The Augustan Reprint Society

John Oldmixon

AN ESSAY
ON CRITICISM

(1728)

INTRODUCTION
BY
R. J. MADDEN, C.S.B.

PUBLICATION NUMBER 107-8

WILLIAM ANDREWS CLARK MEMORIAL LIBRARY

University of California, Los Angeles

1964

INTRODUCTION

John Oldmixon's Essay on Criticism, like his Reflections on Dr. Swift's Letter to the Earl of Oxford, about the English Tongue,[1] provides evidence to support Dr. Johnson's description of its author as a "scribbler for a party," and indicates that Oldmixon must have been devoted to gathering examples of what appeared to him to be the good and bad in literature.

The story of the appearance of the Essay on Criticism in 1728 should begin in 1724, when Oldmixon published in one volume his Critical History of England, Ecclesiastical and Civil. Dr. Zachary Grey's criticism of this book was answered by Oldmixon in 1725 in A Review of Dr. Zachary Grey's Defence of our Ancient and Modern Historians. In 1726 a two-volume edition of the Critical History of England appeared with the 1725 edition of the Review of Dr. Zachary Grey's Defence appended to the first volume. In the preface to the second volume of the Critical History Oldmixon referred to the Essay on Criticism, stating that it was ready for the press, but that since it would have made the second volume too large, it would be published at a later date. The Essay, he stated, was to prepare the public for his translation of Abbe Bouhours' La Manière De Bien Penser. It was not, however, until 1728 that the Essay reached the public. Besides appearing separately, it was appended, in place of the now removed answer to Dr. Grey, to the "third" edition of the Critical History.[2] There is no reference to the addition of the Essay in the preface to the first volume, but its appearance and addition is referred to in the preface to the second volume.

Oldmixon seems to have had more than one purpose for writing the Essay; one of them is made quite clear in the second paragraph:

I shall not, in this Essay, enter into the philosophical Part of Criticism which Corneille complains of, and that Aristotle and his Commentators have treated of Poetry, rather as Philosophers than Poets. I shall not attempt to give Reasons why Thoughts are sublime, noble, delicate, agreeable, and the like, but content my self with producing Examples of every Kind of right Thinking, and leave it to Authors of more Capacity and Leisure, to treat the Matter à Fond, and teach us to imitate our selves what we admire in others.

The remarks concerning the English need for guidance in "right thinking" are obviously intended to prepare a public for Oldmixon's translation of Bouhours' La Manière De Bien Penser. Following the method of Bouhours, who was in turn following Longinus, Oldmixon gives examples from English literature of the various divisions of "right thinking" and, also like Bouhours, he includes specimens of failures in this art. The bad examples he presents provide ample evidence that the Essay was also serving a Whig polemical purpose, for they are drawn from such writers as Clarendon, Pope and, in particular, Laurence Echard. The tone and nature of Oldmixon's remarks on Echard, whose History he had already criticized at length in the second volume of the Critical History, can be seen in this explanation of his general treatment of that author:

I must sincerely acknowledge, that it was not for Want of Will, that I did not mention what is beautiful in our Historian, but for Want of Opportunity.

Oldmixon's remarks on Pope's Homer are sometimes laudatory, but more often patronizing; the criticism of Pope's Essay on Criticism is quite pointed:

I dare not say any Thing of the last Essay on Criticism in Verse, but that if any more curious Reader has discovered in it something new, which is not in Dryden's Prefaces, Dedications, and his Essay on Dramatick Poetry, not to mention the French Criticks, I should be very glad to have the Benefit of the Discovery.

The rift between Pope and Oldmixon can perhaps be dated from the publication by the latter in 1714 of the "Receipt to make a cuckold" with great apologies for its indecency. Oldmixon continued to tempt satiric fate in the ensuing years, and one wonders if, when seeking a substitute for the Dunciad in the "last" Miscellany of 1728, Pope may not have remembered Oldmixon's announcement in 1726 of his intention to publish an Essay on Criticism which was to be written after the manner of Bouhours. It is not impossible that this was one of many influences acting upon Pope to organize the "high flights of poetry" he had been collecting over the years for a Scriblerian project. Oldmixon appears, with Gildon and Dennis, among the porpoises in Chapter VI of Peri Bathous, and the presentation of some of the material in the Bathous, although more directly indebted to Longinus, does bring Oldmixon's Essay to mind.

It would seem that Oldmixon felt that more than the porpoises referred to him, for in his translation and adaptation of Bouhours' La Manière De Bien Penser, which he published under the title of The Arts of Logic and Rhetorick later in 1728, the references to Pope are much harsher, and Swift also comes under more pointed attack. Gulliver's Travels, A Tale of A Tub (already censured by Oldmixon in his Reflections on Dr. Swift's Letter), the Essay on Criticism, Windsor Forest and the Homer are the objects of bitter criticism. In the concluding pages of The Arts of Logic and Rhetorick Oldmixon wrote:

This delicate Author [Pope] has written a rhiming Essay on Criticism, and made himself merry with his Brethren in a notable Treatise call'd the Art of Sinking, to which he and his Partner S——t, have contributed, more than all the rest of their contemporary writers, if Trifling and Grimace are not in the high Parts of Writing.... What a Precipice is it from Locke's Human Understanding to Swift's Lilliput and Profundity!... there might have been Hopes of rising again; but we sink now like Ships laden with Lead, and must despair of ever recovering the Height from which we have fallen.[3]

As we move from Oldmixon's Essay on Criticism to Pope's Peri Bathous and on to The Arts of Logic and Rhetorick, we perhaps hear the stretching of the spring on a trap, that snapped in the 1735 edition of the Dunciad, in which Oldmixon replaced Dennis as the "Senior" diver "Who but to sink the deeper, rose the higher."[4]

The Essay on Criticism is, however, more than an example of the inter-relation of literature and politics in the eighteenth century; and it is more than a step on the way to its author's immortalizing in lead. It presents, albeit not very imaginatively, a statement of many of the literary theories and attitudes of the Augustan period. However brief and incomplete, the remarks about the language of poetry and upon the effects of certain literary passages are of interest as imperfect exercises in a type of practical criticism. The material used by Oldmixon and the literary references he makes indicate, as do many of his other writings, that, although he was a "scribbler for a party," he was a man of some literary sense, taste and intelligence.

Robert Madden, C.S.B.
St. Michael's College
University of Toronto

NOTES TO THE INTRODUCTION

[1.] The Reflections on Dr. Swift's Letter was reprinted with an introduction by Louis Landa by the Augustan Reprint Society, no. 15 (1948).

[2.] The issue which appeared separately is the same as that which was appended to the first volume of the Critical History, save for the price, 1s. 6d, printed on the title page.

[3.] John Oldmixon, The Arts of Logic and Rhetorick (London, 1728), pp. 416-17.

[4.] Cf. Dunciad A, II, ll. 271-78, and Dunciad B, II, ll. 283-90, in James Sutherland, ed., The Dunciad in The Poems of Alexander Pope, Vol. V, 2nd ed. (London, 1953). Oldmixon was less prominent in the 1728 edition (Dunciad A, II, ll. 199-202); when he was elevated to a higher level of dullness he was succeeded in his original place by Leonard Welstead (Dunciad B, II, ll. 207-10).

AN

ESSAY

ON

CRITICISM

As it regards

Design, Thought, and Expression,

In Prose and Verse.

By the AUTHOR of the Critical
History of England.

LONDON:

Printed for J. Pemberton, at the Golden-Buck in Fleet-Street.

MDCCXXVIII.

1s. 6d.

AN

ESSAY

ON

CRITICISM;

As it regards

Design, Thought, and Expression,
in Prose and Verse.

I am very far from any Conceit of my own Ability, to treat of so nice a Subject as this, in a Manner worthy of it; but having frequently observed what Errors have been committed by both Writers and Readers for want of a right Judgement, I could not help collecting some loose Hints I had by me, and putting them into a little Form, to shew rather what I would do than what I can do; and to excite some happier Genius, to give us better Lights than we have hitherto been led by, which is said with great Sincerity, and without the least Mixture of Vanity or Affectation.

I shall not, in this Essay, enter into the philosophical Part of Criticism which Corneille complains of, and that Aristotle and his Commentators have treated of Poetry, rather as Philosophers than Poets. I shall not attempt to give Reasons why Thoughts are sublime, noble, delicate, agreeable, and the like, but content my self with producing Examples of every Kind of right Thinking, and leave it to Authors of more Capacity and Leisure, to treat the Matter a Fond, and teach us to imitate our selves what we admire in others.

Aristotle, Horace, Bossu, Boileau, Dacier, and several other Criticks, have directed us right in the Rules of Epick and Dramatick Poetry, and Rapin has done the same as to History, and other Parts of polite Learning. Several Attempts have been made in England to instruct us, as well as the French have been instructed; but far from striking out any new Lights, our Essays are infinitely short of the Criticisms of our Neighbours. They teach us nothing which is not to be found there, and give us what they take thence curtailed and imperfect. 'Tis true, they have drest up their Rules in Verse, and have succeeded in it very well. There is something so just and beautiful in my Lord Roscommon's Essay and Translation of Horace's Ars Poetica, as excels any Thing in French within the like Compass. I have read the late Duke of Buckingham's Essay very often, but I don't think it such a perfect Piece as Dryden represents it, in his long and tedious Dedication to that noble Lord before the Æneis. There are many Things very well thought in it, and they do not seem to be much the better for the Poetry; which is so prosaick, that if the Rhimes were pared away, it would be reduced to downright Prose. Indeed Horace's Epistle to the Piso's is not much more poetick; and I do not think, that the modern Criticks, like the Oracles of Old, give the greater Sanction to their Rules, for that they are put into Rhime.

I dare not say any Thing of the last Essay on Criticism in Verse, but that if any more curious Reader has discovered in it something new, which is not in Dryden's Prefaces, Dedications, and his Essay on Dramatick Poetry, not to mention the French Criticks, I should be very glad to have the Benefit of the Discovery.

