Chapter 3

He who the prize, a filthy goat, to gain, At first contended in the tragick strain, Soon too--tho' rude, the graver mood unbroke,-- Stript the rough satyrs, and essay'd a joke: Illecebris erat et gratâ novitate morandus Spectator functusque sacris, et potus, et exlex. Verum ita risores, ita commendare dicaces Conveniet Satyros, ita vertere seria ludo; Ne quicunque Deus, quicunque adhibebi tur heros [sic] Regali conspectus in auro nuper et ostro, Migret in obscuras humili sermone tabernas Aut, dum vitat humum, nubes et inania captet [sic] Effutire leves indigna tragoedia versus, Ut festis matrona moveri jussa diebus, Intererit Satyris paulum pudibunda protervis. Non ego inornata et dominantia nomina solum Verbaque, Pisones, Satyrorum scriptor amabo Nec sic enitar tragico differre colori, For holiday-spectators, flush'd, and wild, With new conceits, and mummeries, were beguil'd. Yet should the Satyrs so chastise their mirth, Temp'ring the jest that gives their sallies birth; Changing from grave to gay, so keep the mean, That God or Heroe of the lofty scene, In royal gold and purple seen but late, May ne'er in cots obscure debase his state, Lost in low language; nor in too much care To shun the ground, grasp clouds, and empty air. With an indignant pride, and coy disdain, Stern Tragedy rejects too light a vein: Like a grave Matron, destin'd to advance On solemn festivals to join the dance, Mixt with the shaggy tribe of Satyrs rude, She'll hold a sober mien, and act the prude. Let me not, Pisos, in the Sylvan scene, Use abject terms alone, and phrases mean; Nor of high Tragick colouring afraid, Neglect too much the difference of shade! Ut nihil intersit Davusne loquatur et audax Pythias emuncto lucrata Simone talentum, An custos famulusque Dei Silenus alumni.

Ex noto fictum carmen sequar: ut sibi quivis Speret idem; sudet multum, frustraque laboret Ausus idem: tantum series juncturaque pollet: Tantum de medio sumtis accedit honoris.

Silvis deducti caveant, me judice, Fauni, Ne velut innati triviis, ac pene forenses, Aut nimium teneris juvenentur versibus umquam, Aut immunda crepent ignominiosaque dicta. Offenduntur enim, quibus est equus, et pater, et res; Nec, si quid fricti ciceris probat et nucis emtor, Aequis accipiunt animis, donantve coronâ. Davus may jest, pert Pythias may beguile Simo of cash, in a familiar style; The same low strain Silenus would disgrace, Servant and guardian of the Godlike race.

Let me on subjects known my verse so frame, So follow it, that each may hope the same; Daring the same, and toiling to prevail, May vainly toil, and only dare to fail! Such virtues order and connection bring, From common arguments such honours spring.

The woodland Fauns their origin should heed, Take no town stamp, nor seem the city breed: Nor let them, aping young gallants, repeat Verses that run upon too tender feet; Nor fall into a low, indecent stile, Breaking dull jests to make the vulgar smile! For higher ranks such ribaldry despise, Condemn the Poet, and withhold the prize. Syllaba longa brevi subjecta, vocatur Iambus, Pes citus: unde etiam Trimetris accrescere jussit Nomen Iambeis, cum senos redderet ictus Primus ad extremum similis sibi; non ita pridem, Tardior ut paulo graviorque veniret ad aures, Spondeos stabiles in jura paterna recepit Commodus et patiens: non ut de sede secundâ Cederet, aut quartâ socialiter. Hic et in Accî Nobilibus Trimetris apparet rarus, et Ennî. In scenam missus cum magno pondere versus, Aut operae celeris nimium curaque carentis, Aut ignoratae premit artis crimine turpi.

Non quivis videt immodulata poëmata judex: Et data Romanis venia est indigna poetis. To a short Syllable a long subjoin'd Forms an Iambick foot; so light a kind, That when six pure Iambicks roll'd along, So nimbly mov'd, so trippingly the song, The feet to half their number lost their claim, And _Trimeter Iambicks_ was their name. Hence, that the measure might more grave appear, And with a slower march approach the ear, From the fourth foot, and second, not displac'd, The steady spondee kindly it embrac'd; Then in firm union socially unites, Admitting the ally to equal rights. Accius, and Ennius lines, thus duly wrought, In their bold Trimeters but rarely sought: Yet scenes o'erloaded with a verse of lead, A mass of heavy numbers on their head, Speak careless haste, neglect in ev'ry part. Or shameful ignorance of the Poet's art.

