A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace With the Original Text, and Critical Notes collected from his best Latin and French Commentators. By the Revd Mr. Philip Francis...The third edition |
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HORACE's ART of POETRY. |
 | A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace |  |
433
HORACE's ART of POETRY.
Suppose a Painter to an human Head
Should join an Horse's Neck, and wildly spread
The various Plumage of the feather'd Kind
O'er Limbs of different Beasts, absurdly join'd;
Or if he gave to View a beauteous Maid
Above the Waist with every Charm array'd,
Should a foul Fish her lower Parts infold,
Would you not laugh such Pictures to behold?
Such is the Book, that like a sick Man's Dreams,
Varies all Shapes, and mixes all Extremes.
Should join an Horse's Neck, and wildly spread
The various Plumage of the feather'd Kind
O'er Limbs of different Beasts, absurdly join'd;
Or if he gave to View a beauteous Maid
Above the Waist with every Charm array'd,
Should a foul Fish her lower Parts infold,
Would you not laugh such Pictures to behold?
Such is the Book, that like a sick Man's Dreams,
Varies all Shapes, and mixes all Extremes.
435
“Painters and Poets our Indulgence claim,
“Their Daring equal, and their Art the same.”
I own th' Indulgence—Such I give and take;
But not through Nature's sacred Rules to break,
Monstrous to mix the Cruel and the Kind,
Serpents with Birds, and Lambs with Tygers join'd.
“Their Daring equal, and their Art the same.”
I own th' Indulgence—Such I give and take;
But not through Nature's sacred Rules to break,
Monstrous to mix the Cruel and the Kind,
Serpents with Birds, and Lambs with Tygers join'd.
Your Opening promises some grand Design,
And Shreds of Purple with broad Lustre shine
Sew'd on the Poem. Here in labour'd Strain
A sacred Grove, or fair Diana's Fane
Rises to View; there through delicious Meads
A murmuring Stream its winding Water leads;
Here pours the rapid Rhine; the watry Bow
There bends its Colours, and with Pride they glow.
Beauties they are; but Beauties out of Place;
For though your Talent be to paint with Grace
A mournful Cypress, would You pour its Shade
O'er the tempestuous Deep, if You were paid
To paint a Sailor 'midst the Winds and Waves,
When on a broken Plank his Life he saves?
And Shreds of Purple with broad Lustre shine
Sew'd on the Poem. Here in labour'd Strain
A sacred Grove, or fair Diana's Fane
Rises to View; there through delicious Meads
A murmuring Stream its winding Water leads;
Here pours the rapid Rhine; the watry Bow
There bends its Colours, and with Pride they glow.
Beauties they are; but Beauties out of Place;
For though your Talent be to paint with Grace
A mournful Cypress, would You pour its Shade
O'er the tempestuous Deep, if You were paid
To paint a Sailor 'midst the Winds and Waves,
When on a broken Plank his Life he saves?
Why will you thus a mighty Vase intend,
If in a worthless Bowl your Labours end?
Then learn this wandering Humour to controul,
And keep one equal Tenour through the Whole.
If in a worthless Bowl your Labours end?
Then learn this wandering Humour to controul,
And keep one equal Tenour through the Whole.
437
But oft, our greatest Errours take their Rise
From our best Views. I strive to be concise;
I prove obscure. My Strength, my Fire decays,
When in Pursuit of Elegance and Ease.
Aiming at Greatness some to Fustian soar;
Some in cold Safety creep along the Shore,
Too much afraid of Storms; while he, who tries
With ever-varying Wonders to surprise,
In the broad Forest bids his Dolphins play,
And paints his Boars disporting in the Sea.
Thus, injudicious, while one Fault we shun,
Into its opposite Extreme we run.
From our best Views. I strive to be concise;
I prove obscure. My Strength, my Fire decays,
When in Pursuit of Elegance and Ease.
Aiming at Greatness some to Fustian soar;
Some in cold Safety creep along the Shore,
Too much afraid of Storms; while he, who tries
With ever-varying Wonders to surprise,
In the broad Forest bids his Dolphins play,
And paints his Boars disporting in the Sea.
Thus, injudicious, while one Fault we shun,
Into its opposite Extreme we run.
One happier Artist of th' Æmilian Square,
Who graves the Nails, and forms the flowing Hair,
Though he excels in every separate Part,
Yet fails of just Perfection in his Art,
In one grand Whole unknowing to unite
Those different Parts, and I no more would write
Like Him, than with a Nose of hideous Size
Be gaz'd at for the finest Hair and Eyes.
Who graves the Nails, and forms the flowing Hair,
Though he excels in every separate Part,
Yet fails of just Perfection in his Art,
In one grand Whole unknowing to unite
Those different Parts, and I no more would write
Like Him, than with a Nose of hideous Size
Be gaz'd at for the finest Hair and Eyes.
Examine well, ye Writers, weigh with Care,
What suits your Genius; what your Strength can bear.
To Him, who shall a Theme with Judgement chuse,
Nor Words, nor Method shall their Aid refuse.
In this, or I mistake, consists the Grace,
And Force of Method, to assign a Place
For what with present Judgement we should say,
And for some happier Time the rest delay.
What suits your Genius; what your Strength can bear.
To Him, who shall a Theme with Judgement chuse,
Nor Words, nor Method shall their Aid refuse.
In this, or I mistake, consists the Grace,
And Force of Method, to assign a Place
439
And for some happier Time the rest delay.
Would You to Fame a promis'd Work produce,
Be delicate and cautious in the Use
And Choice of Words: nor shall You fail of Praise,
When nicely joining two known Words You raise
A third unknown. A new-discover'd Theme
For those, unheard in ancient Times, may claim
A just and ample Licence, which, if us'd
With fair Discretion, never is refus'd.
Be delicate and cautious in the Use
And Choice of Words: nor shall You fail of Praise,
When nicely joining two known Words You raise
A third unknown. A new-discover'd Theme
For those, unheard in ancient Times, may claim
A just and ample Licence, which, if us'd
With fair Discretion, never is refus'd.
New Words, and lately made, shall Credit claim,
If from a Grecian Source they gently stream,
For Virgil sure, and Varius may receive
That kind Indulgence, which the Romans give
To Plautus and Cæcilius: or shall I
Be envied, if my little Fund supply
Its frugal Wealth of Words, since Bards, who sung
In ancient Days, enrich'd their native Tongue
With large Increase? An undisputed Power
Of coining Money from the rugged Ore,
Nor less of coining Words, is still confest,
If with a legal, public Stamp imprest.
If from a Grecian Source they gently stream,
For Virgil sure, and Varius may receive
That kind Indulgence, which the Romans give
To Plautus and Cæcilius: or shall I
Be envied, if my little Fund supply
Its frugal Wealth of Words, since Bards, who sung
In ancient Days, enrich'd their native Tongue
With large Increase? An undisputed Power
Of coining Money from the rugged Ore,
441
If with a legal, public Stamp imprest.