I was strangely surprised to meet with such a Passage, as what follows, in the Writings of so good an Author as Sir Robert Howard. Preface to Duke of Lerma: "In the Difference of Tragedy and Comedy, there can be no Determination but by the Taste; and whoever would endeavour to like or dislike by the Rules of others, he will be as unsuccessful as if he should try to be perswaded into a Power of believing, not what he must, but what others direct him to believe."

Thus are Aristotle, Horace, and all that have commented on them; thus are Boileau, the Lord Roscommon, the Duke of Bucks, and all the modern Criticks, confounded with a Word or two, and the Rules of Writing rendered useless and ridiculous.

The Rules laid down by those great Criticks are not to be valu'd, because they are given by Aristotle, Horace, &c. but because they are in Nature and in Truth. Homer, Sophocles, and Euripides, wrote before Aristotle, and the Observations he made upon their Poems, were to shew us how they succeeded by a happy Imitation of Nature, and without such Imitation there can be no Poetry; but according to Sir Robert Howard's Assertion, that only which a Man likes is good; and if you are pleas'd with seeing or hearing any Thing unnatural or even monstruous,

A Woman's Head joyn'd to a Fishes Tail;

it is preferable to what is just and true, to the Venus of Medicis, or the most perfect Madonna in Italy. Thus a wrong Taste is as good as a right one, and the Smell of a Pole-cat to be preferr'd to that of a Civet, if a Man's Nose is so irregular. After this Rate, there never was a Poet who could write up to the Frenchman's Ladder-dance, or Rich's Harlequin; and whereas Sir Robert says, we may as well believe, because others do, as judge, because Aristotle, Horace, &c. do, there is no Agreement in the Proposition, or it is not rightly stated; for we do not judge so because Aristotle and Horace did so judge; but because it is in Nature and in Truth, and they first shew'd us the Way to find it out.

Criticism is so far from being well understood by us Englishmen, that it is generally mistaken to be an Effect of Envy, Jealousy, and Spleen; an invidious Desire to find Faults only to discredit the Author, and build a Reputation on the Ruin of his.

One has great Reason to think so, when the Critick looks only on one Side; when he hunts after little Slips and Negligences, and will not, or cannot see, what is beautiful and praise-worthy. If an historical or poetical Performance can no sooner acquire Applause, than he falls upon it without Mercy, neglects every Thing commendable in it, and skims off the Filth that rises on the Top of it; one may be sure his Jealousy is piqu'd, and he is alarm'd for fear every Encrease of Honour to another should be a Diminution of his own Glory; such Sort of Criticism is easily learnt. A Wen or Mole in the Face is sooner perceiv'd than the Harmony of Features, and the fine Proportion of Beauty; or, as Dryden says,

Errours like Straws upon the Surface flow,
He who would search for Pearls must dive below.

This Thought is borrow'd from the Lord Bacon; who, speaking of Notions and Inferences what may be applied to Families, says, Time is like a River in which Metals and solid Substances sink, while Chaff and Straw swim on the Surface. Such borrowing as Dryden's is highly commendable; he has paid back what he borrowed with Interest, and it can by no Means deserve the Scandal of Plagiarism. I cannot doubt, but Mr. Addison in the sublime Thought, where he represents the Duke of Marlborough in the Heat of the War:

Rides in the Whirlwind, and directs the Storm;

did nor forget these two Lines of Boileau to the King:

Serene himself the stormy War he guides,
And o'er the Battle like a God presides.

I shall all along, through this Discourse, take the Liberty to pass from one Subject to another as the Hint offers, without any Method, according to the Freedom of Essays. Mr. Dryden excuses this Freedom, by the Example of Horace's Epistle to the Piso's, which is immethodical and I must excuse my self by Mr. Dryden's—

The Taste and Appetite of these straw Criticks, may justly be compar'd to Ravens and Crows, who neglecting clean Food, are always searching after Carrion.

Horace's Rule is very well worth observing, when we are about to give Judgement on a Poem or History, where the Will is not concern'd:

Ubi plura nitent in Carmine non ego paucis
Offendor maculis, quas aut incuria fudit,
Aut humana parum cavit natura.

When in a Poem most are shining Thoughts,
I'm not offended if I find some Fau'ts;
Such as are Slips of Negligence, or where
The Poet may through humane Frailty erre.

As it is much easier to discern Blemishes than Beauties, so is it to censure than to commend, as the Duke of Buckingham tells us:

Yet whatsoe'er is by vain Criticks thought,
Praising is harder much than finding Fau't:
In homely Pieces ev'n the Dutch excel,
Italians only can draw Beauty well.

Such Criticks need not be in Pain, if a Poem or History makes its Way in the World a little; if it is not good, it will lose Ground of it self faster than it got it. If imperfect Pieces have gain'd Credit, and kept it for some Time, it was not for what was bad in them, but what, if not really good, was at least agreeable. Dryden's Translation of Virgil was generally liked for the Diction and Versification, though it was dislik'd on Account of Equality and Truth; and to have made a Critick upon it, as Milbourn did, without doing justice to his Numbers and Language, shew'd the Spirit of the Man was more engaged in it than his Judgement. All Criticisms on Dryden's Language and Numbers are in Defiance of Horace's Rule above-mention'd, because there is no Body but knows that it was impossible for Dryden to make an ill Verse, or to want an apt and musical Word, if he took the least Care about it. I could very easily mark out a thousand Slips and Negligences of that Kind in his Virgil; yet for all that, there are more good Verses in that Translation than in any other, if Mr. Pope's Homer is not to be excepted.

It has been often said by very good Judges, that Cato was no proper Subject for a Dramatick Poem: That the Character of a Cynick Philosopher, is very inconsistent with the Hurry and Tumult of Action and Passion, which are the Soul of Tragedy. That the ingenious Author miscarried in the Plan of his Work, but supported it by the Dignity, the Purity, the Beauty, and the Justness of the Sentiments and the Diction.

This was so much the Opinion of Mr. Maynwaring, who was generally allow'd to be the best Critick of our Time, that he was against bringing the Play upon the Stage, and it lay by unfinish'd many Years. Mr. Maynwaring highly approv'd of the Sentiments and the Diction, but did not fall in with the Design. That it was play'd at last was owing to Mr. Hughes, who wrote the Siege of Damascus, a Tragedy. He had read the Four Acts, which were finished, and rightly thought it would be of Service to the Publick, to have it represented at the latter End of Queen Ann's Reign, when the old English Spirit of Liberty was as likely to be lost as it had ever been since the Conquest. He endeavour'd to bring Mr. Addison into his Opinion, which he did so far as to procure his Consent, that it should be acted if Mr. Hughes would write the last Act, and he offer'd him the Scenary for his Assistance, excusing his not finishing it himself on Account of some other Avocations. He prest Mr. Hughes to do it so earnestly, that he was prevail'd upon and set about it. But a Week after, seeing Mr. Addison again with an Intention to communicate to him what he had thought of it, he was agreeably surpris'd at his producing some Papers, where near half of the Act was written by the Author himself, who took Fire at the Hint that it would be serviceable, and upon a second Reflection went thorough with the Fifth Act: Not that he was diffident of Mr. Hughes's Ability, but knowing that no Man could have so perfect a Notion of his Design as himself, who had been so long and so carefully thinking of it. I was told this by Mr. Hughes, and I tell it to shew that it was not for the Love Scenes, that Mr. Addison consented to have his Tragedy acted, but to support the old Roman and English Publick Spirit, which was then so near being suppressed by Faction and Bigotry. The most cunning of their Leaders were sensible of it, and therefore very dexterously stole away the Merit of the Poem, by applauding the Poet, and patronizing the Action and Actors. It is therefore obvious, that a severe Critick may find a Colour for his Severity, with Respect to the Design of the Play, but that will not hinder its captivating every one that sees or reads it. The Graces and Excellencies, both of Thought and Expression, do much more deserve our Admiration and Applause, than the Deficiency in the Fable deserves Censure. However, as to Dryden's Virgil and Cato, ask those that admire the one or the other what it is that pleases them? And I doubt it will be found to be the very Places, which should have most displeased, where Dryden offended most against the Character of Epick Poetry by imitating Ovid's Softness, and an eternal Jeu des Mots, Playing upon Words, and where Cato suspends the Action and Passion of the Scene to teach the Audience, Philosophy and Morality.

It is common for the most discreet and delicate Authors to take Care of themselves, when they are treating of any of the Sciences. You will always find the Divine, the Lawyer, the Mathematician, the Astrologer, the Chymist, the Mechanick, &c. reserving to themselves the Merit of their particular Sciences when they are discoursing of the Arts in general. A merry Instance of this in the Astrologer is mention'd by the very learned Gregory out of Albumazer, who asserted, that all Religions were govern'd by the Planets; the Mahometan by Venus, the Jewish by Saturn, and the Christian by the Sun: Nay, he adds, that one Guido Bonatus a Gymnosophist affirms in his Parallells, that Christ himself was an Astrologer, and made use of Elections. The Spectator, with all his Modesty, has discover'd something of this Self-love in that of the Sciences, and could not help giving into this Infirmity. Every one knows what a fine Talent he had for Writing, and particularly how beautiful his Imagination was, and how polite his Language. Himself was not a Stranger to it; and we therefore read in the Spectator, N^o 291; I might further observe, that there is not a Greek or Latin Critick, who has not shewn, even in the Stile of his Criticisms, that he was Master of all the Elegance and Delicacy of his native Language. Here does this excellent Author forbid any one's Claim to the Character of a Critick, who is not like himself Master of the Delicacy and Elegance of his native Tongue; though I am apt to believe, that as a Man may be a very good Judge of Painting without being himself a Painter, so he may make very good Criticisms in Poetry and Eloquence, without being a Poet or an Orator. What would have become of our famous Critick Rymer, whom Mr. Dryden has so much commended, and so much abused, if his Criticisms must not pass, on Account of his not being Master of the Elegance and Delicacy of our Language, as it does not appear he was by his Translation of Ovid's Epistle from Penelope to Ulysses.

Here skulk'd Ulysses.
Your Sword how Dolon no nor Rhesus 'scap'd,
Banter'd the One, this taken as he napp'd.
Whatever Skippers hither come ashore,
For thee I ask and ask them o'er and o'er.
Perhaps to her your dowdy Wife define
Who cares no more, so that her Cupboard shine:
Who revel in your House without Controul,
And eat and waste your Means our Blood and Soul.

The Bantring and Napping, the Skipper, the Dowdy Wife, the Cupboard, the Means, and the Blood and Soul, agree admirably with the Royal Characters of King Ulysses and Queen Penelope, and the courtly Manner of Ovid. Radcliff's Letter, from the Skipper's Wife of Newcastle to her Husband at St. Catherine's, can hardly have more of the Burlesque in it.

The Truth is, Mr. Addison, in the above Quotation, has a Fling upon the Author of the Critick upon his Cato. A few general Rules extracted out of the French Authors, with a certain Cant of Words, have sometimes set up an illiterate heavy Writer, for a most judicious and formidable Critick. I know no Instance wherein that Gentleman loses his Temper so much as in this. There were but three Authors in our Time who were Criticks by Profession, Rymer, Dennis, and Gildon. Rymer is own'd by himself to be a masterly Critick: He himself knew Mr. Dennis did not want Learning; and as to Fire, he has perhaps rather too much of it, than too little. I can't help thinking, that the Ode he writ on Dryden's Translation of the 3d Book of the Georgicks, in Tonson's Fourth Miscellany, deserv'd a kinder Word than illiterate or heavy.

Stanza II.

Sometimes of humble rural Things
My Muse, which keeps great Maro still in sight,
In middle Air with varied Numbers sings;
And sometimes her sonorous Flight
To Heaven sublimely wings.
But first takes Time with Majesty to rise
Then, without Pride, divinely great
She mounts her native Skies;
And Goddess-like retains her State
When down again she flies.

The Passage, taken out of the Spectator, could not relate to Gildon, because of the French Cant, which he did not affect, nor understand. It is plain therefore, it must refer to the Critick upon Cato; which shews us, that as conscious as the most modest Man may be of his own Insufficiency; yet, when it is in Dispute, he cannot always preserve his Insensibility. Cato is a very good Dramatick Poem, and so was the Cid; yet the best Critick that ever was written in French, was that upon the Cid, as La Bruyere observes.

In another of the Spectators, we meet with something which proves to us, that a Man may have as much Modesty as Mr. Addison; and yet be very jealous of losing any Part of the Glory which is due to him. Every one knows, that though he was a Master of Eloquence, he never attempted to speak in Parliament, but it was with some Confusion; and what he said, did not answer the Expectation which had been raised by the Character of his Writings. Himself takes notice of this, not as an Infirmity, but as the Effect of Caution and Art. Spectator, N^o 231, Cicero tells us, that he never liked an Orator, who did not appear in some little Confusion at the Beginning of his Speech; and confesses, that he himself never entered upon an Oration without Trembling and Concern. It is indeed a Kind of Deference which is due to a great Assembly. The bravest Man often appears timorous upon these Occasions, as we may observe that there is generally no Creature more impudent than a Coward. I hope I shall not be thought invidious, or to endeavour to lessen the Veneration, which all, who love polite Learning, owe to the Memory of the Spectator; yet I could not but take notice, how sensible the most Discreet are in Point of Rivalship in Fame. What else can one think of the Spectator's Saying in the Dedication of the Eighth Volume: I need not tell you, that the free and disengaged Behaviour of a fine Gentleman, makes as many aukward Beaux, as the Easiness of your Favourite Waller hath made insipid Poets. Though the fine Gentleman may be applied to Mr. Waller, and the aukward Beaux to the insipid Poets; yet the Comparison cannot hold, without doing an Injury to Mr. Waller's Merit. The Beaux may be aukward, by imitating what you call a fine Gentleman, who is generally distinguish'd by some Affectation; but no Poet can be insipid by imitating Mr. Waller's Easiness, if he has any Portion of his Wit and Gallantry. The Spectator's Manner was not very different from Mr. Waller's, as to Easiness; and I have as often heard it wished, that there was more Fire in his own Poetry, as that there was more in Mr. Waller's. Two of the politest Authors in Europe, of the last Age, St. Evremont and La Fontaine, had such an Esteem for Mr. Waller, that it is strange he meets with no better Quarter at Home. Those two famous French Wits us'd to call him another Anacreon; and the Criticks have not yet complained, that ever Anacreon taught any Poet to be insipid. Mr. Addison is so far from thinking that Waller had any such Infection about him, that he wishes he had lived to have sung in Praise of King William, the sublimest Subject that ever was offered to a Muse, by how much the Deliverer of Nations from Slavery is a more godlike Character, than to have subjected and enslaved them, as did Alexander and Cæsar.

The Courtly Waller next commands my Lays,
Muse, tune thy Verse with Art to Waller's Praise.
While tender Airs, and lovely Dames inspire
Soft melting Thoughts, and propagate Desire;
So long shall Waller's Strains our Passion move,
And Sacharissa's Beauties kindle Love.
Thy Verse, harmonious Bard, and flatt'ring Song,
Can make the Vanquish'd great, the Coward strong:
Thy Verse can shew ev'n Cromwell's Innocence,
And complement the Storms that bore him hence.
Oh! had thy Muse not come an Age too soon,
But seen great Nassau on the British Throne,
How had his Triumphs glitter'd in thy Page,
And warm'd thee to a more exalted Rage.
What Scenes of Death, &c.

So little Danger is there of learning to be insipid by imitating Waller, that he is praised by the Editor of St. Evremond's Works, for the Elevation of his Genius, Mr. Edmond Waller; s'est generallement fait admirer par l'Elevation de son Esprit.

I do not in this Essay aim at any Thing more, than, as I have said before, to put several critical Hints, which I had collected, together, and not to form a regular Discourse, but take them as they come in my way.

If the Spectator, by the Passage above-mentioned, insinuates that a Man must be able to perform himself in an Art, to be a good Judge of the Performances of others; consequently, that I ought to be a masterly Historian, to make Remarks on Mr. Echard's History, he divests me at once of the Right I pretend to in the following Treatise. Let us therefore enquire into the Reason of this Reflection.

Horace, whom no English Author could understand better than the Spectator, as appears by his admirable Translation, teaches us otherwise,

Munus & Officium, nil scribens ipse, docebo.
Yet without writing, I may teach to write.
[Rosc.

Dacier's Notes upon Hippocrates, as I have been informed by my worthy Friend Dr. Allen, are much better than any others, though made by Men of the Faculty, which Dacier did not profess. Monsieur Corneille, the greatest Genius in France for Tragedy, wrote Examens of his Pieces, which, like Dryden's Prefaces, were adapted to the several Tragedies, and very often clashed with one another, as the Subject required: but because he would prevent as much as possible any Attack of Criticism, he declares in one of his Discourses, That the Knowledge which is acquired by Study and Speculation, is of little or no Use without Experience. Thus an Author must produce a Tragedy himself, before he presumes to criticise on another's. If it be the same Thing in History too, I began at the wrong End, and should have written three or four Folio Histories, before I had presum'd to make Remarks on Archdeacon Echard's, this would bear very hard upon me, and I must beg Leave to enquire a little whether the Case be really so or not.

Monsieur Dacier is so far from being of Corneille's Opinion, that he thinks a Man who never did write a Tragedy, may criticise on another's Poem the better for that he never wrote himself. Nay, I do not know, says he in his Preface to Aristotle, whether he who has written Dramatick poems, is so proper to explain the Rules of the Art, as he, who never wrote any: For it would be a Miracle if the former were not seduced by Self-love; whereas the latter is disinterested, and the more likely to be an impartial Judge. Again, if it was necessary to be a good poet to make Criticisms on Poetry, we should never have had any Critick at all; for I do not know one Critick upon Poetry, that was himself a Poet. By this one would think, that he did not look upon Rapin as a Critick in Poetry, for he wrote a Poem on Gardening. Menage makes as little of him as Dacier; yet Dryden says, were all the Writings of other Criticks lost, Rapin's Works alone would be sufficient to teach us the whole Art of Criticism. We all know Aristotle and Horace wrote upon Epick Poetry and Tragedy, yet neither of them ever wrote a Tragedy or Epick Poem; and perhaps neither of them would have succeeded if he had. Rymer made one poor Attempt that Way in his Edgar: But, as if it had been written only to prove that a Man may judge well of an Art, without being a Performer, like an ill-built Ship, it sunk in the very launching, and seem'd to be written only to be damned.

The Guardian seconds the Spectator, and forbids any one to criticise, that cannot write to Perfection. If I find by his own Manner of Writing, that he is heavy and tasteless, I throw aside his Criticisms with a secret Indignation, to see a Man without Genius or Politeness, dictating to the World on Subjects which I find are above his Reach. Thus Mr. Rymer, the best Critick we had till then, and all his Rules, are void and of no Effect; He has cancelled them with a Dash of his Pen. If a Man must not only have Politeness, but a Genius, what will become of Aristotle and Longinus, Bossu and Dacier? They were all polite Writers, but have not discover'd that they had Genius. I ever had as little Opinion of heavy tasteless Criticks as the Spectator or Guardian, yet I never could endure an arbitrary Judgement; for, what else is tasteless and heavy without Proof? But then, that Proof could not be produced without the Criticisms, which, let them be ever so poor, are often more easily despis'd than answer'd.

I was always convinced by Example, that a Critick may have a just Taste, without being a Poet; and that the Indignation the Guardian speaks of, is never provoked, unless a weak Place is hit upon: As, in the low Phrase, A galled Horse winces when you touch the Sore. In three or four Lines, we have tasteless, heavy, dogmatical, stupid Macer and Mundungus all of the poor Criticks. Had they been really such stupid Creatures, they could not have given such Offence. Hard Words shew Anger more than Indignation, and we are apt to conjecture, that the Poets would not be so angry with the Criticks, if they were not afraid of them. The Concern of the former is wonderfully generous; they are not in Pain for what the Criticks say of their Errours and Failings, but for the Heaviness and Stupidity of their Criticisms. Thus in the lowest Life, we shall often hear one angry Woman cry out of another, I do not matter what she said of me, but to see the Impudence of the Slut. Macer and Mundungus are taken from Mr. Congreve's Epistle to Sir Richard Temple;

So Macer and Mundungus school the Times,
And write in rugged Verse the softer Rules of Rhimes.

