For _smooth_ and _well turn'd Lines_ we _T----_ admire, Who has in _Justness_ what he wants in _Fire_: Each _Rhime_, each _Syllable_ well-weigh'd and fair, His _Life_ and _Manners_ scarce more _regular_.

With _Strength_ and _Flame_ prodigious _D----s_ writes Of _Loves_ lost _Wars_, and cruel martial _Fights_: Scarce LEE himself strove with a _mightier Load_, Or _labour'd_ more beneath th' _Inc.u.mbent G.o.d_: Whate'er of old to _Rome_ or _Athens_ known, 710 What _France_ or _We_ have _glean'd_, 'tis all his _own_.

How few can equal _Praise_ with _C----ch_ obtain, Who made _Lucretius smooth_, and _chast_, and _plain_?

Courted by _Fame_ he could her _Charms_ despise, } Still woo'd by that _false Fair_ he still denies, } And press'd, for _Refuge_ to the _Altar_ flies; } Like _votive Tablets_ offers up his _Bays_, "_And leaves to our lewd Town the Drudgery of Plays_."

In lofty _Raptures_, born on Angels Wings } Above the _Clouds_, above _Castalian Springs_, } 720 N---- inspir'd, of G.o.d and _Nature_ sings; } And if one _Glance_ on this _poor World_ he throw, If e'er he mind the _Croud_ and _Buzz_ below; Pities our _fruitless Pains_ for _Fame_ and _Praise_, And wonders why we _drudge_ for _Crowns_ and _Bays_.

Could _B_---- be _sober_, many he'd excel, Few know the _Antients_, or could use so well; But ah! his _Genius_ with his _Virtue's_ fled, Condemn'd to _Want of Grace_ and _Want of Bread_.

Ev'n Envy _B----re's Subject_ must confess } 730 _Exact_ and _rare_, a _curious Happiness_, } Nor many could the _Fable better dress_: } Of _Words_ what _Compa.s.s_, and how vast a _Store_!

His _Courage_ and his _Vertue's_ only more: More various _Scenes of Death_ his _Fights_ display Then _Aghrim's_ Field or _London's_ fatal Day: Let beauteous _Elda's Tears_ and _Pa.s.sion_ prove His _Soul_ is not _unknowing how to love_: Disrob'd of _Clouds_ he view'd the _Stagyrite_ As _Nature_ he, confess'd to _Human sight_: His _Rules_ surveys, and traces to their _Springs_, } 740 Where the _blind Bard_ of flaming _Ilium_ sings; } Thence with the _Mantuan Swan_ in narrower Rings, } Tho more _exact_, he, stooping from his height, Reviews the same _fierce Wars_ and _G.o.ds_ and _Heroes_ fight: That beauteous antient _Palace_ he surveys } Which _Maro's Hands_ had only Strength to raise, } _Models_ from thence, and _copies_ every _Grace_: } Each _Page_ is big with _Virgil's Manly Thought_, To _follow him too near's a glorious Fault_.

He dar'd be _virtuous_ in the _World's_ Despite, 750 _While_ D----n _lives he dar'd a Modest Poem write_.

Who can th' ingenious S----y's Praise refuse, Who serves a grateful _Prince_, and grateful _Muse_?

Or _P----r_ read unmov'd, whose every _Page_ So just a _Standard_ to the opening _Age_?

Neat _S----n_'s courtly _Vein's_ correct and clear, Nor shall he miss his _Praise_ and _Station_ here: Nor should the _rest_ whom I _unnam'd_ must leave, (Tho such _Omission_ they'll with ease _forgive_:) 760 _Unknown_ to me, let each his _Works_ commend, Since _Virtue, Praise_, as _Shame_ does _Vice_ attend.

_Poets_, like _Leaves_ and _Words_, their _Periods_ know, Now _fresh_ and _green_, now _sear_ and wither'd grow; Or _burnt_ by _Autumn's_ Heat, and _Winter's_ Cold, Or a _new hasty Birth_ shoves off the _old_.

Happy are those, and such are _some_ of ours, } Who blest by bounteous _Heav'n's_ indulgent _Show'rs_ } Bear wholsome _Fruit_, and not gay _pois'nous Flow'rs_: } Who would not ev'n a _Lawreat's self_ commence 770 Or at their _Virtue's_ or their _Faith's_ Expence: Renounce their _Creed_ to save a _wretched Play_, } And for a _crowded House_ and _full Third Day_ } At one _bold Stroke_ throw all their _Heav'n_ away. } What gain'd _Euripides_ by all his _Sense_, Who madly rail'd against a _Providence_?

