erous, as congenial to satire as they were to celebration. In satire, Leopold Damrosch observes, the rebellious and anarchic impulses in Pope "could define themselves as custodians of moral order." And certainly, there is much in these later poems that exists in oblique relation to their high humanist ideal of ethical and imaginative equilibrium in the person of the poet capable of epic. It is Pope's achievement to have managed, in the aggressive, the angry, and the modern voice of the satirist, a scrutiny of self and career that both preserves and questions the humanist stance implied in his epic vision of the connection possible between poet and polity.
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Nor is it possible to distinguish the ethical from the stylistic project here. If indeed Pope was interested in "placing" his individual talent within the humanist tradition he goes so far to redefine, then this undertaking was shaped by a skill in writing couplet verse unmatched by any other. It is this skill that constructs, for example, the rapid rhythms of animated conversation that permit Pope to dramatize and scrutinize what distinguishes himnow from his admired friends, now from his detested enemies:
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| | Let Sporus tremble"What? that Thing of silk, " Sporus , that mere white Curd of Ass's milk? "Satire or Sense alas! can Sporus feel? "Who breaks a Butterfly upon a Wheel?" Yet let me flap this Bug with gilded wings, This painted Child of Dirt that stinks and stings. . . .
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Here, at a critical moment in the Epistle to Arbuthnot , the interchange marks the difference between Pope's own fury at the "enemy," Lord Hervey ("Sporus"), and the bemused contempt of his friend, Arbuthnot. Against Arbuthnot's fine, dismissive, ridiculing wit"who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel"Pope's passion can seem excessive, itself somewhat ridiculous, even an embarrassment. All this he acknowledges in the drama of the exchange, and then goes on triumphantly to vindicate his fury in the grander, darker vision of the enemy he suddenly constructs from his friend's milder, merely dismissive wit: a butterfly to you, an insect to me; beautiful, but also painful, also insidioushe stinks, he stings, he buzzes, he annoys. More, it is the "witty and the fair" he annoys. And more, when looked at directlythat is, poeticallythis insect enemy of mind and beauty is no less than another ver-
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