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And if the means be juft, the conduct true,
Applaufe, in fpight of trivial faults, is due.
As men of breeding, fometimes men of wit,
T'avoid great errors, must the lefs commit.
Neglect the rules each Verbal Critic lays,
For not to know fome trifles, is a praise.
Most Critics, fond of fome fubfervient art,
Still make the whole depend upon a part,
They talk of principles, but notions prize,
And all to one lov'd Folly facrifice.

Once on a time, La Mancha's Knight, they fay,
A certain Bard encount'ring on the way,
Discours'd in terms as juft, with looks as fage,
As e'er could Dennis, of the laws o'th' ftage;
Concluding all were defp'rate fots and fools,
That durft depart from Ariftotle's rules.
Our author, happy in a judge fo nice,
Produc'd his Play, and begg'd the Knight's advice;
Made him obferve the fubject and the plot,
The manners, paffions, unities, what not?
All which, exact to rule, were brought about,
Were but a Combate in the lifts left out.

"What!

"What! leave the combate out?" exclaims the knight; Yes, or we must renounce the Stagyrite.

"Not fo by heav'n" (he answers in a rage)

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Knights, fquires, and steeds, must enter on the stage.” The stage can ne'er fo vast a throng contain. "Then build a new, or act it in a Plain."

Thus Critics, of less judgment than caprice, Curious, not knowing, not exact, but nice, Form fhort Ideas; and offend in arts (As most in manners) by a love to parts. Some to Conceit alone their tafte confine, And glitt'ring thoughts ftruck out at ev'ry line Pleas'd with a work where nothing's just or fit; One glaring Chaos and wild heap of wit. Poets like painters, thus, unskill'd to trace The naked nature and the living grace, With gold and jewels cover ev'ry 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 exprefs'd;

* Naturam intueamur, banc fequamur; id facillimè accipiunt animi quod agnofcunt. Quintil. lib. 8. c. 3.

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Something, whofe truth convinc'd at fight we find,
That gives us back the image of our mind.
As fhades more sweetly recommend the light,
So modest plainnefs fets off fprightly wit:
For works may have more wit than does 'em good,
As bodies perish through excess of blood.

Others for Language all their care express,
And value books, as women men, for Dress:
Their praise is still-----the Style is excellent :
The Sense, they humbly take upon content.
Words are like leaves; and where they most abound,
Much fruit of fense beneath is rarely found.
Falfe Eloquence, like the Prifmatic glass;

Its gawdy colours fpreads on ev'ry place;
The face of nature we no more furvey,
All glares alike, without distinction gay:
But true Expreffion, like th' unchanging Sun,
Clears, and improves whate'er it fhines upon,
It gilds all objects, but it alters none.
Expreffion is the dress of thought, and still
Appears more decent, as more fuitable;

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A vile conceit in pompous words exprefs'd,
Is like a clown in regal purple drefs'd:
For diff'rent ftyles with diff'rent fubjects fort,
As feveral garbs with country, town, and court.
Some * by Old words to fame have made pretence :
Ancients in phrase, meer moderns in their sense!
Such labour'd nothings, in fo ftrange a ftyle,
Amaze th' unlearn'd, and make the learned fmile.
Unlucky, as Fungofo in the + Play,

These sparks with aukward vanity difplay
What the fine Gentlemen wore Yesterday :
And but fo mimic ancient wits at beft,
As apes our grandfires, in their doublets dreft.
In words, as fashions, the fame rule will hold;
Alike fantastic, if too new, or old;

Be not the first by whom the new are try'd,
Nor yet the last to lay the old afide.

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* Abolita & abrogata retinere, infolentiæ cujufdam eft, & frivolæ in parvis jactantiæ Quintil. lib. 1. c. 6.

Opus eft ut Verba à vetuftate repetita neque crebra fint, neque manifefta, quia nil eft. odiofius affectatione, nec utique ab ultimis repetita temporibus. Oratio cujus fumma virtus eft perfpicuitas, quam fit vitiofa fi egeat interprete? Ergo ut novorum optima erunt maximè vetera, ita veterum maximè nova. Idem.

† Ben. Johnson's Every Man in his Humour.

+ But

+ But moft by Numbers judge a Poet's fong, And smooth or rough, with them, is right or wrong; In the bright Muse tho' thousand charms conspire, Her Voice is all these tuneful fools admire;

Who haunt Parnassus but to please their ear,
Not mend their minds; as fome to Church repair,
Not for the doctrine, but the mufic there.
These equal fyllables alone require,

Tho' *oft' the ear the open vowels tire;
While expletives their feeble aid do join;
And ten low words oft' creep in one dull line;
While they ring round the fame unvary'd chimes,
With fure returns of ftill-expected rhymes.
Where-e'er you find the cooling western breeze,
In the next line, it whispers thro' the trees;
If crystal streams with pleafing murmurs creep,
The reader's threaten'd (not in vain) with sleep.
Then, at the last, and only couplet fraught
With some unmeaning thing they call a Thought,

+ Quis populi fermo eft? quis enim? nifi carmine molli Nunc demum numero fluere ut per læve severos Effugit jun&tura ungues : fcit tendere verfum; Non fecus ac fi oculo rubricam dirigat uno. Perfius, Sat. 1.

* Fugiemus crebras vocalium concurfiones, quæ vaflam atque biantem orationem reddunt. Cic. ad Herenn. lib. 4. Vide etiam Quintil. lib. 9. c. 4.

A need

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