_Apostate Poets_ first seduc'd _Mankind_, _But ours upon the Pagan Herd refin'd_; They Vertue _prais'd_ at least, which ours _abuse_, And more than _Paganize_ the Heav'n-born Muse: 780 No Signs of _Grace_, or of _Repentance_ show, Like _Strumpets lash'd_, more _impudent_ they grow.

Now learn, my Friend, and freely I'll impart My _little All_ in this delightful Art: Of _Poetry_ the various _Forms_ and _Kinds_, The widest, strongest _Grasp_ of human Minds: Not _all_ from _all_, but _some_ from _each_ I take, Since we a _Garland_ not a _Garden_ make.

[Sidenote: _Epic_.]

EPIC's the _first_ and _best_, which mounting sings } In _Mighty Numbers worthy mighty Things_, } 790 Of _High Adventures, Heroes, G.o.ds_ and _Kings_: } By lively _Schemes_ the Mind to _Vertue_ forms, And far beyond _unactive Precept_ warms.

The _Subject_ may be either _feign'd_ or _true_, _Too Old_ it should not be, but less _too New_: _Narration_ mixt with _Action_ most delights, _Intrigues_ and _Councils_, vary'd _Games_ and _Fights_: Nothing so _long_ as may the Reader _tire_, But all the just well-mingled _Scenes_ admire.

Your _Heroe_ may be _virtuous_, must be _brave_; Nothing that's _mean_ should his great Soul enslave: Yet Heav'ns unequal _Anger_ he may _fear_, And for his _suffering Friends_ indulge a _Tear_: Thus when the _Trojans Navy_ scatter'd lay He _wept_, he _trembled_, and to Heav'n did _pray_; But when bright _Glory beckon'd_ from afar, And _Honour_ call'd him out to meet the _War_; Like a fierce _Torrent_ pouring o'er the _Banks_, Or _Mars_ himself, he _thunders_ through the _Ranks_; _Death_ walks before, while he a _Foe_ could find, 810 _Horror_ and _Ruine_ mark long frightful _Lanes_ behind.

[Sidenote: _Machines_.]

For _worn_ and _old_ MACHINES few Readers care, They're like the _Pastboard Chaos in the Fair_: If ought surprizing you expect to shew, The _Scenes_ if not the _Persons_ should be _new_: With _both_ does MILTON'S wondrous Scheme begin, The _Pandemonium, Chaos, Death_ and _Sin_; Which _D----s_ had with like _Success_ a.s.say'd, } Had not the _Porch_ of _Death's Grim Court_ been made } Too _wide_, and there th' impatient _Reader_ staid. } 820 And _G----h_, tho _barren_ is his _Theme_ and _mean_, By this has _reach'd_ at least the fam'd _Lutrine_.

If _tir'd_ with such a plenteous _Feast_ you call For a far meaner _Banquet_, _Meal_ and _Wall_; The _best_ I have is _yours_, tho 'tis too _long_, And what's behind will into _Corners_ throng.

A _Place_ there is, if _Place_ 'tis nam'd aright, } Where scatter'd _Rays_ of pale and sickly _Light_, } Fringe o'er the _Confines_ of _Eternal Night_. } _Shorn_ of their _Beams_ the _Sun_ and _Phoebe_ here 830 Like the _fix'd Stars_, through _Gla.s.ses_ view'd, appear; Or those faint _Seeds of Light_, which just display Ambiguous Splendor round the _milky Way_; The _Waste_ of _Chaos_, whose _Auguster_ Reign Does those more barren doubtful Realms disdain: Here dwell those _hideous Forms_ which oft repair } To breath our upper _World's_ more _chearful_ Air } Bleak _Envy_, grinding _Pain_, and meagre _Care_; } _Disease_ and _Death_, the _G.o.ddess_ of the _place_, _Death_, the _least frightful Form of all their Race_; 840 _Ambition, Pride_, false _Joys_ and _Hopes_ as vain, _Lewdness_ and _Luxury_ compose her Train: How large their _Interest_, and how vast their _Sway_ Amid the wide invaded Realms of _Day_!

