No More Learning

Excepting what already is excepted, he seems to me to be an enemy
to nothing but to vice and folly. The pictures which he draws of
Nigrinus and of Demonax are as fair as that of virtue herself, if,
as the philosopher said, she could wear a body. And if we oppose to
them the lives of Alexander the false prophet, and of Peregrinus, how
pleasingly, and with how much profit, does the deformity of the last
set off the beauty of the first!

Some of his censurers accuse him of flatness and want of wit in many
places. These I suppose have read him in some Latin translations, which
I confess, are generally dull; and this is the only excuse I can make
for them. Otherwise they accuse themselves too manifestly for want
of taste or understanding. Of this number is the wretched author of
the _Lucien en Belle Humeur_, who being himself as insipid as a Dutch
poet, yet arraigns Lucian for his own fault; introduces the ghost of
Ablancourt, confessing his coldness in many places, the poorness of
his thoughts, and his want of humour; represents his readers tired
and yawning at his ill buffoonery and false mirth, and sleeping
over his melancholic stories, which are every where stuffed with
improbabilities. He could have said no worse of a Leyden slip. [47]

The best on it is, the jaundice is only in his own eyes, which makes
Lucian look yellow to him. All mankind will exclaim against him for
preaching this doctrine; and be of opinion when they read his Lucian,
that he looked in a glass when he drew his picture. I wish I had the
liberty to lash this frog-land wit as he deserves; but when a speech
is not seconded in parliament, it falls of course; and this author has
the whole senate of the learned to pull him down: _incipient omnes pro
Cicerone loqui_.

It is to be acknowledged, that his best translator, Ablancourt, thinks
him not a profound master in any sort of philosophy; but only that
he skimmed enough from every sect, to serve his turn in rhetoric,
which was his profession. This he gathers from his superficial way of
arguing. But why may not another man reply in his defence, that he
made choice of those kinds of reasons which were most capable of being
made to shine in his facetious way of arguing; and those undoubtedly
were not the most knotty, nor the deepest, but the most diverting by
the sharpness of the raillery. Dr Mayne, so often praised, has another
opinion of Lucian’s learning, and the strength of his witty arguments,
concluding on that subject in these words, or near them: “For my part,
I know not to whose writings we owe more our Christianity, where the
true God has succeeded a multitude of false,--whether to the grave
confutation of Clemens Alexandrinus, Arnobius, Justin Martyr, St.
Augustin, Lactantius, &c. or the facetious wit of Lucian. ”--I cannot
doubt but the treacherous translator would have given his hand to
what the Englishman has said of their common author. The success has
justified his opinion in the sight of all the world. Lucian’s manner
of convincing, was certainly more pleasant than that of the Christian
writers, and we know the effect was full as powerful; so easily can the
Eternal Wisdom draw good out of evil, and make his enemy subservient to
the establishment of his faith.

I will not enlarge on the praises of his oratory. If we compare his
style with the Greek historians, his contemporaries, or near his time,
we shall find it much more pure than that of Plutarch, Dion, or Appian,
though not so grave; because his subjects and theirs required to be
treated after a different manner. It was not of an uniform web, says
Mayne, like Thucydides, Polybius, and some others whom he names, but
was somewhat peculiar to himself; his words well chosen, his periods
round, the parts of his sentences harmoniously divided, a full flood
or even a torrent of persuasion, without inequalities or swellings;
such as might be put in equal comparison with the best orations of
Demosthenes or Isocrates; not so dry as the first, nor so flowery as
the last. His wit, says Ablancourt, was full of urbanity, that attic
salt, which the French call, fine raillery; not obscene, not gross,
not rude, but facetious, well mannered, and well bred: only he will
not allow his love the quality last mentioned, but thinks it rustical,
and according either to his own genius, or that of the age in which he
lived.

If wit consists in the propriety of thoughts and words, (which I
imagined I had first found out, but since am pleasingly convinced that
Aristotle has made the same definition in other terms,) then Lucian’s
thoughts and words are always proper to his characters and his subject.
If the pleasure arising from comedy and satire be either laughter, or
some nobler sort of delight, which is above it, no man is so great a
master of irony as our author. That figure is not only a keen, but a
shining weapon in his hand; it glitters in the eyes of those it kills;
his own gods, his greatest enemies, are not butchered by him, but
fairly slain: they must acknowledge the hero in the stroke, and take
the comfort which Virgil gives to a dying captain:

_Æneæ magni dextrâ cadis. _

I know not whom Lucian imitated, unless it might be Aristophanes; (for
you never find him mentioning any Roman wit, so much the Grecians
thought themselves superior to their conquerors;) but he, who has best
imitated him in Latin, is Erasmus; and in French, Fontenelle, in his
“Dialogues of the Dead,” which I never read but with a new pleasure.

Any one may see, that our author’s chief design was to dis-nest heaven
of so many immoral and debauched deities; his next, to expose the mock
philosophers; and his last, to give us examples of a good life in the
persons of the true.

The rest of his discourses are on mixed subjects, less for profit than
delight; and some of them too libertine.

The way which Lucian chose of delivering these profitable and pleasing
truths, was that of dialogue: a choice worthy of the author; happily
followed, as I said above, by Erasmus, and Fontenelle particularly, to
whom I may justly add a triumvir of our own,--the reverend, ingenious,
and learned Dr Eachard,[48] who, by using the same method, and the same
ingredients of raillery and reason, has more baffled the philosopher of
Malmesbury, than those who assaulted him with blunt heavy arguments,
drawn from orthodox divinity; for Hobbes foresaw where those strokes
would fall, and leaped aside before they could descend; but he could
not avoid those nimble passes, which were made on him by a wit more
active than his own, and which were within his body, before he could
provide for his defence.

I will not here take notice of the several kinds of dialogue, and the
whole art of it, which would ask an entire volume to perform. This
has been a work long wanted, and much desired, of which the ancients
have not sufficiently informed us; and I question whether any man now
living can treat it accurately. Lucian, it seems, was very sensible
of the difficult task, which he undertook in writing dialogues, as
appears in his discourse against one who had called him Prometheus.
He owns himself, in this particular, to be like to him, to whom he
was resembled, to be the inventor of a new work, attempted in a new
manner,--the model of which he had from none before him; but adds
withal, that if he could not give it the graces which belong to so
happy an invention, he deserves to be torn by twelve vultures, instead
of one, which preys upon the heart of that first man-potter. For,
to quit the beaten road of the ancients, and take a path of his own
choosing, he acknowledges to be a bold and ridiculous attempt, if it
succeed not. “The mirth of dialogue and comedy in my work,” says he,
“is not enough to make it pleasing, because the union of two contraries
may as well produce a monster as a miracle; as a centaur results from
the joint natures of a horse and man. It is not but that from two
excellent beings a third may arise of perfect beauty; but it is what I
dare not promise to myself; for dialogue being a solemn entertainment
of grave discourse, and comedy the wit and fooling of a theatre, I
fear that through the corruption of two good things, I have made one
bad. But whatever the child be, it is my own at least; I beg not with
another’s brat upon my back. From which of the ancients should I have
stolen or borrowed it? My chimeras have no other being than my own
imagination; let every man produce who can; and whether this be a
lawful birth, or a misshapen mass, is left for the present age, and for
posterity, to judge. ”

This is the sense of my author’s words contracted in a narrow compass;
for, if you will believe Ablancourt, and others, his greatest fault is,
that he exhausts his argument,--like Ovid, knows not when to give over,
but is perpetually galloping beyond his stage.

