Epistle to a Friend Concerning Poetry (1700) and the Essay on Heroic Poetry Part 1

Epistle to a Friend Concerning Poetry (1700) and the Essay on Heroic Poetry (second edition, 1697).

by Samuel Wesley.

INTRODUCTION

We remember Samuel Wesley (1662-1735), if at all, as the father of a great religious leader. In his own time he was known to many as a poet and a writer of controversial prose. His poetic career began in 1685 with the publication of _Maggots_, a collection of juvenile verses on trivial subjects, the preface to which, a frothy concoction, apologizes to the reader because the book is neither grave nor gay. The first poem, "On a Maggot," is composed in hudibrastics, with a diction obviously Butlerian, and it is followed by facetious poetic dialogues and by Pindarics of the Cowleian sort but on such subjects as "On the Grunting of a Hog." In 1688 Wesley took his B.A. at Exeter College, Oxford, following which he became a naval chaplain and, in 1690, rector of South Ormsby; he became rector of Epworth in 1695. During the run of the _Athenian Gazette_ (1691-1697) he joined with Richard Sault and John Norris in a.s.sisting John Dunton, the promoter of the undertaking. His second venture in poetry, the _Life of Our Blessed Lord and Saviour_, an epic largely in heroic couplets with a prefatory discourse on heroic poetry, appeared in 1693, was reissued in 1694, and was honored with a second edition in 1697. In 1695 he dutifully came forward with _Elegies_, lamenting the deaths of Queen Mary and Archbishop Tillotson. _An Epistle to a Friend concerning Poetry_ (1700) was followed by at least four other volumes of verse, the last of which was issued in 1717. His poetry appears to have had readers on a certain level, but it stirred up little pleasure among wits, writers, or critics. Judith Drake confessed that she was lulled to sleep by Blackmore's _Prince Arthur_ and by Wesley's "heroics" (_Essay in Defence of the Female s.e.x_, 1696, p. 50). And he was satirized as a mare poetaster in Garth's _Dispensary_, in Swift's _The Battle of the Books_, and in the earliest issues of the _Dunciad_. n.o.body today would care to defend his poetry for its esthetic merits.

For a few years in the early eighteenth century Wesley found himself in the vortex of controversy. Brought up in the dissenting tradition, he had swerved into conformity at some point during the 1680's, possibly under the influence of Tillotson, whom he greatly admired (cf. _Epistle to a Friend_, pp. 5-6). In 1702 there appeared his _Letter from a Country Divine to his friend in London concerning the education of dissenters in their private academies_, apparently written about 1693. This attack upon dissenting academies was published at an unfortunate time, when the public mind was inflamed by the intolerance of overzealous churchmen.

Wesley was furiously answered; he replied in _A Defence of a Letter_ (1704), and again in _A Reply to Mr. Palmer's Vindication_ (1707). It is scarcely to Wesley's credit that in this quarrel he stood shoulder to shoulder with that most hot-headed of all contemporary bigots, Henry Sacheverell. His prominence in the controversy earned him the ironic compliments of Defoe, who recalled that our "Mighty Champion of this very High-Church Cause" had once written a poem to satirize frenzied Tories (_Review_, II, no. 87, Sept. 22, 1705). About a week later Defoe, having got wind of a collection being taken up for Wesley--who in consequence of a series of misfortunes was badly in debt--intimated that High-Church pamphleteering had turned out very profitably for both Lesley and Wesley (Oct. 2, 1705). But in such snarling and bickering Wesley was out of his element, and he seems to have avoided future quarrels.

His literary criticism is small in bulk. But though it is neither brilliant nor well written (Wesley apparently composed at a break-neck clip), it is not without interest. Pope observed in 1730 that he was a "learned" man (letter to Swift, in _Works_, ed. Elwin-Courthope, VII, 184). The observation was correct, but it should be added that Wesley matured at the end of an age famous for its great learning, an age whose most distinguished poet was so much the scholar that he appeared more the pedant than the gentleman to critics of the succeeding era; Wesley was not singular for erudition among his seventeenth-century contemporaries.

