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satire opened to me: but, since the Revolution, Extremum hunc, Arethusa ... I have wholly renounced that talent. For

Negat quis carmina Gallo?3 who would give physic to the great, when he is uncalled?—to do his patient no good, and en- Neither am I to forget the noble present danger himself for his prescription? Neither 5 which was made me by Gilbert Dolben, Esq., am I ignorant, but I may justly be condemned the worthy son of the late Archbishop of for many of those faults of which I have too York, who, when I began this work, enriched liberally arraigned others.

me with all the several editions of Virgil, and

all the commentaries of those editions in Latin; Cynthius aurem 10 amongst which, I could not but prefer the Vellit, et admonuit . ..2

Dauphin's, as the last, the shortest, and the

most judicious. Fabrini I had also sent me 'Tis enough for me, if the Government will let from Italy; but either he understands Virgil me pass unquestioned.

In the meantime, I very imperfectly, or I have no knowledge of am obliged, in gratitude, to return my thanks 15 my author. to many of them, who have not only distin- Being invited by that worthy gentleman, guished me from others of the same party, Sir William Bowyer, to Denham Court, I by a particular exception of grace, but, without translated the first Georgic at his house, and considering the man, have been bountiful to the greatest part of the last Æneid. A more the poet: have encouraged Virgil to speak such 20 friendly entertainment no man ever found. English as I could teach him, and rewarded his No wonder, therefore, if both those versions interpreter for the pains he has taken in bring- surpass the rest, and own the satisfaction I ing him over into Britain, by defraying the received in his converse, with whom I had charges of his voyage. Even Cerberus, when the honour to be bred in Cambridge, and in he had received the sop, permitted Æneas to 25 the same college. The Seventh Æneid was pass freely to Elysium. Had it been offered me, made English at Burleigh, the magnificent and I had refused it, yet still some gratitude is abode of the Earl of Exeter. In a village bedue to such who were willing to oblige me; longing to his family I was born; and under his but how much more to those from whom I roof I endeavoured to make that Æneid aphave received the favours which they have 30 pear in English with as much lustre as I could; offered to one of a different persuasion! Amongst though my author has not given the finishing whom I cannot omit naming the Earls of Derby strokes either to it, or to the Eleventh, as I and of Peterborough. To the first of these I perhaps could prove in both, if I durst presume have not the honour to be known; and there- to criticise my master. fore his liberality was as much unexpected as 35 By a letter from William Walsh,“ of Abberley, it was undeserved. The present Earl of Peter- Esq. (who has so long honoured me with his borough has been pleased long since to accept friendship, and who, without flattery, is the the tenders of my service: his favours are so best critic of our nation), I have been informed, frequent to me, that I receive them almost that his Grace the Duke of Shrewsbury has by prescription. No difference of interest or 40 procured a printed copy of the Pastorals, opinion has been able to withdraw his pro- Georgics, and first six Æneids, from my booktection from me; and I might justly be con- seller, and has read them in the country, todemned for the most unthankful of mankind, gether with my friend. This noble person havif I did not always preserve for him a most ing been pleased to give them a commendation, profound respect and inviolable gratitude. 45 which I presume not to insert, has made me I must also add, that, if the last Æneid vain enough to boast of so great a favour, and shine amongst its fellows, 'tis owing to the to think I have succeeded beyond my hopes; commands of Sir William Trumball, one of the character of his excellent judgment, the the principal Secretaries of State, who recom- acuteness of his wit, and his general knowledge mended it, as his favourite, to my care; and 50 of good letters, being known as well to all the for his sake particularly, I have made it mine. world, as the sweetness of his disposition, his For who would confess weariness, when he humanity, his easiness of access, and desire enjoined a fresh labour? I could not but of obliging those who stand in need of his invoke the assistance of a Muse, for this last protection, are known to all who have apoffice.

55 proached him, and to me in particular, who have · Apollo twitched my ear, and admonished me. Dry

Grant me this last labor, Arethusa . . . who could den translates the passage (Virg. Ecl., v. 3):

refuse songs to Gallus? (Virg. Ecl., X., 1-54).

