Essays of John Dryden

Google

This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project

to make the world's books discoverable online.

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject

to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books

are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover.

Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the

publisher to a library and finally to you.

Usage guidelines

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing tliis resource, we liave taken steps to
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.
We also ask that you:

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for
personal, non-commercial purposes.

+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.

+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for in forming people about this project and helping them find
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it.

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe.

About Google Book Search

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web

at |http: //books .google .com/I

A

GIFT OF
PROF, and MRS. KEKIETH MOBBOCK

tjat HARVARD COLLEGE L1BRAR.Y3B:T<

ESSAYS OF JOHN DRYDEN

W. p. KER

HENRY FROWDE, M.A.

PUBLISHER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK

ESSAYS

OF

JOHN DRYDEN

SELECTED AND EDITED

BY

W. P. KER, M.A.

FELLOW OF ALL SOULS COLLEGE; HON. LL.D. GLASGOW
PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE IN UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, LONDON

VOLUME II

AT THE CLARENDON PRESS

1900

Jifj^ 3:^7^30 r^)

4^

A

HARVARD
UNIVERSITY

LIBP^^Y
SF? 30 »^7

Ojsfotb

PRINTED AT THE CLARENDON PRESS

BY HORACE HART, M.A.
PRINTF.R TO THE UNIVERSITY

CONTENTS

PAGB

Dedication of Examen Posticum (1693) . . . . i

A Discourse concerning the Original and Progress of

Satire (1693) 15

A Parallel of Poetry and Painting (1695) . . .115

Dedication of the ^Eneis (1697) 154

Translation of Virgil : Postscript (1697) .... 240

Preface to the Fables (1700) 246

Notes to the Second Volume 275

Appendix A (A Short History of Criticism, by the

Translator of St. Evremond (1685) .... 313

Appendix B (Authorities, Critical and Historical) . .315

Index 317

EXAMEN POETICUM:

BEING THE THIRD PART OF MISCELLANY POEMS

[1693]
DEDICATION

j*>

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE MY

LORD RADCLIFFE

My Lord,

These Miscellany Poems are by many titles
yours. The first they claim, from your acceptance of
my promise to present them to you, before some of them
were yet in being. The rest are derived from your own
merit, the exactness of your judgment in Poetry, and 5
the candour of your nature, easy to forgive some trivial
faults, when they come accompanied with countervailing
beauties. But, after all, though these are your equitable
claims to a dedication from other poets, yet I must
acknowledge a bribe in the case, which is your par- 10
ticular liking of my verses. *Tis a vanity common to
all writers, to overvalue their own productions ; and 'tis
better for me to own this failing in myself, than the
world to do it for me. For what other reason have
I spent my life in so unprofitable a study? why am 15
I grown old, in seeking so barren a reward as fame ?

II. B

2 Dedication of

The same parts and application which have made me
a poet might have raised me to any honours of the
gown, which are often given to men of as little learning
and less honesty than myself. No Government has

5 ever been, or ever can be, wherein timeservers and
blockheads will not be uppermost. The persons are
only changed, but the same jugglings in State, the same
hypocrisy in religion, the same self-interest and mis-
management, will remain for ever. Blood and money

lo will be lavished in all ages, only for the preferment of
new faces, with old consciences. There is too often
a jaundice in the eyes of great men ; they see not those
whom they raise in the same colours with other men.
All whom they affect look golden to them, when the

15 gilding is only in their own distempered sight. These
consideratfons have given me a kind of contempt for
those who have risen by unworthy ways. I am not
ashamed to be little, when I see them so infamously
great ; neither do I know why the name of poet should

20 be dishonourable to me, if I am truly one, as I hope
I am ; for I will never do any thing that shall dishonour
it. The notions of morality are known to all men;
none can pretend ignorance of those ideas which are
inborn in mankind ; and if I see one thing, and practise

35 the contrary, I must be disingenuous not to acknow-
ledge a clear truth, and base to act against the light of
my own conscience. For the reputation of my honesty,
no man can question it, who has any of his own ; for
that of my poetry, it shall either stand by its own

30 merit, or fall for want of it. Ill writers are usually
the sharpest censors ; for they, as the best poet and the
best patron said,

When in the full perfection of decay,
Turn vinegar, and come again in play.

35 Thus the corruption of a poet is the generation of

Exatnen Poeticum 3

a critic; I mean of a critic in the general acceptation
of this age ; for formerly they were quite another species
of men. They were defenders of poets, and commen-
tators on their works; to illustrate obscure beauties;
to place some passages in a better light ; to redeem 5
others from malicious interpretations; to help out an
author's modesty, who is not ostentatious of his wit ;
and, in short, to shield him from the ill-nature of those
fellows, who were then called Zoili and Momiy and now
take upon themselves the venerable name of censors. 10
But neither Zoilus, nor he who endeavoured to defame
Virgil, were ever adopted into the name of critics by the
Ancients; what their reputation was then, we know;
and their successors in this age deserve no better. Are
our auxiliary forces turned our enemies? are they, 15
who at best are but wits of the second order, and
whose only credit amongst readers is what they
obtained by being subservient to the fame of writers,
are these become rebels, of slaves, and usurpers, of
subjects ? or, to speak in the most honourable terms 20
of them, are they from our seconds become principals
against us? Does the ivy undermine the oak which
supports its weakness? What labour would it cost
them to put in a better line, than the worst of those
which they expunge in a true poet ? Petronius, the 25
greatest wit perhaps of all the Romans, yet when his
envy prevailed upon his judgment to fall on Lucan, he
fell himself in his attempt ; he performed worse in his
Essay of the Civil IVarthan the author of the Pharsalia;
and, avoiding his errors, has made greater of his own. 30
Julius Scaliger would needs turn down Homer, and
abdicate him after the possession of three thousand
years : has he succeeded in his attempt ? He has indeed
shown us some of those imperfections in him, which are
incident to humankind ; but who had not rather be that 35

B 2

4 Dedication of

Homer than this Scaliger? You see the same hyper-
critic, when he endeavours to mend the beginning of
Claudian, (a faulty poet, and living in a barbarous age,)
yet how short he comes of him, and substitutes such

5 verses of his own as deserve the ferula. What a censure
has he made of Lucan, that "he rather seems to bark
than sing " ! Would any but a dog have made so
snarling a comparison? one would have thought he
had learned Latin as late as they tell us he did Greek.

10 Yet he came off, with dipace tud, "by your good leave,
Lucan " ; he called him not by those outrageous names,
of fool, booby, and blockhead : he had somewhat more of
good manners than his successors, as he had much
more knowledge. We have two sorts of those gentle-

15 men in our nation ; some of them, proceeding with
a seeming moderation and pretence of respect to the
dramatic writers of the last age, only scorn and vilify
the present poets, to set up their predecessors. But
this is only in appearance; for their real design is

ao nothing less than to do honour to any man, besides
themselves. Horace took notice of such men in his
age—

Nott ingeniis favet tile sepultisy
Nostra sed impugnat ; nos nostraque lividus odit.

35 'Tis not with an ultimate intention to pay reverence
to the Manes of Shakespeare, Fletcher, and Ben
Johnson, that they commend their writings, but to
throw dirt on the writers of this age: their declara-
tion is one thing, and their practice is another. By

30 a seeming veneration to our fathers, they would thrust
out us, their lawful issue, and govern us themselves,
under a specious pretence of reformation. If they
could compass their intent, what would wit and learn-
ing get by such a change? If we are bad poets, they

35 are worse ; and when any of their woful pieces come

Exanten Poeticum 5

abroad, the difference is so great betwixt them and good
writers, that there need no criticisms on our part to
decide it. When they describe the writers of this age,
they draw such monstrous figures of them, as resemble
none of us; our pretended pictures are so unlike, that 5
'tis evident we never sat to them : they are all grotesque ;
the products of their wild Imaginations, things out of
nature; so far from being copied from us, that they
resemble nothing that ever was, or ever can be. But
there is another sort of insects, more venomous than 10
the former ; those who manifestly aim at the destruction
of our poetical church and state ; who allow nothing to
their countrymen, either of this or of the former age.
These attack the living by raking up the ashes of the
dead; well knowing that if they can subvert their 15
original title to the stage, we who claim under them
must fall of course. Peace be to the venerable shades
of Shakespeare and Ben Johnson ! none of the living
will presume to have any competition with them; as
they were our predecessors, so they were our masters. 20
We trail our plays under them ; but as at the funerals
of a Turkish emperor, our ensigns are furled or dragged
upon the ground, in honour to the dead, so we may
lawfully advance our own afterwards, to show that we
succeed ; if less in dignity, yet on the same foot and 35
title, which we think too we can maintain against the
insolence of our own Janizaries. If I am the man, as
I have reason to believe, who am seemingly courted,
and secretly undermined; I think I shall be able to
defend myself, when I am openly attacked ; and to 30
show, besides, that the Greek writers only gave us the
rudiments of a stage which they never finished ; that
many of the tragedies in the former age amongst us
were without comparison beyond those of Sophocles
and Euripides. But at present I have neither the 35

6 Dedication of

leisure, nor the means, for such an undertaking. *Tis
ill going to law for an estate, with him who is in posses-
sion of it, and enjoys the present profits, to feed his
cause. But the quantum mutatus may be remembered

5 in due time. In the meanwhile, I leave the world to
judge, who gave the provocation.

This, my Lord, is, I confess, a long digression, from
Miscellany Poems to Modern Tragedies ; but I have the
ordinary excuse of an injured man, who will be telling

10 his tale unseasonably to his betters ; though, at the
same time, I am certain you are so good a friend, as
to take a concern in all things which belong to one who
so truly honours you. And besides, being yourself
a critic of the genuine sort, who have read the best

15 authors in their own languages, who perfectly distinguish
of their several merits, and in general prefer them to the
Moderns, yet, I know, you judge for the English
tragedies, against Greek and Latin, as well as against
the French, Italian, and Spanish, of these latter ages.

20 Indeed, there is a vast difference betwixt arguing like
Perrault, in behalf of the French poets, against Homer
and Virgil, and betwixt giving the English poets their
undoubted due, of excelling iEschylus, Euripides, and
Sophocles. For if we, or our greater fathers, have not

25 yet brought the drama to an absolute perfection, yet at
least we have carried it much further than those ancient
Greeks; who, beginning from a Chorus, could never
totally exclude it, as we have done ; who find it an un-
profitable encumbrance, without any necessity of enter-

30 taining it amongst us, and without the possibility of
establishing it here, unless it were supported by a public
charge. Neither can we accept of those Lay- Bishops,
as some call them, who, under pretence of reforming
the stage, would intrude themselves upon us, as our

35 superiors; being indeed incompetent judges of what

Examen Poeticum 7

is manners, what religion, and, least of all, what is
poetry and good sense. I can tell them, in behalf of
all my fellows, that when they come to exercise a juris-
diction over us, they shall have the stage to themselves,
as they have the laurel. As little can I grant, that the 5
French dramatic writers excel the English. Our authors
as far surpass them in genius, as our soldiers excel
theirs in courage. 'Tis true, in conduct they surpass
us either way; yet that proceeds not so much from
their greater knowledge, as from the difference of 10
tastes in the two nations. They content themselves
with a thin design, without episodes, and managed by
few persons. Our audience will not be pleased, but
with variety of accidents, an underplot, and many
actors. They follow the ancients too servilely in the 15
mechanic rules, and we assume too much licence to
ourselves, in keeping them only in view at too great
a distance. But if our audience had their tastes, our
poets could more easily comply with them, than the
French writers could come up to the sublimity of our 20
thoughts, or to the difficult variety of our designs.
However it be, I dare establish it for a rule of practice
on the stage, that we are bound to please those whom
we pretend to entertain ; and that at any price, religion
and good manners only excepted. And I care not 25
much if I give this handle to our bad illiterate
poetasters, for the defence of their scrtpttons, as they
call them. There is a sort of merit in delighting the
spectators, which is a name more proper for them, than
that of auditors ; or else Horace is in the wrong, when 30
he commends Lucilius for it. But these common-places
I mean to treat at greater leisure; in the meantime
submitting that little I have said to your Lordship's
approbation, or your censure, and choosing rather to
entertain you this way, as you are a judge of writing, 35

8 Dedication of

than to oppress your modesty with other commenda-
tions; which, though they are your due, yet would
not be equally received in this satirical and censorious
age. That which cannot, without injury, be denied to
5 you, is the easiness of your conversation, far from
affectation or pride ; not denying even to enemies their
just praises. And this, if I would dwell on any theme
of this nature, is no vulgar commendation to your
Lordship. Without flattery, my Lord, you have it in

lo your nature to be a patron and encourager of good
poets; but your fortune has not yet put into your
hands the opportunity of expressing it. What you
will be hereafter, may be more than guessed by what
you are at present. You maintain the character of

15 a nobleman, without that haughtiness which generally
attends too many of the nobility; and when you con-
verse with gentlemen, you forget not that you have
been of their order. You are married to the daughter
of a King, who, amongst her other high perfections,

ao has derived from him a charming behaviour, a winning
goodness, and a majestic person. The Muses and the
Graces are the ornaments of your family; while the
Muse sings, the Grace accompanies her voice : even the
servants of the Muses have sometimes had the happiness

as to hear her, and to receive their inspirations from her.

I will not give myself the liberty of going further ;

for 'tis so sweet to wander in a pleasing way, that

I should never arrive at my journey's end. To keep

myself from being belated in my letter, and tiring

30 your attention, I must return to the place where I was
setting out. I humbly dedicate to your Lordship my
own labours in this Miscellany) at the same time not
arrogating to myself the privilege, of inscribing to you
the works of others who are joined with me in this

35 undertaking, over which I can pretend no right. Your

Examen Poeticum 9

Lady and you have done me the favour to hear me
read my translations of Ovid ; and you both seemed
not to be displeased with them. Whether it be the
partiality of an old man to his youngest child, I know
not ; but they appear to me the best of all my endeavours 5
in this kind. Perhaps this poet is more easy to be
translated than some others whom I have lately
attempted ; perhaps, too, he was more according to my
genius. He is certainly more palatable to the reader,
than any of the Roman wits ; though some of them are lo
more lofty, some more instructive, and others more
correct. He had learning enough to make him e^qual
to the best ; but, as his verse came easily, he wanted
the toil of application to amend it. He is often luxuriant
both in his fancy and expressions, and, as it has lately 15
been observed, not always natural. If wit be pleasantry,
he has it to excess ; but if it be propriety, Lucretius,
Horace, and, above all, Virgil, are his superiors.
I have said so much of him already in my Preface to
his Heroical Epistles, that there remains little to be 20
added in this place. For my own part, I have endeav-
oured to copy his character, what I could, in this
translation ; even, perhaps, further than I should have
done ; to his very faults. Mr. Chapman, in his Trans-
lation of Homer, professes to have done it somewhat 25
paraphrastically, and that on set purpose ; his opinion
being that a good poet is to be translated in that
manner. I remember not the reason which he gives
for it ; but I suppose it is for fear of omitting any of
his excellencies. Sure I am, that if it be a fault, 'tis 30
much more pardonable than that of those, who run into
the other extreme of a literal and close translation,
where the poet is confined so straitly to his author's
words, that he wants elbow-room to express his ele-
gancies. He leaves him obscure ; he leaves him prose, 35

lo Dedication of

where he found him verse; and no better than thus
has Ovid been served by the so-much-admired Sandys.
This is at least the idea which I have remaining of his
translation ; for I never read him since I was a boy.

5 They who take him upon content, from the praises
which their fathers gave him, may inform their judg-
ment by reading him again, and see (if they understand
the original) what is become of Ovid's poetry in his
version ; whether it be not all, or the greatest part of

10 it, evaporated. But this proceeded from the wrong
judgment of the age in which he lived. They neither
knew good verse, nor loved it ; they were scholars, 'tis
true, but they were pedants ; and for a just reward of
their pedantic pains, all their translations want to be

15 translated into English.

If I flatter not myself, or if my friends have not
flattered me, I have given my author's sense for the
most part truly; for, to mistake sometimes is incident
to all men ; and not to follow the Dutch commentators

20 always, may be forgiven to a man who thinks them, in
the general, heavy gross-witted fellows, fit only to gloss
on their own dull poets. But I leave a further satire
on their wit, till I have a better opportunity to show
how much I love and honour them. I have likewise

25 attempted to restore Ovid to his native sweetness,
easiness, and smoothness; and to give my poetry
a kind of cadence, and, as we call it, a run of verse,
as like the original, as the English can come up to the
Latin. As he seldom uses any synaloephas, so I have

30 endeavoured to avoid them as often as I could. I have
likewise given him his own turns, both on the words
and on the thought ; which I cannot say are inimitable,
because I have copied them, and so may others, if they
use the same diligence ; but certainly they are wonder-

35 fully graceful in this poet. Since I have named the

Examen Poeticum tt

synaloepha, which is the cutting off one vowel immedi-
ately before another, I will give an example of it from
Chapman's Horner^ which lies before me, for the benefit
of those who understand not the Latin prosodia. 'Tis
in the first line of the argument to the first Iliad — 5

Apollo*s priest to th' Argive fleet doth bring, &c

There we see he makes it not the Argive^ but th* Argive^
to shun the shock of the two vowels, immediately
following each other. But in his second argument, in
the same page, he gives a bad example of the quite 10
contrary kind —

Alpha the prayV of Chryses sings :
The army's plague, the strife of kings.

In these words, the armys, the ending with a vowel,
and armys beginning with another vowel, without 15
cutting off the first, which by it had been th' armys,
there remains a most horrible ill-sounding gap betwixt
those words. I cannot say that I have everywhere
observed the rule of the synaloepha in my translation ;
but wheresoever I have not, 'tis a fault in sound. The 20
French and the Italians have made it an inviolable
precept in their versification; therein following the
severe example of the Latin poets. Our countrymen
have not yet reformed their poetry so far, but content
themselves with following the licentious practice of the 25
Greeks ; who, though they sometimes use synaloephas,
yet make no difficulty, very oflen, to sound one vowel
upon another ; as Homer does, in the very first line
of Alpha^

It is true, indeed, that, in the second line, in these
words, tivpC 'Axatots, and aXye' lO-qKi, the synaloepha, in
revenge, is twice observed. But it becomes us, for the
sake of euphony, rather Musas colere severiores, with the
Romans, than to give into the looseness of the Grecians. 35

12 Dedication of

I have tired myself, and have been summoned by the
press to send away this Dedication; otherwise I had
exposed some other faults, which are daily committed
by our English poets; which, with care and observa-

5 tion, might be amended. For after all, our language
is both copious, significant, and majestical, and might
be reduced into a more harmonious sound. But for
want of public encouragement, in this Iron Age, we are
so far from making any progress in the improvement

lo of our tongue, that in few years we shall speak and
write as barbarously as our neighbours.