If the Guardian had the Critick upon Cato in his Thoughts, when he quoted those Verses, which I suppose he had, why does he mention rhiming Criticisms? That Author wrote his Rules and Remarks always in Prose, so did Rymer; what then do they all mean by rugged Verse? The Lord Roscommon's Poetry is Harmony it self. The last Essay upon Criticism in Verse was not then written. There remains only the late Duke of Buckingham's Poetical Essay, of Note enough to be remembered by Mr. Congreve: That could not be named, without offending good Breeding, a Term very often made use of by two elegant Authors; who, I much question, had never the Education of a Dancing-Master. However, Poetry and Criticism are perfect Levellers, and no Man can plead Privilege in the Court of Parnassus; what then is the Meaning of the next Lines after Mundungus?

Well do they play the careful Critick's Part,
Instructing doubly by their matchless Art:
Rules for good Verse they first with Pains indite,
Then shew us what are bad by what they write.

The Guardian and Spectator would not do the Poets the Honour to name them; but we know who are the Criticks which are thrown aside by them; for no Body but Mr. D—— and Mr. G—— made Remarks upon their Writings, and both of them did. I do not say with that Politeness and Elegance, which the Spectator and Guardian have laid down, as the sole Characteristicks of good Talk and Judgement; though one may almost as well say, that a Man cannot have good Sense and Wit, without good Cloaths and a genteel Air. I must needs own, that I think most of their Criticisms very just, though had they been still juster than they are, I would not nave been the Author of them, without taking Notice of Beauties, as well as finding of Faults, there being much more Room for the former than the latter.

It is very plain, the Spectator highly stomached the Remarks which were made on his Writings, and is not very candid in his Reasoning, to render his Opponents contemptible, which was the surest Way of disarming them. These Criticks fall upon a Play, not because it is ill written, but because it takes: This is not the whole Truth. It is not because it takes, but because it takes for those very Things which should have damned it Durfey's Boarding-School, and his Marriage-Hater match'd, took with a Vengeance, though the two greatest Pieces of Wit in them, were Miss's Bread and Butter, and Mynheer's Muff. Settle's Tragedies took for the Noise, the Show, and the Rhime. No Play, that was not supported by poetical or political Party, which most taking Plays have been, ever took more than Settle's Heir of Morocco, in which there is not one good Thought or Expression. Again, several of these Criticks have laid it down as a Maxim, that whatever Dramatick Poem has a long Run, must of Necessity be good for nothing, which is a Misrepresentation. The Orphan, Venice Preserv'd, Tamerlane, &c. had long Runs, and run still; yet no Critick has dared to say they did not deserve it: But whoever will owe his Reputation to taking only, must be contented to roll with Settle, Durfey, and many other Poets, that took in their Turn. Could any thing be more monstrous, than to determine the Merit of Nixon's Prophecy, and the Spectator, by the Run of the Papers. The former, a Maggot given to the Rabble, bore more Editions in Ten Weeks, than the latter has done in Ten Years.

I would not be understood in this, or any thing else, to endeavour to lessen the Opinion the People have generally and justly of the Spectator's Perfections: I verily believe, there is no Production of the Mind, ancient or modern, where are to be found more Wit, Politeness, fine Raillery, good Sense, Learning, and Eloquence; but what I have said, is to shew, that great Wits as well as little have their Passions, their Piques and Prejudices, when the least Blemish is discovered in their Glory. In the same Spectator, we have another Hint, that no Body ought to criticise on that Author's Writings, unless he could write as elegantly as himself, which effectually cuts off all Criticism. These professed Criticks cannot put ten Words together with Elegance, or common Propriety. What an arbitrary Way of arguing is this? These Criticks are Smatterers; They vilify only the Productions that gain Applause; the Blemishes they descry are imaginary; their Arguments are far fetched; Their Works are like those of the Sophists, they are thought deep, because unintelligible; they instruct the People in Absurdities. Would the Spectator allow this positive Air in any other Writer? How does it appear that one Word of all this is true? Ipse dixit. That must satisfy, though he is in this Case too much a Party, to be a Judge. These Criticks are led themselves into Absurdities, by not considering, That there is sometimes a greater Judgement shewn in deviating from the Rules of Art, than adhering to them. The Word sometimes here would make every right Argument wrong, and every Truth Falsehood, because sometimes there may be an Exception to a general Rule. Why, does he not tell us, wherein himself, or any one else shewed his Judgement in deviating from the Rules of Art? The Critical Smatterers do not charge him in those Places where Judgement was shewn in such deviating, but where the Want of Judgement appeared in it. I shall have occasion to touch this Subject a little elsewhere; though I hope what I have said here, is enough to prove that just Criticisms are not the Productions of Ignorance and Envy, as the Spectator intimates; but that they are, on the contrary, useful and necessary to be a Check on the greatest Genius's, who want the Rein much more than the Spur; and what, in a few Years, would become of all good Writing, if those great Genius's could impose their very Blemishes on the World for the most shining Beauties?

The Spectator gives us another Mark, by which we may discover a Critick, who has neither Taste nor Learning, and that is, He seldom ventures to praise any Passage in an Author, which has not been before received and applauded by the Publick. If this Remark had been infallible and universal, it must have deprived the Spectator himself of the two greatest Beauties in all his Quotations out of Milton which are in every one's Mouth. The One in the sublime Kind in the Speech to the Sun.

Oh then, that with surpassing Glory crown'd,
Look'st from thy sole Dominion like the God
Of this new World.—

The Other in the tender Kind. Adam to Eve.

Her Hand soft touching whisper'd thus, Awake
My Fairest, my espous'd, my best belov'd,
Heavens last, best Gift, my ever new Delight;
Awake.

which had before been a thousand Times repeated as the Perfection of English Poetry, in their several Kinds. And the Author, who shall have occasion to quote them as such after the Spectator, will not discover his Want of Taste or Learning by it. Very just is his Observation, A true Critick ought to dwell rather upon Excellencies than Imperfections, &c. But as this has Relation chiefly to those Compositions which require Genius, Judgement and Eloquence; and consequently, cannot relate to Mr. Echard's History of England, we shall now say no more of it.

That I may not be guilty of the Fault I blame in others, the neglecting of Beauties, and falling unmercifully upon the Blemishes of Authors. I must sincerely acknowledge, that it was not for Want of Will, that I did not mention what is beautiful in our Historian, but for Want of Opportunity. What Part of his Performance should I have applauded! Is it the Design! The Author does not himself pretend, that it is regular, if by Design in History, we are to understand the Plan as in Poetry: He will not deny, but that his Method is too much diversified, and too confused; sometimes it is General History, sometimes Annals, sometimes a Diary, sometimes Biography; all which he seems to think he has sufficiently provided against, by dividing the whole Work into Sections, and putting Pales between his Paragraphs. This Confusion will be easily pardoned by his Readers, there being hardly one in a Thousand that knows the Difference between Biography and History, or between an Annalist and an Historian; or who does not take Buck's Richard III, or Cambden's Queen Elizabeth, to be as much of the historical Kind, as Samuel Daniel's History of England, which is the only English History that has the least Appearance of Uniformity and Regularity of Design.

Ne Sutor ultra Crepidam, is in nothing a more necessary Maxim, than in the Productions of the Mind. It is not because a Man can write a Sonnet, an Elegy, nay, an Ode, or a Dramatick Poem, that therefore he can succeed in Epick; though we in England are apt to confound all Sorts of Poetry and Poets, and to think that there is but one and the same Genius necessary for all of them. Thus it is, that you often hear the Question in Company, which is the best Poet, Virgil or Horace, Milton or Waller, Dryden or Wycherley, Congreve or Row. It is the same Thing in History: If a Man is able to abridge a Dictionary, to collect and compile Memoirs; in a Word, if he can put a Tale together, he is immediately an Historian, though Story-telling and History are as different as a Madrigal and a Pindarick Ode.

History is designed to instruct Mankind by Example, to shew what Men were by what they did, and from particular Instances to form general Lessons in all the various Stations of Life; and our Historian has so far a just Conception of its Dignity and Use, that he speaks of his own Performance as if he had formed a regular noble Design, with a regular and noble View, and executed it with equal Beauty and Perfection. Very great Talents are requisite to succeed in it, especially that of Judgement, to relate only what is worth relating, and to make proper Reflections upon Events for the Instruction of the Reader. Nothing is more necessary for an Historian, says Pere Rapin, than Judgement: Nothing requires so much Sense, so much Reason, so much Wit, so much Wisdom, and other good Qualities, as History, to succeed in writing it; and above all, Un Heureux Naturel, a happy Genius, which endowed with all these Qualifications, will not do without, Un Grand Commerce du Monde, a great Knowledge of the World. Pere Bouhours, whom Mr. Addison thought the most judicious and penetrating of all the French Criticks, has an admirable Remark on the Reflections of Historians, in his Maniere de bien penser. The Historian ought to shine most in his Reflections: Nothing is so irregular as to reflect falsely on Events that are true. He mentions a pleasant Instance of a French Priest, who said in a Sermon, The Heart of Man being of a triangular Figure, and the World of a round one; It is plain, that all worldly Greatness cannot fill the Heart of Man. We have been told a thousand Times, that the Presbyterians had a Quarrel with King Charles the First, and that those who had a Quarrel with him, took him and cut off his Head. The Fact is true as to the Quarrel, but nothing can be more false, than that the Presbyterians beheaded him. The Fact is true, that the Act of Toleration put a Stop to the Persecuting of Dissenters; but the Reflection from it, That the Church was in Danger, is false. If I would rifle the Grand Rebellion, and Mr. Echard's History, I might have the Honour of being Author of a Folio too, by taking from them Examples of this Kind; and I cannot but think, if the Archdeacon had duely weighed the Difficulties inseparable from his Undertaking, the indispensable Duty of Sincerity and Truth, and the great Talents necessary for an Historian, he would have transferred the Work to another, not a Dealer in Records only, from whom one can expect nothing but the naked Facts without Form or Order, without Ornament, or even cloathing; very proper for Evidence in Tryals at Law, but too rude and unpolished for the Beauty and Elegance of History: Yet I am satisfied, there is not one Man in a Thousand in England, but thinks there are no Writers so fit to make Historians as your Record Keepers and Library Keepers, who are just as necessary in such Work as Masons and Carpenters are in Architecture, and no more in Comparison with the Architect, than the Axe or the Chissel are in Comparison with them. An excellent Historian, says Mons. Pellisson, Pref. to Sar. ought to have a general Knowledge of the World and of Affairs, and a subtle and penetrating Wit, to distinguish the true Causes of humane Actions, from the Pretexts and Colours which are given them. Thus our Historian should have distinguish'd Archbishop Laud's natural Pride and Severity, from that Piety and Zeal which are the Pretexts and Colours that are given them. He should also have distinguish'd the Pique and Partiality in the Grand Rebellion from Truth and Sincerity, which are the Pretexts and Colours. Again,

