When the ripe colours foften and unite,
And fweetly melt into juft fhade and light;
When mellowing years their full perfection give,
And each bold figure just begins to live;
The treacherous colours the fair art betray,
And all the bright creation fades away!

49

Unhappy wit, like most mistaken things, Atones not for that envy which it brings; In youth alone its empty praife we boast," But foon the fhort-liv'd vanity is loft: Like some fair flower the early spring supplies, That gaily blooms, but ev'n in blooming dies. What is this wit, which muft our cares employ? The owner's wife, that other men enjoy ; The most our trouble ftill when most admir'd, And ftill the more we give, the more requir'd; Whofe fame with pains we guard, but lofe with

501

ease,

Sure fome to vex, but never all to please;
'Tis what the vicious fear, the virtuous fhun;
By fools 'tis hated, and by knaves undone !

If wit fo much from ignorance undergo,
Ah, let not learning too commence its foe!
Of old, thofe met rewards, who could excel, 510
And fuch were prais'd who but endeavour'd well;
Though triumphs were to generals only due,
Crowns were referv'd to grace the foldiers too.
Now, they who reach Parnaffus' lefty crown,
Employ their pains to fpurn fome others down;
And while felf-love each jealous writer rules,
Contending wits become the fport of fools:
But ftill the worft with most regret commend,
For each ill author is as bad a friend.

To what base ends, and by what abject ways, 5 20
Are mortals urg'd through facred luft of praise!
Ah, ne'er fo dire a thirft of glory boast,
Nor in the critic let the man be loft.
Good-nature and good-fenfe muft ever join;
To crr, is human; to forgive, divine.

But if in noble minds feme dregs remain,
Not yet purg'd off, of fpleen and four difdain;
Difcharge that rage on more provoking crimes,
Nor fear a dearth in these flagitious times.
No pardon vile obfcenity fhould find, 539
Though wit and art confpire to move your mind;

But dulnefs with abfcenity must prove
As fhameful fure as impotence in love.
In the fat age of pleasure, wealth, and ease,
Sprang the rank weed, and thriv'd with large in-

crease:

When love was all in cafy monarch's care; Seldom at council, never in a war:

Jilts rul'd the ftate, and statesmen farces writ;
Nay wits had penfions, and young lords had wit
The fair fat panting at a courtier's play, 549
And not a mask went unimprov'd away:
The modeft fan was lifted up no more,
And virgins Imil'd at what they blush'd before.
The following license of a foreign reign
Did all the dregs of bold Socinus drain;
Then unbelieving priests reform'd the nation,
And taught more pleasant methods of falvation;
Where heaven's free fubjects might their rights
difpute,

74

Left God himself fhould feem too abfolute :
Pulpits their facred fatire learn'd to spare,
And vice admir'd to find a flatterer there!
Encourag'd thus, wit's Titans brav'd the skies,
And the prefs groan'd with licens'd blafphemies.
Thefe monsters, critics! with your darts engage,
Here point your thunder, and exhauft your rage!
Yet fun their fault, who, fcandalously nice,
Will needs mistake an author into vice;
All feems infected that th' infected spy,
As all looks yellow to the jaundic'd eye.

Learn then what morals critics ought to fhow.
For 'tis but half a judge's tafk, to know. 561
'Tis not enough, tafte, judgment, learning, join;
In all you fpeak, let truth and candour thine;
That not alone what to your fenfe is due
All may allow, but feek your friendship too.

Be filent always, when you doubt your fense: And speak, though fure, with feeming diffidence ; Some pofitive, perfifting fops we know, Who, if once wrong, will needs be always fo; But you, with pleasure, own your errors past, 579 And make each day a critic on the last.

'Tis not enough your counfel ftill be true; Blunt truths more mischief than nice falfhoods do; Men must be taught as if you taught them not, And things unknown propos'd as things forgot. Without good breeding truth is difapprov'd; That only makes fuperior fenfe belov'd.

550

Be niggards of advice on no pretence; For the worst avarice is that of sense.

581

With mean complacence, ne'er betray your trust, Nor be fo civil as to prove unjust. Fear not the anger of the wife to raise; Thole beft can bear reproof, who merit praise. Twere well might critics ftill this freedom take: But Appius reddens at each word you speak, And fares tremendous, with a threatening cye, Like fome fierce tyrant in old tapestry. Fear moft to tax an honourable fool, Whole right it is, uncenfur'd, to be dull! Such, without wit, are poets when they please. As without learning they can take degrees. Leave dangerous truths to unfuccefsful fatires, And flattery to fulfome dedicators, Whom, when they praife, the world believes no

591

more

Than when they promise to give fcribbling o'er.
'Tis beft fometimes your cenfure to restrain,
And charitably let the dull be vain :
Your filence there is better than your spite,
For who can rail fo long as they can write? 599
Sall humming on, their drowsy course they keep,
And lafh'd fo long, like tops, are lash'd afleep.
Falfe fteps but help them to renew the race,
As, after stumbling, jades will mend their pace.
What crowds of these, impenitently bold,
In founds and jingling fyllables grown old,
Still run on poets, in a raging vein,
Ev'n to the dregs and fqueezings of the brain,
Strain out the last dull dropping of their fenfe,
And rhyme with all the rage of impotence !
Such fhameless bards we have: and yet 'tis

611

true,

There are as mad, abandon'd critics too.
The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read,
With loads of learned lumber in his head,
With his own tongue ftill edifies his ears,
And always liftening to himself appears.
All books he reads, and all he reads affails,
From Dryden's Fables down to Durfey's Tales:
With him, most authors fteal their works, or buy
Garth did not write his own Dispensary.

Not dully prepoffefs'd, nor blindly right; [fincere;
Though learn'd, well-bred; and though well-bred,
Modeftly bold, and humanely severe :
Who to a friend his faults can freely show.
And gladly praife the merit of a foe?
Bleft with a tafte exact, yet unconfin'd;
A knowledge both of books and human kind; 640
Generous converfe; a foul exempt from pride;
And love to praise, with reafon on his fide?

Such once were critics; such the happy few
Athens and Rome in better ages knew:
The mighty Stagyrite firft left the shore,
Spread all his fails, and durft the deeps explore;
He steer'd fecurely, and discover'd far,
Led by the light of the Mæonian star.
Poets, a race long unconfin'd and free,
Still fond and proud of favage liberty,
Receiv'd his laws; and flood convinc'd 'twas fit,
Who conquer'd nature, should prefide o'er wit.
Horace ftill charms with graceful negligence,
And without method talks us into fenfe,
Will, like a friend, familiarly convey
The trueft notions in the easiest way.

650

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 623. Between this and ver. 624. In vain you shrug and sweat, and strive to fly; These know no manners but of poetry : They'll flop a hungry chaplain in his grace, To treat of unities of time and place. Ver. 624. Nay run to altars, &c. Ver. 634. Not dully prepoffefs'd, or blindly right. Between ver. 646 and 649, I found the following lines, fince fuppreffed by the author: That bold Columbus of the realms of wit, Whose first discovery 's not exceeded yet, Led by the light of the Mæonian star, He fteer'd fecurely, and discover'd far. He, when all nature was fubdued before, Like his great pupil, figh'd, and long'd for more: Fancy's wild regions yet unvanquish'd lay. A boundless empire, and that own'd no sway. Poets, &c.

After ver. 648. the first edition reads, Not only nature did his laws obey, But fancy's boundle's empire own'd his sway. Ver. 655. Does, like a friend, &c.

Ver. 655, 656. These lines are not in Ed. I.

Ciiij

He, who fupreme in judgment, as in wit,
Might boldly cenfure, as he boldly writ, [fire;
Yet judg'd with coolness, though he fung with
His precepts teach but what his works infpire.
Our critics take a contrary extreme,
They judge with fury, but they write with phlegm:
Nor fuffers Horace more in wrong tranflations
By wits, than critics in as wrong quotations.

661

See Dionyfius Homer's thoughts refine, And call new beauties forth from every line!

Fancy and art in gay Petronius please, The fcholar's learning, with the courtier's ea'e. In grave Quintilian's copious work, we find The juftest rules and clearest method join’d : 670 Thus ufeful arms in magazines we place, All rang'd in order, and difpos'd with grace, But lefs to please the eye, than arm the hand, Still fit for use, and ready at command.

Thee, bold Longinus! all the Nine inspire, And bless their critic with a poet's fire. An ardent judge, who, zealous in his truft, With warmth gives fentence, yet is always juft; Whofe own example strengthens all his laws; And is himself that great fublime he draws.

680

Thus long fucceeding critics juftly reign'd, License repress'd, and useful laws ordain'd. Learning and Rome alike in empire grew, And arts ftill follow'd where her eagles flew; From the fame foes, at laft, both felt their doom, And the fame age faw learning fall, and Rome. With tyranny, then fuperftition join'd, As that the body, this enflav'd the mind; Much was believ'd, but little understood, And to be dull was conftrued to be good: A fecond deluge learning thus o'er-ran, And the Monks finifh'd what the Goths began.

690

At length Erafmus, that great injur'd name, (The glory of the priesthood, and the shame!) Stemm'd the wild torrent of a barbarous age, And drove thofe holy Vandals off the stage.

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 668.

The scholar's learning, and the courtier's cafe. Ver. 673, &c.

Nor thus alone the curious eye to please,
But to be found, when need requires, with cafe.
The mufes fure Longinus did infpire,
And blefs'd their critic with a poet's fire.
An ardent judge, that zealous, &c.
Ver. 689. All was believ'd, but nothing understood.
Between ver. 690 and 691. the Author omitted
these two:
Vaia wits and critics were no more allow'd,
When none but faints had licenfe to be proud.

But fee! each mufe, in Leo's golden days, Starts from her trance, and trims her wither'd bays;

Rome's ancient genius, o'er its ruins spread,
Shakes off the duft, and rears his reverend head. 700
Then sculpture and her sister-arts revive;
Stones leap'd to form, and rocks began to live;
With fweeter notes each rifing temple rung;
A Raphael painted, and a Vida fung.
Immortal Vida! on whofe honour'd brow
The poet's bays and critic's ivy grow:
Cremona now fhall ever boat thy name,
As next in place to Mantua, next in fame!

But foon, by impious arms from Latium chas'd,
Their ancient bounds the banifh'd mufes pafs'd;
Thence arts o'er all the northern world advance,
But critic-learning flourish'd most in France:
The rules a nation, born to serve, obeys;
And Boileau ftill in right of Horace fways.
But we, brave Britons, foreign laws defpis'd,
And kept unconquer'd, and unciviliz'd;
Fierce for the liberties of wit, and bold,
We still defy'd the Romans, as of old.
Yet fome there were among the founder few
Of those who lefs prefum'd, and better knew, 720
Who durft affert the juster ancient cause,
And here reftor'd wit's fundamental laws.
Such was the mufe, whofe rules and practice tell,
"Nature's chief master-piece is writing well."
Such was Rofcommon, not more learn'd than good,
With manners generous as his noble blood;
To him the wit of Greece and Rome was known,
And every author's merit but his own.

Such late was Walsh--the mufe's judge and friend,
Who juftly knew to blame or to commend; 730
To failings mild, but zealous for defert;
The clearest head, and the fincerest heart.
This humble praife, lamented fhade! receive,
This praife at least a grateful muse may give :
The mufe, whofe early voice you taught to sing,
Prefcrib'd her heights, and prun'd her tender
wing,