Mr. Pope to Dr. Parnell.
Dear Sir, London, July 29.
I wish it were not as ungenerous as vain, to complain too much of a man that forgets me, hut I could expostulate with you a whole day, upon your inhuman silence—I call it inhuman, nor would you think it less, if you were truly sensible of the uneasiness it gives me. Did I know you so ill, as to think you proud, I would be much less concerned than I am able to be, when I know one of the best natured men alive neglects me. Or if you know me so ill as to think amiss of me with regard to my friendship for you, you really do not deserve half the trouble you occasion me. I need not tell you that both Mr. Gay and myself have written several letters in vain; that we are constantly enquiring of all who have seen Ireland, if they saw you, and that (forgotten as we are) we are every day remembering you in our most agreeable hours. All this is true, as that we are sincerely lovers of you, and deplorers of your absence, and that we form no wish more ardently than that which brings you over to us. We have lately had some distant hopes of the dean's design to revisit England. Will not you accompany him? or is England to lose every thing that has any charm for us, and must we pray for banishment as a benediction.
I have once been witness of some, I hope all of your splenetic hours; come, and be a comforter