But though I cannot pursue our author any farther, I find myself
obliged to say something of those translators of the following
Dialogues, whom I have the honour to know, as well as of some other
translations of this author; and a word or two of translation itself.

As for the translators, all of them, that I know, are men of
established reputation, both for wit and learning, at least
sufficiently known to be so among all the finer spirits of the age.
Sir Henry Sheers has given many proofs of his excellence in this kind;
for while we, by his admirable address, enjoy Polybius in our mother
tongue, we can never forget the hand that bestowed the benefit. The
learning and judgment above his age, which every one discovers in Mr
Moyle,[49] are proofs of those abilities he has shewn in his country’s
service, when he was chose to serve it in the senate, as his father
had done. The wit of Mr Blount,[50] and his other performances, need
no recommendation from me; they have made too much noise in the world
to need a herald. There are some other persons concerned in this
work, whose names deserve a place among the foremost, but that they
have not thought fit to be known, either out of a bashful diffidence
of their own performance, or out of apprehension of the censure of
an ill-natured and ill-judging age; for criticism is now become mere
hangman’s work, and meddles only with the faults of authors; nay, the
critic is disgusted less with their absurdities than excellence; and
you cannot displease him more than in leaving him little room for his
malice, in your correctness and perfection; though that indeed is what
he never allows any man; for, like the bed of Procrustes, they stretch
or cut off an author to its length. These spoilers of Parnassus are
a just excuse for concealing the name, since most of their malice is
levelled more at the person than the thing; and as a sure mark of their
judgment, they will extol to the skies the anonymous work of a person
they will not allow to write common sense.

But this consideration of our modern critics has led me astray, and
made me insensibly deviate from the subject before me; the modesty or
caution of the anonymous translators of the following work. Whatever
the motive of concealing their names may be, I shall not determine; but
it is certain, nothing could more contribute to make a perfect version
of Lucian, than a confederacy of many men of parts and learning to do
him justice. It seems a task too hard for any one to undertake; the
burden would indeed be insupportable, unless we did what the French
have done in some of their translations, allow twenty years to perfect
the work, and bestow all the brightest intervals, the most sprightly
hours, to polish and finish the work. [51]

But this has not been the fate of our author hitherto; for Lucian, that
is the sincere example of attic eloquence, as Grævius says of him, is
only a mass of solecism, and mere vulgarisms in Mr Spence. [52] I do
not think it worth my while to rake into the filth of so scandalous a
version; nor had I vouchsafed so much as to take notice of it, had it
not been so gross an affront to the memory of Lucian, and so great a
scandal to our nation. D’Ablancourt has taken a great deal of pains to
furnish this intruder into print, with Lucian, in a language more known
to him than Greek; nay, he has left him not one crabbed idiom to study
for, since he has admirably clothed him in a garb more familiar to the
moderns, still keeping the sense of his author in view. But in spite of
all these helps, these leading-strings were not sufficient to keep Mr
Spence from falling to the ground every step he made; while he makes
him speak in the style and language of a jack-pudding, not a master of
eloquence, admired for it through all the ages since he wrote. But too
much of this trifler.

I have said enough already of the version of the learned Dr Mayne, to
shew my approbation of it; but it is only a select parcel of Lucian’s
Dialogues which pleased him most, but far from the whole. As for any
other translation, if there be any such in our language, it is what I
never saw,[53] and suppose it must be antiquated, or of so inferior a
degree, as not even to rival Spence.

The present translation, as far as I can judge by what I have seen, is
no way inferior to Ablancourt’s, and in many things is superior. It
has indeed the advantage of appearing in a language more strong and
expressive than French, and by the hands of gentlemen who perfectly
understand him and their own language.

This has brought me to say a word or two about translation in general;
in which no nation might more excel than the English, though, as
matters are now managed, we come so far short of the French. There may
indeed be a reason assigned, which bears a very great probability;
and that is, that here the booksellers are the undertakers of works
of this nature, and they are persons more devoted to their own gain
than the public honour. They are very parsimonious in rewarding the
wretched scribblers they employ; and care not how the business is done,
so that it be but done. They live by selling titles, not books; and if
that carry off one impression, they have their ends, and value not the
curses they and their authors meet with from the bubbled chapmen. While
translations are thus at the disposal of the booksellers, and have no
better judges or rewarders of the performance, it is impossible that
we should make any progress in an art so very useful to an enquiring
people, and for the improvement and spreading of knowledge, which is
none of the worst preservatives against slavery.

It must be confessed, that when the bookseller has interest with
gentlemen of genius and quality, above the mercenary prospects of
little writers, as in that of Plutarch’s Lives,[54] and this of Lucian,
the reader may satisfy himself that he shall have the author’s spirit
and soul in the traduction. These gentlemen know very well, that they
are not to creep after the words of their author, in so servile a
manner as some have done; for that must infallibly throw them on a
necessity of introducing a new mode of diction and phraseology with
which we are not at all acquainted, and would incur that censure which
my Lord Dorset made formerly on those of Mr Spence, viz. that he was
so cunning a translator, that a man must consult the original, to
understand the version. For every language has a propriety and idiom
peculiar to itself, which cannot be conveyed to another without
perpetual absurdities.

The qualification of a translator, worth reading, must be, a mastery
of the language he translates out of, and that he translates into; but
if a deficience be to be allowed in either, it is in the original;
since if he be but master enough of the tongue of his author, as to
be master of his sense, it is possible for him to express that sense
with eloquence in his own, if he have a thorough command of that.
But without the latter, he can never arrive at the useful and the
delightful; without which reading is a penance and fatigue.

It is true that there will be a great many beauties, which in every
tongue depend on the diction, that will be lost[55] in the version of a
man not skilled in the original language of the author; but then on the
other side, first it is impossible to render all those little ornaments
of speech in any two languages; and if he have a mastery in the sense
and spirit of his author, and in his own language have a style and
happiness of expression, he will easily supply all that is lost by that
defect.

A translator that would write with any force or spirit of an original,
must never dwell on the words of his author. He ought to possess
himself entirely, and perfectly comprehend the genius and sense of his
author, the nature of the subject, and the terms of the art or subject
treated of; and then he will express himself as justly, and with as
much life, as if he wrote an original; whereas, he who copies word for
word, loses all the spirit in the tedious transfusion.

I would not be understood that he should be at liberty to give such a
turn as Mr Spence has in some of his; where for the fine raillery and
attic salt of Lucian, we find the gross expressions of Billingsgate, or
Moorfields and Bartholomew Fair. For I write not to such translators,
but to men capacious of the soul and genius of their authors, without
which all their labour will be of no use but to disgrace themselves,
and injure the author that falls into their slaughter-house.

