Yet once thy Sappho could thy cares employ, Once in her arms you centred all your joy: No time the dear remembrance can remove, 51 For oh! My music, then, you could for ever hear, And all my words were music to your ear. But ah, beware, Sicilian nymphs! By charms like thine which all my soul have won, Who might not—ah!
For those Aurora Cephalus might scorn, And with fresh blushes paint the conscious morn. O scarce a youth, yet scarce a tender boy! O useful time for lovers to employ! Pride of thy age, and glory of thy race, Come to these arms, and melt in this embrace! The vows you never will return, receive; And take, at least, the love you will not give. See, while I write, my words are lost in tears! The less my sense, the more my love appears.
Edition: current; Page: [ 62 ] Not fiercer pangs distract the mournful dame, Whose first-born infant feeds the funeral flame. Then round your neck in wanton wreaths I twine; Then you, methinks, as fondly circle mine: A thousand tender words I hear and speak; A thousand melting kisses give and take: Then fiercer joys—I blush to mention these, Yet, while I blush, confess how much they please. For thee the fading trees appear to mourn, And birds defer their songs till thy return: Night shades the groves, and all in silence lie, All but the mournful Philomel and I: With mournful Philomel I join my strain, Of Tereus she, of Phaon I complain.
Fly hence, and seek the fair Leucadian main. Haste, Sappho, haste, from high Leucadia throw Thy wretched weight, nor dread the deeps below! I go, ye Nymphs! Ye gentle gales, beneath my body blow, And softly lay me on the waves below! This breast which once, in vain! The winds my prayers, my sighs, my numbers bear, The flying winds have lost them all in air! Oh when, alas! If you return—ah, why these long delays? Poor Sappho dies while careless Phaon stays. If you will fly— yet ah! I saw as near her side I stood The violated blossoms drop with blood; Upon the tree I cast a frightful look; The trembling tree with sudden horror shook.
I saw, unhappy! Edition: current; Page: [ 65 ] My sire, my sister, and my spouse, farewell! If in your breasts or love or pity dwell, Protect your plant, nor let my branches feel 90 The browsing cattle or the piercing steel. I can no more; the creeping rind invades My closing lips, and hides my head in shades: Remove your hands; the bark shall soon suffice Without their aid to seal these dying eyes.
Now the cleft rind inserted grafts receives, And yields an offspring more than Nature gives; Now sliding streams the thirsty plants renew, And feed their fibres with reviving dew. These cares alone her virgin breast employ, Averse from Venus and the nuptial joy. Add, that he varies every shape with ease, And tries all forms that may Pomona please. But what should most excite a mutual flame, Your rural cares and pleasures are the same.
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O crown so constant and so pure a fire! Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pass, As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass. First follow Nature, and your judgment frame By her just standard, which is still the same; Unerring Nature, still divinely bright, 70 One clear, unchanged, and universal light, Life, force, and beauty must to all impart, At once the source, and end, and test of Art.
Art from that fund each just supply provides, Works without show, and without pomp presides. Still with itself compared, his text peruse; And let your comment be the Mantuan Muse. Thus Pegasus, a nearer way to take, May boldly deviate from the common track. Those oft are stratagems which errors seem, Nor is it Homer nods , but we that dream. Hail, Bards triumphant! A little learning is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring: There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, And drinking largely sobers us again.
But in such lays as neither ebb nor flow, Correctly cold, and regularly low, 40 That shunning faults one quiet tenor keep, We cannot blame indeed—but we may sleep. All which exact to rule were brought about, Were but a combat in the lists left out.
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Others for language all their care express, And value books, as women men, for dress: Their praise is still—the Style is excellent; The Sense they humbly take upon content. Words are like leaves; and where they most abound, Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found. In words as fashions the same rule will hold, Alike fantastic if too new or old: Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.
Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar. The power of music all our hearts allow, And what Timotheus was is Dryden now.