Notwithstanding my haste, I cannot forbear to tell
your Lordship, that there are two fragments of Homer
translated in this Miscellany ; one by Mr. Congreve,

15 (whom I cannot mention without the honour which is
due to his excellent parts, and that entire affection
which I bear him,) and the other by myself. Both the
subjects are pathetical ; and I am sure my friend has
added to the tenderness which he found in the original,

20 and without flattery, surpassed his author. Yet I must
needs say this in reference to Homer, that he is much
more capable of exciting the manly passions than those
of grief and pity. To cause admiration is, indeed, the
proper and adequate design of an Epic Poem ; and in

25 that he has excelled even Virgil. Yet, without presum-
ing to arraign our master, I may venture to affirm, that
he is somewhat too talkative, and more than somewhat
too digressive. This is so manifest, that it cannot be
denied in that little parcel which I have translated,

30 perhaps too literally: there Andromache, in the midst
of her concernment and fright for Hector, runs off her
bias, to tell him a story of her pedigree, and of the
lamentable death of her father, her mother, and her
seven brothers. The devil was in Hector if he knew

35 not all this matter, as well as she who told it him ; for

Examen Poeticum 13

she had been his bedfellow for many years together:
and if he knew it, then it must be confessed, that
Homer, in this long digression, has rather given us
his own character, than that of the fair lady whom he
paints. His dear friends the commentators, who never 5
fail him at a pinch, will needs excuse him, by making
the present sorrow of Andromache to occasion the
remembrance of all the past; but others think, that
she had enough to do with that grief which now
oppressed her, without running for assistance to her 10
family. Virgil, I am confident, would have omitted
such a work of supererogation. But Virgil had the
gift of expressing much in little, and sometimes in
silence ; for, though he yielded much to Homer in
invention, he more excelled him in his admirable judg- 15
ment. He drew the passion of Dido for iEneas, in
the most lively and most natural colours that are
imaginable. Homer was ambitious enough of moving
pity, for he has attempted twice on the same subject of
Hector's death ; first, when Priam and Hecuba beheld 20
his corpse, which was dragged after the chariot of
Achilles ; and then in the lamentation which was made
over him, when his body was redeemed by Priam ; and
the same persons again bewail his death, with a chorus
of others to help the cry. But if this last excite com- 25
passion in you, as I doubt not but it will, you are more
obliged to the translator than the poet; for Homer,
as I observed before, can move rage better than he
can pity. He stirs up the irascible appetite, as our
philosophers call it ; he provokes to murder, and the 30
destruction of God's images; he forms and equips
those ungodly man-killers, whom we poets, when we
flatter them, call heroes ; a race of men who can never
enjoy quiet in themselves, till they have taken it from
all the world. This is Homer's commendation ; and, 35

14 Dedication of Examen Poeticum

such as it is, the lovers of peace, or at least of more
moderate heroism, will never envy him. But let Homer
and Virgil contend for the prize of honour betwixt
themselves ; I am satisfied they will never have a third

5 concurrent. I wish Mr. Congreve had the leisure to
translate him, and the world the good nature and
justice to encourage him in that noble design, of which
he is more capable than any man I know. The Earl
of Mulgrave and Mr. Waller, two of the best judges of

lo our age, have assured me, that they could never read
over the translation of Chapman without incredible
pleasure and extreme transport. This admiration of
theirs must needs proceed from the author himself;
for the translator has thrown him down as low as harsh

15 numbers, improper English, and a monstrous length of
verse could carry him. What then would he appear
in the harmonious version of one of the best writers,
living in a much better age. than was the last? I mean
for versification, and the art of numbers; for in the

ao drama we have not arrived to the pitch of Shakespeare
and Ben Johnson. But here, my Lord, I am forced
to break off abruptly, without endeavouring at a compli-
ment in the close. This Miscellany is, without dispute,
one of the best of the kind which has hitherto been

35 extant in our tongue. At least, as Sir Samuel Tuke
has said before me, a modest man may praise what is
not his own. My fellows have no need of any protec-
tion ; but I humbly recommend my part of it, as much
as it deserves, to your patronage and acceptance, and

30 all the rest to your forgiveness.

I am,

My Lord,
Your Lordship's most obedient servant,

John Dryden.

A DISCOURSE CONCERNING THE

ORIGINAL AND PROGRESS OF SATIRE:

DEDICATED TO
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

CHARLES, EARL OF DORSET AND MIDDLESEX

LORD CHAMBERLAIN OF THEIR MAJESTIES* HOUSEHOLD, KNIGHT
OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER, ETC.

My Lord,

The wishes and desires of all good men, which have
attended your Lordship from your first appearance in
the world, are at length accomplished, in your obtaining
those honours and dignities which you have so long 5
deserved. There are no factions, though irreconcilable
to one another, that are not united in their affection to
you, and the respect they pay you. They are equally
pleased in your prosperity, and would be equally con-
cerned in your afflictions. Titus Vespasian was not 10
more the delight of human-kind. The universal Empire
made him only more known, and more powerful, but
could not make him more beloved. He had greater
ability of doing good, but your inclination to it is not
less ; and though you could not extend your beneficence 15
to so many persons, yet you have lost as few days as
that excellent Emperor; and never had his complaint

i6 A Discourse concerning the

to make when you went to bed, that the sun had shone
upon you in vain, when you had the opportunity of
relieving some unhappy man. This, my Lord, has
justly acquired you as many friends as there are persons

5 who have the honour to be known to you. Mere
acquaintance you have none ; you have drawn them all
into a nearer line ; and they who have conversed with
you are for ever after inviolably yours/ This is a truth
so generally acknowledged, that it needs no proof: 'tis

10 of the nature of a first principle, which is received as
soon as it is proposed ; and needs not the reformation

• which Descartes used to his ; for we doubt not, neither
can we properly say, we think we admire and love you
above all other men ; there is a certainty in the proposi-

15 tion, and we know it. With the same assurance I can
say, you neither have enemies, nor can scarce have any ;
for they who have never heard of you, can neither love
or hate you; and they who have, can have no other
notion of you, than that which they receive from the

ao public, that you are the best of men. After this, my

testimony can be of no further use, than to declare

it to be daylight at high-noon; and all who have the

benefit of sight, can look up as well, and see the sun.

'Tis true, I have one privilege which is almost par-

25 ticular to myself, that I saw you in the east at your first
arising above the hemisphere : I was as soon sensible
as any man of that light, when it was but just shooting
out, and beginning to travel upwards to the meridian.
I made my early addresses to your Lordship, in my

zo Essay of Dramatic Poetry ; and therein bespoke you
to the world, wherein I have the right of a first dis-
coverer. When I was myself in the rudiments of my
poetry, without name or reputation in the world, having
rather the ambition of a writer, than the skill ; when

35 I was drawing the outlines of an art, without any living

Original and Progress of Satire. 17

master to instruct me in it ; an art which had been better
praised than studied here in England, wherein Shake-
speare, who created the stage among us, had rather
written happily, than knowingly and justly, and John-
son, who, by studying Horace, had been acquainted 5
with the rules, yet seemed to envy to posterity that
knowledge, and, like an inventor of some useful art,
to make a monopoly of his learning; when thus, as
I may say, before the use of the loadstone, or know-
ledge of the compass, I was sailing in a vast ocean, 10
without other help than the pole-star of the Ancients,
and the rules of the French stage amongst the Modems,
which are extremely different from ours, by reason of
their opposite taste ; yet even then, I had the presump-
tion to dedicate to your Lordship : a very unfinished ^5
piece, I must confess, and which only can be excused
by the little experience of the author, and the modesty
of the title An Essay, Yet I was stronger in prophecy
than I was in criticism ; I was inspired to foretell you
to mankind, as the restorer of poetry, the greatest 20
genius, the truest judge, and the best patron.

Good sense and good nature are never separated,
though the ignorant world has thought otherwise.
Good nature, by which I mean beneficence and candour,
is the product of right reason ; which of necessity will 25
give allowance to the failings of others, by considering
that there is nothing perfect in mankind ; and by distin-
guishing that which comes nearest to excellency, though
not absolutely free from faults, will certainly produce
a candour in the judge. *Tis incident to an elevated 3°
understanding, like your Lordship's, to find out the
errors of other men ; but it is your prerogative to pardon
them ; to look with pleasure on those things, which are
somewhat congenial, and of a remote kindred to your
own conceptions; and to forgive the many failings of 35

II. c

i8 A Discourse concerning the

those, who, with their wretched art, cannot arrive to
those heights that you possess, from a happy, abundant,
and native genius : which are as inborn to you, as they
were to Shakespeare ; and, for aught I know, to Homer ;
5 in either of whom we find all arts and sciences, all moral
and natural philosophy, without knowing that they ever
studied them.

There is not an English writer this day living, who is
not perfectly convinced that your Lordship excels all

10 others in all the several parts of poetry which you have
undertaken to adorn. The most vain, and the most
ambitious of our age, have not dared to assume so
much, as the competitors of Themistocles : they have
yielded the first place without dispute ; and have been

15 arrogantly content to be esteemed as second to your
. Lordship; and even that also, with a longOf sed proximi
intervallo. If there have been, or are any, who go fur-
ther in their self-conceit, they must be very singular in
their opinion ; they must be like the officer in a play,

20 who was called Captain, Lieutenant, and Company. The
world will easily conclude, whether such unattended
generals can ever be capable of making a revolution in
Parnassus.

I will not attempt, in this place, to say anything par-

25 ticular of your lyric poems, though they are the delight
and wonder of this age, and will be the envy of the
next. The subject of this book confines me to Satire ;
and in that, an author of your own quality, (whose ashes
I will not disturb,) has given you all the commendation

30 which his self-sufficiency could afford to any man : The
best good man, with the worst-natur^d Muse. In that
character, methinks, lam reading Johnson's verses to
the memory of Shakespeare ; an insolent, sparing, and
invidious panegyric : where good nature, the most god-

35 like commendation of a man, is only attributed to your

Original and Progress of Satire. 19

person, and denied to your writings ; for they are every-
where so full of candour, that, like Horace, you only
expose the follies of men, without arraigning their vices ;
and in this excel him, that you add that pointedness of
thought, which is visibly wanting in our great Roman. 5
There is more of salt in all your verses, than I have
seen in any of the Moderns, or even of the Ancients;
but you have been sparing of the gall, by which means
you have pleased all readers, and offended none.
Donne alone, of all our countrymen, had your talent ; 10
but was not happy enough to arrive at your versifica-
tion ; and were he translated into numbers, and English,
he would yet be wanting in the dignity of expression.
That which is the prime virtue, and chief ornament, of
Virgil, which distinguishes him from the rest of writers, 15
is so conspicuous in your verses, that it casts a shadow
on all your contemporaries ; we cannot be seen, or but
obscurely, while you are present. You equal Donne in
the variety, multiplicity, and choice of thoughts ; you
excel him in the manner and the words. I read you ao
both with the same admiration, but not with the same
delight. He affects the metaphysics, not only in his
satires, but in his amorous verses, where nature only
should reign ; and perplexes the minds of the fair sex
with nice speculations of philosophy, when he should 35
engage their hearts, and entertain them with the soft-
nesses of love. In this (if I may be pardoned for so bold
a truth) Mr. Cowley has copied him to a fault; so
great a one, in my opinion, that it throws his Mistress
infinitely below his Pindarics and his latter composi- 30
tions, which are undoubtedly the best of his poems, and
the most correct. For my own part, I must avow it
freely to the world, that I never attempted anything in
satire, wherein I have not studied your writings as the
most perfect model. I have continually laid them before 35

c 2

20 A Discourse concerning the

me; and the greatest commendation, which my own
partiality can give to my productions, is, that they are
copies, and no further to be allowed, than as they have
something more or less of the original. Some few

5 touches of your Lordship, some secret graces which
I have endeavoured to express after your manner, have
made Whole poems of mine to pass with approbation ;
but take your verses altogether, and they are inimitable.
If therefore I have not written better, it is because

10 you have not written more. You have not set me suf-
ficient copy to transcribe ; and I cannot add one letter
of my own invention, of which I have not the example
there.

*Tis a general complaint against your Lordship, and

15 I must have leave to upbraid you with it, that, because
you need not write, you will not. Mankind, that wishes
you so well in all things that relate to your prosperity,
have their intervals of wishing for themselves, and are
within a little of grudging you the fulness of your for-

20 tune : they would be more malicious if you used it not
so well, and with so much generosity.

Fame is In itself a real good, if we may believe Cicero,
who was perhaps too fond of k. But even fame, as
Virgil tells us, acquires strength t)y going forward. Let

25 Epicurus give indolency as an attribute to his gods, and
place in it the happiness of the blest ; the Divinity which
we worship has given us not only a precept against
it, but his own example to the contrary. The world,
my Lord, would be content to allow you a seventh day

30 for rest ; or if you thought that hard upon you, we
would not refuse you half your time : if you came out,
like some great monarch, to take a town but once a
year, as it were for your diversion, though you had no
need to extend your territories. In short, if you were

35 a bad, or, which is worse, an indifferent poet, we would

Original and Progress of Satire. 21

thank you for our own quiet, and not expose you to the
want of yours. But whep you are so great and so
successful, and when we have that necessity of your
writing, that we cannot subsist entirely without it, any
more (I may almost say) than the world without the 5
daily course of ordinary providence, methinks this
argument might prevailwith you, my Lord, to forego
a little of your repose for the public benefit. 'Tis not
that you are under any force of working, daily miracles,
to prove your being; but now and then somewhat of 10
extraordinary, that is, anything of your production, is
requisite to refresh your character.

This, I think, my Lord, is a sufficient reproach to
you ; and should I carry it as far as mankind would
authorise me, would be little less than, satire. And, 15
indeed, a provocation is almost necessary, in behalf of
the world, that you might be induced sometimes to
write ; and in relation to a multitude of scribblers, who
daily pester the world with their insufferable stuff, that
they might be discouraged from writing any more. 20
I complain not of. their lampoons and libels, though
I have been the public mark for many years. I am
vindictive enough to have repelled force by force, if
I could imagine that any of them had ever reached me ;
but they either shot at rovers, and therefore missed, or 25
their powder was so weak, that I might safely stand
them, at the nearest distance. I answered not The
Rehearsal, because I knew the author sat to himself
when he drew the picture, and was the very Bayes of
his own farce : because also I knew, that my betters 30
were more concerned than I was in that satire : and,
lastly, because Mr. Smith and Mr. Johnson, the main
pillars of it, were two such languishing gentlemen in
their conversation, that I could liken them to nothing
but to their own relations, those noble characters of 35

22 A Discourse concerning the

men of wit and pleasure about the town. The like
considerations have hindered me from dealing with the
lamentable companions of their prose and doggerel.
I am so far from defending my poetry against them,
5 that I will not so much as expose theirs. And for my
morals, if they are not proof against their attacks, let
me be thought by posterity, what those authors would
be thought, if any memory of them, or of their writings,
could endure so long as to another age. But these dull

10 makers of lampoons, as harmless as they have been to
me, are yet of dangerous example to the public. Some
witty men may perhaps succeed to their designs, and,
mixing sense with malice, blast the reputation of the
most innocent amongst men, and the most virtuous

15 amongst women.

Heaven be praised, our common libellers are as free
from the imputation of wit as of morality; and therefore
whatever mischief they have designed, they have per-
formed but little of it. Yet these ill-writers, in all

20 justice, ought themselves to be exposed; as Persius
has given us a fair example in his First Satire, which is
levelled particularly at them ; and none is so fit to
correct their faults, as he who is not only clear from
any in his own writings, but is also so just, that he will

25 never defame the good; and is armed with the power
of verse, to punish and make examples of the bad.
But of this I shall have occasion to speak further, when
I come to give the definition and character of true
satires.

30 In the mean time, as a counsellor bred up in the
knowledge of the municipal and statute laws may
honestly inform a just prince how far his prerogative
extends ; so I may be allowed to tell your Lordship,
who, by an undisputed title, are the king of poets, what

35 an extent of power you have, and how lawfully you may

Original and Progress of Satire 23

exercise it, over the petulant scribblers of this age. As
Lord Chamberlain, I know, you are absolute by your
office, in all that belongs to the decency and good
manners of the stage. You can banish from thence
scurrility and profaneness, and restrain the licentious 5
insolence of poets, and their actors, in all things that
shock the public quiet, or the reputation of private
persons, under the notion of humour. But I mean not
the authority, which is annexed to your office ; I speak
of that only which is inborn and inherent to your 10
person ; what is produced in you by an excellent wit,
a masterly and commanding genius over all writers :
whereby you are empowered, when you please, to give
the final decision of wit ; to put your stamp on all that
ought to pass for current; and set a brand of repro- 15
bation on dipt poetry, and false coin. A shilling dipped
in the bath may go for gold amongst the ignorant, but
the sceptres on the guineas show the difference. That
your Lordship is formed by nature for this supremacy,
I could easily prove, (were it not already granted by 20
the world,) from the distinguishing character of your
writing: which is so visible to me, that L never could
be imposed on to receive for yours, what was written by
any others ; or to mistake your genuine poetry for their
spurious productions. I can further add, with truth, 25
(though not without some vanity in saying it,) that in
the same paper, written by divers hands, whereof your
Lordship's was only part, I could separate your gold
from their copper ; and though I could not give back to
every author his own brass, (for there is not the same 30
rule for distinguishing betwixt bad and bad, as betwixt
ill and excellently good,) yet I never failed of knowing
what was yours, and what was not ; and was absolutely
certain, that this, or the other part, was positively yours,
and could not possibly be written by any other. 35

24 A Discourse concerning the

True it is, that some bad poems, though not all, carry
their owners' marks about them. There is some pecu-
liar awkwardness, false grammar, imperfect sense, or,
at the least, obscurity; some brand or other on this
5 buttock, or that ear, that 'tis notorious who are the
owners of the cattle, though they should not sign it
with their names. But your Lordship, on the contrary,
is distinguished, not only by the excellency of your
thoughts, but by your style and manner of expressing

lo them. A painter, judging of some admirable piece,
may affirm, with certainty, that it was of Holbein, or
Vandyck; but vulgar designs, and common draughts,
are easily mistaken, and misapplied. Thus, by my
long study of your Lordship, I am arrived at the know-

15 ledge of your particular manner. In the good poems
of other men. like those artists, I can only say, this is
like the draught of such a one, or like the colouring of
another. In short, I can only be sure, that 'tis the
hand of a good master ; but in your performances, it is

20 scarcely possible for me to be deceived. If you write
in your strength, you stand revealed at the first view ;
and should you write under it, you cannot avoid some
peculiar graces, which only cost me a second considera-
tion to discover ^ou : for I may say it, with all the

25 severity of truth, that every line of yours is precious.
Your Lordship's only fault is, that you have not written
more ; unless I could add another, and that yet greater,
but I fear for the public the accusation would not be
true, that you have written, and out of a vicious modesty

30 will not publish.

Virgil has confined his works within the compass of
eighteen thousand lines, and has not treated many
subjects; yet he ever had, and ever will have, the
reputation of the best poet. Martial says of him, that

35 he could have excelled Varius in tragedy, and Horace

Original and Progress of Satire 25

in lyric poetry, but out of deference to his friends, he
attempted neither.

The same prevalence of genius is in your Lordship,
but the world cannot pardon your concealing it on the
same consideration ; because, we have neither a living 5
Varius, nor a Horace in whose excellencies, both of
poems, odes, and satires, you had equalled them, if our
language had not yielded to the Roman majesty, and
length of time had not added a reverence to the works
of Horace. For good sense is the same in all or most 10
ages ; and course of time rather improves Nature, than
impairs her. What has been, may be again : another
Homer, and another Virgil, may possibly arise from
those very causes which produced the first; though it
would be impudence to affirm, that any such have yet 15
appeared.

It is manifest, that some particular ages have been
more happy than others in the production of great
men, in all sorts of arts and sciences ; as that of Eurip-
ides, Sophocles, Aristophanes, and the rest, for stage 20
poetry amongst the Greeks; that of Augustus, for
heroic, lyric, dramatic, elegiac, and indeed all sorts of
poetry, in the persons of Virgil, Horace, Varius, Ovid,
and many others ; especially if we take into that cen-
tury the latter end of the commonwealth, wherein we 25
find Varro, Lucretius, and Catullus ; and at the same
time lived Cicero, Sallust, and Caesar. A famous age
in modern times, for learning in every kind, was that
of Lorenzo de Medici, and his son Leo the Tenth ;
wherein painting was revived, and poetry flourished, 30
and the Greek language was restored.

Examples in all these are obvious : but what I would
infer is this ; that in such an age, it is possible some
great genius may arise, to equal any of the ancients ;
abating only for the language. For great contem- 35

26 A Discourse concerning the

poraries whet and cultivate each other; and mutual
borrowing, and commerce, makes the common riches of
learning, as it does of the civil government.

But suppose that Homer and Virgil were the only of

5 their species, and that Nature was so much worn out in
producing them, that she is never able to bear the like
again, yet the example only holds in Heroic Poetry : in
Tragedy and Satire, I offer myself to maintain against
some of our modern critics, that this age and the last,

10 particularly in England, have excelled the ancients in
both those kinds ; and I would instance in Shakespeare
of the former, in your Lordship of the latter sort \

Thus I might safely confine myself to my native
country; but if I would only cross the seas, I might

15 find in France a living Horace and a Juvenal, in the
person of the admirable Boileau ; whose numbers are
excellent, whose expressions are noble, whose thoughts
are just, whose language is pure, whose satire is pointed,
and whose sense is close; what he borrows from the

2o Ancients, he repays with usury of his own, in coin as
good, and almost as universally valuable : for, setting
prejudice and partiality apart, though he is our enemy,
the stamp of a Louis, the patron of all arts, is not
much inferior to the medal of an Augustus Caesar.

