Concluding all were defperate fots and fools,
Who durft depart from Aristotle's rules.
Our, author, happy in a judge fo nice,
Produc'd his play, and begg'd the knight's advice:
Made him obferve the fubject, and the plot,
The manners, paffions, unities; what not?
All which, exact to rule, were brought about,
Were but a combat in the lifts left out.

289

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 unskill'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; Something, whofe truth convinc'd at fight we find, That gives us back the image of our mind. 300 As fhades more sweetly recommend the light, So modeft plainnefs fets off (prightly wit; For works may have more wit than does them good,

As bodies perish through excess of blood.

Others for language all their care exprefs, And value books, as women men, for drefs: Their praife is ftill-the ftyle is excellent : The fenfe, they humbly take upon content. Words are like leaves; and where they most abound, Much fruit of fenfe beneath is rarely found. 310 Falfe eloquence, like the prifmatic glass, Its gaudy colours fpreads on every place; The face of nature we no more survey, All glares alike, without diftinction gay: But true expreffion, like th' unchanging fun, Clears and improves whate'er it fhines upon; It gilds all objects, but it alters none. Expreffion is the drefs of thought, and ftill Appears more decent, as more fuitable; A vile conceit in pompous words exprefs'd, Is like a clown in regal purple drefs'd: For different styles with different subjects sort, As feveral garbs, with country, town, and court. Some by old words to fame have made pretence, Ancients in phrase, mere moderns in their sense;

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 272. Ed. 1. That durft, &c.

Ver. 248. Ed. 1.

320

What oft was thought, but ne'er before exprefs'd. Ver. 320. Ed. 1.

A vile conceit in pompous style exprefs'd.

In the bright muse though thousand charms con-
Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire ; 340
Who haunt Parnaffus but to please their ear,
Not mend their minds; a fome to church repair,
Not for the doctrine, but the music there.
Thefe, equal fyllables alone requre,
Though oft the ear the open vowels tire;
While expletives their feeble aid do join,
And ten low words oft creep in one dull line:
While they ring round the fame unvary'd chimes,
With fure returns of ftill expected rhymes; 349
Where'er you find "the cooling weftern breeze,"
In the next line it "whispers through the trees:"
If crystal streams with pleafing murmurs creep,"
The reader's threaten'd (not in vain) with "fleep:"
Then at the last and only couplet fraught
With fome unmeaning thing they call a thought,
A needlefs Alexandrine ends the song,
That, like a wounded fnake, drags its flow length
along.
[know
Leave fuch to tune their own dull rhymes, and
What's roundly fmooth, or languishingly flow;
And praise the easy vigour of a line,
Where Denham's ftrength and Waller's sweetness
join.

360

True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,
As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.
'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence,
The found muft feem an echo to the fente :
Soft is the ftrain when zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth ftream in smoother numbers flows;
But when loud furges lafh the founding shore,
The hoarfe, rough verfe fhould like the torrent roar.
When Ajax ftrives fome rock's vast weight to
throw,
379

The line too labours, and the words move flow:
Not fo when fwift Camilla fcours the plain,
Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the

main.

Hear how Timotheus' vary'd lays surprise,
And bid alternate paffions fall and rife!
While, at each change, the fon of Libyan Jove
Now burns with glory, and then melts with love;
Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow,
Now fighs fteal out, and tears begin to flow :

VARIATIONS.

Ver 338. Ed. 1. And smooth or rough, with fuch, &c. Ver. 363. 354. These lines are added. Ver. 368. But when loud billows, &c.

Perfians and Greeks like turns of nature found, 380,
And the world's victor stood fubdued by found!
The power of mufic all our hearts allow,
And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now.
Avoid extremes; and fhun the fault of fuch,
Who ftill are pleas'd too little or too much.
At every trifle fcorn to take offence,

That always fhows great pride, or little sense;
Those heads, as stomachs, are not sure the best,
Which nauseate all, and nothing can digest.
Yet let not each gay turir thy rapture move;
For fools admire, but men of fenfe approve :
As things seem large which we through mifts
defery,

Dulness is ever apt to magnify.