Some foreign writers, some our own despise; The ancients only, or the moderns prize. Regard not then if wit be old or new, But blame the False and value still the True. Edition: current; Page: [ 73 ] But let a lord once own the happy lines, How the Wit brightens! Some praise at morning what they blame at night, But always think the last opinion right. We think our fathers fools, so wise we grow; Our wiser sons no doubt will think us so.
Scotists and Thomists now in peace remain Amidst their kindred cobwebs in Ducklane. Some, valuing those of their own side or mind, Still make themselves the measure of mankind: Fondly we think we honour merit then, When we but praise ourselves in other men. Parties in wit attend on those of state, And public faction doubles private hate. Pride, Malice, Folly, against Dryden rose, In various shapes of parsons, critics, beaux: But sense survived when merry jests were past; For rising merit will buoy up at last.
Might he return and bless once more our eyes, New Blackmores and new Milbournes must arise. Nay, should great Homer lift his awful head, Zoilus again would start up from the dead. Be thou the first true merit to befriend; His praise is lost who stays till all commend.
Short is the date, alas! What is this Wit, which must our cares employ?
If Wit so much from Ignorance undergo, Ah, let not Learning too commence its foe! Good nature and good sense must ever join; To err is human, to forgive divine. But if in noble minds some dregs remain, Not yet purged off, of spleen and sour disdain, Discharge that rage on more provoking crimes, Nor fear a dearth in these flagitious times. These monsters, Critics! Some positive persisting fops we know, Who if once wrong will needs be always so; 10 But you with pleasure own your errors past, And make each day a critique on the last.
Men must be taught as if you taught them not, And things unknown proposed as things forgot.
Book I. The Dunciad. Alexander Pope. Complete Poetical Works
Be niggards of advice on no pretence, For the worst avarice is that of Sense. Fear not the anger of the wise to raise; Those best can bear reproof who merit praise. Fear most to tax an honourable fool, Whose right it is, uncensured to be dull: 30 Such without Wit, are poets when they please, As without Learning they can take degrees. False steps but help them to renew the race, As, after stumbling, jades will mend their pace. With him most authors steal their works, or buy; Garth did not write his own Dispensary. Such once were critics; such the happy few Athens and Rome in better ages knew. Horace still charms with graceful negligence, And without method talks us into sense; Will, like a friend, familiarly convey The truest notions in the easiest way.
Our critics take a contrary extreme, They judge with fury, but they write with phlegm; Nor suffers Horace more in wrong translations By Wits, than Critics in as wrong quotations. Thus useful arms in magazines we place, All ranged in order, and disposed with grace; But less to please the eye than arm the hand, Still fit for use, and ready at command. Thee, bold Longinus!
This humble praise, lamented Shade! I Descend, ye Nine, descend and sing: The breathing instruments inspire, Wake into voice each silent string, And sweep the sounding lyre. II By Music minds an equal temper know, Nor swell too high, nor sink too low. Dreadful gleams, Dismal screams, Fires that glow, Shrieks of woe, Sullen moans, 60 Hollow groans, And cries of tortured ghosts!
But hark! See, shady forms advance! Oh, take the husband, or return the wife! VI But soon, too soon, the lover turns his eyes: Again she falls, again she dies, she dies! How wilt thou now the fatal sisters move? Now under hanging mountains, Beside the falls of fountains, Or where Hebrus wanders, Rolling in meanders, All alone, Unheard, unknown, He makes his moan; And calls her ghost, For ever, ever, ever lost! ON MRS. Ah, quit not the free innocence of life, For the dull glory of a virtuous Wife; Nor let false shows, or empty titles please; Aim not at Joy, but rest content with Ease.
Pride, Pomp, and State but reach her outward part; She sighs, and is no Duchess at her heart. Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife, And let me languish into life! II Hark! What is this absorbs me quite, Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? Tell me, my Soul! I mount!
I fly! O Grave! O Death!