Soon would they our frail Race of _Mortals_ end, Did not kind _Heav'n_ auspicious _Succours_ lend; Sweet _Angel-Forms, Peace, Virtue, Health_ and _Love_, How near ally'd, how like to those _above_!

These often drive the _Air_, those _Furies_ chace And fetter in their own _infernal Place_: 850 These lent at once Na.s.sAW and ENGLAND Aid, And bright MARIA to our _Sh.o.r.es_ convey'd: Her, all their _Pow'r_ and all their _Charms_ they gave, To _govern_ what her _Heroe_ came to _save_.

Nor _Envy_ this, who in her noisome Cell By _Traitors_ in their swift _Descent to h.e.l.l_, Her rising _Glories_ heard, then with a _Groan_ She crawl'd before her _Sov'reign's_ direful _Throne_: A _Pile of Sculls_ the odious _Fantom_ bore, With _Bones_ half-naked mixt, and dropping putrid _Gore_; 860 There thus--Shall _Heav'n_ defraud us of our _Reign_, And BRITAIN, only BRITAIN break her _Chain_?

What can we there, while more than _mortal Grace_ Forbids our _Entrance_, and secures the _Place_?

Awhile I _gaz'd_ and _viewed_ her as I _fled_, When first she came, till half my _Snakes_ were dead; And had I tarry'd longer near her _Throne_, Had soon some base _insipid Vertue_ grown: So fast the wide _progressive Ills_ increase, } If longer unoppos'd our _Power_ will cease; } 870 The base degenerate World _dissolve_ to Peace; } Our boasted _Empire_ there will soon be o'er, And _Mortals_ tremble at our _Arms_ no more.

She said, her _Tidings_ all the _Court_ affright, And doubled _Horror_ fill'd the _Realms of Night_: Till out foul _Lewdness_ leap'd, and shook the Place. } The _fulsom'st Fiend_ of all th' _infernal Race_; } A crusted _Leprosie_ deform'd her _Face_; } With half a _bloodshot_ Eye the _Fury_ glar'd, Yet when for _Mischief_ she above prepar'd, 880 She _painted_ and she _dress'd_, those _Arts_ she knew, And to her _self_ her self a _Stranger_ grew, (Thus _old_ and batter'd _Bawds_ behind the Scenes, New _rigg'd_ and _dawb'd_, pa.s.s on the _Stage_ for _Queens_;) Nor yet, she cries, of _Britain_ we'll _despair_ } I've yet some _trusty Friends_ in _Ambush_ there, } All is not lost, we've still the _Theatre_: } I'll batter _Virtue_ thence, nor fear to gain } New _Subjects daily_ from her _hated Reign_; } Is not Great _D----_ ours and all his _Train_? } He knows he has new _Laurels_ here prepar'd, } 890 For those he lost _above_, a just Reward, } For his wide _Conquests_ he'll _command the Guard_: } _Headed_ by him one _Foot_ we'll scorn to yield, Tho _Virtue's_ glitt'ring _Squadrons_ drive the _Field_: Grant me, Dread _Sov'reign_! a _Detachment_ hence } We'll not be long alone on our _Defence_, } But hope to drive the proud _a.s.sailants_ thence. } Bold _Blasphemy_ shall lead our black _Forlorn_, With _Colours_ from _Heav'n's Crystal Ramparts_ torn, And _Anti-Thunderrs_ arm'd; _Profaneness_ next 900 Their _Canon_ seize, and turn the _Sacred Text_ Against th' _a.s.sailants_; brave _Revenge_ and _Rage_ Shall our _main Batt'ry_ ply, and guard the _Stage_.

--But most I on dear _Ribaldry_ depend, We've not a _surer_ or a _stronger Friend_.

Now shall she _broad_ and _open_ to the Skie, Now _close_ behind some _double Meaning_ lye; Now with _sulphureous Rivers_ lave the _French_, And choak th' _a.s.sailants_ with infernal _Stench_; Each nicer _Vertue_ from the _Walls_ repel, 910 And _Heav'n_ it self regale with the Perfumes of _h.e.l.l_.

