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CHAPTER LII

1738

Politics-"Epistle to Bolingbroke "-Johnson's "London"-" Epilogue to the Satires: Dialogue I."

IT

T has been shown how Pope, through the influence of Bolingbroke and the attentions of the prince, had been gradually drawn into the vortex of party politics. He was now recognised as the Laureate of the Opposition-that curious amalgam of Tories, Jacobites, and discontented Whigs. The biting satire of the "Epistle to Augustus" must have delighted the Patriot party, who were smarting under the defeat of the motion to increase the inadequate allowance of their prince. Pope, whose little villa was for several years the meetingplace for the Opposition leaders, took his politics, like his philosophy, from Bolingbroke, and his later satires are as directly inspired by his chosen Mentor as was the "Essay on Man." Essay on Man." The death of the queen, the staunch supporter of Walpole, filled the Tories with fresh hopes, while the growing unpopularity of the minister, owing to his Excise policy, his alleged truckling to Spain, and his corrupt methods, seemed to show that the end was in sight.

Flattered by the confidences of statesmen, and impressed by all the fine talk about patriotism, freedom, disinterestedness, and the like, Pope lent his pen to the cause, and put forth in the course of the year the Dialogues "Seventeen Hundred and Thirty-eight," in which he paints in vivid colours the corruption of those in authority, the evil influence of the moneyed interest, and the shocking state of the country generally. Instead, however, of recommending any of the Opposition panacea, he proclaimed the supreme power of satire, as wielded by one honest man (himself,) to scourge and cure a benighted nation.

The "Epilogue to the Satires," as the Dialogues. were afterwards called, was preceded by the " Epistle to Bolingbroke," imitated from "The First Epistle of the First Book of Horace." This professes to be the poet's farewell to verse-writing. He reproaches his friend for wishing to break the Sabbath of his days, and points out that even modest Cibber has left the stage. Still, even in his retirement he, free and independent as ever, will play his chosen part

Sometimes a patriot, active in debate,

Mix with world, and battle for the State,

2

Free as young Lyttelton, her cause pursue,

Still true to virtue, and as warm as true.

From those wretched men who are possessed by avarice or guilty love, he asks but a patient ear, since there are words and rhymes, which fresh and

1 Cibber retired in 1730.

* Lord Waldegrave says of Lyttelton: "He was a man of parts, a scholar, no indifferent writer, and by far the honestest man of the whole society."

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From a mezzotint engraving after the painting by J. Murray.

HENRY ST. JOHN, VISCOUNT BOLINGBROKE.

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fresh applied, "Will cure the arrant'st puppy of his pride." As a specimen, he comes out with so blatant a platitude that it sounds like a burlesque by Welsted or Moore-Smythe of his favourite teaching: 'Tis the first virtue, vices to abhor,

And the first wisdom to be fool no more.

But if the voice of wisdom urges that virtue shall be sought, the voice of London cries out—

Get money, money still,

And then let virtue follow if she will.

The disinterested doctrines preached by the satirist would no doubt render him unpopular at Court, but if that were urged against him he would give the answer Reynard gave:

I cannot like, dread sir, your royal cave :

Because I see, by all the tracks about,

Full many a beast goes in, but none come out.1

But if the king is a lion, the people are a many-headed beast, and know not what to do or what they want. Rich and poor alike, there is not one who has it in his power "to act consistent with himself one hour." The rich build palaces and tire

of them, while the poor have the same itch.

They change their weekly barber, weekly news,
Prefer a new japanner to their shoes.
Discharge their garrets, move their beds, and run
(They know not whither) in a chaise and one;
They hire their sculler, and, when once aboard,
Grow sick, and damn the climate-like a lord.

1 "Mr. Pope, you don't love princes," said Frederick to the poet one day. Sir, I beg your pardon." "Well, you don't love kings then." "Sir, I own I love the lion best before his

claws are grown."

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