind of his: "Adieu my Friend! The Pain I feel "will foon be over, but I grieve for that you are to feel, which is to laft you for Life."

I join with your Family in giving God Thanks for lending us a worthy Man fomewhat longer. The Comforts you receive from their Attendance, put me in mind of what old Fletcher of Saltonne faid one Day to me. Alas, I have nothing to do but to die; I am a poor Individual; no Creature to wish, or to fear, for my Life or Death 'Tis the only Reafon I have to repent being a fingle Man; now I grow old, I am like a Tree without a Prop, and without young Trees to grow round me, for Company and Defence.

'This, we believe, will juftify us in proceeding in our further Difcourfe on Paftoral, intending to continue our Comparison of the Authors under our Confideration, as well as to bring forward fome of their greatest Beauties, which every Reader may not have feen in fo good a Light.

Befides that Air of Piety which ought always to accompany the Character of a Shepherd, there is

generally

M

t