"Not ev'ry Critick spies a faulty strain, And pardon Roman Poets should disdain." Idcircòne vager, scribamque licenter? ut omnes Visuros peccata putem mea; tutus et intra Spem veniae cautus? vitavi denique culpam, Non laudem merui.

Vos exemplaria Graeca Nocturnâ versate manu, versate diurnâ. At vestri proavi Plautinos et numeros, et Laudavere sales; nimium patienter utrumque (Ne dicam stultè) mirati: si modo ego et vos Scimus inurbanum lepido seponere dicto, Legitimumque sonum digitis callemus et aure. Ignotum tragicae genus invenisse Camenae Dicitur, et plaustris vexisse poëmata Thespis Quae canerent agerentque, peruncti faecibus ora. Shall I then all regard, all labour slight, Break loose at once, and all at random write? Or shall I fear that all my faults descry, Viewing my errors with an Eagle eye, And thence correctness make my only aim, Pleas'd to be safe, and sure of 'scaping blame? Thus I from faults indeed may guard my lays; But neither they, nor I, can merit praise.

Pisos! be Graecian models your delight! Night and day read them, read them day and night! "Well! but our fathers Plautus lov'd to praise, Admir'd his humour, and approv'd his lays." Yes; they saw both with a too partial eye, Fond e'en to folly sure, if you and I Know ribaldry from humour, chaste and terse, Or can but scan, and have an ear for verse.

A kind of Tragick Ode unknown before, Thespis, 'tis said, invented first; and bore Cart-loads of verse about, and with him went A troop begrim'd, to sing and represent, Post hunc personae pallaeque repertor honestae Aeschylus et modicis instravit pulpita tignis, Et docuit magnumque loqui, nitique cothurno. Successit Vetus his Comoedia, non sine multâ Laude: sed in vitium libertas excidit, et vim Dignam lege regi: lex est accepta; Chorusque Turpiter obticuit, sublato jure nocendi.

Nil intentatum nostri liquere poëtae: Nec nimium meruere decus, vestigia Graeca Ausi deserere, et celebrare domestica facta, Vel qui Praetextas, vel qui docuere Togatas: Nec virtute foret clarisve potentius armis, Quam linguâ, Latium; si non offenderet unum-- Next, Aeschylus, a Mask to shroud the face, A Robe devis'd, to give the person grace; On humble rafters rais'd a Stage, and taught The buskin'd actor, with _his_ spirit fraught, To breathe with dignity the lofty thought. To these th' old comedy of ancient days Succeeded, and obtained no little praise; 'Till Liberty, grown rank and run to seed, Call'd for the hand of Law to pluck the weed: The Statute past; the sland'rous Chorus, drown'd In shameful silence, lost the pow'r to wound.

Nothing have Roman Poets left untried, Nor added little to their Country's pride; Daring their Graecian Masters to forsake, And for their themes Domestick Glories take; Whether _the Gown_ prescrib'd a stile more mean, Or the _Inwoven Purple_ rais'd the scene: Nor would the splendour of the Latian name From arms, than Letters, boast a brighter fame, Quemque poëtarum limae labor et mora. Vos ô Pompilius sanguis, carmen reprehendite, quod non Multa dies et multa litura coërcuit, atque Praesectum decies non castigavit ad unguem.

Ingenium miserâ quia fortunatius arte Credit, et excludit sanos Helicone poëtas Democritus; bona pars non ungues ponere curat, Non barbam, secreta petit loca, balnea vitat; Nanciscetur enim pretium nomenque poëtae, Si tribus Anticyris caput insanabile numquam Tonsori Licino commiserit. O ego laevus, Qui purgor bilem sub verni temporis horam! Non alius faceret meliora poëmata: verum Had they not, scorning the laborious file, Grudg'd time, to mellow and refine their stile. But you, bright hopes of the Pompilian Blood, Never the verse approve and hold as good, 'Till many a day, and many a blot has wrought The polish'd work, and chasten'd ev'ry thought, By tenfold labour to perfection brought!

Because Democritus thinks wretched Art Too mean with Genius to sustain a part, To Helicon allowing no pretence, 'Till the mad bard has lost all common sense; Many there are, their nails who will not pare, Or trim their beards, or bathe, or take the air: For _he_, no doubt, must be a bard renown'd, _That_ head with deathless laurel must be crown'd, Tho' past the pow'r of Hellebore insane, Which no vile Cutberd's razor'd hands profane. Ah luckless I, each spring that purge the bile! Or who'd write better? but 'tis scarce worth while: Nil tanti est: ergo fungar vice cotis, acutum Reddere quae ferrum valet, exsors ipsa secandi. Munus et officium, nil scribens ipse, docebo; Unde parentur opes; quid alat formetque poëtam; Quid deceat, quid non; quò virtus, quò ferat error,

Scribendi rectè, sapere est et principium et fons. Rem tibi Socraticae poterunt ostendere chartae; Verbaque provisam rem non invita sequentur. Qui didicit patriae quid debeat, et quid amicis; Quo fit amore parens, quo frater amandus et hospes; Quod fit conscripti, quod judicis officium; quae Partes in bellum missi ducis; ille profectò Reddere personae scit convenientia cuique. So as mere hone, my services I pledge; Edgeless itself, it gives the steel an edge: No writer I, to writers thus impart The nature and the duty of their art: Whence springs the fund; what forms the bard, to know; What nourishes his pow'rs, and makes them grow; What's fit or unfit; whither genius tends; And where fond ignorance and dulness ends.

In Wisdom, Moral Wisdom, to excell, Is the chief cause and spring of writing well. Draw elements from the Socratick source, And, full of matter, words will rise of course. He who hath learnt a patriot's glorious flame; What friendship asks; what filial duties claim; The ties of blood; and secret links that bind The heart to strangers, and to all mankind; The Senator's, the Judge's peaceful care, And sterner duties of the Chief in war! These who hath studied well, will all engage In functions suited to their rank and age. Respicere exemplar vitae morumque jubebo Doctum imitatorem, et veras hinc ducere voces. Interdum speciosa locis, morataque rectè Fabula, nullius veneris, sine pondere et arte, Valdius oblectat populum, meliusque moratur, Quam versus inopes rerum, nugaeque canorae.

Graiis ingenium, Graiis dedit ore rotundo Musa loqui, praeter laudem, nullius avaris. Romani pueri longis rationibus assem Discunt in partes centum diducere. Dicat Filius Albini, si de quincunce remota est Uncia, quid superet? poteras dixisse, triens. Eu! Rem poteris servare tuam. Redit uncia: quid fit? On Nature's pattern too I'll bid him look, And copy manners from her living book. Sometimes 'twill chance, a poor and barren tale, Where neither excellence nor art prevail, With now and then a passage of some merit, And Characters sustain'd, and drawn with spirit, Pleases the people more, and more obtains, Than tuneful nothings, mere poetick strains.

_The Sons of Greece_ the fav'ring Muse inspir'd, Inflam'd their souls, and with true genius fir'd: Taught by the Muse, they sung the loftiest lays, And knew no avarice but that of praise. _The Lads of Rome_, to study fractions bound, Into an hundred parts can split a pound. "Say, Albin's Hopeful! from five twelfths an ounce, And what remains?"--"a Third."--"Well said, young Pounce! You're a made man!--but add an ounce,--what then?" "A Half." "Indeed! surprising! good again!"

Semis. An haec animos aerugo et cura peculi Cum semel imbuerit speramus carmina singi Posse linenda cedro, et levi servanda cupresso?

Aut prodesse volunt, aut delectare poetae; Aut simul et jucunda et idonea dicere vitae. Quicquid praecipies, esto brevis: ut eito dicta Percipiant animi dociles, tencantque fideles. Omni supervacuum pleno de pectore manat. Ficta voluptatis causa sint proxima veris: Ne, quodcumque volet, poscat fibi fabula credi; Neu pransea Lamiae vivum puerum extrahat alvo. Centuriae seniorum agitant expertia frugis: Celsi praetereunt austera poemata Rhamnes. Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci, Lectorem delectando, pariterque monendo

From minds debas'd with such a sordid lust, Canker'd and eaten up with this vile rust, Can we a verse, that gives the Genius scope, Worthy the Cedar, and the Cypress, hope?

Instruction to convey and give delight, Or both at once to compass, Poets write: Short be your precepts, and th' impression strong, That minds may catch them quick, and hold them long! The bosom full, and satisfied the taste, All that runs over will but run to waste. Fictions, to please, like truths must meet the eye, Nor must the Fable tax our faith too high. Shall Lamia in our fight her sons devour, And give them back alive the self-same hour? The Old, if _Moral's_ wanting, damn the Play; And _Sentiment_ disgusts the Young and Gay. He who instruction and delight can blend, Please with his fancy, with his moral mend, Hic meret aera liber Sofiis, hic et mare transit, Et longum noto scriptori prorogat aevum.

