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CRITICAL ESSAYS OF THE EIGHTEENTH 
 CENTURY 
 
Critical Essays of the 
 Eighteenth Century 
 
 1700-1725 
 
 Edited by 
 WILLARD HIGLEY DURHAM, Ph.D. 
 
 New Haven: Yale University Press 
 
 London: Humphrey Milford 
 
 Oxford University Press 
 
 MDCCCCXV 
 
7/ 
 
 9^ 
 
 Copyright, 1915 
 
 BY 
 
 Yaie University Press 
 
 First printed March, 1915, 750 copies from type 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Much current misunderstanding of the theories about 
 literature held by eighteenth century Englishmen is due 
 to the fact that a large part of the criticism published in 
 their time has been difficult of access. It is the purpose 
 of this volume to lessen the difficulty by putting into the 
 hands of the student a group of representative critical 
 essays. Most of these have not been reprinted since the 
 eighteenth century, and one of them has become really 
 rare. To the less familiar work has been added a selec- 
 tion from the criticism of Steele, Addison, and Pope in 
 order that the survey might be more nearly complete. 
 Essays displaying general theories and tendencies have 
 been chogen rather than those discussing only individual 
 books or plays. 
 
 The volume aims to present, therefore, the more signifi- 
 cant criticism published between 1700 and 1725.- There 
 are, however, two notable omissions. There is no repre- 
 sentation either of Shaftesbury's criticism or of the 
 several essays dealing with Shakespeare. The latter have 
 been excluded on the ground that they are already easily 
 accessible in D. Nichol Smith's Eighteenth Century 
 Essays on Shakespeare. Shaftesbury has been excluded 
 for reasons of space. It would have been impossible to 
 represent him adequately without devoting to his work a 
 disproportionate number of pages and consequently ex- 
 cluding other work of perhaps greater importance. This 
 exclusion is the less to be regretted because the Charac- 
 teristics have already been republished in an excellent 
 modern edition. 
 
vi Preface 
 
 In all cases the texts are exact reprints of original edi- 
 tions or of editions revised by the author. In the latter 
 case the facts about the edition chosen have been stated 
 in the notes. The notes also give more exact references to 
 quotations vaguely indicated in the texts, and such neces- 
 sary facts as might be unfamiliar to the reader of average 
 information. Neither they nor the introduction pretend 
 to be exhaustive. The latter aims merely to suggest cer- 
 tain points of view from which the texts may well be 
 read. In both cases editorial matter has been sacrificed 
 to a greater body of text. 
 
 It is intended that this volume shall be followed as 
 soon as possible by a second which will cover the follow- 
 ing quarter-century. This may later be supplemented 
 by still another volume. It is also the editor's purpose 
 to offer as a separate study a history of the development 
 of literary criticism and popular taste in the eighteenth 
 century. 
 
 W. H. D. 
 
 The Sheffield Scientific School, 
 March, 1915. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction ix 
 
 ''' Charles Gildon : 
 
 An Essay at a Vindication of the Love-Verses of 
 
 Cowley and Waller (1694) 3 
 
 Modern Poets against the Ancients {1&^4:) . . 14'^ 
 
 Complete Art of Poetry. Part II. (1718) . . 18 
 
 ^ John Hughes : 
 
 Of Style (1698) 79 
 
 On Allegorical Poetry {1115) 86 
 
 Remarks on the Fairy Queen [in part] (1715) . 105 
 
 ' John Dennis: 
 
 Large Account of the Ta^te in Poetry {110%) . 113 
 The Grounds of Criticism in Poetry (1704) . . 143 
 Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody called an 
 Essay upon Criticism (1711) 312 
 
 ^ George Farquhar: 
 
 Discourse upon Comedy (1703) 357 
 
 Richard Steele : 
 
 Tatler'LKWin.: Shakespeare {Vta^) . ... 389 
 Guardian Xll: On Critics {YllZ) 393 
 
viii Contents 
 
 Joseph Addison: 
 
 Tatler CLXV: On Critics (1710) .... 301 
 
 Spectator XL: Poetic Justice (1711) ... 306 
 
 Spectator CLX: The Nature of Genius (1711) 311 
 Spectator DXCII: The Critics and the Rules 
 
 (1714) 316 
 
 Alexander Pope : 
 
 Preface to the Translation of the Iliad (1715) . 323/ 
 
 ' Leonard Welsted : 
 
 Dissertation concerning the State of Poetry 
 
 (1724) 355V 
 
 Allan Ramsay: 
 
 Preface to The Ever Green (1724) .... 399 
 
 Notes 405 
 
 Bibliography 429 
 
 Index 439 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 That period of English literature which is commonly 
 styled — with more regard for alliteration than accuracy — 
 the Age of Anne, is summarily dismissed by the average 
 student of literary history. Here, if anywhere, he is 
 undisturbed by critical doubts. He may question the 
 absolute merit of the minor Elizabethans; he may have 
 misgivings as to his estimate of the Victorians; but in 
 dealing with the Augustans he is happily certain. Espe- 
 cially is this true of Augustan ideals and tendencies. 
 There was the 'Qassical School'; one can trace the 
 'beginnings of Romanticism'; the former is fortunately 
 dead, the latter grown into something of much greater 
 importance. It is all perfectly clear. 
 
 To the person, however, who takes pains to read what 
 was written during this period, nothing is clearer than 
 the falsity of such an opinion. The Age of Anne has 
 suffered from adulation and from vituperation, from 
 ignorant generalization and from scholarly misrepre- 
 sentation, but from nothing so much as from being 
 hastily pigeon-holed. It is possible to conceive how 
 persons so unfortunate as to be blind to a certain type 
 of literary merit might be eager to get this period off 
 their hands. It is much more remarkable that they should 
 suppose they had done so. 
 
 Such ungrounded assumption is largely the product of 
 indifference, an indifference fortunately lessening. The 
 mere passage of time is transferring it to the Victorian 
 period. It begins to appear, for example, as if Tennyson 
 
X Introduction 
 
 were succeeding to Pope's position as a phenomenon 
 sufficiently considered by English critics and now 
 definitely disposed of and laid away. Cowley was 
 similarly treated by the mid-eighteenth century. It is no 
 new thing, this curt dismissal of our literary great- 
 grandfathers; it is perhaps the original sin of criticism. 
 The glory of the present or the immediate past has 
 always cast a shadow backward. But, as the present 
 becomes the past, the shadow moves. 
 
 If the early eighteenth century seems to have emerged 
 somewhat slowly, the fact is due, in part at least, to two 
 causes : to the character of the period and to the character 
 of those who have written about it. The critics of the 
 nineteenth century to whose lot fell the disposition of the 
 'classical period' were men of unusual ability, men who 
 wrote with such force that it has often been easier to 
 remember their criticisms than the work they criticized. 
 The period, on the other hand, was of such a sort that 
 it could not be completely forgotten. Its writers had a 
 way of making phrases which became first proverbial and 
 then banal, so that people became prematurely bored by 
 men whom they had not read. "Fools rush in where 
 angels fear to tread," "The proper study of mankind is 
 man" — these, and a hundred others like them, are so 
 familiar that it has been impossible to 'discover' Pope as 
 the minor Elizabethans, for instance, were discovered. 
 
 Similarly, the critical theory of the period has been 
 presented to us in compact, easily digested, and — ^to many 
 minds — disagreeable doses, so that familiarity could easily 
 breed ignorance. Queen Anne critics are believed to have 
 cherished a pathetic devotion to 'the Rules' and the 
 couplet. Some of their best-known work bears out this 
 belief. We scorned the rules and were easily wearied by 
 the couplet, and we accepted this as sufficient. 
 
Introduction xi 
 
 If we are to escape from this position into one from 
 which we may estimate this period more justly, compre- 
 hend it more accurately, we shall not do so by means of 
 new generalizations. Some very accurate generalizations 
 about this period have already been made without much 
 apparent effect. The one thing needful is that the 
 student shall actually read what was then written, shall 
 know in detail what these men thought they were doing. 
 Then he will realize the variety of opinion which existed, 
 and possibly come to feel that some of these opinions 
 are not wholly without validity. 
 
 Believing this, I have not attempted to make this 
 introduction in any sense a history of the critical theories 
 championed between 1700 and 1725. I have attempted 
 to point out certain fairly obvious facts concerning the 
 real nature of some of these theories, to call attention to 
 their variety — sometimes not superficially clear — and to 
 indicate their general tendencies, their points of view, 
 which are often quite other than what we should infer 
 from isolated opinions and individual judgments. 
 
 Before attempting to determine what the critics of the 
 time did do, it is necessary to emphasize one thing they 
 did not do. There is an impression still at large that 
 Alexander Pope, aided and abetted by servile followers, 
 foisted upon the meek British public a hide-bound and 
 pedantic theory of poetry commonly described as 'pseudo- 
 classic'. Whatever Pope's faults may have been — and 
 they were many — ^this was not one of them. He was 
 neither the originator of this pseudo-classic theory nor 
 its most extreme adherent. Nor was any other person 
 in the eighteenth century. For the really thoroughgoing 
 classicist or rationalist in criticism it is necessary to go 
 to the preceding century. If by pseudo-classic is meant 
 the type of mind which carries its admiration of the 
 
xii Introduction 
 
 ancients to the point of idolatry, to the point of incul- 
 cating a slavish imitation of Greeks and Latins and of 
 censuring departure from their methods, we can best find 
 it in Thomas Rymer. In his Short View of Tragedy, 
 which appeared in 1193, besides attacking Shakespeare 
 with a virulence unparalleled in England until our own 
 day, he strongly advised the use of the chorus in English 
 tragedy. Admiration for the classics could scarcely 
 carry one further. If, on the other hand, pseudo-classic 
 be taken as referring to the theory that emotion in poetry 
 should be kept in strict subjection to reason and common 
 sense, we shall find the extreme position represented in 
 D'Avenant's Preface to Gondibert, published in 1650. 
 There, as a justification of his subject, he writes, "Truth 
 operative, and by effects continually alive, is the Mistris 
 of Poets, who hath not her existence in matter but in 
 reason."^ This insistence on reason to the neglect of 
 feeling or imagination is characteristic of a critical 
 temper which makes him look upon Spenser's Fairy 
 Queen as a dream "such as Poets and Painters, by being 
 overstudious, may have in the beginning of Feavers."" 
 Neither Rymer nor D'Avenant is an isolated phenomenon. 
 Opinions similar to theirs were repeatedly expressed in 
 the third and fourth quarters of the seventeenth century. 
 The eighteenth century cannot, therefore, be credited 
 with either the invention or the most thoroughgoing 
 application of pseudo-classic theory. 
 
 It is equally misleading to say that such theories as 
 these were dominant in the period with which we are 
 now concerned. In the first place a distinction should be 
 made between the opinions of professional critics and 
 men of letters and those of the reading and theater-going 
 
 'Spingarn, Critical Essays of the XVII Century 2 11 
 a/6.2.6. ■ ■ 
 
Introduction xiii 
 
 public. The former are by no means homogeneous — 
 some of them show little trace of pseudo-classic influence. 
 The latter were commonly hostile to it. Dogmatic asser- 
 tions about the popular taste of a bygone age require 
 considerable qualification, yet then; is every reason to 
 believe that the great majority of the public regarded 
 the rules with suspicion and disfavor. There is, on the 
 one hand, the evidence supplied by the success of plays, 
 both old and new, written without regard for the rules, 
 and the failure of others which conformed to them. 
 There is also — ^more significant still — ^the admission by 
 critics who upheld the rules that their opinions were not 
 those generally prevalent. In the Art of Poetry Gildon 
 repeatedly asserts that his opinions are not those of the 
 crowd; and in his earlier Essay on the Art, Rise, and 
 Progress of the Stage he writes, "There is indeed a very 
 formidable Party among us, who are such Libertines in 
 all manner of Poetry, especially in the Drama, that they 
 think all regular Principles of Art an Imposition not to 
 be born." The author of Cato Examin'd (1713) gives 
 similar testimony : "For let the ignorant Million exclaim 
 as they please against the Rules, and Art, and make a 
 senseless Clamour about Nature, without giving us any 
 Account what they mean by the Word." From the 
 Harlequin Horace, published after the turn of the 
 quarter-century, we learn that 
 
 "Most Readers like Romantick Flights alone. 
 And scorn a Poem where Design is shewn." 
 
 Such quotations might be multiplied indefinitely. More- 
 over, the necessity of arguing in behalf of the rules shows 
 that the fight for them was far from won. The pseudo- 
 classic theory was by no means securely dominant. 
 
xiv Introduction 
 
 Many writers and more readers were of quite another 
 mind. 
 
 But popular taste is an indefinite and intangible thing. 
 It is a composite of likings by no means feeble or without 
 means of positive expression, yet inevitably unreasoned 
 and unformulated. We are more immediately concerned 
 with those likings which did find articulate expression, 
 which were often only too well codified and reduced to 
 neat formulas. We have to do, not with the taste that 
 was necessarily dominant, but with that which wished 
 to be dominant, that which men who had read and 
 thought about matters critical felt ought properly to be 
 dominant. 
 
 But before discussing individual critics of this period 
 it may be well to summarize briefly the opinions which 
 they inherited from a previous generation, to separate as 
 clearly as may be the main currents of previous critical 
 thought. Various such divisions have been made. One 
 of the most useful is that of Hamelius,^ who divides the 
 critics of the later seventeenth century into four classes : 
 the neo-classicists, the rationalists, the religionists, and 
 the romanticists. We may pass over the religionists, if 
 only because of the barbarity of the word. By these 
 Hamelius means men who, like Milton, felt the impor- 
 tance to poetry of religion, especially the Christian 
 religion, who insisted on the necessity of religious 
 emotion as a vitalizing poetic force. Although Dennis, 
 one of the most significant of eighteenth century critics, 
 gave to this view its clearest and most definite expression, 
 we may safely omit it from our classification on the 
 ground that it is merely descriptive of an opinion of 
 certain individuals, an opinion which was held as a 
 
 Wie Kritik in der englischen Literatur des 17. und IS. Jahr- 
 hunderts. 
 
Introduction xv 
 
 portion of a theory of poetry which otherwise falls in 
 with one or more of the other three. 
 
 In defining classicist theories as they found expression 
 in England it is important to remember that they mani- 
 fest primarily an intense and justifiable admiration. 
 They are often spoken of as though they expressed 
 only an unjustifiable dislike for things not classic. Love 
 for the classics needs no apology, and when lovers of the 
 classics went astray it was primarily because they did 
 not love enough. The faults of the school are most 
 apparent in those who went, not to the classics, but to 
 what later scholars had said about the classics. 
 
 In the classics men found a type of beauty rich without 
 extravagance, simple without baldness, profound without 
 obscurity. They learned from Aristotle that certain 
 characteristics were common to the greater examples of 
 this type. They found also that in much of modern 
 poetry there was extravagance and obscurity, restlessness 
 and confusion. They consequently urged the imitation 
 of classical models, obedience to the laws of Aristotle, 
 as a means of avoiding these faults. Many of them 
 went too far in their admiration of a single type of 
 beauty, but they did not — in England, at least — ^go so far 
 as to suppose that mere imitation of the ancient authors 
 would supply the lack of genius; they merely said that 
 such imitation would lead genius into safer paths. Their 
 theory had, therefore, the merits and defects which safe 
 theories always have. Those who really follow them 
 avoid great sins and great virtues. It must not be 
 forgotten, however, that restraint is a virtue, and it should 
 not be confounded with mere emptiness or mediocrity. 
 In our condemnation of the namby-pamby we too often 
 ignore the fact that the fault is not in restraint but in the 
 lack of anything to restrain. 
 
xvi Introduction 
 
 There is, however, in classical literature much that is 
 freely imaginative. There are works in which the poet's 
 imagination oversteps the bounds of prosaic reason. 
 Consequently such critics as were most devoted to the 
 white light of reason, those who were most offended by 
 the extravagances of such writers as the 'metaphysicals', 
 believed the classics somewhat lacking in qualities essen- 
 tial to a true literary guide. We find, therefore, among 
 the critics of the seventeenth century, besides those who 
 regarded the classics as infallible, others who wished a 
 dual government of classics and reason, and a third class 
 who felt that safety lay only in the constant restraint of 
 the fancy by the judgment. These last cannot be called 
 classicists without confusion of terms. It is simpler to 
 label them rationalists. 
 
 The romanticists in criticism are easy to define for our 
 purposes. The others are romanticists — the men who 
 preferred Elizabethan to Greek or French drama — the 
 men who saw possibilities in mediaeval literature. 
 
 But all such division, as far as the first quarter of the 
 eighteenth century is concerned, is of use solely as offer- 
 ing definitions of terms which are convenient to use. 
 Practically no critic fits into one of these categories to 
 the exclusion of the others. And no one — this cannot 
 be too much emphasized — no one was the kind of classi- 
 cist or rationalist that is to be found in some popular 
 books and essays dealing with eighteenth century litera- 
 ture. The only appearance of this imaginary creature is 
 among the straw figures which writers put together for 
 purposes of demolition. That there was in this period 
 any critic of importance who actually believed that one 
 could make a poet by teaching rules, or that art could 
 replace genius, or any such silly stuff, I emphatically 
 
Introduction xvii 
 
 deny. There were many shades of opinion, many 
 opinions with which most of us would totally disagree, 
 but none so patently absurd as they are often supposed 
 to be, none that do not contain some truth — distorted, 
 under or overstated, perhaps — ^but still truth. 
 
 The following discussions of individual men make no 
 attempt, therefore, at any definite classification. They 
 are neither pleas nor verdicts. They aim merely to point 
 out such salient features as are especially significant for 
 students of English criticism. 
 
 Charles If Charles Gildon occupies first place, it is 
 GiLDON not because of his deserts. Whatever critical 
 ability he possessed best appears in the work 
 he published before the beginning of the century, so that 
 in fairness he had to be taken from the place in the second 
 decade which his most pretentious work would have given 
 him. 
 
 This duality of chronological position corresponds to 
 a duality in character. As his life was divided between 
 two centuries, so his opinions were divided between two 
 extremes. Once a Catholic, he became a Deist; once a 
 critic, he became a criticaster. It is not impossible that 
 there was a connection between the two declensions, 
 though they were not synchronous and though he par- 
 tially recovered from the first. Certainly in both cases 
 he substituted a barren and superficial rationalism for 
 conceptions at once more fruitful and more profound. 
 
 In his earlier work, such as the attack on Rymer and 
 the two essays here reprinted from the same Miscellany, 
 he uses such authority as he has in defence of literary 
 freedom, refusing to attribute universal validity to the 
 opinions of Aristotle, and maintaining the principle that 
 
xviii Introduction 
 
 new times and new conditions demand new forms of 
 literary expression. "And as in Physic, so in Poetry, 
 there must be a regard had to the Clime, Nature, and 
 Customs of the People."^ Such a dictum was by no 
 means a critical commonplace in the seventeenth century. 
 Apparently this young man — for he was not yet thirty — 
 was in a fair way to become a critic of some ability. If 
 his enthusiasm for Dryden touched madness, it drove 
 him at times to unusual sanity. 
 
 It is, therefore, with considerable surprise that one 
 finds him publishing in 1710 an essay of a very different 
 sort, that on the Art, Rise, and Progress of the Stage. 
 This presents the same uncompromisingly rationalistic 
 opinions as were later developed in the Art of Poetry. 
 And here, as commonly elsewhere, rationalism is another 
 name for crude dogmatism. The Art of Poetry is 
 almost devoid of real thinking. It is an echo of echoes; 
 for the sections that follow the one here reprinted are 
 a cento of quotations from Roscommon, Mulgrave, and 
 Boileau, with prose comments which are additions to the 
 bulk rather than to the ideas of the work. Obviously, 
 then, the thought of the book is not of the eighteenth, but 
 of the seventeenth century, and its positive value lies 
 almost solely in the fact that it is the most complete 
 statement which we have from this period of the point 
 of view which is often supposed to have dominated it. 
 The fact that such a statement found few purchasers is 
 consequently significant. 
 
 Poor as the book is, it would be unfair to ignore its 
 occasional flashes of insight. Although the doctrine of 
 'English numbers' which forms the concluding section is 
 mistaken, Gildon at any rate recognizes the existence of 
 
 p. 4. 
 
Introduction xix 
 
 quantity in English verse. Unlike some modern theorists, 
 he realized that even in English a pyrrhic and a spondee 
 are not the same. He was able to perceive the genius of 
 Milton and Shakespeare, although his praise is not ours ; 
 and in what he says of Shakespeare and Homer he «h6ws 
 a recognition of the fact that genius may come uncon- 
 sciously and intuitively to the heights of art. 
 
 Despite such faint lights, however, our interest in the 
 book is derived not from Gildon's opinions, but from 
 those of his opponents. Whatever the cause of his 
 change of front, it was certainly not the desire to be 
 with the crowd. In presenting the views of Mrs. LaMode 
 and her friends he shows that popular taste was against 
 him. By ridiculing Pope under the name of Sawney 
 Dapper, by attacking the Tatler and Spectator, he con- 
 sciously ranges himself with the few against the many. 
 Consequently we have here, as in no other single volume, 
 evidence of the lack of unanimity among critics of the 
 period, of the gulf fixed between the thought of the 
 periodicals and that of the rationalists, and of the fact 
 that the uncompromising defenders of the rules were 
 fighting a losing battle. Whoever will read the book 
 without prejudice will find the rigid neo-classical theory — 
 even as Gildon presents it, with all his shallow thought 
 and clumsy style — to be a point of view not without 
 reason; but he will also find something of much greater 
 significance, that most of the critics of the day, even 
 those who thoroughly appreciated the worth of this point 
 of view, were freeing the theory from its most glaring 
 crudities, and were so altering it that from the standpoint 
 of the stalwarts they seemed its enemies. Thus regarded 
 the book becomes a valuable document, one indispensable 
 to a real perception of critical conditions. 
 
XX Introduction 
 
 John To both Pope and Swift, John Hughes seemed 
 Hughes "among the mediocribus, in prose as well as 
 verse."^ Certainly there is nothing in the 
 Essay on Style to prove them wrong. But after the 
 straggling sentences of the Art of Poetry one turns with 
 relief even to mediocrity. Hughes, unlike some who 
 have written on style, practises his own precepts. These 
 precepts pretend to be nothing more than the simple rules 
 which are now the commonplaces of a thousand text- 
 books; but they have for us an interest as presenting 
 the point of view towards English prose — the principles 
 held and the men admired by the authors of the great 
 periodicals: for, next to Eustace Budgell, Hughes was 
 the most regular of the minor contributors to the 
 Spectator, and his intimate friendship with Addison is 
 well known. It would seem unnecessary to point out 
 that Hughes expressly asserts that genius is not commu- 
 nicable by rules, were it not for the delusion that eight- 
 eenth century critics denied this truism. Even today 
 long-suffering teachers of English composition are sup- 
 posed to fail because they cannot make geniuses, a thing 
 which neither they nor John Hughes ever set out to do. 
 
 What Hughes has to say about Spenser is, however, 
 of much more interest than what he has to say about 
 style. That the edition of Spenser to which these essays 
 were prefaced was not reprinted for thirty years is 
 perhaps less symptomatic of popular taste than is some- 
 times supposed. If we except those who read Spenser 
 under compulsion in our schools and colleges and those 
 who read him because they wish to be 'cultured', we 
 should not find to-day a startlingly large number of 
 people whose familiarity with him went much beyond 
 hearsay. The important fact is that an edition with 
 
 ^Pope's Works, ed. Elwin-Courthope, 7. 334, 335. 
 
Introduction xxi 
 
 prefaces and glossary, an edition which presents himself 
 as a labor of love, should have been put forth at all. 
 
 Similarly, the important aspect of Hughes' criticism 
 of Spenser is not its weakness but its strength. If he 
 devotes much space to the allegorical character of the 
 Fairy Queen, he certainly lays no more stress upon it 
 than Spenser laid ; and if some modern critics deprecate 
 this enthusiasm for allegory, they fault Spenser — and 
 Dante — along with Hughes. But it is not the allegorical 
 character of the poem which to Hughes constituted its 
 chief merit; it is the character of the allegory — it is the 
 "surprizing Vein of fabulous Invention, which . . . en- 
 riches it every where with Imagery and Descriptions more 
 than we meet with in any other modern Poem."^ It is 
 the author's possession of a "kind of Poetical Magick."^ 
 With this view few would be disposed to quarrel, yet its 
 expression then was no hackneyed critical tagging. 
 
 Nor would any save a Spenserian take violent excep- 
 tion to Hughes' charge that "Spenser's Abundance 
 betrays him into Excess"^ or to the statement that 
 "the several Books appear rather like so many several 
 Poems, than one entire Fable."^ Even a criticism as 
 obvious as this last and as axiomatic to the true classicist, 
 is made with hesitation and qualification; for Hughes 
 refuses to force the Fairy Queen into one of the fixed 
 'kinds' of poetry, and insists that it is not under laws 
 which have power only over these 'kinds'. The compari- 
 son to the Gothic cathedral which follows by no means 
 belittles either poem or building. Can the most pas- 
 sionate partizan of Gothic point to a great cathedral 
 which is a perfectly unified whole? Or to one wholly 
 free from "barbarism"? If not, the parallel holds, 
 involving no blind disparagement, but rather an appre- 
 
 'p. 105. 
 
xxii Introduction 
 
 ciation surprising to one who knows this period only 
 from the hasty generahzations of historians. 
 
 Another significant feature of Hughes' criticism is 
 his ungrudging recognition of individual temperament 
 and its environment as valuable factors in poetic produc- 
 tion. We may agree with him that Spenser might have 
 formed a better plan when he questions whether Spenser 
 would have executed any other so well. And we are far 
 removed from the hidebound criticism which scorns all 
 tastes save that of its own time, when we find a justifica- 
 tion of Spenser's knights and tourneys on the ground that 
 they reflect the taste of Spenser's age, that they are 
 antiquated in the same way that the costumes of the 
 Elizabethan court are antiquated, but not necessarily the 
 worse for that. 
 
 Hughes' critical position, then, is neither one of blind 
 adherence to the rules nor of blind opposition to them. 
 He got at the principal merit of his author ; he set forth 
 that author's faults with discrimination and restraint; 
 he showed that other features of the work apparently 
 faulty could be accounted for and justified. He may 
 not be a critic of extraordinary insight, he may even be 
 a 'mediocrist' ; but he has sympathy and sanity. On this 
 score there is much to be said for mediocrity. 
 
 John Despite his plays and his poems, substantial 
 Dennis and numerous as they were, John Dennis was 
 known to his contemporaries not as playwright 
 ■ or poet, but as 'Jhe critic'. This title is obviously a mark 
 of distinction, not from other Dennises, but from other 
 critics. No such title was given to Gildon or Hughes or 
 Addison or Steele. Nor was it an ironical distinction — 
 rather one given in recognition of serious purpose and 
 
Introduction xxiii 
 
 solid attainment. For in bulk and solidity of perform- 
 ance Dennis was easily first among the English critics 
 of his own time — and of earlier times. Not even 
 Dryden — so much Dennis' superior in quality of criti- 
 cism — went at his problems with the seriousness, with 
 the consciousness of high function, that characterized 
 'the critic'. 
 
 Measured merely as quantity, Dennis' work was 
 remarkable. Nowadays we have critics who put forth 
 one or more volumes a year, but then little criticism was 
 published save as prefaces, as occasional papers in 
 periodicals, or as pamphlets. Yet Dennis' Advancement 
 and Reformation of Modern Poetry is a considerable 
 volume in itself, and the project of which the Grounds ^ 
 of Criticism was intended as a first instalment would, if / 
 completed, have covered several volumes. Add to these, 
 prefaces and letters and pamphlets, and you have a quan- 
 tity of work which leaves no doubt that Dennis went at[ 
 criticism with great seriousness, with a sense of doing! 
 a really necessary work. 
 
 It cannot, unfortunately, be said that his achievement 
 equalled his intention. At his best Dennis was unable i '\ 
 to realize his ideals ; at his worst the ideals were not [ / 
 worth realizing. And it is by his worst that he is) 
 commonly remembered. It is pitiful that this burly, 
 independent theorist should have come down to us not as 
 an original thinker, but as a victim of Alexander Pope. 
 It is no wonder that Pope pilloried Dennis among the 
 dunces, but it is painful to think of Dennis' suffering 
 could he know that he owed his posthumous fame to 
 the twisted poet he so thoroughly despised. 
 
 The pamphlet On a certain Rhapsody entitled An 
 Essay on Criticism is typical of Dennis' share in the 
 controversy. It shows clearly how a sense of personal 
 
xxiv Introduction 
 
 injury, a feeling that he had been undeservedly ill-used, 
 drove him to attacks which in later years became more 
 bitter. It shows also how this personal grudge blinded 
 "him to Pope's merits, so that as a detailed review the 
 pamphlet does not do the Essay justice. It is undoubt- 
 edly often carping and meticulous in its faultfinding. 
 ^ Yet many of Dennis' thrusts are as well-aimed as they are 
 ^powerful. That they hit the mark is shown by the 
 I alterations Pope made in his poem. The text of the 
 [Essay as we have it to-day and the text as referred to 
 j in this pamphlet show important differences. The 
 pamphlet has, therefore, a value not due solely to its 
 rarity. It sheds light on Pope as well as on Dennis and 
 Dennis' theories of criticism. 
 
 The Large Account of Taste may be read by the 
 curious as revealing the point of view of a man who 
 could alter Shakespeare's Merry Wives for the worse, 
 as showing that such a man could still have a reasonable 
 regard for Shakespeare's worth. It may be read by the 
 historian of taste as giving some evidence, not entirely 
 unbiased, concerning the way in which the political and 
 /social changes of the preceding seventeen years had 
 ^affected the literary public. Of more general interest 
 are the remarks on humor. Dennis uses the word in 
 the Jonsonian sense, and in maintaining that for comedy 
 //humor is superior to wit he anticipated much that has 
 since been said about Sheridan. Appended to this point 
 is the shrewd observation, not without value for an 
 estimate of 'sentimental comedy', that in comedy lowness, 
 even obscenity, may be less harmful to morals than 
 realistic representations of amorous passion — a truth 
 still unheeded by our censors official and unofficial. 
 
 Of much greater value than either of these essays is 
 that on the Grounds of Criticism. Much inferior in some 
 
Introduction xxv 
 
 ways to the Advancement and Reformation of Modern 
 Poetry, it has the practical merit of presenting in a much 
 more reasonable compass a point of view essentially the 
 same. It is the sanity of this central thesis, the con- 
 viction and determination with which Dennis held to it, 
 that arouses one's admiration for the man. Over and 
 over again, in one work after another, he tells us that 
 "Poetry then is an Art by which a Poet excites Passion."^ 
 Again, "Passion, then, is the characteristical Mark of 
 Poetry. . . Every where a Discourse is not Pathetick, 
 there it is Prosaick."^ Unlike some critics, Dennis really 
 knew poetry and loved it, and he was consequently un- 
 waveringly certain that poetry must have some sort of j 
 emotional appeal — or it was a dead thing deserving toil 
 be cast out. To have held firmly such a simple doctrine 
 as this, to have come to grips with it and beaten conse-^ 
 quences out of it — untrue consequences, even — is to havei 
 done something if you live in an age of hyper-rationalism, | 
 if you are yourself a devotee of clear, dispassionate! 
 thought. And Dennis was this sort of man, despite his 
 rages. It was his regard for pure reason that undid him. 
 It was the broad road of logic which led him to critical 
 destruction. Yet in spite of his time and himself, he 
 never forgot the essential truth that poetry cannot be 
 totally devoid of feeling, of some form or other of human 
 emotion. 
 
 Out of this he developed his most original theory, the 
 theory that the superiority of the ancients over the|| 
 moderns lay not in their superior ability or training or] 
 environment, but in the fact that they filled their grea' 
 poetry with religious emotion. From this judgment it 
 is a natural inference that the secret of success for the 
 
 »p. 146. 
 
 ^Advancement and Reformation, p. 46. 
 
xxvi Introduction 
 
 moderns, the means for the advancement and reforma- 
 tion of modern poetry, lies in the use of the Christian 
 religion, in imbuing modern poetry with the highest and 
 deepest emotions that Christianity can offer. The chain 
 of reasoning by which Dennis arrives at this conclusion 
 - is neat. In substance it is something like this: The 
 ' more sublime the subject, the greater and loftier the feel- 
 ings aroused in the reader. Religious emotions, the 
 feelings aroused by the contemplation of religious ideas, 
 are the most profound, the most sublime of which man 
 is capable. Ergo, religious poetry arouses the most 
 profound and sublime emotions that poetry can arouse. 
 Ergo, to make modern poetry great, make it religious. 
 
 Few have ever accepted this doctrine without reserve. 
 
 In the first place, there is the question of the form in 
 
 I whi^h the poet's conception is embodied. Dennis thought 
 
 1 that the inward fire would necessarily produce an out- 
 
 1 ward glory. But his own poems disprove this. They 
 
 /are lamentable evidence of the way in which a poet who 
 
 \ is himself profoundly moved by a sublime idea may be 
 
 \ncapable of moving his readers at all — ^unless to 
 
 raughter. It is not enough to have a great subject. 
 
 The thought of the Last Judgment inspired the Dies 
 
 Tree, but it also inspired some of the most irresistibly 
 
 comic lines in literature. There are portions of Young's 
 
 Last Day which are hopelessly ludicrous. On the other 
 
 hand, some most affecting lines have been inspired by 
 
 trifling subjects. 
 
 And yet Dennis' theory is not absurd. His completely 
 logical proof of it, his thoroughly common sense appli- 
 \j cation of it, his rigorous extension of it — these may be 
 absurd ; but the kernel of his thought is not absurd. It 
 seems to have grown out of his admiration for Milton. 
 We may not agree with Dennis that Milton is the greatest 
 
Introduction xxvii 
 
 of poets, but we can hardly deny that Paradise Lost 
 owes at least part of its sublimity to its theme. If we 
 try to collect for ourselves the poems or portions of 
 poems which are most irresistibly, profoundly moving, 
 do we not find them filled with some form of religious 
 or cosmic emotion — whether we think of the Paradiso 
 or GEdipus Rex or Job or Lear on the heath or the Lines 
 written near Tintern Abbey"? The fact that Dennis ; 
 mistook a half for a whole truth is no reason for J 
 ignoring the half. 
 
 One of Dennis' rigorously logical untruths is his 
 deduction from the common theory that poetry, and all 
 other art, should instruct. We need not debate this 
 point. It would be difficult to prove that any art — that 
 any external impression — can be without some effect 
 upon personality. But when Dennis says that art 
 instructs, he means that art should consciously instruct, 
 and he makes the natural deduction that the lesson of 
 the poet should be clearly expressed. Thence it naturally 
 follows that a tragedy must show the guilty punished and 
 the innocent rewarded. This is, of course, the familiar 
 doctrine of poetical justice, the doctrine which Dennis 
 defended again and again, especially in his remarks on 
 Shakespeare. We find Addison denying it in a paper 
 written for the Spectator} We do not need to disprove . 
 it again; we need only note Dennis' advocacy of it 
 against Shakespeare as a further instance of how his \ 
 theories warred against his natural instincts, for he knewj 
 Shakespeare and loved him. 
 
 It would seem that a man who did not use classical 
 practise as a norm, who denied the superiority of the 
 -ancients in many genres,^ might have escaped the appella- 
 
 ipp. 306-8. 
 
 %f. Advancement and Reformation, pp. 66-78. 
 
xxviii Introduction 
 
 tion of classicist. Yet Dennis is commonly so called. 
 The epithet is a convenient one when you happen to 
 dislike a critic. To be sure, Dennis emphatically dis- 
 approved of the tendency of poets to imitate the ancients; 
 he distinctly lamented that much of modern poetry was 
 a mere "copy of the ancient" ;^ he ridiculed Addison for 
 servile obedience in Cato to the unity of place f and he 
 began his critical career by an attack on Rymer's plea 
 for the restoration of the chorus in tragedy.^ To my 
 / mind this is not classicism, nor is a man a classicist who 
 ; maintains that Milton was the greatest of poets.* Yet 
 this Dennis firmly believed. 
 
 But, it is said, he upheld the rules. To be sure he 
 
 did, but not because they were ancient rules, but because 
 
 they were to him r^ionaX, 05.?s. If Dennis occasionally 
 
 uses the argument from authority, he puts it beside or 
 
 below the argument from reason. When, as in Cato, he 
 
 thought one of the rules led to absurdity, he opposed the 
 
 rules. If they were rational, well and good ; if not, away 
 
 with them. Alas, he too. of ten f elt^tJiem-teJae-i^QBal. 
 
 ' Particularly as he grew older did his love for poetry 
 
 I become more and more obscured by his love for a clear 
 
 and orderly theory, for a regular and rationalized 
 
 practise. The succession of enthymemes in his pages 
 
 make them perspicuous, but untrue. That poetry is an 
 
 lart; that an art must have an end; that an end implies 
 
 I a means ; that this means must be discoverable — such a 
 
 ; series of unimportant or erroneous deductions appears 
 
 ' often in Dennis, but not in Dennis alone. Nor was this 
 
 manner of thinking confined to aesthetics. We find, for 
 
 1/6., pp. 28-29. 
 ^Remarks upon Cato. 
 
 '^The Impartial Critick (Spingarn, Critical Essays of the XVII 
 Century, 3. 148-197). 
 
 ^c£. p. 172, and Similar expressions elsewhere. 
 
Introduction xxix 
 
 instance, many men of the time seriously maintaining 
 by means of similar reasoning that true religion must be 
 discoverable by the unaided reason of any man. If so, 
 true religion is a strange, a varying, an extremely un- 
 desirable thing to have about. Such beliefs were, of 
 course, the natural result of the trust in pure reason 
 which grew up under the influence of Descartes and 
 Locke — a pathetic trust only paralleled by the faith of 
 the nineteenth century in the infallibility of natural 
 science. 
 
 Of all the critics of the period, Dennis was the most 
 philosophic, and consequently the one who suffered most 
 from this trust in a frail reed. Naturally many of his 
 conclusions are hopelessly inconclusive, much of his 
 theory of poetry totally unpoetic. Yet one who reads 
 Dennis instead of reading about him, continually feels 
 behind the error a burly, sincere personality, that of a 
 man devoted to the cause of good art, a man who felt 
 truly, but whose vision was distorted by the superficial 
 clarity of his thought. 
 
 George Farquhar is a totally different type. Never 
 
 Farquhar an abstract philosopher, he is only inci- 
 dentally a critic. In his informal letter On 
 Comedy he attempts to rationalize a practise which 
 produced the Trip to the Jubilee, the Beaux' Stratagem, 
 and the Recruiting Officer. It is, therefore, the by- 
 product of successful comedy. It is, moreover, a theory 
 which justifies comedy by its success. It presents the 
 democratic theory of the drama, the theory which tests 
 a play largely by the receipts of the box-office. A good 
 play, says Farquhar, is one which can hold alike the wit, 
 the courtier, the heavy citizen, the fine lady, and her 
 
XXX Introduction 
 
 footman— "and he that can do this best, and with most 
 Applause, writes the best Comedy, let him do it by what 
 Rules he pleases, so they be not offensive to Religion and 
 good Manners."^ 
 
 But Farquhar does not content himself with merely 
 waving the rules aside. He first of all denies their 
 validity on the ground that they are not the formulations 
 of masters, but of observers, observers who may or may 
 not have got at essential principles. One may note, for 
 example, that all good plays are printed on paper without 
 making any vital discovery. Furthermore, even if these 
 principles were essential in Greece or Rome, they are 
 very likely not so in England, where one writes for an 
 audience different in race, in education, in custom, in 
 temper. And finally he denies that the rules have the 
 support of reason, ridiculing the statement that the 
 compression of years of action into the space of three 
 hours is absurd and improbable. It may be, in a sense, 
 he says, but in that sense all drama is improbable. Is 
 it any more impossible that three hours should contain 
 twelve years than that they should contain twelve hours ? 
 Or is it any more impossible to move from Cairo to 
 Astrachan between the acts than to move to Cairo at the 
 rising of the first curtain?^ 
 
 With such clear strokes Farquhar separates the 
 rational from the rationalistic. It is the reasonable artist 
 against the reasoning critic, and we are easily won. But 
 the success is one of negation, and it leaves embarrassing 
 problems unsolved. Is success the only test of good 
 drama? Are all unsuccessful plays necessarily bad art? 
 Would Farquhar's plays have been the worse if they 
 had had a more unified structure? His essay lays in 
 
 ip. 277. 
 2p. 283. 
 
Introduction xxxi 
 
 ruins some jerry-built constructions, but leaves small 
 shelter for our critical heads. 
 
 To the historian, at least, the essay has a positive 
 value. It recalls the fact that Cato owed its success 
 largely to extraneous conditions, and that the majority of 
 plays successful at this time were not made in servile 
 obedience to the rules. By its whole tone it shows that 
 the opponents of free structure were in the minority, 
 that they composed a complacent 'select circle', and that 
 the popular taste of Queen Anne's time demanded from 
 the drama essentially what we demand to-day. Conse- 
 quently, if the drama of the period reached no very high 
 level, the fact is not due to the stifling of dramatic ability 
 by overbearing classical critics who damned everything 
 that violated the strict French code. 
 
 Alexander With the drama, save for his share in one 
 Pope ghastly failure, Pope had little to do; but 
 
 he is commonly named as the greatest 
 champion of the rules. This is partly due to the fact 
 that as a critic he is best known and misjudged by his 
 Essay on Criticism. It would have been too much to 
 expect of even such a genius as Pope that he should 
 produce before he was twenty-one a theory of poetry at 
 once original and sound. The Essay is neither — it is not 
 even a theory of poetry, despite Dennis and later critics. , 
 It is advice to critics, in matter now tritely right, now 
 tritely wrong; but in manner brilliant, so brilliant that/ 
 it makes an indelible impression on those who hate it 
 most. 
 
 The next source of misinformation about Pope's 
 mature critical attitude is to be found in his reported 
 conversations with Spence. We need only ask ourselves 
 
xxxii Introduction 
 
 how we should feel if some of our remarks made in 
 casual conversation, remarks often made in rashness or 
 peevishness and remembered by chance, were preserved 
 for the delight of our enemies. Such a collection is 
 likely to be as interesting as it is unfair. The one thing 
 of which Spence's gossip makes us certain is that Pope 
 often contradicted himself, so that no conclusions can 
 be drawn from any one remark. 
 
 The only way of getting at Pope's ultimate attitude 
 toward poetry would be to consider a complete collection 
 of his critical remarks and writings in the light of his 
 poems; but in default of such a study, the best single 
 source is his preface to the translation of the Iliad. 
 (>Here he has given us his mature opinion of a great poet 
 with whose work he had busied himself for a period of 
 years, an opinion intended for publication and carefully 
 prepared for that purpose. 
 
 It is consequently significant to find that Pope here 
 
 (insists from the beginning on the supreme importance 
 
 hoi poetic imagination, 'invention', its importance to the 
 
 whole and to the part. To this essential quality all else 
 
 is subordinate. Art is merely "a prudent Steward that 
 
 lives on managing the Riches of Nature. Whatever 
 
 Praises may be given to Works of Judgment, there is not 
 
 even a single Beauty in them but is owing to the Inven- 
 
 /tion."^ It is because of their extraordinary poetical 
 
 I imagination, their 'invention', that Shakespeare and 
 
 I Milton and Homer are great, because of his unsurpassed 
 
 invention that Homer is greatest. 
 
 It is this thesis, not profoundly original or daring, but 
 
 very far from what neo-classicism is often supposed to 
 
 have taught, that occupies the greater part of this 
 
 preface. This thesis alone might relieve Pope from the 
 
 ip. 323. 
 
Introduction xxxiii 
 
 charge of blindly doting on a mechanical correctness as 
 the be-all and end-all of poetry. But his enemies try to 
 explain this away. Leslie Stephen, for instance, insisted 
 that the use of the word invention implies that Pope 
 thought of Homer as working out his poem in some 
 such manner as a skilled mechanic works out some 
 problem which may lead to an improvement in an engine.^ 
 That such an interpretation is strained and uncalled for 
 would make it only the more acceptable to many of the 
 moderns who have busied themselves with editing Pope 
 or writing his life. To admit the truth might weaken 
 their case against him. But the thesis remains, the| 
 antithesis between invention and judgment stands, andl 
 we perceive what we might have suspected all along, that 
 Pope knew what was the essential factor in the making 
 of good poetry. "A cooler Judgment may commit fewer 
 Faults, and be more approv'd in the Eyes of One Sort of 
 Criticks," he writes on a later page, "but that Warmth of 
 Fancy will carry the loudest and most universal Applauses 
 which holds the Heart of a Reader under the strongest 
 Enchantment."^ This last phrase is not far removed from 
 one that latter-day critics are prone to overwork, one we 
 met before in Hughes, 'poetical magic'. 
 
 There can be no doubt that in this preface Pope occa- 
 sionally lauds Homer for qualities which existed only 
 in the imagination of certain scholars. The glorification 
 and deification of Homer's learning, of his influence on 
 science and philosophy, were the extravagance^ of 
 scholarly fanatics. Pope knew too little about Honjer to 
 deny such statements ; he cared too little for such matters 
 to investigate them; so he includes them, but only as 
 
 ^History of English Thought, 2, 356. 
 ^p. 341. 
 
xxxiv Introduction 
 
 further evidence, somewhat irrelevant, of his central 
 thesis. 
 
 The rest of the preface is taken up with Pope's theory 
 of translation, a theory presenting a middle ground 
 between loose paraphrase and literal fidelity, the theory 
 which is essentially that accepted by the best translators 
 since Pope's day. Whatever we now think of Pope's 
 application of this theory, we can hardly condemn the 
 principle as it is here presented; and we may even 
 question whether any translation since gives us as much 
 of Homer's beauty and power as this gave to the audience 
 for which it was designed. 
 
 Richard An adequate representation of Dick Steele 
 Steele within the limits of this volume is even more 
 difficult than that of Pope. Steele's criticism 
 is so informal, so occasional, that it never takes the form 
 of books or pamphlets, rarely of whole papers in the 
 Tatler, Spectator, or Guardian. Nowhere does he 
 formally enunciate a theory of poetry, nowhere set forth 
 his critical principles in due form and order. Here a 
 sentence, there a paragraph — perhaps a reference to 
 Shakespeare or Milton, perhaps to a contemporary like 
 Prior or Ambrose Philips, perhaps to the Bible or a 
 Lapland song — in any case a touch and go affair, some- 
 times trivial and worthless, sometimes illuminating and 
 suggestive. 
 
 The very fact that he thus approached criticism, 
 however, helps to place him, to show him for a man 
 impatient of formalism, impatient of elaborate parade of 
 knowledge, a critic satisfied to record the impression he 
 personally received from a work of art, and consequently 
 a critic whose words derive their weight from the fact 
 that Dick Steele's impressions are worth knowing. 
 
Introduction xxxv 
 
 Such a passage as that about Macduff represents the kind 
 of criticism we know as 'impressionistic', a kind which 
 at its best, as here, reveals beauty unnoticed by the casual 
 reader or spectator. 
 
 When, as in the twelfth Guardian, Steele did attempt 
 a more methodical setting forth of his views, he uses the 
 tests of reason and good sense, the almost inevitable tests 
 of the age; but he is still opposed to those critics who 
 found good sense and the rules inseparable, or who 
 demanded the support of ancient authority for their 
 opinions. Steele, like other impressionistic critics, is at 
 his weakest when he attempts to account for his likes 
 and dislikes ; at his best when he lets his taste be its own 
 justification. But at all times he clearly belongs with the 
 critics of the left wing, the free lances who refuse to be 
 restrained by any formal critical code. 
 
 Joseph Addison, although intimately associated with 
 Addison Steele, although lumped with him by Gildon 
 and Dennis in their attacks on Spectator 
 theories, although sharing much of Steele's general con- 
 ception of poetical theory, was a critic of another type. 
 His more pretentious series — such a series as Steele 
 would never have attempted — are so familiar that it 
 would have been labor lost to have reprinted them here. 
 The papers on Milton, on Chevy Chase, on the Pleasures 
 of the Imagination, are known to every student of 
 criticism. 
 
 They are known, yes, but they are not always read 
 without prepossession. How often has Addison been 
 called a classicist for testing Milton by the rules of 
 Aristotle, how often ridiculed as pedantic and unin- 
 spired. Yet what should he have done? Unless we are 
 to content ourselves in criticism with a mere record of 
 
xxxvi Introduction 
 
 our feelings when reading a poem, or with a list of the 
 
 purple passages it contains, or with a bio-genetic analysis 
 
 dealing with heredity and environment, what are we to 
 
 do? Is it absurd to ask whether a poem contains certain 
 
 qualities which are to be found in other great poems of 
 
 similar type ? Is it pseudo-classicism to ask, for instance, 
 
 whether Lear is a unit, and where that unity lies ? Do we 
 
 gain nothing from the attempt to discover whether the 
 
 character of Hamlet is inconsistent with itself? There 
 
 can be no doubt that by proposing and answering such 
 
 /questions we gain an insight otherwise unlikely. The 
 
 I absurdity begins only when we condemn a work of art 
 
 ; because it does not meet all of a pre-established set of 
 
 ii standards, not when we merely ask whether it does meet 
 
 them or not. Addison, in the papers on Milton, analyzed 
 
 ja great poem in the light of others, assuming its greatness 
 
 (beforehand ; and in so doing wrote a criticism which has 
 
 ■for us little freshness and value merely because we are 
 
 lamiliar with his opinions before we read his essays. 
 
 Similarly with the Chevy Chase papers. It is pre- 
 posterous to assume that Addison admired Chevy Chase 
 because he found that it would endure the application of 
 some of the supposed principles of the epic. What really 
 happened was, that he liked the poem and wanted to 
 make others like it, and so tried to show them how it had 
 in it some of the qualities they liked in poems with which 
 ithey were already familiar. It must never be forgotten 
 Ithat the writers of the periodicals were pedagogues, that 
 Sthey wished to better the taste of the general public, and 
 Hhat they used devices not unlike those of the modem 
 \teacher. But where would many members of our English 
 faculties be left were it assumed that their teaching 
 devices represented accurately their own critical processes 
 and theories? 
 
Introduction xxxvii 
 
 By reason of his admiration for the ballads, for Milton, 
 and for Shakespeare, because of the stress he lays on 
 novelty and curiosity in treating of the pleasures of the 
 imagination, and because of his ungrudging recognition 
 of a distinction between those geniuses which, require the 
 aid of conscious art and those which do not — ^because of 
 these characteristics of his criticism it is fair to say that 
 Addison stands close by Steele as an opponent of a 
 narrow rationalism or classicism. Certainly Gildon 
 recognized him as such an opponent. But his most 
 important function was not as a champion of any prin- 
 ciples, old or new ; it was as a teacher and a popularizer. 
 Thus it appears that the two Queen Anne critics who 
 were most widely influential, the two who had a really 
 considerable effect upon popnilar taste, were not on the 
 neo-classic side at all — ^that in so far as they fit in any 
 pigeon-holes they belong with the romanticists. 
 
 Leonard Welsted's Dissertation is that of a man 
 Welsted influenced rather than influential. Coming 
 as it did almost at the turn of the quarter- 
 century, it serves to indicate something of the critical 
 temper of that time. It touches on various matters — 
 language, the rules, the usefulness of poetry, the state 
 of prose — ^without making points extraordinarily true or 
 untrue about any. It is precisely what one might expect 
 from a somewhat supercilious mediocrity. 
 
 The point upon which he lays most stress, and that 
 which, perhaps, most interests a student of criticism, is 
 the uselessness of the rules. He sees no reason for 
 accepting or rejecting them; for they are of no impor- 
 tance — ^they will neither make nor unmake a poet. Why, 
 says he, quarrel about the great and fundamental rule 
 of painting that a lady's face should be supplied with a 
 
xxxviii Introduction 
 
 nose? Or that commonly a head should be represented 
 as crowned with hair? In so far as Welsted's attitude 
 is typical, it shows that the rules were approaching the 
 last stage of most dogmas, that at which they have less to 
 fear from hostility than from indifference. This stage 
 foreshadows a new difficulty, no longer that of guarding 
 against their too autocratic sway, but that of getting men 
 to remember that something may be said for some of 
 them, that they really have some importance after all. 
 
 The one tenet of the old creed which still seems to have 
 weight with Welsted is the assertion that poetry must in- 
 struct — through pleasure, of course, and indirectly — ^but 
 still it must instruct. It is peculiarly unfortunate that 
 the English, into whose keeping, as a nation, the dogma 
 of the ethical value of art seems to have been entrusted, 
 should usually hold this dogma in its crudest and most 
 repellent form. By their manner of advocating this 
 thesis the English have done more than any other race 
 to make people believe that there is art which is devoid 
 of ethical effect. Leonard Welsted is not peculiarly bad 
 in this respect; he rather avoids the grosser form of 
 statement; yet one feels sure that like Dennis he would 
 have advocated the doctrine of poetical justice, had he 
 ever written his promised treatise on the drama. To 
 one unfamiliar with the precedent mental processes it 
 is almost incredible that men should seriously have 
 maintained that art to be true must lie about life. 
 
 When Welsted touches the question of the excellent 
 in prose style, he is unhappily vague. One suspects that 
 his purpose is chiefly to defend his own languid and trail- 
 ing sentences feebly reminiscent of the stately, cadenced 
 periods of seventeenth century prose. At any rate he 
 censures Addison for the frequent recurrence of the full 
 pause in his work, and regrets that Addison's manner is 
 
Introduction xxxix 
 
 so easy to imitate. To-day the regret is rather that there 
 were not more imitations. A flood of Addisonian sen- 
 tences would have been vastly preferable to a flood of 
 weak Popean couplets. 
 
 So Welsted ambles on, digressing here and there, and 
 tempting the commentator to like sin. The curse of 
 complacent mediocrity lies heavy upon the whole essay. 
 One longs for a good, tough error of judgment like some 
 of Dennis'. The remark that Milton's uncouth style 
 prevents him from being the greatest of our poets, is too 
 feeble to replace old Dennis' swashing blows. One 
 would prefer even the violent classicism of Rymer's 
 advocacy of the Greek chorus. One feels that Welsted 
 didn't much care one way or the other; that, like many 
 Englishmen, especially those of Georgian days, he felt 
 that poetry was not a thing to get excited about, espe- 
 cially when writing to a lord. 
 
 Allan There is nothing half-hearted or undecided 
 Ramsay about Ramsay's preface. To be sure, Ramsay 
 was Scottish, not English, and his few short 
 paragraphs are hardly criticism. But they are immensely 
 significant, and significant even more for what they 
 imply than for what they say. They imply a real demand 
 for what we call the romantic in literature. If Ramsay 
 was right, there was coming a real shift in the balance 
 of taste, not in an isolated individual here and there, but 
 in a growing body of readers. And that he was right 
 is abundantly shown both by the large sale of his books 
 and by subsequent literary history. 
 
 With such an essay as this the present volume properly 
 ends. The next quarter-century shows no more 
 unanimity of critical opinion than this; it marks evolu- 
 tion, not revolution. But the general tone of criticism 
 
xl Introduction 
 
 is diiferent; the attitude toward the old problems is in 
 the main a new attitude. It would be pleasant to attempt 
 a characterization of this change, but it must be reserved, 
 for it properly demands the accompaniment of another 
 body of texts. 
 
 From even so cursory and superficial an examination 
 of these half-dozen critics must appear the fact, doubly 
 clear to one who actually reads their work, that none, 
 with the exception of Ramsay, can be neatly pigeon- 
 holed as a classicist or a romanticist or a rationalist or 
 an 'ist' of any sort. More accurately, each one has his 
 'ism' ; but it is individual, not general. One, like Welsted, 
 scoffs at the rules, but scorns Miltonic diction; another, 
 like Dennis, deifies Milton, and defends the rules; a 
 third defends the rules and sniffs at Milton. Thus we 
 could continue to ring the changes and rearrange the 
 combinations, but to no useful purpose. To group them 
 is a help to memory, but a hindrance to accuracy. 
 
 Are there, then, no generalizations to make, no possible 
 conclusions as to the critical temper of this period ? One 
 or two may possibly be hazarded, with the proviso that 
 they are intentionally vague and that they must constantly 
 be checked by reference to the actual opinions of 
 individual critics. 
 
 In the first place it is evident that criticism at this 
 time was not stagnant, that very few minds were content 
 to reiterate the old formulae without limitation or altera- 
 tion. Gildon alone, and he for only part of his life, was 
 content to quote without qualification the dicta of the 
 preceding period, and even he specifically recognizes the 
 fact that his system does not account for all the mani- 
 festations of real genius, that there is, at least, another 
 
Introduction xli 
 
 gate by which a few may enter the realm of art. The 
 period is not, therefore, one in which tradition was 
 blindly accepted; it is one in which men were working 
 toward new points of view; in which theories, however 
 narrow, were becoming more elastic, more capable of 
 including the infinitely various manifestations of genius. 
 
 On the other hand, it would be a mistake, I believe, to 
 say that these modifications of old formulae, these at- 
 tempts at a more accurate statement of critical truth, 
 indicate a new 'critical movement'. A short time ago it 
 seemed as if so much that could be called romantic was 
 being discovered in this period that it could hardly be 
 called a classical period at all. Hardly any piece of 
 writing seemed incapable of being pressed into service 
 as a 'beginning of the romantic movement'. That effort 
 exhausted itself ; its success showed its futility. It would 
 certainly be a complete mistake to suppose that these 
 critics were in a state of revolt, conscious or unconscious. 
 They were not seeking to overturn the existing order, but 
 to improve it. , 
 
 But one word with regard to the supposed discovery 
 of widespread romantic tendencies may still be in order. 
 In all the arts; in philosophy, in politics, in practically all 
 'the activities of the human mind, two opposing tendencies 
 are perceptible. In philosophy they appear as the sense 
 of the one and^th? sense of the many. From the begin- 
 ning of 'history there have been men who were profoundly 
 impressed^ by the uflity of the world, by its order and 
 harmony; who have been fascinated by the possibility 
 of an ultimate synthesis of all its elements. There have 
 been others who were equally impressed by differences, 
 by the variety of phenomena, by the strife and discord 
 of the world, by its strangeness, mystery, and complexity. 
 Such men have often completely lost sight of the con- 
 
xlii Introduction 
 
 ceivable unity. Philosophy has tried again and again 
 to mediate between the two types, but they still exist in 
 hostile camps. We still have monists and pluralists. 
 
 Theology has faced the same antipodal conceptions. 
 It has had to deal with polytheists and unitarians, with 
 all sorts and conditions of men between. Catholic 
 theology, with its dogma of the Trinity, has boldly 
 grasped both horns of the dilemma — God one and God 
 many; but not even S. Thomas Aquinas succeeded in 
 making the two points of view intellectually reconcilable. 
 
 Similarly in architecture. Given men who had a keen 
 feeling for unity, simplicity, harmony, adaptation of the 
 part to the whole, and they produce Greek temples. 
 Given men with an overpowering sense of the mystery, 
 the variety, the strangeness and occasional grotesqueness 
 of life, and they may create a Gothic cathedral. 
 
 So in poetry. Given a man who loves above all things 
 simplicity, obviousness, orderly beauty, and you will get 
 what we call classic poetry. Given a man who finds 
 strangeness, mystery, complexity in the simplest things, 
 who regards those aspects of life as vital and essential, 
 and you will get romantic poetry. And as in creation, 
 so in appreciation, in criticism. 
 
 If, then, we use the words 'classic' and 'romantic' 
 merely as convenient terms for two fundamental ten- 
 dencies of human minds, they are serviceable. If for 
 more, they are misleading. For the two classes of men 
 exist always side by side ; the two tendencies exist in the 
 same men. Sometimes one is dominant, sometimes the 
 other; but in greater or less degree both are there. It 
 is merely a question of preponderance. The historian 
 can only say which tendency is ascendant in the majority 
 at a given moment. So in the England of this period 
 what we have called the classic tendency — the monistic. 
 
Introduction xliii 
 
 the simplifying tendency — was dominant. But men were 
 still conscious of the other point of view ; some of them 
 were trying to make their own broad enough to include 
 it. But their basic attitude remained. Hence we may 
 find romantic qualities by the score, both in production 
 and in criticism ; but we cannot, at this time, find a real 
 romantic movement. The balance was not yet shaken. 
 
 It remains, in eighteenth century fashion, to point a 
 moral. It is silly for those in either camp to curse their 
 fellows across the way. The two points of view are both 
 right. The world is one, it is simple ; and it is many and 
 complex. The greatness of the Iliad does not preclude 
 that of the Paradiso. Until we can make a completely 
 inclusive synthesis, we should beware lest our omissions 
 be as great as those of our opponents. Modern criticism, 
 which commonly stresses novelty and variety of emo- 
 tional appeal, may be no nearer the whole truth than 
 criticism of the Aristotelean sort. And unless modern 
 criticism is striving with more and more success to equate 
 the two opposing tendencies, it may in reality be less 
 fruitful than that of those eighteenth century men who 
 are to-day a hissing and a by-word. 
 
 There is, of course, a way out, that of shirking the 
 whole problem. One may say of a new book, as of a 
 new picture or a new piece of music, "It seems mad and 
 ugly to me, but I am probably mistaken. It may be a 
 masterpiece." To do that is to lay oneself open to the 
 charge of cowardice, of unwillingness to risk possible 
 ridicule from generations present or to come. To call 
 indecision broadmindedness does not make it the less 
 weak. Better to have scoffed at Shakespeare like Rymer, 
 to have derided Wagner like Hanslick, to have insulted 
 Whistler like Ruskin, than to be too feeble, too half- 
 hearted to attack anything. Dennis ajyi Gildon and 
 
xliv Introduction 
 
 Hughes and Pope at least believed something. If they 
 sometimes failed to distinguish correctly between good 
 and bad in literature, they at any rate believed such a 
 distinction could be made. Even if they had done no 
 more than show that they had followed wrong roads, they 
 would have assisted the discovery of the right one more 
 than the men who dare try none. 
 
CHARLES GILDON 
 
CHARLES GILDON 
 
 I. AN ESSAY AT A VINDICATION OF THE 
 
 LOVE-VERSES OF COWLEY AND 
 
 WALLER, &c. 
 
 1694 
 
 In Answer to the Preface of a Book Intituled, 
 ie(E;€;(£E§) anH S(!&ES)®S) 2lj|»®E®(lSi anS 
 
 Directed to 
 Mr. CONGREVE. 
 
 As in my two former Critical Discourses of this Book 
 against Mr. Rymer's Si!)Ort bieto of SCtajelip, a Zeal for 
 the Honour of my Country in its greatest Ornaments, 
 her Poets, Engag'd me; so here I cannot help challeng- 
 ing the same Pretence, since I can't suppose them defi- 
 cient in Laiie, without derogating from the Justness of 
 their Characters. But I must confess I have not the 
 same hopes of Success in this ; for there I had to do with 
 an impotent Opiniator; but here with a Gentleman of a 
 great deal of Wit and fine Sense. There I address'd to 
 Parties already sensible of the Justice of my Cause ; here 
 to one who is prepossess'd of the contrary. But on the 
 other hand I have the greater satisfaction here of being 
 Worsted by one whose Wit can better defend an Error, 
 than I the Truth ; and I'm of Opinion, that 'tis a nobler 
 Fate to fall by the Hand of an Hero, than Conquer a 
 
^ Charles Gildon 
 
 Dastard Pretender. And tho' my Prudence might be 
 call'd in Question by this Attempt, yet my generous 
 Ambition will merit a Magnis tamen excidit Ausis. One 
 thing I must possess you of in my favour, that my un- 
 happy Circumstances allow me not time to use all the 
 Caution I ought, or search all the Reasons might be 
 urg'd in this noble Cause ! so that I am not only Viribus, 
 but Opibus impar : However, I hope the Design will gain 
 me the Opinion of a Good English Man, if my Perform- 
 ance shou'd not attain that of a good Critic, which will 
 sufficiently compensate my trouble; for I shou'd be 
 prouder to be thought a Zealot for the Glory as well as 
 Interest of my Country, than the greatest Wit, and most 
 Learned Arguer. 
 
 I shall never deny the Ancients their just Praise of 
 the Invention of Arts and Sciences ; but I cannot without 
 contradicting my own Reason, allow them the Perfecters 
 of 'em so far that they must be our uncontroverted 
 Patterns and Standard: For our Physicians have found 
 the Prescripts of Hippocrates very Defective : And as in 
 Physic, so in Poetry, there must be a regard had to the 
 Chme, Nature, and Customs of the People; for the 
 Habits of the Mind as well as those of the Body, are 
 influenc'd by them ; and loiie with the other Passions 
 vary in their Effects as well as Causes, according to each 
 Country and Age; nay, according to the very Constitu- 
 tion of each Person affected. This makes me hope, that 
 the Ingenious Author of the Letters and Verses Amorous 
 and Gallant, guides himself by a fallacious Rule, when 
 he makes the Ancients the Standard of the Excellence 
 of the Moderns (or indeed when by exalting those, he 
 wholly deprives ikese of all Honour) in Lotoe=©et8C8. 
 His charge is reducible to these two Heads, vis. The 
 Occasions and the Performances. He will have it, that the 
 
Vindication of Cowley and Waller 5 
 
 Occasions on which their Poems are written are sought 
 out, and that none meet with 'em but themselves, whilst 
 those of the Ancients are such as happen almost to e'ry 
 Man in Love. Next, That the Verses of the Moderns, 
 are filled with Thoughts that are indeed Surprl|ina; and 
 (Slitterinjt, but not CenJet, JJacstonate, or JBatural for e'ry 
 Man in lobe to think. This is the sum of his Charge 
 against 'em; of which in the Order I've plac'd 'em. 
 First, As for the Occasions; I cannot remember any 
 Subject chosen by either Cowly or Waller, (for we've 
 nothing to do here with Petrarch a Foreigner) that seems 
 ^to be sought out, or unnatural for a Man in Love to 
 choose; and if some of 'em do not happen to e'ry Man 
 in Love, they are yet on an equal Bottom with the 
 Ancients, many of whose Subjects or Occasions, are 
 far from happening to all Lovers, as none who can 
 pretend to any knowledge of their Writings can deny. 
 Corinna's Parrot dy'd, and Ovid writes its Funeral 
 Elegy; but sure none will contend that this is an 
 Accident common to all Ladies who have Lovers, and 
 those Poets too. Catullus addresses one Copy of Verses 
 to the very Sparrow of Lesbia, and in another deplores 
 its Death. A great many Lovers may have Mistresses 
 who never take a Voyage during their Amour, and yet 
 Ovid has an Elegy ad Amicam Navigantem ; and so may 
 ten thousand true Lovers, especially such as are Poets, 
 never venture on any other Billows, but the Frown of 
 their Fair ones; and yet Propertius toss'd in another 
 Storm, Writes to Cynthia upon it. And indeed to reduce 
 the Subjects or Occasions of loi)e=BerBe6 to any particu- 
 lar Standard, is highly Irrational, and must only be the 
 effect of want of Consideration, for the various Circum- 
 stances and Fortunes of the Lovers must diversifie and 
 alter the Occasions of writing to their Mistresses: So 
 
6 Charles Gildon 
 
 that there is no Occasion that is General, and that can 
 reach all Men in Love, but the Cruelty of their Mistresses 
 on their first Addresses, (that is, their not immediate 
 Compliance) for Jealousie is not Universal, or at least 
 to extend to the Beating of her a Man Loves ; yet Ovid 
 Writes ad Amicam quam verberaverat. I must confess, 
 I can't see the least Reason why the Name and Gloves 
 of a Mistress, with the Place of her Birth, are not as 
 just Occasions to Write on as the Ring given to a 
 Mistress, or her Parrot or Sparrow; or a great many 
 more I might enumerate out of the Ancients. A true 
 Lover thinks e'ry thing that belongs to her he Loves, 
 worthy his Thoughts; and the more our Modern Poets 
 extend their Reflections beyond the Ancients in this, so 
 much the greater Lovers they shew themselves. But the 
 Place of one's Mistress's Birth is not only worthy a 
 Lover's Thoughts, but even an Universal Occasion, since 
 no Lover but must meet with that Occurrence in 
 whatever fair one he adores, among all the beauteous 
 Daughters of Eve. 
 
 By what has been said. Sir, 'tis evident that our 
 Moderns are not inferiour to the Ancients, in their 
 judgment in chusing Occasions on which they write to 
 their Mistresses : Or, That this Ingenious Gentleman has 
 either through Want of Advertence, or out of Design 
 expressed himself ambiguously, or at least not with that 
 Clearness that is requisite to a conclusive Argument; 
 which cannot be excused when the Honour and Merit 
 of such great Men as Cowley and Waller is concerned; 
 nay, the Honour of our Country. 
 
 I come now to the Second Accusation, which is, that 
 the Moderns fill their Verses with Thoughts surprising 
 and glittering, but not natural for e'ry Man in Love to 
 think. This lies under the same Fault as the other does. 
 
Vindication of Cowley and Waller 7 
 
 of being too general to be of any Force, it either con- 
 demns all that the Moderns have wrote, it casts off e'ry 
 Thought in their Love- Verses as not tender and pas- 
 sionate, or does nothing at all, for it instances no 
 particular. I'm confident the ingenious Gentleman will 
 have so much Candor, as to confess that there are a 
 great many very tender and soft Thoughts, and passionate 
 Expressions in Cowley's fBiiAtxtM, as in this one, that 
 now occurrs to my Mind: Then like some wealthy 
 Island thou shalt lie, &c. but if there be some, nay, a 
 great many tender, soft, and passionate thoughts in our 
 Moderns, then is this general charge not at all conclusive 
 against 'em. Besides, Thoughts natural to a Man in 
 Love, is an obscure Expression, it conveys no clear Idea 
 of an3rthing to the Mind ; or, what is fully as erroneous, 
 it seems to level the Thoughts of all Mankind, but it 
 cannot be doubted, but that in the very same Circum- 
 stances the Thoughts of different Men will be various, 
 and more or less Excellent and Noble, as the Wit, 
 Judgment, Fancy, and the other Qualities of the Mind 
 of the Person affected, are more or less Excellent and 
 perfect: And I am confident your ingenious Friend 
 (whom I honour for his Wit, tho I differ from his 
 Opinion) will allow me. That one of Mr. Cowley's 
 Genius wou'd no more have the Thoughts of a Fop, a 
 Beau, a Tinker, a Shepherd, or any other ignorant and 
 unelevated Mechanic, in Love, than out of it. Again, 
 Thoughts surprizing, and glittering without particular 
 Instances of 'em, as they prove nothing, so can they not 
 be well answer'd, for an Instance would have made us 
 apprehend what he takes for surprizing and glittering; 
 but without that, or any Definition, we wander in the 
 dark, and I can at best but only ghess at his meaning. 
 If by Thoughts surprizing, and glittering he means 
 
8 Charles Utldon 
 
 extraordinary and uncommon, I'm apt to think he will 
 allow them very natural to Mr. Cowley or Mr. Waller 
 in any Circumstance. A Man that is us'd to a good 
 Habit of thinking, cannot be without extraordinary 
 Thoughts, on what concerns him so near as the Heart 
 of his Mistress. Lastly, As to far-fetch'd Similes, 'tis 
 an Expression very obscure and ambiguous; and I must 
 acknowledge my self wholly to seek in his Meaning, if 
 a Simile be just, and hold an exact Analogy to the thing 
 'tis applied to, and of the thing 'tis designed to heighten, 
 I presume it cannot come into the Number of the far- 
 fetch'd. And when-ever the Gentleman will please to 
 instance in Particulars in either Cowley or Waller, I 
 engage to fellow them with those that are full as faulty, 
 even according to his own Definition, let that be what 
 it will, (for I suppose it can't be much amiss from so 
 accurate a Pen.) And till then I may supersede any 
 particular Defence in this. Besides, 'tis not to be sup- 
 posed, that the Verses written by Lovers are the 
 Extempore Result of a sudden Gust of Passion, like the 
 Inspirations of the Delphic Prophetess ; for I'm confident 
 he'll agree with me that the Excuse of Love will not 
 free a Poet, that lets them pass so from the Censure of 
 Boileau 
 
 Un sot en ecrivant, fait tout avec plaisir 
 
 I'll na point en ses vers I'ambarras de Choisir. 
 
 A Poetizing Lover, must be allow'd not to be absolutely 
 out of his Wits, and that 'tis possible for him to study, 
 and consider what he says in so solemn a Manner to 
 his Mistress. 
 
 After this bold Assertion without Proof, he advances 
 to examine which are in the right, the Ancients or the 
 
Vindication of Cowley and Waller g 
 
 Moderns; the Rule of our Judgment in this, he justly 
 makes the End the Poet aims at, viz. The obtaining the I- 
 Love of his Mistress, tho I cannot see why he should 
 suppose that contrary to, or inconsistent with getting 
 Fame and Admiration, since Admiration is a certain 
 Step to Love. When I read Mr. Dryden's Works, I 
 cannot help Loving him. If I should not love and 
 respect him and any other Poet that thinks well, and 
 expresses his Thoughts nobly, I should sin against 
 my Reason. Ovid urges his Fame and Reputation as 
 a Motive for his Mistress's Love, and if that can move 
 a Man of Sense, why should we think the Effect wou'd 
 not be the same on a Woman of Sense, and Generosity ? 
 And indeed, in e'ry one but an absolute dull, insipid 
 Fool, which no Lover can think his Mistress. 
 
 The End of Love- Verses being the gaining the fair 
 ones Heart, he proceeds to the best means of obtaining 
 that End. vis. The convincing her that you love her. 
 I must deny this Assertion too, for tho Love in the 
 Severity of Justice require Love; yet is that an Argu- 
 ment that ought not always to prevail, since 'tis a Plea 
 that's common to a great many, for so the fair one ought 
 to surrender to 'em all ; a Liberty no Lover would will- 
 ingly allow his Mistriss on any Consideration whatever. 
 But how often does Experience tell us, that this best 
 Way fails? Or indeed, how seldom does it hit? 
 Admiration is the only just, and unquestioneable Parent 
 of Love; for the Senses or the Mind must be first won 
 with some Perfection, either real or imaginary. What- 
 ever therefore can ravish Fame from the envious 
 censorious World, may justly be suppos'd able to give 
 Admiration to a Mistress. Nor is this inconsistent with 
 the true and lively Representation of the Pains, and 
 Thoughts attending the Passion of Love; for sure the 
 
10 Charles Gildon 
 
 Advantage of Art in Poems cannot destroy the End 
 which is not to be obtain'd in Painting without it, viz. a 
 lively Representation of Nature. Similes, fine Thoughts, 
 and shining Points, if they be just, and good, must 
 certainly give a greater Idea of any Pain, than a bare 
 and unpolished Rhime, without Beauty or Grace. This 
 gives us a weak, a faint, an unmoving View of the Pain ; 
 That sets it close to us, magnifies and enlarges it: This 
 gives it you as the reverse end of a Prospective Glass 
 does Objects, That as the right end of it; so that if a 
 Representation of our Pain be the Path to Success, Art 
 will be no ill Help and guide in it; unless we'll suppose 
 that our Mistress would be more sensibly touched with a 
 Grubstreet Ballad, than a Copy of Verses by a Cowley 
 or a Waller. But indeed, the Pain a Lover feels cannot 
 be truely, and with Life represented without Similes, 
 as is evident from the very Nature of the Mind, when 
 in Pain: For 'tis an universal Measure of our Judgment 
 of things to compare them with something else ; and the 
 Mind in expressing its Pains endeavours to make it 
 known in its full Greatness : to give therefore the greater 
 Image of it, it generally seeks out something by a 
 Comparison of which it hopes to obtain that End; 
 Comparison being the only Distinction of Degrees of 
 things. This makes it narrowly in these Circumstances, 
 regard and observe that Train of Ideas that continually 
 pass before it, to call out such as are most proper for 
 its purpose: For 'tis evident, (as Mr. Lock remarks) to 
 any one that will but observe what passes in his own 
 Mind, that there is a Train of Ideas constantly succeed- 
 ing one another in his Understanding, as long as Ms 
 awake. An Assertion therefore of an Ingenious Friend 
 of mine, to the Prejudice of the Moderns, against 
 Similes in the Expression of the Passions of Love and 
 
Vindication of Cowley and Waller ii 
 
 Grief, is contrary to the very Nature of the Mind. For 
 let any Man endeavour to retain any particular Idea 
 firmly and without Alteration, he will find it not in his 
 Power to do it any considerable time, such a necessary 
 Succession and Variation of Ideas (the Origin of 
 Similes) is there in the human Mind. But because 'tis 
 said that 'tis the nature of Grief to confine the Soul, 
 straiten the Imagination, and extremely lessen the 
 Number of its Objects, I shall only oppose the Assertion 
 of this Gentleman (whom I have always allow'd a Man 
 of great Wit and Sense) with an Observation of Mr. 
 Le Clerk, (whom I'm sure no Man that knows his Works, 
 will deny to be one of the best Philosophers of the Age) 
 in the 6th. Chapter of his Ontologie and the 4th. 
 Paragraph, he has to this purpose — "This being so, we 
 "observe that the time seems short to those who spend 
 "it in Mirth, or any Employment they perform with 
 "Pleasure and Desire; but on the contrary. Tedious and 
 "Irksome to the Unfortunate, and those that are in Pain, 
 "or to those that are against their Wills, oblig'd to some 
 "troublesome Business. For we keep the Idea that is 
 "Gratefull and Pleasant to us, as long without Variation 
 "as we are able, and thus by the viewing of the fewer 
 "Ideas, the time we spend in Pleasure and Content, 
 "seems the shorter; whilst on the contrary, our Minds 
 "endeavour to drive away a troublesome Idea, and strive 
 "to substitute some others in its room ; Turning, Winding, 
 "Changing, Adding and Diminishing it, as the uneasie 
 "inquietude Prompts. Thus the time seems longer than 
 "it wou'd do else, by that vast and numerous Train of 
 "Ideas, which, as I may say, shew themselves en passant 
 "to the Mind, with an incredible Rapidity and Swiftness. 
 From this just and rational Observation of Mr. Le Clerk 
 'tis evident. That Similes are not so unnatural in expres- 
 
12 Charles Gildon 
 
 sion of Grief or Pain, as some Ingenious Gentlemen 
 contend: For the Mind (especially that which is us'd to 
 an Expression of its self in Allegory and Similes) will 
 easily in this Number of Ideas, meet with some that 
 will answer the End, the Mind is born to with so much 
 Impatience and Desire: For 'tis here also evident. That 
 Grief multiplies nor lessens the Number of the Objects 
 of the Mind. 
 
 From what has been said 'twill appear. That Similes 
 cannot be an unnatural Expression of this Passion, or 
 any Effects of it. I shall therefore proceed to those few 
 particular Instances the Author of the Preface gives, 
 by which he draws a short Parallel betwixt the Ancients 
 and the Moderns. / am pleas'd, says he, with Tibullus, 
 when he says, he cou'd live in a Desart with his Mistress, 
 where never any Humane Foot-steps appeared, because 
 I doubt not but he really thinks what he says: But. I 
 confess, I can hardly forbear Laughing, when Petrarch 
 tells us he cou'd live without any other Sustenance than 
 his Mistresses Looks. I confess, I must ev'n here dissent 
 from him too ; for if you go to the Rigor or Severity of 
 the Reason of both Expressions, they are equally impos- 
 sible, and in Impossibilities as well as Infinites, there 
 are no Degrees. For I can see no greater Probability of 
 Living in a Desart where there were no Humane Foot- 
 steps, than on the Looks of a Mistress only ; unless like 
 Nebuchadnezzar, he wou'd feed on the Leaves of the 
 Trees, and Grass of the Ground if there were any; 
 which is not very kind to hope his Mistress wou'd comply 
 with. But supposing it impossible, is there any Necessity 
 of a Lovers saying nothing that exceeds the Bounds of 
 Possibility'? especially in Poetry, where Hyperbole's are 
 justifiable almost to Extravagance. That certainly wou'd 
 be most unnatural of all, for the Thoughts of a Man 
 
Vindication of Cowley and Waller /j 
 
 really in Love, are naturally Extravagant ev'n to 
 Impossibilities; the possunt quia posse videntur. The 
 very Definition of this Passion in Ethics, shews it 
 violent and exorbitant. But we may in favour of 
 Petrarch and Mr. Cowley, (who make use of the same 
 Thought) say that they mean the Dyet of their Love, is 
 a Look of their Mistress. 
 
 I must confess, I'm extremely surpriz'd to find your 
 Ingenious Friend an Advocate for that which wou'd 
 make all the Sir Courtly's Compositions of the Nation, 
 the Standard of good Verses; when he himself is really 
 so well qualify'd to write like Cowley smd^Waller, and 
 has by his own Practice in those Verses that are 
 Publish'd, better confuted his Preface, than all I can 
 pretend to say. 
 
II. TO MY HONOURED AND INGENIOUS 
 
 FRIEND MR. HARRINGTON, FOR THE 
 
 MODERN POETS AGAINST THE 
 
 ANCIENTS. 
 
 1694 
 
 As the Justice and Generosity of your Principle, the 
 sweet Agreeableness of your Humor, the Vivacity of 
 your Wit, and the strength and force of your Judgment 
 and Penetration, justly endear you to all your Acquaint- 
 ance, so they qualify you for a Judge of the present 
 Controversie betwixt the Moderns and the Ancients, for 
 the Prize of Glory in Learning and Poetry. Monsieur 
 Perault (whom I have not yet had the Opportunity to 
 Read) has given it to the Moderns, Rapin to the 
 Ancients : Mr. Rymer has with abundance of Indignation 
 appear'd on Rapin's side. I cannot determine whether 
 Mr. Perault has been too partial to his own Country- 
 men, (an Error on the right side) but I'm sure Mr. 
 Rymer has been extremely injurious to his; which has 
 made me perhaps, too angry with him in my former 
 Discourses. But I assure my self that you are too good 
 an Englishman, to let Friendship to any Man, bribe you 
 to condemn those rough Effects of my Zeal for the 
 CnsIiBb jiflattan. I will be more just than my Adver- 
 sary, I will yield that Greece had Great Poets, notwith- 
 standing all those monstrous Faults and Absurdities 
 they abound with ; tho he will not allow the English any 
 Honour, because they have been guilty of Errors. Nay, 
 I'll say more, that the Poetry of Greece was her most 
 valuable Learning, for that still maintains its Share 
 of Glory and Esteem, whilst her Philosophy is now 
 
Modern Poets Against the Ancients i£ 
 
 exploded by the Universal Reason of Mankind. Homer, 
 Pindar, Sophocles and Euripides, will, as long as they 
 are understood, preserve their Characters of Excellent 
 Poets, tho the Stagyrite with all his Volumes, is now 
 shrunk from his Ostentatious Title of the Philosopher, 
 to that of a good Critic, or Grammarian. 
 
 Tho I grant the Grcscians this, yet I cannot subscribe 
 to the rest of the Hyperbolical Praises some of our 
 Modern Critics give them. For I confess, I can discover 
 no such Universal Genius in Homer, as they contend 
 for, as that all Arts and Siences may be learn't from 
 him : Virgil seems to me, more generally Learned by far ; 
 and Mr. Cowley among our English Poets, may without 
 Partiality, be put up for his Rival in the Glory of 
 Learning. As for the Numbers of Homer, Rapin vastly 
 extols their Variety, and yet confesses that to be the 
 Property of the Greek Language, which makes it the 
 easier Task for Homer to perform, and by consequence, 
 lessens his Merit on that Account. But it cannot be 
 deny'd that Virgil has as much Variety in this as the 
 Roman Language wou'd allow; and as was necessary 
 for the Beauty of his Poem; and they are in his 
 Descriptions especially, so well chosen, that they 
 extremely contribute to the Image of the thing describ'd ; 
 as Gemitus dedere Cavernce: prcerupfus aquce Mons. 
 The sound of the first makes us as it were hear the 
 hollow noise the Spear of Lyacoon made in the Trojan 
 Horse; the other Places in our View such a watry 
 Mountain. Among our English Poets, none can compare 
 with Mr. Dryden for Numbers : His Descriptions are all 
 very perfect in all things; but his Numbers contribute 
 not a little to the force and life of the Representation, 
 for they carry something in them distinct from the 
 Expression and Thought ; as in his Description of Night, 
 
i6 Charles Gildon 
 
 What an Image of a profound Stillness does this 
 following Verse set before us. 
 
 The Mountains seem to Nod their drousie Heads! 
 
 I have not room nor leisure at this time to make a 
 thorough parallel betwixt the Ancients and the Moderns, 
 and shall only cursorily run over the Heads. I have 
 touch'd the Universality of Genius, and the variety of 
 Numbers (this last being the Prerogative of the Lan- 
 guage more than of the Poets.) Judgment I think is 
 apparently the due of the Moderns, who I'm confident 
 wou'd ne'er have been guilty of those Absurdities the 
 Ancients abound with. They seem to have been Masters 
 of but little Reason, when they made their Gods such 
 limited and criminal Beings. Homer often digresses 
 from the Hero, that is the Subject of his Poem, to 
 entertain us with other Objects too remote from 
 Achilles. You may, Sir, easily perceive that I press not 
 so hard as I might on the Ancients; that I omit abun- 
 dance of Improprieties, and Absurdities, ridiculous even 
 to Childishness, because I wou'd not be thought to rob 
 the Fathers of Poetry of their just Value and Esteem; 
 tho I confess I am of Mr. St. Euremont's Opinion, that 
 no Name can Privilege Nonsense or ill Conduct. 
 
 The Enemies of the Moderns will not deal so Civilly 
 with them. They deny them to be Poets because they 
 have not strictly observed the Rules laid down by 
 Aristotle, but by that they discover themselves either 
 ignorant or negligent of the most chief and important 
 end of Poetry, that is. Pleasure. Now, it cannot be 
 deny'd but he is the best Poet who takes the surest 
 means to obtain the end he aims at; in which, regard 
 must be had to the Humour, Custom, and Inclination 
 of the Auditory; but an English Audience will never 
 
Modern Poets Against the Ancients I'j 
 
 be pleas'd with a dry, Jejune and formal Method [that] 
 excludes Variety as the Religious observation of the 
 Rules of Aristotle does. And all those that exclaim 
 against the Liberty some of our English Poets have 
 taken, must grant that a Variety that contributes to the 
 main Design, cannot divide our Concern: And if so, 'tis 
 certainly an Excellence the Moderns have gain'd above 
 the Ancients. This wou'd appear plainer if I had room 
 and time to instance in Particulars. The Plays Mr. 
 Dryden has bless'd the Age with will prove this; which 
 is compar'd (as I hereafter intend) with those of 
 Sophocles and Euripides, either for the Plot, Thought, 
 or Expression, will gain him the Poets Garland from 
 those two Hero's of Old Greece. 
 
 The Plagiarism objected to our Poets is common to the 
 Ancients too; for Virgil took from Homer, Theocritus, 
 and ev'n Ennius; and we are assur'd Homer himself 
 built upon some Predecessors: And tho' their thoughts 
 may be something a-kin, yet they alter their Dress, and 
 in all other things we are satisfied with the variety of the 
 outward visible Form, tho' the intrinsic value be the 
 same, as Mr. Congreve's Song has it, Nothing new 
 besides their Faces, e'ry Woman is the same. In all 
 things as well as Women the meer Variety of Appear- 
 ance, whets our Desire and Curiosity. I am, 
 SIR, 
 
 Your Humble Servant, 
 
 Charles Gildon. 
 
III. FROM THE COMPLETE ART OF POETRY. 
 
 1718 
 
 DIALOGUE II. 
 Of the Use and Necessity of Rules in Poetry. 
 
 I Have shewn you, Crites, in the former Dialogue, 
 what past in our agreeable Company, on our first 
 Meeting; and I am confident, that the Defence of that 
 noble Art, in which you are so great a Master, and by 
 Consequence, of which you are so great a Lover, can 
 by no means be disagreeable to you; nay, I am well 
 assured, that you will give the highest Approbation of 
 what has been said on that Score, since it is founded on 
 Justice and Reason. 
 
 I shall now proceed to let you know what pass'd in 
 the second Day's Conversation, to prove a Point which, 
 I am satisfy'd, you do allow to be Truth; and that is, 
 the Use and Necessity of the Rules of Art, in Poetry, 
 without which, all must be governed by unruly Fancy, 
 and Poetry become the Land of Confusion, which is, in 
 Reality, the Kingdom of Beauty, Order, and Harmony. 
 
 Laudon being thus enlarg'd from the Tyranny of 
 Business, I could not deny my self the Pleasure of 
 repeating my Visits as often as I could; and the more 
 often I repeated them, the more my Appetite was raised 
 for their Continuance; for I always came away with 
 some Improvement of my Understanding, as well as a 
 full Satisfaction for the Hours I spent in his Company. 
 
 A little before Dinner, Laudon was call'd down about 
 Business; and in the mean while, happening to see a 
 
Complete Art of Poetry ig 
 
 Book lye in the Window,' I took it up to pass the Time 
 till his Return; but was not a little surpriz'd to find it 
 to be, BisheV Art of English Poetry; a very extraor- 
 dinary Title, thought I, as if the Art of Poetry were not 
 the same in all Languages. 
 
 I had not cast my Eye, in a cursory Manner, on many 
 Pages, before Laudon return'd: Pray, Sir, said I, how 
 came you by this worthy Author, who writing on the 
 Art of Poetry, would perswade us, that there is no Art 
 at all in it, and aims chiefly at the Knack of Versifying ; 
 and yet, even in that, is full of gross Absurdities, and 
 visible Contradictions? 
 
 Why, Sir, reply'd Laudon, you must know, that the 
 fine Mrs. Lamode was to pay my Wife a Visit yesterday, 
 and brought this Book along with her; and I find, on 
 her Departure, she forgot this noble Piece of Criticism, 
 the infallible Director of her Speculations that Way. 
 I would have sent it Home to her, but that she and her 
 Husband, honest Issachar, are to dine with me to Day; 
 for I would not bear the Scandal of having it thought 
 Part of my own Collection. 
 
 It is impossible, my Friend, said I, that any one that 
 knows you, should suspect you guilty of that Folly; 
 and to cast an Eye upon a Book of so promising a Title, 
 is justify'd by the Title. I have my self perus'd great 
 Part of this ridiculous Author, and he had almost 
 provok'd me into a Writer, to vindicate the Honour of 
 the Art I admire, from the shameful Ignorance 6f a 
 little Pretender, had not the Clamours of the Traders 
 in Books deterr'd me, by asserting the Undertaking 
 would be unfair, in not only interfering with the Sale 
 of a Copy already receiv'd, but in all Probability, of 
 transferring it from the Booksellers Shops, to those 
 of the Pastry Cook and Grocer. 
 
20 Charles Gildon 
 
 That Reason, in my Opinion, (interrupted Laudon) 
 is too fallacious to influence so good a Judgment, to 
 desist from a laudable Design, since it is drawn from 
 private and particular Interest, against the publick and 
 general Good ; sacrificing the Improvement and Honour 
 of Arts to the miserable Prospect of servile Gain. For 
 this would be a certain and speedy Way of obstructing 
 all Manner of Learning; since, had this been a Rule 
 founded on general Consent (as, if it have any Validity, 
 it must be) there never cou'd have been any Progress 
 or Improvement in any Art or Science. 
 
 The Multiplicity of Books in other Arts, is no Objec- 
 tion to the Increasing the Number ; and notwithstanding 
 the present Perfection of the Mathematics, the Excel- 
 lence of Sir Isaac Newton's Discoveries, has not put an 
 End to their noble Enquiries. And as no Man presumes 
 to write in that Art, who is ignorant of its Principles, 
 yet we see daily Improvements made in every Part of it. 
 
 I cannot therefore imagine why you, or any other 
 Gentleman of your Knowledge, may not do the same 
 Justice to Poetry, and vindicate that divine Art, which 
 has been the Glory of great Nations, the Favourite of 
 great Monarchs, the illustrious Proof of a true and great 
 Politeness, in so many of the purer Ages, from the 
 Abuses of a Writer that has discovered a most profound 
 Ignorance of every Part of it (at least, as far as he has 
 been pleased hitherto to attempt) and endeavours, by 
 publishing his Absurdities, to promote them. For the' 
 he has ventur'd Only on the inconsiderable Knack of 
 Versifying, yet in that he is out in the very Funda- 
 mentals, which sufficiently betrays both the Capacity and 
 the Gusto of the Person. But this is the hard Fate 
 of Poetry, diiferent from that of all other Arts and 
 Sciences, that the Learned only write of those; but the 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 21 
 
 Rules and Theory of this falls often into as ignorant 
 Hands, as the Practice generally does. For, as most 
 commonly Men without Genius or Skill in the Art, set 
 up for Poets, forgeting that of Horace, 
 
 Why is he honour" d with a Poet's Name, 
 
 Who neither knows, nor wou'd observe a Rule. Rose. 
 
 and would fain obtrude on the World, the incoherent 
 Libertinisms of their own crude Fancies, for Poetry; 
 so would this Author impose his shallow and indigested 
 Notions (mostly borrow'd from the Messrs. of the Port- 
 Royal on the French Versification) for the true and 
 whole Art of English Poetry. The Plausibility of his 
 Title has carried off so many Impressions, as have made 
 it with the Ignorant, the Standard of Writing. So that 
 the Reason is the stronger for a just Criticism, to destroy 
 the ill Effects of this false one. 
 
 You must therefore find out some better Reason for 
 your Silence on this Occasion, than what you have given, 
 or plainly confess, that you sacrifice to Idleness more 
 than to Justice. 
 
 I must own (reply'd I) that there is too much of that 
 Allay in my Temper; and from that, it may be, these 
 specious Scruples have had Power to deter me from 
 this Task; yet assure your self, that I am not wholly 
 without a reasonable Obstacle. I must tell you, that 
 the Undertaking seems to me to be of no manner of 
 Use, but lies under the forbidding and odious Imputation 
 of Ill-Nature. The Libertinism of the Age, which makes 
 Scribbling so very easy to every one who has the least 
 Address at Crambo, will make the Million averse to all 
 Regulations, which render Writing so very difficult ; and 
 this the Poetasters (much the Majority even of the 
 
22 Charles Gildon •, 
 
 Writers in Vogue) at Will's, do lay to the Charge of 
 Ill-Nature. 
 
 All, therefore, that I can expect from such an Attempt, 
 is to please a very, very few, good Judges,-'an.d Men of 
 true Sense, and disoblige all the Ladies and the Beaux, 
 by imposing Laws too severe on their Sonnets and 
 Madrigals. And to deter us from all Rules, this very 
 Author under our Consideration, this blind Guide to 
 Parnassus, pl^iinly tells us in the opening of his Preface, 
 That it is in vain to aim at a great Reputation on account 
 of his poetical Performances, by barely following the 
 Rules of others, and reducing their Speculations to 
 Practice, insinuating that the Rules of this Art are of 
 little Consequence to a Perfection in it. 
 
 He seems (assum'd Laudon) very obscure, or very 
 false in that po[s]ition. For if he mean, that the 
 observing, that is, the coming up to the Rules of Poetry 
 cannot produce any great Reputation; he is absolutely 
 in the wrong, because, without this, no Man ever yet 
 obtain'd any considerable or lasting Name in Poetry. 
 If he mean not this, then he means nothing. 
 
 It has, I confess, been an old Dispute, whether Art 
 or Nature made a Poet, but a Dispute, I think, like many 
 more grounded on the not well understanding the Terms. 
 For Art entirely includes Nature, that being no more, 
 than Nature reduc'd to Form. However Horace, near 
 the end of his Art of Poetry, seems long since to have 
 decided this Question with great Clearness and Brevity. 
 
 Some think that Poets may be form'd by Art. 
 
 Others maintain, that Nature makes them so: 
 
 I neither see what Art without a Vein, 
 
 Nor Wit without the Help of Art can do; 
 
 But mutually [they] need each others Aid. Rose. 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 2g 
 
 This is the Opinion of Horace confirm'd by Reason 
 and Experience. For without Art, there can be no 
 Order, and without Order, Harmony is sought in vain, 
 where nothing but shocking Confusion can be found. 
 Those scatter'd Sparks of a great Genius, which shou'd 
 shine with united Glory, are in the huddle of Ignorance 
 or want of Art, so dissipated, and divided, and so 
 blended with Contraries, that they are extreamly 
 obscur'd, if not entirely extinguish'd. Thus the Particles 
 and Seeds of Light in the Primocal Chaos strugled in 
 vain to exert their true Lustre, till Matter was by Art 
 Divine brought into order, and this noble Poem of the 
 Universe compleated in Number and Figures, by the 
 Almighty Poet or Maker. 
 