35 Let this be said without entering into the interests of
factions and parties, and relating only to the bounty
of that king to men of learning and merit ; a praise so
just, that even we, who are his enemies, cannot refuse
it to him.

30 Now if it may be permitted me to go back again to
the consideration of Epic Poetry, I have confessed, that
no man hitherto has reached, or so much as approached,
to the excellencies of Homer, or of Virgil ; I must
further add, that Statins, the best versificator next to

* Of your Lordship in the latter sort. Ed. 1693.

Original and Progress of Satire 27

Virgil, knew not how to design after him, though he
had the model in his eye ; that Lucan is wanting both
in design and subject, and is besides too full of heat and
affectation ; that amongst the Moderns, Ariosto neither
designed justly, nor observed any unity of action, or 5
compass of time, or moderation in the vastness of his
draught; his style is luxurious, without majesty or
decency, and his adventures without the compass of
nature and possibility. Tasso, whose design was
regular, and who observed the rules of unity in time 10
and place more closely than Virgil, yet was not so
happy in his action ; he confesses himself to have been
too lyrical, that is, to have written beneath the dignity
of heroic verse, in his episodes of Sophronia, Erminia,
and Armida; his story is not so pleasing as Ariosto's; 15
he is too flatulent sometimes, and sometimes too dry ;
many times unequal, and almost always forced; and,
besides, is full of conceits, points of epigram, and witti-
cisms; all which are not only below the dignity of
heroic verse, but contrary to its nature : Virgil and 20
Homer have not one of them. And those who are
guilty of so boyish an ambition in so grave a subject,
are so far from being considered as heroic poets, that
they ought to be turned down from Homer to the
Anthologia, from Virgil to Martial and Owen's Epi- 25
grams, and from Spenser to Fleckno ; that is, from
the top to the bottom of all poetry. But to return to
Tasso : he borrows from the invention of Boiardo, and
in his alteration of his poem, which is infinitely for the
worse, imitates Homer so very servilely, that (for 30
example) he gives the King of Jerusalem fifty sons,
only becatise Homer had bestowed the like number on
King Priam ; he kills the youngest in the same manner,
and has provided his hero with a Patroclus, under
another name, only to bring him back to the wars, when 35

28 A Discourse concerning the

his friend was killed. The French have performed
nothing in this kind which is not far below those two
Italians, and subject to a thousand more reflections,
without examining their St, Lewis, their Pucelte, or

5 their Alaric. The English have only to boast of
Spenser and Milton, who neither of them wanted either
genius or learning to have been perfect poets, and yet
both of them are liable to many censures. For there
is no uniformity in the design of Spenser: he aims

10 at the accomplishment of no one action ; he raises up
a hero for every one of his adventures ; and endows
each of them with some particular moral virtue, which
renders them all equal, without subordination, or prefer-
ence. Every one is most valiant in his own legend :

15 only we must do him that justice to observe, that
magnanimity, which is the character of Prince Arthur,
shines throughout the whole poem ; and succours the
rest, when they are in distress^ The original of every
knight was then living in the court of Queen Elizabeth ;

30 and he attributed to each of them that virtue, which he
thought was most conspicuous in them; an ingenious
piece of flattery, though it turned not much to his
account. Had he lived to finish his poem, in the six
remaining legends, it had certainly been more of a

25 piece ; but could not have been perfect, because the
model was not true. But Prince Arthur, or his chief
patron Sir Philip Sidney, whom he intended to make
happy by the marriage of his Gloriana, dying before
him, deprived the poet both of means and spirit to

30 accomplish his design : for the rest, his obsolete lan-
guage, and the ill choice of his stanza, are faults but of
the second magnitude ; for, notwithstanding- the first,
he is still intelligible, at least after a little practice ; and
for the last, he is the more to be admired, that, labour-

35 ing under such a difficulty, his verses are so numerous.

Original and Progress of Satire 29

so various, and so harmonious, that only Virgil, whom
he profestly imitated, has surpassed him among the
Romans ; and only Mr. Waller among the English.

As for Mr. Milton, whom we all admire with so
much justice, his subject is not that of an Heroic Poem, 5
properly so called. His design is the losing of our
happiness; his event is not prosperous, like that of
all other epic works ; his heavenly machines are many,
and his human persons are but two. But I will not
take Mr. Rymer's work out of his hands. He has 10
promised the world a critique on that author ; wherein,
though he will not allow his poem for heroic, I hope he
will grant us, tliat his thoughts are elevated, his words
sounding, and that no man has so happily copied the
manner of Homer, or so copiously translated his Gre- 15
cisms, and the Latin elegancies of Virgil. Tis true,
he runs into a flat of thought, sometimes for a hun-
dred lines together, but it is when he is got into a track
of Scripture. His antiquated words were his choice,
not his necessity ; for therein he imitated Spenser, as 20
Spenser did Chaucer. And though, perhaps, the love
of their masters may have transported both too far, in
the frequent use of them, yet, in my opinion, obsolete
words may then be laudably revived, when either they
are more sounding, or more significant, than those in 25
practice; and when their obscurity is taken away, by
joining other words to them, which clear the sense;
according to the rule of Horace, for the admission of
new words. But in both cases a moderation is to be
observed in the use of them : for unnecessary coinage, 30
as well as unnecessary revival, runs into affectation ;
a fault to be avoided on either hand. Neither will
I justify Milton for his blank verse, though I may
excuse him, by the example of Hannibal Caro, and
other Italians, who have used it ; for whatever causes 35

30 A Discourse concerning the

he alleges for the abolishing of rhyme, (which I have
not now the leisure to examine,) his own particular
reason is plainly this, that rh3rme was not his talent ; he
had neither the ease of doing it, nor the graces of it ;
5 which is manifest in his Juvenilia^ or verses written in
his youth, where his rhyme is always constrained and
forced, and comes hardly from him, at an age when the
soul is most pliant, and the passion of love makes
almost every man a rhymer, though not a poet.

10 By this time, my Lord, I doubt not but that you
wonder, why I have run off from my bias so long
together, and made so tedious a digression from satire
to heroic poetry. But if you will not excuse it by the
tattling quality of age, which, as Sir William D'Avenant

15 says, is always narrative, yet I hope the usefulness of
what I have to say on this subject will qualify the
remoteness of it ; and this is the last time I will commit
the crime of prefaces, or trouble the world with my
notions of anything that relates to verse. I have then,

30 as you see, observed the failings of many great wits
amongst the Moderns, who have attempted to write an
epic poem. Besides these, or the like animadversions
of them by other men, there is yet a further reason
given, why they cannot possibly succeed so well as the

25 Ancients, even though we could allow them not to be
inferior, either in genius or learning, or the tongue in
which they write, or all those other wonderful qualifica-
tions which are necessary to the forming of a true
accomplished heroic poet. The fault is laid on our

30 religion ; they say, that Christianity is not capable of
those embellishments which are afforded in the belief
of those ancient heathens.

And 'tis true, that, in the severe notions of our faith,
the fortitude of a Christian consists in patience, and

35 suffering, for the love of God, whatever hardships can

Original and Progress of Satire 31

befall him in the world ; not in any great attempt, or in
performance of those enterprises which the poets call
heroic, and which are commonly the effects of interest,
ostentation, pride, and worldly honour: that humility
and resignation are our prime virtues ; and that these 5
include no action, but that of the soul ; when as, on
the contrary, an heroic poem requires to its necessary
design, and as its last perfection, some great action of
war, the accomplishment of some extraordinary under-
taking; which requires the strength and vigour of the 10
body, the duty of a soldier, the capacity and prudence
of a general, and, in short, as much, or more, of the
active virtue, than the suffering. But to this the answer
is very obvious. God has placed us in our several
stations ; the virtues of a private Christian are patience, 15
obedience, submission, and the like ; but those of a magis-
trate, or general, or a king, are prudence, counsel, active
fortitude, coercive power, awful command, and the exer-
cise of magnanimity, as well as justice. So that this ob-
jection hinders not, but that an Epic Poem, or the heroic 20
action of some great commander, enterprised for the
common good, and honour of the Christian cause, and
executed happily, may be as well written now, as it was
of old by the heathens ; provided the poet be endued
with the same talents; and the language, though not 25 .
of equal dignity, yet as near approaching to it, as our
modern barbarism will allow, which is all that can be
expected from our own, or any other now extant, though
more refined ; and therefore we are to rest contented
with that only inferiority, which is not possible to be 30
remedied.

I wish I could as easily remove that other difficulty
which yet remains. 'Tis objected by a great French
critic, as well as an admirable poet, yet living, and whom
I have mentioned with that honour which his merit 35

32 A Discourse concerning the

exacts from me, I mean Boileau, that the machines of
our Christian religion, in heroic poetry, are much more
feeble to support that weight than those of heathenism.
Their doctrine, grounded as it was on ridiculous fables,

5 was yet the belief of the two victorious Monarchies, the
Grecian and Roman. Their gods did not only interest
themselves in the event of wars, (which is the effect of
a superior providence,) but also espoused the several
parties in a visible corporeal descent, managed their

10 intrigues, and fought their battles sometimes in oppo-
sition to each other : though Virgil (more discreet than
Homer in that last particular) has contented himself with
the partiality of his deities, their favours, their counsels
or commands, to those whose cause they had espoused,

15 without bringing them to the outrageousness of blows.
Now, our religion (says he) is deprived of the greatest
part of those machines ; at least the most shining in
epic poetry. Though St. Michael, in Ariosto, seeks out
Discord, to send her among* the Pagans, and finds her

ao in a convent of friars, where peace should reign, which
indeed is fine satire ; and Satan, in Tasso, excites Soly-w
man to an attempt by night on the Christian camp, and
brings an host of devils to his assistance ; yet the arch-
angel, in the former example, when Discord was restive,

35 and would not be drawn from her beloved monastery
with fair words, has the whip-hand of her, drags her out
with many stripes, sets her, on God's name, about her
business, and makes her know the difference of strength
betwixt a nuncio of Heaven, and a minister of Hell.

30 The same angel, in the latter instance from Tasso, (as
if God had never another messenger belonging to the
court, but was confined like Jupiter to Mercury, and
Juno to Iris,) when he sees his time, that is, when half
of the Christians are already killed, and all the rest are

35 in a fair way to be routed, stickles betwixt the remainders

Original and Progress of Satire 33

of God's host, and the race of fiends ; pulls the devils
backward by the tails, and drives them from the quarry;
or otherwise the whole business had miscarried, and
Jerusalem remained untaken. This, says Boileau, is
a very unequal match for the poor devils, who are sure 5
to come by the worst of it in the combat ; for nothing is
more easy, than for an Almighty Power to bring his old
rebels to reason when he pleases. Consequently, what
pleasure, what entertainment, can be raised from so
pitiful a machine, where we see the success of the battle 10
from the very beginning of it ; unless that, as we are
Christians, we are glad that we have gotten God on our
side, to maul our enemies, when we cannot do the work
ourselves ? For if the poet had given the faithful more
courage, which had cost him nothing, or at least have 15
made them exceed the Turks in number, he might have
gained the victory for us Christians, without interessing
Heaven in the quarrel; and that with as much ease, and
as little credit to the conqueror, as when a party of
a hundred soldiers defeats another which consists only ao
of fifty.

This, my Lord, I confess, is such an argument against
our modern poetry, as cannot be answered by those
mediums which have been used. We cannot hitherto
boast, that our religion has furnished us with any such 35
machines, as have made the strength and beauty of the
ancient buildings.

But what if I venture to advance an invention of my
own, to supply the manifest defect of our new writers ?
I am sufficiently sensible of my weakness ; and it is not 30
very probable that I should succeed in such a project,
whereof I have not had the least hint from any of my
predecessors, the poets, or any of their seconds and
coadjutors, the critics. Yet we see the art of war is
improved in sieges, and new instruments of death are 35

II. D

34 A Discourse concerning the

invented daily; something new in philosophy and the
mechanics is discovered almost every year; and the
. science of former ages is improved by the succeeding.
I will not detain you with a long preamble to that,
5 which better judges will, perhaps, conclude to be little
worth.

It is this, in short, that Christian poets have not
hitherto been acquainted with their own strength. If
they had searched the Old Testament as they ought,

lo they might there have found the machines which are
proper for their work ; and those more certain in their
effect, than it may be the New Testament is, in the
rules sufficient for salvation. The perusing of one
chapter in the prophecy of Daniel, and accommodating

15 what there they find with the principles of Platonic
philosophy, as it is now Christianised, would have made
the ministry of angels as strong an engine, for the work-
ing up heroic poetry, in our religion, as that of the
Ancients has been to raise theirs by all the fables of

30 their gods, which were only received for truths by the
most ignorant and weakest of the people.

'Tis a doctrine almost universally received by Chris-
tians, as well Protestants as Catholics, that there are
guardian angels, appointed by God Almighty, as his

as vicegerents, for the protection and government of cities,
provinces, kingdoms, and monarchies ; and those as well
of heathens, as of true believers. All this is so plainly
proved from those texts of Daniel, that it admits of no
further controversy. The prince of the Persians, and

30 that other of the Grecians, are granted to be the guardians
and protecting ministers of those empires. It cannot be
denied, that they were opposite, and resisted one another.
St. Michael is mentioned by his name as the patron of
the Jews, and is now taken by the Christians, as the

35 protector-general of our religion. These tutelar genii,

Original and Progress of Satire 35

who presided over the several people and regions com-
mitted to their charge, were watchful over them for good,
as far as their commissions could possibly extend. The
general purpose and design of all was certainly the
service of their Great Creator. But *tis an undoubted 5
truth, that, for ends best known to the Almighty Majesty
of Heaven, his providential designs for the benefit of
his creatures, for the debasing and punishing of some
nations, and the exaltation and temporal reward of
others, were not wholly known to these his ministers ; la
else why those factious quarrels, controversies, and
battles amongst themselves, when they were all united
in the same design, the service and honour of their
common Master? But being instructed only in the
general, and zealous of the main design ; and, as infinite 15
beings, not admitted into the secrets of government, the
last resorts of providence, or capable of discovering
the final purposes of God, who can work good out of
evil as he pleases, and irresistibly sways all manner of
events on earth, directing them finally for the best, to 20
his creation in general, and to the ultimate end of his
own glory in particular ; they must, of necessity, be
sometimes ignorant of the means conducing to those
ends, in which alone they can jar and oppose each other.
One angel, as we may suppose the Prince of Persia, as 25
he is called, judging, that it would be more for God's
honour, and the benefit of his people, that the Median
and Persian Monarchy, which delivered them from the
Babylonish captivity, should still be uppermost; and
the patron of the Grecians, to whom the will of God 3©
might be more particularly revealed, contending, on the
other side, for the rise of Alexander and his successors,
who were appointed to punish the backsliding Jews, and
thereby to put them in mind of their offences, that they
might repent, and become more virtuous, and more 35

D 2

36 A Discourse concerning the

observant of the law revealed. But how far these
controversies and appearing enmities of those glorious
creatures may be carried ; how these oppositions may
best be managed, and by what means conducted, is not
5 my business to show or determine ; these things must
be left to the invention and judgment of the poet ; if
any of so happy a genius be now living, or any future
age can produce a man, who, being conversant in the
philosophy of Plato, as it is now accommodated to

10 Christian use, (for, as Virgil gives us to understand by
his example, that is the only proper, of all others, for
an epic poem,) who, to his natural endowments, of a large
invention, a ripe judgment, and a strong memory, has
joined the knowledge of the liberal arts and sciences,

15 and particularly moral philosophy, the mathematics,
geography, and history, and with all these qualifications
is born a poet ; knows, and can practise the variety of
numbers, and is master of the language in which he
writes ; — if such a man, I say, be now arisen, or shall

ao arise, I am vain enough to think, that I have proposed
a model to him, by which he may build a nobler, a more
beautiful and more perfect poem, than any yet extant
since the Ancients.

There is another part of these machines yet wanting ;

25 but, by what I have said, it would have been easily sup-
plied by a judicious writer. He could not have failed
to add the opposition of ill spirits to the good ; they
have also their design, ever opposite to that of Heaven ;
and this alone has hitherto been the practice of the

30 Moderns : but this imperfect system, if I may call it
such, which I have given, will infinitely advance and
carry further that hypothesis of the evil spirits contend-
ing with the good. For, being so much weaker, since
their fall, than those blessed beings, they are yet sup-

35 posed to have a permitted power from God of acting ill.

Original and Progress of Satire 37

as, from their own depraved nature, they have always
the will of designing it. A great testimony of which we
find in holy writ, when God Almighty suffered Satan
to appear in the holy synod of the angels, (a thing not
hitherto drawn into example by any of the poets,) and 5
also gave him power over all things belonging to his
servant Job, excepting only life.

Now, what these wicked spirits cannot compass, by
the vast disproportion of their forces to those of the
superior beings, they may by their fraud and cunning 10
carry farther, in a seeming league, confederacy, or sub-
serviency to the designs of some good angel, as far as
consists with his purity to suffer such an aid, the end
of which may possibly be disguised, and concealed from
his finite knowledge. This is, indeed, to suppose a great 15
error in such a being ; yet since a devil can appear like
an angel of light ; since craft and malice may sometimes
blind for a while a more perfect understanding; and,
lastly, since Milton has given us an example of the like
nature, when Satan, appearing like a cherub to Uriel, 20
the Intelligence of the Sun, circumvented him even in
his own province, and passed only for a curious traveller
through those new-created regions, that he might observe
therein the workmanship of God, and praise him in his
works ; I know not why, upon the same supposition, or 2 5
some other, a fiend may not deceive a creature of more
excellency than himself, but yet a creature ; at least, by
the connivance, or tacit permission, of the Omniscient
Being.

Thus, my Lord, I have, as briefly as I could, given 30
your Lordship, and by you the world, a rude draught
of what I have been long labouring in my imagination,
and what I had intended to have put in practice, (though
far unable for the attempt of such a poem,) and to have
left the stage, (to which my genius never much inclined 35

38 A Discourse concerning the

me,) for a work which would have taken up my life in
the performance of it. This, too, I had intended chiefly
for the honour of my native country, to which a poet is
particularly obliged. Of two subjects, both relating to
5 it, I was doubtful whether I should choose that of King
Arthur conquering the Saxons, which, being farther
distant in time, gives the greater scope to my invention ;
or that of Edward, the Black Prince, in subduing Spain,
and restoring it to the lawful prince, though a great

lo tyrant, Don Pedro the Cruel : which, for the compass
of time, including only the expedition of one year ; for
the greatness of the action, and its answerable event ;
for the magnanimity of the English hero, opposed to
the ingratitude of the person whom he restored ; and

15 for the many beautiful episodes, which I had interwoven
with the principal design, together with the characters
of the chiefest English persons ; wherein, after Virgil
and Spenser, I would have taken occasion to represent
my living friends and patrons of the noblest families,

20 and also shadowed the events of future ages, in the
succession of our imperial line ; with these helps, and
those of the machines, which I have mentioned, I might
perhaps have done as well as some of my predecessors,
or at least chalked out a way for others to amend my

25 errors in a like design. But being encouraged only
with fair words by King Charles II, my little salary ill
paid, and no prospect of a future subsistence, I was then
discouraged in the beginning of my attempt ; and now
age has overtaken me, and want, a more insufferable

30 evil, through the change of the times, has wholly dis-
enabled me. Though I must ever acknowledge, to the
honour of your Lordship, and the eternal memory of
your charity, that, since this revolution, wherein I have
patiently suffered the ruin of my small fortune, and the

35 loss of that poor subsistence which I had from two

Original and Progress of Satire 39

kings, whom I had served more faithfully than profit-
ably to myself; then your Lordship was pleased, out
of no other motive but your own nobleness, without any
desert of mine, or the least solicitation from me, to make
me a most bountiful present, which at that time, when 5
I was most in want of it, came most seasonably and un-
expectedly to my relief. That favour, my Lord, is of
itself sufficient to bind any grateful man to a perpetual
acknowledgment, and to all the future service which
one of my mean condition can ever be able to perform, ro
Maythe Almighty God return it for me, both in blessing
you here, and rewarding you hereafter! I must not
presume to defend the cause for which I now suffer,
because your Lordship is engaged against it; but the
more you are so, the greater is my obligation to you, 15
for your laying aside all the considerations of factions
and parties, to do an action of pure disinterested charity.
This is one amongst many of your shining qualities,
which distinguish you from others of your rank. But
let me add a farther truth, that, without these ties of 20
gratitude, and abstracting from them all, I have a most
particular inclination to honour you ; and, if it were not
too bold an expression, to say, I love you. 'Tis no
shame to be a poet, though 'tis to be a bad one.
Augustus Caesar of old, and Cardinal Richelieu of late, 25
would willingly have been such ; and David and Solomon
were such. You who, without flattery, are the best of
the present age in England, and would have been so,
had you been born in any other country, will receive
more honour in future ages by that one excellency, than 30
by all those honours to which your birth has entitled
you, or your merits have acquired you.

