The Art of Poetry: an Epistle to the Pisos Part 3

If a bird's feathers I see Progne take, If I see Cadmus slide into a snake, My faith revolts; and I condemn outright The fool that shews me such a silly sight.

Let not your play have fewer _acts_ than _five_, Nor _more_, if you would wish it run and thrive!

_Draw down no G.o.d_, unworthily betray'd, Unless some great occasion ask his aid!

Let no _fourth person_, labouring for a speech, Make in the dialogue a needless breach!

An actor's part the Chorus should sustain, Gentle in all its office, and humane; Chaunting no Odes between the acts, that seem Unapt, or foreign to the general theme.

Let it to Virtue prove a guide and friend, Curb tyrants, and the humble good defend!

Ille dapes laudet mensae brevis, ille salubrem Just.i.tiam, legesque, et apertis otia portis: Ille tegat commisia, Deosque precetur et oret, Ut redeat miseris, abeat fortuna superbis.

Tibia non, ut nunc, orichalco vincta, tubaeque aemula; sed tenuis, simplexque foramine pauco, Aspirare et adesse choris erat utilis, atque Nondum sp.i.s.sa nimis complere sedilia flatu: Quo fane populus numerabilis, utpote parvus Et frugi castusque verecundusque coibat.

Postquam coepit agros extendere victor, et urbem Laxior amplecti murus, vinoque diurno Placari Genius sestis impune diebus,

Loud let it praise the joys that Temperance waits; Of Justice sing, the real health of States; The Laws; and Peace, secure with open gates!

Faithful and secret, let it heav'n invoke To turn from the unhappy fortune's stroke, And all its vengeance on the proud provoke!

_The Pipe_ of old, as yet with bra.s.s unbound, Nor rivalling, as now, the Trumpet's sound, But slender, simple, and its stops but few, Breath'd to the Chorus; and was useful too: For feats extended, and extending still, Requir'd not pow'rful blasts their s.p.a.ce to fill; When the thin audience, pious, frugal, chaste, With modest mirth indulg'd their sober taste.

But soon as the proud Victor spurns all bounds, And growing Rome a wider wall surrounds; When noontide cups, and the diurnal bowl, Licence on holidays a flow of soul; Accessit numerisque modisque licentia major.

Indoctus quid enim saperet liberque laborum, Rusticus urbano confusus, turpis honesto?

Sic priscae motumque et luxuriem addidit arti Tibicen, traxitque vagus per pulpita vestem: Sic etiam fidibus voces crevere feveris, Et tulit eloquium insolitum facundia praeceps; Utiliumque sagax rerum, et divina futuri, Sortilegis non discrepuit sententia Delphis.

Carmine qui tragico vilem certavit ob hirc.u.m, Mox etiam agrestes Satyros nudavit, et asper Incolumi gravitate joc.u.m tentavit: e quod A richer stream of melody is known, Numbers more copious, and a fuller tone.

----For what, alas! could the unpractis'd ear Of rusticks, revelling o'er country cheer, A motley groupe! high, low; and froth, and sc.u.m; Distinguish but shrill squeak, and dronish hum?---- The Piper, grown luxuriant in his art, With dance and flowing vest embellishes his part!

Now too, its pow'rs increas'd, _the Lyre severe_ With richer numbers smites the list'ning ear: Sudden bursts forth a flood of rapid song, Rolling a tide of eloquence along: Useful, prophetic, wise, the strain divine Breathes all the spirit of the Delphick shrine.

He who the prize, a filthy goat, to gain, At first contended in the tragick strain, Soon too--tho' rude, the graver mood unbroke,-- Stript the rough satyrs, and essay'd a joke: Illecebris erat et grata novitate morandus Spectator functusque sacris, et potus, et exlex.

Verum ita risores, ita commendare dicaces Conveniet Satyros, ita vertere seria ludo; Ne quicunque Deus, quicunque adhibebi tur heros [sic]

Regali conspectus in auro nuper et ostro, Migret in obscuras humili sermone tabernas Aut, dum vitat humum, nubes et inania captet [sic]

Effutire leves indigna tragoedia versus, Ut festis matrona moveri jussa diebus, Intererit Satyris paulum pudibunda protervis.

Non ego inornata et dominantia nomina solum Verbaque, Pisones, Satyrorum scriptor amabo Nec sic enitar tragico differre colori, For holiday-spectators, flush'd, and wild, With new conceits, and mummeries, were beguil'd.

Yet should the Satyrs so chastise their mirth, Temp'ring the jest that gives their sallies birth; Changing from grave to gay, so keep the mean, That G.o.d or Heroe of the lofty scene, In royal gold and purple seen but late, May ne'er in cots obscure debase his state, Lost in low language; nor in too much care To shun the ground, grasp clouds, and empty air.

With an indignant pride, and coy disdain, Stern Tragedy rejects too light a vein: Like a grave Matron, destin'd to advance On solemn festivals to join the dance, Mixt with the s.h.a.ggy tribe of Satyrs rude, She'll hold a sober mien, and act the prude.

Let me not, Pisos, in the Sylvan scene, Use abject terms alone, and phrases mean; Nor of high Tragick colouring afraid, Neglect too much the difference of shade!

Ut nihil intersit Davusne loquatur et audax Pythias emuncto lucrata Simone talentum, An custos famulusque Dei Silenus alumni.

Ex noto fictum carmen sequar: ut sibi quivis Speret idem; sudet multum, frustraque laboret Ausus idem: tantum series juncturaque pollet: Tantum de medio sumtis accedit honoris.

Silvis deducti caveant, me judice, Fauni, Ne velut innati triviis, ac pene forenses, Aut nimium teneris juvenentur versibus umquam, Aut immunda crepent ignominiosaque dicta.

Offenduntur enim, quibus est equus, et pater, et res; Nec, si quid fricti ciceris probat et nucis emtor, Aequis accipiunt animis, donantve corona.

Davus may jest, pert Pythias may beguile Simo of cash, in a familiar style; The same low strain Silenus would disgrace, Servant and guardian of the G.o.dlike race.

Let me on subjects known my verse so frame, So follow it, that each may hope the same; Daring the same, and toiling to prevail, May vainly toil, and only dare to fail!

Such virtues order and connection bring, From common arguments such honours spring.

The woodland Fauns their origin should heed, Take no town stamp, nor seem the city breed: Nor let them, aping young gallants, repeat Verses that run upon too tender feet; Nor fall into a low, indecent stile, Breaking dull jests to make the vulgar smile!

For higher ranks such ribaldry despise, Condemn the Poet, and withhold the prize.

Syllaba longa brevi subjecta, vocatur Iambus, Pes citus: unde etiam Trimetris accrescere jussit Nomen Iambeis, c.u.m senos redderet ictus Primus ad extremum similis sibi; non ita pridem, Tardior ut paulo graviorque veniret ad aures, Spondeos stabiles in jura paterna recepit Commodus et patiens: non ut de sede secunda Cederet, aut quarta socialiter. Hic et in Acci n.o.bilibus Trimetris apparet rarus, et Enni.

In scenam missus c.u.m magno pondere versus, Aut operae celeris nimium curaque carentis, Aut ignoratae premit artis crimine turpi.

Non quivis videt immodulata poemata judex: Et data Romanis venia est indigna poetis.

To a short Syllable a long subjoin'd Forms an Iambick foot; so light a kind, That when six pure Iambicks roll'd along, So nimbly mov'd, so trippingly the song, The feet to half their number lost their claim, And _Trimeter Iambicks_ was their name.

Hence, that the measure might more grave appear, And with a slower march approach the ear, From the fourth foot, and second, not displac'd, The steady spondee kindly it embrac'd; Then in firm union socially unites, Admitting the ally to equal rights.

Accius, and Ennius lines, thus duly wrought, In their bold Trimeters but rarely sought: Yet scenes o'erloaded with a verse of lead, A ma.s.s of heavy numbers on their head, Speak careless haste, neglect in ev'ry part.

Or shameful ignorance of the Poet's art.

"Not ev'ry Critick spies a faulty strain, And pardon Roman Poets should disdain."

Idcircne vager, scribamque licenter? ut omnes Visuros peccata putem mea; tutus et intra Spem veniae cautus? vitavi denique culpam, Non laudem merui.

Vos exemplaria Graeca Nocturna versate manu, versate diurna.

At vestri proavi Plautinos et numeros, et Laudavere sales; nimium patienter utrumque (Ne dicam stulte) mirati: si modo ego et vos Scimus inurbanum lepido seponere dicto, Legitimumque sonum digitis callemus et aure.

Ignotum tragicae genus invenisse Camenae Dicitur, et plaustris vexisse poemata Thespis Quae canerent agerentque, peruncti faecibus ora.

Shall I then all regard, all labour slight, Break loose at once, and all at random write?

Or shall I fear that all my faults descry, Viewing my errors with an Eagle eye, And thence correctness make my only aim, Pleas'd to be safe, and sure of 'scaping blame?

Thus I from faults indeed may guard my lays; But neither they, nor I, can merit praise.

Pisos! be Graecian models your delight!

Night and day read them, read them day and night!

"Well! but our fathers Plautus lov'd to praise, Admir'd his humour, and approv'd his lays."

Yes; they saw both with a too partial eye, Fond e'en to folly sure, if you and I Know ribaldry from humour, chaste and terse, Or can but scan, and have an ear for verse.

A kind of Tragick Ode unknown before, Thespis, 'tis said, invented first; and bore Cart-loads of verse about, and with him went A troop begrim'd, to sing and represent, Post hunc personae pallaeque repertor honestae Aeschylus et modicis instravit pulpita tignis, Et docuit magnumque loqui, nitique cothurno.

Successit Vetus his Comoedia, non sine multa Laude: sed in vitium libertas excidit, et vim Dignam lege regi: lex est accepta; Chorusque Turpiter obticuit, sublato jure nocendi.

Nil intentatum nostri liquere poetae: Nec nimium meruere decus, vestigia Graeca Ausi deserere, et celebrare domestica facta, Vel qui Praetextas, vel qui docuere Togatas: Nec virtute foret clarisve potentius armis, Quam lingua, Latium; si non offenderet unum-- Next, Aeschylus, a Mask to shroud the face, A Robe devis'd, to give the person grace; On humble rafters rais'd a Stage, and taught The buskin'd actor, with _his_ spirit fraught, To breathe with dignity the lofty thought.

To these th' old comedy of ancient days Succeeded, and obtained no little praise; 'Till Liberty, grown rank and run to seed, Call'd for the hand of Law to pluck the weed: The Statute past; the sland'rous Chorus, drown'd In shameful silence, lost the pow'r to wound.

Nothing have Roman Poets left untried, Nor added little to their Country's pride; Daring their Graecian Masters to forsake, And for their themes Domestick Glories take; Whether _the Gown_ prescrib'd a stile more mean, Or the _Inwoven Purple_ rais'd the scene: Nor would the splendour of the Latian name From arms, than Letters, boast a brighter fame, Quemque poetarum limae labor et mora. Vos o Pompilius sanguis, carmen reprehendite, quod non Multa dies et multa litura coercuit, atque Praesectum decies non castigavit ad unguem.

Ingenium misera quia fortunatius arte Credit, et excludit sanos Helicone poetas Democritus; bona pars non ungues ponere curat, Non barbam, secreta pet.i.t loca, balnea vitat; Nanciscetur enim pretium nomenque poetae, Si tribus Anticyris caput insanabile numquam Tonsori Licino commiserit. O ego laevus, Qui purgor bilem sub verni temporis horam!

Non alius faceret meliora poemata: verum Had they not, scorning the laborious file, Grudg'd time, to mellow and refine their stile.

But you, bright hopes of the Pompilian Blood, Never the verse approve and hold as good, 'Till many a day, and many a blot has wrought The polish'd work, and chasten'd ev'ry thought, By tenfold labour to perfection brought!

Because Democritus thinks wretched Art Too mean with Genius to sustain a part, To Helicon allowing no pretence, 'Till the mad bard has lost all common sense; Many there are, their nails who will not pare, Or trim their beards, or bathe, or take the air: For _he_, no doubt, must be a bard renown'd, _That_ head with deathless laurel must be crown'd, Tho' past the pow'r of h.e.l.lebore insane, Which no vile Cutberd's razor'd hands profane.

Ah luckless I, each spring that purge the bile!

Or who'd write better? but 'tis scarce worth while: Nil tanti est: ergo fungar vice cotis, acutum Reddere quae ferrum valet, exsors ipsa secandi.

Munus et officium, nil scribens ipse, docebo; Unde parentur opes; quid alat formetque poetam; Quid deceat, quid non; qu virtus, qu ferat error,

Scribendi recte, sapere est et principium et fons.

Rem tibi Socraticae poterunt ostendere chartae; Verbaque provisam rem non invita sequentur.

Qui didicit patriae quid debeat, et quid amicis; Quo fit amore parens, quo frater amandus et hospes; Quod fit conscripti, quod judicis officium; quae Partes in bellum missi ducis; ille profect Reddere personae scit convenientia cuique.

So as mere hone, my services I pledge; Edgeless itself, it gives the steel an edge: No writer I, to writers thus impart The nature and the duty of their art: Whence springs the fund; what forms the bard, to know; What nourishes his pow'rs, and makes them grow; What's fit or unfit; whither genius tends; And where fond ignorance and dulness ends.

In Wisdom, Moral Wisdom, to excell, Is the chief cause and spring of writing well.

Draw elements from the Socratick source, And, full of matter, words will rise of course.

He who hath learnt a patriot's glorious flame; What friendship asks; what filial duties claim; The ties of blood; and secret links that bind The heart to strangers, and to all mankind; The Senator's, the Judge's peaceful care, And sterner duties of the Chief in war!