e are, when too much exalted in the diction. This he brings
under a figure, which he calls the Buskin, or Stately. But we'll examine
circumstances fairly, and then we shall see which is most ridiculous;
the phrase, or our sagacious censurer.

Violante is newly debauched by Henriquez, on his solemn promise of
marrying her: She thinks he is returning to his father's court, as he
told her, for a short time; and expects no letter from him. His servant
who brings the letter, contradicts his master's going for court; and
tells her he is gone some two months progress another way, upon a change
of purpose. She who knew what concessions she had made to him, declares
herself by starts, under the greatest agonies; and immediately upon the
servant leaving her, expresses an equal impatience, and fear of the
contents of this unexpected letter.

To hearts like mine, suspence is misery.
Wax! render up thy trust,--Be the contents
Prosperous, or fatal, they are all my due.

Now Mr. Pope shews us his profound judgment in dramatical passions;
thinks a lady in her circumstances cannot without absurdity open a
letter that seems to her as surprize, with any more preparation than the
most unconcerned person alive should a common letter by the penny-post.
I am aware Mr. Pope may reply, his cavil was not against the action
itself of addressing to the wax, but of exalting that action in the
terms. In this point I may fairly shelter myself under the judgment of a
man, whose character in poetry will vie with any rival this age shall
produce.

Mr. Dryden in his Essay on Dramatic Poetry, tells us. 'That when from
the most elevated thoughts of verse, we pass to those which are most
mean, and which are common with the lowest houshold conversation; yet
still there is a choice to be made of the best words, and the least
vulgar (provided they be apt) to express such thoughts. Our language,
says he, is noble, full, and significant; and I know not, why he who is
master of it, may not cloath ordinary things in it as decently as the
Latin, if we use the same diligence in the choice of words.'

I come now to the last quotation, which in our examiner's handling,
falls under this predicament of _being a thought astonishingly out of
the way of common sense._

None but himself can be his parallel.

This, he hints, may seem borrowed from the thought of that master of a
show in Smithfield, who wrote in large letters over the picture of his
Elephant.