The "Essay on Heroic Poetry," serving as Preface to _The Life of Our Blessed Lord and Saviour_, reveals something of its author's erudition.

Among the critics, he was familiar with Aristotle, Horace, Longinus, Dionysius of Halicarna.s.seus, Heinsius, Bochart, Balzac, Rapin, Le Bossu, and Boileau. But this barely hints at the extent of his learning. In the notes on the poem itself the author displays an interest in cla.s.sical scholars.h.i.+p, Biblical commentary, ecclesiastical history, scientific inquiry, linguistics and philology, British antiquities, and research into the history, customs, architecture, and geography of the Holy Land; he shows, an intimate acquaintance with Grotius, Henry Hammond, Joseph Mede, Spanheim, Sherlock, Lightfoot, and Gregory, with Philo, Josephus, Fuller, Walker, Camden, and Kircher; and he shows an equal readiness to draw upon Cudworth's _True Intellectual System_ and Boyle's new theories concerning the nature of light. In view of such a breadth of knowledge it is somewhat surprising to find him quoting as extensively as he does in the "Essay"

from Le Bossu and Rapin, and apparently leaning heavily upon them.

The "Essay" was composed at a time when the prestige of Rymer and neo-Aristotelianism in England was already declining, and though Wesley expressed some admiration for Rapin and Le Bossu, he is by no means docile under their authority. Whatever the weight of authority, he says, "I see no cause why Poetry should not be brought to the Test [of reason], as well as Divinity...." As to the sacred example of Homer, who based his great epic on mythology, Wesley remarks, "But this [mythology] being now antiquated, I cannot think we are oblig'd superst.i.tiously to follow his Example, any more than to make Horses speak, as he does that of Achilles."

To the question of the formidable Boileau, "What Pleasure can it be to hear the howlings of repining Lucifer?" our critic responds flippantly, "I think 'tis easier to answer than to find out what shew of Reason he had for asking it, or why Lucifer mayn't howl as pleasantly as either Cerberus, or Enceladus." Without hesitation or apology he takes issue with Rapin's conception of Decorum in the epic. But Wesley is empiricist as well as rationalist, and the judgment of authority can be upset by appeal to the court of experience. To Balzac's suggestion that, to avoid difficult and local proper names in poetry, generalized terms be used, such as _Ill-luck_ for the _Fates_ and the _Foul Fiend_ for _Lucifer_, our critic replies with jaunty irony, "... and whether this wou'd not sound extreamly Heroical, I leave any Man to judge," and thus he dismisses the matter. Similarly, when Rapin objects to Ta.s.so's mingling of lyric softness in the majesty of the epic, Wesley points out sharply that no man of taste will part with the fine scenes of tender love in Ta.s.so, Dryden, Ovid, Ariosto, and Spenser "for the sake of a fancied Regularity." He had set out to defend the Biblical epic, the Christian epic, and the propriety of Christian machines in epic, and no rules or authority could deter him.

As good an example as any of his independence of mind can be seen in a note on Bk. I, apropos of the poet's use of obsolete words (_Life of Our Blessed Lord_, 1697, p. 27): it may be in vicious imitation of Milton and Spenser, he says in effect, but I have a fondness for old words, they please my ear, and that is all the reason I can give for employing them.

Wesley's resistance to a strict application of authority and the rules grew partly out of the rationalistic and empirical temper of Englishmen in his age, but it also sprang from his learning. From various sources he drew the theory that Greek and Latin were but corrupted forms of ancient Phoenician, and that the degeneracy of Greek and Latin in turn had produced all, or most, of the present European tongues (_ibid._, p. 354).