390

Some foreign writers, fome our own despise; The ancients only, or the moderns prize : Thus wit, like faith, by each man is apply'd To one small fect, and all are damn’d befide. Meanly they feek the bleffing to confine, And force that fun but on a part to fhine, Which not alone the fouthern wit fublimes, 400 But ripens fpirits in cold northern climes; Which from the first has shone on ages past, Enlights the prefent, and fhali warm the last; Though each may feel increases and decays, And fee now clearer and now darker days. Regard not then if wit be old or new, But blame the false, and value ftill the true. Some ne'er advance a judgment of their own, But catch the spreading notion of the town; They reafon and conclude by precedent, And own ftale nonsense which they ne'er invent. Some judge of authors names, not works, and then Nor praife nor blame the writings, but the men. Of all this fervile herd, the worft is he That in proud dulness joins with quality; A conflant critic at the great man's board, To fetch and carry nonfenfe for my lord, What woful ftuff this madrigal would be, In fome ftarv'd hackney-fonneteer, or me! But let a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens! how the style refines! Before his facred name flies every fault, And each exalted ftanza teems with thought! The vulgar thus through imitation err;

As oft the learn'd by being fingular;

410

420

431

So much they scorn the crowd, that if the throng
By chance go right, they purposely go wrong:
So Schifmatics the plain believers quit,
And are but damn'd for having too much wit.
Some praise at morning what they blame at night,
But always think the last opinion right.
A mufe by thefe is like a mistress us'd,
This hour fhe's idoliz'd, the next abus'd;
While their weak heads, like towns unfortify'd,
'Twixt fenfe and nonfenfe daily change their fide.
Ask them the caufe; they're wifer still, they fay;
And ftill to-morrow's wifer than to-day.
We think our fathers fools, fo wise we grow;
Our wifer fons, no doubt, will think us fo,

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 394. Ed. 1. Some the French writers, &c. Ver. 413. Ed. 1. Nor praise nor damn, &c. Ver.428. So Schifmatics the dull, &c.

Once school divines this zealous isle o’erspread ;
Who knew moft fentences was deepeft read: 441
Faith, gospel, all, feem'd made to be difputed,
And none had fenfe enough to be confuted:
Scotifts and Thomifts, now in peace remain,
Amidst their kindred cobwebs in Duck-lane.
If faith itself has different dreifes worn,
What wonder modes in wit fhould take their
turn?

450

Oft, leaving what is natural and fit,
The current folly proves the ready wit;
And authors think their reputation safe,
Which lives as long as fools are pleas'd to laugh.
Some, valuing those of their own fide or mind,
Still make themselves the measure of mankind :
Fondly we think we honour merit then,
When we but praise ourselves in other men,
Parties in wit attend on those of state,
And public faction doubles private hate.
Pride, malice, folly, against Dryden rose,
In various shapes of parfons, critics, beaux :
But fenfe furviv'd, when merry jefts were paft;
For rising merit will buoy up at last.
Might he return, and bless once more our eyes,
New Blackmores and new Milbourns must arife:
Nay, fhould great Homer lift his awful head,
Zoilus again would start up from the dead.
Envy will merit, as its fhade, paríue;
But, like a fhadow, proves the substance true :
For envy'd wit, like Sol eclips'd, makes known
Th' oppofing body's groffnefs, not its own.
When first that fun too powerful beams dif-
plays.

461

It draws up vapours which obfcure its rays; 471 But ev'n thofe clouds at last adorn its way, Reflect new glories, and augment the day.

Be thou the firft, true merit to befriend; His praife is loft, who ftays till all commend, Short is the date, alas, of modern rhymes, And 'tis but just to let them live betimes. No longer now that golden age appears, When patriarch-wits furviv'd a thousand years: Now length of fame (our fecond life) is loit, 480 And bare threefcore is all ev'n that can boat; Our fons their fathers failing language fee, And fuch as Chaucer is, fhall Dryden be. So when the faithful pencil has defign'd Some bright idea of the master's mind, Where a new world leaps out at his command, And ready nature waits upon his hand;

When the ripe colours foften and unite,
And sweetly melt into just shade and light;
When mellowing years their full perfection give,
And each bold figure just begins to live;"
The treacherous colours the fair art betray,
And all the bright creation fades away!