* William Walsh (1663-1708), a critic and minor poet, "Apollo checked my pride, and bade me feed is remembered as the friend, early advieer, and corre My fattening flocks, nor dare beyond the reed.” spondent of Pope.

formerly had the honour of his conversation. the Royalle company by themselves in the Whoever has given the world the translation of coach, which was a blessed sight to see. part of the Third Georgic, which he calls The After dinner the King and Duke altered the Power of Love, has put me to sufficient pains name of some of the ships,3 viz. the Nazeby to make my own not inferior to his; as my 5 into Charles; the Richard, James; the Speaker, Lord Roscommon's Silenus bad formerly Mary; the Dunbar (which was not in comgiven me the same trouble. The most ingenious pany with us), the Henry; Winsly, Happy Mr. Addison of Oxford has also been as trouble- Return; Wakefield, Richmond; Lambert, the some to me as the other two, and on the same Henrietta; Cheriton, the Speedwell; Bradford, account. After his Bees, my latter swarm 10 the Successe. That done, the Queen, Princesse is hardly worth the hiving. Mr. Cowley's Royalle," and Prince of Orange, took leave of Praise of a Country Life is excellent, but is the King, and the Duke of Yorkø went on board rather an imitation of Virgil than a version. the London, and the Duke of Gloucester, the That I have recovered, in some measure, the Swiftsure. Which done, we weighed anchor, health which I had lost by too much applica- 15 and with a fresh gale and most happy weather tion to this work, is owing, next to God's mercy, we set sail for England. All the afternoon the to the skill and care of Dr. Guibbons and Dr. King walked here and there, up and down Hobbs, the two ornaments of their profession, (quite contrary to what I thought him to have whom I can only pay by this acknowledge been) very active and stirring. Upon the ment. The whole Faculty has always been 20 quarter-deck he fell into discourse of his esready to oblige me; and the only one of them, cape from Worcester,? where it made me ready who endeavoured to defame me, had it not in to weep to hear the stories that he told of his his power. I desire pardon from my readers for difficulties that he had passed through, as his saying so much in relation to myself, which travelling four days and three nights on foot, concerns not them; and, with my acknowledge- 25 every step up to his knees in dirt, with nothing ments to all my subscribers, have only to add, but a green coat and a pair of country breeches that the few Notes which follow are par man- on, and a pair of country shoes that made him ière d'acquit, because I had obliged myself 80 sore all over his feet, that he could scarce by articles to do somewhat of that kind. These stir. Yet he was forced to run away from a scattering observations are rather guesses at 30 miller and other company, that took them for my author's meaning in some passages, than rogues. His sitting at table at one place, where proofs that so he meant. The unlearned may the master of the house, that had not seen him have recourse to any poetical dictionary in in eight years, did know him, but kept it priEnglish, for the names of persons, places, or vate; when at the same table there was one that fables, which the learned need not: but that 35 had been of his own regiment at Worcester could little which I say is either new or necessary;

not know him, but made him drink the King's and the first of these qualifications never fails health, and said that the King was at least to invite a reader, if not to please him.

four fingers higher than he. At another place

he was by some servants of the house made to Samuel Pepys

40 drink, that they might know that he was not a

Roundhead, which they swore he was. In 1633–1703

another place at his inn, the master of the house, THE RETURN OF CHARLES II. as the King was standing with his hands upon

the back of a chair by the fire-side, kneeled (From Diary of Samuel Pepys, 1660) 23rd. In the morning come infinity of

: A room beneath the poop-deck in a man of war,

usually occupied by the captain. people on board from the King to go along with * The reason for the change of name is obvious: but him.... All day nothing but Lords and

this purifying from Puritanic and embarrassing associa

tion has an element of bumour. Naseby and Dunbar persons of honour on board, that we were ex- were of course reminiscent of Puritan victories, while the ceeding full. Dined in a great deal of state, 50 Richard (presumably named after Cromwell's son), the

Speaker, the Lamberl, and the rest, bore names hardly less • By way of discharging (an obligation), or of a formal

full of unpleasant suggestion to the care of the Royalists. character.

• Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia. daughter of James ii. e., May 23, 1660. At this time Pepys was still VI, of Scotland, and First of England, whose husband, young, poor, and comparatively unknown. The founda- Frederick became King of Bohemia. Shortly after, he tion of his fortune had, however, been laid by the kind- was forced by reverses to fly with his family to Holland. ness of his patron and kinsman Sir Edward Montague Elizabeth returned to England after the Restoration of (afterwards Earl of Sandwich), through whose influence 55 her nephew, where she died in 1662. he had been made secretary to the generals on the English 5 Mary, sister of Charles II, wife of William II, Prince fleet, in March, 1660. With his patron, and the other of Orange, and mother of William III, of Orange, who members of the delegation, he went to the Hague to became King of England in 1689. briog back Charles II. The passages here given relate 6 Afterwards James 11. of England. to the King's embarkation at the Hague and his landing at 7 i. e., after the crushing defeat of the Royal forces by Dover.

Cromwell at the Battle of Worcester, 1651.

45

rose, and

down and kissed his hand, privately, saying, which he did, and talked awhile with General that he would not ask him who he was, but Monk and others, and so into a stately coach bid God bless him whither he was going. Then there set for him, and so away through the the difficulties in getting a boat to get into town towards Canterbury, without making France, where he was fain to plot with the mas- 5 any stay at Dover. The shouting and joy exter thereof to keep his design from the foreman pressed by all is past imagination. and a boy (which was all the ship's company,) and so get to Fecamp in France. At Rouen he

THE GREAT FIRE OF LONDON looked .so poorly, that the people went into the rooms before he went away to see whether 10

(From the same, 1666) he had not stole something or other. . . So to my cabin again, where the company still 2nd.1 (Lord's Day). Some of our maids was, and were talking more of the King's sitting up late last night to get things ready difficulties; as how he was fain to eat a piece of against our feast to-day, Jane called us up bread and cheese out of a poor body's pocket; 15 about three in the morning, to tell us of how, at a Catholique house, he was fain to great fire they saw in the city. So I lie in the priest's hole a good while in the house slipped on my night-gown, and went to her for his privacy. After that our company window; and thought it to be on the back-side broke up. We have all the Lord Commissioners of Marke-lane at the farthest, but being unused on board us, and many others. Under sail 20 to such fires as followed, I thought it far enough all night, and most glorious weather.

off: and so went to bed again, and to sleep. 24th. Up, and made myself as fine as I could, About seven rose again to dress myself, and with the linning stockings on and wide canong8 there looked out at the window, and saw the that I bought the other day at Hague. ... fire not so much as it was, and further off.

25th. By the morning we were come close 25 So to my closet to set things to rights, after to the land, and everybody made ready to get yesterday's cleaning. By and by Jane comes on shore. The King and the two Dukes did and tells me that she hears that above 300 eat their breakfast before they went, and there houses have been burned down to-night by the being set some ship's diet, they did eat of noth- fire we saw, and that it is now burning down ing else but pease and pork, and boiled beef. 30 all Fish-street, by London Bridge. So I made Dr. Clerke, who eat with me, told me how the myself ready presently, and walked to the King had given 50£ to Mr. Shepley for my Tower, and there got upon one of the high Lord's servants, and 500£ among the officers places, Sir J. Robinson's little son going up and common men of the ship. I spoke to the with me; and there I did see the houses at that Duke of York about business, who called me 35 end of the bridge all on fire, and an infinite Pepys by name, and upon my desire did prom- great fire on this and the other side the end of ise me his future favour. Great expectation the bridge; which, among other people, did of the King's making some Knights, but there trouble me for poor little Michell and our was none. About noon (though the brigantine Sarah on the bridge. So down with my heart that Beale made was there ready to carry him) 40 full of trouble to the Lieutenant of the Tower, yet he would go in my Lord's barge with the who tells me it begun this morning in the King's two Dukes. Our Captn. steered, and my Lord baker's house in Puddine-lane, and that it went along bare with him. I went, and Mr. hath burned down St. Magnes Church? and Mansell, and one of the King's footmen, and a most part of Fish-street already. So I down to dog that the king loved, in a boat by ourselves, 45 the water-side, and there got a boat, and and so got on shore when the King did, who through bridge, and there saw a lamentable was received by General Monk with all imagi- fire. Poor Michell's house, as far as the Old nable love and respect at his entrance upon the Swan,3 already burned that way, and the land of Dover. Infinite the crowd of people fire running further, that in a very little time and the horsemen, citizens, and noblemen of 50 it got as far as the Steele-yard, while I was all sorts. The Mayor of the town come ard there. Everybody endeavouring to remove give him his white staff, the badge of his place, their goods, and flinging into the river, or which the King did give him again. The Mayor bringing them into lighters that lay off; poor also presented him from the town a very rich people staying in their houses as long as till Bible, which he took, and said it was the thing 55 that he loved above all things in the world. 1 Sept. 2, 1666.

