But if in noble minds some dregs remain,
Not yet purged off, of spleen and sour disdain ;
Discharge that rage on more provoking crimes,
Nor fear a dearth in these flagitious times.
No pardon vile obscenity should find,
Though wit and art conspire to move your mind;
But dulness with obscenity must prove

As shameful sure as impotence in love.

527

In the fat age of pleasure, wealth, and ease,
Sprung the rank weed, and thrived with large incrcase:
When love was all an easy monarch's care; 1
Seldom at council, never in a war:

Jilts ruled the state, and statesmen farces writ;
Nay, wits had pensions, and young lords had wit;
The fair sat panting at a courtier's play,
And not a mask went unimproved away:
The modest fan was lifted up no more,
And virgins smiled at what they blush'd before.
The following license of a foreign reign

540

550

Did all the dregs of bold Socinus drain;
Then unbelieving priests reform'd the nation,
And taught more pleasant methods of salvation;
Where Heaven's free subjects might their rights dispute,
Lest God himself should seem too absolute :
Pulpits their sacred satire learn'd to spare,
And vice admired to find a flatterer there!
Encouraged thus, wit's Titans braved the skies,
And the press groan'd with licensed blasphemies.
These monsters, critics! with your darts engage,
Here point your thunder, and exhaust your rage!
Yet shun their fault, who, scandalously nice,
Will needs mistake an author into vice;

In this passage he alludes to Cromwell, Charles II., and the Revolution of 1688, and to their various effects on manners, opinions, &c.

All seems infected that th' infected

spy,

As all looks yellow to the jaundiced eye.

559

PART THIRD.

Learn, then, what MORALS critics ought to show,
For 'tis but half a judge's task to know.
'Tis not enough, taste, judgment, learning join;
In all you speak, let truth and candour shine:
That not alone what to your sense is due
All may allow; but seek your friendship too.

Be silent always when you doubt your sense;
And speak, though sure, with seeming diffidence:
Some positive, persisting fops we know,

Who, if once wrong, will needs be always so;
But you, with pleasure own your errors past,
And make each day a critique on the last.

'Tis not enough your counsel still be true;
Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do
Men must be taught as if you taught them not,
And things unknown proposed as things forgot.
Without good-breeding, truth is disapproved ;
That only makes superior sense beloved.

Be niggards of advice on no pretence ;
For the worst avarice is that of sense.
With mean complaisance ne'er betray your trust,
Nor be so civil as to prove unjust.

Fear not the anger of the wise to raise ;
Those best can bear reproof, who merit praise.
"Twere well might critics still this freedom take,
But Appius1 reddens at each word you speak,
And stares tremendous, with a threatening eye,
Like some fierce tyrant in old tapestry.

1'Appius: Dennis.

570

580

Fear most to tax an Honourable fool,
Whose right it is, uncensured, to be dull;
Such, without wit, are poets when they please,
As without learning they can take degrees.
Leave dangerous truths to unsuccessful satires,
And flattery to fulsome dedicators,

Whom, when they praise, the world believes no more,
Than when they promise to give scribbling o'er.
"Tis best sometimes your censure to restrain,

And charitably let the dull be vain :

Your silence there is better than your spite,
For who can rail so long as they can write?
Still humming on, their drowsy course they keep,
And lash'd so long, like tops, are lash'd asleep.
False steps but help them to renew the race,
As, after stumbling, jades will mend their pace.
What crowds of these, impenitently bold,
In sounds and jingling syllables grown old,
Still run on poets, in a raging vein,

Even to the dregs and squeezings of the brain,
Strain out the last dull droppings of their sense,
And rhyme with all the rage of impotence!

Such shameless bards we have; and yet 'tis true,
There are as mad, abandon'd critics too.
The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read,
With loads of learnèd lumber in his head,
With his own tongue still edifies his ears,
And always listening to himself appears.
All books he reads, and all he reads assails,
From Dryden's Fables down to D'Urfey's Tales.
With him, most authors steal their works, or buy ;
Garth did not write 1 his own Dispensary.

589

600

610

620

Garth did not write: a common slander at that time in prejudice of that author.

Name a new play, and he's the poet's friend, Nay, show'd his faults—but when would poets mend?

No place so sacred from such fops is barr'd,

Nor is Paul's church more safe than Paul's church-
yard:

Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead:
For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
Distrustful sense with modest caution speaks,
It still looks home, and short excursions makes ;;
But rattling nonsense in full volleys breaks,
And, never shock'd, and never turn'd aside,
Bursts out, resistless, with a thundering tide.

But where's the man, who counsel can bestow,
Still pleased to teach, and yet not proud to know?
Unbiass'd, or by favour, or by spite;

Not dully prepossess'd, nor blindly right;

Though learn'd, well-bred; and though well-bred, sincere ;

Modestly bold, and humanly severe :

Who to a friend his faults can freely show,
And gladly praise the merit of a foe?
Bless'd with a taste exact, yet unconfined;
A knowledge both of books and human kind;
Generous converse; a soul exempt from pride;
And love to praise, with reason on his side?
Such once were critics; such the happy few,
Athens and Rome in better ages knew.

The mighty Stagyrite first left the shore,
Spread all his sails, and durst the deeps explore;

621

630

640

VARIATIONS.

VER. 624. Between this and ver. 625:

In vain you shrug, and sweat, and strive to

fly;

These know no manners but of poetry.
They'll stop a hungry chaplain in his grace,
To treat of unities of time and place.

He steer'd securely, and discover'd far,
Led by the light of the Mæonian star.1
Poets, a race long unconfined, and free,
Still fond and proud of savage liberty,

Received his laws; and stood convinced 'twas fit,
Who conquer'd Nature, should preside o'er Wit.
Horace still charms with graceful negligence,
And without method talks us into sense,
Will, like a friend, familiarly convey
The truest notions in the easiest way.
He who, supreme in judgment, as in wit,
Might boldly censure, as he boldly writ,

Yet judged with coolness, though he sung with fire ;
His precepts teach but what his works inspire.
Our critics take a contrary extreme,

They judge with fury, but they write with phlegm:
Nor suffers Horace more in wrong translations
By wits, than critics in as wrong quotations.
See Dionysius 2 Homer's thoughts refine,
And call new beauties forth from every line!

Fancy and art in gay Petronius please,
The scholar's learning, with the courtier's ease.
In grave Quintilian's copious work we find
The justest rules and clearest method join'd :
Thus useful arms in magazines we place,
All ranged in order, and disposed with grace,
But less to please the eye, than arm the hand,
Still fit for use, and ready at command.

Mæonian star :' Homer.-2 Dionysius:' of Halicarnassus.

VARIATIONS.

648

660

670

Between ver. 647 and 648, were the following | He, when all Nature was subdued before,

lines, afterwards suppressed by the author:

That bold Columbus of the realms of wit,
Whose first discovery 's not exceeded yet.
Led by the light of the Mæonian star,
He steer'd securely, and discover'd far.

Like his great pupil, sigh'd, and long'd for

more:

Fancy's wild regions yet unvanquish'd lay,
A boundless empire, and that own'd no sway
Poets, &c.