By Mufc, minds an equal temper know,
Norwell too high, nor tak too low.
I in the breast tumultuous joys arife,
Mulc her folt, aluat ve voice applies;
Cr, when the foul is prefed with cares,
Exalts her in enlivening airs.
Warriors fe fires with animated founds;
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds;
Melancholy lifts her head,
Morpheus roufes from his bed,
Sloth unfolds her arms a d wakes,
Listening Envy drops her faakes;
Inteftine war o more our Paffions wage,
And giddy actions hear away their rage.
To hear the Poet's prayer; Stern Proferpine relented, And gave him back the fair. Thus fong could prevail C'er death, and o'er hell, A conquest how hard and how glorious! Though fate had fatt bound her
With Styx ni..e times round her, Yet muLe and love were victorious.
But foon, too foon the lover turns his eyes:
Again he falls, again fre dies, the dies!
How wilt thou now the fatal ifters move?
No crime was thine, i: 'tis ro crime to love.
Now under hanging mountains,
Befide the alls of fountains,
Or where He brus wanders,
But when our Country's caufe provokes to Arms,
How martial music every bolom warms!
So when the frit bold veffel dar'd the feas,
High on the ftern the Thracian rais'd his ftrain,
While Argo faw her kindred trees
Defcend from Pelion to the main.
Tranfported demi-gods ftood round,
And men grew heroes at the found,
En flam'd with glory's charms:
Each chief his fevenfold ield difplay'd,
And half unfheath'd the fhining blade:
And feas, and rocks, and skies rebound
To arms, to arms, to arms!
Unheard, unknown, He makes his moan:
Our joys below it can improve,
And antedate the blifs above.
This the divine Cecilia found,
And to her Maker's praise confu 4 the found, 1^;
TIS hard to fay, if greater want of fill Appear in writing or in judging ill; But of the two, lefs dangerous is th' offence To tire our patience, than mislead our fense. Some few in that, but numbers err in this, Ten cenfure wrong for one who writes amifs; A fool might once himself alone expose, Now one in verfe makes many more in profe. 'Tis with our judgments as our watches; none Go just alike, yet each believes his own. In Poets as true genius is but rare, True tafte as feldom is the Critic's fhare; Both muft alike from Heaven derive their light, Thefe bora to judge, as well as those to write.
In fearch of wit thefe lofe their common fenfe,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can, or cannot write, 30
Cr with a rival's, or an eunuch's fpite.
All fools have fill an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing fide.
If Mævius fcribble in Apollo's fpight,
There are who judge ftill worfe than he can write.
Some have at frft for Wits, then Poets pait;
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain fools at last.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pafs,
As heavy mules are neither horfe nor afs.
Thofe half-learn'd witlings, numerous in our
To tell them would a hundred tongues require,
Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire. 45
But you, who feek to give and merit fame,
And justly bear a Critic's noble name,
Be fure yourself and your own reach to know,
How far your genius, tafte, and learning, go;
Launch not beyond your depth, but be difcreet,
And mark that point where fenfe and dullness
Nature to all things fix'd the limits fit, And wifely curb'd proud man's pretending wit: As on the land while here the ocean gains, In other parts it leaves wide fandy plains; Thus in the foul while memory prevails, The folid power of understanding fails; Where beams of warm imagination play, The memory's foft figures melt away, One fcience only will one genius fit; So vaft is art, fo narrow hunan wit: Not only bounded to peculiar arts, But oft in thofe confin'd to fingle parts. Like Kings, we lofe the conquests gain'd before, By vain ambition ftill to make them more: Each might his feveral province well command, Would all but stoop to what they understand. First follow Nature; and your judgment frame By her just standard, which is still the ame: Unerring NATURE, fill divinely bright, One clear, unchang'd, and universal light, Life, force, and beauty, muft to all impart, At once the fource, and end, and teft of Art, Art from that fund each juft fupply provides; Works without fhow, and without pomp prefide
The generous Critic fann'd the Poet's fre,
And taught the world with rea.ou to admire.
Then Criticifm the Mufe's handmaid prov'd,
To drefs her charms, and make her more belov❜d:
But following wits from that intention ftray'd,
Who could not win the miftrefs, woo'd the maid;
Against the poets their own arms they turn'd, 106
Sure to hate moft the men from whom they
So modern 'Pothecaries, taught the art
By Doctors' bills to play the Doctor's part,
Bold in the practice of miflake, rules,
Preferibe, apply, and call their mafters fools.
Some on the leaves of ancient authors prey,
Nor time nor moths e'er fpoil'd fo much as they :
Some drily plain, without invention's aid,
Write dull receipts how poems may be made. 115
Thefe leave the feefe, their learning to difplay,
And thole explain the meaning quite away.
You then whofe judgment the right courfe would feer,
Know well each ANCIENT'S proper character: His Fable, Subject, foope in every page ; Religion, Country, genius of his Age: Without all thefe at once before your eyes, Cavil you may, but never criticize.
Be Homer's works your ftudy and delight,
Read them by day, and meditate by night;
Thence form your judgment, thence your maxims
bring,
Ard trace the Mufes upward to their spring;
Still with itfelf compar'd, his text perufe:
And let your comment be the Mantuan Mufe.
When firft young Maro, in his houndicis mind
A work t'outla't immortal Rome dei gnid,
Perhaps he feem'd above the Critic's Law,
Nature's fountains feor..'d to draw:
But when t' examine every part he came,
Nature and Honer were, he found, the fame. 105
Convinc'd, aaz'd, be checks the bold def.gus
And rules as firict his labour'd work coni ne,
As if the Stagirite o'erloo!'d each line.
Learn hence for ancient rules a just esteem;
To copy nature, is to copy thent.
Some beauties yet no precepts can declare,
For there s a happiness as well as care.
Mufc refen bles Poetry; in each
Are nameleis graces which no methods teach,
And which a malter-hand alone can reach. 145)
If, where the rules not far enough extend,
(Since rules were made but to promote their end)
Some lucky Licenfe antwer to the full
Th' intent propos'd, that Licenfe is a rule.
Thus Pegafus, a nearer way to take,
May boldly deviate from the common track;
From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part,
And fnatch a grace beyond the reach of art.
Which, without paffing through the judgment,
The heart, and all its end at once attains.
gains
In profpects thus, fome objects please our eyes,
Which out of nature s common order rife,
The shapelefs rock, or hanging precipice.
Great Wits sometimes may gloriously oflend,
And rife to faults true Critics dare not mend, 160
But though the Ancients thus their rules invade
(As Kings difpenfe with laws themfelves have
made);
Moderns, beware! or, if you must offend Let it be feldom, and compell d by need; Againit the precept, ne'er tranfgrefs its end: The Critie elfe proceeds without remorse, And have, at least, their precedent to plead. Seizes your fame, and puts his laws in force. I know there are, to whofe profumptuous thoughts 169 Thofe Trear beauties, ev'n in them, feem faults, Some igures monfrous and mif-haped appear, Confder'd fugly, or beheld too near, Which, but proportion'd to their light, or place, Due di! ance reconciles to form and grace. A prudent chief not always muft difplay His powers in equal ranks, in fair array, But with th' occafón and the place con ply, Conceal his force, nay fometimes feem to fly. Thofe oft are ftratagems which crror feem, Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream. Still green with bays each ancient Altar ftands, Above the reach of facrilegious hands; recure from Flames, from Envy's fiercer rage, Dettructive War, and all-involving Age. See from each cline the learn'd their incenfe Icar, in all tongues confenting Paans ring! 185 I praife fo jutt let every voice be join'd. And fill the general chorus of mankind. Hail, bards triumphant! bern in happier days; Immortal heirs of univerfal praife! Whofe honours with increase of ages grow As fireams roll down, enlarging as they flow; Nations unber. your mighty rame fhall found, And worlds applaud that must not yet be foun!!
may fome fpark of your celeftial fire,
The laft, the meaneft of your fons infpire,
(That, on weak wings, from far puriues your
fights:
Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes)
To teach vain wit a fcience little known, 199
Padmire superior fenfe, and doubt their own :
Of all the caufes which confpire to blind
Man's erring judgment, and misguide the mind,
What the weak head with itrongeft bias rules,
IS PRIDE, the ever-lailing v ce of fools.
Whatever Nature has in worth deny'd,
She gives in large recruits of needful Pride!
For as in bodies, thus in fouls, we find
What wants in blood and spirits, fwell'd with
wind:
Pride, where Wit fails, fteps in to our defence,
And fils up all the mighty void of fenfe.