· St. Magnus the Martyr. This church was on the corner A canopy was provided for him to stand under, of Fish Street Hill and was very near to the London

Bridge. "Ornamental rolls which terminated the brecches or A well-known tavern not far from Old London hose at the kuce." Cent. Dict.

Bridge.

the very fire touched them, and then running tracted, and no manner of means used to into boats, or clambering from one pair of quench the fire. The houses too so very thick stairs by the water-side to another. And thereabouts, and full of matter for burning, as among other things, the poor pigeons, I per- pitch and tar, in Thames-street: and warehouses ceive, were loth to leave their houses, but 5 of oil, and wines, and brandy, and other hovered about the windows and balconys, till things. . . . Having seen as much as I could they burned their wings and fell down. Having now, I away to White Hall by appointment, and staid, and in an hour's time seen the fire rage there walked to St. James' Park, and there met every way, and nobody, to my sight, endeavour- my wife and Creed and Wood and his wife, and ing to quench it, but to remove their goods, 10 walked to my boat; and there upon the water and leave all to the fire, and having seen it get again, and to the fire up and down, it still as far as the Steele-yard, and the wind mighty encreasing, and the wind great. So near the high, and driving it into the city; and every- fire as we could for smoke; and all over the thing after so long a drouth proving combustible, Thames, with one's faces in the wind, you even the very stones of churches, and among 15 were almost burned with a shower of fireother things, the poor steeple by which pretty drops. This is very true; so as houses were Mrs. - lives, and whereof my old school- burned by these drops and flakes of fire, fellow Elborough is parson, taken fire in the three or four, nay five or six houses, one from very top, and there burned till it fell down: another. When we could endure no more I to White Hall (with a gentleman with me, 20 upon the water, we to a little ale-house on who desired to go off from the Tower, to see the the Bankside, over against the Three Cranes, fire, in my boat); and there up to the King's and there staid till it was dark almost, and closet in the Chapel, where people come about saw the fire grow, and as it grew darker, me; and I did give them an account dismayed appeared more and more, and in corners and them all, and word was carried in to the King. 25 upon steeples, and between churches and So I was called for, and did tell the King and houses, as far as we could see up the hill of the Duke of York what I saw, and that unless the city, in a most horrid malicious bloody his Majesty did command houses to be pulled flame, not like the fine flame of an ordinary down, nothing could stop the fire. They fire. Barbary and her husband away before seemed much troubled, and the King com- 30 us. We staid till, it being darkish, we saw the manded me to go to my Lord Mayor from him, fire as only one entire arch of fire from this to and command him to spare no houses, but to the other side the bridge, and in a bow up the pull down before the fire every way. The hill for an arch of above a mile long; it made Duke of York bid me tell him, that if he would me weep to see it. The churches, houses, and have any more soldiers, he shall; and so did my 35 all on fire, and flaming at once, and a horrid Lord Arlington afterwards, as a great secret. noise the flames made, and the cracking of Here meeting with Captain Cocke, I in his houses at their ruin. So home with a sad coach, which he lent me, and Creed with me to heart, and there find everybody discoursing Paul's, and there walked along Watling-street, and lamenting the fire! as well as I could, every creature coming away 40 loaden with goods to save, and here and there

THE LAST ENTRY IN PEPYS' DIARY sick people carried away in beds. Extraordinary good goods carried in carts and on 31st." Up very betimes, and continued all backs. At last met by Lord Mayor in Canning- the morning with W. Hewer, upon examining street, like a man spent, with a handkercher 45 and stating my accounts, in order to the fitting about his neck. To the King's message, he myself to go abroad beyond sea, which the ill cried like a fainting woman, “Lord! what can condition of my eyes and my neglect for a I do? I am spent: people will not obey me. year or two hath kept me behind-hand in, I have been pulling down houses; but the fire and so as to render it very difficult now and overtakes us faster than we can do it.” That 50 troublesome to my mind to do it: but I this he needed no more soldiers; and that, for him- day made a satisfactory entrance therein. self, he must go and refresh himself, having been Had another meeting with the Duke of York up all night. So he left me, and I him, and at White Hall on yesterday's work, and made walked home; seeing people all almost dis- a good advance: and so being called by my