Tacitus, said he, wrote Sine studio Partium & Ira; if the same may be said of the two Historians in Question, I have done them much Wrong. The late Earl of Shaftsbury, in his Letter of Enthusiasm, has this Expression: We have few modern Writers, who, like Xenophon or Cicero, can write their own Commentaries, and the raw Memoir Writings, and uninformed Pieces of modern Statesmen full of their own interested and private Views, will, in another Age, be of little Service to support their Memory or Name, since already the World begins to sicken with them.

It is somewhat strange, that Mr. Echard should not be so well acquainted with the Weakness of the vulgar Humour in England, as a Foreigner; who was so sensible of the Peoples Fondness to hear Stories, that he excuses those of a better Taste amongst them, who cannot relish such as relate to Ghosts, Devils, Prophecies, and the like, with which the Archdeacon's History abounds. The Author of the Paris Journal des Sçavans, speaking of English History Writers, and their bringing in Prophecies and strange Stories, says, Granting it to be true, it is not so much to be attributed to their Want of Skill, as to their Compliance with the Humour of the People, that attend too much to Prophecies, and are too much affected with Tales; which Humour our Historian has rather indulged than discountenanced, and it must surely be for Want of Judgement, after the indulging them in it, had been so much exploded. The French Historian Maimbourg participates of the same Character, and his Zeal for the Church, could not procure him a better one abroad, than what was given him in Italy, that he was among Historians, what Momus is among the Gods, only to tell Tales; with which the Vulgar are as well contented, as with Relations that are truly historical. But we should be as cautious of reading such Histories, as Menage tells us he was of reading Morreri's, for Fear we should remember them. Collier knew better than Menage, and therefore translated Morreri's three Folio's into English, as a rich Store for the Memories of his Countrymen.

Having so little Reason to commend the Historian for his Design, I should make him amends in the Sentiments, if there was the least Room for it. It is true, in History, if the Facts are fairly related, the Sentiments must be brought along with them, and the Author is not accountable for them as in Poetry: But if the Sentiments do not correspond with the Facts; if Meekness and Holiness are seated to give Judgement in the High Commission and Star Chamber Courts; if Piety is mounted on Horseback with the Lord High Treasurer's Staff in her Hand; if the most noble Characters are ascribed to Persons engaged in the most unjustifiable Actions, we may depend upon it, these Persons, either did not think, or did not act as they are represented, and consequently that the History is false and vicious: The Historians Reflections upon Events are entirely his own, and we shall see in the following Pages, how wise and how weighty they are: But as they bear all on one Side, like an ill ballasted Ship, it is much, if in the Course of a few Years, it does not overset the History.

There is no greater Vice in Historians, than poor and common Reflections. The Poverty of the Archdeacon's appears in the After Wit, which makes a good Part of them; and the Vulgarisms, which will be further explain'd as Occasions often.

Indeed we do not enough acquaint ourselves in England, with what Father Bouhours calls the Manner of Right Thinking, in his Treatise before mentioned; which Fontenelle recommends as one of the most agreeable and useful Books in the French Tongue: We have nothing like it in English, or in any other Language antient or modern, Wit and Humour, Wit and good Sense, Wit and Wisdom, Wit and Reason, Wit and Craft; nay, Wit and Philosophy, are with us almost the same things. How often have I heard it said, there is a great Deal of Wit in Homer, a great Deal of Humour in Virgil. We take all Thoughts in the Gross; the Sublime, the Grand, the Noble, the Pretty, the Agreeable, the Fine, the Delicate, are all alike witty with us; and the Vulgar are ignorant of all other Distinction, but that of a Jest and a Bull. Sir Samuel Garth, who was extreamly fond of Father Bouhours's Treatise, did often wish that it was translated, and the Examples the French Critick takes from Greek, Latin, Italian, Spanish and French Authors, not to be turned into English, but English Examples to be put instead of them. I am satisfied nothing would be of more Advantage towards the Refinement of our Manner, both of Thinking and Writing. I know the Undertaking would be very difficult, and the greatest Part of the Difficulty be to preserve the Spirit and Turn of Thought in the English Examples, to make it answer Father Bouhours's Remarks. Who is there, that does not take a sublime Thought, a noble Thought, a grand Thought, to be synonymous Terms, though they differ from one another, almost as much as from the Agreeable and the Delicate. I am my self afraid to attempt any Thing like Examples of Kinds, and probably my Conceptions of them may be wrong; what they are I shall offer them to the Reader, with the Caution and Submission which becomes me in a Matter so intricate and nice.

The first Example of the Sublime is so well known, that if there was any other so good in any other Author, I should not have made use of it. It is in the 7th Chapter of Longinus. We will not borrow it from Boileau, because we are forbidden by the Spectator to make Use of a Quotation which has been made Use of before. Dr. Gregory, in the Preface to his Works, printed about sixty Years ago, at what Time Boileau had not thought of translating Longinus, writes thus: Dionysius Longinus, one that knew what belonged to Expression; having first of all cast a Scorn upon his Homer. The Translator does not dwell much upon this, says Τῶν Ιουδαιων θεσμοθέτης that the Law-givers of the Jews, Ὀυχ ὁ τυχὼν ἀνὴρ, no ordinary Man, was in the Right when he brought in his God, saying, Γενέσθω φῶς, καὶ ἐγενετο

Let there be Light,
And there was Light.

But least it may be said, the Spectator has entered a Caveat against my using any Quotation, which he or any one else had used, I shall add another Instance of the Sublime taken out of the same divine Book the Bible, that has not been blown upon:

He spake,
And it was:
He commanded,
And it stood firm.

The whole Psalm xxxiiid is full of the Sublime:

By the Word of the Lord were the Mountains made,
And all the Host of them by the Breath of his Mouth.

What in all profane Learning comes up to the Sublime in the xxxviiith Chapter of Job, where the Almighty is introduced speaking to him out of the Whirlwind:

Gird up thy Loins like a Man, for I will demand of thee.
Where wast thou when I laid the Foundations of the Earth?
Declare, If thou hast Understanding.
Who laid the Measures thereof?
Who hath stretched the Line upon it?
Whereupon are the Foundations thereof fastened? or,
Who laid the Corner Stone?
When the Morning Stars sang, and the Sons of God shouted for Joy!

Happily imitated by Milton.

————Up he rode,
Follow'd with Acclamations, and the Sound
Symphonious of ten thousand Harps, that tuned
Angelick Harmonies, the Earth, the Air
Resounding. Thou rememberest; for thou heardest
The Heavens, and all the Constellations ring:
The Planets in their Stations listening stood,
While the bright Pomp ascended jubilant.
Open ye everlasting Gates: They sung,
Open ye Heavens, your living Doors; Let in
The great Creator from his Work returned
Magnificent, his Six Days Work, a World.

Of the sublime Kind is the Ode in the Spectator, N^o 465; being a Paraphrase on that of the Psalmist. The Heavens declare:

The spacious Firmament on high,
With all the blue Ethereal Sky;
And spangled Heavens, a shining Frame,
Their great Original proclaim.

Some very scrupulous Persons may be apt to object against the third Line as an Anteclimax, the spangled Heavens having much more Lustre than shining Frame. The following Stanza is extreamly sublime:

What tho' in solemn Silence all
Move round the dark terrestrial Ball;
What tho', nor real Voice, nor Sound
Amid their radiant Orbs be found,
In Reason's Ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious Voice;
For ever singing as they shine,
The Hand that made me is divine.

I cannot omit here some Lines of Mr. Waller's upon the Holy Scriptures, where there is more of the Sublime than in all other Books whatsoever.

The Græcian Muse has all their gods surviv'd,
Nor Jove at us, nor Phœbus is arriv'd;
Frail Deities, which first the Poets made,
And then invok'd to give their Fancies Aid.
Yet, if they still divert us with their Rage,
What may be hop'd for in a better Age,
When not from Helicon's imagin'd Spring,
But sacred Writ we borrow what we sing?
This with the Fabrick of the World begun
Elder than Light, and shall out-last the Sun.

There are not ten finer Verses together in Mr. Waller's Poems, yet he wrote them when he was above fourscore Years old.

Are not these two Verses of a Manuscript Poem in the sublime Kind? the young Author, a Lad at Eaton School, wrote it on the Birth of his Royal Highness the Duke of Cumberland:

Gods how he springs like Whirlwinds charg'd with Fire,
He lays War waste, and Makes the World retire.

And these Verses out of Tamerlane:

The dreadful Business of the War is over,
And Slaughter, that from yester Morn till Even,
With Gyant Steps past striding o'er the Field
Besmear'd, and horrid with the Blood of Nations,
Now weary sits among the mangled Heaps,
And slumbers o'er her Prey.

