parts, and not by the whole, ver. 233 to 288.
tics in Wit, Language, Versification, only, 288, 305,
339, &c. 4. Being too hard to please, or too apt
to admire, ver. 384. 5. Partiality-too much love
to a Sect, to the Ancients or Moderns, ver. 394.
6. Prejudice or Prevention, ver. 408. 7. Singularity,
ver. 424. 8. Inconstancy, ver. 430. 9. Party Spi-
rit, ver. 452, &c. 10. Envy, ver. 466. Against
Envy, and in praise of Good-nature, ver. 508, &c.
When Severity is chiefly to be used by Critics, ver.
526, &c.
PART III. Ver. 560, &c.
Rules for the Conduct of Manners in a Critic. 1. Can-
dour, ver. 563. Modesty, ver. 566. Good-breed-
ing, ver. 572. Sincerity and Freedom of Advice,
ver. 578. 2. When one's Counsel is to be restrained,
ver. 584. Character of an incorrigible Poet, ver.
600. And of an impertinent Critic, ver. 610, &c.
Character of a good Critic, ver. 629. The History
of Criticism, and Characters of the best Critics:
Ariftotle, ver. 645. Horace, ver. 653. Dionyfius,
ver. 665. Petronius, ver. 667. Quintilian, ver.
670. Longinus, ver. 675. Of the Decay of Criti-
cism, and its Revival. Erafimus, ver. 693. Vida,
ver. 705. Boileau, ver. 714. Lord Rofcommon,
- &c. ver. 725. Conclufion.
IS hard to say, if greater want of skill Appear in writing or in judging ill; But of the two, less dangerous is th' offence To tire our patience, than mislead our sense, Some few in that, but numbers err in this, Ten cenfure wrong for one who writes amiss ;
A fool might once himself alone expose,
Now one in verse makes many more in profe.
'Tis with our judgments as our watches; none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In Poets as true genius is but rare,
True taste as seldom is the Critic's share,
Both must alike from Heaven derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who themselves excel,
And censure freely who have written well.
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not Critics to their judgment too?
Yet, if we look more closely, we shall find
Most have the feeds of judgment in their mind :
Nature affords at least a glimmering light;
The lines, though touch'd but faintly, are drawn right.
But as the flightest sketch, if justly trac'd,
Is by ill-colouring but the more difgrac'd,
So by false learning is good sense defac'd:
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And fome made coxcombs Nature meant but fools.
In search of wit these lose their common fenfe,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can, or cannot write,
Or with a rival's, or an eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing fide.
If Mævius fcribble in Apollo's spight,
There are who judge still worse than he can write.
Some have at first for Wits, then Poets past,
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain fools at last.
Between ver. 25 and 26 were these lines, since omitted by the Author:
Many are spoil'd by that pedantic throng,
Who with great pains teach youth to reason wrong.
Tutors, like Virtuofos, oft inclin'd
By strange transfusion to improve the mind,
Draw off the sense we have, to pour in new;
Which yet, with all their skill, they ne'er could do.
Ver. 30, 31. In the first edition thus:
Those hate as rivals all that write; and others
But envy wits, as eunuchs envy lovers.
Ver. 32. "All fools," in the first edition: "All fuch" in edition 1717; since restored.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horse nor afs.
Those half-learn'd witlings, numerous in our ifle,
As half-form'd infects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,
Their generation 's so equivocal :
To tell them, would a hundred tongues require,
Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire.
But you, who feek to give and merit fame,
And justly bear a Critic's noble name,
Be fure yourself and your own reach to know,
How far your genius, taste, and learning, go;
Launch not beyond your depth, but be difcreet,
And mark that point where sense and dulness meet.
Nature to all things fix'd the limits fit,
And wisely curb'd proud man's pretending wit,
As on the land while here the ocean gains,
In other parts it leaves wide sandy plains;
Thus in the foul while memory prevails,
The folid power of understanding fails;
Where beams of warm imagination play,
The memory's soft figures melt away.
One science only will one genius fit;
So vast is art, so narrow human wit:
Not only bounded to peculiar arts,
But oft' in those confin'd to single parts.
Like Kings, we lose the conquests gain'd before,
By vain ambition still to make them more:
Ver. 63. Ed. 1. But ev'n in those, &c.
Each might his several province well command,
Would all but stoop to what they understand.
First follow Nature, and your judgment frame
By her just standard, which is still the same :
Unerring NATURE, still divinely bright,
One clear, unchang'd, and universal light,
Life, force, and beauty, must to all impart,
At once the source, and end, and test of Art.
Art from that fund each just supply provides;
Works without show, and without pomp prefides: 75
In some fair body thus th' informing foul
With spirits feeds, with vigour fills the whole,
Each motion guides, and every nerve sustains
Itself unseen, but in th' effects remains.
Some, to whom Heaven in wit has been profuse,
Want as much more, to turn it to its use;
For wit and judgment often are at strife,
Though meant each other's aid, like man and wife. 'Tis more to guide, than spur the Muse's steed;
Restrain his fury, than provoke his speed:
The winged courser, like a generous horse,
Shows most true mettle when you check his course.
Those RULES of old discover'd, not devis'd,
Are Nature still, but Nature methodis'd:
That art is best, which most resembles her;
Which still prefides, yet never does appear.
Ver. 76. the secret foul.
There are whom Heaven has blest with store of wit, Yet want as much again to manage it.
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