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The fate, of which their mafter does complain,
Is of bad omen to th' inspired train.

What vows have fail'd? Hark how Catullus mourns,
How Ovid weeps, and flighted Gallus burns;
In melting strains fee gentle Waller bleed,
Unmov'd fhe heard, what none unmov'd can read.
And thou, who oft with such ambitious choice,
Haft rais'd to Myra thy aspiring voice,
What profit thy neglected zeal repays?
Ah what return? Ungrateful to thy praise ?

Change, change thy style, with mortal rage return
Unjuft difdain, and pride oppofe to scorn;
Search all the fecrets of the fair and young,

And then proclaim, foon fhall they bribe thy tongue;
The sharp detractor with success affails,
Sure to be gentle to the man that rails;
Women, like cowards, tame to the fevere,
Are only fierce when they difcover fear.

Thus fpake the God; and upward mounts in air,
In just refentment of his paft despair.
Provok'd to vengeance, to my aid I call
The furies round, and dip my pen in gall:
Not one fhall 'scape of all the cozening sex,
Vex'd fhall they be, who fo delight to vex.
In vain I try, in vain to vengeance move
My gentle mufe, fo us'd to tender love;
Such magic rules my heart, whate'er ! write
Turns all to foft complaint, and amorous flight.
Begone, fond thoughts, begone, be bold, faid I,
Satire 's thy theme-in vain again I try,
So charming Myra to each fenfe appears,
My foul adores, my rage diffolves in tears.

So the gall'd lion, fmarting with his wound, Threatens his foes and makes the forest found, With his ftrong teeth he bites the bloody dart, And tears his fide with more provoking (mart, Till having spent his voice in fruitless cries,

He lays him down, breaks his proud heart, and dies.

HE

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ERE end my chains, and thraldom ceafe, If not in joy, I'll live at leaft in peace; Since for the pleasures of an hour,

We must endure an age of pain,
I'll be this abject thing no more,

Love, give me back my heart again.
Defpair tormented first my breast,
Now falfehood, a more cruel guest;
O! for the peace of human kind;
Make women longer true, or fooner kind;
With juftice, or with mercy reign,
O Love! or give me back my heart again.

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(1) But Poetry in fiction takes delight,

"And mounting in bold figures out of fight, "Leaves Truth behind, in her audacious flight: "Fables and metaphors, that always lie, "And rafh hyperboles that foar fo high, "And every ornament of verfe muft die. Miftake me not: no figures I exclude, And but forbid intemperance, not food. Who would with care fome happy fiction frame, So mimicks truth, it looks the very fame; Not rais'd to force, or feign'd in nature's fcorn, But meant to grace, illuftrate, and adorn. Important truths ftill let your fables hold, And moral myfteries with art unfold. Ladies and beaux to pleafe, is all the task, But the fharp critic will inftruction ask.

(2) As veils tranfparent cover, but not hide, Such metaphors appear when right apply'd; When thro' the phrafe we plainly fee the fenfe, Truth, where the meaning's obvious, will difpenfe; The reader what in reafon's due, believes, Nor can we call that falfe, which not deceives.

(3) Hyperboles, fo daring and fo bold,
Difdaining bounds, are yet by rules control'd;
Above the clouds, but ftill within our fight,
They mount with truth, and make a tow'ring flight,
Prefenting things impoffible to view,
They wander thro' incredible to true :
Falfehoods thus mix'd, like metals are refin'd,
And truth, like filver, leaves the drofs behind.

Thus Poetry has ample space to foar,
Nor needs forbidden regions to explore:
Such vaunts as his, who can with patience read,
Who thus defcribes his hero flain and dead:
(4)" Kill'd as he was, infenfible of death,

*

"He ftill fights on, and fcorns to yield his breath."
The noify Culverin o'ercharg'd, lets fly,
And burft unaiming in the rended fky:
Such frantic flights are like a madman's dream,
And nature fuffers in the wild extreme.

The captive Cannibal weigh'd down with chains,
Yet braves his foes, reviles, provokes, difdains,
Of nature fierce, untameable, and proud,
He grins defiance at the gaping crowd,
And spent at laft, and fpeechlefs as he lies,

With looks ftill threatning, mocks their rage and dies,
This is the utmoft ftretch that Nature can,
And all beyond, is fulfome, falfe, and vain.

Beauty's the theme; fome nymph divinely fair
Excites the Mufe: let truth be even there :
As painters flatter, fo may poets too,
But to refemblance muft be ever true.

(5) "The day that she was born, the Cyprian Queen
"Had like t' have dy'd thro' envy and thro' fpleen;
"The Graces in a hurry left the skies
"To have the honor to attend her eyes;
"And love, defpairing in her heart a place,
"Would needs take up his lodging in her face."
Tho' wrote by great Corneille, fuch lines as thefe,
Such civil nonfenfe fure could never please.
Waller, the beft of all th' infpir'd train,
To melt the fair, inftructs the dying fwain.

* Ariofto.

† Corneille.

(6) The Roman wit, who impiously divides
His hero, and his gods to diff'rent fides,
I would condemn, but that in fpite of fenfe
Th' admiring world ftill ftands in his defence.
How oft, alas! the best of men in vain
Contend for bleffings which the worst obtain!
The Gods, permitting traitors to fucceed,
Become not parties in an impious deed:
And by the tyrant's murder, we may find
That Cato and the Gods were of a mind.

Thus forcing truth with fuch prepoft'rous praife,
Our characters we leffen, when we'd raise :
Like caftles built by magic art in air,
'That vanish at approach, fuch thoughts appear;
But rais'd on truth, by fome judicious hand,

As on a rock they fhall for ages ftand.

(7) Our King + return'd, and banish'd peace reftor'd, The Mufe ran mad to fee her exil'd Lord; On the crack'd ftage the bedlam heroes roar'd, And fearce could fpeak one reasonable word; Dryden himself, to please a frantic age, Was forc'd to let his judgment ftoop to rage, To a wild audience he conform'd his voice, Comply'd to cuftom, but not err'd by choice: Deem then the people's, not the writer's fin, Almanfor's rage, and rants of Maximin ; That fury spent in each elaborate piece,

He vies for fame with ancient Rome and Greece.

Firft Mulgrave rofe, Rofcommon next, like light, To clear our darknefs, and to guide our flight; With fteady judgment, and in lofty founds, They gave us patterns, and they fet us bounds; The Stagirite and Horace laid afide, Inform'd by them, we need no foreign guide: Who feek from poetry a lafting name, May in their leffons learn the road to fame : But let the bold adventurer be fure That every line the teft of truth endure; On this foundation may the fabric rife, Firm and unshaken, till it touch the skies.

From pulpits banish'd, from the court, from love, Forfaken Truth feeks fhelter in the grove; Cherish, ye Mufes! the neglected fair,

And take into your train th' abandon'd wanderer.

EXPLANATORY ANNOTATIONS

ON THE
FOREGOING POEM.

HE Poetic world is nothing but fiction; Par

(1) TH naffus, Pegafus, and the Mufes, pure ima

gination and chimera: but being however a fyftem univerfally agreed on, all that has or may be contrived or invented upon this foundation, according to nature, fhall be reputed as truth; but what foever fhall diminifh from, or exceed the juft proportions of nature, fhall be rejected as falfe, and pafs for extravagance ; as dwarfs and giants, for monfters.

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(2) When Homer, mentioning Achilles, terms him a lion, this is a metaphor, and the meaning is obvious and true, though the literal fenfe be falfe, the poet intending thereby to give his reader fome idea of the ftrength and fortitude of his hero. Had he faid, that wolf, or that bear, this had been falfe, by prefenting an image not conformable to the nature and character of a hero, &c.

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thought by any derogatory quotation to take from the merit of a writer whofe reputation is fo univerfally and fo justly established in all nations; but as I faid before, I rather choose, where any failings are to be found, to correct my own countrymen by foreign examples, than to provoke them by inftances drawn from their own writings. Humanum eft errare. I cannot forbear one quotation more from another celebrated (3) Hyperboles are of divers forts, and the manner French author. It is an epigram upon a monument of introducing them is different: fome are as it were for Francis I. King of France, by way of question naturalized and established by a customary way of exand answer, which in English is verbatim thus: preffion; as when we say, fuch a one's as fwift as the Under this marble, who lies buried here? wind, whiter than fnow, or the like. Homer fpeak- Francis the Great, a king beyond compare. ing of Nereus, calls him beauty itself. Martial of Why has fo great a king fo fmall a stone? Zoilus, Lewdness itself. Such hyperboles lye indeed, Of that great king here 's but the heart alone. but deceive us not; and therefore Seneca terms them Then of this conqueror here lies but part? lyes that readily conduct our imagination to truths, No-here he lies all-for he was all heart. and have an intelligible fignification, though the exThe author was a Gafcon, to whom I can properly preffion be strained beyond credibility. Custom has oppofe nobody fo well as a Welchman, for which likewise familiarized another way for hyperboles, for purpofe I am farther furnished from the forementioned example, by irony; as when we fay of fome infamous collection of Oxford Verfes, with an epigram by woman, the's a civil perfon, where the meaning is to be taken quite oppofite to the latter. Thefe few fi-member to have heard often repeated to me when I Martin Lluellin upon the fame fubject, which I regures are mentioned only for example fake; it will be understood that all others are to be used with the like

care and discretion.

(4) I needed not to have travelled fo far for an extravagant flight; I remember one of British growth of the like nature:

See thofe dead bodies hence convey'd with care, Life may perhaps return-with change of air. But I choose rather to correct gently, by foreign examples, hoping that fuch as are confcious of the like exceffes will take the hint, and fecretly reprove themfelves. It may be poffible for fome tempers to maintain rage and indignation to the laft gasp; but the foul and body once parted, there must neceffarily be a determination of action.

Quodcunque oftendis mihi fic incredulus odi.

I cannot forbear quoting on this occafion, as an example for the prefent purpofe, two noble lines of Jafper Main's, in the collection of the Oxford Verfes printed in the year 1643, upon the death of my grandfather Sir Bevil Granville, flain in the heat of action at the battle of Landfdowne. The poct, after having defcribed the fight, the foldiers animated by the example of their leader, and enraged at his death,

thus concludes:

Thus he being flain, his action fought anew,
And the dead conquer'd, whilft the living flew.
This is agreeable to truth, and within the compafs
of nature: it is thus only that the dead can act.
(5) Le jour qu'elle nâquit, Venus bien qu'immortelle,
Penfa mourir de honte, en la voyant fi belle,
Les graces à l'envi defcendirent des cieux
Pour avoir l'honeur d'accompagner ses yeux,
Et l'amour, qui ne pût entrer dans fon courage,
Voulut obftinement loger fur fon visage.

This is a lover's defcription of his miftrefs, by the
great Corneille; civil to be fure, and polite as any
thing can be. Let any body turn over Waller, and
he will fee how much more naturally and delicately
the English author treats the article of love, than this
celebrated Frenchman. I would not, however, be

was a boy. Befides, from whence can we draw better examples than from the very feat and nursery of the

Mufes ?

Thus flain, thy valiant ancestor did lie, When his one bark a navy did defy; When now encompass'd round, he victor stood, And bath'd his pinnace in his conquering blood, Till all the purple current dry'd and spent, He fell, and made the waves his monument. Where shall the next fam'd Granville's afhes ftand? Thy grandfire's fill the fea, and thine the land. I cannot fay the two laft lines, in which confifts the fting or point of the epigram, are ftrictly conformable to the rule herein fet down: the word ahes, metaphorically, can fignify nothing but fame; which is mere found, and can fill no fpace either of land or fea: The Welchman, however, must be allowed to have out-done the Gafcon. The fallacy of the French

epigram appears at firft fight; but the English strikes the fancy, fufpends and dazzles the judgment, and may perhaps be allowed to país under the shelter of thofe daring hyperboles, which by prefenting an obvious meaning, make their way, according to Seneca, through the incredible to true.

(6) Victrix causa Deis placuit, fed victa Catoni. The confent of fo many ages having established the reputation of this line, it may perhaps be prefumption to attack it; but it is not to be fuppofed that

Cato, who is defcribed to have been a man of rigid morals and strict devotion, more resembling the Gods than men, would have chofen any party in oppofition to those Gods, whom he profeffed to adore. The poet would give us to understand, that his hero was too righteous a perfon to accompany the Divinities themselves in an unjuft caufe; but to reprefent a mortal man to be either wifer or juster than the Deity, may fhew the impiety of the writer, but add nothing

* Sir Richard Granville, Vice-Admiral of England, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, maintained a fight with his fingle fhip against the whole Armada of Spain, confifting of fifty-three of their beft men of war,

to the merit of the hero; neither reafon nor religion will allow it, and it is impoffible for a corrupt being to be more excellent than a divine: Succefs implies permiffion, and not approbation; to place the Gods always on the thriving fide, is to make them partakers of all fuccefsful wickednefs: To judge right, we muft wait for the conclufion of the action; the catastrophe will best decide on which fide is Providence, and the violent death of Cæfar acquits the Gods from being companions of his ufurpation.

Lucan was a determined republican; no wonder he was a free-thinker.

(7) Mr. Dryden, in one of his prologues, has thefe two lines:

He's bound to please, not to write well, and knows There is a mode in plays, as well as clothes. From whence it is plain where he has expofed himfelf to the critics; he was forced to follow the fashion to humour an audience, and not to please himfself. A hard facrifice to make for prefent fubfiftence, efpecially for fuch as would have their writings live as well as themselves. Nor can the poet whofe labours are his daily bread, be delivered from this cruel neceffity, unless fome more certain encouragement can be provided than the bare uncertain profits of a third day, and the theatre be put under fome more impartial management than the jurifdiction of players. write to live, muft unavoidably comply with their tafte by whofe approbation they fubfift; fome generous Prince, or Prime Minifter like Richlieu, can only find a remedy. In his Epiftle Dedicatory to the Spanish Friar, this incomparable poet thus cenfures himfelf:

Who

"I remember fome verfes of my own, Maximin << and Almanzor, which cry vengeance upon me for their extravagance, &c. All I can fay for those "paffages, which are I hope not many, is, that I "knew they were bad enough to pleafe, even when "I wrote them; but I repent of them among my "fins: And if any of their fellows intrude by

chance into my present writings, I draw a ftroke "over thofe Dalilahs of the theatre, and am refolved "I will fettle myself no reputation by the applaufe "of fools: 'Tis not that I am mortified to all ambi<tion, but I fcorn as much to take it from half-witted

judges, as I fhould to raise an eftate by cheating of "bubbles: Neither do I difcommend the lofty style "in Tragedy, which is pompous and magnificent; "but nothing is truly fublime, that is not just and "" proper."

This may ftand as an unanfwerable apology for Mr. Dryden, against his critics; and likewife for an unquestionable authority to confirm thofe principles which the foregoing Poem pretends to lay down, for nothing can be just and proper but what is built upon truth.

DEFINITION OF LOVE.

LOVE is begot by fancy, bred
By ignorance, by expectation fed,
Deftroy'd by knowledge, and at best,
Loft in the moment 'tis poffefs'd.

WOMEN.

WOMEN to cards may be compar'd; we play
A round or two, when us'd we throw away,
Take a fresh pack; nor is it worth our grieving,
Who cuts or fhuffles with our dirty leaving.

Sent to CLARINDA with a Novel, intitled,
LES MALHEURS DE L'AMOUR.
HASTE to Clarinda, and reveal
Whatever pains poor lovers feel;
When that is done, then tell the fair
That I endure much more for her :
Who'd truly know love's pow'r or smart,
Muft view her eyes, and read my heart.
WRITTEN IN HER PRAYER-BOOK.
IN vain, Clarinda, night and day
For pity to the gods you pray;
What arrogance on heav'n to call
For that which you deny to all!
SONG

TO THE SAME.

IN vain a thousand flaves have try'd To overcome Clarinda's pride: Pity pleading,

Love perfuading, When her icy heart is thaw'd, Honour chides, and straight she's aw'd. Foolish creature,

Follow nature,

Wafte not thus your prime ;

Youth's a treafure,
Love's a pleasure,
Both deftroy'd by time.

ON THE SAME.

Clarinda, with a haughty grace,
In fcornful poftures fets her face,
And looks as fhe were born alone
To give us love, and take from none.
Tho' I adore to that degree,
Clarinda, I would die for thee,
If you're too proud to eafe my pain,
I am too proud for disdain.
your

HER NAME. Whofe eyes have kindled fuch a flame; GUESS, and I'll frankly own her name The Spartan or the Cyprian Queen

Had ne'er been fung, had the been seen.
Who fet the very gods at war,
Were but faint images of her.

EPIGRAMS AND CHARACTERS, &c. Believe me, for by Heav'ns 'tis true!

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The Sun in all his ample view
Sees nothing half fo fair or bright,
Not even his own reflected light.

So fweet a face! fuch graceful mien !

Who can this be?--'Tis HOWARD--or BALLENDEN.

THE

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C

CLEO R A.

LEORA has her wifh, the weds a peer,

Her weighty train two pages fcarce can bear;
Perfia, and both the Indies must provide,
To grace her pomp, and gratify her pride;
Of rich brocade a fhining robe the wears,
And gems furround her lovely neck, like ftars;
Drawn by fix greys, of the proud Belgian kind,
With a long train of livery beaux behind,
She charms the park, and fets all hearts on fire,
The lady's envy, and the mens defire.
Beholding thus, O happy as a queen!
We cry but shift the gaudy flattering scene;
View her at home, in her domeftic light;
For thither the must come, at least at night;
What has the there? A furly ill-bred lord,
Who chides, and fnaps her up at every word;
A brutal fot, who while fhe holds his head,
With drunken filth bedawbs the nuptial bed;
Sick to the heart, fhe breathes the naufeous fume
Of odious fteams, that poifon all the room;
Weeping all night the trembling creature lies,
And counts the tedious hours when she may rise :
But moft the fears, left waking she should find,
To make amends, the monster would be kind;
Thofe matchlefs beauties, worthy of a god,
Muft bear, tho' much averfe, the loathfome load:
What then may be the chance that next enfues?
Some vile disease, fresh reeking from the stews;
The fecret venom circling in her veins,

Works thro' her skin, and bursts in bloating ftains;
Her cheeks their freshnefs lofe, and wonted grace,
And an unusual paleness fpreads her face;
Her eyes grow dim, and her corrupted breath
Tainting her gums, infects her iv'ry teeth!
Of sharp nocturnal anguish the complains,

And, guiltless of the caufe, relates her pains.

The confcious husband, whom like fymptoms feize,
Charges on her the guilt of their disease;
Affecting fury, acts a madman's part,
He'll rip the fatal fecret from her heart;

Bids her confefs, calls her ten thousand names;

In vain the kneels, the weeps, protefts, exclaims;
Scarce with her life the 'fcapes, expos'd to fhame,
In body tortur'd, murder'd in her fame,

Rots with a vile adulterefs's name.
Abandon'd by her friends, without defence,
And happy only in her innocence.

Such is the vengeance the juft Gods provide
For those who barter liberty for pride,
Who impiously invoke the powers above
To witnefs to falfe vows of mutual love.
Thousands of poor Cleora's may be found,
Such husbands, and fuch wretched wives abound.

Ye guardian Powers! the arbiters of bliss,
Preferve Clarinda from a fate like this;
You form'd her fair, not any grace deny'd,
But gave, alas! a spark too much of pride,

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