critics who have talked to me on the subject,
my "Rape of the Lock" is not inferior to your "Lutrin;" and my "Art of
Criticism" may well be compared with your "Art of Poetry;" my "Ethic
Epistles" are esteemed at least equal to yours; and my "Satires" much
better.

_Boileau_.--Hold, Mr. Pope. If there is really such a sympathy in our
natures as you have supposed, there may be reason to fear that, if we go
on in this manner comparing our works, we shall not part in good
friendship.

_Pope_.--No, no; the mild air of the Elysian Fields has mitigated my
temper, as I presume it has yours. But, in truth, our reputations are
nearly on a level. Our writings are admired, almost equally (as I hear)
for energy and justness of thought. We both of us carried the beauty of
our diction, and the harmony of our numbers, to the highest perfection
that our languages would admit. Our poems were polished to the utmost
degree of correctness, yet without losing their fire, or the agreeable
appearance of freedom and ease. We borrowed much from the ancients,
though you, I believe, more than I; but our imitations (to use an
expression of your own) had still an original air.

_Boileau_.--I will confess, sir (to show you that the Elysian climate has
had its effects upon me), I will fairly confess, without the least ill
humour, that in your "Eloisa to Abelard," your "Verses to the Memory of
an Unfortunate Lady," and some others you wrote in your youth, there is
more fire of poetry than in any of mine. You excelled in the pathetic,
which I never approached. I will also allow that you hit the manner of
Horace and the sly delicacy of his wit more exactly than I, or than any
other man who has written since his time. Nor could I, nor did even
Lucretius himself, make philosophy so poetical, and embellish it with
such charms as you have given to that of Plato, or (to speak more
properly) of some of his modern disciples, in your celebrated "Essay on
Man."

_Pope_.--What do you think of my "Homer?"

_Boileau_.--Your "Homer" is the most spirited, the most poetical, the
most elegant, and the most pleasing translation that ever was made of any
ancient poem, though not so much in the manner of the original, or so
exactly agreeable to the sense in all places, as might perhaps be
desired. But when I consider the years you spent in this work, and how
many excellent original poems you might, with less difficulty, have
produced in that time, I can't