491

Unhappy wit, like most mistaken things, Atones not for that envy which it brings; In youth alone its empty praise we boast, But foon the fhort-liv'd vanity is loft: Like fome fair flower the early fpring fupplies, That gaily blooms, but ev'n in blooming dies. What is this wit, which muft our cares employ? The owner's wife, that other men enjoy ; The most our trouble still when most admir'd, And still the more we give, the more requir'd; Whose fame with pains we guard, but lofe with ease,

501

Sure fome to vex, but never all to please;
'Tis what the vicious fear, the virtuous fhun;
By fools 'tis hated, and by knaves undone !
If wit fo much from ignorance undergo,
Ah, let not learning too commence its foe!
Of old, those met rewards, who could excel, 510
And fuch were prais'd who but endeavour'd well;
Though triumphs were to generals only due,
Crowns were referv'd to grace the foldiers too.
Now, they who reach Parnaffus' lefty crown,
Employ their pains to fpurn fome others down;
And while felf-love each jealous writer rules,
Contending wits become the sport of fools:
But ftill the worst with moft regret commend,
For each ill author is as bad a friend.

To what base ends, and by what abject ways, 5 20
Are mortals urg'd through sacred lust of praise !
Ah, ne'er fo dire a thirst of glory boast,
Nor in the critic let the man be loft.
Good-nature and good-fenfe must ever join;
To err, is human; to forgive, divine.

But if in noble minds fome dregs remain,
Not yet purg'd off, of spleen and four difdain;
Difcharge that rage on more provoking crimes,
Nor fear a dearth in these flagitious times.
No pardon vile obfcenity fhould find,
Though wit and art confpire to move your mind;

VARIATIONS.

530

And virgins fmil'd at what they blush'd before.
The following licenfe of a foreign reign
Did all the dregs of bold Socinus drain;
Then unbelieving priests reform'd the nation,
And taught more pleafant methods of falvation;
Where heaven's free fubjects might their rights
difpute,

550

Left God himself fhould feem too abfolute :
Pulpits their facred fatire learn'd to fpare,
'And vice admir'd to find a flatterer there!
Encourag'd thus, wit's Titans brav'd the skies,
And the prefs groan'd with licens'd blafphemies.
These monsters, critics! with your darts engage,
Here point your thunder, and exhauft your rage!
Yet fhun their fault, who, fcandalously nice,
Will needs mistake an author into vice;
All feems infected that th' infected spy,
As all looks yellow fo the jaundic'd eye.

Learn then what morals critics ought to fhow;
For 'tis but half a judge's talk, to know. 561
'Tis not enough, taste, judgment, learning, join;
In all you speak, let truth and candour thine;
That not alone what to your fenfe is due
All may allow, but feek your friendship too.

1

Be filent always, when you doubt your fenfe; And speak, though fure, with feeming diffidence: Some positive, perfifting fops we know, Who, if once wrong, will needs be always fo; But you, with pleasure, own your errors paft, 570 'And make each day a critic on the laft.

'Tis not enough your counsel ftill be true; Blunt truths more mifchief than nice falfehoods do; Men must be taught as if you taught them not, And things unknown propos'd as things forgot. Without good breeding truth is disapprov'd; That only makes fuperior fenfe belov'd.

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 547. The Author has here omitted the two following lines; as containing a national reflection, which in his ftricter judgment he could not but difapprove on any people whatever. : Then first the Belgians morals were extoll'd; We their religion had, and they our gold. Ver. 562. 'Tis not enough, wit, art, and learning join.

Ver. 564 That not alone what to your judgment's due.

Ver. 569. That if once wrong, &c.
Ver. 575. And things ne'er know, &c.
Ver. 576. Without good-breeding truth is not
approv'd.

Be niggards of advice on no pretence; For the worst avarice is that of feme. With mean complacence, ne'er betray your trust, Nor be fo civil as to prove unjust. Fear not the anger of the wife to raise; Those best can bear reproof, who merit praife. Twere well might critics ftill this freedom take: But Appius reddens at each word you speak, And ftares tremendous, with a threatening eye, Like fome fierce tyrant in old tapestry. Fear most to tax an honourable fool, Whole right it is, uncenfur'd, to be dull! Such, without wit, are poets when they please. As without learning they can take degrees. 591 Leave dangerous truths to unfuccessful fatires, And flattery to fulfome dedicators,

