tions, and that he is equally a dissembler to the for a poet. The wit of man, and the simplicity of living and the dead. a child, make a poor and vulgar contrast, and raise no ideas of excellence either intellectual or moral. In the next couplet rage is less properly introduced after the mention of mildness and gentleness, At the third couplet I should wish the epitaph to close, but that I should be unwilling to lose the two next lines, which yet are dearly bought if they cannot be retained without the four that fol-which are made the constituents of his character; low them ON MR. ELIJAH FENTON, At Easthamstead in Berkshire, 1730. Whom heaven kept sacred from the Proud and Great; Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear; From Nature's temperate feast rose satisfied, for a man so mild and gentle to temper his rage, was not difficult. The next line is inharmonious in its sound, and mean in its conception; the opposition is obvious, and the word lash used absolutely, and without any modification, is gross and improper. To be above temptation in poverty, and free from corruption among the Great, is indeed such a peculiarity as deserved notice. But to be a safe companion, is a praise merely negative, arising not from possession of virtue, but the absence of vice, and that one of the most odious. As little can be added to his character, by asserting that he was lamented in his end. Every man that dies is, at least by the writer of his epitaph, supposed to be lamented; and therefore this general lamentation does no honour to Gay. The first eight lines have no grammar; the ad The first couplet of this epitaph is borrowed from Crashaw. The four next lines contain a species of praise peculiar, original, and just. Here, there-jectives are without any substantives and the epifore, the inscription should have ended, the latter thets without a subject. part containing nothing but what is common to The thought in the last line, that Gay is buried every man who is wise and good. The character in the bosoms of the worthy and the good, who are of Fenton was so amiable that I cannot forbear to distinguished only to lengthen the line, is so dark wish for some poet or biographer to display it that few understand it; and so harsh, when it is more fully for the advantage of posterity. If he explained, that still fewer approve. did not stand in the first rank of genius, he may claim a place in the second; and, whatever criticism may object to his writings, censure could find very little to blame in his life. ON MR. GAY, In Westminster Abbey, 1732. Of manners gentle, of affections mild; With native humour tempering virtuous rage, As Gay was the favourite of our author, this epitaph was probably written with an uncommon degree of attention; yet it is not more successfully executed than the rest, for it will not always happen that the success of a poet is proportionate to his labour. The same observation may be extended to all works of imagination, which are often influenced by causes wholly out of the performer's power, by hints of which he perceives not the origin, by sudden elevations of mind which he cannot produce in himself, and which sometimes rise when he expects them least. The two parts of the first line are only echoes of each other; gentle manners and mild affections, if they mean any thing, must mean the same. That Gay was a man in wit is a very frigid commendation; to have the wit of a man is not much| F INTENDED FOR Testantus, Tempus, Natur, Cœlum: Hoc marmoe fatetur. Nature, and Nature's laws, lay hid in night: Of this epitaph, short as it is, the faults seem not to be very few. Why part should be Latin, and part English, is not easy to discover. In the Latin the opposition of Immortalis and Mortalis, is a mere sound, or a mere quibble; he is not immortal in any sense contrary to that in which he is mortal. In the verses the thought is obvious, and the words night and light are too nearly allied. ON EDMUND DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. If modest youth, with cool reflection crown'd, This epitaph Mr. Warburton prefers to the rest; [that though he wrote the epitaph in a state of unbut I know not for what reason. To crown with certainty, yet it could not be laid over him till his reflection, is surely a mode of speech approaching grave was made. Such is the folly of wit when it to nonsense. Opening virtues blooming round, is is ill employed. something like tautology: the six following lines The world has but little new; even this wretchare poor and prosaic. Art is in another couplet edness seems to have been borrowed from the fol used for arts, that a rhyme may be had to heart. lowing tuneless lines; The six last lines are the best, but not excellent. The rest of his sepulchral performances hardly deserve the notice of criticism. The contemptible 'Dialogue' between HE and SHE should have been suppressed for the author's sake. In his last epitaph on himself, in which he attempts to be jocular upon one of the few things that make wise men serious, he confounds the living man with the dead: Under this stone, or under this sill, Or under this turf, &c. Ludovici Areosti humantur ossa Nam scire haud potuit futura, sed nec Surely Ariosto did not venture to expect that his When a man is once buried, the question, under trifle would have ever had such an illustrious imiwhat he is buried, is easily decided. He forgot, tator I AM inclined to think that both the writers of books, I wish we had the humanity to reflect, that even the and the readers of them, are generally not a little un- worst authors might, in their endeavour to please