This from the World our dreaded _Foe_ will drive, As _murm'ring Bees_ are forc'd to leave their _Hive_; _Souls_ so _refin'd_ such _Vapours_ cannot bear, But seek their _native Heav'n_ and purer Air: When _She_ and all her heav'nly _Guards_ are gone And her bright _Heroe_ absent, all's our own: If any _pious Fools_ should make a stand, To stop our _Progress_ through the conquer'd Land, They soon shall pa.s.s for _hot-brain'd Visionairs_, 920 We'll run 'em down with _Ridicule_ and _Farce_.

Must they _reform_ the World! A likely _Task_!

Tis _Vizard_ all, and them we'll soon _unmask_.

The rest will _tumble_ in, or if they stay And loiter in _d.a.m.nation's_ ample Way, I've one _Expedient_ left, which can't but take, My last _Reserve_; From yon black _brimstone_ Lake, Whence two _Ca.n.a.ls_ thro _subterranean Veins_ Are drawn to _Sodom_ and _Campania's_ Plains, My self I'll fill a _Vial_, and infuse 930 My very Soul amid the _potent Juice_: This _Essence_ near my _Heart_ I'll with me bear, } And this among my _dearest Fav'rites_ share, } Already _tutor'd_ by the _Theatre_; } Who pa.s.s'd those _Bugbears Conscience, Law_ and _Shame_ Have there been taught that _Virtue's_ but a _Name_: _Exalted Souls_ who _vulgar Sins_ despise; Fit for some _new discover'd_ n.o.bler _Vice_; One _Drop_ of this their _frozen Blood_ shall warm, And _frighted Nature's feebler Guards_ disarm 930 Till their _chill Veins_ with hotter _Fevers_ glow } Than any _Etna_ or _Vesuvius_ know, } Scarce equal'd by their _Parent Flames_ below; } Till wide around the _gen'rous Canker_ spread, And _Vengeance_ draw on each _devoted Head_: Impatient _Heav'n_ it self our _Arms_ shall join, The _Skies_ again with _forky Lightnings_ s.h.i.+ne; Till glutted _Desolation_ pants for Breath, And _guilty Shades_ shall croud the _Realms of Death_.

--She said, the _Motion pleas'd_ she _wings_ away 940 And in blue _pois'nous Foggs_ invades the _Day_: Part of her _direful Threats_ too true we find, And _Heav'n_ avert the _Plagues_ that yet remain _behind_!

[Sidenote: _Tragedy_.]

The _Path_ which _Epic_ treads the TRAGIC Muse With _daring_ tho _unequal_ Steps pursues, A _little Epic_ s.h.i.+nes through every _Scene_, Tho more of _Life_ appears, and less _Machine_; More _Action_, less _Narration_, more _Delight_; We _see_ the _G.o.ds_ descend, and _Heroes_ fight.

While _Oedipus_ is _raving_ on the _Stage_, 950 Mild _Pity_ enters and dissolves our _Rage_; We _low'r_ our _haughty Spirits_, our _Pride_ and _Hate_, And learn to _fear_ the sad _Reverse of Fate_.

A _Tyrant's Fall_, a treach'rous _Statesman's_ End Clear the _Just G.o.ds_, and equal _Heav'n_ defend: Ungrateful _Factions_ here themselves torment, And _bring_ those very _Ills_ they would _prevent_: Nor think the lost _Intrigues_ of _Love_ too mean To fill the _Stage_ and grace toe _Tragic Scene_!

Who from the _World_ this _Salt of Nature_ takes, 960 _Twice Slaves of Kings_ of _Life_ a _Desart_ makes.

The _Moral_ and _Pathetick_ neatly join'd, Are best for _Pleasure_ and for _life_ design'd.

Be this in _Tragic_ an _Eternal Law_; _Bold Strokes_ and _larger_ than the _Life_ to draw: Let all be _Great_; when here a _Woman's_ seen, Paint her a _Fury_, or a _Heroine_: _Slaves, Spendthrifts_, angry _Fathers_, better fit The meaner _Sallies_ of COMEDIAN Wit; But _Courtly_ HORACE did their _Stage_ refuse, 970 Nor was it trod by _Maro's_ heav'nly Muse: A _Walk_ so _low_ their _n.o.bler Minds_ disdain, Where _sordid Mirth's_ exchang'd for _sordid Gain_; Where, in false _Pleasure_ all the _Profit's_ drown'd, Nor _Authors_ with just _Admiration_ crown'd: Hence was the _Sock_ a Task for _servile Wit_, Course PLAUTUS hence, and neater TERENCE writ: Yet if you still your _Fortune_ long to take, And long to hear the _crouded Benches_ shake; 980 If you'd _reform_ the _Mob_, lov'd _Vice restrain_, The _Pulpits_ break, and neighb'ring _B----_ drain; Let _Heav'n_ at least, if not its _Priests_, be free, The _Bible_ sures's too _grave_ for _Comedy_: If she nor _lewdly_ nor _profanely_ talk She'll have a _cleaner_, tho a _narrower Walk_.