In addition, he believed that the Greeks had derived some of their thought from older civilizations, and specifically that Plato had received many of his notions from the Jews (_ibid._, p. 230)--an idea which recalls the argument that Dryden in _Religio Laici_ had employed against the deists. Furthermore, he had, like many of his learned contemporaries, a profound respect for Hebrew culture and the sublimity of the Hebrew scriptures, going so far as to remark in the "Essay on Heroic Poetry" that "most, even of [the heathen poets'] best Fancies and Images, as well as Names, were borrow'd from the Antient Hebrew Poetry and Divinity." In short, however faulty his particular conclusions, he had arrived at an historical viewpoint, from which it was no longer possible to regard the cla.s.sical standards--much less the standards of French critics--as having the holy sanction of Nature herself.

Some light is shed on the literary tastes of his period by Wesley's two essays here reproduced, which with a few exceptions were in accord with the prevailing current. _The Life of Our Blessed Lord_ shows strongly the influence of Cowley's _Davideis_. Wesley's great admiration persisted after the tide had turned away from Cowley; and his liking for the "divine Herbert" and for Crashaw represented the tastes of sober and unfas.h.i.+onable readers. In spite of the fact that he professed unbounded admiration for Homer as the greatest genius in nature, in practise he seemed more inclined to follow the lead of Cowley, Virgil, and Vida.

Although there was much in Ariosto that he enjoyed, he preferred Ta.s.so; the irregularities in both, however, he felt bound to deplore. To Spenser's _Faerie Queene_ he allowed extraordinary merit. If the plan of it was n.o.ble, he thought, and the mark of a comprehensive genius, yet the action of the poem seemed confused. Nevertheless, like Prior later, Wesley was inclined to suspend judgment on this point because the poem had been left incomplete. To Spenser's "thoughts" he paid the highest tribute, and to his "Expressions flowing natural and easie, with such a prodigious Poetical Copia as never any other must expect to enjoy." Like most of the Augustans Wesley did not care greatly for _Paradise Regained_, but he partly atoned by his praise for _Paradise Lost_, which was an "original" and therefore "above the common Rules." Though defective in its action, it was resplendent with sublime thoughts perhaps superior to any in Virgil or Homer, and full of incomparable and exquisitely moving pa.s.sages. In spite of his belief that Milton's blank verse was a mistake, making for looseness and incorrectness, he borrowed lines and images from it, and in Bk. IV of _The Life of Our Blessed Lord_ he incorporated a whole pa.s.sage of Milton's blank verse in the midst of his heroic couplets.

Wesley's att.i.tude toward Dryden deserves a moment's pause. In the "Essay on Heroic Poetry" he observed that a speech of Satan's in _Paradise Lost_ is nearly equalled in Dryden's _State of Innocence_. Later in the same essay he credited a pa.s.sage in Dryden's _King Arthur_ with showing an improvement upon Ta.s.so. There is no doubt as to his vast respect for the greatest living poet, but his remarks do not indicate that he ranked Dryden with Virgil, Ta.s.so, or Milton; for he recognized as well as we that the power to embellish and to imitate successfully does not const.i.tute the highest excellence in poetry. In the _Epistle to a Friend_ he affirmed his admiration for Dryden's matchless style, his harmony, his lofty strains, his youthful fire, and even his wit--in the main, qualities of style and expression. But by 1700 Wesley had absorbed enough of the new puritanism that was rising in England to qualify his praise; now he deprecated the looseness and indecency of the poetry, and called upon the poet to repent. One other point calls for comment.

Wesley's scheme for Christian machinery in the epic, as described in the "Essay on Heroic Poetry," is remarkably similar to Dryden's. Dryden's had appeared in the essay on satire prefaced to his translation of Juvenal, published late in October, 1692; Wesley's scheme appeared soon after June, 1693.

The _Epistle to a Friend concerning Poetry_ is neither startling nor contemptible; it has, in fact, much more to say than the rhymed treatises on verse by Roscommon and Buckinghams.h.i.+re. Its remarks on Genius are fresh, though tantalizing in their brevity, and it defends the Moderns with both neatness and energy. Much of its advice is cautious and commonplace--but such was the tradition of the poetical treatise on verse.

Appearing within two years of Collier's first attack upon the stage, it reinforces some of that worthy's contentions, but we are not aware of its having had much effect.