us, reasonable in their expectations. The first seem to deserve something at our hands. We have no cause fancy that the world must approve whatever they pro- to quarrel with them but for their obstinacy in perduce, and the latter to imagine that authors are obliged sisting to write; and this, too, may admit of aileviato please them at any rate. Methinks, as on the one ting circumstances. Their particular friends may be hand no single man is born with a right of controlling either ignorant or insincere; and the rest of the world the opinions of all the rest, so, on the other, the world in general is too well bred to shock them with a has no title to demand that the whole care and time of truth which generally their booksellers are the first any particular person should be sacrificed to its enter that inform them of. This happens not till they have tainment; therefore I cannot but believe that writers spent too much of their time to apply to any profesand readers are under equal obligations, for as much sion which might better fit their talents, and till such fame or pleasure as each affords the other. talents as they have are so far discredited as to be of but small service to them. For (what is the hardest case imaginable) the reputation of a man generally depends upon the first step he makes in the world. and people will establish their opinion of us from what we do at that season when we have least judgment to direct us. 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 passed upon poems. A critic supposes he has done his part, if he proves a writer to have failed in an expression, orerred in any particular point; and can it then be wondered at, if the poets in On the other hand, a good poet no sooner comgeneral seem resolved not to own themselves in any municates his works with the same desire of inforerror? For as long as one side will make no allow-mation, but it is imagined he is a vain young creature, ances, the other will be brought to no acknowledg-given up to the ambition of fame, when perhaps the poor man is all the while trembling with the fear of ments. I am afraid this extreme zeal on both sides is ill-being ridiculous. If he is made to hope he may please placed; Poetry and Criticism being by no means the the world, he falls under very unlucky circumstances; universal concern of the world, but only the affair for, from the moment he prints, he must expect to of idle men who write in their closets, and of idle hear no more truth than if he were a prince or a men who read there. beauty. If he has not very good sense, (and indeed Yet sure, upon the whole, a bad author deserves there are twenty men of wit for one man of sense,) better usage than a bad critic; for a writer's endea- his living thus in a course of flattery may put him vour, for the most part, is to please his readers, and in no small danger of becoming a coxcomb; if he he fails merely through the misfortune of an ill- has, he will, consequently, have so much diffidence judgment; but such a critic's is to put them out of as not to reap any great satisfaction from his praise; humour: a design he could never go upon without since, if it be given to his face, it can scarce be disboth that and an ill-temper. tinguished from flattery; and if in his absence, it is I think a good deal may be said to extenuate the hard to be certain of it. Were he sure to be comfaults of bad poets. What we call a Genius is hard mended by the best and most knowing, he is as sure to be distinguished by a man himself from a strong of being envied by the worst and most ignorant, inclination; and if his genius be ever so great, he which are the majority; for it is with a fine genius as cannot at first discover it in any other way, than by with a fine fashion; all those are displeased at it who giving way to that prevalent propensity which renders are not able to follow it; and it is to be feared that him the more liable to be mistaken. The only me-esteem will seldom do any man so much good as illthod he has, is to make the experiment by writing, will does him harm. Then there is a third class of and appealing to the judgment of others. Now, if people, who make the largest part of mankind, those he happens to write ill (which is certainly no sin in of ordinary or indifferent capacities, and these, to a 'tself,) he is immediately made an object of ridicule, man, wil. hate or suspect him; a hundred honest 43 gentlemen will dread him as a wit, and a hundred fis but the knowledge of the sense of our predecesinnocent women as a satirist. In a word, whatever sors. Therefore they who say our thoughts are not be his fate in poetry, it is ten to one but he must give our own, because they resemble the Ancients, may up all the reasonable aims of life for it. There are, as well say our faces are not our own, because they indeed, some advantages accruing from a genius to are like our fathers; and indeed it is very unreasonpoetry, and they are all I can think of, the agreeable able that people should expect us to be scholars, and power of self-amusement when a man is idle or alone; yet be angry to find us so. the privilege of being admitted into the best company; and the freedom of saying as many careless things as other people, without being so severely remarked upon. I fairly confess that I have served myself all I could by reading; that I made use of the judgment of authors dead and living; that I omitted no means in my power to be informed of my errors, both by my friends and enemies: but the true reason these pieces are not more correct, is owing to the consideration how short a time they and I have to live: one may be ashamed