But now we show the world a nobler way,
And in translated verse do more than they;
Serene and clear harmonious Horoce flows,
With sweetness not to be express'd in prose:
Degrading prose explains his his meaning ill,

And shows the stuff, but not the workman's skill:
I (who have serv'd him more than twenty years)
Scarce know my master as he there appears.

Vain are our neighbours' hopes, and vain their

cares;

The fault is inore their language's than theirs;
'Tis courtly, florid, and abounds in words
Of softer sound than ours perhaps affords;
But who did ever in French authors see
The comprehensive English energy?

The weighty bullion of one sterling line,

With how much ease is a young Muse betray'd
How nice the reputation of the maid!
Your early, kind, paternal care appears,
By chaste instruction of her tender years.
The first impression in her infant breast
Will be the deepest, and should be the best.
Let no austerity breed servile fear,
No wanton sound offend her virgin ear.
Secure from foolish pride's affected state,
And specious flatt'ry's more pernicious bait,
Habitual innocence adorns her thoughts;
But your neglect must answer for her faults.

Immodest words admit of no defence;
For want of decency is want of sense. [stews,
What mod'rate fop would rake the Park or
Who among troops of faultless nymphs may
[choose?

Drawn to French wire, would thro' whole pages Variety of such is to be found:

shine.

I speak my private but impartial sense,

With freedom, and I hope without offence;
For I 'll recant when France can show me wit
As strong as ours, and as succinctly writ.
"Tis true, composing is a nobler part;
But good translation is no easy art.

For though materials have long since been found,
Yet both your fancy and your hands are bound;
And by improving what was writ before,
Invention labors less, but judgement more.

The soil intended for Pierian seeds
Must be well purg'd from rank pedantic weeds.
Apollo starts, and all Parnassus shakes,
At the rude rumbling Baralipton makes.
For none have been with admiration read,
But who (beside their learning) were well bred.
The firstgreat work (a task perform'd by few)
Is, that yourself may to yourself be true:
No mask, no tricks, no favor, no reserve;
Dissect your mind, examine ev'ry nerve.
Whoever vainly on his strength depends,
Begins like Virgil, but like Mævius ends.
That wretch (in spite of his forgotten rhymes),
Condemn'd to live to all succeeding times,
With pompous nonsense and a bellowing sound,
Sung lofty Ilium tumbling to the ground.
And (if my Muse can through past ages see)
That noisy, nauseous, gaping fool was he:
Exploded when, with universal scorn,
The mountains labor'd and a mouse was born.
Learn, learn, Crotona's brawny wrestler cries,

Then take a subject proper to expound;
But moral, great, and worth a poet's voice,
For men of sense despise a trivial choice:
And such applause it must expect to meet,
As would some painter busy in
To copy bulls and bears, and ev'ry sign
That calls the staring sots to nasty wine.

a street

Yet 'tis not all to have a subject good;
It must delight us when 'tis understood.
He that brings fulsome objects to niy view
(As many old have done, and many new)
With nauseous images my fancy fills,
And all goes down like oxymel of squills.
Instruct the list'ning world how Maro sings
Of useful subjects and of lofty things.
These will such true, such bright ideas raise,
As merit gratitude as well as praise:
But foul descriptions are offensive still,
Either for being like, or being ill.
For who, without a qualm, hath ever look'd
On holy garbage, though by Homer cook'd?
Whose railing heroes, and whose woundedGods,
Make some suspect he snores as well as nods.
But I offend - Virgil begins to frown,
And Horace looks with indignation down;
My blushing Muse with conscious fear retires,
And whom they like implicitly admires.

Audacious mortals, and be timely wise; 'Tis I that call, remember Milo's end,

On sure foundations let your fabric rise,
And with attractive majesty surprise,
Not by affected meretricious arts,
But strict harmonious symmetry of parts;
Which through the whole insensibly must pase,
With vital heat to animate the mass:
A pure, an active, and auspicious flame, [came,

Wedg'd in that timber which he strove to rend. And bright as heaven, from whence the blessing

Each poet with a diff 'rent talent writes;

One praises, one instructs, another bites.

Horace did ne'er aspire to Epic bays,

Nor lofty Maro stoop to Lyric lays.