Ne^ fortBy pudori
Sit tibi Musa lyrce soiersj et cantor Apollo.

I have formerly said in this Epistle, that I could dis- 35

40 A Discourse concerning the

tinguish your writings from those of any others ; 'tis
now time to clear myself from any imputation of self-
conceit on that subject. I assume not to myself any
particular lights in this discovery; they are such only

5 as are obvious to every man of sense and judgment,
who loves poetry, and understands it. Your thoughts
are always so remote from the common way of thinking,
that they are, as I may say, of another species than the
conceptions of other poets ; yet you go not out of nature

10 for any of them. Gold is never bred upon the surface
of the ground, but lies so hidden, and so deep, that the
mines of it are seldom found ; but the force of waters
casts it out from the bowels of mountains, and exposes
it amongst the sands of rivers ; giving us of her bounty

15 what we could not hope for by our search. This suc-
cess attends your Lordship's thoughts, which would look
like chance, if it were not perpetual, and always of the
same tenour. If I grant that there is care in it, 'tis
such a care as would be ineffectual and fruitless in other

20 men. 'Tis the curiosa felicitas which Petronius ascribes
to Horace in his Odes. We have not wherewithal to
imagine so strongly, so justly, and so pleasantly;- in
short, if we have the same knowledge, we cannot draw
out of it the same quintessence ; we cannot give it such

25 a turn, such a propriety, and such a beauty; something
is deficient in the manner, or the words, but more in
the nobleness of our conception. Yet when you have
finished all, and it appears in its full lustre, when the
diamond is not only found, but the roughness smoothed,

30 when it is cut into a form, and set in gold, then we cannot
but acknowledge, that it is the perfect work of art and
nature ; and every one will be so vain, to think he him-
self could have performed the like, till he attempts it.
It is just the description that Horace makes of such

35 a finished piece : it appears so easy,

Original and Progress of Satire 41

, , . Ut sibi quivis
Speret ident^ sudet multunt, Jrnstraque laboret,
Ausus ieUnt,

And, besides all this, *tis your Lordship's particular
talent to lay your thoughts so close together, that, were 5
they closer, they would be crowded, and even a due
connexion would be wanting. We are not kept in
expectation of two good lines, which are to come after
a long parenthesis of twenty bad ; which is the April
poetry of other writers, a mixture of rain and sunshine 10
by fits : you are always bright, even almost to a fault,
by reason of the excess. There is continual abundance,
a magazine of thought, and yet a perpetual variety of
entertainment ; which creates such an appetite in your
reader, that he is not cloyed with anything, but satisfied 15
with all. 'Tis that which the Romans call ccena dubia ;
where there is such plenty, yet withal so much diversity,
and so good order, that the choice is difficult betwixt
one excellency and another ; and yet the conclusion, by
a due climax, is evermore the best ; that is, as a con- 20
elusion ought to be, ever the most proper for its place.
See, my Lord, whether I have not studied your Lord-
ship with some application ; and, since you are so
modest, that you will not be judge and party, I appeal
to the whole world, if I have not drawn your picture 35
to a great degree of likeness, though it is but in minia-
ture, and that some of the best features are yet wanting.
Yet what I have done is enough to distinguish you from
any other, which is the proposition that I took upon me
to demonstrate. 30

And now, my Lord, to apply what I have said to my
present business : the Satires of Juvenal and Persius
appearing in this new English dress cannot so
properly be inscribed to any man as to your Lord-
ship, who are the first of the age in that way of writing. 35

42 A Discourse concerning the

Your Lordship, amongst many other favours, has given
me your permission for this address ; and you have
particularly encouraged me by your perusal and appro-
bation of the Sixth and Tenth Satires of Juvenal, as
5 I have translated them. My fellow-labourers have like-
wise commissioned me to perform, in their behalf, this
office of a Dedication to you ; and will acknowledge,
with all possible respect and gratitude, your acceptance
of their work. Some of them have the honour to be

lo known to your Lordship already ; and they who have
not yet that happiness desire it now. Be pleased to
receive our common endeavours with your wonted
candour, without intitling you to the protection of our
common failings in so difficult an undertaking. And

Tf allow me your patience, if it be not already tired with
this long epistle, to give you, from the best authors, the
origin, the antiquity, the growth, the change, and the
completement of Satire among the Romans ; to describe,
if not define, the nature of that poem, with its several

20 qualifications and virtues, together with the several
sorts of it; to compare the excellencies of Horace,
Persius, and Juvenal, and show the particular manners
of their satires ; and, lastly, to give an account of this
new way of version, which is attempted in our perform-

25 ance. All .which, according to the weakness of my
ability, and the best lights which I can get from others,
shall be the subject of my following discourse.

The most perfect work of Poetry, says our master
Aristotle, is Tragedy. His reason is, because it is the

30 most united ; being more severely confined within the
rules of action, time, and place. The action is entire,
of a piece, and one, without episodes ; the time limited
to a natural day ; and the place circumscribed at least
within the compass of one town, or city. Being exactly

35 proportioned thus, and uniform in all its parts, the mind

Original and Progress of Satire 43

is more capable of comprehending the whole beauty of
it without distraction.

But after all these advantages, an Heroic Poem is
certainly the greatest work of human nature. The
beauties and perfections of the other are but mechanical ; 5
those of the Epic are more noble: though Homer has
limited his place to Troy, and the fields about it ; his
actions to forty-eight natural days, whereof twelve are
holidays, or cessation from business, during the funeral
of Patroclus. To proceed; the action of the Epic is 10
greater ; the extension of time enlarges the pleasure of
the reader, and the episodes give it more ornament,
and more variety. The instruction is equal ; but the
first is only instructive, the latter forms a hero, and a
prince. 1 5

If it signifies anything which of them is of the more
ancient family, the best and most absolute Heroic
Poem was written by Homer long before Tragedy was
invented. But if we consider the natural endowments
and acquired parts which are necessary to make an 20
accomplished writer in either kind, Tragedy requires
a less and more confined knowledge ; moderate learning,
and observation of the rules, is sufficient, if a genius be
not wanting. But in an epic poet, one who is worthy
of that name, besides an universal genius, is required 25
universal learning, together with all those qualities and
acquisitions which I have named above, and as many
more as I have, through haste or negligence, omitted.
And, after all, he must have exactly studied Homer and
Virgil as his patterns; Aristotle and Horace as his 30
guides ; and Vida and Bossu as their commentators ;
with many others, both Italian and French critics,
which I want leisure here to recommend.

In a word, what I have to say in relation to this
subject, which does not particularly concern Satire, is, 35

44 A Discourse concerning the

that the greatness of an heroic poem, beyond that of
a tragedy, may easily be discovered, by observing how
few have attempted that work in comparison to those
who have written dramas ; and, of those few, how small

5 a number have succeeded. But leaving the critics, on
either side, to contend about the preference due to this
or that sort of poetry, I will hasten to my present
business, which is the antiquity and origin of Satire,
according to those informations which I have received

lo from the learned Casaubon, Heinsius, Rigaltius, Dacier,
and the Dauphin's Juvenal ; to which I shall add some
observations of my own.

There has been a long dispute among the modern
critics, whether the Romans derived their Satire from

15 the Grecians, or first invented it themselves. Julius
Scaliger, and Heinsius, are of the first opinion;
Casaubon, Rigaltius, Dacier, and the publisher of the
Dauphin's Juvenal, maintain the latter. If we take
Satire in the general signification of the word, as it

20 is used in all modern languages, for an invective, it is
certain that it is almost as old as verse; and though
hymns, which are praises of God, may be allowed to
have been before it, yet the defamation of others was
not long after it. After God had cursed Adam and Eve

25 in Paradise, the husband and wife excused them-
selves, by laying the blame on one another ; and gave
a beginning to those conjugal dialogues in prose, which
the poets have perfected in verse. The third chapter
of Job is one of the first instances of this poem in holy

30 Scripture ; unless we will take it higher, from the latter
end of the second, where his wife advises him to curse
his Maker.

This original, I confess, is not much to the honour of
satire ; but here it was nature, and that depraved : when

35 it became an art, it bore better fruit. Only we have

Original and Progress of Satire 45

learnt thus much already, that scoffs and revilings are
of the growth of all nations ; and, consequently, that
neither the Greek poets borrowed from other people
their art of railing, neither needed the Romans to take
it from them. But, considering Satire as a species of 5
poetry, here the war begins amongst the critics,
Scaliger, the father, will have it descend from Greece
to Rome; and derives the word Satire from Satyrus,
that mixed kind of animal, or, as the ancients thought
him, rural god, made up betwixt a man and a goat ; 10
with a human head, hooked nose, pouting lips, a bunch,
or struma, under the chin, pricked ears, and upright
horns ; the body shagged with hair, especially from the
waist, and ending in a goat, with the legs and feet of
that creature. But Casaubon, and his followers, with 15
reason, condemn this derivation ; and prove, that from
SafyruSy the word satiray as it signifies a poem, cannot
possibly descend. For satira is not properly a substan-
tive, but an adjective; to which the word lanx (in
English, a charger, or large platter) is understood ; so 20
that the Greek poem, made according to the manners
of a Satyr, and expressing his qualities, must properly
be called satyrical, and not Satire. And thus far 'tis
allowed that the Grecians had such poems ; but that
they were wholly different in specie from that to which 25
the Romans gave the name of Satire.

Aristotle divides all Poetry, in relation to the progress
of it, into nature without art, art begun, and art com-
pleted. Mankind, even the most barbarous, have the
seeds of poetry implanted in them. The first specimen 30
of it was certainly shown in the praises of the Deity,
and prayers to him ; and as they are of natural obliga-
tion, so they are likewise of divine institution : which
Milton observing, introduces Adam and Eve every
morning adoring God in hymns and prayers. The first 35

46 A Discourse concerning the

poetry was thus begun, in the wild notes of natural
poetry, before the invention of feet, and measures.
The Grecians and Romans had no other original of
their poetry. Festivals and holidays soon succeeded to
h private worship, and we need not doubt but they were
enjoined by the true God to his own people, as they
were afterwards imitated by the heathens ; who, by the
light of reason, knew they were to invoke some superior
Being in their necessities, and to thank him for his

io benefits. Thus, the Grecian holidays were celebrated
with offerings to Bacchus, and Ceres, and other deities,
to whose bounty they supposed they were owing for
their corn and wine, and other helps of life. And
the ancient Romans, as Horace tells us, paid their

' 6 thanks to mother Earth, or Vesta, to Silvanus, and
their Genius, in the same manner. But as all festivals
have a double reason of their institution, the first of
religion, the other of recreation, for the unbending of
our minds, so both the Grecians and Romans agreed,

20 after their sacrifices were performed, to spend the
remainder of the day in sports and merriments ; amongst
which, songs and dances, and that which they called
wit, (for want of knowing better,) were the chiefest enter-
tainments. The Grecians had a notion of Satyrs, whom

35 I have already described ; and taking them, and the
Sileni, that is, the young Satyrs and the old, for the
tutors, attendants, and humble companions of their
Bacchus, habited themselves like those rural deities,
and imitated them in their rustic dances, to which they

30 joined songs, with some sort of rude harmony, but
without certain numbers; and to these they added
a kind of chorus.

The Romans, also, (as Nature is the same in all
places,) though they knew nothing of those Grecian

35 demi-gods, nor had any communication with Greece,

Original and Progress of Satire 47

yet had certain young men, who, at their festivals,
danced and sung, after their uncouth manner, to a
certain kind of verse, which they called Saturnian.
What it was, we have no certain light from antiquity to
discover ; but we may conclude, that, like the Grecian, 5
it yiras void of art, or, at least, with very feeble begin-
nings of it. Those ancient Romans, at these holidays,
which were a mixture of devotion and debauchery, had
a custom of reproaching each other with their faults, in
a sort oiex tempore poetry, or rather of tunable hobbling 10
verse ; and they answered in the same kind of gross
raillery; their wit and their music being of a piece.
The Grecians, says Casaubon, had formerly done the
same, in the persons of their petulant Satyrs : but I am
afraid he mistakes the matter, and confounds the sing- 15
ing and dancing of the Satyrs with the rustical enter-
tainments of the first Romans. The reason of my
opinion is this : that Casaubon, finding little light from
antiquity of these beginnings of Poetry amongst the
Grecians, but only these representations of Satyrs, who 20
carried canisters and cornucopias full of several fruits
in their hands, and danced with them at their public
feasts ; and afterwards reading Horace, who makes
mention of his homely Romans jesting at one another
in the same kind of solemnities, might suppose those 25
wanton Satyrs did the same; and especially because
Horace possibly might seem to him to have shown the
original of all Poetry in general, including the Grecians
as well as Romans ; though it is plainly otherwise, that
he only described the beginning and first rudiments of 3^
Poetry in his own country. The verses are these,
which he cites from the First Epistle of the Second
Book, which was written to Augustus —

Agricolce prisciy fortes^ parvoque beatif

Condita post frumenta, levamtes ttmpore festo 35

48 A Discourse concerning the

Corpus, ft ipsum anintum spe finis dura ferententy
Cum socUs operum, et pueris, et conjuge fida,
Tellurem porco, SUvanunt lade piabant ;
Floribus tt vino Genium ntemorem brews am:
5 Fescennina per hunc invenia luxntia ntorent

Versibus altemis opprobria rustica fudit.

Our brawny clowns, of old, who turn'd the soil.

Content with little, and inur*d to toil,

At harvest-home, with mirth and country cheer,
10 Restored their bodies for another year;

Refreshed their spirits, and renew'd their hope

Of such a future feast, and future crop.

Then, with their fellow-joggers of the ploughs.

Their little children, and their faithful spouse,
15 A sow they slew to Vestals deity,

And kindly milk, SilvanuSy pour'd to thee;

With flow'rs, and wine, their Genius they adored ;

A short life, and a merry, was the word.

From flowing cups, defaming rhymes ensue, ]
20 And at each other homely taunts they threw. /

Yet since it is a hard conjecture, that so great a man
as Casaubon should misapply what Horace writ con-
cerning ancient Rome, to the ceremonies and manners
of ancient Greece, I will not insist on this opinion, but

35 rather judge in general, that since all Poetry had its
original from religion, that of the Grecians and Rome
had the same beginning : both were invented at festivals
of thanksgiving, and both were prosecuted with mirth
and raillery, and rudiments of verses : amongst the

30 Greeks, by those who represented Satyrs ; and amongst
the Romans, by real clowns.

For, indeed, when I am reading Casaubon on these
two subjects, methinks I hear the same story told twice
over with very little alteration. Of which Dacier taking

35 notice, in his interpretation of the Latin verses which
I have translated, says plainly, that the beginning of
Poetry was the same, with a small variety, in both
countries; and that the mother of it, in all nations,

Original and Progress of Satire 49

was devotion. But, what is yet more wonderful, that
most learned critic takes notice also, in his illustrations
on the First Epistle of the Second Book, that as the
poetry of the Romans, and that of the Grecians, had
the same beginning, (at feasts and thanksgiving, as it 5
has been observed,) and the Old Comedy of the Greeks,
which was invective, and the Satire of the Romans,
which was of the same nature, were begun on the very
same occasion, so the fortune of both, in process of
time, was just the same ; the Old Comedy of the Grecians 10
was forbidden, for its too much licence in exposing of
particular persons ; and the rude Satire of the Romans
was also punished by a law of the Decemviri, as Horace
tells us, in these words —

Libertasque recurrentes ciccepta per annos 15

Lusit antabiliter; donee jam scevus apertam

In rabient verti ccepit jocus^ et per honestas

Ire domos itnpune tninax: doluere cruenio

Dente lacessiti; fuit intactis quoque cura

Conditione super contmuni: quinetiam lex, 20

Pcenaque lata^ ntalo quce nollet carmine quenquam

Describi: vertere modum, /ormidine Jusiis

Ad benedicendum deiectandumque redacti.

The law of the Decemviri was this : Siquis occentassit
malum carmen^ sive condidisit, quod in/amiam/axit, Jlagi- 25
tiumve alteri, capital esto, A strange likeness, and barely
possible ; but the critics being all of the same opinion,
it becomes me to be silent, and to submit to better
judgments than my own.

But, to return to the Grecians, from whose satyric 30
dramas the elder Scaliger and Heinsius will have the
Roman Satire to proceed, I am to take a view of them
first, and to see if there be any such descent from them
as those authors have pretended.

Thespis, or whoever he were that invented Tragedy, 35
(for authors differ,) mingled with them a chorus and

II. E

50 A Discourse concerning the

dances of Satjrrs, which had before been used in the
celebration of their festivals ; and there they were ever
afterwards retained. The character of them was also
kept, which was mirth and wantonness ; and this was

5 given, I suppose, to the folly of the common audience,
who soon grow weary of good sense, and, as we daily
see in our own age and country, are apt to forsake
poetry, and still ready to return to bufFoonry and farce.
From hence it came, that, in the Olympic games, where

10 the poets contended for four prizes, the satyric tragedy
was the last of them ; for, in the rest, the Satyrs were
excluded from the chorus. Among the plays of Eurip-
ides which are yet remaining, there is one of these
Satyrics, which is called the Cyclops ; in which we may

15 see the nature of those poems, and from thence con-
clude what likeness they have to the Roman satire.

The story of this Cyclops, whose name was Poly-
phemus, so famous in the Grecian fables, was, that
Ulysses, who, with his company, was driven on that

ao coast of Sicily, where those Cyclops inhabited, coming
to ask relief from Silenus, and the Satyrs, who were
herdsmen to that one-eyed giant, was kindly received
by them, and entertained ; till, being perceived by
Pol3^hemus, they were made prisoners against the

25 rites of hospitality, (for which Ulysses eloquently
pleaded,) were afterwards put down into the den, and
some of them devoured ; after which Ulysses, having
made him drunk, when he was asleep, thrust a great
firebrand into his eye, and so, revenging his dead

30 followers, escaped with the remaining party of the
living; and Silenus and the Satyrs were freed from
their servitude under Pol3rphemus, and remitted to
their first liberty of attending and accompanying their
patron, Bacchus.

35 This was the subject of the tragedy; which, being

Original and Progress of Satire 51.

one of those that end with a happy event, is therefore,
by Aristotle, judged below the other sort, whose success
is unfortunate. Notwithstanding which, the Satyrs, who
were part of the dramatis personce, as well as the whole
chorus, were properly introduced into the nature of the 5
poem, which is mixed of farce and tragedy. The adven-
ture of Ulysses was to entertain the judging part of the
audience ; and the uncouth persons of Silenus, and
the Satyrs, to divert the common people with their
gross railleries. 10

Your Lordship has perceived by this time, that this
satyric tragedy, and the Roman Satire, have little resem-
blance in any of their features. The very kinds are
different; for what has a pastoral tragedy to do with
a paper of verses satirically written ? The character 15
and raillery of the Satyrs is the only thing that could
pretend to a likeness, were Scaliger and Heinsius alive
to maintain their opinion. And the first farces of the
Romans, which were the rudiments of their poetry,
were written before they had any communication with 20
the Greeks, or indeed any knowledge of that people.

