A vile Conceit in pompous Words exprest,
Is like a Clown in regal Purple drest:

For diff'rent Styles with diff'rent Subjects fort,
As feveral Garbs with Country, Town, and Court.
* Some by Old Words to Fame have made Pretence;
Ancients in Phrafe, meer Moderns in their Senfe!
Such labour'd Nothings, in fo ftrange a Style,
Amaze th' unlearn'd, and make the Learned Smile.
Unlucky, as Fungofo in the† Play,

These Sparks with aukward Vanity display
What the Fine Gentlemen wore Tefterday:
And but fo mimick ancient Wits at beft,

As Apes our Grandfires, in their Doublet's dreft.
In Words, as Fashions, the fame Rule will hold;
Alike Fantastick, if too New, or Old;

Be not the first by whom the New are try'd,

· Nor

yet the last to lay the Old afide.

B 3

* But

* Abolita & abrogata retinere, infolentia cujufdam eft, & frivola in parvis jactantia. Quint. lib. 1. c. 6.

Opus eft ut Verba a vetuftate repetita neque crebra fint, neque manifefta, quia nil eft odiofius affectatione, nec utique ab ultimis repetita temporibus. Oratio, cujus fumma virtus eft perfpicuitas, quam fit vitiofa fi egeat interprete? Ergo ut novorum optima erunt maximè vetera, ita veterum maximè nova. Idem. Ben. Johnson's Every Man in his Humour.

But most by Numbers judge a Poet's Song, And smooth or rough, with such, is right or wrong; In the bright Muse tho' thousand Charms conspire, Her Voice is all these tuneful Fools admire; Who haunt Parnaffus but to please their Ear, Not mend their Minds; as fome to Church repair, Not for the Doctrine, but the Musick there, These Equal Syllables alone require, †Tho' oft the Ear the open Vowels tire; •While Expletives their feeble Aid do join; And ten low Words oft creep in one dull Line; While they ring round the fame unvary'd Chimes, With fure Returns of ftill-expected Rhymes. Where-e'er you find the cooling Western Breeze, In the next Line, it whispers thro' the Trees; If Chrystal Streams with pleafing Murmurs creep, The Reader's threaten'd (not in vain) with Sleep. Then, at the laft, and only Couplet fraught With fome unmeaning Thing they call a Thought, A

Quis populi fermo eft? quis enim? nifi carmine molli Nunc demum numero fluere, ut per lave feveros Effugit junctura ungues: feit tendere verfum, Non feus ac fi oculo rubricam dirigat uno. Perfius, Sat. 1.

Fugiemus crebras vocalium concurfiones, que vastam atque biantem orati

ddunt

Cic ad Herenn lib Vide etian Quintill lib C

A needlefs Alexandrine ends the Song,

[along.

That like a wounded Snake, drags its flow Length Leave fuch to tune their own dull Rhimes, and

What's roundly smooth, or languishingly flow;

[know

And praise the Eafie Vigor of a Line, [nefs join. Where Denham's Strength, and Waller's Sweet'Tis not enough no Harshness gives Offence, The Sound muft feem an Eccho to the Senfe. Soft is the Strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the fmooth Stream in Smoother Numbers flows; But when loud Surges lafh the founding Shore, The boar fe,roughVerfe fhou'd like the Torrent roar. When Ajax strives, fome Rock's vaft Weight to throw,

The Line too labours, and the Words move flow; Not fo, when swift Camilla fcours the Plain,

Flies o'er th' unbending Corn, and skims along the Hear how†Timotheus'various Lays furprize, [Main.

And bid Alternate Paffions fall and rife!

+ Alexander's Feaft, or the Power of Mufick; An Ode by Mr. Dryden.

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 fteal out, and Tears begin to flow:
Perfians and Greeks like Turns of Nature found,
And the World's Victor stood fubdu'd by Sound!
The Pow'r of Mufick all our Hearts allow;
And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now.

Avoid Extreams; and fhun the Fault of fuch,

Who ftill are pleas'd too little, or too much.
At ev'ry Trifle scorn to take Offence,

That always fhows Great Pride, or Little Senfe;
Thofe Heads, as Stomachs, are not sure the best,
Which nauseate all, and nothing can digeft.
Yet let not each gay Turn thy Rapture move,
For Fools Admire, but Men of Senfe Approve;
As things feem large which we thro' Mifts defcry,
Dulness is ever apt to Magnify.

Some the French Writers, fome our own defpife;
The Ancients only, or the Moderns prize.
(Thus Wit, like Faith, by each Man is apply'd
To one fmall Sect, and All are damn'd befide.)

Meanly

Meanly they seek the Bleffing to confine,
And force that Sun but on a Part to Shine,
Which not alone the Southern Wit fublimes,
But ripens Spirits in cold Northern Climes;
Which from the first has fhone on Ages past,
Enlights the prefent, and fhall warm the last.
(Tho' each may feel Increases and Decays,
And fee now clearer and now darker Days)
Regard not then if Wit be Old or New,
But blame the Falfe, and value ftill the True.
Some ne'er advance a Judgment of their own,
But catch the Spreading Notion of the Town;
They reason and conclude by Precedent,

And own ftale Nonfenfe which they ne'er invent. Some judge of Author's Names, not Works, and then

Nor praise nor damn the Writings, but the Men.
Of all this Servile Herd the worst is He
That in proud Dulness joins with Quality,
A conftant Critick at the Great-man's Board,
To fetch and carry Nonsense for my Lord.
What woful stuff this Madrigal wou'd be,
In fome starv'd Hackny Soneteer, or me?