The _Epistle to a Friend concerning Poetry_ is here reproduced, with permission, from the copy at Harvard. The "Essay on Heroic Poetry" is reproduced, with permission, from a copy of the 1697 edition of _The Life of Our Blessed Lord_ owned by the Henry E. Huntington Library, at San Marino, California. Our reproduction of the second item was made from a typescript because the printing of the original lacks the size and clarity which are necessary for satisfactory results In lithoprinting. The typescript follows the original accurately except that italics (crazily profuse in the 1697 edition) are omitted, the use of quotation marks is normalized, and three obvious typographical errors are silently emended.

Edward Niles Hooker

PREFACE.

_I have not much to say of this Poem, before I leave it to the_ Mercy _of the Reader. There's no need of looking far into it, to find out that the direct_ Design _of a great part of it, is to Serve the_ Cause of Religion _and_ Virtue; _tho' 'twas necessary for that End to dispose the_ whole _in such a manner as might be agreeable to the_ Tast _of the present Age, and of those who usually give such sort of Books the_ Reading. _If there be any Thoughts in it relating to_ Poetry, _that either are not known to_ all Persons, _or are tolerably_ ranged _and_ expressed, _the Reader is welcome to 'em for_ Over-weight: _If there are too few of these, I yet hope the Pardon of all_ candid Judges, _because I've done the best I cou'd on this_ Argument. _I can't be angry with any Person for ranking me amongst the_ Ogylbys; _my Quarrel is with these that rank themselves amongst_ Atheists, _and impudently defend and propagate that_ ridiculous _Opinion of the_ Eternity of the World, _and a fatal_ invincible Chain of Things, _which, it seems, is now most commonly made use of to destroy the_ Faith, _as our_ lewd Plays _are to corrupt the_ Morals _of the_ Nation: _An Opinion, big with more_ Absurdities _than_ Transubstantiation _it self, and of far more_ fatal Consequence, _if receiv'd and believ'd: For besides its extremely weakening, if not destroying, the_ Belief _of the_ Being _and_ Providence of G.o.d, _it utterly takes away any sort of_ Freedom _in_ Humane Actions, _reduces Mankind beneath the_ Brute Creation; _perfectly_ excuses _the greatest_ Villanies _in_ this World, _and entirely vacates all_ Retribution _hereafter. One wou'd wonder with what Face or Conscience such a_ Sett _of Men shou'd hope to be treated by the Rules of_ Civility, _when they themselves break through those of_ Society, _and_ common Humanity: _How they can expect any fairer_ Quarter _than_ Wolves _or_ Tygers; _or what Reason they can give why a_ Price _should not be sett upon their_ Heads, _as well as on the_ Others; _or at least why they should not be securely_ hamper'd _and_ muzzled, _and led about for a_ Sight, _like other_ Monsters. _'Tis the fatal and spreading_ Poyson _of these Mens_ Examples _and_ Principles _which has extorted these_ warm Expressions _from me; I cannot with_ Patience _see my_ Countrey ruin'd _by the prodigious increase of_ Infidelity _and_ Immorality, _nor forbear crying out with some_ Vehemence, _when I am giving Warning to all honest Men to stand up in the_ Defence _of it, when it is in greater and more eminent danger than it wou'd have been formerly, if the_ Spanish Armada _had made a Descent amongst us: I don't speak of these things by distant_ Hear-say, _or only from our publick_ Prints, _but from my own_ Knowledg _and little_ Acquaintance _in the World, and therefore others must have observ'd much more, and cannot but fear, that if things go on as they now are, without a greater_ Check, _and more_ severe Laws _against these wide and contagious_ Mischiefs, _at least without a more general united_ Endeavour _to put those Laws already made in_ strict Execution, _we are in a fair way to become a_ Nation of Atheists. _'Tis now no difficult matter to meet with those who pretend to be_ lewd _upon_ Principles; _They'll talk very_ gravely, _look as if they were in earnest, and come_ sobrii ad perdendam Rempublicam: _they wou'd be_ Criticks _too, and_ Philosophers: _They attack_ Religion _in_ Form _and batter it from every_ Quarter; _they wou'd turn the very_ Scriptures _against themselves, and labour hard to remove a_ Supreme Being _out of the World; or if they do vouchsafe him any_ room _in it, 'tis only that they may find_ Fault _with his_ Works, _which they think, with that_ Blasphemer _of old, might have been much better order'd, had they themselves stood by and directed the_ Architect. _They'll tell you the_ Errors _of_ Nature _are every where_ plain _and_ visible, _all_ monstrous, _here_ too much _and there_ too little; _or, as_ one of their own Poets,

