Your filence there is better than your fpite,
For who can rail fo long as they can write?
Still humming on, their drowzy courfe they keep, 600
And lafh'd fo long, like tops, are lash'd asleep.
False steps but help them to renew the race,
As, after stumbling, 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.
Such fhameless Bards we have: and yet 'tis true, 610 There are as mad, abandon'd Critics too.
The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read,
With loads of learned lumber in his head,
With his own tongue ftill edifies his ears,
And always liftening to himself appears.
All books he reads, and all he reads affails,
From Dryden's Fables down to Durfey's Tales:
With him, moft authors steal their works, or buy;
Garth did not write his own Dispensary.
Still humming on, their old dull course they keep.
Ver. 619. Garth did not write, &c.] A common flander at that time in prejudice of that deferving author. Our Poet did him this justice, when that flander most prevailed; and it is now (perhaps the fooner for this very verse) dead and forgotten.
Name a new Play, and he's the Poet's friend,
Nay show'd his faults-but when would Poets mend?
No place fo facred from fuch fops is barr'd,
Nor is Paul's church more safe than Paul's church-yard:
Nay, fly to Altars; there they'll talk you
For Fools rufh in where Angels fear to tread.
Distrustful fenfe with modest caution speaks,
It still looks home, and fhort excursions makes :
But rattling nonsense in full vollies breaks,
And, never fhock'd, and never turn'd afide,
Bursts out, refistless, with a thundering tide.
But where's the man, who counsel can beftow,
Still pleas'd to teach, and yet not proud to know?
Unbiafs'd, or by favour, or by spite;
Not dully prepoffefs'd, nor blindly right;
Though learn'd, well-bred; and though well-bred,
Modeftly bold, and humanly fevere :
Who to a friend his faults can freely show,
And gladly praise the merit of a foe?
Bleft with a tafte exact, yet unconfin'd;
A knowledge both of books and human kind;
Ver. 623. Between this and ver. 624.
In vain you shrug and fweat, and strive to fly :
These 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.
Generous converse; a foul exempt from pride;
And love to praise, with reafon on his fide?
Such once were Critics; fuch the happy few,
Athens and Rome in better ages knew.
The mighty Stagyrite first left the shore,
Spread all his fails, and durft the deeps explore;
He fteer'd fecurely, and discover'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 stood convinc'd 'twas fit,
Who conquer'd Nature, fhould prefide o'er Wit.
Horace still charms with graceful negligence,
And without method talks us into fenfe,
Will, like a friend, familiarly convey
The trueft notions in the easiest way.
Between ver. 646 and 649, I found the following lines,
fince fuppreffed by the Author :
That bold Columbus of the realms of wit,
Whofe first discovery's not exceeded yet,
Led by the Light of the Mæonian Star,
He fteer'd fecurely, and difcover'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 boundless empire own'd his sway.
Ver. 655. Does, like a friend, &c.
Ver. 655, 656. These lines are not in ed. 1.
He, who fupreme in judgment; as in wit,
Might boldly cenfure, as he boldly writ,
Yet judg'd with coolness, though he fung with fire; -
His precepts teach but what his works inspire.
Our Critics take a contrary extreme,
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 scholar's learning, with the courtier's ease.
In grave Quintilian's copious work, we find
The jufteft rules and cleareft method join'd:
Thus useful arms in magazines we place,
All rang'd in order, and difpos'd with grace,
But lefs to please the eye, than arm the hand,
Still fit for ufe, and ready at command.
Thee, bold Longinus! all the Nine infpire,
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;
Ver. 668. The scholar's learning, and the courtier's ease.
Nor thus alone the curious eye to please,
But to be found, when need requires, with ease.
The Mufes fure Longinus did infpire,
And blefs'd their Critic with a Poet's fire.
An ardent Judge, that zealous, &c.
Whose own example ftrengthens all his laws;
And is himself that great Sublime he draws.
Thus long fucceeding Critics juftly reign'd,
License repress'd, and useful laws ordain'd.
Learning and Rome alike in empire grew;
And Arts still follow'd where her Eagles flew;
From the fame foes, at last, both felt their doom,
And the fame age faw Learning fall, and Rome.
With Tyranny, then Superftition join'd,
As that the body, this enflay'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 shame!)
Stem'd the wild torrent of a barbarous age,
And drove those holy Vandals off the stage.
But fee! 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 fister-arts revive;
Stones leap'd to form, and rocks began to live;
Ver. 689. All was believ'd, but nothing understood. Between ver. 690 and 691. the Author omitted these
Vain Wits and Critics were no more allow'd,
When none but Saints had license to be proud.
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