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THE
WORKS
OF
RICHARD HURD, D.D.
LORD BISHOP OF WORCESTER.
VOL. I.

Printed by J. Nichols and Son,
Red Lion Passage, Fleet Street, London.

The Right Reverend RICHARD HURD, D. D. Lord Bishop of Worcester.

T. Gainsborough pinx. J. Hall sculp.

From the Original Picture in the Possession of her Majesty.

Published March 1^st. 1811. by T. Cadell & W. Davies, Strand, London.

THE
WORKS
OF
RICHARD HURD, D. D.
LORD BISHOP OF WORCESTER.
IN EIGHT VOLUMES.
VOL. I.

LONDON:
PRINTED FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, STRAND.
1811.

DATES
OF SOME OCCURRENCES
IN THE
LIFE OF THE AUTHOR.

The following Particulars, in the Author’s own hand-writing, and endorsed by him—“Some Occurrences in my Life. R. W.”—were found amongst his papers after his decease.

DATES
Of some Occurrences in my own Life.

A. D.

1719-20

Richard Hurd was born at Congreve, in the Parish of Penkrich, in the County of Stafford, January 13, 1719-20.

He was the second of three children, all sons, of John and Hannah Hurd; plain, honest, and good people; of whom he can truly say with the poet—

Si natura juberet, &c.

They rented a considerable farm at Congreve, when he was born; but soon after removed to a larger at Penford, about half way between Brewood and Wolverhampton in the same County.

There being a good Grammar School at Brewood, he was educated there under the Reverend Mr. Hillman, and, upon his death, under his successor, the Reverend Mr. Budworth—both well qualified for their office, and both very kind to him.

Mr. Budworth had been Master of the School at Rudgely; where he continued two years after his election to Brewood, while the School-house, which had been much neglected, was repairing. He was therefore sent to Rudgely immediately on Mr. Budworth’s appointment to Brewood, returned with him to this place, and continued under his care, till he went to the University.

He must add one word more of his second Master. He knew him well, when he afterwards was of an age to judge of his merits. He had been a scholar of the famous Mr. Blackwell of Derby, and afterwards bred at Christ’s College in Cambridge, where he resided till he had taken his M. A.’s degree. He understood Greek and Latin well, and had a true taste of the best writers in those languages. He was, besides, a polite, well-bred man, and singularly attentive to the manners, in every sense of the word, of his scholars. He had a warm sense of virtue and religion, and enforced both with a natural and taking eloquence. How happy, to have had such a man, first, for his school-master, and then for his friend.

1733

Under so good direction, he was thought fit for the University, and was accordingly admitted in Emanuel College, in Cambridge, October 3, 1733, but did not go to reside there till a year or two afterwards.

In this college, he was happy in receiving the countenance, and in being permitted to attend the Lectures, of that excellent Tutor, Mr. Henry Hubbard, although he had been admitted under another person.

1738-9

He took his B. A.’s degree in 1738-9.

1742

He took his M. A.’s degree, and was elected fellow in 1742.

Was ordained Deacon, 13th of June that year in St. Paul’s Cathedral, London, by Dr. Jos. Butler, Bishop of Bristol and Dean of St. Paul’s, on Letters Dimissory from Dr. Gooch, Bishop of Norwich.

1744

Was ordained Priest, 20 May 1744 in the Chapel of Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge, by the Bishop of Norwich, Dr. Gooch.

1749

He took his B. D.’s degree in 1749.

1750

He published the same year Remarks on Mr. Weston’s book on the Rejection of Heathen Miracles, and his Commentary on Horace’s Ars Poetica; which last book introduced him to the acquaintance of Mr. Warburton, by whose recommendation to the Bishop of London, Dr. Sherlock, he was appointed Whitehall Preacher in May 1750.

1751

He published the Commentary on the Epistle to Augustus in 1751.

1753

—the new edition of both Comments, with Dedication to Mr. Warburton, in 1753.

1755

—the Dissertation on the Delicacy of Friendship in 1755.

His Father died Nov. 27 this year, æt. 70.

1757

He published the Remarks on Hume’s Natural History of Religion in 1757.

Was instituted this year, Feb. 16, to the Rectory of Thurcaston, in the County of Leicester, on the presentation of Emanuel College.

1759

He published Moral and Political Dialogues 1759.

1762

He had the Sine-cure Rectory of Folkton, near Bridlington, Yorkshire, given him by the Lord Chancellor (Earl of Northington) on the recommendation of Mr. Allen, of Prior Park, near Bath, November 2, 1762.

He published the Letters on Chivalry and Romance this year.

1763

—Dialogues on Foreign Travel in 1763.

1764

And Letter to Dr. Leland of Dublin in 1964.

1765

He was made Preacher of Lincoln’s Inn, on the recommendation of Mr. Charles Yorke, &c. November 6, 1765.

1767

Was collated to the Archdeaconry of Gloucester, on the death of Dr. Geekie, by the Bishop, August 27, 1767.

1768

Was appointed to open the Lecture of Bishop Warburton on Prophecy in 1768.

He took the degree of D. D. at Cambridge Commencement this year.

1772

He published the Sermons on Prophecy in 1772.

1773

His Mother died Feb. 27, 1773, æt. 88.

1775

He was consecrated Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry, the 12th of February 1775.

1776

He published the 1st Volume of Sermons preached at Lincoln’s Inn, 1776.

And was made Preceptor to the Prince of Wales and his brother Prince Frederick, the 5th of June the same year.

Preached before the Lords, December 13, 1776, first Fast for the war.

1779

He lost his old and best friend, Bishop Warburton, June 7th, 1779.

1780

He published the 2d and 3d Volumes of Sermons in 1780.

These three Volumes were published at the desire of the Bench of Lincoln’s Inn.

1781

He was elected Member of the Royal Society of Gottingen, January 11, 1781.

The Bishop of Winchester [Dr. Thomas] died Tuesday, May 1, 1781. Received a gracious letter from his Majesty the next morning, by a special messenger from Windsor, with the offer of the See of Worcester, in the room of Bishop North, to be translated to Winchester, and of the Clerkship of the Closet, in the room of the late Bishop of Winchester.

On his arrival at Hartlebury Castle in July that year, resolved to put the Castle into complete order, and to build a Library, which was much wanted.

The Library was finished in 1782 1782 and furnished with a collection of books, late Bishop Warburton’s, and ordered by his Will to be sold, and the value given to the Infirmary at Gloucester 1783

To these, other considerable additions have been since made.

Archbishop Cornwallis died in 1783.

Had the offer of the Archbishoprick from his Majesty, with many gracious expressions, and pressed to accept it; but humbly begged leave to decline it, as a charge not suited to his temper and talents, and much too heavy for him to sustain, especially in these times.

The King was pleased not to take offence at this freedom, and then to enter with him into some confidential conversation on the subject. It was offered to the Bishop of London, Dr. Lowth, and refused by him, as was foreseen, on account of his ill health. It was then given to Dr. Moore, Bishop of Bangor.

1784

Added a considerable number of books to the new Library at Hartlebury in 1784.

1785

Confirmed Prince Edward [their Majesties’ 4th son] in the Chapel of Windsor Castle, May 14th, 1785.

Added more books to the Library this year. And put the last hand (at least he thinks so) to the Bishop of Gloucester’s Life, to be prefixed to the new edition of his works now in the press.

Confirmed Princess Augusta [their Majesties’ second daughter] in the Chapel of Windsor Castle, Dec. the 24th this year.

Preached in the Chapel the next day (Christmas day) and administered the Sacrament to their Majesties and the Princess Royal and Princess Augusta.

1786

Preached before the Lords the 30th of January 1786.

His Majesty was pleased this year to bestow a prebend of Worcester [vacant by the death of Dr. Young] on my Chaplain, Mr. Kilvert.

Preached before their Majesties and Royal Family in the Chapel of Windsor Castle, and administered the Sacrament to them, on Christmas day 1786.

1788

In the end of February this year, 1788, was published in seven volumes 4to a complete edition of the works of Bishop Warburton. The Life is omitted for the present.

March 13, 1788, a fine gold Medal was this day given me by his Majesty at the Queen’s House.

The King’s head on one side. The Reverse was taken from a Seal of mine[1], which his Majesty chanced to see, and approved.

The Die was cut by Mr. Burch, and the Medal designed for the annual Prize-Dissertation on Theological Subjects in the University of Gottingen.

July 12.

This summer the King came to Cheltenham to drink the waters, and was attended by the Queen, the Princess Royal, and the Princesses Augusta and Elizabeth. They arrived at Cheltenham in the evening of Saturday July the 12th, and resided in a house of Earl Falconberg. From Cheltenham they made excursions to several places in Gloucestershire and Worcestershire, and were every where received with joy by all ranks of people.

Aug. 2

On Saturday, August the second, They were pleased to visit Hartlebury, at the distance of thirty-three miles, or more. The Duke of York came from London to Cheltenham the day before, and was pleased to come with them. They arrived at Hartlebury at half an hour past eleven. Lord Courtoun, Mr. Digby (the Queen’s Vice-Chamberlain), Col. Gwin (one of the King’s Equerries), the Countesses of Harcourt and Courtoun, composed the suite. Their Majesties, after seeing the House, breakfasted in the Library; and, when they had reposed themselves some time, walked into the Garden, and took several turns on the Terrases, especially the Green Terras in the Chapel Garden. Here they shewed themselves to an immense croud of people, who flocked in from the neighbourhood, and standing on the rising grounds in the Park, saw, and were seen, to great advantage. The day being extremely bright, the shew was agreeable and striking. About two o’clock, their Majesties, &c. returned to Cheltenham.

Aug. 5.

On the Tuesday following, August the fifth, their Majesties, with the three Princesses, arrived at 8 o’clock in the evening at the Bishop’s Palace in Worcester, to attend the charitable meeting of the three Quires of Worcester, Hereford, and Gloucester, for the benefit of the widows and orphans of the poorer Clergy of those Dioceses; which had been fixed, in consequence of the signification of the King’s intention to honour that solemnity with his presence, for the 6th, 7th, and 8th of that month.

The next morning a little before 10 o’clock, the King was pleased to receive the compliments of the Clergy. The Bishop, in the name of himself, Dean and Chapter and Clergy of the Church and Diocese, addressed the King in the Great Hall, in a short speech[2], to which his Majesty was pleased to return a gracious answer. He had then the honour to address the Queen in a few words, to which a gracious reply was made; and they had all the honour to kiss the King’s and Queen’s hand.

Soon after 10, the Corporation, by their Recorder, the Earl of Coventry, addressed and went through the same ceremony of kissing the King’s hand. Then the King had a Levée in the Great Hall, which lasted till 11, when their Majesties, &c. walked through the Court of the Palace to the Cathedral, to attend divine Service and a Sermon. The Apparitor General, 2 Sextons, 2 Virgers, and 8 Beadsmen, walked before the King (as on great occasions they usually do before the Bishop); the Lord in waiting (Earl of Oxford) on the King’s right hand, and the Bishop in his lawn on the left. After the King, came the Queen and Princesses, attended by the Countesses of Pembroke and Harcourt (Ladies of the Bed-chamber), and the Countess of Courtown, and the rest of their Suite. At the entrance of the Cathedral, their Majesties were received by the Dean and Chapter in their Surplices and hoods, and conducted to the foot of the stairs leading to their seat in a Gallery prepared and richly furnished by the Stewards[3] for their use, at the bottom of the Church near the West window.

The same ceremony was observed the two following days, on which they heard sacred music, but without prayers or a sermon. On the last day Aug. 8th, the King was pleased to give £.200 to the charity: and in the evening attended a concert in the College Hall for the benefit of the Stewards.

Aug. 9

On Saturday morning, Aug. 9th, the King and Queen, &c. returned to Cheltenham.

During their Majesties’ stay at the Palace, they attended prayers in the Chapel of the Palace every morning (except the first, when the service was performed in the Church) which were read by the Bishop.