And here it will be proper to give the definition of
the Greek satyric poem from Casaubon, before I leave
this subject. "The Satyric," says he, "is a dramatic
poem, annexed to a tragedy, having a chorus, which 25
consists of Satyrs. The persons represented in it are
illustrious men ; the action of it is great ; the style
is partly serious, and partly jocular; and the event
of the action most commonly is happy."

The Grecians, besides these satyric tragedies, had 30
another kind of poem, which they called silli, which
were more of kin to the Roman satire. Those silli
were indeed invective poems, but of a different species
from the Roman poems of Ennius, Pacuvius, Lucilius,
Horace, and the rest of their successors. They were 35

£ 2

5a A Discourse concerning the

so called, says Casaubon in one place, from Silenus,
the foster-father of Bacchus; but, in another place,
bethinking himself better, he derives their name airh
Tov oiAAou^cy, from their scoffing and petulancy. From
5 some fragments of the sUli^ written by Timon, we may
find that they were satyric poems, full of parodies;
that is, of verses patched up from great poets, and
turned into another sense than their author intended
them. Such, amongst the Romans, is the famous Cento

lo of Ausonius ; where the words are Virgil's, but, by
appl3ring them to another sense, they are made a rela-
tion of a wedding-night ; and the act of consummation
fulsomely described in the very words of the most
modest amongst all poets. Of the same manner are

15 our songs, which are turned into burlesque, and the
serious words of the author perverted into a ridiculous
meaning. Thus in Timon's SiUi the words are gener-
ally those of Homer, and the tragic poets; but he
applies them, satirically, to some customs and kinds

ao of philosophy, which he arraigns. But the Romans,
not using any of these parodies in their satires, — some-
times, indeed, repeating verses of other men, as Persius
cites some of Nero's, but not turning them into another
meaning,— the siUi cannot be supposed toH[)e the original

%h of Roman satire. To these silli, consisting of parodies,
we may properly add the satires which were written
against particular persons; such as were the iambics
of Archilochus against Lycambes, which Horace un-
doubtedly imitated in some of his Odes and Epodes,

50 whose titles bear sufficient witness of it. I might also
name the invective of Ovid against Ibis, and many
others ; but these are the underwood of Satire, rather
than the timber-trees : they are not of general exten-
tion- '^g ^'^^y ^^ some individual person. And

^ u, to have purged himself from those

Original and Progress of Satire 53

splenetic reflections in his Odes and Epodes, before
he undertook the noble work of Satires, which were
properly so called.

Thus, my Lord, I have at length disengaged myself
from those antiquities of Greece ; and have proved, 5
I hope, from the best critics, that the Roman Satire
was not borrowed from thence, but of their own manu-
facture. I am now almost gotten into my depth ; at
least, by the help of Dacier, I am swimming towards it.
Not that I will promise always to follow him, any more ro
than he follows Casaubon ; but to keep him in my eye,
as my best and truest guide; and where I think he
may possibly mislead me, there to have recourse to my
own lights, as I expect that others should do by me.

Quintilian says, in plain words, Satira quidem tota 15
nostra est ; and Horace had said the same thing before
him, speaking of his predecessor in that sort of poetry,
et Greeds intacti carminis auctor. Nothing can be clearer
than the opinion of the poet, and the orator, both
the best critics of the two best ages of the Roman Em- 20
pire, that Satire was wholly of Latin growth, and not
transplanted to Rome from Athens. Yet, as I have
said, Scaliger, the father, according to his custom, that
is, insolently enough, contradicts them both ; and
gives no better reason, than the derivation of satyrus 25
from o-a^, salacitas ; and so, from the lechery of
those Fauns, thinks he has sufficiently proved that
satire is derived from them : as if wantonness and
lubricity were essential to that sort of poem, which
ought to be avoided in it. His other allegation, which 30
I have already mentioned, is as pitiful ; that the Satyrs
carried platters and canisters full of fruit in their hands.
If they had entered empty-handed, had they been ever
the less Satyrs ? Or were the fruits and flowers, which
they offered, anything of kin to satire ? Or any argu- 36

54 A Discourse concerning the

ment that this poem was originally Grecian ? Casaubon
judged better, and his opinion is grounded on sure
authority, that Satire was derived from satura, a Roman
word, which signifies full and abundant, and full also
5 of variety, in which nothing is wanting to its due per-
fection. It is thus, says Dacier, that we say a full
colour^ when the wool has taken the whole tincture, and
drunk in as much of the dve as it can receive. Accord-
ing to this derivation, from satur comes satura; or

'o saiira, according to the new spelling ; as opiumus and
maxumus are now spelled optintus and maximus. Satura,
as I have formerly noted, is an adjective, and relates
to the word lanx, which is understood; and this lanx,
in English a charger, or large platter, was yearly filled

15 with all sorts of fruits, which were offered to the gods
at their festivals, as the prentices, or first gatherings.
These offerings of several sorts thus mingled, it is true,
were not unknown to the Grecians, who called them
TravKafmov Ovaiav, 2l sacrifice of all sorts of fruits ; and

20 irava-n-epfuav, when they offered all kinds of grain. Virgil
has mentioned those sacrifices in his Georgics : —

Landbus et pandis fumantia reddtmus exta :

and in another place, lancesque et liba feremus : that is,
we offer the smoking entrails in great platters, and we will

^5 offer the chargers and the cakes.

The word satura has been aflerwards applied to many
other sorts of mixtures ; as Festus calls it a kind of
olla, or hotchpotch, made of several sorts of meats.
Laws were also called leges saturce, when they were

30 of several heads and titles, like our tacked bills of
Parliament. And per saturam legem ferre, in the Roman
senate, was to carry a law without telling the senators,
or counting voices, when they were in haste. Sallust
uses the word, per saturam sententias exquirere, when

35 the majority was visible on one side. From hence it

Original and Progress of Satire 55

may probably be conjectured, that the Discourses, or
Satires, of Ennius, Lucilius, and Horace, as we now
call them, took their name; because they are full of
various matters, and are also written on various sub-
jects, as Porphyrius says. But Dacier affirms that it 5
is not immediately from thence that these satires are
so called; for that name had been used formerly for
other things, which bore a nearer resemblance to those
discourses of Horace. In explaining of which, con-
tinues Dacier, a method is to be pursued, of which 10
Casaubon himself has never thought, and which will
put all things into so clear a light, that no further room
will be left for the least dispute.

During the space of almost four hundred years, since
the building of their city, the Romans had never known 15
any entertainments of the stage. Chance and jollity
first found out those verses which they called Saturnian
and Fescennine ; or rather human nature, which is
inclined to poetry, first produced them, rude and bar-
barous, and unpolished, as all other operations of the ao
soul are in their beginnings, before they are cultivated
with art and study. However, in occasions of merri-
ment they were first practised; and this rough-cast
unhewn poetry was instead of stage-plays for the space
of an hundred and twenty years together. They were 25
made ex tempore, and were, as the French call them,
impromptus ; for which the Tarsians of old were much
renowned ; and we see the daily examples of them in
the Italian farces of Harlequin and Scaramucha. Such
was the poetry of that savage people, before it was 30
turned into numbers, and the harmony of verse. Little
of the Saturnian verses is now remaining; we only
know from authors that they were nearer prose than
poetry, without feet, or measure. They were ivpvOfioL,
but not ifjLfjL€TpoL ; perhaps they might be used in the 35

56 A Discourse concerning the

solemn part of their ceremonies ; and the Fescennine,
which were invented after them, m the afternoon's
debauchery, because they were scoffing and obscene.
The Fescennine and Saturnian were the same; for
5 as they were called Saturnian from their ancientness,
when Saturn reigned in Italy, they were also called
Fescennine, from Fescennia, a town in the same
country, where they were first practised. The actors,
with a gross and rustic kind of raillery, reproached

10 each other with their failings ; and at the same time
were nothing sparing of it to their audience. Some-
what of this custom was afterwards retained in their
Saturnalia, or feasts of Saturn, celebrated in December ;
at least all kind of freedom in speech was then allowed

16 to slaves even against their masters ; and we are not
without some imitation of it in our Christmas gambols.
Soldiers also used those Fescennine verses, after
measure and numbers had been added to them, at
the triumph of their generals : of which we have an

30 example, in the triumph of Julius Caesar over Gaul, in
these expressions:

Coesar Gallias subegity Nicomedes Casarem:
Ecce Ccpsar nunc triumphat, qui subegH Gallias :
Nicomedes non triumphat, qui subegit Ccesarent,

35 The vapours of wine made those first satirical poets
amongst the Romans ; which, says Dacier, we cannot
better represent, than by imagining a company of
clowns on a holiday, dancing lubberly, and upbraiding
one another, in ex tempore doggerel, with their defects

30 and vices, and the stories that were told of them in
bakehouses and barbers* shops.

When they began to be somewhat better bred, and
were entering, as I may say, into the first rudiments of
civil conversation, they left these hedge-notes for another

35 sort of poem, somewhat polished, which was also full

Original and Progress of Satire 57

of pleasant raillery, but without any mixture of obscenity.
This sort of poetry appeared under the name of satire,
because of its variety ; and this satire was adorned with
compositions of music, and with dances ; but lascivious
postures were banished from it. In the Tuscan language, 5
says Livy, the word hister signifies a player ; and there-
fore those actors, which were first brought from Etruria
to Rome, on occasion of a pestilence, when the Romans
were admonished to avert the anger of the Gods by
plays, in the year ab urbe condita cccxc, those actors, 10
I say, were therefore called histriones; and that name
has since remained, not only to actors Roman born,
but to all others of every nation. They played not the
former ex tempore stuff of Fescennine verses, or clownish
jests ; but what they acted was a kind of civil, cleanly 15
farce, with music and dances, and motions that were
proper to the subject.

In this condition Livius Andronicus found the stage,
when he attempted first, instead of farces, to supply it
with a nobler entertainment of tragedies and comedies. 20
This man was a Grecian born, and being made a slave
by Livius Salinator, and brought to Rome, had the
education of his patron's children committed to him ;
which trust he discharged so much to the satisfaction
of his master, that he gave him his liberty. 25

Andronicus, thus become a freeman of Rome, added
to his own name that of Livius his master; and, as
I observed, was the first author of a regular play in
that commonwealth. Being already instructed, in his
native country, in the manners and decencies of the 30
Athenian theatre, and conversant in the Archcea ComoBdia^
or Old Comedy of Aristophanes, and the rest of the
Grecian poets, he took from that model his own design-
ing of plays for the Roman stage ; the first of which
was represented in the year 514 since the building of 35

58 A Discourse concerning the

Rome, as Tully, from the commentaries of Atticus, has
assured us : it was after the end of the first Punic war,
the year before Ennius was born. Dacier has not
carried the matter altogether thus far; he only says,

5 that one Livius Andronicus was the first stage-poet at
Rome; but I will adventure on this hint, to advance
another proposition, which I hope the learned will
approve. And though we have not anything of
Andronicus remaining to justify my conjecture, yet

10 it is exceeding probable, that, having read the works
of those Grecian wits, his countrymen, he imitated not
only the groundwork, but also the manner of their
writing; and how grave soever his tragedies might
be, yet, in his comedies, he expressed the way of

15 Aristophanes, Eupolis, and the rest, which was to
call some persons by their own names, and to expose
their defects to the laughter of the people : the examples
of which we have in the forementioned Aristophanes,
who turned the wise Socrates into ridicule, and is also

20 very free with the management of Cleon, Alcibiades, and
other ministers of the Athenian government. Now, if
this be granted, we may easily sugpose that the first
hint of satirical plays on the Roman stage was given
by the Greeks : not from their Satyrica, for that has

35 been reasonably exploded in the former part of this
discourse; but from their Old Comedy, which was
imitated first by Livius Andronicus. And then Quintilian
and Horace must be cautiously interpreted, where they
affirm that Satire is wholly Roman, and a sort of verse,

30 which was not touched on by the Grecians. The
reconcilement of my opinion to the standard of their
judgment is not, however, very difficult, since they spoke
of Satire, not as in its first elements, but as it was
formed into a separate work ; begun by Ennius, pursued

35 by Lucilius, and completed afterwards by Horace. The

Original and Progress of Satire 50

proof depends only on this postulatum, that the comedies
of Andronicus, which were imitations of the Greek,
were also imitations of their railleries, and reflections on
particular persons. For, if this be granted me, which
is a most probable supposition, 'tis easy to infer that 5
the first light which was given to the Roman theatrical
satire was from the plays of Livius Andronicus ; which
will be more manifestly discovered when I come to speak
of Ennius. In the meantime I will return to Dacier.

The people, says he, ran in crowds to these new 10
entertainments of Andronicus, as to pieces which were
more noble in their kind, and more perfect than their
former satires, which for some time they neglected and
abandoned. But not long after, they took them up
again, and then they joined them to their comedies; 15
playing them at the end of every drama, as the French
continue at this day to act their farces, in the nature of
a separate entertainment from their tragedies. But
more particularly they were joined to the Atellane fables,
says Casaubon ; which were plays invented by the Osci. ao
Those fables, says Valerius Maximus, out of Livy, were
tempered with the Italian severity, and free from any
note of infamy, or obsceneness ; and, as an pld com-
mentator of Juvenal affirms, the Exodiartij which were
singers and dancers, entered to entertain the people 25

■

with light songs, and mimical gestures, that they might
not go away oppressed with melancholy, from those
serious pieces of the theatre. So that the ancient
Satire of the Romans was in extemporary reproaches ;
the next was farce, which was brought from Tuscany ; 30
to that succeeded the plays of Andronicus, from the Old
Comedy of the Grecians ; and out of all these sprung two
several branches of new Roman Satire, like different
scions from the same root, which I shall prove with as
much brevity as the subject will allow. 35

6o A Discourse concerning the

A year after Andronicus had opened the Roman stage
with his new dramas, Ennius was bom ; who, when he
was grown to man's estate, having seriously considered
the genius of the people, and how eagerly they followed
5 the first satires, thought it would be worth his pains to
refine upon the project, and to write satires, not to be
acted on the theatre, but read. He preserved the
groundwork of their pleasantry, their venom, and their
raillery on particular persons, and general vices ; and

10 by this means, avoiding the danger of any ill success in
a public representation, he hoped to be as well received
in the cabinet, as Andronicus had been upon the stage.
The event was answerable to his expectation. He
made discourses in several sorts of verse, varied often

15 in the same paper; retaining still in the title their
original name of Satire. Both in relation to the
subjects, and the variety of matters contained in them,
the satires of Horace are entirely like them ; only
Ennius, as I have said, confines not himself to one

20 sort of verse, as Horace does ; but taking example from
the Greeks, and even from Homer himself in his
MargiteSf which is a kind of Satire, as Scaliger
observes, gives himself the licence, when one sort of
numbers comes not easily, to run into another, as his

25 fancy dictates. For he makes no difficulty to mingle
hexameter with iambic trimeters, or with trochaic tetra-
meters; as appears by those fragments which are yet
remaining of him. Horace has thought him worthy to
be copied ; inserting many things of his into his own

30 Satires, as Virgil has done into his J£neids»

Here we have Dacier making out that Ennius was the
first satirist in that way of writing, which was of his
invention ; that is, Satire abstracted from the stage, and
new-modelled into papers of verses on several subjects.

35 But he will have Ennius take the groundwork of Satire

Original and Progress of Satire 6i

from the first farces of the Romans, rather than from
the formed plays of Livius Andronicus, which were
copied from the Grecian comedies. It may possibly
be so; but Dacier knows no more of it than I do. And
it seems to me the more probable opinion, that he rather 5
imitated the fine railleries of the Greeks, which he saw
in the pieces of Andronicus, than the coarseness of his
old countrymen, in their clownish extemporary way of
jeering.

But besides this, it is universally granted, that Ennius, 10
though an Italian, was excellently learned in the Greek
language. His verses were stuffed with fragments of it,
even to a fault; and he himself believed, according to
the Pythagorean opinion, that the soul of Homer was
transfused into him; which Persius observes, in his 15
Sixth Satire : Postquam destertuit esse Mceonides, But
this being only the private opinion of so inconsiderable
a man as I am, I leave it to the further disquisition of
the critics, if they think it worth their notice. Most
evident it is, that whether he imitated the Roman farce, 20
or the Greek comedies, he is to be acknowledged for
the first author of Roman Satire, as it is properly so
called, and distinguished from any sort of stage-play.

Of Pacuvius, who succeeded him, there is little to be
said, because there is so little remaining of him ; only 25
that he is taken to be the nephew of Ennius, his sister's
son ; that in probability he was instructed by his uncle,
in his way of satire, which we are told he has copied :
but what advances he made we know not.

Lucilius came into the world when Pacuvius flourished 30
most. He also made satires after the manner of Ennius,
but he gave them a more graceful turn, and endeavoured
to imitate more closely the vetus comczdia of the Greeks,
of the which the old original Roman Satire had no idea,
till the time of Livius Andronicus. And though Horace n

62 A Discourse concerning the

seems to have made Lucilius the first author of satire in
verse amongst the Romans, in these words —

. . . Quid? cunt est Lucilius ausus
Primus in hunc opens contponere carmina ntorem, —

5 he is only thus to be understood ; that Lucilius had
given a more graceful turn to the satire of Ennius and
Pacuvius, not that he invented a new satire of his own :
and Quintilian seems to explain this passage of Horace
in these words: Satira quident tota nostra est; in qua

lo primus insignem laudem adeptus est Lucilius,

Thus, both Horace and Quintilian give a kind of
primacy of honour to Lucilius, amongst the Latin
satirists. For, as the Roman language grew more
refined, so much more capable it was of receiving the

15 Grecian beauties, in his time. Horace and Quintilian
could mean no more, than that Lucilius writ better than
Ennius and Pacuvius; and on the same account we
prefer Horace to Lucilius. Both of them imitated the
old Greek Comedy; and so did Ennius and Pacuvius

20 before them. The polishing of the Latin tongue, in
the succession of times, made the only difference ; and
Horace himself, in two of his satires, written purposely
on this subject, thinks the Romans of his age were too
partial in their commendations of Lucilius ; who writ

25 not only loosely, and muddily, with little art, and much
less care, but also in a time when the Latin tongue was
not yet sufficiently purged from the dregs of barbarism ;
and many significant and sounding words, which the
Romans wanted, were not admitted even in the times

30 of Lucretius and Cicero, of which both complain.

But to proceed :— Dacier justly taxes Casaubon, say-
ing, that the Satires of Lucilius were wholly different in
specie from those of Ennius and Pacuvius. Casaubon
was led into that mistake by Diomedes the grammarian.

Original and Progress of Satire 63

who in effect says this : Satire amongst the Romans,
but not amongst the Greeks, was a biting invective
poem, made after the model of the ancient Comedy, for
the reprehension of vices ; such as were the poems of
Lucilius, of Horace, and of Persius. But in former 5
times the name of Satire was given to poems which
were composed of several sorts of verses, such as were
made by Ennius and Pacuvius ; more fully expressing
the etymology of the word satire, from satura, which
we have observed. Here 'tis manifest, that Diomedes 10
makes a specifical distinction betwixt the satires of
Ennius, and those of Lucilius. But this, as we say in
English, is only a distinction without a difference ; for
the reason of it is ridiculous, and absolutely false. This
was that which cozened honest Casaubon, who, relying 15
on Diomedes, had not sulBBciently examined the origin
and nature of those two satires ; which were entirely
the same, both in the matter and the form : for all that
Lucilius performed beyond his predecessors, Ennius
and Pacuvius, was only the adding of more politeness, 20
and more salt, without any change in the substance of
the poem. And though Lucilius put not together in
the same satire several sorts of verses, as Ennius did,
yet he composed several satires, of several sorts of
verses, and mingled them with Greek verses : one poem 25
consisted only of hexameters, and another was entirely
of iambics ; a third of trochaics ; as is visible by the
fragments yet remaining of his works. In short, if the
satires of Lucilius are therefore said to be wholly
different from those of Ennius, because he added much 30
more of beauty and polishing to his own poems, than
are to be found in those before him, it will follow from
hence that the satires of Horace are wholly different
from those of Lucilius, because Horace has not less
surpassed Lucilius in the elegancy of his writing, than 35

64 A Discourse concerning the

Lucilius surpassed Ennius in the turn and ornament of
his. This passage of Diomedes has also drawn Dousa,
the son, into the same error of Casaubon, which I say,
not to expose the little failings of those judicious men,
5 but only to make it appear, with how much diffidence
and caution we are to read their works, when they treat
a subject of so much obscurity, and so very ancient, as
is this of Satire.