 But it has been the Ignorance of the Rules that has 
 made the Many and their Advocates declaim with so 
 much Vehemence against them, as Curbs to Wit and 
 Poetry ; for did they know them, they wou'd plainly see, 
 that they do, in Reality, add to them the greatest Dis- 
 tinction and Honour they can hope for, by setting up a 
 true Standard, by which the due Glory of Wit and 
 Poetry may be paid to Merit, without so wretched a 
 Fate, as to be oblig'd to share with Poetasters, Versi- 
 fyers, and worthless Pretenders; which certainly cannot 
 be look'd on, as an Ul-natur^d Work ; but the Efifect of a 
 just and generous Temper. 
 
 Thus (to instance in one sort of Poetry) the Enemies 
 of Art wou'd fain persuade us, that no Play, in which 
 the Rules of Art are observ'd, will please; whereas, 
 indeed, no Play did ever please for any Time, but by 
 those Parts of it, which were conformed to the Rules, 
 which cannot really be reduc'd to Practice but by a 
 Person of the greatest Capacity and Genius. For can 
 there be any Creature, that pretends to the least Portion 
 
2^ Charles Gildon 
 
 of a rational Soul, who is pleas'd with the Conduct of 
 Shakespear (except in one or two Plays) in which there 
 is nothing curious, nothing great, nothing judicious. No, 
 it is the Excellence of that Poet in the Expression of the 
 Manners; in the Distinction of the Characters and some 
 of his Draughts of the Passions, added to Prescription, 
 and the Ignorance of the Audience, that makes him 
 please, in those of his Plays, which are fixt in the Esteem 
 of the Town, to which the rest, though equally good, 
 have often in vain endeavour'd to arise. 
 
 If some Plays have miss'd of Success, which were 
 call'd regular, by those, who knew nothing of the Rules, 
 I dare assert, that they were only call'd, but were not so 
 in Reality. For it will be obvious to any Man, who is 
 acquainted with them, that he, who comes up to them, 
 must produce a perfect Poem, that must force it self, 
 with a resistless Pleasure on all that hear it. To keep 
 still to the Dramma. He must perfectly know, and form 
 his Design; he must know, distinguish, and preserve the 
 Manners; he must be throughly acquainted with all 
 the Springs, Motions, Degrees, Mixtures, Accesses, and 
 Recesses of every Passion, with their Opposition, and 
 Consistence. He must be perfect in the Sentiments, and 
 know their Propriety, and Agreeableness to the Manners, 
 as those have to the Action; he must be skill'd, and 
 practis'd in the Diction, which includes both Numbers 
 and Expression. Who can do all this but a Man of a 
 great Capacity of Soul (which we call Genius) a large 
 and strong Imagination to receive and form the Images 
 of Things, and a solid Judgment to reduce them to their 
 proper Order and Classes? And this is writing according 
 to the Rules. 
 
 But let the Imagination be never so strong, and fertile 
 of Ideas, without the Assistance of Judgment (which 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 25 
 
 can only be informed and directed by the Stated Rules) 
 there can be nothing produc'd entirely beautiful. 'Tis 
 all the rude Product of uncultivated Wit. There may 
 be a great deal of rich Oar, but clogg'd with the dull 
 and worthless Sparr and indigested Earth. But Judg- 
 ment, like the Fire, can only separate the Parts, and 
 draw thence an uniform and valuable Mass of Metal. 
 
 The Rules are a great Help to many a Man of Genius ; 
 for it is so far from probable, that it is scarce possible, 
 that unassisted Nature, tho' never so vigorous, can find 
 out and practise all the Parts necessary to the forming 
 a compleat Poem. For as in Architecture, Painting, and 
 Musick, no Man did give us any thing great and com- 
 plete, without knowing, and long Practice of the Rules 
 of those Arts ; so in Poetry, nothing truly excellent was 
 ever yet seen, without a Mastery in the Poetic Principles. 
 
 But (interrupted I) you forget, that Homer and the 
 first Poets are objected against your Position; who, as 
 they affirm, not only wrote before any Rules were 
 form'd, but were the very Men from whom most of 
 these were drawn by Aristotle, and the rest of the 
 Critics. 
 
 I confess ( reply 'd Laudon) that I cannot tell you what 
 Master's Instructions, or what Rules were regarded by 
 Homer ; or whether the Order and Conduct were the 
 Business of Lycurgus, or Pisistratus, or any other who 
 collected the scattered Books of that Poet, corrected, 
 and first made an Edition of them entire ; yet, from the 
 Completeness of the Poem, as together, it is evident, that 
 a certain Rule was propos'd by the Composer to himself 
 (whether found out by Homer or Lycurgus) by which 
 he form'd the most perfect Poem that any Age has yet 
 produc'd. A short View of the Plan will put this beyond 
 Question. 
 
26 Charles Gildon 
 
 "The Love, Avarice, or Pride of Agamemnon made 
 "him deny the Restoration of Chryseis, which makes the 
 "angry God Apollo send the Plague into the Grecian 
 "Army, in the Cause of his injur'd Priest. This moves 
 "Achilles to- oppose the arbitrary Will of this King of 
 "Men, so far, as to make him restore the Priest's 
 "Daughter, and seize on Briseis. This provokes Achilles 
 "to withdraw his Myrmidons from the Camp; which 
 "Retreat produc'd the Suiferings of the Greeks, and the 
 "Prevalence of the Army of Troy. That mov'd the 
 "Compassion of Patroclus for his Countrymen; and that 
 "generous, and publick-spirited Pity gave him his Death, 
 "after the Slaughter of many of the Trojans. His 
 "Death by Hector brings Achilles again into the Field, 
 "which was fatal to Hector, restor'd the Tranquillity of 
 "the Greeks, and so gave them a Possibility of Taking 
 "the Town. 
 
 This productive Chain of Incidents, in the Ilias could 
 not be formed without admirable Art and Design; and 
 consequently, by such Rules as no Man since has been 
 able to alter for the better. But whether these were 
 written, or traditionally taught by Professors of the 
 Art, or originally in the Sovereign Genius of Homer 
 himself, matters not in the least, since they are the same 
 that are now established both in the Heroic Poem and 
 the Drama. 
 
 It will be plain, that what I attribute to Homer, is not 
 because he was a Greek Poet, or one of such venerable 
 Antiquity (as by some to be made coeval with David, 
 which I do not think) but because it is from his Poetry 
 still extant, undeniably his Due ; because I do here allow, 
 that the Drama, on its first Appearance in Athens it self, 
 was far from the Perfection it afterwards attain'd, the' 
 the Idea of Tragedy was certainly taken from the Heroic 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 27 
 
 Poem; since we find it was in the Time of Thespis, 
 almost as rude and inconsistent as our Stage is in our 
 Days ; that first Raiser of the Athenian Theatre bringing 
 nothing to Perfection; that was only effected by the 
 Magistrates Inspection of the Management, and the 
 gradual Endeavours of ^schylus, Sophocles, Euripides, 
 and others. 
 
 But my Friend (interrupted I) you know, that these 
 Gentlemen urge, that Shakespear has appear'd in 
 England, with the highest Applause, without the Help 
 of Art. 
 
 But I must reply (said Laudon) first, that so did 
 Thespis, and some others, in Athens; but their Absurdi- 
 ties, and crude Entertainments vanish'd on the Appear- 
 ance of more just and regular Pieces. Next that (as I 
 have already observ'd) Shakespear is great in nothing, 
 but what is according to the Rules of Art; and where 
 his Ignorance of them is not supply'd by his Genius, 
 Men of Judgment, and good Sense, see such monstrous 
 Absurdities in almost every Part of his Works, that 
 nothing but his uncommon Excellencies in the other, 
 cou'd ever prevail with us to suffer, and what he wou'd 
 never have been guilty of, had his Judgment been but 
 well inform'd by Art. He had a Genius indeed, capable 
 of coming up to the Rules, but not sufficient to find them 
 out himself, the' it be plain from his own Words, he 
 saw the Absurdities of his own conduct. And I must 
 confess, when I find that Sir Philip Sidney before him 
 has discover'd these Faults of the English Stage, and 
 that he himself has written one or two Plays very near 
 a Regularity, I am the less apt to pardon his Errors, 
 that seem of choice, as agreeable to his Lazyness or easie 
 Gain, by what he committed to the Theatre. 
 
 But Rules seem by so much the more necessary to 
 
28 Charles Gildon 
 
 Poetry, than to any other Art or Science, by how much 
 the more common the Invasions of this are, than of any 
 other whatsoever. The Love of Verse seems to spread 
 through all Mankind, while the Zeal of other Arts is 
 confin'd to a particular Clan of Admirers. Thus every 
 one is not ambitious to be thought a good Mathemati- 
 cian, or Philosopher, or Divine, or Physician, or Painter, 
 or the like; yet almost every Man (as if Human Nature 
 were imperfect without it) hopes, and courts Admiration 
 and Applause from his Attempts on the Muses. This 
 is not the Observation of a Day. Horace remark'd above 
 1700 Years ago something like it in his Epistle to 
 Augustus C(Esar. 
 
 A Pilot only will a Vessel guide, 
 
 And a Physician Medicines prescribe: 
 
 And skilful Hands alone the Chisel use. 
 
 But learned, and unlearned, scribble Verse, &c. 
 
 The Excellence being, therefore, so confess'd, and the 
 Ambition of it so general, the Rules that direct our 
 Course to it, and distinguish the right Road from the 
 various divious Paths, must certainly be agreeable to 
 all, who have a Desire either of reading or writing with 
 Satisfaction in this Way. For thus they may judge of, 
 and arrive at Excellence, as being the only Proof of a 
 Genius, and without which the most exalted (if any 
 Copy of Verses can merit that Name without this 
 Proof) is a rude and undigested Mass; the greatest 
 Qualifications imperfect, and with which they can only 
 shine in their true Lustre. 
 
 If, therefore, you cannot find a better Argument, than 
 what you have produc'd, for not vindicating the Art of 
 Poetry from the scandalous Empericisms of Quacks, 
 you must own Idleness to be your Director. 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 2g 
 
 I own, (returned I) that you have given sufficient 
 Reasons to shew the Necessity of Rules, if we wou'd 
 not still pass for Barbarians, with the politer Part of the 
 World ; yet I am afraid all you have said, how rational 
 soever, will not satisfie too Many of our Authors, and 
 most of our courteous Readers, nay even oxir University 
 Men, who are, or are supposed to be bred in the very 
 Presence of the Muses, that Criticism is not an ill- 
 natur'd Thing. However I shall endeavour, at my 
 Leisure to shew, the Prevalence of your Arguments by 
 the Works of my Conviction. But as this Task is most 
 necessary, so is it also attended with the greatest 
 Difficulty, if I wou'd accomplish it with that easie 
 Address, which a Discourse of this Nature requires to 
 recommend it to the Taste of the Town, especially if I 
 wou'd gratifie the Goust of the Ladies, who have no 
 small Influence on the Gentlemen in this, as well as in 
 most of our other Pleasures. 
 
 It is therefore, of the last Importance, to bring them 
 over to the side of Art, and good Sense ; and to do that, 
 I must render the Discourse a little more familiar, than 
 Criticism has generally been. 
 
 I agree perfectly with you (assum'd Laudon) and it 
 were to be wish'd, that as Mr. Fontinelle has render'd 
 the several Systems of Ptolomy, Copernicus, and Tycho 
 Brahe intelligible, and obvious to a Lady's Capacity, 
 some other Person, as great as he, wou'd attempt the 
 same in Criticism. 
 
 Laudon had scarce done when Mrs. Lamode, her 
 Husband, and the rest of the Company came in. She 
 was no sooner got into the Dining-Room, and past some 
 short Salutes to the Lady of the House, and the rest of 
 the Company; but starting with an Air, peculiar to her 
 self, to Morisina. Ah! my Dear (said she) I am 
 
JO Charles Gildon 
 
 extreamly oblig'd to my good Stars, that I am come to 
 you; this may be of Consequence to my Cause, for if 
 your Husband shou'd not agree to my Opinion, I am sure 
 of your being of my Party. 
 
 Ah, Madam! (said Morisina) your Ladyship stands 
 in Need of no Second in any Cause you think fit to 
 espouse ; so much Wit, and so much Beauty must always 
 be victorious; and while Mr. Lamode, and Mr. Trifle 
 (for Tom Trifle is a constant Attendant on Mrs. 
 Lamode) are here, your Party, Madam, will never need 
 a Reinforcement. 
 
 Alas, my Dear Morisina (reply'd M.t[s] .Lamode) Mr. 
 Trifle declares against me, and Issachar, like a true 
 Husband, stands Neuter in his Wife's Quarrel. 
 
 Upon my Soul, Madam (cry'd out Trifle, with no 
 little Concern) your Ladyship does me an infinite deal 
 of Wrong ; I cannot dissent from your Ladyship without 
 forfeiting all my Pretensions to a good Understanding. 
 I protest. Gentlemen and Ladies, I only said, I thought 
 the last new Opera miserably spoil'd by having so many 
 of the Words put into our beastly, barbarous Language; 
 and that if Grimaldi, and the other incomparable Italians 
 had not soften'd it with the gentle melodious Words of 
 the Original, it cou'd not have been borne by Ears of any 
 tolerable Gusto. 
 
 I protest my Love (assum'd Issachar) I think Tom 
 Trifle something in the right; for our Language is too 
 rough for Harmony; and in my Opinion, it would be 
 much better to have the Opera's perform'd all in Italian. 
 For such a Medly of English and Italian renders the 
 Entertainment too obnoxious to the Critics. 
 
 Ah! Fie, Mr. Lamode (interrupted his Wife) don't 
 assume, don't assume so much, and set your Judgment 
 above the rest of the Beau Monde, who adorn the Boxes, 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 5/ 
 
 and fill the Theatre at these admirable Performances. 
 For my Part, I am infinitely pleased with this pretty 
 Variety of Italian and English; it looks like a Brocade 
 of Silk in Cloth of Gold ; nay, it transports me to Italy, 
 and then removes me to England, as the divine Voice 
 and Language succeeds our rough Tongue, and hoarse 
 Voice. Pray, Mr. Loudon, what is your Opinion of this 
 Matter? For ours is a rough ugly Language, not fit for 
 the fine Italian Airs. I congratulate our Manly Tongue, 
 assum'd Laudon, that cannot be debas'd to the Mouths 
 of wretched Eunuchs, of the most corrupt and degenerate 
 Nation in the World, entirely Slaves, and but half Men. 
 And in my Opinion, a Man of Sense can have no excuse 
 for seeing an Opera, after the new Mode. For this 
 Italian Opera, so much cry'd up, seems to me, like the 
 Puns and Jests of merry Fellows, that with the Help of 
 the Warmth of the Bottle, and the Heat of Conversation, 
 make us laugh in the unbending Hour, when severer 
 Judgment is absent, but is scarce remember'd the next 
 Day, but with Indignation, that it could surprise us into 
 any Sort of Pleasure. They touch the Head by their 
 Lightness, but never reach the Heart. But Harry Purcel 
 seem'd to have the Genius of Greek Musick ; he touch'd 
 the Soul; he made his way to the Heart, and by that 
 Means, left a Satisfaction in the Pleasure, when past. 
 He had the Art of Painting in Musick, which Aristotle 
 mentions of the Greek Musicians; witness his Frost 
 Scene, where, by the admirable Conjunction of Flats 
 and Sharps, he makes you almost shiver both with his 
 Instrumental and Vocal Musick. So that, for my Part, 
 Madam, I think, that if Italian Opera's are to be at all 
 admitted, that they would be better in that Tongue, than 
 in English. First, because the Musical Performances 
 would be better; and next, because the Action of the 
 
^2 Charles Gildon 
 
 Performers might perswade the Imagination, that there 
 is that in the Words which cou'd not be found there, if 
 we understood them. But indeed we are not in Danger 
 of understanding much when sung in English, by the 
 admirable Management of those who sung in our Lan- 
 guage. The Recitativo seems much like the Harmony 
 of Punch, both as to the Sound and Manner, as well as 
 Action; And I must needs say, that the worst Play of 
 the worst Poet that ever writ, is a more rational 
 Diversion than an Opera, after the Way of Italy. For 
 indeed to me the Entertainment in it self seems so very 
 insipid and absurd, that it is scarce possible to make any 
 Addition of Absurdities to it. 
 
 Eh! Fie! (assum'd Mr[s]. Lamode) how can so well- 
 bred a Gentleman be so singular in his Taste, as not to 
 relish what all the Town admires? And not approve 
 what both France and Italy are striving for the Pre- 
 heminence in ? Now if the Town should fancy a Mixture 
 of three or four Languages, or more, I protest I verily 
 believe, that I should not be so singular as to dislike it. 
 What think you. Sir, said she to me ? 
 
 Madam, (said I) 'tis a Dish I have the utmost Aversion 
 to; it turns my Stomach. We have Trash enough of 
 our own Growth, and we need not seek abroad for worse. 
 The best Wits of France have declar'd against Opera's: 
 Rapin, Dacier, St. Everemont and the rest, weigh more 
 with me, than Lullie, Louigi, and the rest of the Trilling 
 Throng, or all the Applauses of the Parterre, the 
 Amphitheatre, or the Lodges. That Glory of your Sex, 
 Madam Dacier, in her excellent Confutation of Mr. 
 La Mot, attributes the Corruption of the Taste of the 
 Age, to the Reception and Vogue of Opera's. A Man 
 indeed may very well wonder how an Opera, and Civil 
 Reason, should be the Growth of the same Climate. 
 
Complete Art of Poetry jj 
 
 Horace was angry at the empty Shows of the Romans; 
 what would he then have said to this vain Entertainment, 
 only directed to bewitch your Eyes and Ears; Music 
 and Machine, the Circe and Calipso, in Conspiracy 
 against Nature and Good Sense. 'Tis a Debauch the 
 most insinuating, and the most pernicious. Tho' the 
 Grecians were as much for Singing and Dancing, as any 
 French or Italian whatever ; yet their Music kept within 
 Bounds, nor ever attempted to metamorphose the whole 
 Drama into an Opera. The Spectator has been right in 
 his Censure of this monstrous Entertainment. It does 
 not (says he) want any great Measure of Sense to see 
 the Ridicule of this monstrous Practice ( that is, of sink- 
 ing partly English, and partly Italian) ; but it is not the 
 Taste of the Rabble, but of the Persons of the greatest 
 Politeness, which has establish'd it. 
 
 He shou'd have said, Persons of the greatest Quality; 
 for certainly Politeness cannot be the Share of those 
 who indulge an Absurdity, which he confesses wants but 
 a little Measure of Sense to discover. 
 
 But then I think nothing can be more absurd, than his 
 preferring the ridiculous Qualities of an Opera after the 
 Italian, to that after the Way of Harry Purcel. He 
 laughs at the Singing Superscriptions of Letters, Generals 
 Singing the Word of Command; Ladies Delivering a 
 Message in Music, and the like, of which every Italian 
 Opera is full. But however (says he) this Italian Way 
 of Acting in Recitativo, might appear at first Hearing, 
 I cannot but think it much more just, than that which 
 prevailed in our English Opera's before this Innovation. 
 The Transition from the Air to the Recitativo Musick 
 being more natural than the passing from a Song to 
 plain and ordinary Speaking, which was the common 
 Method in Purcel'j Opera's. This, to make Sense of it. 
 
^4 Charles Gildon 
 
 and render it of a Piece with what went before, requires 
 all the Art of the Tatler, Spectator, Guardian. For how 
 can that be said to be more natural than any thing, which 
 is in all its Parts entirely unnatural. Then what does 
 he mean by the Transition from Speaking to Musick in 
 Harry Purcel's Opera's ? In them, what was proper for 
 Musick, was sung, and the Drama performed as all other 
 Drama's were. The same might be' said of the Tragedies 
 of Sophocles, Euripides, and the rest of the Ancients; 
 when the Actors came to a Pause, the Chorus sung, and 
 when the Chorus had done singing, the Actors spoke 
 again. And would this Author perswade any one in 
 his Senses, that the Modern Opera's had a more natural 
 Transition than the Greek Tragedies? 
 
 For my Part (interrupted Mrs. Lamode) I have so 
 humble an Opinion of my self, as to think, that what 
 pleases every Body, at least, the People of Fashion, 
 ought to please me; and I have this Satisfaction, to find 
 an Abundance of Pleasure in erring with all my Acquaint- 
 ance. For that I may not be deceiv'd in my Opinion of 
 a Play or an Opera, I never go to either, till I hear a 
 Character of them from some of my Friends, and know 
 how it takes with the Town. The Particulars sometimes 
 the obliging Mr. Trifle does me the Favour of conveying 
 to me, and sometimes my dear Issachar; and what 
 pleases most, I always take to be best. 
 
 I profess (assum'd Trifle) I think your Ladyship 
 infinitely in the Right. I always do the very same. I 
 am content to leave the Critics the surly Satisfaction of 
 being pleased with nothing that is not Two Thousand 
 Years old; the regular, stiff Pieces of the Ancients; the 
 Rules and Forms of an old dull Philosopher, who never 
 understood Gayety and Gallantry; Aristotle with his 
 Sophocles, and I know not what Greek Bites refuse me. 
 
Complete Art of Poetry J5 
 
 Admirably rally'd my Dear Mr. Trifle (assum'd Mrs. 
 Lamode laughing) give me the Wit and Poetry of a 
 fashionable Turn, fine Things and fine Language. For 
 dear Laudon, there's a Mode of Wit and Poetry, as well 
 as of deaths ; and he or she, that is out of the Fashion, 
 makes a very ridiculous Figure, and is very scandalous 
 Company. Wou'd it not be a very pretty Sight to have 
 a young Lady come into the Drawing-Room in a Ruff, 
 and Farthingal? London, and Athens, are quite different 
 Places, and the Modes, and Manners of the People differ 
 so much, that what was bright, and pleasing in Athens, 
 must be dull, and insipid in London. 
 
 Laudon (pursu'd Issachar) don't you think, that my 
 Spouse has spoken like an Oracle ? The Critics have not 
 thought enough on this Point. I have been bred at the 
 University my self, and I have read the Antients, and 
 I profess, I can't discover those killing Beauties, which 
 the Affectation of the Critics pretends to find in them. 
 I vow I can't help thinking that Cowley is finer than 
 Ovid, and the Arthurs as good as Homer, or Virgil. 
 Nor can I see any Reason why our Dramatic Poets are 
 not more valuable than Sophocles, or Euripides. All the 
 Advantage these have, is, that they liv'd a great while 
 ago, and that they writ in Greek. What say you, fair 
 Lady (concluded he to Morisina) I am sure you can 
 never admire those Heathen Poets, whom you do not 
 understand, above our own Countrymen, whom you do. 
 
 I find so many Reasons (reply'd Morisina) to dislike 
 those, whom I do understand, that I fancy I shou'd have 
 as many to like those whom I do not understand; 
 especially when I find the Accounts the Learned give of 
 them (in the Language I know) and the Objections 
 drawn from the Antients by them, against the Absurdi- 
 ties of our modern Poets so agreeable to Nature and 
 
^6 Charles Gildon 
 
 Reason. As for your Ladyship's Mode and Fashion of 
 Wit, it may, perhaps, hold of the Poems of our Time; 
 for we seldom find, that they keep up their easily acquir'd 
 Reputation more than one Season. But as the present 
 Duke of Buckingham has it in his admirable Essay on 
 Poetry. 
 
 True Wit is everlasting like the Sun. 
 
 And to shew your Ladyship, that your Simile of Ruffs, 
 and Farthingal's, will be little Proof of what you urg'd 
 it for ; you must remember, that Shakespear's Wit holds 
 in Fashion still, though of the same Date with those 
 Ornaments of Dress, which wou'd now appear so very 
 ridiculous. Time, that has so often chang'd our Modes 
 of Apparel, and made the same Things so often modish 
 and antiquated, has only added Force, Respect, and 
 Authority to the true Wit of One Hundred and Fifty 
 Years standing. As we find this beyond Dispute in 
 Shakespear, so the same will hold good of those great 
 Masters of Poetry among the Antients of Rome, and 
 Athens; who have in all Times, and all Nations (as soon 
 as understood) kept up, nay encreas'd their Esteem, and 
 Value, whilst every thing else chang'd : Imperial Families, 
 Kingdoms, whole Nations, and People have perish'd or 
 alter'd their Modes, Forms, and Languages. 
 
 And as for your Ladyship's fine Things, and fine 
 Language, to prefer these to more charming, and more 
 essential Excellencies, wou'd be as ridiculous, as to prefer 
 your Ladyship's Dress to your Person : A Complement, 
 I dare believe, that you wou'd not think so gallant, as 
 the Mode and Fashion require. It is indeed, in some 
 Poems, and some sort of Poetry the most valuable Part; 
 but then that sort is of the most inferiour Rank, and full 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 57 
 
 of the most base Allay ; as perhaps the Men may really 
 think some Women of less Value than their deaths. 
 
 Nor am I surpriz'd at the facetious Mr. Trifle's humble 
 Content in leaving the Critics the Satisfaction of being 
 pleas'd with nothing but the regular Pieces of Antiquity, 
 and the Rules and Forms of an old doting Philosopher; 
 for I think that he ought to be consistent with himself, 
 and no more approve of Regularity and Order in the 
 Works of the Poets, than in his own Conduct, and 
 Actions. Establish'd Customs, Habits, and Inclinations 
 easily bribe a weak Judgment to their side; and render 
 every thing agreeable, that carries any Resemblance to 
 themselves. 
 
 As for Mr. Lamode's putting modern Authors on a 
 Foot with Homer, I am very confident, that the admir- 
 able Author of the Creation, has too much Judgment, 
 and too much Modesty, to have any such Thought him- 
 self. Let it suffice, that the Author of the Arthurs has 
 the Glory of excelling Lucretius, it is a Palm gain'd only 
 by him; but leave the Soveraignty of Homer untouch'd 
 even by Milton himself ; who, I am afraid, in Justice with 
 all his vast Imagination and Strength of Genius, will 
 come in for no more than the second Place. 
 
 But, Madam, I wonder that your Ladyship, who value 
 your self for the grand Goust in all the fine Pleasures 
 above every one else, shou'd be for levelling your 
 Understanding with the very Canaille, the Gross of the 
 Readers and Spectators, who not only fill up the House, 
 but like the Shoemaker of Madrid (as Madam Dunois 
 tells you) dispos'd of the Fate of a Play. At this Rate 
 you make your Footman in the upper Gallery, as good 
 a Judge as your self. An Affront invented by the 
 Malice of a half-witted Enemy, cou'd never be more 
 reproachful than what you wou'd here put on your self. 
 
^8 Charles Gildon 
 
 But, dear Madam, I am so much your Friend, that I 
 can never bear such an Indignity to your Sense, even 
 from your own fair Mouth. Besides, if you allow the 
 Applause of the Town to be the Test of what is Good, 
 you must allow its Neglect or Exploding to be the Mark 
 of the Bad ; and then the very same thing must be good 
 and bad, the best, and the worst, and the same Men in 
 the same Poem the most excellent, and the most 
 execrable of Poets. To avoid Instances of living 
 Authors, the Mamamouche on its first Appearance, was 
 acted a Month together, which must exalt it to the highest 
 Excellence; but when it was reviv'd (as I am assur'd by 
 those who were at it) it was hiss'd off the Stage; and so 
 by the same Test became the worst of Farces. Thus 
 you wou'd make the Orphan yield to the Empress of 
 Morocco, and the Plain-dealer to the Quixots, yet, 
 Madam, I am confident your Ladyship will never prefer 
 the last to the first. 
 
 You must therefore, Madam, for your own sake, find 
 out some surer Way of judging of the lesser Poems, as 
 well as of Plays, than that Run, and Reception, they 
 meet with from the Town, which is so uncertain, and 
 varying in the frail Praise she bestows, that Poems have 
 already lost their Glory, and are become as great Drugs 
 as Quar[l]e's and Withers, which for a while carry'd 
 the Acclamations along with them : Nay, Cowley himself, 
 so much ador'd for near Forty Years, loses every Day 
 Ground with all those, who love Nature, and Harmony, 
 which are Virtues not very common in that learned and 
 zvitty Person. 
 
 Here the bright Morisina made an End, discovering 
 as many Charms in her Soul, as Eyes. These may, 
 perhaps, be equall'd by many of her Sex; but a Taste 
 so fine, she enjoys almost without a Rival. Mrs. Lamode 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 39 
 
 was confounded, and dismay'd, and cou'd scarce muster 
 up Spirits enow to desire her to point out a better Method 
 of judging, than the Opinion of the Town. But Dinner 
 now coming in, suspended her Reply. 
 
 After our Repast was over, and the Tea on the Table, 
 Mrs. Lamode renew'd her Request to Morisina to correct 
 her Error, and give her a more infallible Method of 
 judging justly of the Poets Performance, than the 
 Applause they meet with from the Town. 
 
 Madam (answer'd Morisina) I know your Ladyship 
 is an admirable Artist at your Needle, and I have with 
 Wonder seen you rival Nature, when with that you paint 
 the Flowers of the Field, the Branches of the Woods, 
 the Birds of the Air, and the Beasts and Reptiles of the 
 Earth. Now, Madam, wou'd you allow the Judgment of 
 your Groom, your Plowman, or your Cook-Maid, or 
 even of your Tenants in the Villages about you to decide 
 the Merit of your Performance? Wou'd you not, on 
 their Condemnation of your Work, appeal to those, who 
 are skilful in the Art? And vindicate what you have 
 done by shewing the several Stitches to be regular, and 
 according to Art; that the Colours are justly mingled, 
 insinuating themselves into each other with so nice a 
 Subtilty, that it wou'd be a difficult Matter to point out 
 their Separation, or say, where the Union begins, or 
 where it ends? That the Disposition of the Parts is to 
 the best Advantage, and Nature in the Whole, so well 
 dissembled, that it must be a very curious Eye, that can 
 distinguish the Copy from the Original? Such a Piece, 
 Madam, as your Ladyship shew'd me, the last Time I 
 did my self the Honour of waiting on you ? 
 
 True (my dear Morisina, answer'd Mrs. Lamode) I 
 had the Mortification to hear Abigail prefer an old, 
 wild, antiquated Piece of Work of the Days of good 
 
/fO Charles Gildon 
 
 Queen Bess to that, which you so much admir'd. I ask'd 
 the silly Creature, how she cou'd like such gouty 
 Stitches, without Beauty, or Order, or prefer it to mine, 
 which was according to the nicest Samplars, and made 
 such near Approaches to Nature? The wretched 
 Creature reply'd, that there was something, she did not 
 know what of Antiquity in the other, that made it 
 venerable. That she did not know the Art, or the Nicety 
 of the Stitches, and happy Mixture of the Colours, and 
 the like; but her Eye was much more pleas'd with a 
 Je ne scay Quoyish Beauty of the old Piece without 
 Order, Beauty or Harmony of the Parts, than with all 
 the Correspondence and Ordonance of mine. I swear, 
 my dear, the dull Creature put me into a Passion, I cou'd 
 have almost have broken her Fingers with my Fan. I 
 am vext that the insignificant Thing cou'd rufHe me 
 so much. 
 
 Oh! my dear Lamode (cry'd Morisina) I have 
 surpriz'd you into my Party: For my Dear, you must 
 pardon me, you play the Part of Abigail your self, and 
 declaim against the Rules of Art, and cry up the wild and 
 confus'd Productions of blind Fancy, like Abigail's 
 darling Antique, before a beautiful Piece, which like 
 your Ladyship's Work, derives an admirable Order, and 
 Harmony from the Observation of, and following the 
 Lineaments of Nature, taught by the Rules of the Art 
 of Poetry. For, Madam, Poetry in all its Parts, is an 
 Imitation: Proposing therefore a certain End, it must 
 have certain Means of attaining that End, which are the 
 Rules of Art, as your Ladyship observes in guiding your 
 curious Needle, through the Flowers, and Foliage of 
 your Work. The general Judgment of the Town, is like 
 your Abigail's, made and form'd on Je-ne-scay-Quoys, 
 they Knozv-not-what, their beautiful Extravagancies, 
 
Complete Art of Poetry ^i 
 
 and many such empty Sounds which have no manner of 
 Idea fixt to them. 
 
 Well, well, fair Morisina (said Mrs. Lamode) if you 
 have any better Way of judging, I beg you let us hear 
 it; I vow I shall be surprisingly pleas'd with the 
 instructing Amusement from so charming a Mouth. 
 
 Madam (assum'd Tom Trifle with a pert Insipidness) 
 your Ladyship is infinitely in the Right, for Madam 
 Morisina, I vow to Gad is the finest Amusement in the 
 World. 
 
 That's a Task too difficult (return'd Morisina) for me 
 to undertake, I shall leave that to my Spouse, and to his 
 Friend Gamaliel. 
 
 No, no, my Dear (assum'd Mrs. Lamode) I never will 
 consent to that, but as you have found Fault with my 
 Rule of judging, pray do me the Justice to produce your 
 own, Laudon, and his Friend will perfectly confound 
 us with Aristotle, and a Thousand hard Greek Names. 
 And for my Part, I have a mortal Aversion to all Greeks, 
 and Romans, whom I do not understand. I may, 
 perhaps, allow you something of the French, or the 
 Italian, and in case of Necessity, perhaps, a Spaniard: 
 But for your Aristotle, and your Horace's, I know not 
 what to say to them: They have reign'd long enough; 
 it is Time to put an End to their Authority. 
 
 You must (assum'd Laudon) first put an End to 
 Nature, and extinguish all Sense in Mankind. A new 
 Model in Poetry must be monstrously absurd, and a 
 wretched Refuge of ignorant Poetasters to shelter their 
 ■own Follies from Censure. Thus Lopez de Vega under- 
 took to write a New Art of Poesie, but he succeeded so 
 ill in his Undertaking, that the Book has not been thought 
 worthy to be Printed with the rest of his Works. 
 Cornielle attempted the same in France, but what his 
 
^2 Charles Gildon 
 
 Success was, his own Countryman, the admirable Dacier 
 (to say nothing of the Academy of Sciences) will dis- 
 cover by a Confutation of his Errors, with that Clear- 
 ness, and good Judgment, that the Faults of Corneilles 
 Plays (to remove which he set up those New Rules) 
 remain, and Aristotle preserves his Reputation entire 
 with all Men of fine Sense, and sound Understanding. 
 
 Horace first proposed this just Model (as a judicious 
 French Author justly calls it) to the Romans, and the 
 great Men of the Court of Augustus foUow'd them as 
 inviolable. After the taking of Constantinople by the 
 Turks, many of the Greek Authors were transported to 
 Italy by the Care, and Interest of Cosmo and Lorenzo 
 di Medici (the great Restorers of ancient Learning, and 
 Politeness after the long Night of Gothick and Monkish 
 Ignorance and Barbarity) who were follow'd by several 
 learned Men, who reviv'd and set up Schools of the then 
 forgotten Greek Language. Hence soon arose a Multi- 
 tude of Commentators on these admirable Rules of 
 Aristotle, of whom Piccolomini, and Casselvetro had the 
 best Success. Father Rapin building on them, excell'd 
 the Italians. But Mr. Dacier has gone far beyond all 
 others of any Nation in his Notes on this excellent 
 Treatise of the Philosopher; Laudon had not quite done 
 when Tyro came in with Manilia. 
 
 Ah! cry'd out Mrs. Lamode, my Dear Manilia, you 
 are the most welcome Person alive ; and you, Mr. Tyro, 
 you come to the Relief of the distress'd Damoisel ; I am 
 besieg'd with Giants, and only your Prowess can bring 
 me Relief. 
 
 The Matter, the Matter (said Tyro) I am always a 
 Devote to the Ladies, especially when in Distress. But 
 how can you be so in the Company of my Friend 
 Laudon, I can't imagine, who is the most complaisant 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 4^ 
 
 Man in the World to the fair Sex. Morisina is such a 
 B[r]ibe, that must always retain Laudon in the Ladies 
 Cause. 
 
 Ah! Mr. Tyro! (cry'd Mrs. Lamode) Laudon has 
 declar'd against me, and Morisina is the most violent 
 Enemy I have. They have espous'd the Cause of the 
 Critics, to whom I confess a mortal Aversion. 
 
 Nothing but a Jeu de Esprit, I dare be confident 
 (assum'd Tyro) Laudon is a Man of too gay a Taste 
 to espouse seriously the Cause of SoWerness, and ill 
 Nature. It is a particular Observation I have always 
 made, that of all Mortals, a Critic is the silliest. 
 
 That is (interrupted Laudon) of all Mortals, a Man 
 of Judgment and Skill in Art is the silliest. For if you 
 mean pretended Criticks, you shou'd have told us so. 
 Now as to Pretenders to any Art, or Thing, without 
 Foundation, they are equally silly, for it is want of 
 Understanding in them all. The drawing a ridiculous 
 Character, and the calling it a Critic is of no manner of 
 Force against the Thing. 
 
 Ah! my Dear Friend Laudon (reply'd Tyro) you have 
 intercepted what I had to say from the charming Tatler 
 on this Head; for when he has told you that a Critic 
 is the silliest of Mortals, he adds his Reason; for (says 
 he) hy inuring himself to examine all Things, whether 
 they are of Consequence or not, he never looks upon 
 any thing, hut with a Design of passing Sentence upon 
 it; hy which means he is never a Companion, hut always 
 a Censor. This makes him earnest upon Trifles, and 
 Dispute on the most indifferent Occasions with Vehe- 
 mence. If he offers to speak or write, that Talent, 
 which shou'd approve the Work of the other Faculties 
 prevents their Operation. He comes upon Action in 
 
^^ Charles Gildon 
 
 Armour, but without Weapons; he stands in Safety, hut 
 can gain no Glory. 
 
 And a little after A thorough Critic is a sort of 
 
 Puritan in the polite World. As an Enthusiast in Reli- 
 gion stumbles at the ordinary Occurrences of Life, if 
 he cannot quote Scripture Examples on the Occasion; 
 so the Critic is never safe in his Speech or Writing, 
 without he has among the celebrated Writers an 
 Authority for the Truth of his Sentence. 
 
 You need go no farther (said Laudon) 'tis only a 
 very dry Ridicule on the Character, without the least 
 Shadow of Reason. But Mr. Isaac, notwithstanding 
 his Passion against Critics, has play'd the Critic himself 
 not only in his eighth and ninth Tatler, but in several 
 others; nay, indeed his whole Business seems to be a 
 Critic on the Manners of Men ; a harder Thing to deter- 
 mine than the Rules of Art; unless he wou'd shelter 
 himself under the Name of Censor, which is one, who 
 passes Judgment on something, and so comes to the 
 same Point. But here I cannot omit one thing, which 
 I find he attacks more than once in the Course of his 
 Writings; and which I am afraid his enemies will say 
 discovers him to be a most aband[on]ed Pedant. And 
 this is that our Critics guide themselves by what they 
 find in the French Writers, without being capable of 
 going so high as the original Greek or Latin Masters. 
 This I am sorry I must allow to be a sort of Refuge of 
 Pedantry, as if there were really any singular Merit, as 
 to the Art to understand Greek or Latin. No Man 
 certainly can condemn the Reason of what we find in 
 French ; and yet it is the Reason of the Thing, and not 
 the Language it is written in, that makes it valuable. 
 But in opposition to the Spectators, and Tatlers, frequent 
 Censure of the French Critics. I must observe first, that 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 4^ 
 
 so great a Poet, and Judge of Poetry, as my Lord 
 Roscommon had no such Opinion of the French Writers, 
 in his Essay on translated Verse. 
 
 When France had hreath'd after intestine Broils, 
 And Peace, and Conquest, crown' d her foreign Toils: 
 There {cultivated by a Royal Hand) 
 Learning grew fast, and spread, and blest the Land. 
 The choicest Books, that Rome or Greece have known. 
 Her excellent Translators made their own. 
 And Europe must acknowledge that she Gains, 
 Both by their good Example, and their Pains. 
 
 I must secondly remark, that they have preserv'd 
 Politeness in all their Learning. Bossu, and Dacier write 
 like Gentlemen, and Men of a fine Taste, tho' perfectly 
 skill'd in all the necessary Criticisms of the Greek and 
 Roman Language; whereas Vossius, (I mean Gerrard, 
 not Isaac, who is much more polite) Scaliger, and many 
 of our English Men of Learning, have so far lost them- 
 selves in verbal Criticisms, or in mere Collections of 
 Opinions, that they never distinguish finely, and seldom 
 observe further; but give us Authority on Authority, in 
 a stiff, dry, jujune Manner, without drawing any val- 
 uable Doctrine from what they have taken the Pains to 
 give from the Antients. The French, on the contrary, 
 burthen not our Memories, nor confound our Judgments, 
 by Multiplicity of Quotations, but give us the solid 
 Doctrine they have drawn from them, and the insuper- 
 able Reasons on which they are founded. They dwell 
 not on the meer grammatical Criticisms on Words, but 
 penetrate farther into the Reasons, and Sense, and 
 Judgment of the Authors; and give us Light out of 
 Obscurity, which some have involv'd the Antients in. 
 What Reason therefore has any Man to object, as an 
 
^6 Charles Gildon 
 
 Odium, our consulting the French Authors, when he, or 
 his Colleagues, shall write like them: I dare engage the 
 Ingenious will be oblig'd to them, and consult them 
 without the French. There is nothing so trifling and 
 ridiculous as the Praises given Homer, Virgil, &c. By 
 the Dutch, most of the Italian, and English Writers; 
 but Bossu and Dacier, to the Honour of their Country, 
 enter'd into the true Merits of those great Poets in their 
 Design, &c. Dionysius Halicarnassceus indeed, so long 
 ago has hit right in praising Homer's Contrivance, and 
 Design, as well as the Greatness, and Majesty, of his 
 Expression, and the lively and passionate Motions of 
 the Sentiments. But I think you Ladies ought to declare 
 against them, and all others, when they are for depriving 
 you of all Resource, by confining all Knowledge to Greek 
 and Latin, Languages you are not so familiar with as 
 French. 
 
 Nay, I confess (said Mrs. Lamode) I am not of his 
 Party in that, I am a profess'd admirer of the French 
 Tongue, and whoever runs that down, I shall declare 
 against him. 
 
 As for what Tongue it is in (assum'd Manilia) it 
 matters not, but Criticism it self is the thing that the 
 Tatler falls upon ; and good Lord, indeed, what a Figure 
 does Sir Timothy Tittle make in the Tatlers? One 
 would think, that no Man of Wit, wou'd ever after that, 
 have descended to own the Name of a Critic. 
 
 Oh! Madam (said Laudoh) there is nothing more 
 easie, than for a Grotesque Painter to clap Asses Ears 
 on the Head of a Socrates, yet that wou'd betray the 
 Ignorance, Folly, or Impudence of the Painter, but not 
 any Defect in that wise Athenian. If the Tatler design'd 
 by those, and some other Stroaks of the like Nature, to 
 ridicule Criticasters, and impudent Pretenders to Judg- 
 
Complete Art of Poetry ^'j 
 
 ment, he shou'd not have endeavour'd to affix the Infamy 
 he design'd to the Name of Critic, but have plainly, and 
 evidently distinguish'd between them; otherwise the 
 Asses Ears will cleave to his own Head, for ridiculing 
 Judgment, without which nothing ever was, or ever can 
 be, well and justly perf orm'd either in Painting or Poetry. 
 
 Bless me! (cry'd Manilia) you infinitely surprize me 
 to hear you oppose the Sentiments of a Paper that so 
 ravish'd the Town, and almost reconcil'd Parties in its 
 Praise, that were opposite in every thing else. How shall 
 we, poor Women, direct our Judgments, if by such 
 celebrated Guides, we are led astray? 
 
 By Reason and Nature, Madam (reply'd Laudon) for 
 it is only when these Authors desert them, that they 
 become contemptible to the judicious. 
 
 Well, but (said Tyro) if you will not allow the 
 Authority of the Tatlers, Spectators, and the like, I hope 
 you will yield to that of Sir William Temple. 
 
 For my Part (reply'd Laudon) I cannot allow any 
 Man's Authority against Reason and Truth; and if Sir 
 William has advanc'd any thing that is so, I shall make 
 no Scruple in dissenting from him. 
 
 It is in his Essay upon Poetry (assum'd Tyro) and 
 after he has given his Sentiments at large, he draws 
 towards a Conclusion in these Words, against the Rules, 
 on which your Criticism is built. The Truth is (says he) 
 there is something in the Genius of Poetry too libertine 
 to be confin'd to so many Rules, and whoever goes about 
 to subject it to such Constraints, loses both its Spirit 
 and Grace, which are ever Native, and never learned out 
 of the best Masters. Then he concludes this Point 
 against the French, and our Critics, in these Words. 
 It wou'd be too much Mortification to these great arbi- 
 trary Rulers among the French Writers, and our own, 
 
/f8 Charles Gildon 
 
 to observe the worthy Productions, that have been form'd 
 by their Rules; the Honour they have receii/d in the 
 World, or the Pleasure they have given Mankind. But 
 to comfort them, I do not know that there was any great 
 Poet in Greece, after the Rules of that Art laid down 
 by Aristotle ; nor in Rome, after those by Horace, which 
 yet none of our Moderns pretend to have outdone. 
 Perhaps Theocritus and Lucan may be alledg'd against 
 this Assertion; but the first offer' d no further than his 
 Idyls or Eclogues, and the last, tho' he must be own'd 
 for a true and happy Genius, and to have made some very 
 high Flights, yet he is too unequal to himself, and his 
 Muse is too young, that his Faults are too noted to allow 
 
 his Pretences. After all, the utmost that can be 
 
 achiev'd by any Rules in this Art, is but to hinder some 
 Men from being very ill Poets, but not to make any one 
 a very good one. 
 
 I think, that what Sir William has here urg'd, is as 
 plain against your Rules, and Criticisms, as any thing in 
 the Tatlers, Spectators, or the rest. 
 
 I grant it (reply'd Laudon) but with no more Reason, 
 than those Authors have built on; nay, with this Dis- 
 advantage, that Sir William either grossly contradicts 
 himself, or makes use of Words, which have no manner 
 of Meaning at all, which alone wou'd be sufficient to 
 destroy his Authority with any indifferent Judge. Let 
 us therefore hear Sir William in his own proper Person, 
 and in the very same Essay. 
 
 But though Invention be the Mother of Poetry, yet 
 this Child is like all others born naked, and must be 
 nourish'd with Care, cloath'd with Exactness, and 
 Elegance, educated with Industry, instructed with Art, 
 improi/d by Application, corrected with Severity, and 
 accomplish'd with Labour, and Time; before it arrives 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 4g 
 
 at any great Perfection or Growth, it is certain that no 
 Composition requires so many several Ingredients, and 
 of more different Sorts, than this: Nor that to excel in 
 any Qualities, there are necessary so many Gifts of 
 Nature, and so many Improvements of Learning and 
 
 Art. Again Without the Force of Wit, all Poetry 
 
 is flat, and languishing, without the Succours of Judg- 
 ment, it is wild, and extravagant. 
 
 Here you find Sir William denying Perfection to 
 Poetry, witiiout it be instructed by Art; but if he mean 
 any thing by Art, he means what every Body in the 
 World means by it, that ever made use of that Word 
 on any Occasion. Now every Art in its very Constitution 
 proposes some certain End to obtain, and some certain 
 Means of obtaining that End ; but the Means in the Art 
 of Poetry, as well as in all others, are what we call the 
 Rules of the Art. So that to talk of the Necessity of 
 Art, and at the same Time disallow of its Rules is down- 
 right Nonsense; or the proposing an End, without any 
 Means of attaining that End, which is equally absurd 
 and ridiculous. If he wou'd ascribe all to Fancy in 
 Poetry, to what Purpose all this Pomp of Expression, 
 in the displaying the other necessary Qualities of a Poet 
 to arrive at Perfection? What mean the nourishing it 
 with Care; cloathing it with Exactness and Elegance; 
 educating it with Industry; instructing it with Art; 
 improving it with Application; but above all, correcting 
 it with Severity? What must Fancy be severe on Fancy? 
 Must the Heat of Fancy be accomplish'd with Labour 
 and Time? What will Fancy, without Judgment, be 
 wild and extravagant, and yet no Rules to direct this 
 wild and extravagant Quality of Witf But if all these 
 Pains are to be taken to regulate the Fancy, or Genius 
 of Poetry; is not this to confine it to certain Rules? 
 
£0 Charles Gildon 
 
 Or is it to be confin'd and not confin'd; regulated by 
 Judgment, and yet free from that Curb ? These are the 
 Contradictions of the Enemies of the Rules. Or is the 
 Judgment to be without any certain Direction, and only 
 the effect of the particular Writer's Notion, who is 
 correcting his own Work? But how will Sir William, 
 or any Advocate of his, distinguish between Fancy and 
 Judgment in this Matter, and shew where their Duties 
 are bounded? What is their Distinction, and how we 
 shall know the Acts of the one from the other without 
 fixing some Rules? But if they find themselves reduc'd 
 to a Necessity of making some Standard of Judgment, 
 let them shew that the Fancy or Genius will be less 
 confin'd by them, than by those already in Force, and 
 acknowledge [d] by all the learned of all Nations these ' 
 2000 Years. I am afraid that his Rules which require 
 so much Application and Severity, are as likely to make 
 Poetry lose its Spirit, and Grace, as those of Aristotle, 
 and the rest of the Critics, So that if the Genius of the 
 Poetry have something too libertine in it, to he confin'd 
 to so many Rules, and that whoever goes about to subject 
 it to such Constraints, loses both its Spirit, and Grace, 
 which are ever Native, and never to be learned of any 
 [M]aster. Then what becomes of his nourishing, 
 cloathing, instructing, ■correcting, and the like? 
 
 Thus you see by what Contradictions and Absurdities 
 this worthy Essayist is embarass'd in his Declamation 
 against the Rules of Art. But the Champions of these 
 Rules have given the World nothing admirable and 
 entertaining. That is false, if justly consider'd accord- 
 ing to the Genius of the Nation, that have written 
 regularly and irregularly. Let us take France, whom 
 he attacks. Are the regular Pieces of that People more 
 valuable than those which are irregular, and on the 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 5/ 
 
 contrary? Are not Boileau, Racine, and the like, more 
 entertaining to them than Alexander Hardy, du Bartas, 
 or the Hke ? I think all France will give the Prize to the 
 former; and if so, how have the Rules injur'd the 
 Poetical Productions of France? Nay, Corneille him- 
 self, when he began to write after the Model of Hardy, 
 found by his own good Sense, that Rules were necessary ; 
 and before he had inform'd his Understanding, by the 
 Study of Aristotle, he form'd some general Precepts to 
 guide his Fancy from those Absurdities, into which his 
 Predecessor fell for want of such Helps. 
 
 But no great Poet appeared in Greece or Rome, after 
 the Publication of the Rules of Aristotle and Horace. 
 This is begging the Question with a Vengeance; and I 
 wonder that Sir William, who appeals to the 600000 
 Volumes lost in the Ptolemaic Library, against the 
 Moderns, in his first Essay, should pronounce so 
 dogmatically in this Point, since it is as certain, that 
 many great Poets, as well as other Authors, perish'd 
 either there, or in the Havock of Time. But what does 
 he think of Menander and all the Authors of the new 
 Comedy, given us, in some Measure, by Plautus, and by 
 Terence? Or is it probable, that Athens, which ever 
 encouraged Tragedy more than Comedy, had no Tragic 
 Poets of Worth after Euripides, Agatho, Polydes, and 
 the rest that preceded Aristotle? But the most unlucky 
 thing that could befal this Instance of our Essayer, is 
 that Virgil, that supreme Genius, was after Aristotle, 
 cotemporary with Horace, and as well acquainted with 
 the Fountain of Criticism, as Horace himself; nay, and 
 has visibly observed the Rules of Aristotle, in his ^neis. 
 After this, what need we look into a bare List of Names 
 of several eminent Poets that liv'd after Horace, tho' 
 their Works be lost? What may we think of Varius 
 
52 Charles Gildon 
 
 and Tucca, to whom Virgil submitted his Works? 
 Were they ignorant of the Rules which Virgil follow'd? 
 Must we, because the Works of many more, and those 
 eminent in their Time, are perish'd, conclude they were 
 not good Poets? That wou'd prove that all those who 
 have reach'd our Days are good, and that would establish 
 Lucan in spite of what the Knight has said against him. 
 For if, in Reality, Lucan be not a good Poet, it is because 
 he has not follow'd the same Rules that Virgil did. The 
 same may be said of Statius, Silius Italicus, and some 
 other Roman Authors that are still extant, and yet never 
 thought good Poets by the judicious Part of the World, 
 in any Nation where they have found Readers. 
 
 Painting is an Art that requires a Genius, and yet 
 cannot be justly perform'd without the Rules of Art. 
 The Proportion of a Man standing upright, is eight 
 Times the Length of his Head: The Arms hanging 
 straight down, reach within a Span of the Knee : A Hand 
 must be the Length of the Face, and the Arms extended 
 make the just Length of the whole Body. These, and 
 an Hundred more Rules must be known to, and follow'd 
 by every Painter, tho' of never so exalted a Genius, or 
 Gusto, which can never justify him in breaking any of 
 the Rules; for those of Painting, as well as those of 
 Poetry, are Nature, and shew us its just Lineaments, 
 by which every Judge may know the Excellence or 
 Defect of the Performer. 
 
 Thus in Landskip the Painter ought to be skill'd in 
 Perspective, else can he never know the Proportions, in 
 regard of the Distances, and the like. The knowing of 
 those Rules alone will not make a Painter, without both 
 a Genius and Practice; and in the same Manner, the 
 Rules of Poetry are necessary to the forming all valuable 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 55 
 
 Poems, but they are not able to make a Poet without 
 Genius and Practice too. 
 
 In all the fine Arts indeed, there has a Grotesque and 
 Gothique Taste prevail'd, which relishes every thing that 
 is not natural. Thus, in general, we prefer the Japan 
 Pictures for the Furniture of our Rooms, to the fine 
 Prints of the Audrands, Simoneans, Edlinahs, and the 
 rest of the great Masters; and by the same abandon'd 
 Gusto, we encourage Opera's and Farces, before Come- 
 dies and Tragedies. 
 
 A modem Wit has a very great Aversion to Arts and 
 Sciences, and with an Air of Sufficience, avows his Zeal 
 for lanorance. But as his Fancy only governs him, so 
 are his Productions most commonly sad, crude, indi- 
 gested things, like sick Mens Dreams, without either 
 Head or Tail. If you chance to mention Art, he cries 
 out, you are a Critic, an ill-natur'd Person ; that Nature 
 is not to be ty'd up to Order, Harmony, Beauty of 
 Design; as if Confusion were the only Perfection. 
 When they speak of a Play, the highest Praise they give 
 it, in their Approbation, is, that it is fine Language, like 
 Mr. Wycherly's Lover, that cou'd find nothing about 
 his Mistress to praise, but the Tip of her Ear, and her 
 Elbow. So that most of our successful Poets ought to 
 be ashamed of the Applause they obtain, as Lucian was 
 when he wrote his Zeuxis, finding it to be paid to the 
 Novelty, and Neatness of the Expression, and not to 
 the Judgment of his Method, and the like. 
 
 But our Wits and Lucian are not of a Piece. I wou'd 
 fain know of them whether Architecture, Statuary, 
 Music, can be excell'd in by any one who is not a perfect 
 Master of the establish'd Rules of either of them? 
 And then I will yield, that Perfection in Poetry may be 
 attain'd without knowing any thing of the Art. 
 
5^ Charles Gildon 
 
 The Tatler has been pleased to call the Critics, 
 Puritans, whereas they are of the established Church; 
 but the Gentlemen that are against them, are the true 
 Fanaticks in Poetry, against Order and Decency, the 
 Effect of it. 
 
 It is, as I have observed, urged against Criticism, or 
 the Rules of Art, that a too regular Adherence to the 
 Forms and Measures of them, is a Restraint on a 
 Writer's Invention, and does more Harm than Good in 
 Composition. For that the Imagination cannot so freely 
 diffuse and expand it self, when it is oblig'd to any 
 Bounds or Limits whatever. This Argument is some- 
 times illustrated and supported by that famous Example 
 of an ungovernable Genius in Heroic Virtue; I mean 
 Alexander the Great, whose vast Ambition never fail'd 
 to hurry him beyond the due Measures of Conduct, upon 
 which very Account, say they, his Exploits had always 
 in them something wonderfully surprizing and astonish- 
 ing. Whereas, Ccesar's Actions, that were more cool, 
 deliberate, and proportion'd to the Rules of Prudence and 
 Policy, never give us such a sublime, exalted Idea of his 
 Fortitude, as we must necessarily entertain of the Greek 
 Heroes. The Friends too of our great Dramatic Writer 
 Shakespear will not be perswaded, but that even his 
 monstrous Irregularities were conducive to those shining 
 Beauties which abound in most of his Plays: And that 
 if he had been more a Critic, he had been less a Poet; 
 that is, if he had known more of Nature (which only 
 the Rules teach) he would have touch'd her less. But 
 I say, that notwithstanding this Pleasure given by 
 Alexander's Deeds, good Conduct in War is no Hindrance 
 to the boldest Undertakings. For any one that knows 
 History, knows, that without it, Ccesar's Atchievements 
 had never been so glorious, nor most of Alexander's 
 
Complete Art of Poetry §s 
 
 too. These astonishing (I might call them accidental) 
 Victories gain'd by the latter, betray'd (many of them 
 at least) more of Foolhardiness than Valour. And a 
 due Observation of natural Rules, that is, a strict 
 Attendance to the Rules of Nature and Reason, can 
 never embarrass or clogg an Author's Fancy, but rather 
 enlarge and extend it. They might as well urge, that 
 good and wholesome Laws that enjoin nothing but what 
 a rational Nature would otherwise oblige us to, take 
 away the Liberty of Mankind, whereas they are the 
 very Life and Security of it. 
 
 But against Sir William Temple, the Tatlers, and other 
 Enemies to the Rules, I shall give you the Opinion of a 
 much greater Man, in his Way, I mean my Lord 
 Roscommon, not only by his giving us a Version of the 
 Art of Poetry of Horace, but from his Essay on Trans- 
 lated Verse, in the very first Lines. 
 
 Happy that Author whose correct Essay 
 Revives so well our old Horatian Way; 
 And happy those who {if concurring Stars 
 Predestinate them to Poetic Wars) 
 With Pains and Leisure by such Precepts write. 
 And learn to use their Arms before they fight. 
 
 For this Introduction is not only a just Commendation 
 of the Essay on Poetry, which contains admirable Rules 
 in that Art, but a Recommendation of Rules in general. 
 And Mr. Waller, in his Verses before his Lordship's 
 Translation of Horace's Art of Poetry, tells us, 
 
 Britain whose Genius is in Verse exprest. 
 Bold and sublime, but negligently drest. 
 
 Recommends the Study and Observation of the Rules 
 to our Authors, which will shew the Art of Criticism 
 
5<5 Charles Gildon 
 
 to be the Art of in4ucing proportion'd Wonders, as 
 Waller expresses it. 
 
 He that proportion'd Wonders can disclose, 
 At once his Fancy and his Judgment shews. 
 
 For Fancy and Judgment must join in every great Poet, 
 as Courage and Judgment in every great General ; for 
 where either is wanting, the other is useless, or of small 
 Value. Fancy is what we generally call Nature, or a 
 Genius; Judgment is what we mean by Art, the Union 
 of which in one Man makes a complete Poet. 
 
 I hope therefore (concluded Laudon to Tyro) that ' 
 I have made a Convert of you from that Vague and 
 inconsistent Notion to Regularity, Form, and Order, 
 whith is what the Rules pretend to teach, and not a 
 Genius, which must indeed be born with you, or you will 
 find but little Advantage from the Rules. Man might 
 perhaps live without the Rules and Maxims of Govern- 
 ment, but under all those Inconveniences that must 
 render Life as unpleasant as unsecure, but by the Rules 
 of Art (as I may call them) Men live in Society, with 
 all the Harmony of Subordination; and every Part 
 contributes to the Beauty of the Whole: So in Poetry, 
 Nature may inform some one great Genius to give us 
 some fine Things, as she may inspire some few Men to 
 follow her Laws, in their wild, uncultivated Way of 
 Living, like some of the West Indians; but then even 
 that one great Genius will be apt to abound in monstrous 
 Absurdities, and incongruous Extravagancies, which can 
 only be avoided by the constant and unalterable Rules 
 of Reason. 
 
 Here Laudon gave over speaking, and after a little 
 Pause, Tyro made this Reply. I confess, that from what 
 you have urg'd, there seems to me a Necessity of the 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 57 
 
 Poet's proposing to himself some Measures or Rules of 
 Conduct in what he performs, which is the proper Task 
 of Judgment. But I cannot from thence conclude, that 
 therefore the arbitrary Dictates of every sower Humour 
 that usurps the Authority of a Critic, should be of any 
 Force against a Poem that has receiv'd the general 
 Applause of the World. When I hear of any Piece of 
 Criticism, I generally enquire for the Author's Name; 
 and if he have not perform'd any thing himself, or not 
 any thing well, and with the publick Approbation, I 
 never give my self the Trouble of reading him over. 
 
 And I (assum'd Laudon) when I find any Writing 
 or Speaking against Criticism, presently examine whether 
 he has not written something that, how successful soever, 
 will not stand the Test of Reason and Art. And I never 
 once fail'd in finding, that his refusing the Judgment 
 of the Critic, was caus'd by the real Defect of his Writing, 
 which was indeed qualify'd for the Vogue of the Town, 
 but not for the Taste of the Judicious. And therefore 
 he disown'd the Authority of the Court, because he was 
 sure there to meet with Condemnation. The Rules of 
 Criticism are known, and fixt by Aristotle, Horace, 
 Dacier, Bossu, and others ; and tho' a Man may not have 
 perform'd himself, yet by them he may be a very good 
 Judge of another's Performance. As in Painting there 
 are a great many Gentlemen, and Persons of Distinction 
 and Quality, who scarce ever drew a Stroke, who are 
 very good Judges of the Performances of Painters, and 
 can distinguish between the several Hands that have 
 given us the noblest Pieces of Painting. So that I would 
 never reject a Piece of Criticism for the Name of the 
 Author, but for the Defect of what he advances; for 
 if a new Author gives you Reason for what he says. 
 
5^ Charles Gildon 
 
 you are obliged to submit to the Determination, or to be 
 an enemy to Reason. 
 
 Another thing I must observe, is, that not one of these 
 Gentlemen who profess their Emnity to, or Contempt of 
 a true Critic, but has shewn himself a meer Criticaster, 
 when he has fallen upon the Subject; a meer Piece- 
 Broker of Parnassus, and reaches no farther than Words 
 and Sentences; dealing in the very Scraps of Poetry; 
 a Couplet, an Expression is the utmost he pretends to. 
 But for a Design, or complete Poem, to meddle with it, 
 he accounts Pedantry, or Imposition. 
 
 Gerhard Vossius, a Man of consummate Learning, and 
 a very good Critic, is entirely against this Notion, in his 
 Preface to his Poetical Institutions. Some, perhaps 
 (says he) would wish, that a Work of this Nature had 
 been undertaken by some one that was admitted to the 
 sacred Office by the Muses, who might before have been 
 seen in their Temple inflam'd with the Poetical Enthu- 
 siasm. Had any one made this Objection to Lilius 
 Giraldus of Ferrara, the most learned of the Italians 
 of his Age, when he wrote some things of the Art of 
 Poetry, and more on the Poets, he would have answer'd 
 in the same Words, which we find in his first Dialogue 
 of his History of the Poets. "It is an old Opinion of 
 "Plato, that those have likewise a Share in the Poetic 
 "Fire, who interpret the Verses of the Poets, and may 
 "therefore put in their Claim to the Title of Poets. For 
 "Pancetus, the Philosopher, for this Reason gave the 
 "name of Prophet, or Poet, to Aristarchus, and Athenceus 
 "says the same. Yet would I not arrogate to my self, 
 for this Reason, the Poetic Fury or Genius, and a little 
 more to the same Purpose. But setting this aside, I shall 
 rather say, that no one ought to write Poetically but 
 Poets; but that the Subject of writing on the Nature and 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 5P 
 
 Rules of that Art, is rather the Business of a Philosopher. 
 For this I might quote Aristotle, who, tho' he was not a 
 celebrated Poet, was, however, eminent for his Knowl- 
 edge of all Arts and Sciences, and than whom no one 
 ever discover'd a greater Penetration and Accuracy in 
 the Nature of every Kind of Poesy. It is certain, that 
 he in those Discoveries left those great Poets Horace 
 and Vida much behind him in Excellence, tho' they gain'd 
 no small Help from the Works of Aristotle on this 
 Subject. Nor can I for the latter find a better Excuse 
 for their falling short of the Philosopher, than that 
 Aristotle almost exceeded the Bounds of human Capacity 
 in his Understanding and Learning of every Kind; and 
 that it is far more easy to write of the Rules of Art in 
 Prose, than in Verse: To say nothing of the different 
 Readers that they writ to, the Philosopher to the subtil 
 Wits of Greece, these to their Countrymen a little 
 elevated above the Vulgar. Farther, I must observe, that 
 the Judges who were instituted to decide of Poetical 
 Performances in Athens, Alexandria, and Rome, were 
 not so much eminent Poets, as Men who understood the 
 Nature and Genius of Poetry, &c. 
 
 This I think sufficient to shew, on how false a Bottom 
 that Maxim is built, which you, Tyro, introduc'd, tho' 
 borrow'd from the Spectators or Tatters, of reading, or 
 not reading a Critic, as you heard, whether he had, or 
 had not written any thing himself. For that Rule would 
 have rejected Longinus himself, on whom those Papers 
 seem to lay some Stress. It may, I confess, be answered 
 as to Aristotle, that he was a Poet as well as a Philoso- 
 pher, there being a traditionary Account, that he writ 
 above 40000 Verses. But it will hold of Longinus, and 
 the Judges just quoted by Vossius, as of Lilius Giraldus, 
 and Vossius, Dacier, and Bossu; nay, and in some 
 
6o Charles Gildon 
 
 Measure, of Aristotle: For tho' there may be a Fragment 
 of his Poetry yet extant, and tho' he might have written 
 many Odes, Elegies, or the like, yet we do not find that 
 ever he writ a Tragedy, or Epic Poem; and yet his 
 Criticisms are chiefly on those two Kinds of Poesy. 
 But then Horace himself is against this false Notion, 
 that none but a Poet should criticize on a Poet, in his 
 Art of Poetry, as Englished by the Lord Roscommon. 
 
 Yet without Writing I may teach to write, 
 Tell what the Duty of a Poet is; 
 Wherein his Wealth and Ornament confess, 
 And how he may be form'd, &c. 
 
 Allowing what you have urg'd (said Tyro) in the 
 main, yet I see no Reason why we should be wholly 
 guided by the Ancients. The Moderns have the Advan- 
 tage of having the Works of the Ancients, and therefore 
 should excel them. The English have likewise another 
 Benefit, of having the Translations of all the Modems 
 of any Value, of all other Nations where polite Learning 
 has flourish'd. Then I believe I may say, that our 
 Countrymen have shewn Wit and Genius equal to the 
 greatest of Greece and Rome. Those indeed were the 
 first Nurseries of Art and Wit. For my Part, I am not 
 convinced of that Divinity of those old Heroes in Poetry ; 
 and I think that he who idolizes them to that Degree, 
 must be blinded by the Clouds of Incense that are offered 
 to them by the affected Bigotry of After-Ages. They 
 certainly were Men of great Genius, and perform'd 
 Wonders for the Times they writ in; but I think, if 
 they had done less, they would not have wanted Admira- 
 tion in our Days. Yet I cannot bear it, that because they 
 were look'd on as the chief in their own Time, they 
 should be thought so of all the Ages to come. If a 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 6i 
 
 Contempt of, and Irreverence to the Ancients, be 
 thought injurious to their Merit, it cannot with Justice 
 be thought just to discover a Neglect and Contempt of 
 the Moderns; for that must make Men of admirable 
 Parts chuse rather to be still and idle, and bury their 
 Talents in Obscurity, than venture to come into the 
 Light, where they are sure to have their Performances 
 meet with open Injustice. This was the Case of the 
 Authors in the Time of Augustus, of which Horace 
 complains, when his Contemporaries were for condemn- 
 ing every thing, not because ill perform'd, but because 
 it was Modern. 
 
 What you have urg'd (said I) Sir, seems to me out 
 of the Question at this Time. We are not for excluding 
 the Moderns from their Merits, but insist, that no 
 Modern has any Merit but what he owes to the Rules 
 and Precedents of the Ancients: We are asserting the 
 Necessity and Use of the Rules of Art established by the 
 Ancients; and till you have confuted them, what has 
 been said remains in full Force. 
 
 If you have any modern Critic who has gone on a 
 different Foot from the Ancients, you should produce 
 him; and not only so, but justify those Parts in which 
 he dissents from Aristotle or his best Commentators. 
 We have had some Attempts made at Criticism in the 
 Spectators, Guardians, &c. but they have proceeded no 
 farther than Words, and the subservient Parts to Poetry, 
 but never durst advance to the Disposition of the Parts, 
 and an CEconomy of an entire Poem, except in the 
 excellent Examination of Milton, which is every where 
 directed by the Rules of Aristotle, and the receiv'd 
 Critics. 
 
 As it is the last Perfection in Painting, rightly to 
 order and dispose of things, so it is in Poetry. This 
 
62 Charles Gildon 
 
 Order and Disposition must be observ'd as well in a 
 Picture of one Figure, as in one of many. The Nature 
 of Man, says Xenophon, can name nothing so fair and 
 useful as Order; a confus'd Piece of Work can never 
 deserve Admiration. Those things only affect us, in 
 which every Part is not only perfect in it self, but also 
 well disposed by a natural Connection. Nature it self 
 seems to be upheld by Order, and so are all things else 
 which are subject to the same Cause. The Sun, Moon, 
 and Stars have gone their eternal Rounds by Rule, and 
 in Order; and yet certainly they must be allow'd to be 
 beautiful, and more charming than they could have been 
 without it. 
 
 I confess (reply'd Tyro) I have not yet thought enough 
 of this Matter to estabhsh our Rules. But I can't 
 perswade my self but that is a Work to be effected by 
 Pains and Leisure. 
 
 Since, then. Sir, (said I) you are not furnish'd with 
 a new System, give me Leave to urge from the admir- 
 able Dacier his Reasons why that of Aristotle is to be 
 admitted ; and if you have any Objections to make upon 
 hearing that, I do not doubt that I shall be able to give 
 you a satisfactory Answer. 
 
 As the Injustice of Men gave Occasion for the making 
 of Laws ; so the Decay of Arts, and the Faults committed 
 in them, brought in a Necessity of making of Rules, and 
 of reviving them. But to prevent the Objections of 
 some who disdain to be confin'd to any Rules, but those 
 of their own Fancy, it seems to me very necessary to 
 prove, not only, that Poetry is an Art, but that this Art 
 is known, and its Rules be certainly those of Aristotle, 
 that it is impossible to succeed in this Art by any other 
 Ways. Having prov'd this Point, I shall examine the 
 two Consequences which naturally follow. First, that 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 6^ 
 
 the Rules, and what pleases, are never contrary to one 
 another, and that you can never obtain the latter, that is, 
 you can never please, without the former, that is the 
 Rules. Secondly, that Poesy being an Art can never 
 be prejudicial to Mankind ; and that it was invented and 
 improv'd only for their Advantage. 
 
 This Method obliges me to trace Poetry from its 
 Original, to shew, that it was the Daughter of Religion; 
 that, in Process of time, it was debauch'd and vitiated; 
 and lastly, that it was brought under the Rules of Art, 
 which assisted in the Correcting the Failures of Nature. 
 
 God, touch'd with Compassion for the Misery of Men, 
 who were oblig'd to toil and labour for their Subsistance, 
 instituted Days of Festival to give them Rest and 
 Cessation from their Work; ordaining the Offering 
 Sacrifices to himself, as a just Thanksgiving for the 
 Blessings receiv'd from his Bounty. This is a Truth 
 which was, and is acknowledg'd by the Heathens them- 
 selves. For they not only imitated these Days of 
 Festival and Rest, but always spoke of them as a Gift 
 of the immortal Gods, who having granted a Time of 
 Repose, requir'd some Testimony of their Gratitude for 
 the Benefit. 
 
 The first Festivals of the Antients were in this 
 Manner; they assembled at certain Times, especially in 
 the Autumn, after the gathering in of the Fruits of the 
 Earth, to rejoice, and offer the most valuable, and choice 
 of them to God. And this was it, that first gave Birth 
 to Poetry. For Men who are naturally enclin'd to the 
 Imitation and Music, employ'd their Talents to sing the 
 Praise of that particular God whom they worshipp'd, 
 and to celebrate his most conspicuous, and remarkable 
 Actions. 
 
 If they had always kept to that primitive Simplicity, 
 
6^ Charles Gildon 
 
 all the Poetry we shou'd have had, wou'd have only been 
 Hymns and Songs of Thanksgiving and Praise, as we 
 find among the Israelites and Jews in the Old Testament : 
 But it was very difficult, or rather impossible, that 
 Wisdom and Purity shou'd reign long in the Assemblies 
 of the Heathens. They soon mingled the Praises of 
 Men, with those of their Gods; and at last came to the 
 filling of their Poems with biting Satires, which they 
 flung to one another at their drunken Meetings. Thus 
 Poetry was entirely corrupted, the present carrying very 
 few Marks of Religion, e'en in our Age of Christianity. 
 
 The Poets, that follow'd, and who (properly speaking) 
 were the Philosophers, and Divines of those early Times, 
 observing the general and earnest Bent of the People for 
 those Festivals, and Shows, and the Impossibility of 
 recovering the first Simplicity, pursu'd another Way of 
 giving a Remedy to this Disorder; and making an 
 Advantage of the Peoples Inclinations, gave them 
 Instructions disguis'd under the Charms of Pleasure, 
 as Physicians gild or sweeten the Pills they administer 
 to their Patients. 
 
 I will not here pretend to observe and give a History 
 of all the Changes, that have happen'd in Poetry, or shew 
 by what Degrees it is arriv'd to that Perfection, in which 
 we now find it. 
 
 Homer was the first that either invented or render'd 
 compleat the Epic or Heroic Poem; for he certainly 
 found out the Unity of the Subject, the Manners, the 
 Characters, and the Fable. But this Poem cou'd only 
 affect Customs; and was not moving enough to correct 
 the Passions. There was wanting a Poem, which by 
 imitating our Actions, might work on our Spirits a more 
 ready and sensible Effect: This gave Rise to Tragedy, 
 and banish'd all Satyrs, by which Means Poetry was 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 65 
 
 entirely purg'd from all the Disorders into which its 
 Corruption had brought it. 
 
 This is no Place to shew, that Men, who are quickly 
 weary of regulated Pleasures, labour'd, and took Pains 
 to plunge themselves again into their firmer Licen- 
 ciousness by the Invention of Comedy. I shall keep 
 my self to Tragedy, which is the most noble Imitation; 
 in which all the Parts of an Heroic Poem are compriz'd. 
 
 How short soever this Account may be, it is yet 
 sufficient to let you see that Poetry is an Art; for since 
 it has a certain End, there must be some certain Way of 
 arriving at that End. No Body can doubt of so evident 
 a Truth, that in all Things, where there may be a Right, 
 and a Wrong, there is an Art, and sure Rules to lead you 
 to the former, and direct you how to avoid the latter. 
 
 The Question therefore now is. Whether these Rules 
 are known, and whether they are those which are given 
 us by Aristotle? This Question is no less doubtful than 
 the former; I must also confess, that this cannot be 
 determin'd, but by the Unlearned, who, because they are 
 the greater Number, I shall make my Examination in 
 their Favour. To do this with some sort of Method, 
 there are some Things to be consider'd, (1.) Who gives 
 the Rules? (2.) The Time when he gives them. (3.) The 
 Manner, in which he gives them. (4.) And the Effects 
 they have wrought in different Times on different People. 
 For I believe, from these four Circumstances, I can draw 
 such Conclusions, as the most obstinate shall not be able 
 to deny. 
 
 He, who gives these Rules, is one of the greatest 
 Philosophers, that ever was in the World; his Genius 
 was large, and of a vast Extent; the great Discoveries 
 he made in all Sciences, particularly in the Knowledge 
 of Man, are certain Signs, that he had sufficient Insight 
 
66 Charles Gildon 
 
 into our Passions, to discover the Rules of the Art of 
 Poetry, which is founded on them. But I shall suspend 
 my Judgment, and pass on to the Time in which he gave 
 these Rules. 
 
 I find, that he was born in the Age, in which Tragedy 
 first appear'd, or at least made its first Advances towards 
 Perfection. For he liv'd with the Disciples of Mschylus, 
 who brought it out of Confusion, and he had the same 
 Masters, that Sophocles and Euripides had, who carry'd 
 it to its utmost Perfection. Besides, he was Witness of 
 the Opinion, that the most nice, and knowing People of 
 the World had of this Poem. 'Tis therefore impossible, 
 that Aristotle shou'd be ignorant of the Origin, Progress, 
 Design, and Effects of this Art; and consequently even 
 before I examine these Rules, I am perfectly assur'd, on 
 his Account, who gives them, that they have all the 
 Certainty and Authority, that Rules can possibly have. 
 
 But when I come to examine the Manner in which 
 Aristotle delivers them, I find them so evident, and so 
 conformable to Nature, that I cannot but be sensible, 
 they are true. For Aristotle gives not his Rules as 
 Legislators do their Laws, without any other Reason 
 than his Will; all that he advances is confirm'd by 
 Reasons drawn from the common Sentiments of Man- 
 kind, so that Men themselves become the Rule and 
 Measure of what he lays down. Thus, without consider- 
 ing, that the Rules are of almost equal Date with the 
 Art, they teach, or any Prepossession in favour of 
 Aristotle's Name; (for 'tis the Work that ought to make 
 the Name valuable, and not the Name the Work) I find 
 my self oblig'd to submit to all his Decisions, the Truth 
 of which I am convinc'd of in my self, and whose 
 Certainty I discover by Reason, and Experience, which 
 never yet deceiv'd any Body. 
 
Complete Art of Poetry d/ 
 
 To this I shall add, The Effects which these Rules 
 have produc'd in all Ages, on different Sorts of People ; 
 and I find, that as they made the Beauty of the Poems 
 of Homer, Sophocles, and Euripides in Greece, from 
 which they were drawn, so four or five Hundred Years 
 after, they adorn'd the Poems of Virgil, and other famous 
 Latin Poets; and that now after two Thousand Years, 
 they make the best Tragedies, we have, in which all that 
 pleases only does so as it is conformable to these Rules 
 (and that too without one's being aware of it) and what 
 is displeasing is such, because it is contrary to them: 
 For good Sense, and right Reason, is of all Countries 
 and Places; the same Subjects, which caus'd so many 
 Tears to be shed in the Roman Theatre, produce the 
 same Effect on ours; and those Things, that then gave 
 Distaste do the same now. From whence I am convinc'd, 
 that never any Laws had such Force and Authority. 
 Humane Laws expire, or change very often after the 
 Death of those, who enacted them, because Circum- 
 stances change, and the Interests of whom they are 
 made to serve are different; but these still gain new 
 Vigour, because they are the Laws of Nature, which 
 always acts with Uniformity, renews them incessantly, 
 and gives them a perpetuate Existence. 
 
 I won't pretend, however, that the Rules of this Art 
 are so firmly establish'd, that it is impossible to add any 
 thing to them ; for tho' Tragedy has all its proper Parts, 
 it is possible, that one of them may yet arrive at a greater 
 Perfection. I am persuaded, that tho' we have been 
 able to add nothing to the Subject, or Means, yet we 
 have added something to the Manner. But all the new 
 Discoveries are so far from destroying this Establish- 
 ment, that they do nothing more than confirm it. For 
 Nature is never contrary to it self; and we may 
 
68 Charles Gildon 
 
 apply to the Art of Poetry, what Hypocrates says of 
 
 Physic. Phisic (says he) is of long standing, has 
 
 sure Principles, and a certain Way, by which in the 
 Course of many Ages, an Infinity of Things have been 
 discover'd, of which Experience confirms the Goodness. 
 All that is wanting for the Perfection of this Art, will, 
 without Doubt, be found out, by those ingenious Men, 
 who will search for it, according to the Instructions and 
 Rules of the Antients, and endeavour to arrive at what 
 is unknown, by what is already plain and evident. For 
 whoever shall boast, that he has obtain'd this Art by 
 rejecting the Ways of the Antients, and pursuing a quite 
 different Track, deceives others, and is himself deceived; 
 because that is absolutely impossible. 
 
 This Truth extends it self to all Arts and Sciences; 
 nor is it any difficult Matter to find a proper Example 
 in our Subject. There is no Want of Tragedies, where 
 the Management is directly opposite to that of the 
 Antients. According to the Rules of Aristotle, a Tragedy 
 is the Imitation of an Allegorical, and Universal Action, 
 which by the Means of Terror and Compassion, mod- 
 erates and corrects our Inclinations: But according to 
 these new Tragedies, it is an Imitation of some particular 
 Action (as in England of many Actions) which affects 
 no Body, and is only invented to amuse the Spectators 
 by the Plot or unravelling of a vain Intrigue tho' this 
 is far beyond our English Authors, who have not even 
 that to pretend to, which tends only to excite and satisfie 
 our Curiosity, and stir up our Passions, instead of 
 rendering them calm, and quiet. This is not only not 
 the same Art, but can be none at all, since it tends to no 
 Good, and is a pure Lye without any Mixture of Truth. 
 What Advantage can be drawn from this Falshood? 
 in short, it is not a Fable, and by Consequence is not at 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 6g 
 
 all a Tragedy, for a Tragedy cannot subsist without a 
 Fahle. 
 
 We come now to the first Consequence, which we draw 
 from what we have established, and shall endeavour to 
 prove, that our Laws, and what pleases, can never be 
 opposite, since the Rules were only made for that which 
 does please, and are directed only to shew you, and point 
 out the Way that you must walk in to do so. By this 
 we shall destroy that false Maxim, That all that pleases 
 is good, wou'd assert what we ought on the contrary 
 
 to say that All that is good, pleases, or ought to 
 
 please. For the Goodness of any Work, whatever does 
 not proceed from this, that it gives us Pleasure ; but the 
 Pleasure, that we have, proceeds from its Goodness, 
 unless our deluded Eyes, and corrupt Imaginations, 
 mislead us. 
 
 If the Rules, and that which pleases, were Things 
 opposite, a Poet cou'd never arrive at giving Pleasure 
 but by meer Chance, which is absurd. There must for 
 that Reason be a certain Way that leads thither, and that 
 Way is the Rule, which we ought to learn. But this Rule 
 being drawn from the Pleasant and the Profitable, leads 
 us to their very Source. The Pleasant and the Profitable, 
 is that which pleases naturally ; this it is that in all Arts 
 we consult, and is the most sure and perfect Model that 
 we can imitate. In it we find perfect Unify and Order; 
 for it self is Order, or to speak more properly the Effect 
 of Order, and the Rules which conducts us thither. 
 There is but one Way to find Order, but a great many 
 to fall into Confusion. 
 
 There wou'd be nothing bad in the World if all that 
 pleas' d were good ; for there is nothing so ridiculous, but 
 what will have its Admirers. You may say indeed, that 
 it is no truer, that what is good pleases, because we 
 
70 Charles Gildon 
 
 every Day find Disputes of the Good, and the Pleasant; 
 that the same thing pleases some, and displeases others; 
 nay it pleases and displeases the very same Person at 
 different Times. From whence then proceeds this 
 Difference? It comes either from an absolute Ignorance 
 of the Rules, or that the Passions alter it. Rightly to 
 clear this Truth, I beUeve, I may lay down this Maxim, 
 that all sensible Objects are of two Sorts ; some may be 
 judg'd of by Sense independently of Reason; (I call 
 Sense, that Impressions which the Animal Spirits make 
 on the Soul) others can't be judg'd of but by Reason 
 exercis'd in Science. Things simply agreeable, or dis- 
 agreeable, are of the first Sort : All the World may judge 
 alike of these. For Example, the most ignorant in Music 
 observes very well when a Lutinist strikes one String 
 for another, especially if they strike out of Tune, because 
 he judges by his Sense, and that Sense is his Rule. On 
 such Occasions we may truly say, that what pleases is 
 good, because that which is good does please, or that 
 which is bad never fails to displease. For neither 
 Passions nor Ignorance dull the Senses; nay, on the 
 contrary, they sharpen them. But it is not the same 
 Things that spring from Reason. Passion and Ignorance 
 act very strongly on this, and very often check it; and 
 this is the Cause why we judge so indifferently of these 
 Things, of which Reason is the Rule and Cause. Why 
 what is Bad often pleases, and that which is Good does 
 not always do so, is not the fault of the Object, but of 
 him who judges. But what is Good will infallibly please 
 those who can judge, and that is sufficient. By this we 
 may see, that a Play, which shall bring those Things, 
 which are to be judged of by Reason within the Rules, 
 as also what is to be judg'd of by the Sense, shall never 
 fail to please, for that will please both the Learned, and 
 
Complete Art of Poetry Ji 
 
 the Ignorant. Now this Conformity of Suffrages is the 
 most sure, and according to Aristotle, the only Mark of 
 the Good, and the Pleasant. Now these Suffrages are not 
 obtain'd but by the Observation of the Rules ; and conse- 
 quently these Rules are the only Cause of the Good, and 
 the Pleasant; whether they are follow'd methodically, 
 or by Design, or by Accident only. For it is certain, 
 that there are many Persons, who are entirely ignorant 
 of these Rules, who do not however fail of Success in 
 some Particular. But this is far from destroying the 
 Rules, since it serves only to shew their Beauty, and 
 proves how far they are conformable to Nature, since 
 those often follow them who know nothing of them, 
 as our Shakespear. 
 
 It is Time to come to the last Consequence, that Poetry 
 is an Art invented for the Instruction of Mankind, and 
 consequently must be profitable. 'Tis a general Truth, 
 that every Art is a good Thing, because there is none 
 whose End is not good. But as it is not less true, that 
 Men often abuse the best Things, that which was 
 design'd for a wholsome Remedy, may in Time become 
 a very dangerous Poison. I speak not therefore (says 
 Dacier) of corrupted Tragedy; for it is not in deprav'd 
 Writers, that we must look for Reason, and the Intent 
 of Nature, but in those, who are sound and perfect. I 
 speak of the Ancient Tragedy, that which is conform- 
 able to Aristote's Rules, and I dare say, that it is the most 
 profitable and necessary of all Diversions. 
 
 If 'twas possible to oblige Men to follow the Precepts 
 of the Gospel, nothing cou'd be more desir'd or happy 
 in that they wou'd find true Peace and solid Pleasure, 
 and a Remedy for all their Infirmities, and wou'd look 
 on Tragedy as useless and below them. But as so much 
 Corruption is inconsistent with so much Wisdom, the 
 
72 Charles Gildon 
 
 ancient Heathen Philosophers were forc'd to seek a 
 Remedy to the Disorders of the Pleasures of Mankind. 
 To this End they invented Tragedy, as a Means which 
 was able to correct the Vices into which they plung'd 
 themselves at their Festivals, and to render those 
 Amusements profitable, which Custom, and their Infirmi- 
 ties, had made necessary, and their Corruption very 
 dangerous. 
 
 Men are the same now that they were then ; they have 
 the same Passions, and run with the same Earnestness 
 after Pleasures. To endeavour to reclaim them from 
 that State by the Severity of Precepts, is no more than 
 the attempting to put a Bridle on an unruly Horse in 
 the midst of his Carreer. In the mean while there is no 
 Medium, they run into the most criminal Excess, unless 
 you afford them regular and sober Pleasures. 'Tis a 
 great Happiness, that their remaining Reason encKnes 
 them to love Diversions, where there is Order, and 
 Spectacles where Truth is to be found. Those People 
 are distemper'd, and Tragedy is all the Remedy they are 
 capable of receiving any Advantage from; for it is the 
 only Recreation in which we can find the Agreeable and 
 the Profitable. 
 
 But this is not in the common Scribbles of the Times, 
 but in a perfect and general Fable, which only can give 
 a general Instruction, and to form this Fable, and make 
 it perfect in all its Parts ; to attain this admirable End, 
 Order, Harmony and Design must be fixt, and those 
 are only to be found in the Rules laid down by 
 Aristotle. The Excellence, of which I think I have made 
 sufficiently evident from Dacier. 
 
 If, Sir, you have now any thing to object against what 
 I have deliver'd, I should be glad to hear it. 
 
 I confess (said Tyro) 1 cannot deny the Reasons you 
 
Complete Art of Poetry 75 
 
 have urg'd from Mr. Dacier, and I believe, that if 
 Aristotle were a httle more study'd by our Tragedy 
 Writers, we shou'd have their Works of a longer Life 
 than they now generally enjoy. But as Tragedy is not 
 the only Sort of Poetry that has appear'd in the World, 
 so I can't find but we shou'd be at a Loss in deciding the 
 Standard in several other Sorts of Poetry. 
 
 As for that (answer'd Laudon) we have Reason, and 
 Nature, and the Practice of the Antients in all the 
 valuable Parts of it. And as all Poetry is Imitation, 
 Aristotle will be no little Help to us in those very Parts, 
 which he has not professedly touch'd upon. It is suffi- 
 cient, I think to the Point, that we have been arguing 
 upon, that it is evident, that as there is a Right, and a 
 Wrong, in all Poetical Performances, so there must be 
 a certain Way of knowing which is the Right, and which 
 the Wrong, else all must be Confusion; and every Man 
 being left Judge of these Qualities, there wou'd be no 
 such thing at last, if there were not stated Rules of 
 them; and I think it is as plain, that these stated Rules 
 are to be found in Aristotle, Horace, and their best 
 Commentators. And till some new Discoverer shall 
 arise, who shall shew us from a farther Penetration into 
 Nature, that our present Guides have mistaken her, we 
 ought to be directed by them. 
 
 For my Part (said Manilia) I have but few Objections 
 to make to what has been said, and as they come from a 
 Woman uninform'd by Learning, I hope they will meet 
 a favourable Hearing. The first is in the Behalf of 
 Opera's, that is in the Justification of Music. All that 
 can be said can never persuade our Ears, and Eyes, not 
 to be pleas'd with that which pleases them. And next, 
 though I shou'd own that it seems necessary, that there 
 should be stated Rules of Right and Wrong in Poetry, as 
 
7^ Charles G'tldon 
 
 well as in all Things else; yet whilst you Men wrap up 
 that Knowledge in such difficult and obscure Terms, that 
 we Women cannot easily understand them; you labour 
 at a Point which can never be obtain'd, for that wou'd 
 exclude our Sex from the Prerogative we have of 
 deciding on the publick Diversions, which we shall never 
 willingly part with. 
 
 As for your first Objection (said Laudon) we do not 
 endeavour to dissuade your Eyes and Ears, not to be 
 pleas'd with what diverts them. All that we aim at is to 
 persuade you not to be meer Sensualists, and pay more 
 Deference to the Gratification of those two Senses, than 
 to that of your Reason, and Understanding; nay, not to 
 sacrifice your Reason and your Understanding to the 
 Gratification of those two Senses. We wou'd not pretend 
 to exclude the noble Entertainment of Music, we wou'd 
 only have it reduc'd to its primitive Institution to be 
 subservient to Poetry, and not to overwhelm it. We 
 wou'd have it the Servant, and not the Master, as it 
 originally was. 
 
 As for the latter, tho' my Friend Gamaliel designs a 
 Piece for the Publick to render Criticism easy and 
 familiar to the Ladies, yet if he, and this Company, think 
 fit to humour me with two or three Meetings, I do not 
 question but we may run through all the Parts of Poetry 
 in such a Manner as may give a Lady, of your good 
 Sense, a perfect View of the Art of Poetry in all its 
 Parts. 
 
 Tyro and Manilia seem'd mightily pleas'd with the 
 Proposal, and agreed to meet two Days after in order to 
 begin the Disquisition. But Mrs. Lamode, Issachar, and 
 Tom Trifle, made a Jest of it, and after Ceremonies 
 past, took their Leave. 
 
Complete Art of Poetry y ^ 
 
 And this Crites was the Substance of our second 
 Conversation, in which if I have done Justice to the 
 Persons who made up the Discourse, and come up to 
 your Notions of the Matter, I am satisfy'd that I am not 
 far from the Truth. 
 
 The End of the Second Dialogue. 
 
JOHN HUGHES 
 
JOHN HUGHES 
 
 I. OF STYLE. 
 
 Written at the Request of a FRIEND, in the Year 
 MDCXCVIII. 
 
 When, by the Help of Study, a sufficient Stock of 
 solid Learning is acquired, the next Business is to con- 
 sider how to make use of it to the best Advantage. There 
 is nothing more necessary to this, than Good Sense and 
 Polite Learning ; for as a Man may have the first without 
 the latter, so 'tis possible one may have the latter, and 
 yet be rather the worse than the better for it, at least to 
 others, if not to himself. A plain unletter'd Man is 
 always more agreeable Company, than a Fool in several 
 Languages. For a Pedant, the' he may take himself for 
 a Philosopher, is far more prejudiced than an illiterate 
 Man; and Sufficiency (the chief Part of his Character,) 
 besides the Ill-manners of it, is really (as Sir William 
 Temple observes,) the worst Composition out of the 
 Pride and Ignorance of Mankind. Besides, Affectation, 
 its usual Attendant, is every Body's Aversion, from the 
 natural Hatred we have to all manner of Imposture. 
 
 So that if there was nothing else to recommend Polite 
 Learning, yet methinks this were enough, that it files off 
 the Rust of the Academy, and is the same to the Mind, 
 as Dancing to the Body, a Means of giving it a free Air 
 and genteel Motion. In a Word, it adds the Gentleman 
 to the Scholar, and when these two meet, they challenge 
 all Mens Respect and Love. 
 
8o John Hughes 
 
 History and Poetry are the two chief Branches of 
 those Studies, that are distinguish'd by the Name of 
 Polite. But because, Sir, your Enquiry seems more 
 particularly concerning Language, I shall confine my 
 Discourse to the Style of Prose, as being that which is 
 the most necessary. For Poetry, tho' it want not Argu- 
 ments to recommend it, yet it may be dispensed with, and 
 is either to be taken, or let alone at Pleasure. 
 
 All the Qualifications of a good Style I think may be 
 reduced under these four Heads, Propriety, Perspicuity, 
 Elegance, and Cadence: And each of these, except the 
 last, has some relation to the Thoughts, as well as to the 
 Words. 
 
 Propriety of Thoughts is two-fold; the first is when 
 the Thoughts are proper in themselves, and so it is 
 opposed to Nonsense ; and the other when they are proper 
 to the Occasion, and so it is opposed to Impertinence. 
 
 Propriety of Words, the first Qualification of a good 
 Style, is when the Words do justly and exactly represent, 
 or signify, the Thoughts which they stand for. The 
 Knowledge of this is not to be sought for in Etymologies ; 
 for general Acceptation, which is the only Standard of 
 Speech, has given many Words a quite different Sense 
 from their Original. Your best Direction then will be 
 a diligent and careful Perusal of the most correct Writers 
 of the Language in their various Kinds, with the Conver- 
 sation of People of Fashion, that speak well and without 
 Affectation. The most correct Writers that I know, are 
 Sir William Temple, Dr. Sprat, and Dr. Tillotson for 
 Prose, and Mr. Waller for Verse. I mention the last, 
 because Propriety both of Thoughts and Words is his 
 chief Excellency, in which he has scarce any Equal. I 
 have heard that Archbishop Tillotson took the pains to 
 study all the synonymous Words of the Language, with 
 
Of Style 8i 
 
 the nice Diflferences of them, which are commonly very 
 little observed, yet contribute very much to the Propriety 
 of Expression. There is another Particular which I shall 
 mention here, because I think it differs but little from 
 Propriety, and that is Purity, which I take more particu- 
 larly to respect the Language, as it is now spoke or 
 written. The Rule of this is modern Use, according to 
 that of Horace, 
 
 Multa renascentur qu(s jam cecidere, cadentque 
 Quw nunc sunt in honore vocabula, si volet usus. 
 Quern penes arbitrium est, & jus & norma loquendi. 
 
