agency of superior natures really existing, or by the illusion of the fancy taken to be so,) no epick poem can be long-lived. I am not afraid to instance in the Henriade itself; which, notwithstanding the elegance of the composition, will in a short time be no more read than the Gondibert of Sir W. Davenant, and for the same

reason.

Criticks may talk what they will of Truth and Nature, and abuse the Italian poets, as they will, for transgressing both in their incredible fictions. But, believe it, these fictions with which they have studied to delude the world, are of that kind

6

of credible deceits, of which a wise ancient pro-l nounces with assurance, That they, who deceive, are honester than they who do not deceive; and they, who are deceived, wiser than they who are not deceived.'

·

But the reader may be ready to ask, if there be any truth in this representation, Whence it has come to pass, that the classical manners are still admired and imitated by the poets, when the Gothick have long since fallen into disuse?'

The answer to this question will furnish all that is now wanting to a proper discussion of the present subject.

One great reason of this difference certainly was; That the ablest writers of Greece ennobled the system of heroick manners, while it was fresh nd flourishing; and their works, being master

pieces of composition, so fixed the credit of it in the opinion of the world, that no revolutions of time and taste could afterwards shake it. Where

as the Gothick having been disgraced in their infancy by bad writers, and a new set of manners springing up before there were any better to do them justice, they could never be brought into vogue by the attempts of later poets; who, in spite of prejudice, and for the genuine charm of these highly poetical manners, did their utmost to recommend them. But, further, the Gothick system was not only forced to wait long for real genius to do it honour; real genius was even very early employed against it.

There were two causes of this mishap. The old romancers had even outraged the truth in their extravagant pictures of chivalry: and Chivalry inself, such as it once had been, was greatly abated. So that men of sense were doubly disgusted to find a representation of things unlike to what they observed in real life, and beyond what it was ever possible should have existed. However, with these disadvantages there was still so much of the old spirit left, and the fascination of these wondrous tales was so prevalen, that a more than common degree of sagacity and good sense was required to penetrate the illusion.

It was one of this character, I suppose, that put the famous question to Ariosto, which has

been so often repeated that I shall spare the reader the disgust of hearing it. Yet long be fore his time an immortal genius of our own (so. superiour is the sense of some men to the age they live in) saw as far into this matter, as Ariosto's examiner. This sagacious person was Dan Chaucer; who, in a reign that almost realised the wonders of romantick chivalry, not only discerned the absurdity of the old romances, but has even ridiculed them with incomparable spirit.

His Rime on Sir Topaz, in the Canterbury Tales, is a manifest banter on these books, and may be considered as a sort of prelude to the adventures of Don Quixote. I call it a manifest banter: for we are to observe that this was. Chaucer's own tale, and that, when in the progress of it the good sense of the Host is made to break in upon him, and interrupt him, Chaucer, approves his disgust, and changing his note, tells the simple instructive tale of Melibus, a moral tale virtuous, as he chooses to characterise it; to show, what sort of fictions were most expressive of real life, and most proper to be put into the hands of the people. One might further observe that the Rime of Sir Topaz itself is so managed as with infinite humour to expose the leading impertinencies of books of Chivalry, and their impertinencies only; as may be seen by the different conduct of this tale, from that of Cam

buscan, which Spenser and Milton were so pleased with, and which with great propriety is put into the mouth of the Squire.

But I must not anticipate the observations which the reader will take a pleasure to make for himself on these two fine parts of the Canterbury. Tales. Enough is said to illustrate the point, I am now upon. That these phantoms of chivalry had the misfortune to be laughed out of counte6 nance by men of sense, before the substance of • it had been fairly and truly represented by any capable writer.'

Still, the principal reason of all, no doubt, was, That the Gothick manners of Chivalry, as springing out of the feudal system, were as singular, as that system itself: so that, when that political constitution vanished out of Europe, the manners, that belonged to it, were no longer seen or understood. There was no example of any such manners remaining on the face of the earth: and as they never did subsist but once, and are never likely to subsist again, people would be led of course to think and speak of them, as romantick, and unnatural. The consequence of which was a total contempt and rejection of them; while the classick manners, as arising out of the customary and usual situations of humanity, would have many archetypes, and appear natural even to those who saw nothing similiar to them actually subsisting before their eyes.

Thus, though the manners of Homer are perhaps as different from ours, as those of Chivalry itself, yet as we know that such manners always belong to rude and simple ages, such as Homer paints; and actually subsist at this day in countries that are under the like circumstances of barbarity, we readily agree to call them natural, and even take a fond pleasure in the survey of them.

The question then is easily answered, without any obligation upon me to give up the Gothick manners as visionary and fantastick. And the reason appears, why the FAERIE QUEENE, one of the noblest productions of modern poetry, is fallen into so general a neglect, that all the zeal of its commentators is esteemed officious and impertinent, and will never restore it to those honours which it has, once for all, irrecoverably lost.

In effect, what way is there of persuading the generality of readers that the romantick manners are to be accounted natural, when not one in ten thousand knows enough of the barbarous ages, in which they arose, to believe they ever really existed?

Poor Spenser then,

in whose gentle spright 'The pure well-head of Poesie did dwell,'

must, for ought I can see, be left to the admira