The King at parting was pleased to put into my hands for the poor of the City £.50, and the Queen £.50 more; which I desired the Mayor (Mr. Davis) to see distributed amongst them in a proper manner.

The King also left £.300 in my hands towards releasing the Debtors in the County and City Jails.

During the three days at Worcester, the concourse of people of all ranks was immense, and the joy universal. The weather was uncommonly fine. And no accident of any kind interrupted the mutual satisfaction, which was given, and received, on this occasion.

Aug. 16

On Saturday, August 16, the King and Royal Family left Cheltenham, and returned that evening to Windsor.

Nov. 1

In the beginning of November following, the King was seized with that illness, which was so much lamented. It continued 1789
Feb. 28 till the end of February 1789, when his Majesty happily recovered.

Mar. 15

Soon after I had his Majesty’s command to attend him at Kew; and on March 15, I administered the Sacrament to his Majesty at Windsor in the Chapel of the Castle, as also on Easter Sunday, April 12, April 12 and preached both days.

At the Sacrament of March 15, the King was attended only by three or four of his Gentlemen: On Easter-day, the Queen, Princess Royal, and Princesses Augusta and Elizabeth, with several Lords and Gentlemen and Ladies of the Court, attended the King to the Chapel, and received the Sacrament with him.

April 23

On April 23 [St. George’s Day] a public thanksgiving for the King’s recovery was appointed. His Majesty, the Queen, and Royal Family, with the two Houses of Parliament, &c. went in procession to St. Paul’s. The Bishop of London preached. I was not well enough to be there.

1790
May 28

May 28, 1790, the Duke of Montagu died. He was a nobleman of singular worth and virtue; of an exemplary life; and of the best principles in Church and State. As Governor to the Prince of Wales and Prince Frederick, he was very attentive to his charge, and executed that trust with great propriety and dignity. The Preceptor was honoured with his confidence: and there never was the least misunderstanding between them; or so much as a difference of opinion as to the manner in which the education of the Princes should be conducted.

In October 1790, I had the honour to receive from the King the present of two fine full-length pictures of his Majesty and the Queen, copied from those at the Queen’s House, St. James’s Park, painted by the late Mr. Gainsborough.

These pictures are put up in the great Drawing-room at the Palace in Worcester, and betwixt them, over the fire-place, is fixed an oval tablet of white marble with the following Inscription in Gold Letters.

“Hospes,
Imagines, quas contemplaris,
Augustorum Principum,
Georgii III, et Charlottæ Conjugis,
Rex ipse
Richardo Episcopo Vigorniensi
Donavit,
1790.”

1791
Sept. 17

My younger Brother, Mr. Thomas Hurd, of Birmingham, died on Saturday, Sept. 17, 1791.

1792
Dec. 6

My elder Brother, Mr. John Hurd, of Hatton, near Shifnal, died on Thursday, December 6, 1792.

1793
March 20

My noble and honoured friend, the Earl of Mansfield, died March 20, 1793.

1795
Jan. 19

My old and much esteemed friend, Dr. Balguy, Prebendary and Archdeacon of Winchester, died January 19, 1795.

Feb. 24

The Life of Bishop Warburton, which was sent to the press in Autumn last, was not printed off till the end of January, nor published till towards the end of February this year.

Dec. 1

Printed in the course of this year at the Kidderminster press a Collection of Bishop Warburton’s Letters to me, to be published after my death for the benefit of the Worcester Infirmary.—The edition consisted of 250 Copies, 4to—was finished at the press in the beginning of December.

1796
June 17 to 30

In the Summer of 1796 visited my Diocese in person, I have great reason to suppose for the last time; being in the 77th year of my age—fiat voluntas Dei!

Sept. 1

Mrs. Stafford Smith, late Mrs. Warburton, died at Fladbury, September 1, 1796.

1797
April 5

Mr. Mason died at Aston, April 5, 1797. He was one of my oldest and most respected friends. How few of this description now remain!

1799
Jan. 24

By God’s great mercy enter this day [24 Jan. 1799] into my 80th year. Ps. xc. 10. But see, 1 Cor. xv. 22. Rom. viii. 18. 1 Pet. i. 3-5. Χάρις τῷ Θεῷ ἐπὶ τῇ ἀνεκδιηγητῳ ἀυτοῦ δωρεᾷ. 2 Cor. ix. 15.

May 27 to
June 14

It pleased God that I was able this Summer to confirm over all parts of my Diocese.

1800
June 6 to 17

And to visit my Diocese in person once more in June 1800.—L. D.

1801
May 16

Lost my old and worthy friend Dr. Heberden, in the 91st or 92nd year of his age, May 16, 1801.

1802
June 15

Consecrated, on Tuesday the 15th of June, 1802, the new Church and Church-yard of Lower Eatington, near Shipston, in Warwickshire.

Aug. 5

My most deserving, unhappy, friend, Dr. William Arnald, died at Leicester, August 5, 1802.

1803
May 31 to
June 3

Visited my Diocese by Commission—Commissioners, Dr. Arnold, my Chancellor, and Dr. Evans, Archdeacon.

1804
July 25

St. James’ day, July 25, 1804, held an Ordination in Hartlebury Chapel—3 Deacons, 5 Priests—the last I can expect to undertake.

1805

Confirmations by the Bishop of Chester (Dr. Majendie.)
March 27, Stratford.March 27
28, Bromsgrove.28
29, Hales Owen.29

—by the Bishop of Hereford (Dr. Cornwall.)
June 14, Worcester June 14
15, Pershore15
17, Kidderminster17

1806

Visited my Diocese this year by Commission—

1807

1807, Sept. 26. The Prince of Wales visited Lady Downshire, at Ombersley Court this month. I was too infirm to wait upon him either at Ombersley or Worcester; but his Royal Highness was pleased to call at Hartlebury, on Saturday the 26th of Sept. 26 this month, attended by his brother the Duke of Sussex, and Lord Lake, and staid with me above an hour.

1808

1808, April 23. Granted a Commission to the Bishop of Chester, (Dr. Majendie,) to consecrate the new Chapel and burying-ground at Red-Ditch, in the parish of Tardebig; which was performed this day, Thursday, April 21, 1808, the proper officers of the Court, and two of my Chaplains attending.

To this short narrative (the last paragraph of which was written by the Author only five weeks before his death) little more will be added.

So late as the first Sunday in February before his death, though then declining in health and strength, he was able to attend his Parish Church, and to receive the Sacrament. Free from any painful or acute disorder, he gradually became weaker, but his faculties continued perfect. After a few days confinement to his bed, he expired in his sleep, on Saturday morning, May 28, 1808; having completed four months beyond his eighty-eighth year. He was buried in Hartlebury Church-yard, according to his own directions.

He had been Bishop of Worcester for almost twenty-seven years: a longer period than any Bishop of that See since the Reformation.

GENERAL CONTENTS.

CRITICAL WORKS.
VOL. I.

Q. HORATII FLACCI
EPISTOLAE
AD
PISONES,
ET
AUGUSTUM:
WITH AN ENGLISH
COMMENTARY AND NOTES:
TO WHICH ARE ADDED
CRITICAL DISSERTATIONS.

CONTENTS.

CONTENTS
OF
THE FIRST VOLUME.

TO
SIR EDWARD LITTLETON, Bart.

Dear Sir,

Having reviewed these Sheets with some care, I beg leave to put them into your hands, as a testimony of the respect I bear you; and, for the time that such things may have the fortune to live, as a monument of our friendship.

You see, by the turn of this address, you have nothing to fear from that offensive adulation, which has so much dishonoured Letters. You and I have lived together on other terms. And I should be ashamed to offer you even such a trifle as this, in a manner that would give you a right to think meanly of its author.

Your extreme delicacy allows me to say nothing of my obligations, which otherwise would demand my warmest acknowledgements. For your constant favour has followed me in all ways, in which you could contrive to express it. And indeed I have never known any man more sensible to the good offices of his friends, and even to their good intentions, or more disposed, by every proper method, to acknowledge them. But you much over-rate the little services, which it has been in my power to render to you. I had the honour to be intrusted with a part of your education, and it was my duty to contribute all I could to the success of it. But the task was easy and pleasant. I had only to cultivate that good sense, and those generous virtues, which you brought with you to the University, and which had already grown up to some maturity under the care of a man, to whom we had both of us been extremely obliged; and who possessed every talent of a perfect institutor of youth in a degree, which, I believe, has been rarely found in any of that profession, since the days of Quinctilian.

I wish this small tribute of respect, in which I know how cordially you join with me, could be any honour to the memory of an excellent person[4], who loved us both, and was less known, in his life-time, from that obscure situation to which the caprice of fortune oft condemns the most accomplished characters, than his highest merit deserved.

It was to cherish and improve that taste of polite letters, which his early care had instilled into you, that you required me to explain to you the following exquisite piece of the best poet. I recollect with pleasure how welcome this slight essay then was to you; and am secure of the kind reception you will now give to it; improved, as I think it is, in some respects, and presented to you in this public way.—I was going to say, how much you benefited by this poet (the fittest of all others, for the study of a gentleman) in your acquaintance with his moral, as well as critical writings; and how successfully you applied yourself to every other part of learning, which was thought proper for you—But I remember my engagements with you, and will not hazard your displeasure by saying too much. It is enough for me to add, that I truly respect and honour you; and that, for the rest, I indulge in those hopes, which every one, who knows you, entertains from the excellence of your nature, from the hereditary honour of your family, and from an education in which you have been trained to the study of the best things.

I am,
Dear Sir,
Your most faithful and
most obedient Servant,
R. Hurd.
Eman. Coll. Camb.
June 21, 1757.

INTRODUCTION.

It is agreed on all hands, that the antients are our masters in the art of composition. Such of their writings, therefore, as deliver instructions for the exercise of this art, must be of the highest value. And, if any of them hath acquired a credit, in this respect, superior to the rest, it is, perhaps, the following work: which the learned have long since considered as a kind of summary of the rules of good writing; to be gotten by heart by every young student; and to whose decisive authority the greatest masters in taste and composition must finally submit.

But the more unquestioned the credit of this poem is, the more it will concern the public, that it be justly and accurately understood. The writer of these sheets then believed it might be of use, if he took some pains to clear the sense, connect the method, and ascertain the scope and purpose, of this admired epistle. Others, he knew indeed, and some of the first fame for critical learning, had been before him in this attempt. Yet he did not find himself prevented by their labours; in which, besides innumerable lesser faults, he, more especially, observed two inveterate errors, of such a sort, as must needs perplex the genius, and distress the learning of any commentator. The one of these respects the SUBJECT; the other, the METHOD of the Art of poetry. It will be necessary to say something upon each.

1. That the Art of poetry, at large, is not the proper subject of this piece, is so apparent, that it hath not escaped the dullest and least attentive of its critics. For, however all the different kinds of poetry might appear to enter into it, yet every one saw, that some at least were very slightly considered: whence the frequent attempts, the artes et institutiones poeticæ, of writers both at home and abroad, to supply its deficiencies. But, though this truth was seen and confessed, it unluckily happened, that the sagacity of his numerous commentators went no further. They still considered this famous epistle as a collection, though not a system, of criticisms on poetry in general; with this concession however, that the stage had evidently the largest share in it[5]. Under the influence of this prejudice, several writers of name took upon them to comment and explain it: and with the success, which was to be expected from so fatal a mistake on setting out, as the not seeing, “that the proper and sole purpose of the author, was, not to abridge the Greek critics, whom he probably never thought of; nor to amuse himself with composing a short critical system, for the general use of poets, which every line of it absolutely confutes; but, simply to criticize the Roman drama.” For to this end, not the tenor of the work only, but, as will appear, every single precept in it, ultimately refers. The mischiefs of this original error have been long felt. It hath occasioned a constant perplexity in defining the general method, and in fixing the import of particular rules. Nay its effects have reached still further. For, conceiving as they did, that the whole had been composed out of the Greek critics, the labour and ingenuity of its interpreters have been misemployed in picking out authorities, which were not wanted, and in producing, or, more properly, by their studied refinements in creating, conformities, which were never designed. Whence it hath come to pass, that, instead of investigating the order of the poet’s own reflexions, and scrutinizing the peculiar state of the Roman stage (the methods, which common sense and common criticism would prescribe) the world hath been nauseated with insipid lectures on Aristotle and Phalereus; whose solid sense hath been so attenuated and subtilized by the delicate operation of French criticism, as hath even gone some way towards bringing the art itself into disrepute.