As when the Forest, with the bending Year,
First sheds the Leaves, which earliest appear,
So an old Race of Words maturely dies,
And some new-born in Youth and Vigour rise.
First sheds the Leaves, which earliest appear,
So an old Race of Words maturely dies,
And some new-born in Youth and Vigour rise.
We and our noblest Works to Fate must yield,
Even Cæsar's Mole, which regal Pride might build,
Where Neptune far into the Land extends,
And from the raging North our Fleet defends;
That barren Marsh, whose cultivated Plain
Now gives the neighbouring Towns its various Grain;
Tiber, who, taught a better Current, yields
To Cæsar's Power, nor deluges our Fields!
All these must perish, and shall Words presume
To hold their Honours and immortal Bloom?
Many shall rise, that now forgotten lie;
Others, in present Credit, soon shall die,
If Custom will, whose arbitrary Sway,
Words, and the Forms of Language, must obey.
Even Cæsar's Mole, which regal Pride might build,
Where Neptune far into the Land extends,
And from the raging North our Fleet defends;
That barren Marsh, whose cultivated Plain
Now gives the neighbouring Towns its various Grain;
Tiber, who, taught a better Current, yields
To Cæsar's Power, nor deluges our Fields!
All these must perish, and shall Words presume
To hold their Honours and immortal Bloom?
Many shall rise, that now forgotten lie;
Others, in present Credit, soon shall die,
If Custom will, whose arbitrary Sway,
Words, and the Forms of Language, must obey.
By Homer taught the modern Poet sings,
In Epic Strains, of Heroes, Wars, and Kings.
Unequal Measures first were tun'd to flow
Sadly expressive of the Lover's Woe;
But now, to gayer Subjects form'd, they move
In Sounds of Pleasure, and the Joys of Love:
By whom invented, Critics yet contend,
And of their vain Disputings find no End.
In Epic Strains, of Heroes, Wars, and Kings.
Unequal Measures first were tun'd to flow
Sadly expressive of the Lover's Woe;
443
In Sounds of Pleasure, and the Joys of Love:
By whom invented, Critics yet contend,
And of their vain Disputings find no End.
Archilochus, with fierce Resentment warm'd,
Was with his own severe Iambics arm'd,
Whose rapid Numbers, suited to the Stage,
In comic Humour, or in tragic Rage,
With sweet Variety were found to please,
And taught the Dialogue to flow with Ease;
Their numerous Cadence was for Action fit,
And form'd to quell the Clamours of the Pit.
Was with his own severe Iambics arm'd,
Whose rapid Numbers, suited to the Stage,
In comic Humour, or in tragic Rage,
With sweet Variety were found to please,
And taught the Dialogue to flow with Ease;
Their numerous Cadence was for Action fit,
And form'd to quell the Clamours of the Pit.
The Muse to nobler Subjects tunes her Lyre;
Gods, and the Sons of Gods her Song inspire,
Wrestler and Steed, who gain'd th' Olympic Prize:
Love's pleasing Cares, and Wine's unbounded Joys.
Gods, and the Sons of Gods her Song inspire,
Wrestler and Steed, who gain'd th' Olympic Prize:
Love's pleasing Cares, and Wine's unbounded Joys.
But if, through Weakness, or my want of Art,
I can't to every different Style impart
The proper Strokes and Colours it may claim,
Why am I honour'd with a Poet's Name?
Absurdly modest, why my Fault discern,
Yet rather burst in Ignorance, than learn?
I can't to every different Style impart
The proper Strokes and Colours it may claim,
Why am I honour'd with a Poet's Name?
Absurdly modest, why my Fault discern,
Yet rather burst in Ignorance, than learn?
Nor will the Genius of the comic Muse
Sublimer Tones, or tragic Numbers use;
Nor will the direful Thyestean Feast
In comic Phrase and Language be debas'd.
Then let your Style be suited to the Scene,
And its peculiar Character maintain.
Sublimer Tones, or tragic Numbers use;
Nor will the direful Thyestean Feast
In comic Phrase and Language be debas'd.
445
And its peculiar Character maintain.
Yet Comedy sometimes her Voice may raise,
And angry Chremes rail in swelling Phrase:
As oft the tragic Language humbly flows,
For Telephus or Peleus, 'midst the Woes
Of Poverty or Exile, must complain
In prose-like Style; must quit the swelling Strain,
And Words gigantic, if with Nature's Art
They hope to touch their melting Hearer's Heart.
And angry Chremes rail in swelling Phrase:
As oft the tragic Language humbly flows,
For Telephus or Peleus, 'midst the Woes
Of Poverty or Exile, must complain
In prose-like Style; must quit the swelling Strain,
And Words gigantic, if with Nature's Art
They hope to touch their melting Hearer's Heart.
'Tis not enough, ye Writers, that ye charm
With Ease and Elegance; a Play should warm
With soft Concernment; should possess the Soul,
And, as it wills, the listening Croud controul.
With Ease and Elegance; a Play should warm
With soft Concernment; should possess the Soul,
And, as it wills, the listening Croud controul.
With them, who laugh, our social Joy appears;
With them, who mourn, we sympathise in Tears;
If you would have me weep, begin the Strain,
Then I shall feel your Sorrows, feel your Pain;
But if your Heroes act not what they say,
I sleep or laugh the lifeless Scene away.
With them, who mourn, we sympathise in Tears;
If you would have me weep, begin the Strain,
Then I shall feel your Sorrows, feel your Pain;
But if your Heroes act not what they say,
I sleep or laugh the lifeless Scene away.
The varying Face should every Passion show,
And Words of Sorrow wear the Look of Woe;
Let it in Joy assume a vivid Air;
Fierce when in Rage; in Seriousness severe:
For Nature to each Change of Fortune forms
The secret Soul, and all its Passions warms:
Transports to Rage, dilates the Heart with Mirth,
Wrings the sad Soul, and bends it down to Earth.
The Tongue these various Movements must express,
But, if ill-suited to the deep Distress
His Language prove, the Sons of Rome engage
To laugh th' unhappy Actor off the Stage.
And Words of Sorrow wear the Look of Woe;
Let it in Joy assume a vivid Air;
Fierce when in Rage; in Seriousness severe:
For Nature to each Change of Fortune forms
The secret Soul, and all its Passions warms:
Transports to Rage, dilates the Heart with Mirth,
Wrings the sad Soul, and bends it down to Earth.
The Tongue these various Movements must express,
But, if ill-suited to the deep Distress
447
To laugh th' unhappy Actor off the Stage.
