LETTER XXII.

ON

Mr. POPE,

I

And fome other FAMOUS

POET S.

INTENDED to treat of Mr. Prior, one of the most amiable English Poets, whom you faw Plenipotentiary and Envoy Extraordinary at Paris in 1712. I alfo defign'd to have given you some Idea of the Lord Rofcommon's and the Lord Dorfet's Mufe; but I find that to do this I thould be oblig'd to write a large Volume, and that after P 2 much

much Pains and Trouble you wou'd have but an imperfect Idea of all thofe Works. Poetry is a kind of Mufic, in which a Man fhould have fome Knowledge before he pretends to judge of it. When I give you a Translation of fome Paffages from those foreign Poets, I only prick down, and that imperfectly, their Mufic; but then I cannot express the Taste of their Harmony.

THERE is one English Poem efpecially which I should despair of ever making you understand, the Title whereof is Hudibras. The Subject of it is the Civil War in the Time of the Grand Rebellion; and the Principles and Practice of the Puritans are therein ridicul'd. 'Tis Don Quixot, 'tis our * Sa

*A Species of Satyr in Profe and Verse written in France in 1594, against the Chiefs of the League at that Time. This Satyr which is alío call'd Catholicon d'Espagne, was look'd upon as a Master-piece. Rapin, Le Roi, Pithou, Pafferat and Chrêtien, the greatest Wits of that Age, are the Authors of it; and 'twas entitled Ménippée, from Menippus, a cynical Philofophe. who had written Letters fill'd with fharp, fatyrical Expreffions, in Imitation of Varro, who compos'd Satyrs which he entitled Satyra Menippeæ.

tyre

tyre Menippée blended together. I never found fo much Wit in one fingle Book as in that, which at the fame Time is the most difficult to be tranflated. Who wou'd believe that a Work which paints in fuch lively and natural Colours the feveral Foibles and Follies of Mankind, and where we meet with more Sentiments than Words, fhould baffle the Endeavours of the ableft Tranflator? But the Reason of this is; almost every Part of it alludes to particular Incidents. The Clergy are there made the principal Object of Ridicule, which is understood but by few among the Laity. To explain this a Commentary would be requifite, and Humour when explain'd is no longer Humour. Whoever fets up for a Commentator of fmart Sayings and Repartees, is himself a Blockhead. This is the Reason why the Works of the ingenious Dean Swift, who has been call'd the English Rabelais, will never be well understood in France. This Gentleman has the Honour (in common with Rabelais) of being a Priest, and P 3

like

like him laughs at every Thing. But in my humble Opinion, the Title of the English Rabelais which is given the Dean, is highly derogatory to his Genius. The former has interfpers'd his unaccountably-fantastic and unintelligible Book, with the moft gay Strokes of Humour, but which at the fame Time has a greater Proportion of Impertinence. He has been vaftly lavish of Erudition, of Smut, and infipid Raillery. An agreeable Tale of two Pages is purchas'd at the Expence of whole

Volumes of Nonfenfe. There are but few Persons, and thofe of a grotesque Tafte, who pretend to understand, and to esteem this Work; for as to the rest of the Nation, they laugh at the pleafant and diverting Touches which are found in Rabelais and defpife his Book. He is look'd upon as the Prince of Buffoons. The Readers are vex'd to think that a Man who was Mafter of fo much Wit fhould have made fo wetched a Use of it. He is an intoxicated Philofopher, who never writ but when he was in Liquor.

DEAN

DEAN Swift is Rabelais in his Senfes, and frequenting the politeft Company. The former indeed is not fo gay as the latter, but then he poffeffes all the Delicacy, the Juftness, the Choice, the good Tafte, in all which Particulars our giggling rural Vicar Rabelais is wanting. The poetical Numbers of Dean Swift are of a fingular and almost inimitable Tafte; true Humour whether in Profe or Verse, seems to be his peculiar Talent, but whoever is defirous of underftanding him perfectly, muft vifit the Ifland in which he was born.

"TWILL be much easier for you to form an Idea of Mr. Pope's Works. He is in my Opinion the most elegant, the most correct Poet; and at the fame Time the most harmonious (a Circumftance which redounds very much to the Honour of this Muse) that England ever gave Birth to. He has mellow'd the harsh Sounds of the English Trumpet to the soft Accents of the Flute. His Compofitions may be easily tranflated, because they are vaftly clear and P 4 perfpi