Having thus brought down the history of Satire from

10 its original to the times of Horace, and shown the
several changes of it, I should here discover some of
those graces which Horace added to it, but that I think
it will be more proper to defer that undertaking, till
I make the comparison betwixt him and Juvenal. In

15 the meanwhile, following the order of time, it will be
necessary to say somewhat of another kind of Satire,
which also was descended from the ancients; 'tis that
which we call the Varronian Satire, (but which Varro
himself calls the Menippean,) because Varro, the most

ao learned of the Romans, was the first author of it, who
imitated, in his works, the manner of Menippus the
Gadarenian, who professed the philosophy of the
Cynics.

This sort of Satire was not only composed of several

25 sorts of verse, like those of Ennius, but was also mixed
with prose ; and Greek was sprinkled amongst the Latin.
Quintilian, after he had spoken of the satire of Lucilius,
adds what follows : There is another and former kind of
satire, composed by Terentius Varro, the most learned of

30 the Romans ; in which he was not satisfied alone with
mingling in it several sorts of verse. The only difficulty
of this passage is, that Quintilian tells us, that this
satire of Varro was of a former kind. For how can
we possibly imagine this to be, since Varro, who was

35 contemporary to Cicero, must consequently be after

Original and Progress of Satire 65

Lucilius? But Quintilian meant not, that the satire
of Varro was in order of time before Lucilius; he
would only give us to understand, that the Varronian
Satire, with mixture of several sorts of verses, was more
after the manner of Ennius and Pacuvius, than that of 5
Lucilius, who was more severe, and more correct, and
gave himself less liberty in the mixture of his verses in
the same poem.

We have nothing remaining of those Varronian
satires, excepting some inconsiderable fragments, and *°
those for the most part much corrupted. The titles
of many of them are indeed preserved, and they are
generally double ; from whence, at least, we may
understand, how many various subjects were treated
by that author. Tully, in his Academics^ introduces *5
Varro himself giving us some light concerning the
scope and* design of these works. Wherein, after he
had shown his reasons why he did not ex professo write
of philosophy, he adds what follows : Notwithstanding^
says he, that those pieces of mine^ wherein I have imitated ^°
MenippuSy though I have not translated him^ are sprinkled
with a kind of mtrth and gaiety, yet many things are there
inserted^ which are drawn from the very entrails of philo-
sophy y and many things severely argued ; which I have
mingled with pleasantries on purpose^ that they may more ^5
easily go down with the common sort of unlearned readers.
The rest of the sentence is so lame, that we can only
make thus much out of it, that in the composition of
his satires he so tempered philology with philosophy,
that his work was a mixture of them both. And Tully 3°
himself confirms us in this opinion, when a little after
he addresses himself to Varro in these words : And
you yourself have composed a most elegant and complete
poem ; you have begun philosophy in many places ; suffi-
cient to incite us, though too little to instruct us. Thus it 36

II, F

66 A Discourse concerning the

appears, that Varro was one of those writers whom they
called oTTovSoycXoiot, studious of laughter; and that, as
learned as he was, his business was more to divert his
reader, than to teach him. And he entitled his own

5 satires Menippean ; not that Menippus had written any
satires (for his were either dialogues or epistles), but
that Varro imitated his style, his manner, and his face-
tiousness. All that we know further of Menippus and
his writings, which are wholly lost, is, that by some he

lo is esteemed, as, amongst the rest, by Varro ; by others
he is noted of cynical impudence, and obscenity : that
he was much given to those parodies, which I have
already mentioned ; that is, he often quoted the verses
of Homer and the tragic poets, and turned their serious

15 meaning into something that was ridiculous; whereas
Varro's satires are by Tully called absolute, and most
elegant and various poems. Lucian, who was emulous
of this Menippus, seems to have imitated both his
manners and his style in many of his dialogues ; where

20 Menippus himself is often introduced as a speaker in
them, and as a perpetual buffoon; particularly his
character is expressed in the beginning of that dialogue
which is called NcKvo/jiavTcia. But Varro, in imitating him,
avoids his impudence and filthiness, and only expresses

25 his witty pleasantry.

This we may believe for certain, that as his subjects
were various, so most of them were tales or stories of
his own invention. Which is also manifest from anti-
quity, by those authors who are acknowledged to have

30 written Varronian satires, in imitation of his ; of whom
the chief is Petroniiis Arbiter, whose satire, they say, is
now printed in Holland, wholly recovered, and made
complete : when 'tis made public, it will easily be seen
by any one sentence, whether it be supposititious, or

35 genuine. Many of Lucian's dialogues may also properly

Original and Progress of Satire 67

be called Varronian satires, particularly his True
History ; and consequently the Golden Ass of Apuleius,
which is taken from him. Of the same stamp is the
mock deification of Claudius, by Seneca : and the Sym-
posium or Ccesars of Julian, the Emperor. Amongst 5
the moderns, we may reckon the Encomium Mortce of
Erasmus, Barclay's Euphormio^ and a volume of German
authors, which my ingenious friend, Mr. Charles Killi-
grew, once lent me. In the English, I remember none
which are mixed with prose, as Varro's were ; but of 10
the same kind is Mother Hubbard's Tale, in Spenser;
and (if it he not too vain to mention anything of my
own), the poems oi Absalom and MacFleckno,

This is what I have to say in general of Satire : only, \
as Dacier has observed before me, we may take notice, 15 \
that the word satire is of a more general signification in )
Latin, than in French, or English. For amongst the\ '
Romans it was not only used for those discourses^
which decried vice, or exposed folly, but for others J
also, where virtue was recommended. But in ourio
modern languages we apply it only to invective poems,
where the very name of Satire is formidable to those
persons who would appear to the world what they are
not in themselves; for in English, to say satire, is to i
mean reflection, as we use that word in the worst sense ; 35 ;
or as the French call it, more properly, medtsance. In
the criticism of spelling, it ought to be with i, and not
with y, to distinguish its true derivation from satura,
not from satyrus. And if this be so, then it is false
spelled throughout this book ; for here it is written 30
Satyr: which having not considered at the first, ;
I thought it not worth correcting afterwards. But the
French are more nice, and never spell it any other way
than satire.

I am now arrived at the most difficult part of my ?6

F 2

68 A Discourse concerning the

undertaking, which is, to compare Horace with Juvenal
and Persius. It is observed by Rigaltius, in his preface
before Juvenal, written to Thuanus, that these three
poets have all their particular partisans, and favourers.
5 Every commentator, as he has taken pains with any of
them, thinks himself obliged to prefer his author to the
other two ; to find out their failings, and decry them,
that he may make room for his own darling. Such is
the partiality of mankind, to set up that interest which

lo they have once espoused, though it be to the prejudice
of truth, morality, and common justice ; and especially
in the productions of the brain. As authors generally
think themselves the best poets, because they cannot
go out of themselves to judge sincerely of their betters ;

15 so it is with critics, who, having first taken a liking to
one of these poets, proceed to comment on him, and to
illustrate him ; after which, they fall in love with their
own labours, to that degree of blind fondness, that at
length they defend and exalt their author, not so much

ao for his sake as for their own. 'Tis a folly of the same
nature with that of the Romans themselves, in the
games of the Circus. The spectators were divided in
their factions, betwixt the VenetiznA. the Prasini ; some
were for the charioteer in blue, and some for him in

25 green. The colours themselves were but a fancy ; but
when once a man had taken pains to set out those of
his party, and had been at the trouble of procuring
voices for them, the case was altered ; he was concerned
for his own labour, and that so earnestly, that disputes

30 and quarrels, animosities, commotions, and bloodshed,
often happened ; and in the declension of the Grecian
Empire the very sovereigns themselves engaged in it,
even when the barbarians were at their doors, and
stickled for the preference of colours, when the safety

35 of their people was in question. I am now myself on

Original and Progress of Satire 69

the brink of the same precipice ; I have spent some
time on the translation of Juvenal and Persius ; and it
behoves me to be wary, lest, for that reason, I should
be partial to them, or take a prejudice against Horace.
Yet, on the other side, I would not be like some of our 5
judges, who would give the cause for a poor man, right
or wrong ; for, though that be an error on the better
hand, yet it is still a partiality : and a rich man, unheard,
cannot be concluded an oppressor. I remember a saying
of King Charles II on Sir Matthew Hale, (who was 10
doubtless an uncorrupt and upright manj that his ser-
vants were sure to be cast on any trial which was heard
before him ; not that he thought the judge was possibly
to be bribed, but that his integrity might be too scrupu-
lous; and that the causes of the crown were always 15
suspicious, when the privileges of subjects were con-
cerned. It had been much fairer, if the modem critics,
who have embarked in the quarrels of their favourite
authors, had rather given to each his proper due ;
without taking from another's heap, to raise their own. 20
There is praise enough for each of them in particular,
without encroaching on his fellows, and detracting from
them, or enriching themselves with the spoils of others.
But to come to particulars. Heinsius and Dacier are
the most principal of those who raise Horace above 25
Juvenal and Persius. Scaliger the father, Rigaltius,
and many others, debase Horace, that they may set up
Juvenal ; and Casaubon, who is almost single, throws
dirt on Juvenal and Horace, that he may exalt Persius,
whom he understood particularly well, and better than 30
any of his former commentators; even Stelluti, who
succeeded him. I will begin with him, who, in my
opinion, defends the weakest cause, which is that of
Persius ; and labouring, as Tacitus professes of his own
writing, to divest myself of partiality, or prejudice, con- 35

70 A Discourse concerning the

sider Persius, not as a poet whom I have wholly
translated, and who has cost me more labour and time
than Juvenal, but according to what I judge to be his
own merit; which I think not equal, in the main, to
5 that of Juvenal or Horace, and yet in some things to be
preferred to both of them.

First, then, for the verse ; neither Casaubon himself,
nor any for him, can defend either his numbers, or the
purity of his Latin. Casaubon gives this point for lost,

10 and pretends not to justify either the measures or the
words of Persius ; he is evidently beneath Horace and
Juvenal in both.

Then, as his verse is scabrous, and hobbling, and his
words not everywhere well chosen, the purity of Latin

If being more corrupted than in the time of Juvenal, and
consequently of Horace, who writ when the language
was in the height of its perfection, so his diction is hard,
his figures are generally too bold and daring, and his
tropes, particularly his metaphors, insufferably strained.

20 In the third place, notwithstanding all the diligence
of Casaubon, Stelluti, and a Scotch gentleman, whom I
have heard extremely commended for his illustrations
of him, yet he is still obscure : whether he affected not
to be understood, but with difficulty; or whether the

25 fear of his safety under Nero compelled him to this
darkness in some places ; or that it was occasioned by
his close way of thinking, and the brevity of his style,
and crowding of his figures ; or lastly, whether, after so
long a time, many of his words have been corrupted,

30 and many customs, and stories relating to them, lost to
us : whether some of these reasons, or all, concurred to
render him so cloudy, we may be bold to affirm, that
the best of commentators can but guess at his meaning,
in many passages ; and none can be certain that he has

36 divined rightly.

Original and Progress of Satire 71

After all, he was a young man, like his friend and
contemporary Lucan ; both of them men of extra-
ordinary parts, and great acquired knowledge, con-
sidering their youth : but neither of them had arrived
to that maturity of judgment which is necessary to the 5
accomplishing of a formed poet. And this considera-
tion, as, on the one hand, it lays some imperfections to
their charge, so, on the other side, 'tis a candid excuse
for those failings which are incident to youth and
inexperience ; and we have more reason to wonder how 10
they, who died before the thirtieth year of their age,
could write so well, and think so strongly, than to
accuse them of those faults from which human nature,
and more especially in youth, can never possibly be
exempted. 15

To consider Persius yet more closely: he rather |#
insulted over vice and folly, than exposed them, like I!
Juvenal and Horace ; and as chaste and modest as he
is esteemed, it cannot be denied, but that in some
places he is broad and fulsome, as the latter verses of 20
the Fourth Satire, and of the Sixth, sufficiently witness.
And 'tis to be believed that he who commits the same
crime often, and without necessity, cannot but do it with
some kind of pleasure.

To come to a conclusion : he is manifestly below 25
Horace, because he borrows most of. his greatest beau-
ties from him; and Casaubon is so far from denying
this, that he has written a treatise purposely concern-
ing it, wherein he shows a multitude of his translations
from Horace, and his imitations of him, for the credit 30
of his author ; which he calls Imitatio Horatiana,

To these defects, which I casually observed while
I was translating this author, Scaliger has added others ;
he calls him, in plain terms, a silly writer, and a trifler,
full of ostentation of his learning, and, after all, un- 35

72 A Discourse concerning the

worthy to come into competition with Juvenal and
H ora(?e.

After such terrible accusations, 'tis time to hear what
his patron Casaubon can allege in his defence. Instead

5 of answering, he excuses for the most part ; and, when
he cannot, accuses others of the same crimes. He
deals with Scaliger, as a modest scholar with a master.
He compliments him with so much reverence, that one
would swear he feared him as much at least as he

lo respected him. Scaliger will not allow Persius to have
any wit ; Casaubon interprets this in the mildest sense,
and confesses his author was not good at turning things
into a pleasant ridicule ; or, in other words, that he was
not a laughable writer. That he was ineptuSy indeed,

T5 but that was non aptissimus ad jocandum ; but that he
was ostentatious of his learning, that, by Scaliger's
good favour, he denies. Persius showed his learning,
but was no boaster of it ; he did ostendere^ but not osten-
tare ; and so, he says, did Scaliger : where, methinks,

20 Casaubon turns it handsomely upon that supercilious
critic, and silently insinuates that he himself was suffi-
ciently vainglorious, and a boaster of his own know-
ledge. All the writings of this venerable censor,
continues Casaubon, which are ^v<tov ^(pva-oTcpa, more

25 golden than gold itself, are everywhere smelling of
that thyme which, like a bee, he has gathered from
ancient authors ; but far be ostentation and vainglory
from a gentleman so well born, and so nobly educated
as Scaliger. But, says Scaliger, he is so obscure,

30 that he has got himself the name of Scotinus, a dark
writer. Now, says Casaubon, it is a wonder to me
that anything could be obscure to the divine wit of
Scaliger, from which nothing could be hidden. This
is indeed a strong compliment, but no defence; and

35 Casaubon, who could not but be^sensibleof his author's

Original and Progress of Satire 73

blind side, thinks it time to abandon a post that was
untenable. He acknowledges that Persius is obscure
in some places ; but so is Plato, so is Thucydides ;
so are Pindar, Theocritus, and Aristophanes, amongst
the Greek poets ; and even Horace and Juvenal, he 5
might have added, amongst the Romans. The truth is,
Persius is not sometimes, but generally, obscure ; and
therefore Casaubon, at last, is forced to excuse him,
by alleging that it was se defendendo, for fear of Nero ;
and that he was commanded to write so cloudily by 10
Cornutus, in virtue of holy obedience to his master.
I cannot help my own opinion; I think Cornutus
needed not to have read many lectures to him on that
subject. Persius was an apt scholar ; and when he
was bidden to be obscure in some places, where his life 15
and safety were in question, took the same counsel for
all his books ; and never afterwards wrote ten lines
together clearly. Casaubon, being upon this chapter,
has not failed, we may be sure, of making a compliment
to his own dear comment. If Persius, says he, be in 20
himself obscure, yet my interpretation has made him
intelligible. There is no question but he deserves that
praise which he has given to himself; but the nature
of the thing, as Lucretius says, will not admit of a per-
fect explanation. Besides many examples, which I could 25
urge, the very last verse of his last satire, upon which
he particularly values himself in his preface, is not yet
sufficiently explicated. 'Tis true, Holyday has en-
deavoured to justify his construction ; but Stelluti is
against it ; and, for my part, I can have but a very dark 30
notion of it. As for the chastity of his thoughts, Casau-
bon denies not but that one particular passage, in the
Fourth Satire. At si unctus cesses, etc., is not only the
most obscure, but the most obscene of all his works.
I understood it ; but for that reason turned it over. In 35

74 A Discourse concerning the

defence of his boisterous metaphors, he quotes Lon-
ginus, who accounts them as instruments of the sublime ;
fit to move and stir up the affections, particularly in
narration. To which it may be replied, that where the
5 trope is far-fetched and hard it is fit for nothing but
to puzzle the understanding; and may be reckoned
amongst those things of Demosthenes which iEschines
called Oavfiara, not piy/AttTo, that is, prodigies, not words.
It must be granted to Casaubon, that the knowledge of

10 many things is lost in our modern ages, which were of
familiar notice to the ancients ; and that Satire is a
poem of a difficult nature in itself, and is not written to
vulgar readers : and through the relation which it has
to comedy, the frequent change of persons makes the

15 sense perplexed, when we can but divine who it is that
speaks ; whether Persius himself, or his friend and
monitor; or, in some places, a third person. But
Casaubon comes back always to himself, and concludes,
that if Persius had not been obscure there had been

20 no need of him for. an interpreter. Yet when he had
once enjoined himself so hard a task, he then considered
the Greek proverb, that he must x^^^^V^ <t>ayeLv 17 firj
fjiayeiVf either eat the whole snail, or let it quite alone ;
and so he went through with his laborious task, as I

25 have done with my difficult translation.

Thus far, my Lord, you see it ha6 gone very hard
with Persius : I think he cannot be allowed to stand in
competition either with Juvenal or Horace. Yet for
once I will venture to be so vain as to affirm, that none

30 of his hard metaphors, or forced expressions, are in my
translation. But more of this in its proper place, where
I shall say somewhat in particular of our general per-
formance, in making these two authors English. In the
meantime, I think myself obliged to give Persius his

35 undoubted due, and to acquaint the world, with Casau-

Original and Progress of Satire 75

bon, in what he has equalled, and in what excelled, his
two competitors.