I cou'd easily fill many Volumes of Quotations out of the Antients and Moderns, in all the Kinds of Thinking; but as I am doubtful of the Success of my Attempt, so the Fewer I insert, the Less I shall offend.

The French perhaps have been a little too scrupulous and exact in dividing the Noble and the Grand in the Manner of Thinking. However, as to the Noble, let us see whether this Passage borrow'd of Scripture by Milton, will not serve for an Instance:

All Night he will pursue, but his Approach,
Darkness defends between till Morning Watch,
Then thro' the fiery Pillar and the Cloud,
God looking forth will trouble all his Host,
And craze their Chariot Wheels; when, by Command,
Moses once more, his potent Rod erects
Over the Sea: The Sea his Rod obeys
On their embattled Ranks, the Waves return,
And overwhelm their War.

There would be no End of it, if one should go about to enumerate such Instances as these out of Milton. His Poem of Paradise lost is so full of them, that almost out of one Book one might collect as many such noble Passages, as out of all the Æneis; and I would add the Ilias too, if I understood Greek half so well as the Translator.

Among the many Sketches of the glorious Character of King William in that of Tamerlane, Mr. Row has this, which I take to be a very noble Image:

No Lust of Rule, the common Vice of Kings;
No furious Zeal inspir'd by hot-brain'd Priests:
Ill hid beneath Religions specious Name,
E'er drew his temp'rate Courage to the Field.
But to redress an injur'd Peoples Wrongs,
To save the weak One from the strong Oppressour
Is all his End of War; and when he draws
The Sword to punish, like relenting Heav'n,
He seems unwilling to deface Mankind.

The Opposition in the following Passage, carries with it its own Application:

————As oft regardless
Of plighted Faith, with most unkingly Baseness
Without a War proclaim'd, or Cause pretended,
He has t'ane Advantage of their absent Arms
To waste with Sword and Fire their fruitful Fields,
Like some accursed Fiend, who 'scap'd from Hell,
Poisons the balmy Air thro' which he flies,
He blasts the bearded Corn, and loaded Branches,
The lab'ring Hind's best Hopes, and marks his Way with Ruin.

Is there not something noble in what Mr. Waller says to the Duke of Monmouth, at his Return from suppressing a Rebellion in Scotland:

But seeing Envy like the Sun does beat,
With scorching Rays, on all that's high and great,
This, ill requited Monmouth, is the Bough
The Muses send to shade thy conqu'ring Brow;
Lampoons like Squibs may make a present Blaze,
But Time and Thunder pay Respect to Bays.

I hope I may make Use of Part of Mr. Addison's Translation of the Justum & Tenacem of Horace. The Translator having done me the Honour to render it in English at my Request:

The Man resolv'd and steady to his Trust,
Inflexible to Ill, and obstinately just;
May the rude Rabble's Insolence despise
Their senseless Clamours, and tumultuous Cries.
The Tyrant's Fierceness he beguiles.
And the stern Brow, and the harsh Voice defies,
And with superiour Greatness smiles.

Again,

Should the whole Frame of Nature round him break
In Ruin and Confusion hurl'd,
He unconcern'd would hear the mighty Crack,
And stand secure amidst a falling World.

Si fractus illabatur Orbis,
Impavidum ferient Ruinæ.

Is not this noble Thought the Original of that which ends the noted Siloloquy of Cato:

The Soul secure in his Resistance smiles
At the drawn Dagger, and defies its Point:
The Stars shall fade away, the Sun himself
Grow dim with Age, and Nature sink in Years?
But thou shalt flourish in immortal Youth,
Unhurt amidst the War of Elements,
The Wrecks of Matter, and the Crush of Worlds.

The two Verses quoted out of Horace:

Si fractus, &c.

are not so well imitated by the Gentleman that turned Cato's Siloloquy into Latin, as to defy a Comparison;

Orbesque fractis ingerentur orbibus
Illæsa tu sedebis extra fragmina

But not to be always running back to the Antients, let us have Recourse to the Moderns, particularly Quillet, and we shall find something in this Kind of Thinking. Tons. Callip. p. 72.

As far as thou may'st Nature's Depths explore
Still inexhaustible, thou find'st the Store;
Thee let the Order she observes suffice,
What Laws controul our Earth, and what the Skies.
Mark how a thousand starry Orbs on high
Around the Void with equal Motion fly;
Mark how the huge Machine one Order keeps,
And how the Sun th' Etherial Champian sweeps.
Both Earth and Air with genial Heat he warms,
Gives ev'ry Grace, and every Beauty forms;
Whether around the lazy Globe he rolls.
Or Earth is whirl'd about him on her Poles;
God is the Mover, God the living Soul,
That made, that acts, that animates the Whole.
Hence with thy Atoms, Epicurus; hence:
Was all this wond'rous Frame the Sport of Chance!
Of Solids, they, 'tis true, the Matter make,
Can Matter from itself its Figure take!
Can the bright Order in the World we see,
The blind Effect of wanton Fortune be!
Did jumbling Atoms form the various Kind
Of Beings, or did one Almighty Mind?
Guess what you will, you must at last resort
To a first Cause, and not to Chance's Sport.
This Cause is God————

I must not omit this Noble Thought of Milton's:

Then crown'd, again their golden Harps, they took
Harps ever tun'd, that glitt'ring by their Side
Like Quivers hung, and with Preamble sweet
Of charming Symphony, they introduce
The sacred Song, and waken Raptures high:
No one exempt, no Voice but well cou'd joyn
Melodious Part, such Concord is in Heav'n.

Having mention'd so many noble Thoughts in Verse, I shall conclude this Article, with a very plain but very noble one in Prose, the Saying of Leonidas to Xerxes: If you had not been too powerful and too happy, you might have been an honest Man.

Tho' it is a very hard Matter to distinguish the Grand from the Noble in the Manner of Thinking, yet we shall endeavour it by the following Examples; and sure nothing can be more Grand, than the Saying of Alexander the Great, to the Greatest of his Captains Parmenio, Darius, King of Persia, having offer'd the Macedonian Monarch half Asia in Marriage with his Daughter Statira. As for me, says Parmenio, if I were Alexander, I would accept of these Offers: And so would I, reply'd that Prince, If I were Parmenio. But why should we be always dealing in Heroicks, and running back into Antiquity to borrow Example from the Conquerors of the World. Why may not we propose one in the lowest Life, which will at the same Time prove, that the Excellencies of both Thought and Expression are in Nature, and not in the Rules of Art only. A Sergeant of the Guards, What a terrible Fall is this, from Alexander the Great, to a Sergeant of the Guards! who was in the last Attack upon the Castle of Namur in King William's War, after he had fir'd his Grenades at the Enemy behind the Palisadoes, leapt over them, and had been slaughter'd, had not a French Officer prevented it. The Sergeant being a Prisoner in the Castle was sent for by the Governour Count Guiscard, and the Mareschal de Boufflers. The Latter demanding how he durst attempt to leap the Palisadoes with the Enemy behind them, when he could hardly have done it had there been none? Perhaps, Sir, I might not, reply'd the brave English Soldier, but there is nothing too difficult for me to come at my Enemy. A Saying worthy of Alexander or Cæsar, of Marlborough or Eugene.

I have seen something like these Verses of Mr. Waller's, quoted as in the grand Way of Thinking:

Great Maro could no greater Tempest feign,
When the loud Winds usurping on the Main,
For angry Juno labour'd to destroy
The hated Relicks of confounded Troy.

But the Image, as grand as it is, does not seem to be so noble as the Instances before-mentioned; there is too much Terrour in it to participate of that Kind of Thought, which is not confident with what is terrible.

I cannot help thinking there is something Grand in this Epitaph:

Underneath this Marble Hearse,
Lies the Subject of all Verse;
Sidney's Sister, Pembroke's Mother,
Death 'ere thou hast kill'd another,
Fair and learn'd, and good as she,
Time shall throw a Dart at thee.

To descend to the lower Kinds, we meet with what Father Bouhours calls Pensées Jolliées pretty Thoughts; and we have of that Kind too in English, perhaps to a greater Degree of Excellence, than is to be found in any other Language; especially those Verses in the Spectator, which are said there to be Originals, as indeed they are, and inimitable. I question whether a Poet might not as easily imitate Milton or Butler. There are ten Stanza's, and they all of a like pretty, and natural Turn with the

IIId Stanza.

The Fountain that wont to run sweetly along,
And dance to soft Murmurs the Pebbles among;
Thou know'st little Cupid, if Phœbe was there,
'Twere Pleasure to look at, 'twere Musick to hear:
But now she is absent I walk by its Side,
And still as it murmurs do nothing but chide;
Must you be so chearful, while I go in Pain,
Peace there with your Bubbling, and hear me complain.

How the French may compare with us, as to this pretty Manner, let us see by a Comparison. Menage says, that this Triolet, as he calls it, a Sort of low Poetry where one or two Verses are repeated three Times, was the King of Triolet's, and written by the famous Mons. Ranchin:

Le premier Jour de May
Fut le plus Heureux de ma Vie,
Le beau Design que je formay
Le premier Jour de May.

The first Day of the Month of May
Was the Happiest of my Life,
Ah the fair Design I form'd
The first Day if the Month of May.
Then saw you, then I lov'd,
If you like this fair Design,
The first Day of the Month of May
Was the Happiest of my Life.

Now let us see what an English Poet has said on the First of May; and tho' there is in it hardly any Thing but Words, and those Words rustick to Affectation; yet they are Prettiness itself compared to Mons. Ranchin's Guardian, N^o 124:

I.

Oh the charming Month of May,
Oh the charming Month of May,
When the Breezes fan the Treeses,
Full of Blossoms fresh and gay.

II.

Oh what Joys our Prospects yield!
Charming Joys our Prospects yield!
In a new Livery, &c.

III.

Oh how fresh the Morning Air!
Charming fresh the Morning Air! &c.

Tho' there is little Meaning here, yet the Dancing of the Words and the Sprightliness of the Images, make it a prettier Lyrick than our Italian Opera's can produce.

According to my Conception nothing can be prettier than this Thought of Buchanan.

Ilia mihi semper presenti dura Neæra;
Me, quoties absum, semper abesse dolet;
Non desiderio, nostro non mœret Amore,
Sed se non nostro posse Dolore frui.

Cruel, when I am present, she appears;
As often as I'm absent she's in Tears:
Not that Neæra wishes my Return,
To see me love her, but to see me mourn.

These Verses of Mr. Waller are, methinks, as pretty as they are gallant:

Phillis, why should we delay
Pleasures shorter than the Day!
Cou'd we, which we never can,
Stretch our Lives beyond their Span;
Beauty like a Shadow flies,
And our Youth before us dies.
Or would Youth and Beauty stay,
Love hath Wings, and will away.
Love hath swifter Wings than Time, &c.

Notice has been taken of the Prettiness of these Verses in Dryden's Fable of the Cock and the Fox.

The Cock speaks to his Wife Dame Partlet:

————See my Dear
How lavish Nature hath adorn'd the Year;
How the pale Primrose and the Violet spring,
And Birds essay their Throats, disus'd to sing:
All these are ours, and I with Pleasure see
Man strutting on two Legs, and aping me.

Madam Dacier takes Notice of a very pretty Circumstance in Sappho's Hymn to Venus, translated into Latin by Catullus, and into English by Mr. Philips.

Thou once didst leave Almighty Jove,
And all the golden Roofs above:
The Carre thy wanton Sparrows drew,
Hov'ring in Air, they lightly flew.
As to my Bow'r, they wing'd their Way
I saw their quiv'ring Pinions play:
The Birds dismist, while you remain,
Bore back their empty Carre again.

The Circumstance that renders it so pretty, according to the Critical Lady, is Venus's dismissing her Sparrows and her Carre, and shewing she did not intend to make Sappho a Court-Visit, but to dwell with her some Time. There's another Ode of Sappho, which is preserved in Longinus, and translated by Boileau. It is in the sublime Kind, and shews the Violence of Love.

From Vein to Vein I feel a subtle Flame,
When e'er I see thee, run thro' all my Frame:
And as the Transport seizes on my Mind,
I'm dumb, and neither Tongue nor Voice can find.
A Mist of Pleasure o'er my Eyes is spread,
I hear no more, and am to Reason dead;
Pale, breathless, speechless, I expiring lie,
I burn, I freeze, I tremble, and I die.

In the Spectator, N^o 388. is a Paraphrase on the second Chapter of Solomon's Song.

Stanza IV.

I faint, I dye, my lab'ring Breast
Is with the mighty Weight of Love opprest.
I feel the Fire possess my Heart,
And Pain convey'd to ev'ry Part:
Thro' all my Veins the Passion flyes,
My feeble Soul forsakes its Place;
A trembling Faintness seals my Eyes,
And Paleness dwells upon my Face.

To descend again to the lower Kinds of Thinking, I shall conclude the Pretty with these Verses of Mr. Prior's on the Squirrel in the Cage:

Mov'd in the Orb, pleas'd with the Chimes,
The foolish Creature thinks he climbs.
Bus here or there, turn Wood or Wire
He never gets two Inches higher.
So fares it with those merry Blades,
That frisk it under Pindus Shades.
In noble Songs, and lofty Odes,
They tread on Stars, and talk with gods;
Still dancing in an airy Round,
Still pleas'd with their own Verses Sound;
Brought back how fast soe'er they go,
Always aspiring, always low.

Agreeable Thoughts may be also reckon'd among the Natural, the Soft, and the Tender; all which in the general Acceptation, are also taken for Wit. This Speech of Eve's to Adam in the Paradice Lost, has an Agreeableness which cannot be match'd in the most Tender of our Lyrick or Elegiac Poets:

With thee conversing, I forget all Time,
All Seasons and their Change, all please alike:
Sweet is the Breath of Morn, her Rising sweet
With Charm of earliest Birds, pleasant the Sun
When first on this delightful Land he spreads
His orient Beams, on Herb, Tree, Fruit and Flow'r,
Glistring with Dew: Fragrant the fertile Earth
After soft Show'rs, and sweet the Coming on
Of grateful Evening mild: Then silent Night
With this her solemn Bird, and this fair Moon,
And these the Gems of Heaven, her starry Train.
But neither Breath of Morn, when she ascends
With Charm of earliest Birds; nor rising Sun
On this delightful Land, nor Herb, Fruit, Flow'r,
Glistring with Dew, nor Fragrance after Showers,
Nor grateful Evening mild, nor silent Night
With this her solemn Bird; nor walk by Moon,
Or glittering Star Light, without thee is sweet.

To speak poetically one would think every Verse was turn'd and polish'd by the Loves and the Graces. Indeed all the Conversation between the first Bridegroom and his Bride, in this Poem, is exquisitely agreeable and tender, except the very Incident of the Fall.

I take the Verses in Waller, address'd to Amoret, to be of the agreeable Kind:

Fair, that you may truly know
What you unto Thyrsis owe;
I will tell you how I do
Sacharissa love, and you.

Joy salutes me, when I set
My blest Eyes on Amoret;
But with Wonder I am strook;
While I on the Other look.

If sweet Amoret complains,
I have Sense of all her Pains:
But for Sacharissa I
Do not only grieve, but die. &c.

I could give many Instances of agreeable Thoughts but of Dryden's Fables, especially that of Cymon and Iphigenia, which had been taken notice of long enough before the Spectator was thought of; and I do not think it fair, that he should engross all the Beaux Endroits, because he printed them first. The Rusticity of Cymon, and even his Stupidity, has something in it very agreeable in the Image, which is the pure Nature that we meet with there:

It happen'd on a Summer's Holy-day,
That to the Greenwood Shade he took his Way;
His Quarter-Staff, which he cou'd ne'er forsake,
Hung half before, and half behind his Back;
He trudg'd along unknowing what he sought,
And whistled as he went for Want of Thought.

There is not a more natural Picture in Language than this. Of the same Kind is that of Iphigenia sleeping by the Fountain: The very Numbers express the Wantonness of the Wind so livelily, that we feel the Air, and are fanned by it while we read them, which I think has had the good Luck to escape Observation:

Her Bosom to the View was only bare;

The fanning Wind upon her Bosom blows;
To meet the fanning Wind her Bosom rose;
The fanning Wind, and purling Streams continue her Repose.

}

Mr. Dryden was 68 Years old when he wrote this Fable, which I have always taken for a Master-piece, with Respect to natural Thoughts, which are always agreeable, and harmonious Numbers. The Reader will perceive, that I do not forbear quoting fine Passages, because they are in the Spectator. I cannot allow of his Forestalling the Market; and besides, I take his Example to be preferable to his Precept. Himself does not stick to quote even from himself; as,

N^o 91. Sidley has that prevailing gentle Art, &c.

And again,

N^o [400.] Sidley has that prevailing gentle Art, &c.

Guard 110. Motto——Non ego paucis,
Offendor maculis.

Spec. 291. Motto——Non ego paucis,
Offendor maculis.

This however I will declare in my own Behalf, that I have quoted nothing from him which he has quoted from Milton or Dryden, but what I had before collected my self as remarkable Passages in their several Kinds of Thinking.

What follows, taken out of Mr. Charles Hopkins's Verses to the Earl of Dorset, is of the agreeable Kind:

As Nature does in new-born Infants frame
With their first Speech their careful Forstrer's Name,
Whose needful Hands their daily Food provide,
And by whose Aid they have their Wants supply'd:
You are, my Lord, the Poet's earliest Theme,
And the first Word he speaks is Dorset's Name.

Were not the next Verses written on a Tomb Stone, they wou'd be very agreeable. They are Ben Johnson's:

Underneath this Stone doth lie
As much Virtue as cou'd die:
Which when alive did Vigour give
To as much Beauty as cou'd live.

Is not this Picture of Venus in Palamon and Arcite of the same Kind:

The Goddess self some noble Hand had wrought,
Smiling she seem'd, and full of pleasing Thought,
From Ocean, as she first began to rise,
And smooth'd the ruffled Waves, and clear'd the Skies.
She trod the Brine, all bare below the Breast,
And the green Waves, but ill conceal'd the Rest:
A Lute she held, and on her Head was seen
A Wreath of Roses red, and Myrtles green:
Her Turtles fan'd the buxom Air above,
And by his Mother stood an Infant Love
With Wings display'd.————

These Verses out of Dryden's St. Cecilia's Ode are very agreeable:

Softly sweet in Lydian Measures
Soon he sooth'd his Soul to Pleasures,
War, he sung, is Toil and Trouble,
Honour but an empty Bubble.
Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying;
If the World is worth thy Winning,
Think, Oh think, it worth enjoying.

But as the finest Meats are most apt to surfeit, so too many agreeable Thoughts together may flatten upon the Palate: And I shall only add an Instance in Prose, taken out of Mr. Waller's Letter to the Lady Lucy Sydney, on the Marriage of her Sister the Lady Dorothy, who was his Sacharissa.

May my Lady Dorothy, if we may yet call her so, suffer as much, and have the like Passion for this young Lord, whom she has preferred to the Rest of Mankind, as others have had for her; and may this Love before the Year goes about, make her taste of the first Curse impos'd upon Woman-kind, the Pains of becoming a Mother. May the First-born be none of her own Sex; and may she that always affected Silence and Retiredness, have the House fill'd with the Noise and Number of her Children. May she, at last, arrive at that great Curse much declin'd by fair Ladies, Old Age, &c.

Under the Character of Father Bouhours's fine Thoughts may be put these Verses of Mr. Waller's, alluding to his gallant Poems upon Sacharissa, and the Story of Phœbus and Daphne.

Yet what he sang in his immortal Strain,
Tho' unsuccessful, was not sung in Vain:
All but the Nymph that should redress his Wrong
Attend his Passion, and approve his Song;
Like Phœbus, thus acquiring unsought Praise,
He caught at Love, and fill'd his Arms with Bays.

Much of the same Kind is this of the Lord Landsdown's on the same Subject:

Thy Beauty, Sidney, like Achilles Sword,
Resistless stands upon as sure Record;
The foremost Herce, and the brightest Dame
Both sung alike shall have their Fate the same.

This Part of Mr. Prior's Prologue spoken before the late Queen, is in the fine Way of Thinking:

Let the young Austrian then her Terrours bear,
Great as he is, her Delegate in War.
Let him in Thunder speak to both his Spains,
That in these dreadful Isles a Woman reigns:
Whilst the bright Queen does on her Subjects show'r,
The gentle Blessings of her softer Pow'r,
Gives sacred Morals to a vicious Age,
To Temples Zeal, and Manners to the Stage;
Bids the chaste Muse without a Blush appear,
And Wit be that, which Heaven and she may hear.

Of what Kind shall we take this Image in Spencer to be:

His haughty Helmet, horrid all with Gold,
Both glorious Brightness and great Terrour bred;
For all the Crest a Dragon did enfold
With greedy Paws, and over all did spread
His golden Wings; his dreadful hideous Head,
Close couched on the Bever, seem'd to throw,
From flaming Mouth, bright Sparkles fiery red, &c.

This of Cowley is finely thought:

Now all the wide extended Sky,
And all th' harmonious Worlds on high,
And Virgil's sacred Work shall dye.

And this of Waller to Queen Henrietta Maria:

A brave Romance who would exactly frame,
First brings his Knight from some immortal Dame,
And then a Weapon and a flaming Shield,
Bright as his Mother's Eyes, he makes him wield.
None might the Mother of Achilles be,
But the fair Pearl and Glory of the Sea.
The Man to whom Great Maro gives such Fame,
From the high Bed of heavenly Venus came.
And our next Charles, whom all the Stars design
Like Wonders to accomplish, springs from thine.

And this to Zelinda:

Fairest Piece of well form'd Earth,
Urge not thus your haughty Birth;
The Pow'r, which you have o'er us, lies,
Not in your Race, but in your Eyes.

And these Verses of Mr. Addison to the Lord Hallifax:

Oh Liberty, thou Goddess heav'nly bright!
Profuse of Bliss, and Pregnant with Delight;
Eternal Pleasures in thy Presence reign,
And smiling plenty leads thy wanton Train.
Eas'd of her Load, Subjection grows more light,
And Poverty looks chearful in thy Sight:
Thou mak'st the gloomy Face of Nature gay,
Giv'st Beauty to the Sun, and Pleasure to the Day.

These four Verses, Part of the late Duke of Buckingham's Poem upon Hobbes, contain, as I conceive, a fine Thought:

But such the Frailty is of humane Kind,
Men toil for Fame, which no Man lives to find;
Long rip'ning under Ground this China lies;
Fame bears no Fruit, till the vain Planter dies.

But the next Verses contain a false Thought, if I have a Right Conception of it:

And Nature tir'd with his unusual Length
Of Life, which put her to her utmost Strength;
So vast a Soul, unable to supply,
To save herself, was forc'd to let him die.

Whatever it is we understand by Nature, we can have no such Idea of it, as to imagine Mr. Hobbes cou'd have been too hard for it.

These Verses of Mr. Waller, on Westminster-Abbey escaping a Fire, are finely imagined:

So Snow on Ætna does unmelted lie,
Whence rolling Flames, and scatter'd Cinders flie:
The distant Country in the Ruin shares,
What falls from Heaven the burning Mountain spares.

Tho' some of these fine Thoughts are very nearly allied to the Noble, yet one may easily perceive, that there is not so much Dignity, tho' there may be as much Beauty in the One as in the Other. Thus also, as to delicate and agreeable Thoughts, they are as nearly related; but a Thing may be agreeable which is not delicate, tho' it cannot be delicate, but it must be agreeable: An agreeable Thought expresses it self entirely; a delicate One leaves something to the Readers Imagination which is very flattering.

As in this beauteous old Verse of Chaucer's, preserv'd in Dryden's, Palamon and Arcite:

Uprose the Sun, and uprose Emily.

Had Chaucer said, Up rose the Sun, and then up rose Emily brighter than the Sun, Emily and the Reader would have been entertain'd with only a common Complement; but now the Reader fills up the Thought himself, and imagines that the Sun rose to prepare the Way for something brighter than himself: Up rose Emily.

Mr. Dryden, in another place,

Now Day appears, and with the Day the King,

imitates Chaucer, but the Delicacy is lost, for there is nothing more to be understood by it, as there is in this Couplet of his to the Dutchess of Ormond upon her going to Ireland before the late Duke,

As Ormond's Harbinger, to you they run,
For Venus is the Promise of the Sun.

There the Reader fills up the Comparison himself, and consequently cannot but be pleas'd, as we are apt to be, with every thing which we do our selves.

The Delicacy of Thought is recommended to us by the Spectator, in this beautiful Passage out of Milton, where after the most dismal Prospect of Death, which the Heart of Man was ever terrify'd with, Adam is presented with one of the gayest Scenes with which it ever was delighted.

——————When from the Tents, behold
A Beavy of fair Women richly gay,
In Jems and wanton Dress. To the Harp they sang
Soft amorous Ditties, and in Dance came on.
The Men, tho' Grave, ey'd them, and let their Eyes
Rove without Rein, 'till in the amorous Net
First caught they lik'd, and each his liking chose.
And now of Love they treat, till the Evening Star
Love's Harbinger appear'd; then all in Heat
They light the Nuptial Torch, and bid invoke
Hymen: Then first to Marriage Rights invok'd.
With Feast and Musick, all the Tents resound;
Such happy Interview, and fair Event
Of Love and Youth not lost: Songs, Garlands, Flowers,
And charming Symphonies attach the Heart
Of Adam.————

The Reader takes in the Infection all along in Reading as Adam does in seeing, and imagines at the End of the Description the Pleasure of Adam's Imagination.

Is there not Delicacy in these Verses of Mr. Wallers upon a Lady's Girdle, which leave the Reader much more to be imagin'd than is exprest.

No Monarch but would give his Crown,
His Arms might do what this has done.
My Joy, my Grief, my Hope, my Love,
Did all within this Circle move;
A narrow Compass, and yet there
Dwells all that's good, and all that's fair.
Give me but what this Ribbon bound,
Take all the Rest the Sun goes round.

Father Bouhours, in his Maniere de bien penser, besides these several Kinds of Thoughts, has the true, the beautiful, the soft, the natural, the simple, the gay, and many more, which has spun the Subject so very fine, that it will not endure handling but by very tender Fingers.

True Thoughts and false Thoughts are often confounded, especially, if there's any Point, Glittering or Glaring in the Latter. Something like distinguishing the one from the other is attempted in the Guardian, N^o 110. But I cannot help thinking that it does not deserve the Recommendation with which it is introduced in that Paper. We are told, the Remarks are very curious and just, and must of Consequence conclude, the Applause which the Author sinks, because 'twas in favour of himself, was so too. A very pretty Way of returning a Compliment which he could not accept of without Offence to his Modesty; but, I humbly conceive, the Remarks are not very curious, if they are just; the same having been made a Hundred times before the publishing of them in the critical Letter; and whoever would be at the Trouble of taking Dryden and Lee's Tragedies to pieces, would find enough of the like Curiosities.

The first is, Lee makes one of his Persons a Cartesian Philosopher, 2 or 3000 Years before Descartes was born: Why did not the Critick remember this too in the same Tragedy Oedipus?

————As oft I have at Athens seen,
The Stage arise, and the big Clouds descend.

Several Hundred Years before there was such a Thing heard of as a Stage at Athens.

The next Thing this Critick takes notice of, is Dryden's making Cleomenes a Copernican 2000 Years before Copernicus's Time. The Rest of the Criticisms turn upon the Improbability that Don Sebastian King of Portugal understood Latin, tho' he never prayed to God in any other Language; or that the Emperor of Barbary had ever heard of the Names of Bacchus, Cupid, Castor, and Pollux, or the Mufti of Archimedes, tho' we are credibly informed, that most of the Greek and Roman Learning was translated into Arabick; and it is well known that the Arabians were the greatest Encouragers of Arts and Sciences for three or four Centuries, when they were buried all over Christendom under the Rubbish of Monkery and Barbarism; and the Revivers of Learning were obliged to them for their Translations and Comments, which were turned into Latin out of Arabick. I have not only read of a Translation of Aristotle with Comments by Aben Rois, and of Euclid by Nassir Eddyn, with Notes, but of an Arabick Ovid, where the Fable is the Foundation of the Work, and several other Classicks in the Arabick Tongue. How easy would it be to fill up such Critical Epistles as that in the Guardian with as just and curious Remarks out of the best Epick Poets! How has Chaucer confounded the Sacred Scripture History with Pagan Fables:

There by the Fount Narcissus pin'd alone:
There Sampson was, and wiser Solomon:
Medea's Charms were there.

Dryden from Chauc.

Ariosto does the same in the xxxii Book of Orlando Furioso:

Joshua's Day seemed shorter than the same,
Shorter did seem the false Amphytrion's Night.

Harrington.

The same does Tasso, Canto iv of his Jierusamme:

There where Cileno's foul and loathsome Rout;
The Sphinges, Centaurs; there where Gorgon's fell,
There howling Scilla's, yawling round about:
There Serpents hiss, there seven mouth'd Hydra's yell,
Chimera there spues Fire and Brimstone out,
And Polyphemus blind suporteth Hell.

Fairfax.

All understood of the Hell, which is the Punishment of the Damned, according to the Christian Theology, and here confounded with the fabled Empire of Pluto. Spencer too mixes Scripture History with the Fable: Canto ix.

The Years of Nestor nothing were to his,
Ne yet Methusalem, tho' longest liv'd;
For he remembred both their Infancies.

Nay Milton himself adorns the Pandæmonium with Dorick Pillars, while Adam and Eve lived in the Bowers of Paradise before Man had a House to put his Head in:

————Pilasters round
Were set, and Dorick Pillars overlaid
With golden Architrave.

He also borrows the Rivers of the Hell of the Heathens for his Christian Poem: