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The courtly Talbot, Somers, Sheffield read,
Ev'n mitred Rochester would nod the head,
And St. John's self (great Dryden's friends before)
With open arms receiv'd one Poet more.

140

Happy my studies, when by these approv'd!
Happier their author, when by these belov'd!
From these the world will judge of men and books,
Not from the Burnets, Oldmixons, and Cooks.

146

NOTES.

VER. 139. Talbot, &c.] All these were Patrons or Admirers of Mr. Dryden; though a scandalous libel against him, entitled, Dryden's Satyr to his Muse, has been printed in the name of the Lard Somers, of which he was wholly ignorant.

These are the persons to whose account the Author charges the publication of his first pieces: persons, with whom he was converfant (and he adds beloved) at 16 or 17 years of age; an early period for such acquaintance. The catalogue might be made yet more illustrious, had he not confined it to that time when he writ the Pastorals and Windsor Foreft, on which he passes a fort of Censure in the lines following,

While pure Description held the place of Sense? &c. P. VER. 146. Burnets, &c.] Authors of fecret and scandalous History.

Ibid. Burnets, Oldmixons, and Cooks.) By no means Authors of the same class, though the violence of party might hurry them into the same mistakes. But if the first offended this way, it was only through an honest warmth of temper, that allowed too little to an excellent understanding. The other two, with very bad heads, had hearts till worse.

Soft were my numbers; who could take offence While pure Description held the place of Sense ? Like gentle Fanny's was my flow'ry theme, A painted mistress, or a purling stream. Yet then did Gildon draw his venal quill; I wish'd the man a dinner, and sate still. Yet then did Dennis rave in furious fret ;

150

!

I never answer'd, I was not in debt.

If want provok'd, or madness made them print, 155 I wag'd no war with Bedlam or the Mint.

Did some more sober Critic come abroad; If wrong, I smil'd; if right, I kiss'd the rod. Pains, reading, study, are their just pretence, And all they want is spirit, taste, and sense..

160

Comma's and points they set exactly right,
And 'twere a fin to rob them of their mite.
Yet ne'er one sprig of laurel grac'd these ribalds,
From slashing Bentley down to pidling Tibalds :

NOTES.

VER. 150. A painted meadow, or a purling stream, is a verse of Mr. Addison.

P.

VER. 164. lashing Bentley] This great man, with all his faults, deserved to be put into better company. The following words of Cicero describe him not amiss. "Ha

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buit à natura genus quoddam acuminis, quod etiam arte limaverat, quod erat in reprehendendis verbis versutum et follers: fed fæpe stomachofum, nonnunquam frigi dum, interdum etiam facetum."

Each wight, who reads not, and but scans and spells,

Each Word-catcher, that lives on syllables,
Ev'n such small Critics some regard may claim,
Preserv'd in Milton's or in Shakespear's name.

166

Pretty! in amber to observe the forms

169

Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms! The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare,

But wonder how the devil they got there.

Were others angry: I excus'd them too;

Well might they rage, I gave them but their due.

175

:

:

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As man's true merit 'tis not hard to find;
But each man's fecret standard in his mind,

NOTES.

VER. 169. Pretty! in amber to observe the forms, &c.] Our Poet had the full pleasure of this amusement soon after the publication of his Shakespear. Nor has his Friend been less entertained since the appearance of his edition of the same poet. The liquid Amber of whose Wit has lately licked up, and enrolled such a quantity of these Infects, and of tribes so grotesque and various, as would have puzzled Reaumur to give names to. Two or three of them it may not be amiss to preserve and keep alive. Such as the Rev. Mr. J. Upton, Thomas Edwards, Efq; and, to make up the Triumvirate, their learned Coadjutor, that very respectable personage, Mr. THEOPHILUS CIBBER.As to the poetic imagery of this passage, it has been much and justly admired; for the most detestable things in nature, as a toad, or a beetle, become pleasing when well represented in a work of Art. But it is no less eminent for the beauty of the thought. For though a scribler exists by being thus incorporated, yet he exists intombed, a lafting monument of the wrath of the Muses.

VER. 173. Were others angry:) The Poets.

That Cafting-weight pride adds to emptiness,
This, who can gratify? for who can guess?

The Bard whom pilfer'd Pastorals renown,
Who turns a Persian tale for half a Crown,

180

Just writes to make his barrenness appear,
And strains from hard-bound brains, eight lines a year;
He, who still wanting, tho' he lives on theft,

Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left: 184
And He, who now to sense, now nonsense leaning,
Means not, but blunders round about a meaning:
And He, whose fustian's so sublimely bad,
It is not Poetry, but prose run mad :
All these, my modest Satire bad translate,

And own'd that nine such Poets made a Tate.

190

How did they fume, and stamp, and roar, and chafe ! And swear, not ADDISON himself was safe.

NOTES.

VER. 180.-a Perfian tale.] Amb. Philips translated a Book called the Perfian tales.

P.

VER. 184. Steals much, spends little, and has nothing left:) A fine improvement of this line of Boileau, Qui toujours emprunt, et jamais ne gagne rien.

VER. 186. Means not, but blunders round about a meaning:] A case common both to Poets and Critics of a certain order; only with this difference, that the Poet writes himself out of his own meaning; and the Critic never gets into another man's. Yet both keep going on, and blundering round about their subject, as benighted people are wont to do, who feek for an entrance which they cannot find.

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Peace to all such! but were there One whose fires

True Genius kindles, and fair Faine inspires;
Bleft with each talent and each art to please,
And born to write, converse, and live with ease:
Should fuch a man, too fond to rule alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne,
View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes,
And hate for arts that caus'd himself to rife;
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,
And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer;
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
Just hint a fault, and hefitate dislike;
Alike referv'd to blame, or to commend,
A tim'rous foe, and a suspicious friend;
Dreading ev'n fools, by Flatterers befieg'd,
And fo obliging, that he ne'er oblig'd;

NOTES.

195

200

205

VER.193. But were there one whose fires, &c] The strokes in this Character are highly finished. Atterbury so well understood the force of them, that in one of his letters to Mr. Pope he says, "Since you now know where your strength lies, I hope you will not fuffer that talent to "lie unemployed." He did not; and, by that means,

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brought fatiric Poetry to its perfection.

VARIATIONS.

After 208. in the MS.

Who, if two Wits on rival themes conteft,

Approves of each, but likes the worst the best.

Alluding to Mr. P.'s and Tickell's Translation of the first Book of the Iliad.

* C

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