Examine how your humor is inclin'd,
And which the ruling passion of your mind;
Then seek a poet who your way does bend,
And choose an author as you choose a friend;
United by this sympathetic bond,
You grow familiar, intimate, and fond;
Your thoughts, your words, your styles, your
No longer his interpreter, but he. [souls agree,

But few, oh few, souls pre-ordain'd by fate,
The race of Gods, have reach'd that envied
No rebel Titan's sacrilegious crime, [height
By reaping hills on hills, can hither climb:
The grizly ferryman of hell denied
Æneas entrance, till he knew his guide:
How justly then will impious morials fall,
Whose pride would soar to heaven without a call!
Pride (of all others the most dang rous fault)
Proceeds from want of sense or want of thought.
The men who labor and digest things most,
Will be much apter to despond than boast:

For

For if your author be profoundly good,
'Twill cost you dear before he's understood.
How many ages since has Virgil writ?

How few are they who understand him yet!
Approach his altars with religious fear,

No vulgar deity inhabits there:.
Heaven shakes not more at Jove's imperial nod,
Than poets should before their Mantuan god.
Hail, mighty Maro! may that sacred name.
Kindle my breast with thy celestial flame;
Sublime ideas and apt words infuse; [the Muse!
The Muse instruct any voice, and thou inspire
What I have instane'd only in the best,
Is, in proportion, true of all the rest.
Take pains the genuine meaning to explore;
There sweat, there strain, tug the laborious oar;
Search ev'ry comment that your care can find,
Some here, some there, may hit the poet's mind;
Yet be not blindly guided by the throng:
The multitude is always in the wrong.
When things appear unnatural or hard,
Consult your author, with himself compar'd;
Who knows what blessing Phœbus may bestow,
And future ages to your labor owe?
Such secrets are not easily found out;
But,

once discover'd, leave no room for doubt. Truth stamps conviction in your ravish'd breast, And peace and joy attend the glorious guest.

Truth still is one; truth is divinely bright;
No cloudy doubts obscure her native light;
While in your thoughts you find the least debate,
You may confound, but never can translate.
Your style will thus thro' all disguises show,
For none explain more clearly than they know.
He only proves he understands a text,
Whose exposition leaves it unperplex'd.
They who too faithfully on names insist,
Rather create than dissipate the mist;
And grow unjust by being over-nice
(For superstitious virtue turns to vice).
Let Crassus' ghost and Labienus tell
How twice in Parthian plains their legions fell:
Since Rome hath been so jealous of her fame,
That few know Pacorus' or Monæses' name.
Words in one language elegantly us'd,
Will hardly in another be excus'd.
And some that Rome admir'd in Cæsar's time,
May neither suit our genius nor our clime.
The genuine sense, intelligibly told,
Shows a translator both discreet and bold.
Excursions are inexpiably bad;

And 'tis much safer to leave out than add.
Abstruse and mystic thoughts you must express
With painful care, but seeming easiness;
For truth shines brightest thro' the plainest

dress.

Th' Enean Muse, when she appears in state,
Makes all Jove's thunder on her verses wait;
Yet writes sometimes as soft and moving things
As Venus speaks, or Philomela sings.
Your author always will the best advise:
Fall when he falls, and when he rises rise.

Affected noise is the most wretched thing
That to contempt can empty scribblers bring.
Vowels and accents regularly plac'd,
On even syllables (and still the last),
Though gross innumberable faults abeund,
In spite of nonsense, never fail of sound.
But this is meant of even verse alone,
As being most harmonious and most known:
For if you will unequal numbers try,
There accents on odd syllables must lie.
Whatever sister of the learned Nine
Does to your suit a willing ear incline,
Urge your success, deserve a lasting name,
She'll crown a grateful and a constant flame,
But if a wild uncertainty prevail,

And turn your veering heart with ev'ry gale,
You lose the fruit of all your former care
For the sad prospect of a just despair.