Whom, when they praife, the world believes no

more

599

Than when they promise to give scribbling o'er.
'Tis beft fometimes your cenfure to refrain,
And charitably let the dull be vain :
Your filence there is better than your spite,
For who can rail fo long as they can write?
Still humming on, their drowsy course they keep,
And lath'd fo long, like tops, are lafh'd afleep.
Faife fteps but help them to renew the race,
As, after ftumbling, jades will mend their pace.
What crowds of thefe, impenitently bold,
In founds and jingling fyllables grown old,
Still run on poets, in a raging vein,

Ev'n to the dregs and fqueezings of the brain,
Strain out the last dull dropping of their sense,
And rhyme with all the rage of impotence!
Sach fhameless bards we have: and yet 'tis
true,

Ver. 586. And ftares tremendous, &c.] This picture was taken to himself by John Dennis, a furious old critic by profeffion, who, upon no other provocation, wrote againft this effay, and its author, in a manner perfectly lunatic: For, as to meation m. de of him in ver. 270, he took it as a compliment, and faid it was treacherously meant to cause him to overlook this abuse of his perfon. Ver. 597. And charitably let dull fools be vain. Ver. 600.

Still humming on, their old dull courfe they keep.

NOTE.

Ver. 619. Garth did not write, &c.] A common flander at that time in prejudice of that deferving author. Our poet did him this juftice, when that flander moft prevailed; and it is now (perhaps the fooner for this very verfe) dead and forgotten.

Name a new play, and he's the poet's friend, 620 Nay fhow'd his faults-but when would poets mend?

No place to facred from fuch fops is barr'd, Nor is Paul's church more fafe than Paul's churchyard:

}

Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead;
For fools rufh in where angels fear to tread,
Distrustful fenfe with modeft caution speaks,
It ftill looks home, and fhort excurfions makes :
But rattling nonfenfe in full vollies breaks,
And, never fhock'd, and never turn'd aside,
Burfs out, refiftlefs, with a thundering tide. 630
But where's the man, who counfel can bestow,
Still pleas'd to teach, and yet not proud to know?
Unbiafs'd, or by favour, or by fpite;

Not dully prepoffefs'd, nor blindly right; [fincere;
Though learn'd, well-bred; and though well-bred,
Modeftly bold, and humanely severe :

Who to a friend his faults can freely fhow.
And gladly praife the merit of a foe?
Bleft with a tafte exact, yet unconfin'd;

A knowledge both of books and human kind; 640
Generous converfe; a foul exempt from pride;
And love to praife, with reafon on his fide?

Such once were critics; fuch the happy few Athens and Rome in better ages knew: The mighty Stagyrite firft left the shore, Spread all his fails, and durft the deeps explore; He fteer'd fecurely, and difcover'd far, Led by the light of the Mæonian star. Poets, a race long unconfin'd and free, Still fond and proud of favage liberty, Receiv'd his laws; and food convinc'd 'twas fit, Who conquer'd nature, fhould prefide o'er wit.

650

Horace ftill charms with graceful negligence, And without method talks us into fenfe, Will, like a friend, familiarly convey The trueft notions in the easiest way.

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 623. Between this and ver. 624.
In vain you shrug and sweat, and strive to fly;
Thefe know no manners but of poetry:
They'll stop a hungry chaplain in his grace,
To treat of unities of time and place.
Ver. 624. Nay run to altars, &c.
Ver. 634. Not dully prepoffefs'd, or blindly right.
Between ver. 646 and 649. I found the follow-
ing lines, fince fuppreffed by the author:
That bold Columbus of the realms of wit,
Whofe firft difcovery 's not exceeded yet,
Led by the light of the Mæopian star,
He fteer'd fecurely, and discover'd far.
He, when all nature was fubdued before,
Like his great pupil, figh'd, and long'd for more:
Fancy's wild regions yet unvanquish'd lay.
A boundless empire, and that own'd no fway.
Poets, &c.

After ver. 648. the first edition reads,
Not only nature did his laws obey,
But fancy's boundlets empire own'd his fway.
Ver. 655. Does, like a friend, &c.

Ver. 655, 656. These lines are not in Ed. I.

