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can better exprefs the Love that was between thefe two:

Dear Mr. Gay,

Elcome to your native Soil! welcome to your

Welcome

turn'd in Glory, bleft with Court-intereft, the Love and Familiarity of the Great, and fill'd with agreeable Hopes; or melancholy with Dejection, contem plative of the Changes of Fortune, and doubtful for the future: Whether return'd a triumphant Whig or a defponding Tory, equally all hail!_equally belov'd and welcome to me! If happy, I am to partake in your Elevation; if unhappy, you have ftill a warm Corner in my Heart, and a Retreat at Binfield in the worst of Times at your Service. If you are a Tory, or thought fo by any Man, I know it can proceed from nothing but your Gratitude to a few People who endeavour'd to ferve you, and whofe Politicks were never your Concern. If you are a Whig, as I rather hope, and as I think your Principles and mine, (as Brother Poets) had ever a Biafs to the Side of Liberty, I know you will be an honest Man and an inoffenfive one. Upon the Whole, I know you are incapable of being fo much of either Party as to be good for nothing. Therefore once more, whatever you are, or in whatever State are, all hail!

you

One or two of your old Friends complain'd they hear nothing from you fince the Queen's Death; I told 'em no Man living lov'd Mr. Gay better than I, yet I had not once written to him in all his Voyage. This I thought a convincing Proof, how truly one may be a Friend to another without telling him fo every Month. But they had Reafons to themfelves to al

ledge

ledge in your Excufe; as Men who really value one another will never want fuch as make their Friends and themfelves eafy. The late universal Concern in publick Affairs, threw us all into a Hurry of Spirits: Even I who am more a Philosopher than to expect any Thing from any Reign, was born away with the Current, and full of the Expectation of the Succeffor. During your Journeys I knew not whither to aim a Letter after you; that was a Sort of fhooting flying: Add to this the Demand Homer had upon me, to write fifty Verfes a Day, befides learned Notes, all which are at a Conclufion for this Year. Rejoice with me, O my Friend, that my Labour is over; come and make merry with me in much Feafting: We will feed among the Lillies, (by the Lillies I mean the Ladies.) Are not the Rofalinda's of Britain as charming as the Bloufalinda's of the Hague? Or have the two great paftoral Poets of our Nation renounced Love at the fame Time? For Philips, immortal Philips, hath deferted, yea, and in a ruftick Manner kick'd, his Rofalind. Dr. Parnelle and I have been infeparable ever fince you went. We are

now at the Bath, where (if you are not, as I heartily hope, better engag'd) your coming would be the greatest Pleasure to us in the World. Talk not of Expences Homer shall fupport his Children. I beg a Line from you directed to the Pofthouse in Bath. Poor Parnelle is in an ill State of Health.

Pardon me if I add a Word of Advice in the poetical Way. Write fomething on the King, or Prince, or Princefs. On whatsoever Foot you may be with the Court, this can do no Harm-I fhall never know where to end, and am confounded in the many Things I have to fay to you, tho' they all amount but to this that I am entirely, as ever,

Your fincere Friend,

A. POPE.

Mr.

Mr. Gay's next Trip was to France with Mr. Pulteney, which Place was Matter of much Ridicule to him, who was fo very fond of natural Simplicity; but there he saw, he heard nothing, but what was Art and Artifice: It drew from him fome very witty Lines, on the egregious Fopperies and extravagant Deportment of that Nation:

'N Paris there's a Race of Animals,

IN

(I've seen 'em at their Operas and Balls) They stand erect, they dance whene'er they walk, Monkeys in Action, Paroquetes in Talk;

They're crown'd with Feathers like the Cockatoo,
And, like Camelions, daily change their Hue;
From Patches, juftly plac'd, they borrow Graces,
And with Vermilion lacquer o'er their Faces;
This Custom, as we vifibly difcern,

They by frequenting Ladies Toilets learn.

