For envied wit, like Sol eclipsed, makes known Be thou the first true merit to befriend; Unhappy wit, like most mistaken things, Atones not for that envy which it brings. In youth alone its empty praise we boast, But soon the short-lived vanity is lost : Like some fair flower the early spring supplies, That gaily blooms, but even in blooming dies. What is this wit, which must our cares employ? The owner's wife, that other men enjoy ; Then most our trouble still when most admired, And still the more we give, the more required; Whose fame with pains we guard, but lose with ease, Sure some to vex, but never all to please; 'Tis what the vicious fear, the virtuous shun, By fools 'tis hated, and by knaves undone ! If wit so much from ignorance undergo, Ah let not learning too commence its foe! Of old, those met rewards who could excel, And such were praised who but endeavour'd well : Though triumphs were to generals only due, Crowns were reserved to grace the soldiers too. Now, they who reach Parnassus' lofty crown, Employ their pains to spurn some others down; And while self-love each jealous writer rules, Contending wits become the sport of fools: But still the worst with most regret commend, For each ill author is as bad a friend. To what base ends, and by what abject ways, Are mortals urged through sacred lust of praise! Ah ne'er so dire a thirst of glory boast, Nor in the critic let the man be lost. Good-nature and good sense must ever join; To err is human, to forgive, divine. But if in noble minds some dregs remain Not yet purged off, of spleen and sour disdain ; Discharge that rage on more provoking crimes, Nor fear a dearth in these flagitious times. No pardon vile obscenity should find, Though wit and art conspire to move your mind; But dulness with obscenity must prove As shameful sure as impotence in love. In the fat age of pleasure, wealth, and ease, Sprung the rank weed, and thrived with large inWhen love was all an easy monarch's care; [crease: Seldom at council, never in a war: Jilts ruled the state, and statesmen farces writ : And virgins smiled at what they blush'd before. Lest God himself should seem too absolute : LEARN then what MORALS critics ought to show, For 'tis but half a judge's task, to know. 'Tis not enough, taste, judgment, learning, join ; In all you speak, let truth and candour shine: That not alone what to your sense is due All may allow; but seek your friendship too. Be silent always, when you doubt your sense; And speak, though sure, with seeming diffidence : Some positive, persisting fops we know, Who, if once wrong, will needs be always so ; But you, with pleasure own your errors past, And make each day a critique on the last. 'Tis not enough your counsel still be true; Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do; Men must be taught as if you taught them not, And things unknown proposed as things forgot. Without good-breeding, truth is disapproved; That only makes superior sense beloved. Be niggards of advice on no pretence : For the worst avarice is that of sense. With mean complacence ne'er betray your trust, Nor be so civil as to prove unjust. Fear not the anger of the wise to raise ; Those best can bear reproof, who merit praise. "Twere well might critics still this freedom take, But Appius reddens at each word you speak, And stares, tremendous1 with a threatening eye, Like some fierce tyrant in old tapestry. Fear most to tax an honourable fool, Whose right it is, uncensured, to be dull; Such, without wit, are poets when they please, As without learning they can take degrees. Leave dangerous truths to unsuccessful satires, And flattery to fulsome dedicators, Whom, when they praise, the world believes no more, Than when they promise to give scribbling o'er. 1 This picture was taken to himself by John Dennis, a furious old critic by profession, who, upon no other provocation, wrote against this essay and its author, in a manner perfectly lunatic: for as to the mention made of him in ver. 270, [p. 19, col. 1], he took it as a compliment, and said it was treacherously meant to cause him to overlook this abuse of his person. "Tis best sometimes your censure to restrain, Your silence there is better than your spite, Even to the dregs and squeezing of the brain, There are as mad, abandon'd critics too. No place so sacred from such fops is barr'd, Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead; But where's the man who counsel can bestow, Still pleased to teach, and yet not proud to know? Unbiass'd, or by favour or by spite; Not dully prepossess'd, nor blindly right; sincere ; Modestly bold, and humanly severe; 1 A common slander at that time in prejudice of that deserving author. Our poet did him this justice, when that slander most prevailed; and it is now (perhaps the sooner for this very verse) dead and forgotten. He, who supreme in judgment, as in wit, His precepts teach but what his works inspire. They judge with fury, but they write with phlegm Thee, bold Longinus! all the Nine inspire, Thus long succeeding critics justly reign'd, Licence repress'd, and useful laws ordain'd. Learning and Rome alike in empire grew; And arts still follow'd where her eagles flew ; From the same foes at last both felt their doom, And the same age saw learning fall and Rome. With tyranny then superstition join'd, As that the body, this enslaved the mind; Much was believed, but little understood, And to be dull was construed to be good; A second deluge learning thus o'errun, And the monks finish'd what the Goths begun. At length Erasmus, that great injured name, (The glory of the priesthood and the shame!) Stemm'd the wild torrent of a barbarous age, And drove those holy Vandals off the stage. But see! each muse, in LEO's golden days, Starts from her trance, and trims her wither'd bays, Rome's ancient genius, o'er its ruins spread, But soon by impious arms from Latium chased, 2 Of Halicarnassus. Such was the Muse', whose rules and practice tell ', The learn'd reflect on what before they knew: Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend. It will be in vain to deny that I have some regard for this piece, since I dedicate it to you. Yet you may bear me witness, it was intended only to divert a few young ladies, who have good sense and good humour enough to laugh not only at their sex's little unguarded follies, but at their own. But as it was communicated with the air of a secret, it soon found its way into the world. An imperfect copy having been offered to a bookseller, you had the goodnature for my sake to consent to the publication of one more correct: this I was forced to, before I had executed half my design, for the machinery was entirely wanting to complete it. 1 Essay on Poetry by the Duke of Buckingham. Our poet is not the only one of his time who complimented this Essay, and its noble author. Mr. Dryden had done it very largely, in the dedication to his translation of the Encid; and Dr. Garth in the first edition of his Dispensary says, "The Tyber now no courtly Gallus sees, But smiling Thames enjoys his Normanbys;" though afterwards omitted, when parties were carried so high in the reign of Queen Anne, as to allow no commendation to an opposite in politics. The duke was all his life a steady adherent to the Church of England party, yet an enemy to the extravagant measures of the court in the reign of Charles II. On which account, after having strongly patronised Mr. Dryden, a coolness succeeded between them on that poet's absolute attachment to the court, which carried him some length beyond what the duke could approve of. This nobleman's true character had been very well marked by Mr. Dryden before: The machinery, madam, is a term invented by the critics, to signify that part which the deities, angels, or demons, are made to act in a poem: for the ancient poets are in one respect like many modern ladies; let an action be never so trivial in itself, they always make it appear of the utmost importance. These machines I determined to raise on a very new and odd foundation, the Rosicrucian doctrine of spirits. I know how disagreeable it is to make use of hard words before a lady; but 'tis so much the concern of a poet to have his works understood, and particularly by your sex, that you must give me leave to explain two or three difficult terms. The Rosicrucians are a people I must bring you acquainted with. The best account I know of them is in a French book called Le Comte de Gabalis, which both in its title and size is so like a novel, that many of the fair sex have read it for one by mistake. According to these gentlemen, the four elements are inhabited by spirits, which they call sylphs, gnomes, nymphs, and salamanders. The gnomes, or demons of earth, delight in mischief; but the sylphs, whose habitation is in the air, are the best-conditioned creatures imaginable. For they say, any mortals may enjoy the most intimate familiarities with these gentle spirits, upon a condition very easy to all true adepts, an inviolate preservation of chastity. As to the following cantos, all the passages of them are as fabulous as the vision at the beginning, or the transformation at the end (except the loss of your hair, which I always mention with reverence). The human persons are as fictitious as the airy ones; and the character of Belinda, as it is now managed, resembles you in nothing but in beauty. If this poem had as many graces as there are in your person, or in your mind, yet I could never hope it should pass through the world half so uncensured as you have done. But let its fortune be what it will, mine is happy enough, to have given me this occasion of assuring you that I am, with the truest esteem, Madam, Your most obedient, humble servant, A. POPE. Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare capillos; CANTO FIRST. WHAT dire offence from amorous causes springs, 2 It appears by this motto, that the following poem was written or published at the lady's request. But there are some further circumstances not unworthy relating. Mr. Caryl (a gentleman who was secretary to Queen Mary, wife of James II. whose fortunes he followed into France, author of the comedy of Sir Solomon Single, and of several translations in Dryden's Miscellanies) originally proposed the subject to him, in a view of putting an end, by this piece of ridicule, to a quarrel that was risen between two noble families, those of Lord Petre and of Mrs. Fermor, on the trifling occasion of his having cut off a lock of her hair. The author sent it to the lady, with whom he was acquainted; and she took it so well as to give about copies of it. That first sketch (we learn from one of his letters) was written in less than a fortnight, in 1711, in two cantos only, and it was so printed; first, in a Miscellany of Bern. Lintot's, without the name of the author. But it was received so well, that he made it more considerable the next year by the addition of the machinery of the sylphs, and extended it to five cantos. We shall give the reader the pleasure of seeing in what manner these additions were inserted, so as to seem not to be added, but to grow out of the poem. See notes, cant. i. ver. 19, &c. Say what strange motive, goddess! could compel And the press'd watch return'd a silver sound. Her guardian SYLPH prolonged the balmy rest : Fairest of mortals, thou distinguish'd care With golden crowns and wreaths of heavenly Hear and believe! thy own importance know, The sprites of fiery termagants in flame Know further yet; whoever fair and chaste Some nymphs there are, too conscious of their face, And garters, stars, and coronets appear, Oft, when the world imagine women stray, What tender maid but must a victim fall Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches drive. Think not, when woman's transient breath is fled, This erring mortals levity may call, That all her vanities at once are dead; And though she plays no more, o'erlooks the cards. To their first elements their souls retire : 1 It was in the first editions, And dwells such rage in softest bosoms then, 3 All the verses from hence to the end of this canto were added afterwards. "Quæ gratia currûm Armorumque fuit vivis, quæ cura nitentes VIRG. Æneid. vi. Oh blind to truth! the sylphs contrive it all. He said; when Shock, who thought she slept too Leap'd up, and waked his mistress with his tongue. And now, unveil'd, the toilet stands display'd, 5 The language of the Platonists, the writers of the intelligible world of spirits, &c. First, robed in white, the nymph intent adores, CANTO SECOND. Nor with more glories, in the ethereal plain, But every eye was fix'd on her alone. On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, This nymph, to the destruction of mankind, 1 Ancient traditions of the rabbis relate, that several of the fallen angels became amorous of women, and particularize some; among the rest Asael, who lay with Naamah, the wife of Noah, or of Ham; and who continuing impenitent, still presides over the women's toilets. Bereshi Rabbi in Genes. vi. 2. 2 From hence the poem continues, in the first edition, to ver. 46. "The rest the winds dispersed in empty air;" all after, to the end of this canto, being additional. The adventurous Baron the bright locks admired; He saw, he wish'd, and to the prize aspired. Resolved to win, he meditates the way, By force to ravish, or by fraud betray; For when success a lover's toil attends, Few ask, if fraud or force attain'd his ends. For this, ere Phoebus rose, he had implored Propitious Heaven, and every power adored, But chiefly Love-to Love an altar built, Of twelve vast French romances, neatly gilt. There lay three garters, half a pair of gloves, And all the trophies of his former loves; With tender billets-doux he lights the pyre, And breathes three amorous sighs to raise the fire. Then prostrate falls, and begs with ardent eyes Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize: The powers gave ear3, and granted half his prayer, The rest, the winds dispersed in empty air. But now secure the painted vessel glides, The sun-beams trembling on the floating tides: While melting music steals upon the sky, And soften'd sounds along the waters die ; Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play, Belinda smiled, and all the world was gay. All but the sylph-with careful thoughts opprest, The impending woe sat heavy on his breast. He summons straight his denizens of air; The lucid squadrons round the sails repair: Soft o'er the shrouds aërial whispers breathe, That seem'd but zephyrs to the train beneath. Some to the sun their insect-wings unfold, Waft on the breeze, or sink in clouds of gold ; Transparent forms, too fine for mortal sight, Their fluid bodies half dissolved in light, Loose to the wind their airy garments flew, Thin glittering textures of the filmy dew, Dipt in the richest tincture of the skies, Where light disports in ever-mingling dyes; While every beam new transient colours flings, Colours that change whene'er they wave their wings. Amid the circle, on the gilded mast, Superior by the head, was Ariel placed ; His purple pinions opening to the sun, He raised his azure wand, and thus begun: Ye sylphs and sylphids, to your chief give ear, Some in the fields of purest ether play, 3 Virg. Æneid. xi. |