Your Style should an important Difference make
When Heroes, Gods, or awful Sages speak;
A florid Youth, whom gay Desires enflame;
A busy Servant, or a wealthy Dame,
A Merchant, wandering with incessant Toil,
Or He, who cultivates the verdant Soil;
But if in foreign Realms You fix your Scene,
Their Genius, Customs, Dialects maintain.
When Heroes, Gods, or awful Sages speak;
A florid Youth, whom gay Desires enflame;
A busy Servant, or a wealthy Dame,
A Merchant, wandering with incessant Toil,
Or He, who cultivates the verdant Soil;
But if in foreign Realms You fix your Scene,
Their Genius, Customs, Dialects maintain.
Or follow Fame, or in th' invented Tale
Let seeming, well-united Truth prevail:
If Homer's great Achilles tread the Stage,
Intrepid, fierce, of unforgiving Rage,
Like Homer's Hero, let him spurn all Law,
And by the Sword alone assert his Cause.
With untam'd Fury let Medea glow,
And Ino's Tears in ceaseless Anguish flow.
From Realm to Realm her Griefs let Iö bear,
And sad Orestes rave in deep Despair.
But if You venture on an untry'd Theme,
And form a Person yet unknown to Fame,
From his first Entrance to the closing Scene,
Let him one equal Character maintain.
Let seeming, well-united Truth prevail:
If Homer's great Achilles tread the Stage,
Intrepid, fierce, of unforgiving Rage,
Like Homer's Hero, let him spurn all Law,
And by the Sword alone assert his Cause.
With untam'd Fury let Medea glow,
And Ino's Tears in ceaseless Anguish flow.
From Realm to Realm her Griefs let Iö bear,
And sad Orestes rave in deep Despair.
But if You venture on an untry'd Theme,
And form a Person yet unknown to Fame,
From his first Entrance to the closing Scene,
Let him one equal Character maintain.
'Tis hard a new-form'd Fable to express,
And make it seem your own. With more Success
You may from Homer take the Tale of Troy,
Than on an untry'd Plot your Strength employ.
And make it seem your own. With more Success
You may from Homer take the Tale of Troy,
Than on an untry'd Plot your Strength employ.
449
Yet would You make a common Theme your own,
Dwell not on Incidents already known;
Nor Word for Word translate with painful Care,
Nor be confin'd in such a narrow Sphere,
From whence (while You shou'd only imitate)
Shame and the Rules forbid You to retreat.
Dwell not on Incidents already known;
Nor Word for Word translate with painful Care,
Nor be confin'd in such a narrow Sphere,
From whence (while You shou'd only imitate)
Shame and the Rules forbid You to retreat.
Begin your Work with modest Grace and plain,
Nor like the Bard of everlasting Strain,
I Sing the glorious War and Priam's Fate—
How will the Boaster hold this yawning Rate?
The Mountain labour'd with prodigious Throes,
And lo! a Mouse ridiculous arose.
Far better He, who ne'er attempts in vain,
Opening his Poem in this humble Strain,
Muse, sing the Man, who, after Troy subdu'd,
Manners and Towns of various Nations view'd.
He does not lavish at a Blaze his Fire,
Sudden to glare, and in a Smoke expire;
But from a Cloud of Smoke he breaks to Light,
And pours his specious Miracles to Sight;
Antiphates his hideous Feast devours,
Charybdis barks, and Polyphemus roars.
Nor like the Bard of everlasting Strain,
I Sing the glorious War and Priam's Fate—
How will the Boaster hold this yawning Rate?
The Mountain labour'd with prodigious Throes,
And lo! a Mouse ridiculous arose.
Far better He, who ne'er attempts in vain,
Opening his Poem in this humble Strain,
Muse, sing the Man, who, after Troy subdu'd,
Manners and Towns of various Nations view'd.
He does not lavish at a Blaze his Fire,
Sudden to glare, and in a Smoke expire;
But from a Cloud of Smoke he breaks to Light,
And pours his specious Miracles to Sight;
Antiphates his hideous Feast devours,
Charybdis barks, and Polyphemus roars.
He would not, like our modern Poet, date
His Hero's Wanderings from his Uncle's Fate;
Nor sing ill-fated Ilium's various Woes,
From Helen's Birth, from whom the War arose.
But to the grand Event he speeds his Course,
And bears his Readers, with impetuous Force,
Into the midst of Things, while every Line
Opens, by just Degrees, his whole Design.
Artful he knows each Circumstance to leave,
Which will not Grace and Ornament receive,
Then Truth and Fiction with such Skill he blends,
That equal he begins, proceeds, and ends.
His Hero's Wanderings from his Uncle's Fate;
451
From Helen's Birth, from whom the War arose.
But to the grand Event he speeds his Course,
And bears his Readers, with impetuous Force,
Into the midst of Things, while every Line
Opens, by just Degrees, his whole Design.
Artful he knows each Circumstance to leave,
Which will not Grace and Ornament receive,
Then Truth and Fiction with such Skill he blends,
That equal he begins, proceeds, and ends.
Mine and the public Judgement are the same;
Then mark what I, and what your Audience claim.
If you would keep us 'till the Curtain fall,
And the last Chorus for a Plaudit call,
The Manners must your strictest Care engage,
The Levities of Youth and Strength of Age.
Then mark what I, and what your Audience claim.
If you would keep us 'till the Curtain fall,
And the last Chorus for a Plaudit call,
The Manners must your strictest Care engage,
The Levities of Youth and Strength of Age.
The Child, who now with firmer Footing walks,
And with unfaultering, well-form'd Accents talks,
Loves childish Sports; with causeless Anger burns,
And idly pleas'd with every Moment turns.
And with unfaultering, well-form'd Accents talks,
Loves childish Sports; with causeless Anger burns,
And idly pleas'd with every Moment turns.
The Youth, whose Will no froward Tutor bounds,
Joys in the sunny Field, his Horse and Hounds;
Yielding like Wax, th' impressive Folly bears;
Rough to Reproof, and slow to future Cares;
Profuse and vain; with every Passion warm'd,
And swift to leave, what late his Fancy charm'd.
Joys in the sunny Field, his Horse and Hounds;
Yielding like Wax, th' impressive Folly bears;
Rough to Reproof, and slow to future Cares;
Profuse and vain; with every Passion warm'd,
And swift to leave, what late his Fancy charm'd.
453
With Strength improv'd, the manly Spirit bends
To different Aims, in search of Wealth and Friends;
Boldly ambitious in Pursuit of Fame,
And wisely cautious in the doubtful Scheme.
To different Aims, in search of Wealth and Friends;
Boldly ambitious in Pursuit of Fame,
And wisely cautious in the doubtful Scheme.
A thousand Ills the aged World surround,
Anxious in search of Wealth, and when 'tis found,
Fearful to use, what they with Fear possess,
While Doubt and Dread their Faculties depress.
