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Contents of the First Volume,
A Difcourfe on Paftoral Poetry
MESSIAH, a Sacred Eclogue in Imitation of
The Dying Chriftian to his Soul, an Ode
Elegy to the Memory of an unfortunate Lady
Am inclined to think that both the writers of books, and the readers of them, are generally not a little unreasonable in their expectations. The first seem to fancy that the world must approve whatever they produce, and the latter to imagine that authors are obliged to please them at any rate. Methinks, as on the one hand, no fingle man is born with a right of controuling the opinions of all the reft; fo on the other, the world has no title to demand, that the whole care and time of any particular perfon fhould be facrificed to its entertainment. Therefore I cannot but believe that writers and readers are under equal obligations, for as much fame, or pleasure, as each affords the other.
Every one acknowledges, it would be a wild notion to expect perfection in any work of man: and yet one would think the contrary was taken for granted, by the judgment commonly past upon Poems. A Critic fuppofes he has done his part, if he proves a writer to have failed in an expreffion, or erred in any particular point: and can it then be wondered at, if the Poets in general seem refolved not to own themselves in any error? For
as long as one fide will make no allowances, the other will be brought to no acknowledgments".
I am afraid this extreme zeal on both fides is ill-placed; Poetry and Criticifm being by no means the univerfal concern of the world, but only the affair of idle men who write in their clofets, and of idle men who read there.
Yet fure upon the whole, a bad Author deferves better ufage than a bad Critic: for a Writer's endeavour, for the most part, is to please his Readers, and he fails merely through the misfortune of an ill judgment; but fuch a Critic's is to put them out of humour; a defign he could never go upon without both that and an ill temper.
I think a good deal may be faid to extenuate the fault of bad Poets. What we call a Genius, is hard to be diftinguished by a man himself, from a ftrong inclination: and if his genius be ever fo great, he cannot at firft difcover it any other way, than by giving way to that prevalent propensity which renders him the more liable to be mistaken. The only method he has, is to make the experiment by writing, and appealing to the judgment of others: now if he happens to write ill (which is certainly no fin in itself) he is immediately made
a In the former editions it was thus
For as long as one fide defpifes a well meant endeavour, the other will not be fatisfied with a moderate approbation. But the Author altered it, as these words were rather a confequence from the conclufion he would draw, than the conclufion itself, which he has now inferted.
an object of ridicule. I wish we had the humanity to reflect that even the worst authors might, in their endeavour to please us, deserve something at our hands. We have no caufe to quarrel with them but for their obftinacy in perfifting to write; and this too may admit of alleviating circumstances. Their particular friends may be either ignorant, or infincere; and the reft of the world in general is too well bred to fhock them with a truth, which generally their Bookfellers are the first that inform them of. This happens not till they have spent too much of their time, to apply to any profeffion which might better fit their talents; and till fuch talents as they have are so far discredited as to be but of small service to them. For (what is the hardest cafe imaginable) the reputation of a man generally depends upon the firft fteps he makes in the world; and people will establish their opinion of us, from what we do at that feafon when we have least judgment to direct us.
On the other hand, a good Poet no fooner communicates his works with the fame defire of information, but it is imagined he is a vain young creature given up to the ambition of fame; when perhaps the poor man is all the while trembling with the fear of being ridiculous. If he is made to hope he may please the world, he falls under very unlucky circumftances: for, ment he prints, he muft expect to hear no more truth, than if he were a Prince, or a Beauty. If
from the mo