A quack (too scandalously mean to name)
Had, by man-midwifery, got wealth and fame:
As if Lucina had forgot her trade,
The laboring wife invokes his surer aid.
Well-season'd bowls the gossip's spirits raise,
Who, while she guzzles, chats the doctor's praise;
And largely what she wants in words supplies
With maudlin-eloquence of trickling eyes.
But what a thoughtless animal is man!
How very active in his own trepan!
For greedy of physicians' frequent fees,
From female mellow praise he takes degrees,
Struts in a new unlicens'd gown, and then,
From saving women, falls to killing men.
Another such had left the nation thin,

In spite of all the children he brought in.
His pills as thick as hand-granadoes flew,
And where they fell, as certainly they slew;
His name struck ev'ry where as great a damp
As Archimedes' thro' the Roman camp.
With this, the doctor's pride began to cool;
For smarting soundly may convince a fool.
But now repentance came too late for grace,
And ineagre famine star'd him in the face :
Fain would he to the wives be reconcil'd,
But found no husband left to own a child.
The friends that got the brats were poison'd too;
In this sad case what could our vermin do?
Worried with debts, and past all hope of bail,
Th' unpitied wretch lies rotting in a jail :
And there with basket-alms scarce kept alive,
Shows how mistaken talents ought to thrive.

I pity, from my soul, unhappy men,
Compell'd by want to prostitute their pen;
Who must, like lawyers, either starve or plead,
And follow, right or wrong, where guineas lead!
But you, Pompilian, wealthy pamper'd heirs,
Who to your country owe your swords and cares,
Let no vain hope your easy mind seduce,
For rich ill poets are without excuse.
"Tis very dang rous tampering with a Muse;
The profit's small, and you have much to lose:
For though true wit adorns your birth or place,
Degenerate lines degrade th' attainted race.

T4

No

Hor. i. Od. 6,

No poet any passion can excite,
[write.
But what they feel transport them when they
Have you been led through the Cumean cave,
And heard the impatient maid divinely rave?
I hear her now; I see her rolling eyes:

And panting, Lo! the god! the god! she cries;
With words not hers, and more thanhumansound,
She makes th' obedient ghosts peep trembling

Defied Jehovah! here, 'twixt host and host, (A narrow, but a dreadful interval) Portentous sight! before the cloudy van Satan with vast and haughty strides advanc'd, • Came tow'ring ari'd in adamant and gold. There bellowing engines, with their fiery tubes, Dispers'd ethereal forms, and down they fell By thousands, angels on archangels roll'd; • Recover'd, to the hills they ran, they flew, Which (with their ponderous load, rocks,

From their firin seats torn by the shaggy tops, They bore like shields before them through the [Toes. • Tift more incens'd they hurl'd them at their All was confusion, heaven's foundation shook, Threat'ning no less than universal wreck; For Michael's arm main promontories flung, And over-press'd whole legions weak with sin. Yet they blasphem'd and struggled as they lay, Till the great ensign of Messiah blaz'd, • And (arm'd with vengeance) God's victorious (Effulgence of paternal Deity!) [Son Grasping ten thousand thunders in his hand, • Drove th' old original rebels headlong down, • And sent them flaming to the vast abyss.' O inay I live to hail the glorious day,

And

sing loud pæans through the crowded way, When in triumphant state the British Muse, True to herself, shall barbarous aid refuse,

* An Essay on Blank Verse, out of Paradise Lost, B. VI,

And in the Roman majesty appear,
Which none know better, and none

§27. Absalom and Achitophel. Dryden.
Ix pious times, ere priesteraft did begin,
Before polygamy was made a sin;
When man on many multiplied his kind,
Ere one to one was cursedly confin'd!
When nature prompted, and no law denied
Promiscuous use of conenbine and bride;
Then Israel's monarch, after Heaven'sown heart,
His vigorous warmth did variously impart
To wires and slaves; and wide as his command,
Scatter'd his Maker's image thro' the land.
Michal, of royal blood, the crown did wear;
A soil ungrateful to the tiller's care;
Not so the rest; for several mothers bore
To godlike David several sons before.
But since, like slaves, his bed they did ascend,
No true succession could their seed attend.