I believe I need give no other rules to the reader than the following
version, where example will be stronger than precept, to which I now
refer them; in which a man justly qualified for a translator will
discover many rules extremely useful to that end. But [to] a man who
wants these natural qualifications which are necessary for such an
undertaking, all particular precepts are of no other use, than to make
him a more remarkable coxcomb.




DRYDEN’S LETTERS.




LETTERS OF DRYDEN.


The Letters of Dryden, so far as hitherto given to the public,
are, with a few exceptions, singularly uninteresting. To the
publication of some, which are known to exist, there were found to
occur still stronger objections. I have been only able to add one
to those collected by Mr Malone; and I was strongly tempted to omit
several. There is, however, a satisfaction in seeing how such a man
expressed himself, even upon the most trivial occasions; and I have
therefore retained those complimentary acknowledgments of turkeys,
marrow-puddings, and bacon, which have nothing but such a consideration
to recommend them.




DRYDEN’S LETTERS.


LETTER I.

TO THE FAIRE HANDS OF MADAME HONOR DRYDEN THESE CRAVE ADMITTANCE. [56]

MADAME, Camb. May 23, 16[55. ]

If you have received the lines I sent by the reverend Levite, I doubt
not but they have exceedingly wrought upon you; for beeing so longe
in a clergyman’s pocket, assuredly they have acquired more sanctity
than theire authour meant them. Alasse, Madame! for ought I know, they
may become a sermon ere they could arrive at you; and believe it,
haveing you for the text, it could scarcely proove bad, if it light
upon one that could handle it indifferently. But I am so miserable a
preacher, that though I have so sweet and copious a subject, I still
fall short in my expressions; and, instead of an use of thanksgiving, I
am allways makeing one of comfort, that I may one day againe have the
happinesse to kisse your faire hand; but that is a message I would not
so willingly do by letter, as by word of mouth.

This is a point, I must confesse, I could willingly dwell longer
on; and, in this case, what ever I say you may confidently take for
gospell. But I must hasten. And indeed, Madame, (_beloved_ I had almost
sayd,) hee had need hasten who treats of you; for to speake fully to
every part of your excellencyes, requires a longer houre than most
persons[57] have allotted them. But, in a word, your selfe hath been
the best expositor upon the text of your own worth, in that admirable
comment you wrote upon it; I meane your incomparable letter. By all
that’s good, (and you, Madame, are a great part of my oath,) it hath
put mee so farre besides my selfe, that I have scarce patience to
write prose, and my pen is stealing into verse every time I kisse your
letter. I am sure, the poor paper smarts for my idolatry, which, by
wearing it continually neere my brest, will, at last, be burnt and
martyrd in those flames of adoration, which it hath kindled in mee. But
I forgett, Madame, what rarityes your letter came fraught with, besides
words. You are such a deity that commands worship by provideing the
sacrifice. You are pleasd, Madame, to force me to write, by sending me
materialls, and compell me to my greatest happinesse. Yet, though I
highly value your magnificent presente, pardon mee, if I must tell the
world, they are imperfect emblems of your beauty; for the white and red
of waxe and paper are but shaddowes of that vermillion and snow in your
lips and forehead; and the silver of the inkehorne, if it presume to
vye whitenesse with your purer skinne, must confesse it selfe blacker
then the liquor it containes. What then do I more then retrieve your
own guifts, and present you with that paper adulterated with blotts,
which you gave spotlesse?

For, since ’twas mine, the white hath lost its hiew,
To show ’twas n’ere it selfe, but whilst in you:
The virgin waxe hath blusht it selfe to red,
Since it with mee hath lost its maydenhead.
You, fairest nymph, are waxe: oh! may you bee
As well in softnesse, as in purity!
Till fate, and your own happy choice, reveale,
Whom you so farre shall blesse, to make your seale.

Fairest Valentine, the unfeigned wishe of your humble votary,

JO. DRYDEN.


LETTER II.

TO [JOHN WILMOT,] EARL OF ROCHESTER.

MY LORD, Tuesday. [July, 1673. ][58]

I have accused my selfe this month together, for not writing to you.
I have called my selfe by the names I deserved, of unmannerly and
ungratefull. I have been uneasy, and taken up the resolutions of a man,
who is betwixt sin and repentance, convinc’d of what he ought to do,
and yet unable to do better. At the last, I deferred it so long, that
I almost grew hardened in the neglect; and thought I had suffered so
much in your good opinion, that it was in vain to hope I could redeem
it. So dangerous a thing it is to be inclin’d to sloath, that I must
confess, once for all, I was ready to quit all manner of obligations,
and to receive, as if it were my due, the most handsome compliment,
couch’d in the best language I have read, and this too from my Lord
of Rochester, without shewing myself sensible of the favour. If your
Lordship could condescend so far to say all those things to me, which I
ought to have say’d to you, it might reasonably be concluded, that you
had enchanted me to believe those praises, and that I owned them in my
silence. ’Twas this consideration that moved me at last to put off my
idleness. And now the shame of seeing my selfe overpay’d so much for an
ill Dedication, has made me almost repent of my address. I find, it is
not for me to contend any way with your Lordship, who can write better
on the meanest subject, then I can on the best. I have only engaged
my selfe in a new debt, when I had hoped to cancell a part of the old
one; and should either have chosen some other patron, whom it was in
my power to have obliged by speaking better of him then he deserv’d,
or have made your Lordship only a hearty Dedication of the respect and
honour I had for you, without giving you the occasion to conquer me, as
you have done, at my own weapon.

My only relief is, that what I have written is publique, and I am so
much my own friend as to conceal your Lordship’s letter; for that which
would have given vanity to any other poet, has only given me confusion.

You see, my Lord, how far you have push’d me; I dare not own the honour
you have done me, for fear of shewing it to my own disadvantage. You
are that _rerum natura_ of your own Lucretius;

_Ipsa suis pollens opibus, nihil indiga nostri. _[59]

You are above any incense I can give you, and have all the happiness
of an idle life, join’d with the good-nature of an active. Your
friends in town are ready to envy the leisure you have given your
selfe in the country, though they know you are only their steward, and
that you treasure up but so much health as you intend to spend on
them in winter. In the mean time, you have withdrawn your selfe from
attendance, the curse of courts; you may think on what you please,
and that as little as you please; for, in my opinion, thinking it
selfe is a kind of pain to a witty man; he finds so much more in it to
disquiet than to please him. But I hope your Lordship will not omitt
the occasion of laughing at the great Duke of B[uckingham,] who is
so uneasy to him selfe by pursuing the honour of lieutenant-general,
which flyes him, that he can enjoy nothing he possesses,[60] though, at
the same time, he is so unfit to command an army, that he is the only
man in the three nations, who does not know it; yet he still picques
himself, like his father, to find another Isle of Rhe in Zealand;[61]
thinking this disappointment an injury to him, which is indeed a
favour, and will not be satisfied but with his own ruin and with ours.
’Tis a strange quality in a man to love idleness so well as to destroy
his estate by it; and yet, at the same time, to pursue so violently the
most toilsome and most unpleasant part of business. These observations
would soon run into lampoon, if I had not forsworn that dangerous
part of wit; not so much out of good-nature, but lest from the inborn
vanity of poets I should shew it to others, and betray my selfe to a
worse mischief than what I do to my enemy. This has been lately the
case of Etherege, who, translating a satyr of Boileau’s, and changing
the French names for English, read it so often, that it came to their
ears who were concern’d, and forced him to leave off the design, e’re
it were half finish’d. Two of the verses I remember:

I call a spade, a spade; Eaton,[62] a bully;
Frampton,[63] a pimp; and brother John, a cully.

