Both muft alike from heav'n derive their light,
Tuefe born to judge as wellas thiofe to write.
Let* fuch teach others who themselves excell,
And cenfure freely who have written well.
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not Critics to their judgment too?
Yet if we look more closely, we shall find
Moft † have the feeds of judgment in their mind
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right.
But as the slightest sketch, if justly trac'd,
Is by ill colouring but the more disgrac'd,
So by false learning is good fenfe defac'd :
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And fome made coxcombs nature meant but fools.
In fearch of wit these lose their common sense,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Thofe hate as rivals all that write; and others
But envy wits, as eunuchs envy lovers.
* Qui fcribit artificiofe, ab aliis commodè fcripta facile intelligere poterit. Cic. ad Herenn. lib. 4.
+Omnes tacito quodam fenfu, fine ulla arte, aut ratione, qua fint in artibus ac rationibus recta ac prava dijudicant. Cic. de Orat. lib. 3.
All fuch have ftill an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing fide.
If Mavius fcribble in Apollo's fpight,
There are, who judge ftill worse than he can write.
Some have at firft for Wits, then Poets past,
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain fools at laft.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pafs,
As heavy mules are neither horfe nor afs.
Thofe half-learn'd witlings, num'rous in our ifle,
As half-form'd infects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,
Their generation's fo equivocal:
To tell 'em, would a hundred tongues require,
Or one vain Wit's, that might a hundred tire.
But you who seek to give and merit fame,
And justly bear a Critic's noble name,
Be fure your felf and your own reach to know,
How far your genius, tafte, and learning go;
Launch not beyond your depth, but be difcreet,
And mark that point where sense and dulnefs meet.
Nature to all things fix'd the limits fit,
And wifely curb'd proud man's pretending wit.
As on the land while here the Ocean gains,
In other parts it leaves wide fandy plains;
Thus in the foul while memory prevails,
The folid pow'r of understanding fails ;
Where beams of warm imagination play,
The memory's foft figures melt away.
One science only will one genius fit;
So vaft is art, fo narrow human wit
Not only bounded to peculiar arts;
But oft' in thofe confin'd to fingle parts.
Like Kings we lofe the conquefts gain'd before,
By vain ambition ftill to make them more..
Each might his fev'ral province well command,
Would all but ftoop to what they understand.
Firft follow Nature, and your judgment frame
By her juft ftandard, which is ftill the fame :
Unerring Nature, ftill divinely bright,
One clear, unchang'd, and univerfal light,
Life, force, and beauty, muft to all impart,
At once the fource, and end, and teft of art.
Art from that fund each juft fupply provides,
Works without fhow, and without pomp prefides:
In fome fair body thus the fecret foul
With fpirits feeds, with vigour fills the whole,
Each motion guides, and ev'ry nerve fuftains ;
Itself unfeen, but in th' effects, remains.
There are whom heav'n has bleft with store of wit,
Yet want as much again to manage it;
For wit and judgment ever are at ftrife,
Tho' meant each other's aid, like man and wife.
ESSAT on CRITICISM.
'Tis more to guide, than fpur the Mufe's fteed ; Reftrain his fury, than provoke his speed;
The winged courfer, like a gen'rous horse,
Shows most true mettle when you check his course.
Thofe Rules of old discover'd, not devis'd,
Are nature ftill, but nature methodiz'd:
Nature, like Monarchy, is but restrain'd
By the fame laws which first herself ordain'd.
Hear how learn'd Greece her useful rules indites,
When to reprefs, and when indulge our flights!
High on Parnaffus's top her fons fhe fhow'd,
And pointed out those arduous paths they trod,
Held from afar, aloft, th' immortal prize,
And urg'd the reft by equal fteps to rife.
Juft *precepts thus from great examples giv'n,
She drew from them what they deriv'd from heav'n,
The gen'rous Critic fann'd the Poet's fire,
And taught the world, with reafon to admire,
Then Criticism the Muse's handmaid prov'd,
To drefs her charms, and make her more belov'd:
*Nec enim artibus editis factum eft ut arrumenta inveniremus, fed dicta funt omnia antequam præciperentur, mox ea fcriptores obfervata & colletta ediderunt. Quintil.
But following Wits from that intention ftray'd;
Who could not win the mistress, woo'd the maid,
Set up themselves, and drove a fep'rate trade;
Against the Poets their own arms they turn'd,
Sure to hate moft the men from whem they learn'd.
So modern 'Pothecaries, taught the art
By Doctor's bills to play the Doctor's part,
Bold in the practice of mistaken rules,
Prescribe, apply, and call their master's fools,
Some on the leaves of ancient authors prey,
Nor time nor moths e'er spoil'd so much as they.
Some drily plain, without invention's aid,
Write dull receits how poems may be made.
These lost the sense, their learning to display,
And those explain'd the meaning quite away.
You then whofe judgment the right courfe would steer, Know well each Ancient's proper character;
His fable, fubje&t, fcope in ev'ry page ;
Religion, country, genius of his age:
Without all these at once before your eyes,
Cavil you may, but never criticize.
Be Homer's works your ftudy, and delight,
Read them by day, and meditate by night,
Thence form your judgment, thence your notions bring, And trace the Mufes upward to their spring.
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