Some Faults muft be, that his Misfortunes drew,

But fuch as may deferve Compaffion too.
Befides the main Defign compos'd with Art,
Each moving Scene must be a Plot apart ;
Contrive each little turn, mark every place,

As Painters firft chalk out the future Face:

Yet be not fondly your own Slave for this,
But change hereafter what appears amifs.

Think not fo much where fhining Thoughts to place,
As what a Man would fay in fuch a Cafe:
Neither in Comedy will this fuffice,

The Player too must be before your Eyes;
And, tho' 'tis Drudgery to floop fo low,
To him you must your fecret Meaning show.
Expofe no fingle Fop, but lay the Load

More equally, and spread the Folly broad;
Merc Coxcombs are too obvious, oft we fee
A Fool derided by as bad as he :

Hawks fly at nobler Game; in this low way,
A very Owl may prove a Bird of Prey.

Small

Small Poets thus will one poor Fop devour,
But to collect, like Bces, from every Flower,
Ingredients to compofe that precious Juice,
Which ferves the World for Pleasure and for Ufe,
In spite of Faction this would Favour get;
But FALSTAFF ftands inimitable yet.

Another Fault which often may befall,

Is when the Wit of fome great Poet fhall
So overflow, that is, be none at all;
That ev'n his Fools fpeak Senfe, as if poffeft,
And each by Inspiration breaks his Jeft.
If once the Juftness of cach part be loft,
Well we may laugh, but at the Poet's Coft.
That filly thing, Men call Sheer-Wit, avoid,
With which our Age fo naufcoufly is cloy'd;
Humour is all; Wit fhould be only brought
To turn agreeably fome proper Thought.

But fince the Poets we of late have known,
Shine in no Drefs fo much as in their own,

* An admirable Character in a Play of Shakespear.

The

The better by Example to convince,

Caft but a View on this wrong fide of Senfe.

First, a Soliloquy is calmly made,

Where every Reafon is exactly weigh'd;

Which once perform'd, moft opportunely comes

Some Hero frighted at the Noise of Drums

For her sweet fake, whom at first fight he loves,
And all in Metaphor his Passion proves :
But fome fad Accident, tho' yet unknown,
Parting this Pair to leave the Swain alone;
He strait grows jealous, tho' we know not why,
Then to oblige his Rival, needs will die :

But first he makes a Speech, wherein he tells

The absent Nymph how much his Flame excels;
And yet bequeaths her generously now,

To that lov'd Rival whom he does not know?
Who ftrait appears, but who can Fate withstand!
Too late alas, to hold his hafty Hand,

That juft has given himself the cruel Stroke!

At which his very Rival's Heart is broke :

He

He more to his new Friend than Mistress kind,
Most fadly mourns at being left behind;

Of fuch a Death prefers the pleafing Charms

To Love, and living in a Lady's Arms.

What shameful and what monftrous things are

these?

And then they rail at those they cannot please ;
Conclude us only partial to the Dead,

And grudge the Sign of old BEN. JOHNSON'S Head;
When the intrinfick Value of the Stage

Can scarce be judg'd but by a following Age:

For Dances, Flutes, Italian Songs, and Rhime,
May keep up finking Nonfenfe for a time:

But that muft fail, which now fo much o'er-rules,

And Senfe no longer will fubmit to Fools.

By painful Steps at last we labour up
Parnaffus' Hill, on whose bright airy Top,
The Epick Poets fo divinely show,

And with juft Pride behold the reft below.

Heroick

Heroick Poems have a juft Pretence

To be the utmoft ftretch of human Senfe;

A Work of fuch ineftimable Worth,

There are but two the World has yet brought forth;
HOMER and VIRGIL! with what facred Awe,

Do thofe mere Sounds the World's Attention draw!
Juft as a Changeling feems below the rest
Of Men, or rather is a two-legg'd Beaft;
So thefe Gigantick Souls amaz'd we find

As much above the reft of Human Kind!

Nature's whole Strength united! endless Fame,
And Univerfal Shouts, attend their Name!

Read HOMER Once, and you can read no more }
For all Books elfe appear fo mean, fo
poor,
Verse will feem Profe; but ftill perfift to read,
And HOMER will be all the Books you need.

Had Bossu never writ, the World had ftill,

Like Indians, view'd this wondrous Piece of Skill;

As fomething of Divine, the Work admir'd:

Not hop'd to be inftructed, but infpir'd:

But