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From vulgar bounds with bravc disorder part, There Mallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
A perfect judge will read each work of Wit
Where nature moves, and rapture warıns the
Still green with bays cach ancient Altar stands, 'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call,
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er thall be.
As men of breeding, sometimes men of wit,
Of all the causes which conspire to blind They talk of principles, but notions prize,
“What! leave the Combat out?”.exclaims the Drink deep, or tafte not the Pierian (pring : Yes, or we must renounce the Stagyrite. (Knight;
« Not fo, by heav'n (he answers in a rage) These equal fyllables alone require,
While expletives their feeble aid do join ; So vast a throng the stage can ne'er contain. And ten low words oft creep in one dull line : “ Then build a new, or act it in a plain.” While they ring round the fame unvary'd chimes,
Thus Critics of less judgment than caprice, With sure returns of still expected rhymes ; Curious, not knowing, not exact, but nice, Where'er you find “ the cooling western breeze,'' Forin short ideas ; and offend in arts
In the next line, " it whispers thro' the trees :" (As most in manners) by a love to parts. If crystal streams“with pleating murmurs creep," Some to Conceit alone their taste confine, The reader's threaten'd(
not in vain) with “fleep." And glitt'ring thoughts struck out at ev'ry line; Then, at the last and only couplet fraught Pleasd with a work where nothing's just or fit; With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, One glaring Chaos and wild heap of wit. A needless Alexandrine ends the song, (along, Poets, like painters, thus, unskill'd to trace That, like a wounded snake, drags it slow length The naked nature and the living grace, Leave such to tune their own dull rhymes, and With gold and jewels cover ev'ry part,
know And hide with ornaments their want of art. What's roundly finooth, or languishingly slow; True wit is Nature to advantage dress'd ; And praise the caly vigour of a line (nefs jui. What oft was thought, but ne'er sowellexpress'd; Where Denham's Itrength and Waller's fwett. Something, whofe truth convinc'd at light we True case in writing coines from art, not chance, That gives us back the image of our mind. (find, As thote move easiest who have learn'd to dance As shades more fiectly recommend the light, 'Tis not enough no harthness gives offence, So modest plainnefs l'cts off (prightly wit. The found must seem an echo to the sense: For works may have more wit than does 'em Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows, As bodies perith thro' excess of blood. [good, And the smooth ftream in smoother numbers flows
Others for language all their care exprcfs, But when loud furges lalh the founding fhore, And value books, as women men, for drets : The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent Their praile is still.--The style is excellent ;
(throw, The Sensc, they huinbly take upon content.
When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to Words are like leaves; and where they most The line too labours, and the words move ilow: abound,
Not to, when swift Camilla fcours the plain, Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found. Flies o'er th’unbending corn, and ikims alung Falle eloquence, like the pritinatic glass,
the main. Its gaudy colours spreads on ev'ry place ; Hear how Timotheus' vary'd lays surprise, The face of Nature we no more survey; And bid alternate passions fall and ritt! All glares alike, without distinction gay: While, at cach change, the son of Libyan Jove But true Expression, like th’unchanging Sun, Now burns with glory, and then inclts with love; Clears and improves whate'er it fhines upon ; Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow, It gilds all objcēts, but it alters none.
Now fighs steal out, and tears begin to flow : Expression is the dress of thought, and still Persians and Grecks like turns of nature found, Appears more decent as more Tuitable ;
And the world's victor ftood subdu'd by found! A vile conceit in pompous words express’d, The pow'r of inusic all our hearts allow, Is like a clown in regal purple dress’d : And what Timotheus was is Dryden now. For diff'rent styles with diff'rent subjects fort, Avoid extremes; and thun the fault of such As sev'ral garbs with country, town, and court. Who itill are pleas'd too little or tocó much. Some, by old words, to fame have made pretence; At ev'ry trifle fcorn to take ofience ; Antients in phrase, mere moderns in their fenfe : That always thews great pride, or little sense : Such labour'd nothings, in to strange a style, Those heads, as ftomachs, are not sure the bett, Amaze th’unlearn'd, and inake the learned tinile. Which nàuleate all, and nothing can digest. Unlucky, as Fungolo in the play,
Yet let not each gay turn thy rapture move; Thele tparks, with aukward vanitv, display For fools adınire, but men of fense approve: What the finc gentleman wore yesterday ; As things fcem large which we thro' mifts descry, And but to miinic ancient wits at beít,
Dulneis is ever ape to magnify. As apes our grandfires, in their doublets drest. Some forcign writers, fome our own despise; In words, as t'athions, the faine rule will hold; The antients only, or the moderns prize. Alike fantastic, it too new or old.