Sunt delicta tamen, quibus ignovisse velimus. Nam neque chorda sonum reddit, quem vult manus et mens;

Poscentique gravem persaepe remittit acutum: Nec semper feriet, quodcumque minabitur, arcus. Verum ubi plura nitent in carmine, non ego paucis Offendar maculis, quas aut incuria fudit, Aut humana parum cavit natura quid ergo est? Ut scriptor si peccat idem librarius usque, Quamvis est monitus, veniâ caret; ut citharoedus Ridetur, chordâ qui semper oberrat eâdem; Hits the nice point, and every vote obtains: His work a fortune to the Sosii gains; Flies over seas, and on the wings of Fame Carries from age to age the writer's deathless name.

Yet these are faults that we may pardon too: For ah! the string won't always answer true; But, spite of hand and mind, the treach'rous harp Will sound a flat, when we intend a sharp: The bow, not always constant and the same, Will sometimes carry wide, and lose its aim. But in the verse where many beauties shine, I blame not here and there a feeble line; Nor take offence at ev'ry idle trip, Where haste prevails, or nature makes a slip. What's the result then? Why thus stands the case. As _the Transcriber_, in the self-same place Who still mistakes, tho' warn'd of his neglect, No pardon for his blunders can expect; Or as _the Minstrel_ his disgrace must bring, Who harps for ever on the same false string; Sic mihi qui multum cessat, fit Choerilus ille, Quem bis terve bonum, cum risu miror; et idem Indignor, quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus. Verum operi longo fas est obrepere somnum.

Ut pictura, poësis: erit quae, si propius stes, Te capiat magis; et quaedam, si longius abstes: Haec amat obscurum; volet haec sub luce videri, Judicis argutum quae non formidat acumen: Haec placuit semel; haec decies repetita placebit.

O major juvenum, quamvis et voce paternâ Fingeris ad rectum, et per te sapis; hoc tibi dictum Tolle memor: certis medium et tolerabile rebus _The Poet_ thus, from faults scarce ever free, Becomes a very Chaerilus to me; Who twice or thrice, by some adventure rare, Stumbling on beauties, makes me smile and stare; _Me_, who am griev'd and vex'd to the extreme, If Homer seem to nod, or chance to dream: Tho' in a work of length o'erlabour'd sleep At intervals may, not unpardon'd, creep.

Poems and Pictures are adjudg'd alike; Some charm us near, and some at distance strike: _This_ loves the shade; _this_ challenges the light, Daring the keenest Critick's Eagle sight; _This_ once has pleas'd; _this_ ever will delight.

O thou, my Piso's elder hope and pride! tho' well a father's voice thy steps can guide; tho' inbred sense what's wise and right can tell, remember this from me, and weigh it well! In certain things, things neither high nor proud, _Middling_ and _passable_ may be allow'd. Rectè concedi: consultus juris, et actor Causarum mediocris, abest virtute diserti Messallae, nec scit quantum Cascellius Aulus; Sed tamen in pretio est: mediocribus esse poëtis Non homines, non Dî, non concessere columnae. Ut gratas inter mensas symphonia discors, Et crassum unguentum, et Sardo cum melle papaver Offendunt, poterat duci quia coena sine istis; Sic animis natum inventumque poëma juvandis, Si paulum summo decessit, vergit ad imum.

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Ludere qui nescit, campestribus abstinet armis; Indoctusque pilae, discive, trochive, quiescit; Ne spissae risum tollant impune coronae: Qui nescit versus, tamen audet fingere. Quid nî? A _moderate_ proficient in the laws, A _moderate_ defender of a cause, Boasts not Messala's pleadings, nor is deem'd Aulus in Jurisprudence; yet esteem'd: But _middling Poet's, or degrees in Wit,_ Nor men, nor Gods, nor niblick-polls admit. At festivals, as musick out of tune, Ointment, or honey rank, disgust us soon, Because they're not essential to the guest, And might be spar'd, Unless the very best; Thus Poetry, so exquisite of kind, Of Pleasure born, to charm the soul design'd, If it fall short but little of the first, Is counted last, and rank'd among the worst. The Man, unapt for sports of fields and plains, From implements of exercise abstains; For ball, or quoit, or hoop, without the skill, Dreading the croud's derision, he sits still: In Poetry he boasts as little art, And yet in Poetry he dares take part: Liber et ingenuus; praesertim census equestrem Summam nummorum, vitioque remotus ab omni.

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Tu nihil invitâ dices faciesve Minervâ: Id tibi judicium est, ea mens: si quid tamen olim Scripseris, in Metii descendat judicis aures, Et patris, et nostras; nonumque prematur in annum. Membranis intus positis, delere licebit Quod non edideris: nescit vox missa reverti.

