is a proper motto to a hook of Epigrams, but would make a poor figure at the head of an epick poem.

Still further, in those species that address 'themselves to the heart and would obtain their end, not through the Imagination, but through the Passions, there the liberty of transgressing nature, I mean the real powers and properties of human nature, is infinitely restrained; and poetical truth is, under these circumstances, almost as severe a thing as historical. The reason is, we must first believe, before we can be affected. But the case is different with the more sublime and creative poetry. This species, addressing itself solely or principally to the Imagination; a young and credulous faculty, which loves to admire and to be deceived; has no need to observe those cautious rules of credibility so necessary to he followed by him, who would touch the affections and interest the heart.

This difference, it will be said, is obvious enough. How came it then to be overlooked? From another mistake, in extending a particular precept of the drama into a general maxim.

The incredulus odi of Horace ran in the heads of these criticks, though his own words confine the observation singly to the stage:

Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem

Quam quæ sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, et quæ
Ipse sibi tradit Spectator-

་

That, which passes in representation, and challenges, as it were, the scrutiny of the eye, must be truth itself, or something very nearly approaching to it. But what passes in narration, even on the stage, is admitted without much difficulty

multaque tolles

• Ex oculis, quæ mox narret facundia præsens.'

In the epick narration, which may be called absens facundia, the reason of the thing shows this indulgence to be still greater. It appeals neither to the eye nor the ear, but simply to the imagination, and so allows the poet a liberty of multiplying and enlarging his impostures at pleasure, in proportion to the easiness and comprehension of that faculty.

These general reflexions hardly require an application to the present subject. The tales of Faery, are exploded, as fantastick and incrédible. They would merit this contempt, if presented on the stage; I mean, if they were given as the proper subject of dramatick imitation, and the interest of the poet's plot were to be wrought out of the adventures of these marvellous persons. But the epick muse runs no risque in giving way to such fanciful exhibitions.

You may call them, as one does, extraordinary dreams, such as excellent poets and painters,

by being over studious, may have in the be'ginning of fevers*.'

The epick poet would acknowledge the charge, and even value himself upon it. He would say, 'I leave to the sage dramatist the merit of being always broad awake, and always in his senses: the divine dream, and delirious fancy, are among the noblest of my prerogatives.'

But the injustice done the Italian poets does not stop here. The cry is, Magick and enchantments are senseless things. Therefore the Italian poets are not worth the reading.' As if because the superstitions of Homer and Virgil are no longer believed, their poems, which abound in them, are good for nothing.

Yes, it will be said, their fine pictures of life and manners.-. -And may not I say the time, in behalf of Ariosto and Tasso? For it is not true that all is unnatural and monstrous in their poems, because of this mixture of the wonderful. Admit, for example, Armida's marvellous conveyance to the happy Island, and all the rest of the love-story is as natural, that is, as suitable to our common notions of that passion, as any thing in Virgil or (if you will) Voltaire.

Thus we see the apology of the Italian poets is easily made on every supposition. But I stick

Sir W. Davenant's Preface. HURD.

+ &ì "Overg, Homer. HURD,

to my point, and maintain that the faery tales of Tasso do him more honour than what are called the more natural, that is, the classical parts of his poem. His imitations of the ancients have indeed their merit; for he was a genius in every thing. But they are faint and cold and almost insipid, when compared with his original fictions." We make a shift to run over the passages he has copied from Virgil. We are all on fire amidst the magical feats of Ismen, and the enchantments of Armida :

* Magnanima mensogna, hor quando è il vero Si bello, che si possa à te preporre?'

I speak at least for myself; and must freely own, if it were not for these lies of Gothick invention, I should scarcely be disposed to give the Gierusalemme Liberata a second reading.

I readily agree to the lively observation, That impenetrable armour, enchanted castles, invulnerable bodies, iron men, flying horses, and other such things, are easily feigned by them that dare*.' But, with the observer's leave, not so feigned as we find them in the Italian poets, unless the writer have another quality, besides that of courage.

One thing is true, that the success of these

Mr. Hobbes's Letter HURD.

fictions will not be great, when they have no longer any footing in the popular belief: and the reason is, that readers do not usually do, as they ought put themselves in the circumstances of the poet, or rather of those, of whom the poet writes. But this only shows, that some ages are not so fit to write epick poems in, as others; not, that they should be otherwise written. It is also true, that writers do not succeed so well in painting what they have heard, as what they believe themselves, or at least observe in others a facility of believing. And on this account I would advise no modern poet to revive these facry tales in an epick poem. But still this is nothing to the case in hand, where we are considering the merit of epick poems, written under other circumstances.

The Pagan Gods and Gothick Faeries were equally out of credit, when Milton wrote. He did well therefore to supply their room with angels and devils. If these too should wear out of the popular creed (and they seem in a hopeful way, from the liberty some late criticks have taken with them,) I know not what other expedients the epick poet might have recourse to; but this I know, the pomp of verse, the energy of description, and even the finest moral paintings, would stand him in no stead. Without admiration (which cannot be affected but by the marvellous of celestial intervention, I mean, the