2. But the wrong explications of this poem have arisen, not from the misconception of the subject only, but from an inattention to the METHOD of it. The latter was, in part, the genuin consequence of the former. For, not suspecting an unity of design in the subject, its interpreters never looked for, or could never find a consistency of disposition in the method. And this was indeed the very block upon which Heinsius, and, before him, Julius Scaliger, himself, stumbled. These illustrious critics, with all the force of genius, which is required to disembarrass an involved subject, and all the aids of learning, that can lend a ray to enlighten a dark one, have, notwithstanding, found themselves utterly unable to unfold the order of this epistle; insomuch, that Scaliger[6], hath boldly pronounced the conduct of it to be vicious; and Heinsius, had no other way to evade the charge, than by recurring to the forced and uncritical expedient of a licentious transposition. The truth is, they were both in one common error, That the poet’s purpose had been to write a criticism of the art of poetry at large, and not, as is here shewn, of the Roman drama in particular. But there is something more to be observed, in the case of Heinsius. For, as will be made appear in the notes on particular places, this critic did not pervert the order of the piece, from a simple mistake about the drift of the subject, but, also, from a total inapprehension of the genuin charm and beauty of the epistolary method. And, because I take this to be a principal cause of the wrong interpretations, that have been given of all the epistles of Horace; and it is, in itself, a point of curious criticism, of which little or nothing hath been said by any good writer, I will take the liberty to enlarge upon it.

The Epistle, however various in its appearances, is, in fact, but of two kinds; one of which may be called the Didactic; the other, the Elegiac epistle. By the FIRST I mean all those epistles, whose end is to instruct; whether the subject be morals, politics, criticism, or, in general, human life: by the LATTER, all those, whose end is to move; whether the occasion be love, friendship, jealousy, or other private distresses. If there are some of a lighter kind in Horace, and other good writers, which seem not reducible to either of these two classes, they are to be regarded only, as the triflings of their pen, and deserve not to be considered, as making a third and distinct species of this poem.

Now these two kinds of the epistle, as they differ widely from each other in their subject and end, so do they likewise in their original: though both flourished at the same time, and are both wholly Roman.

I. The former, or Didactic epistle, was, in fact, the true and proper offspring of the Satire. It will be worth while to reflect how this happened. Satire, in its origin, I mean in the rude fescennine farce, from which the idea of this poem was taken was a mere extemporaneous jumble of mirth and ill-nature. Ennius, who had the honour of introducing it under its new name, without doubt, civilized both, yet left it without form or method; it being only, in his hands, a rhapsody of poems on different subjects, and in different measures. Common sense disclaiming the extravagance of this heterogeneous mixture, Lucilius advanced it, in its next step, to an unity of design and metre; which was so considerable a change, that it procured him the high appellation of Inventor of this poem. Though, when I say, that Lucilius introduced into satire an unity of metre, I mean only, in the same piece; for the measure, in different satires, appears to have been different. That the design in him was one, I conclude, first, Because Horace expresly informs us, that the form or kind of writing in the satires of Lucilius was exactly the same with that in his own; in which no one will pretend, that there is the least appearance of that rhapsodical, detached form, which made the character of the old satire. But, principally, because, on any other supposition, it does not appear, what could give Lucilius a claim to that high appellation of Inventor of this poem. That he was the first, who copied the manner of the old comedy in satire, could never be sufficient for this purpose. For all, that he derived into it from thence, was, as Quinctilian speaks, libertas atque inde acerbitas et abunde salis. It sharpened his invective, and polished his wit, that is, it improved the air, but did not alter the form of the satire. As little can a right to this title be pleaded from the uniformity of measure, which he introduced into it. For this, without an unity of design, is so far from being an alteration for the better, that it even heightens the absurdity; it being surely more reasonable to adapt different measures to different subjects, than to treat a number of inconnected and quite different subjects in the same measure. When therefore Horace tells us, that Lucilius was the Inventor of the satire, it must needs be understood, that he was the FIRST, who, from its former confused state, reduced it into a regular consistent poem, respecting one main end, as well as observing one measure. Little now remained for Horace but to polish and refine. His only material alteration was, that he appropriated to the satire ONE, that is, the heroic metre.

From this short history of the satire we collect, 1. that its design was one: And 2. we learn, what was the general form of its composition. For, arising out of a loose, disjointed, miscellany, its method, when most regular, would be free and unconstrained; nature demanding some chain of connexion, and a respect to its origin requiring that connexion to be slight and somewhat concealed. But its aim, as well as origin, exacted this careless method. For being, as Diomedes observes, archææ comœdiæ charactere compositum, “professedly written after the manner of the old comedy,” it was of course to admit the familiarity of the comic muse; whose genius is averse from all constraint of order, save that only which a natural, successive train of thinking unavoidably draws along with it. And this, by the way, accounts for the dialogue air, so frequent in the Roman satire, as likewise for the looser numbers which appeared so essential to the grace of it. It was in learned allusion to this comic genius of the satire, that Mr. Pope hath justly characterized it in the following manner:

“Horace still charms with graceful negligence,
“And, without method, TALKS us into sense.”

2. It being now seen, what was the real form of the satire, nothing, it is plain, was wanting, but the application of a particular address, to constitute the didactic epistle: the structure of this poem, as prescribed by the laws of nature and good sense, being in nothing different from that of the other. For here 1. an unity of subject or design is indispensably necessary, the freedom of a miscellaneous matter being permitted only to the familiar letter. And 2. not professing formally to instruct (which alone justifies the severity of strict method) but, when of the gravest kind, in the way of address only to insinuate instruction, it naturally takes an air of negligence and inconnexion, such as we have before seen essential to the satire. All which is greatly confirmed by the testimony of one, who could not be uninformed in these matters. In addressing his friend on the object of his studies, he says,

sive
Liventem satiram nigra rubigine turpes,
Seu tua NON ALIA splendescat epistola CURA.
[Stat. lib. i. Sylv. Tiburt. M. V.]

plainly intimating, that the rules and labour of composition were exactly the same in these two poems. Though the critics on Statius, not apprehending this identity, or exact correspondence between the satire and epistle, have unnecessarily, and without warrant, altered the text, in this place, from ALIA into ALTA.

3. The general form and structure of this epistle being thus clearly understood, it will now be easy, in few words, to deduce the peculiar laws of its composition.

And 1. it cannot wholly divest itself of all method: For, having only one point in view, it must of course pursue it by some kind of connexion. The progress of the mind in rational thinking requires, that the chain be never broken entirely, even in its freest excursions.

2. As there must needs be a connexion, so that connexion will best answer its end and the purpose of the writer, which, whilst it leads, by a sure train of thinking, to the conclusion in view, conceals itself all the while, and leaves to the reader the satisfaction of supplying the intermediate links, and joining together, in his own mind, what is left in a seeming posture of neglect and inconnexion. The art of furnishing this gratification, so respectful to the sagacity of the reader, without putting him to the trouble of a painful investigation, is what constitutes the supreme charm and beauty of Epistolary Method.

II. What hath hitherto been advanced respects chiefly the didactic form. It remains to say something of that other species of the epistle, the Elegiac; which, as I observed, had quite another original. For this apparently sprung up from what is properly called the Elegy: a poem of very antient Greek extraction: naturally arising from the plaintive, querulous humour of mankind; which, under the pressure of any grief, is impatient to break forth into wailings and tender expostulations, and finds a kind of relief in indulging and giving a loose to that flow of sorrow, which it hath not strength or resolution wholly[7] to restrain. This is the account of the Elegy in its proper Greek form; a negligent, inconnected, abrupt species of writing, perfectly suited to an indolent disposition and passionate heart. Such was Ovid’s; who, taking advantage of this character of the elegy, contrived[8] a new kind of poetry, without the expence of much invention, or labour to himself. For, collecting, as it were, those scattered hints, which composed the elegy, and directing them to one principal view; and superadding a personal address, he became the author of what is here styled the Elegiac epistle; beautiful models of which we have in his Heroides, and the Epistles from Pontus. We see then the difference of this from the didactic form. They have both one principal end and point in view. But the Didactic, being of a cooler and more sedate turn, pursues its design uniformly and connects easily. The Elegiac, on the contrary, whose end is emotion, not instruction, hath all the abruptness of irregular disordered passion. It catches at remote and distant hints, and starts at once into a digressive train of thinking, which it requires some degree of enthusiasm in the reader to follow.

Further than this it is not material to my present design to pursue this subject. More exact ideas of the form and constitution of this epistle, must be sought in that best example of it, the natural Roman poet. It may only be observed of the different qualities, necessary to those, who aspire to excel in these two species: that, as the one would make an impression on the heart, it can only do this by means of an exquisite sensibility of nature and elegance of mind; and that the other, attempting in the most inoffensive manner, to inform the head, must demand, to the full accomplishment of its purpose, superior good sense, the widest knowledge of life, and, above all, the politeness of a consummate address. That the former was the characteristic of Ovid’s genius hath been observed, and is well known. How far the latter description agrees to Horace can be no secret to those of his readers who have any share, or conception of these talents themselves. But matters of this nicer kind are properly the objects, not of criticism, but of sentiment. Let it suffice then to examine the poet’s practice, so far only, as we are enabled to judge of it by the standard of the preceding rules.

III. These rules are reducible to three. 1. that there be an unity in the subject. 2. a connexion in the method: and 3. that such connexion be easy. All which I suppose to have been religiously observed in the poet’s conduct of this, i. e. the didactic epistle. For,

1. The subject of each epistle is one: that is, one single point is prosecuted through the whole piece, notwithstanding that the address of the poet, and the delicacy of the subject may sometimes lead him through a devious tract to it. Had his interpreters attended to this practice, so consonant to the rule of nature before explained, they could never have found an art of poetry in the epistle, we are about to examine.

2. This one point, however it hath not been seen[9], is constantly pursued by an uniform, consistent method; which is never more artificial, than when least apparent to a careless, inattentive reader. This should have stimulated his learned critics to seek the connexion of the poet’s own ideas, when they magisterially set themselves to transpose or vilify his method.

3. This method is every where sufficiently clear and obvious; proceeding if not in the strictest forms of disposition, yet, in an easy, elegant progress, one hint arising out of another, and insensibly giving occasion to succeeding ones, just as the cooler genius of this kind required. This, lastly, should have prevented those, who have taken upon themselves to criticize the art of poetry by the laws of this poem, from concealing their ignorance of its real views under the cover of such abrupt and violent transitions, as might better agree to the impassioned elegy, than to the sedate didactic epistle.

To set this three-fold character, in the fullest light, before the view of the reader, I have attempted to explain the Epistle to the Pisos, in the way of continued commentary upon it. And that the coherence of the several parts may be the more distinctly seen, the Commentary is rendered as concise as possible; some of the finer and less obvious connexions being more carefully observed and drawn out in the notes.

For the kind of interpretation itself, it must be allowed, of all others, the fittest to throw light upon a difficult and obscure subject, and, above all, to convey an exact idea of the scope and order of any work. It hath, accordingly, been so considered by several of the foreign, particularly the Italian, critics; who have essayed long since to illustrate, in this way, the very piece before us. But the success of these foreigners is, I am sensible, a slender recommendation of their method. I chuse therefore to rest on the single authority of a great author, who, in his edition of our English Horace, the best that ever was given of any classic, hath now retrieved and established the full credit of it. What was the amusement of his pen, becomes indeed, the labour of inferior writers. Yet, on these unequal terms, it can be no discredit to have aimed at some resemblance of one of the least of those merits, which shed their united honours on the name of the illustrious friend and commentator of Mr. Pope.

