HORACE His ART of POETRY, Imitated in
English.
Address'd by way of Letter to a Friend.
SHould some ill Painter in a wild design
To a mans Head an Horses shoulders joyn,
Or Fishes Tail to a fair Womans Waste,
Or draw the Limbs of many a different Beast,
Ill match'd, and with as motly Feathers drest;
If you by chance were to pass by his Shop;
Could you sorbear from laughing at the Fop,
And not believe him whimsical, or mad?
Credit me, Sir, that Book is quite as bad,
[Page 2] As worthy laughter, which throughout is fill'd
With monstrous inconsistencies, more vain, and wild
Than sick mens Dreams, whose neither head, nor tail,
Nor any parts in due proportion fall.
But 'twill be said,
None ever did deny
Painters and Poets their free liberty
Of feigning any thing: We grant it true,
And the same privilege crave and allow:
But to mix natures clearly opposite,
To make the Serpent and the Dove unite,
Or Lambs from savage Tygers seek defence,
Shocks Reason, and the Rules of common Sense.
Some, who would have us think they meant to treat
At first on Arguments of greatest weight,
Are proud, when here and there a glittering line
Does through the mass of their coarse rubbish shine:
In gay digressions they delight to rove,
Describing here a Temple, there a Grove,
A Vale enamel'd o're with pleasant streams,
A painted Rainbow, or the gliding
Thames.
[Page 3] But how does this relate to their design?
Though good elsewhere, 'tis here but foisted in.
A common Dawber may perhaps have skill
To paint a Tavern Sign, or Landskip well:
But what is this to drawing of a Fight,
A Wrack, a Storm, or the
last Iudgment right?
When the fair Model, and Foundation shews,
That you some great
Escurial would produce,
How comes it dwindled to a Cottage thus?
In fine, whatever work you mean to frame,
Be uniform, and every where the same,
Most Poets, Sir, ('tis easie to observe)
Into the worst of faults are apt to swerve
Through a false hope of reaching excellence:
Avoiding length, we often cramp our Sense,
And make't obscure; oft, when we'd have our stile
Easie, and flowing, lose its force the while:
Some, striving to surmount the common slight,
Soar up in airy Bombast out of sight.
Others, who fear to a bold pitch to trust
Themselves, flag low, and humbly sweep the dust:
[Page 4] And many fond of seeming marvellous,
While they too carelesly transgress the Laws
Of likelihood, most odd
Chimeras feign,
Dolphins in Woods, and Boars upon the Main.
Thus they, who would take aim, but want the skill,
Miss always, and shoot wide, or narrow still.
One of the meanest Workmen in the Town
Can imitate the Nails, or Hair in Stone,
And to the life enough perhaps, who yet
Wants mastery to make the Work complete:
Troth, Sir, if 'twere my fancy to compose,
Rather than be this bungling wretch, I'd choose
To wear a crooked and unsightly Nose
Mongst other handsom features of a Face
Which only would set off my ugliness.
Be sure all you that undertake to write,
To chuse a Subject for your Genius fit:
Try long and often what your Talents are;
What is the burthen, which your parts will bear,
And where they'l sail: he that discerns with skill
To
[...]ll his Argument, and matter well,
[Page 5] Will never be to seek for Eloquence
To dress, or method to dispose his Sense.
They the chief Art, and Grace in order show
(If I may claim any pretence to know)
Who time discreetly what's to be discours'd,
What should be said at last, and what at first:
Some passages at present may be heard,
Others till afterward are best deferr'd:
Verse, which disdains the Laws of History,
Speaks things not as they are, but ought to be:
Whoever will in Poetry excel,
Must learn, and use this hidden secret well.
'Tis next to be observ'd, that care is due,
And sparingness in framing words anew:
You shew your mast'ry, if you have the knack
So to make use of what known word you take,
To give't a newer sense: if there be need
For some uncommon matter to be said;
Pow'r of inventing terms may be allow'd,
Which
Chaucer and his Age ne're understood:
[Page 6] Provided always, as 'twas said before,
We seldom, and discreetly use that pow'r.
Words new and forein may be best brought in,
If borrow'd from a Language near akin:
Why should the peevish Criticks now forbid
To
Lee, and
Dryden, what was not deny'd
To
Shakespear, Ben, and
Fletcher heretofore,
For which they praise, and commendation bore?
If
Spencer's Muse be justly so ador'd
For that rich copiousness, wherewith he stor'd
Our Native Tongue; for Gods sake why should I
Straight be thought arrogant; if modestly
I claim and use the self-same liberty?
This the just Right of Poets ever was,
And will be still, to coin what words they please,
Well fitted to the present Age, and Place,
Words with the Leaves of Trees a semblance hold
In this respect, where every year the old.
Fall off, and new ones in their places grow:
Death is the Fate of all things here below:
[Page 7] Nature her self by Art has changes felt,
The
Tangier Mole (by our great
Monarch built)
Like a vast Bulwark in the Ocean set,
From Pyrates and from Storms defends our Fleet:
Fens every day are drain'd, and Men now Plow,
And Sow, and Reap, where they before might Row,
And Rivers have been taught by
Middleton
From their old course within new Banks to run,
And pay their useful Tribute to the Town.
If Mans and Natures works submit to Fate,
Much less must words expect a lasting date:
Many which we approve for currant now,
In the next Age out of request shall grow:
And others which are now thrown out of doors,
Shall be reviv'd, and come again in force, (draw,
If custom please: from whence their vogue they
Which of our Speech is the sole Judg, and Law.
Homer first shew'd us in Heroick strains
To write of Wars, of Battles and Campaigns,
Kings and great Leaders, mighty in Renown,
And him we still for our chief Pattern own,
[Page 8] Soft Elegy, design'd for grief, and tears,
Was first devis'd to grace some mournful Herse:
Since to a brisker note 'tis taught to move,
And cloaths our gayest Passions, Joy, and Love.
But who was first Inventer of the kind,
Criticks have sought, but never yet could find.
Gods, Heroes, Warriors, and the lofty praise
Of peaceful Conquerors in
Pisa's Race,
The Mirth and Joys, which Love and Wine produce,
With other wanton sallies of a Muse,
The stately Ode does for its Subjects choose.
Archilochus to vent his Gall and spite,
In keen lambicks first was known to write:
Dramatick Authors us'd this sort of Verse
On all the
Greek and
Roman Theaters,
As for Discourse and Conversation fit,
And apt'st to drown the noises of the Pit,
If I discern not the true stile and air,
Nor how to give the proper Character
[Page 9] To every kind of work; how dare I claim,
And challenge to my self a Poets Name?
