talents were congenial with his own, that he abandoned the reft, and ftudied his writings with uncommon pleasure and unremitted attention. He used to say, that Dryden had improved the art of verfification beyond any of the preceeding poets, and that he would have been perfect in it, had he not been fo often obliged to write with precipitation. His works, therefore, ferved as one of the models from whence our poet copied, and he even adopted the very turns of his periods: juft as Mr. Addifon did thofe of Sir William Temple in profe, not lefs ftrongly marked than the imitations of the poet, though lefs commonly obferved. In fhort, from Dryden principally, our bard learnt all the magic of his verfification.

From the time he became fo enamoured of Dryden's works, he grew impatient to see the author, and at length procured a friend to introduce him to a coffee-houfe which Dryden frequented, where he had the fatisfaction of feeing him. But Dryden died before any intimacy could take place between them, which Mr. POPE often lamented, particularly in his firft letter to Mr. Wycherley, in the following pathetic manner.Virgilium tantum vidi." He never spoke of him without a kind of rapturous veneration, and he makes refpectable mention of him in several parts of his works.

During his refidence in the foreft, our poet, being then between the years of thirteen and fifteen, compofed a comedy and a tragedy. With regard to the fubject of the former, we are wholly in

C 4

the

the dark; the latter however was founded on a ftory taken from the legend of St. Genevieve. But whether he diftrufted his talents for dramatic poetry, or whether he was cautious of hazarding his fame on the fickle taste of a captious audience, he could never be prevailed on to write for the ftage, though he was ftrongly importuned by feveral, and particularly by Betterton *, with whom he was acquainted from a boy t.

In

It appears to have been Mr. Betterton's good fortune, to have been not only admired as a player, but esteemed as a man. In the poftfcript to one of our author's letters to Mr. Cromwell, he fpeaks of him in a manner, which does honour to his memory.

"This letter of deaths, puts me in mind of poor Mr. "Betterton's; over whom I would have this fentence of "Tully for an epitaph, which will ferve him as well in his "moral, as in his theatrical capacity

"Vitae bene actae jucundiffima eft recordatio."

In another letter to the honourable J. C. he speaks of him with greater warmth of affection" I am very glad, fays he, for the fake of his widow, and for the credit of the deceased, that Betterton's remains are fallen into fuch hands, as may render them reputable to the one, and beneficial to the other. Befides the public acquaintance I long had with that poor man, I alfo had a flender knowledge of his parts and capacity by private converfation, and ever thought it pity he was neceffitated, by the ftraitnefs of his fortune, to act (and efpecially to his lateft hours) an imaginary and fictitious part, who was capable of exhibiting a real one, with credit to himself, and advantage to his neighbour."

+ Mr. Cromwell likewife preffed our author very strongly to pay his court to the Tragic Mufe, as appears from the following paffage.

"Leave

In his latter days he told a particular friend that he had a strong propenfity to the tragic drama, and should certainly have made it his principal study, had not the moral and intellectual characters of the players of his time, fo different from that of Betterton, always deterred him from putting his defign in execution. And whoever has carefully observed, in his other works, the profound penetration into nature, and easy fublime of expreffion, together with his uncommon correctness of judgment, will hardly doubt but he would have fucceeded to the utmost of his ambition, and what is more to his own fatisfaction, in the merit of theatrical compofition.

Soon after his compofing thefe dramatic pieces, our poet had the courage to attempt the arduous task of writing an epic poem, which he called Alcander, of which he wrote four books of about

a

"Leave elegy and tranflation to the inferior class, on whom the Mufes only glance now and then, like our winter's fun, and then leave them in the dark. Think on the dignity of tragedy, which is of the greater poetry, as Dennis fays, and foil him at his other weapon, as you have done in criticism. Every one wonders that a genius like yours will not fupport the finking drama; and Mr. Wilkes (tho' I think his talent is comedy) has expreffed a furious ambition to fwell in your buskins."

As fome, perhaps, may be curious of farther information refpecting this early and adventurous effay, it may not be improper to fubjoin the following particulars. Alcander was a prince of Rhodes, driven from his crown by Deucalion, father of Minos. In this epic piece, Alcander difplayed all

the

a thousand verses each. Into this piece, he confeffed, though with a ridicule on the attempt, that he had thrown all his learning, as Milton has done with too much profufion, in his Paradife Loft. This Alcander was chiefly an imitative poem, in which Mr. POPE had collected the feveral beauties of all the epic writers he was then acquainted with*.

It is the characteristic of a great genius to make early efforts far beyond its ftrength. Our poet, however, was fenfible of the weakness of this attempt, and fpeaks of it with the most amiable franknefs, in a paffage reftored to the excellent preface before his works.

"I con

fefs," fays he, "there was a time when I was in love with myself, and my firft productions were the children of felf-love upon innocence. had made an epic poem, and panegyrics on all the princes of Europe, and I thought myself the greatest genius that ever was. I cannot but regret these delightful vifions of my childhood, which, like the fine colours we fee when our eyes are fhut, are vanifhed for ever."

the virtues of fuffering, like Ulyffes, and all the courage of Eneas. Apollo, as the patron of Rhodes, was Alcander's great protector; and Cibele was his great enemy, as being patronefs of Deucalion and Crete. She raises a ftorm against him, as Juno does againft Eneas: he is caft away, and Iwims to fhore, as Ulyffes did, to the island of Phæacia.

* Among other propofals, which Betterton made him to write for the ftage, he ftrongly preffed him to turn this Alcander into a tragedy; but no importunity could prevail on Mr. POPE to engage in fuch an undertaking.

After

Atterbury, the Bishop of Rochester, a little before he left England, advised him to burn it, which he did, though as he confeffed with fome regret.

The bishop, on this occafion, in one of his letters to Mr. POPE, expreffes himself thus---"I am not forry your Alcander is burnt; had I known your intentions, I would have interceeded for the first page, and put it, with your leave, among my curiofities." As a proof,

however, that this early piece was deeply imprinted in his memory, and that he was not partial to its imperfections, he took a pleasure in laughing at the childish extravagances in this poem, and in mentioning them to his friends. Among thefe, was a defcription of a Scythian hero, who contemned a pillow, though of snow, as luxury and effeminacy. Some of these extravagances, are pleafantly produced for examples in the art of finking in poetry, under the title of verfes by an Anonymous. He must be a writer of true genius, who has the virtue to ridicule his own defects.

The ridicule, however, of this juvenile attempt, did not difcourage him from once more attempting this fpecies of compofition; for, in his riper years, he formed a defign of writing an epic poem, founded on a story recorded in the old annalist

It may not be immaterial to add, that the dramatic pieces above (poken of, fhared the fame fate.

Geoffrey