to

[near. Who banish'd David did from Hebron bring,
come so And with a gen'ral shout proclaim'd him king.
Those very Jews, who at their very best
Their humor more than loyalty express'd,
Now wonder'd why so long they had obey'd
An idol monarch which their hands had made;
Thought they might ruin him they could create,
Or melt him to that golden calf of state.
But these were random bolts: no form'd design,
Nor int'rest made the factions crowd to join:
The sobert part of Israel, free from stain,
Well knew the value of a peaceful reign;
And looking backward with a wise aftright,
Saw seams of wounds dishonest to the sight:
In contemplation of whose ugly scars,
They curs'd the mem'ry of civil wars.
The moderate sort of men this qualified,
Inclin'd the balance to the better side:
And David's mildness manag'd it so well,
The bad found no occasion to rebel.
Bat when to sin our biass'd pature leans,
The careful devil is still at hand with means;
And providently pimps for ill desires:
The good old cause reviv'd a plot requires.
Plots true or false are necessary things
To raise up commonwealths, and ruin kings.

Of all the numerous progeny, was none
So beautiful, so brave, as Absalom:
Whether inspired by some diviner lust,
His father got him with a greater gust;
Or that his conscious destiny made way,
By manly beauty,
imperial sway,
Farly in foreign fields he won renown,
With kings and states allied to Israel's crown:
In peace the thoughts of war he could remove,
And seem'd as he were only born for love.
Whate'er he did was done with so much ease,
In him alone 'twas natural to please :
His motions all accompanied with grace;
And paradise was open'd in his face.
With secret joy indulgent David view'd
Ilis youthful image in his son renew'd :
To all his wishes nothing he denied;

And made the charming Annabel bis bride.
What faults he had (for who from faults is free?),
His father could not, or he would not see.

Some warm excesses which the law forbore,
Were constrned youth that purg'd by boilingo'er,
And Ammon's murder, by a specious naine,
Was call'd a just revenge for injur'd fame.
Thus prais'd and lov'd the noble youth remain'd,
While David undisturb'd in Sion reign'd;
But life can never be sincerely blest:

ease,

Heaven punishes the bad, and proves the best.
The Jews, a headstrong, moody, murin'ring race,
As ever tried th' extent and stretch of grace;
God's pamper'd people, whom, debauched with
Noking could govern, nor no God could please.
Gods they had tried of every shape and size,
That goldsmiths could produce, or priests des ise:
These Adam-wits, too fortunately free,
Began to dream they wanted liberty;

And when no rule, no precedent was found
Of men by laws less eireumscrib'd and bound,
They led their wild desires to woods and caves,
And thought that all but Savages were slaves.
They who, when Saul was dead, withouta blow,
Made foolish Ishbosheth the crown forego;

Th' inhabitants of old Jerusalem
Were Jebusites; the town so call'd from them;
And theirs the native right-

But when the chosen people grew more strong,
The rightful cause at length became the wrong;
And ev'ry loss the men of Jebus bore,
They still were thought God's enemies the more.
Thus worn or weaken'd, well or ill content,
Submit they must to David's government {
Impoverish'd, and depriv'd of all command,
Their taxes doubled as they lost their land,
And what was harder vet to flesh and blood,
Their gods disgrac'd, and burnt like common
wood.

This set the heathen priesthood in a flame;
For priests of all religions are the same.
Of whatsoe'er descent their godhead be,
Stock, stone, or other homely pedigree,
In his defence his servants are as bold
As if he had been born of beaten gold.
gold.
The Jewish rabbins, though their enemies,
In this conclude them honest men and wise:
For 'twas their duty, all the learned think,
T'espouse his cause by whom they eat and drink.
From hence began that plot, the nation's curse,
Bad in itself, but represented worse;
Rais'd in extremes, and in extremes deeried;
With oaths affirm'd, with dying vows denied;
Not weigh'd nor winnow'd by the multitude;
But swallow d in the mass, unchew'd and crude,
Some truth there was, but dash'd and brew'd with
To please the fools, and puzzle all the wise. [lies;
Succeeding times did equal folly call,
Believing nothing, or believing all.
Th' Egyptian rites the Jebusites embrac'd;
Where gods were recommended by their taste,
Such savory deities must needs be good,
As serv'd at once for worship and for food.

Then, seis'd with fear, yet still affecting fame, And, never satisfied with seeing, bless: