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Volume 74, Issue 2, April 2024

F. w. bateson memorial lecture, bright knots of apparitions: meeting the dead in modern poetry.

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‘Catching the very note and trick’: James’s Browning

Printing thomas hardy’s pronouns, evolution, ideology, and emergence in the cantos, beckett’s dante marginalia: to heaven and back, barbara pym and her sisters, email alerts.

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An Essay on Criticism Summary & Analysis by Alexander Pope

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• Poetic Devices
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• Form, Meter, & Rhyme Scheme
• Line-by-Line Explanations

Alexander Pope's "An Essay on Criticism" seeks to lay down rules of good taste in poetry criticism, and in poetry itself. Structured as an essay in rhyming verse, it offers advice to the aspiring critic while satirizing amateurish criticism and poetry. The famous passage beginning "A little learning is a dangerous thing" advises would-be critics to learn their field in depth, warning that the arts demand much longer and more arduous study than beginners expect. The passage can also be read as a warning against shallow learning in general. Published in 1711, when Alexander Pope was just 23, the "Essay" brought its author fame and notoriety while he was still a young poet himself.

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The Full Text of “From An Essay on Criticism: A little learning is a dangerous thing”

1 A little learning is a dangerous thing;

2 Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:

3 There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,

4 And drinking largely sobers us again.

5 Fired at first sight with what the Muse imparts,

6 In fearless youth we tempt the heights of Arts,

7 While from the bounded level of our mind,

8 Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind,

9 But, more advanced, behold with strange surprise

10 New, distant scenes of endless science rise!

11 So pleased at first, the towering Alps we try,

12 Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky;

13 The eternal snows appear already past,

14 And the first clouds and mountains seem the last;

15 But those attained, we tremble to survey

16 The growing labours of the lengthened way,

17 The increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes,

18 Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise!

“From An Essay on Criticism: A little learning is a dangerous thing” Summary

“from an essay on criticism: a little learning is a dangerous thing” themes.

Shallow Learning vs. Deep Understanding

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Line-by-Line Explanation & Analysis of “From An Essay on Criticism: A little learning is a dangerous thing”

A little learning is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring: There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, And drinking largely sobers us again.

Fired at first sight with what the Muse imparts, In fearless youth we tempt the heights of Arts, While from the bounded level of our mind, Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind,

But, more advanced, behold with strange surprise New, distant scenes of endless science rise!

Lines 11-14

So pleased at first, the towering Alps we try, Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky; The eternal snows appear already past, And the first clouds and mountains seem the last;

Lines 15-18

But those attained, we tremble to survey The growing labours of the lengthened way, The increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes, Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise!

“From An Essay on Criticism: A little learning is a dangerous thing” Symbols

The Mountains/Alps

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“From An Essay on Criticism: A little learning is a dangerous thing” Poetic Devices & Figurative Language

Alliteration.

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Extended Metaphor

“from an essay on criticism: a little learning is a dangerous thing” vocabulary.

Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.

• A little learning
• Pierian spring
• Bounded level
• Short views
• The lengthened way
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Form, Meter, & Rhyme Scheme of “From An Essay on Criticism: A little learning is a dangerous thing”

Rhyme scheme, “from an essay on criticism: a little learning is a dangerous thing” speaker, “from an essay on criticism: a little learning is a dangerous thing” setting, literary and historical context of “from an essay on criticism: a little learning is a dangerous thing”, more “from an essay on criticism: a little learning is a dangerous thing” resources, external resources.

The Poem Aloud — Listen to an audiobook of Pope's "Essay on Criticism" (the "A little learning" passage starts at 12:57).

The Poet's Life — Read a biography of Alexander Pope at the Poetry Foundation.

"Alexander Pope: Rediscovering a Genius" — Watch a BBC documentary on Alexander Pope.

More on Pope's Life — A summary of Pope's life and work at Poets.org.

Pope at the British Library — More resources and articles on the poet.

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• Essays in Criticism

About this Journal

Founded in 1951, by F. W. Bateson, Essays in Criticism soon achieved world-wide circulation, and is today regarded as one of Britain's most distinguished journals of literary criticism. Essays in Criticism covers the whole field of English Literature from the time of Chaucer to the present day. The journal maintains that originality in interpretation must be allied to the best scholarly standards. Moreover, whilst always pursuing new directions and responding to new developments, Essays in Criticism has kept a balance between the constructive and the sceptical, giving the journal particular value at a time when criticism has become so diversified. In addition to the articles, Essays in Criticism has lengthy and searching book reviews, and the 'Critical Opinion' section offers topical discussion on a wide range of literary issues.

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Available issues, table of contents, volume 57, 2007.

• Volume 57, Number 4, October 2007
• Volume 57, Number 3, July 2007
• Volume 57, Number 2, April 2007
• Volume 57, Number 1, January 2007

Volume 56, 2006

• Volume 56, Number 4, October 2006
• Volume 56, Number 3, July 2006
• Volume 56, Number 2, April 2006

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AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM.

Alexander pope..

This eminent English poet was born in London, May 21, 1688. His parents were Roman Catholics, and to this faith the poet adhered, thus debarring himself from public office and employment. His father, a linen merchant, having saved a moderate competency, withdrew from business, and settled on a small estate he had purchased in Windsor Forest. He died at Chiswick, in 1717. His son shortly afterwards took a long lease of a house and five acres of land at Twickenham, on the banks of the Thames, whither he retired with his widowed mother, to whom he was tenderly attached and where he resided till death, cultivating his little domain with exquisite taste and skill, and embellishing it with a grotto, temple, wilderness, and other adjuncts poetical and picturesque. In this famous villa Pope was visited by the most celebrated wits, statesmen and beauties of the day, himself being the most popular and successful poet of his age. His early years were spent at Binfield, within the range of the Royal Forest. He received some education at little Catholic schools, but was his own instructor after his twelfth year. He never was a profound or accurate scholar, but he read Latin poets with ease and delight, and acquired some Greek, French, and Italian. He was a poet almost from infancy, he "lisped in numbers," and when a mere youth surpassed all his contemporaries in metrical harmony and correctness. His pastorals and some translations appeared in 1709, but were written three or four years earlier. These were followed by the Essay on Criticism , 1711; Rape of the Lock (when completed, the most graceful, airy, and imaginative of his works), 1712-1714; Windsor Forest , 1713; Temple of Fame , 1715. In a collection of his works printed in 1717 he included the Epistle of Eloisa and Elegy on an Unfortunate Lady , two poems inimitable for pathetic beauty and finished melodious versification.

From 1715 till 1726 Pope was chiefly engaged on his translations of the Iliad and Odyssey , which, though wanting in time Homeric simplicity, naturalness, and grandeur, are splendid poems. In 1728-29 he published his greatest satire—the Dunciad , an attack on all poetasters and pretended wits, and on all other persons against whom the sensitive poet had conceived any enmity. In 1737 he gave to the world a volume of his Literary Correspondence , containing some pleasant gossip and observations, with choice passages of description but it appears that the correspondence was manufactured for publication not composed of actual letters addressed to the parties whose names are given, and the collection was introduced to the public by means of an elaborate stratagem on the part of the scheming poet. Between the years 1731 and 1739 he issued a series of poetical essays moral and philosophical, with satires and imitations of Horace, all admirable for sense, wit, spirit and brilliancy of these delightful productions, the most celebrated is the Essay on Man to which Bolingbroke is believed to have contributed the spurious philosophy and false sentiment, but its merit consists in detached passages, descriptions, and pictures. A fourth book to the Dunciad , containing many beautiful and striking lines and a general revision of his works, closed the poet's literary cares and toils. He died on the 30th of May, 1744, and was buried in the church at Twickenham.

Pope was of very diminutive stature and deformed from his birth. His physical infirmity, susceptible temperament, and incessant study rendered his life one long disease. He was, as his friend Lord Chesterfield said, "the most irritable of all the genus irritabile vatum , offended with trifles and never forgetting or forgiving them." His literary stratagems, disguises, assertions, denials, and (we must add) misrepresentations would fill volumes. Yet when no disturbing jealousy vanity, or rivalry intervened was generous and affectionate, and he had a manly, independent spirit. As a poet he was deficient in originality and creative power, and thus was inferior to his prototype, Dryden, but as a literary artist, and brilliant declaimer satirist and moralizer in verse he is still unrivaled. He is the English Horace, and will as surely descend with honors to the latest posterity.

AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM,

Written in the year 1709.

[The title, An Essay on Criticism hardly indicates all that is included in the poem. It would have been impossible to give a full and exact idea of the art of poetical criticism without entering into the consideration of the art of poetry. Accordingly Pope has interwoven the precepts of both throughout the poem which might more properly have been styled an essay on the Art of Criticism and of Poetry.]

'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill Appear in writing or in judging ill, But of the two less dangerous is the offense To tire our patience than mislead our sense Some few in that but numbers err in this, Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss, A fool might once himself alone expose, Now one in verse makes many more in prose.

'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none Go just alike, yet each believes his own In poets as true genius is but rare True taste as seldom is the critic share Both must alike from Heaven derive their light, These born to judge as well as those to write Let such teach others who themselves excel, And censure freely, who have written well Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true [ 17 ] But are not critics to their judgment too?

Yet if we look more closely we shall find Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind Nature affords at least a glimmering light The lines though touched but faintly are drawn right, But as the slightest sketch if justly traced Is by ill coloring but the more disgraced So by false learning is good sense defaced Some are bewildered in the maze of schools [ 26 ] And some made coxcombs nature meant but fools In search of wit these lose their common sense And then turn critics in their own defense Each burns alike who can or cannot write Or with a rival's or an eunuch's spite All fools have still an itching to deride And fain would be upon the laughing side If Maevius scribble in Apollo's spite [ 34 ] There are who judge still worse than he can write.

Some have at first for wits then poets passed Turned critics next and proved plain fools at last Some neither can for wits nor critics pass As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass. Those half-learned witlings, numerous in our isle, As half-formed insects on the banks of Nile Unfinished things one knows not what to call Their generation is so equivocal To tell them would a hundred tongues require, Or one vain wits that might a hundred tire.

But you who seek to give and merit fame, And justly bear a critic's noble name, Be sure yourself and your own reach to know How far your genius taste and learning go. Launch not beyond your depth, but be discreet And mark that point where sense and dullness meet.

Nature to all things fixed the limits fit And wisely curbed proud man's pretending wit. As on the land while here the ocean gains. In other parts it leaves wide sandy plains Thus in the soul while memory prevails, The solid power of understanding fails Where beams of warm imagination play, The memory's soft figures melt away One science only will one genius fit, So vast is art, so narrow human wit Not only bounded to peculiar arts, But oft in those confined to single parts Like kings, we lose the conquests gained before, By vain ambition still to make them more Each might his several province well command, Would all but stoop to what they understand.

First follow nature and your judgment frame By her just standard, which is still the same. Unerring nature still divinely bright, One clear, unchanged and universal light, Life force and beauty, must to all impart, At once the source and end and test of art Art from that fund each just supply provides, Works without show and without pomp presides In some fair body thus the informing soul With spirits feeds, with vigor fills the whole, Each motion guides and every nerve sustains, Itself unseen, but in the effects remains. Some, to whom Heaven in wit has been profuse, [ 80 ] Want as much more, to turn it to its use; For wit and judgment often are at strife, Though meant each other's aid, like man and wife. 'Tis more to guide, than spur the muse's steed, Restrain his fury, than provoke his speed, The winged courser, like a generous horse, [ 86 ] Shows most true mettle when you check his course.

Those rules, of old discovered, not devised, Are nature still, but nature methodized; Nature, like liberty, is but restrained By the same laws which first herself ordained.

Hear how learned Greece her useful rules indites, When to repress and when indulge our flights. High on Parnassus' top her sons she showed, [ 94 ] And pointed out those arduous paths they trod; Held from afar, aloft, the immortal prize, And urged the rest by equal steps to rise. [ 97 ] Just precepts thus from great examples given, She drew from them what they derived from Heaven. The generous critic fanned the poet's fire, And taught the world with reason to admire. Then criticism the muse's handmaid proved, To dress her charms, and make her more beloved: But following wits from that intention strayed Who could not win the mistress, wooed the maid Against the poets their own arms they turned Sure to hate most the men from whom they learned So modern pothecaries taught the art By doctors bills to play the doctor's part. Bold in the practice of mistaken rules Prescribe, apply, and call their masters fools. Some on the leaves of ancient authors prey, Nor time nor moths e'er spoil so much as they. Some dryly plain, without invention's aid, Write dull receipts how poems may be made These leave the sense their learning to display, And those explain the meaning quite away.

You then, whose judgment the right course would steer, Know well each ancient's proper character, His fable subject scope in every page, Religion, country, genius of his age Without all these at once before your eyes, Cavil you may, but never criticise. Be Homers works your study and delight, Read them by day and meditate by night, Thence form your judgment thence your maxims bring And trace the muses upward to their spring. Still with itself compared, his text peruse, And let your comment be the Mantuan Muse. [ 129 ]

When first young Maro in his boundless mind, [ 130 ] A work to outlast immortal Rome designed, Perhaps he seemed above the critic's law And but from nature's fountain scorned to draw But when to examine every part he came Nature and Homer were he found the same Convinced, amazed, he checks the bold design And rules as strict his labored work confine As if the Stagirite o'erlooked each line [ 138 ] Learn hence for ancient rules a just esteem, To copy nature is to copy them.

Some beauties yet no precepts can declare, For there's a happiness as well as care. Music resembles poetry—in each Are nameless graces which no methods teach, And which a master hand alone can reach If, where the rules not far enough extend (Since rules were made but to promote their end), Some lucky license answer to the full The intent proposed that license is a rule. Thus Pegasus a nearer way to take May boldly deviate from the common track Great wits sometimes may gloriously offend, And rise to faults true critics dare not mend, From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art, Which without passing through the judgment gains The heart and all its end at once attains. In prospects, thus, some objects please our eyes, Which out of nature's common order rise, The shapeless rock or hanging precipice. But though the ancients thus their rules invade (As kings dispense with laws themselves have made), Moderns beware! or if you must offend Against the precept, ne'er transgress its end, Let it be seldom, and compelled by need, And have, at least, their precedent to plead. The critic else proceeds without remorse, Seizes your fame, and puts his laws in force.

I know there are, to whose presumptuous thoughts Those freer beauties, even in them, seem faults Some figures monstrous and misshaped appear, Considered singly, or beheld too near, Which, but proportioned to their light, or place, Due distance reconciles to form and grace. A prudent chief not always must display His powers in equal ranks and fair array, But with the occasion and the place comply. Conceal his force, nay, seem sometimes to fly. Those oft are stratagems which errors seem, Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream. [ 180 ]

Still green with bays each ancient altar stands, Above the reach of sacrilegious hands, Secure from flames, from envy's fiercer rage, [ 183 ] Destructive war, and all-involving age. See, from each clime the learned their incense bring; Hear, in all tongues consenting Paeans ring! In praise so just let every voice be joined, And fill the general chorus of mankind. Hail! bards triumphant! born in happier days; Immortal heirs of universal praise! Whose honors with increase of ages grow, As streams roll down, enlarging as they flow; Nations unborn your mighty names shall sound, [ 193 ] And worlds applaud that must not yet be found! Oh may some spark of your celestial fire, The last, the meanest of your sons inspire, (That, on weak wings, from far pursues your flights, Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes), To teach vain wits a science little known, To admire superior sense, and doubt their own!

Of all the causes which conspire to blind Man's erring judgment and misguide the mind, What the weak head with strongest bias rules, Is pride, the never-failing vice of fools. Whatever nature has in worth denied, She gives in large recruits of needful pride; For as in bodies, thus in souls, we find What wants in blood and spirits, swelled with wind: Pride where wit fails steps in to our defense, And fills up all the mighty void of sense. If once right reason drives that cloud away, Truth breaks upon us with resistless day Trust not yourself, but your defects to know, Make use of every friend—and every foe.

A little learning is a dangerous thing Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring [ 216 ] There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, And drinking largely sobers us again. Fired at first sight with what the muse imparts, In fearless youth we tempt the heights of arts While from the bounded level of our mind Short views we take nor see the lengths behind But more advanced behold with strange surprise, New distant scenes of endless science rise! So pleased at first the towering Alps we try, Mount o'er the vales and seem to tread the sky, The eternal snows appear already passed And the first clouds and mountains seem the last. But those attained we tremble to survey The growing labors of the lengthened way The increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes, Hills peep o'er hills and Alps on Alps arise!

A perfect judge will read each work of wit With the same spirit that its author writ Survey the whole nor seek slight faults to find Where nature moves and rapture warms the mind, Nor lose for that malignant dull delight The generous pleasure to be charmed with wit But in such lays as neither ebb nor flow, Correctly cold and regularly low That, shunning faults, one quiet tenor keep; We cannot blame indeed—but we may sleep. In wit, as nature, what affects our hearts Is not the exactness of peculiar parts, 'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call, But the joint force and full result of all. Thus, when we view some well proportioned dome (The worlds just wonder, and even thine, O Rome!), [ 248 ] No single parts unequally surprise, All comes united to the admiring eyes; No monstrous height or breadth, or length, appear; The whole at once is bold, and regular.

Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see. Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be. In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend; And if the means be just, the conduct true, Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due. As men of breeding, sometimes men of wit, To avoid great errors, must the less commit: Neglect the rules each verbal critic lays, For not to know some trifles is a praise. Most critics, fond of some subservient art, Still make the whole depend upon a part: They talk of principles, but notions prize, And all to one loved folly sacrifice.

Once on a time La Mancha's knight, they say, [ 267 ] A certain bard encountering on the way, Discoursed in terms as just, with looks as sage, As e'er could Dennis, of the Grecian stage; [ 270 ] Concluding all were desperate sots and fools, Who durst depart from Aristotle's rules Our author, happy in a judge so nice, Produced his play, and begged the knight's advice; Made him observe the subject, and the plot, The manners, passions, unities, what not? All which, exact to rule, were brought about, Were but a combat in the lists left out "What! leave the combat out?" exclaims the knight. "Yes, or we must renounce the Stagirite." "Not so, by heaven!" (he answers in a rage) "Knights, squires, and steeds must enter on the stage." "So vast a throng the stage can ne'er contain." "Then build a new, or act it in a plain."

Thus critics of less judgment than caprice, Curious, not knowing, not exact, but nice, Form short ideas, and offend in arts (As most in manners) by a love to parts.

Some to conceit alone their taste confine, And glittering thoughts struck out at every line; Pleased with a work where nothing's just or fit; One glaring chaos and wild heap of wit. Poets, like painters, thus, unskilled to trace The naked nature and the living grace, With gold and jewels cover every part, And hide with ornaments their want of art. True wit is nature to advantage dressed; What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed; Something, whose truth convinced at sight we find That gives us back the image of our mind. As shades more sweetly recommend the light, So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit For works may have more wit than does them good, As bodies perish through excess of blood.

Others for language all their care express, And value books, as women men, for dress. Their praise is still—"the style is excellent," The sense they humbly take upon content [ 308 ] Words are like leaves, and where they most abound Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found. False eloquence, like the prismatic glass. [ 311 ] Its gaudy colors spreads on every place, The face of nature we no more survey. All glares alike without distinction gay: But true expression, like the unchanging sun, Clears and improves whate'er it shines upon; It gilds all objects, but it alters none. Expression is the dress of thought, and still Appears more decent, as more suitable, A vile conceit in pompous words expressed, Is like a clown in regal purple dressed For different styles with different subjects sort, As several garbs with country town and court Some by old words to fame have made pretense, Ancients in phrase, mere moderns in their sense; Such labored nothings, in so strange a style, Amaze the unlearned, and make the learned smile. Unlucky, as Fungoso in the play, [ 328 ] These sparks with awkward vanity display What the fine gentleman wore yesterday; And but so mimic ancient wits at best, As apes our grandsires in their doublets dressed. In words as fashions the same rule will hold, Alike fantastic if too new or old. Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside

But most by numbers judge a poet's song And smooth or rough, with them is right or wrong. In the bright muse though thousand charms conspire, Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire, Who haunt Parnassus but to please their ear, Not mend their minds, as some to church repair, Not for the doctrine but the music there These equal syllables alone require, Though oft the ear the open vowels tire; While expletives their feeble aid do join; And ten low words oft creep in one dull line, While they ring round the same unvaried chimes, With sure returns of still expected rhymes, Where'er you find "the cooling western breeze," In the next line it "whispers through the trees" If crystal streams "with pleasing murmurs creep" The reader's threatened (not in vain) with "sleep" Then, at the last and only couplet fraught With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, A needless Alexandrine ends the song [ 356 ] That, like a wounded snake drags its slow length along.

Leave such to tune their own dull rhymes, and know What's roundly smooth or languishingly slow; And praise the easy vigor of a line, Where Denham's strength, and Waller's sweetness join. [ 361 ] True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learned to dance 'Tis not enough no harshness gives offense, The sound must seem an echo to the sense. Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, [ 366 ] And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows, But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar, When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labors, and the words move slow; Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main. [ 373 ] Hear how Timotheus' varied lays surprise, [ 374 ] And bid alternate passions fall and rise! While, at each change, the son of Libyan Jove [ 376 ] Now burns with glory, and then melts with love; Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow, Now sighs steal out, and tears begin to flow: Persians and Greeks like turns of nature found, And the world's victor stood subdued by sound? [ 381 ] The power of music all our hearts allow, And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now.

Avoid extremes, and shun the fault of such, Who still are pleased too little or too much. At every trifle scorn to take offense, That always shows great pride, or little sense: Those heads, as stomachs, are not sure the best, Which nauseate all, and nothing can digest. Yet let not each gay turn thy rapture move; For fools admire, but men of sense approve: As things seem large which we through mist descry, Dullness is ever apt to magnify. [ 393 ]

Some foreign writers, some our own despise, The ancients only, or the moderns prize. Thus wit, like faith, by each man is applied To one small sect, and all are damned beside. Meanly they seek the blessing to confine, And force that sun but on a part to shine, Which not alone the southern wit sublimes, But ripens spirits in cold northern climes. Which from the first has shone on ages past, Enlights the present, and shall warm the last, Though each may feel increases and decays, And see now clearer and now darker days. Regard not then if wit be old or new, But blame the false, and value still the true.

Some ne'er advance a judgment of their own, But catch the spreading notion of the town, They reason and conclude by precedent, And own stale nonsense which they ne'er invent. Some judge of authors names not works, and then Nor praise nor blame the writing, but the men. Of all this servile herd the worst is he That in proud dullness joins with quality A constant critic at the great man's board, To fetch and carry nonsense for my lord What woful stuff this madrigal would be, In some starved hackney sonnetteer, or me! But let a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens! how the style refines! Before his sacred name flies every fault, And each exalted stanza teems with thought!

The vulgar thus through imitation err; As oft the learned by being singular. So much they scorn the crowd that if the throng By chance go right they purposely go wrong: So schismatics the plain believers quit, And are but damned for having too much wit. Some praise at morning what they blame at night, But always think the last opinion right. A muse by these is like a mistress used, This hour she's idolized, the next abused; While their weak heads, like towns unfortified, 'Twixt sense and nonsense daily change their side. Ask them the cause, they're wiser still they say; And still to-morrow's wiser than to-day. We think our fathers fools, so wise we grow; Our wiser sons, no doubt, will think us so. Once school-divines this zealous isle o'erspread. Who knew most sentences was deepest read, [ 441 ] Faith, Gospel, all, seemed made to be disputed, And none had sense enough to be confuted: Scotists and Thomists now in peace remain, [ 444 ] Amidst their kindred cobwebs in Duck Lane. [ 445 ] If faith itself has different dresses worn, What wonder modes in wit should take their turn? Oft, leaving what is natural and fit, The current folly proves the ready wit; And authors think their reputation safe, Which lives as long as fools are pleased to laugh.

Some valuing those of their own side or mind, Still make themselves the measure of mankind: Fondly we think we honor merit then, When we but praise ourselves in other men. Parties in wit attend on those of state, And public faction doubles private hate. Pride, malice, folly against Dryden rose, In various shapes of parsons, critics, beaux; [ 459 ] But sense survived, when merry jests were past; For rising merit will buoy up at last. Might he return, and bless once more our eyes, New Blackmores and new Millbourns must arise: [ 463 ] Nay, should great Homer lift his awful head, Zoilus again would start up from the dead [ 465 ] Envy will merit, as its shade, pursue, But like a shadow, proves the substance true: For envied wit, like Sol eclipsed, makes known The opposing body's grossness, not its own. When first that sun too powerful beams displays, It draws up vapors which obscure its rays, But even those clouds at last adorn its way Reflect new glories and augment the day

Be thou the first true merit to befriend His praise is lost who stays till all commend Short is the date alas! of modern rhymes And 'tis but just to let them live betimes No longer now that golden age appears When patriarch wits survived a thousand years [ 479 ] Now length of fame (our second life) is lost And bare threescore is all even that can boast, Our sons their fathers failing language see And such as Chaucer is shall Dryden be So when the faithful pencil has designed Some bright idea of the master's mind Where a new world leaps out at his command And ready nature waits upon his hand When the ripe colors soften and unite And sweetly melt into just shade and light When mellowing years their full perfection give And each bold figure just begins to live The treacherous colors the fair art betray And all the bright creation fades away!

Unhappy wit, like most mistaken things Atones not for that envy which it brings In youth alone its empty praise we boast But soon the short lived vanity is lost. Like some fair flower the early spring supplies That gayly blooms but even in blooming dies What is this wit, which must our cares employ? The owner's wife that other men enjoy Then most our trouble still when most admired And still the more we give the more required Whose fame with pains we guard, but lose with ease, Sure some to vex, but never all to please, 'Tis what the vicious fear, the virtuous shun, By fools 'tis hated, and by knaves undone!

If wit so much from ignorance undergo, Ah! let not learning too commence its foe! Of old, those met rewards who could excel, And such were praised who but endeavored well: Though triumphs were to generals only due, Crowns were reserved to grace the soldiers too. Now they who reach Parnassus' lofty crown, Employ their pains to spurn some others down; And, while self-love each jealous writer rules, Contending wits become the sport of fools: But still the worst with most regret commend, For each ill author is as bad a friend To what base ends, and by what abject ways, Are mortals urged, through sacred lust of praise! Ah, ne'er so dire a thirst of glory boast, Nor in the critic let the man be lost Good-nature and good sense must ever join; To err is human, to forgive, divine.

But if in noble minds some dregs remain, Not yet purged off, of spleen and sour disdain; Discharge that rage on more provoking crimes, Nor fear a dearth in these flagitious times. No pardon vile obscenity should find, Though wit and art conspire to move your mind; But dullness with obscenity must prove As shameful sure as impotence in love. In the fat age of pleasure, wealth, and ease, Sprung the rank weed, and thrived with large increase: When love was all an easy monarch's care, [ 536 ] Seldom at council, never in a war Jilts ruled the state, and statesmen farces writ; Nay, wits had pensions, and young lords had wit: The fair sat panting at a courtier's play, And not a mask went unimproved away: [ 541 ] The modest fan was lifted up no more, And virgins smiled at what they blushed before. The following license of a foreign reign, [ 544 ] Did all the dregs of bold Socinus drain, [ 545 ] Then unbelieving priests reformed the nation. And taught more pleasant methods of salvation; Where Heaven's free subjects might their rights dispute, Lest God himself should seem too absolute: Pulpits their sacred satire learned to spare, And vice admired to find a flatterer there! Encouraged thus, wit's Titans braved the skies, [ 552 ] And the press groaned with licensed blasphemies. These monsters, critics! with your darts engage, Here point your thunder, and exhaust your rage! Yet shun their fault, who, scandalously nice, Will needs mistake an author into vice; All seems infected that the infected spy, As all looks yellow to the jaundiced eye.

Learn, then, what morals critics ought to show, For 'tis but half a judge's task to know. 'Tis not enough, taste, judgment, learning, join; In all you speak, let truth and candor shine: That not alone what to your sense is due All may allow, but seek your friendship too.

Be silent always, when you doubt your sense; And speak, though sure, with seeming diffidence: Some positive persisting fops we know, Who, if once wrong will needs be always so; But you, with pleasure, own your errors past, And make each day a critique on the last.

'Tis not enough your counsel still be true; Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do; Men must be taught as if you taught them not, And things unknown proposed as things forgot. Without good breeding truth is disapproved; That only makes superior sense beloved.

Be niggards of advice on no pretense; For the worst avarice is that of sense With mean complacence, ne'er betray your trust, Nor be so civil as to prove unjust Fear not the anger of the wise to raise, Those best can bear reproof who merit praise.

'Twere well might critics still this freedom take, But Appius reddens at each word you speak, [ 585 ] And stares, tremendous with a threatening eye, Like some fierce tyrant in old tapestry Fear most to tax an honorable fool Whose right it is uncensured to be dull Such, without wit are poets when they please, As without learning they can take degrees Leave dangerous truths to unsuccessful satires, And flattery to fulsome dedicators Whom, when they praise, the world believes no more, Than when they promise to give scribbling o'er.

'Tis best sometimes your censure to restrain, And charitably let the dull be vain Your silence there is better than your spite, For who can rail so long as they can write? Still humming on, their drowsy course they keep, And lashed so long like tops are lashed asleep. False steps but help them to renew the race, As after stumbling, jades will mend their pace. What crowds of these, impenitently bold, In sounds and jingling syllables grown old, Still run on poets in a raging vein, Even to the dregs and squeezing of the brain; Strain out the last dull droppings of their sense, And rhyme with all the rage of impotence!

