HIS tranflation of monfieur Boileau's Art
of Poetry was made in the year 1680, by Sir William Soame of Suffolk, Baronet; who being very intimately acquainted with Mr. Dryden, defired his revifal of it. I faw the manufcript lie in Mr. Dryden's hands for above fix months, who made very confiderable alterations in it, particularly the beginning of the fourth Canto and it being his opinion that it would be better to apply the poem to English writers, than keep to the French names, as it was first tranflated, Sir William defired he would take the pains to make that alteration; and accordingly that was entirely done by Mr. Dryden.
The poem was first published in the year 1683; Sir William was after fent ambaffador to Conftantinople, in the reign of king James, but died in the voyage.
ASH author, 'tis a vain prefumptuous crime,
To undertake the facred art of rhyme;
If at thy birth the stars that rul'd thy sense
Shone not with a poetic influence
In thy ftrait genius thou wilt ftill be bound,
Find Phœbus deaf, and Pegasus unfound.
You then that burn with the defire to try
The dangerous course of charming poetry ;
Forbear in fruitless verse to lose your time,
Or take for genius the defire of rhyme:
Fear the allurements of a fpecious bait,
And well confider your own force and weight.
Nature abounds in wits of every kind,
And for each author can a talent find:
One may in verse describe an amorous flame,
Another sharpen a short epigram:
Waller a hero's mighty acts extol,
Spencer fing Rosalind in pastoral:
But authors that themselves too much efteem,
Lose their own genius, and mistake their theme;
Thus in times past Dubartas vainly writ,
Allaying facred truth with trifling wit,
Impertinently, and without delight,
Defcrib'd the Ifraelites triumphant flight,
And following Mofes o'er the fandy plain,
Perish'd with Pharaoh in th' Arabian main.
Whate'er you write of pleasant or fublime,
Always let sense accompany your rhyme:
Falfely they feem each other to oppofe;
Rhyme must be made with reafon's laws to clofe:
And when to conquer her you bend your force,
The mind will triumph in the noble course;
To reason's yoke fhe quickly will incline,
Which, far from hurting, renders her divine :
But if neglected will as easily stray,
And master reason which she should obey.
Love reason then; and let whate'er you write
Borrow from her its beauty, force, and light.
Most writers mounted on a refty muse,
Extravagant and fenfelefs objects chufe;
They think they err, if in their verse they fall
On any thought that's plain or natural :
Fly this excefs; and let Italians be
Vain authors of false glitt'ring poetry.
All ought to aim at fenfe; but most in vain
Strive the hard pass and flippery path to gain :
You drown, if to the right or left you stray;
Reason to go has often but one way.
Sometimes an author fond of his own thought,
Pursues its object till it's over-wrought:
If he defcribes a houfe, he fhews the face,
And after walks you round from place to place;
Here is a vifta, there the doors unfold,
Balconies here are balluftred with gold;
Then counts the rounds and ovals in the halls,
"The feftoons, freezes, and the aftragals:"
Tir'd with his tedious pomp away I run,
And skip o'er twenty pages to be gone.
Of fuch descriptions the vain folly fee,
And shun their barren fuperfluity.
All that is needlefs carefully avoid;
The mind once fatisfy'd is quickly cloy'd:
He cannot write who knows not to give o'er;
To mend one fault he makes a hundred more:
A verse was weak, you turn it, much too strong,
And grow obfcure for fear you should be long.
Some are not gaudy but are flat and dry;
Not to be low, another foars too high.
Would you of every one deserve the praise
In writing vary your discourse and phrase;
A frozen style that neither ebbs nor flows,
Inftead of pleafing makes us gape and doze.
Those tedious authors are esteem'd by none
Who tire us, humming the fame heavy tone.
Happy who in his verse can gently steer,
From grave to light; from pleasant to fevere
His works will be admir'd where-ever found,
And oft with buyers will be compafs'd round.
In all
you write be neither low nor vile:
The meanest theme may have a proper style.
The dull burlesque appear'd with impudence, And pleas'd by novelty in spite of sense. All, except trivial points, grew out of date; Parnaffus spoke the cant of Billingsgate : Boundless and mad, diforder'd rhyme was feen :
Difguis'd Apollo chang'd to Harlequin.
This plague which firft in country towns began,
Cities and kingdoms quickly over-ran;
The dulleft fcribblers fome admirers found,
And the Mock Tempest was a while renown'd:
But this low ftuff the town at last despis'd,
And scorn'd the folly that they once had priz'd;
Distinguish'd dull from natural and plain,
And left the villages to Fleckno's reign.
Let not fo mean a ftyle your muse debase;
But learn from Butler the buffooning grace :
And let burlesque in ballads be employ'd;
Yet noify bombaft carefully avoid,
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