Chapter 4

As the sly Hawker, who a sale prepares, Collects a croud of bidders for his Wares, The Poet, warm in land, and rich in cash, Assembles flatterers, brib'd to praise his trash. But if he keeps a table, drinks good wine, And gives his hearers handsomely to dine; If he'll stand bail, and 'tangled debtors draw Forth from the dirty cobwebs of the law; Much shall I praise his luck, his sense commend, If he discern the flatterer from the friend. Tu seu donaris seu quid donare voles cui; Nolito ad versus tibi factos ducere plenum Laetitiae; clamabit enim, Pulchrè, bene, rectè! Pallescet; super his etiam stillabit amicis Ex oculis rorem; saliet; tundet pede terram. Ut qui conducti plorant in funere, dicunt Et faciunt prope plura dolentibus ex animo: sic Derisor vero plus laudatore movetur. Reges dicuntur multis urgere culullis, Et torquere mero quem perspexisse laborant An sit amicitia dignus: si carmina condes, Nunquam te fallant animi sub vulpe latentes. Quintilio si quid recitares: Corrige sodes Hoc, aiebat, et hoc: melius te posse negares Is there a man to whom you've given aught? Or mean to give? let no such man be brought To hear your verses! for at every line, Bursting with joy, he'll cry, "Good! rare! divine!" The blood will leave his cheek; his eyes will fill With tears, and soon the friendly dew distill: He'll leap with extacy, with rapture bound; Clap with both hands; with both feet beat the ground. As mummers, at a funeral hir'd to weep, More coil of woe than real mourners keep, More mov'd appears the laugher in his sleeve, Than those who truly praise, or smile, or grieve. Kings have been said to ply repeated bowls, Urge deep carousals, to unlock the souls Of those, whose loyalty they wish'd to prove, And know, if false, or worthy of their love: You then, to writing verse if you're inclin'd, Beware the Spaniel with the Fox's mind!

Quintilius, when he heard you ought recite, Cried, "prithee, alter _this_! and make _that _right!" Bis terque expertum frustra? delere jubebat, Et male ter natos incudi reddere versus. Si defendere delictum, quam vortere, malles; Nullum ultra verbum, aut operam insumebat inanem, Quin sine rivali teque et tua folus amares.

Vir bonus et prudens versus reprehendet inertes; Culpabit duros; incomptis allinet atrum Transverso calamo signum; ambitiosa recidet Ornamenta; parum claris lucem dare coget; Arguet ambiguè dictum; mutanda notabit; Fiet Aristarchus; non dicet, Cur ego amicum Offendam in nugis? Hae migae feria ducent But if your pow'r to mend it you denied, Swearing that twice and thrice in vain you tried; "Then blot it out! (he cried) it must be terse: Back to the anvil with your ill-turn'd verse!" Still if you chose the error to defend, Rather than own, or take the pains to mend, He said no more; no more vain trouble took; But left you to admire yourself and book.

The Man, in whom Good Sense and Honour join, Will blame the harsh, reprove the idle line; The rude, all grace neglected or forgot, Eras'd at once, will vanish at his blot; Ambitious ornaments he'll lop away; On things obscure he'll make you let in day, Loose and ambiguous terms he'll not admit, And take due note of ev'ry change that's fit, A very ARISTARCHUS he'll commence; Not coolly say--"Why give my friend offence? These are but trifles!"--No; these trifles lead To serious mischiefs, if he don't succeed; In mala derisum semel, exceptumque sinistre, Ut mala quem scabies aut morbus regius urget, Aut fanaticus error, et iracunda Diana; Vesanum tetigisse timent fugiuntque poetam, Qui sapiunt: agitant pueri, incautique sequuntur. Hic, dum sublimis versus ructatur, et errat, Si veluti menilis intentus decidit auceps In puteum, soveamve; licet, Succurrite, longum Clamet, in cives: non sit qui tollere curet. Si curet quis opem serre, et demittere sunem; Qui scis, an prudens huc se projecerit, atque Servari nolet? dicam: Siculique poetae Narrabo interitum.