And why had I with awkard modesty,
Rather than learn, always unskilful be?
Volpone and
Morose will not admit
Of
Catiline's high strains, nor is it fit
To make
Sejanus on the Stage appear
In the low dress, which Comick persons wear.
What e're the Subject be, on which you write,
Give each thing its due place, and time aright:
Yet Comedy sometimes may raise her stile,
And angry
Chremes is allow'd to swell,
And Tragedy alike sometimes has leave
To throw off Majesty, when 'tis to grieve:
Peleus and
Telephus in misery,
Lay their big words, and blust'ring language by,
If they expect to make their Audience cry.
'Tis not enough to have your Plays succeed;
That they be elegant: they must not need
[Page 10] Those warm and moving touches which impart
A kind concernment to each Hearers heart,
And ravish it which way they please with art.
Where Joy and Sorrow put on good disguise,
Ours with the persons looks straight sympathize:
Would'st have me weep? thy self must first begin:
Then,
Telephus, to pity I incline,
And think thy case, and all thy suffirings mine;
But if thou'rt made to act thy part amiss,
I can't forbear to sleep, or laugh, or hiss,
Let words express the looks, which speakers wear;
Sad, fit a mournful, and dejected air;
The passionate must huff, and storm, and rave;
The gay be pleasant, and the serious grave.
For Nature works, and moulds our Frame within,
To take all manner of Impressions in.
Now makes us hot, and ready to take fire,
Now hope, now joy, now sorrow does inspire,
And all these passions in our face appear,
Of which the Tongue is sole interpreter:
[Page 11] But he whose words, and Fortunes do not suit,
By Pit and Gall'ry both, is hooted out.
Observe what Characters your persons fit,
Whether the Master speak, or
Todelet:
Whether a man, that's elderly in growth,
Or a brisk Hotspur in his boiling youth:
A roaring Bully, or a shirking Cheat,
A Court-bred Lady, or a tawdry Cit:
A prating Gossip, or a jilting Whore,
A travell'd Merchant, or an home spun Boor:
Spaniard, or
French, Italian, Dutch, or
Dane;
Native of
Turky, India, or
Iapan.
Either from History your persons take,
Or let them nothing inconsistent speak:
If you bring great
Achilles on the Stage,
Let him be fierce and brave, all heat and rage,
Inflexible, and head-strong to all Laws,
But those, which Arms and his own will impose.
Cruel
Medea must no pity have,
Ixion must be treacherous,
Ino grieve,
Io must wander, and
Orestes rave,
[Page 12] But if you dare to tread in paths unknown,
And boldly start new persons of your own;
Be sure to make them in one strain agree,
And let the end like the beginning be.
'Tis difficult for Writers to succeed
On Arguments, which none before have tri'd:
The
Iliad, or the
Odyssee with ease
Will better furnish Subjects for your Plays,
Than that you should your own Invention trust,
And broach unheard of things your self the first.
In copying others works, to make them pass,
And seem your own, let these few Rules take place:
When you some of their Story represent,
Take care that you new Episodes invent:
Be not too nice the Authors words to trace,
But vary all with a fresh air, and grace;
Nor such strict rules of imitation choose,
Which you must still be tied to follow close;
Or forc'd to a retreat for want of room,
Give over, and ridiculous become:
[Page 13] Do not like that affected Fool begin,
King Priam's
Fate, and Troy's
fam'd War, I sing.
What will this mighty Promiser produce?
You look for Mountains, and out creeps a Mouse.
How short is this of
Homer's fine Address,
And Art, who ne're says any thing amiss?
Muse, speak the man, Who since Troy'
s laying waste
Into such numerous Dangers has been cast,
So many Towns, and various People past:
He does not lavish at a blaze his Fire,
To glare a while, and in a Snuff expire:
But modesty at first conceals his light,
In dazling wonders, then breaks forth to sight;
Surprizes you with Miracles all o're,
Makes dreadful
Scylla and
Charybdis roar,
Cyclops, and bloudy
Lestrygons devour:
Nor does he time in long Preambles spend,
Describing
Meleager's ruful end,
When he's of
Diomed's return to treat;
Nor when he would the
Trojan War relate,
The Tale of brooding
Leda's Eggs repeat.
[Page 14] But still to the dosign'd event hastes on,
And at first dash, as if before 'twere known,
Embarques you in the middle of the Plot,
And what is unimprovable leaves out,
And mixes Truth and Fiction skilfully,
That nothing in the whole may disagree.
Who e're you are, that set your selves to write;
If you expect to have your Audience sit
Till the fifth Act be done, and Curtain fall;
Mind what Instructions I shall further tell:
Our Guise, and Manners alter with our Age,
And such they must be brought upon the Stage.
A Child, who newly has to Speech attain'd,
And now can go without the Nurses hand,
To play with those of his own growth is pleas'd,
Suddenly angry, and as soon appeas'd,
Fond of new Trifles, and as quickly cloy'd,
And loaths next hour what he the last enjoy'd.
The beardless Youth from Pedagogue got loose,
Does Dogs and Horses for his pleasures choose;
[Page 15] Yielding, and soft to every print of vice,
Resty to those who would his faults chastife,
Careless of Profit, of expences vain,
Haughty, and eager his desires t' obtain.
And swift to quit the same desires again.
Those, who to manly years, and sense are grown,
Seek Wealth and Friendship, Honour and Renown:
And are discreet, and fearful how to act
What after they must alter and correct.
Diseases, Ills, and Troubles numberless
Attend old Men, and with their Age increase:
In painful toil they spend their wretched years,
Still heaping Wealth, and with that wealth new
Fond to possess, and fearful to enjoy, (cares:
Slow, and suspicious in their managry,
Full of Delays, and Hopes, lovers of ease,
Greedy of life, morose, and hard to please,
Envious at Pleasures of the young and gay,
Where they themselves now want a stock to play;
Ill natur'd Censors of the present Age,
And what has past since they have quit the Stage:
[Page 16] But loud Admirers of Queen
Besse's time,
And what was done when they were in their prime.
Thus, what our tide of flowing years brings in,
Still with our ebb of life goes out agen:
The humors of Fourscore will never hit
One of Fifteen, nor a Boy's part befit
A full-grown man: it shews no mean Address,
If you the tempers of each Age express.
