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."

280

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 on a plain."

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

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295

Some to Conceit alone their taste confine, And glitt'ring thoughts struck out at ev'ry line; 290 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:

300

For works may have more wit than does them good, As bodies perish thro' excess of blood.

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310

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, 315Clears 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.

320

326

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 drest.
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 try'd,
Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.

330.

335

340

But most by Numbers judge a poet's song, And smooth or rough with them is right or wrong: In the bright Muse tho' thousand charms conspire, Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire ; Who haunts 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,

345

And ten low words oft' creep in one dull line:

While they ring round the same unvary'd chimes,
With sure returns of still expected rhymes ;
Where'er you find "the cooling western breeze,”
In the next line, it " whispers thro' the trees :" 351
If chrystal streams "with pleasing murmurs creep,"
The reader's threat'ned (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, And praise the easy vigour of a line

360

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;

365

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: 371
Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain,
Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main.
Hear how Timotheus' vary'd lays surprise,

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,

375

Now sighs steal out, and tears begin to flow : Persians and Greeks like turns of Nature found, 380 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 shews 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.

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390

Some foreign writers, some our own despise ;
The Ancients only or the Moderns prize.
Thus wit, like faith, by each man is apply'd

395

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.

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405