Saeva indignatio is not what motivates the Epistle to Miss Blount, though.
This poem is an entertainment. It is a Fabrege Easteregg, a Viennese
music box with a mechanical shepherdess turning pirouettes on top.


I enjoy the commanding breeziness of Pope's narration. The poem is titled
an "epistle" but only gets around to second person address ("you") by the
back door in the 23rd verse. It starts with the appearance of an epic
simile ("As some fond virgin ..."), but seven verses later this turns out to
have been narrative, not comparison: "... Thus from the world fair
Zephalina flew." The artifice, the sleight of mind of the conclusion, is equally sneaky.
First, the poem turns out to be Miss Blount's day "dream", and
vanishes with the flirt of her fan, and then this vision turns out to be the
subject of the author's "study," and vanishes when "Gay pats my shoulder."

A toy not an alembic.