Somethings are best to act, others to tell;
Those by the ear convey'd, do not so well,
Nor half so movingly affect the mind,
As what we to our eyes presented find.
Yet there are many things, which should not come
In view, nor pass beyond the Tiring Room:
Which, after in expressive Language told,
Shall please the Audience more, than to behold:
Let not
Medea shew her fatal rage,
And cut her Childrens Throats upon the Stage:
Nor
Oedipus tear out his eye balls there,
Nor bloudy
Atreus his dire Feast prepare:
[Page 17]
Cadmus, nor
Prog
[...] their odd changes take;
This to a Bird, the other to a Snake:
Whatever so incredible you show,
Shocks my Belief, and straight does nauseous grow.
Five Acts, no more, nor less; your Play must have;
If you'l an handsom Third Days share receive.
Let not a God be summon'd to attend
On a slight errand, nor on Wire descend,
Unless th' importance of the Plot engage;
And let but Three at once speak on the Stage.
Be sure to make the
Chorus still promote
The chief Intrigue and business of the Plot:
Betwixt the Acts there must be nothing Sung,
Which does not to the main Design belong:
The praises of the Good must here be told;
The Passions curb'd, and foes of Vice extoll'd:
Here Thrift and Temperance, and wholesome Laws,
Strict Justice, and the gentle calms of Peace
Must have their Commendations, and Applause:
[Page 18] And Prayers must be sent to Heaven to guide
Blind Fortunes blessings to the juster side,
To raise the Poor, and lower prosp'rous Pride.
At first the Musick of our Stage was rude,
Whilst in the
Cock-Pit and
Black Friers it stood:
And this might please enough in former Reigns,
A thrifty, thin, and bashful Audience:
When
Bussy d'Ambois and his Fustian took,
And men were ravish'd with Queen
Gordobuc.
But since our Monarch by kind Heaven sent,
Brought back the Arts with him from Banishment,
And by his gentle influence gave increase
To all the harmless Luxuries of peace:
Favour'd by him, our Stage has flourish'd too,
And every day in outward splendor grew:
In Musick, Song, and Dance of every kind,
And all the grace of Action 'tis tefin'd;
And since that Opera's at length came in,
Our Players have so well improv'd the Scene
With gallantry of Habit, and Machine,
With the best Ages of Antiquity:
And mighty
Roscius were he living now,
Would envy both our Stage, and Acting too.
Those, who did first in Tragedy essay
(When a vile Goat was all the Poets day)
Us'd to allay their Subjects gravity
With enterludes of Mirth, and Raillery:
Here they brought rough, and naked Satyrs in,
Whose Farce-like Gesture, Motion, Speech, and Meen
Resemble those of modern
Harlequin.
Because such antick Tricks, and odd grimace,
After their drunken Feasts on Holidays,
The giddy and hot-headed Rout would please:
As the wild Feats of
Merry Andrews now
Divert the sensless Crowd at
Bartholmew.
But he, that would in this Mock-way excol,
And exercise the Art of Railing well,
Had need with diligence observe this Rule
In turning serious things to ridicule:
With Kingly Robes and Scepter lately seen,
Let them not speak, like Burlesque Characters.
The wit of
Billingsgate and
Temple-stairs:
Nor, while they of those meannesses beware,
In tearing lines of
Bajazet appear.
Majestick Tragedy as much disdains
To condescend to low, and trivial strains:
As a Court-Lady thinks her self disgrac'd
To Dance with Dowdies at a May-pole-Feast.
If in this kind you will attempt to write,
You must no broad and clownish words admit:
Nor must you so confound your Characters,
As not to mind what person 'tis appears.
Take a known Subject, and invent it well,
And let your stile be smooth and natural:
Though others think it easie to attain,
They'l find it hard, and imitate in vain:
So much does method and connexion grace
The common'st things, the plainest matters raise.
To make wild Satyrs, coming from the Wood,
Speak the fine Language of the
Park and
Mall,
As if they had their Training at
'Whitehall:
Yet, tho I would not have their Words too quaint,
Much less can I allow them impudent:
For men of Breeding, and of Quality
Must needs be shock'd with fulsom Ribaldry:
Which, though it pass the Footboy and the Cit,
Is always nauseous to the Box, and Pit.
There are but few, who have such skilful ears
To judg of artless, and ill-measured Verse.
This till of late was hardly understood,
And still there's too much liberty allow'd.
But will you therefore be so much a fool
To write at random, and neglect a Rule?
Or, while your faults are set to general view,
Hope all men should be blind, or pardon you?
Who would not such fool-hardiness condemn,
Where, tho perchance you may escape from blame.
Yet praise you never can expect, or claim?
[Page 22] Therefore be sure your study to apply
To the great patterns of Antiquity:
Ne're lay the Greeks and Romans out of sight,
Ply them by day, and think on them by night.
Rough hobbling numbers were allow'd for Rhime,
And clench for deep conceit in former time:
With too much patience (not to call it worse)
Both were applauded in our Ancestors:
If you, or I have sense to judg aright
Betwixt a Quibble, and true sterling Wit:
Or ear enough to give the difference
Of sweet well-sounding Verse from doggrel strains.
Thespis ('tis said) did Tragedy devise,
Unknown before, and rude at its first rise:
In Carts the Gypsie Actors strowl'd about,
With faces smear'd with Lees of Wine and Soot,
And through the Towns amus'd the wondring rout
Till
Aeschylus appearing to the Age,
Contriv'd a Play house, and convenient Stage.
[Page 23] Found out the use of Vizards, and a Dress
(An handsomer, and more gentile Disguise)
And taught the Actors with a stately Air,
And Meen to speak, and Tread, and whatsoe're
Gave Port, and grandeur to the Theater.
Next this succeeded ancient Comedy,
With good applause, till too much liberty
Usurp'd by Writers had debauch'd the Stage,
And made it grow the Grievance of the Age:
No merit was secure, no person free
From its licentious Buffoonery:
Till for redress the Magistrate was fain
By Law those Insolencies to restrain.
Our Authors in each kind their praise may claim,
Who leave no paths untrod, that lead to fame:
And well they merit it, who scorn'd to be
So much the Vassals of Antiquity,
As those, who know no better than to cloy
With the old musty Tales of
Thebes and
Troy:
But boldly the dull beaten track forsook,
And Subjects from our Country story took.
[Page 24] Nor would our Nation less in Wit appear.
Than in its great performances of War;
Were there encouragements to bribe our care,
Would we to file, and finish spare the pains,
And add but justness to our manly sense.
But, Sir, let nothing tempt you to bely
Your skill, and judgment, by mean flattery:
Never pretend to like a piece of Wit,
But what, you're certain, is correctly writ:
But what has stood all Tests, and is allow'd
By all to be unquestionably good.
Because some wild Enthusiasts there be
Who bar the Rules of Art in Poetry.
Would have it rapture all, and scarce admit
A man of sober sense to be a Wit;
Others by this conceit have been misled
So much, that they're grown sta
[...]ably mad:
The Sots affect to be retir'd alone,
Court Solitude and Conversation shun,
In dirty Cloaths, and a wild Garb appear,
And scarce are brought to cut their Nails and Hair,
[Page 25] And hope to purchace credit and esteem,
When they, like
Cromwel's Porter, frantick seem,
Strange! that the very height of Lunacy,
Beyond the cure of
Allen, e're should be
A mark of the Elect in Poetry.
How much an Ass am I that us'd to Bleed,
And take a Purge each Spring to clear my Head?
None otherwise would be so good as I,
At lofty strains, and rants of Poetry:
But, faith, I am not yet so fond of Fame,
To lose my Reason for a Poets name.
Tho I my self am not dispos'd to write;
In others I may serve to sharpen Wit:
Acquaint them what a Poet's duty is,
And how he shall perform it with success:
Whence the materials for his work are sought,
And how with skilful Art they must be wrought:
And shew what is and is not decency,
And where his faults and excellencies lie.
Good sense must be the certain standard still
To all that will pretend to writing well:
[Page 26] If you'l arrive at that, you needs must be
Well vers'd and grounded in Philosophy:
Then choose a Subject, which you throughly know,
And words unsought thereon will easie flow.
Whoe're will write, must diligently mind
The several sorts and ranks of humane kind:
He that has learnt, what to his Country's due,
What we to Parents, Friends, and Kindred owe,
What charge a Statesman, or a Judg does bear,
And what the parts of a Commander are;
Will never be at loss (he may be sure)
To give each person their due portraiture.
Take humane life for your original,
Keep but your Draughts to that, you'l never fail.
Sometimes in Plays, though else but badly writ
With nought of Force, or Grace, of Art, or Wit,
Some one well humour'd Character we meet,
That takes us more than all the empty Scenes,
And jingling toys of more elaborate Pens.
Greece had command of Language, Wit and Sense,
For cultivating which she spar'd no pains:
[Page 27] Glory her sole design, and all her aim
Was how to gain here self immortal Fame:
Our
English Youth another way are bred,
They're fitted for a Prentiship, and Trade,
And
Wingate's all the Authors, which they've read.
The Boy has been a year at Writing-School,
Has learnt Division, and the Golden Rule;
Scholar enough! cries the old doting Fool,
I'll hold a Piece, he'l prove an Alderman,
And come to sit at Church with's Furs and Chain.
This is the top design, the only praise,
And sole ambition of the booby Race:
While this base spirit in the Age does reign,
And men might nought but Wealth and sordid gain,
Can we expect or hope it should bring forth
A work in Poetry of any worth,
Fit for the learned
Bodley to admit
Among its Sacred Monuments of Wit?
A Poet should inform us, or divert,
But joyning both he shews his chiefest Art:
[Page 28] Whatever Precepts you pretend to give,
Be sure to lay them down both clear and brief:
By that they're easier far to apprehend,
By this more faithfully preserv'd in mind:
All things superfluous are apt to cloy
The Judgment, and surcharge the Memory.
Let whatsoe'r of Fiction you bring in,
Be so like Truth, to seem at least akin:
Do not improbabilities conceive,
And hope to ram them into my belief:
Ne're make a Witch upon the Stage appear,
Riding enchanted Broomstick through the Air:
Nor Canibal a living Infant spew,
Which he had murther'd, and devour'd but now.
The graver sort dislike all Poetry,
Which does not (as they call it) edifie:
And youthful sparks as much that Wit dispise,
Which is not strew'd with pleasant Gaieties.
But he, that has the knack of mingling well
What is of use with what's agreeable,
[Page 29] That knows at once how to instruct and please,
Is justly crown'd by all mens suffrages:
These are the works, which valued every where,
Enrich
Paul's Church-yard and the Stationer:
These admiration through all Nations claim,
And through all Ages spread their Author's Fame.
Yet there are faults wherewith we ought to bear;
An Instrument may sometimes chance to jar
In the best hand, in spight of all its care:
Nor have I known that skilful Marks-man yet
So fortunate, who never mist the White.
But where I many excellencies find,
I'm not so nicely critical to mind
Each slight mistake an Author may produce,
Which humane frailty justly may excuse.
Yet he, who having oft been taught to mend
A Fault, will still pursue it to the end,
Is like that scraping Fool, who the same Note
Is ever playing. and is ever out,
[Page 30] And silly as that bubble every whit,
Who at the self-same blot is always hit.
When such a lewd incorrigible sot
Lucks by meer chance upon some happy thought;
Among such filthy trash, I vex to see't,
And wonder how (the Devil!) he came by't.
In works of bulk and length we now and then
May grant an Author to be overseen:
Homer himself, how sacred e're he is,
Yet claims not a pretence to Faultlesness.
Poems with Pictures a resemblance bear;
Some (best at distance) shun a view too near:
Others are bolder, and stand off to sight;
These love the shade, those choose the clearest light,
And dare the survey of the skilfull'st eyes:
Some once, and some ten thousand times will please.
Sir, though your self so much of knowledg own
In these affairs, that you can learn of none,
Yet mind this certain truth which I lay down:
Most Callings else do difference allow,
Where ordinary Parts, and Skill may do:
[Page 31] I've known Physicians, who respect might claim,
Tho they ne're rose to
Willis his great fame:
And there are Preachers who have great renown.
Yet ne're come up to
Sprat, or
Tillotson:
And Counsellors, or Pleaders in the Hall
May have esteem, and practice, tho they fall
Far short of smooth-tongu'd
Finch in Eloquence,
Tho they want
Selden's Learning,
Vaughan's sense,
But Verse alone does of no mean admit,
Who e're will please, must please us to the height:
He must a
Cowley or a
Fleckno be,
For there's no second Rate in Poetry:
A dull insipid Writer none can bear,
In every place he is the publick jeer,
And Lumber of the Shops and Stationer.