A man who has resolved to praise an author, with ^
any appearance of justice, must be sure to take him on .
the strongest side, and where he is least liable to excep- 5 y
tions. He is therefore obliged to choose his mediums
accordingly. Casaubon, who saw that Persius could
not laugh with a becoming grace, that he was not made
for jesting, and that a merry conceit was not his talent,
turned his feather, like an Indian, to another light, that 10'
he might give it the better gloss. Moral doctrine, says :
he, and urbanity, or well-mannered wit, are the two
things which constitute the Roman satire ; but of the
two, that which is most essential to this poem, and
is, as it were, the very soul which animates it, is the 15
scourging of vice, and exhortation to virtue. Thus wit,
for a good reason, is already almost out of doors ; and
allowed only for an instrument, a kind of tool, or a
weapon, as he calls it, of which the satirist makes use
in the compassing of his design. The end and aim of 20
our three rivals is consequently the same. But by what
methods they have prosecuted their intention is further
to be considered. Satire is of the nature of moral • i
philosophy, as being instructive: he, therefore, who |:
instructs most usefully, will carry the palm from his 255 \
two antagonists. The philosophy in which Persius was
educated, and which he professes through his whole
book, is the Stoic ; the most noble, most generous,
most beneficial to human kind, amongst all the sects,
who have given us the rules of ethics, thereby to form 30
a severe virtue in the soul ; to raise in us an undaunted
courage against the assaults of fortune ; to esteem as
nothing the things that are without us, because they are
not in our power ; not to value riches, beauty, honours,
fame, or health, any further than as conveniences, and 35

! 'I • ;f

I ft

■■ . ij •

/

\y[v 76 A Discourse concerning the

so many helps to living as we ought, and doing good in

--< our generation. In short, to be always happy, while

\ we possess our minds with a good conscience, are free

/ from the slavery of vices, and conform our actions and

5 conversations to the rules of right reason. See here,
my Lord, an epitome of Epictetus ; the doctrine of
Zeno, and the education of our Persius. And this he
expressed, not only in all his satires, but in the manner
of his life. I will not lessen this commendation of the

10 Stoic philosophy by giving you an account of some
absurdities in their doctrine, and some perhaps impie-
ties, if we consider them by the standard of Christian
faith. Persius has fallen into none of them ; and there-
fore is free from those imputations. What he teaches

15 might be taught from pulpits, with more profit to the
audience than all the nice speculations of divinity, and
controversies concerning faith ; which are more for the

\ profit of the shepherd than for the edification of the

1 flock. Passions, interest, ambition, and all their bloody

ao consequences of discord and of war, are banished from
this doctrine. Here is nothing proposed but the quiet
and tranquillity of the mind ; virtue lodged at home,
and afterwards diffused in her general effects, to the
improvement and good of human kind. And therefore

25 I wonder not that the present Bishop of Salisbury has
recommended this our author, and the Tenth Satire
of Juvenal, in his Pastoral Letter, to the serious perusal
and practice of the divines in his diocese, as the best
common-places for their sermons, as the store-houses

30 and magazines of moral virtues, from whence they may
draw out, as they have occasion, all manner of assist-
ance for the accomplishment of a virtuous life, which
the Stoics have assigned for the great end and perfec-
tion of mankind. Herein then it is, that Persius has

35 excelled both Juvenal and Horace. He sticks to his

Original and Progress of Satire 77

\

own philosophy; he shifts not sides, like Horace, who
is sometimes an Epicurean, sometimes a Stoic, some-
times an Eclectic, as his present humour leads him;
nor declaims like Juvenal against vices, more like an
orator than a philosopher. Persius is everywhere the 5 j
same ; true to the dogmas of his master. What he has \
learnt, he teaches vehemently; and what he teaches, |
that he practises himself. There is a spirit of sincerity •
in all he says ; you may easily discern that he is in ;
earnest, and is persuaded of that truth which he incul- 10 •
cates. In this I am of opinion that he excels Horace, S
who is commonly in jest, and laughs while he instructs ; I
and is equal to Juvenal, who was as honest and serious ;
as Persius, and more he could not be. ;

Hitherto I have followed Casaubon, and enlarged 15
upon him, because I am satisfied that he says no more
than truth; the rest is almost all frivolous. For he
says that Horace, being the son of a tax-gatherer, or
a collector, as we call it, smells ever3nvhere of the mean-
ness of his birth and education : his conceits are vulgar, 20
like the subjects of his satires ; that he does plebeium
saperCy and writes not with that elevation which becomes
a satirist : that Persius, being nobly born, and of an
opulent family, had likewise the advantage of a better
master ; Cornutus being the most learned of his time, 25
a man of the most holy life, a chief of the Stoic sect
at Rome, and not only a great philosopher, but a poet
himself, and in probability a coadjutor of Persius : that,
as for Juvenal, he was long a declaimer, came late to
poetry, and has not been much conversant in philosophy. 3©

'Tis granted that the father of Horace was libertinuSy
that is, one degree removed from his grandfather, who
had been once a slave. But Horace, speaking of him,
gives him the best character of a father which I ever
read in history ; and I wish a witty friend of mine, now 35

78 A Discourse concerning the

living, had such another. He bred him in the best
school, and with the best company of young noblemen ;
and Horace, by his gratitude to his memory, gives
a certain testimony that his education was ingenuous.
5 After this, he formed himself abroad, by the conversation
of great men. Brutus found him at Athens, and was so
pleased with him, that he took him thence into the army,
and made him tribunus militum^ a colonel in a legion,
which was the preferment of an old soldier. All this

10 was before his acquaintance with Maecenas, and his intro-
duction into the court of Augustus, and the familiarity
of that great emperor ; which, had he not been well-bred
before, had been enough to civilise his conversation,
and render him accomplished and knowing in all the

15 arts of complacency and good behaviour; and, in short,
an agreeable companion for the retired hours and
privacies of a favourite, who was first minister. So that,
upon the whole matter, Persius may be acknowledged
to be equal with him in those respects, though better

20 born, and Juvenal inferior to both. If the advantage be
anywhere, 'tis on the side of Horace ; as much as the
court of Augustus Caesar was superior to that of Nero.
As for the subjects which they treated, it will appear
hereafter that Horace writ not vulgarly on vulgar sub-

25 jects, nor always chose them. His style is constantly
accommodated to his subject, either high or low. If his
fault be too much lowness, that of Persius is the fault of
the hardness of his metaphors, and obscurity : and so
they are equal in the failings of their style ; where

30 Juvenal manifestly triumphs over both of them.

The comparison betwixt Horace and Juvenal is more
difficult ; because their forces were more equal. A dis-
pute has always been, and ever will continue, betwixt
the favourers of the two poets. Nan nostrum est tantas

35 componere lites. I shall only venture to give my own

Original and Progress of Satire 79

opinion, and leave it for better judges to determine. >

If it be only argued in general, which of them was the
better poet, the victory is already gained on the side
of Horace. Virgil himself must yield to him in the
delicacy of his turns, his choice of words, and perhaps 5
the purity of his Latin. He who says that Pindar is
inimitable, is himself inimitable in his Odes. But the
contention betwixt these two great masters is for the
prize of Satire ; in which controversy all the Odes and
Epodes of Horace are to stand excluded. I say this, 10
because Horace has written many of them satirically,
against his private enemies ; yet these, if justly con-
sidered, are somewhat of the nature of the Greek
Sillif which were invectives against particular sects
and persons. But Horace had purged himself of this 15
choler before he entered on those discourses which
are more properly called the Roman Satire. He has
not now to do with a Lyce, a Canidia, a Cassius Severus,
or a Men as ; but is to correct the vices and the follies
of his time, and to give the rules of a happy and virtuous 20
life. In a word, that former sort of satire, which is
known in England by the name of lampoon, is a dangerous
sort of weapon, and for the most part unlawful. We have
no moral right on the reputation of other men. 'Tis
taking from them what we cannot restore to them. There 25
are only two reasons for which we may be permitted to
write lampoons ; and I will not promise that they can
always justify us. The first is revenge, when we have
been affronted in the same nature, or have been any
ways notoriously abused, and can make ourselves no 30
other reparation. And yet we know, that, in Christian
charity, all offences are to be forgiven, as we expect the
like pardon for those which we daily commit against
Almighty God. And this consideration has often made
me tremble when I was saying our Saviour's prayer ; 35 \

r'

•

r

I

/

80 A Discourse concerning the

for the plain condition of the forgiveness which we beg
is the pardoning of others the offences which they have
done to us ; for which reason I have many times avoided
the commission of that fault, even when I have been
5 notoriously provoked. Let not this, my Lord, pass for
vanity in me ; for it is truth. More libels have been
written against me, than almost any man now living ;
and I had reason on my side, to have defended my own
innocence. I speak not of my poetry, which I have

'10 wholly given up to the critics : let them use it as they
please : posterity, perhaps, may be more favourable to
me ; for interest and passion will lie buried in another
age, and partiality and prejudice be forgotten. I speak
of my morals, which have been sufficiently aspersed :

»5 that only sort of reputation ought to be dear to every
honest man, and is to me. But let the world witness
for me, that I have been often wanting to myself in that
particular ; I have seldom answered any scurrilous lam-
poon, when it was in my power to have exposed my

^o enemies : and, being naturally vindicative, have suffered
in silence, and possessed my soul in quiet.

Anything, though never so little, which a man speaks
of himself, in my opinion, is still too much ; and there-
fore I will waive this subject, and proceed to give the

35 second reason which may justify a poet when he writes
against a particular person ; and that is, when he is
become a public nuisance. All those, whom Horace in
his Satires, and Persius and Juvenal have mentioned in
theirs, with a brand of infamy, are wholly such. *Tis an

30 action of virtue to make examples of vicious men. They
may and ought to be upbraided with their crimes and
follies ; both for their own amendment, if they are not
yet incorrigible, and for the terror of others, to hinder
them from falling into those enormities which they see
; 35 are so severely punished in the persons of others. The

Original and Progress of Satire 8i

> t

first reason was only an excuse for revenge ; but this
second is absolutely of a poet's office to perform : but
how few lampooners are there now living, who are
capable of this duty I When they come in my way, 'tis
impossible sometimes to avoid reading them. But, good 5
God ! how remote they are, in common justice, from the
choice of such persons as are the proper subject of 1
satire I And how little wit they bring for the support
of their injustice I The weaker sex is their most ordinary
theme ; and the best and fairest are sure to be the most lo ■
severely handled. Amongst men, those who are pros-
perously unjust are entitled to a paneg3rric ; but afflicted •
virtue is insolently stabbed with all manner of re- \ \
proaches. No decency is considered, no fulsomeness
omitted ; no venom is wanting, as far as dulness can 15,
supply it. For there is a perpetual dearth of wit ; a bar-
renness of good sense and entertainment. The neglect ;
of the readers will soon put an end to this sort of scrib-
bling. There can be no pleasantry where there is no
wit ; no impression can be made where there is no truth ao
for the foundation. To conclude : they are like the fruits
of the earth in this unnatural season ; the corn which
held up its head is spoiled with rankness ; but the greater
part of the harvest is laid along, and little of good income \ )
and wholesome nourishment is received into the barns. 25 / ;
This is almost a digression, I confess to your Lordship ;
but a just indignation forced it from me. Now I have !

removed this rubbish, I will return to the comparison j

of Juvenal and Horace. |

I would willingly divide the palm betwixt them, upon 30
the two heads of profit and delight, which are the two j

ends of poetry in general. It must be granted, by the .

favourers of Juvenal, that Horace is the more copious j

and profitable in his instructions of human life ; but, in
my particular opinion, which I set not up for a standard 35

II. G

1

I ■

82 A Discourse concerning the

to better judgments, Juvenal is the more delightful
author. I am profited by both, I am pleased with both ;
but I owe more to Horace for my instruction, and more
to Juvenal for my pleasure. This, as I said, is my

5 particular taste of these two authors : they who will
have either of them to excel the other in both qualities
can scarce give better reasons for their opinion than
I for mine. But all unbiassed readers will conclude,
that my moderation is not to be condemned : to such

10 impartial men I must appeal ; for they who have already
formed their judgment may justly stand suspected of
prejudice ; and though all who are my readers will set
up to be my judges, I enter my caz/^a/ against them, that
they ought not so much as to be of my jury; or, if

15 they be admitted, 'tis but reason that they should
first hear what I have to urge in the defence of my
opinion.

That Horace is somewhat the better instructor of the
two, is proved from hence, that his instructions are

20 more general, Juvenal's more limited. So that, grant-
ing that the counsels which they give are equally good
for moral use, Horace, who gives the most various
advice, and most applicable to all occasions which can
occur to us in the course of our lives, — as including in

25 his discourses, not only all the rules of morality, but
also of civil conversation, — is undoubtedly to be pre-
ferred to him who is more circumscribed in his
instructions, makes them to fewer people, and on fewer
occasions, than the other. I may be pardoned for

30 using an old saying, since 'tis true, and to the p\irpose :
Bonum quo communius, eo melius, Juvenal, excepting
only his First Satire, is in all the rest confined to the
exposing of some particular vice ; that he lashes, and
there he sticks. His sentences are truly shining and

35 instructive ; but they are sprinkled here and there.

Original and Progress of Satire 83

Horace is teaching us in every line, and is perpetually I

moral : he had found out the skill of Virgil, to hide
his sentences ; to give you the virtue of them, without
showing them in their full extent ; which is the ostenta-
tion of a poet, and not his art : and this Petronius charges 5
on the authors of his time, as a vice of writing which
was then growing on the age : ne sententice extra corpus
orationis emineant: he would have them weaved into
the body of the work, and not appear embossed upon
it, and striking directly on the reader's view. Folly 10
was the proper quarry of Horace, and not vice; and
as there are but few notoriously wicked men, in com-
parison with a shoal of fools and fops, so 'tis a harder
thing to make a man wise than to make him honest ;
for the will is only to be reclaimed in the one, but the 15
understanding is to be informed in the other. There
are blind sides and follies, even in the professors of
moral philosophy ; and there is not any one sect of them
that Horace has not exposed : which, as it was not the
design of Juvenal, who was wholly employed in lashing ao
vices, some of them the most enormous that can be
imagined, so, perhaps, it was not so much his talent.

Omne vafer vitium ridenti FUuxiis amico
Tangity et admissus circutn pronconiia ludit

This was the commendation which Persius gave him : 35
where, by vitium, he means those little vices which we
call follies, the defects of human understanding, or, at
most, the peccadillos of life, rather than the tragical
vices, to which men are hurried by their unruly passions
and exorbitant desires. But in the word omnef which 30
is universal, he concludes with me, that the divine wit
of Horace left nothing untouched ; that he entered into
the inmost recesses of nature ; found out the imperfec-
tions even of the most wise and grave, as well as
of the common people ; discovering, even in the great 35

G 2

N

84 A Discourse concerning the

Trebatius, to whom he addresses the First Satire, his
hunting after business, and following the court, as well
as in the persecutor Crispinus, his impertinence and
importunity. 'Tis true, he exposes Crispinus openly,
5 as a common nuisance ; but he rallies the other, as
a friend, more finely. The exhortations of Persius
are confined to noblemen ; and the Stoic philosophy
is that alone which he recommends to them ; Juvenal
exhorts to particular virtues, as they are opposed to

10 those vices against which he declaims; but Horace
laughs to shame all follies, and insinuates virtue rather
by familiar examples than by the severity of precepts.

This last consideration seems to incline the balance
on the side of Horace, and to give him the preference

15 to Juvenal, not only in profit, but in pleasure. But,
after all, I must confess, that the delight which Horace
gives me is but languishing. Be pleased still to under-
stand, that I speak of my own taste only : he may ravish
other men ; but I am too stupid and insensible to be

30 tickled. Where he barely grins himself, and, as Scaliger
says, only shows his white teeth, he cannot provoke me
to any laughter. His urbanity, that is, his good manners,
are to be commended, but his wit is faint ; and his salt,
if I may dare to say so, almost insipid. Juvenal is of

35 a more vigorous and masculine wit ; he gives me as
much pleasure as I can bear; he fully satisfies my
expectation ; he treats his subject home : his spleen is
raised, and he raises mine : I have the pleasure of con-
cernment in all he says; he drives his reader along

30 with him ; and when he is at the end of his way
I willingly stop with him. If he went another stage,
it would be too far ; it would make a journey of a pro-
gress, and turn delight into fatigue. When he gives
over, it is a sign the subject is exhausted, and the wit

35 of man can carry it no. further. If a fault can be justly

X

c

Original and Progress of Satire 85

found in him, 'tis that he is sometimes too luxuriant,
too redundant; says more than he needs, like my
friend the Plain-Dealery but never more than pleases.
Add to this, that his thoughts are as just as those of
Horace, and much more elevated. His expressions 5
are sonorous and more noble ; his verse more numerous,
and his words are suitable to his thoughts, sublime and
lofty. All these contribute to the pleasure of the reader ;
and the greater the soul of him who reads, his transports
are the greater. Horace is always on the amble, 10
Juvenal on the gallop; but his way is perpetually on
carpet-ground. He goes with more impetuosity than
Horace, but as securely; and the swiftness adds a
more lively agitation to the spirits. The low style of
Horace is according to his subject, that is, generally 15
grovelling. I question not but he could have raised it ;
for the First Epistle of the Second Book, which he
writes to Augustus, (a most instructive satire concerning
poetry,) is of so much dignity in the words, and of so
much elegancy in the numbers, that the author plainly 20
shows the sermo pedestris, in his other Satires, was
rather his choice than his necessity. He was a rival
to Lucilius, his predecessor, and was resolved to sur- ^
pass him in his own manner. Lucilius, as we see by
his remaining fragments, minded neither his style, nor 25 i
his numbers, nor his purity of words, nor his run of *;

verse. Horace therefore copes with him in that humble |

way of satire, writes under his own force, and carries •

a dead-weight, that he may match his competitor in the j

race. This, I imagine, was the chief reason why he 30
minded only the clearness of his satire, and the clean-
ness of expression, without ascending to those heights ■
to which his own vigour might have carried him. But,
limiting his desires only to the conquest of Lucilius, he '
had his ends of his rival, who lived before him ; but 35

y

86 A Discourse concerning the

made way for a new conquest over himself, by Juvenal,
his successor. He could not give an equal pleasure to
his reader, because he used not equal instruments. The
fault was in the tools, and not in the workman. But
6 versification and numbers are the greatest pleasures of
poetry : Virgil knew it, and practised both so happily,
that, for aught I know, his greatest excellency is in
his diction. In all other parts of poetry, he is fault-
less ; but in this he placed his chief perfection. And

10 give me leave, my Lord, since I have here an apt
occasion, to say that Virgil could have written sharper
satires than either Horace or Juvenal, if he would have
employed his talent that way. I will produce a verse
and half of his, in one of his Eclogues, to justify my

15 opinion; and with commas after every word, to show
that he has given almost as many lashes as he has
written syllables. *Tis against a bad poet, whose ill
verses he describes: —

. . . non tUy in triviisy indocte, solebas
ao Stridentiy fttiserum, sHpula disperdere carmen ?

But to return to my purpose : when there is anything
deficient in numbers and sound, the reader is uneasy
and unsatisfied ; he wants something of his complement,
desires somewhat which he finds not: and this being

as the manifest defect of Horace, 'tis no wonder that,
finding it supplied in Juvenal, we are more delighted
with him. And, besides this, the sauce of Juvenal is
more poignant, to create in us an appetite of reading
him. The meat of Horace is more nourishing ; but the

30 cookery of Juvenal more exquisite : so that, granting
Horace to be the more general philosopher, we cannot
deny that Juvenal was the greater poet, I mean in
satire. His thoughts are sharper; his indignation
against vice is more vehement ; his spirit has more of

35 the commonwealth genius ; he treats tyranny, and all

Original and Progress of Satire 87

the vices attending it, as they deserve, with the utmost
rigour : and consequently, a noble soul is better pleased
with a zealous vindicator of Roman liberty, than with
a temporising poet, a well-mannered court-slave, and
a man who is often afraid of laughing in the right 5
place; who is ever decent, because he is naturally
servile. After all, Horace had the disadvantage of the
times in which he lived ; they were better for the man,
but worse for the satirist. 'Tis generally said, that
those enormous vices which were practised under the 10
reign of Domitian were unknown in the time of
Augustus Caesar ; that therefore Juvenal had a larger
field than Horace. Little follies were out of doors
when oppression was to be scourged instead of avarice :
it was no longer time to turn into ridicule the false 15
opinions of philosophers when the Roman liberty was
to be asserted. There was more need of a Brutus in
Domitian's days, to redeem or mend, than of a Horace,
if he had then been living, to laugh at a fly-catcher.
This reflection at the same time excuses Horace, but 20
exalts Juvenal. I have ended, before I was aware, the
comparison of Horace and Juvenal, upon the topics of
instruction and delight ; and, indeed, I may safely here
conclude that common-place ; for, if we make Horace
our minister of state in Satire, and Juvenal of our private 25
pleasures, I think the latter has no ill bargain of it.
Let profit have the pre-eminence of honour, in the end ^

of poetry. Pleasure, though but the second in degree,
is the first in favour. And who would not choose to be )/

loved better, rather than to be more esteemed ? But 30
I am entered already upon another topic, which con-
cerns the particular merits of these two satirists.
However, I will pursue my business where I left it,
and carry it farther than that common observation of
the several ages in which these authors flourished. 35

88 A Discourse concerning the

When Horace writ his Satires, the monarchy of his
Caesar was in its newness, and the government but just
made easy to the conquered people. They could not
possibly have forgotten the usurpation of that prince
5 upon their freedom, nor the violent methods which he
had used, in the compassing that vast design : they yet
remembered his proscriptions, and the slaughter of so
many noble Romans, their defenders: amongst the
rest, that horrible action of his, when he forced Livia

10 from the arms of her husband, who was constrained to
see her married, as Dion relates the story, and, big
with child as she was, conveyed to the bed of his insult-
ing rival. The same Dion Cassius gives us another
instance of the crime before mentioned ; that Cornelius

15 Sisenna being reproached, in full senate, with the
licentious conduct of his wife, returned this answer,
that he had married her by the counsel of Augustus ;
intimating, says my author, that Augustus had obliged
him to that marriage, that he might, under that covert,

20 have the more free access to her. His adulteries were
still before their eyes : but they must be patient where
they had not power. In other things that emperor was
moderate enough : propriety was generally secured ;
and the people entertained with public shows and

25 donatives, to make them more easily digest their lost
liberty. But Augustus, who was conscious to himself
of so many crimes which he had committed, thought, in
the first place, to provide for his own reputation, by
making an edict against lampoons and satires, and the

30 authors of those defamatory writings which my author
Tacitus, from the law-term, cd\\s famosos libellos.

