Gay is your's and theirs. His Spirit is awakened very much in the Caufe of the Dean, which has broke forth in a courageous Couplet or two upon Sir Rich ard Bl- he has printed it with his name to it, and bravely affigns no other Reafon, than that the faid Sir Richard has abufed Dr Swift. I have alfo fuffered in the like Caufe, and fhall fuffer more; unlefs Parnelle fends me his Zoilus and Bookworm (which the Bishop of Clogher, I hear, greatly extols) it will be fhortly, Concurrere Bellum atque Virum. I love you all as much as I defpife moft Wits in this dull Country. Ireland has turned the Tables pon England; and if I have no Poetical Friend in my own Nation, I'll be as proud as Scipio, and fay, (fince I am reduced to Skin and Bone) Ingrata patria, ne offa quidem habeas.

To the fame.

Nov. 20. 1716.

THAT you have not heard from me of late, afcribe not to the ufual Lazinefs of your Corref pondent, but to a ramble to Oxford, where your Name is mentioned with Honour, even in a Land flowing with Tories. I had the good Fortune there to be often in the Converfation of Dr Clarke: He entertained me with feveral Drawings, and particularly with the Original Defigns of Inigo Jones's Whitehall I there faw and reverenced fome of your firft Pieces; which future Painters are to look upon as we Poets, do on the Culex of Virgil, and Batrachom of Homer.

Having named this latter Piece, give me leave to ask what is become of Dr Parnelle and his Frogs ? Oblitufque meorum, oblivifcendus & illis, might be Horace's

Horace's wifh, but will never be mine, while I have fuch meorums as Dr Parnelle and Dr Swift. I hope the Spring will reftore you to us, and with you all the Beauties and Colours of Nature. Not but I congratulate you on the Pleasure you must take in being admired in your own Country, which fo feldom happens to Prophets and Poets. But in this you have the Advantage of Poets; you are Mafter of an Art that muft, profper, and grow rich, as long as People love, or are proud of themfelves, or their own Perfons. However, you have ftay'd long enough, methinks, to have painted all the numberlefs Hiftories of old Ogygia. If you have begun to be Hiftorical, I recommend to your hand the story which every pious Irishman ought to begin with, that of St Patrick: To the end you may be obliged (as Dr P. was, when he tranflated the Batrachomuomachia) to come into England to copy the Frogs, and fuch other Vermine as were never seen in that land finee the Time of that Confeffor.

I long to see you a Hiftory Painter. You have already done enough for the Private, do fomething for the Public; and be not confined, like the reft, to draw only fuch filly Stories as our own Faces tell of us. The Ancients too expect you fhould do them right; thofe Statues from which you learned your beautiful and noble Ideas, demand it as a piece of Gratitude from you, to make them truly known to all Nations, in the Account you intend to write of their Characters. I hope you think more warmly than ever of that noble design.

As to your enquiry about your Houfe, when I come within the Walls, they put me in mind of those of Carthage where your Friend, like the wandring Trojan,

Antumn

Animum Pictura pafcit inani.

For the fpacious Mansion, like a Turkish Caravanserah, entertains the Vagabond with only bare Lodging, I rule the Family very ill, keep bad Hours, and lend out your Pictures about the Town. See what it is to have a Poet in your Houfel Frank indeed does all he can in fuch a Circumftance, for confidering he has a wild Beaft in it, he conftantly keeps the Door chain'd. Every time it is open'd, the Links rattle, the rufty Hinges roar, the Houfe feeins fo fenfible that you are it's fupport, that it is ready to drop in your Abfence; but I ftill truft my felf under it's Roof, as depending that Providence will preferve fo many Raphaels, Titians, and Guido's, as are lodg’d in your Cabinet. Surely the Sins of one Poet can hardly be fo heavy, as to bring an old House over the Heads of fo many Painters. In a word, your Houfe is falling, but what of that? I am only a Lodger.

Mr Secretary CRAGGS to Mr POPE.

Paris, Sept. 2. 1716.

LAST Poft brought me the favour of your Letter of the 10th Aug. O. S. It would be taking too much upon me to decide, that 'twas a witty one; I never pretended to more judgment than to know what pleases me, and can affure you, it was a very agreeable one. The proof I can give you of my fincerity in this Opinion, is, that I hope and defire you would not ftop at this, but continue more of them.

I am

I am in a Place where Pleasure is continually flowing. The Princes fet the Example, and the Subjects follow at a distance. The Ladies are of all parties, by which means the, Converfation of the Men is very much softened and fashioned from those blunt difputes on Politics, and rough Jefts, we are fo guilty of, while the Freedom of the Women takes away all Formality and Conftraint. I must own, at the fame Time, thefe Beauties are a little too artificial for my Tafte; you have feen a French Picture the Original is more painted, and fuch a cruft of Powder and Effence in their Hair; that you can fee no diffe rence between black and red. By difufing Stays, and indulging themselves at a Table, they are run out of all Shape; but as to that, they may give a good Reafon, they prefer Conveniency to Parade, and are by this means as ready, as they are generally willing to be charitable.

I am furpriz'd to find I have wrote fo much Scandal; I fancy I am either fetting up for a Wit, or imagine Imuft write in this Style to a Wit; I hope you'll prove a good natur'd one, and not only let me hear from you fometimes, but forgive the fmall Encouragement you meet with. If you'll compleat your Favours, pray give my humble Services to Lords W-ck, St-, and H-y. I have had my hopes and fears they would have abused me before this Time; I am fure it is not my bufinefs to meddle with a neft of Bees (I fpeak only of the Honey). I won't trouble my felf to finifh finely, a true Compliment is better than a good one, and can affure you without any, that I am very fincerely,

SIR, Tour, &c.

The

The Reverend Dean *BERKLEY, to Mr POPE.

Naples, Oct. 22. N. S. 1717.

I Have long had it in my Thoughts to trouble you

with a Letter, but was difcouraged for want of fomething that I could think worth fending fifteen hundred Miles. Italy is fuch an exhaufted Subject, that, I dare fay, you'd eafily forgive my faying nothing of it; and the Imagination of a Poet is a thing fo nice and delicate, that it is no eafy matter to find out Images capable of giving Pleasure to one of the few, who (in any Age) have come up to that Character. I am nevertheless lately returned from an Island, where I paffed three or four Months, which, were it fet out in it's true Colours, might methinks amuse you agreeably enough for a Minute or two. The Inland Inarime is an Epitome of the whole Earth, containing within the compass of eighteen Miles, a wonderful variety of Hills, Vales, ragged Rocks, fruitful Plains, and barren Mountains, all thrown together in a moft romantic Confufion. The Air is in the hottest Seafon conftantly refreshed by cool breezes from the Sea. The Vales produce excellent Wheat and Indian Corn, but are mostly covered with Vineyards, intermixt with Fruit-trees. Befides the common kinds, as Cherries, Apricots, Peaches, c. they produce Oranges, Limes, Almonds, Pomegranates, Figs, Water Melons, and many other Fruits unknown to our Climates, which lie every where open to the Paffenger. The Hills are the greater part covered to the top with Vines, fome

* Afterwards Bishop of Cloyne in Ireland, a celebrated Metaphyfician, Author of the Dialogues of Hylas and Philonnefes, the Minute Philofopher, &c.

with