 By this Rule, all obsolete Words are to be avoided. 
 But to a Man of long Practice and Reputation in the 
 Language, the Privilege may be allow'd sometimes of 
 reviving old, or bringing in new Words, where the 
 common ones are deficient. For this reason, we dare 
 not censure so great a Man as Milton for his antiquated 
 Words, which he took from Spenser. A good Instance, 
 in my Opinion, of a new Word is the Verb falsify, which 
 Mr. Dryden borrows from the Italian, to signify not to 
 he of Proof. 
 
 /}j_f Shield 
 
 Is falsify'd, and round with Jav'lins fill'd. 
 
 But this Liberty, tho' indulg'd to the Force and 
 Majesty of Verse, if it were made use of in Prose, which 
 is the Style of Business, wou'd be Affectation; and is 
 therefore, as was said before, carefully to be avoided. 
 
 Little need be said of the second Qualification, viz. 
 Perspicuity. If your Thoughts be not clear, 'tis impos- 
 sible your Words shou'd, and consequently you can't be 
 understood: The chief Secret here is to express your 
 self in such a manner as to transfer your Ideas into the 
 
82 John Hughes 
 
 Reader's Mind, and to set the thing before him in the 
 very same Light, in which it appears to yourself. Here 
 an Extreme is to be shunn'd, lest, while you aim to make 
 your Meaning fully understood, you become Verbose. 
 So that the Art lies in expressing your Thought clearly 
 in as few Words as possible. Practice is the best way 
 to attain this ; and it may be useful to write some Essay, 
 and lay it by, till you have forgot it; and then look it 
 over as the Work of a Stranger. By this means you 
 may discover a great many Faults which escaped you in 
 the heat of Writing, and be able to correct them. 
 
 Elegance of Thought is what we commonly call Wit, 
 which adds to Propriety, Beauty, and pleases our Fancy, 
 while Propriety entertains our Judgment. This depends 
 so much on Genius, that 'tis impossible to teach it by 
 Rules. To the Elegance of Words, or Style, belong all 
 the Figures of Rhetorick, and to use these to Advantage 
 requires a Judgment well form'd by Observation. In 
 this therefore, as in learning the Graces upon an Instru- 
 ment of Musick, good Examples are the best Instruction. 
 Thus a Man may write Metaphors, Tropes, Hyperboles, 
 and all the other Figures, without the Trouble of studying 
 a System of Rhetorick; and I believe better too, for to 
 attend to a great many Rules whilst you are writing, is 
 the way to make your Style stiff and constrain' d, whereas 
 Elegance consists very much in a genteel Ease and 
 Freedom of Expression ; 4t is like a coy Mistress, of so 
 nice a Humour, that to court her too much, is the surest 
 way to lose her; and as Success in Love is owing to 
 good Fortune, and the natural Happiness of pleasing, 
 rather than to Fidelity and Attendance, so the Art of 
 chusing, out of several Expressions equally proper, that 
 which is the most graceful, is best call'd a Curiosa 
 
Of Style 83 
 
 Felicitas, which two Words seem to comprehend all that 
 can be said upon this Head. 
 
 The last Qualification I mention'd is Cadence, in Poetry 
 call'd the Numbers. It consists in a Disposing of the 
 Words in such Order, and with such Variation of 
 Periods, as may strike the Ear with a sort of musical 
 Delight, which is a considerable Part of Eloquence. 
 This is chiefly that which makes a Style smooth, and 
 not merely the avoiding of harsh Words. The best way 
 to attain it, is to prepare yourself, before you begin to 
 write, by reading in some harmonious Style, that so you 
 may get your Ear well in Tune. 
 
 Besides all these Qualifications, there is something in 
 Language, which, to borrow a Word from Singing, may 
 be call'd a Manner. This, like the Air of Faces, is a 
 Mark of Distinction, by which every one has somewhat 
 peculiar to it self from all others. For, besides the 
 manifest Difference between Beauty and Deformity, 
 there is a wonderful Variety even among good Faces, 
 for which reason the Painters have learn'd, from many 
 scatter'd Beauties, to collect one perfect Idea, which is 
 hard to be found in any Individual. 
 
 To apply this ; Sir William Temple, Sir Roger 
 L' Estrange, and Dr. Sprat (to mention no more) are 
 each of them allow'd Masters in the Tongue, and yet 
 every one has a different Manner, as may be seen by a 
 short Character of each. 
 
 The Style of Sir William Temple is very harmonious 
 and sweet, full of Spirit, and Raciness of Wit, to use a 
 Word of his own. His Similies are particularly fine, his 
 Allusions graceful, his Words significant, and the whole 
 has a kind of Charm, which amuses the Reader with 
 serious Pleasure, puts him in a good Humour while he 
 is reading, and leaves him thoughtful when he breaks off. 
 
8^ John Hughes 
 
 L'Estrange's Talent is Humour, in which his Vein 
 flows very freely; agreeably to this he is a perfect 
 Master of all the Idioms and Proverbial Expressions 
 which are peculiar to our Tongue ; these he often applies 
 happily enough, tho' sometimes not without Affectation; 
 yet, generally speaking, his Style is pleasant, smooth, 
 and natural; and that Gaiety and seeming Negligence, 
 which is peculiar to him, entertains you with a similar 
 sort of Delight, like that of witty and facetious Company. 
 There is the same Difference in the Styles of these two, 
 as in those of Cicero and Terence in the Latin; in the 
 first you find more of the Orator, and in the latter more 
 of the Englishman. 
 
 The elegant Dr. Sprat is, in my Judgment, one of the 
 most genteel and exact Writers we have. His Style is 
 grave and manly, infinitely preferable to Sir Roger's, 
 and having all that is beautiful in Sir William Temple, 
 only (if 'tis possible) with more Correctness and 
 Decency. There appears in him all the Sweetness and 
 Fluency, handsom Turns and apt Expressions, that can 
 be desir'd. He has united the most charming Elegance 
 to the strictest Propriety, and is witty without the least 
 Shadow of Affectation. The soft Cadence of his 
 Periods, methinks, resembles the Current of a pleasant 
 Stream; It makes but little Noise, yet affects you with 
 a calm Delight, which, if it were heard louder, wou'd 
 be lost. 
 
 There are several other Writers, which may be read 
 with great Profit; and above all, the Incomparable 
 Tillotson, who always writes the best Sense, and in the 
 best Manner. That which particularly recommends him 
 is an Easiness and beautiful Simplicity in all his Expres- 
 sions, which every one that reads him is apt to think may 
 
Of Style 85 
 
 be imitated without much Difficulty, and yet nothing 
 perhaps is so hard in the Experiment. 
 
 Mf sibi quivis 
 
 Speret idem, sudet multum, frustraque laboret. 
 
 Hor. 
 
 This brings to my mind what Monsieur Le Clerc says, 
 that 'tis much easier to imitate the loftiest Flights in 
 Seneca's Tragedies, or Lucan, than the Simplicity of 
 Terence. 
 
 After you have observed the different manner of Style 
 amongst the best Writers, and collected a general Idea 
 from them all, you are to consider next the different 
 Manner to be us'd by the same Writer, according to the 
 Subject he treats of. The Severity of Philosophy 
 requires a grave didactick Style, agreeable to the Plain- 
 ness and Simplicity of Truth and Reason. Morality and 
 Divinity are capable of all the Ornaments of Wit and 
 Fancy. History is content with a plainer Dress, as being 
 a Relation of Matters of Fact, the Reflexions upon which 
 are to be short and pertinent, and the rest left to the 
 various Humour and Judgment of every Reader. 
 
 But of all sorts of Writing there is none has that 
 Variety and Liberty as Letters and Essays; the former, 
 especially, include all Subjects whatsoever, and are varied 
 not only according to the Subject, but also according to 
 the Person to whom you write, so that it wou'd be an 
 endless Labour to give Rules about them. Yet this, being 
 a way of writing in which every one is necessarily 
 exercis'd more or less, it deserves a particular Regard; 
 nor will it be a difficult thing, at the Expence of a little 
 Thought and Observation, to furnish yourself with Rules 
 sufficient to all the Variety of Occasions that may occur. 
 
II. AN ESSAY ON ALLEGORICAL 
 
 POETRY, &c. 
 
 1715 
 
 It is a Misfortune, as Mr. Waller observes, which 
 attends the Writers of English Poetry, that they can 
 hardly expect their Works shou'd last long in a Tongue 
 which is daily changing; that whilst they are new, Envy 
 is apt to prevail against them ; and as that wears off, our 
 Language it self fails. Our Poets therefore, he says, 
 shou'd imitate judicious Statuaries, that chuse the most 
 durable Materials, and shou'd carve in Latin or Greek, 
 if they wou'd have their Labours preserv'd for ever. 
 
 Notwithstanding the Disadvantage he has mention' d, 
 we have two Antient English Poets, Chaucer and 
 Spenser, who may perhaps be reckon'd as Exceptions to 
 this Remark. These seem to have taken deep Root, like 
 old British Oaks, and to flourish in defiance of all the 
 Injuries of Time and Weather. The former is indeed 
 much more obsolete in his Stile than the latter ; but it is 
 owing to an extraordinary native Strength in both, that 
 they have been able thus far to survive amidst the 
 Changes of our Tongue, and seem rather likely, among 
 the Curious at least, to preserve the Knowledg of our 
 Antient Language, than to be in danger of being destroy'd 
 with it, and bury'd under its Ruins. 
 
 Tho Spenser's Affection to his Master Chaucer led 
 him in many things to copy after him, yet those who have 
 read both will easily observe that these two Genius's were 
 of a very different kind. Chaucer excell'd in his Char- 
 acters; Spenser in his Descriptions. The first study'd 
 Humour, was an excellent Satirist, and a lively but rough 
 
On Allegorical Poetry S'j 
 
 Painter of the Manners of that rude Age in which he 
 liv'd : The latter was of the serious Turn, had an exalted 
 and elegant Mind, a warm and boundless Fancy, and 
 
 , was an admirable Imager of Vertues and Vices, which 
 was his particular Talent. The Embellishments of 
 Description are rich and lavish in him beyond Compari- 
 
 ■ son : and as this is the most striking part of Poetry, 
 especially to young Readers, I take it to be the Reason 
 that he has been the Father of more Poets among us, 
 than any other of our Writers ; Poetry being first kindled 
 in the Imagination, which Spenser writes to, more than 
 any one, and the Season of Youth being the most sus- 
 ceptible of the Impression. It will not seem strange 
 therefore that Cowley, as himself tells us, first caught 
 his Flame by reading Spenser; that our great Milton 
 own'd him for his Original, as Mr. Dryden assures us; 
 and that Dryden study'd him, and has bestow'd more 
 frequent Commendations on him, than on any other 
 English Poet. 
 
 The most known and celebrated of his Works, tho I 
 will not say the most perfect, is the Fairy Queen. It is 
 conceiv'd, wrought up, and colour'd with a stronger 
 ' Fancy, and discovers more the particular Genius of 
 Spenser, than any of his other Writings. The Author, 
 in a Letter to Sir Walter Raleigh, having call'd this 
 Poem, a continu'd Allegory, or dark Conceit, it may not 
 be improper to offer some Remarks on Allegorical Poetry 
 in general; by which the Beauties of this Work may 
 more easily be discover'd by ordinary Readers. I must 
 at the same time beg the Indulgence of those who are 
 conversant with Critical Discourses, to what I shall here 
 propose; this being a Subject something out of the way, 
 and not expresly treated upon by those who have laid 
 down Rules for the Art of Poetry. 
 
88 John Hughes 
 
 An Allegory is a Fable or Story, in which, under 
 imaginary Persons or Things, is shadow'd some real 
 Action or instructive Moral; or, as I think it is some- 
 where very shortly defin'd by Plutarch, it is that in which 
 one thing is related, and another thing is understood. 
 It is a kind of Poetical Picture, or Hieroglyphick, which 
 by its apt Resemblance conveys Instruction to the Mind 
 by an Analogy to the Senses; and so amuses the Fancy, 
 whilst it informs the Understanding. Every Allegory 
 has therefore two Senses, the Literal and the Mystical; 
 the literal Sense is like a Dream or Vision, of which the 
 mystical Sense is the true Meaning or Interpretation. 
 
 This will be more clearly apprehended, by considering, 
 that as a Simile is but a more extended Metaphor, so an 
 Allegory is a kind of continu'd Simile, or an Assemblage 
 of Similitudes drawn out at full length. Thus, when 
 it is said. That Death is the Offspring of Sin, this is a 
 Metaphor, to signify that the former is produc'd by the 
 latter, as a Child is brought into the World by its Parent. 
 Again, to compare Death to a meager and ghastly Appari- 
 tion, starting out of the Ground, moving towards the 
 Spectator with a menacing Air, and shaking in his Hand 
 a bloody Dart, is a Representation of the Terrors which 
 attend that great Enemy to Human Nature. But let the 
 Reader observe, in Milton's Paradise Lost, with what 
 exquisite Fancy and Skill this common Metaphor and 
 Simile, and the Moral contain'd in them, are extended 
 and wrought up into one of the most beautiful Allegories 
 in our Language. 
 
 The Resemblance which has been so often observ'd in 
 general between Poetry and Painting, is yet mor.e 
 particular in Allegory ; which, as I said before, is a kind 
 of Picture in Poetry. Horace has in one of his Odes 
 pathetically describ'd the ruinous Condition of his 
 
On Allegorical Poetry 8g 
 
 Country after the Civil Wars, and the Hazard of its 
 being involv'd in new Dissensions, by the Emblem of a 
 Ship shatter'd with Storms, and driven into Port with 
 broken Masts, torn Sails, and disabled Rigging; and in 
 danger of being forc'd by new Storms out to Sea again. 
 There is nothing said in the whole Ode but what is 
 literally applicable to a Ship; but it is generally agreed, 
 that the Thing signify'd is the Roman State. Thus 
 Rubens, who had a good Allegorical Genius in Painting, 
 has, in his famous Work of the Luxemburg Gallery, 
 figur'd the Government of France, on Lewis the Thir- 
 teenth's arriving at Age, by a Galley. The King stands 
 at the Helm; Mary of Medicis, the Queen Mother and 
 Regent, puts the Rudder in his Hand ; Justice, Fortitude, 
 Religion, and Publick Faith are seated at the Oars; and 
 other Vertues have their proper Employments in 
 managing the Sails and Tackle. 
 
 By this general Description of Allegory, it may easily 
 be conceiv'd that in Works of this kind there is a large 
 
 . Field open to Invention, which among the Antients was 
 universally look'd upon to be the principal Part of Poetry. 
 The Power of raising Images or Resemblances of things, 
 giving them Life and Action, and presenting them as it 
 
 I were before the Eyes, was thought to have something 
 in it like Creation : And it was probably for this fabling 
 Part, that the first Authors of such Works were call'd 
 Poets or Makers, as the Word signifies, and as it is 
 literally translated and used by Spenser; tho the learned 
 Gerard Vossius* is of opinion, that it was rather for the 
 framing their Verses. However, by this Art of Fiction 
 or Allegory, more than by the Structure of their 
 Numbers, or what we now call Versification, the Poets 
 
 *De Arte Poetica, Cap. 3. §. 16. 
 
go John Hughes 
 
 were distinguish'd from Historians and Philosophers; 
 tho the latter sometimes invaded the Province of the 
 Poet, and deliver'd their Doctrines likewise in Allegories 
 or Parables. And this, when they did not purposely 
 make them obscure, in order to conceal them from the 
 common People, was a plain Indication that they thought 
 there was an Advantage in such Methods of conveying 
 Instruction to the Mind; and that they serv'd for the 
 more effectual engaging the Attention of the Hearers, 
 and for leaving deeper Impressions on their Memories. 
 
 Plutarch, in one of his Discourses, gives a very good 
 Reason for the use of Fiction in Poetry, because Truth 
 of it self is rigid and austere, and cannot be moulded 
 into such agreeable Forms as Fiction can. "For neither 
 "the Numbers, says he, nor the ranging of the Words, 
 "nor the Elevation and Elegance of the Stile, have so 
 "many Graces as the artful Contrivance and Disposition 
 "of the Fable." For this Reason, as he relates it after 
 Plato, when the Wise Socrates himself was prompted by 
 a particular Impulse to the writing of Verses, being by 
 his constant Employment in the Study of Truth, a 
 Stranger to the Art of inventing, he chose for his Subject 
 ' the Fables of ^sop ; not thinking, says Plutarch, That 
 any thing cou'd be Poetry which was void of Fiction. 
 The same Author makes use of a Comparison in another 
 place, which I think may be most properly apply'd to 
 Allegorical Poetry in particular: That as Grapes on a 
 Vine are cover' d by the Leaves which grow about them, 
 so under the pleasant Narrations and Fictions of the 
 Poets, there are couch'd many useful Morals and 
 Doctrines. 
 
 It is for this reason, that is to say, in regard to the 
 moral Sense, that Allegory has a liberty indulg'd to it 
 beyond any other ^rt of Writing whatsoever ; that it 
 
On Allegorical Poetry gi 
 
 often assembles things of the most contrary kinds in 
 Nature, and supposes even Impossibilities; as that a 
 Golden Bough shou'd grow among the common Branches 
 of a Tree, as Virgil has describ'd it in the Sixth Book 
 of his Mneis. Allegory is indeed the Fairy Land of 
 • Poetry, peopled by Imagination ; its Inhabitants are so 
 many Apparitions; its Woods, Caves, wild Beasts, 
 Rivers, Mountains and Palaces, are produc'd by a kind 
 of magical Power, and are all visionary and typical ; and 
 it abounds in such Licences as wou'd be shocking and 
 monstrous, if the Mind did not attend to the mystick 
 Sense contain'd under them. Thus in the Fables of 
 Msop, which are some of the most antient Allegories 
 extant, the Author gives Reason and Speech to Beasts, 
 Insects and Plants; and by that means covertly instructs 
 Mankind in the most important Incidents and Concerns 
 of their Lives. 
 
 I Am not insensible that the word Allegory has been 
 sometimes us'd in a larger Sense than that to which I 
 may seem here to have restrain'd it, and has been apply'd 
 indifferently to any Poem which contains a cover'd 
 Moral, tho the Story or Fable carries nothing in it that 
 appears visionary or romantick. It may be necessary 
 therefore to distinguish Allegory into the two following 
 kinds. 
 
 The first is that in which the Story is fram'd of real 
 or historical Persons, and probable or possible Actions; 
 by which however some other Persons and Actions are 
 typify'd or represented. In this sense the whole Mneis 
 of Virgil may be said to be an Allegory, if we consider 
 Mneas as representing Augustus CcBsar, and his con- 
 ducting the Remains of his Countrymen from the Ruins 
 of Troy, to a new Settlement in Italy, as emblematical 
 of Augustus's modelling a new Government out of the 
 
g2 John Hughes 
 
 Ruins of the Aristocracy, and establishing the Romans 
 after the Confusion of the Civil War, in a peaceable and 
 flourishing Condition. It does not, I think, appear that 
 Homer had any such Design in his Poems, or that he 
 meant to delineate his Cotemporaries or their Actions 
 under the chief Characters and Adventures of the Trojan 
 War. And tho the Allusion I have mention'd in Virgil 
 is a Circumstance, which the Author has finely contriv'd 
 to be coincident to the general Frame of his Story, yet 
 he has avoided the making it plain and particular, and 
 has thrown if off in so many Instances from a direct 
 Application, that his Poem is perfect without it. This 
 then, for distinction, should, I think, rather be call'd a 
 Parallel than an Allegory; at least in Allegories, fram'd 
 after this manner, the literal Sense is sufficient to satisfy 
 the Reader, tho he should look no further; and without 
 being consider'd as emblematical of some other Persons 
 or Action, may of it self exhibit very useful Morals and 
 Instructions. Thus the Morals which may be drawn 
 from the Mneis are equally noble and instructive, whether 
 we suppose the real Hero to be Mneas or Augustus 
 CcEsar. 
 
 The second kind of Allegory, and which, I think, may 
 more properly challenge the Name, is that in which the 
 Fable or Story consists for the most part of fictitious 
 Persons or Beings, Creatures of the Poet's Brain, and 
 Actions surprising, and without the Bounds of Proba- 
 bility or Nature. In Works of this kind, it is impossible 
 for the Reader to rest in the literal Sense, but he is of 
 necessity driven to seek for another Meaning under these 
 '^ wild Types and Shadows. This Grotesque Invention 
 •claims, as I have observ'd, a Licence peculiar to it self, 
 and is what I wou'd be understood in this Discourse 
 more particularly to mean by the word Allegory. Thus 
 
On Allegorical Poetry g^ 
 
 Milton has describ'd it in his Poem call'd // Penseroso, 
 where he alludes to the Squire's Tale in Chaucer: 
 
 Or call up him that left half told 
 The Story of Cambuscan bold, 
 Of Cambal and of Algarsif e, 
 And who had Canace to Wife: 
 That own'd the virtuous Ring and Glass, 
 And of the wondrous Horse of Brass, 
 On which the Tartar King did ride; 
 And if ought else great Bards beside 
 In sage and solemn Tunes have sung 
 Of Turneys and of Trophies hung. 
 Of Forrests and Enchantments drear, 
 , Where more is meant than meets the Ear. 
 
 It may be proper to give an Instance or two, by which 
 the Distinction of this last kind of Allegory may more 
 plainly appear. 
 
 The Story of Circe in the Odysses is an Allegorical 
 Fable, of which there are perhaps more Copies and 
 Imitations than of any other whatever. Her offering a 
 Cup, fill'd with intoxicating Liquor, to her Guests; her 
 mingling Poison with their Food, and then by magical 
 Arts turning them into the Shapes of Swine ; and Ulysses 
 resisting her Charms by the Virtue of an Herb call'd 
 Moly, which he had receiv'd from the God Mercury, and v/ 
 restoring his Companions to their true Persons, are all 
 Fictions of the last kind I have mention'd. The Person 
 of the Goddess is likewise fictitious, and out of the 
 Circle of the Grecian Divinities ; and the Adventures are 
 not to be understood but in a mystical Sense. The 
 Episode of Calypso, tho somewhat of the same kind, 
 approaches nearer to Nature and Probability: But the 
 
 \.^ 
 
g^ John Hughes 
 
 Story of Dido in the Mneis, tho copy'd from the Circe 
 and Calypso, and form'd on the same Moral, namely, 
 to represent a Hero obstructed by the Allurements of 
 Pleasure, and at last breaking from them; and tho 
 Mercury likewise assists in it to dissolve the Charm, yet 
 is not necessarily to be look'd upon as an Allegory ; the 
 Fable does not appear merely imaginary or emblematical : 
 the Persons are natural, and, excepting the Distance of 
 Time which the Criticks have noted between the real 
 JEneas and Dido, (a Circumstance which Virgil, not 
 being bound to Historical Truth, wilfully neglected) 
 there is nothing which might not really have happen'd. 
 Ariosto's Alcina, and the Armida of Tasso, are Copies 
 from the same Original: These again are plainly Alle- 
 gorical. The whole literal Sense of the latter is a kind 
 of Vision, or a Scene of Imagination, and is every where 
 transparent, to shew the moral Sense which is under it. 
 The Bower of Bliss, in the Second Book of the Fairy 
 Queen, is in like manner a Copy from Tasso; but the 
 Ornaments of Description, which Spenser has trans- 
 planted out of the ItalianFoem, are more proper in his 
 Work, which was design'd to be wholly Allegorical, than 
 
 - in an Epick Poem, which is superior in its Nature to 
 jsuch lavish Embellishments. There is another Copy of 
 the Circe, in the Dramatick way, in a Mask, by our 
 famous Milton; the whole Plan of which is Allegorical, 
 and is written with a very Poetical Spirit on the same 
 .Moral, tho with different Characters. 
 
 I Have here instanc'd in one of the most antient and 
 best-imagin'd Allegories extant. Scilla, Charibdis, and 
 the Syrens, in the same Poem, are of the same Nature, 
 
 >i and are Creatures purely Allegorical: But the Harpies 
 in Virgil, which disturb'd ^neas and his Followers at 
 their Banquet, as they do not seem to exhibit any certain 
 
On Allegorical Poetry p>5 
 
 Moral, may probably have been thrown in by the Poet 
 only as an Omen, and to raise what is commonly call'd 
 the Wonderful ; which is a Property as essential to Epick 
 Poetry, as Probability. Homer's giving Speech to the 
 River Xanthus in the Iliad, and to the Horses of 
 Achilles, seem to be Inventions of the same kind, and 
 might be design'd to fill the Reader with Astonishment 
 and Concern, and with an Apprehension of the Greatness 
 of an Occasion, which by a bold Fiction of the Poet is 
 suppos'd to have produc'd such extraordinary Effects. 
 
 As Allegory sometimes, for the sake of the moral 
 Sense couch'd under its Fictions, gives Speech to Brutes, 
 and sometimes introduces Creatures which are out of 
 Nature, as Goblins, Chimsera's, Fairies, and the like; so 
 it frequently gives Life to Virtues and Vices, Passions 
 and Diseases, to natural and moral Qualities ; and repre- 
 sents them acting as divine, human, or infernal Persons. 
 A very ingenious Writer calls these Characters shadowy 
 Beings,* and has with good reason censur'd the employing 
 them in just Epick Poems: of this kind are Sin and 
 Death, which I mention'd before in Milton; and Fame 
 in Virgil. We find likewise a large Groupe of these 
 shadowy Figures plac'd in the Sixth Book of the ^neis, 
 at the Entrance into the infernal Regions; but as they 
 are only shewn there, and have no share in the Action 
 of the Poem, the Description of them is a fine Allegory, 
 and extremely proper to the Place where they appear. 
 
 Vestibulum ante ipsum, primisq ; in Faucibus Orci 
 Luctus & ultrices posuere cubilia Curce, 
 Pallentesq; habitant Morbi, tristisq; Senectus, 
 Et Metus, & malesuada Fames, ac turpis Mgestas, 
 Terribiles visu Formse; Lethumq; Labosq; 
 
 'Spectator, Vol. IV. N" 273. 
 
g6 John Hughes 
 
 Turn consanguineus Lethi Sopor, & mala Mentis 
 
 Gaudia, Mortif erumq ; adverse in limite Bellum ; 
 
 Ferreiq ; Eumenidum Thalami, & Discordia demens, 
 
 Vipereum crinem vittis innixa cruentis. 
 
 In medio ramos annosaq; brachia pandit 
 
 Ulmus opaca, ingens ; quam sedem S omnia vulgo 
 
 Vana tenere f erunt, foliisq ; sub omnibus haerent. 
 
 Just in the Gate, and in the Jaws of Hell 
 Revengeful Cares, and fullen Sorrows dwell. 
 And pale Diseases, and repining Age, 
 Want, Fear, and Famine'^ unresisted Rage; 
 Here Toils and Death, and Death's Half-Brother, Sleep, 
 Forms terrible to view, their Gentry keep; 
 With anxious Pleasures of a guilty Mind; 
 Deep Frauds before, and open Force behind: 
 The Furies Iron Beds, and Strife that shakes 
 Her hissing Tresses, and unfolds her Snakes. 
 Full in the midst of this infernal Road 
 An Elm displays its dusky Arms abroad; 
 The God of Sleep here hides his heavy Head, 
 And empty Dreams on every Leaf are spread. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 As Persons of this imaginary Life are to be excluded 
 from any share of Action in Epick Poems, they are yet 
 less to be endur'd in the Drama; yet we find they have 
 sometimes made their Appearance on the antient Stage. 
 Thus in a Tragedy of Mschylus, Strength is introduc'd 
 assisting Vulcan to bind Prometheus to a Rock ; and in 
 one of Euripides, Death comes to the House of Admetus 
 to demand Alcestis, who had oflfer'd her self to die to 
 save her Husband's Life. But what I have here said 
 
On Allegorical Poetry 97 
 
 of Epick and Dramatick Poems does not extend to such 
 Writings, the very Frame and Model of which is design'd 
 to be Allegorical; in which therefore, as I said before, 
 such unsubstantial and symbolical Actors may be very 
 properly admitted. 
 
 Every Book of the Fairy Queen is fruitful of these 
 visionary Beings, which are invented and drawn with a 
 surprizing Strength of Imagination. I shall produce but 
 one Instance here, which the Reader may compare with 
 that just mention'd in Virgil, to which it is no way 
 inferior: It is in the Second Book, where Mammon 
 conducts Guyon thro a Cave under Ground to shew him 
 his Treasure. 
 
 At length they came into a larger Space, 
 That stretch'd it self into an ample Plain, 
 Thro which a beaten broad High-way did trace, 
 That straight did lead to Pluto^j grisly Reign: 
 By that Way's side there sate infernal Pain, 
 And fast beside him sat tumultuous Strife ; 
 The one in hand an Iron Whip did strain. 
 The other brandished a bloody Knife, 
 And both did gnash their Teeth, and both did threaten 
 Life. 
 
 On th' other side in one Consort there sate 
 Cruel Revenge, and rancorous Despight, 
 Disloyal Treason, and Heart-burning Hate ; 
 But gnawing Jealousy, out of their sight 
 Sitting alone, his bitter Lips did bite; 
 And trembling Fear still to and fro did fly, 
 And found no Place where safe he shroud him might. 
 Lamenting Sorrow did in Darkness lie. 
 And Shame his ugly Face did hide from living Eye. 
 
g8 John Hughes 
 
 And over them sad Horror, with grim Hue, 
 Did always soar, beating his Iron Wings; 
 And after him Owls and Night-Ravens flew, 
 The hateful Messengers of heavy things. 
 Of Death and Dolour telling sad Tidings; 
 Whilst sad Celeno, sitting on a Clift, 
 A Song of Bale and bitter Sorrow sings. 
 That Heart of Flint asunder would have rift; 
 Which having ended, after him she flyeth swift. 
 
 All these before the Gates of Pluto lay, &c. 
 
 The Posture of Jealousy, and the Motion of Fear in this 
 Description, are particularly fine. These are Instances 
 of Allegorical Persons, which are shewn only in one 
 transient View. The Reader will every where meet with 
 others in this Author, which are employ'd in the Action 
 of the Poem, and which need not be mention'd here. 
 
 Having thus endeavour'd to give a general Idea of 
 what is meant by Allegory in Poetry, and shewn what 
 kind of Persons are frequently employ'd in it; I shall 
 proceed to mention some Properties which seem requisite 
 in all well-invented Fables of this kind. 
 
 There is no doubt, but Men of Critical Learning, if 
 they had thought fit, might have given us Rules about 
 Allegorical Writing, as they have done about Epick, 
 and other kinds of Poetry; but they have rather chosen 
 to let this Forest remain wild, as if they thought there 
 was something in the Nature of the Soil, which cou'd not 
 so well be restrain'd and cultivated in Inclosures. What 
 Sir William Temple observes about Rules in general, may 
 perhaps be more particularly applicable to this; that 
 they may possibly hinder some from being very bad 
 Poets, but are not capable of making any very good one. 
 
On Allegorical Poetry gg 
 
 Notwithstanding this, they are useful to help our 
 Observation in distinguishing the Beauties and the 
 Blemishes, in such Works as have been already produc'd. 
 I shall therefore beg leave to mention four Qualities, 
 which I think are essential to every good Allegory: the 
 three first of which relate to the Fable, and the last to 
 the Moral. 
 
 The first is, that it be lively, and surprizing. The 
 Fable, or literal Sense, being that which most immediately 
 offers it self to the Reader's Observation, must have 
 this Property, in order to raise and entertain his 
 Curiosity. As there is therefore more Invention employ'd 
 in a Work of this kind, than in meer Narration, or 
 Description, or in general Amplifications on any Subject, 
 it consequently requires a more than ordinary Heat of 
 ' Fancy in its first Production. If the Fable, on the con- 
 trary, is flat, spiritless, or barren of Invention, the 
 Reader's Imagination is not affected, nor his Attention 
 engag'd, tho the Instruction convey'd under it be ever 
 so useful or important. 
 
 The second Qualification I shall mention is Elegance, 
 or a beautiful Propriety, and Aptness in the Fable to the 
 Subject on which it is employ'd. By this Quality the 
 Invention of the Poet is restrain'd from taking too great 
 a Compass, or losing it self in a Confusion of ill-sorted 
 Ideas ; such Representations as that mention'd by Horace, 
 of Dolphins in a Wood, or Boars in the Sea, being fit 
 only to surprize the Imagination, without pleasing the 
 Judgment. The same Moral may likewise be express'd 
 in different Fables, all of which may be lively and full 
 of Spirit, yet not equally elegant; as various Dresses 
 may be made for the same Body, yet not equally 
 becoming. As it therefore requires a Heat of Fancy 
 to raise Images and Resemblances, it requires a good 
 
700 John Hughes 
 
 Taste to distinguish and range them, and to chuse the 
 most proper and beautiful, where there appears an almost 
 distracting Variety. I may compare this to JEneas 
 searching in the Wood for the Golden Bough; he was 
 at a loss where to lay his Hand, till his Mother's Doves, 
 descending in his sight, flew before him, and pearch'd 
 on the Tree where it was to be found. 
 
 Another essential Property is. That the Fable be every 
 where consistent with it self. As licentious as Allegorical 
 Fiction may seem in some Respects, it is nevertheless 
 subject to this Restraint. The Poet is indeed at liberty 
 in chusing his Story, and inventing his Persons ; but after 
 he has introduc'd them, he is oblig'd to sustain them in 
 their proper Characters, as well as in more regular kinds 
 of Writing. It is difiRcult to give particular Rules under 
 this Head; it may suffice to say that this wild Nature is 
 however subject to an Oeconomy proper to it self, and 
 tho it may sometimes seem extravagant, ought never to 
 be absurd. Most of the Allegories in the Fairy Queen 
 are agreeable to this Rule ; but in one of his other Poems, 
 the Author has manifestly transgress'd it: the Poem I 
 mean, is that which is call'd Prothalamion. In this, the 
 two Brides are figur'd by two beautiful Swans sailing 
 down the River Thames. The Allegory breaks before 
 the Reader is prepar'd for it; and we see them, at their 
 landing, in their true Shapes, without knowing how this 
 sudden Change is effected. If this had been only a 
 Simile, the Poet might have dropp'd it at pleasure; but 
 as it is an Allegory, he ought to have made it of a piece, 
 or to have invented some probable means of coming out 
 of it. 
 
 The last Property I shall mention, is, That the Alle- 
 gory be clear and intelligible: the Fable being design'd 
 only to clothe and adorn the Moral, but not to hide it, 
 
On Allegorical Poetry loi 
 
 should methinks resemble the Draperies we admire in 
 some of the antient Statues ; in which the Folds are not 
 too many, nor too thick, but so judiciously order'd, that 
 the Shape and Beauty of the Limbs may be seen thro 
 them. 
 
 It must be confess'd, that many of the antient Fables 
 appear to us at this Distance of Time very perplex'd and 
 dark; and if they had any Moral at all, it is so closely 
 couch'd, that it is very difficult to discover it. Whoever 
 reads the Lord Bacon's Wisdom of the Antients, will be 
 convinc'd of this. He has employ'd a more than ordinary 
 Penetration to decypher the most known Traditions in 
 the Heathen Mythology ; but his Interpretations are often 
 far fetch'd, and so much at random, that the Reader can 
 have no Assurance of their Truth. It is not to be 
 doubted that a great part of these Fables were Allegorical, 
 but others might have been Stories design'd only to 
 amuse, or to practise upon the Credulity of the Vulgar ; 
 or the Doctrines they contain'd might be purposely 
 clouded, to conceal them from common Knowledge. 
 But tho, as I hinted in the former part of this Discourse, 
 this may have been a Reason among Philosophers, it 
 ought not to be admitted among Poets. An Allegory, 
 which is not clear, is a Riddle, and the Sense of it lies 
 at the Mercy of every fanciful Interpreter. 
 
 Tho the Epick Poets, as I have shewn, have sprinkled 
 some Allegories thro their Poems, yet it wou'd be absurd 
 to understand them every where in a mystical Sense. 
 We are told of one Metrodorus Lampsacenus, whose 
 Works are lost, that turn'd the whole Writings of Homer 
 into an Allegory: it was doubtless by some such means 
 that the Principles of all Arts and Sciences whatever 
 were discover'd in that single Author; for nothing can 
 escape an Expositor, who proceeds in his Operations 
 
102 John Hughes 
 
 like a Rosycrucian, and brings with him the Gold he 
 pretends to find. 
 
 It is surprizing that Tasso, whose Jerusalem was, at 
 the time when he wrote, the best Plan of an Epick Poem 
 after Virgil, shou'd be possess'd with this Affectation, 
 and shou'd not believe his Work perfect till he had 
 turn'd it into a Mystery. I cannot help thinking that 
 the Allegory, as it is call'd, which he has printed with it, 
 looks as if it were invented after the Poem was finish'd. 
 He tells us, that the Christian Army represents Man; 
 the City of Jerusalem, Civil Happiness; Godfrey, the 
 Understanding; Rinaldo and Tancred, the other Powers 
 of the Soul ; and that the Body is typif y'd by the common 
 Soldiers ; with a great deal more that carries in it a strong 
 Cast of Enthusiasm. He is indeed much more intelli- 
 gible, when he explains the Flowers, the Fountains, the 
 Nymphs, and the musical Instruments, to figure to us 
 sensual Pleasures, under the false Appearance of Good: 
 But for the rest, I appeal to any one who is acquainted 
 with that Poem, whether he wou'd ever have discover'd 
 these Mysteries, if the Poet had not let him into them; 
 or whether even after this, he can keep them long in his 
 Mind while he is reading it. 
 
 Spenser's Conduct is much more reasonable; as he 
 design'd his Poem upon the Plan of the Vertues by which 
 he has entitled his several Books, he scarce ever loses 
 sight of this Design, but has almost every where taken 
 care to let it appear. Sir William Temple indeed censures 
 this as a Fault, and says, That tho his Flights of Fancy 
 were very noble and high, yet his Moral lay so bare, 
 that it lost the Effect: But I confess I do not under- 
 stand this. A Moral which is not clear, is in my 
 Apprehension next to no Moral at all. 
 
 It wou'd be easy to enumerate other Properties, which 
 
On Allegorical Poetry 103 
 
 are various, according to the different kinds of Allegory, 
 or its different Degrees of Perfection. Sometimes we 
 are surpriz'd with an uncommon Moral, which ennobles 
 the Fable that conveys it; and at other times we meet 
 with a known and obvious Truth, plac'd in some new 
 and beautiful Point of Light, and made surprizing by 
 the Fiction under which it is exhibited. I have thought 
 it sufficient to touch upon such Properties only as seem 
 to be the most essential; and perhaps many more might 
 be reduc'd under one or other of these general Heads. 
 
 I Might here give Examples of this noble and antientl 
 kind of Writing, out of the Books of Holy Writ, and 
 especially the Jewish Prophets, in which we find a Spirit 
 of Poetry surprizingly sublime and majestick : But these 
 are obvious to every one's reading. The East seems 
 indeed to have been principally the Region of these 
 figurative and emblematical Writings. Sir John Chardin 
 in his Travels has given us a Translation of several 
 Pieces of modern Persian Poetry ; which shew that there 
 are Traces of the same Genius remaining among the 
 present Inhabitants of those Countries. But, not to 
 prolong this Discourse, I shall only add one Instance of 
 a very antient Allegory, which has all the Properties in 
 it I have mention'd: I mean that in Xenophon, of the 
 Choice of Hercules when he is courted by Virtue and 
 Pleasure, which is said to have been the Invention of 
 Prodicus. This Fable is full of Spirit and Elegance; 
 the Characters are finely drawn, and consistent; and the 
 Moral is clear. I shall not need to say any thing more 
 of it, but refer the Reader to the Second Volume of the 
 Tatler, where he will find it very beautifully translated. 
 
 After what has been said, it must be confess'd, that, 
 excepting Spenser, there are few extraordinary Instances 
 
104 John Hughes 
 
 of this kind of Writing among the Moderns. The great 
 Mines of Invention have open'd long ago, and little new 
 Oar seems to have been discover'd or brought to light 
 by latter Ages. With us the Art of framing Fables, 
 Apologues and Allegories, which was so frequent among 
 the Writers of Antiquity, seems to be, like the Art of 
 Painting upon Glass, but little practis'd, and in a great 
 measure lost. Our Colours are not so rich and trans- 
 parent, and are either so ill prepar'd, or so unskilfully 
 laid on, that they often sully the Light which is to pass 
 thro them, rather than agreeably tincture and beautify 
 it. Boccalini must be reckon'd one of the chief modern 
 Masters of Allegory; yet his Fables are often flat and 
 ill chosen, and his Invention seems to have been rather 
 fruitful than elegant. I cannot however conclude this 
 Essay on Allegory without observing, that we have had 
 the satisfaction to see this kind of Writing very lately 
 reviv'd by an excellent Genius among our selves, in the 
 true Spirit of the Antients. I need only mention the 
 Visions in the Tatler and Spectator, by Mr. Addison, to 
 convince every one of this. The Table of Fame, the 
 Vision of Justice ; that of the different Pursuits of Love, 
 Ambition, and Avarice ; the Vision of Mirza, and several 
 others; and especially that admirable Fable of the two 
 Families of Pain and Pleasure, which are all imagin'd, 
 and writ with the greatest Strength and Delicacy, may 
 give the Reader an Idea more than any thing I can say of 
 the Perfection to which this kind of Writing is capable 
 of being rais'd. We have likewise in the Second Volume 
 of the Guardian a very good Example given us by the 
 same Hand, of an Allegory, in the particular manner 
 of Spenser. 
 
III. REMARKS ON THE FAIRY QUEEN 
 
 By what has been offer'd in the foregoing Discourse 
 on Allegorical Poetry, we may be able, not only to dis- 
 cover many Beauties in the Fairy Queen, but likewise 
 to excuse some of its Irregularities. The chief Merit 
 of this Poem consists in that surprizing Vein of fabulous 
 Invention, which runs thro it, and enriches it every where 
 with Imagery and Descriptions more than we meet with 
 in any other modern Poem. The Author seems to be 
 possess'd of a kind of Poetical Magick; and the Figures 
 he calls up to our View rise so thick upon us, that we are 
 at once pleased and distracted by the exhaustless Variety 
 of them ; so that his Faults may in a manner be imputed 
 to his Excellencies: His Abundance betrays him into 
 Excess, and his Judgment is overborne by the Torrent 
 of his Imagination. 
 
 That which seems the most liable to Exception in this 
 Work, is the Model of it, and the Choice the Author has 
 made of so romantick a Story. The several Books appear 
 rather like so many several Poems, than one entire 
 Fable: Each of them has its peculiar Knight, and is 
 independent of the rest; and tho some of the Persons 
 make their Appearance in different Books, yet this has 
 very little Effect in connecting them. Prince Arthur is 
 indeed the principal Person, and has therefore a share 
 given him in every Legend ; but his Part is not consider- 
 able enough in any one of them : He appears and vanishes 
 again like a Spirit; and we lose sight of him too soon, 
 to consider him as the Hero of the Poem. 
 
 These are the most obvious Defects in the Fable of 
 the Fairy Queen. The want of Unity in the Story makes 
 it difficult for the Reader to carry it in his Mind, and 
 
io6 John Hughes 
 
 distracts too much his Attention to the several Parts of 
 it; and indeed the whole Frame of it wou'd appear 
 monstrous, if it were to be examin'd by the Rules of 
 Epick Poetry, as they have been drawn from the Practice 
 of' Homer and Virgil. But as it is plain the Author never 
 design'd it by those Rules, I think it ought rather to be 
 consider'd as a Poem of a particular kind, describing in 
 a Series of Allegorical Adventures or Episodes the most 
 noted Virtues and Vices: to compare it therefore with 
 the Models of Antiquity, wou'd be like drawing a Parallel 
 between the Roman and the Gothick Architecture. In 
 the first there is doubtless a more natural Grandeur and 
 Simplicity : in the latter, we find great Mixtures of Beauty 
 and Barbarism, yet assisted by the Invention of a Variety 
 of inferior Ornaments; and tho the former is more 
 majestick in the whole, the latter may be very surprizing 
 and agreeable in its Parts. 
 
 It may seem strange indeed, since Spenser appears to 
 have been well acquainted with the best Writers of 
 Antiquity, that he has not imitated them in the Structure 
 of his Story. Two Reasons may be given for this : The 
 first is. That at the time when he wrote, the Italian Poets, 
 whom he has chiefly imitated, and who were the first 
 Revivers of this Art among the Moderns, were in the 
 highest vogue, and were universally read and admir'd. 
 But the chief Reason was probably, that he chose to frame 
 his Fable after a Model which might give the greatest 
 Scope to that Range of Fancy which was so remarkably 
 his Talent. There is a Bent in Nature, which is apt to 
 determine Men that particular way in which they are 
 most capable of excelling ; and tho it is certain he might 
 have form'd a better Plan, it is to be question'd whether 
 he cou'd have executed any other so well. 
 
 It is probably for the same reason, that among the 
 
Remarks on the Faerie Queen lO'j 
 
 Italian Poets, he rather foUow'd Ariosto, whom he found 
 more agreeable to his Genius, than Tasso, who had 
 form'd a better Plan, and from whom he has only 
 borrow'd some particular Ornaments; yet it is but 
 Justice to say, that his Plan is much more regular than 
 that of Ariosto. In the Orlando Furioso, we every 
 where meet with an exuberant Invention, join'd with 
 great Liveliness and Facility of Description, yet debas'd 
 by frequent Mixtures of the comick Genius, as well as 
 many shocking Indecorums. Besides, in the Huddle and 
 Distraction of the Adventures, we are for the most part 
 only amus'd with extravagant Stories, without being 
 instructed in any Moral. On the other hand, Spenser's 
 Fable, tho often wild, is, as I have observ'd, always 
 emblematical: And this may very much excuse likewise 
 that Air of Romance in which he has f oUow'd the Italian 
 Author. The perpetual Stories of Knights, Giants, 
 Castles, and Enchantments, and all that Train of 
 Legendary Adventures, wou'd indeed appear very trifling, 
 if Spenser had not found a way to turn them all into 
 Allegory, or if a less masterly Hand had fill'd up his 
 Draught. But it is surprizing to observe how much the 
 Strength of the Painting is superior to the Design. It 
 ought to be consider'd too, that at the time when our 
 Author wrote, the Remains of the old Gothick Chivalry 
 were not quite abolish'd : It was not many Years before, 
 that the famous Earl of Surry, remarkable for his Wit 
 and Poetry in the Reign of King Henry the Eighth, took 
 a romantick Journey to Florence, the Place of his 
 Mistress's Birth, and publish'd there a Challenge against 
 all Nations in Defence of her Beauty. Justs and 
 Turnaments were held in England in the Time of Queen 
 Elizabeth. Sir Philip Sidney tilted at one of these Enter- 
 tainments, which was made for the French Ambassador, 
 
io8 John Hughes 
 
 when the Treaty of Marriage was on foot with the Duke 
 of Anjou: and some of our Historians have given us a 
 very particular and formal Account of Preparations, by 
 marking out Lists, and appointing Judges, for a Tryal 
 by Combat, in the same Reign, which was to have decided 
 the Title to a considerable Estate ; and in which the whole 
 Ceremony was perfectly agreeable to the fabulous 
 Descriptions in Books of Knight-Errantry. This might 
 render his Story more familiar to his first Readers; tho 
 Knights in Armour, and Ladies Errant are as antiquated 
 Figures to us, as the Court of that time wou'd appear, 
 if we cou'd see them now in their Ruffs and Fardingales. 
 There are two other Objections to the Plan of the 
 Fairy Queen, which, I confess, I am more at a loss to 
 answer. I need not, I think, be scrupulous in mentioning 
 freely the Defects of a Poem, which, tho it was never 
 suppos'd to be perfect, has always been allow'd to be 
 admirable. 
 
 <^ The first is, that the Scene is laid in Fairy-Land, and 
 the chief Actors are Fairies. The Reader may see their 
 imaginary Race and History in the Second Book, at the 
 end of the Tenth Canto : but if he is not prepar'd before- 
 hand, he may expect to find them acting agreeably to the 
 common Stories and Traditions about such fancy'd 
 Beings. Thus Shakespear, who has introduc'd them in 
 his Midsummer-Night's Dream, has made them speak 
 and act in a manner perfectly adapted to their suppos'd 
 Characters; but the Fairies in this Poem are not 
 distinguish'd from other Persons. There is this Mis- 
 fortune likewise attends the Choice of such Actors, that 
 having been accustom'd to conceive of them in a diminu- 
 tive way, we find it difficult to raise our Ideas, and to 
 imagine a Fairy encountring with a Monster or a Giant. 
 Homer has pursu'd a contrary Method, and represented 
 
Remarks on the Faerie Queen log 
 
 his Heroes above the Size and Strength of ordinary Men ; 
 and it is certain that the Actions of the Iliad wou'd have 
 appear'd but ill proportion'd to the Characters, if we 
 were to have imagin'd them all perform'd by Pigmies. 
 
 But as the Actors our Author has chosen, are only 
 fancy'd Beings, he might possibly think himself at liberty 
 to give them what Stature, Customs and Manners he 
 pleas'd. I will not say he was in the right in this : but 
 it is plain that by the literal Sense of Fairy-Land, he 
 only design'd an Utopia, an imaginary Place; and by his 
 Fairies, Persons of whom he might invent any Action 
 proper to human Kind, without being restrain'd, as he 
 must have been, if he had chosen a real Scene and 
 historical Characters. As for the mystical Sense, it 
 appears both by the Work it self, and by the Author's* 
 Explanation of it, that his Fairy-Land is England, and 
 his Fairy-Queen, Queen Elizabeth; at whose Command 
 the Adventure of every Legend is suppos'd to be 
 undertaken. 
 
 y- The other Objection is, that having chosen an histori- 
 cal Person, Prince Arthur, for his principal Hero; who 
 is no Fairy, yet is mingled with them : he has not however 
 represented any part of his History. He appears here 
 indeed only in his Minority, and performs his Exercises 
 in Fairy-Land, as a private Gentleman ; but we might at 
 least have expected, that the fabulous Accounts of him, 
 and of his Victories over the Saxons, shou'd have been 
 work'd into some beautiful Vision or Prophecy: and I 
 cannot think Spenser wou'd wholly omit this, but am apt 
 to believe he had done it in some of the following Books 
 which were lost. 
 
 •Vid. Letter to Sir W. Raleigh. 
 
no John Hughes 
 
 In the moral Introductions to every Book, many of 
 which have a great Propriety and Elegance, the Author 
 has follow'd the Example of Ariosto. I will only beg 
 leave to point out some of the principal Beauties in each 
 Book, which may yet more particularly discover the 
 Genius of the Author. . . 
 
JOHN DENNIS 
 
JOHN DENNIS 
 
 I. A LARGE ACCOUNT OF THE TASTE IN 
 
 POETRY 
 
 1703 
 
 To the Honourable 
 GEORGE GRANVILLE, Esq; 
 
 SIR, 
 
 I Know that a great many Persons in the World would 
 take it for an affront, to have a Play addressed to them, 
 which had been unfortunate in the Representation. But 
 you, Sir, have discernment enough to be of another 
 opinion; for a Poet, who Dedicates a Play that has not 
 been successful, will, if he takes care of his Reputation, 
 choose a powerful Patron, who is every way qualified 
 to defend it. One who is generous enough to support 
 whatever he can justly excuse, and who with a piercing 
 Eye can reach to his Beauties, while others stop at his 
 Faults. 
 
 When I first communicated the design which I had of 
 altering this Comedy of Shakespear, I found that I should 
 have two sorts of People to deal with, who would equally 
 endeavour to obstruct my success. The one believed it 
 to be so admirable, that nothing ought to be added to it ; 
 the others fancied it to be so despicable, that any ones 
 time would be lost upon it. 
 
 That this Comedy was not despicable, I guess'd for 
 several Reasons: First, I knew very well, that it had 
 pleas'd one of the greatest Queens that ever was in the 
 World, great not only for her Wisdom in the Arts of 
 
1 1/}. John Dennis 
 
 Government, but for her knowledge of Polite Learning, 
 and her nice taste of the Drama, for such a taste we 
 may be sure she had, by the relish which she had of the 
 Ancients. This Comedy was written at her Command, 
 and by her direction, and she was so eager to see it Acted, 
 that she commanded it to be finished in fourteen days; 
 and was afterwards, as Tradition tells us, very well 
 pleas'd at the Representation. In the second place, in 
 the Reign of King Charles the Second, when People had 
 an admirable taste of Comedy, all those men of extraor- 
 dinary parts, who were the Ornaments of that Court; 
 as the late Duke of Buckingham, my Lord Normandy, 
 my Lord Dorset, my late Lord Rochester, Sir Charles 
 Sidley, Dr Fraser, Mr Savil, Mr Buckley, were in Love 
 with the Beauties of this Comedy. In the third place, I 
 thought that after so long an acquaintance as I had with 
 the best Comick Poets, amojig the Antients and Moderns, 
 I might depend in some measure upon my own Judg- 
 ment, and I thought I found here three or four extraor- 
 dinary Characters, that were exactly drawn, and truly 
 Comical; and that I saw besides in it some as happy 
 touches as ever were in Comedy : Besides I had observed 
 what success the Character of Falstaffe had had, in the 
 first part of Harry the Fourth. And as the Falstaffe in 
 the Merry Wives is certainly superiour to that of the 
 second part of Harry the Fourth, so it can hardly be said 
 to be inferior to that of the first. 
 
 For in the second part of Harry the Fourth, Falstaffe 
 does nothing but talk, as indeed he does nothing else in 
 the third and fourth Acts of the first part. Whereas in 
 the Merry Wives, he every where Acts, and that action 
 is more Regular, and more in compass than it is in the 
 first part of Harry the Fourth. 'Tis true, what he says 
 in Harry the Fourth is admirable; but action at last is 
 
, The Taste in Poetry ii^ 
 
 the business of the Stage. The Drama is action itself, 
 and it is action alone that is able to excite in any extra- 
 ordinary manner the curiosity of mankind. What News, 
 is the Question now adays ev'ry moment, but people by 
 that question demand what is done, and not what is said 
 upon the Great Stage of the World. In short, I defie 
 any man to name me a Play that has ever succeeded 
 without some sort of action or another. But I could if 
 I pleased mention more than one, that has succeeded 
 barely by the force of Action, without almost any thing 
 else. 
 
 It was for the above-named reasons, that I thought 
 this by no means a despicable Comedy. And it was for 
 the Reasons which follow, that I believed it not so admir- 
 able, but that it might receive improvement. First, I 
 knew very well, that in so short a time as this Play was 
 writ, nothing could be done that is perfect. Secondly, 
 I knew very well, that this Comedy had never upon 
 Revivals had any great success, and that particularly 
 when it was Revived in King Charles the Seconds time, 
 the only Character that pleased to a height was Slender 
 acted by Wintershal. And that tho something like this 
 may very well happen to a living Author without any 
 just Cause, yet that there must be reason for it, when it 
 happens to an Author who has a long time been dead, 
 and whose Reputation has been long established. And 
 indeed the Merry Wives of Windsor, as it has great 
 Beauties, so it has strange Defects, which tho they past 
 at first for the sake of the Beauties, yet will come to be 
 less endured as the Stage grows more Regular. For 
 there are no less than three Actions in it that are inde- 
 pendant one of another, which divide and distract the 
 minds of an Audience, there is more than one insignifi- 
 cant Scene, which has nothing to do with any other part 
 
Ii6 John Dennis 
 
 of the Play, which is enough to obstruct and stifle the 
 Action. The Style in some places is stiff and forced and 
 affected, whereas the Dialogue in Comedy ought to be 
 as free as the air. This affectation is particularly remark- 
 able in some part of the first Scene between the Wives, 
 and in all Ford's part of the first Scene between him and 
 Falstaffe. This is not said in the least with a design to 
 derogate from Shakespear's merit, who performed more 
 than any one else could have done in so short a time. 
 In the alteration I have endeavoured to Correct the fore- 
 said Errours. 
 
 I have made every thing Instrumental to Fenton's 
 Marriage, and the whole to depend on one common 
 Center, which I believe was hardly in the power of every 
 Writer to perform. I have added to some of the parts 
 in order to heighten the Characters, and make them show 
 the better. I have above all things endeavoured to make 
 the Dialogue as easie and free as I could. For in Comedy, 
 which is an Image of common Life, every thing which is 
 forc'd is abominable. In short, I have alter'd every 
 thing which I disliked, and retain'd every thing which 
 I or my Friends approved of, excepting something of 
 Justice Shallow in the first Scene of the Play, which I 
 omitted for two Reasons, the one was because I could 
 not bring it into the same design with the rest, the second 
 because I knew no body who would be capable of Acting 
 that Character, unless those who would be otherwise 
 employed. 
 
 Thus, Sir, I have endeavoured to convey two things 
 by you to the General Reader, the one, that this Comedy 
 is not so Despicable as to be Incapable of Improvement; 
 the other, that it is not so admirable, as not to stand in 
 need of any. Whether, Sir, I have improv'd it or no 
 I leave it to you to determine, whether the Scene between 
 
The Taste in Poetry iij 
 
 the Wives in the first Act be alter'd for the better or the 
 worse, whether that between Falstaffe and Ford in the 
 second Act is aptly contriv'd to give occasion to an 
 excellent Actor to shew himself; whether that between 
 Falstaffe and the Wives in the third Act be wholly 
 without art, and whether that between Falstaffe and 
 Ford in the fourth Act, may be said to be truly Comical. 
 
 But before it comes to that. Sir, I who am resolved 
 to have you fully informed before you come to give 
 sentence, and who am ignorant whether you were in 
 Town when this Play was Acted or no, think my self 
 obliged to make you acquainted, that Falstaffe's part, 
 which you know to be the principal one of the Play, and 
 that on which all the rest depends, was by no means 
 acted to the satisfaction of the Audience, upon which 
 several fell from disliking the Action to disapproving 
 the Play, which will be always very natural upon such 
 occasions, tho sometimes not very reasonable, and divers 
 objections were immediately made, which if the Play 
 had succeeded, had perhaps never been thought of. I 
 desire that you would give me leave to lay them and 
 their answers before you, and so leave the whole to your 
 impartial decision. 
 
 The first is, that the Characters in this Comedy are / 
 very low, and that there is neither much Wit, nor Love 
 nor Gallantry in it. To which I answer first, that tho>i 
 the Characters are low they are true and good, that 
 there is as perfect a Plot as I was able to build upon 
 another mans Foundation; and that the lowness of the 
 Characters derogates not a jot from the perfection of 
 the Fable ; that in all Fables all Characters are Universal 
 and Allegorical, and that it signifies nothing to the 
 Beauty of the Fiction, or the importance of the Moral, 
 whether we bring in Kings or Shepherds, so they are 
 
Ii8 John Dennis 
 
 introduced aptly. In the next place, there is Humour 
 every where in this Comedy. And Humour after the 
 Plot is what is most valuable in Comedy. I desire then, 
 Sir, that I may have leave to prove two things: First, 
 that Humour is more the business of Comedy than Wit : 
 And secondly, that Humour is more to be found in low 
 Characters, than among Persons of a higher Rank, and 
 consequently that low Characters are more proper for 
 Comedy than high, and that low Comedy is to be pre- 
 ferred to the high. And when I have done this, I desire 
 to speak a word of Love and Gallantry, of the want of 
 which this Play is accus'd. 
 
 First then. Humour is the business in Comedy, and 
 not Wit. The business of a Comick Poet is to shew his 
 Characters and not himself, to make ev'ry one of them 
 speak and act, as such a person in such circumstances 
 would probably act and speak. Comedy, is an Image 
 of common Life, and in Life, a Man, who has discerning 
 Eyes, may find something ridiculous in most People, but 
 / something that is witty in very few. And a Comick Poet 
 / may be certain of this, that the grossest touches which 
 are in nature, will please the men of sense, more than 
 \ the most delicate strokes which are out of it. Now that 
 which is truly ridiculous in any man is chiefly Humour, 
 or the effect of Humour. It is plain too for the follow- 
 / ing Reasons, that Humour is more proper for Comedy 
 i than Wit. First, because it is harder to write, for the 
 I writing Wit is the effect of the Fancy, and the writing 
 \ Humour the work of the Judgment. 'Tis observation 
 alone that can qualify a man for it, and observation is 
 the business of the Judgment. Now tho a fine Imagi- 
 nation is to be met with in few. Judgment is to be found 
 in fewer. Humour then is harder to be Writt^ than 
 Wit, and that which in any kind of Writing is the hardest 
 
The Taste in Poetry iig 
 
 to be attaind, makes the principal Beauty of that kind 
 of Writing: But secondly Humour is more proper for 
 Comedy than Wit; because it gives a necessary occasion 
 for Action, which Wit does not, and Action after all is 
 the very Life and Soul of the Theatre. Now that 
 Humour gives a necessary occasion for Action is plain, 
 because Humour is Passion, as I have shewn in another 
 place,* and nothing but Action is 
 *Advancement ^^le to express Passion, as nothing 
 and Reformation but Passion can give an occasion for 
 of Modern Poetry. Action : But thirdly. Humour in 
 Comedy is to be preferr'd to Wit, 
 because it distinguishes the Characters better. For Wit 
 very often destroys and confounds them, whereas 
 Humour if it be true and good must always maintain 
 and preserve them, as we shall prove more evidently, 
 when we come to shew that Humour is chiefly to be 
 found in low Characters, and therefore since Humour 
 distinguishes the Characters, it must be always agreeable 
 to men of Sense, whereas Wit must be often shocking 
 and nauseous to them, because it destroys and confounds 
 the Characters, which is a fourth reason for giving 
 Humour the preference; because it is plain that what is 
 always agreeable in any kind of Writing must be prefer- 
 able to that which is sometimes shocking. But fifthly-, 
 and lastly, if Comedy is Poetry, 'tis Humour chiefly.j/ 
 which makes it so, for that which Characteristically j'^ 
 distinguishes Poetry from Prose is Passion, as I have: 
 prov'd in another place,* and Humouiji 
 *Advancement jg subordinate Pjssien. You know|| 
 and Reformation no- ^i ^^ i ^ t i • i 
 
 of Modern Poetry ^^"^ W^"' ^^^' ""^^^ ^^^* ^ ^^^^ ^^^^ 
 \Lord Marquess ^^""^ ^^ ^^^^^^^ agreeable to the senti- 
 of Normanby. ments of a greatf Critick, who speak- 
 
 ing of Comedy tells us. 
 
120 John Dennis 
 
 A fault which often does befal, 
 Is when the Wit of some great Poet shall 
 So overflow, that is be none at all; 
 That all his Fools speak sense, as if possest, 
 And each by Inspiration breaks his jest. 
 If once the Justness of each part be lost; 
 Well we may laugh, but at the Poets cost. 
 
 How fine an observation is this, Sir? For the different 
 Characters in Comedy, like the several parts in Musick, 
 make up the consort of the Play, and as soon as one 
 Character says any thing which does not belong to it, 
 there is a string which is out of Tune, and the Harmony 
 of the whole is destroy'd. But that Noble Critick 
 goes on. 
 
 That silly thing men call sheer Wit avoid. 
 With which our Age so nauseously is cloy'd; 
 Humour is all. Wit should be only brought 
 To turn agreeably some proper thought. 
 
 Thus, Sir, having shewn that Humour is more properly 
 the business of Comedy than Wit, I come now to shew 
 in the second place, that Humour is chiefly to be found 
 in the lower sort of People. For Reason in one Man 
 is the same with Reason in another man, excepting the 
 differences of more or less. But Passion and Humour, 
 which is a sort of Passion, are very different according 
 to their different subjects in their kinds, as well as their 
 degrees. For every man shews his Anger and his Joy, 
 his Peevishness and his Jollity a different way from 
 another. Reason is a calm and quiet thing, and has 
 nothing to do with the Body, only Passion and Humour 
 can reach the Body, and by the influence which they 
 :have upon the voice, and the Gestures, sensibly distin- 
 
The Taste in Poetry 121 
 
 guish one Character from another. So that 'tis Passion 
 and Humour which is subordinate Passion, which dis- 
 tinguish Man from Man. Now the more education a 
 Man has, the more he is capable of subduing, or at least 
 of hiding his Passions and his Humours. And that 
 which we call good Breeding, is, or should be nothing 
 else but a Habit and Custom of doing things, which 
 reas[o]n has dictated for the convenience, and ease, and 
 good of Society. From which it follows, that among 
 People of condition, there is more Resemblance, and a 
 greater appearance of Reason. And 'tis among People 
 of the lower sort, that by the means of Passion and 
 Humour, Nature appears so admirably conspicuous in 
 all her Charming diversities: Since therefore Humour 
 is the chief business in Comedy after the Fable, and 
 Humour is more to be found among those of the lower 
 sort, than among those of a higher Rank, it is very plain 
 that low Characters are more proper for Comedy than 
 high ones, and that low Comedy is to be preferred to 
 the high. 
 
 Not but that high Characters are very good some- 
 times for the sake of variety, and consequently Wit is 
 very good, when it is so writ, that it falls within the 
 compass of the Characters which speak it. But by Wit 
 here I by no means intend point, the excess of which is 
 always despicable, but such fine Observation and fine 
 Satyr as my Lord Normanby means, and as is to be found 
 in Mr Wycherley's Writings; who since he comes in 
 my way, must have justice done him; and be allowed 
 to be almost the only person, who has given the World 
 a Master-piece, in which a great deal of Humour is 
 shewn in high Characters. But that is not to be done 
 every day; and we are treating here of such Comedy 
 as is usually writ. But to return from whence we 
 
122 John Dennis 
 
 digress'd. As Wit in Comedy, where it is proper, is very 
 good and diverting, so is Gallantry and Courtly Love, 
 for it is now time to speak a word of them too; but 
 Humour is to be preferr'd before either of them, and 
 for most of the very same Reasons, for which it is to 
 be preferred before Wit. For Humour is harder to write 
 than Love; because every body has something of Love 
 in him, and is help'd in writing it, by the present influence 
 which that Passion has upon him; whereas writing 
 Humour must be chiefly the effect of his past observa- 
 tion. But secondly. Humour distinguishes the Charac- 
 ters better, and gives an occasion for a greater variety 
 ( of Action. For tho the Love of one man must be allow'd 
 t to be very different from the Love of another man, yet 
 [ Love is but a single Passion, and Humour comprehends 
 ! them all. For to every Passion there is a Humour which 
 answers to it, which Humour is nothing but a less degree 
 of that Passion. As for example. Anger is a Passion, 
 Peevishness and Moroseness are Humours, Joy when 
 it is great is a Passion, Jollity and Gayety perhaps may 
 be said to be Humours, so that if any man asks for a 
 description of Humour, I answer that 'tis the expression 
 of some subordinate Passion. But if he asks for a full 
 definition of it, by which we may distinguish Humour 
 in one man from Humour in another man; I answer 
 that Humour is subordinate Passion expressed in a 
 particular manner. Fear is a Passion, Timerousness is 
 a Humour. Now since Humour comprehends all Pas- 
 sions, it must have infinitely more variety than a single 
 Passion. 
 
 But further, without the Ridiculum Comedy cannot 
 subsist, for the design of Comedy is to amend the follies 
 of Mankind, by exposing them. But the Ridiculum is 
 a great deal more to be found in Humour, than it is in 
 
The Taste in Poetry 123 
 
 Love. For Love is so agreeable in its own nature, that 
 it can never be made to appear Ridiculous, unless it is 
 joyned with an Humour. Besides, Humour, if it is well 
 writ, is always both delightful and instructive, it enter- 
 tains and does good at the same time; whereas Love is 
 very often agreeable without being instructive; nay, it 
 very often gives a pernicious pleasure. For after all, 
 it is a very great error in some Persons at present, to 
 be so shy of Bawdy, and so fond of Love. For 
 Obscenity cannot be very dangerous, because it is rude 
 and shocking; but Love is a Passion; which is so agree- 
 able to the movements of corrupted Nature, that by 
 seeing it livelily touched and often represented, an 
 Amorous disposition insensibly insinuates itself into the 
 chastest Breast. Now as the design of every Art is to 
 instruct and delight, it must be the design of Comedy; 
 and therefore Humour which always both instructs and 
 delights, must be more proper for Comedy than Love, 
 which sometimes only barely delights, and sometimes is 
 so far from instructing, that it insensibly corrupts an 
 Audience. 
 
 After all, I was so willing to comply with Custom, that 
 this Play has more of Love in it than the Original 
 Comedy. But I desire People to consider, that Moliere 
 got a great deal of Reputation in France by Comedies, 
 in which there is very little or no Love, and that by those 
 Comedies he very agreeably entertain'd the finest Ladies 
 of the Court of France; that Madam de Montausier 
 highly approved of the Precieuses Ridicules, tho there 
 was not one jot of Love in it, that those Ladies were too 
 proud to be thought to have Souls that were incapable 
 of being pleased with an exact Imitation of Nature, tho 
 that Imitation had nothing in it of the business to which 
 they were bred ; that those Persons who are for nothing 
 
12^ John Dennis 
 
 but perpetual Love in our Plays, would do well to con- 
 sider, whether they do not give others an occasion to 
 think, that this error in them, proceeds either from the 
 narrowness of their capacities, or the corruptness of 
 their desires; that Humour, which was a diversion to 
 Queen Elizabeth, and the Ladies of the Court of France, 
 may not be thought a very improper one, for the most 
 delicate Persons of the present Age; that Shakespear 
 had little Love in the very best of his Plays, and Johnson 
 less in his, and yet that this last was one of the best 
 Comick Poets that ever was in the World; that he was 
 so sensible, that the Ridiculum was the chief thing in 
 Comedy, that he has always in his chief Comedies joyn'd 
 his Love with Humour, and so made it ridiculous. 
 
 Another Objection is, that several Characters of this 
 Comedy are obsolete and quite out of date. The matter 
 of Fact indeed cannot be denied, and the Objection has 
 some force. For if there is any thing resembling in 
 Poetry and Painting, as the Sisters are certainly like, 
 then Heroick and Tragick Poetry may be compar'd to 
 History Painting; and Comedy, to Drawing after the 
 Life. Now the Pictures which are done after the Life, 
 if they are drawn by Masters, will certainly please 
 Masters, and all who are able to judge of the boldness 
 and the delicacy of the strokes : but the People who judge 
 only of the resemblance, are most delighted with the 
 Pictures of their acquaintance. Thus any Characters 
 in Comedy, which are finely drawn, will please those 
 who can judge ; but a Poet to please the generality, must 
 Copy the present Age. Thus, Sir, have I fairly stated 
 the objection in its utmost force; and now I shall answer 
 two things to it, first, that I never made it my chief aim 
 to please the generality, and a little lower shall ^ve my 
 Reasons for it. Secondly, that supposing I had, tho 
 
The Taste in Poetry 12^ 
 
 several of the Characters of this Play are indeed obso- 
 lete, yet that of Falstaffe will always be new, and when- 
 ever it comes to be Acted to the satisfaction of an 
 Audience, will infallibly fill the Stage better than a great 
 many Characters. 
 
 These, Sir, are the two general Objections, but there 
 are two particular ones. The first is, that I have 
 introduc'd an unnecessary Character in the Host of the 
 Bull. But I believe, Sir, that I have consider'd of this 
 matter with a little more attention than they who made 
 the Objection, and I know, that that Character is 
 absolutely necessary for the carrying on the Action 
 probably, which in the original Play is by no means 
 probable. For it is not likely, that Falstaffe would suffer 
 himself to be carried in the Basket, as far as Datchet 
 Mead, which is half a Mile from Windsor; and it is 
 plain, that they could not carry him, if he made any 
 resistance. Nor is it likely, that he would defer his 
 reflections upon his adventure, till he came back to 
 Windsor. So that the Soliloquies which he makes in 
 the fourth Act before Ford's entrance, are not design'd 
 for himself, but apparently address'd to the Audience, 
 which is the greatest fault that can possibly be in the 
 Drama. 
 
 The last Objection is, that the forementioned Scene 
 in the fourth Act, which is very long, is nothing but a 
 discovery of what the Audience had been Eye- Witnesses 
 of before. But this objection is unreasonable with 
 Relation to the original Play, and more unreasonable 
 with Relation to the altered one. For in the original 
 Play, Falstaffe makes a Relation to Ford not so much 
 of his being put into the Buck Basket, as of the circum- 
 stances which attended it; of what he suffer'd while he 
 was in it, and upon his coming out of it. And in this 
 
126 John Dennis 
 
 lyes the excellency of that Scene, that it gives an occasicm 
 for a great Actor to shew himself. For all the while 
 Falstaffe is making this Relation, Ford at the same time, 
 that in dumb acting, he shews a concern, and a fellow- 
 feeling to the Knight, shews a great deal of Joy and 
 Satisfaction to the Audience. 
 
 Thus in the original Scene Falstaffe makes a relation 
 of what had happened to him, since he left the Stage 
 last, and that Relation must be Comical, by Reason of 
 the occasion that it gives for an excellent Actor to shew 
 himself. But for the Alter'd Scene there is something 
 more to be said. For after that Falstaffe has rais'd 
 Ford's Joy for the others disappointment, which yet he 
 was forced to screen and shelter from the Knight with 
 a dissembled sorrow, Falstaffe by making a discovery 
 of something which had not happened, and strangely 
 altering the Adventure of Mrs Page, which he thought 
 himself obliged to do for the sake of his Credit, gives 
 his jealous Coxcomb a fresh alarm, and throws him into 
 real Convulsions. 
 
 Thus, Sir, have I laid before you the objeptions and 
 the answers to them, and leave it to you to judge, whether 
 the last are satisfactory, and whether the first had ever 
 been made, if the Play had succeeded on the Stage; for 
 you know. Sir, that Plays are like Men, the successful 
 are sure to find Friends enough, let them be never so 
 worthless, while ev'ry Maggot will be censuring the 
 conduct of the deserving unfortunate. For so fantastick 
 a composition is Man, that tho of all the Creatures which 
 the Sun illuminates, he is at once the vainest and most 
 miserable, at the same time so vain and so miserable, 
 that Nature seems to have given him Vanity as a support, 
 and a counterballance for Misery ; yet he is often so very 
 unthinking, and so foolishly severe against himself, as 
 
The Taste in Poetry 12'/ 
 
 to affirm that there can be no Merit, where there is no 
 Success. 
 
 Thus Fortune enslaves ev'n the Souls of men to 
 opinion; but she has never been able to reach yours. 
 You have been so far from thinking the better of others 
 for their enjoying her, that you have yourself refused 
 her favours, and disdained the allurements of a Mistress, 
 in whom you would have so many worthless persons 
 your Rivals. You look upon things as you see them 
 yourself, and not as the World mistakes them. You 
 know that success can at the best but illustrate merit, 
 and that it never gives it. That good Sence like Virtue 
 is not always prosperous at first, while Folly like Vice 
 triumphs. That it is unreasonable to believe that any 
 thing that is writ, should be better for succeeding, any 
 more than any thing that is done. That if an Action 
 may succeed because it is base and villanous, a Play may 
 well be supposed to take because it is very foolish. 
 
 But that as an action that pleases good men, must be 
 in itself good, the Play must certainly be well writ, which 
 pleases those who have taste. That as the a[c]tion 
 which pleases none but Villains, must in itself be hor- 
 ribly villainous, the Play which satisfies only those 
 persons who are not able to judge, must in itself be 
 extreamly ridiculous. 
 
 In short, Sir, that you might always pass a true judg- 
 ment on the productions of the mind, you have Reli- 
 giously observed the beautiful directions of a Modern 
 Critick. From hence it comes that you have 
 ntont neither shown an unjust aversion for the 
 
 Living, nor a fantastick veneration for the 
 Dead, that you reject what's trifling in the last, while you 
 esteem what's valuable in the first. That as Novelty has 
 no allurements for you, you have no aversion for that, but 
 
128 John Dennis 
 
 embrace or reject the works of an Author according to 
 their real merit, and the Impression which they ought 
 truly to make upon you ; and that your decisions are as 
 just and reasonable, and as free from whimsey as they 
 are impartial. 
 
 To conclude that a Play is good because Mr Granville 
 is pleased by it, is but a reasonable way of arguing. 
 But to say, that it is good because it pleases the generality 
 
 , of an Audience is a very absurd one. For ev'ry man 
 has, and will have his different pleasure. Wise men will 
 be sure to be pleased with things that are wise, and Fools 
 
 i will be inclined to be pleased with things that are foolish. 
 Montagn was pleased with playing with his Cat; but at 
 the same time he does her and himself the Justice to 
 believe she thought him an Ass for it. Would to Heaven 
 that some part of our Audiences were but as just as the 
 Frenchman, and some part of our Authors but as reason- 
 able as the Beast. Before a Play can be concluded to 
 be good because it pleases, we ought to consider who 
 are pleased by it, they who understand, or they who do 
 not. They who understand? Alas, they are but few, 
 and are seldom pleas'd there of late. They who do not? 
 That methinks is odd. Suppose a man should tell an 
 Author he never so much as heard of his Play, and 
 should the very moment following tell him he Uked it. 
 Would he be satisfied with this approbation? Would 
 he not be really mortified at it? Now ev'ry one who 
 talks like an Ass tells the World, tho against his will, 
 that he does not understand one word of a Play; and 
 is not he who never heard a word of a Cause as justly 
 qualified to determine it, as he who never understood a 
 word of it. 
 
 'Tis for this Reason, Sir, that when-ever I write I 
 
 ''make it my business to please such men as you are. As 
 
The Taste in Poetry I2g 
 
 very well knowing that whatever is writ has its imme- 
 diate success from Fortune, but its lasting one from 
 Art and Nature. That the People are always uncertain 
 and fluctuating, and guided by Opinion, and not by 
 Judgment, that the surest way to arrive at Reputation 
 is to please the knowing few, for that they at last must 
 draw in the multitude, but are never to be drawn in by 
 them. 
 
 I have been already tedious, or it would be an easie 
 matter to shew, that they who in all Ages have appeared 
 at once good Poets and good Criticks have writ to a, 
 few Persons, I mean to a few at present. For he whc| 
 writes to the many at present writes only to them, and; 
 his works are sure never to survive their admirers; bu^ 
 he who writes to the knowing few at present, writes td 
 the Race of mankind in all succeeding ages. But I am 
 glad that this is addrest to a Gentleman, who needs only 
 be put in mind of this, who is perfectly well acquainted 
 with Horace and Boileau, and who has often read the 
 Satyrs and the Epistles of both; and who consequently 
 is able to inform others, that those two celebrated Poets 
 directed their writings to the knowing few, and were 
 neither exalted by the approbation, nor dejected by the 
 censure of the rest, and that by such a proceeding they 
 came to please universally : That some of the most agree- 
 able parts of those Satyrs and those Epistles, are those 
 in which they laugh at the taste of the Vulgar, and that 
 among the vulgar they reckoned not only a great many 
 who were distinguished by their Rank from others, but 
 several whom the World called Wits and Poets; and 
 that they had a greater Contempt for those Wits and 
 Poets, than they had for any sort of People whatever, 
 unless for those who admired them. 
 
1^0 John Dennis 
 
 Ainsi qu'en sots Auteurs 
 Notre siecle est fertile en sots admirateurs 
 Boileau Et sans ceux qui fournit la ville et la Province 
 lart. Poe ji g^ g^f ^/j^^: le Due, II en est chez le prince 
 ttque Cant, u^^y^^gg /^ pi^^ plat, a chez les courtesans 
 Detout temps recontrez des Zeles partisans, 
 Et pour finir enfin par un trait de Satyre 
 Un sot trouve toujours un plus sot qui V admire 
 
 As th' Age produces shoals of scribbling 
 
 Fools, 
 'Tis full as fertile in admiring Tools; 
 Besides whole sinfarms in Country and in 
 
 Town, 
 Versailles has some of Lustre and Renown. 
 Th' Absurdest Ass that e're made Reader 
 
 sport. 
 Has in all times found zealous Friends at 
 
 Court, 
 No scribbling Fool so much a Fool can be. 
 But finds to admire him greater Sots than he. 
 
 They were perfectly satisfied that your ill Poets, and 
 your Would-be-Wits have in all ages been the most 
 undiscerning and most injudicious absurd People upon 
 Earth even in their own business. That it is not Wit, 
 but Reason and Judgment, which distinguish a man of 
 Sense from a Fool. That as nothing but Reason dis- 
 tinguishes Man from Beast, he who in his writings 
 frequently shocks Reason infallibly shews himself an 
 Ass ; and that tho he may impose upon Fools for a time, 
 ,by a wretched glimmering of Fancy, and a contemptible 
 clink of Verse, as Woodcocks and Widgeons are caught 
 by a lowd Bell and by a greasie Light, yet whenever he 
 
The Taste in Poetry i^i 
 
 comes to write in Prose, where Reason is plainly to 
 appear, he plainly appears to have none. 
 
 I could have said a great deal to have shewn, that the 
 most judicious of the Ancient Romans, and the Modern 
 French have been out of Humour with the taste of the 
 People, if I had not writ to a Gentleman, who is 
 perfectly satisfied about the matter. But now, if Horace 
 was justly out of Humour with the taste of the Roman 
 People in the time of Augustus Ccesar, I believe no 
 reasonable man will wonder if an English Writer is 
 dissatisfied with the taste of the English at this present 
 conjuncture. For you know very well. Sir, that let us 
 flatter ourselves as long as we please, there is no manner 
 of comparison between the Roman People and ours. 
 And the English were never sunk so miserably low in 
 their taste, as they are at present. If then the advice 
 that Horace gave in the tenth Satyr of the first Book 
 was good at that time, when directed to Roman Authors, 
 
 Neque te ut miretur Turha labores 
 Contentus paucis lectoribus. 
 
 It certainly must be much better now, when address'd 
 to our English Writers. I will not now pretend to deter- 
 mine whether the general taste of England ever was 
 good or no. This we know very well, that several Plays 
 have been indifferently received at first, which have 
 succeeded very well afterwards. The only Play that 
 ever Mr Cowley writ, was barbarously treated the first 
 night, as the late Mr Dryden has more than once 
 informed me, who has told me that he went to see it 
 with the famous Mr Sprat, now Bishop of Rochester, 
 and that after the Play was done, they both made a 
 visit to Mr Cowley, whom the Death of his Brother had 
 obliged to keep the House, and that Mr Cowley received 
 
1^2 John Dennis 
 
 the news of his ill success, not with so much firmness, 
 as might have been expected from so great a man. 
 
 But to return from whence I digressed, She wou'd if 
 she cou'd met with no better usage from the People at 
 first, tho at the same time it was esteem'd by the Men 
 of Sense, for the trueness of some of its Characters, and 
 the purity and freeness and easie grace of its Dialogue. 
 I need not say, that both those Plays have been since 
 acted with a general applause; and it wou'd be as need- 
 less to shew on the other side, that a thousand Plays 
 which were extravagantly applauded at first, are now 
 sunk to the very last degree of Contempt. 
 f But, Sir, whether the general taste of England ever 
 I was good or no, this I think cannot be controverted, that 
 |the taste of England for Comedy, which ought to be the 
 ithing in question now, was certainly much better in the 
 Reign of King Charles the Second, than it is at present. 
 For it was then extreamly good, and is now excessively 
 bad. The occasion. Sir, is fair, and nothing in this sort 
 of Criticism could be more curious or more important 
 than to enquire into the causes of this degeneracy of 
 taste. Notwithstanding that I have already detained 
 you too long, I flatter myself so far as to fancy, that the 
 handling a Subject so very new, may prove entertaining 
 to you, and therefore I will venture to treat of it. 
 
 Give me leave then. Sir, to lay down the following 
 Maxims, as things that are self-evident, and require no 
 proof. 
 
 First, That then there is among any People a good 
 taste for Comedy, when a very considerable part of an 
 Audience are qualified to judge for themselves, and when 
 they who are not qualified to judge for themselves, are 
 influenced by the authority of those who are rightly 
 qualified. Secondly, that then there is among any 
 
The Taste in Poetry /j^ 
 
 People a bad taste for Comedy, when very few of an 
 Audience are qualify'd to judge for themselves, and 
 when the rest are influenced by the authority of those 
 who are not rightly qualified. 
 
 And now having laid down these two Maxims, I shall 
 shew as briefly as I can, 
 
 First, That in the Reign of King Charles the Second, 
 a considerable part of an Audience were qualified to 
 judge for themselves, and that they who were not 
 qualified, were influenced by the authority of those who 
 were. 
 
 Secondly, That in the present Reign a very inconsider- 
 able part of an Audience are qualified to judge for 
 themselves, and that the rest are not influenced by the 
 authority of those, who are rightly qualified ; but in order 
 to the doing this, it will be requisite to declare what 
 qualifications are necessary for the judging of Comedy| 
 
 This, I think. Sir, need not be disputed, that for the 
 judging of any sort of Writings, those talents are iik 
 some measure requisite, which were necessary to producp 
 them. As for example, there are two things absolutely 
 required for the succeeding in Polemical Divinity; thp 
 one is a reasonable Head, and the second an acquaint- 
 ance with the Scriptures, Fathers and Councils; and It 
 is plain, that a proportionable share of Reason, and aii 
 acquaintance with the same Learning, are absolutely 
 necessary to judge of the goodness or badness of such 
 controversies. Now there are three things required for | 
 the succeeding in Poetry. 1. Great parts. 2. A generous | 
 Education. 3. A due Application. 
 
 First, There are required great Parts. I suppose, Sir, 
 this need not be proved, because it has been sufficiently 
 proved by experience. For whenever a good Poet has 
 laid aside Poetry for any other employment, he has 
 
i^/f John Dennis 
 
 seldom failed of succeeding in that employment, tho it 
 has been of never so great importance^but here by great 
 parts is meant chiefly a lively, and a warm, and a strong 
 imagination, and a solid and piercing judgment; for the 
 if production of a Reasonable Creature, must derive its 
 -chief advantage from Reason, which gave occasion for 
 that precept of Boileau in the first Canto of his Art of 
 Poetry. 
 
 Aimez done la Raison que tou jotvrs vos Ecrits 
 Empruntent d'elle seule et leur lustre et leur prix. 
 
 But Secondly, for the succeeding in Comedy, there is 
 required a generous Education, which comprehends; 
 1. Learning. 2. A knowledge of Mankind and the 
 World. 1. Learning, for tho it may be pretended, that 
 some have succeeded in Comedy, without the least knowl- 
 edge of the Learned Languages; yet here by Learning 
 I mean the knowledge of things, and not that of words, 
 which knowledge is absolutely necessary, because the 
 ultimate end of Comedy is to instruct, and to instruct 
 all; and it is impossible that the Learned should be 
 instructed by the Ignorant. But secondly, a knowledge 
 of the World and of Mankind, are necessary for 
 succeeding in Comedy. For since Comedy is drawing 
 after the Life, and a Comick Poet is obliged to Copy 
 the Age to which he writes, how should he possibly draw 
 them like, without knowing the persons. 
 
 But the third thing requisite for the succeeding in 
 Comedy is a due Application, and that likewise includes 
 /two things, the one of which is Leisure, and the other 
 \3erenity. First, Leisure, for Poetry is of that Dignity, 
 that it requires the whole man. And never any man 
 writ any thing that was admirable, who had any avoca- 
 tions at the time that he writ it. But secondly, to succeed 
 
The Taste in Poetry 755 
 
 in Comedy requires Serenity. For a Comick Poet is 
 obliged to put off himself, and transform himself into 
 his several Characters; to enter into the Foibles of his 
 several persons, and all the Recesses and secret turns 
 of their minds, and to make their Passions, their Interests, 
 and their Concern his own. Now how should he pos- 
 sibly do this, unless he is absolutely free, and undisturbed 
 by tormenting Passions, which bind him, as it were, and 
 if I may use that expression, chain him fast to himself. 
 
 But now, as Parts, Education and Application are 
 necessary to succeed in the writing Poetry, they are 
 requisite in some degree for the forming a true judgment 
 of it. No man can judge of a Beautiful imagination in 
 another, without some degree of it in himself. And as' 
 for the judging rightly of any thing without Judgment, 
 that is a contradiction in terms. And if Philosophy and 
 a knowledge of the World are necessary to a Comick 
 Poet, for his forming his Characters ; if an acquaintance 
 with the best Authors among the Antient and Moderns, 
 be requisite for the attaining the Vivacity and Grace of 
 the Dialogue ; why, then for the forming a true judgment 
 of these, the same Learning and the same Experience 
 are necessary. And lastly, if a Poet had need to have 
 his mind free, that he may the more thoroughly enter 
 into the concerns of the Theatre, and put on the Passions 
 and Humours of his different Characters, so as to make 
 them by turns his own ; why the Spectator, that he may 
 judge whether the Author does this or no, must enter 
 into those Passions and Humours in some proportion- 
 able degree, and consequently ought to have his mind 
 free from all avocations of Business, and from all real 
 vexatious Passions. 
 
 Having premis'd all this, we shall now come to shew : 
 First, that in the reign of King Charles the Second, a 
 
1^6 John Dennis 
 
 ![ considerable part of an Audience had those Parts, that 
 
 iji Education and that AppHcation, which were requisit for 
 
 rthe judging of Poetry, and that they who had not, were 
 
 I influenced by the authority of those who had ; and 
 
 Secondly, that in the present Reign very few in an 
 
 Audience have the f orementioned qualifications ; and that 
 
 those who have them not, have not the advantage to be 
 
 influenced by the authority of those who have. 
 
 First then, in the Reign of King Charles the Second, 
 a considerable part of an Audience had those parts, which 
 were requisite for the judging of Comedy. And we have 
 shewn above that those parts comprehend principally a 
 fine Imagination and a sound Judgment. Well, but says 
 an Objector; Are not the Imaginations and Judgments 
 of Mankind the same that they were then, or is Humane 
 Nature decay'd since the Reign of Charles the Second? 
 To which I answer, That the capacity of imagining and 
 of judging have been in all Ages equal in Mankind. 
 But then this is certain, that the faculties of the Soul, 
 like the parts of the Body, receive nourishment from use, 
 and derive skill as well as they do force and vigour from 
 exercise. Now I leave to any one to judge whether the 
 imaginative faculty of the Soul, must be more exercised 
 in a Reign of Poetry and of Pleasure, or in a Reign of 
 Politicks and of Business. Besides, as an Artist may 
 have that sort of Beauty of Imagination, which is 
 sufficient for the succeeding in Painting and Carving, 
 and may at the same time be not one jot the more 
 qualified for the succeeding in Poetry; so a man may 
 have that sort of Imagination, which is necessary for 
 the judging of Painting and Carving, and yet may not 
 be at all Capacitated to give his judgment of Poetry; 
 and this, if we will believe the Testimony of Horace, 
 was the case of the great Alexander. 
 
The Taste in Poetry 1^7 
 
 Idem rex ille Poema 
 Qui tarn ridiculum tarn care prodigus emit 
 Edicto vetuit nequis se prceter Apellem 
 Pingeret aut alius Lysippo duceret cera. 
 Fortis Alexandri vultum simulantia quod si, 
 Judicium subtile videndis artibus illud. 
 Ad libros & ad hcec Musarum dona vocares 
 Bceotum in Crasso Jurares aere natum. 
 
 We may say the very same thing of Judgment, a man 
 may be well qualify'd to judge of Fortifications, or the 
 Interest of Princes, and yet may show himself to be very 
 weak, when he comes to judge of Poetry (not that I 
 think that either a Statesman or an Ingineer is obliged 
 to understand Poetry; but he who pretends to judge of 
 any thing which he does not understand is certainly so 
 far weak.) So that 'tis Education and Application, 
 which qualify the Imagination and the Judgment for the 
 passing a right Judgment on Poetry; and therefore 'tis 
 time to proceed to the consideration of those two Heads. 
 
 Secondly, then in the Reign of King Charles the 
 Second, a considerable part of an Audience had such 
 an Education as qualified them to judge of Comedy. 
 That Reign was a Reign of Pleasure, even the entertain- 
 ments of their Closet were all delightful. Poetry and 
 Eloquence were then their Studies, and that human, gay, 
 and sprightly Philosophy, which qualify'd them to relish 
 the only reasonable pleasures which man can have in the 
 World, and those are Conversation and Dramatick 
 Poetry. In their Closets they cultivated at once their 
 Imaginations and Judgments, to make themselves the 
 fitter for conversation, which requires them both. And 
 the Conversation of those times was so different from 
 what it is now, that it let them as much into that particu- 
 
1^8 John Dennis 
 
 lar knowledge of Mankind, which is requisite for the 
 judging of Comedy, as the present Conversation removes 
 us from it. The discourse, which now every where turns 
 upon Interest, rolled then upon the Manners and 
 Humours of Men. For let us take a little view of the 
 state of the Nation, during the Reign of that Prince, 
 ,, from the year Sixty to Eighty. They were overjoy'd 
 i i to find themselves delivered from the apprehensions of 
 I another Civil War, and not only in quiet, but as they 
 i thought, in profound security. They were at the 
 same time free from Fears and Taxes, and by reason 
 of that plenty which overflowed among them, they were 
 in the happiest condition in the World, to attain to that 
 knowledge of Mankind, which is requisite for the judging 
 of Comedy. For while some were dissolv'd in the 
 wantonness of ease, and grown careless how they exposed 
 themselves, others were at leisure to observe their 
 frailties; to watch the turns and counterturns of their 
 Humours, and trace the windings of them up to their 
 very springs. All the sheer Originals in Town were 
 known, and in some measure copied. But now the case 
 is vastly different. For all those great and numerous 
 Originals are reduced to one single Coxcomb, and that 
 is the foolish false Politician. For from Westminster 
 to Wapping, go where you will, the conversation turns 
 upon Politicks. Where-ever you go, you find Atheists 
 and Rakes standing up for the Protestant Religion, 
 Fellows who never saw a Groat in their Lives, vehe- 
 mently maintaining Property, and People that are in the 
 Fleet and the Kings Bench upon execution for their 
 Lives, going together by the ears about the Liberty of 
 the Subject. There is not the emptyest Coxcomb in 
 Town, but has got his Politick Shake and his Shrug, and 
 is pretending to wisdom by Gestures, while his Tongue, 
 
The Taste in Poetry i^g 
 
 the surest Index of his Soul, declares him a very Ass. 
 Go among either the Lame or the Blind, and you shall 
 find them intercepting the Plate Fleet, or sending Forces 
 into Italy. For all Men are alarmed by the present 
 posture of affairs, because all men believe they are con- 
 cerned, which universal alarm has reduced those 
 Characters which were so various before, to a dull 
 uniformity. For great Fools, like great Wits, require 
 leisure and ease to shew themselves. And as this 
 uniformity of Characters has directly done a great deal 
 of harm to Comedy, because our Poets, for want of 
 Originals are forced to bring Copies, or else to draw 
 after their own Imagination, rather than after the Life, 
 so it has hurt it too indirectly, by the harm which it has 
 done to Playing. For observation is necessary to our 
 Comedians as well as our Comick Poets. And I verily 
 believe, that the want of Originals has been one great 
 cause of the decay of acting. And the decay of this is 
 the cause that when a good Comedy does come to be 
 writ, it can never be lik'd because it can never be Acted, 
 for the better a Play is acted, the better it is sure to 
 succeed. Now an empty trifling Play can better be 
 Acted by ill or indifferent Actors, than one that is 
 strongly writ in Nature, because the last requires 
 Masters. 
 