Such shameless bards we have, and yet, 'tis true, There are as mad abandoned critics, too The bookful blockhead ignorantly read, With loads of learned lumber in his head, With his own tongue still edifies his ears, And always listening to himself appears All books he reads and all he reads assails From Dryden's Fables down to Durfey's Tales [ 617 ] With him most authors steal their works or buy; Garth did not write his own Dispensary [ 619 ] Name a new play, and he's the poets friend Nay, showed his faults—but when would poets mend? No place so sacred from such fops is barred, Nor is Paul's Church more safe than Paul's Churchyard: [ 623 ] Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead, For fools rush in where angels fear to tread Distrustful sense with modest caution speaks, It still looks home, and short excursions makes; But rattling nonsense in full volleys breaks, And, never shocked, and never turned aside. Bursts out, resistless, with a thundering tide,

But where's the man who counsel can bestow, Still pleased to teach, and yet not proud to know? Unbiased, or by favor, or in spite, Not dully prepossessed, nor blindly right; Though learned, well-bred, and though well bred, sincere, Modestly bold, and humanly severe, Who to a friend his faults can freely show, And gladly praise the merit of a foe? Blessed with a taste exact, yet unconfined; A knowledge both of books and human kind; Generous converse, a soul exempt from pride; And love to praise, with reason on his side?

Such once were critics such the happy few, Athens and Rome in better ages knew. The mighty Stagirite first left the shore, [ 645 ] Spread all his sails, and durst the deeps explore; He steered securely, and discovered far, Led by the light of the Maeonian star. [ 648 ] Poets, a race long unconfined and free, Still fond and proud of savage liberty, Received his laws, and stood convinced 'twas fit, Who conquered nature, should preside o'er wit. [ 652 ]

Horace still charms with graceful negligence, And without method talks us into sense; Will like a friend familiarly convey The truest notions in the easiest way. He who supreme in judgment as in wit, Might boldly censure, as he boldly writ, Yet judged with coolness though he sung with fire; His precepts teach but what his works inspire Our critics take a contrary extreme They judge with fury, but they write with phlegm: Nor suffers Horace more in wrong translations By wits than critics in as wrong quotations.

See Dionysius Homer's thoughts refine, [ 665 ] And call new beauties forth from every line!

Fancy and art in gay Petronius please, [ 667 ] The scholar's learning with the courtier's ease.

In grave Quintilian's copious work we find [ 669 ] The justest rules and clearest method joined: Thus useful arms in magazines we place, All ranged in order, and disposed with grace, But less to please the eye, than arm the hand, Still fit for use, and ready at command.

Thee bold Longinus! all the Nine inspire, [ 675 ] And bless their critic with a poet's fire. An ardent judge, who, zealous in his trust, With warmth gives sentence, yet is always just: Whose own example strengthens all his laws; And is himself that great sublime he draws.

Thus long succeeding critics justly reigned, License repressed, and useful laws ordained. Learning and Rome alike in empire grew; And arts still followed where her eagles flew, From the same foes at last, both felt their doom, And the same age saw learning fall, and Rome. [ 686 ] With tyranny then superstition joined As that the body, this enslaved the mind; Much was believed but little understood, And to be dull was construed to be good; A second deluge learning thus o'errun, And the monks finished what the Goths begun. [ 692 ]

At length Erasmus, that great injured name [ 693 ] (The glory of the priesthood and the shame!) Stemmed the wild torrent of a barbarous age, And drove those holy Vandals off the stage. [ 696 ]

But see! each muse, in Leo's golden days, [ 697 ] Starts from her trance and trims her withered bays, Rome's ancient genius o'er its ruins spread Shakes off the dust, and rears his reverent head Then sculpture and her sister arts revive, Stones leaped to form, and rocks began to live; With sweeter notes each rising temple rung, A Raphael painted, and a Vida sung [ 704 ] Immortal Vida! on whose honored brow The poets bays and critic's ivy grow Cremona now shall ever boast thy name As next in place to Mantua, next in fame!

But soon by impious arms from Latium chased, Their ancient bounds the banished muses passed. Thence arts o'er all the northern world advance, But critic-learning flourished most in France, The rules a nation born to serve, obeys; And Boileau still in right of Horace sways [ 714 ] But we, brave Britons, foreign laws despised, And kept unconquered and uncivilized, Fierce for the liberties of wit and bold, We still defied the Romans as of old. Yet some there were, among the sounder few Of those who less presumed and better knew, Who durst assert the juster ancient cause, And here restored wit's fundamental laws. Such was the muse, whose rule and practice tell "Nature's chief masterpiece is writing well." Such was Roscommon, not more learned than good, With manners generous as his noble blood, To him the wit of Greece and Rome was known, And every author's merit, but his own Such late was Walsh—the muse's judge and friend, Who justly knew to blame or to commend, To failings mild, but zealous for desert, The clearest head, and the sincerest heart, This humble praise, lamented shade! receive, This praise at least a grateful muse may give. The muse whose early voice you taught to sing Prescribed her heights and pruned her tender wing, (Her guide now lost) no more attempts to rise, But in low numbers short excursions tries, Content if hence the unlearned their wants may view, The learned reflect on what before they knew Careless of censure, nor too fond of fame, Still pleased to praise, yet not afraid to blame, Averse alike to flatter, or offend, Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.

[Line 17: Wit is used in the poem in a great variety of meanings (1) Here it seems to mean genius or fancy , (2) in line 36 a man of fancy , (3) in line 53 the understanding or powers of the mind , (4) in line 81 it means judgment .]

[Line 26: Schools —Different systems of doctrine or philosophy as taught by particular teachers.]

[Line 34: Maevius —An insignificant poet of the Augustan age, ridiculed by Virgil in his third Eclogue and by Horace in his tenth Epode.]

[Lines 80, 81: There is here a slight inaccuracy or inconsistency, since "wit" has a different meaning in the two lines: in 80, it means fancy, in 81, judgment .]

[Line 86: The winged courser .—Pegasus, a winged horse which sprang from the blood of Medusa when Perseus cut off her head. As soon as born he left the earth and flew up to heaven, or, according to Ovid, took up his abode on Mount Helicon, and was always associated with the Muses.]

[Line 94: Parnassus .—A mountain of Phocis, which received its name from Parnassus, the son of Neptune, and was sacred to the Muses, Apollo and Bacchus.]

[Line 97: Equal steps .—Steps equal to the undertaking.]

[Line 129: The Mantuan Muse —Virgil called Maro in the next line (his full name being, Virgilius Publius Maro) born near Mantua, 70 B.C.]

[Lines 130-136: It is said that Virgil first intended to write a poem on the Alban and Roman affairs which he found beyond his powers, and then he imitated Homer:

   Cum canerem reges et proelia Cynthius aurem    Vellit— Virg. Ecl. VI ]

[Line 138: The Stagirite —Aristotle, born at the Greek town of Stageira on the Strymonic Gulf (Gulf of Contessa, in Turkey) 384 B.C., whose treatises on Rhetoric and the Art of Poetry were the earliest development of a Philosophy of Criticism and still continue to be studied.

The poet contradicts himself with regard to the principle he is here laying down in lines 271-272 where he laughs at Dennis for

   Concluding all were desperate sots and fools    Who durst depart from Aristotle's rules.]

[Line 180: Homer nods — Quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus , 'even the good Homer nods'—Horace, Epistola ad Pisones , 359.]

[Lines 183, 184: Secure from flames .—The poet probably alludes to such fires as those in which the Alexandrine and Palatine Libraries were destroyed. From envy's fiercer rage .—Probably he alludes to the writings of such men as Maevius (see note to line 34) and Zoilus, a sophist and grammarian of Amphipolis, who distinguished himself by his criticism on Isocrates, Plato, and Homer, receiving the nickname of Homeromastic (chastiser of Homer). Destructive war —Probably an allusion to the irruption of the barbarians into the south of Europe. And all-involving age ; that is, time. This is usually explained as an allusion to 'the long reign of ignorance and superstition in the cloisters,' but it is surely far-fetched, and more than the language will bear.]

[Lines 193, 194:

   'Round the whole world this dreaded name shall sound,     And reach to worlds that must not yet be found,"—COWLEY.]

[Line 216: The Pierian spring —A fountain in Pieria, a district round Mount Olympus and the native country of the Muses.]

[Line 248: And even thine, O Rome. —The dome of St Peter's Church, designed by Michael Angelo.]

[Line 267: La Mancha's Knight .—Don Quixote, a fictitious Spanish knight, the hero of a book written (1605) by Cervantes, a Spanish writer.]

[Line 270: Dennis, the son of a saddler in London, born 1657, was a mediocre writer, and rather better critic of the time, with whom Pope came a good deal into collision. Addison's tragedy of Cato , for which Pope had written a prologue, had been attacked by Dennis. Pope, to defend Addison, wrote an imaginary report, pretending to be written by a notorious quack mad-doctor of the day, entitled The Narrative of Dr. Robert Norris on the Frenz of F. D. Dennis replied to it by his Character of Mr. Pope . Ultimately Pope gave him a place in his Dunciad , and wrote a prologue for his benefit.]

[Line 308: On content .—On trust, a common use of the word in Pope's time.]

[Lines 311, 312: Prismatic glass .—A glass prism by which light is refracted, and the component rays, which are of different colors being refracted at different angles show what is called a spectrum or series of colored bars, in the order violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange, red.]

[Line 328: Fungoso —One of the characters in Ben Jonson's Every Man out of his Humor who assumed the dress and tried to pass himself off for another.]

[Line 356: Alexandrine —A line of twelve syllables, so called from a French poem on the Life of Alexander the Great, written in that meter. The poet gives a remarkable example in the next line.]

[Line 361: Sir John Denham, a poet of the time of Charles I. (1615-1668). His verse is characterized by considerable smoothness and ingenuity of rhythm, with here and there a passage of some force—Edmund Waller (1606-1687) is celebrated as one of the refiners of English poetry. His rank among English poets, however, is very subordinate.]

[Line 366: Zephyr .—Zephyrus, the west wind personified by the poets and made the most mild and gentle of the sylvan deities.]

[Lines 366-373: In this passage the poet obviously intended to make "the sound seem an echo to the sense". The success of the attempt has not been very complete except in the second two lines, expressing the dash and roar of the waves, and in the last two, expressing the skimming, continuous motion of Camilla. What he refers to is the onomatopoeia of Homer and Virgil in the passages alluded to. Ajax , the son of Telamon, was, next to Achilles, the bravest of all the Greeks in the Trojan war. When the Greeks were challenged by Hector he was chosen their champion and it was in their encounter that he seized a huge stone and hurled it at Hector.

Thus rendered by Pope himself:

   "Then Ajax seized the fragment of a rock    Applied each nerve, and swinging round on high,    With force tempestuous let the ruin fly    The huge stone thundering through his buckler broke."

Camilla , queen of the Volsci, was brought up in the woods, and, according to Virgil, was swifter than the winds. She led an army to assist Turnus against Aeneas.

   "Dura pan, cursuque pedum praevertere ventos.     Illa vel intactae segetis per summa volaret     Gramina nec teneras cursu laesisset aristas;     Vel mare per medium fluctu suspensa tumenti,     Ferret iter, celeres nec tingeret aequore plantas."                                             Aen . vii 807-811.

Thus rendered by Dryden.

   "Outstripped the winds in speed upon the plain,    Flew o'er the fields, nor hurt the bearded grain;    She swept the seas, and as she skimmed along,    Her flying feet unbathed on billows hung"]

[Lines 374-381: This passage refers to Dryden's ode, Alexander's Feast , or The Power of Music . Timotheus, mentioned in it, was a musician of Boeotia, a favorite of Alexander's, not the great musician Timotheus, who died before Alexander was born, unless, indeed, Dryden have confused the two.]

[Line 376: The son of Libyan Jove .—A title arrogated to himself by Alexander.]

[Line 393: Dullness here 'seems to be incorrectly used. Ignorance is apt to magnify, but dullness reposes in stolid indifference.']

[Line 441: Sentences —Passages from the Fathers of the Church who were regarded as decisive authorities on all disputed points of doctrine.]

[Line 444: Scotists —The disciples of Duns Scotus, one of the most famous and influential of the scholastics of the fourteenth century, who was opposed to Thomas Aquinas (1224-1274), another famous scholastic, regarding the doctrines of grace and the freedom of the will, but especially the immaculate conception of the Virgin. The followers of the latter were called Thomists, between whom and the Scotists bitter controversies were carried on.]

[Line 445: Duck Lane .—A place near Smithfield where old books were sold. The cobwebs were kindred to the works of these controversialists, because their arguments were intricate and obscure. Scotus is said to have demolished two hundred objections to the doctrine of the immaculate conception, and established it by a cloud of proofs.]

[Line 459: Parsons .—This is an allusion to Jeremy Collier, the author of A Short View etc, of the English Stage . Critics, beaux .—This to the Duke of Buckingham, the author of The Rehearsal .]

[Line 463: Blackmore , Sir Richard (1652-1729), one of the court physicians and the writer of a great deal of worthless poetry. He attacked the dramatists of the time generally and Dryden individually, and is the Quack Maurus of Dryden's prologue to The Secular Masque . Millbourn , Rev. Luke, who criticised Dryden; which criticism, although sneered at by Pope, is allowed to have been judicious and decisive.]

[Line 465: Zoilus . See note on line 183.]

[Line 479: Patriarch wits —Perhaps an allusion to the great age to which the antediluvian patriarchs of the Bible lived.]

[Line 536: An easy monarch .—Charles II.]

[Line 541: At that time ladies went to the theater in masks.]

[Line 544: A foreign reign .—The reign of the foreigner, William III.]

[Line 545: Socinus .—The reaction from the fanaticism of the Puritans, who held extreme notions of free grace and satisfaction, by resolving all Christianity into morality, led the way to the introduction of Socinianism, the most prominent feature of which is the denial of the existence of the Trinity.]

[Line 552: Wit's Titans .—The Titans, in Greek mythology, were the children of Uranus (heaven) and Gaea (earth), and of gigantic size. They engaged in a conflict with Zeus, the king of heaven, which lasted ten years. They were completely defeated, and hurled down into a dungeon below Tartarus. Very often they are confounded with the Giants, as has apparently been done here by Pope. These were a later progeny of the same parents, and in revenge for what had been done to the Titans, conspired to dethrone Zeus. In order to scale heaven, they piled Mount Ossa upon Pelion, and would have succeeded in their attempt if Zeus had not called in the assistance of his son Hercules.]

[Line 585: Appius .—He refers to Dennis (see note to verse 270) who had published a tragedy called Appius and Virginia . He retaliated for these remarks by coarse personalities upon Pope, in his criticism of this poem.]

[Line 617: Durfey's Tales .—Thomas D'Urfey, the author (in the reign of Charles II.) of a sequel in five acts of The Rehearsal , a series of sonnets entitled Pills to Purge Melancholy , the Tales here alluded to, etc. He was a very inferior poet, although Addison pleaded for him.]

[Line 619: Garth, Dr. , afterwards Sir Samuel (born 1660) an eminent physician and a poet of considerable reputation He is best known as the author of The Dispensary , a poetical satire on the apothecaries and physicians who opposed the project of giving medicine gratuitously to the sick poor. The poet alludes to a slander current at the time with regard to the authorship of the poem.]

[Line 623: St Paul's Churchyard , before the fire of London, was the headquarters of the booksellers.]

[Lines 645, 646: See note on line 138.]

[Line 648: The Maeonian star .—Homer, supposed by some to have been born in Maeonia, a part of Lydia in Asia Minor, and whose poems were the chief subject of Aristotle's criticism.]

[Line 652: Who conquered nature —He wrote, besides his other works, treatises on Astronomy, Mechanics, Physics, and Natural History.]

[Line 665: Dionysius , born at Halicarnassus about 50 B.C., was a learned critic, historian, and rhetorician at Rome in the Augustan age.]

[Line 667: Petronius .—A Roman voluptuary at the court of Nero whose ambition was to shine as a court exquisite. He is generally supposed to be the author of certain fragments of a comic romance called Petronii Arbitri Satyricon .]

[Line 669: Quintilian , born in Spain 40 A.D. was a celebrated teacher of rhetoric and oratory at Rome. His greatwork is De Institutione Oratorica , a complete system of rhetoric, which is here referred to.]

[Line 675: Longinus , a Platonic philosopher and famous rhetorician, born either in Syria or at Athens about 213 A.D., was probably the best critic of antiquity. From his immense knowledge, he was called "a living library" and "walking museum," hence the poet speaks of him as inspired by all the Nine —Muses that is. These were Clio, the muse of History, Euterpe, of Music, Thaleia, of Pastoral and Comic Poetry and Festivals, Melpomene, of Tragedy, Terpsichore, of Dancing, Erato, of Lyric and Amorous Poetry, Polyhymnia, of Rhetoric and Singing, Urania, of Astronomy, Calliope, of Eloquence and Heroic Poetry.]

[Line 686: Rome .—For this pronunciation (to rhyme with doom ) he has Shakespeare's example as precedent.]

[Line 692: Goths .—A powerful nation of the Germanic race, which, originally from the Baltic, first settled near the Black Sea, and then overran and took an important part in the subversion of the Roman empire. They were distinguished as Ostro Goths (Eastern Goths) on the shores of the Black Sea, the Visi Goths (Western Goths) on the Danube, and the Moeso Goths, in Moesia ]

[Line 693: Erasmus .—A Dutchman (1467-1536), and at one time a Roman Catholic priest, who acted as tutor to Alexander Stuart, a natural son of James IV. of Scotland as professor of Greek for a short time at Oxford, and was the most learned man of his time. His best known work is his Colloquia , which contains satirical onslaughts on monks, cloister life, festivals, pilgrimages etc.]

[Line 696: Vandals .—A race of European barbarians, who first appear historically about the second century, south of the Baltic. They overran in succession Gaul, Spain, and Italy. In 455 they took and plundered Rome, and the way they mutilated and destroyed the works of art has become a proverb, hence the monks are compared to them in their ignorance of art and science.]

[Line 697: Leo .—Leo X., or the Great (1513-1521), was a scholar himself, and gave much encouragement to learning and art.]

[Line 704: Raphael (1483-1520), an Italian, is almost universally regarded as the greatest of painters. He received much encouragement from Leo. Vida —A poet patronised by Leo. He was the son of poor parents at Cremona (see line 707), which therefore the poet says, would be next in fame to Mantua, the birthplace of Virgil as it was next to it in place.

   "Mantua vae miserae nimium vicina Cremona."—Virg.]

[Line 714: Boileau .—An illustrious French poet (1636-1711), who wrote a poem on the Art of Poetry, which is copiously imitated by Pope in this poem.]

[Lines 723, 724: Refers to the Duke of Buckingham's Essay on Poetry which had been eulogized also by Dryden and Dr. Garth.]

[Line 725: Roscommon , the Earl of, a poet, who has the honor to be the first critic who praised Milton's Paradise Lost , died 1684.]

[Line 729: Walsh .—An indifferent writer, to whom Pope owed a good deal, died 1710.]

An Essay on Criticism

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Analysis: “An Essay on Criticism”

As its name suggests, Alexander Pope’s An Essay on Criticism is first and foremost a treatise directed at critics of art—particularly literature. Its central theme is thus The Causes of Poor Aesthetic Judgment , and its three-part structure loosely corresponds to the introduction, body, and conclusion of a typical prose essay. In Part 1, Pope lays out his thesis: that bad criticism is worse than bad art and that critics must understand the nature of art itself before making their critiques. In Part 2, he goes into detail about the various ways in which critical judgment may err. Lastly, in Part 3, he outlines what good criticism would look like.

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By Alexander Pope

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The Dunciad

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Essays in Criticism

Learn about this topic in these articles:, discussed in biography.

…early put into currency in Essays in Criticism (First Series, 1865; Second Series, 1888) and Culture and Anarchy . The first essay in the 1865 volume, “The Function of Criticism at the Present Time,” is an overture announcing briefly most of the themes he developed more fully in later work. It…

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AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM .

• l. 348: all the vowels in this line are open;
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• ll. 351/2: Chimes / Rhymes , a common rhyme.
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Pope, Alexander, 1688-1744. An essay on criticism: Written by Mr. Pope. The second edition. London: printed for W. Lewis, 1713 [1712], pp. []-36.  [4],36p. ; 8⁰. (ESTC T5572 ; Foxon P810; OTA K023052.000 )

Editorial principles

Secondary literature.

• Hooker, Edward Niles. Pope on Wit: The Essay on Criticism . Clifford, James L., ed. Eighteenth-Century Literature: Modern Essays in Criticism . New York: OUP, 1959. 42-61. Print.

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• AN EPISTLE To the Right Honourable RICHARD Earl of BURLINGTON. ( )
• EPISTLES OF HORACE. BOOK I. ( )
• [AN ESSAY ON MAN.] ( )
• THE FIRST ODE OF THE FOURTH BOOK OF HORACE: ( )
• THE IMPERTINENT, OR A Visit to the COURT. A SATYR. ( )
• Inscription on a GROTTO of Shells at CRUX-EASTON, the Work of Nine young Ladies. ( )
• ODE FOR MUSICK. ( )
• ON A GROTTO near the THAMES, at TWICKENHAM, Composed of Marbles, Spars, and Minerals. ( )
• THE RAPE of the LOCK. CANTO I. ( )
• THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER. ( )
• WINDSOR-FOREST. To the Right Honourable GEORGE Lord LANSDOWN. ( )

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Essays in criticism. The study of poetry. John Keats; Wordsworth. Edited by Susan S. Sheridan

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Literary Theory and Criticism

Home › Literature › Literary Criticism of John Dryden

Literary Criticism of John Dryden

By NASRULLAH MAMBROL on November 17, 2017 • ( 4 )

John Dryden (1631–1700) occupies a seminal place in English critical history. Samuel Johnson called him “the father of English criticism,” and affirmed of his Essay of Dramatic Poesy (1668) that “modern English prose begins here.” Dryden’s critical work was extensive, treating of various genres such as epic, tragedy, comedy and dramatic theory, satire, the relative virtues of ancient and modern writers, as well as the nature of poetry and translation. In addition to the Essay , he wrote numerous prefaces, reviews, and prologues, which together set the stage for later poetic and critical developments embodied in writers such as Pope , Johnson, Matthew Arnold , and T. S. Eliot .

Dryden was also a consummate poet, dramatist, and translator. His poetic output reflects his shifting religious and political allegiances. Born into a middle-class family just prior to the outbreak of the English Civil War between King Charles I and Parliament, he initially supported the latter, whose leaders, headed by Oliver Cromwell, were Puritans. Indeed, his poem Heroic Stanzas (1659) celebrated the achievements of Cromwell who, after the execution of Charles I by the victorious parliamentarians, ruled England as Lord Protector (1653–1658). However, with the restoration of the dead king’s son, Charles II , to the throne in 1660, Dryden switched sides, celebrating the new monarchy in his poem Astrea Redux ( Justice Restored ). Dryden was appointed poet-laureate in 1668 and thereafter produced several major poems, including the mock-heroic  Mac Flecknoe   (1682), and a political satire Absalom and Achitophel (1681). In addition, he produced two poems that mirror his move from Anglicanism to Catholicism: Religio Laici (1682) defends the Anglican Church while The Hind and the Panther , just five years later, opposes Anglicanism. Dryden’s renowned dramas include the comedy Marriage a la Mode (1671) and the tragedies Aureng-Zebe (1675) and All for Love, or the World Well Lost (1677). His translations include Fables, Ancient and Modern (1700), which includes renderings of Ovid, Boccaccio, and Chaucer.

Dryden’s Essay of Dramatic Poesy is written as a debate on drama conducted by four speakers, Eugenius , Crites , Lisideius , and Neander. These personae have conventionally been identified with four of Dryden’s contemporaries. Eugenius (meaning “well-born”) may be Charles Sackville , who was Lord Buckhurst, a patron of Dryden and a poet himself. Crites (Greek for “judge” or “critic”) perhaps represents Sir Robert Howard, Dryden’s brother-in-law. Lisideius refers to Sir Charles Sedley , and Neander (“new man”) is Dryden himself. The Essay , as Dryden himself was to point out in a later defense of it, was occasioned by a public dispute with Sir Robert Howard (Crites) over the use of rhyme in drama. In a note to the reader prefacing the Essay , he suggests that the chief purpose of his text is “to vindicate the honour of our English writers, from the censure of those who unjustly prefer the French” (27). Yet the scope of the  Essay extends far beyond these two topics, effectively ranging over a number of crucial debates concerning the nature and composition of drama.

The first of these debates is that between ancients and moderns, a debate that had intermittently surfaced for centuries in literature and criticism, and which acquired a new and topical intensity in European letters after the Renaissance, in the late seventeenth century. Traditionalists such as Jonathan Swift , in his controversial Battle of the Books (1704), bemoaned the modern “corruption” of religion and learning, and saw in the ancients the archetypal standards of literature. The moderns, inspired by various forms of progress through the Renaissance, sought to adapt or even abandon classical ideals in favor of the requirements of a changed world and a modern audience. Dryden’s Essay is an important intervention in this debate, perhaps marking a distinction between Renaissance and neoclassical values. Like Torquato Tasso and Pierre Corneille , he attempted to strike a compromise between the claims of ancient authority and the exigencies of the modern writer.

In Dryden’s text, this compromise subsumes a number of debates: one of these concerns the classical “unities” of time, place, and action; another focuses on the rigid classical distinction between various genres, such as tragedy and comedy; there was also the issue of classical decorum and propriety, as well as the use of rhyme in drama. All of these elements underlie the nature of drama. In addition, Dryden undertakes an influential assessment of the English dramatic tradition, comparing writers within this tradition itself as well as with their counterparts in French drama.

Dryden’s Essay is skillfully wrought in terms of its own dramatic structure, its setting up of certain expectations (the authority of classical precepts), its climaxing in the reversal of these, and its denouement in the comparative assessment of French and English drama. What starts out, through the voice of Crites, as promising to lull the reader into complacent subordination to classical values ends up by deploying those very values against the ancients themselves and by undermining or redefining those values.

Lisideius offers the following definition of a play: “ A just and lively image of human nature, representing its passions and humours, and the changes of fortune to which it is subject, for the delight and instruction of mankind ” (36). Even a casual glance at the definition shows it to be very different from Aristotle’s: the latter had defined tragedy not as the representation of “human nature” but as the imitation of a serious and complete action; moreover, while Aristotle had indeed cited a reversal in fortune as a component of tragedy, he had said nothing about “passions and humours”; and, while he accorded to literature in general a moral and intellectual function, he had said nothing about “delighting” the audience. The definition of drama used in Dryden’s Essay embodies a history of progressive divergence from classical models; indeed, it is a definition already weighted in favor of modern drama, and it is a little surprising that Crites agrees to abide by it at all. Crites, described in Dryden’s text as “a person of sharp judgment, and somewhat too delicate a taste in wit” (29), is, after all, the voice of classical conservatism.

Crites notes that poetry is now held in lower esteem, in an atmosphere of “few good poets, and so many severe judges” (37–38). His essential argument is that the ancients were “faithful imitators and wise observers of that Nature which is so torn and ill represented in our plays; they have handed down to us a perfect resemblance of her; which we, like ill copiers, neglecting to look on, have rendered monstrous, and disfigured.” He reminds his companions that all the rules for drama – concerning the plot, the ornaments, descriptions, and narrations – were formulated by Aristotle, Horace, or their predecessors. As for us modern writers, he remarks, “we have added nothing of our own, except we have the confidence to say our wit is better” (38).

The most fundamental of these classical rules are the three unities, of time, place, and action. Crites claims that the ancients observed these rules in most of their plays (38–39). The unity of action, Crites urges, stipulates that the “poet is to aim at one great and complete action,” to which all other things in the play “are to be subservient.” The reason behind this, he explains, is that if there were two major actions, this would destroy the unity of the play (41). Crites cites a further reason from Corneille: the unity of action “leaves the mind of the audience in a full repose”; but such a unity must be engineered by the subordinate actions which will “hold the audience in a delightful suspense of what will be” (41). Most modern plays, says Crites, fail to endure the test imposed by these unities, and we must therefore acknowledge the superiority of the ancient authors (43).

This, then, is the presentation of classical authority in Dryden’s text. It is Eugenius who first defends the moderns, saying that they have not restricted themselves to “dull imitation” of the ancients; they did not “draw after their lines, but those of Nature; and having the life before us, besides the experience of all they knew, it is no wonder if we hit some airs and features which they have missed” (44). This is an interesting and important argument which seems to have been subsequently overlooked by Alexander Pope , who in other respects followed Dryden’s prescriptions for following the rules of “nature.” In his Essay on Criticism , Pope had urged that to copy nature is to copy the ancient writers. Dryden, through the mouth of his persona Eugenius, completely topples this complacent equation: Eugenius effectively turns against Crites the latter’s own observation that the arts and sciences have made huge advances since the time of Aristotle. Not only do we have the collective experience and wisdom of the ancients to draw upon, but also we have our own experience of the world, a world understood far better in scientific terms than in ages past: “if natural causes be more known now than in the time of Aristotle . . . it follows that poesy and other arts may, with the same pains, arrive still nearer to perfection” (44).

Turning to the unities, Eugenius points out (after Corneille) that by the time of Horace, the division of a play into five acts was firmly established, but this distinction was unknown to the Greeks. Indeed, the Greeks did not even confine themselves to a regular number of acts (44–46). Again, their plots were usually based on “some tale derived from Thebes or Troy,” a plot “worn so threadbare . . . that before it came upon the stage, it was already known to all the audience.” Since the pleasure in novelty was thereby dissolved, asserts Eugenius, “one main end of Dramatic Poesy in its definition, which was to cause delight, was of consequence destroyed” (47). These are strong words, threatening to undermine a long tradition of reverence for the classics. But Eugenius has hardly finished: not only do the ancients fail to fulfill one of the essential obligations of drama, that of delighting; they also fall short in the other requirement, that of instructing. Eugenius berates the narrow characterization by Greek and Roman dramatists, as well as their imperfect linking of scenes. He cites instances of their own violation of the unities. Even more acerbic is his observation, following Corneille, that when the classical authors such as Euripides and Terence do observe the unities, they are forced into absurdities (48–49). As for the unity of place, he points out, this is nowhere to be found in Aristotle or Horace; it was made a precept of the stage in our own age by the French dramatists (48). Moreover, instead of “punishing vice and rewarding virtue,” the ancients “have often shown a prosperous wickedness, and an unhappy piety” (50).

Eugenius also berates the ancients for not dealing sufficiently with love, but rather with “lust, cruelty, revenge, ambition . . . which were more capable of raising horror than compassion in an audience” (54). Hence, in Dryden’s text, not only is Aristotle’s definition of tragedy violently displaced by a formulation that will accommodate modern poets, but also the ancient philosopher’s definition itself is made to appear starkly unrealistic and problematic for ancient dramatists, who persistently violated its essential features.

The next point of debate is the relative quality of French and English writers; it is Lisideius who extols the virtues of the French while Neander (Dryden himself) undertakes to defend his compatriots. Lisideius argues that the current French theatre surpasses all Europe, observing the unities of time, place, and action, and is not strewn with the cumbrous underplots that litter the English stage. Moreover, the French provide variety of emotion without sinking to the absurd genre of tragicomedy, which is a uniquely English invention (56–57). Lisideius also points out that the French are proficient at proportioning the time devoted to dialogue and action on the one hand, and narration on the other. There are certain actions, such as duels, battles, and deathscenes, that “can never be imitated to a just height”; they cannot be represented with decorum or with credibility and thus must be narrated rather than acted out on stage (62–63).

Neander’s response takes us by surprise. He does not at all refute the claims made by Lisideius. He concedes that “the French contrive their plots more regularly, and observe the laws of comedy, and decorum of the stage . . . with more exactness than the English” (67). Neander effectively argues that the very “faults” of the English are actually virtues, virtues that take English drama far beyond the pale of its classical heritage. What Neander or Dryden takes as a valid presupposition is that a play should present a “lively imitation of Nature” (68). The beauties of French drama, he points out, are “the beauties of a statue, but not of a man, because not animated with the soul of Poesy, which is imitation of humour and passions” (68).

Indeed, in justifying the genre of tragicomedy, Neander states that the contrast between mirth and compassion will throw the important scenes into sharper relief (69). He urges that it is “to the honour of our nation, that we have invented, increased, and perfected a more pleasant way of writing for the stage, than was ever known to the ancients or moderns of any nation, which is tragi-comedy” (70). This exaltation of tragicomedy effectively overturns nearly all of the ancient prescriptions concerning purity of genre, decorum, and unity of plot. Neander poignantly repeats Corneille’s observation that anyone with actual experience of the stage will see how constraining the classical rules are (76).

Neander now undertakes a brief assessment of the recent English dramatic tradition. Of all modern and perhaps ancient poets, he says, Shakespeare “had the largest and most comprehensive soul.” He was “naturally learn’d,” not through books but by the reading of nature and all her images: “he looked inwards, and found her there” (79–80). Again, the implication is that, in order to express nature, Shakespeare did not need to look outwards, toward the classics, but rather into his own humanity. Beaumont and Fletcher had both the precedent of Shakespeare’s wit and natural gifts which they improved by study; what they excelled at was expressing “the conversation of gentlemen,” and the representation of the passions, especially of love (80–81). Ben Jonson he regards as the “most learned and judicious writer which any theatre ever had,” and his peculiar gift was the representation of humors (81–82). Neander defines “humour” as “some extravagant habit, passion, or affection” which defines the individuality of a person (84–85). In an important statement he affirms that “Shakespeare was the Homer, or father of our dramatic poets; Johnson was the Vergil, the pattern of elaborate writing” (82). What Neander – or Dryden – effectively does here is to stake out an independent tradition for English drama, with new archetypes displacing those of the classical tradition.

The final debate concerns the use of rhyme in drama. Crites argues that “rhyme is unnatural in a play” (91). Following Aristotle, Crites insists that the most natural verse form for the stage is blank verse, since ordinary speech follows an iambic pattern (91). Neander’s reply is ambivalent (Dryden himself was later to change his mind on this issue): he does not deny that blank verse may be used; but he asserts that “in serious plays, where the subject and characters are great . . . rhyme is there as natural and more effectual than blank verse” (94). Moreover, in everyday life, people do not speak in blank verse, any more than they do in rhyme. He also observes that rhyme and accent are a modern substitute for the use of quantity as syllabic measure in classical verse (96–97).

Underlying Neander’s argument in favor of rhyme is an observation fundamental to the very nature of drama. He insists that, while all drama represents nature, a distinction should be made between comedy, “which is the imitation of common persons and ordinary speaking,” and tragedy, which “is indeed the representation of Nature, but ’tis Nature wrought up to an higher pitch. The plot, the characters, the wit, the passions, the descriptions, are all exalted above the level of common converse, as high as the imagination of the poet can carry them, with proportion to verisimility” (100–101). And while the use of verse and rhyme helps the poet control an otherwise “lawless imagination,” it is nonetheless a great help to his “luxuriant fancy” (107). This concluding argument, which suggests that the poet use “imagination” to transcend nature, underlines Neander’s (and Dryden’s) departure from classical convention. If Dryden is neoclassical, it is in the sense that he acknowledges the classics as having furnished archetypes for drama; but modern writers are at liberty to create their own archetypes and their own literary traditions. Again, he might be called classical in view of the unquestioned persistence of certain presuppositions that are shared by all four speakers in this text: that the unity of a play, however conceived, is a paramount requirement; that a play present, through its use of plot and characterization, events and actions which are probable and express truth or at least a resemblance to truth; that the laws of “nature” be followed, if not through imitation of the ancients, then through looking inward at our own profoundest constitution; and finally, that every aspect of a play be contrived with the projected response of the audience in mind. But given Dryden’s equal emphasis on the poet’s wit, invention, and imagination, his text might be viewed as expressing a status of transition between neoclassicism and Romanticism.

Dryden’s other essays and prefaces would seem to confirm the foregoing comments, and reveal important insights into his vision of the poet’s craft. In his 1666 preface to Annus Mirabilis , he states that the “composition of all poems is, or ought to be, of wit; and wit . . . is no other than the faculty of imagination in the writer” (14). He subsequently offers a more comprehensive definition: “the first happiness of the poet’s imagination is properly invention, or finding of the thought; the second is fancy, or the variation, deriving, or moulding, of that thought, as the judgment represents it proper to the subject; the third is elocution, or the art of clothing or adorning that thought, so found and varied, in apt, significant, and sounding words: the quickness of the imagination is seen in the invention, the fertility in the fancy, and the accuracy in the expression” (15). Again, the emphasis here is on wit, imagination, and invention rather than exclusively on the classical precept of imitation.

In fact, Dryden was later to write “Defence of An Essay on Dramatic Poesy ,” defending his earlier text against Sir Robert Howard ’s attack on Dryden’s advocacy of rhyme in drama. Here, Dryden’s defense of rhyme undergoes a shift of emphasis, revealing further his modification of classical prescriptions. He now argues that what most commends rhyme is the delight it produces: “for delight is the chief, if not the only, end of poesy: instruction can be admitted but in the second place, for poesy only instructs as it delights” (113). And Dryden states: “I confess my chief endeavours are to delight the age in which I live” (116). We have come a long way from Aristotle, and even from Sidney, who both regarded poetry as having primarily a moral or ethical purpose. To suggest that poetry’s chief or only aim is to delight is to take a large step toward the later modern notion of literary autonomy. Dryden goes on to suggest that while a poet’s task is to “imitate well,” he must also “affect the soul, and excite the passions” as well as cause “admiration” or wonder. To this end, “bare imitation will not serve.” Imitation must be “heightened with all the arts and ornaments of poesy” (113).

If, in such statements, Dryden appears to anticipate certain Romantic predispositions, these comments are counterbalanced by other positions which are deeply entrenched in a classical heritage. Later in the “Defence” he insists that “they cannot be good poets, who are not accustomed to argue well . . . for moral truth is the mistress of the poet as much as of the philosopher; Poesy must resemble natural truth, but it must be ethical. Indeed, the poet dresses truth, and adorns nature, but does not alter them” (121). Hence, notwithstanding the importance that he attaches to wit and imagination, Dryden still regards poetry as essentially a rational activity, with an ethical and epistemological responsibility. If the poet rises above nature and truth, this is merely by way of ornamentation; it does not displace or remold the truths of nature, but merely heightens them. Dryden states that imagination “is supposed to participate of Reason,” and that when imagination creates fictions, reason allows itself to be temporarily deceived but will never be persuaded “of those things which are most remote from probability . . . Fancy and Reason go hand in hand; the first cannot leave the last behind” (127–128). These formulations differ from subsequent Romantic views of the primacy of imagination over reason. Imagination can indeed outrun reason, but only within the limits of classical probability. Dryden’s entire poetic and critical enterprise might be summed up in his own words: he views all poetry, both ancient and modern, as based on “the imitation of Nature.” Where he differs from the classics is the means with which he undertakes this poetic project (123). Following intimations in Plato’s Timaeus and Aristotle’s Poetics , he suggests in his Parallel of Poetry and Painting  (1695) that what the poet (and painter) should imitate are not individual instances of nature but the archetypal ideas behind natural forms. While adhering to this classical position, he also suggests that, in imitating nature, modern writers should “vary the customs, according to the time and the country where the scene of the action lies; for this is still to imitate Nature, which is always the same, though in a different dress” ( Essays , II, 139). This stance effectively embodies both Dryden’s classicism and the nature of his departure from its strict boundaries.

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Tags: Absalom and Achitophel , Alexander Pope , All for Love , An Essay of Dramatic Poesy , An Essay on Criticism , Annus Mirabilis , Astræa Redux , Aureng-Zebe , Charles Sackville , Crites , Eugenius , Heroic Stanzas on the Death of Oliver Cromwell , John Dryden , Jonathan Swift , Lisideius , Literary Criticism , Literary Theory , Mac Flecknoe , Marriage a la Mode , Matthew Arnold , Neander , Parallel of Poetry and Painting , Pierre Corneille , Poetics , Poetry , Religio Laici , Sir Charles Sedley , Sir Robert Howard , The Battle of the Books , The Hind and the Panther , Timaeus , Torquato Tasso , TS Eliot

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• Essays in criticism,
• Arnold, Matthew, 1822-1888

Created / Published

• New York, A. L. Burt Co. [190-?]
• The function of criticism at the present time.--The literary influence of academies.--Maurice de Guérin.--Eugénie de Guérin.--Heinrich Heine.--Pagan and mediæval religious sentiment.--A Persian passion play.--Joubert.--Spinoza and the Bible.--Marcus Aurelius.--The study of poetry.--Milton.--Thomas Gray.--John Keats.--Wordsworth.--Byron.--Shelley.--Count Leo Tolstoi.--Amiel.
• -  Criticism
• -  Guérin, Maurice de,--1810-1839
• -  Guérin, Eugénie de,--1805-1848
• -  Heine, Heinrich,--1797-1856
• -  Joubert, Joseph,--1754-1824
• -  Spinoza, Benedictus de,--1632-1677
• -  Marcus Aurelius,--Emperor of Rome,--121-180
• -  Poetry
• -  English poetry--History and criticism
• -  Amiel, Henri Frédéric,--1821-1881.--Journal intime
• -  Tolstoy, Leo,--graf,--1828-1910
• -  Also available in digital form.
• x p., 1 l., 448 p. incl. front. (port.) 19 cm.

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• PR4022 .E3 1902a

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• online text

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• https://lccn.loc.gov/42013559

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• Arnold, Matthew
• Amiel, Henri Frédéric
• Emperor of Rome
• English Poetry
• Guérin, Eugénie De
• Guérin, Maurice De
• Heine, Heinrich
• History and Criticism
• Joubert, Joseph
• Journal Intime
• Marcus Aurelius
• Spinoza, Benedictus De
• Tolstoy, Leo

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Arnold, Matthew. Essays in Criticism . [New York, A. L. Burt Co. 190-?, 1900] Pdf. https://www.loc.gov/item/42013559/.

APA citation style:

Arnold, M. (1900) Essays in Criticism . [New York, A. L. Burt Co. 190-?] [Pdf] Retrieved from the Library of Congress, https://www.loc.gov/item/42013559/.

MLA citation style:

Arnold, Matthew. Essays in Criticism . [New York, A. L. Burt Co. 190-?, 1900] Pdf. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, <www.loc.gov/item/42013559/>.

An Essay on Criticism

1928 facsimile reprint.

CRITICISM .

In search of Wit these lose their common Sense , And then turn Criticks in their own Defence. Those hate as Rivals all that write; and others But envy Wits , as Eunuchs envy Lovers . All Fools have still an Itching to deride, And fain wou'd be upon the Laughing Side: If Mævius Scribble in Apollo ' s spight, There are, who judge still worse than he can write . Some have at first for Wits , then Poets past, Turn'd Criticks next, and prov'd plain Fools at last; Some neither can for Wits nor Criticks pass, As heavy Mules are neither Horse or Ass . Those half-learn'd Witlings, num'rous in our Isle, As half-form'd Insects on the Banks of Nile ; Unfinish'd Things, one knows not what to call, Their Generation's so equivocal : To tell 'em, wou'd a hundred Tongues require, Or one vain Wit's , that wou'd a hundred tire. But you who seek to give and merit Fame, And justly bear a Critick's noble Name,

Be sure your self and your own Reach to know. How far your Genius, Taste , and Learning go; Launch not beyond your Depth, but be discreet, And mark that Point where Sense and Dulness meet . Nature to all things fix'd the Limits fit, And wisely curb'd proud Man's pretending Wit: As on the Land while here the Ocean gains, In other Parts it leaves wide sandy Plains; Thus in the Soul while Memory prevails, The solid Pow'r of Understanding fails; Where Beams of warm Imagination play, The Memory's soft Figures melt away. One Science only will one Genius fit; So vast is Art, so narrow Human Wit; Not only bounded to peculiar Arts , But oft in those , confin'd to single Parts . Like Kings we lose the Conquests gain'd before, By vain Ambition still to make them more: Each might his sev'ral Province well command, Wou'd all but stoop to what they understand .

First follow Nature , and your Judgment frame By her just Standard, which is still the same: Unerring Nature , still divinely bright, One clear, unchang'd and Universal Light, Life, Force, and Beauty, must to all impart, At once the Source , and End , and Test of Art . That Art is best which most resembles Her ; Which still presides , yet never does Appear ; In some fair Body thus the sprightly Soul With Spirits feeds, with Vigour fills the whole, Each Motion guides, and ev'ry Nerve sustains; It self unseen , but in th' Effects , remains. There are whom Heav'n has blest with store of Wit, Yet want as much again to manage it; For Wit and Judgment ever are at strife, Tho' meant each other's Aid, like Man and Wife . 'Tis more to guide than spur the Muse's Steed; Restrain his Fury, than provoke his Speed; The winged Courser, like a gen'rous Horse, Shows most true Mettle when you check his Course.

Against the Poets their own Arms they turn'd, Sure to hate most the Men from whom they learn'd. So modern Pothecaries , taught the Art By Doctor's Bills to play the Doctor's Part , Bold in the Practice of mistaken Rules , Prescribe, apply, and call their Masters Fools . Some on the Leaves of ancient Authors prey, Nor Time nor Moths e'er spoil'd so much as they: Some dryly plain, without Invention's Aid, Write dull Receits how Poems may be made: These lost the Sense, their Learning to display, And those explain'd the Meaning quite away. You then whose Judgment the right Course wou'd steer, Know well each Ancient's proper Character , His Fable, Subject, Scope in ev'ry Page, Religion, Country, Genius of his Age : Without all these at once before your Eyes, You may Confound , but never Criticize . Be Homer ' s Works your Study , and Delight , Read them by Day, and meditate by Night,

And tho' the Ancients thus their Rules invade, (As Kings dispense with Laws Themselves have made) Moderns , beware! Or if you must offend Against the Precept , ne'er transgress its End , Let it be seldom , and compell'd by Need , And have, at least, Their Precedent to plead. The Critick else proceeds without Remorse, Seizes your Fame, and puts his Laws in force. I know there are, to whose presumptuous Thoughts Those Freer Beauties , ev'n in Them , seem Faults: Some Figures monstrous and mis-shap'd appear, Consider'd singly , or beheld too near , Which, but proportion'd to their Light , or Place , Due Distance reconciles to Form and Grace. A prudent Chief not always must display His Pow'rs in equal Ranks , and fair Array , But with th' Occasion and the Place comply, Oft hide his Force, nay seem sometimes to Fly . Those are but Stratagems which Errors seem, Nor is it Homer Nods , but We that Dream .

Still green with Bays each ancient Altar stands, Above the reach of Sacrilegious Hands, Secure from Flames , from Envy's fiercer Rage, Destructive War , and all-devouring Age . See, from each Clime the Learn'd their Incense bring; Hear, in all Tongues Triumphant Pæans ring! In Praise so just, let ev'ry Voice be join'd, And fill the Gen'ral Chorus of Mankind ! Hail Bards Triumphant ! born in happier Days ; Immortal Heirs of Universal Praise! Whose Honours with Increase of Ages grow , As Streams roll down, enlarging as they flow! Nations unborn your mighty Names shall sound, And Worlds applaud that must not yet be found ! Oh may some Spark of your Cœlestial Fire The last, the meanest of your Sons inspire, (That with weak Wings, from far, pursues your Flights; Glows while he reads , but trembles as he writes ) To teach vain Wits a Science little known , T' admire Superior Sense, and doubt their own!

OF all the Causes which conspire to blind Man's erring Judgment, and misguide the Mind, What the weak Head with strongest Byass rules, Is Pride , the never-failing Vice of Fools . Whatever Nature has in Worth deny'd, She gives in large Recruits of needful Pride ; For as in Bodies , thus in Souls , we find What wants in Blood and Spirits , swell'd with Wind ; Pride, where Wit fails, steps in to our Defence, And fills up all the mighty Void of Sense ! If once right Reason drives that Cloud away, Truth breaks upon us with resistless Day ; Trust not your self; but your Defects to know, Make use of ev'ry Friend —— and ev'ry Foe . A little Learning is a dang'rous Thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian Spring: There shallow Draughts intoxicate the Brain, And drinking largely sobers us again.

Fir’d with the Charms fair Science does impart, In fearless Youth we tempt the Heights of Art; While from the bounded Level of our Mind, Short Views we take, nor see the Lengths behind , But more advanc'd , survey with strange Surprize New, distant Scenes of endless Science rise! So pleas'd at first, the towring Alps we try, Mount o'er the Vales, and seem to tread the Sky; Th' Eternal Snows appear already past, And the first Clouds and Mountains seem the last: But those attain'd , we tremble to survey The growing Labours of the lengthen'd Way, Th' increasing Prospect tires our wandring Eyes, Hills peep o'er Hills, and Alps on Alps arise! [ 4 ] A perfect Judge will read each Work of Wit With the same Spirit that its Author writ , Survey the Whole , nor seek slight Faults to find; Where Nature moves , and Rapture warms the Mind;

Nor lose, for that malignant dull Delight, The gen'rous Pleasure to be charm'd with Wit. But in such Lays as neither ebb , nor flow , Correctly cold , and regularly low , That shunning Faults, one quiet Tenour keep; We cannot blame indeed —— but we may sleep . In Wit, as Nature, what affects our Hearts Is not th' Exactness of peculiar Parts; 'Tis not a Lip , or Eye , we Beauty call, But the joint Force and full Result of all . Thus when we view some well-proportion'd Dome, The World ' s just Wonder, and ev'n thine O Rome !) No single Parts unequally surprize; All comes united to th' admiring Eyes; No monstrous Height, or Breadth, or Length appear; The Whole at once is Bold , and Regular . Whoever thinks a faultless Piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be. In ev'ry Work regard the Writer's End , Since none can compass more than they Intend ;

All which, exact to Rule were brought about, Were but a Combate in the Lists left out. What! Leave the Combate out ? Exclaims the Knight; Yes, or we must renounce the Stagyrite . Not so by Heav'n (he answers in a Rage) Knights, Squires, and Steeds, must enter on the Stage . The Stage can ne'er so vast a Throng contain. Then build a New, or act it in a Plain . Thus Criticks, of less Judgment than Caprice , Curious , not Knowing , not exact , but nice , Form short Ideas ; and offend in Arts (As most in Manners ) by a Love to Parts . Some to Conceit alone their Taste confine, And glitt'ring Thoughts struck out at ev'ry Line; Pleas'd with a Work where nothing's just or fit; One glaring Chaos and wild Heap of Wit: Poets like Painters, thus, unskill'd to trace The naked Nature and the living Grace , With Gold and Jewels cover ev'ry Part, And hide with Ornaments their Want of Art .

[ 5 ] True Wit is Nature to Advantage drest, What oft was Thought , but ne'er so well Exprest , Something , whose Truth convinc'd at Sight we find, That gives us back the Image of our Mind: As Shades more sweetly recommend the Light, So modest Plainness sets off sprightly Wit: For Works may have more Wit than does 'em good, As Bodies perish through Excess of Blood . Others for Language all their Care express, And value Books , as Women Men , for Dress: Their Praise is still —— The Stile is excellent : The Sense , they humbly take upon Content. Words are like Leaves ; and where they most abound, Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found. False Eloquence , like the Prismatic Glass , Its gawdy Colours spreads on ev'ry place ; The Face of Nature was no more Survey, All glares alike , without Distinction gay:

Where-e'er you find the cooling Western Breeze , In the next Line, it whispers thro' the Trees ; If Chrystal Streams with pleasing Murmurs creep , The Reader's threaten'd (not in vain) with Sleep . Then, at the last , and only Couplet fraught With some unmeaning Thing they call a Thought , A needless Alexandrine ends the Song, That like a wounded Snake, drags its slow length along. Leave such to tune their own dull Rhimes, and know What's roundly smooth , or languishingly slow ; And praise the Easie Vigor of a Line, Where Denham ' s Strength, and Waller ' s Sweetness join. 'Tis not enough no Harshness gives Offence, The Sound must seem an Eccho to the Sense . Soft is the Strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth Stream in smoother Numbers flows; But when loud Surges lash the sounding Shore, The hoarse, rough Verse shou'd like the Torrent roar. When Ajax strives, some Rocks' vast Weight to throw, The Line too labours , and the Words move slow ;

Not so, when swift Camilla scours the Plain, Flies o'er th'unbending Corn, and skims along the Main. Hear how [ 10 ] Timotheus ' various Lays surprize, And bid Alternate Passions fall and rise! While, at each Change, the Son of Lybian Jove Now burns with Glory, and then melts with Love; Now his fierce Eyes with sparkling Fury glow; Now Sighs steal out, and Tears begin to flow : Persians and Greeks like Turns of Nature found, And the World's Victor stood subdu'd by Sound ! The Pow'r of Musick all our Hearts allow; And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now. Avoid Extreams ; and shun the Fault of such, Who still are pleas'd too little , or too much . At ev'ry Trifle scorn to take Offence, That always shows Great Pride , or Little Sense ; Those Heads as Stomachs are not sure the best Which nauseate all, and nothing can digest.

Yet let not each gay Turn thy Rapture move, For Fools Admire , but Men of Sense Approve ; As things seem large which we thro' Mists descry, Dulness is ever apt to Magnify . Some French Writers, some our own despise; The Ancients only, or the Moderns prize: Thus Wit , like Faith by each Man is apply'd To one small Sect , and All are damn'd beside. Meanly they seek the Blessing to confine, And force that Sun but on a Part to Shine; Which not alone the Southern Wit sublimes, But ripens Spirits in cold Northern Climes ; Which from the first has shone on Ages past , Enlights the present , and shall warm the last: (Tho' each may feel Increases and Decays , And see now clearer and now darker Days ) Regard not then if Wit be Old or New , But blame the False , and value still the True . Some ne'er advance a Judgment of their own, But catch the spreading Notion of the Town;

They reason and conclude by Precedent , And own stale Nonsense which they ne'er invent. Some judge of Author's Names , not Works , and then Nor praise nor damn the Writings , but the Men . Of all this Servile Herd the worst is He That in proud Dulness joins with Quality , A constant Critick at the Great-man's Board, To fetch and carry Nonsense for my Lord. What woful stuff this Madrigal wou'd be, To some starv'd Hackny Sonneteer, or me? But let a Lord once own the happy Lines , How the Wit brightens ! How the Style refines ! Before his sacred Name flies ev'ry Fault, And each exalted Stanza teems with Thought! The Vulgar thus through Imitation err; As oft the Learn'd by being Singular ; So much they scorn the Crowd, that if the Throng By Chance go right, they purposely go wrong; So Schismatics the dull Believers quit, And are but damn'd for having too much Wit .

Some praise at Morning what they blame at Night; But always think the last Opinion right . A Muse by these is like a Mistress us'd, This hour she's idoliz'd , the next abus'd , While their weak Heads, like Towns unfortify'd, 'Twixt Sense and Nonsense daily change their Side. Ask them the Cause; They're wiser still , they say; And still to Morrow's wiser than to Day. We think our Fathers Fools, so wise we grow; Our wiser Sons , no doubt, will think us so. Once School-Divines our zealous Isle o'erspread; Who knew most Sentences was deepest read ; Faith, Gospel, All, seem'd made to be disputed , And none had Sense enough to be Confuted . Scotists and Thomists , now, in Peace remain, Amidst their kindred Cobwebs in Duck-Lane . If Faith it self has diff'rent Dresses worn, What wonder Modes in Wit shou'd take their Turn? Oft, leaving what is Natural and fit, The current Folly proves the ready Wit ,

And Authors think their Reputation safe, Which lives as long as Fools are pleas'd to Laugh . Some valuing those of their own Side , or Mind , Still make themselves the measure of Mankind; Fondly we think we honour Merit then, When we but praise Our selves in Other Men . Parties in Wit attend on those of State , And publick Faction doubles private Hate. Pride, Malice, Folly , against Dryden rose, In various Shapes of Parsons, Criticks, Beaus ; But Sense surviv'd, when merry Jests were past; For rising Merit will buoy up at last. Might he return, and bless once more our Eyes, New Bl —— —s and new M —— —s must arise; Nay shou'd great Homer lift his awful Head, Zoilus again would start up from the Dead. Envy will Merit as its Shade pursue, But like a Shadow, proves the Substance too; For envy'd Wit, like Sol Eclips'd, makes known Th' opposing Body's Grossness, not its own .

When first that Sun too powerful Beams displays, It draws up Vapours which obscure its Rays; But ev'n those Clouds at last adorn its Way, Reflect new Glories, and augment the Day. Be thou the first true Merit to befriend; His Praise is lost, who stays till All commend; Short is the Date, alas, of Modern Rhymes ; And 'tis but just to let 'em live betimes . No longer now that Golden Age appears, When Patriarch-Wits surviv'd a thousand Years , Now Length of Fame (our second Life) is lost, And bare Threescore is all ev'n That can boast: Our Sons their Fathers' failing Language see, And such as Chaucer is, shall Dryden be. So when the faithful Pencil has design'd Some fair Idea of the Master's Mind, Where a new World leaps out at his command, And ready Nature waits upon his Hand; When the ripe Colours soften and unite , And sweetly melt into just Shade and Light,

When mellowing Time does full Perfection give, And each Bold Figure just begins to Live ; The treach'rous Colours the few Years decay, And all the bright Creation fades away! Unhappy Wit , like most mistaken Things, Repays not half that Envy which it brings: In Youth alone its empty Praise we boast, But soon the Short-liv'd Vanity is lost! Like some fair Flow'r the in the Spring does rise, That gaily Blooms, but ev'n in blooming Dies . What is this Wit that does our Cares employ? The Owner's Wife , that other Men enjoy, Then more his Trouble as the more admir'd , Where wanted , scorn'd, and envy'd where acquir'd ; Maintain'd with Pains , but forfeited with Ease ; Sure some to vex , but never all to please ; 'Tis what the Vicious fear , the Virtuous shun ; By Fools 'tis hated , and by Knaves undone! Too much does Wit from Ign'rance undergo, Ah let not Learning too commence its Foe!

Of old , those met Rewards who cou'd excel , And such were Prais'd who but endeavour'd well : Tho' Triumphs were to Gen'rals only due, Crowns were reserv'd to grace the Soldiers too. Now those that reach Parnassus ' lofty Crown, Employ their Pains to spurn some others down; And while Self-Love each jealous Writer rules, Contending Wits becomes the Sport of Fools : But still the Worst with most Regret commend, For each Ill Author is as bad a Friend . To what base Ends, and by what abject Ways , Are Mortals urg'd by Sacred Lust of Praise ? Ah ne'er so dire a Thirst of Glory boast, Nor in the Critick let the Man be lost! Good-Nature and Good-Sense must ever join; To err is Humane ; to Forgive, Divine . But if in Noble Minds some Dregs remain, Not yet purg'd off, of Spleen and sow'r Disdain, Discharge that Rage on more Provoking Crimes, Nor fear a Dearth in these Flagitious Times.

No Pardon vile Obscenity should find, Tho' Wit and Art conspire to move your Mind; But Dulness with Obscenity must prove As Shameful sure as Impotence in Love . In the fat Age of Pleasure, Wealth, and Ease, Sprung the rank Weed, and thriv'd with large Increase; When Love was all an easie Monarch's Care; Seldom at Council , never in a War : Jilts rul'd the State, and Statesmen Farces writ; Nay Wits had Pensions , and young Lords had Wit : The Fair sate panting at a Courtier's Play , And not a Mask went un-improv'd away: The modest Fan was lifted up no more, And Virgins smil'd at what they blush'd before —— The following Licence of a Foreign Reign Did all the Dregs of bold Socinus drain; Then first the Belgian Morals were extoll'd; We their Religion had, and they our Gold: Then Unbelieving Priests reform'd the Nation, And taught more Pleasant Methods of Salvation;

Where Heav'ns Free Subjects might their Rights dispute, Lest God himself shou'd seem too Absolute . Pulpits their Sacred Satire learn'd to spare, And Vice admir'd to find a Flatt'rer there! Encourag'd thus, Witt's Titans brav'd the Skies, And the Press groan'd with Licenc'd Blasphemies —— These Monsters, Criticks! with your Darts engage, Here point your Thunder, and exhaust your Rage! Yet shun their Fault, who, Scandalously nice , Will needs mistake an Author into Vice ; All seems Infected that th' Infected spy, As all looks yellow to the Jaundic'd Eye. Learn then what Morals Criticks ought to show, For 'tis but half a Judge's Task , to Know . 'Tis not enough, Wit, Art, and Learning join; In all you speak, let Truth and Candor shine: That not alone what to your Judgment ' s due, All may allow; but seek your Friendship too.

Be silent always when you doubt your Sense; Speak when you're sure , yet speak with Diffidence ; Some positive persisting Fops we know, Who, if once wrong , will needs be always so ; But you, with Pleasure own your Errors past, And make each Day a Critick on the last. 'Tis not enough your Counsel still be true , Blunt Truths more Mischief than nice Falshoods do; Men must be taught as if you taught them not ; And Things ne'er known propos'd as Things forgot : Without Good Breeding, Truth is not approv'd, That only makes Superior Sense belov'd . Be Niggards of Advice on no Pretence; For the worst Avarice is that of Sense : With mean Complacence ne'er betray your Trust, Nor be so Civil as to prove Unjust ; Fear not the Anger of the Wise to raise; Those best can bear Reproof , who merit Praise .

'Twere well, might Criticks still this Freedom take; But Appius reddens at each Word you speak, And stares, Tremendous ! with a threatning Eye , Like some fierce Tyrant in Old Tapestry ! Fear most to tax an Honourable Fool, Whose Right it is, uncensur'd to be dull; Such without Wit are Poets when they please, As without Learning they can take Degrees . Leave dang'rous Truths to unsuccessful Satyrs , And Flattery to fulsome Dedicators , Whom, when they Praise , the World believes no more, Than when they promise to give Scribling o'er. 'Tis best sometimes your Censure to restrain, And charitably let the Dull be vain : Your Silence there is better than your Spite , For who can rail so long as they can write ? Still humming on, their old dull Course they keep, And lash'd so long, like Tops , are lash'd asleep .

False Steps but help them to renew the Race, As after Stumbling , Jades will mend their Pace. What Crouds of these, impenitently bold, In Sounds and jingling Syllables grown old, Still run on Poets in a raging Vein, Ev'n to the Dregs and Squeezings of the Brain ; Strain out the last, dull droppings of their Sense, And Rhyme with all the Rage of Impotence ! Such shameless Bards we have; and yet 'tis true, There are as mad, abandon'd Criticks too. [ 11 ] The Bookful Blockhead, ignorantly read, With Loads of Learned Lumber in his Head, With his own Tongue still edifies his Ears, And always List'ning to Himself appears. All Books he reads, and all he reads assails, From Dryden ' s Fables down to D —— — y ' s Tales .

Tho' Learn'd well-bred; and tho' well-bred, sincere; Modestly bold, and Humanly severe? Who to a Friend his Faults can freely show, And gladly praise the Merit of a Foe ? Blest with a Taste exact, yet unconfin'd; A Knowledge both of Books and Humankind ; Gen'rous Converse ; a Soul exempt from Pride ; And Love to Praise , with Reason on his Side? Such once were Criticks , such the Happy Few , Athens and Rome in better Ages knew. The mighty Stagyrite first left the Shore, Spread all his Sails, and durst the Deeps explore; He steer'd securely, and discover'd far, Led by the Light of the Mæonian Star . Not only Nature did his Laws obey, But Fancy's boundless Empire own'd his Sway. Poets, a Race long unconfin'd and free, Still fond and proud of Savage Liberty ,

Receiv'd his Laws, and stood convinc'd 'twas fit Who conquer'd Nature , shou'd preside o'er Wit . Horace still charms with graceful Negligence, And without Method talks us into Sense, Does like a Friend familiarly convey The truest Notions in the easiest way . He, who Supream in Judgment, as in Wit, Might boldly censure, as he boldly writ, Yet judg'd with Coolness tho' he sung with Fire ; His Precepts teach but what his Works inspire. Our Criticks take a contrary Extream, They judge with Fury , but they write with Fle'me: Nor suffers Horace more in wrong Translations By Wits , than Criticks in as wrong Quotations . Fancy and Art in gay Petronius please, The Scholar's Learning , with the Courtier's Ease . In grave Quintilian ' s copious Work we find The justest Rules , and clearest Method join'd;

Thus useful Arms in Magazines we place, All rang'd in Order , and dispos'd with Grace , Nor thus alone the Curious Eye to please, But to be found , when Need requires, with Ease. The Muses sure Longinus did inspire, And blest their Critick with a Poet's Fire . An ardent Judge , that Zealous in his Trust, With Warmth gives Sentence, yet is always Just ; Whose own Example strengthens all his Laws, And Is himself that great Sublime he draws. Thus long succeeding Criticks justly reign'd, Licence repress'd, and useful Laws ordain'd; Learning and Rome alike in Empire grew, And Arts still follow'd where her Eagles flew ; From the same Foes, at last, both felt their Doom, And the same Age saw Learning fall, and Rome . With Tyranny , then Superstition join'd, As that the Body , this enslav'd the Mind ;

All was Believ'd , but nothing understood , And to be dull was constru'd to be good ; A second Deluge Learning thus o'er-run, And the Monks finish'd what the Goths begun. At length, Erasmus , that great, injur'd Name, (The Glory of the Priesthood, and the Shame !) Stemm'd the wild Torrent of a barb'rous Age , And drove those Holy Vandals off the Stage. But see! each Muse , in Leo ' s Golden Days, Starts from her Trance, and trims her wither'd Bays! Rome ' s ancient Genius , o'er its Ruins spread, Shakes off the Dust , and rears his rev'rend Head! Then Sculpture and her Sister-Arts revive; Stones leap'd to Form , and Rocks began to live ; With sweeter Notes each rising Temple rung; A Raphael painted, and a [ 12 ] Vida sung!

Immortal Vida ! on whose honour'd Brow The Poet's Bays and Critick's Ivy grow: Cremona now shall ever boast thy Name, As next in Place to Mantua , next in Fame! But soon by Impious Arms from Latium chas'd, Their ancient Bounds the banish'd Muses past: Thence Arts o'er all the Northern World advance, But Critic Learning flourish'd most in France . The Rules , a Nation born to serve, obeys, And Boileau still in Right of Horace sways. But we , brave Britains, Foreign Laws despis'd, And kept unconquer'd and unciviliz'd , Fierce for the Liberties of Wit , and bold, We still defy'd the Romans as of old . Yet some there were, among the sounder Few Of those who less presum'd , and better knew ,

Who durst assert the juster Ancient Cause , And here restor'd Wit's Fundamental Laws . Such was the Muse, whose Rules and Practice tell, Nature's chief Master-piece is writing well. Such was Roscomon —— not more learn'd than good , With Manners gen'rous as his Noble Blood; To him the Wit of Greece and Rome was known, And ev'ry Author's Merit , but his own. Such late was Walsh , —— the Muse's Judge and Friend, Who justly knew to blame or to commend; To Failings mild , but zealous for Desert; The clearest Head , and the sincerest Heart . This humble Praise, lamented Shade' ! receive, This Praise at least a grateful Muse may give! The Muse, whose early Voice you taught to Sing, Prescrib'd her Heights, and prun'd her tender Wing, (Her Guide now lost) no more attempts to rise , But in low Numbers short Excursions tries:

Content, if hence th' Unlearned their Wants may view, The Learn'd reflect on what before they knew: Careless of Censure , not too fond of Fame , Still pleas'd to praise , yet not afraid to blame , Averse alike to Flatter , or Offend , Not free from Faults, nor yet too vain to mend .

• ↑ —— De Pictore, Sculptore, Fictore, nisi Artifex judicare non potest . Pliny.
• ↑ Omnes tacito quodam sensu, sine ulla arte, aut ratione, quæ sint in artibus ac rationibus recta ac prava dijudicant. Cic. de Orat. lib.3.
• ↑ Neque tam sancta sunt ista Præcepta, sed quicquid est, Utilitas excogitavit; Non negabo autem sic utile esse plerunque; verum si eadem illa nobis aliud suadebit utilitas, hanc relictis magistrorum autoritatibus, sequemur. Quintil. l. 2. cap. 13.
• ↑ Diligenter legendum est, ac pœne ad scribendi sollicitudinem: Nec per partes modo scrutanda sunt omnia, sed perlectus liber utique ex Integro resumendus. Quintilian.
• ↑ Naturam intueamur, hanc sequamur; Id facillimè accipiunt animi quod agnoscunt. Quintil. lib. 8. c. 3.
• ↑ Abolita & abrogata retinere, insolentiæ cujusdam est, & frivolæ in parvis jactantiæ. Quint. lib. 1. c. 6. Opus est ut Verba a vetustate repetita neque crebra sint, neque manifesta, quia nil est odiosius affectatione, nec utique ab ultimis repetita temporibus. Oratio, cujus summa virtus est perspicuitas, quam sit vitiosa si egeat interprete? Ergo ut novorum optima erunt maximè vetera, ita veterum maximè nova. Idem.
• ↑ Ben. Johnson ' s Every Man in his Humour .
• ↑ Quis populi sermo est? quis enim? nisi carmine molli Nunc demum numero fluere, ut per severos Effugit junctura ungues: scit tendere versum, Non secus ac si oculo rubricam dirigat uno . Persius , Sat. 1.
• ↑ Fugiemus crebras vocalium concursiones, quæ vastam atque hiantem orationem reddunt . Cic. ad Herenn. lib. 4. Vide etiam Quintil. lib. 9. c. 4.
• ↑ Alexander ' s Feast, or the Power of Musick; An Ode by Mr. Dryden.
• ↑ Nihil pejus est iis, qui paullum aliquid ultra primas litteras progressi, falsam sibi scientiæ persuasionem induerunt: Nam & cedere præcipiendi peritis indignantur, & velut jure quodam potestatis, quo ferè hoc hominum genus intumescit, imperiosi, atque interim sævientes, Stultitiam suam perdocent. Quintil. lib. I. ch. 1.
• ↑ M. Hieronymus Vida , an excellent Latin Poet, who writ an Art of Poetry in Verse .

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Poems & Poets

An Essay on Criticism: Part 2

Of all the causes which conspire to blind Man's erring judgment, and misguide the mind, What the weak head with strongest bias rules, Is pride, the never-failing vice of fools. Whatever Nature has in worth denied, She gives in large recruits of needful pride; For as in bodies, thus in souls, we find What wants in blood and spirits, swell'd with wind; Pride, where wit fails, steps in to our defence, And fills up all the mighty void of sense! If once right reason drives that cloud away, Truth breaks upon us with resistless day; Trust not yourself; but your defects to know, Make use of ev'ry friend—and ev'ry foe.        A little learning is a dang'rous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring: There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, And drinking largely sobers us again. Fir'd at first sight with what the Muse imparts, In fearless youth we tempt the heights of arts, While from the bounded level of our mind, Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind, But more advanc'd, behold with strange surprise New, distant scenes of endless science rise! So pleas'd at first, the tow'ring Alps we try, Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky; Th' eternal snows appear already past, And the first clouds and mountains seem the last; But those attain'd, we tremble to survey The growing labours of the lengthen'd way, Th' increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes, Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise!        A perfect judge will read each work of wit With the same spirit that its author writ, Survey the whole, nor seek slight faults to find, Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind; Nor lose, for that malignant dull delight, The gen'rous pleasure to be charm'd with wit. But in such lays as neither ebb, nor flow, Correctly cold, and regularly low, That shunning faults, one quiet tenour keep; We cannot blame indeed—but we may sleep. In wit, as nature, what affects our hearts Is not th' exactness of peculiar parts; 'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call, But the joint force and full result of all. Thus when we view some well-proportion'd dome, (The world's just wonder, and ev'n thine, O Rome!' No single parts unequally surprise; All comes united to th' admiring eyes; No monstrous height, or breadth, or length appear; The whole at once is bold, and regular.        Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be. In ev'ry work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend; And if the means be just, the conduct true, Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due. As men of breeding, sometimes men of wit, T' avoid great errors, must the less commit: Neglect the rules each verbal critic lays, For not to know such trifles, is a praise. Most critics, fond of some subservient art, Still make the whole depend upon a part: They talk of principles, but notions prize, And all to one lov'd folly sacrifice.        Once on a time, La Mancha's knight, they say, A certain bard encount'ring on the way, Discours'd in terms as just, with looks as sage, As e'er could Dennis of the Grecian stage; Concluding all were desp'rate sots and fools, Who durst depart from Aristotle's rules. Our author, happy in a judge so nice, Produc'd his play, and begg'd the knight's advice, Made him observe the subject and the plot, The manners, passions, unities, what not? All which, exact to rule, were brought about, Were but a combat in the lists left out. "What! leave the combat out?" exclaims the knight; "Yes, or we must renounce the Stagirite." "Not so by Heav'n" (he answers in a rage) "Knights, squires, and steeds, must enter on the stage." So vast a throng the stage can ne'er contain. "Then build a new, or act it in a plain."        Thus critics, of less judgment than caprice, Curious not knowing, not exact but nice, Form short ideas; and offend in arts (As most in manners) by a love to parts.        Some to conceit alone their taste confine, And glitt'ring thoughts struck out at ev'ry line; Pleas'd with a work where nothing's just or fit; One glaring chaos and wild heap of wit. Poets, like painters, thus, unskill'd to trace The naked nature and the living grace, With gold and jewels cover ev'ry part, And hide with ornaments their want of art. True wit is nature to advantage dress'd, What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd, Something, whose truth convinc'd at sight we find, That gives us back the image of our mind. As shades more sweetly recommend the light, So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit. For works may have more wit than does 'em good, As bodies perish through excess of blood.        Others for language all their care express, And value books, as women men, for dress: Their praise is still—"the style is excellent": The sense, they humbly take upon content. Words are like leaves; and where they most abound, Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found. False eloquence, like the prismatic glass, Its gaudy colours spreads on ev'ry place; The face of Nature we no more survey, All glares alike, without distinction gay: But true expression, like th' unchanging sun, Clears, and improves whate'er it shines upon, It gilds all objects, but it alters none. Expression is the dress of thought, and still Appears more decent, as more suitable; A vile conceit in pompous words express'd, Is like a clown in regal purple dress'd: For diff'rent styles with diff'rent subjects sort, As several garbs with country, town, and court. Some by old words to fame have made pretence, Ancients in phrase, mere moderns in their sense; Such labour'd nothings, in so strange a style, Amaze th' unlearn'd, and make the learned smile. Unlucky, as Fungoso in the play, These sparks with awkward vanity display What the fine gentleman wore yesterday! And but so mimic ancient wits at best, As apes our grandsires, in their doublets dress'd. In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold; Alike fantastic, if too new, or old; Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Not yet the last to lay the old aside.        But most by numbers judge a poet's song; And smooth or rough, with them is right or wrong: In the bright Muse though thousand charms conspire, Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire, Who haunt Parnassus but to please their ear, Not mend their minds; as some to church repair, Not for the doctrine, but the music there. These equal syllables alone require, Tho' oft the ear the open vowels tire, While expletives their feeble aid do join, And ten low words oft creep in one dull line, While they ring round the same unvaried chimes, With sure returns of still expected rhymes. Where'er you find "the cooling western breeze", In the next line, it "whispers through the trees": If "crystal streams with pleasing murmurs creep", The reader's threaten'd (not in vain) with "sleep". Then, at the last and only couplet fraught With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along. Leave such to tune their own dull rhymes, and know What's roundly smooth, or languishingly slow; And praise the easy vigour of a line, Where Denham's strength, and Waller's sweetness join. True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance. 'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence, The sound must seem an echo to the sense. Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar. When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labours, and the words move slow; Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main. Hear how Timotheus' varied lays surprise, And bid alternate passions fall and rise! While, at each change, the son of Libyan Jove Now burns with glory, and then melts with love; Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow, Now sighs steal out, and tears begin to flow: Persians and Greeks like turns of nature found, And the world's victor stood subdu'd by sound! The pow'r of music all our hearts allow, And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now.        Avoid extremes; and shun the fault of such, Who still are pleas'd too little or too much. At ev'ry trifle scorn to take offence, That always shows great pride, or little sense; Those heads, as stomachs, are not sure the best, Which nauseate all, and nothing can digest. Yet let not each gay turn thy rapture move, For fools admire, but men of sense approve; As things seem large which we through mists descry, Dulness is ever apt to magnify.        Some foreign writers, some our own despise; The ancients only, or the moderns prize. Thus wit, like faith, by each man is applied To one small sect, and all are damn'd beside. Meanly they seek the blessing to confine, And force that sun but on a part to shine; Which not alone the southern wit sublimes, But ripens spirits in cold northern climes; Which from the first has shone on ages past, Enlights the present, and shall warm the last; (Though each may feel increases and decays, And see now clearer and now darker days.) Regard not then if wit be old or new, But blame the false, and value still the true. Some ne'er advance a judgment of their own, But catch the spreading notion of the town; They reason and conclude by precedent, And own stale nonsense which they ne'er invent. Some judge of authors' names, not works, and then Nor praise nor blame the writings, but the men. Of all this servile herd, the worst is he That in proud dulness joins with quality, A constant critic at the great man's board, To fetch and carry nonsense for my Lord. What woeful stuff this madrigal would be, In some starv'd hackney sonneteer, or me? But let a Lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens! how the style refines! Before his sacred name flies every fault, And each exalted stanza teems with thought!        The vulgar thus through imitation err; As oft the learn'd by being singular; So much they scorn the crowd, that if the throng By chance go right, they purposely go wrong: So Schismatics the plain believers quit, And are but damn'd for having too much wit.        Some praise at morning what they blame at night; But always think the last opinion right. A Muse by these is like a mistress us'd, This hour she's idoliz'd, the next abus'd; While their weak heads, like towns unfortified, Twixt sense and nonsense daily change their side. Ask them the cause; they're wiser still, they say; And still tomorrow's wiser than today. We think our fathers fools, so wise we grow; Our wiser sons, no doubt, will think us so. Once school divines this zealous isle o'erspread; Who knew most Sentences, was deepest read; Faith, Gospel, all, seem'd made to be disputed, And none had sense enough to be confuted: Scotists and Thomists, now, in peace remain, Amidst their kindred cobwebs in Duck Lane. If Faith itself has different dresses worn, What wonder modes in wit should take their turn? Oft, leaving what is natural and fit, The current folly proves the ready wit; And authors think their reputation safe Which lives as long as fools are pleased to laugh.        Some valuing those of their own side or mind, Still make themselves the measure of mankind; Fondly we think we honour merit then, When we but praise ourselves in other men. Parties in wit attend on those of state, And public faction doubles private hate. Pride, Malice, Folly, against Dryden rose, In various shapes of Parsons, Critics, Beaus; But sense surviv'd, when merry jests were past; For rising merit will buoy up at last. Might he return, and bless once more our eyes, New Blackmores and new Milbourns must arise; Nay should great Homer lift his awful head, Zoilus again would start up from the dead. Envy will merit, as its shade, pursue, But like a shadow, proves the substance true; For envied wit, like Sol eclips'd, makes known Th' opposing body's grossness, not its own. When first that sun too powerful beams displays, It draws up vapours which obscure its rays; But ev'n those clouds at last adorn its way, Reflect new glories, and augment the day.        Be thou the first true merit to befriend; His praise is lost, who stays till all commend. Short is the date, alas, of modern rhymes, And 'tis but just to let 'em live betimes. No longer now that golden age appears, When patriarch wits surviv'd a thousand years: Now length of Fame (our second life) is lost, And bare threescore is all ev'n that can boast; Our sons their fathers' failing language see, And such as Chaucer is, shall Dryden be. So when the faithful pencil has design'd Some bright idea of the master's mind, Where a new world leaps out at his command, And ready Nature waits upon his hand; When the ripe colours soften and unite, And sweetly melt into just shade and light; When mellowing years their full perfection give, And each bold figure just begins to live, The treacherous colours the fair art betray, And all the bright creation fades away!        Unhappy wit, like most mistaken things, Atones not for that envy which it brings. In youth alone its empty praise we boast, But soon the short-liv'd vanity is lost: Like some fair flow'r the early spring supplies, That gaily blooms, but ev'n in blooming dies. What is this wit, which must our cares employ? The owner's wife, that other men enjoy; Then most our trouble still when most admir'd, And still the more we give, the more requir'd; Whose fame with pains we guard, but lose with ease, Sure some to vex, but never all to please; 'Tis what the vicious fear, the virtuous shun; By fools 'tis hated, and by knaves undone!        If wit so much from ign'rance undergo, Ah let not learning too commence its foe! Of old, those met rewards who could excel, And such were prais'd who but endeavour'd well: Though triumphs were to gen'rals only due, Crowns were reserv'd to grace the soldiers too. Now, they who reach Parnassus' lofty crown, Employ their pains to spurn some others down;        And while self-love each jealous writer rules, Contending wits become the sport of fools: But still the worst with most regret commend, For each ill author is as bad a friend. To what base ends, and by what abject ways, Are mortals urg'd through sacred lust of praise! Ah ne'er so dire a thirst of glory boast, Nor in the critic let the man be lost! Good nature and good sense must ever join; To err is human; to forgive, divine.        But if in noble minds some dregs remain, Not yet purg'd off, of spleen and sour disdain, Discharge that rage on more provoking crimes, Nor fear a dearth in these flagitious times. No pardon vile obscenity should find, Though wit and art conspire to move your mind; But dulness with obscenity must prove As shameful sure as impotence in love. In the fat age of pleasure, wealth, and ease, Sprung the rank weed, and thriv'd with large increase: When love was all an easy monarch's care; Seldom at council, never in a war: Jilts ruled the state, and statesmen farces writ; Nay wits had pensions, and young Lords had wit: The fair sat panting at a courtier's play, And not a mask went unimprov'd away: The modest fan was lifted up no more, And virgins smil'd at what they blush'd before. The following licence of a foreign reign Did all the dregs of bold Socinus drain; Then unbelieving priests reform'd the nation, And taught more pleasant methods of salvation; Where Heav'n's free subjects might their rights dispute, Lest God himself should seem too absolute: Pulpits their sacred satire learned to spare, And Vice admired to find a flatt'rer there! Encourag'd thus, wit's Titans brav'd the skies, And the press groan'd with licenc'd blasphemies. These monsters, critics! with your darts engage, Here point your thunder, and exhaust your rage! Yet shun their fault, who, scandalously nice, Will needs mistake an author into vice; All seems infected that th' infected spy, As all looks yellow to the jaundic'd eye.

Zora Neale Hurston: A Minority of One, the Individual

By: Lucas E. Morel August 29, 2024

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• Response Essay Zora Neale Hurston: A Minority of One, the Individual

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Nikki Haley says 'diminished' 'unhinged' Trump is 'not the same person' she backed in 2016

Former U.N. Ambassador Nikki Haley defended her past support of Donald Trump while deepening her criticism of her main rival for the GOP nomination, arguing that the former president is “more diminished than he was.”

In an interview with TODAY co-host Craig Melvin that aired Feb. 14, Haley made a generational argument for her presidential candidacy, swiping at both Trump and President Joe Biden to argue that they are both “diminished.” And she justified her past support for Trump, during both his two previous presidential campaigns and her service in his administration, by saying he has changed since then.

“During the time that I was in the administration, I called him out every single time,” Haley said, arguing that her past support for Trump wasn’t unconditional. “If something was wrong — I had a conversation with him about Charlottesville, I had a conversation about something that he would say about women, I had a conversation with him about multiple things.

“The problem now is he is not the same person he was in 2016,” she continued. “He is unhinged; he is more diminished than he was, just like Joe Biden’s more diminished than what he was.

“We have to see this for what it is,” Haley added. “This is a fact: He is now saying things that don’t make sense.”

Both Haley and Trump have turned the temperature up as she looks to mount a come-from-behind victory in the GOP presidential nominating fight — and Trump looks to end the contest.

In recent weeks, Haley has repeatedly called Trump “ unhinged ,” accused him of  cozying up to Russian President Vladimir Putin , criticized him for  confusing her with former House Speaker Nancy Pelosi  and declared him “ not qualified “ to serve as president, among other criticisms.

But her comments on Feb. 14 were among her bluntest yet, as she warned against a potential campaign she characterized as one between a former president who could no longer handle the job and a current president who can’t, either.

“You’ve got Joe Biden, where the  special counsel said he was diminished , and he’s not the Joe Biden he was two years ago,” Haley said. “You’ve got a Donald Trump who’s unhinged, and he’s more unhinged than he ever was. And why are we settling for that when the country is in disarray and the world is on fire?

“We don’t want these two old men running. We want someone who’s going to go and fight for us and work for us, with no drama, no vendettas.”

Haley’s justification, that the Trump running now is different from the one she used to support, is also an attempt to explain how she moved from serving in Trump’s Cabinet and defending him from past criticism.

She cited reporting that Trump called fallen soldiers  “losers” and “suckers”  as she castigated him as someone  who didn’t respect the military .

But in 2020, she called on Biden to  take down a tweet citing those comments  because “all of us who worked with [Trump] witnessed the tremendous amount of love and respect he has for our military. He was determined to protect them.”

Throughout the interview, Haley repeatedly cited Americans’ discomfort with Biden and Trump, sentiments borne out across a slew of polling,  including NBC News’ . But the totality of polling also shows Trump well ahead of Haley in the GOP nominating fight, both in Haley’s home state, South Carolina, the next state with a high-profile nominating contest, and across the country, where the election will shift in early March.

In the middle of a campaign swing through her home state, Haley repeatedly pushed back against the idea that Trump’s victories in the first three nominating contests and her position in the polls signal Trump is on a glide path to the nomination.

“We’re going to be competitive in South Carolina, then we’re headed to Michigan, then we’re headed to Super Tuesday,” she said.

“We don’t pick kings. We don’t do coronations. We have a democracy where people vote,” Haley continued before adding, “Why would I get out as long as we keep it competitive?”

Haley talked up her performances, saying: “Don’t discount that I defeated a dozen fellas. Don’t discount that I ended up with 20% in Iowa when y’all said I wouldn’t make it. Don’t discount that I got 43% New Hampshire, and don’t discount me now.

“I’m doing this because we have a country to save,” she added. “I’m not doing this for my political career. I’m not doing this for any sort of gig. I’m doing this because our country deserves better. And I’m not going to stop fighting until I know I’ve done everything I can to save her.”

While Haley was critical of primary polls showing her trailing Trump, she pointed to polling that shows her performing  better against Biden  than Trump in a hypothetical general election. And Haley criticized the idea that staying in would only sap Republican resources that could be used to help defeat Democrats in the fall.

“Resources, from a man who spent $50 million of his own campaign contributions  on his personal court cases , where the RNC is broke — I’m the one hurting the resources?” Haley said.

“If the Republican Party wants to be saved, I’m the one that saves the Republican Party,” she continued.

As a condition for appearing in the Republican National Committee’s sanctioned debates, Haley and the other GOP candidates signed pledges to back the party’s eventual nominee. And during the first debate, Haley  raised her hand  when the Fox News moderators asked who would still support Trump if he won the nomination but was “convicted in a court of law.”

Pressed about how she squares her comments that Trump is “not qualified” to serve as president with her pledge to support him if he wins the nomination, Haley quickly reiterated her pledge before she pivoted to criticizing Trump’s electability.

“Every Republican nominee signed a pledge before they could even get on the debate stage that said if we were not the nominee, would we support the nominee. And I said yes, and I stand by that,” Haley said.

At the same time, she went on, “I know the American people are not going to vote for a convicted criminal.”

This story originally appeared on NBCNews.com .

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