How happy lives the Man, who sure to charm,
Whofe Knot embroider'd flutters down his Arm!
On him the Ladies caft the yielding Glance,
Sigh in his Songs, and languish in his Dance;
While wretched is the Wit, contemn'd, forlorn,
Whofe gummy Hat no Scarlet Plumes adorn;
No broider'd Flowers his Worfted Ankle grace,
Nor Cane emboss'd with Gold directs his Pace;
No Lady's Favour on his Sword is hung.
What tho' Apollo dictate from his Tongue.
His Wit is fpiritless and void of Grace,

Who wants th' Affurance of Brocade and Lace:
While the gay Fop genteely talks of Weather,
The Fair in Raptures doat upon his Feather;
He dreffes, fences. What avails to know?
For Women chufe their Men, like Silks, for Show.
Yet let us not their loofe Coquet'ry blame;
Women of every Nation are the fame.

You

You afk me, if Parifian Dames, like our's,
With ratt'ling Dice profane the Sunday's Hours?
If they the Gamefter's pale-ey'd Vigils keep,
And ftake their Honour while their Husbands fleep?
Yes, Sir; like English Toafts, the Dames of France
Will rifque their Income on a fingle Chance:
But here no Wife can blaft her Hufband's Fame,
Cuckold is grown an honourable Name.

Stretch'd on the Grafs, the Shepherd fighs his Pain;
And on the Grafs what Shepherd fighs in vain ?
Such were our Pleasures in the Days of Yore,
When am'rous CHARLES Britannia's Scepter bore;
The Nightly Scene of Joy the Park was made,
And Love, in Couples, peopled ev'ry Shade:
But fince at Court the Rural-Tafte is loft,
What mighty Sums have Velvet-Couches cost?
Like France, our Courtiers keep a num'rous Train,
To load their Coach; and Tradefmen dun in vain.
Nor has Religion left us in the Lurch,

And, as in France, our Vulgar croud the Church;
Our Ladies too fupport the Masquerade;
The Sex, by Nature, love the' Intriguing-Trade,
Here, on the Opera-Stage, the Youth of France,
In bright Array attract the Female Glance:
This languishes, this ftruts, to fhew his Mien;
And not a gold-clock'd Stocking moves unfeen,

But hark! the full Orchestra strikes the Strings;
The Hero ftruts, and the whole Audience fings:
My jarring Ear harfh, grating, Murmurs wound,
Hoarfe and confus'd, like Babel's mingled Sound.
O footh me with fome foft Italian Air,
Let Harmony compofe my tortur'd Ear!
When Anaftafia's Voice commands the Strain,
The melting Warble thrills thro' ev'ry Vein;
Thought ftands, Sufpence and Silence pleas'd attends,
While in her Notes the heav'nly Choir defcends.

4

You'll

You'll think 'tis Time fome other Theme to chufe, And not with Beaus and Fops fatigue the Muse. Should I let Satire loofe on English Ground, There, Fools of various Characters abound; But here, my Verse is to one Race confin'd; All Frenchmen are of Petit-maitre Kind.

On his Return from France, the Friendship between Mr. Pope and him, was grown to fuch an Height, that they began to think of living entirely together, which, however, they did not do, Mr. Gay being call'd for a Time to Stanton Harcourt, my Lord being exceffively fond of his Company; while he was there, a Storm of Thunder and violent Lightning put all the Inhabitants into a very great Confternation, and two People were kill'd by it, who happened to be out in the Field, and too far off other Shelter, could only reach the Side of a Cock of Barley, of which he writes in a very particular Manner to Mr. Fenton, dating his Letter from that Place, Aug. 3, 1718.

TH

HE only News that you can expect to have from me here, is News from Heaven, for I am quite out of the World, and there is scarce any Thing can reach me except the Noife of Thunder, which undoubtedly you have heard too. We have read in old Authors of high Towers levell'd by it to the Ground, while the humble Valleys have efcap'd: The only Security against it is the Laurel, which however, I take to be no great Security to the Brains of modern Authors. But to let you fee that the contrary of this oft happens, I muft acquaint you, that the highest and most extravagant Heap of Towers in the Universe, which is in this Neighbourhood, stands till undefac'd, while a Cock of Barley in our next

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