While the poor friend in dark disgrace sits down, The butt and laughing-stock of all the town, As one, eat up by Leprosy and Itch, Moonstruck, Posses'd, or hag-rid by a Witch, A Frantick Bard puts men of sense to flight; His slaver they detest, and dread his bite: All shun his touch; except the giddy boys, Close at his heels, who hunt him down with noise, While with his head erect he threats the skies, Spouts verse, and walks without the help of eyes; Lost as a blackbird-catcher, should he pitch Into some open well, or gaping ditch; Tho' he call lustily "help, neighbours, help!" No soul regards him, or attends his yelp. Should one, too kind, to give him succour hope, Wish to relieve him, and let down a rope; Forbear! (I'll cry for aught that you can tell) By sheer design he jump'd into the well. He wishes not you should preserve him, Friend! Know you the old Sicilian Poet's end? Deus immortalis haberi.

Dum cupit Empedocles, ardeatem frigidus aetnam Infiluit. sit fas, liceatque perire poetis. Invitum qui fervat, idem facit occidenti. Nec semel hoc fecit; nec si retractus erit jam, Fiet homo, et ponet famosae mortis amorem. Nec fatis apparet, cur versus factitet; utrum Minxerit in patrios cineres, an triste bidental Moverit incestus: certe furit, ac velut ursus Objectos caveae valuit è srangere clathros,

* * * * *

Empedocles, ambitious to be thought A God, his name with Godlike honours fought, Holding a worldly life of no account, Lead'p coldly into aetna's burning mount.--- Let Poets then with leave resign their breath, Licens'd and priveleg'd to rush on death! Who gives a man his life against his will, Murders the man, as much as those who kill. 'Tis not once only he hath done this deed; Nay, drag him forth! your kindness wo'n't succeed: Nor will he take again a mortal's shame, And lose the glory of a death of fame. Nor is't apparent, _why_ with verse he's wild: Whether his father's ashes he defil'd; Whether, the victim of incestuous love, The Blasted Monument he striv'd to move: Whate'er the cause, he raves; and like a Bear, Burst from his cage, and loose in open air, Indoctum doctumque fugat recitator acerbus. Quem vero arripuit, tenet, occiditque legendo, Non miffura cutem, nisi plena cruroris, hirudo.

* * * * *

Learn'd and unlearn'd the Madman puts to flight, They quick to fly, he bitter to recite! What hapless soul he seizes, he holds fast; Rants, and repeats, and reads him dead at last: Hangs on him, ne'er to quit, with ceaseless speech. Till gorg'd and full of blood, a very Leech!

Notes on the EPISTLE to the PISOS Notes

I have referred the Notes to this place, that the reader might be left to his genuine feelings, and the natural impression on reading the Epistle, whether adverse or favourable to the idea I ventured to premise, concerning its Subject and Design. In the address to my learned and worthy friends I said little more than was necessary so open my plan, and to offer an excuse for my undertaking. The Notes descend to particulars, tending to illustrate and confirm my hypothesis; and adding occasional explanations of the original, chiefly intended for the use of the English Reader. I have endeavoured, according to the best of my ability, to follow the advice of Roscommon in the lines, which I have ventured to prefix to these Notes. How far I may be entitled to the _poetical blessing_ promised by the Poet, the Publick must determine: but were I, avoiding arrogance, to renounce all claim to it, such an appearance of _Modesty_ would includes charge of _Impertinence_ for having hazarded this publication._Take pains the_ genuine meaning _to explore!_

There sweat, there strain, tug the laborious oar: _Search ev'ry comment_, that your care can find; Some here, some there, may hit the Poet's mind: Yet be not blindly guided by the _Throng_; The Multitude is always in the _Wrong_. When things appear _unnatural_ or _hard_, _Consult your_ author, _with_ himself compar'd! Who knows what Blessing Phoebus may bestow, And future Ages to your labour owe? Such _Secrets_ are not easily found out, But once _discoverd_, leave no room for doubt. truth stamps _conviction_ in your ravish'd breast, And _Peace_ and _Joy_ attend _the_ glorious guest.

Essay on Translated Verse ART of POETRY, an EPISTLE, &c.

Q. HORATII FLACCI EPISTOLA AD PISONES.

The work of Horace, now under consideration, has been so long known, and so generally received, by the name of The Art of Poetry, that I have, on account of that notoriety, submitted this translation to the Publick, under that title, rather than what I hold to be the true one, viz. Horace's Epistle to The Pisos. The Author of the English Commentary has adopted the same title, though directly repugnant to his own system; and, I suppose, for the very same reason.

The title, in general a matter of indifference, is, in the present instance, of much consequence. On the title Julius Scaliger founded his invidious, and injudicious, attack. De arte quares quid sentiam. Quid? eqvidem quod de arte, sine arte traditâ. To the Title all the editors, and commentators, have particularly adverted; commonly preferring the Epistolary Denomination, but, in contradiction to that preference, almost universally inscribing the Epistle, the Art of Poetry. The conduct, however, of Jason De Nores, a native of Cyprus, a learned and ingenious writer of the 16th century, is very remarkable. In the year 1553 he published at Venice this work of Horace, accompanied with a commentary and notes, written in elegant Latin, inscribing it, after Quintilian, Q. Horatii Flacci Liber De Arte Poetica. [Foot note: I think it right to mention that I have never seen the 1st edition, published at Venice. With a copy of the second edition, printed in Paris, I was favoured by Dr. Warton of Winchester.] The very-next year, however, he printed at Paris a second edition, enriching his notes with many observations on Dante and Petrarch, and changing the title, after mature consideration, to _Q. Horatii Flacii_ EPISTOLA AD PISONES, _de Arte Poeticâ._ His motives for this change he assigns in the following terms.

_Quare adductum me primum sciant ad inscriptionem operis immutandam non levioribus de causis,& quod formam epistolae, non autem libri, in quo praecepta tradantur, vel ex ipso principio prae se ferat, & quod in vetustis exemplaribus Epistolarum libros subsequatur, & quad etiam summi et praestantissimi homines ita sentiant, & quod minimè nobis obstet Quintiliani testimonium, ut nonnullis videtur. Nam si librum appellat Quintilianus, non est cur non possit inter epistolas enumerari, cum et illae ab Horatio in libros digestae fuerint. Quod vero DE ARTE POETICA idem Quintilianus adjangat, nihil commaveor, cum et in epistolis praecepta de aliquâ re tradi possint, ab eodemque in omnibus penè, et in iis ad Scaevam & Lollium praecipuè jam factum videatur, in quibus breviter eos instituit, qua ratione apud majores facile versarentur._

Desprez, the Dauphin Editor, retains both titles, but says, inclining to the Epistolary, _Attamen artem poeticam vix appellem cum Quintiliano et aliis: malim vero epistolam nuncupare cum nonnullis eruditis._ Monsieur Dacier inscribes it, properly enough, agreable to the idea of Porphyry, Q. Horatii Flacci DE ARTE POETICA LIBER; feu, EPISTOLA AD PISONES, patrem, et filios._

Julius Scaliger certainly stands convicted of critical malice by his poor cavil at _the supposed title_; and has betrayed his ignorance of the ease and beauty of Epistolary method, as well as the most gross misapprehension, by his ridiculous analysis of the work, resolving it into thirty-six parts. He seems, however, to have not ill conceived the genius of the poem, in saying that _it relished satire_. This he has urged in many parts of his Poeticks, particularly in the Dedicatory Epistle to his son, not omitting, however, his constant charge of _Art without Art_. Horatius artem cum inscripsit, adeo sine ulla docet arte, ut satyrae propius totum opus illud esse videatur. This comes almost home to the opinion of the Author of the elegant commentaries on the two Epistles of Horace to the Pisos and to Augustus, as expressed in the Dedication to the latter: With the recital of that opinion I shall conclude this long note. "The genius of Rome was bold and elevated: but Criticism of any kind, was little cultivated, never professed as an _art_, by this people. The specimens we have of their ability in this way (of which the most elegant, beyond all dispute, are the two epistles to _Augustus_ and the _Pisos_) _are slight occasional attempts_, made in the negligence of common sense, _and adapted to the peculiar exigencies of their own taste and learning_; and not by any means the regular productions of _art_, professedly bending itself to this work, and ambitious to give the last finishing to the critical system."