But one of his friends imagin’d those names not enough for the dignity
of a satyr, and chang’d them thus:

I call a spade, a spade; Dunbar,[64] a bully;
Brounckard,[65] a pimp; and Aubrey Vere,[66] a cully.

Because I deal not in satyr, I have sent your Lordship a prologue and
epilogue, which I made for our players, when they went down to Oxford.
I hear they have succeeded; and by the event your Lordship will judge
how easy ’tis to pass any thing upon an university, and how gross
flattery the learned will endure. [67] If your Lordship had been in
town, and I in the country, I durst not have entertained you with three
pages of a letter; but I know they are very ill things which can be
tedious to a man, who is fourscore miles from Covent Garden. ’Tis upon
this confidence, that I dare almost promise to entertain you with a
thousand _bagatelles_ every week, and not to be serious in any part of
my letter, but that wherein I take leave to call myself your Lordship’s

Most obedient servant,

JOHN DRYDEN.


LETTER III.

_The following Note and Letter contains the determination of a dispute,
and probably of a wager, which had been referred to our author by the
parties. It concerns a passage in Creech’s “Lucretius,” and probably
was written soon after the publication of that translation in 1682,
when it was a recent subject of conversation. The full passage in
“Lucretius” runs thus_:

Præterea quæcunque vetustate amovet ætas,
Si penitus perimit, consumens materiam omnem,
Unde animale genus generatim in lumina vitæ
Redducit Venus? ----

_Which Creech thus renders_:

_Besides, if o’er whatever years prevail
Should wholly perish, and its matter fail,
How could the powers of all kind Venus breed
A constant race of animals to succeed? _

_The translation of Creech is at least complicated and unintelligible;
and I am uncertain whether even Dryden’s explanation renders it
grammatical. Dryden speaks elsewhere with great applause of Creech’s
translation. _

_The original of this decision (in Dryden’s hand-writing) is in the
possession of Mrs White of Bownham-hall, Gloucestershire, and was most
obligingly communicated to the editor by that lady, through the medium
of Mr Constable of Edinburgh. _

* * * * *

The two verses, concerning which the dispute is rais’d, are these:

Besides, if o’re whatever yeares prevaile
Shou’d wholly perish, and its matter faile.

The question arising from them is, whether any true grammatical
construction can be made of them? The objection is, that there is
no nominative case appearing to the word _perish_, or that can be
understood to belong to it.

I have considered the verses, and find the authour of them to have
notoriously bungled; that he has plac’d the words as confus’dly as if
he had studied to do so. This notwithstanding, the very words, without
adding or diminishing in theire proper sence, (or at least what the
authour meanes,) may run thus:--_Besides, if what ever yeares prevaile
over, should wholly perish, and its matter faile. _

I pronounce therefore, as impartially as I can upon the whole, that
there _is_ a nominative case, and that figurative, so as Terence and
Virgil, amongst others, use it; that is, the whole clause precedent
is the nominative case to _perish_. My reason is this, and I think
it obvious; let the question be ask’d, what it is that should wholly
perish, or that perishes? The answer will be, That which yeares
prevaile over. If you will not admit a clause to be in construction a
nominative case, the word _thing_, _illud_, or _quodcunque_, is to be
understood, either of which words, in the femine gender, agree with
_res_, so that he meanes what ever _thing_ time prevails over shou’d
wholly perish, and its matter faile.

Lucretius, his Latine runs thus:

_Prætereà, quæcunque vetustate amovet ætas,
Si penitus perimit, consumens materiam omnem,
Unde animale genus, generatim in lumina vitæ
Redducit Venus? &c. _

which ought to have been translated thus:

Besides, what ever time removes from view,
If he destroys the stock of matter too,
From whence can kindly propagation spring,
Of every creature, and of every thing?

I translated it _whatever_ purposely, to shew, that _thing_ is to
be understood; which, as the words are heere plac’d, is so very
perspicuous, that the nominative case cannot be doubted.

The word, _perish_, used by Mr Creech, is a verb neuter; where
Lucretius puts _perimit_, which is active; a licence which, in
translating a philosophical poet, ought not to be taken; for some
reason, which I have not room to give. But to comfort the loser, I am
apt to believe, that the cross-grain confused verse put him so much out
of patience, that he wou’d not suspect it of any sence.

* * * * *

SIR,

The company having done me so great an honour as to make me their
judge, I desire from you the favour of presenting my acknowledgments
to them; and shou’d be proud to heere from you, whether they rest
satisfyed in my opinion, who am,

Sir,

Your most humble servant,

JOHN DRYDEN. [68]


LETTER IV.

TO THE REV. DR BUSBY.

HONOUR’D SIR, Wednesday Morning, [1682. ]

We have, with much ado, recover’d my younger sonn,[69] who came home
extreamly sick of a violent cold, and, as he thinks him selfe, a
chine-cough. The truth is, his constitution is very tender; yet
his desire of learning, I hope, will inable him to brush through
the college. He is allwayes gratefully acknowledging your fatherly
kindnesse to him; and very willing to his poore power, to do all things
which may continue it. I have no more to add, but only to wish the
eldest may also deserve some part of your good opinion; for I believe
him to be of vertuous and pious inclinations; and for both, I dare
assure you, that they can promise to them selves no farther share of my
indulgence, then while they carry them selves with that reverence to
you, and that honesty to all others, as becomes them. I am, honour’d
Sir,

Your most obedient servant and scholar,

JOHN DRYDEN. [70]


LETTER V.

TO THE REV. DR BUSBY.

SIR, [1682. ]

If I could have found in my selfe a fitting temper to have waited
upon you, I had done it the day you dismissed my sonn[71] from the
college; for he did the message: and by what I find from Mr Meredith,
as it was delivered by you to him; namely, that you desired to see
me, and had somewhat to say to me concerning him. I observ’d likewise
somewhat of kindnesse in it, that you sent him away, that you might not
have occasion to correct him. I examin’d the business, and found, it
concern’d his having been _custos_[72] foure or five dayes together.
But if he admonished, and was not believed, because other boyes
combined to discredit him with false witnesseing, and to save them
selves, perhaps his crime is not so great. Another fault, it seems,
he made, which was going into one Hawkes his house, with some others;
which you hapning to see, sent your servant to know who they were, and
he onely returned you my sonn’s name; so the rest escaped.

I have no fault to find with my sonn’s punishment; for that is, and
ought to be, reserv’d to any master, much more to you, who have been
his father’s. But your man was certainly to blame to name him onely;
and ’tis onely my respect to you, that I do not take notice of it
to him. My first rash resolutions were, to have brought things past
any composure, by immediately sending for my sonn’s things out of
college; but upon recollection, I find, I have a double tye upon me
not to do it: one, my obligations to you for my education; another, my
great tendernesse of doeing any thing offensive to my Lord Bishop of
Rochester,[73] as cheife governour of the college. It does not consist
with the honour I beare him and you to go so precipitately to worke;
no, not so much as to have any difference with you, if it can possibly
be avoyded. Yet, as my sonn stands now, I cannot see with what credit
he can be elected; for, being but sixth, and (as you are pleased to
judge,) not deserving that neither, I know not whether he may not go
immediately to Cambridge, as well as one of his own election went to
Oxford this yeare[74] by your consent. I will say nothing of my second
sonn, but that, after you had been pleased to advise me to waite on my
Lord Bishop for his favour, I found he might have had the first place,
if you had not opposed it; and I likewise found at the election, that,
by the pains you had taken with him, he in some sort deserved it.

I hope, Sir, when you have given your selfe the trouble to read thus
farr, you, who are a prudent man, will consider, that none complaine,
but they desire to be reconciled at the same time: there is no mild
expostulation, at least, which does not intimate a kindness and respect
in him who makes it. Be pleas’d, if there be no merit on my side, to
make it your own act of grace to be what you were formerly to my sonn.
I have done something, so far to conquer my own spirit as to ask it;
and, indeed, I know not with what face to go to my Lord Bishop, and
to tell him I am takeing away both my sonns; for though I shall tell
him no occasion, it will looke like a disrespect to my old master, of
which I will not be guilty, if it be possible. I shall add no more, but
hope I shall be so satisfyed with a favourable answer from you, which
I promise to my selfe from your goodnesse and moderation, that I shall
still have occasion to continue,

Sir,

Your most obliged humble servant,

JOHN DRYDEN. [75]


LETTER VI.

TO LAURENCE HYDE, EARL OF ROCHESTER[76]

MY LORD, [Perhaps August 1683. ]

I know not whether my Lord Sunderland has interceded with your Lordship
for half a yeare of my salary; but I have two other advocates, my
extreme wants, even almost to arresting, and my ill health, which
cannot be repaired without immediate retireing into the country.
A quarter’s allowance is but the Jesuit’s powder to my disease;
the fit will return a fortnight hence. If I durst, I would plead a
little merit, and some hazards of my life from the common enemyes; my
refuseing advantages offered by them, and neglecting my beneficiall
tudyes, for the King’s service: but I only thinke I merit not to
sterve. I never apply’d myselfe to any interest contrary to your
Lordship’s; and on some occasions, perhaps not known to you, have
not been unserviceable to the memory and reputation of my Lord, your
father. [77] After this, my Lord, my conscience assures me, I may write
boldly, though I cannot speake to you.
I have three sonns growing
to man’s estate; I breed them all up to learning, beyond my fortune;
but they are too hopefull to be neglected, though I want. Be pleased
to looke on me with an eye of compassion. Some small employment would
render my condition easy. The King is not unsatisfied of me; the Duke
has often promised me his assistance; and your Lordship is the conduit
through which they passe, either in the Customes, or the Appeals of
the Excise,[78] or some other way, meanes cannot be wanting, if you
please to have the will. ’Tis enough for one age to have neglected Mr
Cowley, and sterv’d Mr Butler; but neither of them had the happiness to
live till your Lordship’s ministry. In the meane time, be pleased to
give me a gracious and speedy answer to my present request of halfe a
yeare’s pention for my necessityes. I am going to write somewhat by his
Majesty’s command,[79] and cannot stir into the country for my health
and studies, till I secure my family from want. You have many petitions
of this nature, and cannot satisfy all; but I hope, from your goodness,
to be made an exception to your general rules,[80] because I am, with
all sincerity,

Your Lordship’s

Most obedient humble servant,

JOHN DRYDEN.


LETTER VII.

TO MR JACOB TONSON.

_The letters to Tonson are without dates. I have retained those which
Mr Malone has attached to them, from circumstances of internal evidence
which it seems unnecessary to detail, but which appear in general
satisfactory, though not given as absolutely conclusive. _

MR TONSON, Monday Morning, [1684. ]

The two melons you sent I received before your letter, which came
foure houres after: I tasted one of them, which was too good to need
an excuse; the other is yet untouched. You have written diverse things
which give me great satisfaction; particularly that the History of the
League is commended: and I hope the onely thing I feared in it is not
found out. [81] Take it all together, and I dare say without vanity,
’tis the best translation of any history in English, though I cannot
say ’tis the best history; but that is no fault of mine. I am glad
my Lord Duke of Ormond has one: I did not forget him; but I thought
his sorrows were too fresh upon him to receive a present of that
nature. [82] For my Lord Roscommon’s Essay,[83] I am of your opinion,
that you should reprint it, and that you may safely venture on a
thousand more. In my verses before it, pray let the printer mend his
errour, and let the line stand thus:

That heer his conqu’ring ancestors were nurs’d;--[84]

Charles his copy[85] is all true. The other faults my Lord Roscommon
will mend in the booke, or Mr Chetwood[86] for him, if my Lord be gone
for Ireland; of which, pray send me word.

Your opinion of the Miscellanyes[87] is likewise mine: I will for
once lay by the “_Religio Laici_,” till another time. But I must also
add, that since we are to have nothing but new, I am resolved we will
have nothing but good, whomever we disoblige. You will have of mine,
four Odes of Horace, which I have already translated; another small
translation of forty lines from Lucretius; the whole story of Nisus and
Eurialus, both in the fifth and the ninth of Virgil’s Æneids: and I
care not who translates them beside me; for let him be friend or foe, I
will please myself, and not give off in consideration of any man. There
will be forty lines more of Virgil in another place, to answer those
of Lucretius: I meane those very lines which Montagne has compared
in those two poets; and Homer shall sleep on for me,--I will not now
meddle with him. And for the Act which remains of the Opera,[88] I
believe I shall have no leysure to mind it, after I have done what I
proposed; for my business here is to unweary my selfe after my studyes,
not to drudge.

I am very glad you have pay’d Mr Jones, because he has carryed him
selfe so gentlemanlike to me; and, if ever it lyes in my power, I will
requite it. I desire to know whether the Duke’s House are makeing
cloaths, and putting things in a readiness for the singing Opera, to be
played immediately after Michaelmasse. [89] For the actors in the two
playes[90] which are to be acted of mine this winter, I had spoken with
Mr Betterton by chance at the Coffee-house the afternoon before I came
away; and I believe that the persons were all agreed on, to be just
the same you mentioned; only Octavia was to be Mrs Butler, in case Mrs
Cooke were not on the stage; and I know not whether Mrs Percival, who
is a comedian, will do well for Benzayda.

I came hither for health, and had a kind of hectique feavour for a
fortnight of the time: I am now much better. Poore Jack[91] is not yet
recovered of an intermitting feavour, of which this is the twelfth day;
but he mends, and now begins to eat flesh: to add to this, my man,
with over care of him, is fallen ill too, of the same distemper; so
that I am deep in doctors, ’pothecaries, and nurses: but though many
in this country fall sick of feavours, few or none dye. Your friend,
Charles,[92] continues well. If you have any extraordinary newes, I
should be glad to heare it. I will answer Mr Butler’s letter next week;
for it requires no hast.

