560 Learn then what morals critics ought to show,
561 For 'tis but half a judge's task, to know.
562 'Tis not enough, taste, judgment, learning, join;
563 In all you speak, let truth and candour shine:
564 That not alone what to your sense is due,
565 All may allow; but seek your friendship too.
566 Be silent always when you doubt your sense;
567 And speak, though sure, with seeming diffidence:
568 Some positive, persisting fops we know,
569 Who, if once wrong, will needs be always so;
570 But you, with pleasure own your errors past,
571 And make each day a critic on the last.
572 'Tis not enough, your counsel still be true;
573 Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do;
574 Men must be taught as if you taught them not;
575 And things unknown proposed as things forgot.
576 Without good breeding, truth is disapprov'd;
577 That only makes superior sense belov'd.
578 Be niggards of advice on no pretence;
579 For the worst avarice is that of sense.
580 With mean complacence ne'er betray your trust,
581 Nor be so civil as to prove unjust.
582 Fear not the anger of the wise to raise;
583 Those best can bear reproof, who merit praise.
584 'Twere well might critics still this freedom take,
585 But Appius reddens at each word you speak,
586 And stares, Tremendous ! with a threatening eye,
587 Like some fierce tyrant in old tapestry!
588 Fear most to tax an honourable fool,
589 Whose right it is, uncensur'd, to be dull;
590 Such, without wit, are poets when they please,
591 As without learning they can take degrees.
592 Leave dangerous truths to unsuccessful satires,
593 And flattery to fulsome dedicators,
594 Whom, when they praise, the world believes no more,
595 Than when they promise to give scribbling o'er.
596 'Tis best sometimes your censure to restrain,
597 And charitably let the dull be vain:
598 Your silence there is better than your spite,
599 For who can rail so long as they can write?
600 Still humming on, their drowsy course they keep,
601 And lash'd so long, like tops, are lash'd asleep.
602 False steps but help them to renew the race,
603 As after stumbling, jades will mend their pace.
604 What crowds of these, impenitently bold,
605 In sounds and jingling syllables grown old,
606 Still run on poets, in a raging vein,
607 Even to the dregs and squeezings of the brain,
608 Strain out the last, dull droppings of their sense,
609 And rhyme with all the rage of impotence!
610 Such shameless bards we have; and yet 'tis true,
611 There are as mad, abandon'd critics too.
612 The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read,
613 With loads of learned lumber in his head,
614 With his own tongue still edifies his ears,
615 And always list'ning to himself appears.
616 All books he reads, and all he reads assails,
617 From Dryden's Fables down to Durfey's Tales.
618 With him, most authors steal their works, or buy;
619 Garth did not write his own Dispensary .
620 Name a new play, and he's the poet's friend,
621 Nay show'd his faults--but when would poets mend?
622 No place so sacred from such fops is barr'd,
623 Nor is Paul's church more safe than Paul's churchyard:
624 Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead:
