Hark! they whifper: Angels fay,
Sifter Spirit, come away.
What is this absorbs me quite?
Steals my fenfes, fhuts my fight,
Drowns my fpirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my Soul, can this be Death?
III.

The world recedes; it disappears!
Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears
With found feraphic ring:

Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! 0 Grave! where is thy Vi&ory?

O Death! where is thy Sting?

ICISM. 'Tis hard to fay, if greater want of fill

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Appear in writing or in judging ill; But of the two, lefs dangerous is th' offence To tire our patience, than mislead our sense. Some few in that, but numbers err in this, Ten cenfure wrong or one who writes aniifs; A fool might once himself alone expose, Now one in verfe makes many more in profe." 'Tis with our judgments as our watches; none Go juft alike, yet each believes his own. In Poets as true genius is but rare, Trus tafte as feldom is the Critic's share; Both muft alike from Heaven derive their light, Thefe born to judge, as well as thofe to write.

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In fearch of wit thefe lofe 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 cunuch's ipite.
All fools have it ll an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing fide.
If Mævius fcribble in Apollo's fpight,
There are who judge full worfe than he can write.
Some have at rft for Wits, then Poets paft;
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain fools at iaft.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pafs,
As heavy mules are neither horfe nor afs.
Thofe 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 fo equivocal:

40

To tell them would a hundred tongues require,
Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire. 45
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, tafte, and learning, go;
Launch not beyond your depth, but be difcreet,
And mark that point where fenfe and dulinets

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Nature to all things fix'd the limits fit, And wifely curb'd proud man's pretending wit: As on the land while here the ocean gains, In other parts it leaves wide fandy plains; Thus in the foul while memory prevails, The folid power of understanding fails; Where beams of warm imagination play, The memory's foft figures melt away, One fcience only will one genius fit; So vaft is art, io Larrow human wit: Not only bounded to peculiar arts, But oft in thofe confi'd to fingle parts. Like Kings, we lofe the conquefts gain'd before, By vain ambition fill to make them more: Each might his feveral province well command, Would all but ftcop to what they undertand,

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First follow Nature; and your judgment frame By her just standard, which is till the ame: Unerring NATURE, fill divinely bright, One clear, unchang'd, and univerfal light, Life, force, and beauty, must to all in part, At once the fource, and e; d, and teft of Art. Art from that fund each just fupply provides; Works without fhow, and without poi ride

110

So modern 'Pothecaries, taught the art
By Doctors' bills to play the Doctor's part,
Bold in the practice of mistaken rules,
Preferibe, apply, and call their mafters fools.
Some on the leaves of ancient authors prey,
Nor time nor moths e'er spoil'd fo much as they:
Some drily plain, without invention's aid,
Write dull receipts how poems may be made. 115
Thefe leave the fenfe, their learning to display,
And thofe explain the meaning quite away.

You then whofe judgment the right courfe would fteer,

120

Know well each ANCIENT's proper character:
His Fable, Subje&, fcope in every page;
Religion, Country, genius of his Age:
Without all thefe at once before your eyes,
Cavil you may, but never criticize.
Be Homer's works your ftudy and delight,
Read them by day, and meditate by night; 135
Thence form your judgment, thence your maxims
bring,

And trace the Mufes upward to their fpring;
Still with itfelt compar'd, his text perufe:
And let your cominent be the Mantuan Mufe.
When firft young Maro, in his boundless mind
A work outlaft inmortal Rome defign'd, 131
Perhaps he feen'd above the Critic's law,
And but from Nature': fountains fcorn'd to draw:

But when t'examine every part he came,
Nature and Homer were, he found, the fame. 135
Convinc'd, amaz'd, he checks the bold defign;
And rules as strict his labour'd work confine,
As if the Stagirite o'erlock'd each line.
Learn hence for ancient rules a just esteem;
To copy nature, is to copy them.

Some beauties yet no precepts can declare,
For there's a happiness as well as care.
Mufic refembles Poetry; in each

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Are nameless graces which no methods teach,
And which a matter-hand alone can reach. 145)
If, where the rules not far enough extend,
(Since rules were made but to promote their end)
Some lucky Licenfe anfwer to the full
Th' intent propos'd, that Licenfe is a rule.
Thus Pegasus, a nearer way to take,
May boldly deviate from the common track;
From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part,
And fnatch a grace beyond the reach of art.
Which, without paffing through the judgment,
The heart, and all its end at once attains.
gains
In profpects thus, fome objects please our eyes,
Which out of nature's common order rife,

155

The fhapeless rock, or hanging precipice.
Great Wits fometimes may gloriously offend,
And rife to faults true Critics dare not mend. 160

But though the Ancients thus their rules invade (As Kings difpenfe with laws themselves have made);

165

Moderns, beware! or, if you must offend
Let it be feldom, and compell'd by need;
Against the precept, ne'er transgress its end :
And have, at leaft, their precedent to plead.
The Critic elfe proceeds without remorse,
Seizes your fame, and puts his laws in force.
I know there are, to whofe prefumptuous
thoughts

169
Those freer beauties, ev'n in them, feem faults.
Some figures monftrous and mif-shaped appear,
Which, but proportion'd to their light, or place,
Confider'd fingly, or beheld too near,
Duc diftance reconciles to form and grace.
A prudent chief not always muft difplay
His powers in equal ranks, in fair array,
But with th' occafion and the place comply,
Conceal his force, nay fometimes feem to fly.
Thofe oft are ftratagems which error feem,
Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream.

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Still green with bays each ancient Altar ftands, Above the reach of facrilegious hands; Secure from Flames, from Envy's fiercer rage, Deftru&tive War, and all-involving Age. See from each clime the learn'd their incenfe bring! 185

Hear, in all tongues confenting Peans ring!
In praise fo juft let every voice be join'd.
And fill the general chorus of mankind.
Hail, bards triumphant! born in happier days;
Immortal heirs of univerfal praise !
Whofe honours with increafe of ages grow
As fireams roll down, enlarging as they flow;
Nations unborn your mighty name fhall found,
And worlds applaud that must not yet be found!

190

O may fome fpark of your celeftial fire,

195

The laft, the meaneft of your fons infpire,
(That, on weak wings, from far purfues your
flights:

Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes)
To teach vain wits a fcience little known, 199
T'admire fuperior sense, and doubt their own:
Of all the caufes which confpire to blind
Man's erring judgment, and nifguide the mind,
What the weak head with ftrongest bias rules,
IS PRIDE, the never-failing vice of fools.
Whatever Nature has in worth deny'd,
She gives in large recruits of needful Pride!
For as in bodies, thus in fouls, we find
What wants in blood and fpirits, fwell'd with
wind:

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Pride, where Wit fails, fteps in to our defence,
And fills up all the mighty void of sense.
If once right reafon drives that cloud away,
Truth breaks upon us with refiftless day.
Truft not yourself: but, your defects to know,
Make ufe of every friend-and every foe.
A little learning is a dangerous thing!
Drink deep, or tafte not the Pierian fpring:
There fhallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
And drinking largely fobers us again.
Fir'd at first fight with what the Mufe imparts,
In fearless youth we tempt the heights of Arts,
While, from the bounded level of our mind,
Short views we take, nor fee the lengths behind;
But more advanc'd, behold with ftrange furprize
New diftant fcenes of endless science rife!

So pleas'd at firft the towering Alps we try, 225
Mount o'er the vales, and feem to tread the sky;
Th' eterna! fnows appear already past,

And the firft clouds and mountains feem the laft:
But, thofe attain'd, we tremble to furvey
The growing labours of the lengthen'd way: 230
Th' increafing profpect tires our wandering eyes,
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arife!

A perfect judge will read each Work of Wit
With the fame fpirit that its author writ:
Survey the WHOLE, nor feek fight faults to

find

235

Whoever thinks a faultlefs piece to fee,
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er fhall be.
In every work regard the writer's end,
255
Since none can compafs more than they intend;
And if the means be juft, the condu& true,
Applaufe, in fpite of trivial faults, is due.
As men of breeding, fometimes men of wit,
T' avoid great errors must the lefs commit: 260
Neglect the rules each verbal Critic lays,
For not to know fome trifles, is a praife.
Moft Critics, fond of fome fubfervient art,
Still make the Whole depend upon a Part:
They talk of principles, but notions prize, 265
And all to one lov'd folly facrifce.

Once on a time, La Mancha's Knight, they fay,
A certain Bard encountering on the way,
Difcours'd in terms as juft, with looks as fage,
As e'er could Dennis, of the Grecian stage; 270
Concluding all were defperate fots and fools,
Who durft depart from Aristotle's rules.
Our Author, happy in a judge so nice,
Produc'd his play, and begg'd the Knight's ad-
vice:

Made him obferve the fubje&t, and the plot, 275
The manners, paffions, unities; what not?
All which, exact to rule, were brought about,
Were but a combat in the lifts left out.
"What! leave the combat out?" exclaims the
Knight.

280.

Yes, or we must renounce the Stagirite. "Not fo by heaven (he anfwers in a rage! "Knights, fquires, and feeds, muft enter on the ftage."

So vaft a throng the ftage can e'er contain. "Then build a new, or act it in a plain."

286

Thus Critics, of lefs judgment than caprice, Curious, not knowing, not exact but nice, Form fort ideas; and offend in arts (As most in manners) by a love to parts.

Some to Conceit alone their tafte confine, And glittering thoughts ftruck out at every line; Pleas'd with a work where nothing's juft or fit; One glaring Chaos and wild heap of wit. Poets like painters, thus unkill'd to trace The naked nature, and the living grace, With gold and jewels cover every 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;

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Something, whofe truth convinc'd at fight we

find,

That gives us back the image of our mind. 300
As fhades more fweetly recommend the light,
So modeft plainnefs fets off fprightly wit;
For works may have more wit than does them
good,

As bodies perifh through excefs of blood.

Others for Language all their care exprefs, 305 And value books, as women men, for drefs: Their praife is ftill-the style is excellent : The fenfe, they humbly take upon content. Words are like leaves; and where they most abound,

Much fruit of fenfe bencath is rarely found. 310