always thought of players, and of the son as I thought of the father. I sincerely wish you success, and am, Sir, Your, &c.

LETTER XXIX.

FROM MR. PITT, THE TRANSLATOR OF VIRGIL, TO

DEAR JO,

MR. SPENCE.

July 18, Blandford, 1726.

I AM entering into proposals with a bookseller for printing a little miscellany of my own performances, consisting of some originals and select translations. I beg you to be altogether silent in the matter. Mr. Pope has used so little of the 23rd Odyssey that I gave Dr. Young, that if I put it in among the rest I shall hardly incur any danger of the penalty concerning the patent. However I will not presume to publish a single line of it after Mr. Pope's Translation, if you advise me (as I desire you to do sincerely) to the contrary. I shall send you a small specimen of my translation, which if you approve of, I can assure you the remainder of the book is not inferior to it.

THE nurse all wild with transport seem'd to swim,
Joy wing'd her feet and lighten'd ev'ry limb;
Then to the room with speed impatient borne,
Flew with the tidings of her lord's return.

with applause) had been just returned to the author, with great contempt, by Mr. Theophilus Cibber.

Warton.

There bending o'er the sleeping queen, she cries:
"Rise, my Penelope, my daughter, rise
To see Ulysses, thy long-absent spouse,
Thy soul's desire, and lord of all thy vows:
Tho' late, he comes, and in his rage has slain,
For all their wrongs, the haughty suitor train."

"Ah Euryclea," she replies, "you rave;
The gods resume that reason which they gave;
For heaven deep wisdom to the fool supplies,
But oft infatuates and confounds the wise.
And wisdom once was thine! but now I find
The gods have ruin'd thy distemper'd mind.
How could you hope your fiction to impose?
Was it to flatter or deride my woes?
How could you break a sleep with talk so vain,
That held my sorrows in so soft a chain?

A sleep so sweet I never could enjoy
Since my dear lord left Ithaca for Troy:
Curs'd Troy-oh! why did I thy name disclose?
Thy fatal name awakens all my woes:
But fly-some other had provok'd my rage,
And you but owe your pardon to your age."

"No artful tales, no studied lies, I frame,
Ulysses lives (rejoins the reverend dame)
In that dishonour'd stranger's close disguise,
Long has he pass'd all unsuspecting eyes,
All but thy son's-and long has he suppress'd
The well-concerted secret in his breast;
Till his brave father should his foes defeat,
And the close scheme of his revenge complete."

Swift as the word the queen transported sprung,
And round the dame in strict embraces hung;
Then as the big round tears began to roll,
Spoke the quick doubts and hurry of her soul.

"If my victorious hero safe arrives,
If my dear lord, Ulysses, still survives,
Tell me, oh tell me, how he fought alone?
How were such multitudes destroy'd by one?

Nought I beheld, but heard their cries," she said,
"When death flew raging, and the suitors bled:
Immur'd we listen'd, as we sat around,
To each deep groan and agonizing sound.
Call'd by thy son to view the scene, I fled,
And saw Ulysses striding o'er the dead!
Amidst the rising heaps the hero stood
All grim, and terribly adorn'd with blood.

This is enough in conscience for this time; besides I am desired by Mr. Pope or Mr. Lintot, I do not know which, to write to Mr. Pope on a certain affair.

SIR,

LETTER XXX.

MR. POPE TO THE REV. MR. PITT,

TRANSLATOR OF VIDA AND VIRGIL.

Twickenham, near Hampton-Court,
July 23, 1726.

I RECEIVED a letter from you with satisfaction, having long been desirous of any occasion of testifying my regard for you, and particularly of acknowledging the pleasure your Version of Vida's Poetic had afforded me. I had it not indeed from your bookseller, but read it with eagerness, and think it both a correct and a spirited translation. I am pleased to have been (as you tell me) the occasion of your undertaking that work: that is some sort of merit; and, if I have any in me, it really consists in an earnest desire to promote and produce, as far as I can, that of others. But as to

my being the publisher, or any way concerned in reviewing or recommending of Lintot's Miscellany, it is what I never did in my life, though he (like the rest of his tribe) makes a very free use of my name. He has often reprinted my things, and so scurvily, that, finding he was doing so again, I corrected the sheets as far as they went, of my own only. And, being told by him that he had two or three copies of yours, which you also had formerly sent me (as he said) through his hands, I obliged him to write for your consent, before he made use of them. This was all: your second book he has just now delivered to me, the inscription of which to myself I will take care he shall leave out; and either return the rest of your verses to him, or not, as you shall like best.

I am obliged to you, Sir, for expressing a much higher opinion of me than I know I deserve the freedom with which you write is yet what obliges and pleases me more; and it is with sincerity that I say, I would rather be thought by every ingenuous man in the world, his servant, than his rival.

I am, &c.

LETTER XXXI.

MR. SPENCE TO THE REV. MR. PITT,

RECTOR OF PIMPERNE, NEAR BLANDFORD, DORSETSHIRE.

Twickenham, Aug. 2, 1728.

I AM here, my dear Rector, in as delightful a situation for the world about me, and books, and conversation, as mortal man can wish to be. I can think of nothing at present that could add to it, except the hearing that you are very well, and entirely free from your old enemy the gout. I should not know how to leave this place, had not I the hopes of waiting upon you in a few weeks: but first I can assure you, I have a world of drudgery to go through. I had almost forgot one particular: when I was with our old friend, Mr. Pescod, the other day, he confirmed me in a thought I had, that the verses on an Old Beauty (she, you know, "who blooms in the winter of her days like Glastonbury Thorn") were written by you at New College. If they are yours, as I am very much persuaded they are, I beg you would be so good as to send me a copy of them in your answer: which I beg may be as soon as possible, because, as you may easily imagine, I do not love to be many days without hearing from you. I desire this copy the rather, because I have been asked for it since I have been in town, and have none but a very incorrect copy at present. If you have any com