Q. HORATII FLACCI
ARS POETICA
EPISTOLA AD PISONES.

Humano capiti cervicem pictor equinam
Jungere si velit, et varias inducere plumas
Undique collatis membris, ut turpiter atrum
Desinat in piscem mulier formosa superne;
Spectatum admissi risum teneatis amici? 5
Credite, Pisones, isti tabulae fore librum
Persimilem, cujus, velut aegri somnia, vanae
Fingentur species; ut nec pes, nec caput uni
Reddatur formae. Pictoribus atque poetis
Quidlibet audendi semper fuit aequa potestas: 10
Scimus, et hanc veniam petimusque damusque vicissim:
Sed non ut placidis coëant inmitia; non ut
Serpentes avibus geminentur, tigribus agni.
Inceptis gravibus plerumque et magna professis
Purpureus, late qui splendeat, unus et alter 15
Adsuitur pannus: cum lucus, et ara Dianae,
Et properantis aquae per amoenos ambitus agros,
Aut flumen Rhenum, aut pluvius describitur arcus.
Sed nunc non erat his locus: et fortasse cupressum
Scis simulare: quid hoc, si fractis enatat exspes 20
Navibus, aere dato qui pingitur? amphora coepit
Institui, currente rota, cur urceus exit?
Denique sit quidvis; simplex dumtaxat et unum.
Maxima pars vatum, pater et juvenes patre digni,
Decipimur specie recti. Brevis esse laboro, 25
Obscurus fio: sectantem lenia nervi
Deficiunt animique: professus grandia turget:
Serpit humi tutus nimium timidusque procellae:
Qui variare cupit rem prodigialiter unam,
Delphinum silvis adpingit, fluctibus aprum. 30
In vitium ducit culpae fuga, si caret arte.
Aemilium circa ludum faber, unus et unguis
Exprimet, et mollis imitabitur aere capillos;
Infelix operis, summa: quia ponere totum
Nesciet. hunc ego me, si quid componere curem, 35
Non magis esse velim; quam naso vivere pravo,
Spectandum nigris oculis nigroque capillo.
Sumite materiam vestris, qui scribitis, aequam
Viribus; et versate diu, quid ferre recusent,
Quid valeant humeri. cui lecta potenter erit res, 40
Nec facundia deseret hunc, nec lucides ordo.
Ordinis haec virtus erit et venus, aut ego fallor;
Ut jam nunc dicat, jam nunc debentia dici
Pleraque differat et praesens in tempus omittat.
Hoc amet, hoc spernat, promissi carminis auctor. 45
In verbis etiam tenuis cautusque serendis;
Dixeris egregie, notum si callida verbum
Reddiderit junctura novum; si forte necesse est
Indiciis monstrare recentibus abdita rerum;
Fingere cinctutis non exaudita Cethegis 50
Continget: dabiturque licentia sumta pudenter.
Et nova factaque nuper habebunt verba fidem; si
Graeco fonte cadent, parce detorta, quid autem:
Caecilio Plautoque dabit Romanus, ademtum
Virgilio Varioque? ego cur adquirere pauca, 55
Si possum, invideor? quum lingua Catonis et Enni
Sermonem patrium ditaverit, et nova rerum
Nomina protulerit. licuit, semperque licebit
Signatum praesente nota procudere nummum.
Ut silvis folia privos mutantur in annos; 60
Prima cadunt: ita verborum vetus interit aetas,
Et juvenum ritu florent modo nata vigentque.
Debemur morti nos, nostraque: sive receptus
Terra Neptunus classis Aquilonibus arcet,
Regis opus; sterilisve palus prius aptaque remis 65
Vicinas urbis alit, et grave sentit aratrum:
Seu cursum mutavit iniquum frugibus amnis,
Doctus iter melius: mortalia cuncta peribunt:
Nedum sermonum stet honos, et gratia vivax.
Multa renascentur, quae jam cecidere; cadentque, 70
Quae nunc sunt in honore vocabula: si volet usus,
Quem penes arbitrium est, et jus, et norma loquendi.
Res gestae regumque ducumque, et tristia bella,
Quo scribi possent numero, monstravit Homerus.
Versibus inpariter junctis querimonia primum, 75
Post etiam inclusa est voti sententia compos.
Quis tamen exiguos elegos emiserit auctor,
Grammatici certant, et adhuc sub judice lis est.
Archilochum proprio rabies armavit iambo.
Hunc socci cepere pedem grandesque cothurni, 80
Alternis aptum sermonibus, et popularis
Vincentem strepitus, et natum rebus agendis.
Musa dedit fidibus Divos, puerosque Deorum,
Et pugilem victorem, et equum certamine primum,
Et juvenum curas, et libera vina referre. 85
Descriptas servare vices operumque colores,
Cur ego, si nequeo ignoroque, poeta salutor?
Cur nescire, pudens prave, quam discere malo?
Versibus exponi tragicis res comica non volt:
Indignatur item privatis ac prope socco 90
Dignis carminibus narrari coena Thyestae.
Singula quaeque locum teneant sortita decentem.
Interdum tamen et vocem comoedia tollit,
Iratusque Chremes tumido dilitigat ore.
Et tragicus plerumque dolet sermone pedestri. 95
Telephus aut Peleus, cum pauper et exul uterque,
Projicit ampullas et sesquipedalia verba,
Si curat cor spectantis tetigisse querela.
Non satis est pulchra esse poëmata; dulcia sunto,
Et quocunque volent, animum auditoris agunto. 100
Ut ridentibus adrident, ita flentibus adflent
Humani voltus. si vis me flere, dolendum est
Primum ipsi tibi: tunc tua me infortunia laedent.
Telephe, vel Peleu, male si mandata loqueris,
Aut dormitabo, aut ridebo. tristia moestum 105
Voltum verba decent; iratum, plena minarum;
Ludentem, lasciva; severum, seria dictu.
Format enim Natura prius nos intus ad omnem
Fortunarum habitum; juvat, aut inpellit ad iram,
Aut ad humum moerore gravi deducit, et angit: 110
Post effert animi motus interprete lingua.
Si dicentis erunt fortunis absona dicta,
Romani tollent equitesque patresque cachinnum.
Intererit multum, Divusne loquatur, an heros;
Maturusne senex, an adhuc florente juventa 115
Fervidus; et matrona potens, an sedula nutrix;
Mercatorne vagus, cultorne virentis agelli;
Colchus, an Assyrius; Thebis nutritus, an Argis.
Aut famam sequere, aut sibi convenientia finge,
Scriptor. Homereum si forte reponis Achillem; 120
Impiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer,
Jura neget sibi nata, nihil non arroget armis.
Sit Medea ferox invictaque, flebilis Ino,
Perfidus Ixion, Io vaga, tristis Orestes.
Si quid inexpertum scenae conmittis, et audes 125
Personam formare novam; servetur ad imum
Qualis ab incepto processerit, et sibi constet.
Difficile est proprie communia dicere: tuque
Rectius Iliacum carmen deducis in actus,
Quàm si proferres ignota indictaque primus. 130
Publica materies privati juris erit, si
Non circa vilem patulumque moraberis orbem;
Nec verbum verbo curabis reddere fidus
Interpres; nec desilies imitator in artum,
Unde pedem proferre pudor vetet aut operis lex. 135
Nec sic incipies, ut scriptor cyclicus olim:
Fortunam Priami cantabo, et nobile bellum.
Quid dignum tanto feret hic promissor hiatu?
Parturiunt montes: nascetur ridiculus mus.
Quanto rectius hic, qui nîl molitur inepte! 140
Dic mihi, Musa, virum, captae post moenia Trojae,
Qui mores hominum multorum vidit et urbis.
Non fumum ex fulgore, sed ex fumo dare lucem
Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinc miracula promat,
Antiphaten, Scyllamque, et cum Cyclope Charybdin. 145
Nec reditum Diomedis ab interitu Meleagri,
Nec gemino bellum Trojanum orditur ab ovo:
Semper ad eventum festinat; et in medias res,
Non secus ac notas, auditorem rapit; et quae
Desperat tractata nitescere posse, relinquit: 150
Atque ita mentitur, sic veris falsa remiscet,
Primo ne medium, medio ne discrepet imum.
Tu, quid ego et populus mecum desideret, audi;
Si fautoris eges aulaea manentis, et usque
Sessuri, donec cantor, Vos plaudite, dicat: 155
Aetatis cujusque notandi sunt tibi mores,
Mobilibusque decor naturis dandus et annis.
Reddere qui voces jam scit puer, et pede certo
Signat humum; gestit paribus colludere, et iram
Colligit ac ponit temere, et mutatur in horas. 160
Inberbus juvenis, tandem custode remoto,
Gaudet equis canibusque et aprici gramine campi;
Cereus in vitium flecti, monitoribus asper,
Utilium tardus provisor, prodigus aeris,
Sublimis, cupidusque, et amata relinquere pernix. 165
Conversis studiis, aetas animusque virilis
Quaerit opes et amicitias, inservit honori;
Conmisisse cavet quod mox mutare laboret.
Multa senem circumveniunt incommoda; vel quod
Quaerit, et inventis miser abstinet, ac timet uti; 170
Vel quòd res omnis timide gelideque ministrat,
Dilator, spe lentus, iners, pavidusque futuri;
Difficilis, querulus, laudator temporis acti
Se puero, castigator, censorque minorum.
Multa ferunt anni venientes commoda secum, 175
Multa recedentes adimunt: ne forte seniles
Mandentur juveni partes, pueroque viriles.
Semper in adjunctis aevoque morabimur aptis.
Aut agitur res in scenis, aut acta refertur:
Segnius inritant animos demissa per aurem, 180
Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, et quae
Ipse sibi tradit spectator. non tamen intus
Digna geri promes in scenam: multaque tolles
Ex oculis, quae mox narret facundia praesens:
Ne pueros coram populo Medea trucidet; 185
Aut humana palam coquat exta nefarius Atreus;
Aut in avem Procne vertatur, Cadmus in anguem.
Quodcunque ostendis mihi sic, incredulus odi.
Neve minor, neu sit quinto productior actu
Fabula, quae posci volt, et spectata reponi. 190
Nec Deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus
Inciderit: nec quarta loqui persona laboret.
Actoris partes chorus, officiumque virile
Defendat: neu quid medios intercinat actus,
Quod non proposito conducat et haereat apte. 195
Ille bonis faveatque et consilietur amice,
Et regat iratos, et amet pacare tumentis:
Ille dapes laudet mensae brevis, ille salubrem
Justitiam, legesque, et apertis otia portis:
Ille tegat conmissa; Deosque precetur et oret, 200
Ut redeat miseris, abeat fortuna superbis.
Tibia non, ut nunc, orichalco juncta, tubaeque
Aemula; sed tenuis, simplexque foramine pauco,
Aspirare et adesse choris erat utilis, atque
Nondum spissa nimis conplere sedilia flatu: 205
Quo sane populus numerabilis, utpote parvus
Et frugi castusque verecundusque coibat.
Postquam coepit agros extendere victor, et urbem
Laxior amplecti murus, vinoque diurno
Placari Genius festis inpune diebus; 210
Accessit numerisque modisque licentia major.
Indoctus quid enim saperet liberque laborum,
Rusticus urbano confusus, turpis honesto?
Sic priscae motumque et luxuriem addidit arti
Tibicen, traxitque vagus per pulpita vestem: 215
Sic etiam fidibus voces crevere severis,
Et tulit eloquium insolitum facundia praeceps;
Utiliumque sagax rerum, et divina futuri,
Sortilegis non discrepuit sententia Delphis.
Carmine qui tragico vilem certavit ob hircum, 220
Mox etiam agrestis Satyros nudavit, et asper
Incolumi gravitate jocum tentavit: eo quod
Inlecebris erat et grata novitate morandus
Spectator functusque sacris, et potus, et exlex.
Verum ita risores, ita commendare dicacis 225
Conveniet Satyros, ita vertere seria ludo;
Ne quicunque Deus, quicunque adhibebitur heros
Regali conspectus in auro nuper et ostro,
Migret in obscuras humili sermone tabernas:
Aut, dum vitat humum, nubes et inania captet. 230
Effutire levis indigna tragoedia versus,
Ut festis matrona moveri jussa diebus,
Intererit Satyris paulum pudibunda protervis.
Non ego inornata et dominantia nomina solum
Verbaque, Pisones, Satyrorum scriptor amabo: 235
Nec sic enitar tragico differre colori;
Ut nihil intersit, Davusne loquatur et audax