Our Nation's _endless Humour_ will supply So large a _Fund_ as never can be _dry_; Why then should _Vice_ be _bare_ and _open_ shown, And with such _Nauseous Scenes_ affront the _Town_? 990 Why thrive the _Lewd_, their _Wishes_ seldom crost, And why _Poetic Justice_ often lost?

They plead they copy _Nature_.--Don't abuse Her _sacred Name_ with such a _vile Excuse_!

She wisely _hides_ what these, like Beasts _display_, } Ev'n _Vice_ it self, less _impudent_ than they, } Remote in _Shades_, and far from _conscious_ Day. } From this _Retrenchment_ by strong _Reason_ beat, They next to _poor Necessity_ retreat: The _Murderers, Bawds_ and _Robbers_ last pretence 1000 With equal _Justice_, equal _Innocence_!

So _Crack_, in _pious Fit_, will plead she's _poor_, 'Tis a _hard Choice_, Good Sir, to _starve_ or _wh.o.r.e_!

--Is there no _Third_, or will such _Reas'nings_ pa.s.s In _Bridewel's_ rigid Court, or save the _Lash_?

Where the _stern Judge_, like _Radamanth_, surveys The _trembling Sinner_, and each Action _weighs_.

A lazy, black, enc.u.mber'd _Stream_ rolls by, Whole thick _sulphureous Vapours_ load the Sky; Near where, in _Caves_ from _Heav'n's_ sweet _Light_ debar'd, 1010 _Shrieks, Groans_, and _Iron Whips_, and _Clanks of Chains_ are heard.

And can't you _thrash_, or _trail_ a _Pike_ or _Pole_?

Are there no _Jakes_ in Town, or _Kennels_ foul?

No _honester Employment_, that you chuse With such _vile Drudgery_ t'abase the heav'n born _Muse_?

The num'rous ODE in various _Paths_ delights, _Love, Friends.h.i.+p, G.o.ds_, and _Heroes, Games_ and _Fights_: Her _Age_ with _Veneration_ is confess'd The _first great Mother_ she of all the rest, This [8]MOSES us'd, and DAVID'S Royal Lyre, } This he whom wond'ring _Seraphs_ did _inspire_, } 1020 Whence PINDAR stole some _Sparks of heav'nly Fire_, } Who now by COWLEY's happy Muse improv'd, Is _understood_ by some, by more _belov'd_: The _Vastness_ of his Thought, the daring _Range_, That imperceptible and pleasing _Change_, Our jealous _Neighbours_ must themselves confess The _British Genius_ tracks with most Success; But still the _Smoothness_ we of _Verse_ desire, The _Regulation_ of our _Native Fire_: This from experienc'd _Masters_ we receive, 1030 Sweet FLATMAN'S Works, and DRYDEN'S this will give.

If you in _pointed_ SATYR most delight, _Worry_ not, where you only ought to _bite_: _Easie_ your _Style_, unstudy'd all and clear.

_Prosaic Lines_ are _pardonable_ here.

There are whose _Breath_ would blast the _brightest Fame_, } Who from _base Actions_ court an _odious Name_, } With _Beauty_ and with _Virtue_ War proclaim; } Who _bundle_ up the _Scandals_ of the _Town_, 1040 And in _lewd Couplets_ make it all their _own_: _Just Shame_ be _theirs_ who thus _debauch_ a _Muse_, To vile _Lampoons_ a _n.o.ble Art_ abuse: As _ill_ be _theirs_, and _half of_ DATS'_s Fate_, Who always dully rail against the _State_.