It once right reafon drives that cloud away,
Truth breaks upon us with refiftlefs day.
Tru't not yourself: but, your defects to know,
Make ufe of every friend--and every foe.
A little learning is a dangerous thing!
Drik deep, or tatte not the Pierian spring:
There fhallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
And drinking largely fobers us again.
Fir'd at first fight with what the Mufe imparts,
In farlefs youth we tempt the heights of Arts,
While, from the bounded level of our mind,
Short views we take, nor fee the lengths behind;
But more advanc'd, behold with ftrange furprize
New diftant fcenes of endlefs fcience rife!
So pleas'd at first the towering Alps we try, 225
Mount o'er the vales, and feem to tread the fky;
The eternal fnows appear already pat,
And the trit clouds and mountains feem the laft:
But, thofe attain'd, we tremble to furvey
The growing labours of the lengthen'd way: 230
The increasing pro pect tires our wandering eyes,
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arife!
A perfect judge will read each Work of Wit
With the fame fpirit that its author writ:
Survey the WHOLE,
nor feek fight faults to
235,
Where nature moves, and rapture warms the
mind;
Nor lofe, for that malignant dull delight,
The generous pleasure to be charm'd with wit.
But, in fuch hys as neither ebb nor Row,
Correely cold, and regularly low,
That, running faults, one quiet tenour keep;
We cannot blame indeed-but we may fleep,
In wit, as Nature, what affects our hearts
Is not th' exactnefs of peculiar parts;
Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call,
But the joint force and full retult of all.
Thus when we view fome well-proportion'd
dome,
(The world's just wonder, and ev'n thine, O Rome!)
No fingle parts unequally furnrize,
All comes united to th'admiring eyes;
No monftrous height, or breadth, or length ap-
The Whole at once is bold, and regular.
Whoever thinks a faultlefs piece to fee,
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er fhall be.
In every work regard the writer's end,
255
Since uone can compafs more than they intend;
And if the means be juft, the conduct true,
Applaufe, in fpite of trivial faults, is due.
As men of breeding, fometimes men of wit,
T' avoid great errors muft the lefs commit: 269 ·
Negk&t the rules each verbal Critic lays,
For not to know fome trifles, is a praife,
Moft Critics, fond of fome fubfervient art,
Still make the Whole depend upon a Part:
They talk of principles, but notions prize, 265
And all to one lov'd folly facrifice.
Once on a time, La Mancha's Knight, they fay,
A certain Bard encountering on the way,
Difcours'd in terms as juft, with looks as fage,
As e'er could Dennis, of the Grecian fiage; 270
Concluding all were defperate fots and fools,
Who durft depart from Ariftotle's rules.
Our Author, happy in a judge fo nice,
Produc'd his play, and begg'd the Knight's ad-
Made him obferve the fubject, and the plot, 275
The manners, paffions, unities; what not?
All which, exact to rule, were brought about,
Were but a combat in the litts left out,
"What! leave the combat out?" exclaims the
Knight,
Yes, or we must renounce the Stagirite.
"Not fo by heaven (he anfwers in a rage!
"Knights, fquires, and fteeds, muft enter on
the flage."
So vaft a throng the flage can ne'er contain.
"Then build a new, or act it in a plain."
Thus Critics, of lefs judgment than caprice,
Curious, not knowing, not exact but nice,
286
Form fort ideas; and offend in arts
(As moft in manners) by a love to parts.
Some to Conceit alone their tafte confine,
And glittering thoughts ftruck out at every line;
Pleas'd with a work where nothing's juft or fit;
One glaring Chaos and wild heap of wit.
Poets like painters, thus unfkill'd to trace
The naked nature, and the Eving grace,
With gold and jewels cover every part,
And hide with ornaments their want of art.
True Wit is Nature to advantage drefs'd,
What oft was thought, but ne'er fo well ex-
prefs'd;
Something, whofe truth convinc'd at fight we
That gives us back the image of our mind. 300
As frades more fweetly recommend the light,
So modest plainnefs fets off fprightly wit;
For works may have more wit than does them
good,
As bodies perish through excefs of blood,
Others for Language all their care exprefs, 305
And value books, as women men, for drefs:
Their praife is ftill--the ftyle is excellent :
The fenfe, they humbly take upon content.
Words are like leaves; and where they mo
abound,
Much fruit of fenfe beneath is rarely found. 310
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