--The obscureness of her birth Cannot eclipse the lustre of her eyes, Which make her all one light. I must own, I think, there needs no great Oedipus to solve the difficulty of this passage. Nothing has ever been more common, than for lovers to compare their mistresses eyes to suns and stars. And what does Henriquez say more here than this, 'That though his mistress be obscure by her birth; yet her eyes are so refulgent, they set her above that disadvantage, and make her all over brightness.' I remember another rapture in Shakespear, upon a painter's drawing a fine lady's picture, where the thought seems to me every whit as magnified and dark at the first glance, --But her eyes-- How could he see to do them! having done one, Methinks it should have power to steal both his, And leave itself unfinished.-- This passage is taken from the Merchant of Venice, which will appear the more beautiful, the more it is considered. Another passage which Mr. Pope is pleased to be merry with, is in a speech of Violante's; Wax! render up thy trust.-- This, in his English is open the letter; and he facetiously mingles it with some pompous instances, most I believe of his own framing; which in plain terms signify no more than, See, whose there; snuff the candle; uncork the bottle; chip the bread; to shew how ridiculous actions of no consequence 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.