_Kings_ are but _Men_, nor are their _Councils_ more, Those _Ills_ we can't _avert_ we must _deplore_: Not _many Poets_ were for _Statesmen_ made, It asks more _Brains_ than stocks the _Rhiming_ Trade: (At least, when they the _Ministry_ receive, 1050 To _Poets Militant_ their _Muse_ they leave.) All _sordid Flat'ry_ hate, it pleases none But _Tyrants_ grinning on their _Iron Throne_: Yet where wer'e rul'd with _wise_ impartial Sway, The _Muses_ should their _grateful Homage_ pay: 'Tis _base_ alike a _Tyrant's_ Name to raise, And grudg a _Parent Prince_ our _tributary Praise_.

No wonder those who by _Proscriptions_ gain } In _Marian_ Days, or _Sylla's_ b.l.o.o.d.y Reign, } Of the divine _Augustus_ should complain; } 1060 Who stoops to wear a _Crown's uneasie Weight_, As _Atlas_ under Heav'n, to prop the _State_: No _Glory_ strikes his Great exalted Mind, No _Pleasure_ like obliging all Mankind; He lets the _Factious_ their weak _Malice_ vent, Punish'd enough while they themselves _torment_: _Satiate_ with _Conquest_, his dread _Sword_ he sheaths, And with a _Nod disbands ten thousand Deaths_.

Who dares _Rebellious Arms_ against him move While his _Praetorian Guard_'s his Subjects _Love_? 1070 Admir'd by all the _bravest_ and the _best_, Who wear a _Roman Soul within their ample Breast_: Tho _charm'd_ with _both_, which shall they more _admire_ In _Peace_ his _Wisdom_, or in _War_ his _Fire_?

--_One Labour_ yet remains, and that they _ask_, _Alcides_ never clear'd a _n.o.bler Task_; O _Father_! banish'd _Vertue_ O restore!

Let _Hydra Vice_ pollute thy _Reign_ no more!

Strike through the _Monster-Form_, which threatning stands, Fierce with a _thousand Throats_, a _thousand Hands_! 1080 _Rescue_ once more thy _Trojans sacred Line_ } From _slavish Chains_, so shall thy _Temples_ s.h.i.+ne } With _Stars_, and all _Elysium_ shall be _thine_. }

_FINIS._

FOOTNOTES:

[1] _Vide Edda Samundi--apud Sheringham, de Gentis Anglorum Origine, pag._ 28, 29.

_Hiaelp beiter eitt eun thad thier hialpa mun Vid Sik.u.m og Sottum goiru allum, Thad kenn eg aunad er thorfa Ita Syner their ed vilia lakner lisfa._ [Transcriber's Note: extremely difficult to read in the original.

Transcription may not be accurate.]

I know your only Help, the pow'rful Charm That aids in ev'ery Grief and every Harm, I know the Leaches Craft, and what they need Who Doctors in that n.o.ble Art proceed.

[2] the _Vide_ British Chronicle, _and_ Taliessin's _Prophecies_;

Prryff fard l'yffred in ydwyfi i Elphin Am gwalad gynifio [indecipherable] Goribbin.

Ionas ddewn am golwis Merddin Sebach Pob Brenmam geilw Taliesin.

Gwea a gasgle elud Tra feyna bud, Gwererbin didd brawd in chospo i gnawd, Gwae ni cheidw i geil ag if yufug eil, Gwae in cheidw i ddefend chog bleiddna.

[Transcriber's Note: extremely difficult to read in the original.

Transcription may not be accurate.]

Me _Elphin_ now his Bard may justly boast Who long of old amid the Fire-wing'd Host: Once _Merlin_ was I call'd, well known to Fame, Whom future Kings shall _Taliessin_ name.

Wo to the Wretch who Wealth by Rapine gains, And wo to him who Fasts and Pray'rs refrains; Wo to the Shepherds who their Flocks betray, And will not drive the _Ravish_ Wolves away.

[3] _Olli sedaro rescondit corde Latinus._ Virg.

[4] _Mr._ Dryden's _Riddle, in his Preface to_ Virgil.

[5] _This was observ'd before Mr._ Le Clerc _was born. Vide_ Song of the Well, _Num._ 21. 17.

[Hebrew text]

_Vide_ Psal. 80, & 81. _Where some Verses have Treble, where Quadruple Rhimes, four in one Verse._

[6] Ode 1. [Greek: indecipherable]