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Silvestres homines sacer interpresque Deorum Caedibus et victu foedo deterruit Orpheus; Dictus ob hoc lenire tigres rabidosque leones. Dictus et Amphion, Thebanae conditor arcis, Saxa movere sono testudinis, et prece blandâ. And why not? he's a Gentleman, with clear Good forty thousand sesterces a year; A freeman too; and all the world allows, "As honest as the skin between his brows!" Nothing, in spite of Genius, YOU'LL commence; Such is your judgment, such your solid sense! But if you mould hereafter write, the verse To _Metius_, to your _Sire_ to _me_, rehearse. Let it sink deep in their judicious ears! Weigh the work well; _and keep it back nine years_! Papers unpublish'd you may blot or burn: A word, once utter'd, never can return.

The barb'rous natives of the shaggy wood From horrible repasts, and ads of blood, Orpheus, a priest, and heav'nly teacher, brought, And all the charities of nature taught: Whence he was said fierce tigers to allay, And sing the Savage Lion from his prey, Within the hollow of AMPHION'S shell Such pow'rs of found were lodg'd, so sweet a spell! Ducere quo vellet suit haec sapientia quondam, publica privatis secernere, sacra profanis; concubitù prohibere vago; dare jura maritis; Oppida moliri; leges incidere ligno. Sic honor et nomen divinis vatibus atque Carminibus venit post hos insignis Homerus Tyrtaeusque mares animos in Martia bella Versibus exacuit dictae per carmina sortes, Et vitae monstrata via est; et gratia regum

That stones were said to move, and at his call, Charm'd to his purpose, form'd the Theban Wall. The love of Moral Wisdom to infuse _These_ were the Labours of THE ANCIENT MUSE. "To mark the limits, where the barriers stood 'Twixt Private Int'rest, and the Publick Good; To raise a pale, and firmly to maintain The bound, that fever'd Sacred from Profane; To shew the ills Promiscuous Love should dread, And teach the laws of the Connubial Bed; Mankind dispers'd, to Social Towns to draw; And on the Sacred Tablet grave the Law." Thus fame and honour crown'd the Poet's line; His work immortal, and himself divine! Next lofty Homer, and Tyrtaeus strung Their Epick Harps, and Songs of Glory sung; Sounding a charge, and calling to the war The Souls that bravely feel, and nobly dare, In _Verse_ the Oracles their sense make known, In Verse the road and rule of life is shewn; Pieriis tentata modis, ludusque repertus, Et longorum operum finis j ne forte pudori Sit tibi Musa lyne folers, et cantor Apollo,

Natura sieret laudabile carmen, an arte, Quaesitum ess. Ego nec studium sine divite vena, Nec rude quid possit video ingenium: alterius sic Altera poscit opem res, et conjurat amice. Qui studet optatam cursu contingere metam, Multa tulit fecitque puer; sudavit et alsit; Abstinuit venere et vino, qui Pythia cantat _Verse_ to the Poet royal favour brings, And leads the Muses to the throne of Kings; _Verse_ too, the varied Scene and sports prepares, Brings rest to toil, and balm to all our cares. deem then with rev'rence of the glorious fire, breath'd by the muse, the mistress of the lyre! blush not to own her pow'r, her glorious flame; nor think Apollo, lord of song, thy shame!

Whether good verse of Nature is the fruit, Or form'd by Art, has long been in dispute. But what can Labour in a barren foil, Or what rude Genius profit without toil? The wants of one the other must supply Each finds in each a friend and firm ally. Much has the Youth, who pressing in the race Pants for the promis'd goal and foremost place, Suffer'd and done; borne heat, and cold's extremes, And Wine and Women scorn'd, as empty dreams,

Tibicen, didicit prius, extimuitque magistrum. Nunc satis est dixisse, Ego mira poëmata pango: Occupet extremum scabies: mihi turpe relinqui est, Et quod non didici, sane nescire sateri.

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Ut praeco, ad merces turbam qui cogit emendas; Assentatores jubet ad lucrum ire poëta Dives agris, dives positis in foenore nummis. Si vero est, unctum qui rectè ponere possit, Et spondere levi pro paupere, et eripere artis Litibus implicitum; mirabor, si sciet inter-- Noscere mendacem verumque beatus amicum. The Piper, who the Pythian Measure plays, In fear of a hard matter learnt the lays: But if to desp'rate verse I would apply, What needs instruction? 'tis enough to cry; "I can write Poems, to strike wonder blind! Plague take the hindmost! Why leave _me_ behind? Or why extort a truth, so mean and low, That what I have not learnt, I cannot know?"