 Besides, there are three sorts of People now in our 
 Audiences, who have had no education at all; and who 
 were unheard of in the Reign of King Charles the Second. 
 A great many younger Br[o]thers, Gentlemen born, who 
 have been kept at home, by reason of the pressure of 
 the Taxes. Several People, who made their Fortunes 
 in the late War, and who from a state of obscurity, and 
 perhaps of misery, have risen to a condition of distinction 
 and plenty. I believe that no man will wonder, if these 
 
1/f.o John Dennis 
 
 People, who in their original obscurity, could never attain 
 to any higher entertainment than Tumbling and Vaulting 
 and Ladder Dancing, and the delightful diversions of 
 Jack Pudding, should still be in Love writh their old 
 sports, and encourage these noble Pastimes still upon the 
 Stage. But a 3d sort of People, who may be said to 
 have had no education at all in relation to us and our 
 Plays, is that considerable number of Foreigners, which 
 within these last twenty years have been introduc'd 
 among us ; some of whom not being acquainted with our 
 Language, and consequently with the sense of our Plays, 
 and others disgusted with our extravagant, exorbitant 
 Rambles, have been Instrumental in introducing Sound 
 and Show, where the business of the Theatre does not 
 require it, and particularly a sort of a soft and wanton 
 Musick, which has used the People to a delight which 
 is independant 6f Reason, a delight that has gone a very 
 great way towards the enervating and dissolving their 
 minds. 
 
 But thirdly, in the Reign of King Charles the Second, 
 a considerable part of an Audience had that due appli- 
 cation, which is requisite for the judging of Comedy. 
 They had first of all leisure to attend to it. For that was 
 an age of Pleasure, and not of Business. They were 
 serene enough to receive its impressions: For they were 
 in Ease and Plenty. But in the present Reign, a great 
 part of the Gentlemen have not leisure, because want 
 throws them upon employments, and there are ten times 
 more Gentlemen now in business, than there were in King 
 Charles his Reign. Nor have they serenity, by Reason 
 of a War, in which all are concerned, by reason of the 
 Taxes which make them uneasie. By reason that they 
 are attentive to the events of affairs, and too full of 
 great and real events, to receive due impressions from 
 
The Taste in Poetry i^i 
 
 the imaginary ones of the Theatre. They come to a 
 Playhouse full of some business which they have been 
 soUiciting, or of some Harrangue which they are to make 
 the next day; so that they meerly come to unbend, and 
 are utterly incapable of duly attending to the just and 
 harmonious Symetry of a beautiful design. Besides, the 
 Faction which has been so long in their Politicks is got 
 into their Pleasures, and they refuse to be delighted with 
 what some People write, not because they really dislike 
 it, but only because others are pleased with it, as if any 
 one should be such a Sot as to refuse Champaign, because 
 his Enemy finds it delicious. 
 
 Thus, Sir, I have shewn, that in King Charles the 
 Second's time, a considerable part of an Audience were 
 qualified to judge for themselves, and that at present a 
 considerable part of our Audiences are not qualify'd for 
 it. But there is an important thing behind, which I have 
 only time to hint at. That they who were not qualified 
 to judge in King Charles his Reign, were influenced by 
 the authority of those who were ; and that is of the Court, 
 which always in a peculiar manner influences the pleasures 
 of the Gentry. And some of the most eminent young 
 Courtiers had then an admirable taste of Comedy, as it 
 must always happen in a Court where the Prince 
 delights in it. But the Court of England at present has 
 other things to mind than to take care of Comedy. 'Tis 
 true, there may be several Gentlemen in it who are 
 capable of setting others right, but neither have they 
 leisure to do it, nor have others time to attend to them. 
 
 Thus, Sir, have I endeavour'd to shew the causes of 
 the degeneracy of taste in Comedy; which is every day 
 more and more declining. I might perhaps say the same 
 thing concerning Tragedy: For, in short, Sir, some of 
 the best Tragedies which have been writ since Shake- 
 
142 
 
 John Dennis 
 
 spear's time were writ in the Reign of (Maries the Second. 
 And you are almost the only Person alive, who are 
 capable of Writing a true Tragedy. In that which you 
 have already given us, you took the fudicious advice of 
 Horace, and chose a known subject from one of the 
 noblest Poems in the World. Your iicidents have both 
 Art and Nature to maintain them, a iid are as probable 
 as they are surprizing : Your Characti ts resembling your 
 sentiments, easie, proper, great, elevajied; your Expres- 
 sions Strong without Constraint, Engaging without 
 Artifice, Charming without Wantonness, and Majestick 
 without Pride. These, Sir, together with that noble Fire 
 which ev'ry where reigns in your Writings, are the 
 qualities which make you a Poet, and so clearly distin- 
 guish you from the Common numerous Playwrights that 
 pass upon the easie Town. 
 
 But 'tis high time to have done, for I am not guilty 
 of a fault myself, but what is worse, making you guilty 
 of a greater. For I am declaring what all the World is 
 sensible of, and you are blushing only at hearing the 
 truth. I am, 
 
 SIR, 
 Your most Humble and most Obedient Servant, 
 
 JOHN DENNIS. 
 
II. THE GROUNDS OF CRITICISM IN POETRY 
 
 1704 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 The Design of the following Treatise, is the 
 Re-establishment of Poetry. 
 
 The Design of the ensuing Treatise, whether we con- 
 sider the Importance or the Extent of it, is perhaps the 
 great est in this kind of Writing, that has been conceiv'd ,; 
 by the Modems; for 'tis no less than an Attempt to ' 
 restore and re-establish the noblest Art in every Branchfj* ' 
 of it: an Art, that by the Barbarity of the Times, is|; 
 fallen and sunk in them all, and has been driven and, 
 banish'd from every Country excepting England alone; 
 and is even here so miserably fallen for the most part by; 
 the Extravagance of its Professors, and by the Unskilful-' 
 ness of its Admirers, that we have reason to apprehend 
 it to be departing from hence too. 
 
 That Poetry is the noblest of all Arts, and by conse- 
 quence the most instructive and most beneficial to Man- 
 kind, may be prov'd by the concording Testimony of the 
 greatest Men, who have liv'd in every Age; the greatest 
 Philosophers, the greatest Heroes, and the greatest 
 Statesmen, who have, as it were, unanimously cherish'd, 
 esteem'd, admir'd it: and never has it been disesteem'd 
 or neglected by any but some Pretenders to Wisdom, and 
 by some contemptible Politicasters, Persons who have 
 got into the Management of Affairs only by the Weakness 
 of those who have employ'd them, and who have utterly 
 wanted Capacity to know what a glorious Use may be 
 
/ 
 
 /^^ John Dennis 
 
 made of it, for the Benefit of Civil Society. But in the 
 Sequel of this Discourse, by discovering the Nature of 
 Poetry in general (which seems to me to have been 
 hitherto but little understood) I shall clearly shew its 
 Excellence, and the Importance of this Undertaking. 
 And by laying down either the general Rules of it, or by 
 tracing out that sublime Art, which to make use of 
 -Milton's Expression, teaches what the Laws are of a 
 •true Epick Poem, what of a Dramatick, what of a Lyrick, 
 what Decorum is, what is the grand Masterpiece to 
 observe; I shall not only lay a good Foundation for the 
 judging of the Performance of the several Poets, whose 
 Works I have undertaken to examine, but shall, as Milton 
 says in his Treatise of Education to Mr. Hartlip, soon 
 jmake the World perceive what despicable Creatures our 
 common Rhymers and Play-wrights are, and shew them 
 what religious, what glorious, and magnificient Use may 
 be made of Poetry, both in Divine and in Human Things. 
 
 Chapter II. 
 That Poetry is to be establish' d, by laying down the Rules. 
 
 That an Art, so Divine in its Institution, is sunk and 
 profan'd, and miserably debas'd, is a thing that is 
 confess'd by all. But since Poetry is fallen from the 
 Excellence which it once attain'd to, it must be fallen 
 either by the want of Parts, or want of Industry, or by 
 the Errors of its Professors. But that it cannot be for 
 want of Parts, we have shewn clearly in the Advance- 
 ment of modern Poetry; nor can it be supposed to be 
 for want of Industry, since so many of its Professors 
 have no other Dependance. It remains then that it must 
 
The Grounds of Criticism 7^5 
 
 have fallen by their Errors, and for want of being guided 'iy.'t. 
 right. Since therefore 'tis for want of knowing by whati 
 Rules they ought to proceed, that Poetry is fallen so low,';; 
 it follows then that it is the laying down of those Rules'' 
 alone, that can re-establish it. In short, Poetry is either 
 an Art, or Whimsy and Fanaticism. If it is an Art, i1^\ 
 follows that it must propose an End to it self, and after-| '^ 
 wards lay down proper Means for the attaining that! 
 End : For this is undeniable, that there are proper Means 
 for the attaining of every End, and those proper Means i 
 in Poetry we call the Rules. Again, if the End of Poetry ^ 
 be to instruct and reform the World, that is, to bring 
 Mankind from Irregularity, Extravagance, and Confu- 
 sion, 1,QjElulg^_and Order, how this should be done by a , , 
 thing that is in it self irregular and extravagant, is 
 difficult to be conceiv'd. Besides, the Work pf everyw 
 reasonable Creature must derive its Beauty from Regu- / 
 larity; for Reason is Rule and Order, and nothing can 
 be irregular either in our Conceptions or our Actions, 
 any further than it swerves from Rule, that is, from 
 Reason. As Man is the more perfect, the more he 
 resembles his Creator; the Works of Man must needs 
 be more perfect, the more they resemble his Maker's. 
 Now the Works of God, tho infinitely various, are 
 extremely regular. 
 
 The Universe is regular in all its Parts, and it is to v 
 that exact Regularity that it owes its admirable Beauty. > ' 
 The Microcosm owes the Beauty and Health both of its 
 Body and Soul to Order, and the Deformity and Dis- 
 tempers of both to nothing but the want of Order. Man 
 was created, like the rest of the Creatures, regular, and 
 as long as he remain'd so, he continu'd happy; but as 
 soon as he fell from his Primitive State, by transgressing 
 Order, Weakness and Misery was the immediate Conse- 
 
i/f6 John Dennis 
 
 quence of that universal Disorder that immediately 
 follow'd in his Conceptions, in his Passions and Actions. 
 The great Design of Arts is to restore the Decays that 
 happen'd to human Nature by the Fall, by restoring 
 Order: The Design of Logick is to bring back Order, 
 and Rule, and Method to our Conceptions, the want of 
 which causes most of our Ignorance, and all our Errors. 
 The Design of moral Philosophy is to cure the Disorder 
 that is found in our Passions, from which proceeds all 
 our Unhappiness, and all our Vice; as from the due 
 
 J Order that is seen in them, comes all our Virtue and 
 all our Pleasure. But how should these Arts re-establish 
 Order, unless they themselves were regular ? Those Arts 
 that make the Senses instrumental to the Pleasure of the 
 Mind, as Painting and Musick, do it by a great deal of 
 Rule and Order: Since therefore Poetry comprehends 
 the Force of all these Arts of Logick, of Ethicks, of 
 Eloquence, of Painting, of Musick; can any thing be 
 
 I more ridiculous than to imagine, that Poetry it self 
 
 ''should be without Rule and Order? 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 What Poetry is, and that it attains its End by exciting 
 of Passion. 
 
 We have said above, that as Poetry is an Art, it must 
 have a certain End, and that there must be Means that 
 are proper for the attaining that End, which Means are 
 otherwise call'd the Rules : But that we may make this 
 appear the more plainly, let us declare what Poetry is. 
 J Poetry then is an Art, by which a Poet excites Passion 
 (and for that very Cause entertains Sense) in order to 
 
The Grounds of Criticism i^'j 
 
 satisfy and improve, to delight and reform the Mind,' , 
 and so to make Mankind happier and better : from which 
 it appears that Poetry has two Ends, a subordinate, and 
 a final one ; the subordinate one is Pleasure, and the final 
 one is Instruction. 
 
 First, The subordinate End of Poetry is to please, for 
 that Pleasure is the Business and Design of^j'oetry is 
 evident ; because Poetry, unless it pleases, nay and pleases \ 
 to a height, is the most contemptible thing in the World.-^ 
 Other things may be borne with if they are indifferent, 
 but Poetry, unless it is transporting, is abominable: nay, 
 it has only the name of Poetry, so inseparable is Pleasure 
 from the very nature of the Thing. 
 
 But, Secondly, The final End of Poetry is to reform 
 the Manners: As Poetry is an Art, Instruction must be 
 its final End; but either that Instruction must consist in 
 reforming the Manners, or it cannot instruct at all, and 
 consequently be an Art ; for Poetry pretends to no other 
 Instruction as its final End. But since the final End of 
 Poetry is to reform the Manners, nothing can be accord- 
 ing to the true Art of it, which is against Religion, or 
 which runs counter to moral Virtue, or to the true 
 Politicks, and to the Libertyof Mankind : and every thing 
 which is against the last, tends to tHe^ Corruption and 
 Destruction of Mankind; and consequently every thing 
 against the last, must be utterly inconsistent with the true 
 Art of Poetry. 
 
 Now the proper Means for Poetry, to attain both its 
 subordinate and final End, is by exciting Passion. 
 
 1st, The subordinate End of Poetry, which is to please, 
 is attain'd by excitiiig Passion, because every one who is ,j 
 pleas'd is mov'd, and either desires, or rejoices, orj; 
 admires, or hopes, or the like. As we are mov'd by 
 Pleasure which is Happiness, to do every thing we do, 
 
1^8 John Dennis 
 
 we may find upon a little Reflection, that every Man is 
 incited by some Passion or other, either to Action, or to 
 Contemplation ; and Passion is the Result either of Action 
 or of Contemplation, as long as either of them please; 
 and the more either of them pleases, the more they are 
 attended with Passion. The Satisfaction that we receive 
 from Geometry it self, comes from the Joy of having 
 found out Truth, and the Desire of finding more. And 
 the Satiety that seizes us upon too long a Lecture, pro- 
 ceeds from nothing but from the Weariness of our 
 Spirits, and consequently from the Cessation or the 
 Decay of those two pleasing Passions. But, 
 
 2dly, Poetry attains its final End, which is the reform- 
 ling the Minds of Men, by exciting of Passion. And here 
 tl dare be bold to affirm, that all Instruction whatever 
 jdepends upon Passion. The moral Philosophers them- 
 selves, even the dryest of them, can never instruct and 
 reform, unless they move ; for either they make Vice 
 /odious and Virtue lovely, or they deter you from one by 
 ithe Apprehension of Misery, or they incite you to the 
 Jother by the Happiness they make you expect from it; 
 'or they work upon your Shame, or upon your Pride, 
 pr upon your Indignation. And therefore Poetry instructs 
 and reforms more powerfully than Philosophy can do, 
 , because it moves more powerfully : And therefore it 
 ■i instructs more easily too. For whereas all Men have 
 Passions, and great Passions of one sort or another ; and 
 whereas those Passions will be employ'd, and whatever 
 way they move, they that way draw the Man ; it follows, 
 that Philosophy can instruct but hardly, because it moves 
 but gently : for the violent Passions not finding their 
 ' account in those faint Emotions, begin to rebel and fly 
 I to their old Objects; whereas Poetry, at the same time 
 I that it instructs us powerfully, must reform us easily ; 
 
The Grounds of Criticism iif.g 
 
 because it makes the very Violence of the Passions 
 contribute to our Reformation. For the Generality of 
 Mankind are apparently sway'd by their Passions, nay, 
 and perhaps the very best and wisest of them. The 
 greatest Philosophers and the greatest Princes are 
 influenc'd by their Favourites, and so are the wisest 
 Magistrates. And 'tis for this reason that not only the 
 Devil, who must be suppos'd to understand human 
 Nature, corrupts Mankind by their Passions; (for 
 Temptation is nothing but the inclining Men to such and 
 such Actions, by the raising such and such Passions in 
 them) but God himself, who made the Soul, and best 
 understands its Nature, converts it by its Passions. For,' 
 whereas Philosophy pretends to correct human Passions i 
 by human Reason, that is, things that are strong andi 
 ungovernable, by something that is feeble and weak iij 
 Poetry by the force of the Passion, instructs and reforms ;| 
 the Reason : which is the Design of the true Religion, as 'h 
 we have shewn in another place. So that we have here 
 already laid down one great Rule, necessary for the suc- 
 ceeding in Poetry: for since it can attain neither its 
 subordinate nor its final End, without exciting of Passion, 
 it follows, That where .jtbere,^ is .not^ng^wiuch directly_^ 
 tends_to_the^moving of that, .there can be no Poetry ; and 
 that consequently a Poet ought to contrive every thing in 
 order to the moving of Passion, that not only the Fable, '; 
 the Incidents and Characters, but the very Sentiments and 
 the Expressions, ought all to be design'd for that. For 
 since Poetry pleases and instructs us more even than 
 Philosophy it self, only because it moves us more, it 
 follows, That the more Poetry moves, the more it pleases 
 and instructs: and it is for this reason that Tragedy, tor" 
 those who have a Taste of it, is both more pleasing and 
 
1^0 John Dennis 
 
 more instructing than Comedy. And this naturally brings 
 \ us to the dividing Poetry into the greater and the less. 
 
 1. The greater Poetry is an Art by which a Poet 
 justly and reasonably excites great Passion, that he may 
 please and instruct; and comprehends Epick, Tragick, 
 and the greater Lyrick Poetry. 
 
 2. The less Poetry is an Art by which a Poet excites 
 less Passion for the foremention'd Ends; and includes 
 in it Comedy and Satire, and the little Ode, and Elegiack 
 and Pastoral Poems. But first we shall treat of the 
 former. 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 What the greater Poetry is, what Enthusiasm is. 
 
 The greater Poetry then, is an Art by which a Poet 
 justly and reasonably excites great Passion, in order to 
 please and instruct, and make Mankind better and 
 happier; so that the first and grand Rule in the greater 
 Poetry is, that a Poet must every where excite great 
 Passion: but in some Branches of the greater Poetry, it 
 is impossible for a Poet every where to excite in a very 
 great degree, that which we vulgarly call Passion: as 
 in the Ode, for example, and in the Narration of the 
 Epick Poem. It follows then, that there must be two 
 ,« sorts of Passion: First, That which we call Vulgar 
 vPassion; and Secondly, Enthusiasm. 
 
 First, Vulgar Passion, or that which we commonly 
 
 I call Passion, is that which is moved by the Objects than- 
 
 Iselyes, or by the Ideas in the ordinary Course^ of Life; 
 
 I mean, that common Society which we find in the World. 
 
 As for example. Anger is moved by an Affront that is 
 
 offer'd us in our presence, or by the Relation of one; 
 
The Grounds of Criticism i^i 
 
 Pity by the Sight of a mournful Object, or the Relation 
 of one; Admiration or Wonder, (the common Passion, 
 I mean ; for there is an Enthusiastick Admiration, as we 
 shall find anon) by the Sight of a strange Object, or the 
 Relation of one. But, 
 
 Secondly, Enthusiastick Passion, or Enthusiasm, is a 
 Passion which is moved by the Ideas in. Contemplation, 
 or the.Meditationjof_jthings^ that belong not to common 
 Life. Most of our Thoughts in Meditation are naturally 
 attended with some sort and some degree of Passion; 
 and this Passion, if it is strong, I call Enthusiasm. Now 
 the Enthusiastick Passions are chiefly six. Admiration, 
 Terror, Horror, Joy, Sadness, Desire, caus'dT)y Ideas 
 occurring To" us in Meditation, and producing the same 
 Passions that the Objects of those Ideas would raise in 
 us, if they were set before us in the same light that those 
 Ideas give us of them. And here I desire the Reader 
 to observe, that Ideas in Meditation are often very 
 different from what Ideas of the same Objects are, in 
 the course of common Conversation. As for example, ' 
 the Sun mention'd in ordinary Conversation, gives the 
 Idea of a round flat shining Body, of about two foot; 
 diameter. But the Sun occurring to us in Meditation,} 
 gives the Idea of a vast and glorious Body, and the topj 
 of all the visible Creation, and the brightest material 
 Image of the Divinity. I leave the Reader therefore to 
 judge, if this Idea must not necessarily be attended with 
 Admiration; and that Admiration I call Enthusiasm. 
 So Thunder mention'd in common Conversation, gives 
 an Idea of a black Cloud, and a great Noise, which makes 
 no great Impression upon us. But the Idea of it 
 occurring in Meditation, sets before us the most forcible, 
 most resistless/ "ind consequently the most dreadful 
 Phenomenon in Nature: So that this Idea must move 
 
1^2 John Dennis 
 
 a great deal of Terror in us, and 'tis this sort of Terror 
 that I call Enthusiasm. And 'tis this sort of Terror, or 
 Admiration, or Horror, and so of the rest, which 
 express'd in Poetry make that Spirit, that Passion, and 
 that Fire, which so wonderfully please. 
 
 Thus there are two sorts of Passions to be rais'd in 
 !Poetry, the Vulgar and the Enthusiastick ; to which last, 
 the Vulgar is preferable, because all Men are capable of 
 being moved by the Vulgar, and a Poet writes to all : But 
 the Enthusiastick are more subtle, and thousands have 
 no feeling and no notion of them. But where the Vulgar 
 ' cannot be moved in a great degree, there the Enthusias- 
 ' tick are to be rais'd. Therefore in those parts of Epick 
 • Poetry, where the Poet speaks himself, or the eldest of 
 ; the Muses for him, the Enthusiastick Passions are to 
 '^prevail, as likewise in the greater Ode. And the Vulgar 
 Passions are to prevail in those parts of an Epick and 
 Dramatick Poem, where the Poet introduces Persons 
 holding Conversation together. And perhaps this might 
 be one Reason, for which Aristotle might prefer Tragedy 
 to Epick Poetry, because the Vulgar Passions prevail 
 more in it, and are more violently moved in it ; and there- 
 fore Tragedy must necessarily both please and instruct, 
 ' more generally than Epick Poetry. We shall then treat 
 of the Vulgar Passions when we come to speak of 
 Tragedy, in which Poem they ought most to prevail : we 
 shall then more particularly shew the surest and most 
 powerful ways of raising Compassion and Terror, which 
 are the true Tragical Passions. 
 
 We shall at present treat of the Enthusiastick Passions, 
 ^and how they are to be rais'd. We have taken notice 
 ijabove, that they are to be mov'd by Ideas occurring in 
 (jContemplation ; that they are to be mov'd in a great 
 lliegree, and yet justly and reasonably. We shall now 
 
The Grounds of Criticism 755 
 
 shew, that the strongest Euthusiastick Passions, that are 
 justly and reasonaBly rais'd, must be rais'd by religious 
 Ideas ; that is, by Ideas which either shew the Attributes 
 of the Divinity, or relate to his Worship. And this we 
 shall endeavour to prove, 1st, By Reason: Mly, By 
 Authority: Zdly, By Examples. 
 
 1st, We shall endeavour to prove it by Reason. Since 
 the foresaid Passions are to be mov'd in a great degree, 
 and are to be mov'd by their Ideas, it follows, that to be 
 justly and reasonably mov'd, they must be mov'd by; 
 great Ideas. And therefore the stronger the Enthusiasm 
 is, the greater must the Ideas be. Now those Ideas are 
 certainly the greatest, which are worthiest to move the 
 greatest and the wisest Men : for there the Enthusiastickf 
 Passions in Poetry are truly admirable, when the greater 
 and more violent they are, the more they show the Large- 
 ness of Soul, and Greatness of Capacity of the Writer. 
 For Men are mov'd for two Reasons, either because they 
 have weak Minds and Souls, that are capable of being 
 mov'd by little Objects, and consequently by little and 
 ordinary Ideas; or because they have Greatness of Soul 
 and Capacity, to discern and feel the great ones : for the 
 Enthusiastick Passions being caus'd by the Ideas, it 
 follows, that the more the Soul is capable of receiving 
 Ideas whose Objects are truly great and wonderful, the 
 greater will the Enthusiasm be that is caus'd by those 
 Ideas. From whence it follows, that the greater the Soul 
 is, and the larger the Capacity, the more will it be mov'd 
 by religious Ideas ; which are not only great and wonder- 
 ful, but which almost alone are great and wonderful to 
 a great and wise Man; and which never fail to move 
 very strongly, unless it is for want of due Reflection, or 
 want of Capacity in the Subject. 
 
 Since therefore the Enthusiasm in the greater Poetry, 
 
7^^ John Dennis 
 
 is to hold proportion with the Ideas ; and those Ideas are 
 certainly the greatest, which are worthiest to move the 
 greatest and the wisest Men : and Divine Ideas, or Ideas 
 which shew the Attributes of God, or relate to his 
 Worship, are worthiest to move the greatest and the 
 wisest Men; because such Ideas belong to Objects which 
 are only truly above them, and consequently truly 
 Admirable, Desirable, Joyful, Terrible, &c. it follows. 
 That the greatest and strongest Enthusiasm that can be 
 employ'd in Poetry, is only justly and reasonably to be 
 deriv'd from Religious Ideas. 
 
 But here we desire the Reader's leave to make this 
 Observation, That since Religious and Divine Ideas, or 
 Ideas which shew the Attributes or relate to the Worship 
 of the Divinity, are the worthiest to move the greatest 
 and the wisest Men ; and the greater and wiser the Men 
 are, the more they must move and raise them; as for 
 example, the greater and more comprehensive the Soul 
 is, which reflects upon the Idea of God, the more that 
 Idea must fill that Soul with Admiration: it follows, 
 That as great Passion only is the adequate Language of 
 the greater Poetry, so the greater Poetry is only the 
 adequate Language of Religion; and that therefore the 
 greatest Passion is the Language of that sort of Poetry, 
 because that sort of Poetry is the worthiest Language of 
 Religion. 
 
 But, %dly. We shall proceed to prove by Authority, 
 
 ;;That the strongest Enthusiastick Passions in Poetry are 
 
 ipnly justly and reasonably to be rais'd by religious Ideas: 
 
 And this we shall show by the Authority of the greatest 
 
 Criticks among the Antients, Aristotle, Hermogenes, and 
 
 Longinus. 
 
 (1.) Aristotle says, in the third Book of his Rhetorick, 
 cap. 3, & 3. That the frequent Use of Metaphors, 
 
The Grounds of Criticism i^^ 
 
 Dialects, Epithets, is a great deal fitter for Poetry than 
 it is for Prose, because they are the Language of Pas- , 
 sion; and Poetry is more Passionate or more Enthu- 
 siastick than Prose, for this Reason, because the Persons 
 and the Things of which Poetry treats, are many degrees 
 above those which are the Subjects of Prose. Now all 
 the World knows, that the Grecians treated of the 
 greatest human Persons and Things in their Prose, but 
 that Poetry was a Language which they reserv'd for 
 their Gods, and for the Things which related to them. 
 And I am apt to believe, that Poetry from hence was 
 call'd the Language of the Gods, because whenever the 
 Grecians in the Poetical Times introduced their Gods 
 speaking, they were sure to speak in Verse. But, 
 
 (2.) Hermogenes, in the sixth Chapter of the first 
 Book of his Treatise, concerning the Forms of Speech, 
 tells us, that there are four kinds of Thoughts or Ideas, 
 or Conceptions, which were proper to give that Elevation 
 and Gravity to a Discourse, which by their Union compose 
 that Quality in Writing which we call Majesty. 
 
 1. The first and principal of them are all such 
 Thoughts or Ideas of God, as are worthy of the 
 Divinity; not like some of the Homerical Conceptions 
 of Jupiter, which, says Hermogenes, being more Human 
 than Divine, and unworthy of the Divinity, are contrary 
 to true Majesty. 
 
 2. Next to these the Conceptions which give Eleva- 
 tion and Gravity, and consequently Majesty to a Dis- 
 course, are such Thoughts or Ideas^concerning the Works 
 of God_j as are worthy the Divine Workmanship. 
 
 3. The third sort of Conceptions are, of such Things 
 as are indeed themselves Divine, but they are such 
 Emanations of Divinity,, as are to be seen -in Men; as 
 
1^6 John Dennis 
 
 Justice, Temperance, Fortitude, Nature, Law, and the 
 like ; to which may be added, Number, Power and Might. 
 4. The fourth sort are, of Things that indeed are 
 . Human, but are reputed Great and Illustrious, as 
 . Conquest, Riches, Nobility, &c. But here I desire the 
 Reader to observe, that Hermogenes is here speaking 
 concerning Pieces of Eloquence, and such Discourses as 
 are writ in Prose; for it is certain, that these last Ideas, 
 as they are of Things that are merely Human, can never 
 afford the greatest Spirit that can be employ'd in Poetry. 
 For as the Objects themselves are not truly great, because, 
 as Longinus says, a Man who has it in his power to 
 possess them, shows himself great by contemning them; 
 it is impossible that a Spirit that is very great, can flow 
 from these Ideas, because the Spirit that is very great 
 must hold proportion with its Ideas, as the Ideas must 
 with their Objects: and therefore these Ideas cannot be 
 great, because their Objects are not great. 
 
 We ought now, in the third place, to proceed to the 
 
 Authority of Longinus. But that we may diversify this 
 
 Treatise" the more, and make it the more entertaining, 
 
 we shall first shew Examples of the several Kinds of 
 
 the foremention'd Thoughts, producing that sort of 
 
 Spirit in Poetry which we call Enthusiastick Admiration : 
 
 I and that we may show the Reader more plainly how that 
 
 J Spirit is produc'd, we shall set before him as near as we 
 
 Scan, such kind of Thoughts as inspire the Soul with 
 
 Admiration alone, uncomplicated with Terror, or any 
 
 /other Passion. 
 
 These Thoughts, or Ideas, which produce that Enthu- 
 siasm which we call Admiration, are Thoughts or Ideas 
 which hold some proportion with such Objects, as in 
 their nature are truly admirable. Those Thoughts or 
 Ideas are of two sorts, Ideas of Sounds, and Ideas of 
 
The Grounds of Criticism i^j 
 
 Things. We shall then have occasion to treat of Ideas 
 of Sounds, when we come to speak of Terror, and some 
 of the other Enthusiastick Passions: we shall at present 
 treat of such Ideas of Things, as are proper to excite 
 Admiration. 
 
 We have shown that Hermogenes, in the first Rank 
 of these, reckons those Thoughts and Ideas of God, that 
 are worthy of the Creator: Such is the Invocation of 
 Milton, in the beginning of Paradise Lost. 
 
 And chiefly Thou, O Spirit ! that dost prefer ^ 
 Before all Temples, th' upright Heart and pure, 
 Instruct me, for Thou knowst. Thou from the first 
 Wast present, and with mighty Wings o'erspread, 
 Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast Abyss, 
 And mad'st it pregnant ; what in me is dark. 
 Illumine, what is low raise and support. 
 That to the Height of this great Argument 
 I may assert Eternal Providence, 
 And justify the Ways of God to Men. 
 
 And that it was these Divine Ideas, that rais'd his 
 Soul, and fill'd it with Admiration, and with a noble 
 Greatness, (which Passion express'd, makes the Great- 
 ness of the Spirit) the Reader who goes back to the 
 beginning of the Poem, will find no manner of room 
 to doubt. For Milton, like a Master, begins with a gentle^ 
 Spirit, which he continues for the twelve first Lines: 
 In the thirteenth, where he speaks of the Boldness of his 
 Attempt, he begins to rise ; and in the nineteenth, where 
 he talks of the'Power of 'the Holy Ghost, he is quite upon 
 ^e Wings. 
 
 Instruct me, for Thou know'st. Thou from the first. 
 
1^8 John Dennis 
 
 And such are the Thoughts concerning God, which are 
 spread thro that Divine Dialogue between God and Adam, 
 in the eighth Book of the same Poem: I beheve the 
 Reader will pardon the length if I repeat it, which I am 
 very much inclin'd to do, not only because I challenge 
 the most zealous Admirers of Antiquity to produce any 
 thing like it, from among all the Dialogues in Homer 
 and Virgil, that are between either a God or a Man, or 
 between one God and another; but because the Reader 
 ■who sees the Inequalities in it, will easily see that it 
 Iderives its Greatness and its Sublimity from the becoming 
 'Thoughts which it has of the Deity. That the Reader 
 may thorowly understand it, without turning to the Book, 
 the occasion of it is this : Adam, relating the History of 
 the Creation to the Angel Raphael, tells him, how after 
 he had given Names to the Birds and the Beasts, which 
 God had brought before him for that purpose; he who 
 understood their Natures, and saw none of them was 
 fit for his Conversation, desir'd of God in the following 
 Words a Partner fit for Human Society. 
 
 Oh by what Name, for Thou above all these. 
 Above Mankind, or ought than Mankind higher 
 Surpassest far my naming, how may I 
 Adore Thee ? Author of this Universe, 
 And all this Good to Man, for whose Well-being 
 So amply, and with Hands so liberal. 
 Thou hast provided all things. But with me 
 I see not who partakes ; in Solitude 
 What Happiness ? Who can enjoy alone? 
 Or all enjoying, what Contentment find? 
 Thus I presumptuous ; and the Vision bright. 
 As with a Smile more brightned, thus reply'd. 
 
The Grounds of Criticism i^g 
 
 Here by the way I desire the Reader to observe, how 
 the Spirit gf_ the Poemsinks, when Adam comes from 
 God tcT himself ; and how it rises again, when he returns 
 to his Creator. But let us proceed to God's Reply. 
 
 What call'st thou Solitude ? Is not the Earth 
 With various living Creatures, and the Air 
 Replenish'd ; and all these at thy Command, 
 To come and play before thee ? Know'st thou not 
 Their Language and their Ways ? They also know. 
 And reason not contemptibly; with these 
 Find Pastime, and bear Rule, thy Realm is large. 
 So spake the Universal Lord, and seem'd 
 So ordering : I with leave of Speech implor'd. 
 And humble Deprecation, thus reply'd. 
 
 Let not my Words offend Thee, Heavenly Power, 
 My Maker be propitious while I speak : 
 Hast not thou made me here thy Substitute, 
 And these inferior far, beneath me set ? 
 Among Unequals what Society 
 Can sort ? What Harmony or true Delight, 
 Which must be mutual in proportion due. 
 Given and receiv'd ; but in disparity 
 The one intense, the other still remiss. 
 Cannot well suit with either, but soon prove 
 Tedious alike ? Of Fellowship I speak. 
 Such as I seek fit to participate 
 All rational Delight ; wherein the Brute 
 Cannot be human Consort : They rejoice 
 Each with their Kind, Lion with Lioness; 
 So fitly them in Pairs thou hast combin'd : 
 Much less can Bird with Beast, or Fish with Fowl 
 
VM: 
 
 i6o John Dennis 
 
 ] 
 So well converse ; nor with the Ox the Ape ; 
 
 Worse then can Man with Beast, and least of all. 
 
 Whereto the Almighty answer'd, not displeas'd ; 
 A nice and subtle Happiness, I see. 
 Thou to thy self proposest, in the choice 
 Of thy Associates, Adam, and wilt taste 
 No Pleasure, tho in Pleasure solitary : 
 What think'st thou then of me, and this my State ? 
 Seem I to thee sufficiently possest 
 Of Happiness or not, who am alone 
 From all Eternity ? For none I know 
 Second to me, or like, equal much less : 
 How have I then, with whom to hold Converse, 
 Save with the Creatures which I made, and those 
 To me inferior infinite Descents 
 Beneath what other Creatures are to thee ? 
 
 . The Reader may easily see, that here is all that is great 
 ind sublime in Reason, express'd with the Spirit of that 
 ust Admiration, with which such worthy Thoughts of 
 
 the Deity must naturally fill the Soul. But now let us 
 
 see Adam's Answer. 
 
 He ceas'd. I lowly answer'd. To attain 
 The Height and Depth of thy Eternal Ways, 
 All Human Thoughts come short : Supreme of Things, 
 Thou in thy self art perfect ; and in Thee 
 Is no Deficience found : not so is Man, 
 But in degree, the Cause of his Desire 
 By Conversation with his Like to help 
 Or solace his Defects : no need that Thou 
 Shouldst propagate, already Infinite, 
 And thro all Numbers absolute, tho One : 
 
The Grounds of Criticism i6i 
 
 But Man by Number is to manifest 
 
 His single Imperfection, and beget 
 
 Like of his Like, his Image multiply'd. 
 
 In Unity defective, which requires 
 
 Collateral Love and dearest Amity. 
 
 Thou in thy Secrecy altho alone. 
 
 Best with thy self accompany'd, seek'st not 
 
 Social Communication ; yet so pleas'd. 
 
 Canst raise thy Creature to what height thou wilt. 
 
 Of Union, or Communion deify'd: 
 
 I by conversing cannot these erect 
 
 From prone, nor in their ways Complaisance find. 
 
 What Milton saith of the Son of God hymn'd by the 
 Angels, in the third Book of that Poem, is very lofty and 
 elevated. 
 
 Thee next they sang, of all Creation first 
 Begotten Son, Divine Similitude, 
 In whose conspicuous Countenance, without Cloud 
 Made visible, the Almighty Father shines. 
 Whom else no Creature can behold ; on Thee 
 Impress'd th' Effulgence of his Glory abides, 
 Transfus'd on Thee his ample Spirit rests : 
 He Heaven of Heavens, and all the Powers therein, 
 By Thee created, and by Theethrew down 
 Th' aspiring Dominations ; Thou that Day 
 Thy Father's dreadful Thunder didst not spare, 
 Nor stop thy flaming Chariot- Wheels that shook 
 Heaven's everlasting Frame, while o'er the Necks 
 Thou drov'st of warring Angels disarray'd. 
 
 I have the rather mention'd these Verses, to show that 
 Milton was a little tainted with Socinianism, for by the 
 
i()2 John Dennis 
 
 first Verse 'tis evident, that he look'd upon the Son of 
 God as a created Being. The last thing that I shall 
 mention, is, what God says of Himself, in the Seventh 
 Book; for speaking of Chaos, he says, that is boundless 
 because He is infinite. 
 
 Boundless the Deep, because I Am who fill 
 Infinitude, nor vacuous the Space ; 
 Tho I uncircumscrib'd my self retire. 
 And put not forth my Goodness, which is free 
 To act or not ; Necessity and Chance 
 Approach not Me, and what I will is Fate. 
 
 I could add an infinite Number of Examples, if it 
 
 were not altogether needless ; for what has been said may 
 
 suffice to show, that a Poet, who intends to give that 
 
 (Elevation and that Gravity to his Poem, which compose 
 
 SMajesty, can fetch his Ideas from no Object so proper 
 
 ks from God. For as great Elevation must be produced 
 
 "by a great Admiration, as every Passion which the Poet 
 
 excites ought to be just and reasonable, and adapted to 
 
 its Object, it is impossible that any one, who is not stupid, 
 
 can seriously contemplate his Maker, but that his Soul 
 
 /must be exalted and lifted up towards its Primitive 
 
 \ Objects, and be fiU'd and inspired with the highest 
 
 VAdmiration. For 'tis then that the Enthusiasm in Poetry 
 
 is wonderful and divine, when it shows the Excellence 
 
 of the Author's Discernment, and the Largeness of his 
 
 Soul: now all the Ideas of God are such, that the more 
 
 large and comprehensive the Soul of a Poet is, and the 
 
 more it is capable of receiving those Ideas, the more is 
 
 it sure to be raised, and filled, and lifted to the Skies 
 
 with Wonder : The Spirit or the Passion in Poetry ought 
 
The Grounds of Criticism 163 
 
 to be proportion'd to the Ideas, and the Ideas to the 
 Object, and when it is not so, it is utterly false. And 
 therefore whenever in Poetry there is a great Spirit 
 which is derived from Ideas, whose Objects are unworthy 
 to move the Soul of a great and a wise Man, there that 
 Spirit is either false, or at least has nothing sublimely 
 admirable in it. But nothing but God, and what relates 
 to God, is worthy to move the Soul of a great and a wise / 
 Man. But let us proceed to consider the glorious Works 
 of the Creator, which, next to Himself, are worthy to 
 move with Admiration all who are worthy to be called 
 wise ; because these, when they are reflected upon by the 
 Great and the Wise, never fail to declare his Eternal 
 Power and Godhead. Our Religion tells us, that the ■ 
 first, the greatest, and most glorious of his Works, are 
 the Angels ; who whether we consider their Power, their ^, 
 Swiftness, their Science, or their Sanctity, are fit Objects 
 of our Admiration, and consequently of lofty and / 
 elevated Poetry. Let us see then how Tasso describes 
 the Angel Gabriel, and his Descent, in the first Canto of 
 the Hierusalemme. 
 
 Stan. XIII. 
 
 Cosi parlogli, & Gabriel s' accinse 
 Veloce ad essequir I'imposte cose. 
 La sua forma inuissibil d' Aria cinse, 
 Et al senso mortal la sottopose. 
 Humane membra, aspetto human si sinse; 
 Ma di celeste m^esta il compose, 
 Tra Giouane, e fanciMllo et a confine 
 Prese, & ornd di raggi ill biondo crine. 
 
164 John Dennis 
 
 Stan. XIV. 
 
 Ali bianche uesti, c'han d'or le cime 
 Infaticabilmente agili, e preste 
 Fende i uenti, e le nubi, e ua sublime 
 Soura la Terra, e soura il Mar con queste. 
 Cost uestito indirizzossi a I' ime 
 Parti del mondo il Messaggier Celeste, 
 Pria sul Libano monte ei si ritenne, 
 E si libra su I' adeguate penne. 
 
 And thus it is translated by Fairfax, who tho he by 
 no means sheweth all the Spirit and Beauty of the 
 Original, yet even in his Antiquated Version he discovers 
 something of them. 
 
 Stan. XIII. 
 
 This said, the Angel swift himself prepar'd 
 To execute the Charge impos'd aright, 
 In form of airy Members fair embar'd. 
 His Spirits pure were subject to our Sight; 
 Like to a Man in shew and shape he far'd. 
 But full of heavenly Majesty and Might, 
 A Stripling seem'd he thrice five Winters old. 
 And radiant Beams adorn'd his Locks of Gold. 
 
 Stan. XIV. 
 
 Of Silver Wings he took a shining Pair, 
 Fringed with Gold, unweary'd, nimble, swift. 
 With these he parts the Winds, the Clouds, the Air, 
 And over Seas and Earth himself doth lift : 
 Thus clad he cut the Spheres and Circles fair, 
 And the pure Skies with sacred Feathers cleft. 
 On Libanon at first his Foot he set, 
 And shook his Wings with roary May-Dews wet. 
 
The Grounds of Criticism 165 
 
 But let us now consider Michael's Descent in the Night, 
 in the ninth Canto of the Hierusalemme. 
 
 Stan. LXII. 
 
 Venia scotendo con I' eterne piume 
 La Caligine densa, e i cupi horrori; 
 S'indoraua la notte al diuin lume, 
 Che spargea scintillando it uolto fuori; 
 Tale il Sol ne le nubi ha per costume, 
 Spiegar dope la pioggia i bei colori; 
 Tal fuel fendendo il liquido sereno 
 Stella coder de la gran madre in seno. 
 
 Which in English is as follows : 
 
 And as he flew, the Darkness of his way, 
 And the black Horrors of the dreary Sky, 
 He shaking his Eternal Wings, dispers'd ; 
 Old Night illustrated her dusky Face 
 With Rays, which his Celestial Eyes diffus'd. 
 Thus breaking thro a Storm, the Lord of Day 
 The Clouds with Purple and with Gold adorns ; 
 And thus a Star from the Nocturnal Heav'n, 
 Into the Lap of our great Mother falls. 
 
 Where the Reader may take notice, that the Compari- 
 son of the Sun to Michael the Prince of the Arch- 
 Angels, is extremely Just and Noble, because the top 
 of the visible is admirably liken'd to the top of the 
 invisible Creation: But in the two last Verses, Tasso 
 has injudiciously been guilty of an Anticlimax. But 
 now let us see how Milton describes the Descent of 
 Raphael to Paradise, in the fifth Book of Paradise Lost. 
 
\ 
 
 l66 John Dennis 
 
 Down thither prone in Flight 
 He speeds, and thro the vast Etherial Sky 
 Sails between Worlds and Worlds, with steddy Wing; 
 Now on the Polar Winds, then with quick Fan 
 Winnows the buxom Air, till within Soar 
 '-' Of tow'ring Eagles, to all the Fowls he seems 
 A Phoenix, gazed by all, as that sole Bird 
 When to enshrine his Relicks in the Sun's 
 Bright Temple, to Egyptian Thehes he flies. 
 , At once on th' Eastern Cliff of Paradise 
 -:. He lights, and to his, proper Shagejetums^: 
 A seraph wing'd : six Wings he wore to shade 
 His Lineaments Divine; the Pair that clad 
 Each Shoulder broad came mantling o'er his Breast 
 With Regal Ornament; the middle Pair 
 Girt like a Starry Zone his Waist, and round 
 Skirted his Loins and Thighs with downy Gold, 
 And Colours dipt in Heaven ; the third his Feet 
 Shadow'd from either Heel with feather'd Mail, 
 Sky-tinctured Grain : like Maia's Son he stood. 
 And shook his Plumes, that heavenly Fragrance fiU'd 
 The Circuit wide. 
 
 Thus the Reader may see, by what has been said, that 
 the Ideas of Angels are exceeding proper to raise 
 Enthusiastick Admiration, as being the most glorious 
 and admirable Beings of the Creation, and which lead 
 the Soul immediately to its Creator. Next to these come 
 the other Creatures of the immaterial World, as Demons, 
 Apparitions of all sorts, and more particularly the Spirits 
 of Men departed: then follow Prophecies, Visions, 
 Miracles, Enchantments, Prodigies, and all things which 
 have an immediate Relation to the Wonders of another 
 
The Grounds of Criticism idj 
 
 World; of most of which we shall give Examples, when 
 we come to speak of Terror, because they are rather 
 wonderful, than they are admirable. We name those 
 things wonderful, which we admire with fear. 
 
 The next Ideas that are most proper to produce the 
 Enthusiasm of Admiration, are the great Phseixomepa / 
 of the Material World ; because they too lead the Soul \ 
 to its Maker, and shew, as the Apostle says, his eternal ! 
 Power and Godhead: As the Heavens and Heavenly | 
 Bodies, the Sun, the Moon, the Stars, and the Immensity J 
 of the Universe, and the Motions of the Heaven and 
 Earth. Witness what Milton says of the Sun, when he 
 describes the Descent of Satan from Heaven-Gates to 
 Paradise, lib. 3. 
 
 Above them all. 
 The golden Sun, in Splendour likest Heaven, 
 Allur'd his Eye ; thither his Course he bends 
 Thro the calm Firmament, but up or down 
 By Center, or Eccentrick, hard to tell, 
 Or Longitude, where the great Luminary 
 Aloof, the vulgar Constellations thick, 
 That from his lordly Eye keep Distance due. 
 Dispenses Light from far ; they as they move 
 Their Starry Dance in Numbers, that compute 
 Days, Months, and Years tow'rds his all-chearing Lamp, 
 Turn swift their various Motions, or are turn'd 
 By his magnetick Beam, that gently warms 
 The Universe. 
 
 But to show how very much these fall short of the 
 immaterial Creation, a Poet, that he may make them 
 more admirable, contrives to give Spirit and Soul to 
 them. 
 
i68 John Dennis 
 
 Where the great Luminary 
 Aloof, the vulgar Constellations thick, 
 That from his lordly Eye keep Distance due. 
 Dispenses Light from far. 
 
 And in that noble Apostrophe to the Sun, the Devil 
 makes in the beginning of the third Book. 
 
 O thou that with surpassing Glory crown'd, 
 Look'st from thy sole Dominion like the God 
 Of this new World, at whose sight all the Stars 
 Hide their diminish'd Heads, &c. 
 
 And in that admirable Passage in the seventh Book, 
 where Adam desires the Angel to give him an Account 
 of the Creation. 
 
 K unforbid thou mayst unfold 
 What we, not to explore the Secrets, ask. 
 Of his Eternal Empire ; but the more 
 To magnify his Works, the more we know : 
 And the great Light of Day yet wants to run 
 Much of his Race, tho steep, suspense in Heaven, 
 Held by thy Voice, thy potent Voice he hears, 
 And longer will delay to hear thee tell 
 His Generation, and the rising Birth 
 Of Nature, from the unapparent Deep. 
 
 And in the Apostrophe to the Sun in the fourth .^Eneid. 
 Sol, qui Terrarum Flammis Opera omnia lustras. 
 
 Which is in English : 
 
 Great God of Day, that with thy flaming Beams 
 View'st and illuminat'st at once a World. 
 
The Grounds of Criticism i6g 
 
 And in what Milton says of the Moon, in the fourth 
 Book of Paradise Lost. 
 
 Hesperus, that led 
 The Starry Host, rode brightest, till the Moon, 
 Rising in clouded Majesty, at length 
 Apparent Queen unveil'd her peerless Light, 
 And o'er the Dark her silver Mantle threw. 
 
 For the Stars, and the Immensity of the Universe, I 
 desire the Reader would give me leave to bring an 
 Example, from the Paraphrase upon the Te Deum, where 
 thus the Angel speaks to God. 
 
 Where'er at utmost Stretch we cast our Eyes, 
 Thro the vast frightful Spaces of the Skies, 
 Ev'n there we find thy Glory, there we gaze 
 On thy bright Majesty's unbounded Blaze : 
 Ten thousand Suns, prodigious Globes of Light, 
 At once in broad Dimensions strike our Sight ; 
 Millions behind, in the remoter Skies, 
 Appear but Spangles to our weary'd Eyes : 
 And when our weary'd Eyes want farther Strength 
 To pierce the Void's immeasurable Length, 
 Our vigorous tow'ring Thoughts still further fly. 
 And still remoter flaming Worlds descry : 
 But even an Angel's comprehensive Thought, 
 Cannot extend so far as thou hast wrought ; 
 Our vast Conceptions are by swelling, brought, 
 Swallow'd and lost in Infinite, to nought. 
 
 The Idea of the World's Immensity is very proper to 
 produce Admiration, as leading us to the Glory of the 
 Creator; the Use that Milton makes of it, in the eighth 
 Book of Paradise Lost. 
 
770 John Dennis 
 
 And for the Heavens wide Circuit, let it speak 
 The Maker's high Magnificence, who built 
 So spacious, and his Line stretch'd out so far, 
 That Man may know he dwells not in his own ; 
 An Edifice too large for him to fill, 
 Lodg'd in a small Partition, and the rest 
 Ordain'd for Uses to his Lord best known. 
 
 And Tasso finely makes use of that noble Idea, to 
 repress the Pride and Ambition of Man. 'Tis in the 14th 
 Canto of the Hierusalemme, where Hugo bids Godfrey, 
 who had been rapt up to Heaven in a Vision, look down 
 from the Firmament to the Earth 
 
 Stan. IX. 
 
 China, pot disse, e gli addito la Terra, 
 
 Gli occhi a cid, che quel globo ultimo serra. 
 
 X. 
 
 Quanto e uil la cagion, ch'a la uirtude 
 Humana e cola giu premio, e contrasto: 
 In che picciolo cerchio, e fra che nude 
 Solitudini e stretto il uostro fasto. 
 Lei come Isola, il mare intorno chiude, 
 E lui, c' hor Ocean chiamafe, hor uasto 
 Nulla eguale a tai nomi ha in se di magno, 
 Ma e bassa palude, e breue stagno. 
 
 Stan. XL 
 
 Cosi r un disse e I' altro in giuso i lumi 
 Volse, quasi sdegnoso, e ne sorrise; 
 Che uide un punto sol, mar, terre, e fiumi, 
 Che qui paion distinti in tante guise, 
 Et ammiro, che pur a I' ombre, a i fumi, 
 
The Grounds of Criticism iji 
 
 La nostra folk humanita s" affise, 
 Seruo Imperio cercando, e muta fama, 
 Ne miri il del, ch' a se n' inuita, e chiama. 
 
 The following Verses of Milton, in the eighth Book of 
 Paradise Lost, concerning the Magnitude and the Motions 
 of the Heavens and Earth, derive a lofty Spirit from their 
 Subject; for there says Adam, 
 
 When I behold this goodly Frame, this World, 
 Of Heaven and Earth, consisting, and compute 
 Their Magnitudes, this Earth a Spot, a Grain, 
 An Atom with the Firmament compar'd 
 And all her numbred Stars, that seem to roll 
 Spaces incomprehensible (for such 
 Their Distance argues, and their swift Return 
 Diurnal) 
 
 I could here bring Examples of the same kind of Spirit, 
 deriv'd in due Proportion from Ideas of Sublunary 
 Things ; as of the four Elements, Water, Earth, Air, Fire ; 
 Winds and Meteors of all sorts, Seas, Rivers, Mountains : 
 but I am afraid of running into length, and heaping too 
 many Citations one upon another. Besides, it will be very 
 convenient to make two or three Remarks here. 
 
 First, That the Wonders of the Universe afford the 
 more admirable Ideas, and a more admirable Spirit, the 
 more they shew the Attributes of the Creator, or relate 
 to his Worship. Secondly, That Natural Philosophy is 
 absolutely necessary to a Poet, not only that he may adorn 
 his Poem with the useful Knowledge it affords, but 
 because the more he knows the immense Phsenomena of 
 the Universe, the more he will be sure to admire them." 
 For the more we know of Things that are never to be 
 comprehended by us, the more that Knowledge must make 
 
I'j2 John Dennis 
 
 them appear wonderful. The third Remark that I shall 
 make is this, That they to whom Nature has given that 
 happy Elevation of Thought, which alone can make a 
 great Poet, will often be directed by that Tendency to 
 Greatness, which they have within them to Ideas, from 
 which they may derive a lofty Spirit; yet I shall shew, 
 by the Example of Milton, that they may often very 
 ngrpsly fail, for want of a certain Knowledge of the 
 j (Objects from which they are to draw their Ideas: for 
 tis for want of that Knowledge that Milton has done 
 the most unartful thing that perhaps ever was done, in 
 |:he two or three last Books of the greatest Poem that 
 ever was written by Man. For whereas in the first 
 eight Books, he had by the Mouth of God or Angels, 
 or of Man the Companion of Angels, divinely entertain'd 
 us with the wondrous Works of God; in the latter end 
 of his Poem, and more particularly, in the last Book, 
 
 I he makes an Angel entertain us with the Works of 
 corrupted Man. From which it is very plain, by what 
 has been deliver'd above, concerning the nature of 
 Enthusiastick Passion, that that Angel could draw no 
 sort of Enthusiasm, and least of all that of Admiration 
 and Terror, which give the principal Greatness and 
 Elevation to Poetry. For how flat, how low, and 
 unmusical is the Relation of the Actions of fallen Man, 
 in the tenth Book, tho deliver'd by the Voice of 
 Divinity ? 
 
 On Adam last thus Judgment he pronounc'd; 
 Because thou hast hearkned to the Voice of thy Wife, 
 And eaten of the Tree, concerning which 
 I charg'd thee, saying. Thou shalt not eat thereof, 
 Curs'd is the Ground for thy sake, thou in Sorrow 
 Shalt eat thereof all the Days of thy Life ; 
 
The Grounds of Criticism 77J 
 
 Thorns also, and Thistles it shall bring thee forth 
 Untill'd, and thou shalt eat the Herb of the Field. 
 In the Sweat of thy Face shalt thou eat Bread, 
 Till thou return unto the Ground, for thou 
 Out of the Ground wast taken ; know thy Birth, 
 For Dust thou art, and shalt to Dust return. 
 
 The late Mr. Dryden, with a great deal of Injustice, 
 us'd to attribute the Flatness of Milton, in this and some 
 other Passages, to his getting into a Track of Scripture, 
 as he was pleas'd to express himself : Whereas the thing 
 that made him sink, was plainly the Poorness and Low- 
 ness of the Ideas. For how could the Works of corrupted 
 Man afford any other to God or Angels? But what 
 lofty, what glorious Ideas does a religious Mention of 
 the Works of God afford to Man in his Primitive State, 
 in that incomparable Hymn in the fifth Book of the 
 same Paradise Lost ? A Hymn, which tho it is intirely 
 taken from Scripture, for it is apparently the 148th 
 Psahn, yet will always stand alone, the Phoenix of lofty 
 Hymns; and nothing equal to it, no nor second to it, 
 can ever be produc'd from the Grecian Writers of 
 Hymns. It is impossible I can do a greater pleasure to 
 the Reader, who either has not read or does not remember 
 Milton, than to insert it here. 
 
 These are thy glorious Works, Parent of Good, 
 Almighty, thine this Universal Frame, 
 Thus wondrous fair, thy Self how wondrous then ! 
 Unspeakable ; who sit'st above these Heavens, 
 To us invisible, or dimly seen 
 In these thy lowest Works ; yet these declare 
 Thy Goodness beyond Thought, and Power Divine. 
 Speak ye who best can tell, ye Sons of Light, 
 Angels, for ye behold him, and with Songs 
 
77^ John Dennis 
 
 And Choral Symphonies, Day without Night 
 
 Circle his Throne rejoicing, ye in Heaven 
 
 On Earth join all the Creatures, to extol 
 
 Him first, Him last. Him midst, and without end. 
 
 Fairest of Stars, last in the Train of Night, 
 
 If better thou belong not to the Dawn, 
 
 Sure Pledge of Day, that crown'st the smiling Morn 
 
 With thy bright Circlet, praise him in thy Sphere, 
 
 While Day arises, that sweet Hour of Prime. 
 
 Thou Sun, of this great World both Eye and Soul, 
 
 Acknowledge Him thy Greater, sound his Praise 
 
 In thy eternal Course, both when thou climb'st. 
 
 And when High-Noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'st. 
 
 Moon, that now meets the Orient Sun, now fly'st 
 
 With the fix'd Stars, fix'd in their Orb that flies ; 
 
 And ye five other wandring Fires, that move 
 
 In mystick Dance not without Song, resound 
 
 His Praise, who out of Darkness call'd up Light. 
 
 Air and ye Elements, the eldest Birth 
 
 Of Nature's Womb, that in Quaternion run 
 
 Perpetual Circle multiform, and mix 
 
 And nourish all things, let your ceasless Change 
 
 Vary to our great Maker still new Praise. 
 
 Ye Mists and Exhalations that now rise. 
 
 From Hill or steaming Lake, dusky or grey. 
 
 Till the Sun paint your fleecy Skirts with Gold, 
 
 In honour to the World's great Author rise, 
 
 Whether to deck with Clouds th' uncolour'd Sky, 
 
 Or wet the thirsty Earth with falling Showers ; 
 
 Rising or falling still advance his Praise. 
 
 His Praise, ye Winds, that from four Quarters blow. 
 
 Breathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye Pines, 
 
 With every Plant, in sign of Worship wave. 
 
 Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow 
 
The Grounds of Criticism 775 
 
 Melodious Murmurs, warbling tune his Praise. 
 
 Join Voices all ye living Souls, ye Birds 
 
 That singing up to Heaven-Gates ascend, 
 
 Bear on your Wings, and in your Notes, his Praise. 
 
 Ye that in Waters glide, and ye that walk 
 
 The Earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep. 
 
 Witness if I be silent Morn or Even, 
 
 To Hill or Valley, Fountain or fresh Shades, 
 
 Made vocal by my Song, and taught his Praise. 
 
 Hail Universal Lord, be bounteous still. 
 
 To give us only Good ; and if the Night 
 
 Have gather'd ought of Evil or conceal'd. 
 
 Disperse it, as now Light dispels the Dark. 
 
 'Tis easy to discern here, with how much more 
 Divinity Milton makes a Man speak concerning the 
 Works of God, than he makes even the Creator himself 
 speak concerning the Works of Man. But here if the 
 Reader will pardon a Digression, I shall make an 
 Observation which may not be disagreeable to him. ; 
 The Observation is this. That all the Passages in Paradise I 
 Lost, where God is introduced speaking, are flat to the | 
 reserve of those in which he speaks of himself. Upon i 
 inquiring into the Reason of it, I found, that according 
 to the Account which I have given of Poetical Enthu- 
 siasm, or of the Spirit of Poetry, it is nothing but that 
 Admiration and Terror, and the rest of those Enthu- 
 siastical Passions which are produced by their proper 
 Ideas, and which are to hold proportion with their Ideas, 
 as their Ideas must with their Objects. Now nothing 
 is more impossible than that God should either fear or 
 admire his own Creatures. But where Milton makes 
 him speak concerning himself, or his infinite Power, 
 
i'j6 John Dennis 
 
 there he makes him speak with a great Spirit, as in the 
 Passage of the sixth Book where he speaks to his Son. 
 
 Go then thou mightiest in thy Father's Might, 
 Ascend my Chariot, guide the rapid Wheels, 
 That shake Heaven's Basis, bring forth all my War, 
 My Bow and Thunder, my Almighty Arms. 
 
 'Tis plain that here the Poet is guilty of a Mistake 
 but indeed a Mistake that is almost unavoidable ; for 'ti 
 the Admiration and Terror that make the Spirit in th 
 preceding Verses; and it is impossible to conceive th 
 Ideas without feeling the Passions : so that Milton, whil 
 he was rapt with Admiration, and moved with Terro 
 by the Ideas which he had conceiv'd, shifts Person 
 insensibly, and forgetting who speaks, expresses himsel 
 with those Passions which indeed are proper enough ii 
 the Poet, but never can be so in the Deity. For neithe 
 his Bow, nor his Almighty Arms, his Thunder, nor th 
 rapid Wheels that shake Heaven's Basis, can be in th 
 least admirable or terrible to the Divinity; so that Mi 
 .Cowley is certainly in the right in his Notes upon hi 
 ; Davideis, where he tells us, that God is to be introduce! 
 ; speaking simply. And this puts me in mind of ai 
 extraordinary Argument of Monsieur Paschal, provini 
 the Divinity of our Saviour by the Simplicity of hi 
 Stile; for, says he, our Saviour speaks of the sublimes 
 Subjects, even the Glories of the Kingdom of Heaver 
 without being moved at all, which shews that he wa 
 really God: for suppose a Peasant, says he, or ai 
 ordinary Man should be carry'd to the Court of som 
 Prince, as for example the Great Mogul, and there b 
 shewn all his Riches, his Pomp, and his Power; thi 
 Peasant at his return would certainly speak of thes 
 
The Grounds of Criticism lyy 
 
 things in extravagant terms, in terms that would suffi- 
 ciently declare his Transport. But if the Mogul himself 
 was to speak of them, he who had been always used to \ 
 them, would speak without any Emotion. So, says 
 Monsieur Paschal, if any one else had deliver'd any thing 
 concerning the Glories of the Kingdom of Heaven, he 
 would certainly have done it with Transport, nay tho 
 he had been a Fanatick or an Impostor: for let those 
 Divine Ideas come how they will, 'tis impossible for Man 
 to think of them without being ravish'd by them. But 
 our Saviour, who was God, and who consequently had 
 been used to them from all Eternity, spoke of them 
 unconcern'd. 
 
 But let us come to the third sort of Thoughts, which, 
 Hermogenes says, are proper to give Elevation and , 
 Gravity to a Discourse ; and those are things which I 
 indeed are divine, says he, but are often beheld in Men. '' 
 These Emanations of Divinity are the Virtues, such as 
 Temperance, Justice, Fortitude, Magnanimity ; or Nature, | 
 Law, Power, and the like. And we should never make 
 an end, if we should give Examples of all the Passages, 
 whose Greatness of Spirit is deriv'd from these Ideas. 
 But for the Reader's Entertainment, we shall mention 
 a few. 
 
 The Power of ruling our own Minds, which may be 
 refer'd to Temperance, gives noble Ideas, and conse- 
 quently a noble Spirit, as we may see by the second Ode 
 of the second Book of Horace. 
 
 Latius regnes avidum domando 
 Spiritum, quam si Lybiam remotis 
 Gadibus jungas, & uterque Panus 
 
 Serviat uni. 
 
775 John Dennis 
 
 Which in English is thus : 
 
 Thou a more absolute Command shalt gain, 
 A larger nobler Empire shalt obtain, 
 If thy wild Lust of Pow'r thou canst restrain ; 
 Than if to Spain thy conqu'ring Troops should join \ 
 The Moors, that fry beneath the parching Line, >- 
 
 And both the Carthaginians should be thine. ) 
 
 And the Idea of Fortitude affords too a noble Spirit, 
 as we may see in the twelfth of the Mneis, where Turnus 
 replies to Mneas, who upbraids him with Fear. 
 
 -Non me tua fervida terrent 
 
 Dicta fero.v. Dii me terrent, & Jupiter hostis. 
 
 'Tis true, I am afraid, but not of thee, 
 Nor thy vain threatning Words, insulting Man : 
 The Gods alone can frighten me, and Jove 
 Who now declares against me. 
 
 And that is a very remarkable Passage in the fifteenth 
 Stanza of the fourth Canto of the Hierusalemme ; for 
 after Pluto had demanded of the assembled Fiends, if 
 they will stand idle and suffer the Christian Armies to 
 throw down their Altars, and destroy their Worship; 
 he adds. 
 
 Ah non fia uer, che non sono anco estinti 
 Gli spirti in uoi di quel ualor primiero, 
 Quando di ferro, e d'alte fiamme cinti 
 Pugnammo gia contra il celeste Impero; 
 Fummo (io no' I nego) in quest o conflitto vinti, 
 Pur non mancd uirtute at gran pensiero, 
 Hebbero i piu felici al hor uittoria 
 Rimase a noi d' inuitto ardir la gloria. 
 
The Grounds of Criticism I'jg 
 
 Which in English is thus : 
 
 Ah never let it be, ye assembled Gods ! 
 For still, we still th' unconquer'd Spirit feel 
 Of that eternal Valour, when of old 
 Begirt with shining Arms and brighter Flames, 
 Against th' Omnipotent we daring fought. 
 'Tis true, we lost the Day, but not for want 
 Of Valour equal to the vast Design ; 
 Fortune gave him the Field, th' immortal Fame 
 Was ours of having made the brave Attempt : 
 Th' immortal Fame was ours, who still retain'd 
 That Fire invincible with which we fought, 
 And dar'd what never Angels durst before. 
 
 From which Milton has apparently borrow'd part of 
 Lucifer's Speech in the first Book of Paradise Lost. 
 
 What tho the Field be lost? 
 All is not lost ; th' unconquerable Will, 
 And Study of Revenge, immortal Hate, 
 And Courage never to submit or yield. 
 
 And in Armida's Speech to Godfrey, Canto 4. Stan. 63. 
 Tasso derives a noble Spirit from Godfrey's Power and 
 Justice. 
 
 Tu, cui cocesse il Cielo e dielti in fato 
 Voler' il giusto, e poter cio, che uuoi. 
 
 Which is in English ; 
 
 Then for whom dooming Heav'n has made it Fate, 
 That thy Designs should still be just, and thou 
 Shouldst ne'er want Power to act those vast Designs. 
 
 And from the Magnanimity of Rinaldo, in the four- 
 teenth Stanza of the fifth Canto. 
 
i8o John Dennis 
 
 Onde cosi rispose, i primi gradi 
 Piu meritar, che conseguir desio, 
 Ne pur, che me la mia uirtu sublimi 
 Di scettri altezza inuidiar degg'io. 
 
 In English : 
 
 Rinaldo answer'd thus, The foremost Rank 
 I rather would deserve, than would obtain ; 
 And can contemn the Scepters held by all 
 Whose Fame to my superiour Virtue yields. 
 
 / The fourth sort of Thoughts which Hermogenes 
 //mentions, as Riches, Nobility, Place, Office, Rank, and 
 ^ the like ; we shall purposely pass by, without giving 
 Examples of them, because we shall have a particular 
 occasion to do it hereafter. Let us now pass to the next 
 j Enthusiastick Passion, which is Terror ; than which, if 
 lit is rightly managed, none is more capable of giving a 
 iigreat Spirit to Poetry. This Passion scarce ever goes 
 by it self, but is always more or less complicated with 
 / Admiration. For every thing that is terrible, is great 
 y'^t least to him to whom it is terrible. 'Tis now our 
 business to shew two things: First, what this Enthu- 
 siastick Terror is; and, Secondly, from what Ideas it is 
 chiefly to be deriv'd. 
 
 First, let us show what this sort of Enthusiasm is; 
 and in order to that, let us shew as briefly as we can, 
 what the common Passion is, which we call Terror. 
 Fear then, or Terror, is a Disturbance of^ Mio4_ pro- 
 ceeding from an Apprehension of an approaching Eyi.1, 
 ithreatning Destruction or very great Trouble either to 
 ,us or ours. And when the Disturbance comes suddenly 
 (with surprize, let us call it Terror ; when gradually, Fear. " 
 Things then that are powerful, and likely to hurt, are 
 
The Grounds of Criticism i8i 
 
 the Causes of common Terror; and the more they are 
 powerful and likely to hurt, the more they become the; 
 Causes of Terror: which Terror, the greater it is, the 
 more it is join'd with Wonder, and the nearer it comes to 
 Astonishment. Thus we have shewn what Objects of 
 the Mind are the Causes of common Terror, and the 
 Ideas of those Objects are the Causes of Enthusiastick 
 Terror. 
 
 LjCt us now shew from what Ideas this Enthusiastick 
 Terror is chiefly to be derived. The greatest Enthu- 
 siastick Terror then must needs be deriv'd from Religious 
 Ideas: for since the more their Objects are powerful, 
 and likely to hurt, the greater Terror their Ideas produce ; 
 what can produca a greater Terror, than the Idea of an 
 angry God? Which puts me in mind of that admirable 
 Passage of Homer, about the Fight of the Gods, in the 
 twentieth of the Iliads, cited by Longinus in his Chapter 
 of the Loftiness of the Conception. 
 
 Aavov 8 k^povTrjcrf. iraTr/p avSptav re, OcSiv re, 
 Yil/odev • avTap IvepOc Iloa'ciSauv iriva^e 
 Pauiv omapereqv, opemv T aiireiva KapVTjva' 
 IIoj/TES 8' tcTireiovTO iroSes iroXinrtSaxos iSjys, 
 Kai KOpvffial. Tpatiav T€ ttoXk, Kal vrja Ap^aiuv 
 ESSeio'cv 8 VTrivcpOev avai ivipiov A'iScdvcvf , 
 AeiVos 8' €K Opovov oXto, koi la^e firi oi vrrepOe 
 Taiav avapprj^ii TLotra^aiav ivo<Ti)(6<ijv, 
 OiKia 8e 0vrjToi<ri, Kal aOavdroicri (jiaveLrj, 
 'SijjtcpSaXe, evpuievra ra re <Trvyiov(7i deoi irep. 
 
 Which in English is thus : 
 
 Jove flung his dreadful Thunder from on high. 
 Mean while Majestick Neptune from below 
 
l82 John Dennis 
 
 The reeling Globe with his huge Trident strook, 
 Shook its vast Plains, and made its Mountains smoke ; 
 Mount Ida trembled from his hoary Top, 
 And from his nethermost Foundations shook, 
 Troubling a thousand Springs that from him flow : 
 Pluto, from lowest Hell both heard and felt, 
 And shivering started from his burning Throne ; 
 Then striking his infernal Breast, cry'd out. 
 Lest wrathful Neptune with another Stroke 
 Of his dread Trident should the Globe divide. 
 Should too, to the gaping Center let in Light, 
 To Mortals and Immortals should display 
 The dreadful Secrets of his dire Domain; 
 At the bare Thought of which, ev'n Gods are wont to 
 shake. 
 
 Behold here, says Longinus, the Earth laid open to the 
 very Center, and Hell about to be expos'd to view, and 
 all the vast Machine of the World demolish'd and 
 overturn'd, to shew that in that important Conflict both 
 Heaven and Hell, both mortal and immortal things, every 
 thing in nature engaged with the Gods, and nothing was 
 free from Danger. 
 
 , And now I mention Longinus, this is the properest 
 place to shew, by his Authority, that Religious Ideas are 
 jthe most proper to give Greatness and Sublimity to a 
 ; '.Discourse. And this I shall shew. First, by his 
 Examples ; and. Secondly, by his Precepts. 
 
 First, by his Examples. All the Examples which he 
 gives of Sublimity in his Chapter of the Loftiness of the 
 Conceptions, of which the above-mention'd Passage is 
 one, are taken from the Grecian Religion, as this. 
 
The Grounds of Criticism 183 
 
 Iliad V. 
 
 Ocrcrov 8' ^epoeiSes avrjp iScv 6<t>0aXiiot<nv 
 H/ievos ev (TKcnrirf, \ev(r<T<i>v ctti oivoTra irovTOV. 
 Tdtrcrov imOpofTKOvo'i deSiv v\j/ri\f€i iiriroi. 
 
 Which in English is thus : 
 
 As far as one, who tow'rd the Ocean looks, 
 Can from some lofty Promontory spy 
 Through the vast Desarts of a cloudless Sky ; 
 So far th' immortal Gods sonorous Steeds 
 Can at one Leap advance. 
 
 Where, says Longinus, he measures the Length of, 
 their Leap by the Extent of the World. Who is it then, 
 says he, that might not with reason cry out, that if the 
 Horses of the Gods would take a second Leap, they 
 would not find Space enough in the Universe? 
 
 And what follows concerning Neptune, descending 
 from a Mountain in Thrace, 
 
 Iliad XIII 
 
 Tpific 8' ovpea pxiKpa. kol vXrj, 
 Ilotro-iv wr aOavarotiTiv TlotrtiBaiovoi lovros. 
 
 As from the shaggy Mountain he descends, 
 The Mountain trembles, and the Forest bends. 
 
 And a little beyond : 
 
 Eov 8 ETrc/SiJo'eTO Si<j>pov 
 Brj 8' iXdav iirl kv/mit • otraXXe 8e Kiyre inr' avrm 
 ilavTodfy i)( Kcvd/JiSiv, oiS' i)yvovq<Tev avoLKTa' 
 TrjOoirvvri 8e 0dXa(r<m SiCcrraro. 
 
184 John Uenms 
 
 In English thus : 
 
 His golden Chariot Neptune now ascends ; 
 And as he drives along the watry Plain, 
 Huge Whales, and all the Monsters of the Main, 
 Wallowing around him with unwieldy Gate, 
 Tempest the Ocean to salute their King ; 
 Ocean rejoicing, yawns before his March, 
 And lets him through a dreadful Chasm. 
 
 And it was from this Passage, I make no doubt, that 
 Spencer drew his admirable Picture of Neptune, in the 
 eleventh Canto of the third Book of his Fairy Queen. 
 
 Stan. XL. 
 
 Next unto him was Neptune pictured. 
 In his Divine Resemblance wondrous like ; 
 His Face was rugged, and his hoary Head 
 Dropped with brackish Dew ; his three-f ork'd Pike 
 He sternly shook, and therewith fierce did strike 
 The raging Billows, that on ev'ry side 
 They trembling stood, and made a long broad Dyke, 
 That his swift Chariot might have Passage wide. 
 Which four great Hippodames did draw, in Teemwise 
 ty'd. 
 
 Stan. XLI. 
 
 His Sea-Horses did seem to snort amain, 
 And from their Nostrils blow the briny Stream, 
 That made the sparkling Waves to smoke again. 
 And flame with Gold ; but the white foamy Cream 
 Did shine with Silver, and shoot forth her Beam. 
 
The Grounds of Criticism 185 
 
 I now come to the Precepts of Longinus, and pretend 
 to shew from them, that the greatest Subhmity is to be 
 deriv'd from ReHgious Ideas. But why then, says the 
 Reader, has not Longinus plainly told us so? He was 
 not ignorant that he ought to make his Subject as plain 
 as he could. For he has told us in the beginning of his 
 Treatise, that every one who gives Instruction concern- 
 ing an Art, ought to endeavour two things : The first is 
 to make his Reader clearly understand what that is which 
 he pretends to teach : The second is to shew him how it 
 may be attain'd. And he blames Cecilius very severely 
 for neglecting the last; how then, says the Objector, 
 comes he himself to have taken no care of the first? 
 Is it because Cecilius had done it before him? If so, it 
 was a very great Fault in Longinus to publish a Book 
 which could not be understood but by another Man's 
 Writings; especially when he saw that those Writings 
 were so very defective, that they would not probably 
 last. But what, continues the Objector, if Cecilius had 
 not done it before him? For Longinus tells us, that 
 Cecilius makes use of a multitude of Words to shew 
 what it is ; now he who knows any thing clearly, may in 
 a few Words explain it clearly to others; and he who 
 does not, will make it obscure by many. 
 
 To this I answer, that tho Longinus did by long Study J 
 and Habitude know the Sublime when he saw it, as wellji 
 as any Man, yet he had not so clear a Knowlldge of the! 
 nature of it, as to explain it clearly to others. For if he| 
 had done that, as the Objector says, he would have! 
 defin'd it, but he has been so far from defining it, thati 
 in one place he has given an account of it that is contrarj| 
 to the true nature of it. For he tells us in that Chaptei^ 
 which treats of the Fountains of Sublimity, that Lofti- 
 ness is often without any Passion at all ; which is contrary 
 
i86 John Dennis 
 
 to the true nature of it. The Sublime is indeed oftei 
 without common Passion, as ordinary Passion is oftei 
 without that. But then it is never without Enthusiastic! 
 Passion: For the Sublime is nothing else but a grea 
 Thought, or great Thoughts moving the Soul from it; 
 ordinary Situation by the Enthusiasm which naturallj 
 attends them. Now Longinus had a notion of Enthu- 
 siastick Passion, for he establishes it in that very Chaptei 
 for the second Source of Sublimity. Now Longinus 
 by affirming that the Sublime may be without not onlj 
 that, but ordinary Passion, says a thing that is not onl] 
 contrary to the true nature of it, but contradictory tc 
 himself. For he tells us in the beginning of the Treatise 
 that the Sublime does not so properly persuade us, as i 
 jravishes and transports us, and produces in us a certait 
 'Admiration, mingled with Astonishment and with Sur 
 prize, which is quite another thing than the bareh 
 'pleasing, or the barely persuading; that it gives a nobli 
 Vigour to a Discourse, an invincible Force, whicl 
 commits a pleasing Rape upon the very Soul of thi 
 Reader; that whenever it breaks out where it ought ti 
 do, like the Artillery of Jove, it thunders, blazes, an( 
 strikes at once, and shews all the united Force of i 
 Writer. Now I leave the Reader to judge, whethe 
 Longinus has not been saying here all along tha 
 Sublimity is never without Passion. 
 
 That the foremention'd Definition is just' and good 
 I have reason to believe, because it takes in all th 
 Sources of Sublimity which Longinus has establish'd 
 For, first. Greatness of Thought supposes Elevation, the; 
 being synonymous Terms : And, secondly, the Enthusiasn 
 or the Pathetique, as Longinus calls it, follows of course 
 for if a Man is not strongly mov'd by great Thoughts 
 he does not sufficiently and effectually conceive then: 
 
The Grounds of Criticism i8y 
 
 And, thirdly, the figurative Language is but a Conse- 
 quence of the Enthusiasm, that being the natural Lan- 
 guage of the Passions. And so is, fourthly, the Nobleness 
 of tiie Expression, supposing a Man to be Master of the 
 Language in which he writes. For as the Thoughts 
 produce the Spirit or the Passion, the Spirit produces 
 and makes the Expression, which is known by Experience 
 to all who are Poets; for never any one, while he was 
 wrapt with Enthusiasm or ordinary Passion, wanted 
 either Words or Harmony, as is self-evident to all who 
 consider that the Expression conveys and shows the 
 Spirit, and consequently must be produc'd by it. 
 
 Thus the Definition which we have laid down being, 
 according to Longinus's own Doctrine, the true Defini- 
 tion of the Sublime, and shewing clearly the thing which 
 he has not done, nor given any Definition at all of it; 
 it seems plain to me, that he had no clear and distinct 
 Idea of it ; and consequently Religion might be the thing/ 
 from which 'tis chiefly to be deriv'd, and he but obscurely 
 know it: but that Religion is that thing from which the 
 Sublime is chiefly to be deriv'd, let us shew by the Marks 
 which he has given of the latter; which will further 
 strengthen our Definition. 1. Says he, that which is truly . 
 Sublime has this peculiar to it, that it exalts the Soul, 
 and makes it conceive a greater Idea of it self, filling it 
 with Joy, and with a certain noble Pride, as ' if it self 
 had product what it but barely reads. 
 
 Now here it is plain, that the highest Ideas must most 
 exalt the Soul, but Religious Ideas are the highest. 
 
 The more the Soul is moved by the greatest Ideas, the 
 more it conceives them ; but the more it conceives of the 
 greatest Ideas, the greater Opinion it must have of its ' 
 own Capacity. By consequence the more it is moved by 
 the Wonders of Religion, the more it values it self upon 
 
 &: 
 
i88 John Dennis 
 
 its own Excellences. Again, the more the Soul sees its 
 Excellence, the more it rejoices. Besides, Religious Ideas 
 : are the most admirable : and what is most admirable 
 according to the Doctrine of Aristotle, is most delightful. 
 Besides, Religious Ideas create Passion in such a manner, 
 as to turn and incline the Soul to its primitive Object. 
 
 '"' So that Reason and Passion are of the same side, and 
 this Peace between the Faculties causes the Soul to 
 rejoice; of which we shall have occasion to say more 
 
 ' anon. 
 
 2. The second Mark that Longinus gives of the 
 Sublime, is, when a Discourse leaves a great deal for us 
 to think. But now this is certain, that the Wonders of 
 Religion are never to be exhausted ; for they are always 
 new, and the more you enter into them, the more they 
 are sure to surprize. 
 
 3. The third Mark is, when it leaves in the Reader 
 an Idea above its Expression. Now no Expressions can 
 come up to the Ideas which we draw from the Attributes 
 of God, or from his wondrous Works, which only the 
 Author of them can comprehend. 
 
 4. The fourth Mark is, when it makes an Impression 
 upon us, which it is impossible to resist. 
 
 God, who made Man for himself, and for his own 
 Glory, and who requires chiefly his Heart, must by 
 consequence have form'd him of such a nature, as to be 
 most strongly moved with Religious Ideas, if once he 
 enters into them. So that the Impressions which they 
 make, are impossible to be resisted. 
 
 5. The fifth Mark is, when the Impression lasts, and 
 is difficult to be defaced. Now that the Impressions 
 which Religion makes upon us are difficult to be defaced, 
 is plain from this, that they who think it their Interest 
 to deface them, can never bring it about. 
 
The Grounds of Criticism i8g 
 
 6. The sixth Mark is, when it pleases universally. 
 People of different Humours, Inclinations, Sexes, Ages, 
 Times, Climates. Now there is nothing so agreeable to 
 the Soul, or that makes so universal an Impression, as| 
 the Wonders of Religion. Some Persons are moved by| 
 Love, and are not touch'd by Ambition; others are? 
 animated by Ambition, and only laugh at Love. Somef 
 are pleas'd with a brave Revenge, others with a generous 
 Contempt of Injuries; but the Eternal Power, and the 
 Infinite Knowledge of God, the Wonders of the Creation, 
 and the beautiful Brightness of Virtue, make a powerful 
 Impression on all. 
 
 I must confess I have wonder'd very much, upon 
 Reflection, how it could happen that so great a Man as 
 Lmginus, who whenever he met a Passage in any Dis- 
 course that was lofty enough to please him, had Discern- 
 ment enough to see that it had some of the preceding 
 Marks, should miss of finding so easy a thing as this, 
 that never any Passage had all these Marks, or so much 
 as the Majority of them, unless it were Religious. 
 
 But to return to Terror, we may plainly see by the 
 foregoing Precepts and Examples of Longinus, that this 
 Enthusiastick Terror contributes^ extremely to the Sub- / 
 lime; and, secondly, that"it is most produced by Religious 
 Ideas. 
 
 First, Ideas producing Terror, contribute extremely to 
 the Sublime. All the Examples that Longinus brings 
 of the Loftiness of the Thought, consist of terrible Ideas. ' 
 And they are principally such Ideas that work the Effects, 
 which he takes notice of in the beginning of his Treatise, 
 viz. that ravish and transport the Reader, and produce 
 a certain Admiration, mingled with Astonishment and 
 with Surprize. For the Ideas which produce Terror, are 
 necessarily accompany'd with Admiration, because ev'ry 
 
igo John Dennis 
 
 thing that is terrible, is great to him to whom it is 
 terrible; and with Surprize, without which Terror can- 
 ,not subsist; and with Astonishment, because every thing 
 V. which is very terrible, is wonderful and astonishing: and 
 |as Terror is perhaps the violentest of all the Passions, 
 ?it consequently makes an Impression which we cannot 
 ^Iresist, and which is hardly to be defaced : and no Passion 
 lis attended with greater Joy than Enthusiastick Terror, 
 which proceeds from our reflecting that we are out of 
 danger at the very time that we see it before us. And 
 fes Terror is one of the violentest of all Passions, if it 
 is very great, and the hardest to be resisted, nothing gives 
 more Force, nor more Vehemence to a Discourse. 
 
 But, secondly, it is plain from the same Longinus, that 
 this Enthusiastick Terror is chiefly to be deriv'd from 
 Religious Ideas. For all the Examples which he has 
 brought of the Sublime, in his Chapter of the Sublimity 
 of the Thoughts, consists of most terrible and most 
 , religious Ideas ; and at the same time every Man's Reason 
 will inform him, that every thing that is terrible in 
 Religion, is the most terrible thing in the World. 
 
 But that we may set this in a clearer Light, let us lay 
 before the Reader the several Ideas which are capable 
 of producing this enthusiastick Terror; which seem to 
 ;, me to be those which follow, vis. Gods, Daemons, Hell, 
 I Spirits and Souls of Men, Miracles, Prodigies, Enchant- 
 ments, Witchcrafts, Thunder, Tempests, raging Seas, 
 Inundations, Torrents, Earthquakes, Volcanos, Monsters, 
 Serpents, Lions, Tygers, Fire, War, Pestilence, Famine, 
 &c. 
 
 Now of all these Ideas none are so terrible as those 
 which shew the Wrath and Vengeance of an angry 
 God; for nothing is so wonderful in its Effects: and 
 consequently the Images or Ideas of those Effects must 
 
The Grounds of Criticism igi 
 
 carry a great deal of Terror with them, which we may 
 see was Longinus's Opinion, by the Examples which he 
 brings in his Chapter of the Sublimity of the Thoughts. 
 Now of things which are terrible, those are the most 
 terrible which are the most wonderful; because that 
 seeing them both threatning and powerful, and not being 
 able to fathom the Greatness and Extent of their Power, 
 we know not how far and how soon they may hurt us. 
 
 But further, nothing is so terrible as the Wrath of 
 infinite Power, because nothing is so unavoidable as the 
 Vengeance design'd by it. There is no flying nor lying 
 hid from the great universal Monarch. He may deliver 
 us from all other Terrors, but nothing can save and 
 defend us from him. And therefore Reason, which 
 serves to dissipate our Terrors in some other Dangers, 
 serves but to augment them when we are threatned by 
 infinite Power ; and that Fortitude, which may be heroick 
 at other times, is downright Madness then. 
 
 For the other Ideas, which we mention'd above, they 
 will be found to be more terrible as they have more of 
 Religion in them. But we shall have so many necessary 
 Occasions of giving Examples of them, in the Sequel of 
 this Treatise, that it will be altogether needless to do it 
 now. But here it will be convenient to answer an 
 Objection: For how come some of the foremention'd 
 Ideas, which seem to have but little to do with Religion, 
 to be terrible to great and to wise Men ? as it is plain that 
 such, when they read the Descriptions of them in Homer 
 and Virgil, are terrify'd. 
 
 To which we answer. That the Care, which Nature 
 has inrooted in all, of their own Preservation, is the 
 Cause that Men are unavoidably terrify'd with any thing 
 that threatens approaching Evil. 'Tis now our Business' 
 to shew how the Ideas of Serpents, Lions, Tygers, S-c. 
 
ig2 John Dennis 
 
 were made by the Art of those great Poets, to be terrible 
 to their Readers, at the same time that we are secure 
 from their Objects. 
 
 'Tis very plain that it is the Apprehension of Danger 
 which causes that Emotion in us which we call Terror, 
 and it signifies nothing at all to the purpose whether the 
 Danger is real or imaginary; and 'tis as plain too, that 
 the Soul never takes the Alarm from any thing so soon 
 as it does from the Senses, especially those two noble 
 ones of the Eye and the Ear, by reason of the strict 
 Affinity which they have with the Imagination; and the 
 Evil always seems to be very near, when those two 
 J Senses give notice of it; and the nearer the Evil is, the 
 Igreater still is the Terror. But now let us see how those 
 two Poets did, by virtue of their Ideas, bring even absent 
 terrible Objects within the reach of those two noble 
 Senses. First then, to bring an absent terrible Object 
 before our Sight, they drew an Image or Picture of it; 
 but to draw an Image or Picture of a terrible Object, 
 so as to surprize and astonish the Soul by the Eye, they 
 never fail'd to draw it in violent Action or Motion; and 
 (in order to that, they made choice of Words and 
 I .Numbers, which might best express the Violence of that 
 Action or Motion. For an absent Object can never be 
 set before the Eye in a true Light, unless it be shewn in 
 violent Action or Motion; because unless it is shewn so, 
 ithe Soul has leisure to reflect upon the Deceit. But 
 Violent Motion can never be conceiv'd without a violent 
 Agitation of Spirit, and that sudden Agitation surprizes 
 the Soul, and gives it less time to reflect ; and at the same 
 time causes the Impressions that the Objects make to 
 be so deep, and their Traces to be so profound, that it 
 makes them in a manner as present to us, as if they were 
 really before us. For the Spirits being set in a violent 
 
The Grounds of Criticism ig^ 
 
 Emotion, and the Imagination being fir'd by that Agita- 
 tion; and the Brain being deeply penetrated by those 
 Impressions, the very Objects themselves are set as it 
 were before us, and consequently we are sensible of the 
 same Passion that we should feel from the things them- 
 selves. For the warmer the Imagination is, the less able 
 we are to reflect, and consequently the things are the 
 more present to us of which we draw the Images; and 
 therefore when the Imagination is so inflam'd, as to 
 render the Soul utterly incapable of reflecting, there is 
 no difference between the Images and the Things them- 
 selves; as we may see, for example, by Men in raging 
 Fevers. But those two great Poets were not satisfy'd 
 with setting absent Objects before our Eyes, by shewing 
 them in violent Motion; but if their Motion occasion'd 
 any extraordinary Sounds that were terrifying, they so 
 contriv'd their Numbers and Expressions, as that they 
 might be sure to ring those Sounds in the very Ears of 
 their Readers. 
 
 We ought now to treat of the other Enthusiastick 
 Passions, as Horror, Grief, Joy, and Desire: But to the 
 end that we may diversify this Treatise as much as we 
 can, and not tire out the Reader with too much Specu- 
 lation at a time, we shall omit speaking of them till we 
 come to the Epick Poets. 
 
 Chapter V. 
 
 Recapitulation; and that Religion is the Basis and 
 Foundation of the greater Poetry. 
 
 But now let us recapitulate: We have shewn in the 
 foregoing part of this Discourse, that Passion is the 
 
ig^ John Dennis 
 
 Characteristical Mark of Poetry, and that all Poetry 
 is pathetick; and then we divided it into two kinds, the 
 greater and the less ; and shew'd that the greater Poetry 
 comprehends Epick, Tragick, and the greater Lyrick, 
 and that our Design was in the first place to treat of it. 
 Then we proceeded to shew, that as Passion is the 
 Characteristical Mark of Poetry, great Passion must be 
 the Characteristical Mark of the greater Poetry, and 
 consequently that this last must have every where great 
 Passion; but that since what we commonly call Passion 
 cannot be every where, there must -be something distinct 
 from ordinary Passion, and that must be Enthusiasm. 
 IThen we endeavour'd to discover what Enthusiasm is, 
 ,and how many several sorts there are of it; and that 
 jAdmiration and Terror make the principal Greatness of 
 iPoetry, and are the chief of the Enthusiastick Passions; 
 that those two Passions are to bear proportion with the 
 Ideas from which they are deriv'd, and that consequently 
 the greatest must flow from religious Ideas. We shall 
 shew too in the Sequel of this Discourse, that not only 
 the remaining Enthusiastick Passions, Horror, Sadness, 
 Joy, and Desire; but that even the ordinary Passions, 
 which contribute most to the Greatness of Poetry, as 
 Admiration, Terror, and Pity, are chiefly to be deriv'd 
 from Religion ; but that the Passions of both sorts must, 
 for the most part, flow greater from Revelation than 
 from Natural Religion; because all Reveal'd Religion, 
 whether true or pretended, speaks to the Senses, brings 
 the Wonders of another World more home to us, and so 
 makes the Passions which it raises the greater. 
 
 The fundamental Rule then that we pretend to lay 
 down, for the succeeding or excelling in the greater 
 , Poetry, is. That the Constitution of the Poem be religious, 
 ^hat it may be throughout pathetick. 
 
The Grounds of Criticism ig^ 
 
 And we pretend to prove undeniably, that not only 
 the Gentlemen, whose Works we design to examine, 
 have succeeded and excell'd no further than their Poems 
 have been so constituted; but that never any Poets of 
 any Nation, or any Age, ever did or can excel without it. 
 I have already prov'd in the Advancement of modern 
 Poetry, beyond all manner of doubt, to those who have 
 Capacity enough to comprehend the Arguments, that \ 
 the antient Poets excell'd the Moderns in the Greatness 
 of Poetry, for no other reason, but because their Sub- 
 jects were religious in their Constitution: And therefore 
 all that I shall say of it here, is, That Poetry is the\ 
 natural Language of Religion, and that Religion at first ' 
 produc'd it, as a Cause produces its Effect. In the first 
 Ages of writing among the Grecians, there was nothing 
 writ but Verse, because they wrote of nothing but 
 Religion, which was necessary for the cementing the 
 Societies which in those times were but just united; and 
 Nature had taught them, that Poetry was the only Lan- 
 guage in which they could worthily treat of the most 
 important Parts of Religion, or worthily perform its 
 most important Duties. But as soon as Religion was 
 sufficiently imprinted in the Minds of Men, and they 
 had leisure to treat of human things in their Writings, 
 they invented Prose, and invented it in imitation of 
 Verse, as Strabo tells us in the first Book of his Geog- 
 raphy ; but after that Prose was invented by them, never 
 any of them treated of their Gods or their religious 
 Matters in Prose, before the Age of Socrates, because 
 they found that that way of Writing was by no means 
 proper for it. For the Wonders of Religion naturally \ 
 threw them upon great Passions, and great Passions ,' 
 naturally threw them upon Harmony and figurative ', 
 Language, as they must of necessity do any Poet, as 
 
ig6 John Dennis 
 
 long as he continues Master of them. Which is known 
 by Experience to all who are Poets; for never any one, 
 while he was wrapt with Enthusiasm, or with ordinary 
 Passion, wanted either Words or Harmony; and there- 
 ji fore Poetry is more harmonious than Prose, because it 
 ; is more pathetick: Even in Prose your Orators, and all 
 i who pretend to move the Passions, have more harmonious 
 [. Periods than they who barely speak to the Reason. And 
 in Poetry, they who write with a great deal of Passion, 
 are generally very harmonious ; whereas those who write 
 with but little, are not so musical. Horace is an illus- 
 trious Example of this : No Man, who has read his Odes, 
 / can doubt of the Fineness and the Delicacy of his Ear ; 
 . and therefore his Satires are often harsh and rugged, 
 Tbecause the Spirit in them is mean and little. No Man 
 can believe that Juvenal had a finer Ear than Horace, 
 but yet his Satires are more musical, because they have 
 a greater Spirit in them. At the same time 'tis a little 
 odd to consider, that Passion, which disturbs the Soul, 
 should occasion it to produce Harmony, which seems to 
 imply the Order and Composure of it. Whether this 
 proceeds from the secret Effort that the Soul makes to 
 compose it self, or whatever the Cause is, the Effect is 
 certain. But as Passion, which is the Disorder of the 
 Soul, produces Harmony, which is Agreement; so Har- 
 mony, which is Concord, augments and propagates 
 Passion, which is Discord. All who are acquainted with 
 Poetry or Musick; must be as sensible of this, as Mr. 
 Waller was fully convinc'd of it. 
 
 Well sounding Verses are the Charm we use, 
 Heroick Thoughts and Virtue to infuse ; 
 Things of deep Sense we may in Prose unfold. 
 But they move more in lofty Numbers told ; 
 
The Grounds of Criticism igy 
 
 By the loud Trumpet which our Courage aids, 
 We learn that Sound as well as Sense persuades. 
 
 Thus we may see by Mr. Waller, that Numbers are 
 proper to move Passion, and for that reason are insepa- 
 rable from Poetry, which has no other Design. But we 
 shall have occasion to treat of Harmony more at large, 
 when we come to the particular sorts of Poems; in the 
 meantime let us return to the Business from which we 
 may seem to have digress'd. 
 
 As we have formerly undeniably prov'd, in the 
 Advancement of modern Poetry, that the antient Poets 
 deriv'd that Advantage which they have over the 
 Moderns, to the constituting their Subjects after a i 
 religious manner ; so I shall make it appear, in the Sequel \ 
 of this Discourse, that it was owing to the same thing! 
 that the antient Poets very often excell'd themselves. I 
 
 And I have reason to believe, that one of the principal 
 Reasons that has made the modern Poetry so contempt- 
 ible, is. That by divesting it self of Religion, it is fallen 
 from its Dignity, and its original Nature and Excellence ; 
 and from the greatest Production of the Mind of Man, 
 is dwindled to an extravagant and a vain Amusement. 
 For the modern Poetry being for the most part profane, 
 has either very little Spirit ; or if it has a great one, that 
 Spirit is out of Nature, because it bears no manner of 
 Proportion to the Ideas from which it is forcibly deriv'd, 
 nor the Ideas very often to the Objects from which they 
 are taken : for as Mr. Waller says. 
 
 In boundless Verse the Fancy soars too high 
 For any Object but the Deity : 
 What Mortal can with Heav'n pretend to share 
 In the Superlatives of Wise and Fair? 
 
ig8 John Dennis 
 
 A meaner Object when with these we grace, 
 A Giant Habit on a Dwarf we place. 
 
 But that the modern Poetry, as miserably as it is fallen 
 from the Dignity of its original Nature, might gloriously 
 arise and lift up its Head, surpassing even that of the 
 Antients, if the Poets would but constitute their Subjects 
 religious, I have formerly clearly shewn, in the second 
 Part of the Advancement of modern Poetry ; by shewing 
 that the Design of the Christian Religion is the very 
 same with that of Poetry, which cqn be said of no other 
 -Religion; that the Business of both is to delight and 
 ^reform Mankind, by exciting the Passions in such a 
 manner, as to reconcile them to Reason, and restore the 
 \Harmony of the human Faculties. And therefore that 
 I may repeat nothing at present that I have formerly 
 said there, I shall only add, that if 'tis Religion that gives 
 the Warmth and the Passion to Poetry, it follows that 
 jthe less mixture that Religion has of any thing profane 
 Sand human in it, the greater Warmth and Passion it 
 taust give to Poetry; for that which moves us in effect 
 in a false Religion, must be the Imagination of that which 
 is true. As for example, in the above-mention'd Passage 
 of the Wrath of Neptune, the Anger of Neptune is 
 Fiction, and so is the Stroke of his Trident; but that 
 which moves us at the bottom of this Fiction is true, 
 which is, that the Anger of a Deity, and the Effects of 
 it are very terrible. The Reason why Religion moves 
 the Soul so extremely, is because the Soul was created 
 by God, to find its Happiness in him; and all Happiness 
 consists in Pleasure, and all Pleasure in Passion. Now 
 ^he less mixture Religion has of any thing of human 
 Invention in it, the more divine it is, and the nearer it 
 brings us to God. 
 
The Grounds of Criticism igt 
 
 But that this may still appear the more clearly, w 
 shall endeavour to prove it by two very signal Examples 
 and shall produce two Passages from Scripture; the on 
 from the Psalms, and the other from Habbakuk : whicl 
 we shall set against the two foremention'd Passages 
 which Longinus has cited from Homer; the one of th 
 Wrath, and the other of the Power of Neptune, and hi 
 awful March thro his own Element. And in setting thes 
 Passages against one another, we make no doubt to shew 
 that not only the Subjects are exactly the same, but tha 
 the Advantage is clearly ours. 
 
 Let us begin with that Passage concerning the Migh 
 of Neptune, and his driving his Chariot thro the Sea. 
 
 As from the shaggy Mountain he descends, 
 The Mountain trembles, and the Forest bends. 
 
 And anon, 
 
 His golden Chariot Neptune now ascends, . 
 And as he drives along the watry Plain, 
 Huge Whales, and all the Monsters of the Main, 
 Tempest the Ocean, to salute their King; 
 Ocean rejoicing, yawns before his March, 
 And lets him thro a dreadful Chasm 
 
 Now to this Passage let us oppose that of the Proph« 
 Habbakuk, exactly upon the same Occasion, only th 
 Prophet says of the True God what Homer says o 
 Neptune. 
 
 When the Almighty from Mount Paran came. 
 The Brightness of his Glory, with its Blaze 
 Expanding, fill'd the vast Abyss of Heaven, 
 And the whole Earth resounded with his Praise ; 
 
200 John Dennis 
 
 The burning Pestilence before him march'd, 
 And from his Feet a fiery Whirlwind flew : 
 He stood and measur'd the extended Earth, 
 Scattering the trembling Nations with a Look, 
 At which the everlasting Mountains fled, 
 And shaking the perpetual Hills did bow. 
 Against the Floods was thy fierce Anger then ; 
 Against the Sea the burning of thy Wrath ; 
 That thou didst thro it with thy flaming Steeds, 
 And with thy Chariots of Salvation drive. 
 The Rocks their Summits beetled o'er their Base, 
 To view the Terrors of thy wondrous March ; 
 Then shivering shrunk from the amazing Sight. 
 The Floods dividing shew'd a fearful Chasm ; 
 And as thy sounding Horses, all on fire. 
 Thro Heaps of congregated Waters flew, 
 The Deep his roaring Voice at all his Mouths 
 Utter'd, and lifted all his Arms on high. 
 
 But now let us come to the Wrath of Neptune^ and the 
 Effects of it, in the Battel of the 30th of the Iliads, in 
 which the Gods were engag'd. 
 
 Jove flung his dreadful Thunder from on high. 
 Mean while Majestick Neptune from below. 
 The reeling Globe with his huge Trident strook. 
 Shook its vast Plains, and made its Mountains smoke. 
 Mount Ida trembled from his hoary Top, 
 And from his nethermost Foundations shook. 
 Troubling a thousand Springs that from him flow. 
 Pluto, from lowest Hell, both heard and felt. 
 And shivering, started from his burning Throne ; 
 Then striking his infernal Breast, cry'd out, 
 Lest wrathful Neptune, with another Stroke 
 
The Grounds of Criticism 201 
 
 Of his dread Trident, should the Globe divide, 
 Should to the gaping Center let in Light 
 To Mortals, and Immortals should display, 
 The dreadful Secrets of his dire Domain, 
 At the bare Thought of which ev'n Gods are wont to 
 shake. 
 
 As the Necessity of the Subject has obliged us to 
 repeat these Verses, so we have the same Excuse for 
 repeating the Reflection of Longinus. Behold here, says 
 Longinus, the Earth laid open to the very Center, and 
 Hell about to be expos'd to view, and all the vast Machine 
 of the World demolish'd and overturn'd; to shew that 
 in that important Conflict, both Heaven and Hell, both 
 mortal and immortal things, everything in Nature was 
 engaged with the Gods, and nothing was free from 
 Danger. Now let us see the Psalmist introducing the 
 true God, actually demolishing and overturning the 
 Machine of the World, only with a Word and with a 
 Look. 
 
 In my Distress I call'd upon the Lord, 
 And to my God I cry'd ; he from his Height, 
 Above all Heights, strait heard my mournful Voice, 
 And to my loud Complaint inclin'd his Ear. 
 Strait the Earth trembled, and her Entrails shook. 
 As conscious of her great Creator's Wrath : 
 The Mountains from their fix'd Foundations ran, 
 And frighted from their inmost Caverns roar'd. 
 From out his Nostrils a tempestuous Cloud 
 Of pitchy Smoke in spiry Volumes flew. 
 And from his Mouth there ran a raging Flood 
 Of torrent Fire, devouring as it ran : 
 And then he bow'd the very Heaven of Heavens, 
 
202 John Dennis 
 
 And arm'd with fearful Majesty came down. 
 
 Under his feet he plac'd substantial Night, 
 
 Which aw'd the Nations with its dreadful Gloom : 
 
 Upon the flaming Cherubim he rode, 
 
 And on the Wings of all the Winds he flew ; 
 
 Still Darkness usher'd his mysterious Way, 
 
 And a black Night of congregated Clouds 
 
 Became the dark Pavilion of his Throne. 
 
 The Clouds his Brightness could no longer bear. 
 
 But vanishing rever'd the sacred Source of Light ; 
 
 And as the congregated Clouds dispers'd, 
 
 A Storm of monstrous Hail came pouring down, 
 
 Down the red Lightning wing'd its slanting way ; 
 
 But when his wrathful Voice was heard on high. 
 
 Strait both the Poles rebellow'd to the Sound, 
 
 In thicker Sheets the rattling Hail came down, 
 
 Down came the Lightning with repeated Flames, 
 
 And Thunder bellowing through the boundless Space, 
 
 Astonish'd Nature with redoubled Roars : 
 
 Earth could no longer bear the mortal Fright, 
 
 But shook it self from its perpetual Hinge 
 
 At thy Rebuke, O Lord, and at the Blast, 
 
 The dreadful Blast of thy revenging Breath ; 
 
 Then upwards from the gaping Center cleav'd. 
 
 With a prodigious Wound. 
 
 The fix'd Foundations of the World display'd, 
 
 Display'd the ghastful Caverns of the Deep, 
 
 A Sight that blasted ev'n the World's great Eye, 
 
 And made the starting Sun recoil 
 
 From his eternal Way. 
 
 But here it will be necessary to answer an Objection: 
 for it may be urg'd perhaps that common Experience 
 will destroy these new Speculations. For several of the 
 
The Grounds of Criticism 20^ 
 
 Moderns have attempted Divine Poetry, and yet some 
 of them have been contemptible to the last degree, anc 
 not one of them has excell'd the Antients. 
 
 To which we answer, That Milton has clearly th< 
 advantage of the Antients in several points, as shall b< 
 shewn in its proper place : and if the rest of the Moderns 
 who have attempted Sacred Poetry, have fain so ver} 
 much short of them, it has been either for want o] 
 Genius, or for want of Art to know how to make usf 
 of Religion. For Sacred Poetry apparently requires i 
 greater Capacity than the Profane does; because th< 
 greater the Ideas are, the greater must the Capacity b< 
 that receives them. But Sacred Ideas are greater thai 
 the Profane, as hath been shewn above. And therefor* 
 if the Rule of Horace be true, that a Poet ought to pro 
 portion his Subject to his Strength, it follows, that < 
 Man may succeed pretty well in Human Poetry, and ye 
 be despicable in the Divine. Besides, as Religion sup 
 plies us with greater Ideas than any thing Human cat 
 do; so it requires greater Enthusiasm, and a greatei 
 Spirit to attend them, as has been shewn above too. S( 
 that Sacred Poetry requires not only a very grea 
 Capacity, but a very warm and strong Imagination 
 which is a happy Mixture that is to be met with in ; 
 very few, and even of those few not one in a thousan( 
 perhaps applies himself to Sacred Poetry. And evei 
 of those rare ones who have apply'd themselves, hardh 
 one of the Moderns has known the true use that ough 
 to be made of Religion in Poetry. Milton indeec 
 happen'd upon it, in his Paradise Lost; I say, happen'( 
 upon it, because he has err'd very widely from it in hi; 
 Paradise Regain'd, as shall be shewn in its proper place 
 The Rules for employing Religion in Poetry, are prin 
 cipally these which follow. 
 
204 John Dennis 
 
 1. The first is, That the i^eliigipn oMghtJqJCi&jyTa^ 
 that the Poet may be mov'd by it, and that he may appear 
 to be in earnest. And the not observing of this Rule, 
 was one Reason why Spencer miscarry'd, as we shall 
 shew anon. 
 
 3. The second Rule, That the Religion which the 
 Poet employs, ought to be the reigning one, that both 
 the Poet and the Readers may be mov^'^tlieTnore by a 
 Religion in which they were bred. And this Rule may 
 acquaint us with one of the Reasons why all who have 
 translated Homer and Virgil, have succeeded so very 
 indifferently. 
 
 3. The third is. That it may run^thj:QljgtL_aiid_bg. 
 mcorgorated with the A^on of^ thg.. Poem^ and conse- 
 quently that it may always be a part of "Action, and 
 productive of Action ; for from the Neglect of this third 
 Rule, strange Inequalities would follow in a Poem, as 
 shall be shewn more at large, when we treat of Spencer 
 and Cowley. 
 
 4. The fourth Rule is. That the Religion may be 
 .managed so as to promote the Violence of the Enthu- 
 
 ^iastick Passions, and their Change and Variety ; and the 
 constituting his Subject contrary to this Rule, was one 
 great Reason why Milton did not succeed in his Paradise 
 Regain'd. 
 
 5. That it may not hinder the Violence of the ordi- 
 Jtiary Passions, nor the Change and Variety of them; 
 
 and the not constituting his Subject according to this 
 Rule, is the chief Reason why Homer in his Odysses 
 fell so far short of his Iliads ; and Milton of his Paradise 
 Lost, in his Paradise Regain'd. 
 
 6. That the Religion be managed so as not to obstruct 
 O the Violence of Action, which is always attended by the 
 
 Violence of ordinary Passion; and the not observing of 
 
The Grounds of Criticism 20 
 
 this, was one great Reason of the Miscarriage of Home 
 and Milton, in the fore-mention'd Poems. 
 
 7. That the divine and human Persons, if there t 
 any, may have IncHnations and Affections; whic 
 Tasso's celestial Persons have not, nor as I remembe 
 Cowley's. 
 
 8. That they be fairly distinguish'd from one anoth( 
 by those IncHnations and Affections. And this is tl: 
 great advantage that the Grecian Machines have, for tl 
 most part, over those in our Religion. Yet Milton hi 
 pretty well distinguish'd his celestial Persons from or 
 another, and his infernal ones admirably. 
 
 9. That they be fairly distinguish'd from the huma 
 Persons by the same Inclinations and Affections. An 
 here Milton, in his infernal Persons, has undeniably tl 
 advantage both of Antients'ahd Moderns. The Passioi 
 and Inclinations of the Grecicm Gods are downrigl 
 human Inclinations and Affections. The Passions c 
 Milton's Devils have enough of Humanity in them 1 
 make them delightful, but then they have a great de; 
 more to make them admirable, and may be said to be tl 
 true Passions of Devils: but the time to speak moi 
 largely of this, will be when we come to the Epick Poet 
 
 But now, as we have shewn that the Religion reveal 
 in the Old and New Testament is proper, nay necessar 
 to give the last Force and Elevation to Poetry ; we shs 
 now endeavour to convince the Reader, that Poetry 
 progCTj^ not necessary, to give Force to that Religio 
 For indeed there are Duties in this Religion, which cai 
 not be worthily perform'd without the assistance < 
 Poetry : as the offering up Praise and Thanksgiving, ar 
 several sorts of Prayer to God, and the celebrating tl 
 Wonders of his Might. Because if the Ideas which the 
 Subjects afford, are express'd with Passion equal to the 
 
2o6 John Dennis 
 
 Greatness, that which expresses them is Poetry : for that 
 which makes Poetry to be what it is, is only because it 
 has more Passion than any other way of writing. 
 
 It is ridiculous to imagine that there can be a more 
 proper way to express some Parts and Duties of a 
 Religion which we believe to be divinely inspired, than 
 the very way in which they were at first deliver'd. Now 
 the most important Part of the Old Testament was 
 deliver'd not only in a Poetical Style, but in Poetical 
 ^umbers. The most important Parts of the Old Testa- 
 /Jment to us, are the Prophecies; because without them 
 ^e could never be satisfy'd that Jesus is the Messiah. 
 For the Prophets were Poets by the Institution of their 
 Order, and Poetry was one of the Prophetick Functions, 
 which were chiefly three: 1. Predicting or foretelling 
 ithings to come. 2. Declaring the Will of God to the 
 People. And, 3. Praising God with Songs of the 
 Prophets composing, accompany'd with the Harp and 
 other Instrumental Musick. From whence it came to 
 pass, that praising God upon such kind of Instruments, 
 is often in the Scriptures call'd Prophesying, as Mr. 
 Mede has observ'd in his Diatribce; and has prov'd it 
 from several Passages of the Old Testament, and more 
 particularly from the three first Verses of the 35th 
 Chapter of the Chronicles, which are as follow. 
 
 Ver. 1. Moreover David and the Captains of the 
 Host separated to the Service of the Sons of Asaph, and 
 of Heman, and of Jeduthun, such as should prophesy 
 with Harps, with Psalteries, and with Cymbals; and the 
 Number of the Workmen according to their Service was, 
 
 Ver. 3. Of the Sons of Asaph; Zaccar, and Joseph, 
 and Nethaniah and Asarelah, the Sons of Asaph ; under 
 the hands of Asaph, which prophesy'd according to the 
 Order of the King. 
 
The Grounds of Criticism 207 
 
 Ver. 3. Of Jeduthun, the Sons of Jeduthun, Gedaliah, 
 and Zeri, and Jeshaiah, Hashabiah, and Metithiah six, 
 under the hands of their Father Jeduthun, who prophe- 
 sied with a Harp, to give thanks and to praise the Lord. 
 
 Nor was the Poetical Talent confin'd to their Praise 
 and Thanksgiving, but is to be seen in their Predictions 
 too, as we said before, and in their declaring the Will of 
 God to the People. 
 
 As the Prophets were Poets by their Institution, so 
 when the Son of God himself came down from Heaven 
 in order to reform the Earth, he who was a Prophet as 
 well as a Priest and a King, did by consequence discharge 
 the three Prophetical Functions, of which the Poetical 
 has been shewn to be one. And consequently tho our 
 Saviour did not make use of a Style that was Figurative 
 and Enthusiastick, because he instructed the World as 
 God, and as God he could not feel either Admiration or 
 Terror, or the rest of the Enthusiastick Passions; yet 
 we find that he not only prais'd God with spiritual Songs, 
 but that the Method of his Instruction was intirely 
 Poetical: that is, by Fables or Parables, contriv'd, and 
 plac'd, and adapted to work very strongly upon human 
 Passions. 
 
 Thus the Prophets among the Jews were Poets; and 
 the Divine Institutor of the Christian Religion being a 
 Prophet, by a Poetical Method instructed and reform'd 
 the World: And even the Grecian Poets pretending to 
 discharge the three Prophetical Functions, were not only 
 vulgarly reputed Prophets, but were stil'd so by St. Paul 
 himself, who quoting a Verse out of Epimenides, in the 
 Epistle which he wrote to Titus, calls that Cretensian 
 Poet a Prophet : As one of their own Prophets has said. 
 
 Thus we have made it very plain, that not only the 
 Predictions, but the Praise and Thanksgiving in the 
 
2o8 John Dennis 
 
 inspir'd Writers, were written in Verse ; as were likewise 
 several of the Prayers, and the Instructions, and in short 
 the noblest and most important part of the Old Testa- 
 ment. Now if they were written in Poetry, it could be 
 for no other reason, but because they who wrote them, 
 believ'd that the figurative passionate Style, and the 
 Poetical Numbers, did by Right of Nature belong to 
 them, and consequently were requisite to inforce them 
 upon the Minds of Men. And here we cannot as it were 
 help observing, that for the Scriptures to make all the 
 Impression that they are capable of making upon Men 
 of very good Parts, and perhaps too upon others, all 
 those Parts of them that were written in Verse, ought 
 to be translated in Verse, and by Persons who are the 
 most qualify'd to do it with Force and Harmony. For 
 if the Passion and Harmony were thought requisite by 
 the Original Writers, who were divinely inspir'd, to give 
 Force to the Hebrew ; why should not Spirit and Passion, 
 and Numbers in a Translation, give a proportionable 
 Force to that? For if Harmony of it self is of force to 
 lift up our Thoughts to Heaven, as our Clergy seem to 
 imply by the use of it in our Churches; and may be 
 gather'd from what happen'd to Elisha in the second of 
 Kings, when they would have had him prophesy at a 
 time when the Spirit of Prophesy was not upon him, 
 Ch. 3. ver. 15. where the Prophet says, Now bring me 
 a Minstrel, and it came to pass as the Minstrel plaid, 
 that the Hand of the Lord came upon him: If Harmony, 
 I say, is of it self so efficacious, what must it not be, 
 when incorporated with a Religious Sense, and a Poetical 
 Style? There can certainly be no better way to reform 
 the World, than the reading of those Writings which 
 we believe to be divinely inspir'd : But this is as certain. 
 
The Grounds of Criticism 2og 
 
 that the greater the Pleasure is with which we read 
 them, we shall the more frequently discharge that Duty ; 
 but to make us read them with more Pleasure than we 
 do, they must have more of the Agreeableness of their 
 Originals, that is, more Perspicuity, more Force, and 
 more Harmony. This would more particularly attract 
 the Gentry, and particularly those of the most extraor- 
 dinary Parts among them, whose Examples would 
 influence the rest, as the rest would influence the People. 
 For they of extraordinary Parts for the most part being 
 extremely delighted with Poetry, and finding the greatest 
 and most exalted Poetry upon Religious Subjects, would 
 by degrees become more us'd to be mov'd by Sacred 
 Ideas, than they would by Profane; that is, would by 
 degrees become reform'd. That this is by no means a 
 Chimera, Experience may serve to convince us: For I 
 know several Gentlemen of very good Sense, who are 
 extremely mov'd by Milton's Hymn, in the fifth Book , 
 of Paradise Lost, and hardly at all stir'd with the Trans- 
 lation of the 148th Psalm, from whence that Hymn is 
 taken. But if Men of very good Parts are more mov'd 
 by the Hymn, it follows that they ought to be more 
 mov'd by it; because Men of very good Sense are 
 only mov'd to that degree by things by which they ought 
 to be mov'd. So that we may conclude, that the Passion 
 or Enthusiasm in that Hymn is exactly in Nature; that 
 is, that the Enthusiasm, or Passion, or Spirit, call it 
 what you will, flows from the Ideas, and bears a just 
 Proportion to them. 
 
 But from hence at the same time it follows, that since 
 those Persons, who are so much mov'd by the Hymn, 
 are not equally stir'd by the translated Psalm, the Passion 
 or Spirit is less in the latter, and does not come up to 
 
2IO John Dennis 
 
 the Ideas; and therefore we may conclude, that Milton, 
 by his Genius and Harmony, has restor'd that Spirit in 
 composing the Hymn, which had been lost by the Weak- 
 ness of the Translation, and the Want of Poetical 
 Numbers : which last, as we have said before, contribute 
 very much to the raising of Passion. 
 
 What Milton has done in relation to the 148th Psalm, 
 others may do in a less proportion to other parts of the 
 j Old Testament, till the Favour of the Prince and publick 
 J Encouragement causes another Milton to arise, and apply 
 himself to so necessary and so noble a Work. For this 
 is certain, ^^caXJ^a£XSi^&.jn^,waMiaag. grcat_GFn.in,g^.Jn, 
 -^very Age : But they do not equally appear in every Age, 
 sometime°s for want of knowing themselves, and some- 
 times for want of Encouragement and Leisure to exert 
 themselves. The Business of the Treatise intended is 
 ;to shew them how they may try, and know, and form, 
 ^themselves, which is all that I am capable of attempting 
 towards the re^tQring^Qt..use.tul_an<i .son oble an Ar t. 
 If I were in a Condition to give them Encouragement 
 too, they should not be long without it. If they who 
 so much exceed me in Power, did but equal me in Will, 
 we should soon see Poetry raise up its dejected Head, 
 and our own might come to emulate the happiest of 
 ' Grecian and Roman Ages. 
 
 And thus much may suffice to shew the Nature of 
 Poetry, but chiefly of the greater Poetry, and the Impor- 
 tance of this Design. For since Poetry has been thought 
 not only by Heathens, but by the Writers of the Old 
 Testament, and consequently by God himself who 
 inspir'd them, to be the fittest Method for the enforcing 
 Religion upon the Minds of Men; and since Religion 
 
The Grounds of Criticism 211 
 
 is the only solid Foundation of all Civil Society, it 
 follows, that whoever endeavours to re-establish Poetry, 
 makes a generous Attempt to restore an Art, that may 
 be highly advantageous to the Publick, and beneficial 
 to Mankind. 
 
III. REFLECTIONS CRITICAL AND SATYRICAL, 
 
 UPON A LATE RHAPSODY, CALL'D, 
 
 AN ESSAY UPON CRITICISM 
 
 1711 
 
 THE 
 
 Preface. 
 
 'Tis now almost seven Years, since I happen' d to say 
 one Morning to a certain Person distmguish'd by Merit 
 and Quality, that wherever the Italian Opera had come, 
 it had driven out Poetry from that Nation, and not only 
 Poetry, hut the very Tast of Poetry, and of all the 
 politer Arts; and that if the same Protection and 
 Encouragement were continued to the Opera, hy which 
 it was then supported, the same Calamity would befal 
 Great Britain which had happened to the Neighbouring 
 Nations. As 'tis hard to find a Man more quick or more 
 penetrating, than the Person to whom I spoke this; he 
 immediately enter'd into that Sentiment, and soon after 
 withdrew that Encouragement which he had given to 
 the Italians. All that I foretold, and more than all hath 
 happen'd. For such Things, such monstrous Things 
 have been lately writ, and such monstrous Judgments 
 pass'd, that what has been formerly said has been suffi- 
 ciently confirm'd, that 'tis impossible an Author can he 
 so very foolish, hut he will find more stupid Admirers. 
 
 A most notorious Instance of this Depravity of 
 Genius and Tast, is the Essay upon which the following 
 Reflections are writ, and the Approbation which it has 
 met with. I will not deny but that there are two or three 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 213 
 
 Passages in it with which I am not displeas'd; but what 
 are two or three Passages as to the whole? 
 
 Fit Chserilus ille 
 Quem bis terq ; bonum cum risu miror. 
 
 The approving two or Three Passages amongst a mul- 
 titude of had ones, is by no means advantageous to an 
 Author. That little that is good in him does but set off 
 its contrary, and make it appear more extravagant. The 
 Thoughts, Expressions, and Numbers of this Essay are 
 for the most part but very indifferent, and indifferent 
 and execrable in Poetry are all one. But what is worse 
 than all the rest, we find throughout the whole a deplor- 
 able want of that very Quality, which ought principally 
 to appear in it, which is Judgment; and I have no Notion 
 that where there is so great a want of Judgment, there 
 can be any Genius. 
 
 However, I had not publish' d the following Letter, 
 but had suffered his Readers to have hugg'd themselves 
 in the Approbation of a Pamphlet so very undeserving, 
 if I had not found things in it that have provok'd my 
 Scorn, tho' not my Indignation. For I not only found 
 my self attack'd without any manner of Provocation on 
 my side, and attack'd in my Person, instead of my 
 Writings, by one who is wholly a Stranger to me, and 
 at a time when all the World knew that I was persecuted 
 by Fortune; I not only saw that this was attempted in 
 clandestine manner with the utmost Falshood and 
 Calumny, but found that all this -mas done by a little 
 affected Hypocrite, who had nothing in his mouth at the 
 same time but Truth, Candor, Friendship, good Nature, 
 Humanity, and Magnanimity. 
 
 'Tis for this Reason that I have publish' d the following 
 Letter, in which if I have not treated the Author of the 
 
21^ John Dennis 
 
 Essay with my usual Candor, he may thank himself and 
 this good-natur'd Town. For having observ'd with no 
 little Astonishment, that Persons have been censur'd for 
 ill Nature, who have attempted to display the Errors of 
 Authors undeservedly successful; tho' they have done 
 this with all imaginable Candor, and with the best and 
 noblest Designs, which are the doing Justice, the Dis- 
 covery of Truth, and the Improvement of Arts; while 
 Writers of Lampoons and infamous Libels, whose 
 Anonymous Authors have lain lurking in the dark, some- 
 times in Clubs, and sometimes solitary, like so many 
 common Rogues and Footpads, to ruin the Fortunes, 
 and murder the Reputations of others; have been 
 caress'd and hugg'd by their thoughtless Applauders, and 
 treated as if they had been the most vertuous and the 
 best natur'd Men in the World; having observ'd all this 
 with no little astonishment, I at last found out the reason 
 of it, which is, because the Attempts of Libellers and 
 Lampooners hurt only those whom they attack, and 
 delight the rest of the Readers; whereas they who 
 expose by a just Criticism the Absurdities of foolish 
 fortunate Authors, attack all those who commend and 
 admire those Authors, and disturb perhaps by opening 
 their Eyes, no fewer than a thousand Fops in the good 
 Opinion which they have conceiv'd of themselves. 'Tis 
 for this Reason that I have endeavour' d to comply with 
 this wise and good natur'd general Disposition of Minds, 
 and to make amends for the Ill-nature of my Criticism, 
 by the Allurements of my Satyr. 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 215 
 
 To Mr. at Su nning- H ill, 
 
 Berks . 
 
 Sir, 
 
 I Here send you my Answer to the two Questions 
 which I lately received from you, which are whether the 
 Essay upon Criticism, which I lately sent you is like to 
 take in Town, and who is the Author of that anonymous 
 Rhapsody. 
 
 In answer to the first Question, my Opinion is that it 
 will take very well. For the same thing is true of great 
 Bodies of Men, which has been observ'd of particular 
 Persons; and that is, that when Genius thinks fit to 
 depart from among them, good Taste never cares to be 
 very long after it. When the Italian Opera drove Poetry 
 from out this Island, Criticism thought it a very great 
 Impertinence for her to stay long behind. Besides that 
 the elegant Translations of the Italian Opera's which 
 Mr. Tonson has published by the most eminent Hands, 
 have prepared People to like any thing that is of an 
 equal Merit with those Translations, and with Tom 
 Sternhold's Version. 
 
 For the second Quczre, Mr. is of Opinion that 
 
 this Essay was writ by some experienced judicious 
 Person, who knows what Quantity of base Alloy is at 
 this Juncture requisite to debase the Coin of Parnassus, 
 and reduce it to the current Standard. But I am inclin'd 
 to believe that it was writ by some young, or some raw 
 Author, for the following Reasons. 
 
2i6 John Dennis 
 
 First, He discovers in every Page a Sufficiency that 
 is far beyond his Httle Ability; and hath rashly under- 
 taken a Task which is infinitely above his Force ; a Task 
 that is only fit for the Author, with the just Encomium 
 of whose Essay my Lord Roscommon begins his own. 
 
 Happy that Author whose correct Essay 
 Repairs so well our old Horatian way. 
 
 There is nothing more wrong, more low, or more incor- 
 rect than this Rhapsody upon Criticism. The Author 
 all along taxes others with Faults of which he is more 
 guilty himself. He tells us in the very two first Lines, 
 that 
 
 'Tis hard to say if greater want of Skill 
 Appear in writing, or in judging ill. 
 
 Now whereas others have been at some Pains and 
 Thought to shew each of these wants of Skill separately 
 and distinctly, his comprehensive Soul hath most 
 ingeniously contriv'd to shew them both in a supreme 
 Degree together. 
 
 Secondly, While this little Author struts and affects 
 the Dictatorian Air, he plainly shews that at the same 
 time he is under the Rod ; and that while he pretends to 
 give Laws to others, he is himself a pedantick Slave to 
 Authority and Opinion, of which I shall give some 
 Instances. 
 
 In the beginning of his Essay he lays down this Maxim : 
 
 Let such teach others who themselves excel, 
 And censure others who have written well. 
 
 Where he would insinuate, that they alone are fit to be 
 Criticks who have shewn themselves great Poets. And 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 2iy 
 
 he brings in Pliny to confirm by his Authority the Truth 
 of a Precept, which is denied by matter of Fact, and bj 
 the Experience of above Two thousand Years. 
 
 De Pictore, Sculptore, Fictore nisi Artifex judicare 
 non potest. 
 
 It has been observed by Writers of Politicks,^ That they 
 "wwb&Hhavr^cceeded best in these kind of Writings, have 
 never been either Governours of Provinces, or Ministers 
 of State, as Plato and Aristotle in Greece, Machiavel in 
 Italy, and in this Island Harrington. I will not say thai 
 this may be applied to Criticks. There are and have been 
 very good ones who have been great Poets, as Horace 
 in Italy, Boileau in France, and in Great Britain my 
 Lord Roscommon, and a living noble Author. Nay I 
 am fully convinc'd, that there never was an admirable 
 Poet, but he was a great Critick. For what can be more 
 absurd than to imagine, that any man can excel in any 
 Art, or Business, or Profession, who does not under- 
 stand that Profession, Art, or Business. Now he who 
 understands the Art of Poetry is a Critick in Poetry, 
 But this is undeniable at the same time, that there have 
 been Criticks, who have been approv'd of by all the 
 World, who never meddled with Poetry. Was Aristotle 
 himself, the very Father of Criticks, a. Poet? Why yes, 
 'tis pretended that there is a Fragment of an Ode, which 
 was writ by him, remaining in Athenceus. But is that 
 sufficient to denominate him a Poet? Did he ever write 
 either Tragedy or Epick Poem? And yet how freely 
 did he censure both Tragick and Epick Poets ? Dionysius 
 Halicarnassczus, and Dionysius Longinus among the 
 Greeks, and Quintilian among the Romans were free 
 Censurers, yet no Poets. And so are Bossu and Dacier 
 at present among the French. And what is still more 
 remarkable, is, that this young Author forgets himself 
 
2i8 John Dennis 
 
 to that degree, as to commend Longinus and Quintilian 
 for accomplish'd Criticks contrary to his own Precept. 
 
 Another Instance which I shall give of his being a 
 Slave to Authority and Opinion, is the servile Deference 
 which he pays to the Ancients. 
 
 Still Green with Bays each ancient Altar stands 
 
 Above the reach of sacrilegious Hands, 
 
 Secure from Flames, from Envfs fiercer Rage, 
 
 Destructive War, and all devouring Age. 
 
 See from each Clime the Learn' d their Incense bring, 
 
 Hear in all Tongues triumphant Pceans ring! 
 
 In Praise so just let ev'ry Voice be join'd. 
 
 And fill the general Chorus of Mankind. 
 
 Which is just the opposite Extravagance and Extreme 
 to that of Monsieur Perrault. 
 
 For the French-man with an insolent Stupidity 
 contemn'd and blasphem'd, even those Hero's of 
 Antiquity, whose Writings are admirable and Divine: 
 This Essayer deifies Authors, whose Writings are but 
 tolerable and indifferent. Boileau, as a reasonable Man, 
 took the Path that lay in the middle of the two Extremes, 
 as we shall see by what follows : 
 
 "For what remains, says he, I would not have any one 
 "think, that in this number of ancient Writers approv'd 
 "of by all Ages, 'tis my Intention to comprehend some 
 "Authors, who indeed are ancient, but who have only 
 "acquir'd a moderate Esteem, as Lycophron, Nonnus, 
 "Silius Italicus, and the Author of the Tragedies which 
 "are attributed to Seneca, to whom in my mind we may 
 "not only boldly compare, but justly prefer several of 
 "the modern Writers. I only admit into that exalted 
 "Rank that small number of admirable Writers, whose 
 "Name alone is their Panegyrick, as Homer, Plato, 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 2ig 
 
 "Cicero, Virgil, &c. And I do not regulate the Esteem 
 "which I have for them, by that length of Time which 
 "their Works have lasted, but by the number of Years 
 "which they have been admir'd ; of which 'tis convenient 
 "to advertise a great many People, who otherwise perhaps 
 "might indiscreetly believe, what Monsieur Perrault has 
 "a mind to insinuate, that we commend the Ancients for 
 "no other Reason, but because they are Ancients; and 
 "blame the Moderns for no other Reason, but because 
 "they are Moderns; which is utterly false; since there 
 "are several among the Ancients whom we do not admire, 
 "and several among the Moderns whom all the World 
 "extols. The Antiquity of a Writer is no certain proof 
 "of his Merit; but the ancient and constant Admiration 
 "which all the World has had for his Writings, is a 
 "certain and infallible proof that we ought to admire 
 "them. Boileau Reflect, the 7* on Longinus. 
 
 Thus hath Boileau determin'd this matter like a 
 dextrous Distinguisher, and a most rightful Judge. If 
 I may be allow'd to speak my Sentiments after so great 
 a Master, I must freely declare my Opinion, that of all 
 the Poets among the Grcecians, I only admire Homer, 
 Sophocles, Pindar, and Euripides, tho' I am very much 
 pleas'd with some of the rest ; and of all the Poets among 
 the Romans, I admire only Virgil and Horace, and some 
 parts of Lucretius; tho' I am very much pleas'd with 
 Catullus, Tibullus, Terence, and others. For as for 
 Lycophron, Nonnus, Apollonius Rhodius, Valerius 
 Flaccus, Silius Italicus, Statins, I prefer the Paradise 
 lost of Milton before them all together: Nay I will go 
 yet farther, and declare, that tho' I must freely own, 
 that Virgil has infinitely the Advantage of Milton, in the 
 wonderful Contrivance of his Poem, in the Harmony of 
 his Versification, and in the constant Tenor of his 
 
220 John Dennis 
 
 Majesty, and his Elevation; yet that Milton in some 
 particular parts of his Poem has the Advantage of 
 Virgil, and of Mankind. And tho' I can by no means 
 believe Shakespear to be of equal Merit with Sophocles 
 or Euripides, for which I shall give my Reasons in 
 another place; yet this I can say for the Honour of my 
 Countryman, and of Great Britain, that there are several 
 single Scenes in Shakespear, which I prefer to all the 
 Tragedies put together of which Seneca is accounted the 
 Author. 
 
 I shall give one more Instance, by which it will appear 
 that while this Youngster is pretending to give Laws, 
 he behaves himself like one who is still in awe of the 
 Rod; that he admires the Ancients, because his Master 
 tells him that they must be admir'd; and that if the 
 Ancients were his Contemporaries, and produc'd the 
 same Writings now which they did formerly, he would 
 use them with the same Insolence with which he treats 
 his Contemporaries. In the 8"' Page of this Essay, he 
 gives a verbose and indigested Encomium of the first 
 GrcBcian Criticks, but forgets and contradicts himself 
 before he comes to the bottom of that very Page. For, 
 says he. 
 
 The gen'rous Critick fann'd the Poet's Fire, 
 And taught the World with Reason to admire; 
 Then Criticism, the Muses Handmaid, proud 
 To dress her Charms, and make her more beloi/d: 
 But following Wits from that Intention stray'd, \ 
 Who could not win the Mistress, woo'd the Maid, > 
 Set up themselves, and drove a sep'rate Trade. j 
 
 Never was any thing more obscure and confus'd than 
 the foregoing Rhimes; but if there is any meaning in 
 them, it must be that which follows. 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 221 
 
 At first Poets and Criticks were all one; and these 
 Poets made use of their Criticism only to make their 
 Poetry more charming, and more accomplish'd. But 
 the Wits who immediately follow'd after them, deviated 
 from the Design of their Predecessors; and not being 
 able to attain to Poetry, took up a Resolution to drive 
 a separate Trade, and to set up only for Criticks. If 
 this is not his meaning, I should be glad to hear in Prose, 
 and in plain English what his meaning is; for Rhime 
 has always been a wicked Abettor and Concealer of 
 Nonsense. But if this is his meaning, then I desire to 
 make these two Remarks, First, that the ancientest 
 Criticks among the Grascians were not Poets, as we 
 observ'd before; and Secondly, that if Aristotle and 
 Dionysius Halicarnassceus, and others were now alive, 
 and their excellent Criticisms were now first to appear, 
 it would be objected to those great Men, in order to 
 disqualify them for Criticks, that they were no Versi- 
 fyers. And it is plain from the 3"^ Page that another 
 Objection would be made to them: For when he comes 
 there to speak of the Moderns, he tells us, 
 
 Some dryly plain, without Invention's Aid, 
 Write dull Receipts how Poems may be made. 
 
 Now it being evident, that the Criticisms of Aristotle 
 and of Dionysius Halicarnassceus are writ with a great 
 deal of Simplicity, 'tis manifest that if those two Criticks 
 had writ but yesterday, they would be accus'd to day of 
 being drily plain, and of writing dull Receipts. 
 
 But a third infallible mark of a young Author, is, that 
 he hath done in this Essay what School-boys do by their 
 Exercises, he hath borrow'd both from Living and Dead, 
 and particularly from the Authors of the two famous 
 
222 John Dennis / 
 
 Essays upon Poetry and Translated Verse; but so 
 borrow'd, that he seems to have the very Reverse of 
 Midas's noble Faculty. For as the coursest and the 
 dullest Metals, were upon the touch of that Lydian 
 Monarch immediately chang'd into fine Gold; so the 
 finest Gold upon this Author's handling it, in a moment 
 loses both its lustre and its weight, and is immediately 
 turn'd to Lead. 
 
 A fourth thing that shews him a young man, is the 
 not knowing his own mind, and his frequent Contra- 
 dictions of himself. His Title seems to promise an 
 Essay upon Criticism in general, which afterwards 
 dwindles to an Essay upon Criticism in Poetry. And 
 after all, he is all along giving Rules, such as they are, 
 for Writing rather than Judging. In the beginning of 
 the 8* Page the Rules are nothing but Nature. 
 
 These Rules of old discovered, not devis'd. 
 Are Nature still, but Nature methodiz'd. 
 
 But no sooner is he come to the lO"" Page, but the Rules 
 and Nature are two different things. 
 
 When first great Maro, in his boundless mind. 
 A Work t' outlast immortal Rome design'd, 
 Perhaps he seem'd above the Critick's Law, 
 And but from Natures Fountains scorn'd to draw. 
 
 But in the last Line of this very Paragraph they are the 
 same things again. 
 
 Learn hence for ancient Rules and just Esteem, 
 To copy Nature is to copy them. 
 
 But to this he will answer. That he is guilty of no 
 Contradiction, that he is only shewing that Virgil was 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 22^ 
 
 guilty of Error and Ignorance ; who first absurdly began 
 to write his ^neis, and afterwards sate down to learn 
 the Rules of Writing; which when he began to write 
 that Poem, he took to be things distinct from Nature; 
 but that after he had wrote part of it, he fell to the 
 reading of Homer, and that undeceiv'd him. That while 
 he is talking of Virgil's Error and Ignorance, he is 
 making a Parade of his own incomparable Wisdom and 
 Knowledge; and not contradicting himself, but Virgil, 
 or rather making him appear inconsistent with and 
 contradicting himself : for that tho' Virgil took the Rules 
 and Nature to be distinct from each other, for his own 
 part he is wiser, and knows better things. Now is not 
 this a very modest and a very judicious Gentleman? 
 
 A fifth Sign of his being a young Author is his being 
 almost perpetually in the wrong. And here in relation 
 to the foregoing passage, I might desire to ask him one 
 or two civil Questions. First, who acquainted him with 
 that noble Particularity of Virgil's Life, that he designed 
 to write his ^neis without Art ? Had he it from ancient 
 or modern Authors, or does he owe it to a noble Effort 
 of his own sagacious Soul ? If Virgil had so little Knowl- 
 edge of the Rules of his own Art, and so very little true 
 Judgment within him, as to be capable of such an 
 Extravagance, an Extravagance which, says this 
 Essayer, nothing but the reading of Homer was able 
 to correct, how comes he so far to have surpassed his 
 Master in the admirable Contrivance of his Poem. But 
 secondly, what does he mean by Marc's designing a 
 Work to outlast immortal Rome? Does he pretend to 
 put that Figure, call'd a Bull upon Virgil? Or would 
 he ambitiously have it pass for his own ? 'Tis no wonder 
 that one who is capable of imputing so great an Extrava- 
 
224- 
 
 John Dennis 
 
 gance to Virgil, should be capable of writing himself 
 without any manner of meaning. 
 
 Whenever we find a Simile, the first Line of it is like 
 a Warning-piece, to give us notice that something 
 extraordinary false or foolish is to follow. We have 
 one in the 6"" Page, where the former and the latter 
 part have not the least relation, and bear not the least 
 proportion to one another. 
 
 As on the Land while here the Ocean gains, 
 In other Parts it leaves wide sandy Plains: 
 Thus in the Soul while Memory prevails, 
 The solid Power of Understanding fails; 
 Where Beams of warm Imagination play. 
 The Memory's soft Figures melt away. 
 
 Here the Soul in the third Verse is made to answer to 
 Land in the first, and Memory to Ocean, which in the 
 fourth Verse is chang'd for Understanding; tho' in this 
 Simile the Author shews neither Memory nor Under- 
 standing ; for there are as many Absurdities in it as there 
 are Lines. At this rate a man may make a thousand 
 Similes in an hour ! Any thing may become like to any 
 thing. Jungentur jam Gryphes Equis. But what a 
 thoughtless Creature is this Essayer, to deny in these 
 very Rhimes, by which he pretends to shew both Poetry 
 and Criticism, the co-existence of those Qualities, with- 
 out which 'tis impossible to be both Poet and Critick? 
 Besides, how wrong is this ; and how many Persons have 
 I known who have had all these Qualities at the same 
 time in a very great degree? What follows is more 
 wrong and more absurd : 
 
 One Science only will one Genius fit 
 So vast is Art, so narrow Human Wit. 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 22$ 
 
 Is not this a rare Pretender to Poetry and Criticism, 
 who talks at this rate, when all the World knows that 
 'tis impossible for a Man with only one Science to be 
 either Poet or Critick? Which is so much the more 
 unlucky, because the very Fathers of Poetry and Criti- 
 cism Homer and Aristotle, whom he mentions so often 
 in this Essay, are believed to have had all the Sciences. 
 'Tis now between Two and three thousand Years since 
 Aristotle wrote his Morals, his Politicks, his Rhetorick, 
 and his Poetick ; and three of these are the very best in 
 their kinds to this very day, and have infinitely the 
 Advantage of all those several thousand Treatises that 
 have been writ since. What follows is still more false 
 and more abominable. 
 
 Not only bounded to peculiar Arts, 
 
 But e^/n in those confin'd to single Parts. 
 
 What a wretched narrow Soul hath this Essayer ? And 
 what a thoughtless one — when Homer, whom he mentions 
 so often in this Essay, had as admirable a Talent for 
 Pleasantry, as he had a Genius equal to the most exalted 
 Poetry? To come to the Romans, Horace is famous 
 both for Eleva[t]ion and Pleasantry. Virgil succeeded 
 in his Bucolicks and Georgicks, as well as he did in his 
 Mneis. To descend to the Moderns, Shakespear had a 
 very good Genius for Tragedy, and a very good Talent 
 for Comedy. And since him Otway had likewise a 
 Talent for both. 
 
 But in the next Page there is likewise a Simile ; and 
 therefore we may be sure, as we observ'd above, that 
 most of that Page is one continued Absurdity. 
 
 First follow Nature, and your Judgment frame 
 By her just Standard, which is still the same; 
 
226 John Dennis 
 
 Unerring Nature still divinely bright, 
 One clear, unchang'd, and universal Light, 
 Life, Force and Beauty next to all impart, 
 At once the Source, and End, and Test of Art: 
 
 Now here wou'd I fain ask one or two Questions? Is 
 he giving Rules here for Judging or for Writing? And 
 is he prescribing those Rules to the Knowing or the 
 Ignorant? If he says to the Knowing, what is it that 
 he tells them here? That they must judge according 
 to Nature, or write according to Nature. Now does he 
 tell them any thing in this that they did not know before? 
 Well, but he says, he is laying down these Rules for the 
 Ignorant; why then I humbly conceive that he ought 
 to have told them what he means by Nature, and what 
 it is to write or to judge according to Nature. For by 
 expressing himself at the rate that he does, he neither 
 says any thing to the Learned which they did not know 
 before, nor any thing to the Ignorant which they can 
 possibly understand. Horace proceeded in a very 
 different Method from this, when he was to acquaint 
 the Piso's what was the principal Source of good Writ- 
 ing, he not only told them that it was moral Philosophy, 
 
 Scribendi recte, sapere est & principium & Fans, 
 
 But pointed to the very Books where they might find 
 that moral Philosophy. 
 
 Rem tibi Socratica poterant ostendere Chartm. 
 
 So that in one we have a clear and perspicuous Precept, 
 and in the other an obscure and unintelligible Jargon. 
 But let us go on. 
 
 That Art is best which most resembles her, 
 Which still presides, yet never does appear. 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 227 
 
 That is, as much as to say, Artis eft celare artem, the 
 common Subject that Pedants give their Boys to make 
 Themes and Declamations upon. Is not this a noble 
 Discovery? Well but now for the Simile; 
 
 In some fair Body thus the sprightly Soul 
 With Spirit feeds, with Vigor fills the whole. 
 Each motion guides, and eifry nerve sustains. 
 It self unseen but in th' effects remains. 
 
 This Youngster has not memory enough to know what 
 he said six Lines before; 
 
 Thus in a Soul where memory ne'r prevails, 
 The solid Power of understanding fails. 
 
 In the fifth Line of this Page it was Nature that 
 
 Life, force and beauty must to all impart. 
 
 And here in the lO*'* we are told that 'tis Art that 
 
 With Spirit feeds, with Vigor fills the whole. 
 
 But how absurdly is Art compar'd to the Soul, to which 
 only Genius can be justly compar'd, according to the 
 Observation in the Essay upon Poetry. But let us go 
 on, and we shall find that as all that went before this 
 Simile is unintelligible, so all is mighty absurd that 
 follows it. 
 
 There are whom Heaifn hath bless'd with store of Wit 
 Yet want as much again to manage it. 
 
 By the way what rare Numbers are here? Would not 
 one swear that this Youngster had espous'd some anti- 
 quated Muse, who had sued out a Divorce upon the 
 account of Impotence from some superannuated Sinner ; 
 and who having been pox'd by her former Spouse, has 
 
228 John Dennis 
 
 got the Gout in her decrepit Age, which makes her 
 hobble so damnably — Why, this is more dismal than 
 the Italian Opera, both that and the Essay are but 
 sounds ; but that is Harmony, and this is Discord. 
 
 But now, my dear Friend, if I had young Mr. Bays 
 here, I would desire that I might ask him one Question, 
 and he not be angry. And that is, what he means by 
 
 There are whom Heai/n has bless'd with store of Wit, 
 Yet want as much again to manage it. 
 
 But let us go on, and see if 'tis possible to find it out 
 without him. 
 
 For Wit and Judgment ever are at strife 
 
 Tho' meant each others, are like Man and Wife. 
 
 That is as much as to say, there are People who have 
 that which they call Wit, without one dram of Judg- 
 ment. Is not this another wonderful Discovery? But 
 I fancy that Mr. Bays has the Misfortune to be wrong 
 in the first Verse of the foresaid Couplet. 
 
 For Wit and Judgment ever are at strife. 
 
 What a Devil, Mr. Bays, they cannot be at strife sure, 
 after they are parted, after Wit has made an Elopement, 
 or has been barbarously forsaken by Judgment, or turn'd 
 to separate maintenance! Much less can they be at 
 strife where they never came together, which is the Case 
 in the Essay. But now we talk of Man and Wife, let us 
 consider the Yoke-fellow to the former Rhime. 
 
 Tho' meant each others, and like Man and Wife. 
 
 Now cannot I for my Soul conceive the reciprocal Aid 
 that there is between Wit and Judgment. For tho' I 
 can easily conceive how Judgment may keep Wit in her 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 22g 
 
 Senses, yet cannot I possibly understand how Wit can 
 controul, or redress, or be a help to Judgment. 
 If Mr. Bays in that Couplet 
 
 There are whom Heai/n has bless'd with store of Wit, 
 Yet want as much agen to manage it. 
 
 Intended to say that People have sometimes store of 
 false Wit without Judgment to manage it, he intended 
 nothing but what all the World knew before. But if 
 he meant to say this of true Wit, nothing can be more 
 mistaken; for I cannot conceive how any one can have 
 store of Wit without Judgment. I believe that Father 
 Bouheurs has given a tolerable Description of Wit in his 
 Treatise upon that Subject, C'est un solide qui brille: 
 "Tis a shining Solid, like a Diamond, which the more 
 "solid it is, is always the more glittering ; and derives its 
 "height of Lustre from its perfect Solidity. Now how 
 any thing in the Works of the Mind can be solid without 
 Judgment, I leave Mr. Bays to consider. 
 
 But let us pass to the 18* Page, at the bottom of 
 which we shall find another Simile, and consequently 
 another absurdity. 
 
 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 Ornament their want of Art. 
 
 Which in Prose and plain English runs thus : 
 
 Poets like Painters not having the Skill to draw 
 Nature without Art, hide their want of Art 
 with a super-abundance of Art. 
 
 In the 20"" Page we have another Simile, and conse- 
 quently another Absurdity. 
 
2^0 John Dennis 
 
 But true Expression, like th' unchanging Sun, 
 Clears and improves whate'er it shines upon. 
 
 Which is borrow'd from the Essay on Poetry. 
 
 True Wit is everlasting like the Sun, 
 
 But awkwardly borrow'd, and utterly spoil'd in the 
 removal. For what can Expression be properly said 
 to shine upon? True Wit, or Genius; for that the noble 
 Author means, as is plain from several parts of his 
 Poem, shines thro' and discovers it self by the Expres- 
 sion; but Expression, at the very best, can but shine 
 with a borrow'd Light, like the Moon and the rest of 
 the Planets, whereas Genius shines and flames with its 
 own Celestial Fire. 
 
 His Instructions, his Affections, his Commendations, 
 his Censures, his Advice, wherever they are his own, are 
 either false or trivial, or both. Such is that in the 
 beginning of the twelfth Page, 
 
 And tho' the Ancients thus their Rules invade, 
 
 As Kings dispense with Laws themselves have made. 
 
 Moderns beware. 
 
 Thus is this Essayer for a double Dispensing Power in 
 Kings and ancient Authors, and is for making the 
 Moderns doubly Slaves, Slaves in their Actions, and 
 Slaves in their Writings. But as we boldly deny that 
 Kings have either Power to make Laws, or to dispense 
 with them after they are made ; so those Laws of Writing 
 were neither made by the Ancients, nor can those 
 Ancients dispense with them. As they are the Laws of 
 Nature, and not of Men, as he has himself hinted in 
 the beginning of the S**" Page. 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 231 
 
 Those Rules of old discovered, not devised, 
 Are Nature still, hut Nature methodiz'd. 
 
 They are eternal and irrevocable, and never to be dis- 
 pens'd with but by Nature that made them; and the 
 only Rule for that Dispensation is this, that a less Law 
 may be violated to avoid the infringing of a greater; 
 and 'tis equally the Duty both of Ancients and Moderns, 
 to break thro' a less important Rule, when without that 
 Infringement a greater must be violated, or the great 
 End of all the Rules neglected. The great End of all 
 the Rules is to instruct, and the subordinate End is to 
 please, by moving of Passion, and particularly that kind 
 of Passion which ought chiefly to reign in that sort of 
 Poetry in which the Poet writes. Now 'tis a Rule in 
 Poetry, that the notorious Events of History are not to 
 be falsifyed, nor the Periods of Time transpos'd or 
 confounded. And yet Virgil in the fourth of his Mneis, 
 broke thro' this Rule at once by a bold and a judicious 
 Anachronism, in order to make his Poem more admir- 
 able, and the more to exalt the Glory of the Roman 
 Name. Whatever the Ancients justly did, the Moderns 
 may justly do. 'Tis ridiculous and pedantick to imagine, 
 that the natural Powers of the Soul were stronger or 
 more excellent in the Ancients than they are in the 
 Moderns. And as to Experience we have vastly the 
 Advantage of them. When we consider Experience, 
 as my Lord Bacon observes, we are properly the 
 Ancients, who live in the elder Ages of the World, and 
 have the Advantage of the Knowledge of Three thou- 
 sand Years over the first Writers. Not but that at the 
 same time that I assert the Equality of Faculties in the 
 Moderns, and the Advantage of their Experience, I freely 
 acknowledge the actual Preheminence that several of the 
 
2^2 John Dennis 
 
 Ancients have over the Moderns; but I have sufficiently 
 shewn in the Advancement of Modern Poetry, that the 
 actual Preheminence proceeded from accidental Causes, 
 and not from any Superiority of Faculties in those 
 ancient Authors. 
 
 At the bottom of the same Page 12. there is something 
 asserted that is both false and impudent ; where speaking 
 of the Ancients, he tells us. 
 
 Those are hut Stratagems which Errors seem, 
 Nor is it Homer nods but we that dream. 
 
 Which is a presumptuous Contradiction of Horace, 
 
 Aliquando bonus dormitat Homerus. 
 
 And of my Lord Roscommon. 
 
 His reeling Hero's and his wounded Gods 
 Make some suspect he snores as well as nods. 
 
 And is in effect to declare that Horace was a Dreamer, 
 and my Lord Roscommon a Dotard, and I, my Masters, 
 only I, am alerte and eveille, only I am the man of 
 Importance. 
 
 In the beginning of the 31=' Page there is something 
 too very wrong. 
 
 In Words as Fashions the same Rule will hold. 
 Alike fantastick if too new or old. 
 Be not the first by whom the new are tr^d. 
 Nor yet the last to lay the old aside. 
 
 This being directed to all without Exception, and 
 deliver'd without Limitation or Restriction, is another 
 flat Contradiction of Horace. 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 23s 
 
 Si forte necesse est 
 Indiciis monstrare recentibus abdita rerum: 
 Fingere cinctutis non exaudita Cethegis 
 Continget, dabiturq; licentia sumpta pudenter. 
 Et nova fictaq; nuper habebunt verba idem, si 
 Graco fonte cadqnt parce detorta. 
 
 This is likewise a Libel upon the memory of Mr. Dryden 
 whom he pretends to admire; for never any one was a 
 greater Coiner than he, and it is directly contrary to the 
 Improvement of Languages ; for if Chaucer and succeed- 
 ing Authors had had this Advice given them, and had 
 been weak enough to take it, how could our Language 
 ever have improv'd in Purity, in Force, in Grace, or in 
 Harmony? But if it was allow'd to Chaucer, and those 
 who immediately follow'd him, why must it be deny'd 
 to those who have liv'd since. 
 
 quid autem 
 Co^cilio, Plautoq; dabit Romanus ademptum 
 Virgilio, Varroque? Ego cur acquirere pauca 
 Si passim, invideor? Quum lingua Catonis & Enni, 
 Sermonem patrium ditaverit, & nova rerum 
 Nomina protulerit, licuit semper q; licebit 
 Signatum prcesente nota producere nomen. 
 
 I must confess if we speak with relation to the constant 
 and general Practice of a Writer, he ought to take what 
 the French call the best Use, for the Mistress of the 
 Language in which he writes; but a great Poet if he 
 writes in the Language which he was born to speak, may 
 be allow'd the Privilege sometimes to coin new words, 
 and sometimes to revive the old, which last succeeded so 
 well to Milton. 
 
2j^ John Dennis 
 
 About the middle of the 23"* Page he gives Advice, 
 which shews him very inconsistent with himself. 
 
 And praise the easie Vigor of a Line 
 
 Where Denham'^y Strength and Waller'j Sweetness join. 
 
 How vastly different is this from what he pretends to 
 advise at the bottom of the 9*'' Page. 
 
 Be Homer'.r Works your Study day and night, 
 
 Read them by day, and meditate by night; 
 
 Thence form your Judgment, thence your Notions bring, 
 
 And trace the Muses upward to their Spring; 
 
 Still with it self compared, his Text peruse. 
 
 And let your Comment be the Mantuan Muse. 
 
 Now he who is familiar with Homer, and intimate with 
 Virgil, will not be extremely affected either with the 
 Sweetness of Waller, or the Force of Denham. He 
 requires something that is far above the Level of modern 
 Authors, something that is great and wonderful. If I 
 were to recommend a British Poet to one who has been 
 habituated to Homer and Virgil, I would for the Honour 
 of my Country, and of my own Judgment advise him to 
 read Milton; who very often equals both the Grecian 
 and the Roman in their extraordinary Qualities, and 
 sometimes surpasses them, is more lofty, more terrible, 
 more vehement, more astonishing, and has more im- 
 petuous and more divine Raptures. I will not deny but 
 that Waller has Sweetness, and Denham Force ; but their 
 good and their shining Qualities are so sophisticated and 
 debauch'd with these modern Vices of Conceit, and 
 Point, and Turn, and Epigram, that 'tis impossible they 
 can affect in an extraordinary manner those who have 
 been long acquainted with the Ancients. 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 2^5 
 
 There is in the 38*'' and the 39*'' Pages another Incon- 
 sistency, which I desire to lay before the Reader. In 
 the SS"" Page he speaks of Horace thus : 
 
 He who supreme in Judgment as in Wit, 
 
 Might boldly censure as he boldly writ; 
 
 Yet judg'd with Coolness, tho' he sung with Fire 
 
 His Precepts teach but what his Works inspire. 
 
 Our Criticks take a contrary Extreme, 
 
 They judge with Fury, but they write with Flegm. 
 
 Before he goes ten Lines farther, he forgets himself, 
 and commends Longinus for the very contrary Quality 
 for which he commended Horace, and for the very same 
 thing for which he condemns his Contemporaries. 
 
 The Muses sure Longinus did, inspire. 
 And blest their Critick with a Poefs Fire: 
 An ardent Judge that zealous in his Trust 
 With warmth gives Judgment, yet is always just; 
 Whose own Example strengthens all his Laws, 
 And is himself that great Sublime he draws. 
 
 He commends Horace for judging cooly in Verse, and 
 extols Longinus for criticizing with Fire in Prose. What 
 a miserable Slave is this Author to Opinion ? Can any 
 thing be more plain, than that he condemns his Contem- 
 poraries for no other reason but because they are his 
 Contemporaries; and commends Longinus for no other 
 reason but because he has been approv'd of by others. 
 For why should not a modern Critick imitate the great 
 Qualities of Longinus; and when he treats of a Subject 
 which is sublime, treat of it sublimely? Now he who 
 writes any thing with Sublimity, let it be Prose or Verse, 
 let it be Criticism or Poetry, writes sometimes with Fury, 
 
2^6 John Dennis 
 
 as Longinus hath shewn both by his Doctrine and his 
 Example in the first Chapter of his Treatise. 
 
 But pray who are these Moderns that judge with 
 Fury, and write with Flegm? Who are they that have 
 writ both Criticism and Poetry, who have not in their 
 Poetry shewn a thousand times this Essayer's Fire? 
 Who is there among them that is not above borrowing 
 so openly and so awkwardly from the most known 
 Authors? For what Reader is so unacquainted with 
 our English Poetry, as not to know that he has taken this 
 last Couplet, with a very little variation from the Essay 
 on Translated Verse? 
 
 Thus make the proper Use of each Extreme 
 And write with Fury, but correct with Flegm. 
 
 But what is a perspicuous sensible Precept in my Lord 
 Roscommon, as soon as this Essayer handles it, becomes 
 a gross Absurdity and a palpable Contradiction. 
 
 In the 28* Page there are no less than two or three 
 Absurdities in the compass of four Lines. 
 
 Now length of Fame our second Life is lost. 
 And bare Threescore is all e^n that can boast. 
 Our Sons their Fathers failing Language see, 
 And such as Chaucer is shall Dryden be. 
 
 Now what does young Mr. Bays mean by our second 
 Life, and by bare Threescore? If he speaks of himself, 
 and means threescore Days, he means too much in 
 Reason: But if he speaks of Chaucer, Spencer, and 
 Shakespear, and means threescore Years, he means too 
 little in Conscience. 'Tis now a hundred Years since 
 Shakespear began to write, more since Spencer flour- 
 ished, and above 300 Years since Chaucer died. And yet 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody z^'j 
 
 the Fame of none of these is extinguish'd. The reason 
 that he gives for this is false too. 
 
 Our Sons their Fathers failing Language see, 
 
 Mr. Waller may suffice to shew the Falsity of this. 
 'Tis above threescore Years since that Gentleman began 
 to write, and yet his Language is still good and new. 
 Thus we find that the Assertion is false here, the 
 Reason of it false; and we shall find anon that the 
 Inference is false too. 
 
 And such as Chaucer is shall Dryden be; 
 
 That is, shall grow obsolete and neglected, and be either 
 forgot, or be read but by a few. 
 
 Whether the Language of Mr. Dryden will ever be 
 as obsolete as is at present that of Chaucer, is what 
 neither this Author nor any one else can tell. For ev'ry 
 Language hath its particular period of Time to bring 
 it to Perfection, I mean to all the Perfection of which 
 that Language is capable. And they who are alive cannot 
 possibly tell whether that period hath happen'd or not: 
 If that period has not yet happen'd; yet 'tis not the 
 Obsoleteness of Language which makes a Poet fall from 
 the Reputation which he once enjoy'd, provided the 
 Language in which that Poet wrote was at the Time 
 of his Writing come to be capable of Harmony. For 
 Spencer is obsolete, yet is still renown'd. That which 
 makes an Author fall from his former Reputation, is, 
 says Boileau, in his seventh Reflection upon Longinus, 
 his not having attain'd to that Point of Solidity and 
 Perfection, which are necessary to give a never dying 
 Esteem to his Works. For Example, says he, the Latin 
 Tongue in which Cicero and Virgil wrote, was already 
 very much alter'd in the Time of Quintilian and of Aulus 
 
2^8 John Dennis 
 
 Gellius; and yet Cicero and Virgil were more esteem'd 
 when those Criticks wrote, than they were in their own 
 Age, because they had as it were by their Writings fix'd 
 the Roman Language, having attain'd to that Point of 
 SoHdity and Perfection which I have mention'd above. 
 
 If we reflect upon that miserable Tast which reigns 
 now among our Readers, and that want of Genius which 
 is so deplorable in our present Writers, and that Tast 
 and Genius daily more and more decline, we may with- 
 out being Prophets foretel, according to the foremention'd 
 Observation of the Solidity and Perfection of Poems, 
 that the Language is not like to alter to the Disadvantage 
 of those Poets, whose Works are the only Remains of 
 them here below. But be that as it will, yet this is 
 certain, that Mr. Dryden had one Quality in his Lan- 
 guage, which Chaucer had not, and which must always 
 remain. For having acquir'd some Justness of Numbers, 
 and some Truth of Harmony and of Versification, to 
 which Chaucer thro' the Rudeness of the Language, or 
 want of Ear, or want of Experience, or rather perhaps 
 a mixture of all, could not possibly attain, that Justness 
 of Numbers, and Truth of Harmony and of Versifica- 
 tion can never be destroy'd by any alteration of Lan- 
 guage; and therefore Mr. Dryden whatever alteration 
 happens to the Language, can never be like to Chaucer. 
 
 Wherever this Gentleman talks of Wit, he is sure to 
 say something that is very foolish, as Page 39. 
 
 What is this Wit that does our Cares employ, 
 The Owner's Wife that other Men enjoy? 
 The more his Trouble as the more admir'd, 
 Where wanted scorn'd, and envy'd where acquir'd. 
 
 Here again I desire leave to ask two or three Questions. 
 First, how can Wit be scorn'd where it is not? Is not 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 2^g 
 
 this a Figure frequently employ'd in Hibernian Land? 
 The Person who wants this Wit may indeed be scorn'd ; 
 but such a Contempt declares the Honour that the 
 Contemner has for Wit. But secondly, what does he 
 mean by acquir'd Wit? Does he mean Genius by the 
 word Wit, or Conceit and Point? If he means Genius, 
 that is certainly never to be acquir'd; and the Person 
 who should pretend to acquire it, would be always secure 
 from Envy. But if by Wit he means Conceit and Point, 
 those are things that ought never to be in Poetry, unless 
 by chance sometimes in the Epigram, or in Comedy, 
 where it is proper to the Character and the Occasion; 
 and ev'n in Comedy it ought always to give place to 
 Humour, and ev'n to be lost and absorp'd in that, 
 according to the Precept of the noble Author of the 
 Essay on Poetry. 
 
 That silly thing Men call sheer Wit avoid, 
 With which our Age so nauseously is cloyed; 
 Humour is all, Wit should be only brought 
 To turn agreeably some proper Thought. 
 
 In the beginning of the SS"^ Page there is a Couplet 
 of Advice, the first line of which is very impertinent, 
 and the second very wrong. 
 
 Be silent always when you doubt your Sense. 
 
 Now who are the Persons to whom he is giving Advice 
 here? Why, to Poets or Criticks, or both; but the 
 Persons to whom he ought to be speaking are Criticks, 
 that is, People who pretend to instruct others. But can 
 any man of common Sense want to be told, that he ought 
 not to pretend to instruct others, as long as he doubts 
 of the Truth of his own Precepts ? 
 
240 John Dennis 
 
 But what can be more wrong or more absurd than the 
 latter Verse of the Couplet ? 
 
 Speak when you're sure, yet speak with Diffidence. ^ 
 
 Now I should think that when a man is sure, 'tis his 
 Duty to speak with a modest Assurance; since in doing 
 otherwise he betrays the Truth, especially when he 
 speaks to those who are guided more by Imagination 
 than they are by Judgment, which is the Case of three 
 parts of the World, and three parts of the other Part. 
 
 He is so great a Lover of Falshood, that whenever 
 he has a mind to calumniate his Contemporaries, he 
 upbraids them with some Defect, which is just contrary 
 to some good Quality for which all their Friends and 
 their Acquaintance commend them. As for Example, 
 if a Man is remarkable for the extraordinary Deference 
 which he pays to the Opinions and the Remonstrances 
 of his Friends, him he Libels for his Impatience under 
 Reproof. On the contrary, if he has a mind to extol 
 the Ancients, he passes by either thro' Envy or Ignorance 
 all the great Qualities which they have, and extols them 
 for some peculiar one, the very want of which is known 
 to all the World to be their Infirmity and their Defect. 
 Thus in the 37"' Page he takes occasion to commend 
 Aristotle for what he wrote in Physicks, a great deal of 
 which is so justly censur'd and condemn'd ev'n by the 
 same learned and judicious Men, who allow his Mthiiks, 
 his Politicks, his Rhetorick, and his Poetick, to be worthy 
 of the greatest Philosopher. And here as the Commenda- 
 tion which he gives him is false, the manner of giving 
 it is still more false. For, says he. 
 
 Not only Nature did his Laws obey, 
 
 But Fancy's boundless Empire own'd his Sway. 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 241 
 
 The Expression in the first Verse is not only absurd, but 
 blasphemous. The Laws of Nature are unalterable and 
 indispensable but by God himself; and the greatest 
 Excellence to which the wisest Philosopher can attain, 
 is not to controul, but to obey Nature. 
 
 In the Libel upon King Charles the Second, he has not 
 only endeavour'd to brand the Memory of that Prince 
 for something which is utterly false, but for something 
 which if it had been true had been an Excellence in that 
 Prince. For Wits, says he, in that Monarch's Reign had 
 Pensions, when all the World knows that it was one 
 of the Faults of that Reign that none of the politer Arts 
 were then encourag'd. For of this we may be sure, that 
 whenever we have a Prince and Ministers, who truly 
 understand either their own Interest, or that of the 
 Publick, Arts and Learning will be then encourag'd; I 
 mean not speciously and pretendedly, but really and 
 sincerely. 
 
 The King of France pretended to encourage Arts by 
 allowing Pensions to some few Professors of them, 
 whereas at the same time he was and is doing a thing, 
 which has a natural Tendency to the driving them out 
 of Europe. For by kindling and prosecuting an unjust 
 War thro' so many different Nations, he has gone a very 
 great way towards the barbarizing the Christian World ; 
 and the Arts would have been at a much greater height, 
 than they are now, without any manner of Encourage- 
 ment from him, if they had been suffer 'd to have enjoy'd 
 the Quiet of an universal Peace. In the same manner 
 some Persons of Quality in Great Britain have been 
 kind to some particular Professors of Poetry ; but at the 
 very same time, by not only introducing the Italian 
 Opera among us, but by continuing constant Encour- 
 agers of it to this very day, they are doing a thing which 
 
2^2 John Dennis 
 
 will drive the very Art it self out of the Kingdom, as 
 it has been already driven out of every other Nation; 
 and are depriving their Favourite Authors of more 
 than ever they yet bestow'd upon them. Any great 
 Minister would now have a glorious Opportunity of 
 being a true Encourager of Poetry, and ev'ry other 
 generous Art, by representing effectually to her Majesty 
 the Mischief that the Italians do both to her Subjects, 
 and to the Arts, and so driving those melodious Ballad- 
 Singers out of the Nation. 
 
 But to return to the Reign of King Charles the Second, 
 from which I may seem to have in some measure 
 digress'd; there was then indeed a favourable regard 
 shewn to Wit, but no real Encouragement. Butler was 
 starv'd at the same time that the King had his Book in 
 his Pocket. Another great Wit lay seven Years in 
 Prison for an inconsiderable Debt, and Otway dar'd not 
 to shew his Head for fear of the same Fate. These are 
 some of the Glories of that Reign according to this 
 Author. For if it be a Vice in a Prince to encourage an 
 Art, 'tis a Vertue to neglect it. What a wretched 
 Creature is this Pretender to Criticism and Poetry to 
 keep such a pother about an Art, the Encouragement of 
 which he imputes as Infamy to King Charles the Second ? 
 
 Well ! but he tells us that not only 
 
 The Wits had Pensions, hut young Lords had Wit. 
 
 Here in the compass of one poor Line are two devilish 
 Bobs for the Court. But 'tis no easy matter to tell 
 which way the latter squinting Reflection looks. For 
 if he pretends to reflect upon that Prince, for receiving 
 Persons of Quality who had Wit into his Court, can 
 any thing be more impertinent than twice in one Line 
 to libel a Monarch for being favourable to that very 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 243 
 
 thing, which he takes so much pains in this very Book 
 to recommend to the World ? If he means that the young 
 Lords of the Court who pretended to Wit had it not, 
 can any thing be more arrogant than to fly in the Face 
 of all Mankind, and to contradict almost the only thing 
 in which all sorts of People agree, ev'n in this divided 
 Age, Britons and Foreigners, Protestants and Papists, 
 Whigs and Tories, Churchmen and Dissenters, and to 
 pretend to reflect upon Persons whose very Names are 
 their Panegyricks? The young Lords who had Wit in 
 the Court of King Charles the Second, are these: The 
 young former Duke of Buckingham, the young Earl of 
 Mulgrave now Duke of Buckingham, the young Lord 
 Buckhurst afterwards Earl of Dorset and Middlesex, and 
 the young Marquess of Halifax; the young Earl of 
 Rochester, the young Lord Vaughan now Lord Carbury, 
 and several others. If the looking favourably upon 
 young Persons of Quality who had Wit, may be 
 imputed as Scandal to the Court of King Charles the 
 Second, that Court was certainly the most scandalous 
 one in Europe. But if he says on the other side that 'tis 
 dishonourable to a Prince to be mistaken in this Point, 
 and to look with a favourable Eye on Pretenders instead 
 of real Masters; to that all the World with one accord 
 will answer that never Prince had a clearer Reputation 
 in this Point. 
 
 Thus are his Assertions, and his Precepts frequently 
 false or trivial, or both, his Thoughts very often crude 
 and abortive, his Expressions absurd, his Numbers often 
 harsh and unmusical, without Cadence and without 
 Variety, his Rhimes trivial and common. He dictates 
 perpetually, and pretends to give Law without any thing 
 of the Simplicity or Majesty of a Legislator, and pro- 
 nounces Sentence without any thing of the Plainness or 
 
24^^ John Dennis 
 
 Clearness, or Gravity of a Judge. Instead of Simplicity 
 we have little Conceit and Epigram, and Affectation. 
 Instead of Majesty we have something that is very 
 mean, and instead of Gravity we have something that 
 is very boyish. And instead of Perspicuity and lucid 
 Order, we have but too often Obscurity and Confusion. 
 But what most shews him a very young Author, is, 
 that with all these Faults and this Weakness he has the 
 Insolence of a Hero, and is a downright Bully of 
 Parnassus, who is ev'ry moment thund'ring out Fool, 
 Sot, Fop, Coxcomb, Blockhead, and thinks to hide his 
 want of Sense by his pretended Contempt of others, as 
 a Hector does his want of Courage by his perpetual 
 blustring and roaring; and is sagaciously of Opinion, 
 that he arrogates so much Sense to himself as he imputes 
 Folly to other People. 
 
 Thus a wild Tartar when he spies 
 A Man thafs handsome, valiant, wise. 
 Thinks if he kills him to inherit 
 His Wit, his Beauty, and his Spirit, 
 As if just so much he enjoy' d 
 As in another he destroy'd. 
 
 By what he says Page the 35*, and his returning to the 
 Charge, Page 34, his particular Pique seems to be at 
 People of Quality, for whom he appears to have a very 
 great Contempt, I mean for the Authors of that Rank; 
 as if a Man were to assert his Title to Parnassus, by 
 proving himself a Plebeian in Great Britain; or as if an 
 English Sovereign by making a Man honourable, made 
 him dull. Good Gods, how absolute would our Princes 
 be at that rate! when they would have the very Under- 
 standings of their Subjects at their disposal, and would 
 need only to prefer the Disobedient to chastise them. 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 2/f.^ 
 
 I hope, I may without offence, gently put young Mr. 
 Bays in mind, that the Subordination which is absolutely 
 necessary to the Government of the World requires that 
 Respect should be paid to Persons of Quality, ev'n where 
 Esteem cannot be paid to them ; but that in this case they 
 both may and ought to have our Respect and Esteem 
 together. For I know very few People of Quality who 
 have applied themselves to Poetry, who have not suc- 
 ceeded; on the other side 'tis known to all the World 
 that some of them have been admirable. For nothing is 
 more certain than that supposing equal Talent and equal 
 Application, a Man of Quality has great Advantages 
 over the rest of Men. But can any thing be more 
 stupidly impudent and impertinent, than that this little 
 Gentleman should rail thus at the Writings of People 
 of Quality in this very Essay, the one half of which 
 he has borrow'd from two noble Authors, and appro- 
 priated it to himself, by the same Method by which a 
 Jack pudding engrosses a Sack-posset, viz. by mingling 
 some Beastliness with it, which does not fail to render 
 it nauseous to those who made it. This extraordinary 
 Proceeding of borrowing and railing puts me in mind 
 of a Passage in Mr. Cowley. 
 
 'Tis now become the frugal Fashion 
 Rather to hide than pay the Obligation; 
 Nay Wrongs and Outrages we do. 
 Lest Men should think we Owe. 
 
 But the Men of Quality, as they want not the Discern- 
 ment, will have the Satisfaction to see, that as there is 
 a great deal of Venom in this little Gentleman's Temper, 
 Nature has very wisely corrected it with a great deal 
 of Dulness. 
 
2/f6 John Dennis 
 
 His rankest Libels lull asleep his Foes, 
 
 As Vipers blood in Treacle makes us dose. 
 
 As there is no Creature in Nature so venomous, there 
 is nothing so stupid and so impotent as a hunch-back'd 
 Toad; and a Man must be very quiet and very passive, 
 and stand still to let him fasten his Teeth and his Claws, 
 or be surpriz'd sleeping by him, before that Animal can 
 have any power to hurt him. 
 
 Thus in order to find out his outward Person have we 
 taken a Survey of his inward Man, in his several noble 
 Talents and Vertues, his Poetry, his Criticism, his 
 Modesty, his Humility, his Gratitude, and his good 
 Breeding. Let us now take a Survey of his Politicks, 
 and his Religion, not by any means by way of Reflection ; 
 for Poetry and Criticism are of no Party, and of no 
 Religion, but only to find who he is. 
 
 I find then that in the compass of one Page, which is 
 the thirty first, he has Libell'd two Monarchs and two 
 Nations. The two Monarchs are King Charles and 
 King William : The two Nations are the Dutch and our 
 own. The Dutch we are told are a parcel of Sharpers, 
 and we are downright Bubbles and Fools. King Charles 
 the Second was too much a Libertine, and too much an 
 Encourager of Wit for him; King William the Third 
 was too much a Socinian. But tho' he has without Mercy 
 condemn'd the Reigns of the foremention'd Monarchs, 
 he is graciously pleas'd to pass over in silence that which 
 comes between them. In the beginning of the 13*'' Page, 
 we find what that is which so happily reconcil'd him to 
 it, and that was the Dispensing Pow'r, which was set 
 on foot in order to introduce and to establish Popery, 
 and to make it the National Religion. Now I humbly 
 conceive that he who Libels our Confederates, must be 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 24^ 
 
 by Politicks a Jacobite; and he who Libels all the 
 Protestant Kings that we have had in this Island these 
 threescore Years, and who justifies the Dispensing Pow'r 
 so long after we are free'd from it, a Pow'r which as 
 was hinted above was set on foot on purpose to introduce 
 Popery: He who justifies this when he lyes under the 
 Tye of no Necessity, nor ev'n Conveniency to approve 
 of it, must, I humbly conceive, derive his Religion from 
 St. Omer's, as he seems to have done his Humanity and 
 his Criticism ; and is, I suppose, politickly setting up for 
 Poet-Laureat against the coming over of the Pretender, 
 which by his Insolence he seems to believe approaching, 
 as People of his Capacity are generally very sanguine. 
 
 Let us now see if we can find any thing in his Rhimes, 
 which may direct us to his Coffee-house, or to his Book- 
 sellers. By his taking three Opportunities to commend 
 Mr. Dryden, in so small a compass as p. 23, 27, 28, I 
 fancy we may hear of him at Shakespear's Head, or at 
 Will's, for to revive old Quarrels which have been long 
 out of doors, and to renew the memory of Poetical Wars 
 wag'd formerly between Sir R. B. Mr. L. M. and Mr. 
 Dryden, can be agreeable to none but a very few of the 
 Frequenters of those Places. This is to run counter to 
 his own Direction ; for he tells us Page 37. that formerly 
 
 Pride, Malice, Folly against Dryden rose 
 
 In various shapes of Parsons, Criticks, Beaus. 
 
 Upon which, Page 28, he gives this grave Advice, 
 
 Be thou the first true Merit to befriend. 
 His Praise is lost who stays till all commend. 
 
 The appearing in Mr. Dryden's behalf now is too late. 
 'Tis like offering a Man's self for a Second, after the 
 Principal has been whipp'd through the Lungs. Now 
 
2^8 John Dennis 
 
 Mr. Dryden is dead, he commends him with the rest of 
 the World. But if this Httle Gentleman had been his 
 Contemporary thirty Years ago, why then I can tell a 
 very damn'd shape that Pride and Malice, and Folly 
 would have appear'd in against Mr. Dryden. 
 
 For his Acquaintance he names Mr. Walsh. I had the 
 good Fortune to know Mr. Walsh very well ; who was a 
 learned, candid, judicious Gentleman. But he had by 
 no means the Qualification which this Author reckons 
 absolutely necessary to a Critick; it being certain that 
 Mr. Walsh was like this Essayer a very indifferent Poet; 
 but he was a Man of a very good Understanding, in 
 spight of his being a Beau. He lov'd to be well dress'd, 
 as Dorimant says, and thought it no Disparagement to 
 his Understanding; and I remember a little young 
 Gentleman, with all the Qualifications which we have 
 found to be in this Author, whom Mr. Walsh us'd some- 
 times to take into his Company as a double Foil to his 
 Person, and his Capacity. It has been observ'd that of 
 late Years a certain Spectre exactly in the shape of that 
 little Gentleman, has haunted a certain ancient Wit, and 
 has been by the People of Covent-Garden styl'd his evil 
 Genius. For it hath been extremely remarkable, that 
 while that Spectre hath haunted that ancient Wit, he has 
 never been able to write or talk like himself : Which has 
 by no means happen'd by any Decay of his natural 
 Parts, but by the wonderful Pow'r of Magick. For as 
 soon as the dumb Conjurer has been employ 'd to lay the 
 Spectre for three or four months, either in the midst of 
 the Red Sea, or the middle of Windsor-Forest, the old 
 Gentleman has strait been his own Man as perfectly as 
 ever he was in his Life. 
 
 And now if your have a mind to enquire between 
 Sunning-Hill and Ockingham, for a young, squab, short 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 2^g 
 
 Gentleman, with the forementioned Qualifications, an 
 eternal Writer of Amorous Pastoral Madrigals, and the 
 very Bow of the God of Love, you will be soon directed 
 to him. And pray as soon as you have taken a Survey 
 of him, tell me whether he is a proper Author to make 
 personal Reflections on others; and tell him if he does 
 not like my Person, 'tis because he is an ungrateful 
 Creature, since his Conscience tells him, that I have been 
 always infinitely delighted with his: So delighted, that I 
 have lately drawn a very graphical Picture of it; but I 
 believe I shall keep the Dutch Piece from ever seeing the 
 Light, as a certain old Gentleman in Windsor-Forest 
 would have done by the Original, if he durst have been 
 half as impartial to his own Draught as I have been to 
 mine. This little Author may extol the Ancients as 
 much and as long as ,he pleases, but he has reason to 
 thank the good Gods that he was born a Modern. For 
 had he been born' of GrcBcian Parents, and his Father by 
 consequence had by Law had the absolute Disposal of 
 him, his Life had been no longer than that of one of his 
 Poems, the Life of half a day. Instead of setting his 
 Picture to show, I have taken a keener Revenge, and 
 expos'd his Intellectuals, as duly considering that let the 
 Person of a Gentleman of his Parts be never so con- 
 temptible, his inwdrd Man is ten times more ridiculous; 
 it being impossible that his outward Form, tho' it should 
 be that of downright Monkey, should differ so much 
 from human Shape, as his immaterial unthinking part 
 does from human Understanding. How agreeable it is 
 to be in a Libel with so "much good Company as I have 
 been, with two great Monarchs, two mighty Nations, and 
 especially the People of Quality of Great Britain, and 
 this Libel compos'd by a little Gentleman, who has writ 
 a Panegyrick upon himself! Which Panegyrick if it 
 
2^0 John Dennis 
 
 was not writ with Judgment, yet was it publish'd with 
 
 Discretion, for it was publish'd in Mr. W 's Name; 
 
 so that by this wise Proceeding he had the Benefit of the 
 
 Encomium, and Mr. W had the Scandal of the 
 
 Poetry; which it brought upon him to such a degree, 
 that 'tis ten to one if ever he recovers the Reputation of 
 a good Versifyer. And thus for the present I take my 
 leave of you and of this little Critick and his Book; a 
 Book throughout which Folly and Ignorance, those 
 Brethren so lame and so impotent, do ridiculously at one 
 and the same time look very big and very dull, and strut, 
 and hobble cheek by jowl with their Arms on Kimbo, 
 being led and supported, and BuUy-back'd by that blind 
 Hector Impudence. I am. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 Your, &c. 
 
 Annotations. 
 
 1. First follow Nature, p. 7. 
 
 Horace has giv'n a Precept, which may be, quoted by 
 undistinguishing People to keep this in countenance. 
 
 Respicere exemplar vita, morumq; jubebo 
 Doctum imitatorem & veras hinc Ducere voces. 
 
 For he bids the Person to whom this is directed consult 
 Nature; but then he does three things, which vastly 
 distinguish him from the Writer of the Essay : For first 
 he makes it very plain what sort of Person this is to 
 whom he directs himself, and that is Doctus Imitator, 
 one who is both Poet and Critick, Dramatick Poet, and 
 Dramatick Critick; one who writes Plays, and under- 
 stands the Rules, and knows the Secrets of his Art; 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 251 
 
 notwithstanding which, "he may be ignorant of that 
 important one, which Horace is about to discover to 
 him; or in case he does already know it, he may want 
 to be put in mind of it, because his Interest, as we shall 
 find anon, is a strong Temptation to deviate from it. 
 But secondly Horace tells us very intelligibly what he 
 means by Nature here, and that is, human Life, and the 
 manners of Men. Thirdly, he makes it as clear as the 
 Sun, what it is to follow Nature in giving a draught of 
 human Life, and of the manners of Men, and that is not 
 to draw after particular Men, who are but Copies and 
 imperfect Copies of the great universal Pattern; but to 
 consult that innate Original, and that universal Idea, 
 which the Creator has fix'd in the minds of ev'ry reason- 
 able Creature, and so to make a true and a just Draught. 
 For as ev'ry Copy deviates from the Original both in 
 Life and Grace, and Resemblance, a Poet who designs 
 to give a true Draught of human Life and Manners, 
 must consult the universal Idea, and not particular 
 Persons. For Example, when a Poet would draw the 
 Character of a covetous or a revengeful person, he is not 
 to draw after Lucius or Caius ; but to consult the univer- 
 sal pattern within him, and there to behold what Revenge 
 or- Covetousness would do in such and such Natures, 
 upon such and such Occasions. For if he draws after 
 Lucius or Caius, the workings of Revenge and Covetous- 
 ness in these two, being but Copies and imperfect Copies 
 of their workings according to the universal Idea, and 
 the Poet degenerating in his Draught ev'n from those 
 faint ^d imperfect Copies, whenever a just and dis- 
 cerning Judge comes to compare that Draught with the 
 Original within him, he immediately finds that that 
 Draught falls extremely short of the Truth of Nature, 
 and immediately disapproves of it, as a second, ungrace- 
 
2^2 John Dennis 
 
 ful, faint, unresembling Copy. Agreeable to this is that 
 passage of the most discerning Author of the Essay 
 upon Poetry. 
 
 // once the Justness of each part is lost, 
 Well may we laugh, but at the Poefs cost. 
 
 Thus Horace here speaks to the Knowing, yet tells them 
 something that several of them want to be taught, and 
 several to be put in mind of. For it has been a Complaint 
 of Two thousand Years standing, that Poets have been 
 us'd to violate their Subjects, and to force their Char- 
 acters out of complaisance to their Actors, that is, to 
 their Interest. Most of the Writers for the Stage in 
 my time, have not only adapted their Characters to their 
 Actors, but those Actors have as it were sate for them. 
 For which reason the Lustre of the most shining of their 
 Characters must decay with the Actors, while those of 
 Sophocles, Euripides, Terence and Ben Johnson will 
 eternally remain. 
 
 3. Still green with Bays each ancient Altar stands, p. 13. 
 
 If Mr. Bays should say here that by each ancient Altar 
 he does not mean ev'ry ancient Poet, but only those few 
 who have been admir'd by all succeeding Ages; to this 
 I answer, that besides that the Expression will by no 
 means bear this Sense, it appears plainly from the two 
 first lines of p. 13. that he speaks of the Ancients in 
 general. 
 
 And tho' the Ancients thus their Rules invade. 
 
 As Kings dispense with Laws themselves have made. 
 
 Moderns beware, p. 13. 
 
 I think nothing can be more plain, than that here he 
 prefers all the Ancients before all the Moderns, treating 
 
Reflections upon a Late Rhapsody 2^^ 
 
 the former as so many Monarchs and Legislators at the 
 same time in the Regions of Sense, and the latter as so 
 many Slaves. Besides that these Verses manifestly 
 relate rather to the indifferent Poets among the Ancients, 
 than to those who are admirable ; for the indifferent ones 
 have most and oftnest invaded the Rules, Indeed they 
 have scarce ever observ'd them; as Homer and Virgil 
 have scarce ever transgress'd them. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
GEORGE FARQUHAR 
 
GEORGE FARQUHAR 
 
 A DISCOURSE UPON COMEDY, IN REFERENCE 
 
 TO THE ENGLISH STAGE. 
 
 1702 
 
 In a Letter to a Friend. 
 
 With Submission, Sir, my Performance in the Prac- 
 tical Part of Poetry is no sufficient Warrant for your 
 pressing me in the Speculative; I have no Foundation 
 for a Legislator, and the two or three little Plays I have 
 written, are cast carelesly into the World, without any 
 Bulk of Preface, because I was not so learn'd in the 
 Laws, as to move in Defence of a bad Case. Why then 
 shou'd a Compliment go farther with me, than my own 
 Interest? Don't mistake me. Sir, here is nothing that 
 cou'd make for my Advantage in either Preface or 
 Dedication; no Speculative Curiosities, nor Critical 
 Remarks; only some present Sentiments which Hazard, 
 not Study, brings into my Head, without any preliminary 
 Method or Cogitation. 
 
 Among the many Disadvantages attending Poetry, 
 none seems to bear a greater Weight, than that so many 
 set up for Judges, when so very few understand a tittle 
 of the matter. Most of our other Arts and Sciences 
 bear an awful Distance in their Prospect, or with a bold 
 and glittering Varnish dazle the Eyes of the weak-sighted 
 Vulgar. The Divine stands wrapt up in his Cloud of 
 Mysteries, and the amus'd Layety must pay Tyths and 
 
2^8 George Farquhar 
 
 Veneration to be kept in Obscurity, grounding their 
 Hopes of future Knowledge on a Competent Stock of 
 present Ignorance (in the greater part of the Christian 
 World this is plain.) With what Deference and Resigna- 
 tion does the bubbled Client commit his Fees and Cause 
 into the Clutches of the Law, where Assurance beards 
 Justice by Prescription, and the wrong side is never 
 known to make it's Patron blush. Physick and Logick 
 are so strongly fortify'd by their impregnable Terms of 
 Art, and the Mathematician lies so cunningly intrench'd 
 within his Lines and Circles, that none but those of their 
 Party dare peep into their puzling Designs. 
 
 Thus the Generality of Mankind is held at a gazing 
 Distance, whose Ignorance not presuming perhaps to an 
 open Applause, is yet satisfy'd to pay a blind Veneration 
 to the very Faults of what they don't understand. 
 
 Poetry alone, and chiefly the Dramma, lies open to the 
 Insults of all Pretenders ; she was one of Nature's eldest 
 Offsprings, whence by her Birthright and plain Simplicity 
 she pleads a genuine Likeness to her Mother ; born in the 
 Innocence of Time, she provided not against the Assaults 
 of succeeding Ages; and, depending altogether on the 
 generous End of her Invention, neglected those secret 
 Supports and serpentine Devices us'd by other Arts that 
 wind themselves into Practice for more subtle and 
 politick Designs: Naked she came into the Wo[r]ld, and 
 'tis to be fear'd, like its Professiors, will go naked out. 
 
 'Tis a wonderful thing, that most Men seem to have 
 a great Veneration for Poetry, yet will hardly allow a 
 favourable Word to any Piece of it that they meet ; like 
 your Virtuoso's in Friendship, that are so ravish'd with 
 the notional Nicety of the Vertue, that they can find no 
 Person worth their intimate Acquaintance. The Favour 
 of being whipt at School for Martial's Epigrams, or 
 
Discourse upon Comedy 2^g 
 
 Ovid's Epistles, is sufficient Priviledge for turning Peda- 
 gogue, and lashing all their Successors; and it wou'd 
 seem by the fury of their Correction, that the ends of 
 the Rod were still in their Buttocks. The Scholar calls 
 upon us for Decorums and Oeconnomy; the Courtier crys 
 out for Wit and Purity of Stile ; the Citizen for Humour 
 and Ridicule; the Divines threaten us for Immodesty; 
 and the Ladies will have an Intreague. Now here are a 
 multitude of Criticks, whereof the twentieth Person only 
 has read Qu(S Genus, and yet every one is a Critick after 
 his own way; that is, Such a Play is best, because I like 
 it. A very familiar Argument, methinks, to prove the 
 Excellence of a Play, and to which an Author wou'd be 
 very unwilling to appeal for his Success : Yet such is the 
 unfortunate State of Dramatick Poetry, that it must 
 submit to such Judgments ; and by the Censure or Appro- 
 bation of such variety it must either stand or fall. But 
 what Salvo, what Redress for this Inconvenience ? Why, 
 without all Dispute, an Author must indeavour to 
 pleasure that Part of the Audience, who can lay the best 
 claim to a judicious and impartial Reflection : But before 
 he begins, let him well consider to what Division that 
 Claim do's most properly belong. The Scholar will be 
 very angry at me for making that the Subject of a 
 Question, which is self-evident without any Dispute: 
 For, says he, who can pretend to understand Poetry 
 better than we, who have read Homer, Virgil, Horace, 
 Ovid, &c. at the University ? What Knowledge can out- 
 strip ours, that is founded upon the Criticisms of 
 Aristotle, Scaliger, Vossius, and the like? We are the 
 better sort, and therefore may claim this as a due Com- 
 pliment to our Learning; and if a Poet can please us, 
 who are the nice and severe Criticks, he cannot fail to 
 bring in the rest of an inferiour Rank. 
 
