Page images

Up to her godly garret after sev❜n,


There starve and pray, for that's the way to heav'n.
Some Squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack;
Whose game is Whisk, whose treat a toast in sack;
Who visits with a Gun, presents you birds,
Then gives a smacking buss, and cries,-No Words!
Or with his hound comes hallooing from the stable;
Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table;
Whose laughs are hearty, tho' his jests are coarse,
And loves you best of all things-but his horse. 30
In some fair ev'ning, on your elbow laid,
You dream of Triumphs in the rural shade;
In pensive thought recall the fancy'd scene,
See Coronations rise on ev'ry green;

Before you pass th' imaginary sights


Of Lords, and Earls, and Dukes, and garter'd


While the spread fan o'ershades your closing eyes;
Then give one flirt, and all the vision flies.
Thus vanish sceptres, coronets, and balls,
And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls! 40
So when your Slave, at some dear idle time,
(Not plagu❜d with head-achs, or the want of rhyme)
Stands in the streets, abstracted from the crew,
And while he seems to study, thinks of you;
Just when his fancy points your sprightly eyes, 45
Or sees the blush of soft Parthenia rise,
Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite,
Streets, Chairs, and Coxcombs rush upon my sight;
Vex'd to be still in town, I knit my brow,

Look sour, and hum a Tune, as you may now. 50



London, Oct. 22.

FEW words are best; I wish you well; BETHEL, I'm told, will soon be here; Some morning walks along the Mall, And evening friends, will end the

If, in this interval, between


The falling leaf and coming frost, You please to see, on Twit'nam green Your friend, your poet, and your host;

For three whole days you here may rest From Office business, news and strife; And (what most folks would think a jest)

Want nothing else, except your wife.







THE Prologue to Addison's Tragedy of Cato, is superior to any Prologue of Dryden; who, notwithstanding, is so justly celebrated for this species of writing. The Prologues of Dryden are satirical and facetious; this of Pope is solemn and sublime, as the subject required. Those of Dryden contain general topics of criticism and wit, and may precede any play whatsoever, even tragedy or comedy. This of Pope is particular, and appropriated to the tragedy alone which it was designed to introduce. Warton.

To the above just tribute to the merit of the following Prologue, I shall add the opinion of an excellent critic, the late Dr. Aikin, who has observed that " scarcely any thing grave or dignified had been offered to the public in this form, till Pope, inspired by the noble subject of Addison's Tragedy, composed this piece; which not only stands at the head of all prologues, but is scarcely surpassed in vigour of expression and elevation of sentiment by any passage in his own works."

To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart,
To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold,
Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold:


* This Prologue, and the Epilogue (to Jane Shore) are the most perfect models of this species of writing, both in the serious and the ludicrous way. Warburton.

The former is much the better of the two; for some of Dryden's, of the latter kind, are unequalled.


« EelmineJätka »