E and fills up all the mighty void of sense: 210 215 220 225 and the first clouds and mountains seem the last: 230 A perfect judge will read each work of wit the gen'rous pleasure to be charm'd with wit. that shunning faults one quiet tenor keep, 235 240 is not th' exactness of peculiar parts; 'tis not a lip, or eye we beauty call, but the joint force and full result of all. 245 Thus when we view some well-proportion'd dome, (the world's just wonder, and even thine, O Rome!) no single parts unequally surprise, all comes united to th' admiring eyes; 250 no monstrous height, or breadth, or length, appear; the whole at once is bold and regular. Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be. In ev'ry work regard the writer's end, since none can compass more than they intend; Once on a time La Mancha's Knight, they say, a certain bard encount'ring on the way, 255 260 265 270 275 produc'd his play, and begg'd the Knight's advice; made him observe the subject and the plot, the manners, passions, unites; what not; all which exact to rule were brought about, were but a combat in the lists left out. "What! leave the combat out?" exclaims the Knight yes, or we must renounce the Stagirite." 280 Not so, by Heav'n! (he answers in a rage) knights, squires, and steeds, must enter on the stage, so vast a throng the stage can ne'er contain." “Then build a new, or act it on a plain." Thus critics of less judgment than caprice, curious, not knowing, not exact, but nice, form short ideas, and offend in arts (as most in manners) by a love to parts. 285 295 Some to Conceit alone their taste confine, and glitt'ring thoughts struck out at ev'ry line; 290 pleas'd with a work where nothing's just or fit, one glaring chaos and wild heap of wit. Poets, like painters, thus unskill'd to trace the naked nature and the living grace, with gold and jewels cover ev'ry part, and hide with ornaments their want of art. True wit is nature to advantage dress'd, what of❜t was thought, but ne'er so well express'd; something whose truth convinc'd at sight we find, that give us back the image of our mind. As shades more sweetly recommend the light, so modest plainness sets off sprightly wit: 300 for works may have more wit than does them good, as bodies perish thro' excess of blood. Others for language all their care express, and value books as women men, for dress: 305 their praise is still--the style is excellent; the sense they humbly take upon content. Words are like leaves, and where they most abound, much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found. False eloquence, like the prismatic glass, 310 315 320 it's gaudy colours spreads on ev'ry place; these sparks with awkward vanity display 330 be not the first by whom the new are try'd, 335 nor yet the last to lay the old aside, 340 But most by numbers judge a poet's song; and smooth or rough, with them, is right or wrong: in the bright muse tho' thousand charms conspire her voice is all these tuneful fools admire; who haunt Parnassus but to please their ear, not mend their minds; as some to church repair, not for the doctrine, but the music there. These, equal syllables alone require, tho' oft the ear the open vowels tire; 245 while expletives their feeble aid do join, and ten low words oft creep in one dull line: while they ring round the same unvary'd chimes, with sure returns of still expected rhymes; 66 where'er you find " the cooling western breeze,❞ 350 in the next line it" whispers through the trees;" if crystal streams with pleasing murmurs creep," the reader's threaten'd (not in vain) with "sleep;" then at the last and only couplet fraught with some unmeaning thing they call a thought, 355 a needless Alexandrine ends the song, [long. that, like a wounded snake, drags it's slow length aLeave such to tune their own dull rhymes, and know what's roundly smooth, or languishingly slow; and praise the easy vigour of a line, 360 where Denham's strength and Waller's sweetness join. True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, as those move easiest who have learn'd to dance. 'T is not enough no harshness gives offence, the sound must seem an echo to the sense: soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows, and the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; but when loud surges lash the sounding shore, the hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar. When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, the line too labours, and the words move slow; 371 not so when swift Camilla scours the plain, flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the Hear how Timotheus' vary'd lays surprise, and bid alternate passions fall and rise! while, at each change, the son of Lybian Jove now burns with glory, and then melts with love; now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow, now sighs steal out, and tears begin to flow: [main; 375 |