55 wife, we to the Park, Mary Batelier, and a • Formerly the headquarters in England of the Han

Dutch gentleman, a friend of hers, being with seatic League, and hence called the 'Guildhall of the Germans."

us. Thence to “The World's End," a drinkingLondon Bridge: the fire (which had begun cast of the bridge, acar Billingsgate) was therefore spreading west

5 On the southern, or Surrey, side of the river. ward.

1 May 31st, 1669.

It was situated on the river-front west of

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5

20

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house by the Park; and there merry, and so For, as our different ages move, home late. And thus ends all that I doubt 'Tis so ordained, (would Fate but mend it!) I shall ever be able to do with my own eyes

That I shall be past making love, in the keeping

When she begins to comprehend it. my Journall, I being not able to do it any longer, having done now so long 5 as to undo my eyes almost every time that I

A BETTER ANSWER take a pen in my hand; and therefore, what

Dear Chloe, how blubbered is that pretty face! ever comes of it, I must forbear: and therefore

Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all unresolve from this time forward to have it kept curled: by my people in long-hand, and must be con- 10 Pr'ythee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff tented to set down no more than is fit for them says), and all the world to know; or if there be any

Let us e'en talk a little like folks of this thing, I must endeavour to keep a margin in

world. my book open, to add here and there a note in How cans't thou presume, thou hast leave short-hand with my own hand. And so I 15 to destroy betake myself to that course, which is almost The beauties, which Venus but lent to thy as much as to see myself go into my grave;

keeping? for which, and all the discomforts that will ac

Those looks were designed to inspire love and

joy: company my being blind, the God prepare

More ordinary eyes may serve people for me! S. P.

weeping. THE AGE OF POPE

To be vexed at a trifle or two that I writ,

Your judgment at once, and my passion you Matthew Prior

wrong:

You take that for fact, which will scarce be 1664-1721

found wit:

Odds life! must one swear to the truth of a TO A CHILD OF QUALITY FIVE YEARS song? OLD. MDCCIV

What I speak, my fair Chloe, and what I write, THE AUTHOR THEN FORTY

shows

The difference there is betwixt nature and (From Poems on Several Occasions, 1709)

art: Lords, knights, and 'squires the numerous band, I court others in verse; but I love thee in prose: That wear the fair Miss Mary's fetters,

And they have my whimsies; but thou hast Were summoned by her high command, To show their passions by their letters.

The god of us verse-men (you know, Child) My pen among the rest I took,

How after his journeys he sets up his rest; Lest those bright eyes that cannot read

If at morning o'er earth 'tis his fancy to run; Should dart their kindling fires, and look

At night he reclines on his Thetis's breast. 20 The power they have to be obeyed.

So when I am wearied with wandering all day; Nor quality, nor reputation,

To thee, my delight, in the evening I come:

No matter what beauties I saw in my way: Forbid me yet my flame to tell,

10 Dear five years old befriends my passion,

They were but my visits, but thou art my

home. And I may write till she can spell.

Then finish, dear Chloe, this pastoral war; For, while she makes her silk-worm's beds,

And let us like Horace and Lydia agree: With all the tender things I swear;

For thou art a girl as much brighter than her, Whilst all the house my passion reads,

As he was a poet sublimer than me.
In papers round her baby's hair;
She may receive and own my flame,

Jonathan Swift
For though the strictest prudes should know

1667-1745 She'll pass for a most virtuous dame,

IN SICKNESS And I for an unhappy poet.

(Written in Ireland in October, 1714) Then, too, alas! when she shall tear

"Tis true—then why should I repine The lines some younger rival sends;

To see my life so fast decline? She'll give me leave to write, I fear,

But why obscurely here alone, And we shall still continue friends.

Where I am neither loved nor known?

my heart.

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the sun,

5

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it,

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