I am yours,

JOHN DRYDEN.


LETTER VIII.

FROM JACOB TONSON TO JOHN DRYDEN, ESQ.

SIR, [Probably written in Jan. or Feb. 1692-3. ][93]

I have here returned y^e Ovid, w^{ch} I read w^th a great deal of
pleasure, and think nothing can be more entertaining; but by this
letter you find I am not soe well satisfied as perhaps you might think.
I hope at y^e same time the matter of fact I lay down in this letter
will appear grounds for it, and w^{ch} I beg you wou’d concider of; and
then I believe I shall at least bee excused.

You may please, S^r, to remember, that upon my first proposal about y^e
3^d Miscellany, I offer’d fifty pounds, and talk’d of several authours,
without naming Ovid. You ask’d if it shou’d not be guynneas, and said
I shou’d not repent it; upon w^{ch} I imediately comply’d, and left
it wholy to you what, and for y^e quantity too: and I declare it was
the farthest in y^e world from my thoughts that by leaving it to you
I shou’d have the less. Thus the case stood when you went into Essex.
After I came out of Northamptonshire I wrote to you, and reseived a
letter dated Monday Oct. 3^d, 92, from w^{ch} letter I now write word
for word what followes:

“I am translating about six hundred lines, or somewhat less, of y^e
first book of the Metamorphoses. If I cannot get my price, w^{ch} shall
be twenty guynneas, I will translate the whole book; w^{ch} coming out
before the whole translation, will spoyl Tate’s undertakings. ’Tis one
of the best I have ever made, and very pleasant. This, w^{th} Heroe and
Leander, and the piece of Homer, (or, if it be not enough, I will add
more,) will make a good part of a Miscellany. ”

Those, S^r, are y^e very words, and y^e onely ones in that letter
relating to that affair; and y^e Monday following you came to
town. --After your arrivall you shew’d Mr Motteaux what you had done,
(w^{ch} he told me was to y^e end of y^e story of Daphnis,) [Daphne,]
and demanded, as you mention’d in your letter, twenty guyneas, w^{ch}
that bookseller refus’d. Now, S^r, I the rather believe there was
just soe much done, by reason y^e number of lines you mention in yo^r
letter agrees w^{th} y^e quantity of lines that soe much of y^e first
book makes; w^{ch} upon counting y^e Ovid, I find to be in y^e Lattin
566, in y^e English 759; and y^e bookseller told me there was noe more
demanded of him for it. --Now, S^r, what I entreat you wou’d please to
consider of is this: that it is reasonable for me to expect at least
as much favour from you as a strange bookseller; and I will never
believe y^t it can be in yo^r nature to use one y^e worse for leaveing
it to you; and if the matter of fact as I state it be true, (and upon
my word what I mention I can shew you in yo^r letter,) then pray,
S^r, consider how much dearer I pay then you offered it to y^e other
bookseller; for he might have had to y^e end of y^e story of Daphnis
for 20 guynneas, w^{ch} is in yo^r translation

759 lines;
And then suppose 20 guyneas more for the same number 759 lines,
---------
that makes for 40 guyneas 1518 lines;

and all that I have for fifty guyneas are but 1446; soe that, if I have
noe more, I pay 10 guyneas above 40, and have 72 lines less for fifty,
in proportion, than the other bookseller shou’d have had for 40, at
y^e rate you offered him y^e first part. This is, Sir, what I shall
take as a great favour if you please to think of. I had intentions of
letting you know this before; but till I had paid y^e money, I would
not ask to see the book, nor count the lines, least it shou’d look like
a design of not keeping my word. When you have looked over y^e rest of
what you have already translated, I desire you would send it; and I own
y^t if you don’t think fit to add something more, I must submit: ’tis
wholly at yo^r choice, for I left it intirely to you; but I believe you
cannot imagine I expected soe little; for you were pleased to use me
much kindlyer in Juvenall, w^{ch} is not reckon’d soe easy to translate
as Ovid. S^r, I humbly beg yo^r pardon for this long letter, and upon
my word I had rather have yo^r good will than any man’s alive; and,
whatever you are pleased to doe, will alway acknowledge my self, S^r,

Yo^r most obliged humble Serv^t,

J. TONSON.


LETTER IX.

TO MR JACOB TONSON. [94]

MR TONSON, August 30. [1693. ]

I am much asham’d of my self, that I am so much behind-hand with you
in kindness. Above all things I am sensible of your good nature, in
bearing me company to this place, wherein, besides the cost, you must
needs neglect your own business; but I will endeavour to make you some
amends; and therefore I desire you to command me something for your
service. I am sure you thought my Lord Radclyffe[95] wou’d have done
something: I ghess’d more truly, that he cou’d not; but I was too far
ingag’d to desist, though I was tempted to it by the melancholique
prospect I had of it. I have translated six hundred lines of Ovid; but
I believe I shall not compasse his 772 lines under nine hundred or
more of mine. --This time I cannot write to my wife, because he who is
to carry my letter to Oundle, will not stay till I can write another.
Pray, Sir, let her know that I am well; and for feare the few damsins
shou’d be all gone, desire her to buy me a sieve-full, to preserve
whole, and not in mash. [96]

I intend to come up at least a week before Michaelmass; for Sir
Matthew[97] is gone abroad, I suspect a wooeing, and his caleche is
gone with him: so that I have been but thrice at Tichmarsh, of which
you were with me once. This disappointment makes the place wearysome to
me, which otherwise wou’d be pleasant.

About a fortnight ago I had an intimation from a friend by letter,
that one of the secretaryes, I suppose Trenchard,[98] had informed the
queen, that I had abus’d her government (those were the words) in my
Epistle to my Lord Radcliffe; and that thereupon she had commanded her
historiographer, Rymer, to fall upon my playes; which he assures me is
now doeing. I doubt not his malice, from a former hint you gave me; and
if he be employ’d, I am confident ’tis of his own seeking; who, you
know, has spoken slightly of me in his last critique:[99] and that gave
me occasion to snarl againe. [100] In your next, let me know what you
can learn of this matter. I am Mr Congreve’s true lover, and desire
you to tell him, how kindly I take his often remembrances of me: I wish
him all prosperity, and hope I shall never loose his affection; nor
yours, Sir, as being

Your most faithfull,

And much obliged Servant,

JOHN DRYDEN.

I had all your letters.

Sir Matthew had your book when he came home last; and desir’d me to
give you his acknowledgements.


LETTER X.

MR JOHN DENNIS[101] TO MR DRYDEN.