Here she's _too sparing_, there _profusely_ vain.

_What would these Men have, or why can't they be content to sink_ single _into the_ bottomless Gulph, _without dragging so much Company thither with 'em? Can they grapple_ Omnipotence, _or are they sure they can be_ too hard _for_ Heaven? _Can they_ Thunder _with a_ Voice like G.o.d, _and cast abroad the_ Rage _of their_ Wrath? _Cou'd they_ annihilate _h.e.l.l, indeed, or did it only consist of such_ painted Flames _as they'd fain believe it, they might make a s.h.i.+ft to be tolerably happy, more quietly rake through the World, and_ sink _into_ Nothing. _There's too great reason to apprehend, that this_ Infection _is spred among Persons of almost all_ Ranks _and_ Qualities; _and that tho' some may think it_ decent _to keep on the_ Masque, _yet if they were search'd to the_ bottom, _all_ their Religion _wou'd be found that which they most blasphemously a.s.sert of_ Religion _in_ general, _only a_ State Engin _to keep the_ World in Order. _This is_ Hypocrisie _with a Witness; the_ basest _and_ meanest _of_ Vices; _and how come Men to fall into these_ d.a.m.nable Errors _in Faith, but by_ Lewdness _of Life? The Cowards wou'd not believe a G.o.d because they_ dare _not do it, for Woe be to 'em if there be one, and consequently any_ Future Punishments. _From such as these, I desire no Favour, but that of their_ Ill Word, _as their_ Crimes _must expect_ none _from me, whose_ Character _obliges me to declare an_ eternal War _against_ Vice _and_ Infidelity, _tho' at the same time heartily to_ pity _those who are_ infected _with it. If I cou'd be_ ambitious _of a_ Name _in the World, it shou'd be that I might_ sacrifice _it in so glorious a_ Cause _as that of_ Religion _and_ Virtue: _If none but_ Generals _must fight in this_ sacred War, _when there are such_ infernal Hosts _on the other side, they cou'd never prevail without one of the_ antient Miracles: _If_ little People _can but well discharge the Place of a_ private Centinel, _'tis all that's expected from us. I hope I shall never let the_ Enemies of G.o.d and my Countrey _come on without_ Fireing, _tho' it serve but to give the_ Alarm, _and if I dye without_ quitting _my_ Post, _I desire no greater Glory_. _I have endeavour'd to shew that I had no_ Personal Pique _against any whose_ Characters _I may have given in this Poem, nor think the worse of them for their_ Thoughts _of me. I hope I have every where done 'em_ Justice, _and as well as I cou'd, have given 'em_ Commendation _where they deserve it; which may also, on the other side, acquit me of_ Flattery _with all_ Impartial Judges; _for 'tis not only the_ Great _whose_ Characters _I have here attempted. And if what I have written may be any ways_ useful, _or_ innocently diverting _to the virtuous and ingenious_ Readers, _he has his End, who is_

Their Humble Servant

S. WESLEY.

AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND CONCERNING POETRY.

As Brother _Pryme_ of old from Mount _Orgueil_, So I to you from _Epworth_ and the _Isle_: Harsh _Northern_ Fruits from our cold Heav'ns I send, Yet, since the _best_ they yield, they'll please a _Friend_.

You ask me, What's the readiest way to _Fame_, And how to gain a _Poet's_ sacred Name?

For _Saffold_ send, your Choice were full as just, When burning _Fevers_ fry your Limbs to Dust!