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This verse be thine, my friend, nor thou refuse This from no venal or ungrateful Muse. Smit with the love of Sister-Arts we came, And met congenial, mingling flame with flame; Like friendly colours found them both unite, And each from each contract new strength and light. How oft our slowly growing works impart, While images reflect from art to art! Yet still her charms in breathing paint engage, Her modest cheek shall warm a future age. Edition: current; Page: [ 83 ] O, lasting as those colours may they shine, Free as thy stroke, yet faultless as thy line; New graces yearly like thy works display, Soft without weakness, without glaring gay!
The kindred arts shall in their praise conspire, 69 One dip the pencil, and one string the lyre. Light to stars the sun does thus restore, But shines himself till they are seen no more. Why dimly gleams the visionary sword? Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! Is there no bright reversion in the sky For those who greatly think, or bravely die? Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes, The glorious fault of Angels and of Gods: Thence to their images on earth it flows, And in the breasts of Kings and Heroes glows. Thus, if eternal justice rules the ball, Thus shall your wives, and thus your children fall; On all the line a sudden vengeance waits, And frequent hearses shall besiege your gates; There passengers shall stand, and pointing say While the long funerals blacken all the way , 40 Lo!
Thus unlamented pass the proud away, The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day! What can atone, O ever injured shade! Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid? Ye Nymphs of Solyma! Rapt into future times, the bard begun: A virgin shall conceive, a virgin bear a son! The sick 4 and weak the healing plant shall aid, From storms a shelter, and from heat a shade. O spring to light, auspicious babe! A God, a God! Lo, Earth receives him from the bending skies!
Hear him, 3 ye deaf, and all ye blind, behold! No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shall hear, From every face he wipes off every tear. See a long race 7 thy spacious courts adorn; See future sons and daughters, yet unborn, In crowding ranks on every side arise, Demanding life, impatient for the skies! Alexander Pope. Arabella Fermor. Say what strange motive, Goddess! The fair and innocent shall still believe.
Think what an equipage thou hast in air, And view with scorn two pages and a chair. Her joy in gilded chariots, when alive, And love of Ombre, after death survive. For when the Fair in all their pride expire, To their first elements their souls retire. Soft yielding minds to water glide away, And sip, with Nymphs, their elemental tea. The graver prude sinks downward to a Gnome In search of mischief still on earth to roam. The light coquettes in Sylphs aloft repair, And sport and flutter in the fields of air. When Florio speaks, what virgin could withstand, If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand?
With varying vanities, from every part, They shift the moving toyshop of their heart; Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots sword-knots strive, Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches drive. This erring mortals levity may call; Oh blind to truth! Late, as I ranged the crystal wilds of air, In the clear mirror of thy ruling star I saw, alas! This to disclose is all thy guardian can: Beware of all, but most beware of Man!
Here files of pins extend their shining rows, Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billet-doux. Now awful beauty puts on all its arms; The Fair each moment rises in her charms, Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace, And calls forth all the wonders of her face; Sees by degrees a purer blush arise, And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes. On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore. Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike, And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains, And mighty hearts are held in slender chains.
Snuff, or the fan, supply each pause of chat, With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that. Belinda now, whom thirst of fame invites, Burns to encounter two adventurous knights, At Ombre singly to decide their doom, And swells her breast with conquests yet to come. Straight the three bands prepare in arms to join, Each band the number of the sacred Nine. Now move to war her sable Matadores, In show like leaders of the swarthy Moors. Spadillio first, unconquerable lord! Led off two captive trumps, and swept the board.
The rebel Knave, who dares his prince engage, Proves the just victim of his royal rage. Thus far both armies to Belinda yield; Now to the Baron Fate inclines the field. Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, in wild disorder seen, With throngs promiscuous strew the level green. The Knave of Diamonds tries his wily arts, And wins oh shameful chance! He springs to vengeance with an eager pace, And falls like thunder on the prostrate Ace.
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The nymph, exulting, fills with shouts the sky; The walls, the woods, and long canals reply. For lo! Ah, cease, rash youth! But when to mischief mortals bend their will, How soon they find fit instruments of ill! The meeting points the sacred hair dissever From the fair head, for ever, and for ever! What wonder, then , fair Nymph! No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows, The dreaded East is all the wind that blows.
