from him, and make addresses to him but very rarely. A protestant divine cannot take it amiss that I treat him in the same manner with my patron saint.

I can tell you no news, but what you will not sufficiently wonder at, that I suffer many things as an author militant: whereof in your days of probation you have been a sharer, or you had not arrived in that triumphant state you now deservedly enjoy in the Church. As for me, I have not the least hopes of the Cardinalat, though I suffer for my religion in almost every weekly paper. I have begun to take a pique at the Psalms of David, if the wicked may be credited, who have printed a scandalous one* in my name. This report I dare not discourage too much, in a prospect I have at present of a post under the Marquis de Langallerie, wherein if I can do but some signal service against the Pope, I may be considerably advanced by the Turks, the only religious people I dare confide in. If it should happen hereafter that I should write for the holy law of Mahomet, I hope it may make no breach between you and

+ Warton says, 66 It is observable that he does not deny his being the writer of it." I have little doubt that he was so. The Psalm is printed in the Additions to Pope's Works.

Bowles.

A scandalous volume, published in 1757, mostly reprinted from Curll's surreptitious editions; containing many pieces certainly not Pope's, and concluding with the farce of Three Hours after Marriage.

since.

One who made a noise then, as Count Bonneval has done
Warburton.

me; every one must live, and I beg you will not be the man to manage the controversy against me. The Church of Rome I judge (from many modern symptoms, as well as ancient prophecies) to be in a declining condition; that of England will in a short time be scarce able to maintain her own family: so churches sink as generally as banks in Europe, and for the same reason; that religion and trade, which at first were open and free, have been reduced into the management of companies, and the roguery of directors.

I do not know why I tell you all this, but that I always loved to talk to you; but this is not a time for any man to talk to the purpose. Truth is a kind of contraband commodity, which I would not venture to export, and therefore the only thing tending that dangerous way which I shall say, is, that I am, and always will be, with the utmost sincerity, Yours, &c.

DEAR SIR,

LETTER XXVI.

MR. POPE TO DR. PARNELLE.

London, July 29, (1716).

I WISH it were not as ungenerous as vain, to complain too much of a man that forgets me, but I could expostulate with you a whole day upon your inhuman silence; I call it inhuman; nor would you think it less, if you were truly sensible of the uneasiness it gives me. Did I know you so

ill as to think you proud, I would be much less concerned than I am able to be, when I know one of the best-natured men alive neglects me; and if you know me so ill as to think amiss of me, with regard to my friendship for you, you really do not deserve half the trouble you occasion me. I need not tell you that both Mr. Gay and myself have written several letters in vain; that we are constantly inquiring of all who have seen Ireland, if they saw you, and that (forgotten as we are) we are every day remembering you in our most agreeable hours. All this is true; as that we are sincerely lovers of you, and deplorers of your absence; and that we form no wish more ardently than that which brings you over to us. We have lately had some distant hope of the Dean's design to revisit England; will not you accompany him? or is England to lose every thing that has any charms for us, and must we pray for banishment as a benediction? I have once been witness of some, I hope all, of your splenetic hours; come and be a comforter in your turn to me, in mine. I am in such an unsettled state, that I cannot tell if I shall ever see you, unless it be this year; whether I do or not, be ever assured, you have as large a share of my thoughts and good wishes as any man, and as great a portion of gratitude in my heart, as would enrich a monarch, could he know where to find it. I shall not die without testifying something of this nature, and leaving to the world a memorial of the friendship that has

been so great a pleasure and pride to me.

It

would be like writing my own epitaph, to acquaint you with what I have lost since I saw you, what I have done, what I have thought, where I have lived, and where I now repose in obscurity. My friend Jervas, the bearer of this, will inform you of all particulars concerning me; and Mr. Ford is charged with a thousand loves, and a thousand complaints, and a thousand commissions to you, on my part. They will both tax you with the neglect of some promises which were too agreeable to us all to be forgot; if you care for any of us, tell them so, and write so to me. I can say no more, but that I love you, and am in spite of the longest neglect or absence, dear Sir,

Your, &c.

Gay is in Devonshire, and from thence he goes to Bath; my father and mother never fail to commemorate you.

LETTER XXVII.

DR. SWIFT TO MR. POPE.

Aug. 30, 1716.

I HAD the favour of yours by Mr. F., of whom, before any other question relating to your health or fortune, or success as a poet, I inquired your principles in the common form, " Is he a Whig or a Tory?" I am sorry to find they are not so well

tallied to the present juncture as I could wish. I always thought the terms of facto and jure had been introduced by the poets, and that possession of any sort in kings was held an unexceptionable title in the courts of Parnassus. If you do not grow a perfect good subject in all its present latitudes, I shall conclude you are become rich, and able to live without dedications to men in power, whereby one great inconvenience will follow, that you and the world and posterity will be utterly ignorant of their virtues. For, either your brethren have miserably deceived us these hundred years past, or power confers virtue, as naturally as five of your Popish sacraments do grace. You sleep less and drink

more.

But your master Horace was Vini somnique benignus: and as I take it both are proper for your trade. As to mine, there are a thousand poetical texts to confirm the one; and as to the other, I know it was anciently the custom to sleep in temples for those who would consult the Oracles, "Who dictates to me slumbering," &c.*

You are an ill Catholic, or a worse geographer, for I can assure you, Ireland is not paradise,† and I appeal even to any Spanish divine, whether addresses were ever made to a friend in Hell, or Pur

The only time Swift ever alludes to Milton: who was of an order of writers very different from what Swift admired and imitated. Warton.

+ According to Spence's anecdotes, Swift was not born in Ireland, as it has sometimes been asserted, but at Leicester, 1667.

Warton.