Yet, lest you _angry_ grow at your _Defeat_, } And me as ill as that fierce _Spark_ should treat } 10 Who did the Farrier into Doctor _beat_; } You to my little _Quantum_, Sir, are free, Which I from HORACE glean or NORMANDY; These with some grains of _Common Sense_ unite, Then freely _think_, and as I think I write.

First _poize_ your _Genius_, nor presume to write If _Phoebus_ smile not, or some _Muse_ invite: Nature refuses _Force_, you strive in vain, She will not _drag_, but struggling breaks the Chain.

How bright a Spark of _Heav'nly Fire_ must warm! 20 What _Blessings_ meet a _Poet's Mind_ to form!

How oft must he for those _Life-Touches_ sit, _Genius, Invention, Memory, Judgment, Wit_?

There's here no _Middle-State_, you must excel; _Wit_ has no _Half-way-House_ 'twixt _Heav'n_ and _h.e.l.l_ _All cannot All things_, lest you mourn too late, Remember _Phaeton_'s unhappy _Fate_!

Eager to guide the _Coursers_ of the _Day_, } Beneath their _Brazen Hoofs_ he trampled lay, } And his bright _Ruines_ mark'd their flaming Way. } 30 [Sidenote: _Genius_.]

You'll ask, What GENIUS is, and Where to find?

'Tis the full _Power_ and _Energy_ of _Mind_: A _Reach_ of _Thought_ that skims all Nature o'er, _Exhausts_ this narrow _World_, and asks for _more_: Through every _Rank of Beings_ when't has flown, Can frame a _New Creation_ of its own: By _Possible_ and _Future_ unconfin'd: Can stubborn _Contradictions_ yoke, and bind Through _Fancy_'s Realms, with Number, Time and Place, _Chimera-Forms_, a thin, an airy Race; 40 Then with a secret _conscious Pride_ surveys The _Enchanted Castles_ which't had _Power_ to raise.

[Sidenote: _Wit_.]

As _Genius_ is the _Strength_, be WIT defin'd The _Beauty_ and the _Harmony_ of _Mind_: _Beauty's_ Proportion, Air, each lively Grace The _Soul_ diffuses round the _Heav'nly Face_: 'Tis _various_, yet 'tis _equal_, still the same In _Alpine Snows_, or _Ethiopian Flame_; While _glaring Colours_ short-liv'd Grace supply, Nor _Frost_ nor _Sun_ they bear, but _scorch_ and _die_. 50 [Sidenote: _Judgment_.]

Nor these alone, tho much they can, suffice, JUDGMENT must join, or never hope the Prize: Those _Headstrong Coursers_ scowr along the Plains, The _Rider's_ down, if once he lose the _Reins_: Soon the _Mad Mixture_ will to all give Law, And for the _Laurel Wreaths_ present thee _Wreaths of Straw_.

_Judgment's_ the _Act of Reason_; that which brings Fit _Thoughts_ to _Thoughts_, and argues _Things_ from _Things_, True, Decent, Just, are in its _Balance_ try'd, And thence we learn to _Range, Compound, Divide_. 60 [Sidenote: _Invention and Memory_.]