to consume half one's days in bringing sense and rhyme together; and what critic can be so unreasonable, as not to leave a man time enough for any more serious employment, or more agreeable amusement? I believe if any one, early in his life, should contemplate the dangerous fate of authors, he would scarce be of their number on any consideration. The life of a wit is a warfare upon earth; and the present spirit of the learned world is such, that to attempt to serve it, any way, one must have the constancy of a martyr, and a resolution to suffer for its sake. I could wish people would believe, what I am pretty certain they will not, that I have been much The only plea I shall use for the favour of the publess concerned about fame than I durst declare till lic is, that I have as great a respect for it as most this occasion, when, methinks, I should find more authors have for themselves; and that I have sacricredit than I could heretofore, since my writings ficed much of my own self-love for its sake, in prehave had their fate already, and it is too late to think venting not only many mean things from seeing the of prepossessing the reader in their favour. I would light, but many which I thought tolerable. I would plead it as some merit in me, that the world has never not be like those authors who forgive themselves been prepared for these trifles by prefaces, biassed by some particular lines for the sake of a whole poem, recommendation, dazzled with the names of great and, vice versa, a whole poem for the sake of some patrons, wheedled with fine reasons and pretences, particular lines. I believe no one qualification is so or troubled with excuses. I confess it was want of likely to make a good writer as the power of rejectconsideration that made me an author; I writ, being his own thoughts; and it must be this, if any thing, cause it amused me; I corrected, because it was as that can give me a chance to be one. For what I pleasant to me to correct as to write; and I publish- have published, I can only hope to be pardoned; but ed, because I was told I might please such as it was for what I have burned, I deserve to be praised. On a credit to please. To what degree I have done this this account the world is under some obligation to I am really ignorant: I had too much fondness for me, and owes me the justice, in return, to look upon my productions to judge of them at first, and too no verses as mine that are not inserted in this Colmuch judgment to be pleased with them at last; but lection. And perhaps nothing could make it worth I have reason to think they can have no reputation my while to own what are really so, but to avoid the which will continue long, or which deserves to do imputation of so many dull and immoral things as, so; for they have always fallen short, not only of partly by malice, and partly by ignorance, have been what I read of others, but even of my own ideas of ascribed to me. I must further acquit myself of the poetry. presumption of having lent my name to recommend any miscellanies or works of other men; a thing I never thought becoming a person who has hardly credit enough to answer for his own. In this office of collecting my pieces, I am altogether uncertain whether to look upon myself as a man building a monument, or burying the dead. If any one should imagine I am not in earnest, I desire him to reflect, that the Ancients (to say the least of them) had as much genius as we; and that to take more pains, and employ more time, cannot fail to produce more complete pieces. They constantly applied themselves not only to that art, but to that single branch of an art to which their talent was most If time shall make it the former, may these poems, powerfully bent; and it was the business of their lives as long as they last, remain as a testimony that their to correct and finish their works for posterity. If we author never made his talents subservient to the mean can pretend to have used the same industry, let us and unworthy ends of party or self-interest; the expect the same immortality; though, if we took the gratification of public prejudices or private passions; same care, we should still lie under a further mis- the flattery of the undeserving, or the insult of the fortune; they writ in languages that became univer-unfortunate. If I have written well, let it be considersal and everlasting, while ours are extremely limited ed, that it is what no man can do without good sense, both in extent and in duration. A mighty foundation a quality that not only renders one capable of being for our pride! when the utmost we can hope is but to be read in one island, and to be thrown aside at the end of one age. a good writer, but a good man. And if I have made any acquisition 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 solemn funeral of my remains, I desire it may be known that I die in charity, and in my senses; without any murmurs All that is left us is to recommend our productions by the imitation of the Ancients: and it will be found true, that, in every age, the highest character for sense and learning has been obtained by those who have been most indebted to them. For, to say truth, against the justice of this age, or any mad appeals to whatever is very good sense, must have been com- posterity. I declare, I shall think the world in the mon sense in all times; and what we call Learning, right, and quietly submit to every truth which time shall discover to the prejudice of these writings; not putation, depreciated no dead author I was obliged to, so much as wishing so irrational a thing, as that every bribed no living one with