He, who fupreme in judgment, as in wit,
Might boldly cenfure, as he boldly writ, [fire;
Yet judg'd with coolness, though he sung with
His precepts teach but what his works infpire.
Our critics take a contrary extreme,
661
They judge with fury, but they write with phlegm:
Nor fuffers Horace more in wrong tranflations
By wits, than critics in as wrong quotations,
See Dionyfius Homer's thoughts refine,
And call new beauties forth from every line!
Fancy and art in gay Petronius please,
The fcholar's learning, with the courtier's cafe.

In grave Quintilian's copious work, we find
The jufteft rules and cleareft method join'd: 670
Thus ufeful arms in magazines we place,
All rang'd in order, and difpos'd with grace,
But lefs to pleafe the eye, than arm the hand,
Still fit for ufe, and ready at command.

Thee, bold Longinus! all the Nine inspire, And bless their critic with a poet's fire. An ardent judge, who, zealous in his truft, With warmth gives fentence, yet is always just; Whofe own example ftrengthens all his laws; And is himself that great fublime he draws.

680

Thus long fucceeding critics juftly reign'd, Licenfe reprefs'd, and useful laws ordain'd. Learning and Rome alike in empire grew, And arts ftill follow'd where her eagles fiew; From the fame foes, at laft, both felt their doom, And the fame age faw learning fall, and Rome. With tyranny, then fuperftition join'd, As that the body, this enflav'd the mind; Much was believ'd, but little understood, And to be dull was conftrued to be good: A fecond deluge learning thus o'er-ran, And the Monks finish'd what the Goths began. At length Erafmus, that great injur'd name, (The glory of the priesthood, and the fhame!) Stemm'd the wild torrent of a barbarous age, And drove thofe holy Vandals off the stage.

VARIATIONS. Ver. 668.

The fcholar's learning, and the courtier's ease. Ver. 673, &c.

690

Nor thus alone the curious eye to plcafe,
But to be found, when need requires, with case.
The mufes fure Longinus did inspire,
And blefs'd their critic with a poet's fire.
An ardent judge, that zealous, &c.
Ver.689. All was believ'd, but nothing understood.
Between ver. 690 and 691. the Author omitted
these two:

Vain wits and critics were no more allow'd,
When none but faints had licenfe to be proud.

But fec! each mufe, in Leo's golden days, Starts from her trance, and trims her wither'd bays;

Rome's ancient genius, o'er its ruins spread,
Shakes off the duft, and rears his reverend head. 700
Then sculpture and her sister-arts revive;
Stones leap'd to form, and rocks began to live;
With sweeter notes each rifing temple rung;
A Raphael painted, and a Vida fung.
Immortal Vida! on whose honour'd brow
The poet's bays and critic's ivy grow:
Cremona now fhall ever boat thy name,
As next in place to Mantua, next in fame!

But foon, by impious arms from Latium chas'd,
Their ancient bounds the banish'd mufes pafs'd;
Thence arts o'er all the northern world advance,
But critic-learning flourish'd most in France:
The rules a nation, born to ferve, obeys;
And Boileau ftill in right of Horace fways.
But we, brave Britons, foreign laws deípis'd,
And kept unconquer'd, and unciviliz’d;
Fierce for the liberties of wit, and bold,
We fill defy'd the Romans, as of old.
Yet fome there were among the founder few
Of those who lefs prefum'd, and better knew, 720
Who durft affert the juster ancient caufe,
And here reflor'd wit's fundamental laws.
Such was the muse, whose rules and practice tell,
"Nature's chief master-piece is writing well."
Such was Rofcommon, not more learn'd than good,
With manners generous as his noble blood;
To him the wit of Greece and Rome was known,
And every author's merit but his own.
Such late was Walf--the muse's judge and friend,
Who juftly knew to blame or to commend; 730
To failings mild, but zealous for defert;
The clearest head, and the fincercft heart.
This humble praise, lamented fhade! receive,
This praife at least a grateful muse may give :
The mufe, whofe early voice you taught to fing,
Prefcrib'd her heights, and prun'd her tender
wing,

(Her guide now loft) no more attempts to rife, But in low numbers fhort excurfions tries: Content, if hence th' unlearn'd their wants may

view,

The learn'd reflect on what before they knew. 740
Careless of cenfure, nor too fond of fame;
Still pleas'd to praise, yet not afraid to blame;
Averse alike, to flatter or offend;

Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 723, 724. These lines are not in Ed. 3.