Pythias emuncto lucrata Simone talentum;
An custos famulusque Dei Silenus alumni.
Ex noto fictum carmen sequar: ut sibi quivis 240
Speret idem; sudet multum, frustraque laboret
Ausus idem: tantum series juncturaque pollet:
Tantum de medio sumtis accedit honoris.
Silvis deducti caveant, me judice, Fauni,
Ne velut innati triviis, ac pene forenses, 245
Aut nimium teneris juvenentur versibus umquam,
Aut inmunda crepent ignominiosaque dicta.
Offenduntur enim, quibus est equus, et pater, et res;
Nec, si quid fricti ciceris probat et nucis emtor,
Aequis accipiunt animis, donantve corona. 250
Syllaba longa brevi subjecta, vocatur Iambus,
Pes citus: unde etiam Trimetris adcrescere jussit
Nomen Iambeis, cum senos redderet ictus
Primus ad extremum similis sibi: non ita pridem,
Tardior ut paulo graviorque veniret ad auris, 255
Spondeos stabilis in jura paterna recepit
Commodus et patiens: non ut de sede secunda
Cederet, aut quarta socialiter. Hic et in Accî
Nobilibus Trimetris apparet rarus, et Ennî.
In scenam missus cum magno pondere versus, 260
Aut operae celeris nimium curaque carentis,
Aut ignoratae premit artis crimine turpi.
Non quivis videt immodulata poëmata judex:
Et data Romanis venia est indigna poetis.
Idcircone vager, scribamque licenter? ut omnis 265
Visuros peccata putem mea; tutas et intra
Spem veniae cautus? vitavi denique culpam,
Non laudem merui. Vos exemplaria Graeca
Nocturna versate manu, versate diurna.
At vestri proavi Plautinos et numeros et 270
Laudavere sales; nimium patienter utrumque
(Ne dicam stulte) mirati: si modo ego et vos
Scimus inurbanum lepido seponere dicto,
Legitimumque sonum digitis callemus et aure.
Ignotum tragicae genus invenisse Camenae 275
Dicitur, et plaustris vexisse poëmata Thespis
Qui canerent agerentque, peruncti faecibus ora.
Post hunc personae pallaeque repertor honestae
Aeschylos et modicis instravit pulpita tignis,
Et docuit magnumque loqui, nitique cothurno. 280
Successit vetus his Comoedia, non sine multa
Laude: sed in vitium libertas excidit, et vim
Dignam lege regi: lex est accepta; chorusque
Turpiter obticuit, sublato jure nocendi.
Nil intentatum nostri liquere poëtae: 285
Nec minimum meruere decus, vestigia Graeca
Ausi deserere, et celebrare domestica facta,
Vel qui Praetextas, vel qui docuere Togatas.
Nec virtute foret clarisve potentius armis,
Quam lingua, Latium; si non offenderet unum- 290
Quemque poëtarum limae labor et mora. Vos, ô
Pompilius sanguis, carmen reprehendite, quod non
Multa dies et multa litura coërcuit, atque
Praesectum decies non castigavit ad unguem.
Ingenium misera quia fortunatius arte 295
Credit, et excludit sanos Helicone poëtas
Democritus; bona pars non unguis ponere curat,
Non barbam: secreta petit loca, balnea vitat.
Nanciscetur enim pretium nomenque poëtae,
Si tribus Anticyris caput insanabile numquam 300
Tonsori Licino conmiserit. O ego laevus,
Qui purgor bilem sub verni temporis horam?
Non alius faceret meliora poëmata: verum
Nil tanti est. ergo fungar vice cotis, acutum
Reddere quae ferrum valet, exsors ipsa secandi. 305
Munus et officium, nil scribens ipse, docebo;
Unde parentur opes: quid alat formetque poëtam;
Quid deceat, quid non; quo virtus, quo ferat error.
Scribendi recte, sapere est et principium et fons.
Rem tibi Socraticae poterunt ostendere chartae: 310
Verbaque provisam rem non invita sequentur.
Qui didicit patriae quid debeat, et quid amicis;
Quo sit amore parens, quo frater amandus et hospes;
Quod sit conscripti, quod judicis officium; quae
Partes in bellum missi ducis; ille profecto 315
Reddere personae scit convenientia cuique.
Respicere exemplar vitae morumque jubebo
Doctum imitatorem, et vivas hinc ducere voces.
Interdum speciosa locis, morataque recte
Fabula, nullius veneris, sine pondere et arte, 320
Valdius oblectat populum, meliusque moratur,
Quam versus inopes rerum, nugaeque canorae.
Graiis ingenium, Graiis dedit ore rotundo
Musa loqui, praeter laudem, nullius avaris.
Romani pueri longis rationibus assem 325
Discunt in partis centum diducere. Dicas
Filius Albini, si de quincunce remota est
Uncia, quid superet, poterat dixisse, triens? Eu!
Rem poteris servare tuam. Redit uncia: quid fit?
Semis. An haec animos aerugo et cura peculî 330
Cum semel inbuerit, speramus carmina fingi
Posse linenda cedro, et levi servanda cupresso?
Aut prodesse volunt, aut delectare poëtae;
Aut simul et jocunda et idonea dicere vitae.
Quicquid praecipies, esto brevis: ut cito dicta 335
Percipiant animi dociles, teneantque fideles.
[Omne supervacuum pleno de pectore manat.]
Ficta voluptatis causa sint proxima veris:
Ne, quodcumque volet, poscat sibi fabula credi;
Neu pransae Lamiae vivum puerum extrahat alvo. 340
Centuriae seniorum agitant expertia frugis:
Celsi praetereunt austera poëmata Ramnes.
Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci,
Lectorem delectando, pariterque monendo.
Hic meret aera liber Sosiis, hic et mare transit, 345
Et longum noto scriptori prorogat aevum.
Sunt delicta tamen, quibus ignovisse velimus:
Nam neque chorda sonum reddit, quem volt manus et mens;
Poscentique gravem persaepe remittit acutum:
Nee semper feriet, quodcumque minabitur, arcus. 350
Verum ubi plura nitent in carmine, non ego paucis
Offendar maculis, quas aut incuria fudit,
Aut humana parum cavit natura. quid ergo est?
Ut scriptor si peccat idem librarius usque,
Quamvis est monitus, venia caret; ut citharoedus 355
Ridetur, chorda qui semper oberrat eadem:
Sic mihi qui multum cessat, fit Choerilos ille,
Quem bis terve bonum, cum risu miror; et idem
Indignor, quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus.
Verum operi longo fas est obrepere somnum. 360
Ut pictura, poësis: erit quae, si propius stes,
Te capiat magis; et quaedam, si longius abstes:
Haec amat obscurum; volet haec sub luce videri,
Judicis argutum quae non formidat acumen:
Haec placuit semel; haec decies repetita placebit. 365
O major juvenum, quamvis et voce paterna
Fingeris ad rectum, et per te sapis; hoc tibi dictum
Tolle memor: certis medium et tolerabile rebus
Recte concedi: consultus juris, et actor
Causarum mediocris; abest virtute diserti 370
Messallae, nec scit quantum Cascellius Aulus;
Sed tamen in pretio est: mediocribus esse poëtis
Non homines, non Dî, non concessere columnae.
Ut gratas inter mensas symphonia discors,
Et crassum unguentum, et Sardo cum melle papaver 375
Offendunt; poterat duci quia coena sine istis:
Sic animis natum inventumque poëma juvandis,
Si paulum summo decessit, vergit ad imum.
Ludere qui nescit, campestribus abstinet armis;
Indoctusque pilae, discive, trochive, quiescit; 380
Ne spissae risum tollant inpune coronae:
Qui nescit versus, tamen audet fingere. Quid nî?
Liber et ingenuus; praesertim census equestrem
Summam nummorum, vitioque remotus ab omni.
Tu nihil invita dices faciesve Minerva: 385
Id tibi judicium est, ea mens, si quid tamen olim
Scripseris, in Maecî descendat judicis auris,
Et patris, et nostras; nonumque prematur in annum,
Membranis intus positis. Delere licebit
Quod non edideris: nescit vox missa reverti. 390
Silvestris homines sacer interpresque Deorum
Caedibus et victu foedo deterruit Orpheus;
Dictus ob hoc lenire tigris rabidosque leones.
Dictus et Amphion, Thebanae conditor arcis,
Saxa movere sono testudinis, et prece blanda 395
Ducere quo vellet. fuit haec sapientia quondam,
Publica privatis secernere, sacra profanis;
Concubitu prohibere vago; dare jura maritis;
Oppida moliri; leges incidere ligno.
Sic honor et nomen divinis vatibus atque 400
Carminibus venit. post hos insignis Homerus
Tyrtaeusque mares animos in Martia bella
Versibus exacuit. dictae per carmina sortes,
Et vitae monstrata via est, et gratia regum
Pieriis tentata modis, ludusque repertus, 405
Et longorum operum finis; ne forte pudori
Sit tibi Musa lyrae solers, et cantor Apollo.
Natura fieret laudabile carmen, an arte,
Quaesitum est. Ego nec studium sine divite vena,
Nec rude quid possit video ingenium: alterius sic 410
Altera poscit opem res, et conjurat amice.
Qui studet optatam cursu contingere metam,
Multa tulit fecitque puer; sudavit et alsit;
Abstinuit venere et vino. qui Pythia cantat
Tibicen, didicit prius, extimuitque magistrum. 415
Nec satis est dixisse, Ego mira poëmata pango:
Occupet extremum scabies: mihi turpe relinqui est,
Et, quod non didici, sane nescire fateri.
Ut praeco, ad merces turbam qui cogit emendas;
Adsentatores jubet ad lucrum ire poëta 420
Dives agris, dives positis in foenore nummis.
Si vero est, unctum qui recte ponere possit,
Et spondere levi pro paupere, et eripere artis
Litibus inplicitum; mirabor, si sciet inter-
Noscere mendacem verumque beatus amicum. 425
Tu seu donaris seu quid donare voles cui;
Nolito ad versus tibi factos ducere plenum
Laetitiae; clamabit enim, Pulchre, bene, recte!
Pallescet: super his etiam stillabit amicis
Ex oculis rorem; saliet; tundet pede terram. 430
Ut qui conducti plorant in funere, dicunt
Et faciunt prope plura dolentibus ex animo: sic
Derisor vero plus laudatore movetur.
Reges dicuntur multis urguere culullis,
Et torquere mero quem perspexisse laborant 435
An sit amicitia dignus. si carmina condes,
Nunquam te fallant animi sub volpe latentes.
Quintilio si quid recitares: Corrige sodes
Hoc, aiebat, et hoc. melius te posse negares,
Bis terque expertum frustra? delere jubebat, 440
Et male ter natos incudi reddere versus.
Si defendere delictum, quam vertere, malles;
Nullum ultra verbum, aut operam insumebat inanem,
Quin sine rivali teque et tua solus amares.
Vir bonus et prudens versus reprehendet inertis; 445
Culpabit duros; incomptis adlinet atrum
Transverso calamo signum; ambitiosa recidet
Ornamenta; parum claris lucem dare coget;
Arguet ambigue dictum; mutanda notabit;
Fiet Aristarchus; non dicet, Cur ego amicum 450
Offendam in nugis? Hae nugae seria ducent
In mala derisum semel, exceptumque sinistre.
Ut mala quem scabies aut morbus regius urguet,
Aut fanaticus error, et iracunda Diana;
Vesanum tetigisse timent fugiuntque poëtam, 455
Qui sapiunt: agitant pueri, incautique sequuntur.
Hic, dum sublimis versus ructatur, et errat,
Si veluti merulis intentus decidit auceps
In puteum, foveamve; licet, Succurrite, longum
Clamet, io cives: non sit qui tollere curet. 460
Si curet quis opem ferre, et demittere funem;
Quî scis, an prudens huc se projecerit, atque
Servari nolit? dicam: Siculique poëtae
Narrabo interitum. Deus inmortalis haberi
Dum cupit Empedocles, ardentem frigidus Aetnam 465
Insiluit. sit jus, liceatque perire poëtis.
Invitum qui servat, idem facit occidenti.
Nec semel hoc fecit; nec si retractus erit jam,
Fiet homo, et ponet famosae mortis amorem.
Nec satis adparet, cur versus factitet; utrum 470
Minxerit in patrios cineres, an triste bidental
Moverit incestus: certe furit, ac velut ursus
Objectos caveae valuit si frangere clathros,
Indoctum doctumque fugat recitator acerbus.
Quem vero arripuit, tenet, occiditque legendo, 475
Non missura cutem, nisi plena cruoris, hirudo.