DEAR SIR,

You may see already by this presumptuous greeting, that encouragement
gives as much assurance to friendship, as it imparts to love. You may
see too, that a friend may sometimes proceed to acknowledge affection,
by the very same degrees by which a lover declares his passion. This
last at first confesses esteem, yet owns no passion but admiration.
But as soon as he is animated by one kind expression, his look, his
style, and his very soul are altered. But as sovereign beauties know
very well, that he who confesses he esteems and admires them, implies
that he loves them, or is inclined to love them: a person of Mr
Dryden’s exalted genius, can discern very well, that when we esteem
him highly, ’tis respect restrains us, if we say no more. For where
great esteem is without affection, ’tis often attended with envy, if
not with hate; which passions detract even when they commend, and
silence is their highest panegyrick. ’Tis indeed impossible, that I
should refuse to love a man, who has so often given me all the pleasure
that the most insatiable mind can desire: when at any time I have
been dejected by disappointments, or tormented by cruel passions, the
recourse to your verses has calm’d my soul, or raised it to transports
which made it contemn tranquillity. But though you have so often given
me all the pleasure I was able to bear, I have reason to complain of
you on this account, that you have confined my delight to a narrower
compass. Suckling, Cowley, and Denham, who formerly ravished me in
every part of them, now appear tasteless to me in most; and Waller
himself, with all his gallantry, and all that admirable art of his
turns, appears three quarters prose to me. Thus ’tis plain, that your
Muse has done me an injury; but she has made me amends for it. For
she is like those extraordinary women, who, besides the regularity
of their charming features, besides their engaging wit, have secret,
unaccountable, enchanting graces; which though they have been long and
often enjoyed, make them always new and always desirable. --I return
you my hearty thanks for your most obliging letter. I had been very
unreasonable, if I had repined that the favour arrived no sooner. ’Tis
allowable to grumble at the delaying a payment; but to murmur at the
deferring a benefit, is to be impudently ungrateful beforehand. The
commendations which you give me, exceedingly sooth my vanity. For you
with a breath can bestow or confirm reputation; a whole numberless
people proclaims the praise which you give, and the judgments of three
mighty kingdoms appear to depend upon yours. The people gave me some
little applause before; but to whom, when they are in the humour,
will they not give it? and to whom, when they are froward, will they
not refuse it? Reputation with them depends upon chance, unless they
are guided by those above them. They are but the keepers, as it were,
of the lottery which Fortune sets up for renown; upon which Fame is
bound to attend with her trumpet, and sound when men draw the prizes.
Thus I had rather have your approbation than the applause of Fame.
Her commendation argues good luck, but Mr Dryden’s implies desert.
Whatever low opinion I have hitherto had of myself, I have so great a
value for your judgment, that, for the sake of that, I shall be willing
henceforward to believe that I am not wholly desertless; but that you
may find me still more supportable, I shall endeavour to compensate
whatever I want in those glittering qualities, by which the world is
dazzled, with truth, with faith, and with zeal to serve you; qualities
which for their rarity, might be objects of wonder, but that men dare
not appear to admire them, because their admiration would manifestly
declare their want of them. Thus, Sir, let me assure you, that though
you are acquainted with several gentlemen, whose eloquence and wit may
capacitate them to offer their service with more address to you, yet
no one can declare himself, with greater chearfulness, or with greater
fidelity, or with more profound respect than myself,

Sir,
_March_ 3, [1693-4] Your most, &c.

JOHN DENNIS.


LETTER. XI.

TO MR JOHN DENNIS. [In answer to the foregoing. ]

MY DEAR MR DENNIS, [Probably March 1693-4. ]

When I read a letter so full of my commendations as your last, I cannot
but consider you as the master of a vast treasure, who having more than
enough for yourself, are forced to ebb out upon your friends. You have
indeed the best right to give them, since you have them in propriety;
but they are no more mine when I receive them than the light of the
moon can be allowed to be her own, who shines but by the reflexion of
her brother. Your own poetry is a more powerful example, to prove that
the modern writers may enter into comparison with the ancients, than
any which Perrault could produce in France: yet neither he, nor you,
who are a better critick, can persuade me, that there is any room left
for a solid commendation at this time of day, at least for me.

If I undertake the translation of Virgil, the little which I can
perform will shew at least, that no man is fit to write after him, in
a barbarous modern tongue. Neither will his machines be of any service
to a Christian poet. We see how ineffectually they have been tryed by
Tasso, and by Ariosto. It is using them too dully, if we only make
devils of his gods: as if, for example, I would raise a storm, and
make use of Æolus, with this only difference of calling him Prince of
the Air; what invention of mine would there be in this? or who would
not see Virgil thorough me; only the same trick played over again by
a bungling juggler? Boileau has well observed, that it is an easy
matter in a Christian poem, for God to bring the Devil to reason. I
think I have given a better hint for new machines in my preface to
Juvenal; where I have particularly recommended two subjects, one of
King Arthur’s conquest of the Saxons, and the other of the Black Prince
in his conquest of Spain. But the guardian angels of monarchys and
kingdoms are not to be touched by every hand: a man must be deeply
conversant in the Platonic philosophy, to deal with them; and therefore
I may reasonably expect, that no poet of our age will presume to handle
those machines, for fear of discovering his own ignorance; or if he
should, he might perhaps be ingrateful enough not to own me for his
benefactour. [102]

After I have confessed thus much of our modern heroic poetry, I cannot
but conclude with Mr Rymer, that our English comedy is far beyond any
thing of the ancients: and notwithstanding our irregularities, so is
our tragedy. Shakspeare had a genius for it; and we know, in spite
of Mr Rymer, that genius alone is a greater virtue (if I may so call
it) than all other qualifications put together. You see what success
this learned critick has found in the world, after his blaspheming
Shakspeare. [103] Almost all the faults which he has discovered are
truly there; yet who will read Mr Rymer, or not read Shakspeare? For my
own part I reverence Mr Rymer’s learning, but I detest his ill-nature
and his arrogance. I indeed, and such as I, have reason to be afraid
of him, but Shakspeare has not. [104]

There is another part of poetry, in which the English stand almost
upon an equal foot with the ancients; and it is that which we call
Pindarique; introduced, but not perfected, by our famous Mr Cowley: and
of this, Sir, you are certainly one of the greatest masters. You have
the sublimity of sense as well as sound, and know how far the boldness
of a poet may lawfully extend. I could wish you would cultivate this
kind of Ode; and reduce it either to the same measures which Pindar
used, or give new measures of your own. For, as it is, it looks like a
vast tract of land newly discovered: the soil is wonderfully fruitful,
but unmanured; overstocked with inhabitants, but almost all savages,
without laws, arts, arms, or policy.

I remember, poor Nat. Lee, who was then upon the verge of madness, yet
made a sober and a witty answer to a bad poet, who told him, “It was
an easie thing to write like a madman:” “No,” said he, “it is very
difficult to write like a madman, but it is a very easie matter to
write like a fool. ” Otway and he are safe by death from all attacks,
but we poor poets militant (to use Mr Cowley’s expression) are at
the mercy of wretched scribblers: and when they cannot fasten upon
our verses, they fall upon our morals, our principles of state, and
religion. For my principles of religion, I will not justifie them to
you: I know yours are far different. For the same reason, I shall say
nothing of my principles of state. I believe you and yours follow the
dictates of your reason, as I in mine do those of my conscience. If
I thought myself in an errour, I would retract it. I am sure that I
suffer for them; and Milton makes even the Devil say, that no creature
is in love with pain. For my morals betwixt man and man, I am not to be
my own judge. I appeal to the world, if I have deceived or defrauded
any man: and for my private conversation, they who see me every day can
be the best witnesses, whether or no it be blameless and inoffensive.
Hitherto I have no reason to complain that men of either party shun
my company. I have never been an impudent beggar at the doors of
noblemen: my visits have indeed been too rare to be unacceptable; and
but just enough to testifie my gratitude for their bounty, which I have
frequently received, but always unasked, as themselves will witness.

I have written more than I needed to you on this subject; for I dare
say you justifie me to yourself. As for that which I first intended
for the principal subject of this letter, which is my friend’s passion
and his design of marriage, on better consideration I have changed my
mind; for having had the honour to see my dear friend Wycherly’s letter
to him on that occasion, I find nothing to be added or amended. But
as well as I love Mr Wycherly, I confess I love myself so well, that
I will not shew how much I am inferiour to him in wit and judgment,
by undertaking any thing after him. There is Moses and the Prophets
in his council. Jupiter and Juno, as the poets tell us, made Tiresias
their umpire in a certain merry dispute, which fell out in heaven
betwixt them. Tiresias, you know, had been of both sexes, and therefore
was a proper judge; our friend Mr Wycherly is full as competent an
arbitrator; he has been a bachelor, and marryed man, and is now a
widower. Virgil says of Ceneus,

----_Nunc vir, nunc fœmina, Ceneus,
Rursus et in veterem fato revoluta figuram. _

Yet I suppose he will not give any large commendations to his middle
state: nor, as the sailer said, will be fond after a shipwrack to put
to sea again. [105] If my friend will adventure after this, I can but
wish him a good wind, as being his, and,

My dear Mr Dennis,

Your most affectionate

and most faithful Servant,

JOHN DRYDEN.


LETTER XII.

TO MR JACOB TONSON.

_The copy money for translating the Æneid was fifty pounds for each
Book. The rising of the second subscription seems, to allude to the
practice of fixing a day, after which no subscriptions were to be
received except on payment of an advanced price. The first subscribers
to Dryden’s Virgil paid five guineas; a plate was dedicated to each of
them, and ornamented with his arms. A second class paid two guineas
only, and were not so honoured. In the subsequent letters there occur
several allusions to these arrangements, and to the transference of
names from the higher to the lower class. _

Wednesday morning.
MR TONSON, [Probably written in April 1695. ]

It is now three dayes since I have ended the fourth Eneid; and I am
this morning beginning to transcribe it, as you may do afterwards; for
I am willing some few of my friends may see it, and shall give leave to
you, to shew your transcription to some others, whose names I will tell
you. The paying Ned Sheldon the fifty pounds put me upon this speed;
but I intend not so much to overtoil myself, after the sixth book is
ended. If the second subscriptions rise, I will take so much the more
time, because the profit will incourage me the more; if not, I must
make the more haste; yet always with as much care as I am able. But
however, I will not fail in my paines of translating the sixth Eneid
with the same exactness as I have performed the fourth: because that
book is my greatest favourite. You know money is now very scrupulously
receiv’d: in the last which you did me the favour to change for my
wife, besides the clip’d money, there were at least forty shillings
brass. You may, if you please, come to me at the Coffee-house this
afternoon, or at farthest to-morrow, that we may take care together,
where and when I may receive the fifty pounds and the guinneys; which
must be some time this week.

I am your Servant,

JOHN DRYDEN.

I have written to my Lord Lawderdail, for his decorations. [106]


LETTER XIII.

TO MR JACOB TONSON,

MR TONSON. Saturday, June the 8th. [f. 1695. ]

’Tis now high time for me to think of my second subscriptions; for the
more time I have for collecting them, the larger they are like to
be. I have now been idle just a fortnight; and therefore might have
called sooner on you, for the remainder of the first subscriptions. And
besides, Mr Aston will be goeing into Cheshire a week hence, who is my
onely help, and to whom you are onely beholding for makeing the bargain
betwixt us, which is so much to my loss; but I repent nothing of it
that is passed, but that I do not find myself capable of translating
so great an author, and therefore feare to lose my own credit, and to
hazard your profit, which it wou’d grieve me if you should loose, by
your too good opinion of my abilities. I expected to have heard of you
this week, according to the intimation you gave me of it; but that
failing, I must defer it no longer than till the ensueing week, because
Mr Aston will afterwards be gone, if not sooner.

Be pleased to send me word what day will be most convenient to you; and
be ready with the price of paper, and of the books. No matter for any
dinner; for that is a charge to you, and I care not for it. [107] Mr
Congreve may be with us, as a common friend; for as you know him for
yours, I make not the least doubt, but he is much more mine; send an
immediate answer, and you shall find me ready to do all things w^{ch}
become

Your Servant,

JOHN DRYDEN.


LETTER XIV.

TO MR JACOB TONSON.

MY GOOD FRIEND, [Wednesday the 13th of 7 ber f. 1695. ]

This is onely to acquaint you, that I have taken my place in the Oundel
coach for Tuesday next; and hope to be at London on Wednesday night.
I had not confidence enough to hope Mr Southern and Mr Congreve woud
have given me the favour of their company for the last foure miles;
but since they will be so kind to a friend of theirs, who so truely
loves both them and you, I will please myself with expecting it, if the
weather be not so bad as to hinder them.

I assure you I lay up your last kindnesses to me in my heart; and the
less I say of them, I charge them to account so much the more; being
very sensible that I have not hitherto deserved them. Haveing been
obliged to sit up all last night almost out of civility to strangers,
who were benighted, and to resign my bed to them, I am sleepy all this
day; and if I had not taken a very lusty pike that day, they must have
gone supperless to bed, foure ladyes and two gentlemen; for Mr Dudley
and I were alone, with but one man and no mayd in the house. --This time
I cannot write to my wife; do me the favour to let her know I received
her letter, am well, and hope to be with her on Wednesday next, at
night. No more but that

I am very much

Your Friend and Servant,

JOHN DRYDEN.


LETTER XV.

TO MR JACOB TONSON.

MR TONSON, October the 29h. [f. 1695. ]

Some kind of intercourse must be carryed on betwixt us, while I am
translating Virgil. Therefore I give you notice, that I have done the
seaventh Eneid in the country;[108] and intend some few days hence,
to go upon the eight: when that is finished, I expect fifty pounds
in good silver; not such as I have had formerly. I am not obliged to
take gold,[109] neither will I; nor stay for it beyond four-and-twenty
houres after it is due. I thank you for the civility of your last
letter in the country; but the thirty shillings upon every book
remains with me. You always intended I should get nothing by the
second subscriptions, as I found from first to last. And your promise
to Mr Congreve, that you had found a way for my benefit, which was an
encouragement to my paines, came at last, for me to desire Sir Godfrey
Kneller and Mr Closterman to gather for me. I then told Mr Congreve,
that I knew you too well to believe you meant me any kindness: and he
promised me to believe accordingly of you, if you did not.