The fair ones feel such maladies as these, When each new night-dress gives a new disease. A nymph there is that all your power disdains, And thousands more in equal mirth maintains. But oh! A Vial next she fills with fainting fears, Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears.
The Gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away, Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts to day. Belinda burns with more than mortal ire, And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire. For this your locks in paper durance bound? For this with torturing irons wreathed around? Honour forbid! Methinks already I your tears survey, Already hear the horrid things they say, Already see you a degraded toast, And all your honour in a whisper lost! Sooner shall grass in Hyde Park Circus grow, And Wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow ; Sooner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall, Men, monkeys, lapdogs, parrots, perish all!
Give her the hair. Then see! See the poor remnants of these slighted hairs! O hadst thou, cruel! In vain Thalestris with reproach assails, For who can move when fair Belinda fails? Why bows the side-box from its inmost rows? To patch, nay, ogle, might become a saint, Nor could it sure be such a sin to paint. But since, alas! Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.
No common weapons in their hands are found, Like Gods they fight nor dread a mortal wound. But this bold lord, with manly strength endued, She with one finger and a thumb subdued: Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew, 81 A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw; The Gnomes direct, to every atom just, The pungent grains of titillating dust.
Thou by some other shalt be laid as low; Nor think to die dejects my lofty mind: All that I dread is leaving you behind! Some thought it mounted to the lunar sphere, Since all things lost on earth are treasured there. Not all the tresses that fair head can boast Shall draw such envy as the Lock you lost. Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed?
Prodigious this! Would you enjoy soft nights and solid dinners? Faith, gallants, board with saints, and bed with sinners. Well, if our author in the Wife offends, He has a Husband that will make amends: He draws him gentle, tender, and forgiving; And sure such kind good creatures may be living. To lend a wife, few here would scruple make; But, pray, which of you all would take her back? For shrubs, when nothing else at top is, Can only constitute a coppice.
But if you will not take my word, See anno quint. Now he begs verse, and what he gets commends, Not of the Wits his foes, but Fools his friends. Thus vanish sceptres, coronets, and balls, And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls! Let crowds of critics now my verse assail, Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail: This more than pays whole years of thankless pain; Time, health, and fortune, are not lost in vain.
Edition: current; Page: [ ] Soft B—s and rough C[ragg]s, adieu! Lintot, farewell! Why should I stay? Why make I friendships with the great, When I no favour seek? Or follow girls seven hours in eight? Still idle, with a busy air, Deep whimseys to contrive; The gayest valetudinaire, Most thinking rake alive.
Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell, For sober, studious days! Adieu to all but Gay alone, Whose soul sincere and free, Loves all mankind but flatters none, And so may starve with me. Edition: current; Page: [ ] cardelia, smilinda, lovet Card. With a fa, la, la. II What passes in the dark third row, And what behind the scene, Couches and crippled chairs I know, And garrets hung with green; I know the swing of sinful hack, Where many damsels cry alack.
IV Alas! VII But should you catch the prudish itch And each become a coward, Bring sometimes with you lady Rich, And sometimes mistress Howard; For virgins to keep chaste must go Abroad with such as are not so.
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With scornful mien, and various toss of air, Fantastic, vain, and insolently fair, Grandeur intoxicates her giddy brain, She looks ambition, and she moves disdain. Not greater arrogance in him we find, And this conjunction swells at least her mind. Wherein she might her haughty errors trace, And by reflection learn to mend her face: The wonted sweetness to her form restore, Be what she was, and charm mankind once more. The adventurous lover is successful still, Who strives to please the Fair against her will. Be kind, and make him in his wishes easy, Who in your own despite has strove to please ye.
From this deep fund our author largely draws, Nor sinks his credit lower than it was. Believe him, he has known the world too long, And seen the death of much immortal song. Though Tom the poet writ with ease and pleasure, The comic Tom abounds in other treasure. Why on all Authors then should Critics fall?
Since some have writ, and shown no wit at all. How shall our Author hope a gentler fate, Who dares most impudently not translate? It had been civil, in these ticklish times, To fetch his fools and knaves from foreign climes. Poets make characters, as salesmen clothes; We take no measure of your Fops and Beaux; But here all sizes and all shapes you meet, And fit yourselves like chaps in Monmouth Street. Gallants, look here! Let no one fool engross it, or confine A common blessing! But poets in all ages had the care To keep this cap for such as will, to wear.
On thy Third Reign look down; disclose our fate; In what new station shall we fix our seat? IV Then bravely, fair Dame, Resume the old claim, Which to your whole sex does belong; And let men receive, From a second bright Eve, The knowledge of right and of wrong. Then scorn to gain a friend by servile ways, Nor wish to lose a foe these virtues raise; But candid, free, sincere, as you began, Proceed, a Minister, but still a Man.
What god, what genius did the pencil move, When Kneller painted these? Oh, just beheld and lost! Dear to the Muse! In vain your guiltless laurels stood Unspotted long with human blood. To what new clime, what distant sky, Forsaken, friendless, shall ye fly? Say, will ye bless the bleak Atlantic shore? Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no more? Till some new tyrant lifts his purple hand, And civil madness tears them from the land. Antistrophe II Ye Gods! Still, when the lust of tyrant Power succeeds, Some Athens perishes, some Tully bleeds.
Wisdom and wit in vain reclaim, And arts but soften us to feel thy flame. Marcus with blushes owns he loves, And Brutus tenderly reproves. Why, Virtue, dost thou blame desire Which Nature hath imprest? What is loose love? What various joys on one attend, As son, as father, brother, husband, friend? What home-felt raptures move! Chorus Hence guilty joys, distastes, surmises, Hence false tears, deceits, disguises, Dangers, doubts, delays, surprises, Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine!
Martha Blount. What is Prudery? Ye Lords and Commons, men of wit And pleasure about town, Read this, ere you translate one bit Of books of high renown. Like puppy tame, that uses To fetch and carry in his mouth The works of all the Muses. Forsooth, if rhymes fall not in right, To Budgell seek or Carey.
See first the merry P[embroke] comes In haste without his garter. L[ansdowne] himself, that lively lord, Who bows to every lady, Shall join with F[rowde] in one accord, And be like Tate and Brady. Ye ladies, too, draw forth your pen; I pray, where can the hurt lie? Since you have brains as well as men, As witness Lady Wortley. Here lies Lord Coningsby —be civil! The rest God knows—perhaps the Devil. My numbers too for ever will I vary, With gentle Budgell, and with gentle Carey.
Or if in ranging of the names I judge ill, With gentle Carey and with gentle Budgell. In amaze Lost I gaze! Can our eyes Reach thy size! May my lays Swell with praise, Worthy thee! Worthy me! Muse, inspire All thy fire! See him stride Valleys wide, Over woods, Over floods! Left and right, Speed your flight! From his nose Clouds he blows! When he speaks, Thunder breaks! When he eats, Famine threats! When he drinks, Neptune shrinks!
But little creatures enterprise the most. Who from a page can ever learn the truth? But who hath eyes to trace the passing wind? How then thy fairy footsteps can I find? I fear thy little fancy roves On little females, and on little loves; Thy pigmy children, and thy tiny spouse, The baby playthings that adorn thy house, Doors, windows, chimneys, and the spacious rooms, Equal in size to cells of honeycombs.
Hast thou for these now ventured from the shore, Thy bark a bean shell, and a straw thy oar? How wert thou wont to walk with cautious tread, A dish of tea, like milkpail, on thy head! How chase the mite that bore thy cheese away, And keep the rolling maggot at a bay! O squander not thy grief! Was there a chief but melted at the sight? How changed from him who made the boxes groan, And shook the stage with thunders all his own! Edition: current; Page: [ ] Such flames as high in patriots burn, Yet stoop to bless a child or wife; And such as wicked kings may mourn, When Freedom is more dear than Life.