No man that understands to make a Feast,
With a coarse Dessert will offend his Guest,
Or bring ill Musick in to grate the ear,
Because 'tis what the entertain might spare:
'Tis the same case with those that deal in Wit,
Whose main design and end should be delight:
[Page 32] They must by this same sentence stand, or fall,
Be highly excellent, or not at all.
In all things else, save only Poetry,
Men shew some signs of common modesty:
You'l hardly find a Fencer so unwise,
Who at
Bear-garden e're will fight a Prize,
Not having learnt before: nor at a Wake
One, that wants skill and strength, the Girdle take,
Or be so vain the pond'rous Weight to fling,
For fear they should be hiss'd out of the Ring.
Yet every Coxcomb will pretend to Verse,
And write in spight of nature, and his Stars:
All sorts of Subjects challenge at this time
The Liberty, and Property of Rhime.
The Sot of honour, fond of being great
By something else than Title, and Estate,
As if a Patent gave him claim to sense,
Or 'twere entail'd with an Inheritance,
Believes a cast of Foot-boys, and a set
Of
Flanders must advance him to a Wit.
[Page 33] But you who have the judgment to descry
Where you excel, which way your Talents lie,
I'm sure, will never be induc'd to strain
Your Genius, or attempt against your vein.
Yet (this let me advise) if e're you write,
Let none of your composures see the light,
Till they've been throughly weigh'd, and past the Test
Of all those Judges who are thought the best:
While in your Desk they're lock'd up from the Press,
You've power to correct them as you please:
But when they once come forth to view of all,
Your Faults are Chronicled, and past recall.
Orpheus the first of the inspired Train,
By force of powerful numbers did restrain
Mankind from rage, and bloudy cruelty,
And taught the barbarous world civility,
Hence rose the Fiction, which the Poets fram'd,
That Lions were by's tuneful Magick tam'd,
[Page 34] And Tygers, charm'd by his harmonious lays,
Grew gentle, and laid by their savageness:
Hence that, which of
Amphion too they tell,
The pow'r of whose miraculous Lute could call
The well-plac'd stones into the
Theban Wall.
Wondrous were the effects of primitive Verse,
Which setled and reform'd the Universe:
This did all things to their due ends reduce,
To publick, private, sacred, civil use:
Marriage for weighty causes was ordain'd,
That bridled lust, and lawless Love restrain'd:
Cities with Walls, and Rampiers were inclos'd,
And property with wholsom Laws dispos'd:
And bounds were six'd of Equity and Right,
To guard weak Innocence from wrongful might.
Hence Poets have been held a sacred name,
And plac'd with first Rates in the Lists of Fame.
Next these, great
Homer to the world appear'd,
Around the Globe his loud alarms were heard,
Which all the brave to war-like action fir'd:
[Page 35] And
Hesiod after him with useful skill
Gave Lessons to instruct the Plough-mans toil.
Verse was the language of the gods of old,
In which their sacred Oracles were told:
In Verse were the first rules of vertue taught,
And Doctrine thence, as now from Pulpits sought:
By Verse some have the love of Princes gain'd,
Who oft vouchsafe so to be entertain'd,
And with a Muse their weighty cares unbend.
Then think it no disparagement, dear Sir,
To own your self a Member of that Quire,
Whom Kings esteem, and Heaven does inspire.
Concerning Poets there has been contest,
Whether they're made by Art, or Nature best:
But if I may presume in this Affair,
Amongst the rest my judgment to declare,
No Art without a Genius will avail,
And Parts without the help of Art will fail:
But both Ingredients joyntly must unite
To make the happy Character complete.
[Page 36] None at
New-market ever won the Prize,
But us'd his Airings, and his Exercise,
His Courses and his Diets long before,
And Wine, and Women for a time forbore:
Nor is there any Singing man, we know,
Of good Repute in either
Chappel now,
But was a Learner once (he'l freely own)
And by long Practice to that Skill has grown:
But each conceited Dunce, without pretence
To the least grain of Learning, Parts, or sense,
Or any thing but harden'd impudence,
Sets up for Poetry, and dares engage
With all the topping Writers of the Age:
"Why should not he put in amongst the rest?
"Damn him! he scorns to come behind the best:
"Declares himself a Wit, and vows to draw
"On the next man, who e're disowns him so.
Scriblers of Quality who have Estate,
To gain applauding Fools at any rate,
Practise as many tricks as Shop-keepers
To force a Trade, and put off naughty wares:
[Page 37] Some hire the House their Follies to expose,
And are at charge to be ridiculous:
Others with Wine, and Ordinaries treat
A needy Rabble to cry up their Wit:
'Tis strange, that such should the true diff'rence find
Betwixt a spunging Knave and faithful Friend.
Take heed how you e're prostitute your sense
To such a fawning crew of Sycophants:
All signs of being pleas'd the Rogues will feign,
Wonder, and bless themselves at every line.
Swearing,
"'Tis soft! 'tis charming! 'tis Divine!
Here they'l look pale, as if surpriz'd, and there
In a disguise of grief squeeze out a tear:
Oft seem transported with a sudden joy,
Stamp and lift up their hands in extasie:
But, if by chance your back once turn'd appear,
You'l have 'em strait put out their tongues in jeer,
Or point, or gibe you with a scornful sneer.
As they who truly grieve at Funerals, shew
Less outward sorrow than hir'd mourners do;
[Page 38] So true Admirers less concernment wear
Before your face than the sham-Flatterer.
They tell of Kings, who never would admit
A Confident, or bosom-Favourite,
Till store of Wine had made his secrets float,
And by that means they'd found his temper out:
'Twere well if Poets knew some way like this,
How to discern their friends from enemies.
Had you consulted learned
Ben of old,
He would your faults impartially have told:
"This Verse correction wants (he would have said)
"And so does this: If you replied, you had
To little purpose several trials made;
He presently would bid you strike a dash
On all, and put in better in the place:
But if he found you once a stubborn sot,
That would not be corrected in a fault;
He would no more his pains and counsel spend
On an abandon'd Fool that scorn'd to mend;
[Page 39] But bid you in the Devils name go on,
And hug your dear impertinence alone.
A trusty knowing Friend will boldly dare
To give his sense and judgment, wheresoe're
He sees a Fault:
"Here, Sir, good faith, you're low,
"And must some heightning on the place bestow:
"There, if you mind, the Rhime is harsh, and rough,
"And should be soft'ned to go smoothlier off:
"Your strokes are here of Varnish left too bare,
"Your Colours there too thick laid on appear:
"Your Metaphor is coarse, that Phrase not pure,
"This Word improper, and that sense obscure.
In fine, you'l find him a strict Censurer,
That will not your least negligences spare
Through a vain fear of disobliging you:
They are but slight, and trivial things, 'tis true:
Yet these same Trifles (take a Poets word)
Matter of high importance will afford,
[Page 42] When e're by means of them you come to be
Expos'd to Laughter, Scorn, and Infamy.
Not those with
Lord have mercy on their doors,
Venom of Adders, or infected Whores,
Are dreaded worse by men of sense, and Wit,
Than a mad Scribler in his raving fit:
Like Dog, whose tail is pegg'd into a bone,
The hooting Rabble all about the Town,
Pursue the Cur, aund pelt him up and down.
Should this poor Frantick, as he pass'd along,
Intent on's Rhiming work amidst the throng,
Into
Fleet-Ditch, or some deep Cellar fall,
And till he rent his throat for succour bawl,
No one would lend an helping hand at call:
For who (the Plague!) could guess at his design,
Whether he did not for the nonce drop in?
I'd tell you, Sir, but questionless you've heard
Of the odd end of a
Sicilian Bard:
Fond to be deem'd a god, this fool (it seems)
In's fit leapt headlong into
Aetna's Flames.
[Page 43] Troth, I could be content an Act might pass,
Such Poets should have leave, when e're they please,
To die, and rid us of our Grievances,
A God's name let'em hang, or drown, or choose
What other way they will themselves dispose,
Why should we life against their wills impose?
Might that same fool I mention'd, now revive,
He would not be reclaim'd, I dare believe,
But soon be playing his old freaks again,
And still the same capricious hopes retain.
'Tis hard to guess, and harder to alledg
Whether for Parricide, or Sacriledg,
Or some more strange, unknown, and horrid crime,
Done in their own, or their Fore-fathers time,
These scribling Wretches have been damn'd to Rhime:
But certain 'tis, for such a crack-braind Race
Bedlam, or
Hogsdon is the fittest place:
Without their Keepers you had better choose
To meet the Lions of the
Tower broke loose,
[Page 42] Than these wild savage Rhymers in the street,
Who with their Verses worry all they meet:
In vain you would release your self; so close
The Le
[...]ches cleave, that there's no getting loose.
Remorsless they to no entreaties yield,
Till you are with inhumane non-sense kill'd.
An Imitation of HORACE. BOOK I. SATYR IX. Written in
Iune, 1681.
Ibam for
[...]è viâ sacrâ,
&c.
AS I was walking in the
Mall of late,
Alone, and musing on I know not what;
Comes a familiar Fop, whom hardly I
Knew by his name, and rudely seizes me:
Dear Sir, I'm mighty glad to meet with you:
And pray, how have you done this Age, or two?
"Well I thank God (said I)
as times are now:
"I wish the same to you. And so pass'd on,
Hoping with this the Coxcomb would be gone.
[Page 46] But when I saw I could not thus get free;
I ask'd, what business else he had with me?
Sir (answered he)
If Learning, Parts, or Sense
Merit your friendship; I have just pretence.
"I honour you (said I)
upon that score,
"And shall be glad to serve you to my power.
Mean time, wild to get loose, I try all ways
To shake him off: Sometimes I walk apace,
Sometimes stand still: I frown, I chafe, I fret,
Shrug, turn my back, as in the
Baigno, sweat:
And shew all kind of signs to make him guess
At my impatience, and uneasiness.
"Happy the folk in Newgate! (whisper'd I)
"Who, tho in Chains are from this torment free:
"Wou'd I were like rough Manly
in the Play,
"To send Impertinents with kicks away.!
He all the while baits me with tedious chat,
Speaks much about the drought, and how the rate
Of Hay is rais'd, and what it now goes at:
Tells me of a new Comet at the Hague,
Portending God knows what, a Dearth, or Plague
[Page 47]
Names every Wench, that passes through the Park,
How much she is allow'd, and who the Spark,
That keeps her: points, who lately got a Clap,
And who at the Groom-Porters
had ill hap
Three nights ago in play with such a Lord:
When he observ'd, I minded not a word,
And did no answer to his trash afford;
Sir, I perceive you stand on Thorns
(said he)
And fain would part: but, faith, it must not be:
Come, let us take a Bottle.
(I cried) "No;
"Sir, I am in a Course, and dare not now.
Then tell me whether you desire to go:
I'll wait upon you. "Oh! Sir, 'tis too far:
"I visit cross the Water: therefore spare
"Your needless trouble. Trouble! Sir, 'tis none:
'Tis more by half to leave you here alone.
I have no present business to attend,
At least which I'll not quit for such a Friend:
Tell me not of the distance: for I vow,
I'll cut the Line, double the Cape for you,
[Page 46]
Good faith, I will not leave you: make no words;
Go you to Lambeth?
Is it to my Lords?
His Steward I most intimately know,
Have often drunk with his Comptroller too:
By this I found my Wheadle would not pass,
But rather serv'd my suff'rings to increase:
And seeing 'twas in vain to vex, or fret,
I patiently submitted to my Fate.
Strait he begins again: Sir, if you knew
My worth but half so throughly as I do;
I'm sure, you would not value any Friend
You have, like me: but that I won't commend
My self, and my own Talents; I might tell
How many ways to wonder I excel.
None has a greater gift in Poetry,
Or writes more Verses with more ease than I:
I'm grown the envy of the men of Wit,
I kill'd ev'n
Rochester with grief, and spight:
Next for the Dancing part I all surpass,
St.
Andrew never mov'd with such a grace:
[Page 47] And 'tis well known, when e're I sing, or set,
Humphreys, nor
Blow could ever match me yet.
Here I got room to interrupt: "Have you
"A Mother, Sir, or Kindred living now?
Not one: they are all dead. "Troth, so I guest:
"The happier they
(said I) who are at rest.
"Poor I am only left unmurder'd yet:
"Haste, I beseech you, and dispatch me quite:
"For I am well convinc'd, my time is come:
"When I was young, a Gypsie told my doom:
This Lad
(said she, and look'd upon my hand)
Shall not by Sword, or Poyson come to's end,
Nor by the Fever, Dropsie, Gout, or Stone,
But he shall die by an eternal Tongue:
Therefore, when he's grown up, if he be wise,
Let him avoid great Talkers, I advise.
By this time we were got to Westminster,
Where he by chance a Trial had to hear,
And, if he were not there, his Cause must fall:
Sir, if you love me, step into the Hall
[Page 48] For one half hour, "The Devil take me now,
"Said I) if I know any thing of Law:
"Besides I told you whither I'm to go.
Hereat he made a stand, pull'd down his Hat
Over his eyes, and mus'd in deep debate:
I'm in a straight
(said he) what I shall do:
Whether forsake my business, Sir, or you.
"Me by all means
(say I) No
(says my Sot)
I fear you'l take it ill, If I should do't:
I'm sure, you will. "Not I, by all that's good,
But I've more breeding, than to be so rude.
"Pray, don't neglect your own concerns for me:
"Your Cause, good Sir! My Cause be damn'd
(says he)
'I value't less than your dear Company.
With this he came up to me, and would lead
The way; I sneaking after hung my head.
Next he begins to plague me with the Plot,
Asks, whether I were known to Oats
or not?
"Not I, 'thank Heaven! I no Priest have been:
"Have never
Doway, nor St.
Omers seen,
[Page 49] What think you, Sir; will they
Fitz-Harris try?
Will he die, think you? Yes, most certainly.
I mean, be hang'd. "Would thou wert so
(wish'd I.)
Religion came in next; tho he'd no more
Than the French
King, his Punk, or Confessor.
Oh! the sad times, if once the King should die!
Sir, are you not afraid of Popery?
"No more than my Superiors: why should I?
"I've no Estate in Abby-Lands to lose,
But Fire, and Faggot, Sir, how like you those?
"Come
Inquisition, any thing
(thought I)
"So Heav'n would bless me to get rid of thee:
"But 'tis some comfort, that my Hell is here:
"I need no punishment hereafter fear.
Scarce had I thought, but he falls on anew
How stands it, Sir, betwixt his Grace, and you?
"Sir, he's a man of sense above the Crowd,
"And shuns the Converse of a Multitude.
Ay, Sir,
(Says he) you're happy, who are near
His Grace, and have the favour of his ear:
[Page 50] But let me tell you, if you'l recommend
This person here, your point will soon be gain'd.
Gad, Sir, I'll die, if my own single Wit
Don't Fob his Minions, and displace'em quite.
And make your self his only Favourite.
"No, you are out abundantly
(said I)
"We live not, as you think: no Family
"Throughout the whole three Kingdoms is more free
"From those ill Customs, which are us'd to swarm
"In great mens houses; none e're does me harm,
"Because more Learned, or more Rich, than I:
"But each man keeps his Place, and his Degree.
'Tis mighty strange
(says he) what you relate,
"But nothing truer, take my word for that.
You make me long to be admitted too
Amongst his Creatures: Sir, I beg, that you
Will stand my Friend: Your Interest is such,
You may prevail, I'm sure, you can do much.
He's one, that may be won upon, I've heard,
Tho at the first approach access be hard.
[Page 51] I'll spare no trouble of my own, or Friends,
No cost in Fees, and Bribes to gain my ends:
I'll seek all opportunities to meet
With him, accost him in the very street:
Hang on his Coach, and wait upon him home,
Fawn, Scrape and Cringe to him, nay, to his Groom.
Faith, Sir, this must be done, If we'll be great:
Preferment comes not at a cheaper rate.
While at this Savage rate he worried me;
By chance a Doctor, my dear Friend came by,
That knew the Fellow's humour passing well:
Glad of the sight, I joyn him; we stand still:
Whence came you, Sir? and whither go you now?
And such like questions pass'd betwixt us two:
Strait I begin to pull him by the sleeve,
Nod, wink upon him, touch my Nose, and give
A thousand hints, to let him know, that I
Needed his help for my delivery:
He, naughty Wag, with an Arch fleering smile
Seems ignorant of what I mean the while;
[Page 52]
I grow stark wild with rage. "Sir, said not you,
"You'd somewhat to discourse, not long ago,
"With me in private? I remember't well:
Some other time, be sure, I will not fail:
Now I am in great haste upon my word:
A Messenger came for me from a Lord,
That's in a bad condition, like to die.
"Oh! Sir, he can't be in a worse, than I:
"Therefore for God's sake do not stir from hence.
Sweet Sir! your pardon: 'tis of consequence:
I hope you're kinder than to press mystay,
Which may be Heav'n knows what out of my way.
This said, he left me to my murderer:
Seeing no hopes of my relief appear;
"Confounded be the Stars
(said I) that sway'd
"This fatal day! would I had kept my Bed
"With sickness, rather than been visited
"With this worse Plague! what ill have I e're done
"To pull this curse, this heavy Iudgment down?
While I was thus lamenting my ill hap,
Comes aid at length: a brace of Bailiffs clap
[Page 53] The Rascal on the back:
"Here take your Fees,
"Kind Gentlemen (said I)
for my release.
He would have had me Bail.
"Excuse me, Sir,
"I've made a Vow ne're to be Surety more:
"My Father was undone by't heretofore▪
Thus I got off, and bless'd the Fates that he
Was Pris'ner made, I set at liberty.
The PRAISE of HOME RODE.
1.
HAil God of Verse! pardon that thus I take in vain
Thy sacred, everlasting Name,
And in unhallow'd Lines blaspheme:
Pardon that with strange Fire thy Altars I profane.
Hail thou! to whom we mortal Bards our Faith submit,
Whom we acknowledg our sole Text, and holy Writ:
None other Judg infallible we own,
But Thee, who art the Canon of authentick Wit alone.
[Page 63] Thou art the unexhausted Ocean, whence
Sprung first, and still do flow th' eternal Rills of sense:
To none but Thee our Art Divine we owe,
From whom it had its Rise, and full Perfection too.
Thou art the mighty Bank, that ever do'st supply
Throughout the world the whole Poetick Company:
With thy vast stock alone they traffick for a name,
And send their glorious Ventures out to all the Coasts of Fame,
2.
How trulier blind was dull Antiquity,
Who fasten'd that unjust Reproach on Thee?
Who can the sensless Tale believe?
Who can to the false Legend credit give?
Or think thou wantedst sight, by whom all others see?
What Land, or Region, how remote soe're,
Does not so well describ'd in thy great Draughts appear,
[Page 64] That each thy native Country seems to be,
And each t'have been survey'd, and measur'd out By thee?
Whatever Earth does in her pregnant Bowels bear,
Or on her fruitful Surface wear;
What e're the spacious Fields of Air contain,
Or far extended Territories of the Main:
Is by thy skilful Pencil so exactly shown,
We scarce discern where thou, or Nature best has drawn,
Nor is thy quick all-piercing Eye
Or check'd, or bounded here:
But farther does surpass, and farther does descry:
Beyond the Travels of the Sun, and Year.
Beyond this glorious Scene of starry Tapestry,
Where the vast Purliews of the Sky,
And boundless waste of Nature lies,
Thy Voyages thou mak'st, and bold Discoveries.
What there the Gods in Parliament debate,
What Votes, or Acts i'th'Heav'nly Houses pass,
By Thee so well communicated was;
[Page 65] As if thou'dst been of that Cabal of State,
As if Thou hadst been sworn the Privy-Counsellor of Fate.
3.
What Chief, who does thy Warrior's great Exploits survey,
Will not aspire to Deeds as great as they?
What generous Readers would he not inspire
With the same gallant Heat, the same ambitious Fire?
Methinks from
Ida's top with noble Joy I view
The warlike Squadrons by his daring Conduct led,
I see th'immortal Host engaging on his side,
And him the blushing Gods out do.
Where e're he does his dreadful Standards bear,
Horror stalks in the Van, and Slaughter in the Rere.
Whole Swarths of Enemies his Sword does mow,
And Limbs of mangled Chiefs his passage strow,
And flouds of reeking Gore the Field o'reflow:
[Page 66] While Heavn's dread Monarch from his Throne of State,
With high concern upon the Fight looks down,
And wrinkles his Majestick Brow into a Frown,
To see bold Man, like him, distribute Fate.
4.
While the great
Macedonian Youth in Non-age grew,
Not yet by Charter of his years set free
From Guardians, and their slavish tyranny,
No Tutor, but the Budg Philosophers he knew:
And well enough the grave, and useful Tools
Might serve to read him Lectures, and to please
With unintelligible Jargon of the Schools,
And airy Terms and Notions of the Colleges:
They might the Art of Prating, and of Brawling teach,
And some insipid Homilies of Vertue preach:
But when the mighty Pupil had outgrown
Their musty Discipline, when manlier Thoughts possess'd
His generous Princely Broast,
And fill'd with lust of Honour, and Renown;
He then learnt to contemn
The despicable things, the men of Flegm:
Strait he to the dull Pedants gave release,
And a more noble Master strait took place:
Thou, who the
Grecian Warriour so could'st praise,
As might in him just envy raise,
Who (one would think) had been himself too high
To envy any thing of all Mortality,
'Twas thou that taught'st him Lessons lostier far,
The Art of Reigning, and the Art of War:
And wondrous was the Progress, which he made,
While he the Acts of thy great Pattern read:
The World too narrow for his boundless Conquests grew,
He Conquer'd one, and wish'd, and wept for new:
From thence he did those Miracles produce,
And Fought, and Vanquish'd by the Conduct of a Muse.
5.
No wonder rival Nations quarrell'd for thy Birth,
A Prize of greater and of higher worth
Than that which led whole
Greece, and
Asia forth,
Than that, for which thy mighty Hero fought,
And
Troy with ten years War, and its Destruction bought.
Well did they think it noble to have bore that Name,
Which the whole world would with ambition claim:
Well did they Temples raise
To Thee, at whom Nature her self stood in amaze,
A work, she never tried to mend, nor cou'd,
In which mistaking Man, by chance she form'd a God.
How gladly would our willing
Isle resign
Her fabulous
Arthur, and her boasted
Constantine,
And half her Worthies of the
Norman Line,
And quit the honour of their Births to be ensur'd to Thine?
How justly might it the wise choice approve.
Prouder in this than
Crete to have brought forth Almighty
Iove?
6.
Unhappy we, thy
British Off-spring here,
Who strive by thy greatModel Monuments to rear:
In vain for worthless Fame we toil,
That's pent in the strait limits of a narrow
Isle:
In vain our Force, and Art we spend
With noble labours to enrich our Land,
Which none beyond our Shores vouchsafe to understand.
Be the fair structure ne'r so well design'd,
The parts with ne'r so much proportion joyn'd;
Yet foreign Bards (such is their Pride, or Prejudice)
All the choice Wormanship for the Materials sake despise.
But happier thou thy Genius didst dispence
In Language universal as thy sense:
All the rich Bullion, which thy Soveraign Stamp does wear
On every Coast of Wit does equal value bear.
Allow'd by all, and currant every where.
[Page 70] No Nation yet has been so barbarous found,
Where thy transcendent Worth was not renown'd.
Throughout the World thou art with Wonder read,
Where ever Learning does its Commerce spread,
Where ever Fame with all her Tongues can speak,
Where ever the bright God of Wit does his vast Journies take,
7.
Happy above Mankind that envied Name,
Which Fate ordain'd to be thy glorious Theme:
What greater Gift could bounteous Heaven bestow
On its chief Favourite below?
What nobler Trophy could his high Deserts be fit,
Than these thy vast erected Pyramids of Wit?
Not Statutes cast in solid Brass,
Nor those, which Art in breathing Marble does express,
Can boast an equal Life, or lastingness
[Page 71] With their well-polish'd Images, which claim
A Nich in thy Majestick Monuments of Fame.
Here their embalm'd incorruptible memories
Can proudest
Louvres, and
Escurials despise,
And all the needless helps of
Aegypts costly Vanities.
No Blasts of Heaven, or Ruine of the Spheres,
Not all the washing Tides of rolling years,
Nor the whole Race of batt'ring time shall e're wear out
The great Inscriptions, which thy Hand has wrought,
Here thou, and they shall live, and bear an endless date,
Firm, as enroll'd in the eternal Register of Fate.
For ever curst be that mad
Emperour,
(And curss'd enough he is be sure)
May future Poets on his hated Name
Shed all their Gall, and foulest Infamy,
And may it here stand branded with eternal shame,
Who thought thy Works could mortal be,
And sought the glorious Fabrick to destroy:
[Page 72] In this (could Fate permit it to be done)
His damned
Successor he had out-gone,
Who
Rome and all its Palaces in Ashes laid,
And the great Ruins with a savage Joy survey'd:
He burnt but what might be re-built and richer made.
But had the impious Wish succeeded here,
'T had raiz'd what Age, nor Art could e're repair.
Not that vast universal Flame,
Which at the final Doom
This beauteous Work of Nature must consume,
And Heav'n and all its Glories in one Urn entomb,
Will burn a nobler, or more lasting Frame:
As firm, and strong as that it shall endure,
Through all the Injuries of Time secure,
Nor die, till the whole world its Funeral Pile become.