COMMENTARY.

The subject of this piece being, as I suppose, one, viz. the state of the Roman Drama, and common sense requiring, even in the freest forms of composition, some kind of method, the intelligent reader will not be surprised to find the poet prosecuting his subject in a regular, well-ordered plan; which, for the more exact description of it, I distinguish into three parts:

I. The first of them [from v. 1 to 89] is preparatory to the main subject of the epistle, containing some general rules and reflexions on poetry, but principally with an eye to the following parts: by which means it serves as an useful introduction to the poet’s design, and opens with that air of ease and negligence, essential to the epistolary form.

II. The main body of the epistle [from v. 89 to 295] is laid out in regulating the Roman stage; but chiefly in giving rules for tragedy; not only as that was the sublimer species of the Drama, but, as it should seem, less cultivated and understood.

III. The last part [from v. 295 to the end] exhorts to correctness in writing; yet still with an eye, principally, to the dramatic species; and is taken up partly in removing the causes, that prevented it, and partly in directing to the use of such means, as might serve to promote it. Such is the general plan of the epistle. In order to enter fully into it, it will be necessary to trace the poet, attentively, through the elegant connexions of his own method.

PART I.
GENERAL REFLEXIONS ON POETRY.

The epistle begins [to v. 9] with that general and fundamental precept of preserving an unity in the subject and the disposition of the piece. This is further explained by defining the use, and fixing the character of poetic licence [from v. 9 to 13] which unskilful writers often plead in defence of their transgressions against the law of UNITY. To v. 23 is considered and exposed that particular violation of uniformity, into which young poets especially, under the impulse of a warm imagination, are apt to run, arising from frequent and ill-timed descriptions. These, however beautiful in themselves, and with whatever mastery they may be executed, yet, if foreign to the subject, and incongruous to the place, where they stand, are extremely impertinent: a caution, the more necessary, as the fault itself wears the appearance of a virtue, and so writers [from v. 23 to 25] come to transgress the rule of right from their very ambition to observe it. There are two cases, in which this ambition remarkably misleads us. The first is when it tempts us to push an acknowledged beauty too far. Great beauties are always in the confines of great faults; and therefore, by affecting superior excellence, we are easily carried into absurdity. Thus [from v. 25 to 30] brevity is often obscurity; sublimity, bombast; caution, coolness; and, to come round to the point, a fondness for varying and diversifying a subject, by means of episodes and descriptions, such as are mentioned above [v. 15] will often betray a writer into that capital error of violating the unity of his piece. For, though variety be a real excellence under the conduct of true judgment, yet, when affected beyond the bounds of probability, and brought in solely to strike and surprize, it becomes unseasonable and absurd. The several episodes or descriptions, intended to give that variety, may be inserted in improper places; and then the absurdity is as great, as that of the painter, who, according to the illustration of v. 19, 20, should introduce a cypress into a sea-piece, or, according to the illustration of the present verse, who paints a dolphin in a wood, or a boar in the sea.

2. Another instance, in which we are misled by an ambition of attaining to what is right, is, when, through an excessive fear of committing faults, we disqualify ourselves for the just execution of a whole, or of such particulars, as are susceptible of real beauty. For not the affectation of superior excellencies only, but even

In vitium ducit culpae fuga, si caret arte.

This is aptly illustrated by the case of a sculptor. An over-scrupulous diligence to finish single and trivial parts in a statue, which, when most exact, are only not faulty, leaves him utterly incapable of doing justice to the more important members, and, above all, of designing and completing a whole with any degree of perfection. But this latter is commonly the defect of a minute genius; who, having taken in hand a design, which he is by no means able to execute, naturally applies himself to labour and finish those parts, which he finds are within his power. It is of consequence therefore [from v. 38 to 40] for every writer to be well acquainted with the nature and extent of his own talents: and to be careful to chuse a subject, which is, in all its parts, proportioned to his strength and ability. Besides, from such an attentive survey of his subject, and of his capacity to treat it, he will also derive these further advantages [v. 41] 1. That he cannot be wanting in a proper fund of matter, wherewith to inlarge under every head: nor, 2. can he fail, by such a well-weighed choice, to dispose of his subject in the best and most convenient method. Especially, as to the latter, which is the principal benefit, he will perceive [to v. 45] where it will be useful to preserve, and where to change, the natural order of his subject, as may best serve to answer the ends of poetry.

Thus far some general reflexions concerning poetical distribution; principally, as it may be affected by false notions, 1. Of poetic licence [v. 10] and, 2. Of poetic perfection [v. 25]. But the same causes will equally affect the language, as method, of poetry. To these then are properly subjoined some directions about the use of words. Now this particular depending so entirely on what is out of the reach of rule, as the fashion of the age, the taste of the writer, and his knowledge of the language, in which he writes, the poet only gives directions about new words: or, since every language is necessarily imperfect, about the coining of such words, as the writer’s necessity or convenience may demand. And here, after having prescribed [l. 46] a great caution and sparingness in the thing itself, he observes, 1. [to l. 49] That where it ought to be done, the better and less offensive way will be, not to coin a word entirely new (for this is ever a task of some envy) but, by means of an ingenious and happy position of a well-known word, in respect of some others, to give it a new air, and cast. Or, if it be necessary to coin new words, as it will be in subjects of an abstruse nature, and especially such, as were never before treated in the language, that then, 2. [to l. 54] this liberty is very allowable; but that the reception of them will be more easy, if we derive them gently, and without too much violence, from their proper source, that is, from a language, as the Greek, already known, and approved. And, to obviate the prejudices of over-scrupulous critics on this head, he goes on [from l. 54 to l. 73] in a vein of popular illustration, to alledge, in favour of this liberty, the examples of antient writers, and the vague, unsteady nature of language itself.

From these reflexions on poetry, at large, he proceeds now to particulars: the most obvious of which being the different forms and measures of poetic composition, he considers, in this view [from v. 75 to 86] the four great species of poetry, to which all others may be reduced, the Epic, Elegiac, Dramatic, and Lyric. But the distinction of the measures to be observed in the several species of poetry is so obvious, that there can scarcely be any mistake about them. The difficulty is to know [from v. 86 to 89] how far, each may partake of the spirit of other, without destroying that natural and necessary difference, which ought to subsist betwixt them all. To explane this, which is a point of great nicety, he considers [from v. 89 to 99] the case of dramatic poetry; the two species of which are as distinct from each other, as any two can be, and yet there are times, when the features of the one will be allowed to resemble those of the other. For, 1. Comedy, in the passionate parts, will admit of a tragic elevation: and, 2. Tragedy, in its soft distressful scenes, condescends to the ease of familiar conversation. But the poet had a further view in chusing this instance. For he gets by this means into the main of his subject, which was dramatic poetry, and, by the most delicate transition imaginable, proceeds [from l. 89 to 323] to deliver a series of rules, interspersed with historical accounts, and enlivened by digressions, for the regulation and improvement of the Roman Stage.

PART II.
DIRECTIONS FOR THE REGULATION AND IMPROVEMENT OF THE ROMAN STAGE.

Having fixed the distinct limits and provinces of the two species of the drama, the poet enters directly on his subject, and considers, I. [from v. 99 to 119] the properties of the TRAGIC STYLE; which will be different, 1. [to v. 111] according to the internal state and character of the speaker: thus one sort of expression will become the angry; another, the sorrowful; this, the gay, that, the severe. And, 2. [from v. 111 to 119] according to the outward circumstances of rank, age, office, or country.

II. Next [to v. 179] he treats of the CHARACTERS, which are of two sorts. 1. Old ones, revived: and 2. Invented, or new ones. In relation to the first [from v. 119 to 125] the precept is, to follow fame; that is, to fashion the character according to the received, standing idea, which tradition and elder times have consecrated; that idea being the sole test, whereby to judge of it. 2. In respect of the latter [from v. 125 to 128] the great requisite is uniformity, or consistency of representation. But the formation of quite new characters is a work of great difficulty and hazard. For here, there is no generally received and fixed archetype to work after, but every one judges, of common right, according to the extent and comprehension of his own idea. Therefore [to v. 136] he advises to labour and refit old characters and subjects; particularly those, made known and authorized by the practice of Homer and the epic writers; and directs, at the same time, by what means to avoid that servility and unoriginal air, so often charged upon such pieces. I said characters and subjects, for his method leading him to guard against servility of imitation in point of characters, the poet chose to dispatch the whole affair of servile imitation at once, and therefore [to v. 136] includes subjects, as well as characters.

But this very advice, about taking the subjects and characters from the epic poets, might be apt to lead into two faults, arising from the ill conduct of those poets themselves. For, 1. [to v. 146] the dignity and importance of a subject, made sacred by antient fame, had sometimes occasioned a boastful and ostentatious beginning, than which nothing can be more offensive. And, 2. The whole story being composed of great and striking particulars, injudicious writers, for fear of losing any part of it, which might serve to adorn their work, had been led to follow the round of plain historic order, and so had made the disposition of their piece uninteresting and unartful. Now both these improprieties, which appear so shocking in the epic poem, must needs, with still higher reason, deform the tragic. For, taking its rise, not from the flattering views of the poet, but the real situation of the actor, its opening must of necessity, be very simple and unpretending. And being, from its short term of action, unable naturally to prepare and bring about many events, it, of course, confines itself to one; as also for the sake of producing a due distress in the plot; which can never be wrought up to any trying pitch, unless the whole attention be made to fix on one single object. The way to avoid both these faults, will be to observe (for here the imitation cannot be too close) the well-judged practice of Homer.

Having thus considered the affair of imitation, and shewn how old characters, and, to carry it still further, old subjects, may be successfully treated, he resumes the head of characters, and proceeds more fully [from v. 153 to 179] to recommend it as a point of principal concern in the drawing of them, to be well acquainted with the manners, agreeing to the several successive periods and stages of human life. And this with propriety: for, though he had given a hint to this purpose before,

Maturusne senex, an adhuc florente juventâ
Fervidus,

yet, as it is a point of singular importance, and a regard to it, besides other distinctions, must be constantly had in the draught of every character, it well deserved a separate consideration.