Thus wit, like faith, by each man is applxd Be not the first by whom the new are try'd, To one small feet, and all are damn'd belide. Nor yet the lali to lay the old aside.
Meanly they fcek the bletling to confine, But most by nuinbers judge a poer's song ; And force that fun but on a part to thine, And finooth or rough, with them, is right or wrong: Which not alone the southern wit fublimes, In the brigtus Hufe, tho' thousand charms conspire, But ripens spirits in cold northern climes; Hir voice is all theic tuncful fools admirc; Which from the first has shone on ages past, l'ho baunt Parallus but to plealc their car, Enlights the prefent, and thall warm the last; Nemend their minds, as fome tochurch repair; Tho' each may feel cncreases and decays, Svi for the doctrine, but the mulic there. And fee now clearer and now darker days;
Regard not then if wit be old or new,
When first that fun too pow'rful teams displays, But blame the false, and value still the true. It draws up vapours which oblcure its rays ;
Some ne'er advance a judgment of their own, But ev'n those clouds at last adorn its way, But catch the spreading notion of the town; Reicct new glories, and augment the day. They reason and conclude by precedent,
Be thou the first true mcrit to befriend; And own ftale nonsense which they ne'er invent. His praise is loft who stays till all coinmend. Some judge of authors names, not works, and then Short is the date, alas, of modern rhymes, Nor praise nor blame the writings, but the men. And 'tis but just to let them live betimes. Of all this servile herd, the worst is he No longer now that golden age appears, That in proud dulness joins with quality: When patriarch-wits surviv'd a thousand years : A constant critic at the great man's board, Now length of fame (our second lifc) is lost, To fetch and carry nonsense for my lord : And bare threescorc is all ev'n that can boast; What woful stuff this madrigal would be, Our fons their fathers failing language fee; In some starv'd hackney sonncteer, or me! And such as Chaucer is Ball Dryden be. But let a lord once own the happy lines, So when the faithful pencil has design'd How the wit brightens ! how the style refines ! Some bright idea of the master's mind, Before his sacred name Aies ev'ry fault, Where a new word leaps out at his command, And each exalted Itanza teems with thought ! And ready Nature waits upon his hand ;
The vulgar thus thro’ imitation err; When the ripe colours foften and unite, As of the learn’d, by being singular;
And fiveetly melt into just made and light; So much they scorn the crowd, that if the throng When mellowing years their full perfection give, By chance go right, they purposely go wrong: And each bold figure just begins to live, Só schismatics the plain belicvers quit,
The treach'rous colours thc fair art betray, And are but damn'd for having too much wit. And all the bright creation fades away! Some praise at morning what they blame at night; Unhappy wit, like most inittaken things, But always think the last opinion right. Atones not for that envy which it trings.
A Muse by these is like a mistress us'd; In youth alone its empty praise we buast;
Of old, those met rewards, who could excel, What wonder modes in wit should take their turn! And such were prais'd who but endcavour'd well: Oft, leaving what is natural and fit,
Tho' triumphs were to gen'rals only due, The current folly proves the ready wit ; Crowns were rcserv'd to grace the foldiers too. And author's think the reputation safe,
Now, they who reach Parnassus' lofty crown, Which lives as long as fools are pleas'd to laugh. Employ their pains to spuru foine others down;
Some valuing those of their own side or mind, And while self-love each jealous writer rules, Still make themselves the ineasure of mankind : Contending wits become the port of fools : Fondly we think we honour merit then, But ftill the worst with most regret commend, When we but praise ourselves in other inen. For each ill author is as bad a friend. Parties in wit attend on those of state,
To what base ends, and by what abject ways, And public faction doubles private hate. Are mortals urg'd thro' sacred luft of praise! Pride, malice, folly, against Dryden rose, Ah ne'er so dire a thirst of glory boast, In various shapes of parsons, critics, beaus ; Nor in the critic let thc man be loft. But sense surviv'd when merry jests were past; Good-nature and good fenfe must ever join ; For rising inerit will buoy up at last.
To err is human ; to forgive, divine. Might he return, and bless once more our eyes, But if in noble minds fomc dregs remain New Blackmores and new Milbourns must arite: Not yet purg'd off, of spleen and four disdain, Nay, should great Homer lift his awful head, Discharge that rage on more proroking crimes, Zoilus again would start up from the dead. Nor fear a dearth in thefc slagitious times. Envy will merit, as its shade, pursue;
No pardon vile obscenity should find, But like a shadow, proves the substance true : Tho' wit and art conspiic to move your mind; For envy'd wit, like Sol eclips’d, makes known Lut dulnefs with obscenity must prove Th'opposing body's grossness, not its own. As Thaineful, fure, as impotence in love.