unjust praise, insulted no body should be deceived merely for my credit. How-adversary with ill language; or, when I could not atever, I desire it may therein be considered, that there tack a rival's works, encouraged reports against his are very few things in this Collection which were morals. To conclude, if this volume perish, let it not written under the age of five and twenty; so that serve as a warning to the critics not to take too much my youth may be made (as it never fails to be in exe- pains for the future to destroy such things as will die cutions) a case of compassion; that I never was so of themselves; and a memento mori to some of my concerned about my works as to vindicate them in vain contemporaries the poets, to teach them, that, print, believing, if any thing was good, it would de- when real merit is wanting, it avails nothing to have fend itself, and what was bad could never be defend- been encouraged by the great, commended by the ed; that I used no artifice to raise or continue a re-eminent, and favoured by the public in general. Nov. 10, 1716. PASTORALS. A DISCOURSE ON PASTORAL. Rura mihi, et rigui, placeant in vallibus amnes; Isertations the critics have made on the subject, without omitting any of their rules in my own favour. You will also find some points reconciled, about which they seem to differ; and a few remarks, which, I think, have escaped their observation. The original of poetry is ascribed to that age which succeeded the creation of the world; and as the The Pastorals were written at the age of sixteen, and then keeping of flocks seems to have been the first empassed through the hands of Mr. Walsh, Mr. Wycherley, ployment of mankind, the most ancient sort of poetry G. Granville, (afterwards lord Lansdowne) Sir William Trumbal, Dr. Garth, lord Halifax, lord Somers, Mr. was probably pastoral. It is natural to imagine, that Maynwaring, and others. All these gave our author the the leisure of those ancient shepherds admitting and greatest encouragement, and particularly Mr. Walsh, inviting some diversion, none was so proper to that whom Mr. Dryden, in his Postscript to Virgil, calls the solitary and sedentary life as singing; and that in their best critic of his age. "The author, (says he) seems to songs they took occasion to celebrate their own have a particular genius for this kind of poetry, and a felicity. From hence a poem was invented, and afterjudgment which much exceeds his years. He has taken wards improved to a perfect image of that happy very freely from the ancients; but what he has mixed of his own with theirs, is no way inferior to what he has time; which, by giving us an esteem for the virtues taken from them. It is not flattery at all to say, that of a former age, might recommend them to the preVirgil had written nothing so good at his age. His Pre-sent. And since the life of shepherds was attended face is very judicious and learned." Letter to Mr. Wycher with more tranquillity than any other rural employleg, April, 1705. The lord Lansdowne about the same ment, the poets chose to introduce their persons, time, mentioning the youth of our Poet, says, (in a printed from whom it received the name of Pastoral. Letter of the Character of Mr. Wycherley) "that if he A pastoral is an imitation of the action of a shepgoes on as he has begun in his Pastoral way, as Virgil herd, or one considered under that character. The first tried his strength, we may hope to see English poetry form of this imitation is dramatic, or narrative, or vie with the Roman," &c. Notwithstanding the early time of their production, the author esteemed these as the mixed of both; the fable simple, the manners not too most correct in the versification, and musical in the num-polite, nor too rustic: the thoughts are plain, yet ad bers, of all his works. The reason for his labouring them mit a little quickness and passion, but that short and into so much softness, was, doubtless, that this sort of flowing: the expression humble, yet as pure as the poetry derives almost its whole beauty from a natural language will afford; neat, but not florid; easy, and ease of thought, and smoothness of verse; whereas that yet lively. In short, the fable, manners, thoughts, of most other kinds consists in the strength and fulness and expressions, are full of the greatest simplicity in of both. In a letter of his to Mr. Walsh about this time, we find an enumeration of several niceties in versification, which perhaps have never been strictly observed in any English poem except in these Pastorals. They were not printed till 1709. A DISCOURSE ON PASTORAL POETRY.* nature. The complete character of this poem consists in simplicity, brevity, and delicacy; the two first of which render an eclogue natural, and the last delightful. If we could copy nature, it may be useful to take THERE are not, I believe, a greater number of any this idea along with us, that pastoral is an image of sort of verses, than of those which are called Pasto- what they call the Golden Age. So that we are not rals, nor a smaller than those which are truly so. It to describe our shepherds as shepherds at this day therefore seems necessary to give some account of really are, but as they may be conceived then to have this kind of poem; and it is my design to comprise in been, when the best of men followed the employthis short paper the substance of those numerous dis-ment. To carry this resemblance yet further, it Written at sixteen years of age. would not be amiss to give these shepherds some skill in astronomy, as far as it may be useful to that sort of life. And an air of piety to the gods should |