Fond of Delay, they trust in Hope no more,
Listless, and fearful of th' approaching Hour;
Morose, complaining, and with tedious Praise,
Talking the Manners of their youthful Days;
Severe to censure; earnest to advise,
And with old Saws the present Race chastise.
Anxious in search of Wealth, and when 'tis found,
Fearful to use, what they with Fear possess,
While Doubt and Dread their Faculties depress.
Fond of Delay, they trust in Hope no more,
Listless, and fearful of th' approaching Hour;
Morose, complaining, and with tedious Praise,
Talking the Manners of their youthful Days;
Severe to censure; earnest to advise,
And with old Saws the present Race chastise.
The Blessings flowing in with Life's full Tide,
Down with our Ebb of Life decreasing glide;
Then let not Youth, or Infancy engage
To play the Parts of Manhood, or of Age:
For where the proper Characters prevail,
We dwell with Pleasure on the well-wrought Tale.
Down with our Ebb of Life decreasing glide;
Then let not Youth, or Infancy engage
To play the Parts of Manhood, or of Age:
For where the proper Characters prevail,
We dwell with Pleasure on the well-wrought Tale.
The Business of the Drama must appear
In Action or Description. What we hear
With weaker Passion must affect the Heart,
Than when the faithful Eye beholds the Part.
But let not such upon the Stage be brought,
Which better should behind the Scenes be wrought;
Nor force th' unwilling Audience to behold
What may with Grace and Eloquence be told.
Let not Medea, with unnatural Rage,
Slaughter her mangled Infants on the Stage:
Nor Atreus his detested Feast prepare,
Nor Cadmus roll a Snake, nor Progne wing the Air.
For while upon such monstrous Scenes we gaze,
They shock our Faith, our Indignation raise.
In Action or Description. What we hear
With weaker Passion must affect the Heart,
Than when the faithful Eye beholds the Part.
But let not such upon the Stage be brought,
Which better should behind the Scenes be wrought;
Nor force th' unwilling Audience to behold
What may with Grace and Eloquence be told.
455
Slaughter her mangled Infants on the Stage:
Nor Atreus his detested Feast prepare,
Nor Cadmus roll a Snake, nor Progne wing the Air.
For while upon such monstrous Scenes we gaze,
They shock our Faith, our Indignation raise.
If you would have your Play deserve Success,
Give it five Acts complete; nor more, nor less:
Nor let a God in Person stand display'd,
Unless the labouring Plot deserve his Aid:
Nor a fourth Actor, on the crouded Scene,
A broken, tedious Dialogue maintain.
Give it five Acts complete; nor more, nor less:
Nor let a God in Person stand display'd,
Unless the labouring Plot deserve his Aid:
Nor a fourth Actor, on the crouded Scene,
A broken, tedious Dialogue maintain.
The Chorus must support an Actor's Part;
Defend the Virtuous, and advise with Art;
Govern the Choleric, the Proud appease,
And the short Feasts of frugal Tables praise;
Applaud the Justice of well-govern'd States,
And Peace triumphant with her open Gates.
Intrusted Secrets let them ne'er betray,
But to the righteous Gods with Ardour pray,
That Fortune with returning Smiles may bless
Afflicted Worth, and impious Pride depress;
Yet let their Songs with apt Coherence join;
Promote the Plot, and aid the main Design.
Defend the Virtuous, and advise with Art;
Govern the Choleric, the Proud appease,
And the short Feasts of frugal Tables praise;
Applaud the Justice of well-govern'd States,
And Peace triumphant with her open Gates.
Intrusted Secrets let them ne'er betray,
But to the righteous Gods with Ardour pray,
That Fortune with returning Smiles may bless
Afflicted Worth, and impious Pride depress;
Yet let their Songs with apt Coherence join;
Promote the Plot, and aid the main Design.
457
Nor was the Flute at first with Silver bound,
Nor rival'd emulous the Trumpet's Sound:
Few were its Notes, its Form was simply plain,
Yet not unuseful was its feeble Strain
To aid the Chorus, and their Songs to raise,
Filling the little Theatre with Ease,
To which a thin and pious Audience came,
Of frugal Manners, and unsullied Fame.
Nor rival'd emulous the Trumpet's Sound:
Few were its Notes, its Form was simply plain,
Yet not unuseful was its feeble Strain
To aid the Chorus, and their Songs to raise,
Filling the little Theatre with Ease,
To which a thin and pious Audience came,
Of frugal Manners, and unsullied Fame.
But when victorious Rome enlarg'd her State,
And broader Walls inclos'd th' imperial Seat,
Soon as with Wine grown dissolutely gay
Without Restraint she chear'd the festal Day,
Then Poesy in looser Numbers mov'd,
And Music in licentious Tones improv'd;
Such ever is the Taste, when Clown and Wit,
Rustic and Critic, fill the crouded Pit.
And broader Walls inclos'd th' imperial Seat,
Soon as with Wine grown dissolutely gay
Without Restraint she chear'd the festal Day,
Then Poesy in looser Numbers mov'd,
And Music in licentious Tones improv'd;
Such ever is the Taste, when Clown and Wit,
Rustic and Critic, fill the crouded Pit.
He, who before with modest Art had play'd,
Now call'd in wanton Movements to his Aid,
Fill'd with luxurious Tones the pleasing Strain,
And drew along the Stage a Length of Train:
And thus the Lyre, once awfully severe,
Increas'd the Strings, and sweeter charm'd the Ear:
Thus Poetry precipitately flow'd,
And with unwonted Elocution glow'd;
Pour'd forth prophetic Truths in awful Strain,
Dark as the Language of the Delphic Fane.
Now call'd in wanton Movements to his Aid,
Fill'd with luxurious Tones the pleasing Strain,
And drew along the Stage a Length of Train:
And thus the Lyre, once awfully severe,
Increas'd the Strings, and sweeter charm'd the Ear:
Thus Poetry precipitately flow'd,
And with unwonted Elocution glow'd;
Pour'd forth prophetic Truths in awful Strain,
Dark as the Language of the Delphic Fane.
459
The tragic Bard, who for a worthless Prize
Bid naked Satyrs in his Chorus rise;
Though rude his Mirth, yet labour'd to maintain
The solemn Grandeur of the tragic Scene;
For Novelty alone he knew could charm
A lawless Croud, with Wine and Feasting warm.
Bid naked Satyrs in his Chorus rise;
Though rude his Mirth, yet labour'd to maintain
The solemn Grandeur of the tragic Scene;
For Novelty alone he knew could charm
A lawless Croud, with Wine and Feasting warm.
And yet this laughing, prating Tribe may raise
Our Mirth, nor shall their Ridicule displease;
But let the Hero, or the Power divine,
Whom late we saw with Gold and Purple shine,
Stoop not in vulgar Phrase, nor yet despise
The Words of Earth, and soar into the Skies.
For as a Matron, on our festal Days
Oblig'd to dance, with modest Grace obeys,
So should the Muse her Dignity maintain,
Amidst the Satyrs and their wanton Train.
Our Mirth, nor shall their Ridicule displease;
But let the Hero, or the Power divine,
Whom late we saw with Gold and Purple shine,
Stoop not in vulgar Phrase, nor yet despise
The Words of Earth, and soar into the Skies.
For as a Matron, on our festal Days
Oblig'd to dance, with modest Grace obeys,
So should the Muse her Dignity maintain,
Amidst the Satyrs and their wanton Train.
If e'er I write, no Words too grosly vile
Shall shame my Satyrs and pollute my Style.
Nor would I yet the tragic Style forsake
So far, as not some Difference to make
Between a Slave, or Wench too pertly bold,
Who wipes the Miser of his darling Gold,
And grave Silenus, with instructive Nod
Giving wise Lectures to his pupil God.
Shall shame my Satyrs and pollute my Style.
Nor would I yet the tragic Style forsake
So far, as not some Difference to make
Between a Slave, or Wench too pertly bold,
Who wipes the Miser of his darling Gold,
461
Giving wise Lectures to his pupil God.
From well-known Tales such Fiction would I raise
As all might hope to imitate with Ease;
Yet while they strive the same Success to gain,
Should find their Labour, and their Hopes are vain:
Such Grace can Order and Connexion give;
Such Beauties common Subjects may receive.
As all might hope to imitate with Ease;
Yet while they strive the same Success to gain,
Should find their Labour, and their Hopes are vain:
Such Grace can Order and Connexion give;
Such Beauties common Subjects may receive.
Let not the Wood-born Satyr fondly sport
With amorous Verses, as if bred at Court;
Nor yet with wanton Jests, in mirthful Vein,
Debase the Language and pollute the Scene,
For what the Croud with lavish Rapture praise,
In better Judges cold Contempt shall raise.
With amorous Verses, as if bred at Court;
Nor yet with wanton Jests, in mirthful Vein,
Debase the Language and pollute the Scene,
For what the Croud with lavish Rapture praise,
In better Judges cold Contempt shall raise.
463
Rome to her Poets too much Licence gives,
Nor the rough Cadence of their Verse perceives;
But shall I then with careless Spirit write?
No—let me think my Faults shall rise to Light,
And then a kind Indulgence will excuse
The less important Errours of the Muse.
Thus, though perhaps I may not merit Fame,
I stand secure from Censure and from Shame.
Nor the rough Cadence of their Verse perceives;
But shall I then with careless Spirit write?
No—let me think my Faults shall rise to Light,
And then a kind Indulgence will excuse
The less important Errours of the Muse.
Thus, though perhaps I may not merit Fame,
I stand secure from Censure and from Shame.
Make the Greek Authors your supreme Delight;
Read them by Day, and study them by Night.—
“And yet our Sires with Joy could Plautus hear,
“Gay were his Jests, his Numbers charm'd their Ear.”
Let me not say too lavishly they prais'd,
But sure their Judgement was full cheaply pleas'd:
If You, or I, with Taste are haply blest,
To know a clownish from a courtly Jest;
If skillful to discern when form'd with Ease
Each modulated Line is taught to please.
Read them by Day, and study them by Night.—
“And yet our Sires with Joy could Plautus hear,
“Gay were his Jests, his Numbers charm'd their Ear.”
Let me not say too lavishly they prais'd,
But sure their Judgement was full cheaply pleas'd:
465
To know a clownish from a courtly Jest;
If skillful to discern when form'd with Ease
Each modulated Line is taught to please.
Thespis, Inventor of the tragic Art,
Carried his vagrant Players in a Cart:
High o'er the Croud the mimic Tribe appear'd,
And play'd and sung with Lees of Wine besmear'd.
Carried his vagrant Players in a Cart:
High o'er the Croud the mimic Tribe appear'd,
And play'd and sung with Lees of Wine besmear'd.
Then Æschylus a decent Vizard us'd,
Built a low Stage; the flowing Robe diffus'd:
In Language more sublime his Actors rage,
And in the graceful Buskin tread the Stage.
Built a low Stage; the flowing Robe diffus'd:
In Language more sublime his Actors rage,
And in the graceful Buskin tread the Stage.
And now the comic Muse again appear'd,
Nor without Pleasure and Applause was heard;
But soon, her Freedom rising to Excess,
The Laws were forc'd her Boldness to suppress,
And, when no longer licens'd to defame,
She sunk to Silence with Contempt and Shame.
Nor without Pleasure and Applause was heard;
But soon, her Freedom rising to Excess,
The Laws were forc'd her Boldness to suppress,
And, when no longer licens'd to defame,
She sunk to Silence with Contempt and Shame.
No Path to Fame our Poets left untry'd;
Nor small their Merit, when with conscious Pride
They scorn'd to take from Greece the storied Theme,
And dar'd to sing their own domestic Fame,
With Roman Heroes fill the tragic Scene,
Or sport with Humour in the comic Vein.
Nor had the Mistress of the World appear'd
More fam'd for Conquest, than for Wit rever'd,
But that we hate the necessary Toil
Of slow Correction, and the painful File.
Nor small their Merit, when with conscious Pride
They scorn'd to take from Greece the storied Theme,
And dar'd to sing their own domestic Fame,
With Roman Heroes fill the tragic Scene,
Or sport with Humour in the comic Vein.
467
More fam'd for Conquest, than for Wit rever'd,
But that we hate the necessary Toil
Of slow Correction, and the painful File.
Illustrious Youth, with just Contempt receive,
Nor let the hardy Poem hope to live,
Where Time and full Correction don't refine
The finish'd Work, and polish every Line.
Nor let the hardy Poem hope to live,
Where Time and full Correction don't refine
The finish'd Work, and polish every Line.
Because Democritus in Rapture cries—
Poems of Genius always bear the Prize
From wretched Works of Art, and thinks that none
But brain-sick Bards can taste of Helicon;
So far his Doctrine o'er the Tribe prevails,
They dare not shave their Heads, or pare their Nails;
To dark Retreats and Solitude they run,
The Baths avoid, and public Converse shun:
A Poet's Fame and Fortune sure to gain,
If long their Beards, incurable their Brain.
Poems of Genius always bear the Prize
From wretched Works of Art, and thinks that none
But brain-sick Bards can taste of Helicon;
So far his Doctrine o'er the Tribe prevails,
They dare not shave their Heads, or pare their Nails;
To dark Retreats and Solitude they run,
The Baths avoid, and public Converse shun:
A Poet's Fame and Fortune sure to gain,
If long their Beards, incurable their Brain.
Ah! luckless I! who purge in Spring my Spleen—
Else sure the first of Bards had Horace been.
But shall I then, in mad Pursuit of Fame,
Resign my Reason for a Poet's Name?
No; let me sharpen others, as the Hone
Gives Edge to Razors, though itself has none.
Let me the Poet's Worth and Office show,
And whence his true poetic Riches flow;
What forms his Genius, and improves his Vein;
What well or ill becomes each different Scene;
How high the Knowledge of his Art ascends,
And to what Faults his Ignorance extends.
Else sure the first of Bards had Horace been.
But shall I then, in mad Pursuit of Fame,
Resign my Reason for a Poet's Name?
No; let me sharpen others, as the Hone
Gives Edge to Razors, though itself has none.
Let me the Poet's Worth and Office show,
And whence his true poetic Riches flow;
What forms his Genius, and improves his Vein;
What well or ill becomes each different Scene;
How high the Knowledge of his Art ascends,
And to what Faults his Ignorance extends.
469
Good Sense, the Fountain of the Muse's Art,
Let the strong Page of Socrates impart,
For if the Mind with clear Conceptions glow,
The willing Words in just Expressions flow.
Let the strong Page of Socrates impart,
For if the Mind with clear Conceptions glow,
The willing Words in just Expressions flow.
The Poet, who with nice Discernment knows
What to his Country and his Friends he owes;
How various Nature warms the human Breast,
To love the Parent, Brother, Friend or Guest;
What the great Office of our Judges are,
Of Senators, of Generals sent to War;
He surely knows, with nice, well-judging Art,
The Strokes, peculiar to each different Part.
What to his Country and his Friends he owes;
How various Nature warms the human Breast,
To love the Parent, Brother, Friend or Guest;
What the great Office of our Judges are,
Of Senators, of Generals sent to War;
He surely knows, with nice, well-judging Art,
The Strokes, peculiar to each different Part.
Keep Nature's great Original in View,
And thence the living Images pursue;
For when the Sentiments and Manners please,
And all the Characters are wrought with Ease,
Your Play, though void of Beauty, Force and Art,
More strongly shall delight, and warm the Heart,
Than where a lifeless Pomp of Verse appears,
And with sonorous Trifles charms our Ears.
And thence the living Images pursue;
For when the Sentiments and Manners please,
And all the Characters are wrought with Ease,
Your Play, though void of Beauty, Force and Art,
More strongly shall delight, and warm the Heart,
Than where a lifeless Pomp of Verse appears,
And with sonorous Trifles charms our Ears.
To her lov'd Greeks the Muse indulgent gave,
To her lov'd Greeks, with Greatness to conceive,
And in sublimer Tone their Language raise;
Her Greeks were only covetous of Praise.
Our Youth, Proficients in a nobler Art,
Divide a Farthing to the hundredth Part;
Well done, my Boy, the joyful Father cries,
Addition and Subtraction make us wise.
To her lov'd Greeks, with Greatness to conceive,
And in sublimer Tone their Language raise;
Her Greeks were only covetous of Praise.
Our Youth, Proficients in a nobler Art,
Divide a Farthing to the hundredth Part;
471
Addition and Subtraction make us wise.
But when the Rust of Wealth pollutes the Soul,
And money'd Cares the Genius thus controul,
How shall we dare to hope, that distant Times
With Honour should preserve the lifeless Rhimes?
And money'd Cares the Genius thus controul,
How shall we dare to hope, that distant Times
With Honour should preserve the lifeless Rhimes?
Poets would profit or delight Mankind,
And with the Pleasing have th' Instructive join'd.
Short be the Precept, which with Ease is gain'd
By docile Minds, and faithfully retain'd.
If in dull Length your Moral is exprest,
The tedious Wisdom overflows the Breast.
Would you divert? the Probable maintain,
Nor force us to believe the monstrous Scene,
Which shews a Child, by a fell Witch devour'd,
Drag'd from her Entrails, and to Life restor'd.
And with the Pleasing have th' Instructive join'd.
Short be the Precept, which with Ease is gain'd
By docile Minds, and faithfully retain'd.
If in dull Length your Moral is exprest,
The tedious Wisdom overflows the Breast.
Would you divert? the Probable maintain,
Nor force us to believe the monstrous Scene,
Which shews a Child, by a fell Witch devour'd,
Drag'd from her Entrails, and to Life restor'd.
Grave Age approves the Solid and the Wise;
Gay Youth from too austere a Drama flies;
Profit and Pleasure, then, to mix with Art,
T'inform the Judgement, nor offend the Heart,
Shall gain all Votes; to Booksellers shall raise
No trivial Fortune, and across the Seas
To distant Nations spread the Writer's Fame,
And with immortal Honours crown his Name.
Gay Youth from too austere a Drama flies;
Profit and Pleasure, then, to mix with Art,
T'inform the Judgement, nor offend the Heart,
Shall gain all Votes; to Booksellers shall raise
No trivial Fortune, and across the Seas
To distant Nations spread the Writer's Fame,
And with immortal Honours crown his Name.
473
Yet there are Faults, that we may well excuse,
For oft the Strings th' intended Sound refuse;
In vain his tuneful Hand the Master tries,
He asks a Flat, and hears a Sharp arise;
Nor always will the Bow, though fam'd for Art,
With Speed unerring wing the threatening Dart.
For oft the Strings th' intended Sound refuse;
In vain his tuneful Hand the Master tries,
He asks a Flat, and hears a Sharp arise;
Nor always will the Bow, though fam'd for Art,
With Speed unerring wing the threatening Dart.
But where the Beauties more in Number shine,
I am not angry, when a casual Line
(That with some trivial Faults unequal flows)
A careless Hand, or human Frailty shows.
But as we ne'er those Scribes with Mercy treat,
Who, though advis'd, the same Mistakes repeat;
Or as we laugh at him, who constant brings
The same rude Discord from the jarring Strings;
So, if strange Chance a Chœrilus inspire
With some good Lines, with Laughter I admire;
Yet hold it for a Fault I can't excuse,
If honest Homer slumber o'er his Muse;
And yet, perhaps, a kind indulgent Sleep
O'er Works of Length allowably may creep.
I am not angry, when a casual Line
(That with some trivial Faults unequal flows)
A careless Hand, or human Frailty shows.
But as we ne'er those Scribes with Mercy treat,
Who, though advis'd, the same Mistakes repeat;
Or as we laugh at him, who constant brings
The same rude Discord from the jarring Strings;
So, if strange Chance a Chœrilus inspire
With some good Lines, with Laughter I admire;
Yet hold it for a Fault I can't excuse,
If honest Homer slumber o'er his Muse;
And yet, perhaps, a kind indulgent Sleep
O'er Works of Length allowably may creep.
Poems like Pictures are; some charm when nigh,
Others at Distance more delight your Eye;
That loves the Shade, this tempts a stronger Light,
And challenges the Critic's piercing Sight:
That gives us Pleasure for a single View;
And this, ten times repeated, still is new.
Others at Distance more delight your Eye;
That loves the Shade, this tempts a stronger Light,
And challenges the Critic's piercing Sight:
That gives us Pleasure for a single View;
And this, ten times repeated, still is new.
475
Although your Father's Precepts form your Youth,
And add Experience to your Taste of Truth,
Of this one Maxim, Piso, be assur'd,
In many Things a Medium is endur'd:
Who tries Messala's Eloquence in vain,
Nor can a knotty Point of Law explain
Like learn'd Cascellius, yet may justly claim,
For Pleading or Advice, some Right to Fame;
But God, and Man, and letter'd Post denies,
That Poets ever are of middling Size.
And add Experience to your Taste of Truth,
Of this one Maxim, Piso, be assur'd,
In many Things a Medium is endur'd:
Who tries Messala's Eloquence in vain,
Nor can a knotty Point of Law explain
Like learn'd Cascellius, yet may justly claim,
For Pleading or Advice, some Right to Fame;
But God, and Man, and letter'd Post denies,
That Poets ever are of middling Size.
As jarring Music at a jovial Feast,
Or muddy Essence, or th' ungrateful Taste
Of bitter Honey, shall the Guests displease,
Because they want not Luxuries like these;
So Poems, form'd alone to give Delight,
Are deep Disgust, or Pleasure to the Height.
Or muddy Essence, or th' ungrateful Taste
Of bitter Honey, shall the Guests displease,
Because they want not Luxuries like these;
So Poems, form'd alone to give Delight,
Are deep Disgust, or Pleasure to the Height.
The Man, who knows not how with Art to wield
The sportive Weapons of the martial Field,
The bounding Ball, round Quoit, or whirling Troque;
Will not the Laughter of the Croud provoke:
But every desperate Blockhead dares to write—
Why not? His Fortune's large to make a Knight;
The Man's free-born; perhaps, of gentle Strain;
His Character and Manners pure from Stain.
The sportive Weapons of the martial Field,
The bounding Ball, round Quoit, or whirling Troque;
Will not the Laughter of the Croud provoke:
But every desperate Blockhead dares to write—
Why not? His Fortune's large to make a Knight;
The Man's free-born; perhaps, of gentle Strain;
His Character and Manners pure from Stain.
But Thou, dear Piso, never tempt the Muse,
If Wisdom's Goddess shall her Aid refuse;
And when you write, let candid Metius hear,
Or try your Labours on your Father's Ear,
Or even on mine; but let them not come forth,
'Till the ninth ripening Year mature their Worth.
You may correct what in your Closet lies:
The Word, once spoke, irrevocably flies.
If Wisdom's Goddess shall her Aid refuse;
477
Or try your Labours on your Father's Ear,
Or even on mine; but let them not come forth,
'Till the ninth ripening Year mature their Worth.
You may correct what in your Closet lies:
The Word, once spoke, irrevocably flies.
The wood-born Race of Men when Orpheus tam'd,
From Acorns and from mutual Blood reclaim'd,
This Priest divine was fabled to assuage
The Tiger's Fierceness, and the Lion's Rage.
Thus rose the Theban Wall; Amphion's Lyre,
And soothing Voice the listening Stones inspire.
Poetic Wisdom mark'd, with happy Mean,
Public and private; sacred and profane;
Of lawless Love the wandering Guilt supprest;
With equal Rites the wedded Couple blest;
Plan'd future Towns, and instituted Laws:
Verse grew divine, and Poets gain'd Applause.
From Acorns and from mutual Blood reclaim'd,
This Priest divine was fabled to assuage
The Tiger's Fierceness, and the Lion's Rage.
Thus rose the Theban Wall; Amphion's Lyre,
And soothing Voice the listening Stones inspire.
Poetic Wisdom mark'd, with happy Mean,
Public and private; sacred and profane;
Of lawless Love the wandering Guilt supprest;
With equal Rites the wedded Couple blest;
Plan'd future Towns, and instituted Laws:
Verse grew divine, and Poets gain'd Applause.
Homer, Tyrtæus, by the Muse inspir'd,
To Deeds of Arms the martial Spirit fir'd.
In Verse the Oracles divine were heard,
And Nature's secret Laws in Verse declar'd;
Monarchs were courted in Pierian Strain,
And comic Sports reliev'd the wearied Swain;
Apollo sings, the Muses tune the Lyre,
Then blush not for an Art, which they inspire.
To Deeds of Arms the martial Spirit fir'd.
In Verse the Oracles divine were heard,
And Nature's secret Laws in Verse declar'd;
Monarchs were courted in Pierian Strain,
And comic Sports reliev'd the wearied Swain;
Apollo sings, the Muses tune the Lyre,
Then blush not for an Art, which they inspire.
479
'Tis long disputed, whether Poets claim
From Art or Nature their best Right to Fame;
But Art, if not enrich'd by Nature's Vein,
And a rude Genius, of uncultur'd Strain,
Are useless both; but when in Friendship join'd,
A mutual Succour in each other find.
From Art or Nature their best Right to Fame;
But Art, if not enrich'd by Nature's Vein,
And a rude Genius, of uncultur'd Strain,
Are useless both; but when in Friendship join'd,
A mutual Succour in each other find.
A Youth, who hopes th' Olympic Prize to gain,
All Arts must try, and every Toil sustain;
Th' Extremes of Heat and Cold must often prove,
And shun the weakening Joys of Wine and Love.
Who sings the Pythic Song, first learn'd to raise
Each Note distinct, and a stern Master please;
But now—Since I can write the true Sublime,
Curse catch the hindmost, cries the Man of Rhime.
What! in the Science own myself a Fool,
Because, forsooth, I learn'd it not by Rule.
All Arts must try, and every Toil sustain;
Th' Extremes of Heat and Cold must often prove,
And shun the weakening Joys of Wine and Love.
Who sings the Pythic Song, first learn'd to raise
Each Note distinct, and a stern Master please;
But now—Since I can write the true Sublime,
Curse catch the hindmost, cries the Man of Rhime.
What! in the Science own myself a Fool,
Because, forsooth, I learn'd it not by Rule.
As artful Criers, at a public Fair,
Gather the passing Croud to buy their Ware,
So wealthy Poets, when they deign to write,
To all clear Gains the Flatterer invite.
But if the Feast of Luxury they give,
Bail a poor Wretch, or from Distress relieve,
When the black Fangs of Law around him bend,
How shall they know a Flatterer from a Friend?
Gather the passing Croud to buy their Ware,
So wealthy Poets, when they deign to write,
To all clear Gains the Flatterer invite.
But if the Feast of Luxury they give,
Bail a poor Wretch, or from Distress relieve,
When the black Fangs of Law around him bend,
How shall they know a Flatterer from a Friend?
If e'er you make a Present, or propose
To grant a Favour; while his Bosom glows
With grateful Sentiments of Joy and Praise,
Never, ah! never let him hear your Lays;
Loud shall he cry, How elegant! how fine!
Turn pale with Wonder at some happier Line;
Distil the civil Dew from either Eye,
And leap and beat the Ground in Extacy.
To grant a Favour; while his Bosom glows
With grateful Sentiments of Joy and Praise,
Never, ah! never let him hear your Lays;
Loud shall he cry, How elegant! how fine!
Turn pale with Wonder at some happier Line;
481
And leap and beat the Ground in Extacy.
As Hirelings, paid for their funereal Tear,
Outweep the Sorrows of a Friend sincere;
So the false Raptures of a Flatterer's Art
Exceed the Praises of an honest Heart.
Outweep the Sorrows of a Friend sincere;
So the false Raptures of a Flatterer's Art
Exceed the Praises of an honest Heart.
Monarchs, 'tis said, with many a flowing Bowl
Search through the deep Recesses of his Soul
Whom for their future Friendship they design,
And put him to the Torture in his Wine;
So try, when-e'er you write, the deep Disguise,
Beneath whose flattering Smiles a Renard lies.
Search through the deep Recesses of his Soul
Whom for their future Friendship they design,
And put him to the Torture in his Wine;
So try, when-e'er you write, the deep Disguise,
Beneath whose flattering Smiles a Renard lies.
Read to Quinctilius, and at every Line—
“Correct this Passage, Friend, and that refine.”
Tell him, you tried it twice or thrice in vain—
“Haste to an Anvil with your ill-form'd Strain,
“Or blot it out.” But if you will defend
The favourite Folly, rather than amend,
He'll say no more, no idle Toil employ—
“Yourself unrival'd, and your Works enjoy”
“Correct this Passage, Friend, and that refine.”
Tell him, you tried it twice or thrice in vain—
“Haste to an Anvil with your ill-form'd Strain,
“Or blot it out.” But if you will defend
The favourite Folly, rather than amend,
He'll say no more, no idle Toil employ—
“Yourself unrival'd, and your Works enjoy”
A friendly Critic, when dull Lines move slow,
Or harshly rude, will his Resentment show:
Will mark the blotted Pages, and efface
What is not polish'd to its highest Grace:
Will prune th' ambitious Ornaments away,
And teach you on th' Obscure to pour the Day:
Will mark the doubtful Phrase with Hand severe,
Like Aristarchus candid and sincere:
Nor say, for Trifles why should I displease
The Man I love? for, Trifles such as these
To serious Mischiefs lead the Man I love,
If once the Flatterer's Ridicule he prove.
Or harshly rude, will his Resentment show:
Will mark the blotted Pages, and efface
What is not polish'd to its highest Grace:
Will prune th' ambitious Ornaments away,
And teach you on th' Obscure to pour the Day:
Will mark the doubtful Phrase with Hand severe,
Like Aristarchus candid and sincere:
Nor say, for Trifles why should I displease
The Man I love? for, Trifles such as these
483
If once the Flatterer's Ridicule he prove.
From a mad Poet, whosoe'er is wise
As from a Leprosy or Jaundice flies;
Religious Madness in its zealous Strain,
Nor the wild Frenzy of a moon-struck Brain,
Are half so dreadful; yet the Boys pursue him,
And Fools, unknowing of their Danger, view him.
As from a Leprosy or Jaundice flies;
Religious Madness in its zealous Strain,
Nor the wild Frenzy of a moon-struck Brain,
Are half so dreadful; yet the Boys pursue him,
And Fools, unknowing of their Danger, view him.
But heedless wandering if our Man of Rhime,
Bursting with Verses of the true Sublime,
Like Fowler earnest at his Game, should fall
Into a Well or Ditch, and loudly call,
Good Fellow-Citizens and Neighbours dear,
Help a poor Bard—not one of them will hear;
Or if, perchance, a saving Rope they throw,
I will be there and—“Sirs, you do not know
“But he fell in on purpose, and, I doubt,
“Will hardly thank you, if you pull him out.”
Bursting with Verses of the true Sublime,
Like Fowler earnest at his Game, should fall
Into a Well or Ditch, and loudly call,
Good Fellow-Citizens and Neighbours dear,
Help a poor Bard—not one of them will hear;
Or if, perchance, a saving Rope they throw,
I will be there and—“Sirs, you do not know
“But he fell in on purpose, and, I doubt,
“Will hardly thank you, if you pull him out.”
Then will I tell Empedocles's Story,
Who nobly fond of more than mortal Glory,
Fond to be deem'd a God, in madding Fit
Plung'd frigid into Ætna's fiery Pit.
Let Bards be licens'd then themselves to kill;
'Tis Murder to preserve them 'gainst their Will.
But more than once this Frolic he hath play'd,
Nor, taken out, will he be wiser made,
Content to be a Man; nor will his Pride
Lay such a glorious Love of Death aside.
Who nobly fond of more than mortal Glory,
Fond to be deem'd a God, in madding Fit
Plung'd frigid into Ætna's fiery Pit.
Let Bards be licens'd then themselves to kill;
'Tis Murder to preserve them 'gainst their Will.
But more than once this Frolic he hath play'd,
Nor, taken out, will he be wiser made,
Content to be a Man; nor will his Pride
Lay such a glorious Love of Death aside.
Nor is it plain for what more horrid Crime
The Gods have plagu'd him with this Curse of Rhime;
Whether his Father's Ashes he disdain'd,
Or hallow'd Ground with Sacrilege prophan'd:
Certain he raves, and like a baited Bear,
If he hath Strength enough his Den to tear,
With all the Horrours of a desperate Muse
The Learned and Unlearned he pursues.
But if he seize you, then the Torture dread,
He fastens on you 'till he reads you dead,
And like a Leech, voracious of his Food,
Quits not his cruel Hold 'till gorg'd with Blood.
The Gods have plagu'd him with this Curse of Rhime;
485
Or hallow'd Ground with Sacrilege prophan'd:
Certain he raves, and like a baited Bear,
If he hath Strength enough his Den to tear,
With all the Horrours of a desperate Muse
The Learned and Unlearned he pursues.
But if he seize you, then the Torture dread,
He fastens on you 'till he reads you dead,
And like a Leech, voracious of his Food,
Quits not his cruel Hold 'till gorg'd with Blood.
| A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | |