Some neither can for wits nor critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horfe nor afs.
Those half-learn'd witlings, num'rous in our isle, 40
As half-form'd infects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,
Their generation's fo equivocal:
To tell them would an hundred tongues require,
Or one vain wit's, that might an hundred tire.
But you who seek 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 discreet,
And mark that point where enfe and dulness meet.
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 pow'r 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, fo narrow human wit:
Not only bounded to peculiar arts,
But oft in thofe confin'd to fingle parts.
Like kings we lofe the conquests gain'd before,
By vain ambition ftill to make them more:
Each might his fev'ral province well command,
Would all but ftoop to what they understand.
First follow Nature, and your judgment frame
By her just standard, which is still the fame :
Unerring Nature! itill divinely bright,
One clear, unchang'd, and universal light,
Life, force, and beauty, muft to all impart,
At once the fource, and end, and teft, of art.
Art from that fund each just supply provides,
Works without show, and without pomp prefides:
In fome fair body thus th' informing foul
With fpirits feeds, with vigour fills, the whole;
Each motion guides, and ev'ry nerve fuftains;
Itfelf unfeen, but in th' effects remains.
Some, to whom Heav'n in wit has been profuse,
Want as much more to turn it to its use;
For wit and judgment often are at ftrife,
Tho' meant each other's aid, like man and wife.
'Tis more to guide than spur the Mufe's steed,
Restrain his fury than provoke his speed:
The winged courfer, like a gen'rous horse,
Shows most true mettle when you check his course.
Thofe Rules of old, discover'd, not devis'd,
Are Nature ftill, but Nature methodiz'd:
Nature, like liberty, is but reftrain'd
By the fame laws which firft herself ordain'd.
Hear how learn'd Greece her ufeful rules indites,
When to reprefs and when indulge our flights:
High on Parnaffus' top her fons fhe show'd,
And pointed out thofe arduous paths they trod;
Held from afar, aloft, th' immortal prize,
And urg'd the reft by equal steps to rife.
Juft precepts thus from great examples giv'n,
She drew from them what they deriv'd from Heav'n :
The gen'rous critic fann'd the poet's fire,
And taught the world with reafon to admire.
Then Criticism the Mufe's handmaid prov'd,
To drefs her charms, and make her more belov'd;
But following wits from that intention stray'd;
Who could not win the miftreis woo'd the maid; 105
Against the poets their own arms they turn'd,
Sure to hate moft the men from whom they learn'd.
So modern 'pothecaries, taught the art
By doctors' bills to play the doctor's part,
Bold in the practice of mistaken rules,
Prefcribe, 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 dryly plain, without Invention's aid,
Write dull receipts how poems may be made;
Thefe leave the fenfe their learning to display,
And thofe explain the meaning quite away.
You then, whofe judgment the right courfe would Know well each Ancient's proper character; His fable, fubjects, fcope in ev'ry page; Religion, country, genius of his age: Without all these at once before your eyes, Cavil you may, but never criticife.
Be Homer's works your study and delight,
Read them by day, and meditate by night;
Thence form your judgment, thence your maxims
And trace the Mufes upward to their spring.
Still with itfelf compar'd his text peruse;
And let your comment be the Mantuan Mufe.
When firft young Maro in his boundless mind
A work t'outlaft immortal Rome defign'd,
Perhaps he feem'd above the critic's law,
And but from Nature's fountains fcorn'd to draw;
But when t' examine ev'ry part he came,
Nature and Homer were, he found, the fame.
Convinc'd, amaz'd, he checks the bold design,
And rules as ftrict his labour'd work confine
As if the Stagirite o'erlook'd each line.
Learn hence from ancient rules a just esteem;
To copy Nature is to copy them.
Some beauties yet no precepts can declare,
Mufic refembles poetry; in each
For there's a happiness as well as care.
Are nameless gaces, which no methods teach,
And which a mafter-hand alone can reach.
If, where the rules not far enough extend,
Such lucky licenfe answer to the full
(Since rules were made but to promote their end,)
Th' intent propos'd, that licenfe is a rule.
Thus Pegafus, a nearer way to take,
May boldly deviate from the common track.
Great wits fometimes may glorioufly offend,
And rife to faults true critics dare not mend ;
From vulgar bounds with brave diforder part,
And fnatch a grace beyond the reach of art,
Which, without paffing thro' the judgment, gains
The heart, and all its end at once attains,
In profpects thus fome objects please our eyes,
Which out of Nature's common order rife;
The shapeless rock, or hanging precipice.
But tho' the Ancients thus their rules invade,
(As kings difpenfe with laws themselves have made,)
Moderns, beware! or, if you must offend
Against the precept, ne'er trangrefs its end;
Let it be feldom, and compell'd by need;
And have at least 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
Those freer beauties e'en in them feem faults.
Some figures monftrous and mis-shap'd appear,
Confider'd fingly, or beheld too near,
Which, but proportion'd to their light or place,
Due diftance reconciles to form and grace.
A prudent chief not always must display
His pow'rs in equal ranks and fair array,
But with th' occafion and the place comply,
Conceal his force, nay, feem fometimes to fly.
Thofe oft' are ftratagems which errors seem;
Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream.
Still green with bays each ancient altar ftands,
Above the reach of facrilegious hands,
Secure from flames, from envy's fiercer rage,
Destructive war, and all-involving age.
See from each clime the learn'd their incenfe bring!
Hear in all tongues confenting peans ring!
In praise fo juft let ev'ry voice be join'd,
And fill the gen'ral chorus of mankind.
Hail, Bards triumphant! born in happier days,
Immortal heirs of univerfal praise !
Whofe honours with increase of ages grow,
As ftreams roll down, enlarging as they flow;
Nations unborn your nighty name shall found,
And worlds applaud that must not yet be found!
O may fome spark of your celestial fire
The laft, the meaneft, of your fons infpire,
(That on weak wings, from far, pursues your flights,
Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes,)
To teach vain wits a fcience little known,
T'admire fuperior fenfe, and doubt their own!
PART II.
Of all the caufes which confpire to blind
Man's erring judgment, and mifguide 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:
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 use of ev'ry friend-and ev'ry foe.
A little learning is a dang'rous thing;
Drink deep, or taste 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 see the lengths behind;
But more advanc'd, behold, with strange suprife,
New diftant scenes of endless fcience rife!
So pleas'd at firft the tow'ring Alps we try,
Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky!
Th' eternal fnows appear already past,
And the first clouds and mountains feem the laft;
But thofe attain'd, we tremble to furvey
The growing labours of the lengthen'd way:
Th' increafing profpect tires our wand'ring 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;
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