26o George Farquhar 
 
 I shou'd be very proud to own my Veneration for 
 Learning, and to acknowledge any Complement due to 
 the better sort upon that Foundation ; but I'm afraid the 
 Learning of the Better Sort is not confin'd to CoUedge 
 Studies, for there is such a thing as Reason without 
 Silligism, Knowlege without Aristotle, and Languages 
 besides Greek and Latin. We shall likewise find in the 
 Court and City several Degrees, superiour to those at 
 Commencements. From all which I must beg the 
 Scholar's Pardon, for not paying him the Compliment of 
 the better Sort, (as he calls it) and in the next Place, 
 inquire into the Validity of his Title from his knowledge 
 of Criticism, and the Course of his Studies. 
 
 I must first beg one favour of the Graduate Sir, 
 
 here is a Pit full of Covent-Garden Gentlemen, a Gallery 
 full of Citts, a hundred Ladies of Court-Education, and 
 about two hundred Footmen of nice Morality, who 
 having been unmercifully teiz'd with a parcel of foolish, 
 impertinent, irregular Plays all this last Winter, make 
 it their humble Request, that you wou'd oblige them with 
 a Comedy of your own making, which they don't 
 question will give them Entertainment. O, Sir, replies 
 the Square Cap, I have long commiserated the Condition 
 of the English Audience, that has been forc'd to take up 
 with such wretched Stuff, as lately has crouded the 
 Stage; your Jubilees and your Fopingtons, and such 
 irregular impertinence, that no Man of Sense cou'd bear 
 the perusal of 'em: I have long intended, out of pure 
 pity to the Stage, to write a perfect Piece of this Nature; 
 and now, since I am honour'd by the Commands of so 
 many, my Intentions shall immediately be put in Practice. 
 
 So to work he goes ; old Aristotle, Scaliger, with their 
 Commentators, are lugg'd down from the high Shelf, 
 and the Moths are dislodg'd from their Tenement of 
 
Discourse upon Comedy 261 
 
 Years; Horace, Vossius, Heinsius, Hedelin, Rapin, with 
 some half a Dozen more, are thumb'd and toss'd about, 
 to teach the Gentleman, forsooth, to write a Comedy; 
 and here is he furnish'd with Unity of Action, Continuity 
 of Action, Extent of Time, Preparation of Incidents, 
 Episodes, Narrations, Deliberations, Didacticks, Pathet- 
 icks. Monologues, Figures, Intervals, Catastrophes, 
 Chorusies, Scenes, Machines, Decorations, &c. a Stock 
 sufficient to set up any Mountebank in Christendum ; and 
 if our new Author wou'd take an Opportunity of reading 
 a Lecture upon his Play in these Terms, by the help of 
 a Zany, and a Joynt-Stool, his Scenes might go off as 
 well as the Doctors Packets; but the Misfortu[n]e of it 
 is, he scorns all Application to the Vulgar, and will please 
 the better Sort, as he calls his own sort. Pursuant 
 therefore to his Philosophical Dictates, he first chooses 
 a single Plot, because most agreeable to the regularity of 
 Criticism, no matter whether it affords Business enough 
 for Diversion or Surprise. He wou'd not for the World 
 introduce a Song or Dance, because his Play must be one 
 intire Action. We must expect no Variety of Incidents, 
 because the Exactness of his three Hours wont give him 
 time for their Preparation. The Unity of Place admits 
 no variety of Painting and Prospect, by which Mischance 
 perhaps, we shall loose the only good Scenes in the Play. 
 But no matter for that, this Play is a regular Play; this 
 Play has been examin'd and approv'd by such and such 
 Gentlemen, who are staunch Criticks and Masters of 
 Art ; and this Play I will have acted. Look'ee, Mr. Rich, 
 you may venture to lay out a Hundred and fifty Pound 
 for dressing this Play, for it was written by a great 
 Scholar, and Fellow of a College. 
 
 Then a grave dogmatical Prologue is spoken, to in- 
 struct the Audience what shou'd please them; that this 
 
262 George Farquhar 
 
 Play has a new and different Cut from the Farce they 
 see every Day that this Author writes after the manner 
 of the Ancients, and here is a Piece according to the 
 Model of the Athenian Drama. Very well! This goes 
 off Hum drum. So, so. Then the Players go to work on 
 a piece of hard, knotty Stuff, where they can no more 
 show their Art, than a Carpenter can upon a piece of 
 Steel. Here is the Lamp and the Scholar in every Line, 
 but not a Syllable of the Poet. Here is elaborate Lan- 
 guage, Sounding Epithets, Flights of Words that strike 
 the Clouds, whilst the poor Sense lags after like the 
 Lanthorn in the Tail of the Kite, which appears only 
 like a Star, while the Breath of the Players Lungs has 
 Strength to bear it up in the Air. 
 
 But the Audience, willing perhaps to discover his 
 ancient Model, and the Athenian Drama, are attentive 
 to the first Act or two ; but not finding a true Genius of 
 Poetry, nor the natural Air of free Conversation; with- 
 out any Regard to his Regularity, they betake themselves 
 to other Work ; not meeting the Diversion they expected 
 on the Stage, they shift for themselves in the Pit, every 
 one turns about to his Neighbour in a Mask, and for 
 default of Entertainment now, they strike up for more 
 diverting Scenes when the Play is done; and tho' the 
 Play be as regular as Aristotle, and modest as Mr. Collier 
 cou'd wish, yet it promotes more Lewdness in the Conse- 
 quence, and procures more effectually for Intreague than 
 any Rover, Libertine, or old Batchelour whatsoever. At 
 last comes the Epilogue, which pleases the Audience very 
 well, because it sends them away, and terminates the 
 Fate of the Poet ; the Patentees rail at him, the Players 
 Curse him, the Town damns him, and he may bury his 
 Copy in Pauls, for not a Bookseller about it will put it 
 in Print. 
 
Discourse upon Comedy 263 
 
 This familiar Account, Sir, I wou'd not have you charge 
 to my Invention, for there are Precedents sufficient in 
 the World to warrant it in every particular; the Town 
 has been often disappointed in those Critical Plays, and 
 some Gentlemen that have been admir'd in their specu- 
 lative Remarks, have been ridicul'd in the practick. All 
 the Authorities, all the Rules of Antiquity have prov'd 
 too weak to support the Theatre, whilst others who have 
 dispenc'd with the Criticks, and taken a Latitude in the 
 OEconomy of their Plays, have been the chief Supporters 
 of the Stage, and the Ornament of the Drama ; this is so 
 visibly true, that I need bring in no instances to enforce 
 it ; but you say. Sir, 'tis a Paradox that has often puzled 
 your Understanding, and you lay your Commands upon 
 me to solve it, if I can. 
 
 Lookee, Sir, to add a Value to my Complaisance to 
 you, I must tell you in the first Place, that I run as great 
 a hazard in nibling at this Paradox of Poetry^ as Luther 
 did by touching Transubstantiation, 'tis a Mistery that 
 the World has sweetly slept in so long, that they take it 
 very ill to be waken'd, especially being disturb'd of their 
 rest, when there is no Business to be done. But I think 
 that Bellarmm was once as Orthodox as Aristotle; and 
 since the German Doctor has made a shift to hew down 
 the Cardinal, I will have a tug with ipse dixit, tho' I dye 
 for't. 
 
 But in the first Place, I must beg you. Sir, to lay aside 
 your Superstitious Veneration for Antiquity, and the 
 usual Expressions on that Score; that the present Age 
 is illiterate, or their taste is vitiated; that we live in the 
 decay of Time, and the Dotage of the World is fall'n to 
 
 our Share 'Tis a mistake. Sir, the World was never 
 
 more active or youthful, and true downright Sense was 
 never more Universal than at this very Day; 'tis neither 
 
264 George Farquhar 
 
 confin'd to one Nation in the World, nor to one part of 
 a City, 'tis remarkable in England as well as France; 
 and good genuine Reason is nourish'd by the Cold of 
 Swedeland as by the Warmth of Italy, 'tis neither abdi- 
 cated the Court with the late Reigns, nor expell'd the 
 City with the Play-house Bills; you may find it in the 
 Grand-Jury at Hick's Hall, and upon the Bench some- 
 times among the Justices ; then why shou'd we be ham- 
 per'd so in our Opinions, as if all the Ruins of Antiquity 
 lay so heavily on the Bones of us, that we cou'd not stir 
 Hand nor Foot: No, no. Sir, ipse dixit is remov'd long 
 ago, and all the Rubbish of old Philosophy, that in a 
 manner bury'd the Judgment of Mankind for many Cen- 
 turies, is now carry'd off; the vast Tomes of Aristotle 
 and his Commentatore are all taken to pieces, and their 
 Infallibility is lost with all Persons of a free and unpre- 
 judic'd Reason. 
 
 Then above all Men living, why shou'd the Poets be 
 hoodwink'd at this rate; and by what Authority shou'd 
 Aristotle's Rules of Poetry stand so fixt and immutable? 
 Why, by the Authority of two Thousand Years standing, 
 because thro' this long Revolution of time the World 
 
 has still continu'd the same By the Authority of 
 
 their being receiv'd at Athens, a City, the very same with 
 London in every particular; their Habits the same, their 
 Humours alike, their publick Transactions and private 
 Societies Alamode France; in short, so very much the 
 same in every Circumstance, that Aristotle's Criticisms 
 may give rules to Drury Lane ; the Areopagus give Judg- 
 ment upon a Case in the Kings Bench, and old Solon 
 shall give Laws to the House of Commons. 
 
 But to examine this Matter a little farther; all Arts 
 and Professions are compounded of these two parts, a 
 Speculative Knowledge, and a practical Use; and from 
 
Discourse upon Comedy 265 
 
 an excellency in both these any Person is rais'd to Emi- 
 nence and Authority in his Calling. The Lawyer has 
 his Years of Student in the Speculative Part of his Busi- 
 ness; and, when promoted to Bar, he falls upon the 
 Practick, which is the Tryal of his Ability; without all 
 dispute the great Cook has had many a tug at the Bar, 
 before he cou'd raise himself to the Bench; and had 
 made sufficiently evident his Knowledge of the Laws 
 in his Pleadings before he was admitted to the Authority 
 of giving Judgment upon the Case. 
 
 The Physician to gain Credit to his Prescriptions, must 
 labour for a Reputation in the Cure of such and such 
 Distempers, and before he sets up for a Galen or Hip- 
 pocrates, must make many Experiments upon his 
 Patients. Philosophy it self, which is a Science the most 
 abstract from Practice, has its own publick Acts and 
 Disputations; it is rais'd gradually, and its Professour 
 commences Doctor by degrees; he has the Labour of 
 maintaining Theses's, Methodising his Arguments, and 
 clearing Objections; his Memory and Understanding is 
 often puzled by Oppositions couch'd in Fallacies and 
 Sophisms, in solving all which he must make himself 
 remarkable, before he pretends to impose his own 
 Systems upon the World. Now if the Case be thus in 
 Philosophy, or in any branch thereof, as in Ethicks, 
 Physicks, which are call'd Sciences, what must be done 
 in Poetry, that is denominated an Art, and consequently 
 implies a Practice in its Perfection ? 
 
 Is it reasonable that any Person that has never writ a 
 Distich of Verses in his Life, shou'd set up for a Dictator 
 in Poetry; and without the least Practice in his own 
 Performance, must give Laws and Rules to that of 
 others? Upon what Foundation is Poetry made so very 
 cheap, and so easy a Task, by these Gentlemen? an ex- 
 
266 George Farquhar 
 
 cellent Poet is the single Production of an Age, when 
 we have Crowds of Philosophers, Physicians, Lawyers [,] 
 Divines, every Day, and all of them competently famous 
 in their Callings. In the two learned Commonwealths 
 of Rome and Athens, there was but one Virgil, and one 
 Homer, yet have we above a hundred Philosophers in 
 each, and most part of 'em, forsooth, must have a touch 
 at Poetry, drawing it into Divisions, Subdivisions, &c. 
 when the Wit of 'em all set together, wou'd not amount 
 to one of Martial's. Epigrams. 
 
 Of all these I shall mention only Aristotle, the first 
 and great Law-giver, in this Respect, and upon whom 
 all that follow'd him are only Commentators. Among 
 all the vast Tracts of this Voluminous Author, we don't 
 find any Fragment of an Epick Poem, or the least Scene 
 of a Play, to authorise his Skill and Excellence in that 
 Art: Let it not be alledg'd, that for ought we know he 
 was an excellent Poet, but his more serious Studies wou'd 
 not let him enter upon Affairs of this Nature ; for every 
 Body knows, that Aristotle was no Cinick, but liv'd in 
 the Splendour and Air of the Court, that he lov'd Riches 
 as much as others of that Station; and being sufficiently 
 acquainted with his Pupil's Affection to Poetry, and his 
 Complaint that he wanted an Homer to aggrandize his 
 Actions, he wou'd never have slipt such an Opportunity 
 of farther ingratiating himself in the King's Favour, had 
 he been conscious of any Abilities in himself for such 
 an Undertaking; and having a more noble and copious 
 Theme in the exploits of Alexander, than what inspir'd 
 the blind Bard in his Hero Achilles. If his Epistles to 
 Alexander were always answer'd with a considerable 
 Present, what might he have expected from a Work like 
 Homer's upon so great a Subject; dedicated to so mighty 
 
Discourse upon Comedy 26^ 
 
 a Prince, whose greatest Fault was his vain Glory, and 
 that took such Pains to be Deify'd among Men. 
 
 It may be objected, that all the Works of Aristotle are 
 not recover'd; and among those that are lost, some Es- 
 says of this kind might have perish'd. This Supposition 
 is too weakly founded; for altho' the Works themselves 
 might have scap'd us, 'tis more than probable that some 
 Hint or other, either in the Life of the Conquerour, or 
 Philosopher, might appear, to convince us of such a 
 Production: Besides, as 'tis beliv'd, he writ Philosophy, 
 because we have his Books; so, I dare swear, he writ 
 no Poetry, because none is extant, nor any mention made 
 thereof that ever I cou'd hear of. 
 
 But stay Without any further enquiry into the 
 
 Poetry of Aristotle, his Ability that way is sufficiently 
 apparent by that excellent Piece he has left behind him 
 
 upon that Subject By your Favour, Sir, this is Petitio 
 
 Principii, or, in plain English, give me the Sword in my 
 
 own Hand, and I'll fight with you Have but a little 
 
 Patience till I make a Flourish or two, and then, if you 
 are pleas'd to demand it, I'll grant you that and every 
 thing else. 
 
 How easy were it for me to take one of Doctor 
 Tillotson's Sermons, and out of the OEconomy of one 
 of these Discourses, trump you up a Pamphlet, and call 
 it. The Art of Preaching. In the first Place I must take 
 a Text, and here I must be very learn'd upon the Eti- 
 mology of this Word Text; then this Text must be 
 divided into such and such Partitions, which Partitions 
 must have their hard Names and Derivations ; then these 
 must be Spun into Subdivisions; and these back'd by 
 Proofs of Scripture, Ratiocinatio Oratoris, Ornamenta 
 Figurarum Rhetoricarum ; and Authoritas Patrum Ec- 
 clesim, with some Rules and Directions how these ought 
 
268 George Farquhar 
 
 to be manag'd and apply'd; and closing up this difficult 
 Pedantry with the Dimensions of Time for such an 
 Occasion; you will pay me the Compliment of an excel- 
 lent Preacher, and affirm, that any Sermon whatsoever, 
 either by a Presbiter at Geneva, or Jesuit in Spain, that 
 deviates from these Rules, deserves to be hist, and the 
 Priest kick'd out of his Pulpit. I must doubt your Com- 
 plaisance in this point, Sir; for you know the Forms 
 of Eloquence are divers, and ought to be suited to the 
 different Humour and Capacities of an Audience; you 
 are sensible, Sir, that the fiery Cholerick Humour of one 
 Nation must be entertain'd and mov'd by other Means 
 than the heavy flegmatick Complexion of another; and 
 I have observed in my little Travels, that a Sermon of 
 three quarters of an Hour, that might please the Congre- 
 gation at St. James's, wou'd never satisfy the Meeting 
 House in the City, where People expect more for their 
 Money ; and having more Temptations of Roguery, must 
 have a larger Portion of Instruction. 
 
 Be pleas'd to hear another Instance of a different kind, 
 tho' to the same Purpose. I go down to Woollich, and 
 there, upon a Piece of Paper I take the Dimensions of 
 the Royal Soveraign, and from hence I frame a Model 
 of a Man of War; I divide the Ship into three principal 
 Parts, the Keel, the Hull, and the Rigging; I subdivide 
 these into their proper Denominations, and by the help 
 of a Saylor, give you all the Terms belonging to every 
 Rope, and every Office in the whole Ship : Will you from 
 hence infer, that I am an excellent Shipwright, and that 
 this Model is proper for a Trading Junck upon the Volga, 
 or a Venetian Galley in the Adriatick Sea? 
 
 But you'll object, perhaps, that this is no parallel 
 Case; because that Aristotle's Ars Poetica was never 
 drawn from such slight Observations, but was the pure 
 
Discourse upon Comedy 26g 
 
 eifect of his immense Reason, thro' a nice Inspection into 
 the very Bottom and Foundation of Nature. 
 
 To this I answer. That Verity is eternal, as that the 
 Truth of two and two making four was as ce[r]tain in 
 the Days of Adam as it is now ; and that, according to 
 his own Position, Nature is the same apud omnes Gentes. 
 Now if his Rules of Poetry were drawn from certain 
 and immutable Principles, and fix'd on the Basis of 
 Nature ; why shou'd not his Ars Poetica be as efficacious 
 now, as it was two Thousand Years ago? And why 
 shou'd not a single Plot, with perfect Unity of Time 
 and Place, do as well at Lincolns-Inn-Fields, as at the 
 Play-house in Athens. No, no. Sir, I am apt to believe 
 that the Philosopher took no such Pains in Poetry as 
 you imagine. The Greek was his Mother Tongue, and 
 Homer was read with as much Veneration among the 
 Schoolboys, as we learn our Catechism : Then where was 
 the great Business for a Person so expert in Mood and 
 Figure, as Aristotle was, to range into some Order a 
 parcel of Terms of Art, drawn from his Observation 
 upon the Iliads, and these to call the Model of an Epick 
 Poem. Here, Sir, you may imagine, that I am caught; 
 and have all this while been spinning a Thread to strangle 
 my self; one of my main Objections against Aristotle's 
 Criticism, is drawn from his Non-performance in Poetry. 
 And now I affirm, that his Rules are extracted from the 
 greatest Poet that ever liv'd, which gives the utmost 
 Validity to the Precept, and that is all we contend for. 
 
 Look ye. Sir; I lay it down only for a Supposition, 
 that Aristotle's Rules for an Epick Poem were extracted 
 from Homer's Iliads; and if a Supposition has weigh'd 
 me down, I have two or three more of an equal Ballance 
 to turn the Scale. 
 
 The great Esteem of Alexander the great for the 
 
2^0 George Farquhar 
 
 Works of old Homer, is sufficiently testify'd by Antiquity ; 
 insomuch that he always slept with the Iliads under his 
 Pillow: Of this Stagirite to be sure was not ignorant; 
 and what riiore proper Way of making his Court cou'd 
 a Man of Letters Devise, than by saying something in 
 Commendation of the King's Favourite? A Copy of 
 Commendatory Verses was too mean, and perhaps out 
 of his Element. Then something he wou'd do in his 
 own way; a Book must be made of the Art of Poetry, 
 wherein Homer is prov'd a Poet by Mood and Figure, 
 and his Perfection transmitted to Poesterity; and if 
 Prince Arthur had been in the Place of the Iliads, we 
 shou'd have had other Rules for Epick Poetry, and Docor 
 
 B re had carry'd the Bays from Homer, in spight 
 
 of all the Criticks in Christendom ; but whether Aristotle 
 writ those Rules to Complement his Pupil, or whether 
 he wou'd make a Stoop at Poetry, to show that there 
 was no Knowledge beyond the flight of his Genius, there 
 is no Reason to allow that Homer compil'd his Heroick 
 Poem by those very Rules which Aristotle has laid down: 
 For granting that Aristotle might pick such and such 
 Observations from this Piece; they might be meer 
 Accidents resulting casually from the Composition of the 
 Work, and not any of the essential Principles of the 
 Poem. How usual is it for Criticks to find out Faults, 
 and create Beauties, which the Authors never intended 
 for such; and how frequently do we find Authors run 
 down in those very parts, which they design'd for the 
 greatest Ornament. How natural is it for aspiring 
 ambitious Schoolmen to attempt matters of the highest 
 Reach; the wonderful Creation of the World, (which 
 nothing but the Almighty Power that order'd it, can 
 describe) is brought into Mood and Figure by the arro- 
 gance of Philosophy. But till I can believe that the 
 
Discourse upon Comedy zji 
 
 Vertigo's of Cartesius, or the Atoms of Epicurus can 
 determine the almighty Fiat, they must give me leave 
 to question the Infallibility of their Rules in respect of 
 Poetry. 
 
 Had Homer himself by the same Inspiration that he 
 writ his Poem, left us any Rules for such a Perform- 
 ance, all the World must have own'd it for Authentick. 
 But he was too much a Poet to give Rules to that, whose 
 excellence he knew consisted in a free and unlimited 
 Flight of Imagination; and to describe the Spirit of 
 Poetry, which alone is the True Art of Poetry, he knew 
 to be as impossible, as for humane Reason to teach the 
 gift of Prophecy by a Difinition. 
 
 Neither is Aristotle to be allow'd any farther Knowl- 
 edge in Dramatick than in Epick Poetry; Euripides, 
 whom he seems to Compliment by Rules adapted to the 
 Model of his Plays, was either his Contemporary, or 
 liv'd but a little before him; he was not insensible how 
 much this Author was the darling of the City; as 
 appear'd by the prodigious Expence disburs'd by the 
 publick for the Ornament of his Plays : and 'tis probable, 
 he might take this Opportunity of improving his Interest 
 with the People, indulging their Inclination by refining 
 upon the Beauty of what they admir'd. And besides all 
 this, the Severity of Dramutick Rage was so fresh in 
 his Memory in the hard Usage that his brother Soph not 
 long before met with upon the Stage, that it was con- 
 venient to humour the reigning Wit, least a second 
 Aristophanes shou'd take him to Task with as little Mercy 
 as poor Socrates found at the Hands of the first. 
 
 I have talk'd so long to lay a Foundation for these 
 following Conclusions; Aristotle was no Poet, and con- 
 sequently not capable of giving Instructions in the Art 
 of Poetry; his Ars Poetica are only some Observations 
 
2'J2 George Farquhar 
 
 drawn from the Works of Homer and Euripides, which 
 may be meer Accidents resulting casually from the 
 Composition of the Works, and not any of the essential 
 Principles on which they are compil'd. That without 
 giving himself the Trouble of searching into the Nature 
 of Poetry, he has only complemented the Heroes of Wit 
 and Valour of his Age, by joining with them in their 
 Approbation; with this Difference, that their Applause 
 was plain, and his more Scholastick. 
 
 But to leave these only as Suppositions to be relish'd 
 by every Man at his Pleasure, I shall without comple- 
 menting any Author, either Ancient or Modern, inquire 
 into the first Invention of Comedy; what were the true 
 Designs and honest Intentions of that Art: and from a 
 Knowledge of the End, seek out the Means, without one 
 Quotation of Aristotle, or Authority of Euripides. 
 
 In all Productions either Divine or Humane, the final 
 Cause is the first Mover, because the End or Intention 
 of any rational Action must first be consider'd, before 
 the material or efficient Causes are put in Execution. 
 Now to determine the final Cause of Comedy we must 
 run back beyond the material and formal Agents, and 
 take it in its very Infancy, or rather in the very first 
 Act of its Generation, when its primary Parent, by pro- 
 posing such or such an End of his Labour, laid down 
 the first Scetches or Shadows of the Piece. Now as all 
 Arts and Sciences have their first rise from a final Cause, 
 so 'tis certain that they have grown from very small 
 beginnings, and that the current of time has swell'd 'em 
 to such a Bulk, that no Body can find the Fountain, by 
 any Proportion between the Head and the Body; this, 
 with the Corruption of time, which has debauch'd things 
 from their primitive Innocence, to selfish Designs and 
 
Discourse upon Comedy 275 
 
 Purposes, renders it difficult to find the Origin of any 
 Offspring so very unlike its Parent. 
 
 This is not only the Case of Comedy, as it stands at 
 present, but the Condition also of the ancient Theatres, 
 when great Men made Shows of this Nature a rising 
 Step to their Ambition, mixing many lewd and lascivious 
 Representations to gain the Favour of the Populace, to 
 whose Taste and Entertainment the Plays were chiefly 
 adopted. We must therefore go higher than either 
 Aristophanes, or Menander, to discover Comedy in its 
 primitive Institution, if we wou'd draw any moral Design 
 of its Invention to warrant and authorise its Continuance. 
 
 I have already mention'd the difficulty of discovering 
 the Invention of any Art in the different Figure it makes 
 by Succession of Improvements; but there is something 
 in the Nature of Comedy, even in its present Circum- 
 stances, that bears so great a Resemblance to the Philo- 
 sophical Mythology of the Ancients, that old ^sop must 
 wear the Bays as the first and original Author; And 
 whatever Alterations or Improvements farther Applica- 
 tion may have subjoin'd, his Fables gave the first Rise 
 and Occasion. 
 
 Comedy is no more at present than a well-fram'd Tale 
 handsomly told, as an agreeable Vehicle for Counsel or 
 Reproof. This is all we can say for the Credit of its 
 Institution; and is the Stress of its Charter for Liberty 
 and Toleration. Then where shou'd we seek for a 
 Foundation, but in ^sop's symbolical way of moralizing 
 upon Tales and Fables, with this difference. That his 
 Stories were shorter than ours : He had his Tyrant Lyon, 
 his Statesman Fox, his Beau Magpy, his coward Hare, 
 his Bravo Ass, and his Buffoon Ape, with all the Char- 
 acters that crowd our Stages every Day, with this Dis- 
 
27^ George Farquhar 
 
 tinction nevertheless, That Msop made his Beasts speak 
 good Greek, and our Heroes sometimes can't talk English. 
 But whatever difference time has produc'd in the Form, 
 we must in our own Defence stick to the End, and Inten- 
 tion of his Fables. Utile Dulci was his Motto, and must 
 be our Business; we have no other Defence against the 
 Presentment of the Grand Jury, and for ought I know 
 it might prove a good means to mollify the Rigour of 
 that Persecution, to inform the Inquisitors, that the great 
 Msop was the first Inventor of these poor Comedies that 
 they are prosecu[t]ing with so much Eagerness and Fury, 
 that the first Laureat was as just, as prudent, as pious, 
 as reforming, and as ugly as any of themselves. And 
 that the Beasts which are lug'd upon the Stage by the 
 Horns are not caught in the City, as they suppose, but 
 brought out of ^sop's own Forrest. We shou'd inform 
 them besides, that those very Tales and Fables which 
 they apprehend as obstacles to Reformation, were the 
 main Instruments and Machines us'd by the wise ^sop 
 for its Propagation; and as he would improve Men by 
 the Policy of Beasts, so we endeavour to reform Brutes 
 with the Examples of Men. Fondlewife and his young 
 Spouse are no more than the Eagle and Cockle ; he wanted 
 Teeth to break the Shell himself, so somebody else run 
 
 away with the Meat, The Fox in the Play, is the 
 
 same with the Fox in the Fable, who stuft his Guts so 
 full, that he cou'd not get out at the same Hole he came 
 in; so both Reynards being Delinquents alike, come to 
 be truss'd up together. Here are Precepts, Admonitions, 
 and Salutary Innuendo's for the ordering of our Lives 
 and Conversations couch'd in these Allegories and Allu- 
 sions. The Wisdom of the Ancients was wrapt up in 
 Veils and Figures; The ^giptian Hierogliphicks, and 
 the History of the Heathen Gods are nothing else; but 
 
Discourse upon Comedy 2y^ 
 
 if these pagan Authorities give Ofifence to their scrupu- 
 lous Consciences; let them but consult the Tales and 
 Parables of our Saviour in holy Writ, and they may find 
 this way of Instruction to be much more Christian than 
 they imagine; Nathan's Fable of the poor Man's Lamb 
 had more Influence on the Conscience of David, than 
 any force of downright Admonition. So that by ancient 
 Practice, and modern Example, by the Authority of 
 Pagans, Jews, and Christians, the World is furnish'd 
 with this so sure, so pleasant, and expedient an Art, of 
 schooling Mankind into better Manners. Now here is 
 the primary Design of Comedy, illustrated from its first 
 Institution; and the same end is equally alledg'd for its 
 
 daily Practice and Continuance Then without all 
 
 Dispute, whatever means are most proper and expedient 
 for compassing this End and Intention, they must be the 
 just Rules of Comedy, and the true Art of the Stage. 
 
 We must consider then, in the first place, that our 
 Business lies not with a French or a Spanish Audience; 
 that our Design is not to hold forth to ancient Greece, nor 
 to moralize upon the Vices and Defaults of the Roman 
 Commonwealth : No, no, An English Play is in- 
 tended for the Use and Instruction of an English 
 Audience, a People not only separated from the rest of 
 the World by Situation, but different also from other 
 Nations as well in the Complexion and Temperament of 
 the Natural Body, as in the Constitution of our Body 
 Politick: As we are a Mixture of many Nations, so we 
 have the most unaccountable Medley of Humours among 
 us of any People upon Earth; these Humours produce 
 Variety of Follies, some of 'um unknown to former 
 Ages; these new Distempers must have new Remedies, 
 which are nothing but new Counsels and Instructions. 
 
 Now, Sir, if our Utile, which is the End, be different 
 
2'j6 George Farquhar 
 
 from the Ancients, pray let our Duke, which is the 
 Means, be so too ; for you know that to different Towns 
 there are different ways; or if you wou'd have it more 
 Scholastically, ad diversos fines non idem conducit 
 medium; or Mathematically, One and the same Line 
 cannot terminate in two Centers. But waving this manner 
 of concluding by Induction, I shall gain my Point a 
 nearer way, and draw it immediately from the first 
 Principle I set down : That we have the most unaccount- 
 able Medley of Humours among us of any Nation upon 
 Earth; and this is demonstrable from common Expe- 
 rience: We shall find a Wildair in one Corner, and a 
 Morose in another; nay, the space of an Hour or two 
 shall create such Vicissitudes of Temper in the same 
 Person, that he can hardly be taken for the same Man. 
 We shall have a Fellow bestir his Stumps from Choco- 
 late to Coffee-House with all the Joy and Gayety imagin- 
 able, tho he want a Shilling to pay for a Hack; whilst 
 another, drawn about in a Coach and Six, is eaten up 
 with the Spleen, and shall loll in State, with as much 
 Melancholy, Vexation, and Discontent, as if he were 
 making the Tour of Tyburn. Then what sort of a Duke, 
 (which I take for the Pleasantry of the Tale, or the 
 Plot of the Play) must a Man make use of to engage 
 the Attention of so many different Humours and Incli- 
 nations: Will a single Plot satisfie every body? Will 
 the Turns and Surprizes that may result naturally from 
 the ancient Limits of Time, be sufficient to rip open the 
 Spleen of some, and Physick the Melancholy of others, 
 screw up the Attention of a Rover, and fix him to the 
 Stage, in spight of his Volatile Temper, and the Tempta- 
 tion of a Mask? To make the Moral Instructive, you 
 must make the Story diverting ; the Spleenatick Wit, the 
 Beau Courtier, the heavy Citizen, the fine Lady, and her 
 
Discourse upon Comedy 2'j'j 
 
 fine Footman, come all to be instructed, and therefore 
 must all be diverted; and he that can do this best, and 
 with most Applause, writes the best Comedy, let him do 
 it by what Rules he pleases, so they be not offensive to 
 Religion and good Manners. 
 
 But hie labor, hoc opus, How must this Secret of 
 pleasing so many different Tastes be discovered? Not 
 by tumbling over Volumes of the Ancients, but by study- 
 ing the Humour of the Moderns : The Rules of English 
 Comedy don't lie in the Compass of Aristotle, or his 
 Followers, but in the Pit, Box, and Galleries. And to 
 examine into the Humour of an English Audience, let 
 us see by what means our own English Poets have suc- 
 ceeded in this Point. To determine a Suit at Law we 
 don't look into the Archives of Greece or Rome, but 
 inspect the Reports of our own Lawyers, and the Acts 
 and Statutes of our Parliaments; and by the same Rule 
 we have nothing to do with the Models of Menander or 
 Plautus, but must consult Shakespear, Johnson, Fletcher, 
 and others, who by Methods much different from the 
 Ancients, have supported the English Stage, and made 
 themselves famous to Posterity : We shall find that these 
 Gentlemen have fairly dispenc'd with the greatest part 
 of Critical Formalities ; the Decorums of Time and Place, 
 so much cry'd up of late, had no force of Decorum with 
 them; the .^Economy of their Plays was ad libitum, and 
 the Extent of their Plots only limited by the Convenience 
 of Action. I wou'd willingly understand the Regularities 
 of Hamlet, Mackbeth, Harry the fourth, and of Fletcher's 
 Plays ; and yet these have long been the Darlings of the 
 English Audience, and are like to continue with the same 
 Applause, in Defiance of all the Criticisms that ever were 
 publish'd in Greek, and Latin. 
 But are there no Rules, no Decorums to be observ'd in 
 
2^8 George Farquhar 
 
 Comedy? Must we make the Condition of the English 
 
 Stage a State of Anarchy ? No, Sir For there are 
 
 Extreams in Irregularity, as dangerous to an Author, as 
 too scrupulous a Deference to Criticism; and as I have 
 given you an Instance of one; so I shall present you an 
 Example of the t'other. 
 
 There are a sort of Gentlemen that have had the 
 Jaunty Education of Dancing, French, and a Fiddle, who 
 coming to Age before they arrive at Years of Discretion, 
 make a shift to spend a handsom Patrimony of two or 
 three Thousand Pound, by soaking in the Tavern all 
 Night, lolling A-bed all the Morning, and sauntering 
 away all the Evening between the two Play-houses with 
 their Hands in their Pockets ; you shall have a Gentleman 
 of this size upon his knowledge of Covent-Garden, and a 
 knack of witticising in his Cups, set up immediately for 
 a Playwright. But besides the Gentleman's Wit and 
 Experience, here is another Motive: There are a parcel 
 of saucy impudent Fellows about the Play-house, call'd 
 Doorkeepers, that can't let a Gentleman see a Play in 
 Peace, without jogging, and nudging him every Minute. 
 
 Sir, will you please to pay Sir, the Acfs done, 
 
 will you please to pay, Sir. I have broke their Heads all 
 round two or three times, yet the Puppies will still be 
 troublesom. Before gad, I'll be plagued with 'em no 
 longer ; I'll e'en write a Play my self ; by which means, 
 my Character of Wit shall be establish'd, I shall enjoy 
 the Freedom of the House, and to pin up the Basket, 
 
 pretty Miss shall have the Profits of my third 
 
 Night for her Maidenhead. Thus we see, what a great 
 Blessing is a Coming Girl to a Play-house : Here is a Poet 
 sprung from the Tail of an Actress, like Minerva from 
 
 Jupiter's Head. But my Spark proceeds My own 
 
 Intreagues are sufficient to found the Plot, and the 
 
Discourse upon Comedy 2'jg 
 
 Devil's in't, if I can't make my Character talk as wittily 
 
 as those in the Trip to the Jubilee But stay 
 
 what shall I call it first ? Let me see The Rival 
 
 Theatres Very good, by gad, because I reckon the 
 
 Two Houses will have a Contest about this very Play 
 
 Thus having found a Name for his Play, in the next 
 place he makes a Play to his name, and thus he begins. 
 
 ACT I. Scene C event-Garden. Enter Portico, Piaza 
 and Turnstile. 
 
 Here you must note, that Portico being a compound 
 of Practical Rake, and Speculative Gentleman, is ten to 
 one the Author's own Character, and the leading Card 
 in the Pack. Piasa is his Mistress, who lives in the 
 Square, and is Daughter to old Pillariso, an odd out- 
 o' the-way Gentleman, something between the Character 
 of Alexander the Great, and Solon, which must please, 
 because it is new. 
 
 Turnstile is Maid and Confident to Piaza, who for a 
 Bribe of ten Pieces, lets Portico in at the Back-door; 
 so the first Act concludes. 
 
 In the second Enter Spigotoso, who was Butler perhaps 
 to the Czar of Muscovy, and Fossetana his Wife; after 
 these Characters are run dry, he brings you in at the 
 third Act, Whinewell, and Charmarillis for a Scene of 
 Love to please the Ladies; and so he goes on without 
 Fear or Wit, till he comes to a Marriage or two, and 
 then he writes Finis. 
 
 'Tis then whisper'd among his Friends at Will's and 
 HippoUto's, That Mr. such a one has writ a very pretty 
 Comedy; and some of 'em to encourage the young 
 Author, equip him presently with Prologue and Epilogue ; 
 then the Play is sent to Mr. Rich or Mr. Betterton in a 
 
28o George Farquhar 
 
 fair legible Hand, with the Recommendation of some 
 Gentleman that passes for a Man of Parts, and a Critick ; 
 In short, the Gentleman's Interest has the Play acted, 
 and the Gentleman's Interest makes a Present to pretty 
 
 Miss she's made his Whore, and the Stage his 
 
 Cully, that for the loss of a Month in Rehearsing, and 
 a Hundred Pound in Dressing a confounded Play, must 
 give the Liberty of the House to him and his Friends 
 for ever after. 
 
 Now such a Play may be written with all the Exact- 
 ness imaginable in respect of Unity in Time and Place; 
 but if you inquire its Character of any Person, tho of 
 the meanest Understanding of the whole Audience, he 
 will tell you 'tis intollerable Stuff; and upon your de- 
 manding his Reasons, his Answer is, / don't like it. His 
 Humour is the only Rule that he can Judge a Comedy 
 by ; but you find that meer Nature is offended with some 
 Irregularities; and tho' he be not so learned in the 
 Dramma, to give you an Inventory of the Faults, yet I 
 can tell you, that one part of the Plot had no Depend- 
 ance upon another, which made this simple Man drop 
 his Attention and Concern for the Event, and so disin- 
 gaging his Thoughts from the Business of the Action, 
 he sat there very uneasy, thought the time very tedious, 
 because he had nothing to do. The Characters were so 
 unchoherent in themselves, and compos'd of such Variety 
 of Absurdities, that in his Knowledge of Nature he 
 cou'd find no Original for such a Copy ; and being there- 
 fore unacquainted with any Folly they reprov'd, or any 
 Vertue that they recommended; their Business was as 
 flat and tiresome to him, as if the Actors had talk'd 
 Arabick. 
 
 Now these are the material Irregularities of a Play, 
 and these are the Faults, which downright Mother-Sense 
 
Discourse upon Comedy 281 
 
 can censure and be offended at, as much as the most 
 learn'd Critick in the Pit. And altho' the one cannot 
 give me the Reasons of his Approbation or Dislike, yet 
 I will take his Word for the Credit or Disrepute of a 
 Comedy, sooner perhaps than the Opinion of some 
 Virtuoso's; for there are some Gentlemen that have 
 fortify'd their Spleen so impregnably with Criticism, and 
 hold out so stifly against all Attacks of Plesantry, that 
 the most powerful Efforts of Wit and Humour cannot 
 make the least Impression. What a Misfortune is it to 
 these Gentlemen to be Natives of such an ignorant, self 
 will'd impertinent Island, where let a Critick and a 
 Scholar find never so many Irregularities in a Play, yet 
 five hundred saucy People will give him the Lie to his 
 Face, and come to see this wicked Play Forty or Fifty 
 times in a Year. But this Vox Populi is the Devil tho' 
 in a Place of more Authority than Aristotle, it is call'd 
 Vox Dei. Here is a Play with a Vengeance, (says a 
 Critick) to bring the Transaction of a Years time into 
 the Compass of three Hours ; to carry the whole Audience 
 with him from one Kingdom to another, by the changing 
 of a Scene: Where's the Probability, nay the Possibility 
 of all this; the Devi's in the Poet sure, he don't think 
 to put Contradictions upon us ? 
 
 Lookee, Sir, don't be in a Passion, the Poet does not 
 impose Contradictions upon you, because he has told 
 you no Lie; for that only is a Lie which is related with 
 some fallacious Intention that you should belive it for 
 a Truth; now the Poet expects no more that you should 
 believe the Plot of his Play, than old ^sop design'd the 
 World shou'd think his Eagle and Lyon talk'd like you 
 and I; which I think was every Jot as improbable, as 
 what you quarrel with ; and yet the Fables took, and I'll 
 be hang'd if you your self don't like 'em. But besides. 
 
282 George Farquhar 
 
 Sir, if you are so inveterate against improbabilities, you 
 must never come near the Play-House at all; for there 
 are several Improbabilities, nay, Impossibilities, that all 
 the Criticisms in Nature cannot correct ; as for instance ; 
 In the part of Alexander the Great, to be affected with 
 the Transactions of the Play, we must suppose that we 
 see that great Conquerour, after all his Triumphs, shunn'd 
 by the Woman he loves, and importun'd by her he hates ; 
 cross'd in his Cups and Jollity by his own Subjects, and 
 at last miserably ending his Life in a raging Madness; 
 we must suppose that we see the very Alexander, the 
 son of Philip, in all these unhappy Circumstances, else 
 we are not touch'd by the Moral, which represents to us 
 the uneasiness of Humane Life in the greatest State, 
 and the Instability of Fortune in respect of worldly 
 Pomp. Yet the whole Audience at the same time knows 
 that this is Mr. Betterton, who is strutting upon the 
 Stage, and tearing his Lungs for a Livelihood. And that 
 the same Person shou'd be Mr. Betterton, and Alexander 
 the Great, at the same time, is somewhat like an Impos- 
 sibility, in my Mind. Yet you must grant this Impossi- 
 bility in spight of your Teeth, if you han't Power to raise 
 the old Heroe from the Grave to act his own Part. 
 
 Now for another Impossibility; the less rigid Criticks 
 allow to a Comedy the space of an artificial Day, or 
 Twenty Four Hours ; but those of the thorough Reforma- 
 tion, will confine it to the natural or Solar Day, which 
 is but half the time. Now admitting this for a Decorum 
 absolutely requisite : This Play begins when it is exactly 
 Six by your Watch, and ends precisely at Nine, which 
 is the usual time of the Representation. Now is it fea- 
 zible in rerum Natura, that the same Space or Extent 
 of Time can be three Hours, by your Watch, and twelve 
 Hours upon the Stage, admitting the same Number of 
 
Discourse upon Comedy 283 
 
 Minutes, or the same Measure of Sand to both. I'm 
 afraid, Sir, you must allow this for an Impossibility too ; 
 and you may with as much Reason allow the Play the 
 Extent of a whole Year; and if you grant me a Year, 
 you may give me Seven, and so to a Thousand. For ! 
 that a Thousand Years shou'd come within the Compass 
 of three Hours is no more an Impossibility, than that two 
 Minutes shou'd be contain'd in one. Nullum minus con- 
 tinet in se majus, is equally applicable to both. 
 
 So much for the Decorum of Time; now for the 
 Regularity of Place. I might make the one a Conse- 
 quence of t'other, and alledge, That by allowing me any 
 Extent of Time, you must grant me any Change of 
 Place ; for the one depends upon t'other ; and having five 
 or six Years for the Action of a Play, I may travel from 
 Constantinople to Denmark, so to France, and home to 
 England, and rest long enough in each Country besides: 
 But you'll say. How can you carry us with you? Very 
 easily. Sir, if you be willing to go? As for Example: 
 Here is a New Play, the House is throng'd, the Pro- 
 logue's spoken, and the Curtain drawn represents you 
 the Scene of Grand Cairo. Whereabouts are you now. 
 Sir? Were not you the very Minute before in the Pit 
 in the English Play-house talking to a Wench, and now 
 Presto pass, you are spirited away to the Banks of the 
 River Nile. Surely, Sir, this is a most intolerable Im- 
 probability; yet this you must allow me, or else you 
 destroy the very Constitution of Representation: Then 
 in the second Act, with a Flourish of the Fiddles, I 
 change the Scene to Astrachan. this is intolerable! 
 Look'ee Sir, 'tis not a Jot more intolerable than the 
 other ; for you'll find that 'tis much about the same dis- 
 tance between Egypt and Astrachan, as it is between 
 Drury-Lane and Grand Cairo; and if you please to let 
 
28^ George Farquhar 
 
 your Fancy take Post, it will perform the Journey in 
 the same moment of Time, without any Disturbance in 
 the World to your Person. You can follow Quintus 
 Curtius all over Asia in the Train of Alexander; and 
 trudge after Hannibal like a Cadet through all Italy, 
 Spain, and Africk, in the space of Four or Five Hours ; 
 yet the Devil a one of you will stir a Step over the 
 Threshold for the best Poet in Christendom, tho he make 
 it his Business to make Heroes more amiable, and to 
 surprize you with more wonderful Accidents and Events. 
 I am as little a Friend to those rambling Plays as any 
 body, nor have I ever espous'd their Party by my own 
 Practice; yet I cou'd not forbear saying something in 
 Vindication of the great Shakespear, whom every little 
 Fellow that can form an Aristus primus will presume 
 to condemn for Indecorums and Absurdities; Sparks 
 that are so spruce upon their Greek and Latin, that, like 
 our Fops in Travel, they can relish nothing but what is 
 Foreign, to let the World know, they have been abroad 
 forsooth: but it must be so, because Aristotle said it; 
 now I say it must be otherwise because Shakespear said 
 it, and I'm sure that Shakespear was the greater Poet 
 ,of the two. But you'll say that Aristotle was the greater 
 
 Critick That's a mistake, Sir, for Criticism in 
 
 Poetry, is no more than Judgment in Poetry; which you 
 will find in your Lexicon. Now if Shakespear was the 
 better Poet, he must have the most Judgment in his Art ; 
 for every Body knows, that Judgment is an Essential 
 part of Poetry, and without it no Writer is worth a 
 Farthing. But to stoop to the Authority of either, with- 
 out consulting the Reason of the Consequence, is an 
 Abuse to a Man's Understanding; and neither the Pre- 
 cept of the Philosopher, nor Example of the Poet, shou'd 
 
Discourse upon Comedy 285 
 
 go down with me, without examining the Weight of 
 their Assertions. We can expect no more Decorum or 
 Regularity in any Business, than the Nature of the thing 
 will bear; now if the Stage cannot subsist without the 
 Strength of Supposition, and Force of Fancy in the 
 Audience; why shou'd a Poet fetter the Business of his 
 Plot, and starve his Action, for the nicety of an Hour, 
 or the Change of a Scene; since the Thought of Man 
 can fly over a thousand Years with the same Ease, and 
 in the same Instant of Time, that your Eye glances from 
 the Figure of Six, to Seven, on the Dial-Plate; and can 
 glide from the Cape of Good-Hope to the Bay of St. 
 Nicholas, which is quite cross the World, with the same 
 Quickness and Activity, as between Covent-Garden 
 Church, and Will's Coffee-House. Then I must beg of 
 
 these Gentlemen to let our old English Authors alone 
 
 If they have left Vice unpunish'd, Vertue unrewarded. 
 Folly unexpos'd, or Prudence unsuccessful, the Contrary 
 of which is the Utile of Comedy, let them be lash'd to 
 some purpose ; if any part of their Plots have been inde- 
 pendant of the rest; or any of their Characters forc'd 
 or unnatural; which destroys the Dulce of Plays, let 
 them be hiss'd off the Stage : But if by a true Decorum 
 in these material Points, they have writ successfully, 
 and answer'd the end of Dramatick Poetry in every 
 Respect, let them rest in Peace, and their Memories 
 enjoy the Encomiums due to their Merit, without any 
 Reflection for waving those Niceties, which are neither 
 instructive to the World, nor diverting to Mankind; 
 but are like all the rest of Critical Learning, fit only to 
 set People together by the Ears in rediculous Contro- 
 versies, that are not one Jot material to the Good of the 
 Publick, whether they be true or false. ^ 
 
286 George Farquhar 
 
 And thus you see, Sir, I have concluded a very un- 
 necessary Piece of Work, which is much too long, if 
 you don't like it; but let it happen any way, be assur'd, 
 that I intended to please you, which shou'd partly excuse, 
 
 SIR, 
 
 Your most humble Servant. 
 
RICHARD STEELE 
 
RICHARD STEELE 
 
 I. FROM THE TATLER, NUMBER LXVIII 
 
 1709 
 
 From Tuesday September 13. to Thursday September 15. 
 
 I have often reflected, that there is a great Similitude 
 in the Motions of the Heart in Mirth and in Sorrow; 
 and I think the usual Occasion of the latter, as well as 
 the former, is something which is sudden and unex- 
 pected. The Mind has not a sufficient Time to recollect 
 its Force, and immediately gushes into Tears before we 
 can utter our selves by Speech or Complaint. The most 
 notorious Causes of these Drops from our Eyes, are 
 Pity, Sorrow, Joy, and Reconciliation. 
 
 The Fair Sex, who are made of Man, and not of 
 Earth, have a more delicate Humanity than we have, 
 and Pity is the most common Cause of their Tears : For 
 as we are inwardly composed of an Aptitude to every 
 Circumstance of Life, and every Thing that befals any 
 one Person, might have happened to any other of humane 
 Race ; Self-Love, and a Sense of the Pain we our selves 
 should suffer in the Circumstances of any whom we pity, 
 is the Cause of that Compassion. Such a Reflection in 
 the Breast of a Woman, immediately inclines her to 
 Tears; but in a Man, it makes him think how such a 
 one ought to act on that Occasion, suitably to the Dignity 
 of his Nature. Thus a Woman is ever moved for those 
 whom she hears lament, and a Man for those whom he 
 
2go Richard Steele 
 
 observes to suffer in Silence. It is a Man's own 
 Behaviour in the Circumstances he is under which pro- 
 cures him the Esteem of others, and not merely the 
 Affliction it self which demands our Pity: For we never 
 give a Man that Passion which he falls into for himself. 
 He that commends himself, never purchases our Ap- 
 plause ; nor he who bewails himself, our Pity. 
 
 Going through an Alley the other Day, I observ'd a 
 noisy impudent Beggar bawl out. That he was wounded 
 in a Merchant-Man, That he had lost his poor Limbs, 
 and showed a Leg clouted up. All that passed by, made 
 what Haste they could out of his Sight and Hearing; 
 but a poor Fellow at the End of the Passage, with a 
 rusty Coat, a melancholy Air, and a soft Voice, desired 
 them to look upon a Man not used to beg. The latter 
 received the Charity of almost every one that went by. 
 The Strings of the Heart, which are to be touched to 
 give us Compassion, are not so played on but by the finest 
 Hand. We see in Tragical Representations, it is not the 
 Pomp of Language, or Magnificence of Dress, in which 
 the Passion is wrought that touches sensible Spirits, but 
 something of a plain and simple Nature which breaks 
 in upon our Souls, by that Sympathy which is given us 
 for our mutual Good-will and Service. 
 
 In the Tragedy of Mackbeth, where Wilks acts the 
 Part of a Man whose Family has been murdered in his 
 Absence, the Wildness of his Passion, which is run over 
 in a Torrent of calamitous Circumstances, does but raise 
 my Spirits and give me the Alarm ; but when he skilfully 
 seems to be out of Breath, and is brought too low to say 
 more ; and upon a second Reflection, cry, only wiping his 
 Eyes, What both Children! Both, both my Children 
 gone! — There is no resisting a Sorrow which seems to 
 have cast about for all the Reasons possible for its 
 
Tatler, LXVIII 2gi 
 
 Consolation, but has no Recourse. There is not one left, 
 but both, both are murdered 1 Such sudden Starts from 
 the Thread of the Discourse, and a plain Sentiment 
 expressed in an artless Way, are the irresistible Strokes 
 of Eloquence and Poetry. The same great Master, 
 Shakespeare, can afford us Instances of all the Places 
 where our Souls are accessible, and ever commands our 
 Tears: But it is to be observed, that he draws them 
 from some unexpected Source, which seems not wholly 
 of a Piece with the Discourse. Thus, when Brutus and 
 Cassius had a Debate in the Tragedy of Ccesar, and rose 
 to warm Language against each other, insomuch that it 
 had almost come to something that might be fatal, till 
 they recollected themselves; Brutus does more than 
 make an Apology for the Heat he had been in, by saying, 
 Porcia is dead — Here Cassius is all Tenderness, and 
 ready to dissolve, when he considers, that the Mind of 
 his Friend had been employed on the greatest Affliction 
 imaginable, when he had been adding to it by a Debate 
 on Trifles; which makes him in the Anguish of his 
 Heart cry out, Horn scaped I killing when I thus pro- 
 voked you? This is an Incident which moves the Soul 
 in all its Sentiments; and Cassius's Heart was at once 
 touch'd with all the soft Pangs of Pity, Remorse, and 
 Reconciliation. It is said indeed by Horace, If you 
 would have me weep, you must first weep your self. 
 This is not literally true, for it would have been as rightly 
 said, if we observe Nature, That I shall certainly weep, 
 if you do not : But what is intended by that Expression, 
 is, That it is not possible to give Passion, except you 
 show that you suffer your self. Therefore the true Art 
 seems to be, that when you would have the Person you 
 represent pitied, you must show him at once, in the 
 highest Grief and Struggling, to bear it with Decency 
 
2g2 Richard Steele 
 
 and Patience. In this Case we sigh for him, and give 
 him every Groan he suppresses. 
 
 I remember, when I was young enough to follow the 
 Sports of the Field, I have more than once rode off at 
 the Death of a Deer, when I have seen the Animal in an 
 Affliction which appeared humane without the least 
 Noise, let fall Tears when he was reduced to Extremity; 
 and I have thought of the Sorrow I saw him in when 
 his Haunch came to the Table. But our Tears are not 
 given only to Objects of Pity, but the Mind has 
 Recourse to that Relief in all Occasions which give us 
 much Emotion. Thus, to be apt to shed Tears, is a Sign 
 of a great as well as little Spirit. I have heard say, the 
 present Pope never passes through the People, who 
 always kneel in Crowds and ask his Benediction, but the 
 Tears are seen to flow from his Eyes. This must pro- 
 ceed from an Imagination, that he is the Father of all 
 those People, and that he is touch'd with so extensive 
 a Benevolence, that it breaks out into a Passion of Tears. 
 You see. Friends, who have been long absent, trans- 
 ported in the same Manner: A Thousand little Images 
 crowd upon them at their Meeting, as all the Joys and 
 Griefs they have known during their Separation; and 
 in one Hurry of Thought, they conceive how they should 
 have participated in those Occasions; and weep, because 
 their Minds are too full to wait the slow Expression of 
 Words. 
 
 His Lacrymis Vitam damus, & miserescimus ultra. 
 
II. THE GUARDIAN, NUMBER XII 
 
 1714 
 
 Wednesday, March 35. 
 
 Vel quia nil rectum, nisi quod placuit sibi, ducunt: 
 Vel quia turpe putant parere minoribus Hor. 
 
 WHEN a Poem makes its first Appearance in the 
 World, I have always observed, that it gives Employ- 
 ment to a greater number of Criticks, than any other 
 kind of Writing. Whether it be that most Men, at some 
 time of their Lives, have try'd their Talent that way, 
 and thereby think they have a right to judge ; or whether 
 they imagine, that their making shrewd Observations 
 upon the Polite Arts, gives them a pretty figure; or 
 whether there may not be some Jealousie and Caution > 
 in bestowing Applause upon those who write chiefly for 
 Fame. Whatever the Reasons be, we find few discour- 
 aged by the Delicacy and Danger of such an Under- 
 taking. 
 
 I think it certain, that most Men are naturally not only 
 capable of being pleased with that which raises agreeable 
 Pictures in the Fancy, but willing also to own it. But 
 then there are many, who, by false Applications of some 
 Rules ill understood, or out of Deference to Men whose 
 Opinions they value, have formed to themselves certain 
 Schemes and Systems of Satisfaction, and will not be 
 pleased out of their own way. These are not Criticks 
 themselves, but Readers of Criticks, who, without the 
 Labour of perusing Authors, are able to give their 
 Characters in general; and know just as much of the 
 
2g4 Richard Steele 
 
 several Species of Poetry, as those who read Books of 
 Geography do of the Genius of this or that People or 
 Nation. These Gentlemen deliver their Opinions sen- 
 tentiously, and in general Terms; to which it being 
 impossible readily to frame compleat Answers, they have 
 often the Satisfaction of leaving the Board in Triumph. 
 As young Persons, and particularly the Ladies, are liable 
 to be led aside by these Tyrants in Wit, I shall examine 
 two or three of the many Stratagems they use, and 
 subjoin such Precautions as may hinder candid Readers 
 from being deceived thereby. 
 
 THE first I shall take Notice of is an Objection 
 commonly offered, viz. That such a Poem hath indeed 
 some good Lines in it, but it is not a regular Piece. This 
 for the most part is urged by those whose Knowledge is 
 drawn from some famous French Criticks, who have 
 written upon the Epic Poem, the Drama, and the great 
 kinds of Poetry, which cannot subsist without great 
 Regularity; but ought by no means to be required in 
 Odes, Epistles, Panegyricks, and the like, which natu- 
 rally admit of greater Liberties. The Enthusiasm in 
 Odes, and the Freedom of Epistles, is rarely disputed; 
 But I have often heard the Poems upon Publick Occa- 
 sions written in Heroic Verse, which I chuse to call 
 Panegyricks, severely censured upon this Account; the 
 Reason whereof I cannot guess, unless it be, that because 
 they are written in the same kind of Numbers and Spirit 
 as an Epic Poem, they ought therefore to have the same 
 Regularity. Now an Epic Poem, consisting chiefly in 
 Narration, it is necessary that the Incidents should be 
 related in the same Order that they are supposed to have 
 been transacted. But in Works of the above-mentioned 
 kind, there is no more Reason that such Order should 
 be observed, than that an Oration should be as methodi- 
 
Guardian, XII 2g5 
 
 cal as an History. I think it sufficient that the great 
 Hints, suggested from the Subject, be so disposed, that 
 the first may naturally prepare the Reader for what 
 follows, and so on; and that their Places cannot be 
 changed without Disadvantage to the whole. I will add 
 further, that sometimes gentle Deviations, sometimes 
 bold and even abrupt Digressions, where the Dignity of 
 the Subject seems to give the Impulse, are Proofs of a 
 noble Genius; as winding about, and returning artfully 
 to the main Design, are Marks of Address and Dexterity. 
 ANOTHER Artifice made use of by Pretenders to 
 Criticism, is an Insinuation, That all that is good is 
 borrozved from the Ancients. This is very common in 
 the Mouths of Pedants, and perhaps in their Hearts too ; 
 but is often urged by Men of no great Learning, for 
 Reasons very obvious. Now Nature being st illthe^saaje, 
 it is impossibl£_for aD¥- ^o3erri Write '- tft p^'"<- hff'' 
 othe rwise than the Ancients have done. If, for Example, 
 I were to describe the General's Horse at the Battel of 
 Blenheim, as my Fancy represented such a noble Beast, 
 and that Description should resemble what Virgil hath 
 drawn for the Horse of his Hero, it would be almost as 
 ill-natured to urge that I had stolen my Description from 
 Virgil, as to reproach the Duke of Marlborough for 
 fighting only like ^neas. All that the most exquisite 
 Judgment can perform is, out of that great Variety of 
 Circumstances, wherein natural Objects may be consid- 
 ered, to select the most beautiful; and to place Images 
 in such Views and Lights, as will affect the Fancy after 
 thfe most delightful manner. But over and above a just 
 
 Paititincr rtf Matiirf*^ a IparnpH T^poTipr ^yi1]"^f^gg' p npx»7 
 
 "" "■ ,' **■■— III II -" 
 
 Beauty superadde d in a happy Imitaj jxm of some famous 
 Ancient, as it revives in his Mind the Pleasure he took 
 in his first reading such an Author. Such Copyings as 
 
2g6 Richard Steele 
 
 these give that double Delight which we perceive when 
 we look upon the Children of a beautiful Couple ; where 
 the Eye is not more charm'd with the Symmetry of the 
 Parts, than the Mind by observing the Resemblance 
 transmitted from Parents to their Offspring, and the 
 mingled Features of the Father and the Mother. The 
 Phrases of Holy Writ, and Allusions to several Passages 
 in the Inspired Writings, (though not produced as 
 Proofs of Doctrine) add Majesty and Authority to the 
 noblest Discourses of the Pulpit: In like manner an 
 Imitation of the Air of Homer and Virgil raises the 
 Dignity of modern Poetry, and makes it appear stately 
 and venerable. 
 
 THE last Observation I shall make at present is upon 
 the Disgust taken by those Criticks, who put on their 
 Qoaths prettily, and dislike every thing that is not 
 written with Eqse. I hereby therefore give the genteel 
 part of the learned World to understand, that every 
 Thought which is ae^reeablc -to-JJature. and exprest in 
 Lan ^a^e suitable to it, is written with Ease. There 
 are some Things which must be~Writt'eh"'with Strength, 
 which nevertheless are easie. The Statue of the 
 Gladiator, though represented in such a Posture as 
 strains pvpry lyrngrlp, ig gg pagiV as that of Venus; 
 le one expresses Strength and J:<'ury as natu- 
 rally as the other doth Beauty and Softness. The Pas- 
 sions are sometimes to be rouzed, as well as the Fancy 
 to be entertained; and the Soul to be exalted and en- 
 larged, as well as soothed. This often requires a raised 
 and figurative Stile; which Readers of low Apprehen- 
 sions, or soft and lanquid Dispositions (having heard 
 of the Words Fustian and Bombast) are apt to reject 
 as stiff and affected Language. But Nature and Reason 
 
Guardian, XII 2gj 
 
 appoint different Garbs for different Things; and since 
 I write this to the Men of Dress, I will ask them if a 
 Soldier, who is to mount a Breach, should be adorned 
 like a Beau, who is spruced up for a Ball ? 
 
JOSEPH ADDISON 
 
JOSEPH ADDISON 
 
 I. THE TATLER, NUMBER CLXV 
 
 1710 
 
 From Thursday April 2,1, to Saturday April 39 
 
 It has always been my Endeavour to distinguish 
 between Realities and Appearances, and to separate true 
 Merit from the Pretence to it. As it shall ever be my 
 Study to make Discoveries of this Nature in Humane 
 Life, and to settle the proper Distinctions between the 
 Virtues and Perfections of Mankind, and those false 
 Colours and Resemblances of them that shine alike in 
 the Eyes of the Vulgar; so I shall be more particularly 
 careful to search into the various Merits and Pretences 
 of the learned World. This is the more necessary, 
 because there seems to be a general Combination among 
 the Pedants to extol one another's Labours, and cry up 
 one another's Parts ; while Men of Sense, either through 
 that Modesty which is natural to them, or the Scorn 
 they have for such trifling Commendations, enjoy their 
 Stock of Knowledge like a hidden Treasure with Satis- 
 faction and Silence. Pedantry indeed in Learning is 
 like Hypocrisy in Religion, a Form of Knowledge with- 
 out the Power of it, that attracts the Eyes of the Common 
 People, breaks out in Noise and Show, and finds its 
 Reward not from any inward Pleasure that attends it, 
 but from the Praises and Approbations which it receives 
 from Men. 
 
J02 Joseph Addison 
 
 Of this shallow Species there is not a more impor- 
 tunate, empty, and conceited Animal, than that which is 
 generally known by the Name of a Critick. This, in the 
 common Acceptation of the Word, is one that, without 
 entering into the Sense and Soul of an Author, has a 
 few general Rules, which, like mechanical Instruments, 
 he applies to the Works of every Writer, and as they 
 quadrate with them, pronounces the Author perfect or 
 defective. He is Master of a certain Set of Words, as 
 Unity, Style, Fire, Flegm, Easie, Natural, Tuj-n, Senti- 
 ment, and the like; which he varies, compounds, divides, 
 and throws together, in every Part of his Discourse, 
 without any Thought or Meaning. The Marks you may 
 know him by are, an elevated Eye, and dogmatical Brow, 
 a positive Voice, and a Contempt for every Thing that 
 comes out, whether he has read it or not. He dwells 
 altogether in Generals. He praises or dispraises in the 
 Lump. He shakes his Head very frequently at the 
 Pedantry of Universities, and bursts into Laughter when 
 you mention an Author that is known at Will's. He 
 hath formed his Judgment upon Homer, Horace, and 
 Virgil, not from their own Works, but from those of 
 Rapin and Bossu. He knows his own Strength so well, 
 that he never dares praise any Thing in which he has not 
 a French Author for his Voucher. 
 
 With these extraordinary Talents and Accomplish- 
 ments, Sir Timothy Tittle puts Men in Vogue, or con- 
 demns them to Obscurity, and sits as Judge of Life and 
 Death upon every Author that appears in Publick. It 
 is impossible to represent the Pangs, Agonies, and Con- 
 vulsions, which Sir Timothy expresses in every Feature 
 of his Face, and Muscle of his Body, upon the reading 
 of a bad Poet. 
 
 About a Week ago I was engaged at a Friend's House 
 
Tatler, CLXV 303 
 
 of mine in an agreeable Conversation with his Wife and 
 Daughters, when in the Height of our Mirth, Sir 
 Timothy, who makes Love to my Friend's eldest Daugh- 
 ter, came in amongst us puffing and blowing, as if he 
 had been very much out of Breath. He immediately 
 called for a Chair, and desired Leave to sit down, with- 
 out any further Ceremony. I asked him, Where he had 
 been? Whether he was out of Order? He only replied, 
 That he was quite spent, and fell a cursing in Soliloquy. 
 I could hear him cry, A Wicked Rogue — An Execrable 
 Wretch — Was there ever such a Monster — The young 
 Ladies upon this began to be affrighted, and asked, 
 Whether any one had hurt him? He answered nothing, 
 but still talked to himself. To lay the first Scene, says 
 he, in St. James'j Park, and the last in Northampton- 
 shire ! Is that all ? says I : Then I suppose you have 
 been at the Rehearsal of a Play this Morning. Been! 
 says he; I have been at Northampton, in the Park, in a 
 Lady's Bed Chamber, in a Dining-Room, every where: 
 The Rogue has led me such a Dance — Though I could 
 scarce forbear laughing at his Discourse, I told him 
 I was glad it was no worse, and that he was only Meta- 
 phorically weary. In short. Sir, says he, the Author 
 has not observed a single Unity in his whole Play; the 
 Scene shifts in every Dialogue; the Villain has hurried 
 me up and down at such a Rate, that I am tired off my 
 Legs. I could not but observe with some Pleasure, that 
 the young Lady whom he made Love to, conceived a 
 very just Aversion towards him, upon seeing him so 
 very passionate in Trifles. And as she had that natural 
 Sense which makes her a better Judge than a Thou- 
 sand Criticks, she began to rally him upon this foolish 
 Humour. For my Part, says she, I never knew a Play 
 take that was written up to your ,Rules, as you call them. 
 
^04 Joseph Addison 
 
 How Madam! says he, is that your Opinion? I am 
 sure you have a better Tast. It is a pretty Kind of 
 Magick, says she, the Poets have to transport an 
 Audience from Place to Place without the Help of a 
 Coach and Horses. I could travel round the World at 
 such a Rate. 'Tis such an Entertainment as an En- 
 chantress finds when she fancies her self in a Wood, 
 or upon a Mountain, at a Feast, or a Solemnity ; though 
 at the same Time she has never stirred out of her Cot- 
 tage. Your Simile, Madam, says Sir Timothy, is by no 
 Means just. Pray, says she, let my Similes pass without 
 a Criticism. I must confess, continued she, (for I found 
 she was resolved to exasperate him) I laughed very 
 heartily at the last New Comedy which you found so 
 much Fault with. But Madam, says he, you ought not 
 to have laughed ; and I defie any one to show me a single 
 Rule that you could laugh by. Ought not to laugh! 
 says she : Pray who should hinder me. Madam, says he, 
 There are such People in the World as Rapin, Dacier, 
 and several others, that ought to have spoiled your Mirth. 
 I have heard, says the young Lady, That your great 
 Criticks are always very bad Poets: I fancy there is as 
 much Difference between the Works of one and the 
 other, as there is between the Carriage of a Dancing- 
 Master and a Gentleman. I must confess, continued 
 she, I would not be troubled with so fine a Judgment as 
 yours is; for I find you feel more Vexation in a bad 
 Comedy than I do in a deep Tragedy. Madam, says Sir 
 Timothy, That is not my Fault, they should learn the 
 Art of Writing. For my Part, says the young Lady, 
 I should think the greatest Art in your Writers of 
 Comedies is to please. To please! says Sir Timothy; 
 and immediately fell a laughing. Truly, says she, that 
 
Tatler, CLXV 305 
 
 is my Opinion. Upon this, he composed his Counte- 
 nance, looked upon his Watch, and took his Leave. 
 
 I hear that Sir Timothy has not been at my Friend's 
 House since this notable Conference, to the great Satis- 
 faction of the young Lady, who by this Means has got 
 rid of a very impertinent Fop. 
 
 I must confess, I could not but observe, with a great 
 deal of Surprize, how this Gentleman, by his ill Nature, 
 Folly, and Affectation, hath made himself capable of 
 suffering so many imaginary Pains, and looking with 
 such a senseless Severity upon the common Diversions 
 of Life. 
 
II. THE SPECTATOR, NUMBER XL 
 1711 
 
 Monday, April 16. 
 
 Ac ne forte putes me, quce facere ipse recusem, 
 Cum recte tractant alii, laudare maligne; 
 Ille per extentum funem mihi posse videtur 
 Ire Poeta, meiim qui pectus inaniter angit, 
 Irritat, mulcet, falsis terroribus implet, 
 Ut magus; & modo me Thebis, modo ponit Athenis. 
 
 Hor. 
 
 THE English Writers of Tragedy are possessed with 
 a Notion, that when they represent a virtuous or inno- 
 cent Person in Distress, they ought not to leave him 
 till they have delivered him out of his Troubles, or 
 made him triumph over his Enemies. This Error they 
 have been led into by a ridiculous Doctrine in Modern 
 Criticism, that they are obliged to an equal Distribution 
 of Rewards and Punishments, and an impartial Execu- 
 tion of Poetical Justice. Who were the first that estab- 
 lished this Rule I know not; but I am sure it has no 
 Foundation in Nature, in Reason, or in the Practice of 
 the Ancients. We find that Good and Evil happen alike 
 to all Men on this Side the Grave; and as the principal 
 Design of Tragedy is to raise Commiseration and Terror 
 in the Minds of the Audience, we shall defeat this great 
 End, if we always make Virtue and Innocence happy 
 and successful. Whatever Crosses and Disappointments 
 a good Man suffers in the Body of the Tragedy, they 
 will make but small Impression on our Minds, when we 
 know that in the last Act he is to arrive at the End of 
 
spectator, XL 507 
 
 his Wishes and Desires. When we see him engaged in 
 the Depth of his Afflictions, we are apt to comfort our- 
 selves, because we are sure he will find his Way out of 
 them; and that his Grief, how great soever it may be 
 at present, will soon terminate in Gladness. For this 
 Reason the ancient Writers of Tragedy treated Men in 
 their Plays, as they are dealt with in the World, by 
 making Virtue sometimes happy and sometimes miser- 
 able, as they found it in the Fable which they made 
 choice of, or as it might affect their Audience in the 
 most agreeable Manner. Aristotle considers the Trage- 
 dies that were written in either of these Kinds, and 
 observes, That those which ended unhappily, had always 
 pleased the People, and carried away the Prize in the 
 publick Disputes of the Stage, from those that ended 
 happily. Terror and Commiseration leave a pleasing 
 Anguish in the Mind; and fix the Audience in such a 
 serious Composure of Thought, as is much more lasting 
 and delightful than any little transient Starts of Joy and 
 Satisfaction. Accordingly we find, that more of our 
 English Tragedies have succeeded, in which the 
 Favourites of the Audience sink under their Calamities, 
 than those in which they recover themselves out of them. 
 The best Plays of this Kind are the Orphan, Venice 
 preserved, Alexander the Great, Theodosius, All for 
 Love, Oedipus, Oroonoko, Othello, &c. Kmg Lear is 
 an admirable Tragedy of the same Kind, as Shakespear 
 wrote it; but as it is reformed according to the chymer- 
 ical Notion of Poetical Justice, in my humble Opinion 
 it has lost half its Beauty. At the same time I must 
 allow, that there are very noble Tragedies which have 
 been framed upon the other Plan, and have ended 
 happily; as indeed most of the good Tragedies, which 
 have been written since the starting of the above- 
 
5o5 Joseph Addison 
 
 mentioned Criticism, have taken this Turn: As the 
 Mourning Bride, Tamerlane, Ulysses, Phcedra and 
 Hyppolitus, with most of Mr. Dryden's. I must also 
 allow, that many of Shakespear's, and several of the 
 celebrated Tragedies of Antiquity, are cast in the same 
 Form. I do not therefore dispute against this Way of 
 writing Tragedies, but against the Criticism that would 
 establish this as the only Method; and by that Means 
 would very much cramp the English Tragedy, and 
 perhaps give a wrong Bent to the Genius of our Writers. 
 
 THE Tragi-Comedy, which is the Product of the 
 English Theatre, is one of the most monstrous Inven- 
 tions that ever entered into a Poet's Thoughts. An 
 Author might as well think of weaving the Adventures 
 of 2Eneas and Hudibras into one Poem, as of writing 
 such a motly Piece of Mirth and Sorrow. But the 
 Absurdity of these Performances is so very visible, that 
 I shall not insist upon it. 
 
 THE same Objections which are made to Tragi- 
 Comedy, may in some Measure be applied to all Tragedies 
 that have a double Plot in them; which are likewise 
 more frequent upon the English Stage, than upon any 
 other: For though the Grief of the Audience, in such 
 Performances, be not chang'd into another Passion, as 
 in Tragi-Comedies ; it is diverted upon another Object, 
 which weakens their Concern for the principal Action, 
 and breaks the Tide of Sorrow, by throwing it into 
 different Channels. This Inconvenience, however, may 
 in a great Measure be cured, if not wholly removed, by 
 the skilful Choice of an Under-Plot, which may bear 
 such a near Relation to the principal Design, as to con- 
 tribute towards the Completion of it, and be concluded 
 by the same Catastrophe. 
 
 THERE is also another Particular, which may be 
 
spectator, XL ^og 
 
 reckoned among the Blemishes, or rather the false 
 Beauties, of our English Tragedy : I mean those particu- 
 lar Speeches which are commonly known by the Name 
 of Rants. The warm and passionate Parts of a Tragedy, 
 are always the most taking with the Audience ; for which 
 Reason we often see the Players pronouncing, in all the 
 Violence of Action, several Parts of the Tragedy which 
 the Author writ with great Temper, and design'd that 
 they should have been so acted. I have seen Powell 
 very often raise himself a loud Clap by this Artifice. 
 The Poets that were acquainted with this Secret, have 
 given frequent Occasion for such Emotions in the Actor, 
 by adding Vehemence to Words where there was no 
 Passion, or inflaming a real Passion into Fustian. This 
 hath filled the Mouths of our Heroes with Bombast ; and 
 given them such Sentiments, as proceed rather from a 
 Swelling than a Greatness of Mind. Unnatural Excla- 
 mations, Curses, Vows, Blasphemies, a Defiance of Man- 
 kind, and an Outraging of the Gods, frequently pass 
 upon the Audience for tow'ring Thoughts, and have 
 accordingly met with infinite Applause. 
 
 I shall here add a Remark, which I am afraid our 
 Tragick Writers may make an ill use of. As our Heroes 
 are generally Lovers, their Swelling and Blustring upon 
 the Stage very much recommends them to the fair Part 
 of their Audience. The Ladies are wonderfully pleased 
 to see a Man insulting Kings, or affronting the Gods, 
 in one Scene, and throwing himself at the Feet of his 
 Mistress in another. Let him behave himself insolently 
 towards the Men, and abjectly towards the Fair One, 
 and it is ten to one but he proves a Favourite of the 
 Boxes. Dryden and Lee, in several of their Tragedies, 
 have practised this Secret with good Success. 
 
 BUT to shew how a Rant pleases beyond the most 
 
J/0 Joseph Addison 
 
 just and natural Thought that is not pronounced with 
 Vehemence, I would desire the Reader, when he sees the 
 Tragedy of Oedipus, to observe how quietly the Hero is 
 dismissed at the End of the third Act, after having 
 pronounced the following Lines, in which the Thought 
 is very natural, and apt to move Compassion, 
 
 To you, good Gods, I make my last Appeal, 
 Or clear my Virtues, or my Crimes reveal. 
 If in the Maze of Fate I blindly run. 
 And backward trod those Paths I sought to shun; 
 Impute my Errors to your own Decree: 
 My Hands are guilty, but my Heart is free. 
 
 Let us then observe with what Thunder-claps of Ap- 
 plause he leaves the Stage, after the Impieties and 
 Execrations at the End of the fourth Act; and you will 
 wonder to see an Audience so cursed and so pleased at 
 the same Time. 
 
 that as oft I have at Athens seen, 
 
 [Where, by the way, there was no Stage 
 till many Years after Oedipus.] 
 The Stage arise, and the big Clouds descend; 
 So now, in very deed, I might behold 
 This pond'rous Globe, and all yon marble Roof, 
 Meet, like the Hands of Jove, and crush Mankind. 
 For all the Elements, &c. 
 
III. THE SPECTATOR, NUMBER CLX 
 1711 
 
 Monday, September 3. 
 
 — Cui mens divinior, atque os 
 Magna sonaturum, des nominis hujus honorem. Hor. 
 
 THERE is no Character more frequently given to a 
 Writer, than that of being a Genius. I have heard many 
 a Httle Sonneteer called a fine Genius. There is not an 
 Heroick Scribler in the Nation, that has not his Admirers 
 who think him a great Genius ; and as for your Smatter- 
 ers in Tragedy, there is scarce a Man among them who 
 is not cried up by one or other for a prodigious Genius. 
 
 MY Design in this Paper is to consider what is prop- 
 erly a great Genius, and to throw some Thoughts 
 together on so uncommon a Subject. 
 
 AMONG great Geniuss, those few draw the Admira- 
 tion of all the World upon them, and stand up as the 
 Prodigies of Mankind, who by the meer Strength of 
 natural Parts, and without any Assistance of Art or 
 Learning, have produced Works that were the Delight 
 of their own Times and the Wonder of Posterity. 
 There appears something nobly wild and extravagant 
 in these great natural Geniuss, that is infinitely more 
 beautiful than all the Turn and Polishing of what the 
 French call a Bel Esprit, by which they would express 
 a Genius refined by Conversation, Reflection, and the 
 Reading of the most polite Authors. The greatest Genius 
 which runs through the Arts and Sciences, takes a kind 
 of Tincture from them, and falls unavoidably into 
 Imitation. 
 
J 72 Joseph Addison 
 
 MANY of these great natural Geniuss that were never 
 disciplined and broken by Rules of Art, are to be found 
 among the Ancients, and in particular among those of 
 the more Eastern Parts of the World. Homer has 
 innumerable Flights that Virgil was not able to reach, 
 and in the Old Testament we find several Passages more 
 elevated and sublime than any in Homer. At the same 
 ' Time that we allow a greater and more daring Genius to 
 the Ancients, we must own that the greatest of them 
 j very much failed in, or, if you will, that they were 
 much above the Nicety and Correctness of the Moderns. 
 In their Similitudes and Allusions, provided there was 
 a Likeness, they did not much trouble themselves about 
 the Decency of the Comparison : Thus Solomon resembles 
 the Nose of his Beloved to the Tower of Libanon which 
 looketh toward Damascus; as the Coming of a Thief in 
 the Night, is a Similitude of the same Kind in the New 
 Testament. It would be endless to make Collections of 
 this Nature: Homer illustrates one of his Heroes en- 
 compassed with the Enemy, by an Ass in a Field of Corn 
 that has his Sides belaboured by all the Boys of the 
 Village without stirring a Foot for it; and another of 
 them tossing to and fro in his Bed and burning with 
 Resentment, to a Piece of Flesh broiled on the Coals. 
 This particular Failure in the Ancients, opens a large 
 Field of Raillerie to the little Wits, who can laugh at 
 an Indecency but not relish the Sublime in these Sorts 
 of Writings. The present Emperor of Persia, conform- 
 able to this Eastern way of Thinking, amidst a great many 
 pompous Titles, denominates himself the Sun of Glory 
 r and the Nutmeg of Delight. In short, to cut off all 
 I Cavelling against the Ancients, and particularly those of 
 j the warmer Climates, who had most Heat and Life in 
 their Imaginations, we are to consider that the Rule of 
 
spectator, CLX 313 
 
 observing what the French call the Bienseance in an 
 Allusion, has been found out of latter Years and in the 
 colder Regions of the World; where we would make 
 some Amends for our want of Force and Spirit, by a 
 scrupulous Nicety and Exactness in our Compositions. 
 Our Countryman Shakespear was a remarkable Instance 
 of this first kind of great Geniuss. 
 
 I cannot quit this Head without observing that Pindar 
 was a great Genius of the first Class, who was hurried 
 on by a natural Fire and Impetuosity to vast Conceptions 
 of things, and noble Sallies of Imagination. At the same 
 time, can any thing be more ridiculous than for Men of 
 a sober and moderate Fancy to imitate this Poet's Way 
 of Writing in those monstrous Compositions which go 
 among us under the Name of Pindaricks? When I see 
 People copying Works, which, as Horace has repre- 
 sented them, are singular in their Kind and inimitable; 
 when I see Men following Irregularities by Rule, and 
 by the little Tricks of Art straining after the most un- 
 bounded Flights of Nature, I cannot but apply to them 
 that Passage in Terence. 
 
 — incerta hcec si tu postules 
 Ratione certa facere, nihilo plus agas, 
 Qudm si des operant, ut cum ratione insanias. 
 
 IN short a modern pindarick Writer compared with 
 Pindar, is like a Sister among the Camisars compared 
 with Virgil's Sybil: There is the Distortion, Grimace, 
 and outward Figure, but nothing of that divine Impulse 
 which raises the Mind above it self, and makes the 
 Sounds more than humane. 
 
 There is another kind of Great Geniuss which I shall 
 place in a second Class, not as I think them inferior to 
 the first, but only for distinction's sake as they are of a 
 
^14 Joseph Addison 
 
 different kind. This second Class of great Genius's are 
 those that have formed themselves by Rules, and sub- 
 mitted the Greatness of their natural Talents to the 
 Corrections and Restraints of Art. Such among the 
 Greeks were Plato and Aristotle, among the Romans 
 Virgil and Tully, among the English Milton and Sir 
 Francis Bacon. 
 
 THE Genius in both these Classes of Authors may be 
 equally great, but shews it self after a different Manner. 
 In the first it is like a rich Soil in a happy Climate, that 
 produces a whole Wilderness of noble Plants rising in 
 a thousand beautiful Landskips without any certain 
 Order or Regularity. In the other it is the same rich 
 Soil under the same happy Climate, that has been laid 
 out in Walks and Parterres, and cut into Shape and 
 Beauty by the Skill of the Gardener. 
 
 THE great Danger in these latter kind of Geniuss, is, 
 least they cramp their own Abilities too much by Imita- 
 tion, and form themselves altogether upon Models, with- 
 out giving the full Play to their own natural Parts. An 
 Imitation of the best Authors, is not to compare with a 
 good Original; and I believe we may observe that very 
 few Writers make an extraordinary Figure in the World, 
 who have not something in their Way of thinking or 
 expressing themselves that is peculiar to them and 
 entirely their own. 
 
 IT is odd to consider what great Geniuss are some- 
 times thrown away upon Trifles. 
 
 I once saw a Shepherd, says a famous Italian Author, 
 who used to divert himself in his Solitudes with tossing 
 up Eggs and catching them again without breaking them : 
 In which he had arrived to so great a Degree of Perfec- 
 tion, that he would keep up four at a Time for several 
 Minutes together playing in the Air, and falling into 
 
spectator, CLX 5/5 
 
 his Hand by Turns. I think, says the Author, I never 
 saw a greater Severity than in this Man's Face; for by 
 his wonderful Perseverance and Application, he had con- 
 tracted the Seriousness and Gravity of a Privy-Coun- 
 cellour; and I could not but reflect with my self, that 
 the same Assiduity and Attention had they been rightly 
 applied, might have made him a greater Mathematician 
 than Archimedes. 
 
IV. THE SPECTATOR, NUMBER DXCII 
 
 1714 
 
 Friday, September 10. 
 Studium sine divite Vena. Hor. 
 
 I Look upon the Play-house as a World within it self. 
 They have lately furnished the middle Region of it with 
 a new Sett of Meteors, in order to give the Sublime to 
 many modern Tragedies. I was there last Winter at the 
 first Rehearsal of the new Thunder, which is much more 
 deep and sonorous than any hitherto made use of. They 
 have a Salmoneus behind the Scenes, who plays it off 
 with great Success. Their Lightnings are made to flash 
 more briskly than heretofore; their Qouds are also 
 better furbelow'd, and more voluminous ; not to mention 
 a violent Storm locked up in a great Chest that is de- 
 signed for the Tempest. They are also provided with 
 above a Dozen Showers of Snow, which, as I am in- 
 formed, are the Plays of many unsuccessful Poets 
 artificially cut and shreaded for that Use. Mr. Rimer's 
 Edgar is to fall in Snow at the next acting of King 
 Lear, in order to heighten, or rather to alleviate, the 
 Distress of that unfortunate Prince; and to serve by 
 way of Decoration to a Piece which that great Critick 
 has written against. 
 
 I do not indeed wonder that the Actors should be such 
 professed Enemies to those among our Nation who are 
 commonly known by the Name of Criticks, since it is a 
 Rule among these Gentlemen to fall upon a Play, not 
 because it is ill written, but because it takes. Several 
 of them lay it down as a Maxim, That what-ever 
 
spectator, DXCII j/7 
 
 Dramatick Performance has a long Run, must of Neces- 
 sity be good for nothing; as tho' the first Precept in 
 Poetry were not to please. Whether this Rule holds 
 good or not, I shall leave to the Determination of those 
 who are better Judges than my self: If it does, I am 
 sure it tends very much to the Honour of those Gentle- 
 men who have established it ; few of their Pieces having 
 been disgraced by a Run of three Days, and most of 
 them being so exquisitely written, that the Town would 
 never give them more than one Night's Hearing! 
 
 I have a great Esteem for a true Critick, such as 
 Aristotle and Longinus among the Greeks, Horace and 
 Quintilian among the Romans, Boileau and Dacier among 
 the French. But it is our Misfortune, that some who 
 set up for professed Criticks among us are so stupid, 
 that they do not know how to put ten Words together 
 witih Elegance or common Propriety, and withal so 
 illiterate, that they have no Taste of the learned Lan- 
 guages, and therefore criticise upon old Authors only 
 at second Hand. They judge of them by what others 
 have written, and not by any Notions they have of the 
 Authors themselves. The Words Unity, Action, Senti- 
 ment, and Diction, pronounced with an Air of Authority, 
 give them a Figure among unlearned Readers, who are 
 apt to believe they are very deep, because they are un- 
 intelligible. The ancient Criticks are full of the Praises 
 of their Contemporaries; they discover Beauties which 
 escaped the Observation of the Vulgar, and very often 
 find out Reasons for palliating and excusing such little 
 Slips and Over-sights as were committed in the Writings 
 of eminent Authors. On the contrary, most of the 
 Smatterers in Criticism who appear among us, make it 
 their Business to vilify and depreciate every new Pro- 
 duction that gains Applause, to descry imaginary Blem- 
 
5/5 Joseph Addison 
 
 ishes, and to prove by far-fetched Arguments, that what 
 pass for Beauties in any celebrated Piece are Faults and 
 Errors: In short, the Writings of these Criticks com- 
 pared with those of the Ancients, are like the Works 
 of the Sophists compared with those of the old Philoso- 
 phers. 
 
 ENVY and Cavil are the natural Fruits of Laziness 
 and Ignorance; which was probably the Reason, that in 
 the Heathen Mythology Momus is said to be the Son of 
 Nox and Somnus, of Darkness and Sleep. Idle Men, 
 who have not been at the Pains to accomplish or distin- 
 guish themselves, are very apt to detract from others; 
 as ignorant Men are very subject to decry those Beauties 
 in a celebrated Work which they have not Eyes to dis- 
 cover. Many of our Sons of Momus, who dignify them- 
 selves by the Name of Criticks, are the genuine 
 Descendants of these two illustrious Ancestors. They 
 are often led into those numerous Absurdities, in which 
 they daily instruct the People, by not considering that, 
 1st, There is sometimes a greater Judgment shewn in 
 deviating from the Rules of Art, than in adhering to 
 them ; and, "Hdly, That there is more Beauty in the Works 
 of a great Genius who is ignorant of all the Rules of 
 Art, than in the Works of a little Genius, who not only 
 ' knows, but scrupulously observes them. 
 
 FIRST, We may often take Notice of Men who are 
 perfectly acquainted with all the Rules of good Writing, 
 and notwithstanding chuse to depart from them on 
 extraordinary Occasions. I could give Instances out of 
 all the Tragick Writers of Antiquity who have shewn 
 their Judgment in this Particular, and purposely receded 
 from an established Rule of the Drama, when it has 
 made way for a much higher Beauty than the Observa- 
 tion of such a Rule would have been. Those who have 
 
spectator, DXCII 319 
 
 surveyed the noblest Pieces of Architecture and Statuary 
 both ancient and modern, know very well that there are 
 frequent Deviations from Art in the Works of the great- 
 est Masters, which have produced a much nobler Effect 
 than a more accurate and exact way of Proceeding could 
 have done. This often arises from what the Italians 
 call the Gusto Grande in these Arts, which is what we 
 call the Sublime in Writing. 
 
 IN the next Place, our Criticks do not seem sensible 
 that there is more Beauty in the Works of a great Genius 
 who is ignorant of the Rules of Art, than in those of a 
 little Genius who knows and observes them. It is of the 
 Men of Genius that Terence speaks, in Opposition to the 
 little artificial Cavillers of his Time ; 
 
 Quorum cemulari exoptat negligentiam 
 Potius, quam istorum obscuram diligentiam. 
 
 A Critick may 'have the same Consolation in the ill Suc- 
 cess of his Play, as Dr. South tells us a Physician has at 
 the Death of a Patient, That he was killed secundum 
 artem. Our inimitable Shakespear is a Stumbling-block 
 to the whole Tribe of these rigid Criticks. Who would 
 not rather read one of his Plays, where there is not a 
 single Rule of the Stage observed, than any Production 
 of a modern Critick, where there is not one of them 
 violated? Shakespear was indeed born with all the 
 Seeds of Poetry, and may be compared to the Stone in 
 Pyrrhus's Ring, which, as Pliny tells us, had the Figure 
 of Apollo and the Nine Muses in the Veins of it, pro- 
 duced by the spontaneous Hand of Nature, without any 
 Help from Art. 
 
ALEXANDER POPE 
 
ALEXANDER POPE 
 
 PREFACE TO THE TRANSLATION OF THE 
 ILIAD 
 
 1715 
 
 HOMER is universally allow'd to have had the greatest 
 Invention of any Writer whatever. The Praise of 
 Judgment Virgil has justly contested with him, and 
 others may have their Pretensions as to particular Excel- 
 lencies ; but his ]tavention_J2!2ains_y£tjii^^ Nor is 
 it a Wonder if he has ever been acknowledg'd the greatest 
 of Poets, who most excell'd in That which is the very 
 Foundation of Poetry. It is the Invention that in differ-" 
 ent degrees distinguishes all great Genius's: The utmost 
 Stretch of human Study, Learning, and Industry, which 
 masters every thing besides, can never attain to this.< 
 It furnishes Art with all her Materials, and without it, 
 Judgment itself can at best but steal wisely: For Art 
 is only like a prudent Steward that lives on managing 
 the Riches of Nature. Whatever Praises may be given 
 to Works of Judgment, there is not even a single Beauty 
 in them but is owing to the Invention: As in the most 
 regular Gardens, however Art may carry the greatest 
 Appearance, there is not a P^nt or Flower but is the. 
 Gift of. Nature. /The first cah only reduce the Beauties 
 of the latt&l^' into a more obvious Figure, which the 
 common Eye may better take in, and is therefore more 
 entertain'd with. And perhaps the reason why most 
 Criticks are incUn'd to prefer a judicious and methodical 
 
^24 Alexander Pope 
 
 Genius to a great and fruitful one, is, because they find 
 it easier for themselves to pursue their Observations 
 through an uniform and bounded Walk of Art, than to 
 comprehend the vast and various Extent of Nature. 
 
 ' Our Author's Work is a wild Paradise, where if we 
 cannot see all the Beauties so distinctly as in an order'd 
 Garden, it is only because the Number of them is infi- 
 nitely greater. 'Tis like a copious Nursery which contains 
 the Seeds and first Productions of every kind, out of 
 which those who follow'd him have but selected some 
 particular Plants, each according to his Fancy, to culti- 
 vate and beautify. If some things are too luxuriant, it 
 is owing to the Richness of the Soil; and if others are 
 not arriv'd to Perfection or Maturity, it is only because 
 they are over-run and opprest by those of a stronger 
 Nature. 
 
 It is to the Strength of this amazing Invention we are 
 |to attribute that unequal'd Fire and Ra pture, whi ch is so- 
 
 I forcible in H omer, that no Man of a true P oetical 
 
 Jattns^Sjui^^hejea^ds^^iL Whathe writes 
 
 j is of the most animated Nature imaginable ; every thing 
 
 1 moves, every thing lives, and is put in Action. If a 
 Council be call'd, or a Battel fought, you are not coldly 
 inform'd of what was said or done as from a third 
 
 ! Person ; the ^ Reader .is. hurry'd out of himself by the 
 FQi:ce..althe Poet's Imagination, and tunamrone place' 
 |to a Hearer, in another to a Spectator. The Course of 
 his Verses resembles that of the Army he describes, 
 
 I o ap, Mrav, (ucret re irvpi )(tfiov iratra vifWiTO. 
 
 They pour along like a Fire that sweeps the whole Earth 
 before it. 'Tis however remarkable that his Fancy , 
 which is every where vigorous, is not discover'd imme- 
 diately at the beginning of his Poem in its fullest 
 
Preface to the Iliad 52j 
 
 Splendor: It grows in the Progress both upon himseli 
 and others, and becomes on Fire like a Chariot-Wheel 
 
 jby its own Rapidity . Exact Disposition^ just T hought; 
 
 j mrrect Elocu tion. poljihSClNKnbers, may have been 
 found in a thousand ; but this Eggjt j^l^ ire. this Vivida 
 vis animi, in a very few. Even in~W6rks where all those 
 are imperfect or neglected, this can over-power Criti- 
 cism, and make us admire even while we dis-approve. 
 Nay, where this appears, tho' attended with Absurdities, 
 it brightens all the Rubbish about it, 'till we see nothing 
 but its own Splendor. This Fire is discern'd in Virgil, 
 but discern'd as through a Glass, reflected, and more 
 shining than warm, but every where equal and constant : 
 In Lucan and Statius, it bursts out in sudden, short, and 
 interrupted Flashes : In Milton, it glows like a Furnace 
 kept up to an uncommon Fierceness by the Force of Art : 
 In Shakespear, it strikes before we are aware, like an 
 accidental Fire from Heaven : But in Homer, and in him 
 only, it burns every where clearly, and every where 
 irresistibly. 
 
 I shall here endeavour to show, how this vast Inven- 
 tion exerts itself in a manner superior to that of any 
 Poet, thro' all the main constituent Parts of his Work, 
 as it is the great and peculiar Characteristick which dis- 
 tinguishes him from all other Authors. 
 
 This strong and ruling Faculty was like a powerful 
 Planet, which in the Violence of its Course, dr ew all 
 things w ithin its Vortex. It seem'd not enough to have 
 taken in the whole Circle of Arts, and the whole Com- 
 pass of Nature; all the inward Passions and Affections 
 of Mankind to supply this Characters, and all the out- 
 ward Forms and Images of Things for his Descriptions : 
 but wanting yet an ampler Sphere to expatiate in, he 
 open'd a new and boundless Walk for his Imagination 
 
J2<5 Alexander Pope 
 
 and created a World for himself in the Invention of 
 Fable. That which Aristotle calls the Soul of Poetry, 
 was first breath'd into it by Homer. I shall begin with 
 considering him in this Part, as it is naturally the first, 
 and I speak of it both as it means the Design of a Poem, 
 and as it is taken for Fiction. 
 
 Fable may be divided into the Probable . th%-AU&ftS£k{tl, 
 and me..M.m;2el2MS. The Probable Fable is the Recital 
 of such Actions as the' they did not happen, yet might, 
 in the common course of Nature : Or of such as tho' they 
 did, become Fables by the additional Episodes and manner 
 of telling them. Of this sort is the main Story of an 
 Epic Poem, the Return of Ulysses, the Settlement of the 
 Trojans in Italy, or the like. That of the Iliad is the 
 Anger of Achilles, the most short and single Subject that 
 ever was chosen by any Poet. Yet this he has supplied 
 with a yast^r jyariety of Incidents and Events, and 
 crouded with a greater Number of Councils, Speeches, 
 Battles, and Episodes of all kinds, than are to be found 
 even in those Poems whose Schemes are of the utmost 
 Latitude and Irregularity. The Action is hurry'd on 
 with the most vehement Spirit, and its whole Duration 
 employs not so much as fifty Days. Virgil, for want of 
 so warm a Genius, aided himself by taking in a more 
 extensive Subject, as well as a greater Length of Time, 
 and contracting the Design of both Homer's Poems into 
 one, which is yet but a fourth part as large as his. The 
 other Epic Poets have us'd the same Practice, but gener- 
 ally carry'd it so far as to superinduce a Multiplicity of 
 Fables, destroy the Unity of Action, and lose their 
 Readers in an unreasonable Length of Time. Nor is it 
 only in the main Design that they have been unable to 
 add to his Invention, but they have foUow'd him in every 
 Episode and Part of Story. If he has given a regular 
 
Preface to the Iliad 527 
 
 Catalogue of an Army, they all draw up their Forces in 
 the same Order. If he has funeral Games for Patroclus, 
 Virgil has the same for Anchises, and Statins (rather 
 than omit them) destroys the Unity of his Action for 
 those of Archemorus. If Ulysses visit the Shades, the 
 Mneas of Virgil and Scipio of Silius are sent after him. 
 If he be detain'd from his Return by the Allurements of 
 Calypso, so is Mneas by Dido, and Rinaldo by Armida. 
 If Achilles be absent from the Army on the Score of a 
 Quarrel thro' half the Poem, Rinaldo must absent himself 
 just as long, on the like account. If he gives his Heroe 
 a Suit of celestial Armour, Virgil and Tasso make the 
 same Present to theirs. Virgil has not only observ'd this 
 close Imitation of Homer, but where he had not led the 
 way, supply'd the Want from other Greek Authors. 
 Thus the Story of Sinon and the Taking of Troy was 
 copied (says Macrobius) ahnost word for word from 
 Pisander, as the Loves of Dido and Mneas are taken 
 from those of MedcBa and Jason in Apollonius, and sev- 
 eral others in the same manner. 
 
 To proceed to the Allegorical Fable: If we reflect upon 
 those innumerable Knowledges, those Secrets of Nature 
 and Physical Philosophy which Homer is generally 
 suppos'd to have wrapt up in his Allegoriej , what a new 
 and ample Scene of Wonder may this Consideration 
 afford us? How fertile will that Imagination appear, 
 which was able to cloath all the Properties of Elements, 
 the Qualifications of the Mind, the Virtues and Vices, 
 in Forms and Persons; and to introduce them into 
 Actions agreeable to the Nature of the Things they 
 shadow'd ? This is a Field in which no succeeding Poets 
 could dispute with Homer ; and whatever Commendations 
 have been allow'd them on this Head, are by no means 
 for their Invention in having enlarg'd his Circle, but for 
 
^28 Alexander Pope 
 
 their Judgment in having contracted it. For when the 
 Mode of Learning chang'd in following Ages, and Science 
 was deliver'd in a plainer manner, it then became as 
 reasonable in the more modern Poets to lay it aside, as 
 it was in Homer to make use of it. And perhaps it was 
 no unhappy Circumstance for Virgil that there was not 
 in his Time that Demand upon him of so great an Inven- 
 tion, as might be capable of furnishing all those Alle- 
 gorical Parts of a Poem. 
 
 / The Marvelous Fable includes whatever is super- 
 I natural, and especially the Machines of the Gods. If 
 Homer was not the first who introduc'd the Deities (as 
 Herodotus imagines) into the Religion of Greece, he 
 seems the first who brought them into a System of 
 Machinery for Poetry, and such an one as makes its 
 greatest Importance and Dignity. For we find those 
 Authors who have been offended at the literal Notion 
 of the Gods, constantly laying their Accusation against 
 Homer as the undoubted Inventor of them. But what- 
 ever cause there might be to blame his Machines in a 
 Philosophical or Religious View, they are so perfect in 
 the Poetick, that Mankind have been ever since contented 
 to follow them : None have been able to enlarge the 
 Sphere of Poetry bey'ond the Limits he has set: Every 
 Attempt of this Nature has prov'd unsuccessful; and 
 after all the various Changes of Times and Religions, 
 his Gods continue to this Day the Gods of Poetry. 
 
 We come now to the Characters of his Persons, and 
 here we shall find no AutKoF has ever drawn so many 
 with so visible and surprizing a Variety or given us such 
 lively and^a ffecting Im pressions^ olThem. Every one has 
 something so singularly his own, that no Painter could 
 have distinguished them more by their Features, than 
 the Poet has by their Manners. Nothing can be more 
 
Preface to the Iliad ^2g 
 
 exact then the Distinctions he has observ'd in the different 
 degrees of Virtues and Vices. The single Quality of 
 Courage is wonderfully diversify'd in the several Char- 
 acters of the Iliad. That of Achilles is furious and 
 intractable; that of Diomede forward, yet listening to 
 Advice and subject to Command: We see in Ajax an 
 heavy and self-considering Valour, in Hector an active 
 and vigilant one: The Courage of Agamemnon is in- 
 spirited by Love of Empire and Ambition, that of 
 Menelaus mix'd with Softness and Tenderness for his 
 People: We find in Idomeneus a plain direct Soldier, in 
 Sarpedon a gallant and generous one. Nor is this judi- 
 cious anda^tonishing_^iversity to be found only in tEe 
 pnncipal Quality which constitutes the Main of each 
 Character, but even in the Under-parts of it, to which 
 he takes care to give a Tincture of that principal one. 
 For Example, the main Characters of Ulysses and Nestor 
 consist in Wisdom, and they are distinct in this ; the 
 Wisdom of one is artificial and various, of the other 
 natural, open, and regular. But they have, besides, 
 Characters of Courage ; and this Quality also takes a 
 different Turn in each from the difference of his Pru- 
 dence: For one in the War depends still upon Caution, 
 the other upon Experience. It would be endless to pro- 
 duce Instances of these Kinds. The Characters of Virgil 
 are far from striking us in this open manner; they lie 
 in a great degree hidden and undistinguish'd, and where 
 they are mark'd most evidently, affect us not in propor- 
 tion to those of Homer. His Characters of Valour are 
 much alike ; even that of Turnup seems no way peculiar 
 but as it is in a superior degree ; and we see nothing thai 
 differences the Courage of Mnestheus from that oi 
 Sergesthus, Cloanthus, or the rest. In like manner i1 
 may be remark'd of Statius's Heroes, that an Air oi 
 
5J0 Alexander Pope 
 
 Impetuosity runs thro' them all; the same horrid and 
 savage Courage appears in his Capaneus, Tydeus, Hip- 
 pomedon, &c. They have a Parity of Character which 
 makes them seem Brothers of one Family. I believe 
 when the Reader is led into this Track of Reflection, if 
 he will pursue it through the Epic and Tragic Writers, 
 he will be convinced how infinitely superior in this Point 
 the Invention of Homer was to that of all others. 
 / The Spe^hes are to be consider'd as they flow from 
 jthe Charad^sTbeing perfect or defective as they agree 
 'or disagree with the Manners of those who utter them. 
 As there is more variety of Characters in the Iliad, so 
 there is of Speeches, than in any other Poem. Every 
 thing in it has Manners (as Aristotle expresses it) that 
 is, every thing is acted or spoken. It is hardly credible 
 in a Work of such length, how small a Number of Lines 
 are employ'd in Narration. In Virgil the Dramatic Part 
 is less in proportion to the Narrative; and the Speeches 
 often consist of general Reflections or Thoughts, which 
 might be equally just in any Person's Mouth upon the 
 same Occasion. As many of his Persons have no ap- 
 parent Characters, so many of his Speeches escape being 
 apply'd and judg'd by the Rule of Propriety. We oftner 
 think of the Author himself when we read Virgil, than 
 when we are engag'd in Homer: All which are the 
 Effects of a colder Invention, that interests us less in 
 the Action describ'd: Homer makes us Hearers, and 
 Virgil leaves us Readers. 
 
 If in the next place we take a View of the Sentiments, 
 the same presiding Faculty is eminent in the Sublimity 
 [ and Spirit of his Though ts. Longinus has given his 
 Opinion, that it was in this Part Homer principally 
 excell'd. What were alone suflScient to prove the 
 Grandeur and Excellence of his Sentiments in general, 
 
Preface to the Iliad 557 
 
 is that they have so remarkable a Parity with those of 
 the Scripture : Duport, in his Gnomologia Homerica, has 
 collected innumerable Instances of this sort. And it is 
 with Justice an excellent modern Writer allows, that if 
 Virgil has not so many Thoughts that are low and vulgar,^ 
 he has not so many that are sublime and noble ; and that 
 the Roman Author seldom rises into very astonishing \ 
 Sentiments where he is not fired by the Iliad. 
 
 If we observe his Descriptions, Imagg^_^ax^i_Sifmles, 
 we shall find the Invention stillpredominant. To what 
 else can we ascribe that vast Comprehension of Images ^l 
 of every sort, where we see each Circumstance and Indi- • 
 vidual of Nature summon'd together by the Extent and 
 Fecundity of his Imagination; to which all things, in 
 their various Views, presented themselves in an Instant, 
 and had their Impressions taken off to Perfection at a 
 Heat? Nay, he not only gives us the full Prospects of \ 
 Things, but several unexpected Peculiarities and Side- 
 Views, unobserv'd by any Painter but Homer. Nothing 
 is so surprizing as the Descriptions of his Battels, which 
 take up no less than half the Iliad, and are supply'd with 
 so vast a Variety of Incidents, that no one bears a Like- 
 ness to another; such different Kinds of Deaths, that no 
 two Heroes are wounded in the same manner; and such 
 a Profusion of noble Ideas, that every Battel rises above 
 the last in Greatness, Horror, and Confusion. It is cer- 
 tain there is not near that Number of Images and De- 
 scriptions in any Epic Poet; tho' every one has assisted 
 himself with a great Quantity out of him: And it is 
 evident of Virgil especially, that he has scarce any Com- 
 parisons which are not drawn from his Master. 
 
 If we descend from hence to the Expression, we see 
 the bright lHia,giQation of Homer shinmg out in the most 
 enliven'd Forms of it. We acknowledge him the Father 
 
5J2 Alexander Pope 
 
 of Poetical Dicti^ the first who taught that Language 
 
 of the Go^TtoTMen. His Expression is like the colouring 
 
 of some great Masters, which discovers itself to be laid 
 
 on boldly, and executed with S^^j^J|y. It is indeed the 
 
 ,'strongest and most glowing imaginable, and touch'd with 
 
 the greatest Spirit. Aristotle had reason to say. He was 
 
 the only Poet who had found out Living Words; there 
 
 are in him more daring Figures and Metaphors than in 
 
 ;any good Author whatever. An Arrow is impatient to 
 
 be on the Wing, a Weapon thirsts to drink the Blood of 
 
 n Enemy, and the like. Yet his Expression is never 
 
 00 big for the Sense, but justly great in proportion to 
 
 t : 'Tis the Sentiment that swells and fills out the Diction, 
 
 hich rises with it, and forms itself about it. For in 
 
 'the same degree that a Thought is warmer, an Expression 
 
 will be brighter; and as That is more strong. This will 
 
 become more perspicuous: Like Glass in the Furnace 
 
 which grows to a greater Magnitude, and refines to a 
 
 greater Clearness, only as the Breath within is more 
 
 powerful, and the Heat more intense. 
 
 To throw his Language more out of Prose, Homer 
 ■seems to have affected the Compound-Epithets. This 
 was" a^iorTof Coinp^ition peculiarly proper lti£Poeti2, 
 not only as it heighten'd the Diction, but as it assisted 
 and fill'd the Numbers with greater Sound and Pomp, 
 and likewise conduced in some measure to thicken the 
 Images. On this last Consideration I cannot but at- 
 tribute these to the Fruitfulness of his Invention, since 
 (as he has manag'd them) they are a sort of super- 
 numerary Pictures of the Persons or Things they are 
 join'd to. We see the Motion of Hector's Plumes in the 
 Epithet KopvfcioAos, the Landscape of Mount Neritus 
 in that of EiVoo-t<|)t;XA.os, and so of others ; which particu- 
 lar Images could not have been insisted upon so long as 
 
Preface to the Iliad 555 
 
 to express them in a Description (tho' but of a single 
 Line) without diverting the Reader too much from the 
 principal Action or Figure. As a Metaphor is a short j 
 Simile, one of these Epithets is a short Description. 
 
 Lastly, if we consider his Versification, we shall be 
 sensible what a Share of Praise is due to his Invention 
 in that also. He was not satisfy'd with his Language (, 
 as he found it settled in any one Part of Greece, but 
 searched thro' its differing Dialects with this particular 
 View, to beautify and perfect his Numbers: He consid- 
 er'd these as they had a greater Mixture of Vowels or \ 
 Consonants, and accordingly employ'd them as the Verse 
 requir'd either a greater Smoothness or Strength. What 
 he most affected was the Ionic, which has a peculiar 
 Swge tnes s from its never using Contractions, and from 
 its Custom of resolving the Diphthongs into two Syl- 
 lables; so as to make the Words open themselves with 
 a more spreading and sonorous Fluency. With this he 
 mingled the Attic Contractions, the broader Doric, and 1 
 the feebler ^olic, which often rejects its Aspirate, or 
 takes off its Accent; and compleated this Variety by 
 altering some Letters with the License of Poetry. Thus\ 
 his Measures, instead of being Fetters to his Sense, were! 
 always in readiness to run along with the Warmth of! 
 his Rapture; and even to give a farther Representation/ 
 of his Notions, in the Correspondence of their Sounds 
 to what they signify'd. Out of all these he has deriv'd 
 that Harmony, which makes us confess he had not only 
 the richest Head, but the finest Ear in the World. This 
 is so great a Truth, that whoever will but consult the 
 Tune of his Verses even without understanding them 
 (with the same sort of Diligence as we daily see practis'd 
 in the Case of Italian Opera's) will find more Sweetness,. 
 Variety, _and_Maiesty of_Sound, than in any other Lan- 
 
jj^ Alexander Pope 
 
 guage or Poetry. The Beauty of his Numbers is allow'd 
 by the Criticks to be copied but faintly by Virgil himself, 
 tho' they are so just to ascribe it to the Nature of the 
 Latine Tongue. Indeed the Greek has some Advantages 
 both from the natural Sound of its Words, and the Turn 
 and Cadence of its Verse, which agree with the Genius 
 
 /of no other Language. Virgil was very sensible of this, 
 and used the utmost Diligence in working up a more 
 intractable Language to whatsoever Graces it was 
 capable of, and in particular never fail'd to bring the 
 Sound of his Line to a beautiful Agreement with its 
 
 ' Sense. If the Grecian Poet has not been so frequently 
 celebrated on this Account as the Roman, the only reason 
 is, that fewer Criticks have understood one Language 
 than the other. Dionysius of Halicarnassus has pointed 
 out many of our Author's Beauties in this kind, in his 
 Treatise of the Composition of Words, and others will 
 be taken notice of in the Course of the Notes. It suffices 
 at present to observe of his Numbers, that they flow with 
 so much ease, as to make one imagine Homer had no 
 other care than to transcribe as fast as the Muses dic- 
 tated; and at the same time with so much Force and 
 inspiriting Vigour, that they awaken and raise us like 
 the Sound of a Trumpet. They roll along as a plentiful 
 River, always in motion, and always full; while we are 
 born away by a Tide of Verse, the most rapid, and yet 
 the most smooth imaginable. 
 
 - Thus on whatever side we contemplate Homer, what 
 principally strikes us is his Invention. It is that which 
 forms the Character of each Part of his Work; and 
 accordingly we find it to have made his Fable more 
 extensive and copious than any other, his Manners more 
 lively and strongly marked, his Speeches more affecting 
 and transported, his Sentiments more warm and sublime, 
 
Preface to the Iliad 555 
 
 his Images and Descriptions more full and animated, 
 his Expression more rais'd and daring, and his Numbers 
 more rapid and various. I hope in what has been said of 
 Virgil with regard to any of these Heads, I have no way- 
 derogated from his Character. Not hing is m ore absurd 
 or endlesSj-ihatt-thexommon Methad-oi-xcanparing^ emi- 
 nfint-WatglS-iy an_Ppppgitioii of particular^Passages 
 in thgn, and forming a Judgment from thence of theii 
 Merit upon the whole. We ought to have a certain 
 Knowledge of the principal Character and distinguishing 
 Excellence of each : It is in that we are to consider him,\ 
 and in proportion to his Degree in that we are to admire! 
 him. No Author or Man ever excell'd all the World in 
 more than one Faculty, and as Homer has done this in' 
 Invention, Virgil has in Judgment. Not that we are to 
 think Homer wanted Judgment, because Virgil had it in 
 a more eminent degree ; or that Virgil wanted Invention, 
 because Homer possest a larger share of it : Each of these ! 
 great Authors had more of both than perhaps any Man! 
 besides, and are only said to have less in Comparison with 
 one another. Homer was the gre ater Genius, Virgil the .' 
 better Art ist. In one^we most ad mire the Man, in the'' 
 other the Wo rk. Homer hurries and transports us with 
 a commanding Impetuosity, Virgil leads us with an 
 attractive Majesty: Homer scatters with a generous 
 ■Profusion, Virgil bestows with a careful Magnificence: 
 Homer, like the Nile, pours out his Riches with a sudden 
 Overflow ; Virgil like a River in its Banks, with a gentle 
 and constant Stream. When we behold their Battels, 
 methinks the two Poets resemble the Heroes they cele- 
 brate: Homer, boundless and irresistible as Achilles, 
 bears all before him, and shines more and more as the 
 Tumult increases; Virgil, calmly daring like Mneas, 
 appears undisturb'd in the midst of the Action, disposes 
 
5J(5 Alexander Pope 
 
 all about him, and conquers with Tranquillity : And when 
 we look upon their Machines, Homer seems like his own 
 Jupiter in his Terrors, shaking Olympus, scattering the 
 Lightnings, and firing the Heavens ; Virgil, like the same 
 Power in his Benevolence, counselling with the Gods, 
 laying Plans for Empires, and regularly ordering his 
 whole Creation. 
 
 But after all, it is with great Parts as with great 
 
 / Virtues, they naturally border on some Imperfection; 
 and it is often hard to distinguish exactly where the 
 Virtue ends, or the Fault begins. As Prudence may 
 sometimes sink to Suspicion, so may a great Judgment 
 decline to Coldness; and as Magnanimit y may run up to 
 Profusion or Extovagance, so may a^j^reat Invention 
 t£. Redundancy j2rJ^\^ildsgssr"lf we look upon Homer 
 in this View, we shall perceive the chief Objections 
 against him to proceed from so noble a Cause as the 
 Excess of this Faculty. 
 
 I Among these we may reckon some of his Marvellous 
 Fictions, upon which so much Criticism has been spent 
 as surpassing all the Bo unds of Probabi lity. Perhaps it 
 mayBe~with great and superior Souls as with gigantick 
 Bodies, which exerting themselves with unusual Strength, 
 exceed what is commonly thought the due Proportion of 
 Parts, to become Miracles in the whole; and like the 
 old Heroes of that Make, commit something near 
 Extravagance' amidst a Series of glorious and inimitable 
 Performances. Thus Homer has his speaking Horses, 
 and Virgil his Myrtles distilling Blood, without so much 
 as contriving the easy Intervention of a Deity to save the 
 Probability. 
 
 It is owing to the same vast Invention that his Similes 
 have been thought to©- exuberant apd^iall of Circum- 
 stances. The Force of this Faculty is seen in nothing 
 
Preface to the Iliad 3S7 
 
 more, than its Inability to confine itself to that single 
 Circumstance upon which the Comparison is grounded: 
 It runs out into Embellishments of additional Images, 
 which however are so manag'd as not to overpower the j 
 main one. His Similes are like Pictures, where the 
 principal Figure has not only its proportion given agree- 
 able to the Original, but is also set off with occasional 
 Ornaments and Prospects. The same will account for 
 his manner of heaping a Number of Comparisons together 
 in one Breath, when his Fancy suggested to him at once 
 so many various and correspondent Images. The Reader 
 will easily extend this Observation to more Objections 
 of the same kind. 
 
 U there are others which seem rather to charge him 
 with a Defect or Narrowness of Genius, than an Excess 
 ^ it ; those seeming Defects will be found upon Exami- 
 nation to proceed wholly from the Nature of the Times / 
 h e liv'd ifl . Such are his grosser Representations of the 
 Gods, and the vicious and imperfect- Manners of his/ 
 Heroes, which will be treated of in the following f Essay ^ 
 But I must here speak a word of the latter, as it is a 
 Point generally carry'd into Extreams both by the Cen- 
 surers and Defenders of Homer. It must be a strange 
 Partiality to Antiquity to think with Madam Dacier, 
 "that fthose Times and Manners are so much the more 
 "excellent, as they are more contrary to ours." Who 
 can be so prejudiced in their Favour as to magnify the 
 Felicity of those Ages, when a Spirit of Revenge and 
 Cruelty reign'd thro' the World, when no Mercy was 
 shown but for the sake of Lucre, when the greatest 
 Princes were put to the Sword, and their Wives and 
 
 *See the Articles o/Theology and Morality, in the third Part of 
 the Essay. 
 \Preface to her Homer. 
 
55^ Alexander F^ope 
 
 Daughters made Slaves and Concubines? On the other 
 side I would not be so delicate as those modern Criticks, 
 who are shock'd at the servile Offices and mean Employ- 
 ments in which we sometimes see the Heroes of Homer 
 engag'd. There is a Pleasure in taking a view of that 
 Simplicity in Opposition to the Luxury of succeeding 
 Ages; in beholding Monarchs without their Guards, 
 Princes tending their Flocks, and Princesses drawing 
 Water from the Springs. When we read Homer, we 
 ought to reflect that we are reading the most ancient 
 Author in the Heathen World; and those who consider 
 him in this Light, will double their Pleasure in the 
 Perusal of him. Let them think they are growing 
 acquainted with Nations and People that are now no 
 more; that they are stepping almost three thousand 
 Years backward into the remotest Antiquity, and enter- 
 taining themselves with a clear and surprizing Vision 
 of Things no where else to be found, and the only 
 authentick Picture of that ancient World. By this means 
 alone their greatest Obstacles will vanish; and what 
 usually creates their Dislike, will become a Satisfaction. 
 This Consideration may farther serve to answer for 
 the constant Use of the same Epithets to his Gods and 
 Heroes, such as the far-darting Phoehus, the blue-ey'd 
 Pallas, the swift-footed Achilles, &c. which some have 
 censured as impertinent and tediously repeated. Those 
 of the Gods depended upon the Powers and Offices then 
 believ'd to belong to them, and had contracted a Weight 
 and Veneration from the Rites and solemn Devotions in 
 which they were us'd: They were a sort of Attributes 
 that it was a Matter of Religion to salute them with on 
 all Occasions, and an Irreverence to omit. As for the 
 Epithets of great Men, Mons. Boileau is of Opinion; 
 that they were in the Nature of Surnames, and repeated 
 
Preface to the Iliad jjg 
 
 as such; for the Greeks having no Names deriv'd from 
 their Fathers, were obHg'd when they mention'd any one 
 to add some other Distinction ; either naming his Parents 
 expressly, or his Place of Birth, Profession, or the like: 
 As Alexander Son of Philip, Herodotus of Halicarnassus, 
 Diogenes the Cynic, &c. Homer therefore complying 
 with the Custom of his Countrey, us'd such distinctive 
 Additions as better agreed with Poetry. And indeed we 
 have something parallel to these in modern Times, such 
 as the Names of Harold Harefoot, Edmund Ironside, 
 Edward Long-shanks, Edward the black Prince, &c. If 
 yet this bethought to account better for the Propriety 
 than for the Repetition, I shall add a farther Conjecture. 
 Hesiod dividing the World into its Ages, has plac'd a 
 fourth Age between the Brazen and the Iron one, of 
 Heroes distinct from other Men, a divine Race, who 
 fought at Thebes and Troy, are called Demi-Gods, and 
 live by the Care of Jupiter in the Islands of the Blessed* 
 Now among the divine Honours which were paid them, 
 they might have this also in common with the Gods, not 
 to be mention'd without the Solemnity of an Epithet, 
 and such as might be acceptable to them by its celebrating 
 their Families, Actions, or Qualities. 
 
 What other Cavils have been rais'd against Homer are 
 such as hardly deserve a Reply, but will yet be taken 
 notice of as they occur in the Course of the Work. 
 Many have been occasion'd by an injudicious Endeavour 
 to exalt Virgil; which is much the same, as if one should 
 think to praise the Superstructure by undermining the 
 Foundation: One would imagine by the whole Course 
 of their Parallels, that these Criticks never so much as 
 heard of Homer's having written first; a Consideration 
 
 *Hesiod, lib. I. f. 155, &c. 
 
S40 Alexander Pope 
 
 which whoever compares these two Poets ought to have 
 
 always in his Eye. Some accuse him for the same things 
 
 ! which they overlook or praise in the other ; as when they 
 
 I prefer the Fable and Moral of the Mneis to those of the 
 
 \ Iliad, for the same Reasons which might set the Odysses 
 
 ) above the ^neis : as that the Heroe is a wiser Man ; and 
 
 ; the Action of the one more beneficial to his Countrey 
 
 \ than that of the other: Or else they blame him for not 
 
 ! doing what he never design'd ; as because Achilles is not 
 
 as good and perfect a Prince as Mneas, when the very 
 
 Moral of his Poem requir'd a contrary Character. It is 
 
 : thus that Rapin judges in his Comparison of Homer and 
 
 Virgil. Others select those particular Passages of Homer 
 
 ; which are not so labour'd as some that Virgil drew out 
 
 of them: This is the whole Management of Scaliger in 
 
 ' his Poetices. Others quarrel with what they take for 
 
 ' low and mean Expressions, sometimes thro' a false 
 
 ! Delicacy and Refinement, oftner from an Ignorance of 
 
 the Graces of the Original; and then triumph in the 
 
 \ Aukwardness of their own Translations. This is the 
 
 I Conduct of Perault in his Parallels. Lastly, there are 
 
 j others, who pretending to a fairer Proceeding, distin- 
 
 ', guish between the personal Merit of Homer, and that 
 
 I of his Work; but when they come to assign the Causes 
 
 ' of the great Reputation of the Iliad, they found it upon 
 
 ; the Ignorance of his Times, and the Prejudice of those 
 
 that followed. And in pursuance of this Principle, they 
 
 [ make those Accidents (such as the Contention of the 
 
 Cities, &c.) to be the Causes of his Fame, which were 
 
 in Reality the Consequences of his Merit. The same 
 
 might as well be said of Virgil, or any great Author, 
 
 whose general Character will infallibly raise many casual 
 
 Additions to their Reputation. This is the Method of 
 
 Mons. de la Matte; who yet confesses upon the whole. 
 
Preface to the Iliad 341 
 
 that in whatever Age Homer had liv'd he must have 
 been the greatest Poet of his Nation, and that he may 
 be said in this Sense to be the Master-even of those who 
 surpass'd him. 
 
 In all these Objections we see nothing that contradicts y, 
 his Title to the Honour of the chief Invention ; and asj ; 
 long as this (which is indeed the Characteristic of Poetryll 
 itself) remains unequal'd by his Followers, he still con-// 
 tinues superior to them. A cooler Judgment may commit 
 fewer Faults, and be more approv'd in the Eyes of One]\ 
 Sort of Criticks : but that Warmth of Fancy will carry u 
 the loudest and most universal Applauses which holds/ 
 the Heart of a Reader under the strongest Enchantment. 
 Homer not only appears the Inventor of Poetry, but 
 excells all the Inventors of other Arts in this, that he has 
 swallow'd up the Honour of those who succeeded him. 
 What he has done admitted no Encrease, it only left \, 
 room for Contraction or Regulation. He shew'd all the 
 Stretch of Fancy at once; and if he has fail'd in somel 
 of his Flights, it was but because he attempted every ; 
 thing. A Work of this kind seems like a mighty Tree* 
 which rises from the most vigorous Seed, is improv'dl 
 with Industry, flourishes, and produces the finest Fruit ;\ 
 Nature and Art have conspir'd to raise it ; Pleasure and ] 
 Profit join'd to make it valuable : and they who find the 
 justest Faults, have only said, that a few Branches j 
 (which run luxuriant thro' a Richness of Nature) might i 
 be lopp'd into Form to give it a more regular Appearance, j 
 
 Having now spoken of the Beauties and Defects of^ 
 the Original, it remains to treat of jthe JIj2;nslation, with/i 
 the same View to the chief Characteri stic. As far as 
 that is seen in the main Parts of the Poem, such as the 
 Fable, Manners, and Sentiments, no Translator can preju- 
 
^^2 Alexander Pope 
 
 dice it but by wilful Omissions or Contractions. As 
 it also breaks out in every particular Image, Description, 
 and Simile; whoever lessens or too much softens those, 
 takes off from this chief Character. It is the first grand 
 Duty of an Interpreter to give his Author entire and 
 unmaim'd ; and for the rest, the Diction and Versification 
 only are his proper Province; since these must be his 
 own, but the others he is to take as he finds them. 
 
 It should then be consider'd what Methods may afford 
 some Equivalent in our Language for the Graces of these 
 in the Greek. It is certain no literal Translation can be 
 JTist to an excellent Original in a superidF Language: but 
 it is a great Mistake to' imagine ( as many iiiave done) 
 that a rash Paraphrase can make amends for this general 
 Defect; which is no less in danger to lose the Spirit of 
 an Ancient, by deviating into the modern Manners of 
 Expression. If there be sometimes a Darkness, there is 
 often a Light in Antiquity, which nothing better pre- 
 serves than a Version almost literal. I know no Liberties 
 one ought to take, but those which are necessary for 
 transfusing the Spirit of the Original, and supporting 
 the Poetiral Style of _the Transfation : and I will venture 
 to say, there have not been more Men misled in former 
 times by a servile dull Adherence to the Letter, than 
 have been deluded in ours by a chimerical insolent Hope 
 of raising and improving their Author. It is not to be 
 doubted that the Fire of the Poem is what a Translator 
 should principally regard, as it is most likely to expire 
 in his managing: However it is his safest way to be 
 content with preserving this to his utmost in the Whole, 
 without endeavouring to be more than he finds his Author 
 is, in any particular Place. 'Tis a great Secret in Writing 
 to know when to be plain, and when poetical and figura- 
 tive ; and it is what Homer will teach us if we will but 
 
Preface to the Iliad 34^ 
 
 follow modestly in his Footsteps. Where his Diction is 
 bold and lofty, let us raise ours as high as we can; but 
 where his is plain and humble, we ought not to be. 
 deterr'd from imitating him by the fear of incurring thej 
 Censure of a meer English Critick. Nothing that belongs 
 to Homer seems to have been more commonly mistaken 
 than the just Pitch of his Style : Some of his Translators 
 having swell'd into Fustian in a proud Confidence of the 
 Sublime ; others sunk into Flatness in a cold and timorous 
 Notion of Simplicity. Methinks I see these different 
 Followers of Homer, some sweating and straining after j 
 him by violent Leaps and Bounds, (the certain Signs of 
 false Mettle) others slowly and servilely creeping in his 
 Train, while the Poet himself is all the time proceeding 
 with an unaffected and equal Majesty before themi 
 However of the two Extreams one could sooner pardon 
 Frenzy than Frigidity: No Author is to be envy'd fon 
 such Commendations as he may gain by that Character 
 of Style, which his Friends must agree together to call 
 Simplicity, and the rest of the World will call Dulness. 
 There is a graceful and dignify'd Simplicity, as well as 
 a bald and sordid one, which differ as much from each 
 other as the Air of a plain Man from that of a Sloven : 
 'Tis one thing to be tricked up, and another not to be 
 dress'd at all. Simplicity is the Mean between Ostenta-I 
 tion and Rusticity. ' 
 
 This pure and noble Simplicity is no where in such} 
 Perfection as in the Scripture and our_Authpr. One mays 
 affirm with all respectloIKe inspired Writings, that the 
 Divine Spirit made use of no other Words but what werejj 
 intelligible and common to Men at that Time, and in that 
 Part of the World ; and as Homer is the Author nearest 
 to those, his Style must of course bear a greater Resem- 
 blance to the sacred Books than that of any other Writer, 
 
5^^ Alexander Pope 
 
 This Consideration (together with what has been observ'd 
 of the Parity of some of his Thoughts) may methinks 
 induce a Translator on the one hand to give into several 
 of those general Phrases and Manners of Expression, 
 which have attain'd a Veneration even in our Language 
 from their use in the Old Testament ; as on the other, to 
 avoid those which have been appropriated to the Divinity, 
 and in a manner consign'd to Mystery and Religion. 
 
 For a farther Preservation of this Air of Simplicity, 
 a particular Care should be taken to express with all 
 Plainness those Moral Sentences and Proverbial Speeches 
 which are so numerous in this Poet. They have some- 
 thing Venerable, and as I may say Oracular, in that 
 unadorn'd Gravity and Shortness with which they are 
 deliver'd : a Grace which would be utterly lost by en- 
 i deavouring to give them what we call a more ingenious 
 (that is a more modern) Turn in the Paraphrase. 
 
 Perhaps the Mixture of some Grcecisms and old Words 
 
 after the manner of Milton, if done without too much 
 
 Affectation, might not have an ill Effect in a Version 
 
 of this particular Work, which most of any other seems 
 
 i to teqwxG^z^y^ner^e Antique Cast- But certainly the 
 
 use of modern Terms of War and Government, such as 
 
 Platoon, Campagne, Junto, or the like (which some of 
 
 his Translators have fallen into) cannot be allowable; 
 
 those only excepted, without which it is impossible to 
 
 \ treat the Subjects in any living Language. 
 
 - There are two Peculiarities in Homer's Diction that 
 
 are a sort of Marks or Moles, by which every common 
 
 fiEye distinguishes him at first sight: Those who are not 
 
 '/his greatest Admirers look upon them as Defects, and 
 
 * those who are seem pleased with them as Beauties. I 
 
 speak of his Compound-Epithets and of his Re petition s. 
 
 Many of the former cannot be"3one literally into English 
 
Preface to the Iliad S45 
 
 without destroying the Purity of our Language. I believe 
 such should be retain'd as slide easily of themselves into 
 an English-Compound, without Violence to the Ear or 
 to the receiv'd Rules of Composition; as well as those 
 which have receiv'd a Sanction from the Authority of 
 our best Poets, and are become familiar thro' their use 
 of them; such as the Cloud~compeUing Jove, &c. As 
 for the rest, whenever any can be as fully and signifi- 
 cantly exprest in a single word as in a compounded one, 
 the Course to be taken is obvious. Some that cannot 
 be so turn'd as to preserve their full Image by one or 
 two Words, may have Justice done them by Circum- 
 locution; as the Epithet «ivoo-t<^vXXos to a Mountain 
 would appear little or ridiculous translated literally Leof- 
 shaking, but affords a majestic Idea in the Periphrasis: 
 The lofty Mountains shakes his waving Woods. Others 
 that admit of differing Significations, may receive an 
 Advantage by a judicious Variation according to the 
 Occasions on which they are introduc'd. For Example, 
 the Epithet of Apollo, eio;;8oXos, or far-shooting, is 
 capable of two Explications ; one literal in respect of the 
 Darts and Bow, the Ensigns of that God; the other 
 allegorical with regard to the Rays of the Sun: There- 
 fore in such Places where Apollo is represented as a God 
 in Person, I would use the former Interpretation, and 
 where the Effects of the Sun are describ'd, I would make, 
 choice of the latter. Upon the whole, it will be necessary 
 to avoid that perpetual Repetition of the same Epithets 
 which we find in Homer, and which, tho' it might be 
 accommodated (as has been already shewn) to the Ear 
 of those Times, is by no means so to ours : But one may 
 wait for Opportunities of placing them, where they derive 
 an additional Beauty from the Occasions on which they 
 
5^(5 Alexander Pope 
 
 are employedl.,as}d..m doing M&.. properly,^ Translate 
 Piay Jijanc.e.shew his,£aiic.y-an4--bi«~Judgaaent. 
 
 As for Homer's Repetitions; we may divide them into 
 
 [three sorts; of wholeNarfations and Speeches, of single 
 Sentences, and of one Verse or Hemistich. I hope it is 
 I not impossible to have such a Regard to these, as neither 
 \ to lose so known a Mark of the Author on the one hand, 
 iinor to offend the Reader too much on the other. The 
 , Repetition is not ungraceful in those Speeches where 
 \ the Dignity of the Speaker renders it a sort of Insolence 
 to alter his Words; as in the Messages from Gods to 
 Men, or from higher Powers to Inferiors in Concerns 
 of State, or where the Ceremonial of Religion seems to 
 j-equire it, in the solemn Forms of Prayers, Oaths, or the 
 like. In other Cases, I believe the best Rule is to be 
 , tuided by the Nearness, or Distance, at which the Repe- 
 titions are plac'd in the Original : When they follow too 
 _ close one may vary the Expression, but it is a Question 
 whether a profess'd Translator be authorized to omit 
 i. iany : If they be tedious, the Author is to answer for it. 
 ' It only remains to speak of the Versification. Homer 
 (as has been said) is perpetually_a]^lying the Sound to 
 the Sense, and varying it on every ne^Y Subject." This is 
 indeed one of the most exquisite Beauties of Poetry, and 
 attainable by very few: I know only of Homer eminent 
 for it in the Greek, and Virgil in Latine. I am sensible 
 it is what may sometimes happen by Chance, when a 
 Writer is warm, and fully possest of his Image: how- 
 ever it may be reasonably believed they design'd this, in 
 whose Verse it so manifestly appears in a superior degree 
 to all others. Few Readers have the Ear to be Judges 
 of it, but those who have will see I have endeavour'd at 
 this Beauty. 
 
 Upon the whole, I must confess my self utterly in- 
 
Preface to the Iliad 34"/ 
 
 capable of doing Justice to Homer. I attempt him in no 
 other Hoge_biJt that,.. which one may enter tain _without 
 much vSnky, of giving a more tolerable Copy of him 
 than -any entire^Translation in Verse Jaa^. yet done. We 
 have only those of Chapmari , Hobbes, and Ogilby. Chap- 
 man has taken the Advantage of an immeasurable Length 
 of Verse, notwithstanding which there is scarce any 
 P araphrase more loose and r,atH bling;„than his. He has 
 frequent Interpolations of four or six Lines, and I re- 
 member one in the thirteenth Book of the Odysses, ver. 
 312. where he has spun twenty Verses out of two. He 
 is often mistaken in so bold a manner, that one might 
 think he deviated on purpose, if he did not in other 
 Places of his Notes insist so much upon Verbal Trifles.) 
 He appears to have had a strong Affectation of extract- 
 ing ne w Meanings out of his Author, insomuch as to 
 promise in his Rhyming Preface, a Poem of the 
 Mysteries he had revealed in Homer; and perhaps he 
 endeavoured to strain the obvious Sense to this End. 
 His Expression is involved in Fustian, a Fault for which 
 he was remarkable in his Original Writings, as in the 
 Tragedy of Bussy d'Amhoise, &c. In a word, the Nature 
 of the Man may account for his whole Perf orrnance : for 
 
 " ~ • ~' III H IM • II I II I I II I II ^-^ — ""' "^"""" — - ->>•»-, — I-. ,i,..^,^i 
 
 he appears from his Preface and Remarks to have been 
 _of an arrogant^Turn, and an. Enthusiast-in Poetry. His 
 own Boast of having finish'd half the Iliad in less than 
 fifteen Weeks, shews with what Negligence his Version 
 was performed. But that which is to be allowed him, 
 and which very much contributed to cover his Defects, 
 is a_da ring fiery Spir it that animates his Translation, 
 which is something like what one might imagine Homer 
 himself would have writ before he arriv'd to Years of 
 Discretion. Hobbes has given us a correct Explanation 
 of the Sense in general, but for Particulars and Circum- 
 
5^<S Alexander Pope 
 
 stances he continually lopps them, and often omits the 
 most beautiful. As for its being esteem'd a close Trans- 
 lation, I doubt not many have been led into that Error 
 by the Shortness of it, which proceeds not from his 
 following the Original Line by Line, but from the Con- 
 tractions above-mentioned. He sometimes omits whole 
 Similes and Sentences, and is now and then guilty of 
 Mistakes which no Writer of his Learning could have 
 , fallen into, but thro' Carelessness. His Poetry, as well 
 as Ogilby's, is too mean for Criticism. 
 
 It is a great Loss to the Poetical World that Mr. 
 Dryden did not live to translate the Iliad. He has left 
 us only the first Book and a small Part of the sixth; in 
 which if he has in some Places not truly interpreted the 
 Sense, or preserved the Antiquities, it ought to be 
 exceused on account of the Haste he was obliged to 
 write in. He seems to have had too much Regard to 
 Chapman, whose Words he sometimes copies, and has 
 unhappily foUow'd him in Passages where he wanders 
 from the Original. However had he translated the 
 whole Work, I would no more have attempted Homer 
 after him than Virgil, his Version of whom (notwith- 
 standing some human Errors) is the most noble and 
 spirited Translation I know in any Language. But the 
 Fate of great Genius's is like that of great Ministers, 
 tho' they are confessedly the first in the Commonwealth 
 of Letters, they must be envy'd and calumniated only for 
 being at the Head of it. 
 
 That which in my Opinion ought to be the Endeavour 
 of any one who translates Homer, is above all things to 
 keep alive that Spirit and Fire which makes his chief 
 Character. In particular Places, where the Sense can 
 bear any Doubt, to follow the strongest and_most Poeti- 
 cal, as most agreeing with that -Character. To copy him 
 
Preface to the Iliad 34g 
 
 ; 
 
 in all the Variations of his Style, and the different| 
 Modulations of his Numbers. To preserve in the morel 
 active or descriptive Parts, a Warmth and Elevation; 
 in the more sedate or narrative, a Plainness and 
 Solemnity; in the Speeches a Fulness and Perspicuity 
 in the Sentences a Shortness and Gravity. Not to neglect 
 even the little Figures and Turns on the Words, nor 
 sometimes the very Cast of the Periods. Neither to 
 omit or confound any Rites or Customs of Antiquity. / 
 Perhaps too he ought to include the whole in a shorter 
 Compass, than has hitherto been done by any Translator 
 who has tolerably preserved either the Sense or Poetry. 
 What I would farther recommend to him, is to study his 
 Author rather from his own Text than from any Com- 
 mentaries, how learned soever, or whatever Figure they! 
 make in the Estimation of the World. To consider him' 
 attentively in Comparison with Virgil above all the 
 Ancients, and with Milton above all the Moderns. Next 
 these the Archbishop of Cambray's Telemachus may give 
 him the truest Idea of the Spirit and Turn of our Author, 
 and Bossu's admirable Treatise of the Epic Poem the 
 justest Notion of his Design and Conduct. But after all, 
 with whatever Judgment and Study a Man may proceed, 
 or with whatever Happiness he may perform such a 
 Work ; he must hope to p lease but a few, those only who 
 haveatoncea Taste of P^g^ndlMRipete^Xearning, 
 For tosatisly" such as want either, is not in the Nature 
 of this Undertaking; since a meer Modern Wit can like 
 nothing that is not Modern, and a Pedant nothing that 
 is not Greek. 
 
 What I have done is submitted to the Publick, from 
 whose Opinions I am prepared to learn; tho' I fear no 
 Judges- so %f}p as oiir best Poets, who are most sensible 
 of the Weight of this Task. As for the worst, whatever 
 
^^0 Alexander Pope 
 
 they shall please to say, they may give me some Concern 
 as they are unhappy Men, but none as they are malignant 
 Writers. I was guided in this Translation by Judgments 
 I very different from theirs, and by Persons for whom 
 they can have no Kindness, if an old Observation be 
 Jrue, that the strongest Antipathy in the World is that 
 of Fools to Men of Wit. Mr. Addison was the first 
 Whose Advice determin'd me to undertake this Task, who 
 was pleas'd to write to me upon that Occasion in such 
 Terms as I cannot repeat without Vanity. I was obliged 
 to Sir Richard Steele for a very early Recommendation 
 of my Undertaking to the Publick. Dr. Swift promoted 
 my Interest with that Warmth with which he always 
 serves his Friend. The Humanity and Frankness of Sir 
 Samuel Garth are what I never knew wanting on any 
 Occasion. I must also acknowledge with infinite Pleas- 
 ure the many friendly Offices as well as sincere Criti- 
 cisms of Mr. Congreve, who had led me the way in 
 translating some Parts of Homer, as I wish for the sake 
 of the World he had prevented me in the rest. I must 
 add the Names of Mr. Rowe and Dr. Parnell, tho' I shall 
 take a farther Opportunity of doing Justice to the last, 
 whose Good-nature (to give it a great Panegyrick) is 
 no less extensive than his Learning. The Favour of 
 these Gentlemen is not entirely undeserved by one who 
 bears them so true an Affection. But what can I say 
 of the Honour so many of the Great have done me, while 
 the First Names of the Age appear as my Subscribers, 
 and the most distinguish'd Patrons and Ornaments of 
 Learning as my chief Encouragers. Among these it is 
 a particular Pleasure to me to find, that my highest 
 Obligations are to such who have done most Honour 
 to the Name of Poet : That his Grace the Duke of Buck- 
 ingham was not displeas'd I should undertake the Author 
 
Preface to the Iliad 55/ 
 
 whom he has given (in his excellent Essay) the finest 
 raise he ever yet receiv'd. 
 
 Read Homer once, and you can read no more; 
 For all things else appear so mean and poor, 
 Verse will seem Prose: yet often on him look, 
 And you will hardly need another Book. 
 
 That the Earl of Halifax was one of the first to favour 
 le, of whom it is hard to say whether the Advancement 
 [ the Polite Arts is more owing to his Generosity or his 
 xample. That such a Genius as my Lord Bolingbroke, 
 ot more distinguished in the great Scenes of Business 
 lan in all the useful and entertaining Parts of Learning, 
 as not refus'd to be the Critick of these Sheets, and the 
 atron of their Writer. And that so excellent an Imi- 
 itor of Homer as the noble Author of the Tragedy of 
 leroic Love, has continu'd his Partiality to me from my 
 'riting Pastorals to my attempting the Iliad. I cannot 
 eny my self the Pride of confessing, that I have had 
 le Advantage not only of their Advice for the Conduct 
 1 general, but their Correction of several Particulars of 
 lis Translation. 
 
 I could say a great deal of the Pleasure of being dis- 
 nguish'd by the Earl of Carnarvon, but it is almost 
 bsurd to particularize any one generous Action in a 
 'erson whose whole Life is a continued Series of them, 
 'he Right Honourable Mr. Stanhope, the present Secre- 
 iry of State, will pardon my Desire of having it known 
 lat he was pleas'd to promote this Affair. The par- 
 icular Zeal of Mr. Harcourt (the Son of the late Lord 
 Chancellor) gave me a Proof how much I am honour'd 
 1 a Share of his Friendship. I must attribute to the 
 ame Motive that of several others of my Friends, to 
 ?hom all Acknowledgments are render'd unnecessary by 
 

 552 Alexander Pope 
 
 the Privileges of a familiar Correspondence: And I am 
 satisfy'd I can no way better oblige Men of their Turn, 
 than by my Silence. 
 
 In short, I have found more Patrons than ever Homer 
 viranted. He would have thought himself happy to have 
 met the same Favour at Athens, that has been shewn 
 
 e by its learned Rival, the University of Oxford. If 
 my Author had the Wits of After-Ages for his Defend- 
 ers, his Translator has had the Beauties of the present 
 for his Advocates; a Pleasure too great to be changed 
 for any Fame in Reversion. And I can hardly envy him 
 those pompous Honours he receiv'd after Death, when 
 I reflect on the Enjoyment of so many agreeable Obli- 
 gations, and easy Friendships which make the Satisfac- 
 tion of Life. This Distinction is the more to be acknowl- 
 edg'd, as it is shewn to one whose Pen has never gratify'd 
 the Prejudices of particular Parties, or the Vanities of 
 particular Men. Whatever the Success may prove, I 
 shall never repent of an Undertaking in which I have 
 experienc'd the Candour and Friendship of so many Per- 
 sons of Merit ; and in which I hope to pass some of those 
 Years of Youth that are generally lost in a Circle of 
 Follies, after a manner neither wholly unuseful to others, 
 nor disagreeable to my self. 
 
LEONARD WELSTED 
 
LEONARD WELSTED 
 
 DISSERTATION CONCERNING THE PER- 
 FECTION OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, 
 THE STATE OF POETRY, &c. 
 
 1724 
 
 TO 
 
 His GRACE 
 
 THE 
 
 Duke of Newcastle, 
 
 Lord Chamberlain of his Majesty's 
 
 Houshold, and Knight of the most Noble 
 
 Order of the Garter, &c. 
 
 [y Lord, 
 
 Whatever, in the ensuing Volume, has been printed 
 ifore, was receiv'd with a very remarkable Candour and 
 idulgence by all sorts of Readers ; and 'tis this, together 
 ith Your Grace's experienc'd Care for Arts, that has 
 rincipally encourag'd me to address these Writings to 
 "ou : No Works of mine should have aspir'd to so great 
 ti Honour, if they could not have brought with them 
 ame Marks of publick Favour; that Favour, whatever 
 be, and the Good-Nature of the Town express'd 
 )wards them, gives me, I confess, a very sincere 
 leasure, while it gives me an Argument for introducing 
 lem to the duke of Newcastle ; the good Fortune, my 
 
55<^ Leonard Welsted 
 
 Writings have met with, could never have been boasted 
 of, or even mention'd by me, but that it contributes to 
 make their Way to Your Grace with more Respect and 
 Dignity. 
 
 The GeneraHty of Writers, and what they pretend is, 
 I question not, very unaffected, have recourse to the 
 Sanction of Great Names, as a Charm against Envy, 
 sometimes without being in any Danger of exciting it, 
 and as a Defence from the Attacks of Criticks, an in- 
 hospitable Race of People, that are at perpetual Enmity 
 with Poets, as the Turks with the Maltese. The Poets, 
 my Lord, like those of Malta, have but a small Territory 
 to defend; like them, they possess certain Immunities 
 and Honours, and boast the most illustrious of Mankind 
 among the Knights of their Order ; they are, in common 
 with the Heroes of that Island, Adventurers for Fame 
 and Glory, and there is in either Institution, but one 
 Preferment or Place of Profit; the Enemies of the one 
 and the other are equally savage, and tho' not very 
 famous for the Arts and Discipline of War, yet much 
 to be f ear'd in regard of their Rage, Noise, and Numbers : 
 It is therefore with good Reason, that the Writers of 
 Verse so earnestly sollicite Succours from those who are 
 best able to afford it them; they have great need to be 
 protected from their Mahometan Adversaries. This, my 
 Lord, is the Case of most of us ; but the following Poems 
 do not, at this Time, wholly pretend this Plea for 
 Favour; they have, in the greater Part of them, already 
 pass'd thro' the Trials and Dangers of the poetical War- 
 fare; and now that the Heat of the Day is over, they 
 humbly throw themselves at Your Grace's Feet, in hopes 
 of finding there an honourable Asylum. Many of them, 
 my Lord, which I must not omit to mention in Justice 
 to my self, were, expressly, written to assert my Zeal for 
 
The State of Poetry 3^7 
 
 ; Protestant Establishment, and to celebrate, what in 
 ! lay, those brave Englishmen, that had signalized them- 
 ves in its Defence: As such, they have an additional 
 ght to Your Grace's Care, over and above that which 
 ; Muses claim to the Favour of Great Men, and may, 
 th uncommon Propriety, apply for Patronage, to the 
 mowledg'd Patron of Liberty. 
 
 I shall say nothing farther at present on the Affair of 
 s particular Work; my own private Interests in 
 letry, under the Honour of your Grace's Protection, 
 ;, I doubt not, in a very good way : But when I consider 
 »ets, in their general Cause and Concerns, I own, I 
 inot affirm, that they prosper exceedingly in this Age, 
 in tho'. You, my Lord, the living Ornament of it, have 
 
 eminently befriended them; Whether it be, that the 
 )rdinate Love of Gain has taken off Men's Attention 
 )m this delicate sort of Pleasure, or that other Grati- 
 ations, by their Variety and Novelty, have cast a Damp 
 
 it for awhile; or that from the reigning Temper of 
 ; People, at present, not Poetry it self can be popular, 
 it be not disaffected, or whatever other Reasons may 
 
 assign'd : Notwithstanding this, I flatter my self, there 
 something in the Situation of publick Affairs at this 
 me, that gives the Votaries of this Art a Promise of 
 tter Days. It is not, unless I mistake, much more than 
 Century, since England first recover'd out of some- 
 ng like Barbarism, with respect to its State of Letters 
 d Politeness: The great rude Writers of our Nation, 
 
 early Times, did indeed promise what the English 
 inius would one Day be capable of, when the Refine- 
 ;nt of our Language, and other Improvements, might 
 ord favourable Opportunities for the exerting of it; 
 d at the Restoration it was, that Poetry and polite Arts 
 jan to spring up : Irt the Reign of William the Third, 
 
55^ Leonard Welsted 
 
 the Founder of English Liberty, they acquir'd great 
 Strength and Vigour, and have continued to thrive, 
 gradually, down almost to our Times. Thus have they, 
 surrounded with continual Tempests, and through a 
 Series of dangerous and unsettled Times, kept on in a 
 progressive State; How much more will they, in all like- 
 lihood, if not greatly check'd, advance in the present 
 Calm, that is spread over publick Affairs? May it not, 
 my Lord, be reasonably hop'd, that the Peace, the 
 Happiness, the universal Quiet and Tranquillity, which 
 Great Britain and all Europe enjoys under the Influence 
 of his Majesty's Councils, will have such happy Conse- 
 quences for all the Studies of Humanity, as may, in 
 Time, and under just Encouragements, bring them to 
 that Standard or Perfection, which denominates a 
 Classical Age? 
 
 Every civilized Nation has, I believe, sooner or later, 
 such an Age; how far we may be in it, or what 
 Approaches we have made towards it, I need not go 
 about to ascertain: However, it seems to me plain, that 
 the English Language is not capable of a much greater 
 Perfection, than it has already attain'd: We have 
 traffick'd with every Country for the enriching of it ; the 
 Moderns and Antients have both contributed to the giving 
 it Splendor and Magnificence; the fairest Scyons, that 
 could be had from the Gardens of France and Italy, have 
 been grafted on our old Stocks, to refine the Savageness 
 of the Breed; we have laid aside all our harsh antique 
 Words, and retain'd only those of good Sound and 
 Energy ; the most beautiful Polish is at length given to 
 our Tongue, and its Teutonic Rust quite worn away: 
 Little or nothing, then, is wanting, in respect of Copious- 
 ness and Harmony ; some new Acquisitions, 'tis granted, 
 may occasionally be gain'd, and a judicious Writer may 
 
The State of Poetry 55P 
 
 d an Opportunity sometimes of throwing a Jewel into 
 r Language, a Word or Expression of more Sweetness 
 
 Significancy, than it had before, but all Men have 
 t the Talent of doing this with Judgment, as all do not 
 stinguish between hard and elegant Words, or see how 
 )etry and Eloquence differ from Pedantry: Nor does 
 y thing, I conceive, require greater Skill or Delicacy, 
 an to improve a Language by introducing foreign 
 •easures into it; the Words, so introduc'd, ought to be 
 ch, as, in a manner, naturalize Themselves; that is, 
 ey ought to fall into the Idiom, and suit with the 
 ;nius of the Tongue, they are brought into, so luckily, 
 
 almost to seem, originally, of its own Growth; other- 
 se, the Attempt will end in nothing but an uncouth 
 inatural Jargon, like the Phrase and Stile of Milton, 
 lich is a second Babel, or Confusion of all Languages ; 
 fault, that can never be enough regretted in that im- 
 artal Poet, and which if he had wanted, he had perhaps 
 inted a Superior. Upon the whole, there is a Point of 
 ;rfection in general, which when once a Language is 
 riv'd to, it cannot exceed, tho' it may degenerate from 
 ; and thus it happen'd both to Greece and Rome ; they 
 ith gain'd this Point of Perfection, and both declin'd 
 om it; the Stile of Plutarch, and the more modern 
 'eek Authors, being as impure and corrupt, in compari- 
 n of that of Xenophon and Plato, as is the Stile of 
 venal, Lucan, and others, compared with that of 
 orace, Catullus, Virgil. The vulgar Opinion therefore 
 a vulgar Error, viz. that our Language will continue 
 go on from one Refinement to another, and pass thro' 
 rpetual Variations and Improvements, till in Time the 
 tglish, we now speak, is become as obsolete and unin- 
 ligible as th^t of Chaucer, and so on, as long as we are 
 
5^0 Leonard Welsted 
 
 a People; this is what one of our Poets laid down some 
 Years ago as an undoubted Maxim. 
 
 And what now Chaucer is, shall Dryden be. 
 
 But whoever this Writer is, he certainly judg'd the 
 Matter wrong; it is with Languages, as it is with 
 Animals, Vegetables, and all other Things; they have 
 their Rise, their Progress, their Maturity, and their 
 Decay: It cannot indeed be guess'd, in the Infancy of a 
 People, how many Generations may pass, e'er their 
 Language comes to this last Perfection; this depends on 
 unforeseen Circumstances and Events ; but when once a 
 Tongue has acquir'd such a Degree of Excellence, it is 
 not difficult to judge of it, and to see it; tho' it is as 
 impossible to declare, how long it will continue in that 
 Purity, as it was before to know, when it would arrive 
 to it : The Beauty of the Roman Language began to fade 
 soon after the Subversion of the Commonwealth, and 
 was owing to it, as the Loss of their Liberty made way 
 for that Inundation of barbarous Nations, that after- 
 wards over-ran them; the English Language, perhaps, 
 may never share the same Fate from the same Causes; 
 it may remain in its present Lustre for many Centuries, 
 perhaps not decline from it, till the divine Will shall 
 think fit, if ever it thinks fit, to transplant the Seats of 
 Learning from these to some other Parts of the World: 
 That This, indeed, may happen some Time or other, is 
 not unlikely, as far as one may judge of Things to come 
 by those that are past; as far, I say, as the Experience 
 of past Things may enable us to form a Judgment con- 
 cerning the Rules of Providence, it seems to be one Law 
 in his Dispensations, that Arts and Sciences, with their 
 Train of Blessings, shall visit, in their Turn, all Parts 
 of the Globe, and that every Part, in its Turn, shall lie 
 
The State of Poetry ^6i 
 
 mk in Desolation and Barbarism: The prevailing 
 ipinion is, that the Elements of Knowledge had their 
 ise in Egypt; but whether this be true or false, or 
 herever they began, 'tis certain that Countries, formerly 
 irbarous, are now learned, and that the most learned 
 E former Times are the most barbarous of the present : 
 he lesser Asia was a great while the most civiliz'd Spot 
 E the Earth, and the most distinguish'd for Trade and 
 /ealth; Science and Ingenuity, in Process of Time, 
 ansmigrated into Greece, from Greece into Italy, and 
 -om thence spread gradually over almost all the other 
 Duntries of Europe; and we have lately seen, in the 
 ime Quarter of the World, a Nation, the greatest for 
 ixtent of Territory, emerging, as it were, all of a sudden, 
 It of the Depth of Savageness, and promising to vye 
 ■ith the politest of their Neighbours in all the Arts 
 f Peace and War. Thus has Learning, in different 
 .ges, shifted her Abode, deserting one People to culti- 
 ate another : At present, she resides among us in Europe, 
 ut some time hereafter may possibly take her flight into 
 Imerica, settle there, and flourish, in that new-discovered 
 i'^orld, even among Nations as yet unknown to us. But 
 ) return, my Lord, from this Digression; the Notion 
 have been endeavouring to lead your Grace into, is, 
 lat the English Language does, at this Day, possess all 
 le Advantages and Excellencies, which are very many, 
 lat its Nature will admit of, whether they consist in 
 oftness and Majesty of Sound, or in the Force and 
 hoice of Words, or in Variety and Beauty of Construe- 
 on: And I am satisfy'd, that what I have asserted, 
 Duld be more fully made out by other Considerations, 
 lan those already suggested ; particularly, by comparing 
 le Improvements our Language has gain'd, since the 
 ime of the first Refiners of it, with those it had in their 
 
^62 Leonard Welsted 
 
 Time, and received from them, and by making the same 
 Comparison with respect to the Greek, Latin, French, 
 and other Tongues, and then by stating, as accurately as 
 may be, the Time when these resi)ective Languages 
 ceas'd improving, visibly and materially, and how long 
 they continu'd in such an unprogressive State. But I 
 shall not give my self the Trouble of doing this, since 
 any Person of Learning and Discernment, if he pleases 
 to think on the Subject, may as well do it for himself. 
 It is sufficient to have given the Hint. I shall only add 
 on this Subject, now I am speaking of the acquir'd 
 Advantages of the English Tongue, that its natural Ones 
 are likewise very great, and such as, I believe, other 
 Modern Languages do not possess, or not with equal 
 Happiness; as that it is capable of finely compounding 
 its Words oftentimes, like the Greek ; and in Verse, which 
 I chiefly have my Eye upon all along, has many 
 Measures, the Iambic and Troche for Instance, in 
 common with the Greek and Latin, an Advantage arising 
 from the Variation of the Accent; and that Rhime is 
 peculiarly natural to it, varying itself to the Ear with 
 excessive Sweetness and Truth; not to mention the 
 CcBsuras, Pauses, Transpositions, and numberless other 
 Graces, which our Versification is capable of, and which 
 result wholly from the original Goodness of the Tongue. 
 Thus much for the natural Excellence and present 
 Perfection of the English Language; and as far as this 
 goes, my Lord, are we advanced towards what I have 
 call'd a Classical Age: The Materials to work with are 
 good; what we further require is Genius in the Work- 
 men ; or, in other Words, the Ingredients, that compose 
 the Colouring, being ripe and lasting, there wants only 
 a fine Imagination and a skilful Hand to direct the 
 Pencil. 
 
The State of Poetry ^6j 
 
 Nor will Genius's, equal to the highest Undertakings, 
 ; wanting, so I am apt to flatter myself, among other 
 ircumstances, from the agreeable Prospect of publick 
 .ffairs, provided proper Incitements, as was notic'd 
 ;fore, be added for raising in Men a noble Emulation 
 id Desire of Excelling: The Force of Encouragement 
 such, that it has carried Arts to the most envied 
 [eight even in enslav'd Countries, as well as in those 
 f Freedom; in a word, 'twas the regard paid to Men 
 f great Talents, and the liberal Distribution of Rewards 
 mong them, that gave so great an Eclat to the Reigns 
 f two memorable Princes in different Ages, of whom 
 )ne came to Power by the most infamous Methods, and 
 le Other exercis'd it with the greatest Cruelty. 
 
 Every Thing, my Lord, our Trade, our Peace, our 
 liberty, the Complexion of our Language and of our 
 rovernment, and the Disposition and Spirit of the 
 ritons, admirably turn'd by Nature for succeeding in 
 'oetry, all would conspire to make this Nation the Rival 
 f the most renown'd among the Ancients for Works of 
 V^it and Genius; could we but once see that amiable 
 "emper of Humanity, and that Love of Learning, which 
 istinguish your Grace, more generally prevail among 
 'ersons of your Rank: Give us our HoUes's, and we 
 lall not be long without our Poets. 
 
 I am in no doubt, but your Grace will excuse this 
 .rdour, which my Subject has unwarily work'd me into, 
 nd which proceeds purely from the Passion I have for 
 le Glory of my native Country; a Passion, which has 
 lade. You, my Lord, the Darling of it, and is the only 
 juality in which I can hope to resemble You, as well 
 i the best Recommendation I can have to your Favour. 
 
 It is not unlikely, it may be expected, that, in an Intro- 
 uction to a Collection of Poems, of a very various Kind, 
 
^64 Leonard Welsted 
 
 and while I have the Honour of addressing myself to 
 so good a Judge, I should say something of the Maxims 
 and Rules, in general, of Poetry: Some Authors, I take 
 it, do this by way of Key to the Beauties of their Pro- 
 ductions, which Method does not yet always answer 
 their Expectation, or much promote the View they have 
 in it: For my own part, as this Kind of Ostentation is 
 by no means agreeable to me, so I am convinc'd, it would 
 give no Satisfaction to your Grace, nor be in the least 
 useful to any Man : All that the Ancients, or the Moderns 
 copying after them, have written on this Scheme, is no 
 more than a Sett of very obvious Thoughts and Observa- 
 tions, which every Man of good Sense naturally knows 
 without being taught, and which never made a good Poet, 
 or mended a bad one; nor have they, I may venture to 
 affirm, been of any other Service to Mankind, than to 
 furnish our multitudes of Pretenders in Poetry, that 
 otherwise had never teaz'd the Publick with their spirit- 
 less Performances: Those Observations or Rules were 
 primarily form'd upon and design'd to serve only as 
 Comments to the Works of certain great Authors, who 
 compos'd those Works without any such help ; the mighty 
 Originals, from whence they were drawn, were produc'd 
 without them; and unluckily for all Rules, it has 
 commonly happen'd since, that those Writers have suc- 
 ceeded the worst, who have pretended to have been most 
 assisted by them. What is here said of the Rules of 
 Poetry, is equally true of those of Rhetorick, and some 
 other Arts: The Art of Poetry, of Horace, is, no ques- 
 tion, a masterly Piece, if one considers the Stile, Method, 
 and Poetry of it, and yet I cannot but think, there are 
 scatter'd thro' the Odes, the Satyrs, and Epistles of that 
 Author, more elegant Hints concerning Poetry, and that 
 go further into the Truth of it, than are to be met with 
 
The State of Poetry 5^5 
 
 his profest Dissertation on that Subject. As to the 
 imerous Treatises, Essays, Arts, &c, both in Verse and 
 rose, that have been written by the Moderns on this 
 round-work, they do but hackney the same Thoughts 
 er again, making them still more Trite : most of these 
 leces are but a pert insipid Heap of Common- Place ; 
 )r do any, or all of them put together, contribute in any 
 msiderable Degree, if they contribute at all, towards 
 e raising or finishing a good Genius : The truth is, they 
 uch only the Externals or Form of the Thing, without 
 itring into the Spirit of it; they play about the Sur- 
 ce of Poetry, but never dive into its Depths ; the Secret, 
 e Soul of good Writing is not to be come at thro' such 
 echanic Laws; the main Graces, and the cardinal 
 eauties of this charming Art, lie too retir'd within the 
 Dsom of Nature, and are of too fine and subtle an 
 ssence, to fall under the Discussion of Pedants, Com- 
 entators, or trading Criticks, whether they be heavy 
 rose-drudges, or more sprightly Essayers in Rhime: 
 hese Beauties, in a Word, are rather to be felt, than 
 ;scrib'd; by what Precepts shall a Writer be taught, 
 ily to think poetically, or to trace out, among the 
 irious Powers of Thought, that particular Vein or 
 mature of it, which Poetry loves, and to distinguish 
 :tween the good Sense, which may have its Weight and 
 istness in Prose, and that which is of the Nature of 
 erse? What Instruction shall convey to him that 
 lame, which can alone animate a Work, and give it 
 e Glow of Poetry? And how, or by what Industry 
 all be learn'd, among a Thousand other Charms, that 
 :licate Contexture in Writing, by which the Colours, 
 
 in the Rainbow, grow out of one another, and every 
 ;auty owes its Lustre to a former, and gives Being to 
 succeeding one? Could certain Methods be laid down 
 
^66 Leonard Welsted 
 
 for attaining these Excellencies, every one that pleas'd, 
 might be a Poet; as every one that pleases, may be a 
 Geometrician, if he will but have due Patience and 
 Attention: Many of the Graces in Poetry may, I grant, 
 be talk'd of in very intelligible Language, but intelligible 
 only to those who have a natural Taste for it, or are born 
 with the Talent of judging: To have what we call Taste, 
 is having, one may say, a new Sense or Faculty super- 
 added to the ordinarily ones of the Soul, the Prerogative 
 of fine Spirits! and to go about to pedagogue a Man 
 into this sort of Knowledge, who has not the Seeds of 
 it in himself, is the same thing, as if one should endeavour 
 to teach an Art of seeing without Eyes: True Concep- 
 tions of Poetry can no more be communicated to one born 
 without Taste, than adequate Ideas of Colours can be 
 given to one born without Sight; all which is saying no 
 more, than it would be to say, that to judge finely of 
 Musick, it is requisite to have naturally a good Ear for 
 it; Those caelestial Bodies, which through their Distance 
 cannot appear to us but by the help of Glasses, do yet 
 as truly exist, as if they could be seen by the naked Eye; 
 so are the Graces of Poetry, though they come within 
 the reach but of few, as real, as if they were perceptible 
 alike to all ; the Difference is, the Telescope, which 
 brings the one to our View, is Artificial; that which 
 shews us the other, is Natural: In fine, the same Argu- 
 ments, that will convince a sightless Man of the Reality 
 of Light, and another, who has no Idea but of Noise, 
 of the Reality of Harmony, will as conclusively prove to 
 one, wholly void of Taste, the Existence of poetical 
 Excellencies: Some of these, I have said, may be dis- 
 coursed of with Accuracy and Clearness enough ; that is, 
 so as to be understood by those who understand them 
 already; but there are others of that exquisite Nicety, 
 
 t^ii 
 
The State of Poetry ^67 
 
 It they will not fall under any Descriptions, nor yield 
 the Torture of Explanation: We are irresistibly cap- 
 ated by them, wherever we find them in good Authors, 
 thout being able to say precisely, what that Power is 
 it captivates us ; as, when one views a very beautiful 
 oman, one is immediately affected with her Beauty, 
 j' we cannot mechanically explain the Cause that has 
 it Force over us;/ we feel the Enchantment, and the 
 re strikes it into the Heart, but are at a Loss for the 
 ilutions and Reasons of it; we know, we are silently 
 uck by the Power of a certain Proportion or Sym- 
 ;try, but do not strictly know the Measure of that 
 mmetry, and the positive Laws by which it is govern'd : 
 letry, in this particular View of it, may be said to flow 
 3m a Source, which like the Nile, it conceals; the 
 ream is rich and transparent, while the Fountain is hid. 
 ;re then, at least, Rules are impracticable; but while 
 im in this Trace of Thought/1 am not to be under- 
 )od, as if I would throw the Talent of writing in Verse 
 ;o a lawless Mystery, and make of it a wild ungovern'd 
 ovince, where Reason has nothing to do : It is certain, 
 ery Thing depends on Reason, and must be guided by 
 but it is as certain, that Reason operates differently, 
 len it has different Things for its Object; poetical 
 ;ason is not the same as mathematical Reason; there 
 in good Poetry as rigid Truth, and as essential to the 
 iture of it, as there is in a Question of Algebra, but 
 it Truth is not to be prov'd by the same Process or 
 .y of Working; Poetry depends much more on 
 lagination, than other Arts, but is not on that Account 
 s reasonable than they ; for Imagination is as much a 
 rt of Reason, as is Memory or Judgment, or rather a 
 ire bright Emanation from it, as to paint and throw 
 jht upon Ideas, is a finer Act of the Understanding, 
 
^68 Leonard JVehted 
 
 than simply to separate or compare them: The Plays, 
 indeed, and the Flights of Fancy, do not submit to that 
 sort of Discussion, which moral or physical Propositions 
 are capable of, but must nevertheless, to please, have 
 Justness and natural Truth: The Care to be had, in 
 judging of Things of this Nature, is to try them by those 
 Tests that are proper to themselves, and not by such as 
 are proper only to other Knowledges. Thus Poetry is 
 not an irrational Art, but as closely link'd with Reason, 
 exerted in a right Way, as any other Knowledge; what 
 it differs in, as a Science of Reason, from other Sciences, 
 is, that it does not equally with them, lie level to all 
 Capacities, that a Man, rightly to perceive the Reason 
 and the Truth of it, must be born with Taste or a Faculty 
 of Judging, and that it cannot be reduc'd to a formal 
 Science, or taught by any set Precepts. I will only add 
 to what I have said on this Head, that in most other 
 Arts, Care and Application are chiefly requir'd, which 
 is not sufficient in Poetry ; a Poet often owes more to his 
 good Fortune than to his Industry, and this is what is 
 usually call'd the Felicity of a Writer, that is, when in 
 the Warmth of his Imagination he lights upon a Con- 
 / ception, ^an Image, or way of turning a Thought or 
 Phrase,' with » Beauty, which he could not have attain'd 
 by any Study, and which no Rules could have led him 
 to; and this Happiness it is, which, in Honour to great 
 Poets, is sometimes call'd or believ'd to be Inspiration./ 
 Upon the whole therefore, that I may draw to a Conclu- 
 sion, it should seem likely, that general Maxims and 
 Rules in Poetry, alt least as they are ordinarily pro- 
 pounded, are rather for Form and Ostentation than for 
 Use; and I think what Valerius Maximus has affirm'd 
 ^concerning Vertue, may, with equal or better Reason, 
 be applied to them. Quid enim Doctrina proficit? Ut 
 
The State of Poetry j6g 
 
 politiora, non ut meliora fiant ingenia; quoniam quidem 
 sola Vertus nascitur magis quam fingitur. Some of these 
 Maxims may possibly serve to polish a Genius, but cannot 
 make it better than Nature made if ; as a rough Diamond 
 is not heightened in Value, but only prepar'd to be set 
 to View by the hands of the Lapidary. The Author, of 
 whose Work I have subjoin'd a Translation to the fol- 
 lowing Poems, attempted when I was very young, but 
 now revis'd, particularly in the Quotations from the 
 Poets, which are all new-translated, and made as faithful 
 in the whole, as my Health and the Time I had for doing 
 it, would allow of: This Author is, indeed, of Opinion, 
 that Precepts may be laid down of Use for acquiring the 
 Sublime; but he presupposes at the same time a natural 
 Genius for it, an Aptitude of Mind to think greatly and 
 happily; and no one, in his Judgment, can be a sublime 
 Writer, who has not a sublimity and a nobleness of Soul. 
 Astronomers tell us, that Bodies attract one another 
 in Proportion to their solid Contents or Quantity of 
 Matter; this, they say, they know by Experiments, and 
 Calculations, and that by these Principles they can ex- 
 plain the Motions of the Planets, which compose our 
 System ; but they do not pretend to shew the Mechanical 
 Causes of this Gravitation, or Attraction; all they can 
 say about it, is, that this general Law was originally 
 impress'd on Nature by God, who might give what Laws 
 to Nature he thought fit. In like manner, to end this 
 Subject at once, must we speak of Taste, Imagination, 
 and of many Beauties in Poetry; we know from Con- 
 sciousness and Experience, there are such Faculties of 
 the Mind, and such Results of Genius; we know the 
 Effect they have upon us, and the Pleasures they produce 
 in us; but we cannot physically account for them, any 
 more than we can for the Soul itself, or any of those 
 
570 Leonard Welsted 
 
 other Operations of it, which, as they lie more in common, 
 are, less liable to be called in question. 
 ' I did in earnest design to have ended, here, this Sub- 
 ject; but to prevent, if I can, the possibility of being 
 misunderstood, I will add, that, when I speak of Rules 
 in Poetry as useless, I do not mean that Experience, 
 Knowledge, Application, and every Method, by which 
 Excellency is attain'd in other Things, are not necessary 
 for the aiding a good Genius : What I contend against is, 
 the common traditionary Rules; such as, for Example, 
 "Poetry is an Imitation; It has Nature for its Object; 
 As an Art, it has some End, and consequently Means or 
 Rules to attain that End; An English Verse contains five 
 Feet; A Play ought to consist of neither more nor less 
 than Five Acts; there ought to be a Fable or Design in 
 it, &c. the Manners are to be preserv'd, and he that is 
 Valiant in the first Act, must not be a Coward in the 
 Second; Old Men are to talk in the Strain of old Age, 
 young Men in that of Youth, and Masters, Servants, &c. 
 suitably to their respective Conditions of Life: A gay 
 Similitude or Description avails nothing, when out of 
 Season; in Pastorals, let a Shepherd have the Simplicity 
 of a Shepherd; in Epics, a Heroe, the Dignity of a Heroe: 
 be not witty in the wrong Place; correct and alter inces- 
 santly, and so on. If I were to run over all tlie Rules, 
 I might fill many Pages with Maxims of the same Weight 
 and Importance, but I will only collect a little of the like 
 sort out of the English Essayers in Rhime. 
 
 Remember, that the Diction every where cf \ hi-S,t^- 
 Be gentle, clean 
 
 No cutting off of Vowels must be found. 
 
The State of Poetry 57/ 
 
 Think not, where shining Thoughts to place, 
 But what a Man should say in such a Case. 
 
 Be not fondly your own Slave for this, 
 
 But change hereafter whate'er seems amiss. 
 
 Songs to a just Perfection should be wrought; 
 Yet where can we see one without a fault? 
 
 Bare Ribaldry, and nauseous Songs, are most unfit. 
 
 The Language still must soft and easie run. 
 
 Our Lovers talking to them,selves, for want 
 Of others, make the Pit their Confident; 
 Nor is the Matter mended yet, if thus 
 They trust a Friend, only to tell it us. 
 
 First on a Plot employ thy careful Thought. 
 
 'Tis Drudgery to stoop so low; 
 
 Yet to the Player your secret Meaning show. 
 
 Another Fault, which often does befall. 
 Is, when the Wit of some great Poet shall. 
 So overflow, that is, be none at all. 
 
 That silly thing. Men call. Sheer-wit, avoid. 
 
 You must not say too little, nor too much. 
 
 I have here cull'd out the finest Things, and the very 
 Flower of all I could meet with in most of our Arts or 
 Essays of Poetry ; I will not now dwell on the Depth of 
 these wise Sayings, or the uncommon Elegancy with 
 which they are deliver'd; but shall only inform your 
 Grace, that these are some of the most material of those 
 sublime Truths, which have been handed down from Age 
 to Age with so great Pomp, Authority, and shew of 
 
J72 Leonard Welsted 
 
 Learning; these are those wonderful Discoveries, to the 
 Observation of which alone, it is affirm'd, and to nothing 
 else, the Perfection of all good poetical Writings has 
 been owing : It may be so ; I will not absolutely gainsay 
 it, both as I am an Enemy to Disputation, and by reason 
 of my great Unworthiness to pronounce in so solemn an 
 Affair : However, I will venture to propose to your Grace 
 one Question, and it is this; Of what Advantage, think 
 you, my Lord, it would be to a young Painter, if with a 
 magisterial Air, one should document him in this Manner ? 
 / will disclose to you the Mysteries of your Art, and the 
 Laws that preside over it: Attend; Painting is an Imita- 
 tion; if you do not follow Nature, you had as good do 
 nothing; when you draw a Venus, take great Care not 
 to give her a Fish'j Tail, since Persons of consummate 
 Judgment and extraordinary Abilities will laugh at you, 
 however you may get the Applause of the Unlearned: It 
 is not sufficient, that one Feature he regular; the Whole 
 must be of a piece and uniform: Display not a Crocodile 
 among a Flock of Sheep, or a Bed of Cloth of Gold in 
 Landscape: Draw no Smiles in the Face of a Magdalen, 
 nor give Tears to a Lais; By no Means paint a Woman 
 with a Beard, nor a Man more than six Foot and eight 
 Inches in Heighth, and for this excellent Reason, because 
 Portraiture, most especially of all Things, is an Imitation 
 of Nature: Cast a Veil over the Parts of Modesty, for 
 fear of offending the Religious and Chast: A Venus 
 without a Nose is a Monster: When your Sketches are 
 rude and imperfect, provided you know it, alter 'em; and 
 alter 'em for the better, provided you are able: This is an 
 admirable Precept. These are the Maxims, which have 
 been deriv'd to us from Antiquity, and which all the Wit 
 of Man has not been able to change or improver You 
 once, indeed, painted a Madona, as fine as ever came 
 
The State of Poetry J7j 
 
 from the Hand of Titian, long before I let you into the 
 Knowledge of the great fundamental Laws, but yet youi 
 happy Execution of it was wholly ozmng to the Observa- 
 tion of them: If, upon 'the whole, you succeed and gairi 
 Reputation, fail not to cry up these Rules, and to owrt 
 the Obligation you have to 'em; if not, cry 'em up stil 
 more, and insist with double Warmth on their Excel- 
 lence and the Necessity of them. 
 
 I dare say, Your Grace will be of Opinion with me, 
 notwithstanding the seeming Plausibility of these 
 Maxims, and the evident Truth there is in them, that 
 yet a great deal more, and of a very different and more 
 essential Kind, must conspire in the forming a Raphael, 
 it is the same thing in Poetry: But since the known 
 stated Laws of this Art are, probably, of so little Signifi- 
 cancy, how, it will be said, and by what Means shall a 
 Person, born with a very good Genius for it, carry thai 
 Gift of Nature up to the utmost Improvements and Per- 
 fection it is capable of ? Why, by carrying his Enquiries 
 closely and carefully into Men, Manners, human Nature : 
 by frequently viewing Things, as they are in themselves, 
 and under their natural Images, and by growing Intimate 
 with them ; by accustoming his Mind to look deeply into, 
 and to judge accurately of all Objects ; by being conver- 
 sant with the Writings of great Poets, and by tracing 
 their Beauties, and striking out of his own Reflections Im- 
 provements upon 'em ; by studying severely the Language 
 he writes in, and by sifting all the Turns, Graces, and 
 Refinements, it will admit of; by adding to his owr 
 Notions whatever he can gather from every Man oi 
 good Sense and Taste he meets with; and by labouring 
 all the while, to execute and throw out into Practice thai 
 Knowledge and those Seeds of Poetry, which he has 
 treasur'd up; and by many other Ways, Processes, and 
 
57-^ Leonard JVelsted 
 
 Experiences, not easy to be describ'd, and which, together 
 with some of those already mention'd, are the Road to 
 Perfection in other Arts : And thus may a Poet go on to 
 improve himself continually, even to the end of his Life, 
 or till the Fire of Poetry is extinguish'd in him by old 
 Age; his Study is endless: The great general Rules of 
 Poetry, are, to think justly, Sapere est & principium & 
 fons; to imagine beautifully; and to distinguish well 
 what sort of Writing best suits one's Genius: the par- 
 ticular ones are without Number, and must be come at 
 by the Methods above-mention'd./''Thus it is, to set this 
 Matter in the strongest Light it will bear, with the Rules 
 of Logic, or the Art of Reason; the first universal Rule 
 is. Never to give or deny one's Assent to any Thing, till 
 we evidently see the Truth or Falshood of it; and that 
 we may preserve that Evidence in all our Reasonings, the 
 general Rules are. Never to reason of Things, that we 
 have no clear Ideas of; to begin by the simplest and 
 easiest Truths; and to dwell long upon them, before we 
 proceed to those that are more difficult and compounded : 
 the particular Ones, as in Poetry, are infinite; they are 
 not to be found any where altogether, and in part every 
 where ; we must gather 'em out of all well-written Books, 
 out of all the reasonable Men we converse with, out of 
 all we read, all we see, all we hear, all we think of : The 
 Study of Logic therefore, like that of Poetry, has no 
 End, and we may go on for ever to improve our Reason : 
 As for the common School Logic, or Syllogisms, these, 
 like the common Rules of Poetry, I take to be wholly 
 useless; they serve to no purpose but to wrangle and 
 dispute; they rather puzzle and embarrass the Under- 
 standing, than enlighten it, and are only the Inventions 
 of Sophisters, to get Reputation and Money by difficult 
 Trifles; thay cannot be put in practice by the greatest 
 
The State of Poetry ^y^ 
 
 Sticklers for them out of an University Disputation; 
 and, I think, the best thing a Man can do, when he has 
 learn'd these Subtilties, is to unlearn them again, as fast 
 as he conveniently can : As the common Rules of Logic 
 serve only for disputing, so the common Rules of Poetry 
 serve only for Pedantry. I might consider the Rules of 
 Rhetoric with the same View and Application, but I 
 think 'tis needless: What has given something like 
 Authority to these wretched poetical Documents, call'd 
 the Rules, is my Lord Roscommon's translation of 
 Horace's Ars Poetica, from which nothing is oftner 
 quoted than these Lines: 
 
 Why is he honoured with a Poefs Name, 
 
 Who neither knows, nor would observe a Rulef 
 
 It is not likely, that any one, that knew a Rule, which 
 he thought a reasonable one, would not be ruled by it, 
 if he could; the Sense therefore is not very just in its 
 self; much less is it the Sense of Horace, whose Words 
 are, 
 
 Descriptas servare vices, operumq; colores, 
 Cur ego, si nequeo ignoroq; Poeta salutor. 
 
 that is, // / want Skill or Judgment to write in Character, 
 and to keep up to Propriety, as the Nature of different 
 Works requires ; why do I take upon me the Name of a 
 Poet? This Sense is right enough, but the Translator 
 has levell'd it down to common Cant: To speak plainly, 
 his Translation is, through the Whole, low and prosaic, 
 and has nothing of that Spirit of Poetry, or Beauty of 
 Language, which alone makes the Original pleasing; its 
 utmost Praise is, that it gives us, in the main, the true 
 meaning of Horace; the Merit of this noble Author in 
 other respects is, undoubtedly, very great, and he must 
 
57<5 Leonard Welsted 
 
 be acknowledg'd to have wrote extremely well for the 
 Age he liv'd in: Criticism, under his Management, was 
 in tolerably good Hands; but the Unhappiness is, that 
 among us, it commonly falls to the Lot of Men, of very 
 mean and narrow Conceptions, strong in Passion and 
 Bigotry; and therefore their Writings are, mostly, 
 illiberal, scurrilous, vindictive, insolent, equally void of 
 Wit and Knowledge, full of the Jargon of Terms, empty 
 of Argument: And here I mean Critics of all Denomi- 
 nations, whether they plod in modern or ancient Writing. 
 True Criticism is the truest Friend of Poetry; and all 
 good Poets may naturally wish, that the Knowledge of 
 it was as extensive and universal, as the Exercise is 
 unlimited, and that there were as many just Critics or 
 Judges in Poetry, as there are in any other Art; a fine 
 Artist, in every Way, has nothing so much to dread as 
 an ill Judge, and wants only good ones to be esteem'd 
 and valued; he is sensible, the Reputation and Honour 
 of his Art will grow, in proportion as the Nature and 
 Value of it is known, and therefore he is glad of every 
 Opportunity to put his Work into the Hands of those, 
 that are curious in it, and can see the Truth and Neat- 
 ness of it; if he detests and scorns Triflers, that will be 
 perpetually meddling in the Affairs of his Skill, without 
 knowing any thing about 'em, he is not therefore an 
 Enemy to Judgment and the Exercise of it in his Art, 
 but the greater Friend to it : It is with these Restrictions, 
 and in this Sense I am to be understood, in whatever I 
 have spoke concerning Critics, Rules, and the like; and 
 I hope, after this Explanation, I shall less risque in- 
 curring the Displeasure of Persons greatly learned in 
 the Writings of Aristotle, Scaliger, Bossu, Vossius, and 
 others. 
 
 It would come regularly into my Scheme of Thinking 
 
The State of Poetry 577 
 
 it this Time, as well as serve to illustrate it, after these 
 ibstracted Remarks on Poetry, to go into a View, in 
 lome sort, of Poets, particularly our own: But Your 
 jRACE is too learned in the Writings of the Ancients, and 
 )f your Countrymen to bear me out in this, or to make 
 t becoming for me to direct to You my Sentiments 
 :oncerning them ; and I chuse besides, that Reason apart, 
 o reserve this Enquiry, till an Opportunity is given me 
 )f publishing some Thoughts, I have by me, on Dramatic 
 A'^riting, and the Authors that have made a Figure in it. 
 [n the mean time, my Lord, permit me, among other 
 Hints, cursorily to take Notice of the bizarre Fate of 
 livers of our English Poets; no Country, certainly, was 
 ;ver so fruitful of immature Glory, as ours: How many 
 \uthors, that were ador'd in the last Age, are sunk into 
 he utmost Contempt in the present ! Our Fathers dwelt 
 vith Rapture on the Compositions of Men, whom their 
 sons would blush, in good Company, but to own they 
 lad read: On the contrary, it must be acknowledg'd, 
 here are some, that have acquir'd fresh Strength from 
 rime, and whose well grounded Reputation encreases 
 iaily. The former, like false Prophets, gain'd Credit 
 "or a Day; the latter secur'd a lasting Fame by the 
 iliracles they perform'd. 
 
 If one considers the Herd of Writers, in the past and 
 present Times, they have, great Part of them, been 
 iervile Copiers after others; and this perhaps is one 
 Tause that the English Genius has not gone greater 
 -engths. Imitation is the Bane of Writing, nor ever 
 vas a good Author, that entirely form'd himself on the 
 ^odel of another; for Poetry, in this respect, resembles 
 ^ainting; no Performance in it can be valuable, which 
 s not an Original; and the Reason is, that to imitate is 
 mrely mechanical, whereas to write is a Work of Nature : 
 
5/5 Leonard Welsted 
 
 As that Agreeableness which is seen in Persons of a 
 genteel Air, does not come by Imitation, or the Instruc- 
 tions of a Dancing-Master, but rises from the original 
 Turn of the Body ; it is about 'em, and all over 'em, one 
 does not know how; so that which truly and lastingly 
 pleases in Writing, is always the Result of a Man's own 
 Force, and of that first Cast of Soul, which gives him 
 a Promptitude to excel; it is his proper Wealth, and 
 he draws it out of himself, as the Silk- Worm spins out 
 of her own Bowels that soft ductile Substance, which 
 is wrought into so great a Variety of Ornaments: In 
 effect, Works of Imitation differ from Originals, as 
 Fruits brought to Maturity by artificial Fires, differ from 
 those that are ripen'd by the natural Heat of the Sun, 
 and the Indulgence of a kindly Climate. What has been 
 here said is not only true, as it regards Poets, but it is 
 likewise applicable to almost all the great Philosophers 
 that have rose in former or late Ages: These for the 
 most part have been Men, who have struck out their 
 Discoveries by the mere Strength of a great Genius, 
 without treading in the Steps of any who went before 
 'em, and without being much oblig'd to the Assistance of 
 Learning; such, among others, were Des Cartes, Hobbes, 
 and Locke. But to proceed, what is worst of all, the 
 Misfortune of most Imitators is, that they imitate the 
 Faults, not the Beauties of the Writer in their View; 
 whatever remarkable Vice or Defect he has, they will 
 try hard to resemble him in it; whatever Excellence, 
 they take Care not so much as to endeavour after it. 
 
 I will detain You, My Lord, but very little longer on 
 this Topick of the English Poets: Great Part of 'em, as 
 I just now observ'd, have been Imitators; another Body 
 of them, yet more numerous and more despicable than 
 these, consists of such as have learnt from the Rules 
 
The State of Poetry J7p 
 
 he Measure of a Verse, and a few other Things of not 
 nuch more Consequence ; and certainly of all the Causes 
 hat have help'd to swell the Throng of ill Writers, none 
 lave more contributed to it, than those Essays on Poetry 
 lefore-mention'd : Hence it is, that we have so many 
 aechanical Poets, and that People daily set themselves 
 versify, who were never design'd for it by Nature; 
 tis this that has turn'd into a Trick, what, in a noble 
 lense, is an Art, viz. an Art of Genius. A late eminent 
 A^riter of our Nation somewhere says, I know not for 
 vhat Reason, but it was his Way to say every Thing that 
 :ame into his Head, and only for the Sake of saying it, 
 vhich makes his Critical Discourses a pretty amusing 
 i^ixture of Wit and Ribaldry, good Sense and Impro- 
 )riety, and Vanity and Modesty odly jumbl'd together; 
 here is a Liveliness in them that never tires one, but 
 hey want Solidity and Justness to give full Satisfaction : 
 This Author, somewhere tells us, that he had by him 
 vhat I do not remember, whether he calls an English 
 Kxi, Essay, or Prosodia, in which were contain'd all the 
 nechanical Rules of Versification, and wherin he had 
 reated with Exactness, of the Feet, the Quantities, and 
 he Pauses ; but he adds, that for fear he should instruct 
 iome Poets to make well-running Verses, who wanted 
 jenius to give 'em Strength, he was resolv'd not to pub- 
 ish it : I am heartily glad he did not, for we have enough 
 ilready of those Books, and in Consequence of them, of 
 : much worse sort of Writing, something, which to speak 
 )roperly, is neither Prose nor Poetry, a sort of low 
 sense made yet lower by being put into Metre and 
 ingle, and that differs from uninform'd Prose, as a 
 ountry Parson in a Dance differs from himself out of 
 t: Those Compositions, that are thoroughly ridiculous 
 hro' some Extravagancy, have their proper Merit by 
 
j5o Leonard Welsted 
 
 making one merry; but those that neither have this 
 Effect, nor give Delight by their Excellence, are of all 
 others the least to be born : Who can endure what is like 
 Wit, in such a Way, as to be worse than the entire want 
 of it? For my part, I acknowledge, the sprightly Non- 
 sense of some Writers has far more Charms for me, 
 than the dull Sense of others ; there is in Fustian and in 
 Impertinency, when they are alert, something that 
 awakens one; but this sober, tastless, I know not what 
 to call it, raises no Passion, nor of Laughter, nor Joy, 
 nor Admiration: It is the Plenty of Compositions of 
 this Strain, which has brought Poetry itself into dis- 
 grace with the Ignorant, and even made some Persons, 
 that do not want Shrewdness in other respects, treat it 
 as a Trifle, and at the best but a plausible Folly. 
 
 If I could prevail with your Grace to go along with 
 me into any further Detail of these Things, it should 
 be to examine into that very prevailing but unjust 
 Opinion, that Poetry is of no Use, that is, of no Conse- 
 quence or Benefit to Mankind; and the rather, because 
 Poets themselves have sometimes been so weak as to 
 prefer all other Knowledges to it in this Regard, and to 
 keep so disadvantageous a Notion of it in Countenance 
 by the Authority of their Concessions: There is, in 
 Reality, nothing in the whole Compass of Literature of 
 greater Use than Poetry ; however, my Lord, I will not 
 tire You by spending more Words and Time on this 
 Argument than is worth while : The Knowledges of Law, 
 Physick, and Divinity, are of too tender a Constitution 
 to be meddled with ; but I may venture to mention some 
 others; and to begin with Mathematicks ; Of what 
 Advantage has that boasted Part of Science been to 
 Mankind, excepting what has relation to it in Mechan- 
 icks? Is the World at all benefitted by the Doctrine of 
 
The State of Poetry ^81 
 
 Fluxions and infinite Littles? Or, Does it concern the 
 Interests of Society, whether the System of Des Cartes 
 be receiv'd, or that other, which is at present in greater 
 Reputation in England? This Branch of Learning may 
 be said, perhaps, in general, to habit the Mind to Truth, 
 and give it an Exactitude of Reasoning; which Poetry 
 may also be said to do, in as fine a Sense, tho' after a 
 different Manner. With respect to Metaphysical Knowl- 
 edge, no Body, I am perswaded, will contend much for 
 the Usefulness of it : Mr. Cowley, I think, has said, that 
 he could never determine certainly, whether there was 
 any Truth or no in that Science; but he was either too 
 hasty in this Judgment, or he had not entered into the 
 finest Parts of it; but however that be, let us add to it 
 Natural Philosophy, and what do they both together 
 serve for, further than Curiosity and Amusement? 
 There are in the former many pleasing Speculations, 
 and highly delightful to those that take Pleasure in 
 A.bstract Thinking, and that the latter furnishes an agree- 
 able Employment to Men of an inquisitive Turn, is not 
 lenied; but this comes to no more than bare Pleasure, 
 ;he Pleasure there is in Knowledge, as such, and in all 
 Knowledge alike; nor is the Speculative Knowledge of 
 Poetry less various or delightful than that of any other 
 \rt : To go further ; assemble in one View the different 
 Elefinements of Architecture, Painting, Sculpture, Music, 
 md many others, and what do any or all of them promote, 
 xcept the Luxury and the Ornaments of Life? Thus 
 :ar, then. Poetry is upon an equal Foot, at least, with 
 >ther Arts or Knowledges; and none of these, as yet 
 nention'd, can be affirm'd to have an Advantage over it, 
 n regard of their Usefulness. But that I may not seem 
 state this Case with Art, by dwelling on those Things, 
 hat are confessedly of least Use, I shall pass to those. 
 