In the fat age of pleasure, wealth, and case, 'Tis bcft sometimes your censure to restrain, Sprung the rank' woed, and thrived with large And charitably let the dull be vain : increase :
Your silence there is better than your fpite ; When love was all an easy monarch's care ; For who can rail so long as they can write? Scidom at council, never in a war,
Still hunming on, their drowzy course they keer, Jilts rul'd the state, and liatclinan farces writ; And lath'd fo long, like tops, are lath'd allocp. Nay wits had pensions, and young lords had wit; Falle steps but help them to renew their race, The fair fat panting at a courtier's play, As, after stumbling, jades will mend their pace, And not a mask went unimprov'd away : What crowds of thete, impenitently bold, The modeft fan was lifted up no more ; In founds and jingling tyllables grown old, And virgins sinil'd at what they bluth'd before. Still run on poets in a raging vein, The following licence of a foreign reign Ev'n to the drogs and squeczings of the brain ; Did all the Dregs of bold Socinus drain; Strain out the last dull dropping of their senle, Then unbelieving priests reform’d the nation, And rhyme with all the rage of impotence ! And taught more pleafant methods of salvation; Such thameless bards we have; and yet 'ris Where Hcav'n's free subjects might their rights There are as mad abandon'd critics too. (trusy dilpute,
The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read, Left God himself should fccm too absolute : With loads of learned luinber in his head, Pulpits their facred satire learn'd to spare, With his own tongue ftill edities his cari, And vice admir'd to find a flatt'rer there ! And always litt’ning to himself appears. Encourag'd thus, wit's Titans brav'd the skies ; All books he reads, and all he reads atlails, And the preis groan'd with licens'd blasphemies. From Dryden's Fables down to Durfcy's Tales : These monsters, critics ! with your darts engage; With him, most authors steal their works, or buy; Here point your thunder, and exhauft your rage! Garth did not write his own Dispensary. Yet thun their fault who, fcandaloully nice, Name a new play, and he's a Poet's friend, Will needs mistake an author into vice;
Nay, show'd his faults but when would Poets All secm infected that th’infected spy,
No place so sacred from such tops is barr'd, mendo As all looks vellow to the jaundic'd eye. Nor is Paul's church morc fafe than Paul's
Learn then what moral critics ought to show, church yard: For 'tis but half a judge's talk to know. Nav, fly to Altars ; there thcy'll talk you dead; 'Tis not enough, tafic, judgment, learning, join; For Fools rush in where Angels fear to tread. In all you speak, let truth and candour shine : Diftruftful fonte with modeft caution speaks, That not alone what to your fcnfc is due It still looks home, and short excurfions makes; All may allow; but feck your friendship too. But rattling nonsente in full vollies breaks,
Be filent always when you doubt your sense; And never shock'd, and never turn'd afide, And speak, tho’ sure, with feeming diffidence. Bursts out, relistless, with a thund'ring ride. Some positive, persisting fops we know,
But where's the man who counsel can beftow, Who if once wrong, will needs be always so; Suill pleas'd to tcach, and yet not proud to know: But you with pleature own your errors past, Unbias'd or by favour or by fpite; And make cach day a critique on the last. Nor dully prepolets’d, nor blindly right;
'Tis not enough your counsel ftill be true; Tho' learn'd, well-bred; and tho' well-bred, Blunt truths inore mi chief than nice falschoods fincere; do;
Modeftly bold, and humanely fevere: Men must be taught as if you taught them not, Who to a friend his faults can frecly thow, And things unknown propos'd as things forgot. "And gladly praise the inerit of a foe? Without good-brecding, truth is disapprov'd; Blett isith a taste exact vet unconfin'd; That only makes fuperior finle belov’d. A knowledge both of books and human kiod;
Be niggards of advice on no pretence ! Gen'rous convertc; a foul cxempt froin pride; For the worst avarice is that of sense.
And love to praile, with reaion on his fide ? With mean complacinec na'er betray your trust, Such once were Critics; ruch the happy few Nor be lo civil as to prove unjust.