625 For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
626 Distrustful sense with modest caution speaks;
627 It still looks home, and short excursions makes;
628 But rattling nonsense in full volleys breaks;
629 And never shock'd, and never turn'd aside,
630 Bursts out, resistless, with a thund'ring tide.
631 But where's the man, who counsel can bestow,
632 Still pleas'd to teach, and yet not proud to know?
633 Unbias'd, or by favour or by spite;
634 Not dully prepossess'd, nor blindly right;
635 Though learn'd, well-bred; and though well-bred, sincere;
636 Modestly bold, and humanly severe?
637 Who to a friend his faults can freely show,
638 And gladly praise the merit of a foe?
639 Blest with a taste exact, yet unconfin'd;
640 A knowledge both of books and human kind;
641 Gen'rous converse; a soul exempt from pride;
642 And love to praise, with reason on his side?
643 Such once were critics; such the happy few,
644 Athens and Rome in better ages knew.
645 The mighty Stagirite first left the shore,
646 Spread all his sails, and durst the deeps explore:
647 He steer'd securely, and discover'd far,
648 Led by the light of the Mæonian Star.
649 Poets, a race long unconfin'd and free,
650 Still fond and proud of savage liberty,
651 Receiv'd his laws; and stood convinc'd 'twas fit,
652 Who conquer'd nature, should preside o'er wit.
653 Horace still charms with graceful negligence,
654 And without methods talks us into sense,
655 Will, like a friend, familiarly convey
656 The truest notions in the easiest way.
657 He, who supreme in judgment, as in wit,
658 Might boldly censure, as he boldly writ,
659 Yet judg'd with coolness, though he sung with fire;
660 His precepts teach but what his works inspire.
661 Our critics take a contrary extreme,
662 They judge with fury, but they write with fle'me:
663 Nor suffers Horace more in wrong translations
664 By wits, than critics in as wrong quotations.
665 See Dionysius Homer's thoughts refine,
666 And call new beauties forth from ev'ry line!
667 Fancy and art in gay Petronius please,
668 The scholar's learning, with the courtier's ease.
669 In grave Quintilian's copious work we find
670 The justest rules, and clearest method join'd;
671 Thus useful arms in magazines we place,
672 All rang'd in order, and dispos'd with grace,
673 But less to please the eye, than arm the hand,
674 Still fit for use, and ready at command.
675 Thee, bold Longinus! all the Nine inspire,
676 And bless their critic with a poet's fire.
677 An ardent judge, who zealous in his trust,
678 With warmth gives sentence, yet is always just;
679 Whose own example strengthens all his laws;
680 And is himself that great sublime he draws.
681 Thus long succeeding critics justly reign'd,
682 Licence repress'd, and useful laws ordain'd;
683 Learning and Rome alike in empire grew,
684 And arts still follow'd where her eagles flew;
685 From the same foes, at last, both felt their doom,
686 And the same age saw learning fall, and Rome.
687 With tyranny, then superstition join'd,
688 As that the body, this enslav'd the mind;
689 Much was believ'd, but little understood,
690 And to be dull was constru'd to be good;
691 A second deluge learning thus o'er-run,
692 And the monks finish'd what the Goths begun.
693 At length Erasmus, that great, injur'd name,
694 (The glory of the priesthood, and the shame!)
695 Stemm'd the wild torrent of a barb'rous age,
696 And drove those holy Vandals off the stage.
697 But see! each Muse, in Leo's golden days,
698 Starts from her trance, and trims her wither'd bays!
699 Rome's ancient genius, o'er its ruins spread,
700 Shakes off the dust, and rears his rev'rend head!
701 Then sculpture and her sister-arts revive;
702 Stones leap'd to form, and rocks began to live;
703 With sweeter notes each rising temple rung;
704 A Raphael painted, and a Vida sung.
705 Immortal Vida! on whose honour'd brow
706 The poet's bays and critic's ivy grow:
707 Cremona now shall ever boast thy name,
708 As next in place to Mantua, next in fame!
709 But soon by impious arms from Latium chas'd,
710 Their ancient bounds the banished Muses pass'd;
711 Thence arts o'er all the northern world advance;
712 But critic-learning flourish'd most in France.
713 The rules a nation born to serve, obeys,
714 And Boileau still in right of Horace sways.
715 But we, brave Britons, foreign laws despis'd,
716 And kept unconquer'd, and uncivilis'd,
717 Fierce for the liberties of wit, and bold,
718 We still defied the Romans, as of old.
719 Yet some there were, among the sounder few
720 Of those who less presum'd, and better knew,
721 Who durst assert the juster ancient cause,
722 And here restor'd wit's fundamental laws.
723 Such was the Muse, whose rules and practice tell
724 "Nature's chief master-piece is writing well."
725 Such was Roscommon--not more learn'd than good,
726 With manners gen'rous as his noble blood;
727 To him the wit of Greece and Rome was known,
728 And ev'ry author's merit, but his own.
729 Such late was Walsh--the Muse's judge and friend,
730 Who justly knew to blame or to commend;
731 To failings mild, but zealous for desert;
732 The clearest head, and the sincerest heart.
733 This humble praise, lamented shade! receive,
734 This praise at least a grateful Muse may give:
735 The Muse, whose early voice you taught to sing,
736 Prescrib'd her heights, and prun'd her tender wing,
737 (Her guide now lost) no more attempts to rise,
738 But in low numbers short excursions tries:
739 Content, if hence th' unlearn'd their wants may view,
740 The learn'd reflect on what before they knew:
741 Careless of censure, nor too fond of fame,
742 Still pleas'd to praise, yet not afraid to blame,
743 Averse alike to flatter, or offend,
744 Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.