Discourse on Criticism and of Poetry Part 4

I weep to hear fond _Anthony_ complain In _Shakespear's_ Fancy, but in _Virgil's_ Strain.

Tho' for the Comick, others we prefer, Himself[5] the Judge; nor do's his Judgment Err.

But Comedy, 'tis Thought, can never claim The sounding t.i.tle of a Poem's Name.

For Raillery, and what creates a Smile Betrays no lofty Genius, nor a Style.

That _Heav'nly Heat_ refuses to be seen In a Town-Character and Comick Mien.

[5] See Preface to _Aurengzebe_.

If we would do him right, we must produce The _Sophoclean Buskin_; when his Muse With her loud Accents fills the list'ning Ear, And _Peals_ applauding shake the Theater.

They fondly seek, Great Name, to blast thy Praise, Who think that Foreign Thanks produc'd thy Bays.

Is he oblig'd to _France_, who draws from thence By _English_ Energy, their Captive Sense?

Tho' _Edward_ and fam'd _Henry_ Warr'd in vain, Subduing what they could not long retain: Yet now beyond our Arms the Muse prevails, And Poets Conquer where the Hero fails.

This does superiour excellence betray; O could I Write in thy Immortal Way!

If Art be Nature's Scholar, and can make Such vast improvements, Nature must forsake Her Ancient Style; and in some grand Design She must her Own Originals decline, And for the n.o.blest Copies follow Thine.

Pardon this just transition to thy Praise, Which Young _Thalia_ sung in Rural Lays.

As Sleep to weary Drovers on the Plain As a sweet River to a thirsty Swain, Such _t.i.tyrus's_ charming Number show, Please like the River, like the River flow.

When his first Years in mighty Order ran, And cradled Infancy bespoke the Man, Around his Lips the _Waxen Artists_ hung, And drop'd ambrosial Dew upon his Tongue.

Then from his Mouth harmonious Numbers broke, More sweet than Honey from a hollow Oke.

Pleasant as streams which from a Mountain Glide, Yet lofty as the Top from whence they slide.

Long He possest th' Hereditary Plains, Admir'd by all the Herdsmen and the Swains.

Till he resign'd his Flock, opprest with cares, Weaken'd by num'rous Woes, and grey with Years.

Yet still, like _aetna's_ _Mount_, he kept his Fire, And look'd like beauteous Roses on a Brier.

He smil'd, like _Phoebus_ in a Stormy Morn, And sung, like _Philomel_ against a Thorn.

Here _Syren of sweet Poesy_, receive That little praise my unknown Muse can give.

Thou shalt immortal be, no Censure fear Tho' angry _B----more_ in Heroicks jeer.

A Bard, who seems to challenge _Virgil's_ Flame, And would be next in Majesty and Name.

With lofty _Maro_ he at first may please; The Righteous _Briton_ rises by degrees.

But once on Wing, thro' secret Paths he rows, And leaves his Guide, or follows him too close, The _Mantuan_ Swan keeps a soft gentle Flight, Is always Tow'ring, but still Plays in Sight.

Calm and Serene his Verse; his active Song Runs smooth as _Thames's_ River, and as strong.

Like his own _Neptune_ he the Waves confines, While _Bl----re_ rumbles, like the King of Winds.

His flat Descriptions, void of Manly Strength, Jade out our Patience with excessive length.

While Readers, Yawning o'er his _Arthurs_ see Whole Pages spun on one poor _Simile_.

We grant he labours with no want of Brains, Or Fire, or Spirit; but He spares the Pains, One happy Thought, or two, may at a Heat Be struck, but Time and Study must compleat A Verse, sublimely Good, and justly Great.

It call'd for an Omnipotence to raise The _World's_ _Imperial Poem_ in Six Days.

But Man, that offspring of corrupting Clay, Subject to Err, and Subject to Decay: In Hopes, Desires, Will, Power, a numerous Train, Uncertain, Fickle, Impotent and Vain: Must tire the Heav'nly Muse with endless Prayer, And call the smiling Angels to his care.

Must sleep less Nights, _Vulcanian_ Labours prove, Like _Cyclops_, forging Thunder for a _Jove_.

With Flame begin thy Glorious Thoughts and Style, Then Cool, and bring them to the smoothing File.

If You design to make Your Prince appear As perfect as Humanity can bear.

Whom Vertues at th' expence of Danger please, Deaf to the _Syrens_ of alluring ease.

No Terrours Thee, _Achilles_, could invade, Nor Thee, _Ulysses_, any Charms persuade.

This must be done, if Poets would be Read, Who seek to emulate the Sacred Dead.

Thus in bright Numbers and well polish'd Strains _Virgilian Addison_ describes _Campaigns_.

Whose Verse, like a proportion'd Man, we find, Not of the _Gyant_, nor the _Pygmy_ kind.

Such Symmetry appears o'er all the Song, Lofty with justness, and with Caution strong.

This _Congreve_ follows in his Deathless Line, And the _Tenth Hand_ is put to the Design.

The Happy boldness of his Finish'd Toil Claims more than _Shakespear's_ Wit, or _Johnson's_ Oil.

Sing on, _Harmonious Swan_, in weeping strains, And tell _Pastora's_ Death to mournful Swains.

Or with more pleasing Charms, with softer Airs Sweeten our Pa.s.sions, and delude our Cares.

Or let thy _Satyr_ grin with half a Smile, And jeer in _Easy Etherege's_ Style.

Let _Manly Wycherly_ chalk out the Way, And Art direct, where Nature goes astray.

'Tis not for Thee to Write of Conqu'ring Kings, The Noise of Arms will break thy Am'rous Strings.

The _Teian Muse_ invites Thee from above To lay Thy Trumpet down, and sing of Love.

Let _MONTAGUE_ describe _Boyn's_ swelling Flood And purple Streams fatned with Hostile Blood.

O Heavenly Patron of the needy Muse!

Whose powerful Name can n.o.bler heat infuse.

When You _Na.s.sau's_ bright Actions dar'd to see, _You_ was the _Eagle_, and _Apollo He_.

But when He read You, and Your Value knew, _He_ was the _Eagle_, and _Apollo You_.

Both spoke the Bird in her _aethereal_ height, The _Majesty_ was _His_, and _Thine_ the _Flight_.

Both did _Apollo_ in His Glory shew, The Silver _Harp_ was _Thine_, and _His_ the _Bow_,

So may _Pierian Clio_ cease to fear, When _Honour_ deigns to sing, and _Majesty_ to hear!

So may she favour'd live, and always please Our _Dorset's_, and Judicious _Normanby's_!

Nor does the _Coronet_ alone defend The Muses Cause: The _Miter_ is Her Friend.

Can we forget how _Damon's_ lofty Tongue Shook the glad Mountains? how the Valleys rung When _Rochester's Seraphick Shepherd_ Sung.

How _Mars_ and _Pallas_ wept to see the Day When _Athens_ by a Plague dispeopled lay.

What Learning perish'd, and what Lives it cost!

Sung with more Spirit than all _Athens_ lost.

Nor can the _Miter_ now conceal the Bays, For still we view the _Sacred Poet's_ praise.

So tho' _Erida.n.u.s_ becomes a Star Exalted to the Skies, and shines afar, Below he loses nothing but his Name, Still faithful to his Banks, his Stream's the same.

But smile, my Muse, once more upon my Song, Let _Creech_ be numbred with the Sacred Throng.

Whose daring Muse could with _Manilius_ fly, And, like an _Atlas_, shoulder up the Sky.

He's mounted, where no vulgar Eye can trace His Wondrous footsteps and mysterious race.

See, how He walks above in mighty strains, And wanders o'er the wide Ethereal Plains!

He sings what Harmony the Spheres obey, In Verse more tuneful, and more sweet than they.

'Tis cause of Triumph, when _Rome's_ Genius shines In nervous _English_, and well-worded Lines.

Two Famous _Latins_[6] our bright Tongue adorn, And a new _Virgil_[7] is in _England_ born.

An _aeneid_ to translate, and make a new, Are Tasks of equal Labour to pursue.

[6] _Lucretius_ and _Manilius_.

[7] Mr. _Dryden's_ _Virgil_.

For tho' th' Invention of a G.o.dlike Mind Excels the Works of Nature, and Mankind; Yet a well-languag'd Version will require An equal _Genius_, and as strong a Fire.

These claim at once our Study and our Praise, Fam'd for the Dignity of Sense and Phrase.

These gainful to the Stationer, shall stand At _Paul's_ or _Cornhill_, _Fleetstreet_ or the _Strand_.

Shall wander far and near, and cross the Seas, An Ornament to _Foreign Libraries_.