A _Cave_ there is wherein those _Nymphs_ reside Who all the Realms of _Sense_ and _Fancy_ guide; Nay some affirm that in the deepest _Cell_ Imperial _Reason's_ self does not disdain to dwell: With Living _Reed_ 'tis thatch'd and guarded round, Which mov'd by _Winds_ emit a Silver Sound: Two _Crystal Fountains_ near its _Entrance_ play, } Wide scatt'ring _Golden Streams_ which ne'er decay, } Two _Labyrinths_ behind harmonious Sounds convey: } Chiefly, within, the _Room of State_ is fam'd 70 Of rich _Mosaick Work_ divinely fram'd: Of small _Extent_ to view, 'twill all things hide, Heav'n's Azure _Arch_ it self not half so wide: Here all the _Arts_ their sacred Mansion chuse, Here dwells the MOTHER of the Heav'n-born Muse: With wond'rous mystic _Figures_ round 'tis wrought _Inlaid_ with FANCY, and _anneal'd_ with _Thought_: With more than humane Skill depicted here The various _Images of Things_ appear; What _Was_, or _Is_, or labours yet to _Be_ 80 Within the Womb of Dark _Futurity_, May _Stowage_ in this wondrous _Storehouse_ find, Yet leave unnumber'd empty _Cells_ behind: But ah! as fast they come, they fly too fast, Not _Life or Happiness are more in haste_: Only the _First Great Mind_ himself can stay The _Fugitives_ and at _one Glance_ survey; But those whom he disdains not to befriend, } _Uncommon Souls_, who nearest Heav'n ascend } Far more, at once, than others comprehend: } 90 Whate'er within this _sacred Hall_ you find, } Whate'er will _lodge_ in your _capacious Mind_ } Let _Judgment_ sort, and skilful _Method_ bind; } And as from these you draw your antient Store Daily supply the _Magazine_ with more.

Furnish'd with such _Materials_ he'll excel Who when he _works_ is sure to work 'em _well_; This ART alone, as _Nature_ that bestows, And in _Perfection_ both, th' accomplish'd _Verser_ knows.

Knows to _persuade_, and how to _speak_, and when; 100 The _Rules of Life_, and _Manners_ knows and _Men_: Those _narrow Lines_ which _Good_ and _Ill_ divide; [Sidenote: _Learning_.]

And by what _Balance Just_ and _Right_ are try'd: How _Kindred-Things_ with _Things_ are closely join'd; } How _Bodies_ act, and by what _Laws_ confin'd, } Supported, mov'd and rul'd by th' _Universal Mind_. } When the moist _Kids_ or burning _Sirius_ rise; } Through what ambiguous Ways _Hyperion_ flies, } And marks our _Upper_ or the _Nether Skies_. } He knows those _Strings_ to _touch_ with artful Hand 110 Which rule Mankind, and all the World command: What _moves_ the _Soul_, and every secret _Cell_ Where _Pity, Love_, and all the _Pa.s.sions_ dwell.

The _Music_ of his _Verse_ can _Anger_ raise, Which with a softer _Stroak_ he _smooths_ and _lays_: Can _Emulation, Terror_, all excite, _Compress_ the _Soul_ with _Grief_, or _swell_ with vast Delight.

If this you can, your _Care_ you'll well bestow, And some new _Milton_ or a _Spencer_ grow; If not, a _Poet_ ne'er expect to be, 120 Content to _Rime_, like _D----y_ or like me.

But here perhaps you'll stop me, and complain, To such _Impracticable Heights_ I strain A Poet's _Notion_, that if _This_ be _He_, There ne'er was one, nor e'er is like to be.

--But soft, my Friend! may we not _copy_ well Tho far th' _Original_ our _Art_ excel?

_Divine Perfection_ we our _Pattern_ make Th' _Idea_ thence of _Goodness_ justly take; But they who _copy_ nearest, still must fall 130 Immensely short of their _Original_; [Sidenote: _Converse_.]

But _Wit_ and _Genius_, _Sense_ and _Learning_ join'd, Will all come short if _crude_ and _unrefin'd_; 'Tis CONVERSE only melts the stubborn _Ore_ And _polishes_ the _Gold_, too rough before: So _fierce_ the _Natural Taste_, 'twill ne'er b' endur'd, The _Wine_ is _strong_, but never rightly _cur'd_.

[Sidenote: _Style_.]

STYLE is the _Dress_ of _Thought_; a _modest_ Dress, _Neat_, but not _gaudy_, will true _Critics_ please: Not _Fleckno's Drugget_, nor a worse Extream 140 All daub'd with _Point_ and _Gold_ at every Seam: Who only _Antique Words_ affects, appears Like old King _Harry's_ Court, all Face and Ears; Nor in a _Load_ of _Wig_ thy Visage shrowd, Like _Hairy Meteors glimm'ring through a Cloud_: Happy are those who here the _Medium_ know, We hate alike a _Sloven_ and a _Beau_.