Great Nature studiously behold! And eye the mine without a wish for gold. Approach; but awful! Let such, such only, tread this sacred floor, Who dare to love their country, and be poor. Let him file his bill! Turn, turn thy eyes from wicked men in place, And see what succour from the patriot race. Grave, righteous S[andys] jogs on till, past belief, He finds himself companion with a thief. To purge and let thee blood with fire and sword Is all the help stern S[hippen] would afford. Edition: current; Page: [ ] That those who bind and rob thee would not kill, Good C[ornbury] hopes, and candidly sits still.
Of Ch[arle]s W[illiams] who speaks at all? G[owe]r, C[obha]m, B[athurs]t, pay thee due regards. Unless the ladies bid them mind their cards. All hail, once pleasing, once inspiring shade, Scene of my youthful loves, and happier hours! Dame Justice weighing long the doubtful right, Takes, opens, swallows it before their sight.
O hone! For England hath its own. This portrait only paints the Queen! A furious Foe unconscious proves a Friend. Of one so poor you cannot take the law; On one so old your sword you scorn to draw.
Uncaged then let the harmless monster rage, Secure in dulness, madness, want, and age. III: MR. POPE What makes you write at this odd rate? Why, Sir, it is to imitate. What makes you steal and trifle so? That made a Consul of a horse, And this a Laureate of an ass. Grea t G[eorge] such servants since thou well canst lack, Oh! How vain is Reason, Eloquence how weak! Three Early Modern Utopias. Marvell: Poems. Andrew Marvell. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Mobi Classics. Lord Byron. Harvard Classics Volume Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. The Metamorphoses.
Works of Homer. Coriolanus Annotated by Henry N. Hudson with an Introduction by Charles Harold Herford. Works of Anna Seward. Anna Seward. The Aeneid Annotated. Mediaeval Tales. Henry Morley. Hamlet Annotated by Henry N. Ludovico Ariosto. Hemlet Prince of Denmark. The Faerie Queene Volume The Voyage of Johannes de Plano Carpini. Johannes de Plano Carpini. Giovanni Boccaccio. Folk-Lore Of Shakespeare. Thiselton Dyer. Poetical Works. Edmund Waller. The Rape of the Lock. The Works Of Alexander Pope. Geoffrey Chaucer. The Works of Alexander Pope. Essay on Man and Other Poems.
The Major Works of Alexander Pope. Aubrey Beardsley. Leslie Stephen. Windsor Forest. Pope: Everyman's Poetry. Epistle to Dr. Works of Leslie Stephen. Essay on Man. The Works II. An Essay on Criticism. The Works of Alexander Pope - Poetry. The Dunciad. The Rape of the Lock and the Dunciad. English minor poetry , set in the historical, social, literary and intellectual contexts of the period. The author's aim is to explode the myth of a "poetry of reason" and to probe for the underlying currents of sensibility.
Section II : Bibliographies. Alexander Pope : A Bibliography. Austin : University of Texas Press, Reissued, London : Holland Press, The standard bibliography of Pope's own writings. I, pp. II, pp. Alexander Pope. A List of Critical Studies Published from to A checklist that sadly suffers from a total lack of annotations. An Annotated Bibliography, Gainesville : University of Florida Press, A useful companion volume to Tobin1 s bibliography, for C.
She has fulfilled her aim since her annotations are purely descriptive. The book is clear, well-organized and includes a comprehensive index. Watson, ed. Cambridge, , vol. Comprehensive and factual. Select Bibliographical Guides. Dyson, ed. Oxford University Press, , pp.
Professor Tillotson1 s last contribution to Popean criticism before he died. An urbane and personalized survey of Pope scholarship in the 20th century. Peter Dixon, ed. London : G. Bell and Sons, , pp. An intelligent, stimulating and useful guide to Pope's life, personality and works. Not a chronological bibliography, but a personal and synthetic approach to Pope's poetic world.
