putation of fo many dull and immoral things as, partly by malice, and partly by ignorance, have been afcribed to me. I muft further acquit myself of the prefumption of having lent my name to recommend any mifcellanies or works of other men; a thing I never thought becoming a perfon who has hardly credit enough to anfwer for his own. In this office of collecting my Pieces, I am altogether uncertain whether to look upon myfelf as a man building a monument, or burying the dead. If time thall make it the former, may thefe poems, as long as they laft, remain as a teftimony that their Author never made his talents fubfervient to the mean and unworthy ends of party or self-intereft; the gratification of public prejudices or private patiions; the flattery of the undeferving, or the infult of the unfortunate. If I have written well, let it be confidered that it is what no man can do without good fente, a quality that not only renders one capable of being a good writer, but a good man. And if I have made any acquifition in the opinion of any one under the notion of the former, let it be continued to me under no other title than that of the latter. But if this Publication be only a more folemn funeral of my remains, I defire it may be known that I die in charity, and in my fenfes; without any murmurs against the justice of this age, or any mad appeals to pofterity. I declare I fhall think the world in the right, and quietly fubmit to every truth which time fhall difcover to the prejudice of these Writings; not fo much as wishing fo irrational a thing as that every body should be deceived merely for my credit. However, I defire it may then be confidered, that there are very few things in this Collection which were not written under the age of five-and-twenty; fo that my youth may be made (as it never fails to be in executions) a cafe of compaffion; that I never was fo concerned about my Works as to vindicate them in print, believing, if any thing was good, it would defend itfelf, and what was bad could never be defended; that I used no artifice to raise or continue a reputation, depreciated no dead author I was obliged to, bribed no living one with unjust praise, infulted no adversary with ill language; or, when I could not attack a rival's works, encouraged reports against his morals. To conclude, if this volume perish, let it ferve as a warning to the critics not to take too much pains for the future to destroy such things as will die of themfelves; and a memento mori to fome of my vain contemporaries the poets, to teach them that, when real merit is wanting, it avails nothing to have been encouraged by the great, commended by the eminent, and favoured by the public in general. Nov. 10, 1716.. Variations in the Author's Manufcript Preface. AFTER page 48. 1. 21. it followed thus-For my part, I confefs, had I feen things in this view at first, the public had never been troubled either with my writings, or with this apology for them. I am fenfible how difficult it is to fpeak of one's felf with decency; but when a man muft fpeak of himtelf, the best way is to speak truth of himself, or he may depend upon it, others will do it for him. I'll therefore make this Preface a general confeffion of all my thoughts of my own poetry, refolving with the fame freedom to expofe myself as it is in the power of any other to expole them. In the first place, I thank God and Nature that I was born with a love to poetry; for nothing more conduces to fill up all the intervals of our time, or, if rightly used, to make the whole courfe of life entertaining: Cantantes licet ufque (minus via ladet.) It is a valt happiness to poffeis the pleasures of the head, the only pleafures in which a man is fufficient to himself, and the only part of him which, to his fatisfaction, he can employ all day long. The Mufes are amica omnium horarum; and, like our gay acquaintance, the best company in the world as long long as one expects no real fervice from them. I confels there was a time when I was in love with myself, and my first productions were the children of Self-love upon Innocence. I had made an epic poem, and panegyrics on all the princes in Europe, and thought myfelf the greatest genius that ever was.. I can't but regret thofe delightful vifions of my childhood, which, like the fine colours we fee when our eyes are fhut, are vanifhed for ever. Many trials, and fad experience, have fo undeceived me by degrees, that I am utterly at a lofs at what rate to value myfelf. As for fame, I fhall be glad of any I can get, and not repine at any I mifs; and as for vanity, I have enough to keep me from hanging myself, or even from wifhing those hanged who would take it away. It was this that made me write. The fenie of my faults made me correct; befides that it was as pleasant to me to correct as to write. At p. 50. 1. 25. In the first place, I own that I have ufed my beft endeavours to the finishing these pieces; that I made what advantage I could of the judgment of authors dead and living; and that I omitted no means in my power to be informed of my errors by my friends and my enemies; and that I expect no favour on account of my youth, business, want of health, or any fuch idle excules. But the true reafon they are not yet more correct, is owing to the confideration how fhort a time they and I have to live. A man that can expect but fixty years, may be ashamed to employ thirty in measuring fyllables, and bringing fenfe and rhime together. We fpend our youth in purfuit of riches or fame, in hopes to enjoy them when we are old; and when we are old, we find it is too late to enjoy any thing. I therefore hope the wits will pardon me if I referve fome of my time to fave my foul; and that fome wife men will be of my opinion, even if I should think a part of it better spent in the enjoyments of life than in pleafing the critics. ON MR. POPE AND HIS POEMS, BY HIS GRACE JOHN SHEFFIELD, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. WITH age decay'd, with courts and bus'ness tir'd, Encomiums fuit not this cenforious time, Ignorance honour'd, wit and worth defam'd, And yet fo wonderful, fublime a thing, 'Tis great delight to laugh at fome mens' ways, But a much greater to give merit praife. TO MR. POPE, ON HIS PASTORALS. In thefe more dull, as more cenforious days, When few dare give, and fewer merit praise, A Mufe fincere, that never flatt'ry knew, Pays what to friendship and defert is due. Young, yet judicious; in your verfe are found Art itrength ning Nature, fenfe improv'd by found; Unlike thofe wits, whofe numbers glide along So fmooth, no thought e er interrupts the fong: Laboriously enervate they appear, And write not to the head, but to the ear: 5 10 15 20 5 IQ Our Our minds unmov'd and unconcern'd they lull, 15 20 } 25 Like fome fair fhepherdefs, the fylvan Muse Should wear thofe flow'rs her native fields produce; And the true meafure of the fhepherd's wit 30 Should, like his garb, be for the country fit: Yet muft his pure aud unaffected thought More nicely than the common fwain's be wrought. In filks the fhepherd, and the fhepherdefs; 35 Yet ftill unchang'd the form and mode remain, Shap'd like the homely ruffet of the fwain. 4.0 45 Live and enjoy their spite! nor mourn that fate Which would, if Virgil liv'd, on Virgil wait; Whofe Mufe did once, like thine, in plains delight: Thine fhall, like his, foon take a higher flight: So larks, which firft from lowly fields arife, Mount by degrees, and reach at laft the fkies. 50 W. Wycherley. |