I would not follow _Fas.h.i.+on_ to the height Close at the _Heels_, not yet be _out of Sight_: _Words_ alter, like our _Garments_, every day, 150 Now _thrive_ and _bloom_, now _wither_ and _decay_.

Let those of greater _Genius_ new _invent_, Be you with those in _Common Use_ content.

A different _Style's_ for _Prose_ and _Verse_ requir'd, _Strong figures_ here, _Neat Plainness_ there desir'd: A different _Set of Words_ to both belong; What _s.h.i.+nes_ in _Prose_, is, _flat_ and _mean_ in _Song_.

The _Turn_, the _Numbers_ must be vary'd here, And all things in a _different Dress_ appear.

This every _School Boy_ lash'd at _Eaton_ knows, } 160 Yet _Men of Sense_ forget when they _compose_, } And Father DRYDEN's Lines are sometimes _Prose_. } A _vary'd Stile_ do various Works require, This _soft_ as _Air_, and _tow'ring_ that as _Fire_.

None than th' _Epistle_ goes more _humbly_ drest, Tho _neat_ 'twou'd be, and _decent_ as the _best_.

Such as th' ingenious _Censor_ may invite } Oft to return with eager _Appet.i.te_; } So HORACE wrote, and so I'd _wish_ to write. } Nor _creeps_ it always, but can _mount_ and _rise_, 170 And with _bold Pinions_ sail along the Skies.

The self-same Work of _different Style_ admits, Now _soft_, now _loud_, as best the _Matter_ fits: So Father THAMES from unexhausted _Veins_, Moves _clean_ and _equable_ along the _Plains_; Yet still of different _Depth_ and _Breadth_ is found, And _humours_ still the _Nature_ of the _Ground_.

[Sidenote: _Reading_.]

READING will mend your Style and raise it higher, And _Matter_ find to feed th' _Immortal Fire_: But if you would the _Vulgar Herd_ excel, 180 And justly gain the _Palm_ of _Writing well_, Wast not your Lamp in scanning _Vulgar Lines_, Where _groveling_ all, or _One in twenty_ s.h.i.+nes; With _Prudence_ first among the _Antients_ chuse, The _n.o.blest_ only, and the _best_ peruse; Such HOMER is, such VIRGIL's sacred Page, Which _Death_ defie, nor yield to _Time_ or _Age_; New _Beauties_ still their _Vigorous Works_ display, Their _Fruit_ still _mellows_, but can ne'er _decay_.

The _Modern Pens_ not altogether slight, 190 Be _Master_ of your _Language_ e'er you write!

_Immortal_ TILLOTSON with Judgment scan, "That _Man of Praise, that something more than Man_!"

Ev'n those who hate his _Ashes_ this advise, } As from black Shades resplendent Lightning flies, } _Unwilling Truths_ break through a _Cloud of Lies_. } He _Words_ and _Things_ for _mutual Aid_ design'd, Before at _Variance_, in just _Numbers_ join'd; He always _soars_, but never's _out of sight_, He taught us how to _Speak_, and _Think_, and _Write_. 200 If _English Verse_ you'd in _Perfection_ see, ROSCOMMON read, and _n.o.ble_ NORMANDY: We _borrow_ all from their _exhaustless Store_, Or little say they have not said _before_.

_Poor Insects_ of a _Day_, we toil and strive To creep from _Dust_ to _Dust_, and think we _live_; These weak _imperfect Beings_ scarce enjoy E'er _Death's_ rude Hand our _blooming Hopes_ destroy: With _Lynx's_ Eyes each others _Faults_ we find, But to our _own_ how few who are not _blind_? 210 How _long is Art_, how _short_, alas! our _Time_! } How few who can above the _Vulgar_ climb, } Whose _stronger Genius_ reach the _True Sublime_! } With _tedious Rules_ which we our selves transgress, We make the _Trouble more_ who strive to make it _less_.