Professor Rousseau does not aim at being exhaustive; he presents a careful selection of modern scholarship on Pope under thematic headings, with comments that are always clear, incisive and sensible. An incentive to the reading of Pope and a helpful overview of modern criticism on the subject. The Rape of The Lock. Basingstoke and London : Macmillan, ; reprinted The introduction is outdated and critically worthless.
The notes are few and inadequate. The definitive annotated ed. Oxford U. A valuable edition. The introduction to the poem is both sound and substantial, the notes are clear, incisive and informative. Coles Notes. Toronto : Coles Publishing Company L. The Rape Observ'd. Toronto, An attractive edition of The Rape with numerous illustrations and photographs of objects mentioned in the poem.
Section IV : Biographies and letters. Anecdotes, Observations and Characters of Books and Men. Collected from the Conversation of Mr. Published by S. London : Carpenter, Browsing through this collection of anecdotes may afford a fruitful and refreshing approach to Pope's character, although Spence1 s information does not always prove perfectly accurate. London : Faber and Faber, A sympathetic but unreliable account of Pope's life; personality and works.
The Early Career of Alexander Pope. Oxford : At the Clarendon Press, ; rptd. The first accurate, objective, scholarly account of Pope's life and career down to An informative and useful. Mack, The Garden and the City, , see infra, section V. A concise, intelligent book tracing the development of Pope's life and poetical career.
On The Rape of The Lock, see pp. Princeton, N. An accurate medical record of Pope's "physical vagaries". The Correspondence of Alexander Pope. Oxford : At the Clarendon Press, , 5 volumes. Covers a wide range of moods and topics; affords a good insight into Pope's complex personality; reveals his manifold interests, capacity for emotion and enjoyment of nature. Section V : Studies on Pope - Mainly general. Alexander Pope as Critic and Humanist.
Princeton U. Revaluation : Tradition and Development in English Poetry. See ch. But he is also one. The Poetical Career of Alexander Pope. A pioneering study where R. He examines most fruitfully Pope's use of the heroic couplet ch. But his analysis of The Rape ch. The Major Satires of Alexander Pope.
Urbana : University of Illinois Press, The Poetry of Allusion. Oxford : At the Clarendon Press, A remarkably intelligent and urbane book where R. On The Rape, see ch. A subtle study of Pope's skilful handling of the Ovidian, pastoral and heroic traditions. English Literature in the Early Eighteenth Century. VT, "Pope to ", pp. XIV, "Pope, ", pp. A sound introduction to Pope's. Essential Articles for the Study of Alexander Pope. Mack provides an excellent selection of modern criticism on Pope. The Poetry of Pope, Laureate of Peace.
London : Routledge and Kegan Paul, An imaginative and highly individual study devoted to the "total contents" of Pope's poetry, where Nature and man are felt to be in harmony. On The Rape of The Lock, see ch. But his approach is more enthusiastic than truly critical. Critics on Pope. London : George Allen and Unwin,. This selection tries to offer a comprehensive view of Popean criticism from to But it suffers from its very concision, as it consists only of brief excerpts.
It is designed for the student rather than the critic or scholar. Toronto : University of Toronto Press,. The book includes 55 plates. An illuminating study of Pope's personality and later work by one of the foremost living Popians. Writers and Critics. A concise, intelligent and sympathetic introductory study of Pope. Although she is keenly aware of Belinda's instincts and emotions thriving "even within the protection of social mores", she argues in favour of the girl's relative innocence. One may regret that E.
Her approach is, at times, more descriptive than critical; yet no student of the period can fail to benefit from reading this valuable essay. Alexander Pope Writers and their Background. This judicious collection of essays presents Pope in his intellectual, social, political, cultural and artistic context. It provides a helpful commentary on Pope's manifold activities and relationship to his age. The Critical Heritage. London and Boston : Routledge and Kegan Paul, A useful compilation dealing with contemporary criticism and later reactions On The Rape, see pp.
An Essay on Pope. Columbia U. An ambitious, discursive and somewhat disappointing book.