This sort of moralizing, which is the staple of
Pope's epistles upon the ruling passion or upon avarice, strikes us now
as unpleasantly obvious. We have got beyond it and want some more
refined analysis and more complex psychology. Take, for example, Pope's
epistle to Bathurst, which was in hand for two years, and is just 400
lines in length. The simplicity of the remarks is almost comic. Nobody
wants to be told now that bribery is facilitated by modern system of
credit.
Blest paper-credit! last and best supply
That lends corruption lighter wings to fly!
This triteness blinds us to the singular felicity with which the
observations have been verified, a felicity which makes many of the
phrases still proverbial. The mark is so plain that we do scant justice
to the accuracy and precision with which it is hit. Yet when we notice
how every epithet tells, and how perfectly the writer does what he tries
to do, we may understand why Pope extorted contemporary admiration. We
may, for example, read once more the familiar passage about Buckingham.
The picture, such as it is, could not be drawn more strikingly with
fewer lines.
In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half-hung,
The floors of plaister and the walls of dung,
On once a flock-bed but repair'd with straw,
With tape-ty'd curtains never meant to draw,
The George and Garter dangling from that bed,
Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red,
Great Villiers lies! alas, how changed from him,
That life of pleasure and that soul of whim!
Gallant and gay in Cliveden's proud alcove,
The bower of wanton Shrewsbury and love;
As great as gay, at council in a ring
Of mimick'd statesmen, and their merry king.
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