Athens and Rome in better ages know. Fcar not the anger of the wife to raise ; The mighty Stagyrite first left the thore, Those bcli can bear reproof who merit praile. Spread all his fails, and durit the dceps explore,
"Tivere well mightcritics still this freedomtake, He itcer'd securely, and discover'd far, But Appius redelen at each word you speak, Led by the light of the Neonian Star. And fiares tremendous, with a thrcat’ning eye, Poets, a racc long unconfin'd, and free, Like tome fierce tirant in old tapeitry.
Still fond and proud of lavage liberty, Frar molt to tax an honorable fool,
Recciv'd his laws and food convinc'd; 'twas fit, Whole right it is, uncensur'd, to be dull; Who conquerid Nature ihould preside o'er Wit. Such, without uit, are poets when they please, Horace Itill charms with graceful negligence, As without learning thcy can take degrees. And without method talks us into fenic; Leave dang'rous truths to unsuccetsful tatires, Will, like a friend, familiarly convey And flattery ro fuliome dedicators; (more | The trucst notions in the catieft way. Whom, when they praite, the world believes no He who, fupreme in judgment as in wit, Then when they promise to give fcribbling o'er. 'Might boldly censure, as he boldly writ;
Yet judg’d with coolness, tho' he fung with fire; Such was the Mufc, whose rules and practice tell, His Precepts teach but what his works inspire. “ Nature's chief master-piece is writing well.”. Our Critics take a contrary extreme ;
Suchavas Roscommou,not more learn’dthangood, They judge with fury, but theywritewith phlegm: With manners gen'rous as his noble blood; Nor suffers Horace more in wrong translations To him the wit of Greece and Rome was known, By wits, than critics in as wrong quotations. And ev'ry author's merit, but his own. [friend,
See Dionysius Homer's thoughts refine, Such late was Walth - the Muse's judge and
Fancy and art in gay Petronius please ;' To failings mild, but zcalous for desert;
In grave Quintillian's copious work, we find This humble praise, lamented thade ! receive ; The justest rules and clearest method join'd: This praise at least a grateful Muse may give : Thus useful arms in inagazines we place, The Mufe, whose early voice you taught to fing, All rang'd in order, and dispos'd with grace; Prescrib'd her heights and prun'd her tender wing, But lets to please the eye than arm the hand; (Her guide now loft) no more attempts to rise, Still fit for ulc, and ready at command.
But in low numbers short excursions tries : [view ; Thee, bold Longinus ! all the Nine inspire, Content, if hence th’unlearn'd their wants may And bless their Critic with a Poet's fire. The learn'd reflect on what before they knew ; An ardent Judge, who, zealous in his trust, Careless of censure, nor too fond of fame; With warmth gives sentence, yet is always just: Still pleas'd to praise, yet not afraid to blame : Whose own example strengthens all his laws ; Averse alike to fatter or offend; And is himself that great Sublime he draws. Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.
Thus long fucceeding Critics juftly reign'd, Licence repress’d, and useful laws ordain'd. Learning and Rome alike in empire grew;
$ 7. The Rape of the Lock. Pope. And Arts still follow'd where her Eagles flew ; Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare capillos ; From the same foes, at last, both felt their doom,
Sed juvat, hoc precibus me tribuisse tuis. And the same age saw Learning fall, and Rome.
MART. With Tyranny then Superstition join'd;
CANTO I. As that the body, this enslav'd the mind : Much was believ'd, but little understood, WHAT dire offence from am'rous causes And to be dull was constru'd to be good;
springs, A second deluge Learning thus o'er run, What mighty contests rise from trivial things, And the Monks finish'd what the Goths begun. I sing– This verse to CARYI., Muse, is due :
At length Eralmus, that great injur'd name This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view ;
But see ! each Muse in Leo's golden days, A well-bred Lord t'assault a gentle Belle?
Now lap-dogs gave themselves the rouzing shake, Immortal Vida : on whose honour'd brow And Neepless lovers, just at twelve awake: The Poet's bays and Critic's ivy grow : Thricę rung the bell, the slipper knock'd the Cremona now shall ever boast thy name :
ground, As next in place to Mantua, next in fame! And the press'd watch retur'd a silver found.
But soon by impious arms from Latium chac'd, Belinda still her downy pillow prest,
Fairest of mortals, thou diftinguish'd care Wc ftill defy'd the Romans, as of old.
Of thousands bright inhabitants of air ! Yet fome there were, among the founder few If c'er onc vision touch thy infant thought, Of those who lefs presum'd, and better knew, Of all the Nurse and all the Pricst have taught; Whọ durft assert the juster ancient cause, Of airy clves by moonlight shadows seen, And here restor'd Wit's fundamental laws; The silver token, and the circled green,