III. These instructions, which, in some degree, respect all kinds of poetry, being dismissed; he now delivers some rules more peculiarly relative to the case of the drama. And, as the misapplication of manners, which was the point he had been considering, was destructive of probability, this leads the poet, by a natural order, to censure some other species of misconduct, which have the same effect. He determines then, 1. [from v. 179 to 189] The case of representation and recital: or what it is, which renders some things more fit to be acted on the stage, others more fit to be related on it. Next, 2. In pursuance of the same point, viz. probability [to v. 193] he restrains the use of machines; and prescribes the number of acts, and of persons, to be introduced on the stage at the same time. And, 3. lastly, the persona dramatis, just mentioned, suggesting it to his thoughts, he takes occasion from thence to pass on to the chorus [from v. 193 to 202] whose double office it was, 1. To sustain the part of a persona dramatis in the acts; and, 2. To connect the acts with songs, persuading to good morals, and suitable to the subject. Further, tragedy being, originally, nothing more than a chorus or song, set to music, from which practice the harmony of the regular chorus in aftertimes had its rise, he takes occasion to digress [from v. 202 to 220] in explaining the simplicity and barbarity of the old, and the refinements of the later, music. The application of this account of the dramatic music to the case of the tragic chorus, together with a short glance at the other improvements of numbers, stile, &c. necessarily connected with it, gives him the opportunity of going off easily into a subject of near affinity with this, viz. the Roman satiric piece; which was indeed a species of tragedy, but of so extraordinary a composition, as to require a set of rules, and instructions, peculiar to itself. A point, in which they agreed, but which was greatly misunderstood or ill-observed by his countrymen, was the kind of verse or measure employed in them. This therefore, by a disposition of the most beautiful method, he reserves for a consideration by itself, having, first of all, delivered such rules, as seemed necessary about those points, in which they essentially differed. He explains then [from v. 220 to 225] the use and end of the satires, shewing them to be designed for the exhilaration of the rustic youth, on their solemn festivities, after the exhibition of the graver, tragic shews. But, 2. To convert, as far as was possible, what was thus a necessary sacrifice to the taste of the multitude into a tolerable entertainment for the better sort, he lays down [from v. 225 to 240] the exactest description or idea of this sort of poem; by means of which he instructs us in the due temperature and decorum of the satyric style. 3. Lastly, [from v. 240 to 251] he directs to the choice of proper subjects, and defines the just character of those principal and so uncommon personages in this drama, the satyrs themselves. This being premised, he considers, as was observed, what belongs in common to this with the regular tragedy [from v. 251 to 275] the laws and use of the iambic foot; reproving, at the same time, the indolence or ill-taste of the Roman writers in this respect, and sending them for instruction to the Grecian models.

Having introduced his critique on the stage-music, and satyric drama, with some account of the rise and progress of each, the poet very properly concludes this whole part [from v. 275 to 295] with a short, incidental history of the principal improvements of the Greek tragedy and comedy; which was artfully contrived to insinuate the defective state of the Roman drama, and to admonish his countrymen, how far they had gone, and what yet remained to complete it. And hence with the advantage of the easiest transition he slides into the last part of the epistle; the design of which, as hath been observed, was to reprove an incorrectness and want of care in the Roman writers. For, having just observed their defect, he goes on, in the remaining part of the epistle, to sum up the several causes, which seem to have produced it. And this gives him the opportunity, under every head, of prescribing the proper remedy for each, and of inserting such further rules and precepts for good writing, as could not so properly come in before. The whole is managed with singular address, as will appear from looking over particulars.

PART III.
A CARE AND DILIGENCE IN WRITING RECOMMENDED.

I. [from l. 295 to l. 323] The poet ridicules that false notion, into which the Romans had fallen, that poetry and possession were nearly the same thing: that nothing more was required in a poet, than some extravagant starts and sallies of thought; that coolness and reflexion were inconsistent with his character, and that poetry was not to be scanned by the rules of sober sense. This they carried so far, as to affect the outward port and air of madness, and, upon the strength of that appearance, to set up for wits and poets. In opposition to this mistake, which was one great hindrance to critical correctness, he asserts wisdom and good sense to be the source and principle of good writing: for the attainment of which he prescribes, 1. [from v. 310 to 312] A careful study of the Socratic, that is, moral wisdom: and, 2. [from v. 312 to 318] A thorough acquaintance with human nature, that great exemplar of manners, as he finely calls it, or, in other words, a wide extensive view of real, practical life. The joint direction of these two, as means of acquiring moral knowledge, was perfectly necessary. For the former, when alone, is apt to grow abstracted and unaffecting: the latter, uninstructing and superficial. The philosopher talks without experience, and the man of the world without principles. United they supply each other’s defects; while the man of the world borrows so much of the philosopher, as to be able to adjust the several sentiments with precision and exactness; and the philosopher so much of the man of the world as to copy the manners of life (which we can only do by experience) with truth and spirit. Both together furnish a thorough and complete comprehension of human life; which manifesting itself in the just, and affecting, forms that exquisite degree of perfection in the character of the dramatic poet; the want of which no warmth of genius can atone for, or excuse. Nay such is the force of this nice adjustment of manners [from l. 319 to 323] that, where it has remarkably prevailed, the success of a play hath sometimes been secured by it, without one single excellence or recommendation besides.

II. He shews [from l. 323 to 333] another cause of their incorrectness and want of success, in any degree, answering to that of the Greek writers, to have been the low and illiberal education of the Roman youth; who, while the Greeks were taught to open all their mind to glory, were cramped in their genius by the rust of gain, and, by the early infusion of such sordid principles, became unable to project a great design, or with any care and mastery to complete it.

III. A third impediment to their success in poetry [from l. 333 to 346] was their inattention to the entire scope and purpose of it, while they contented themselves with the attainment of one only of the two great ends, which are proposed by it. For the double design of poetry being to instruct and please, the full aim and glory of the art cannot be attained without uniting them both: that is, instructing so as to please, and pleasing so as to instruct. Under either head of instruction and entertainment the poet, with great address, insinuates the main art of each kind of writing, which consists, 1. in instructive or didactic poetry [from v. 335 to 338] in the conciseness of the precept: and, 2. in works of fancy and entertainment [l. 338 to 341] in probability of fiction. But both these [l. 341 to 347] must concur in a just piece.

But here the bad poet objects the difficulty of the terms, imposed upon him, and that, if the critic looked for all these requisites, and exacted them with rigour, it would be impossible to satisfy him: at least it was more likely to discourage, than quicken, as he proposed, the diligence of writers. To this the reply is [from l. 347 to 360] that he was not so severe, as to exact a faultless and perfect piece: that some inaccuracies and faults of less moment would escape the most cautious and guarded writer; and that, as he should contemn a piece, that was generally bad, notwithstanding a few beauties, he could, on the contrary, admire a work, that was generally good, notwithstanding a few faults. Nay, he goes on [from l. 360 to 366] to observe in favour of writers, against their too rigorous censurers, that what were often called faults, were really not so: that some parts of a poem ought to be less shining, or less finished, than others; according to the light, they were placed in, or the distance, from which they were viewed; and that, serving only to connect and lead to others of greater consequence, it was sufficient if they pleased once, or did not displease, provided that those others would please on every review. All this is said agreeably to nature, which does not allow every part of a subject, to be equally susceptible of ornament; and to the end of poetry, which cannot so well be attained, without an inequality. The allusions to painting, which the poet uses, give this truth the happiest illustration.

Having thus made all the reasonable allowances, which a writer could expect, he goes on to inforce the general instruction of this part, viz. a diligence in writing, by shewing [from l. 366 to 379] that a mediocrity, however tolerable, or even commendable, it might be in other arts, would never be allowed in this: for which he assigns this very obvious and just reason; that, as the main end of poetry is to please, if it did not reach that point (which it could not do by stopping ever so little on this side excellence) it was, like indifferent music, indifferent perfumes, or any other indifferent thing, which we can do without, and whose end should be to please, offensive and disagreeable, and for want of being very good, absolutely and insufferably bad. This reflexion leads him with great advantage [from l. 379 to 391] to the general conclusion in view, viz. that as none but excellent poetry will be allowed, it should be a warning to writers, how they engage in it without abilities; or publish without severe and frequent correction. But to stimulate the poet, who, notwithstanding the allowances already made, might be something struck with this last reflexion, he flings out [from l. 391 to 408] into a fine encomium, on the dignity and excellence of the art itself, by recounting its ancient honours. This encomium, besides its great usefulness in invigorating the mind of the poet, has this further view, to recommend and revive, together with its honours, the office of ancient poesy; which was employed about the noblest and most important subjects; the sacred source, from whence those honours were derived.

From this transient view of the several species of poetry, terminating, as by a beautiful contrivance it is made to do, in the Ode, the order of his ideas carries him into some reflexions on the power of genius (which so essentially belongs to the lyric Muse) and to settle thereby a point of criticism, much controverted among the ancients, and on which a very considerable stress would apparently be laid. For, if after all, so much art and care and caution be demanded in poetry, what becomes of genius, in which alone it had been thought to consist? would the critic insinuate, that good poems can be the sole effect of art, and go so far, in opposition to the reigning prejudice, as to assert nature to be of no force at all? This objection, which would be apt to occur to the general scope and tenor of the epistle, as having turned principally on art and rules without insisting much on natural energy, the poet obviates at once [from v. 408 to 419] by reconciling two things which were held, it seems, incompatible, and demanding in the poet, besides the fire of real genius, all the labour and discipline of art. But there is one thing still wanting. The poet may be excellently formed by nature, and accomplished by art, but will his own judgment be a sufficient guide, without assistance from others? will not the partiality of an author for his own works sometimes prevail over the united force of rules and genius, unless he call in a fairer and less interested guide? Doubtless it will: and therefore the poet, with the utmost propriety, adds [from v. 419 to 450] as a necessary part of this instructive monition to his brother poets, some directions concerning the choice of a prudent and sincere friend, whose unbiassed sense might at all times correct the prejudices, indiscretions, and oversights of the author. And to impress this necessary care, with greater force, on the poet, he closes the whole with shewing the dreadful consequences of being imposed upon in so nice an affair; representing, in all the strength of colouring, the picture of a bad poet, infatuated, to a degree of madness, by a fond conceit of his own works, and exposed thereby (so important had been the service of timely advice) to the contempt and scorn of the public.

And now, an unity of design in this epistle, and the pertinent connection of its several parts being, it is presumed, from this method of illustration, clearly and indisputably shewn, what must we think of the celebrated French interpreter of Horace, who, after a studied translation of this piece, supported by a long, elaborate commentary, minutely condescending to scrutinize each part, could yet perceive so little of its true form and character, as to give it for his summary judgment, in conclusion; “Comme il [Horace] ne travailloit pas à cela de suite et qu’il ne gardoit d’autre ordre que celui des matieres que le hazard lui donnoit à lire et à examiner, il est arrivé delà qu’ IL N’ Y A AUCUNE METHODE NI AUCUNE LIAISON DE PARTIES DANS CE TRAITÉ, qui même n’a jamais été achevé, Horace n’ ayant pas eu le tems d’y mettre la derniere main, ou, ce qui est plus vraisemblable, n’ayant pas voulu s’en donner la peine.” [M. Dacier’s Introd. remarks to the art of poetry.] The softest thing that can be said of such a critic, is, that he well deserves the censure, he so justly applied to the great Scaliger, S’IL L’AVOIT BIEN ENTENDU, IL LUI AUROIT RENDU PLUS DE JUSTICE, ET EN AUROIT PARLÉ PLUS MODESTEMENT.

NOTES
ON THE
ART OF POETRY.

The text of this epistle is given from Dr. Bentley’s edition, except in some few places, of which the reader is advertized in the notes. These, that they might not break in too much on the thread of the Commentary, are here printed by themselves. For the rest, let me apologize with a great critic: Nobis viri docti ignoscent, si hæc fusius: præsertim si cogitent, veri critici esse, non literulam alibi ejicere, alibi innocentem syllabam et quæ nunquàm male merita de patria fuerit, per jocum et ludum trucidare et configere; verùm recte de autoribus et rebus judicare, quod et solidæ et absolutæ eruditionis est. Heinsius.

