But now we fhew the world a nobler way,
And in tranflated verfe do more than they;
Screne and clear harmonious Horace flows,
With sweetness not to be exprefs'd in profe:
Degrading profe explains his meaning ill,
And thews the ftu, but not the workman's fkill:
I (who have ferv'd him more than twenty years)
Scarce know my master as he there appears.
Vain are our neighbours' hopes, and vain their
cares;

The fault is more their language's than theirs:
'Tis courtly, florid, and abounds in words
Of fofter found than ours perhaps affords;
But who did ever in French authors fee
The comprehenfive English energy?
The weighty bullion of one fterling line,
Drawn to French wire, would thro' whole pages
fhine.

I fpeak my private but impartial fense,
With freedom, and I hope without offence;
For I'll recant when France can fhew me wit
As ftrong as ours, and as fuccinctly writ.
'Tis true, compofing is a nobler part;
But good tranflation is no eafy art.
For though materials have long fince been found,
Yet both your fancy and your hands are bound;
And by improving what was writ before,.
Invention labours lefs, but judgment more.

The foil intended for Pierian feeds

Muft be well purg'd from rank pedantic weeds.
Apollo ftarts, and all Parnaffus thakes,
At the rude rumbling Baralipton makes.
For none have been with admiration read,
But who (befide their learning) were well bred.
The first great work (a task per form'd by few)
Is, that yourfelf may to yourself be true:
No mafk, no tricks, no favour, no referve;
Dilect your mind, examine ev'ry nerve.
Whoever vainly on his ftrength depends,
Begins like Virgil, but like Mevius ends.
That wretch (in fpite of his forgotten rhymes),
Condemn'd to live to all fucceeding times,
With pompous nonfenfe and a bellowing found,
Sung lofty Ilium tumbling to the ground.
And (if my Mafe can through palt ages fee)
That noify, naufcous, gaping fool was he;
Exploded, when, with univerfal fcorn,
The mountains labour'd, and a moufe was born.
Learn, learn, Crotona's brawny wrestler cries
Audacious mortals, and be timely wife!
'Tis I that call, remember Milo's end,
Wedg'd in that timber which he ftrove to rend.
Each poet with a diff'rent talent writes;
One praises, one instructs, another bites.
Horace did ne'er afpire to Epic bays,
Nor lofty Maro ftoop to Lyric lays.
Examine how your humour is inclin'd,
And which the ruling paffion of your mind;
Then, feek a poet who your way does bend,
And choose an author as you choofe a friend;
United by this fympathetic bond,
You grow familiar, intimate, and fond;
Your thoughts, your words, your ftyles, your fouls
No longer his interpreter, but he. [agree,

With how much eafe is a young Mufe betray'd!
How nice the reputation of the maid!
Your early, kind, paternal care appears,
By chafte inftruction of her tender years.
The first impreffion in her infant breaft
Will be the deepeft, and fhould be the best.
Let not aufterity breed fervile fear,
No wanton found offend her virgin car.
Secure from foolish pride's affected state,
And fpecious flattery's more pernicious bait,
Habitual innocence adorns her thoughts;
But your neglect muft anfwer for her faults.
Immodeft words admit of no defence;
For want of decency is want of fenfe.
What mod'rate fop would rake the Park or stews,
Whoamong troops of faultlefs nymphs may choose?
Variety of fuch is to be found:
Take then a fubject proper to expound;
But moral, great, and worth a poet's voice,
For men of fenfe defpife a trivial choice:
And fuch applaufe it must expect to meet,
As would fome painter bufy in a street
To copy bulls and bears, and ev'ry fign
That calls the ftaring fots to nafty wine.

Yet 'tis not all to have a fubject good,
It must delight us when 'tis understood.
He that brings fulfome objects to my view
(As many old have done, and many new)
With naufeous images my fancy fills,
And all goes down like oxymel of squills.
Inftruct the lift'ning world how Maro fings
Of useful fubje&ts and of lofty things.
Thefe will fach true, fuch bright ideas raife,
As merit gratitude as well as praife:
But foul defcriptions are offenfive ftill,
Either for being like, or being ill.

For who, without a qualm, hath ever look'd
On holy garbage, though by Homer cook'd?
Whofe railing heroes, and whole wounded Gods,
Make fome fufpect he fnores as well as nods.
But I offend-Virgil begins to frown,
And Horace looks with indignation down;
My blufhing Mufe with conicious fear retires,
And whom they like implicitly admires.

On fure foundations let your fabric rife,
And with attractive majefty furprife,
Not by affected meretricious arts,
But ftrict harmo ious fymmetry of parts;
Which through the whole infenfibly muft pass,
With vital heat to animate the mafs:

A pure, an active, an aufpicious flame, [came;
And bright as heaven, from whence the bleifing
But few, oh few, fouls pre-ordain'd by fate,
The race of Gods, have reach'd that envied height.
No rebel Titan's facrilegious crime,
By heaping hills on hills, can hither climb:
The grizly ferryman of hell denied
Eneas entrance, till he knew his guide:
How justly then will impious mortals fall,
Whole pride would foar to heaven without a call!

Pride (of all others the most dang'rous fault) Proceeds from want of fenfe or want of thought. The men who labour and digeft things moft, Vill be much apter to defpoud than boast :

For

U 2

For if your author be profoundly good,
'Twill coft you dear before he's understood.
How many ages fince has Virgil writ!
How few are they who understand him yet!
Approach his altars with religious fear,
No vulgar deity inhabits there:
Heaven thakes not more at Jove's imperial nod,
Than poets fhould before their Mantuan god.
Hail, mighty Maro! may that facred name
Kindle my breaft with thy celeftial flame;
Sublime ideas and apt words infufe; [Mufe!
The Mute inftruct my voice, and thou intpire the
What I have inftanc'd only in the best,
Is, in proportion, true of all the reft.
Take pains the genuine meaning to explore,
There fweat, there ftrain, tug the laborious oar;
Search ev'ry comment that your care can find,
Some here, fome there, may hit the poet's mind;
Yet be not blindly guided by the throng;
The multitude is always in the wrong.
When things appear unnatural or hard,
Confult your author, with himself compar'd;
Who knows what blefling Phoebus may beftow,
And future ages to your labour owe?
Such fecrets are not eafily found out;
But, once difcover'd, leave no room for doubt.
Truth ftamps conviction in your ravifh'd breaft,
And peace and joy attend the glorious guest.

Truth ftill is one; truth is divinely bright;
No cloudy doubts obfcure her native light;
While in your thoughts you find the least debate,
You may confound, but never can tranflate.
Your ftyle will this through all difguifes thew,
For none explain more clearly than they know.
He only proves he understands a text,
Whofe expofition leaves it unperplex'd.
They who too faithfully on names infist,
Rather create than diffipate the mist;
And grow unjuft by being over-nice
(For fuperftitious virtue turns to vice).
Let Craffus' ghoft and Labienus tell
How twice in Parthian plains their legions fell:
Since Rome hath been fo jealous of her fame,
That few know Pacorus' or Monafes' name.

Affected noife is the moft wretched thing
That to contempt can empty fcribblers bring.
Vowels and accents, regularly plac'd,
On even fyllables (and ftill the last),
Though grofs innumerable faults abound,
In fpite of nonfenfe, never fail of found.
But this is meant of even verfe alone,
As being moft harmonious and most known:
For if you will unequal numbers try,
There accents on odd fyliables muft lie.
Whatever fifter of the learned Nine
Does to your fuit a willing ear incline,
Urge your fuccefs, deferve a lafting name,
She 'Il crown a grateful and a conftant flame.
But if a wild uncertainty prevail,
And turn your veering heart with ev'ry gale,
You lofe the fruit of all your former care
For the fad profpect of a juft defpair.

A quack (too fcandalously mean to name)
Had, by man-midwifery, got wealth and fame:
As if Lucina had forgot her trade,
The labouring wife invokes his furer aid.
Well-feafon'd bowls the golfip's fpirits raise,
Who, while fhe guzzles, chats the doctor's praife;
And largely what he wants in words fupplies,
With maudlin-eloquence of trickling cyes.
But what a thoughtlefs animal is man!
How very active in his own trepan!
For, greedy of phyficians' frequent fees,
From female mellow praife he takes degrees;
Struts in a new unlicens'd gown, and then,
From faving women, falls to killing men.
Another fuch had left the nation thin,
In fpite of all the children he brought in.
His pills as thick as hand-granadoes flew;
And where they fell, as certainly they flew;
His name ftruck every where as great a damp
As Archimedes' through the Roman camp.
With this, the doctor's pride began to cool;
For fmarting foundly may convince a fool
But now repentance came too late for grace;
And meagre famine ftar'd him in the face:
Fain would he to the wives be reconcil'd,
But found no husband left to own a child.
The friends that got the brats were pe ifon'd too;
In this fad cafe, what could our vermin do
Worried with debts, and paft all hope of bail,
Th'unpitied wretch lies rotting in a jail:
And there, with basket-alms fcarce kept alive,
Shews how mifiaken talents ought to thrive.
I pity, from my foul, unhappy men,
Compell'd by want to proftitute their pen;
Who muft, like lawyers, either ftarve or plead,
And follow, right or wrong, where guineas lead
But you, Pompilian, wealthy pamper'd heirs,
Who to your country owe your words and cares,
Let no vain hope your eafy mind feduce,
For rich ill poets are without excufe.
Tis very dangerous, tampering with a mufe;
The profit's finall, and you have much to lofe:
For though true wit adorns your birth or place,
Degenerate lines degrade th' attainted race.

No poet any paffion can excite,

But what they feel tranfport them when they write.
Have you been led through the Cumaan cave,
And heard the impatient maid divinely rave?
I hear her now; I fee her rolling eyes:
And panting, Lo! the god, the god, the cries;
With words not hers, and more than human found,
She makes th' obedient ghosts peep trembling thro'
the ground.

But, tho' we must obey when Heaven commands,
And man in vain the facred call withftands,
Beware what spirit rages in your breast;
For ten infpir'd, ten thoufand are poffeft.
Thus make the proper use of each extreme,
And write with fury, but correct with phlegm.
As when the cheerful hours too freely pafs,
And parkling wine fmiles in the tempting glafs,
Your pulfe advifes, and begins to beat
Through ev'ry fwelling vein a loud retreat :
So when a mufe propitioufly invites,
Improve her favours, and indulge her flights;
But when you find that vigorous heat abate,
Leave off, and for another fummons wait.
Before the radiant fun a glimmering lamp,
Adulterate metals to the fterling stamp,
Appear not meaner than mere human lines,
Compar'd with those whofe infpiration fhines:
Thefe nervous, bold; thofe languid and remifs;
There, cold falutes; but here a lover's kifs.
Thus have I feen a rapid headlong tide
With foaming waves the pailive Soane divide;
Whose lazy waters without motion lay,
While he, with eager force, urg'd his impetuous

way.

The privilege that ancient poets claim, Now turn'd to licence by too juft a name, Belongs to none but an establish'd fame, Which fcorns to take it

Abfurd expreffions, crude, abortive thoughts,
All the lewd legion of exploded faults,
Bale fugitives, to that afylum fly,
And facred laws with infolence defy.
Not thus our heroes of the former days
Deferv'd and gain'd their never-fading bays;
For I mistake, or far the greatest part
Of what fome call neglect, was ftudy's art.
When Virgil feeins to trific in a line,

Tis like a warning-piece, which gives the fign
To wake your fancy, and prepare your fight,
To reach the noble height of fome unufual flight.
I lose my patience when, with faucy pride,
By untun'd ears I hear his numbers tried.
Reverse of nature; fhall fuch copies then
Arraign th' originals of Maro's pen;
And the rude notions of pedantic schools
Blafpheme the facred founder of our rules?
The delicacy of the niceft ear

Finds nothing harsh or out of order there.
Sublime or low, unbended or intense;
The found is ftill a comment to the fenfe.
A skilful ear in numbers fhould prefide,
And all difputes without appeal decide.

This ancient Rome and elder Athens found,
Before mistaken ftops debauch'd the found.

When, by impuife from Heaven, Tyrtæus sung,
In drooping foldiers a new courage sprung;
Reviving Sparta now the flight maintain'd,
And what two gen'rals loft, a poet gain'd.
By fecret influence of indulgent fkies,
Empire and poely together rife.
True poets are the guardians of the state,
And, when they fail, portend approaching fate.
For that which Rome to conqueft did infpire,
Was not the veftal, but the mufe's fire;
Heaven joins the bleffings: no declining age
E'er felt the raptures of poetic rage.

Of many faults rhyme is perhaps the caufe; Too ftrict to rhyme, we flight more useful laws; For that, in Greece or Rome, was never known, Till by barbarian deluges o'erflown: Subdued, undone, they did at last obey, And change their own for their invader's I grant that, from fome moffy idol oak, In double rhymes our Thor and Woden fpoke; And by fucceffion of unlearned times,

way.

As bards began, fo monks rung on the chimes.

But now that Phoebus and the facred Nine With all their beams on our bleft ifland fhine, Why should not we their ancient rights reftore, And be what Rome or Athens were before?

6%

Have you forgot how Raphael's numerous profe Led our exalted fouls thro' heavenly camps, And mark'd the ground where proud apoftate

6

' thrones

Defied Jehovah! here, 'twixt hoft and host,

6

(A narrow, but a dreadful interval) Portentous fight! before the cloudy van Satan with vaft and haughty ftrides advanc'd, Came tow'ring arm'd in adamant and gold.

"

There bellowing engines, with their fiery tubes,
Difpers'd ethereal forms, and down they fell
By thousands, angels on archangels roll'd;
Recover'd, to the hills they ran, they flew,
Which (with their ponderous load, rocks,
'waters, woods),

• From their firm feats torn by the fhaggy tops,

(

6

'Till more incens'd they hurl'd them at their foes. All was confufion, heaven's foundation fhook, Threat'ning no lefs than univerfal wreck;

For Michael's arm main promontories flung,

They bore like fhields before them through the 'air,

And over-prefs'd whole legions weak with fin

"

Yet they blafphem'd and ftruggled as they lay,

Till the great enfign of Mefliah blaz'd,

And (arm'd with vengeance) God's victorious (Effulgence of paternal deity 1) [Son Grafping ten thoufand thunders in his hand, 'Drove th' old original rebels headlong down, And fent them flaming to the vaft abyss.' O may I live to hail the glorious day, And fing loud peans through the crowded way, When in triumphant ftate the British Mufe, True to herself, fhall barbarous aid refuse,

And