But that the time and care that are requir'd
To overlook, and file, and polish well,
Fright poets from that necessary toil.
Democritus was fo in love with wit,
And fome men's natural impulfe to write,
That he defpis'd the help of art and rules,
And thought none poets till their brains were crackt;
And this hath fo intoxicated fome,
That (to appear incorrigibly mad)
They cleanlinefs and company renounce
For lunacy beyond the cure of art,
With a long beard, and ten long dirty nails,
Pass current for Apollo's livery.
O my unhappy stars! if in the Spring
Some phyfic had not cur'd me of the spleen,
None would have writ with more fuccefs than I;
But I must reft contented as I am,
And only ferve to whet that wit in you,
To which I willingly resign my claim.
Yet without writing I may teach to write,
Tell what the duty of a poet is;
Wherein his wealth and ornaments confift,
And how he may be form'd, and how improv'd,
What fit, what not, what excellent or ill.
Sound judgment is the ground of writing well;
And when Philofophy directs your choice
To proper fubjects rightly understood,
Words from your pen will naturally flow;
He only gives the proper characters,
Who knows the duty of all ranks of men,
And what we owe our country, parents, friends,
How judges and how fenators fhould act,
And what becomes a general to do;
Those are the likeft copies, which are drawn-
By the original of human life.
Sometimes in rough and undigested plays
We meet with fuch a lucky character,
As, being humour'd right, and well pursued,
Succeeds much better than the shallow verfe
And chiming trifles of more ftudious pens.
Greece had a genius, Greece had eloquence,
For her ambition and her end was fame.
Our Roman youth is diligently taught
The deep myfterious art of growing rich,
And the first words that children learn to speak
Are of the value of the names of coin;
Can a penurious wretch, that with his milk
Hath fuck'd the bafeft dregs of ufury,
Pretend to generous and heroic thoughts?
Can ruft and avarice write lafting lines?
But you, brave youth, wife Numa's worthy heir,
Remember of what weight your judgment is,
And never venture to commend a book,
That has not pafs'd all judges and all tests.
poet fhould inftruct, or please, or both:
Let all your precepts be fuccinct and clear,
That ready wits may comprehend them soon,
And faithful memories retain them long;
All fuperfluities are foon forgot.
Never be fo conceited of your parts,
To think you may persuade us what you please,
Or venture to bring in a child alive,
That Canibals have murder'd and devour'd.
Old age explodes all but morality;
Austerity offends aspiring youths; .
But he that joins instruction with delight,
Profit with pleasure, carries all the votes :
These are the volumes that enrich the shops,
These pass with admiration through the world,
And bring their author to eternal fame.
Be not too rigidly cenforious,
A ftring may jar in the best master's hand,
And the most skilful archer miss his aim
;
But in a poem elegantly writ,
I would not quarrel with a flight mistake,
Such as our nature's frailty may excuse;
But he that hath been often told his fault,
And ftill perfifts, is as impertinent
As a musician that will always play,
And yet is always out at the fame note:
When fuch a positive abandon'd fop
(Among his numerous abfurdities)
Stumbles upon fome tolerable line,
I fret to fee them in fuch company,
And wonder by what magic they came there.
But in long works fleep will sometimes surprise ;
Homer himself hath been obferv'd to nod.
Poems, like pictures, are of different forts,
Some better at a distance, others near,
Some love the dark, fome choose the clearest light,
And boldly challenge the most piercing eye,
Some please for once, fome will for ever please.
But, Pifo, (though your knowledge of the world,
Join'd with your father's precepts, make you wife)
Remember this as an important truth:
Some things admit of mediocrity,
A counsellor, or pleader at the bar,
May want Meffala's powerful eloquence,
Or be less read than deep Cafcellius;
Yet this indifferent lawyer is esteem'd ;
But no authority of gods nor men
Allow of any mean in poesy.
As an ill concert, and a coarse perfume,
Difgrace the delicacy of a feast,
And might with more discretion have been spar'd;
So poefy, whose end is to delight,
Admits of no degrees, but must be still
Sublimely good, or defpicably ill.
In other things men have fome reason left,
And one that cannot dance, or fence, or run,
Defpairing of fuccefs, forbears to try;
But all (without confideration) write;
Some thinking that th' omnipotence of wealth
Can turn them into poets when they please.
But, Pifo, you are of too quick a fight
Not to discern which way your talent lies,
Or vainly with your genius to contend
Yet if it ever be your fate to write,
Let your productions pass the stricteft hands,
Till time and care have ripen'd every line.
What you keep by you, you may change and mend,
But words once spoke can never be recall'd.
Orpheus, infpir'd, by more than human power,
Did not, as poets, feign, tame favage beasts,
But men as lawless and as wild as they,
And firft diffuaded them from rage, and blood;
Thus, when Amphion built the Theban wall,
They feign'd the ftones obey'd his magic lute;
Poets, the first instructors of mankind,
Brought all things to their proper, native use;
Some they appropriated to the gods,
And fome to public, fome to private ends:
Promifcuous love by marriage was restrain'd,
Cities, were built, and useful laws were made;
So great was the divinity of verse,
And fuch obfervance to a poet paid.
Then Homer's and Tyrtæus' martial Muse
Waken'd the world, and founded loud alarms.
To verse we owe the facred oracles,
And our beft precepts of morality;
Some have by verfe obtain'd the love of kings,
(Who, with the Mufes, cafe their weary'd minds)
Then blush not, noble Pifo, to protect
What gods infpire, and kings delight to hear.
Some think that poets may be form'd by art,
Others maintain that Nature makes them fo;
I neither fee what art without a vein,
Nor wit without the help of art can do,
But mutually they crave each other's aid.
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