^82 Leonard Welsted 
 
 that are acknowledg'd to be of the greatest; and these 
 are what we call the Learning of Humanity, or Books 
 of Wit, Morality, Good Sense, and the like; the Use 
 these are of, the very best of them, and set in the most 
 advantageous View, is, that they convey at once Pleasure 
 and Instruction: Does not Poetry instruct too, while it 
 pleases? Does it not instruct much more powerfully, 
 thro' its superior Charm of pleasing? When a Man of 
 Good Understanding reads Books of Humanity, he meets 
 with very little in them, that he did not know before; 
 he is not, strictly, the wiser for the reading of them ; all 
 his Profit, which is all his Pleasure, is, that he sees his 
 own natural Sentiments supported sometimes by different 
 Reasonings, and the Truths, he approv'd in his private 
 Judgment, authoriz'd by the Judgment of others ; he sees 
 'em plac'd, perhaps, in more clear, in more various, or 
 in more beautiful Lights: Does not Poetry oblige him 
 as much? Does it not give him the same Profit and 
 Pleasure, and that in a livelier and more indirect Way? 
 Besides that, it impresses more strongly on the Memory, 
 whatever it inculcates, by the natural Help of Numbers: 
 Moral Writers recommend Vertue, but Poetry adorns it ; 
 the Moralist gains his Reader, to approve of it ; the Poet, 
 to be in love with it: the one simply proposes Truth and 
 Vertue to us; the other shews 'em in a Flood of Light, 
 and enforces 'em, as it were, with the Power of Enchant- 
 ment: Is it not. Lastly, the Privilege of Poetry, that it 
 mostly gives us truer Ideas, and always more elegant 
 ones of the Thing in Question, than any other sort of 
 Writing? Is there any thing, that so much polishes 
 Men's Manners, or gives so fine an Edge to their Wit? 
 Is it not this, which gives the strongest Tincture of good 
 Nature to the Heart ? And does it not keep Men in good 
 Humour with themselves, and guard 'em from that 
 
The State of Poetry ^83 
 
 jloominess, which Care and Disappointment are apt to 
 pread over the Soul? There is a great Variety of very 
 ine and just Encomiums on this Art, scatter'd about in 
 ;ood Authors; Tully has compos'd a whole Oration in 
 Defence and Honour of it; and I might bring many 
 )ther Considerations for the strengthening what I have 
 isserted in its Favour ; but what has been said is enough 
 :o make out, which is all I propos'd, that Poetry has its 
 Jsefulness, in an equal Degree, at least, with other Arts : 
 [t is, I confess, my Lord, of least Use to those, who have 
 ;he Merit of it, and propably would be of none at all, 
 lid not Providence in every Age raise up Men of your 
 jRace's godlike Disposition, to be the Protectors of it, 
 ind to keep it from languishing under Discouragements. 
 [ had forgot, in this comparative View of Poetry and 
 Dther Arts, to mention History, deservedly esteem'd the 
 most agreeable as well as useful of them all ; and it would 
 be, perhaps, to want Candour, and look too much like 
 Pedantry in one's own Profession, if I did not allow, that 
 History is more generally useful than Poetry; but then 
 it must be acknowledg'd on the other hand, that it is less 
 delightful, and that its Usefulness is often the same with 
 that of Poetry, which has something of the Historical 
 in its Nature, and never shines more, than when it alludes 
 to Characters and Things of past times : The Difference 
 is, the one relates Facts in Order; the other produces 
 'em only for the present Occasion : The one relates them 
 for their own Sake ; the other for the sake of something 
 beyond it: Further, if the Historian instructs by truly 
 representing some Circumstance or Facts, the Poet in- 
 structs as much by pleasingly feigning others : The His- 
 torian profits us by placing in our View great Characters, 
 that were in real Life; the Poet, by displaying greater 
 that never were: To sum up the Account, and state it 
 
^$4 Leonard Welsted 
 
 honourably between 'em, the one and the other is ex- 
 tremely useful and pleasurable; they are both manifest 
 Helps to each other, reciprocally illustrating and illus- 
 trated; ancient History, especially, receives great Lights 
 from ancient Poetry, and would be very imperfect with- 
 out it; we may be very well acquainted with the State 
 of past Ages, by reading the Historians, but shall know 
 it still better, if we read the Poets too. I have not men- 
 tion'd one great distinguish'd Use of Poetry, because it 
 is mention'd every where by Poets themselves, viz, that 
 it transmits more effectually than any thing, the good 
 Deeds of Men to Posterity ; and this Advantage it plainly 
 enjoys even above History, and every other sort of 
 Writing ; for there is, if I may be allow'd the Hyperbole, 
 something in it, when exquisitely finish'd, of an unper- 
 ishable Nature, that necessarily, as it were, escapes the 
 Ravage of Time, and triumphs by its own force over all 
 those Wasts, its Sister Arts submit to, which owe to it, 
 that the very Names of those, who have excell'd in them, 
 are preserv'd, after their Labours are long consum'd; 
 and if Writings of another kind, as those of Thucydides, 
 Demosthenes, Plato, obtain the same Eternity, it is, 
 because they strongly partake of the same Excellency, 
 and breathe that very poetical Flame, if I may so call it, 
 which will not yield to the common Lot of other Things. 
 I have hitherto, my Lord, wholly confin'd myself, in 
 these Remarks, to Poetry; and the Tendency of them 
 has led me, here and there, to touch upon some of the 
 Reasons, that have hindred, as I imagine, our making 
 that Progress in it, which might have been hop'd for 
 from the natural Felicity of our Language, and of the 
 Turn of our People: I would now fain, if your Grace 
 will be so good as to humour my Inclination, say a Word 
 or two concerning Prose. In Prose, my Lord, we have 
 
The State of Poetry jS^ 
 
 manifestly widen'd our Foundation more than in Poetry, 
 and we have more good Authors of this Species ; a thing 
 not to be wonder'd at, as this sort of Writing, Prose, is 
 a much easier Acquisition than the other, and does not 
 require the same Energy of Genius; besides, there are 
 infinitely more Men who are able to judge well of it, and 
 it is generally of greater Service to those, who employ 
 their Talents in it; but tho' we have advanc'd consider- 
 ably in this Circumstance of Politeness, and are perhaps 
 but little inferior to the French for Neatness and Per- 
 spicuity of Stile, whatever our present Merit is in Prose 
 Writing, there yet seems, in my humble Judgment, some- 
 thing further wanting to the Perfection of it : A late very 
 popular Author, has, I own, carried the Essay-Turn of 
 Writing to a great Height, and left behind him fine 
 Models of a terse and chast Diction ; his Defect, if he has 
 any, seems to be, that he lies too much in courte Sen- 
 tences, that do not run cleverly into one another, and 
 are not so connected as to depend naturally enough 
 together; the Chain is sometimes wanting, and the full 
 Stop, or Close of the Period, returns too frequently upon 
 us; which is the Vice also of the French Writers, or it 
 is at least the Opinion of the best Critics of their Nation, 
 that their Language has suffer'd in this Particular, under 
 its modern Refinements, and that their ancient Writers 
 had, not only more of the Vigorous and Masculine, but 
 were also freer and more disengaged. The English 
 Author, I am speaking of, as he follow'd, or seem'd to 
 follow very closely in the Traces of Fontenelle, and to 
 have much studied his Manner, so did he succeed ex- 
 tremely well in it; however, he is not without his 
 Master's Alloy, and there is besides, if I may be allow'd 
 to speak my impartial Sense of the Matter, something 
 in his Way, that I may call too imitdble; that is, one 
 
386 Leonard Wehted 
 
 easily sees thro' his Art; one finds out the Secret Clue, 
 by which he conducts himself : This admir'd Person has 
 lately been succeeded by some others, who have discover'd 
 very good Talents both for the Manner of Writing, and 
 the true Spirit of it; and if their Labours have not had 
 that high Vogue, or been born forward with an amazing 
 Torrent of Success, the reason is not, that they wanted 
 Merit, but that the Humour of being pleas'd in this 
 Way, and the Inclination, in general, towards such 
 Entertainments, has been long spent and exhausted. 
 In reality. Popularity, or loud Fame, does, the least of 
 all Things, depend on true Excellence, and is commonly 
 attain'd without it; and when not, is owing almost 
 always to somewhat foreign to it, as the Temper and 
 Turn of the Age a Man writes in, or some particular 
 Juncture of Affairs in it, his own Complexion and 
 Quality, and a Thousand other concurring Incidents: 
 Frequently it happens, that the greatest Genius's do not 
 meet the full Recompence of Honour, till after their 
 Death; and those, who have a sudden or violent Run of 
 it in their Life-time, do as often out-live it: Poor old 
 Settle, and I might name others, was lately a living 
 Example of this Truth; he was formerly the mighty 
 Rival of Dryden, and for many Years bore his Reputa- 
 tion above him; what is he now? and how great is 
 Dryden? After having said this with relation to, and 
 for the sake of some amiable Authors, my own Con- 
 temporaries, I hope, I shall be forgiven, if I repeat, that 
 it seems, something might still be added of Advantage 
 to Prose Writing, to unfetter it, as it were, and give it 
 a more unconfin'd Air, that it may run out into an easie 
 Extent, bounded, as Nature is, with Mountains and 
 Rivers, at just Distances, but not interrupted with per- 
 petual Stops and Breaks : The Writer, that has made the 
 
The State of Poetry 387 
 
 nost handsome Openings towards this Improvement of 
 stile, is Mr. Philips, whose Prose- Works, will, I am per- 
 luaded, now they are collected into Volumes, grow daily 
 nore and more in the Publick Favour ; the sound Knowl- 
 idge, there is in them, the unwonted Accuracy of Thought 
 md Expression, and that Liberty of Stile, I have been 
 ipeaking of, cannot fail of gaining them the Reputation, 
 hey deserve, with the thinking and unbiass'd Part of 
 Mankind ; and this Praise I could not have refus'd him, 
 )n this Subject, without manifest Partiality, tho' I were 
 imnindful of the Kindness, he formerly did me, in recom- 
 mending my Writings to the World with so great Weight 
 md Authority ; nor could I, on the other hand, have paid 
 this Debt to the Merit of this accomplish'd Writer, more 
 advantageously for him, than while I am appealing, in 
 the Cause of Literature, to a Nobleman, known not only 
 for his delicate Taste of it, but for the largest Heart in 
 its Support. 
 
 Among the various Topics I have fallen into in these 
 Observations, there is nothing, I have so much endea- 
 vour'd to interest your Grace in the Truth of, as what 
 I have said concerning the Usefulness, in general, of 
 Rules in Poetry, and the like: I might produce many 
 A.uthorities on this Head, if Authorities were, or ought 
 to be, of any Weight with Men of Sense; however, I 
 think it not improper to name two; the first, who, I 
 believe, will be reckon'd a very good one, is Sir William 
 Temple, and he, to the best of my Remembrance, ex- 
 pressly says. That Rules never contributed in the least 
 to the making a Poet: The other is, Horace; the only 
 one, I shall now quote among the Poets, though both the 
 Greek and Latin are full of the same Sentiments ; I have, 
 my Lord, made some Progress in the Translation of a 
 considerable and entire Portion of this Author's Works, 
 
^88 Leonard JVelsted 
 
 and the whole, I hope, might be attempted, not with ill 
 Success, if suitable Encouragement could possibly be 
 gain'd, or any Recompence hop'd for so arduous and 
 painful a Labour: To return, Horace has, even in his 
 Ars Poetica, thrown out several Things, which plainly 
 shew, he thought, an Art of Poetry was of no sort of 
 Use, even while he was writing one; but what I have 
 my Eye upon at this Time is, the Third Ode of his Fourth 
 Book, and this I shall take leave to lay before your 
 Grace at large, and subjoin the Translation of it, not as 
 a Specimen of the Work I have in Hand, but only to 
 shew the enthusiastic Notion this Writer had of the 
 Efficacy of Genius and Nature in Poetry, and how fruit- 
 less he judg'd all other Aids to be without 'em. 
 
 Hor. Ode 3. Lib. 4. 
 
 Quern tu, Melpomene, seme I 
 Nascentem placido lumine videris. 
 
 Ilium non labor Isthmius 
 
 Clarahit pugtlem, non equus impiger 
 
 Curru ducet Achdico 
 
 Victorem, neque res bellica Deliis 
 
 Ornatum foliis ducem, 
 
 Quod regum tumidas contuderit minas, 
 
 Ostendet Capitolio; 
 Sed qucB Tibur aquce fertile perfluunt, 
 
 Et spissce nemorum comm, 
 
 Fingent Molio carmine nobilem: 
 
 Roma, principis urbium, 
 
 Dignatur soboles inter amabiles 
 
The State of Poetry ^8g 
 
 Vatum ponere me choros; 
 Et jam dente minus mordeor invido. 
 
 testitudinis aurew 
 Dulcem que strepitum, Fieri, temperas; 
 
 mutis quoque piscibus 
 Donatura cycni, si lib eat, sonum; 
 
 Totum numeris hoc tui est. 
 Quod monstror digito prstereuntium, 
 
 Romancz fidicen lyres: 
 Quod spiro, & placeo, si placeo, tuum est. 
 
 The Commendation given by Scaliger to this Ode, is 
 10 extraordinary, that it is known almost to every Body, 
 liz. that he had rather have been the Writer of it, than 
 iCing of Arragon: Monsieur Dacier is not less sensible 
 )f its Excellence, and adds to other Encomiums of it, 
 hat there is nothing to be met with more finish'd either 
 imong the Latin or the Greek Poets ; it will not, I doubt, 
 Lppear to the English Reader to be of this Merit from 
 ny Version of it. 
 
 Hon Ode 3. Lib. 4. 
 
 Whom thou, O Daughter chaste of Jove, 
 Didst, at his Birth, with Eyes of Love 
 
 Behold; in Isthmian Games, nor he 
 Fam'd for the Wrestler's Wreath shall be; 
 
 Nor his latest Lineage grace. 
 By conquering in the Chariot-i?ac^; 
 
 Nor him the Toils, to Warriors known. 
 The mighty Boasts of Kings o'erthrown. 
 
jpo Leonard Welsted 
 
 In Triumph through the gazing Throng, 
 A laurell'd Chief! shall lead along: 
 
 But fruitful Tibur'j winding Floods, 
 And the silent gloomy Woods, 
 
 To render famous shall conspire, 
 For the Poem of the Lyre. 
 
 Imperial Rome, the Nurse of Fame, 
 Kindly does enroll my Name 
 
 Among the Poets' charming Choir; 
 And Envy now abates her Ire. 
 
 Goddess, who the Notes dost swell 
 So sweetly on my golden Shell; 
 
 Who can'st give, if such thy Choice, 
 To Fishes mute the Cygnef j Voice; 
 
 'Tis to thee, I wholly owe. 
 Whispers flying where I go. 
 
 That to the passing Throng I'm shozt/d, 
 Th' Inventor of the Roman Ode! 
 
 My Life and Fame, if Fame be mine, 
 O Goddess-Muse, are Gifts of thine. 
 
 After I have mention'd the French commentator on 
 Horace, I cannot, my Lord, forbear taking Notice, in 
 Justice to his polite Countrymen, that they have taken 
 Criticism out of Pedantry, and made it a dehghtful Part 
 of Learning by their elegant Way of treating it; the 
 Genius and Capacity they have shewn, thro' the whole 
 Extent of human Knowledge, does, undoubtedly, deserve 
 the Acknowledgments of all Men, particularly of the 
 
The State of Poetry ^gi 
 
 English, who have been so much indebted to them; and 
 yet, I know not how, we can never give them a good 
 Word; we are always steaHng from them, and always 
 abusing them; Like Banditti, we first plunder them of 
 their Wealth, and then do all we can to murther their 
 Reputation. To return, what the same Dacier further 
 says of this Ode is spoke extreme prettily, as it is also 
 very just. Horace, says he, in this Poem, thanks the 
 Muses for the favourable or propitious Eye, which they 
 cast upon him in the Hour of his Nativity; he acknowl- 
 edges, it was at that first Instant of his Being, that he 
 received from them whatever distinguishes him; and by 
 this Acknowledgment he very evidently shews, he was 
 persuaded, that no Man can be a Poet, unless he received 
 at his Birth from Heaven, by some happy Influence or 
 Impression, that Spirit of Poetry, which Art and Study 
 can never give. Sir William Temple, above-cited, takes 
 a Step yet further, and beyond what he has said of 
 Poetry, asserts concerning Learning in the gross, that 
 the least Grain of Wit one is born with, is worth all the 
 Improvements one can make afterwards by Study, or 
 to the same Effect ; this would be eminently true, apply'd 
 to Poetry; and tho' it ought perhaps to be receiv'd in a 
 qualified Sense, in regard of Learning in general, yet it 
 is certain, that a great Part of what goes by that Name 
 consists in such Things, as a wise Man, to use Seneca's 
 Words, if he knew 'em, would labour to forget. 
 
 There is but one Thing more, my Lord, that I shall 
 hint at, before I conclude, and this I shall dispatch with 
 the greater Brevity, as it is not mentioned by me so much 
 for the Sake of the Relation it has to Poetry, as to 
 oblige certain Gentlemen, who seem to have a competent 
 Share of Wit, and to think so themselves, and yet are 
 very frank in professing they don't know what it is ; 'tis 
 
5p2 Leonard JVelsted 
 
 possible, it may be so, and they may both think rightly 
 and profess sincerely, as I once knew a great Poet, highly 
 valued by your Grace, who yet could not speak on the 
 Subject of Poetry with any Address; he felt and pos- 
 sess'd within himself the Power of it, and could, when 
 he pleas'd, execute it with inimitable Success, but he had 
 not habited his Mind to think of it in a rational or ex- 
 plicit Way, nor gone, as far as may be done, into the 
 ' Philosophy of his Art:, As to Wit, the Reason of all the 
 Puzzle and Contention, that has been about it, and of the 
 frivolous Definitions that have been given of it is, that 
 the word Wit, in our Language, like that other. Humour, 
 carries in it too vague and indefinite an Idea, and is of 
 too general a Nature; neither the French, Greek, nor 
 Latin Tongues have any Word, that precisely answers 
 to it ; the Words in those Tongues, that bear an Affinity 
 to it, are limited and particular, and therefore too plain 
 to need to be defined: but notwithstanding this, one may 
 venture, I think, without much Hazard, to declare, that 
 what commonly is received under the Name of Wit, and 
 pleases as such, is no other than some uncommon Thought 
 or just Observation, couch'd in Images or Allusions, 
 which create a sudden Surprize through their Agreeable- 
 ness, and the Lustre with which they strike the Imagi- 
 nation ; that Agreeableness mostly arises from the blend- 
 ing together different Ideas, which naturally suit with 
 and illustrate one another ; and when this is done happily, 
 it makes what we call Wit ; when it is done incongruously, 
 'tis something else. Now if the Account I have here 
 given of Wit, be true, it may sometimes, far from pro- 
 ceeding from a superior Understanding, be the effect 
 of Luck, or mere Chance-work ; or in other Words, Wit 
 may come from very unwitty Heads ; since, where People 
 think and talk at random, as Persons of a vivacious 
 
The State of Poetry jpj 
 
 Fancy, with little Judgment, commonly do, and where 
 they ignorantly confound a Multitude of different Ideas, 
 it is almost impossible, but that some of them should 
 fall into that Position or Figure of Thought and Lan- 
 guage, which may be Wit, or not unlike it; it is even 
 possible, that this may frequently happen, and when it 
 does, those, who have the least Wit, may be said to have 
 the most : It is, however, in every one's Experience, that 
 a silly Man does sometimes utter a witty Thing; but 
 then it is a witty Thing only with respect to others ; with 
 respect to himself, it is no more than a lucky One; he 
 had the good Fortune to say something which he did not 
 deserve to say: It is not true, as certain wise Men 
 imagine, that all Wits are Fools, but it is very true, that 
 some Fools are Wits : Afranius was of this sort of Men ; 
 he never thought justly or consequentially on any Sub- 
 ject ; he could not go through the easiest Chain of Reason- 
 ing: and yet, by I know not what fortunate Infatuation, 
 he every now and then blundered into good Things; 
 what he said was sometimes witty, but much oftner 
 absurd; so that, taken altogether, he got the name of a 
 Wit, and pass'd for such with the Generality; but all 
 thinking Men knew him for what he truly was: The 
 Writings of several Moderns have been much in the Turn 
 and Character of Afranius's ordinary Discourse ; so they 
 had the Luck to please for a Time ; but, like the Children 
 of fond Parents, were too witty to live long. 
 
 By this time, I am sensible, tho', I know, your Grace 
 delights in reading whatever is in the finer Cast of 
 Speculation, that I have extended myself beyond the 
 Bounds, indulg'd to Addresses of this Nature, and 
 beyond, perhaps, the Patience of any one, who has the 
 Opportunities of varying his Pleasures with that Agree- 
 ableness and Beauty, which your Rank and Turn of 
 
5p^ Leonard Welsted 
 
 Mind, my Lord, enable You to do: this was not in my 
 first Intention, but my Argument, and the Matter of it, 
 grew insensibly upon me, as I wrote, and swell'd grad- 
 ually to a Length I was not aware of; however, your 
 Grace is at length come within Sight of Land; all that 
 remains, is to add a Word or two more to what has 
 already been slightly spoken, concerning the following 
 Poems themselves; The first, and most considerable of 
 them, entitled, a Love-Tale, and which was originally 
 publish'd, together with some others, in the Free-Thinker, 
 was form'd upon an Idea, that Ovid's manner, in general, 
 would furnish out a more beautiful Model of Writing, 
 than had yet been practised among us, provided it could 
 be so chastned, as to retain only the Wit and Turn of 
 that Author, without his Puerilities, Indelicacy of Lan- 
 guage, and other Vices : These Vices, my Lord, I cannot 
 more luckily describe than in the words of Quintilian, 
 where he is giving the Character of an old Greek Poet; 
 he might as truly have given it of his own countryman; 
 Ac si tenuisset modum, he goes on speaking of Stesi- 
 chorus, Videtur cemulari proximus Homerum potuisse, 
 sed redundat atque effunditur, quod ut est reprehen- 
 dendum, ita copies vitium est ; that is, had he but known, 
 when he had said enough, he might, I think, have come 
 the nearest of any Man towards a Rivalship with Homer, 
 but he has too great a Redundancy, and dwells too long 
 on the same Thing, which tho' it must be acknowledged 
 to be a Fault, is yet a Fault arising from Fertility of 
 Imagination. This was Ovid's great Defect; his Stile 
 of Verse is, otherwise, wonderfully pleasing, and would 
 not fail to shine in the Hands of a Writer, turn'd happily 
 by Nature for it, as he was, with more Judgment and 
 Purity : The Love-Tale, among others, was designed after 
 this Idea, and, as it is the first, in Order, in this CoUec- 
 
The State of Poetry 595 
 
 tion, so is it my first Attempt in Poetry, of those which 
 I now give the Publick, if I except only a short Copy 
 of Verses, address'd to your Grace, and one more, call'd 
 Apple-Pie, written, while I was at School or very soon 
 after, and which is not inserted here out of any Fondness 
 for that trivial sort of Poetry, but merely because it had 
 the Fortune to be liked, and has by mistake been attribu- 
 ted to another Person; a piece of good Luck I never 
 much envied him : All the rest, like this Tale of Lavinia, 
 both those before publish'd, and those new to the Reader, 
 have been the Productions of a few Days out of a very 
 few Years last past: I did not therefore think it neces- 
 sary, in the Printing them, to have any regard to the 
 Order of Time, in which they were written, but sent 
 them to the Press, as they fell into my Hands from 
 among my Papers, and as I could get them out of the 
 Works of Authors, that had publish'd them for me: 
 Such as they are I humbly beg your Grace's kind 
 Acceptance of them, and that You will please to continue 
 to regard me with the same Favour and Goodness, you 
 have graciously express'd towards me on all Occasions. 
 I am, 
 
 With the most profound Respect, 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 Your Grace'j most obedient, 
 
 and most humble Servant, 
 Leonard Welsted. 
 
ALLAN RAMSAY 
 
ALLAN RAMSAY 
 
 PREFACE TO THE EVER GREEN 
 
 1724 
 
 I Have observed that Readers of the best and most 
 exquisite Discernment frequently complain of our 
 modern Writings, as filled with affected Delicacies and 
 studied Refinements, which they would gladly exchange 
 for that natural Strength of Thought and Simplicity of 
 Stile our Forefathers practised: To suchj I hope, the 
 following Collection of Poems will not be displeasing. 
 
 When these good old Bards wrote, we had not yet 
 made Use of imported Trimming upon our Cloaths, nor 
 Df foreign Embroidery in our Writings. Their Poetry 
 is the Product of their own Country, not pilfered and 
 spoiled in the Transportation from abroad : Their Images 
 ire native, and their Landskips domestick; copied from 
 those Fields and Meadows we every Day behold. 
 
 The Morning rises (in the Poets Description) as she 
 does in the Scottish Horizon. We are not carried to 
 Greece or Italy for a Shade, a Stream or a Breeze. The 
 Groves rise in our own Valleys; the Rivers flow from 
 Dur own Fountains, and the Winds blow upon our own 
 Hills. I find not Fault with those Things, as they are 
 in Greece or Italy : But with a Northern Poet for fetch- 
 ing his Materials from these Places, in a Poem, of which 
 [lis own Country is the Scene; as our Hymners to the 
 Spring and Makers of Pastorals frequently do. 
 
 This Miscellany will likewise recommend itself, by the 
 
^00 Allan Ramsay 
 
 Diversity of Subjects and Humour it contains. The 
 grave Description and the wanton Story, the moral Say- 
 ing and the mirthful Jest, will illustrate and alternately 
 relieve each other. 
 
 The Reader whose Temper is spleen'd with the Vices 
 and Follies now in Fashion, may gratifie his Humour 
 with the Satyres he will here find upon the Follies and 
 Vices that were uppermost two or three Hundred Years 
 ago. The Man, whose Inclinations are turned to Mirth, 
 will be pleased to know how the good Fellow of a former 
 Age told his jovial Tale; and the Lover may divert him- 
 self with the old fashioned Sonnet of an amorous Poet 
 in Q. Margaret and Q. Mary's Days. In a word, the 
 following Collection will be such another Prospect to the 
 Eye of the Mind, as to the outward Eye is the various 
 Meadow, where Flowers of different Hue and Smell are 
 mingled together in a beautiful Irregularity. 
 
 I hope also the Reader, when he dips into these Poems, 
 will not be displeased with this Reflection, That he is 
 stepping back into the Times that are past, and that exist 
 no more. Thus the Manners and Customs then in Vogue, 
 as he will find them here described, will have all the Air 
 and Charm of Novelty; and that seldom fails of exciting 
 Attention and pleasing the Mind. Besides, the Numbers, 
 \ in which these Images are conveyed, as they are not now 
 commonly practised, will appear new and amusing. 
 
 The different Stanza and varied Cadence will likewise 
 much sooth and engage the Ear, which in Poetry espe- 
 cially must be always flattered. However, I do not 
 expect that these Poems should please every Body, nay 
 the critical Reader must needs find several Faults; for 
 I own that there will be found in these Volumes two or 
 three Pieces, whose Antiquity is their greatest Value; 
 yet still I am perswaded there are many more that shall 
 
Preface to the Ever Green 401 
 
 merit Approbation and Applause than Censure and 
 Blame. The best Works are but a Kind of Miscellany, 
 and the cleanest Corn is not without some Chaff, no not 
 after often Winnowing: Besides, Dispraise is the easiest 
 Part of Learning, and but at best the Offspring of un- 
 charitable Wit. Every Clown can see that the Furrow 
 is crooked, but where is the Man that will plow me one 
 straight ? 
 
 There is nothing can be heard more silly than one's 
 expressing his Ignorance of his native Language; yet 
 such there are, who can vaunt of acquiring a tolerable 
 Perfection in the French or Italian Tongues, if they have 
 been a Forthnight in Paris or a Month in Rome: But 
 shew them the most elegant Thoughts in a Scots Dress, 
 they as disdainfully as stupidly condemn it as barbarous. 
 But the true Reason is obvious : Every one that is born 
 never so little superior to the Vulgar, would fain dis- 
 tinguish themselves from them by some Manner or other, 
 and such, it would appear, cannot arrive at a better 
 Method. But this affected Class of Fops give no uneasi- 
 ness, not being numerous; for the most part of our 
 Gentlemen, who are generally Masters of the most useful 
 and politest Languages, can take Pleasure (for a Change) 
 to speak and read their own. 
 
 It was intended that an Account of the Authors of the 
 following Collection should be given ; but not being fur- 
 nished with such distinct Information as could be wished 
 for that End at present, the Design is delayed, until the 
 publishing of a Third or Fourth succeeding Volume, 
 wherein the Curious shall be satisfied, in as far as can 
 be gathered, with Relation to their Lives and Characters, 
 and the Time wherein they flourished. The Names of 
 the Authors, as we find them in our Copies, are marked 
 before or after their Poems. 
 
402 Allan Ramsay 
 
 I cannot finish this Preface, without grateful Acknowl- 
 edgements to the Honourable Mr. William Carmichael 
 Advocate, Brother to the Earl of Hyndford, who, with 
 an easy Beneficence that is inseparable from a superior 
 Mind, assisted me in this Undertaking with a valuable 
 Number of Poems, in a large Manuscript-Book in Folio, 
 collected and wrote by Mr. George Bannyntine in Anno 
 1568; from which MS. the most of the following are 
 gathered: And if they prove acceptable to the World, 
 they may have the Pleasure of expecting a great many 
 more, and shall very soon be gratified. 
 
NOTES 
 
NOTES 
 
 CHARLES GILDON (1665-1724) 
 
 I. The volume entitled Miscellaneous Letters and Essays On 
 several Subjects. Philosophical, Moral, Historical, Critical, Amo- 
 rous, &c. in Prose and Verse. . . By several Gentlemen and Ladies, 
 is dated 1694. An advertisement in the London Gazette for 
 February 19-22, 1694, shows that the book had been published 
 before then. Gildon's contributions, which make up a large part 
 of the work, are signed only in part. The two letters reprinted, 
 which occupy pp. 209-224 of the volume, are certainly his, the 
 second being signed, the first unquestionably from the same pen. 
 
 II. The character and scope of the Art of Poetry are set forth 
 in the title, which runs as follows : 
 
 The Complete Art of Poetry. In Six Parts. 
 
 I. Of the Nature, Use, Excellence, Rise and Progress of 
 Poetry, &c. 
 
 II. Of the Use and Necessity of Rules in Poetry. 
 
 III. Of the Manner, Rules, and Art of Composing Epigrams, 
 Pastorals, Odes, S-c. 
 
 IV. Of Tragedy and Comedy; how to draw the Plot, and 
 form the Characters of both. 
 
 V. The Rules of the Epic or Narrative Poem. Of the Poetic 
 Diction or Language, and of English Numbers. 
 
 VI. A Collection of the most beautiful Descriptions, Similes, 
 Allusions, &c., from Spenser, and our best English Poets, as 
 well Ancient as Modern, with above Ten Thousand Verses, not 
 to be found in any Performance of this Kind. Shakespeariana; 
 or the most beautiful Topicks, Descriptions, and Similes that 
 occur throughout all Shakespear's Plays. 
 
 It is advertised as 'Just Published' in the Daily Courant for 
 June 25, 1718. No second edition was demanded. 
 
/fo6 Notes to pp. 3-14 
 
 Page 3. Letters and Poems, Amorous and Gallant [by William 
 Walsh (1663-1708)] first appeared in 1692. It was later included 
 in the fourth volume of Tonson's Miscellany (1716). 
 
 Page 4. my unhappy Circumstances. Having wasted the in- 
 heritance he received from his father, Gildon, with a wife to 
 support, was at this time barely making a living as a literary 
 hack. 
 
 Page S. its Funeral Elegy. Ovid, Amores, 2. 6. 
 
 — Verses to the . . . Sparrow. The lyric beginning "Passer, 
 delicise meae puellae," commonly printed as the second of Catullus' 
 poems. 
 
 — deplores its Death. The third, beginning "Lugete, et Vener- 
 esque Cupidinesque." 
 
 — ad Amicam Navigantem. Ovid, Amores, 2. 11. 
 
 — toss'd in another Storm. Propertius, Elegies, 3. 24. The 
 storm is a metaphorical one. 
 
 Page 6. ad Amicam qtiam verberaverat. Ovid, Amores, 1. 7. 
 
 Page 7. Then like some wealthy Island. From the poem 
 entitled The Enjoyment. 
 
 Page 8. Un sot . . . de Choisir. Boileau, Satire II, A Moliire. 
 
 Page 9. Ovid urges his Fame. Amores, 1. 3. 
 
 Page 10. Mr. Lock remarks. Cf. the Essay concerning Human 
 Understanding, Book II, Chap. 1, Sect. 11, "I grant that the soul, 
 in a waking man, is never without thought." 
 
 Page 11. Jean Le Clerc (1657-1736), French Protestant theo- 
 logian. The Ontologia was published in 1692. 
 
 Page 12. Tibullus, when he says. The poem cannot be cer- 
 tainly ascribed to Tibullus. In editions of his works it is some- 
 times numbered 3. 19, sometimes 4. 13. 
 
 — Petrarch tells us. In the sonnet beginning "Come '1 candido 
 pie per 1' erba fresca." It is numbered 165 in Scherillo's edition. 
 
 Page 13. Cowley. In the poem in the Mistress entitled My 
 Diet. 
 
 — Sir Courtly. The hero of Crowne's comedy Sir Courtly Nice, 
 or It Cannot Be (1685). In the third act Sir Courtly says: "fine 
 Language belongs to Pedants and poor Fellows that live by their 
 Wits. Men of Quality are above Wit. 'Tis true, for our diver- 
 sion sometimes we write, but we ne'er regard Wit. I write, 
 but I never write any Wit." 
 
 Page 14. Mr. Harrington. Conceivably James Harrington, 
 
Notes to pp. 14-20 ^oj 
 
 who died November 23, 1693, a date almost certainly later than 
 that of the completion of this letter. He was a lawyer and a poet. 
 He published several works of a controversial character, and 
 wrote the preface for the first edition of Athens Oxonienses. 
 If Gildon's friend was not this Mr. Harrington, the person re- 
 ferred to was not widely known. 
 
 — Monsieur Perault. The Parallele des Anciens et des Mo- 
 dernes (1688-1692) by Charles Perrault was the first important 
 work in defense of the moderns issued during the controversy 
 afterwards immortalized in the Battle of the Books. 
 
 — Rapin. The Reverend Rene Rapin expressed his opinions 
 on the matter in his Reflexions sur la Poetique d' Aristote et sur 
 les outrages des po'etes anciens et modernes (1674) ; Rymer, in 
 the preface to his translation of this work (1674). Rymer's 
 preface is reprinted in Spingam's Critical Essays of the Seven- 
 teenth Century, 2. 163-181. 
 
 Page IS. Rapin extols their Variety. Op. cit., 84-85. Cf. 
 also his Comparaison des poemes d'Homere et de Virgile (1664), 
 especially p. 102 of John Davies' translation (1672). 
 
 — Gemitus dedere Cavernce. Virgil, Mneid, 2. 53. 
 
 — prceruptus aquce Mons. lb. 1. 105. 
 
 Page 16. The Mountains seem to Nod. Dryden, The Indian 
 Emperor, 3. 2. 
 
 — 5'*. Euremont's Opinion. St. Evremond, Du merveilleux qui 
 se trouve dans les poemes des anciens, (Oeuvres Melees ed. Paris, 
 1865, 2. 508). 
 
 Page 17. Mr. Congreve's Song. In the Old Bachelor, 2. 2. 
 
 Page 19. Bishe's. Edward Bysshe, The Art of English Poetry 
 containing 
 
 I Rules for making Verses 
 
 II A Collection of . . . Thoughts . . . in . . . 
 English Poets 
 
 III A Dictionary of Rhymes. 
 
 First published in 1702, this compilation went through a number 
 of editions. 
 
 Page 20. Newton's Discoveries. Notably the method of flux- 
 ions. 
 
 — Gusto. The now obsolete use of this word as equivalent to 
 "aesthetic perception" is specially associated with Shaftesbury. 
 Cf. the Characteristics, ed. Robertson, 2. 430. 
 
4o8 Notes to pp. 21-32 
 
 Page 21. Why is he . . . Rule. From the translation of 
 Horace's Ars Poetica by Wentworth Dillon, Earl of Roscommon 
 (1633-1685), 108-109. It is not an accurate rendering of the 
 original {Ars Poetica, 86-87) : 
 
 Descriptas servare vices operumque colores 
 Cur ego si nequeo ignoroque poeta salutor. 
 
 Cf. infra, p. 375. 
 
 — Messrs. of the Port-Royal. Cf. Quatre Traitez de poesies, 
 Latine, Frangoise, Italienne, et Bspagnole (1663) [by Le Sieur 
 D. T., i.e., De Trigny, a pseudonym of Claude Lancelot]. The 
 books emanating from this famous school were seldom attributed 
 to individual authors. 
 
 — Crambo. "A game in which one player gives a word or 
 line of verse to which each of the others has to find a rime." 
 NED. 
 
 Page 22. Will's. Once the favored coffee-house of literary 
 men, and so the stock reference, although it was at this time 
 much less visited. 
 
 — Some think . . . others Aid. Roscommon, translation of 
 Horace, Ars Poetica, 408-411. 
 
 Page 27. .S^iV Philip Sidney. In the Defense of Poesy. 
 
 Page 28. Horace . . . in his Epistle. Epist. 2. 1. 114 sq. 
 
 Page 29. Mr. Pontinelle. Entretiens sur la Pluralite des 
 Mondes, by Bernard Bovier de Fontenelle (1686). 
 
 Page 30. Grimaldi. Nicolino Grimaldi, or Nicolino Grimaldi 
 Nicolini, one of the most popular of contemporary opera-singers. 
 He came to England in 1708. Cf. the Spectator, No. 13, and, on 
 operas in two languages. No. 18. 
 
 Page 31. Harry Purcel. Henry Purcell (1658P-169S). His 
 operas are in general rather what we should call incidental music 
 — songs and intermezzi. The 'frost-scene' was done for King 
 Arthur (1691), written in collaboration with Dryden. 
 
 Page 32. Wits . . . against Opera's. Cf. Rapin, Reflections 
 on Aristotle, Rymer's translation, ed. Kennet, 2. 217; Dacier, 
 La Poetique d'Aristote, 85 (Rem. 12 sur Chap. 6) ; St. Evremond, 
 Sur les Operas {Oeuvres Melees, ed. Paris, 1865, 2. 389). 
 
 —Lullie, Louigi. Jean Baptiste LuUy (1633?-1687), Italian by 
 birth, famous as a composer of French operas and ballets. Luigi 
 Rossi (d. 1653), whose opera Orfeo is criticised by St. Evremond, 
 op. cit. 
 
Notes to pp. 32-44. 4og 
 
 — Madam Dacier. Anne Lefevre Dacier, Des Causes de la 
 Corruption du Goust (1714), 27-28. 
 
 Page 33. Horace was angry. Cf. .Epist. 2. 1. 187 sq. 
 
 — The Spectator . . . in his Censure. No. 18. 
 
 — He laughs at. The Spectator, No. 29. 
 
 Page 35. the Arthurs. Sir Richard Blackmore's Prince 
 Arthur (169S) and King Arthur (1697). 
 
 Page 36. Duke of Buckingham. In the Essay upon Poetry 
 (1682), by John Sheffield, Earl of Mulgrave and Duke of Buck- 
 inghamshire (1648-1721). 
 
 Page 37. Author of the Creation. Sir Richard Blackmore 
 (d. 1729). 
 
 — Madam Dunois. The Ingenious and diverting Letters of the 
 Lady — [the Countess d'Aulnoy], Travels into Spain, &c. The 
 account of the shoemaker-critic is found on p. 177 of the English 
 edition of 1708. 
 
 Page 38. Mamamouche. Edward Ravenscroft's (fl. 1671-1697) 
 Mamamouchi, or the Citizen turned Gentleman (1671). 
 
 —the Orphan, a tragedy by Thomas Otway; the Empress of 
 Morocco, a tragedy by Elkanah Settle; the Plain-dealer, a comedy 
 by Wycherly; the Comical History of Don Quixote, in three 
 parts, by Thomas D'Urfey. 
 
 Page 42. his own Countryman, &c. See Dacier's La Poetique 
 d'Aristote, e.g.. Rem. 8 on Chap. 6 (pp. 80-83). For the opinion 
 of the Academy, see J. Chapelain's Sentiments de I'Academie 
 frangaise sur la tragi-comedie du Cid and Georges de Scudery's 
 Observations sur le Cid. Corneille's ideas are expressed in his 
 Excuse a Ariste, in his three Discours, and in the Examens of 
 his plays. 
 
 — Piccolomini, Casselvetro, &c. Alessandro Piccolomini, // 
 Libro della poetica d'Aristotile (1572) ; Lodovico Castelvetro, 
 Poetica d' Aristotile (1570); Rapin, Reflexions sur la Poetique 
 d' Aristote (1674) ; Dacier, La Poetique d' Aristote. 
 
 Page 43. Tatler. No. 29. 
 
 Page 44. Mr. Isaac, i.e., Bickerstaflf. 
 
 — has played the Critic. The eighth and ninth numbers of the 
 Tatler contain criticisms of London Cuckolds and the Old 
 Bachelor. 
 
 — Spectators, and Tatlers . . . Censure. Cf. Tatler, No. 165; 
 Spectator, No. 291. 
 
^/o Notes to pp. 45-62 
 
 Page 45. When France . . . Pains. Roscommon's Essay on 
 Translated Verse, 29-36. 
 
 — Bossu. Rene le Bossu (1631-1680). His Traite du poeme 
 ipique (167S) was published in an English translation in 169S. 
 
 — Vossius. The various works of G. J. Vossius were collected 
 by his son Isaac in 1695-1701. They are frequently cited in the 
 criticism of this and the preceding century. 
 
 — Scaliger. J. C. Scaliger's Poetices (1561), another widely 
 used source of critical dicta. 
 
 Page 47. Essay upon Poetry, by Sir William Temple (Spin- 
 garn, op. cit., 3. 83-84). 
 
 Page 48. very same Essay. lb. 3. 80. 
 
 Page 51. Sir William . . . appeals. On Ancient and Modern 
 Learning, by Sir William Temple (Spingarn, op. cit., 3. 33-34). 
 
 Page S3. Audrands, &c. The Audrans, a celebrated family of 
 French engravers, the earliest of whom was Charles Audran 
 (1594-1674); the Edelincks, especially Gerard Edelinck (1640- 
 1707) ; the Simoneau family, especially Charles (1645-1728) and 
 Louis (1654-1727). 
 
 — Mr. Wycherly's Lover. Lord Plausible, in the Plain-dealer, 
 2. 1. 
 
 Page 54. the Tatler. No. 29. 
 
 Page 58. Gerhard Vossius. In the address to the Benigne 
 Lector prefaced to his Poeticarum Institutionum Libri Tres, 
 Amsterdam, 1647. 
 
 — Lilius Giraldus. In his Histories Poetarum tarn Gracarum 
 quam Latinorum Dialogi Decern, &c., ed. Basil, 1580, p. 27. 
 
 Page 60. Yet without Writing, &c. Trans, of Horace, Ars 
 Poetica, 306-308. 
 
 Page 61. Horace complains. In the Epistle to Augustus, Epist. 
 2. 1, 20 sq. 
 
 — Examination of Milton. The Spectator, Nos. 273, 279, and 
 so on, once a week, up to and including No. 369. 
 
 Page 62. says Xenophon. Possibly the reference is to the 
 Memorabilia, 1. 4. 13, or 4. 3. 13-14, but the resemblance is not 
 close. 
 
 — urge from . . . Dacier. The long quotation which follows is 
 taken from the beginning of the preface to Dacier's La Poetique 
 d'Aristote. An English translation of this work was pub- 
 
Notes to pp. 62-81 411 
 
 lished in 1705, but the version in the text seems to be an inde- 
 pendent one. 
 
 Page 68. Hypocrates says. On Ancient Medicine {Works, 
 trans. Adams, 1. 162) . 
 
 — Tragedy is, &c. By no means a literal translation of Aris- 
 totle's famous definition {Poetics, 6. 2), which reads, in Butcher's 
 translation, "Tragedy is an imitation of an action that is serious, 
 complete, and of a certain magnitude . . . through pity and fear 
 effecting the proper katharsis, or purgation, of these emotions." 
 
 Page 71. according to Aristotle. Cf. the Politics, 3. 11. 
 
 JOHN HUGHES (1677-1730) 
 
 I. The essay On Style has been reprinted from the posthu- 
 mous volumes entitled Poems on Several Occasions. With some 
 Select Essays in Prose. In Two Volumes, London, 1735. This work 
 was edited by Hughes' brother-in-law, William Duncombe, and 
 in it this essay is dated 1698. I have found no trace of its 
 previous publication. 
 
 II. The essay On Allegorical Poetry, as well as the one fol- 
 lowing, forms part of the Introduction to Hughes' edition of the 
 Fairy Queen, which was advertised as "This day published" in the 
 Daily Courant for August 22, 1715. 
 
 III. These Remarks are printed without excisions, but the 
 later pages are omitted because they discuss details of Spenser's 
 work in a way which throws little or no light upon Hughes' 
 general critical theories. 
 
 Page 79. Sir William Temple observes. In the essay On 
 Ancient and Modern Learning (Spingarn, op. cit., 3. 62). 
 
 Page 80. Dr. Sprat. Thomas Sprat (1635-1713), Bishop of 
 Rochester and Dean of Westminster. His best-known piece of 
 prose is the History of the Royal Society of London (1667), but 
 no one example completely shows his powers. 
 
 —Dr. Tillotson (1630-1694), Archbishop of Canterbury. His 
 best writing is found in his sermons. 
 
 Page 81. Multa renascentur, &c. Horace, Ars Poetica, 70-72. 
 
 —his Shield . . . fill'd. The translation of the 2Eneid, 9. 
 1093. 
 
^/2 Notes to pp. 83-104 
 
 Page 83. Sir Roger L'Estrange (1616-1704), Tory journalist 
 and pamphleteer. He is seen at his best in the Observator, which 
 he began in 1681. 
 
 Page 85. ut sibi . . . laboret. Horace, Ars Poetica, 2Af)-2A\. 
 
 — Le Clerc says. In Parrhasiana, done into English by — , 1700, 
 Chap. 2, Of True and False Eloquence, p. 80. 
 
 Page 86. Mr. Waller observes. Of English Verse, 5-6. 
 
 Page 87. Cowley . . . tells us. Of Myself (Works, ed. 1721, 
 2. 719). 
 
 — Dryden assures us. Preface to the Fables (Essays, ed. Ker, 
 2. 247). 
 
 — frequent Commendations. Cf. Essays, ed. Ker, 1. 178 sq., 
 268; 2. 28, 29, 109, 165, 212, 223. 
 
 Page 88. Milton's Paradise Lost, 2. 648 sq. 
 
 — one of his Odes. Horace, Carmina, 1. 14. 
 
 Page 89. of the Luxemburg. Now in the Louvre. 
 
 — used by Spenser. Shepherd's Calendar, April 19 : "And hath 
 he skill to make so excellent." 
 
 Page 90. one of his Discourses. Plutarch, How a Young Man 
 Ought to Hear Poems, Moralia, trans. Goodwin, 2. 45-46. 
 
 — in another place. lb. 2. 74. 
 
 Page 98. Sir William Temple observes. Of Poetry (Spin- 
 garn, op. cit., 3. 84). 
 
 Page 99. Dolphins in a Wood. Horace, Ars Poetica, 30. 
 
 Page 100. the Golden Bough. Mneid, 6. 185 sq. 
 
 Page 101. Metrodorus Lampsacenus. Cf. Diogenes Laertius, 
 Life of Anaxagoras (De Vitis, 2. 11). 
 
 Page 102. Sir William Temple . . . censures. Of Poetry 
 (Spingarn, op. cit., 3. 99). 
 
 Page 103. in his Travels. Chardin, Journal du Voyage en 
 Perse, Londres, 1686. 
 
 — Choice of Hercules. Xenophon, Memorabilia, 2. 1. 21. Cf. 
 Addison's paper in the Tatler, No. 97. 
 
 Page 104. Boccalini. Trajano Boccalini, Advices from Par- 
 nassus, in two Centuries . . . revised and corrected by Mr. 
 Hughes, 1706. 
 
 —Visions in the Tatler, &c. Cf. Tatler 81, 100, 102, 120, 123; 
 Spectator 159; Guardian 152. 
 
Notes to pp. 11^-123 41^ 
 
 JOHN DENNIS (1657-1734) 
 
 I. The Large Account, under the caption of The Epistle 
 Dedicatory, served as preface to Dennis' version of the Merry 
 Wives of Windsor, published under the following title : The 
 Comical Gallant; or the Amours of Sir John Falstafife. A 
 Comedy As it is Acted at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. By 
 His Majesty's Servants. By Mr. Dennis. To Which is added 
 A large Account of the Taste in Poetry and the Causes of the 
 Degeneracy of it. It was advertised in the Post-Man for May 
 16-19, 1702. In the present text the original arrangement of type 
 has been reversed, Roman being substituted for Italic, and vice 
 versa. 
 
 II. On May 27, 1704, the Daily Courant announced as 'this 
 day published' The Grounds of Criticism in Poetry, contain'd In 
 some New Discoveries never made before, requisite for the 
 Writing and Judging of Poems surely. Being a Preliminary 
 to a larger Work design'd to be publish'd in Folio, and Entitul'd, 
 A Criticism upon our Most Celebrated English Poets Deceas'd. 
 This was reprinted in the second volume of the Select Works 
 of Mr. John Dennis, 1718, where it occupies pages 415-479. The 
 original edition contains a preface, "specimen", etc. Otherwise 
 the variations between the two texts are practically confined to 
 matters of spelling and punctuation, in which the second edition 
 is the more logical and consistent. Since this was published 
 under Dennis' supervision, it has been made the basis of the 
 present text. 
 
 III. The Reflections, Critical and Satyrical, upon a late Rhap- 
 sody call'd an Essay upon Criticism, a pamphlet of thirty-two 
 octavo pages, appeared, according to the Daily Courant, on June 
 20, 1711. It has never been reprinted. 
 
 Page 113. George Granville, Lord Lansdowne (1667-1735), 
 author of several plays, a number of lyrics, and a poem called 
 Upon Unnatural Flights in Poetry. 
 
 Page 120. A fault . . . Poets cost. Mulgrave's Essay upon 
 Poetry, 262-268. 
 
 — That silly thing . . . thought. lb. 269-272. 
 
 Page 121. a Master-piece. Presumably the Plain-dealer. 
 
 Page 123. Madam de Montausier. Julie-Lucine d'Angennes, 
 
414 Notes to pp. i23-i6g 
 
 Duchesse de Montausier (1607-1671), daughter of the Marquise 
 de Rambouillet, and herself a 'precieuse'. 
 
 Page 127. a Modern Critick. St. Evremond, Observations sur 
 le Gout et le Discernement des Frangois (Oeuvres Melies, ed. 
 Paris, 186S, 2. 470). 
 
 Page 130. Ainsi qu'en sots Auteurs, &c. Boileau, L'Art Poi- 
 tique, 1. 225-232. 
 
 Page 131. The only Play. Cowley's Cutter of Coleman Street. 
 
 Page 132. She wou'd if she cou'd (1668), a comedy by Sir 
 George Etherege. 
 
 Page 134. Aimez . . . leur prix. Boileau, L'Art Poetique, 
 1. 37-38. 
 
 Page 137. Idem rex . . . natum. Horace, Epist. 2. 1. 237-244. 
 
 Page 142. advice of Horace. Ars Poetica, 129. 
 
 — known subject. Granville's tragedy. Heroic Love (1698), has 
 for its theme the love of Achilles for Briseis. 
 
 Page 143. The Design. Owing to lack of encouragement, this 
 was never completed. 
 
 Page 144. Milton's Expression. In the treatise On Education 
 (Milton's Prose, ed. Garnett, S6). 
 
 — Milton says. lb. 56-57. 
 
 Page 152. Aristotle might prefer. Poetics, XXVI. 
 
 Page 156. Longinus says. On the Sublime, VII. 
 
 Page 158. Oh by what Name, &c. Milton, Paradise Lost, 
 8. 357 sq. 
 
 Page 161. The next they sang, &c. lb. 3. 383 sq. 
 
 Page 162. Boundless the Deep, &c. lb. 7. 168-173. 
 
 Page 164. Fairfax. Edward Fairfax (d. 1635) published in 
 1600 his translation of Tasso's Gerusalemme Liberata. 
 
 Page 166. Down thither prone, &c. Paradise Lost, 5. 266 sq. 
 
 Page 167. the Apostle says. Romans, 1. 20. 
 
 — Above them all, &c. Paradise Lost, 3. 571 sq. 
 
 Page 168. O thou, &c. lb. 4. 32-35. Dennis' reference is a 
 slip. 
 
 — If unforbid, &c. lb. 7. 94 sq. 
 
 — Sol . . . lustras. Mneid, 4. 607. 
 
 Page 169. Hesperus, that led, &c. Paradise Lost, 4. 605-609. 
 
 —Where'er at utmost Stretch, &c. The concluding lines of 
 the paraphrase by Dennis, originally published in the Advance- 
 
Notes to pp. i6g-2i2 415 
 
 ment and Reformation of Modern Poetry (1701), and included 
 in the Select Works, 1. 18. 
 
 Page 170. And for the Heavens, &c. Paradise Lost, 8. 100- 
 106. 
 
 Page 171. When I behold, &c. lb. 8. 15-22. 
 
 Page 172. On Adam last, &c. lb. 10. 197 sq. 
 
 Page 173. Mr. Dryden. In A Discourse concerning the Orig- 
 inal and Progress of Satire {Essays, ed. Ker, 2. 29). 
 
 — These are thy glorious Works, &c. Paradise Lost, S. 153 sq. 
 
 Page 176. Go then, &c. lb. 6. 710-713. 
 
 — Mr. Cowley. The Davideis, Note 31 upon the first book. 
 
 — Argument of Monsieur Paschal. An expansion of the 
 Thought: "A Mechanic speaking of Riches; a Solicitor speaking 
 of War; or of Regal State, '&c. But the Rich discourse well of 
 Riches ; a King speaks coldly of a vast Present which he is about 
 to make; and God discourseth well of God." See Paschal's 
 Thoughts on Religion, trans. Kennet (1704), Preface, xxv. 
 
 Page 177. Latius regnes, &c. Horace, Carmina, 2. 2. 9-12. 
 
 Page 178. Nan me . . . hostis. Virgil, Mneid, 12. 894-895. 
 
 Page 179. What tho the Field, &c. Paradise Lost, 1. 105-108. 
 
 Page 181. Passage of Homer. Iliad, 20. 56-65. 
 
 P^e 183. as this. lb. 5. 770-772. 
 
 — concerning Neptune. lb. 13. 18-19 and 26-29. 
 
 Page 188. Doctrine of Aristotle. Nicom. Ethics, 10. 5. 
 
 Page 196. Well sounding Verses, &c. Waller, Upon the Earl 
 of Roscommon's Translation of Horace, 23-28. 
 
 Page 197. Mr. Waller says. Of Divine Poesy, 1. 21-26. 
 
 Page 199. When the Almighty, &c. A paraphrase by Dennis 
 of Habakkuk, 3. 3-10. 
 
 Page 201. In my Distress, &c. A paraphrase of Psalm 18. 
 6-15. 
 
 Page 203. Rule of Horace. Ars Poetica, 38-40. 
 
 Page 206. Mr. Mede. Joseph Mede, Diatribce. Discourses on 
 divers Texts of Scripture (1642). 
 
 Page 207. Epistle . . . to Titus, 1. 12. 
 . Page 212. Italian Opera. Such attacks upon opera are com- 
 mon during this period. Of. pp. 30-34; the Spectator, Nos. 5, 
 13, etc. 
 
 — the Essay. Pope's Essay on Criticism was first published 
 in 1711, being advertised in the Spectator for May 15. It was 
 
^j6 Notes to pp. 212-220 
 
 written probably not earlier than 1709, though Pope is said to 
 have placed it in 1708, in 1707, and even in 1706. 
 
 — the Approbation which it has met with. The Essay met with 
 little success at first, the original edition of one thousand copies 
 not being disposed of within a year. It was, however, much dis- 
 cussed. The author's name first appeared on the title-page of 
 the second edition, that of 1713. 
 
 Page 213. Fit Chcsrilus . . . miror. Horace, Ars Poetica, 
 357-358. 
 
 — my self attack'd. The passage in the Essay which specially 
 roused Dennis' anger is that beginning with line 585. This 
 'attack' — if it may be called such — was probably provoked by 
 Dennis' disapproval of Pope's Pastorals, and marks the beginning 
 of the long war between the two men. 
 
 Page 215. To Mr. . This seems to be a letter by conven- 
 tion only, and is really addressed to no one in particular — cer- 
 tainly to no well-known man of letters, the point of the address 
 being that Sunning Hill is not far from Binfield, Pope's home. 
 
 — Sternhold's Version. Sternhold's version of the Psalms was 
 published not earlier that 1547. Sternhold, with the assistance 
 of Hopkins, turned the Psalms into that ballad metre of which 
 Chevy Chase is a well-known example. 
 
 Page 216. Roscommon begins. Essay on Translated Verse, 
 1-2. 
 
 — Let such teach others, &c. Pope, Essay on Criticism, 15-16. 
 Here and elsewhere Dennis, or his printer, quotes inaccurately. 
 I have reproduced Dennis' text, calling attention to important 
 variants, but letting inaccuracies speak for themselves. 
 
 Page 217. Pliny. Epist. 1. 10. 4. This is Pope's note on the 
 passage just quoted. 
 
 — A living noble Author. The Earl of Mulgrave, Duke of 
 Buckinghamshire. 
 
 Page 218. Still Green with Bays, &c. Essay on Criticism, 
 181-188. For 'all devouring' Pope substituted 'all-involving'. 
 
 — Monsieur Perrault. See note to page 14. 
 
 Page 220. in another place. The Essay on the Genius and 
 Writings of Shakespear; with Some Letters of Criticism to the 
 Spectator (1712). 
 
 — The gen'rous Critick, &c. Essay on Criticism, 100-105. The 
 last line of the quotation was omitted in later editions of the 
 Essay. 
 
Notes to pp. 22i-22g ^ly 
 
 Page 221. Some dryly plain, &c. /6. 114-115. 
 
 Page 222. These Rules . . . methodiz'd. lb. 88-89. 
 
 —When first great Maro, &c. lb. 130-133. Pope altered the 
 first couplet because of this criticism, but later restored it, sub- 
 stituting 'young' for 'great' 
 
 — Learn hence . . . them. lb. 139-140. 
 
 Page 224. As on the Land, &c. lb. 54-59. 
 
 — Jungentur jam Gryphes Equis. Virgil, ^neid, 8. 27. 
 
 — One Science . . . Wit. Essay on Criticism, 60-61. 
 
 Page 225. Not only . . . Parts. lb. 62-63. The later reading 
 is, "But oft in those confined to single parts." 
 
 —First follow Nature, &c. lb. 68-73. In 1. 72 we have 'must' 
 instead of 'next'. 
 
 Page 226. Scribendi . . . Fans. Horace, Ars Poetica, 309. 
 
 — Rem . . . Chartce. lb. 310. 
 
 — That Art . . . appear. Essay on Criticism, 74-75. For this 
 Pope substituted : 
 
 "Art from that fund each just supply provides; 
 Works vifithout show, and without pomp presides." 
 
 Page 227. In some fair Body, &c. lb. 76-79. Instead of 
 'sprightly' we now have 'informing.' 
 
 — Thus . . fails. lb. 56-57. The accepted reading is "Thus 
 in the soul while memory prevails." 
 
 — Life . . . impart. lb. 72. 
 
 — according to the Observation. Mulgrave, Essay upon Poetry, 
 20. 
 
 — There are . . . it. Essay on Criticism, 80-81. In the edition 
 of 1743 and thereafter this reads : 
 
 " Some, to whom heav'n in wit has been profuse. 
 Want as much more, to turn it to its use.'' 
 
 Page 228. For Wit . . . Wife. lb. 82-83. 'Often' was sub- 
 stituted for 'ever.' 
 
 Page 229. Description of Wit. Apparently from La Maniere 
 de bien penser dans les ouvrages d'esprit by Dominique Bouhours 
 (1628-1702), although the closest parallel to the text is the fol- 
 lowing (p. 392 of the edition of 1687) : "Les pensees ingenieuses 
 sont comme les diamans, qui tirent leur prix de ce qu'ils ont 
 encore plus de solidite que d'eclat." 
 
4i8 Notes to pp. 22g-2^g 
 
 — Poets . . . Art. Essay on Criticism, 293-296. 
 
 Page 230. But true Expression, &c. lb. 315-316. 
 
 — True Wit . . . Sun. Mulgrave, Essay upon Poetry, 12. 
 
 — And tho' the Ancients, &c. Essay on Criticism, 161-163. 
 
 Page 231. Those Rules of old, &c. lb. 88-89. 
 
 — Lord Bacon observes. Novum Organum, 1. 84. Cf. also the 
 Advancement of Learning, 1. 5. 1. 
 
 Page 232. Those . . . dream. lb. 179-180. For 'are but' Pope 
 substituted 'oft are.' 
 
 — Aliquando . . . Homerus. Ars Poetica, 359. 
 
 — His reeling Hero's, &c. Roscommon, Essay on Translated 
 Verse, 139-140. 
 
 — In Words . . . aside. Essay on Criticism, 333-336. 
 
 Page 233. Si forte . . . detorta. Ars Poetica, 48-53. 
 
 — quid autem . . . nomen. lb. 53-59. 
 
 Page 234. And praise . . . join. Essay on Criticism, 360-361. 
 
 — Be Homer's Works, &c. lb. 124-129. 'Notions' was replaced 
 by 'maxims.' 
 
 Page 235. He who supreme, &c. lb. 657-662. 
 
 — The Muses . . . drams. lb. 675-680. The only important 
 change is in the first line, which now reads : "Thee bold Longinus ! 
 all the Nine inspire." 
 
 Page 236. Thus make . . . Flegm. Roscommon, Essay on 
 Translated Verse, 301-302. 
 
 — Now length of Fame, &c. Essay on Criticism, 480-483. 
 
 Page 237. says Boileau. Reflexions Critiques sur quelques 
 passages du Rhiteur Longin, Reflexion VII (Oeuvres, ed. Amar, 
 3.242). 
 
 Page 238. What is this Wit, &c. Essay on Criticism, 500-503. 
 In a letter to Carryl, June 25, 1711, Pope admitted that he had 
 made a bull here. He altered the couplet twice, leaving it 
 finally : 
 
 " Then most our trouble still when most admired. 
 And still the more we give, the more required." 
 
 Page 239. That silly thing, &c. Mulgrave, Essay upon Poetry, 
 269-272. 
 
 — a Couplet of Advice. Essay on Criticism, 566-567. As a 
 result of Dennis' criticism, the line was made to read : 
 
 "And speak, though sure, with seeming diffidence." 
 
Notes to pp. 240-248 4ig 
 
 Page 240. Libels for his Impatience. Dennis obviously means 
 himself, for the passage referred to (584 sq.) in the first edition 
 mentioned him by name, D . 
 
 — Not only . . . Sway. This couplet followed what is now 1. 
 648. It was removed entirely. 
 
 Page 241. Libel upon King Charles. lb. S34-S43. 
 
 Page 244. Thus a wild Tartar, &c. Butler, Hudibras, 2. 23-28. 
 
 — what he says. Essay on Criticism, 420-423. 
 
 — returning to the Charge. lb. 588-591. 
 
 Page 245. 'Tis now . . . Owe. Inaccurately quoted from 
 Cowley's Imitation of the Second Olympic Ode of Pindar, §11. 
 
 Page 246. His rankest Libels, &c. I have been unable to 
 place this couplet. 
 
 — King William: The couplet referring to William was deleted. 
 It ran as follows: 
 
 " Then first the Belgian morals were extolled, 
 We their religion had, and they our gold." 
 
 The remaining lines of the reference to William are 544-553. 
 
 — the I2th Page. Essay on Criticism, 162. 
 
 Page 247. St. Omer's, a Jesuit seminary. 
 
 — three Opportunities. Essay on Criticism, 374-383, 458, 483. 
 
 — Shakespear's Head. Many of the books of Tonson, Dryden's 
 printer, are announced on the title-page as "printed for Jacob 
 Tonson at Shakespear's Head over against Katharine-Street in 
 the Strand." Pope's Pastorals had already appeared in Tonson's 
 Sixth Miscellany. 
 
 Will's. See note to page 22. 
 
 — Sir R. B. Sir Richard Blackmore. 
 
 —Mr. L. M. Luke Milbourne (1649-1720), who started a bitter 
 war with Dryden by his strictures on the latter's Virgil. 
 
 — Be thou . . . commend. Essay on Criticism, 474-475. 
 
 Page 248. he names Mr. Walsh. lb. 729 sq. 
 
 — Dorimant, a character in Etherege's Man of Mode. 
 
 — ancient Wit. Wycherly (1640P-1716), whose work Pope 
 'edited.' 
 
 — Covent-Garden. Many favorite coffee-houses were in or near 
 Covent Garden. 
 
 —Red, Sea. Cf. the Spectator, No. 12, for this phrase; and 
 for a suggested explanation, see Notes and Queries, 3. 12. 56. 
 
420 Notes to pp. 248-239 
 
 — Sunning-Hill and Ockingham. I.e., at BinfielA 
 
 Page 249. Dutch Piece. Possibly A True Character of Mr. 
 Pope (1716). This is not, however, certainly by Dennis, though 
 the evidence on the whole favors this ascription. Cf. Paul, John 
 Dennis, 90 and note. 
 
 — a Panegyrick. The verses referred to are those by Wycherly 
 entitled To my friend Mr. Pope, on his Pastorals. They were 
 originally published in the volume of Tonson's Miscellany con- 
 taining the Pastorals. It is commonly believed to-day that Wy- 
 cherly wrote the verses and that Pope revised them. 
 
 Page 250. First follow Nature. Essay on Criticism, 68. 
 
 — Respicere . . . voces. Ars Poetica, 317-318. 
 
 Page 252. // once the Justness, &c. Mulgrave, Essay upon 
 Poetry, 267-268. 
 
 — Still green with Bays. Essay on Criticism, 181. 
 
 — And tho' the Ancients, &c. lb. 161-163. 
 
 GEORGE FARQUHAR (1677-170'i') 
 
 This essay was printed in a volume entitled: Love and Busi- 
 ness: in a Collection of Occasionary Verse, and Epistolary Prose, 
 Not hitherto Publish'd. A Discourse likewise upon Comedy in 
 Reference to the English Stage. In a Familiar Letter. By Mr. 
 George Farquhar. The volume is advertised as 'this day pub- 
 lished' in the Post-Man for February 26-28, 1702. Many of the 
 ideas of the essay appear in the prologue to Sir Harry Wildair 
 (1701). 
 
 Page 259. Divines threaten us. Especially the Reverend 
 Jeremy Collier, whose Short View of the Immorality and Pro- 
 faneness of the English Stage (1698) excited a furious contro- 
 versy. 
 
 — Qua genus. Early in their university course, students were 
 required to master the Isagoge of Porphyry, which begins : "Cum 
 sit necessarium, Chrysaori, et ad earn quae est apud Aristotelem 
 prsedicamentorum doctrinam nosse, quid genus sit," &c. The 
 first section is headed, De Genere. 
 
Notes to pp. 260-271 421 
 
 Page 260. Jubilees . . . Fopingtons. Farquhar's The Con- 
 stant Couple, or a Trip to the Jubilee (1699 or 1700). Sir 
 Novelty Fashion, who is a character in Gibber's Love's Last 
 Shift, figures under the title of Lord Fopington in Vanbrugh's 
 Relapse (1696). In the prologue to Love's Contrivance, Mrs. 
 Centlivre says : "I believe Mr. Rich will own he got more by the 
 Trip to the Jubilee with all its irregularities, than by the most 
 uniform piece the stage could boast of ever since." 
 
 Page 261. Heinsius. De Tragcediee Constitutione (1611). 
 
 — Hedelin, Francois, Abbe d'Aubignac, La Pratique du 
 Theatre (1657). 
 
 — Zany. For an account of the methods of such peripatetic 
 quacks, see the Spectator, No. 572. 
 
 —Mr. Rich. At this time manager of the Theatre Royal in 
 Drury Lane. 
 
 Page 262. Mr. Collier. See note on page 2S9. 
 
 —Rover, Libertine, or old Batchelour. Comedies by Mrs. 
 Aphra Behn, Thomas Shadwell, and William Congreve. 
 
 — Patentees. The stockholders of the Drury Lane theatre, 
 called patentees because they owned collectively the patent 
 which gave this theatre for a time the monopoly. 
 
 Page 263. German Doctor. The reference is to Gerhard's 
 attack on Bellarmine in his Bellarminus Orthodoxice Testis (Jena, 
 1631-1633). 
 
 Page 264. Hick's Hall stood at the bottom of St. John Street. 
 It was built for the county magistracy by Sir Baptist Hicks in 
 the second decade of the seventeenth century. 
 
 —King's Bench. One of the superior courts of common law. 
 
 Page 265. great Cook. Sir Edward Goke (1552-1634), one 
 of the greatest of English judges and writers on law. 
 
 Page 267. Doctor Tillotson. See note to page 80. 
 
 Page 268. Woollich. One of the chief navy-yards of England 
 from the sixteenth century to the appearance of iron men-of-war. 
 
 Page 269. Lincolns-Inn-Fields. The theatre which was the 
 important rival of Drury Lane, especially before the opening 
 of the Haymarket in 1705. 
 
 Page 270. Prince Arthur, by Sir Richard Blackmore. 
 
 Page 271. Soph, i.e., Socrates. 
 
^22 Notes to pp. 274-2Q5 
 
 Page 274. Utile Dulci. Horace, Ars Poetica, 343. 
 
 — Fondlewife. Character in Congreve's Old Bachelor. 
 
 Page 27S. Nathan's Fable. II Samuel, 12. 1-14. 
 
 Page 276. Wildair . . . Morose. Wildair appears both in the 
 Trip to the Jubilee and in the sequel, Sir Harry Wildair. As a 
 typical fine gentleman he is contrasted with Morose, a character 
 in Jonson's Epiccene, who loathed all society. 
 
 Page 279. Hippolito's. I can find no trace of a coffee-house 
 called Hippolito's. Either the establishment was more commonly 
 known by another name, or it was one of the three thousand 
 said to have existed in the eighteenth century, most of which were 
 unknown to fame. 
 
 Page 282. Alexander the Great. Hero of Lee's tragedy The 
 Rival Queens. 
 
 —Mr. Betterton. Thomas Betterton (1635-1710), the most 
 famous actor of his day and manager of the theatre in Lincoln's 
 Inn Fields from 1700-1705. 
 
 RICHARD STEELE (1672-1729) 
 
 All the selections from the periodicals are printed from the 
 first collected edition in octavo. Addison, at least, made some 
 revisions in his work before it appeared in this format. In 
 respect also to spelling and punctuation, this is a somewhat better 
 text. All the papers are given in full except Tatler LXVIII, the 
 earlier part of which has nothing to do with criticism. 
 
 Page 290. Wilks. Robert Wilks (1665 P-1732). His first ap- 
 pearance as Macduii was made at the Haymarket on December 
 27, 1707. 
 
 Page 291. said . . . by Horace. Ars Poetica, 102-103. 
 
 Page 292. His Lacrymis . . . ultra. Virgil, .^neid, 2. 145. 
 
 Page 293. Motto. Horace, Epist. 2. 1. 83-84. 
 
 Page 295. Virgil hath drawn. Cf. Georgics, 3. 72-94, and 
 ^neid, 8. 551-553. 
 
Notes to pp. jo6-sig ^2j 
 
 JOSEPH ADDISON (1673-1719) 
 
 Page 306. Motto. Horace, Epist. 2. 1. 208-213. 
 
 — Poetical Justice. One of the strongest supporters of the 
 doctrine in England was Dennis. Before him it had been main- 
 tained, among others, by Rymer, Tragedies of the Last Age 
 (Spingarn, op. cit., 2. 188, 200). One of the many French ex- 
 ponents was Hedelin, La Pratique du Theatre, S. 
 
 Page 307. Aristotle . . . observes. Poetics, 13. 6. 
 
 — Orphan, &c. The Orphan and Venice Preserved are by 
 Otway; the Rival Queens, or the Death of Alexander the Great, 
 and Theodosius, by Lee; All for Love, by Dryden; Oedipus, by 
 Dryden and Lee ; Oronooko, by Southerne. 
 
 Page 308. Mourning Bride, &c. The Mourning Bride is by 
 Congreve; Tamerlane and Ulysses, by Rowe; Phiedra and Hyp- 
 politus, by Edmund Smith. 
 
 Page 309. Powell. George Powell (1658?-1714), a well-known 
 actor who was the original Fortius in Addison's Cato. 
 
 Page 311. Motto. Horace, Sat. 1. 4. 43-44. 
 
 Page 312. Solomon resembles. Canticles, 7. 4. 
 
 — Coming of a Thief. I Thess. 5. 2; II Pet. 3. 10. 
 
 — one of his Heroes. Homer, Iliad, 11. SS8-562. 
 
 — another of them. Homer, Odyssey, 20. 24-27. 
 
 Page 313. Horace has represented them. Carmina 4. 2. 1-4. 
 
 — Passage in Terence. Eunuch, 61-63. 
 
 — Camisars. The Camisards were French Protestants, some 
 of whom had taken refuge in London, where they were known 
 as 'French prophets'. Their ecstatic fits in which they uttered 
 pseudo-prophecies were often ridiculed. Cf. the Tatler, No. 11, 
 and Shaftesbury, A Letter concerning Enthusiasm. 
 
 Page 316. Motto. Horace, Ars Poetica, 409. 
 
 — Salmoneus. Cf. Virgil, .Mneid, 6. 585. 
 
 Page 319. Terence speaks. Andria, 20-21. 
 
 — Dr. South tells us. In a sermon preached at Westminster 
 Abbey, February 22, 1685 {Sermons, ed. 1842, 1. 168). 
 
 —Pliny tells us. Nat. Hist. 37. 3. 
 
424 Notes to pp. S26-351 
 
 ALEXANDER POPE (1688-1744) 
 
 An advertisement in the Daily Courant announces for June 6, 
 1715, the delivery to the subscribers of the first volume of the 
 Iliad. It was advertised as 'this day published' in the London 
 Gazette for June 28- July 2. 
 
 Page 326. Aristotle calls. Poetics, 6. 14. 
 
 Page 327. says Macrobius. Saturnalia, 5. 2. 
 
 Page 328. Herodotus imagines. History, 2. S3. 
 
 Page 330. Aristotle expresses it. Poetics, 24. 7. 
 
 — Longinus has given. On the Sublime, VIII, IX. 
 
 Page 331. Duport. James Duport, Homeri Gnomotogia, Cam- 
 bridge, 1660. 
 
 Page 332. Aristotle had reason. A somewhat exaggerated 
 version of the Rhetoric, 3. 11. 3. 
 
 Page 337. Madam Dacier. The Iliad . . . with Notes. To 
 which are prefixed a large preface, and the life of Homer, by 
 Madam Dacier. 1712. 
 
 Page 338. Boileau is of opinion. Reflexions Critiques sur 
 Longin, Refl. IX (Oeuvres, ed. Amar, 3. 262-263). 
 
 Page 340. Rapin judges. Comparaison des po'emes d' Homere 
 et de Virgile (1664), Refl. Ill, IV, V. 
 
 — Scaliger in his Poetices. V. 3. 
 
 — Perrault. ParalUle des Anciens et des Modernes (1693), 
 2. 42-43. 
 
 — de la Motte. Houdart de la Motte, Discours sur Homere, 
 Du Merite Personel d'Homere (Oeuvres, ed. 17S4, 3. 95 sq.). 
 
 Page 351. Read Homer once, &c. Mulgrave, Essay upon 
 Poetry, 325-328. 
 
 — Author of the Tragedy. Greorge Granville, Lord Lansdowne. 
 
 LEONARD V^ELSTED (1688-1747) 
 
 The volume for which the essay here reprinted serves as an 
 introduction was announced as 'this day published' in the Daily 
 Post for March 25, 1724. The title-page reads : Epistles, Odes, 
 
Notes to pp. 355-389 425 
 
 &c., Written on Several Subjects: with a Dissertation Concern- 
 ing the Perfection of the English Language, the State of Poetry, 
 &c. By Mr. Welsted. 
 
 Page 355. Duke of Newcastle. Thomas Pelham-Holles, Duke 
 of Newcastle (1693-1768), was a prominent but undistinguished 
 figure in politics who incidentally patronized some men of letters 
 without being specially interested in literature. Later in the 
 Dissertation he is referred to as Holies. 
 
 Page 360. And what . . . be. Pope, Essay on Criticism, 483. 
 
 Page 363. two memorable Princes. Augustus Caesar and 
 Cosimo dei Medici (?). 
 
 Page 368. Valerius Maximus has affirmed. De Dictis, 5. 4, 
 Ext. 5. 
 
 Page 369. o Translation. Of Longinus, On the Sublime. For 
 the opinion referred to, see this treatise. Section II. 
 
 Page 370. Essayers in Rhime. With the exception of the first 
 
 ■\two, these quotations are all from Mulgrave, Essay upon Poetry, 
 
 as follows: 246-247, 244-245, 73-74, 81-82, 126, 185-188, 229, 248- 
 
 1 249, 262-264, 269, 346. The first two are quoted from A Grammar 
 
 of the English Tongue, with the Arts of Logick, Rhetorick 
 
 Poetry, &c. (1711), pp. 145 and 146. 
 
 Page 374. Sapere . . . fans. Horace, Ars Poetica, 309. 
 
 Page 375. Descriptas . . . salutor. lb. 86-87. 
 
 Page 379. This Author . . . tells us. Dryden, Dedication of 
 the ^neis (Essays, ed. Ker, 2. 217). 
 
 Page 381. that other. I.e., Newton's. 
 
 — Mr. Cowley . . . has said. I cannot find precisely this. 
 Possibly Welsted had in mind Cowley's interest in experimental 
 as opposed to theoretical science as set forth in the preface to 
 A Proposition for the Advancement of Experimental Philosophy. 
 
 Page 383. a whole Oration. Cicero, Pro Archia. 
 
 Page 385. A late very popular Author. Addison. 
 
 Page 387. Mr. Philips. Ambrose Philips (167SP-1749). For 
 the recommendation of Welsted's poems, see the Freethinker, 
 Nos. 98, 99, 112. This periodical was edited and chiefly written 
 by Philips. It ran from March 24, 1718, to September 28, 1719. 
 
 — Sir William Temple . . . says. Cf. pages 47-48 and note. 
 
 Page 389. Commendation . . . by Scaliger. Poetices 6. 7 (ed. 
 1651, p. 339a). 
 
426 Notes to pp. 38g-3gg 
 
 — Dacier is not less sensible. Oeuvres d'Horace, 4. 84. The 
 quotation on page 391 directly follows this. 
 
 Page 391. Sir William Temple . . . takes a Step. Essentially 
 the point of a passage in the Essay on Ancient and Modern 
 Learning (Spingarn, op. cit., 3. 47-48). 
 
 — Seneca's Words. Epist. Moral. 13. 3. 37. 
 
 Page 393. Afranius. This conceivably applies to L. Afranius 
 (fl.c. 94 B. C), the writer of comedies; but, more probably, to an 
 unidentified writer nearly contemporary with Welsted. 
 
 Page 394. words of Quintilian. Oratorice Institutiones, 10. 
 1.62. 
 
 ALLAN RAMSAY (1686-1758) 
 
 This preface is taken from The Ever Green, being a selection 
 of Scots Poems, wrote by the Ingenious before 1600. Edinburgh, 
 1724. The original is printed in italics. 
 
 Page 399. our . . . Makers of Pastorals. Cf., e.g.. Pope, 
 Pastorals, 2. 66, 3. 79. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 The following list of critical writings published between 1700 and 
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 B — On his most Incomparable Incomprehensible Poem, 
 
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 The Scrutiny . . . with . . . Reflections upon Cyder, Cen- 
 
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430 Bibliography 
 
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 On the Death of Mr. Edmund Smith . . . a Poem in Mil- 
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 Cato Examin'd. 1713. 
 
 Bibliotheca: A Poem. Occasion'd by the sight of a Modern 
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 1720. 
 
 Homer Travestie: Being a new Translation . . . with a 
 critical Preface, [after Marivaux] 1720. 
 
 The Present State of Poetry; a Satire; address'd to a Friend. 
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 The Oxford Criticks; a Satire. 1721. 
 
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^j^ Btbkography 
 
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INDEX 
 
INDEX 
 
 Academy, The French: 42. 
 
 Addison, Joseph : 350, 385-6. See also Tatler, &c. 
 
 .iEschylus : 66, 96. 
 
 ^Esop: 90,91, 273-4,281. 
 
 Allegory: 87-104, 327-8. 
 
 Ancients vs. Moderns : 4, 6, 14-17, 35, 37, 60-1, 218-9, 231-2, 252-3. 
 
 Apollonius Rhodius : 219. 
 
 Ariosto: 94, 107, 110. 
 
 Aristophanes : 271, 273. 
 
 Aristotle: IS, 31, 42, 51, 57, 59-60, 61, 65-6, 69, 71, 73, 152, 154-S, 
 
 188, 217, 221, 225, 240, 259, 260, 262, 264, 266-72, 277, 281, 
 
 284, 307, 314, 317, 330, 332, 376. 
 Athenasus : 217. 
 
 Aulnoy, the Countess d' (Dunois) : 37. 
 Aulus Gellius : 237. 
 
 Bacon, Francis : 101, 231, 314. 
 
 Bartas, Sylvester du, SI. 
 
 Behn, Mrs. Aphra: 262. 
 
 Betterton, Thomas : 279, 282. 
 
 Blackmore, Sir Richard : 35, 37, 247, 270. 
 
 Boccalini, Trojano: 104. 
 
 Boileau, Nicolas: 8, 51, 129-30, 134, 217, 218-9, 237-8, 317, 338-9. 
 
 Bolingbroke, Viscount: 351. 
 
 Bossu: see Le Bossu. 
 
 Bouhours, Dominique: 229. 
 
 Buckingham, George Villiers, 2d Duke of: 243. 
 
 Buckinghamshire, Duke of: see Mulgrave. 
 
 Butler, Samuel: 242, 244, 308. 
 
 Bysshe, Edward : 19-22. 
 
 Castelvetro, Ludovico: 42. 
 
 Catullus : 5, 219, 359. 
 
 Chapman, George: 347. 
 
 Chaucer, Geoffrey: 86, 93, 233, 236-8, 359, 360. 
 
440 Index 
 
 Cicero: 64, 219, 237, 314, 383. 
 
 Classics as standards : 4. 
 
 Collier, Jeremy: 259, 262. 
 
 Comedy, Origin of : 65, 272-S ; purpose of, 122. 
 
 Congreve, William: 3, 17, 262, 274, 308, 350. 
 
 Corneille, Pierre: 41-2, 51. 
 
 Correctness: 80. 
 
 Cowley, Abraham: 3-13, IS, 35, 38, 87, 131-2, 176, 204, 205, 245, 
 
 381. 
 Critics: 43-4, 46-7, 53, 57, 58-9, 216-8, 220-1, 235-6, 281, 293-4, 
 
 302-5, 316-9, 356, 376. 
 
 Dacier, Andre : 32, 42, 45, 46, 57, 59, 62-72, 217, 304, 317, 389, 391. 
 
 Dacier, Madame : 32, 337. 
 
 Demosthenes : 384. 
 
 Denham, Sir John : 234. 
 
 Descartes, Rene: 378, 381. 
 
 Diction, The use of antiquated : 81, 233, 344-5, 
 
 Dionysius of Halicarnassus : 46, 217, 221, 334. 
 
 Dorset, Charles Sackville, 6th Earl of : 243. 
 
 Dryden, John : 9, IS, 17, 81, 87, 96, 131, 173, 233, 236-8, 247-8, 307, 
 
 308, 309-10, 348, 360, 379, 386. 
 Dunois, Madam : see Aulnoy, Countess d'. 
 D'Urfey, Thomas : 38. 
 
 English Language: 86, 237-8, 358-62. See also Diction. 
 
 Ennius : 17. 
 
 ■Environment, The influence of on literature : 4, 16-17, 3S-6, 106-8, 
 
 264, 275-6, 338, 400. 
 Epic, The : 64, 152, 294. See also Heroic Poem. 
 Etherege, Sir George: 132. 
 Euripides : IS, 34, 35, 51, 66, 67, 96, 219, 220, 252, 271, 272. 
 
 Fairfax, Edward : 164. 
 Fenelon : 349. 
 Fletcher, John: 277. 
 Fontenelle, Bernard de : 29, 385. 
 Free-Thinker, The : 394. 
 
 French critics : 44-6, 47-8, 294, 302, 390-1. See also sub individ- 
 uals. 
 French literature: 50-51. 
 
Index /f.^1 
 
 Garth, Dr. Samuel : 350. 
 
 Genius: 311-5; indispensable to great poetry, 52, 56, 82, 133-4, 
 
 172, 262, 318, 369, 388, 391. 
 Giraldus, Lilius : 58, 59. 
 Gothic: 53, 106, 107. 
 Greek Drama: 26-7, 34. 
 Grimaldi, Nicolino: 30. 
 Grubstreet : 10. 
 Guardian, The: 34, 61, 104, 
 
 Halifax, George Savile, 1st Marquis of: 243, 351. 
 Hardy, Alexander: 51. 
 Harrington, James: 14 (?), 217. 
 ^^Hebrew poetry: 64, 103, 173-5, 199-202, 206-10, 312, 343-4. 
 Hedelin, Frangois : 261. 
 Heinsius, Daniel: 261. 
 Hermogenes: 154, 155-6, 177, 180. 
 Herodotus : 328. 
 
 Heroic Poem : 64, 65. See also Epic. 
 Hippocrates : 4, 68, 265. 
 Hobbes, Thomas : 347, 348, 378. 
 Homer: 15, 16, 17, 25-6, 46, 92-3, 94, 95, 101, 108-9, 155, 158, 
 
 181-4, 191-3, 198-201, 204, 205, 225, 232, 234, 253, 266, 269-70, 
 
 296, 302, 312, 323-52, 394. 
 Horace : 21, 22, 28, 33, 42, 55, 57, 59, 60, 61, 73, 81, 85, 88-9, 99, 
 
 129, 136-7, 142, 177, 196, 203, 217, 225, 226, 232, 233, 235, 250-2, 
 
 261, 291, 302, 313, 317, 359, 364, 374, 375, 387, 388-90, 391. 
 Humor: 118-20, 122. 
 
 Imitation, Poetry as an : 73. 
 
 Imitation of the Ancients : 295-6, 377-8. 
 
 Invention : 54, 89, 105, 323-36. 
 
 Je ne sais quoi. The : 40. 
 Jonson, Ben : 124, 252, 276, 277. 
 Juvenal : 196, 359. 
 
 La Motte, Hondart de : 32, 340. 
 Lansdowne, George Granville, Lord: 113 sq., 351. 
 Le Bossu, Rene: 45, 46, 57, 59, 217, 302, 349, 376. 
 <Le. Clerc, Jean: 11, 85. 
 Lee, Nathaniel : 307, 309-10. 
 
^^2 Index 
 
 L'Estrange, Sir Roger : 83, 84. 
 
 Locke, John : 10, 378. 
 
 Longinus : 59, 154, 156, 181-91, 199, 201, 217, 218, 235, 317, 331. 
 
 Low characters in comedy: 117-8, 120-1. 
 
 Lucan : 52, 85, 325, 359. 
 
 Lucian: S3. 
 
 Lucretius : 37, 219. 
 
 LuUy, G. B. : 32. 
 
 Lycophron : 218, 219. 
 
 Lycurgus : 25. 
 
 Macrobius: 327. 
 
 Martial: 258,266. 
 
 Menander : 51, 273, 277. 
 
 Metrodorus Lampsacenus : 101. 
 
 Milbourne, Luke : 247. / '^ 
 
 Milton, John: 37, 61, 81, 87, 88, 93, 94, 95, 144, 157-62, 165-71, 
 
 172-6, 179, 203, 204, 205, 209-10, 219-20, 233, 234, 314, 325, 
 
 344, 349, 359. 
 Moliere, J. P. de: 123. 
 Montaigne, Michel de: 128. 
 Motte, Houdart de la : see ha. Motte. 
 Mulgrave, John Sheffield, 3d Earl of: 36, 55, 114, 119-20, 121, 
 
 217, 222, 230, 239, 243, 350-1, 371. 
 
 Nature: 10, 22, 25, 33, 35, 38, 39, 40, 41, 47, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 62, 
 
 67, 73, 222, 226, 250-1, 295. 
 Newcastle, Thomas Pelham-HoUes, Duke of : 355 sq. 
 Newton, Sir Isaac: 20. 
 Nonnus : 218, 219. 
 
 Ogilby, John: 347, 348. 
 
 Opera, Italian: 30-4, 53, 73, 140, 212, 215, 228, 241-2, 333. 
 
 Otway, Thomas : 38, 225, 242, 307. 
 
 Ovid : 5, 6, 9, 35, 259, 394. 
 
 Painting, Comparison of Poetry with : 52-3, 61-2, 88-9, 124, 372-3. 
 Parnell, Thomas: 350. 
 Pascal, Blaise: 176-7. 
 Perrault, Charles : 14, 218-9, 340. 
 ■^Persian poetry: 103. 
 Petrarch: 5, 12-3. 
 
Index ^^j 
 
 Philips, Ambrose: 386-7. 
 
 Piccolomini, Alessandro : 42. 
 
 Pindar : 15, 219, 313. 
 
 Pisistratus : 25. 
 
 Plato : 58, 90, 218, 314, 359, 384. 
 
 Plautus: 51,277. 
 
 Pliny: 217, 319. 
 
 Plutarch : 88, 90, 359. 
 
 Poetical Justice : 306-8. 
 
 Poetry: Definition of, 146-7; early development of, 63-4; purpose 
 
 of, 16, 145, 147. 
 Pope, Alexander : 360. 
 Port-Royal: 21. 
 Powell, George: 309. 
 Propertius : S. 
 Prose style: 79-85, 384-7. 
 Purcell, Henry : 31, 33, 34. 
 
 Quarles, Francis : 38. 
 Quintilian: 217, 218, 237, 317, 394. 
 
 Racine, Jean: 51. 
 
 Rapin, Rene : 14, IS, 32, 42, 261, 302, 304. 
 
 Ravenscroft, Edward: 38. 
 
 Rich, John: 261, 279. 
 
 Rochester, John Wilmot, Earl of : 243. 
 
 Roscommon, Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of: 45, 55, 216, 217, 
 222, 232, 236, 375-6. 
 
 Rossi, Luigi: 32. 
 
 Rowe, Nicholas : 308, 350. 
 
 Rules, The: 16-7, 18-75, 98-9, 106, 145-6, 222-3, 230-2, 253, 260-72, 
 276-7, 303-4, 318-9, 364-76, 387; popular opposition to, 23, 
 27, 34, 41, 47-8, 54, 55, 262-4, 277, 281, 303-4, 314. 
 
 Rymer, Thomas : 3, 14, 316. 
 
 Saint-Evreraond, Charles de: 16, 32, 127. 
 Scaliger, J. C. : 45, 259, 260, 340, 376, 389. 
 Seneca: 85,218,220,391. 
 Settle, Elkanah : 38, 386. 
 Shadwell, Thomas : 262. 
 
 Shakespeare, William: 24, 27, 36, 54, 71, 108, 113-7, 124-6, 220, 
 225, 236, 276, 284, 290-1, 307, 308, 313, 316, 319, 325. 
 
^■^-^ Index 
 
 Sidney, Sir Philip : 27. 
 
 Silius Italicus: 52, 218, 219, 327. 
 
 Smith, Edmund : 308. 
 
 Sophocles : IS, 34, 35, 66, 67, 219, 220, 252. 
 
 South, Dr. Robert: 319. 
 
 Southerne, Thomas : 307. 
 
 Spectator, The: Zi, 34, 44, 47, 59, 61, 95, 104. 
 
 Spenser, Edmund: 81, 86-110, 184, 204, 236, 237. 
 
 Sprat, Thomas (Bishop) : 80, 83, 84. 
 
 Statius : 52, 219, 325, 327, 329-30. 
 
 Steele, Sir Richard : 350. See also Tatter, &c. 
 
 Sternhold,' Thomas : 215. 
 
 Stesichorus : 394. 
 
 Strabo: 195. 
 
 Swift, Jonathan: 350. 
 
 Tasso, Torquato : 94, 102, 107, 163-5, 170-1, 178-80, 205, 327. 
 
 Taste: 20, 29, 32, 37, 45, 53, 132-3, 366-9. 
 
 Toiler, The: 34, 43-4, 46-7, 54, 55, 59, 103, 104. 
 
 Temple, Sir William: 47-52, 55, 79, 80, 83, 84, 98, 102, 387, 391. 
 
 Terence : 51, 84, 85, 219, 252, 313, 319. 
 
 Theocritus : 17. 
 
 Thucydides : 384. 
 
 Tibullus : 12, 219. 
 
 Tillotson, John (Archbishop) : 80-1, 84-5, 267. 
 
 Tonson, Japob : 215. 
 
 Tragedy: 65, 66, 67, 68-9, 71-2, 149-50, 152, 290, 306-10; origin 
 
 of, 26-7, 64, 72. 
 Translation : 341-9. 
 
 Valerius Flaccus : 219. 
 
 Valerius Maximus : 368-9. 
 
 Vaughan, John, 3d Earl of Carbery: 243. 
 
 Vega, Lopez de: 41. 
 
 Verbal criticism : 45, 53, 58. 
 
 Vida, G. : 59. 
 
 Virgil : 15, 17, 51, 91-2, 94, 95-6, 158, 168, 178, 191-3, 204, 219-20, 
 
 222-4, 231, 234, 253, 266, 295, 296, 302, 308, 312, 313, 314, 323, 
 
 325, 326-31, 334-6, 339-40, 346, 349, 359. 
 Vossius, Gerrard or Isaac: 45, 58-9, 89, 259, 261, 376. 
 
Index 44^ 
 
 Waller, Edmund : 3-13, SS, 56, 80, 86, 196-8, 234, 237. 
 
 Walsh, William : 3-13, 248. 
 
 Wilks, R. : 290. 
 
 Will's Coffee-house : 22, 247, 279, 285, 302. 
 
 Wit: 7, 23, 25, 36, 49, 82, 121, 228-30, 238-9, 243, 391-3. 
 
 Wither, George: 38. 
 
 Wycherley, William: 38, 53, 121, 248, 250. 
 
 Xenophon: 62, 103, 359. 
 
 ERRATUM 
 Page 293. For 1714 in title date read 1713.