the next year, but perceived himself, as he expresses it, "going
down the hill." He had for at least five years been afflicted with
an asthma, and other disorders, which his physicians were unable to
relieve. Towards the end of his life he consulted Dr. Thomson, a
man who had, by large promises, and free censures of the common
practice of physic, forced himself up into sudden reputation.
Thomson declared his distemper to be a dropsy, and evacuated part of
the water by tincture of jalap, but confessed that his belly did not
subside. Thomson had many enemies, and Pope was persuaded to
dismiss him.

While he was yet capable of amusement and conversation, as he was
one day sitting in the air with Lord Bolingbroke and Lord Marchmont,
he saw his favourite Martha Blount at the bottom of the terrace, and
asked Lord Bolingbroke to go and hand her up. Bolingbroke, not
liking his errand, crossed his legs and sat still; but Lord
Marchmont, who was younger and less captious, waited on the lady,
who, when he came to her, asked, "What, is he not dead yet?" She is
said to have neglected him with shameful unkindness, in the latter
time of his decay; yet, of the little which he had to leave she had
a very great part. Their acquaintance began early; the life of each
was pictured on the other's mind; their conversation therefore was
endearing, for when they met, there was an immediate coalition of
congenial notions. Perhaps he considered her unwillingness to
approach the chamber of sickness as female weakness, or human
frailty; perhaps he was conscious to himself of peevishness and
impatience, or, though he was offended by her inattention, might yet
consider her merit as overbalancing her fault; and if he had
suffered his heart to be alienated from her, he could have found
nothing that might fill her place; he could have only shrunk within