No kind of Work requires fo nice a Touch,
And if well finish'd, nothing fhines so much.
But Heav'n forbid we should be fo profane,
To grace the Vulgar with that noble Name.
'Tis not a Flash of Fancy, which sometimes
Dazling our Minds, fets off the flightest Rhimes;
Bright as a Blaze, but in a Moment done:
True Wit is everlasting, like the Sun;
Which, tho' fometimes behind a Cloud retir'd,
Breaks out again, and is by all admir'd.
Number and Rhime, and that harmonious Sound,
Which not the niceft Ear with Harfhnefs wound,
Are neceffary, yet but vulgar Arts ;
And all in vain these fuperficial Parts
Contribute to the Structure of the Whole,
Without a Genius too, for that's the Soul:
A Spirit which infpires the Work throughout,
As that of Nature moves the World about ;
A Flame that glows amidst Conceptions fit ;
Ev'n fomething of Divine, and more than Wit;
It felf unseen, yet all things by it shown,
Describing all Men, but defcrib'd by none.
Where doft thou dwell? What Caverns of the Brain
Can fuch a vast and mighty thing contain?
When I, at vacant Hours, in vain thy Abfence mourn,
Oh where doft thou retire? and why doft thou return,
Sometimes with pow'rful Charms to hurry me away,
From Pleasures of the Night, and Bus'nefs of the Day?
Ev'n now too far tranfported, I am fain
To check thy Courfe, and use the needful Rein.
As all is Dulness when the Fancy's bad;
So, without Judgment, Fancy is but mad :
And Judgment has a boundless Influence
Not only in the choice of Words, or Senfe,
But on the World, on Manners, and on Men;
Fancy is but the Feather of the Pen;
Reason is that fubftantial, useful part,
Which gains the Head, while t'other wins the Heart.
Here I fhould all the various forts of Verfe,
And the whole Art of Poetry rehearse;
But who that Task would after HORACE do?
The best of Masters, and Examples too!
Echoes at beft, all we can fay is vain;
Dull the Defign, and fruitlefs were the Pain.
"Tis true, the Ancients we may rob with ease;
But who with that mean shift himself can please,
Without an Actor's Pride? A Player's Art
Is above his, who writes a borrow'd Part.
Yet modern Laws are made for later Faults,
And new Abfurdities infpire new Thoughts;
What need has Satire then to live on Theft,
When so much fresh occafion still is left?
Fertile our Soil, and full of rankeft Weeds,
And Monsters worse than ever Nilus breeds.
But hold, the Fools fhall have no cause to fear;
'Tis Wit and Senfe that is the Subject here:
Defects of witty Men deserve a Cure,
And those who are fo, will ev'n this endure.
First then of SONGS, which now fo much abound,
Without his Song no Fop is to be found;
A most offenfive Weapon, which he draws
On all he meets against APOLLO's Laws.
Tho' nothing seems more eafy, yet no part
Of Poetry requires a nicer Art;
For as in Rows of richeft Pearl there lies
Many a Blemish that escapes our Eyes,
The leaft of which Defects is plainly shown
In one small Ring, and brings the Value down:
So Songs should be to juft Perfection wrought;
Yet where can one be seen without a Fault?
Exact Propriety of Words and Thought;
Expreffion easy, and the Fancy high;
Yet that not seem to creep, nor this to fly;
No Words tranfpos'd, but in fuch order all,
As wrought with Care, yet seem by Chance to fall. Here, as in all things elfe, is most unfit
Bare Ribaldry, that poor Pretence to Wit;
Such naufeous Songs by a *late Author made,
Call an unwilling Cenfure on his Shade.
Not that warm Thoughts of the transporting Joy,
Can fhock the chasteft, or the nicest cloy;
But Words obfcene, too grofs to move Defire,
Like heaps of Fuel, only choak the Fire.
On other Themes he well deferves our Praife;
But palls that Appetite he meant to raise.
Next ELEGY, of fweet, but folemn Voice,
'And of a Subject grave exacts the choice;
The Praise of Beauty, Valour, Wit contains;
'And there too oft defpairing Love complains:
In vain alas! for who by Wit is mov'd?
That Phenix-She deferves to be belov'd;
But noify Nonsense, and fuch Fops as vex
Mankind, take most with that fantastick Sex.
This to the Praife of those who better knew ;
The many raife the Value of the few.
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