Gay’s agreeable personality secured him many friends.  Not later than the spring of 1711 he made the acquaintance of Henry Cromwell, whom he later described as “the honest hatless Cromwell with red breeches,” by whom he was introduced to Pope, who was at this time a member of Addison’s circle, and generally recognised as a rising man of letters.  Pope evidently liked Gay, who was his senior by nearly three years, but was as a child in worldly wisdom.  On July 15th, 1711, Pope wrote to Cromwell, “Pray give my service to all my friends, and to Mr. Gay in particular";[10] and again, nine days later, addressing the same correspondent, he said:  “My humble services, too, to Mr. Gay, of whose paper [’The Present State of Wit’] I have made mention to [Erasmus] Lewis."[11] Gay, ever anxious to please those whom he liked and, perhaps, especially those who might be of use to him, when writing the verses, “On a Miscellany of Poems to Bernard Lintott” (which appeared in that publisher’s Miscellany issued in May, 1712), eagerly took advantage to ingratiate himself with a number of people, in so far as he could do this by means of compliments.  Gay tells the publisher that if he will only choose his authors from “the successful bards” praised by the author, then “praise with profit shall reward thy pains”; and—­

  So long shall live thy praise in books of fame,
  And Tonson yield to Lintott’s lofty name;

but, since an author should not praise one publisher at the expense of another, he has already had a kindly word for that more celebrated publisher, Jacob Tonson—­“Jacob’s mighty name.”  It may be mentioned in passing that Gay’s “Poems on Several Occasions” bear the joint imprint of Lintott and Tonson.  Gay waxed eloquent in these verses, when writing of the other contributors to the Miscellany, and bestowed praise upon his brother-poets in no measured quantity:—­

    Where Buckingham will condescend to give
  That honour’d piece to distant times must live;
  When noble Sheffield strikes the trembling strings,
  The little loves rejoice and clap their wings. 
  Anacreon lives, they cry, th’ harmonious swain }
  Retunes the lyre, and tries his wonted strain, }
  ’Tis he,—­our lost Anacreon lives again. }
  But when th’ illustrious poet soars above
  The sportive revels of the god of love,
  Like Maro’s muse he takes a loftier flight,
  And towers beyond the wond’ring Cupid’s sight.

    If thou wouldst have thy volume stand the test,
  And of all others be reputed best,
  Let Congreve teach the list’ning groves to mourn,
  As when he wept o’er fair Pastora’s urn.[12]

    Let Prior’s muse with soft’ning accents move,
  Soft as the strain of constant Emma’s love: 
  Or let his fancy choose some jovial theme. 
  As when he told Hans Carvel’s jealous dream;
  Prior th’ admiring reader entertains,
  With Chaucer’s humour, and with Spenser’s strains.[13]