1. Humano capiti, &c.] It is seen, in the comment, with what elegance this first part [to v. 89] is made preparatory to the main subject, agreeably to the genius of the Epistle. But elegance, in good hands, always implies propriety; as is the case here. For the critic’s rules must be taken either, 1. from the general standing laws of composition; or, 2. from the peculiar ones, appropriated to the kind. Now the direction to be fetched from the former of these sources will of course precede, as well on account of its superior dignity, as that the mind itself delights to descend from universals to the consideration of particulars. Agreeably to this rule of nature, the poet, having to correct, in the Roman drama, these three points, 1. a misconduct in the disposition; 2. an abuse of language; and 3. a disregard of the peculiar characters and colorings of its different species, hath chosen to do this on principles of universal nature; which, while they include the case of the drama, at the same time extend to poetic composition at large. These prefatory, universal observations being delivered, he then proceeds, with advantage, to the second source of his art, viz. the consideration of the laws and rules peculiar to the kind.

9.—Pictoribus atque poetis—Quidlibet audendi semper fuit aequa potestas.] The modern painter and poet will observe that this aphorism comes from the mouth of an objector.

14. Inceptis gravibus, &c.] These preparatory observations concerning the laws of poetic composition at large have been thought to glance more particularly at the epic poetry: Which was not improper: For, 1. The drama, which he was about to criticize, had its rise and origin from the epos. Thus we are told by the great critic, that Homer was the first who invented dramatic imitations, μόνος—ὅτι μιμήσεις δραματικὰς ἐποίησε. And to the same purpose Plato: ἔοικε μὲν τῶν καλῶν ἁπάντων τούτων τῶν τραγικῶν πρῶτος διδάσκαλος καὶ ἡγεμὼν γενέσθαι [Ὅμηρος.] De Rep. l. x. Hence, as our noble critic observes, “There was no more left for tragedy to do after him, than to erect a stage, and draw his dialogues and characters into scenes; turning in the same manner upon one principal action or event, with regard to place and time, which was suitable to a real spectacle.” [Characterist. vol. i. p. 198.] 2. The several censures, here pointed at the epic, would bear still more directly against the tragic poem; it being more glaringly inconsistent with the genius of the drama to admit of foreign and digressive ornaments, than of the extended, episodical epopœia. For both these reasons it was altogether pertinent to the poet’s purpose, in a criticism on the drama, to expose the vicious practice of the epic models. Though, to preserve the unity of his piece, and for the reason before given in note on v. 1. he hath artfully done this under the cover of general criticism.

19. Sed nunc non erat his locus.] If one was to apply this observation to our dramatic writings, I know of none which would afford pleasanter instances of the absurdity, here exposed, than the famous Orphan of Otway. Which, notwithstanding its real beauties, could hardly have taken so prodigiously, as it hath done, on our stage, if there were not somewhere a defect of good taste as well as of good morals.

23. Denique sit quidvis: simplex duntaxat et unum.] Is not it strange that he, who delivered this rule in form, and, by his manner of delivering it, appears to have laid the greatest stress upon it, should be thought capable of paying no attention to it himself, in the conduct of this epistle?

25-28. Brevis esse laboro, Obscurus fio: sectantem lenia nervi Deficiunt animique: professus grandia turget: Serpit humi tutus nimium timidusque procellae.] If these characters were to be exemplified in our own poets, of reputation, the first, I suppose, might be justly applied to Donne; the second, to Parnell; the third, to Thomson; and the fourth, to Addison. As to the two following lines;

Qui variare cupit rem prodigialiter unam,
Delphinum silvis adpingit, fluctibus aprum:

they are applicable to so many of our poets, that, to keep the rest in countenance, I will but just mention Shakespear himself; who, to enrich his scene with that variety, which his exuberant genius so largely supplied, hath deformed his best plays with these prodigious incongruities.

29. Qui variare cupit rem prodigialiter unam, &c.] Though I agree with M. Dacier that prodigialiter is here used in a good sense, yet the word is so happily chosen by our curious speaker as to carry the mind to that fictitious monster, under which he had before allusively shadowed out the idea of absurd and inconsistent composition, in v. 1. The application, however, differs in this, that, whereas the monster, there painted, was intended to expose the extravagance of putting together incongruous parts, without any reference to a whole, this prodigy is designed to characterize a whole, but deformed by the ill-judged position of its parts. The former is like a monster, whose several members, as of right belonging to different animals, could, by no disposition, be made to constitute one consistent animal. The other, like a landskip, which hath no objects absolutely irrelative, or irreducible to a whole, but which a wrong position of the parts only renders prodigious. Send the boar to the woods; and the dolphin to the waves; and the painter might shew them both on the same canvass.

Each is a violation of the law of unity, and a real monster: the one, because it contains an assemblage of naturally incoherent parts; the other, because its parts, though in themselves coherent, are misplaced, and disjointed.

34. Infelix operis summa: quia ponere totum nesciet.] This observation is more particularly applicable to dramatic poetry, than to any other, an unity and integrity of action being of its very essence.—The poet illustrates his observation very happily in the case of statuary; but it holds of every other art, that hath a whole for its object. Nicias, the painter, used to say[10], “That the subject was to him, what the fable is to the poet.” Which is just the sentiment of Horace, reversed. For by the subject is meant the whole of the painter’s plan, the totum, which it will be impossible for those to express, who lay out their pains so solicitously in finishing single parts. Thus, to take an obvious example, the landskip-painter is to draw together, and form into one entire view, certain beautiful, or striking objects. This is his main care. It is not even essential to the merit of his piece, to labour, with extreme exactness, the principal constituent parts. But for the rest, a shrub or flower, a straggling goat or sheep, these may be touched very negligently. We have a great modern instance. Few painters have obliged us with finer scenes, or have possessed the art of combining woods, lakes, and rocks, into more agreeable pictures, than G. Poussin: Yet his animals are observed to be scarce worthy an ordinary artist. The use of these is simply to decorate the scene; and so their beauty depends, not on the truth and correctness of the drawing, but on the elegance of their disposition only. For, in a landskip, the eye carelessly glances over the smaller parts, and regards them only in reference to the surrounding objects. The painter’s labour therefore is lost, or rather misemployed, to the prejudice of the whole, when it strives to finish, so minutely, particular objects. If some great masters have shewn themselves ambitious of this fame, the objects, they have laboured, have been always such, as are most considerable in themselves, and have, besides, an effect in illustrating and setting off the entire scenery. It is chiefly in this view, that Ruisdale’s waters, and Claude Lorain’s skies are so admirable.

40.—CUI LECTA POTENTER ERIT RES.] Potenter i. e. κατὰ δύναμιν, Lambin: which gives a pertinent sense, but without justifying the expression. The learned editor of Statius proposes to read pudenter, a word used by Horace on other occasions, and which suits the meaning of the place, as well. A similar passage in the epistle to Augustus adds some weight to this conjecture;

nec meus audet
Rem tentare PUDOR, quam vires ferre recusent.

45. Hoc amet, hoc spernat, promissi carminis auctor—In verbis etiam tenuis cautusque serendis.] Dr. Bentley hath inverted the order of these two lines; not merely, as I conceive, without sufficient reason, but in prejudice also to the scope and tenor of the poet’s sense; in which case only I allow myself to depart from his text. The whole precept, on poetical distribution, is delivered, as of importance:

[Ordinis haec virtus erit et venus, aut ego fallor.]

And such indeed it is: for, 1. It respects no less than the constitution of a whole, i. e. the reduction of a subject into one entire, consistent plan, the most momentous and difficult of all the offices of invention, and which is more immediately addressed, in the high and sublime sense of the word, to the Poet. 2. ’Tis no trivial whole, which the Precept had in view, but, as the context shews, and as is further apparent from v. 150, where this topic is resumed and treated more at large, the epos and the drama: With what propriety then is a rule of such dignity inforced by that strong emphatic conclusion,

Hoc amet, hoc spernat, promissi carminis auctor:

i. e. “Be this rule held sacred and inviolate by him, who hath projected and engaged in a work, deserving the appellation of a poem.” Were the subject only the choice or invention of words, the solemnity of such an application must be ridiculous.

As for the construction, the commonest reader can find himself at no loss to defend it against the force of the Doctor’s objections.

46. In verbis etiam tenuis, &c.] I have said, that these preparatory observations concerning an unity of design, the abuse of language, and the different colourings of the several species of poetry, whilst they extend to poetic composition at large, more particularly respect the case of the drama. The first of these articles has been illustrated in note on v. 34. The last will be considered in note v. 73. I will here shew the same of the second, concerning the abuse of words. For 1. the style of the drama representing real life, and demanding, on that account, a peculiar ease and familiarity in the language, the practice of coining new words must be more insufferable in this, than in any other species of poetry. The majesty of the epic will even sometimes require to be supported by this means, when the commonest ear would resent it, as downright affectation upon the stage. Hence the peculiar propriety of this rule to the dramatic writer,

In verbis etiam tenuis cautusque serendis.

2. Next, it is necessary to keep the tragic style, though condescending, in some sort, to the familiar cast of conversation, from sinking beneath the dignity of the personages, and the solemnity of the representation. Now no expedient can more happily effect this, than what the poet prescribes concerning the position and derivation of words. For thus, the language, without incurring the odium of absolutely invented terms, sustains itself in a becoming stateliness and reserve, and, whilst it seems to stoop to the level of conversation, artfully eludes the meanness of a trite, prosaic style.—There are wonderful instances of this management in the Samson Agonistes of Milton; the most artificial and highly finished, though for that reason, perhaps, the least popular and most neglected, of all the great poet’s works.

47. Dixeris egregie, notum si callida verbum Reddiderit junctura novum.—] This direction, about disposing of old words in such a manner as that they shall have the grace of new ones, is among the finest in the whole poem. And because Shakespear is he, of all our poets, who has most successfully practised this secret, it may not be amiss to illustrate the precept before us by examples taken from his writings.

But first it will be proper to explain the precept itself as given by Horace.

His critics seem not at all to have apprehended the force of it. Dacier and Sanadon, the two best of them, confine it merely to the formation of compound words; which, though one way in which this callida junctura shews itself, is by no means the whole of what the poet intended by it.

Their mistake arose from interpreting the word junctura too strictly. They suppose it to mean only the putting together two words into one; this being the most obvious idea we have of the joining of words. As if the most literal construction of terms, according to their etymology, were always the most proper.

But Mr. Dacier has a reason of his own for confining the precept to this meaning. “The question, he says, is de verbis serendis; and therefore this junctura must be explained of new words, properly so called, as compound epithets are; and not of the grace of novelty which single words seem to acquire from the art of disposing of them.”

By which we understand, that the learned critic did not perceive the scope of his author; which was manifestly this. “The invention of new terms, says he, being a matter of much nicety, I had rather you would contrive to employ known words in such a way as to give them the effect of new ones. ’Tis true, new words may sometimes be necessary: And if so,” &c. Whence we see that the line,

In verbis etiam tenuis cautusque serendis

is not given here in form as the general rule, and the following line as the example. On the other hand, the rule is just mentioned carelessly and in passing, while the poet is hastening to another consideration of more importance, and which he even opposes to the former. “Instead of making new words, you will do well to confine yourself merely to old ones.” Whatever then be the meaning of junctura, it is clear we are not to explain it of such words as exemplify the rule de verbis serendis.

But junctura will best be interpreted by the usage of Horace together with the context; 1. The word occurs only once more in this poet, and that in this very Epistle. It is where he advises a conduct with regard to the subject-matter of a poem, analogous to this concerning the language of it.

Ex noto fictum carmen sequar—
——tantum series juncturaque pollet.
v. 242.

Does he mean the joining two subjects together and combining them into one, so as that the compound subject shall be a new one? No such thing; “The subject, says he, shall be a known, an old one. Yet the order, management, and contrivance shall be such as to give it the air of an original fiction.” Apply now this sense of junctura to words, and we are only told, that expression may be so ordered as to appear new, when the words, of which it is made up, are all known and common.

We have then the authority of the poet himself against the opinion of the French critic. But we have also the authority of his great imitator, or rather interpreter, Persius; who speaking of the language of his satires says, in allusion to this passage of Horace,