[_Translated from Horace._] In that very entertaining and instructive publication, entitled _An Essay on the Learning and Genius of Pope_, the Critick recommends, as the properest poetical measure to render in English the Satires and Epistles of Horace, that kind of familiar blank verse, used in a version of Terence, attempted some years since by the Author of this translation. I am proud of the compliment; yet I have varied from the mode prescribed: not because Roscommon has already given such a version; or because I think the satyrical hexameters of Horace less familiar than the irregular lambicks of Terence. English Blank Verse, like the lambick of Greece and Rome, is peculiarly adapted to theatrical action and dialogue, as well as to the Epick, and the more elevated Didactick Poetry: but after the models left by Dryden and Pope, and in the face of the living example of Johnson, who shall venture to reject rhime in the province of Satire and Epistle?

9.--TRUST ME, MY PISOS!] _Credite Pisones!_

Monsieur Dacier, at a very early period, feels the influence of _the personal address_, that governs this Epistle. Remarking on this passage, he observes that Horace, anxious to inspire _the Pisos _with a just taste, says earnestly _Trust me, my Pisos! Credite Pisones! _an expression that betrays fear and distrust, lest _the young Men _should fall into the dangerous error of bad poets, and injudicious criticks, who not only thought the want of unity of subject a pardonable effect of Genius, but even the mark of a rich and luxuriant imagination. And although this Epistle, continues Monsieur Dacier, is addressed indifferently to Piso the father, and his Sons, as appears by v. 24 of the original, yet it is _to the sons in particular _that these precepts are directed; a consideration which reconciles the difference mentioned by Porphyry. _Scribit ad Pisones, viros nobiles disertosque, patrem et filios; vel, ut alii volunt,_ ad pisones fratres.

Desprez, the Dauphin Editor, observes also, in the same strain, Porro _scribit Horatius ad patrem et ad filios Pisones, _praesertim vero ad hos.

The family of the _Pisos_, to whom Horace addresses this Epistle, were called Calpurnii, being descended from Calpus, son of Numa Pompilius, whence, he afterwards stiles them _of the Pompilian Blood. Pompilius Sanguis! _

10.--THE VOLUME SUCH] Librum _persimilem. Liber_, observes Dacier, is a term applied to all literary productions, of whatever description. This remark is undoubtedly just, confirms the sentiments of Jason de Nores, and takes off the force of all the arguments founded on Quintilian's having stiled his Epistle LIBER de _arte poetica_.

Vossius, speaking of the censure of Scaliger, "_de arte, sine arte_," subsoins sed fallitur, cum [Greek: epigraphaen] putat esse ab Horatio; qui inscipserat EPISTOLAM AD PISONES. Argumentum vero, ut in Epistolarum raeteris, ita in bâc etiam, ab aliis postea appositum fuit.

l9.----OFT WORKS OF PROMISE LARGE, AND HIGH ATTEMPT.] Incaeptis gra- nibus plerumque, &c. Buckingham's _Essay on Poetry_, Roscommon's _Essay on Translated Verse_, as well as the Satires, and _Art Poetique_ of Boileau, and Pope's _Essay on Criticism_, abound with imitations of Horace. This passage of our Author seems to have given birth to the following lines of Buckingham.

'Tis not a slash of fancy, which sometimes, Dazzling our minds, sets off the slighted rhimes; Bright as a blaze, but in a moment done; True Wit is everlasting, like the Sun; Which though sometimes behind a cloud retir'd, Breaks out again, and is the more admir'd.

The following lines of Pope may perhaps appear to bear a nearer resemblance this passage of Horace.

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.

_Essay on Criticism._

49.---Of th' Aemilian class ] _Aemilium circa ludum_--literally, near the Aemilian School; alluding to the Academy of Gladiators of Aemilius Lentulus, in whose neighbourhood lived many Artists and Shopkeepers.

This passage also is imitated by Buckingham.

Number and Rhime, and that harmonious found, Which never _does_ the ear with _harshness_ wound, Are _necessary_, yet but _vulgar_ arts; For all in vain these superficial parts Contribute to the structure of the whole Without a _Genius_ too; for that's the _Soul_: A _Spirit_ which inspires the work throughout As that of _Nature_ moves the world about.

_Essay on Poetry._

Pope has given a beautiful illustration of this thought,

Survey THE WHOLE, nor seek slight faults to find Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind; 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.

_Essay on Criticism._

56.--SELECT, ALL YE WHO WRITE, A SUBJECT FIT] _Sumite materiam, &c._

This passage is well imitated by Roscommon in his Essay on Translated Verse.

The first great work, (a task perform'd by few) Is, that _yourself_ may to _yourself_ be true: No mask, no tricks, no favour, no reserve! _Dissect_ your mind, examine ev'ry _nerve_. Whoever vainly on his strength depends, _Begins_ like Virgil, but like Maevius _ends_.

* * * * *

Each poet with a different talent writes, One _praises_, one _instructs_, another _bites_. Horace did ne'er aspire to Epick Bays, Nor lofty Maro stoop to Lyrick Lays. Examine how your _humour_ is inclin'd, And which the ruling passion of your mind: Then, seek a Poet who your way does bend, And chuse an Author as you chuse a friend. United by this sympathetick bond, You grow familiar, intimate, and fond; Your thoughts, your words your stiles, your Souls agree, No longer his _interpreter_, but _He_.

_Stooping_ to Lyrick Lays, though not inapplicable to some of the lighter odes of Horace, is not descriptive of the general character of the Lyrick Muse. _Musa dedit Fidibus Divas &c._

Pope takes up the same thought in his Essay on Criticism.

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 dulness meet.

* * * * *

Like Kings we lose the conquests gain'd before, By vain ambition still to make them more: Each might his servile province well command, Would all but stoop to what they understand.

71.--_A cunning phrase_.] _Callida junctura_.

_Jason de Nores_ and many other interpreters agree that Horace here recommends, after Aristotle, the artful elevation of style by the use of common words in an uncommon sense, producing at once an air of familiarity and magnificence. Some however confine the expression, _callida junctura_, to signify _compound words_. The Author of the English Commentary adopts the first construction; but considers the precept in both senses, and illustrates each by many beautiful examples from the plays of Shakespeare. These examples he has accompanied with much elegant and judicious observation, as the reader of taste will be convinced by the following short extracts.

"The writers of that time had so _latinized_ the English language, that the pure _English Idiom_, which Shakespeare generally follows, has all the air of _novelty_, which other writers are used to affect by foreign phraseology.--In short, the articles here enumerated are but so many ways of departing from the usual and simpler forms of speech, without neglecting too much the grace of ease and perspicuity; in which well-tempered licence one of the greatest charms of all poetry, but especially of Shakespeare's poetry, consists. Not that he was always and every where so happy. His expression sometimes, and by the very means, here exemplified, becomes _hard_, _obscure_, and _unnatural_. This is the extreme on the other side. But in general, we may say, that He hath either followed the direction of Horace very ably, or hath hit upon his rule very happily."

76.--THE STRAIT-LAC'D CETHEGI.] CINCTUTIS _Cethegis_. Jason de Nores differs, and I think very justly, from those who interpret _Cinctutis_ to signify _loose_, _bare_, or _naked_--EXERTOS & NUDOS. The plain sense of the radical word _cingo_ is directly opposite. The word _cinctutis_ is here assumed to express a severity of manners by an allusion to an antique gravity of dress; and the Poet, adds _de Nores_, very happily forms a new word himself, as a vindication and example of the licence he recommends. Cicero numbers M. Corn. Cethegus among the old Roman Orators; and Horace himself again refers to the Cethegi in his Epistle to Florus, and on the subject of the use of words.

_Obscurata diu papula bonus eruet, atque_ Proseret in lucem speciosa vocabula rer*um; ***need a Latin speaker to check this out*** _Quae priscis memorata_ CATONIBUS _atque_ CETHEGIS, Nunc situs informis premit & deserta vetustas; Adsciscet nova quae genitor produxerit usus.

Mark where a bold expressive phrase appears, Bright thro' the rubbish of some hundred years; Command _old words_ that long have slept, to wake, Words, that wife Bacon, or brave Raleigh spake; Or bid _the new_ be English, ages hence, For Use will father what's begot by Sense.

POPE.