Thus 'tis a faithful friend will freedom ufe;
But authors, partial to their darling mufe,
Think to protect it they have just pretence,
And at your friendly counsel take offence.
Said you of this, that the expreffion's flat?
Your fervant, Sir, you must excufe me that,
This word has here no grace,
Pray leave it out: That, Sir, 's the propereft place.
This turn I like not: 'Tis approv'd by all.
Thus, refolute not from one fault to fall,
If there's a fyllable of which you doubt,
'Tis a fure reafon not to blot it out.
Yet ftill he fays you may his faults confute,
And over him your power is absolute:
But of his feign'd humility take heed;
'Tis a bait laid to make you hear him read.
And when he leaves you happy in his muse,
Restless he runs fome other to abuse,
And often finds; for in our fcribbling times
No fool can want a fot to praise his rhymes:
The flatteft work has ever in the court,
Met with fome zealous afs for its fupport:
And in all times a forward fcribbling fop
Has found fome greater fool to cry him up,
S a fair nymph, when rifing from her bed, With sparkling diamonds dreffes not her head, But without gold, or pearl, or coftly scents, Gathers from neighb'ring fields her ornaments: VOL. I.
Such, lovely in its drefs, but plain withal,
Ought to appear a perfect Paftoral:
Its humble method nothing has of fierce,
But hates the rattling of a lofty verse:
There native beauty pleases, and excites,
And never with harsh founds the ear affrights.
But in this ftyle a poet often spent,
In rage throws by his rural inftrument,
And vainly, when disorder'd thoughts abound,
Amidst the Eclogue makes the trumpet found:
Pan flies alarm'd into the neighb'ring woods,
And frighted nymphs dive down into the floods.
Oppos'd to this another, low in ftyle,
Makes fhepherds speak a language base and vile;
His writings, flat and heavy, without found,
Kifling the earth, and creeping on the ground;
You'd fwear that Randal in his ruftic ftrains,
Again was quavering to the country swains,
And changing without care of found or dress,
Strephon and Phyllis, into Tom and Befs.
'Twixt these extremes 'tis hard to keep the right;
For guides take Virgil, and read Theocrite:
Be their juft writings by the Gods infpir'd,
Your conftant pattern practis'd and admir'd.
By them alone you'll eafily comprehend
How poets, without shame, may condefcend
To fing of gardens, fields, of flow'rs, and fruit,
To ftir up fhepherds, and to tune the flute;
Of love's rewards to tell the happy hour,
Daphne a tree, Narciffus made a flower.
And by what means the Eclogue yet has
To make the woods worthy a conqueror:
This of their writings is the grace and flight;
Their rifings lofty, yet not out of fight.
Mr. Samuel Johnson thinks this fhould be Randolph, Ben John
fen's adapted fon, who wrote fome pastorals.
The Elegy that loves a mournful style,
With unbound hair weeps at a funeral pile,
It paints the lovers torments and delights,
A miftrefs flatters, threatens and invites:
But well these raptures if you'll make us fee,
You must know love as well as poetry.
I hate thofe lukewarm authors, whofe forc'd fire
In a cold ftyle defcribe a hot defire,
That figh by rule, and raging in cold blood.
Their fluggish mufe whip to an amorous mood:
Their feign'd tranfports appear but flat and vain;
They always figh, and always hug their chain,
Adore their prifon, and their fufferings blefs,
Make fenfe and reafon quarrel as they please.
'Twas not of old in this affected tone,
That smooth Tibullus made his amorous moan;
Nor Ovid, when inftructed from above,
By nature's rules he taught the art of love.
The heart in Elegies forms the difcourfe.
The Ode is bolder, and has greater force.
Mounting to heaven in her ambitious flight,
Amongst the Gods and heroes takes delight;
Of Pifa's wrestlers tells the finewy force,
And fings the dufty conqueror's glorious courfe:
To Simois' ftreams does fierce Achilles bring,
And makes the Ganges bow to Britain's king.
Sometimes fhe flies like an induftrious bee,
And robs the flowers by nature's chemistry,
Defcribes the fhepherd's dances, feafts, and blifs,
And boafts from Phyllis to furprise a kifs,
When gently fhe refifts with feign'd remorse,
That what the grants may feem to be by force:
Her generous ftyle at random oft will part,
And by a brave disorder shows her art.
Unlike thofe fearful poets, whofe cold rhyme
In all their raptures keep exactest time,
That fing th' illuftrious hero's mighty praise
(Lean writers!) by the terms of weeks and days;
And dare not from leaft circumstances part,
But take all towns by stricteft rules of art:
Apollo drives thofe fops from his abode;
And fome have faid that once the humorous god
Refolving all fuch fcribblers to confound,
For the fhort Sonnet order'd this ftrict bound:
Set rules for the juft measure, and the time,
The easy running and alternate rhyme;
But above all, thofe licences deny'd
Which in thefe writings the lame fenfe fupply'd;
Forbade an useless line fhould find a place,
Or a repeated word appear with grace.
A faultlefs Sonnet, finifh'd thus, would be
Worth tedious volumes of loofe poetry.
A hundred fcribbling authors without ground,
Believe they have this only phoenix found:
When yet th' exacteft fcarce have two or three,
Among whole tomes from faults and cenfure free
The reft but little read, regarded lefs,
Are fhovell'd to the pastry from the prefs.
Clofing the fenfe within the measur'd time,
'Tis hard to fit the reafon to the rhyme.
The Epigram with little art compos'd,
Is one good fentence in a diftich clos'd.
These points that by Italians first were priz'd,
Our ancient authors knew not, or despis'd:
The vulgar dazled with their glaring light,
To their falfe pleasures quickly they invite;
But publick favour fo increas'd their pride,
They overwhelm'd Parnaffus with their tide.
The Madrigal at first was overcome,
And the proud Sonnet fell by the fame doom;
With these grave Tragedy adorn'd her flights,
And mournful Elegy her funeral rites:
A hero never fail'd them on the stage,
Without his point a lover durft not rage;
The amorous fhepherds took more care to prove
True to his point, than faithful to their love.
Each word like Janus had a double face:
And profe, as well as verfe, allow'd it place:
The lawyer with conceits adorn'd his speech,
The parfon without quibbling could not preach.
At laft affronted reafon look'd about,
And from all ferious matters fhut them out :
Declar'd that none fhould use them without shame,
Except a scattering in the Epigram;
Provided that by art, and in due time
They turn'd upon the thought, and not the rhyme.
Thus in all parts disorders did abate:
Yet quibblers in the court had leave to prate:
Infipid jefters, and unpleasant fools,
A corporation of dull punning drolls.
'Tis not, but that fometimes a dextrous mufe
May with advantage a turn'd fense abuse,
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