In the first book of his Annals, he gives the following
account of it, in these words : Primus Augustus cogni-
tionem de famosis libellis, specie legis ejus, tractavit ;

35 commotus Cassii Severi libidine, qua viros fceminasque

Original and Progress of Satire 89

iUustres procacibus scriptis diffamaverat Thus in Eng-
lish : 'Augustus was the first who under the colour of
that law took cognisance of lampoons ; being provoked to
it by the petulancy of Cassius Severus, who had defamed
many illustrious persons of both sexes in his writings/ 5
The law to which Tacitus refers was Lex Icesce Majes-
tatis ; commonly called, for the sake of brevity, Majestas ;
or, as we say, high treason. He means not, that this
law had not been enacted formerly: for it had been
made by the Decemviri, and was inscribed amongst the 10
rest in the Twelve Tables ; to prevent the aspersion of
the Roman majesty, either of the people themselves, or
their religion, or their Aagistrates : and the infringe-
ment of it was capital ; that is, the offender was whipt to
death, with the/as^^s, which were borne before their 15
chief officers of Rome. But Augustus was the first
who restored that intermitted law. By the words,
under colour of that laWj he insinuates that Augustus
caused it to be executed on pretence of those libels,
which were written by Cassius Severus, against the 20
nobility ; but, in truth, to save himself from such defa-
matory verses. Suetonius likewise makes mention of it
thus : Sparsos de se in curia famosos libellos, nee expavity
et magna cura redarguit, Ac ne requisitis quidem auc-
toribuSf id modo censuit, cognoscendum posthacde iis qui 25
libellos aut carmina ad infamiam cujuspiam sub alieno \

nomine edant, 'Augustus was not afraid of libels,' says I

that author; 'yet he took all care imaginable to have f

them answered ; and then decreed, that for the time to \

come the authors of them should be punished.' But 30 i
Aurelius makes it yet more clear, according to my '

sense, that this emperor for his own sake durst not
permit them : Fecit id Augustus in speciem, ut quasi
gratificaretur populo Romano^ et primoribus urbis ; sed
revera ut sibi consuleret: nam habuit in animo, compri- 35 v.^i^^

90 A Discourse concerning the

mere nimiam quorundam procacitatem in loquendoy a qua
nee ipse exemptus fuit Nam suo nomine compescere erat
invidiosum, sub alieno facile et utile. Ergo specie legis
tractavit, quasi populi Romani majestas infamaretur,
5 This, I think, is a suflScient comment on that passage of
Tacitus. I will add only by the way, that the whole
family of the Caesars, and all their relations, were
included in the law ; because the majesty of the Ro-
mans, in the time of the empire, was wholly in that

10 house; omnia Ccesar erat: they were all accounted
sacred who belonged to him. As for Cassius Severus,
he was contemporary with Horace ; and was the same
poet against whom he writes in his Epodes, under this
title, In Cassium Severum maledicum poetam ; perhaps

15 intending to kill two crows, according to our proverb,
with one stone, and revenge both himself and his
emperor together.

From hence I may reasonably conclude, that Augus-
tus, who was not altogether so good as he was wise,

20 had some by-respect in the enacting of this law ; for to
do anything for nothing was not his maxim. Horace,
as he was a courtier, complied with the interest of his
master; and, avoiding the lashing of greater crimes,
confined himself to the ridiculing of petty vices and com-

- 5 mon follies ; excepting only some reserved cases, in his
Odes and Epodes, of his own particular quarrels, which
either with permission of the magistrate, or without it,
every man will revenge, though I say not that he should ;
for prior Icestt is a good excuse in the civil law, if Chris-

30 tianity had not taught us to forgive. However, he was
not the proper man to arraign great vices, at least if the
stories which we hear of him are true, that he prac-
tised some, which I will not here mention, out of honour
to him. It was not for a Clodius to accuse adulterers,

35 especially when Augustus was of that number; so that

Original and Progress of Satire

91

though his age was not exempted from the worst of
villanies, there was no freedom left to reprehend them
by reason of the edict; and our poet was not fit to
represent them in an odious character, because himself
was dipt in the same actions. Upon this account, with- 5
out further insisting on the different tempers of Juvenal
and Horace, I conclude, that the subjects which Horace
chose for satire are of a lower nature than those of
which Juvenal has written.

Thus I have treated, in a new method, the comparison 10
betwixt Horace, Juvenal, and Persius; somewhat of
their particular manner belonging to all of them is yet
remaining to be considered. Persius was grave, and
particularly opposed his gravity to lewdness, which was
the predominant vice in Nero's court, at the time when 15
he published his Satires, which was before that em-
peror fell into the excess of cruelty. Horace was
a mild admonisher, a court-satirist, fit for the gentle
times of Augustus, and more fit, for the reasons which
I have already given. Juvenal was as proper for his 20
times, as they for theirs ; his was an age that deserved
a more severe chastisement ; vices were more gross
and open, more flagitious, more encouraged by the
example of a tyrant, and more protected by his autho-
rity. Therefore, wheresoever Juvenal mentions Nero, 25
he means Domitian, whom he dares not attack in his
own person, but scourges him by proxy. Heinsius
urges in praise of Horace, that, according to the ancient
art and law of satire, it should be nearer to comedy
than tragedy ; not declaiming against vice, but only 30
laughing at it. Neither Persius nor Juvenal were
ignorant of this, for they had both studied Horace.
And the thing itself is plainly true. But as they had
read Horace, they had likewise read Lucilius, of whom
Persius says secuit urbem ; . . . ^/ genuinum f regit in 35

(

I

■

\

I

I

.>■

.''

i
i

\

92 A Discourse concerning the

\ Hits; meaning Mutius and Lupus; and Juvenal also

: mentions him in these words : Ense velut stricto, quoties

\ Lucilius ardens infremuit^ &c. So that they thought the

imitation of Lucilius was more proper to their purpose

\ 15 than that of Horace. 'They changed satire' (says

Holyday), ' but they changed it for the better ; for the

business being to reform great vices, chastisement goes

\ / further than admonition ; whereas a perpetual grin, like

i that of Horace, does rather anger than amend a man.'

no Thus far that learned critic, Barten Holyday, whose

/ interpretation and illustrations of Juvenal are as excel-

I lent, as the verse of his translation and his English are

lame and pitiful. For 'tis not enough to give us the

meaning of a poet, which I acknowledge him to have

5 performed most faithfully, but he must also imitate his

genius and his numbers, as far as the English will

come up to the elegance of the original. In few words,

'tis only for a poet to translate a poem. Holyday and

Stapylton had not enough considered this, when they

20 attempted Juvenal : but I forbear reflections ; only

I I beg leave to take notice of this sentence, where

! Holyday says, 'a perpetual grin, like that of Horace,

rather angers than amends a man.' I cannot give him

up the manner of Horace in low satire so easily. Let

5 the chastisement of Juvenal be never so necessary

for his new kind of satire ; let him declaim as wittily

and sharply as he pleases; yet still the nicest and

most delicate touches of satire consist in fine raillery.

\ This, my Lord, is your particular talent, to which even

o Juvenal could not arrive. 'Tis not reading, 'tis not

imitation of an author, which can produce this fineness ;

\ it must be inborn ; it must proceed from a genius, and

^- particular way of thinking, which is not to be taught ;

j, and therefore not to be imitated by him who has it not

^5 from nature. How easy is it to call rogue and villain,

I

\

Original and Progress of Satire

93

and that wittily ! But how hard to make a man appear
a fool, a blockhead, or a knave, without using any of
those opprobrious terms I To spare the grossness of
the names, and to do the thing yet more severely, is to
draw a full face, and to make the nose and cheeks 5
stand out, and yet not to employ any depth of shadow-
ing. This is the mystery of that noble trade, which yet
no master can teach to his apprentice ; he may give the
rules, but the scholar is never the nearer in his prac-
tice. Neither is it true, that this fineness of raillery 10
is offensive. A witty man is tickled while he is hurt in
this manner, and a fool feels it not. The occasion of
an offence may possibly be given, but he cannot take it.
If it be granted, that in effect this way does more mis-
chief; that a man is secretly wounded, and though he 15
be not sensible himself, yet the malicious world will
find it out for him ; yet there is still a vast difference
betwixt the slovenly butchering of a man, and the fine-
ness of a stroke that separates the head from the body,
and leaves it standing in its place. A man may be capa- ao
ble, as Jack Ketch's wife said of his servant, of a plain
piece of work, a bare hanging ; but to make a male-
factor die sweetly was only belonging to her husband.
I wish I could apply it to myself, if the reader would be
kind enough to think it belongs to me. The character 35
of Zimri in my Absalom is, in my opinion, worth the
whole poem : it is not bloody, but it is ridiculous
enough ; and he, for whom it was intended, was too
witty to resent it as an injury. If I had railed, I might
have suffered for it justly ; but I managed my own work 30
more happily, perhaps more dexterously. I avoided
the mention of great crimes, and applied myself to the
representing of blindsides, and little extravagancies ;
to which, the wittier a man is, he is generally the more
obnoxious. It succeeded as I wished ; the jest went 35

<

y

I

A

94 A Discourse concerning the

y I round, and he was laught at in his turn who began the
y \ frolic.

And thus, my Lord, you see I have preferred the
manner of Horace, and of your Lordship, in this kind
5 of satire, to that of Juvenal, and, I think, reasonably.
Holyday ought not to have arraigned so great an
author, for that which was his excellency and his merit :
or if he did, on such a palpable mistake, he might
expect that some one might possibly arise, either in his

lo own time, or after him, to rectify his error, and restore
to Horace that commendation of which he has so
, unjustly robbed him. And let the Manes of Juvenal
. forgive me if I say, that this way of Horace was the

1 best for amending manners, as it is the most difficult.

15 His was an ense rescindendum ; but that of Horace was
a pleasant cure, with all the limbs preserved entire;
and, as our mountebanks tell us in their bills, without
keeping the patient within-doors for a day. What they
promise only, Horace has effectually performed : yet I

20 contradict not the proposition which I formerly ad-
vanced. Juvenal's times required a more painful kind
of operation ; but if he had lived in the age of Horace,
I must needs affirm, that he had it not about him. He
took the method which was prescribed him by his own

25 genius, which was sharp and eager ; he could not rally,
but he could declaim; and as his provocations were
great, he has revenged them tragically. This notwith-
standing, I am to say another word, which, as true as
it is, will yet displease the partial admirers of our

30 Horace. I have hinted it before, but it is time for me
now to speak more plainly.

This manner of Horace is indeed the best ; but
Horace has not executed it altogether so happily, at
least not often. The manner of Juvenal is confessed to

35 be inferior to the former, but Juvenal has excelled him

Original and Progress of Satire 95

in his performance. Juvenal has railed more wittily
than Horace has rallied. Horace means to make his
readers laugh, but he is not sure of his experiment.
Juvenal always intends to move your indignation, and
he always brings about his purpose. Horace, for aught 5
I know, might have tickled the people of his age ; but
amongst the moderns he is not so successful. They
who say he entertains so pleasantly may perhaps value
themselves on the quickness of their own understand-
ings, that they can see a jest further off than other men. 10
They may find occasion of laughter in the wit-battle of
the two buffoons, Sarmentus and Cicerrus; and hold
their sides for fear of bursting, when Rupilius and
Persius are scolding. For my own part, I can only
like the characters of all four, which are judiciously 15
given ; but for my heart I cannot so much as smile at
their insipid raillery. I see not why Persius should call
upon Brutus to revenge him on his adversary; and
that because he had killed Julius Caesar, for endeavour-
ing to be a king, therefore he should be desired to ao
murder Rupilius, only because his name was Mr. King.
A miserable clench, in my opinion, for Horace to
record : I have heard honest Mr. Swan make many
a better, and yet have had the grace to hold my
countenance. But it may be puns were then in fashion, 25
as they were wit in the sermons of the last age, and in
the court of King Charles the Second. I am sorry to
say it, for the sake of Horace ; but certain it is, he has
no fine palate who can feed so heartily on garbage.

But I have already wearied myself, and doubt not 30
but I have tired your Lordship's patience, with this long,
rambling, and, I fear, trivial discourse. Upon the one
half of the merits, that is, pleasure, I cannot but conclude
that Juvenal was the better satirist. They, who will
descend into his particular praises, may find them at 35

gS A Discourse concerning the

large in the Dissertation of the learned Rigaltius to
Thuanus. As for Persius, I have given the reasons
why I think him inferior to both of them ; yet I have
one thing to add on that subject.
5 Barten Holyday, who translated both Juvenal and
Persius, has made this distinction betwixt them, which
is no less true than witty ; that in Persius the difficulty
is to find a meaning, in Juvenal to choose a meaning :
so crabbed is Persius, and so copious is Juvenal ; so

10 much the understanding is employed in one, and so
much the judgment in the other ; so difficult it is to find
any sense in the former, and the best sense of the latter.
If, on the other side, any one suppose I have com-
mended Horace below his merit, when I have allowed

15 him but the second place, I desire him to consider, if
Juvenal, a man of excellent natural endowments, besides
the advantages of diligence and study, and coming after
him, and building upon his foundations, might not
probably, with all these helps, surpass him ; and whether

20 it be any dishonour to Horace to be thus surpassed,
since no art or science is at once begun and perfected,
but that it must pass first through many hands, and
even through several ages. If Lucilius could add to
Ennius, and Horace to Lucilius, why, without any

35 diminution to the fame of Horace, might not Juvenal
give the last perfection to that work ? Or rather, what
disreputation is it to Horace, that Juvenal excels in the
tragical satire, as Horace does in the comical ? I have
read over attentively both Heinsius and Dacier, in

30 their commendations of Horace ; btrt I can find no
more in either of them, for the preference of him to
Juvenal, than the instructive part ; the part of wisdom,
and not that of pleasure; which, therefore, is here
allowed him, notwithstanding what Scaliger and Rigal-

35 tius have pleaded to the contrary for Juvenal. And to

Original and Progress of Satire 97

show I am impartial, I will here translate what Dacier
has said on that subject.

* I cannot give a more just idea of the two books of
Satires made by Horace, than by comparing them to
the statues of the Sileni, to which Alcibiades compares 5
Socrates in the Symposium, They were figures, which
had nothing of agreeable, nothing of beauty, on their
outside ; but when any one took the pains to open them,
and search into them, he there found the figures of all
the deities. So, in the shape that Horace presents 1 d
himself to us in his Satires^ we see nothing, at the first
view, which deserves our attention. It seems that he is
rather an amusement for children, than for the serious
consideration of men. But, when we take away his
crust, and that which hides him from our sight, when 15
we discover him to the bottom, then we find all the
divinities in a full assembly; that is to say, all the
virtues which ought to be the continual exercise of
those, who seriously endeavour to correct their vices.'

*Tis easy to observe, that Dacier, in this noble 20
similitude, has confined the praise of his author wholly
to the instructive part; the commendation turns on
this, and so does that which, follows.

' In these two books of Satire, 'tis the business of
Horace to instruct us how to combat our vices, to 25
regulate our passions, to follow nature, to give bounds
to our desires, to distinguish betwixt truth and false-
hood, and betwixt our conceptions of things, and things
themselves ; to come back from our prejudicate opinions,
to understand exactly the principles and motives of all 30
our actions; and to avoid the ridicule into which all
men necessarily fall, who are intoxicated with those
notions which they have received from their masters,
and which they obstinately retain, without examining
whether or no they be founded on right reason. 35

II. H

98 A Discourse concerning the

' In a word, he labours to render us happy in relation
to ourselves ; agreeable and faithful to our friends ; and
discreet, serviceable, and well-bred, in relation to those
with whom we are obliged to live, and to converse.
5 To make his figures intelligible, to conduct his readers
through the labyrinth of some perplexed sentence, or
obscure parenthesis, is no great matter ; and as Epictetus
says, there is nothing of beauty in all this, or what
is worthy of a prudent man. The principal business,

10 and which is of most importance to us, is to show the
use, the reason, and the proof of his precepts.

'They who endeavour not to correct themselves
according to so exact a model, are just like the patients
who have open before them a book of admirable receipts

15 for their diseases, and please themselves with reading
it, without comprehending the nature of the remedies,
or how to apply them to their cure.'

Let Horace go off with these encomiums, which'he
has so well deserved.

20 To conclude the contention betwixt our three poets,
I will use the words of Virgil, in his fifth J£neidf where
iEneas proposes the rewards of the foot-race to the
three first who should reach the goal : —

. . . tres prcentia printi
25 Acdpienty flavaque caput nectentur oliva.

Let these three ancients be preferred to all the moderns,
as first arriving at the goal ; let them all be crowned, as
victors, with the wreath that properly belongs to satire ;
but, after that, with this distinction amongst themselves —

30 Primus equunt phaleris insignent victor haheto : —

let Juvenal ride first in triumph ;

Alter Amazoniam pharetram^ plenamque sagitiis
Thret'aiSf lafo quant circuntplectiiur auro
BalteuSj et tereii subnectit fibula gemma : —

Original and Progress of Satire 99

let Horace, who is the second, and but just the second,
carry off the quivers and the arrows, as the badges of
his satire, and the golden belt, and the diamond button ;

Tertius Argolico hoc clypeo contefttus abito: —

and let Persius, the last of the first three worthies, be 5
contented with this Grecian shield, and with victory,
not only over all the Grecians, who were ignorant of
the Roman satire, but over all the moderns in succeed-
ing ages, excepting Boileau and your Lordship.

And thus I have given the history of Satire, and 10
derived it as far as from Ennius to your Lordship ; that
is, from its first rudiments of barbarity to its last
polishing and perfection ; which is, with Virgil, in his
address to Augustus —

. . . nonten fama tot ferre per annos^ j g

Tithoni prima quot abest ab origine Ccesar,

I said only from Ennius; but I may safely carry it
higher, as far as Livius Andronicus; who, as I have
said formerly, taught the first play at Rome, in the year
ab urbe condita dxiv. I have since desired my learned ao
friend, Mr. Maidwell, to compute the difference of
times betwixt Aristophanes and Livius Andronicus;
and he assures me, from the best chronologers, that
PluiuSf the last of Aristophanes his plays, was repre-
sented at Athens in the year of the 97th Olympiad ; 25
which agrees with the year urbts conditce ccclxiv. So
that the difference of years betwixt Aristophanes and
Andronicus is 150; from whence I have probably
deduced, that Livius Andronicus, who was a Grecian,
had read the plays of the Old Comedy, which* were 30
satirical, and also of the New; for Menander was fifty
years before him, which must needs be a great light to
him in his own plays, that were of the satirical nature.
That the Romans had farces before this, 'tis true ; but

H 2

loo A Discourse concerning the

then they had no communication with Greece ; so that
Andronicus was the first who wrote after the manner of
the Old Comedy in his plays : he was imitated by
Ennius, about thirty years afterwards. Though the
5 former writ fables, the latter, speaking properly, began
the Roman satire ; according to that description, which
Juvenal gives of it in his first :

Quicquid aguni homines^ vctunty timorf ira^ volupias^
Gaudia^ disaersuSj nosiri est farrago libelli,

lo This is that in which I have made bold to differ from
Casaubon, Rigaltius, Dacier, and indeed from all the
modern critics, that not Ennius, but Andronicus was
the first who, by the Archcea Contoedia of the Greeks,
added many beauties to the first rude and barbarous

15 Roman satire : which sort of poem, though we had not
derived from Rome, yet nature teaches it mankind in
all ages, and in every country.

'Tis but necessary, that after so much has been
said of Satire some definition of it should be given.

20 Heinsius, in his dissertations on Horace, makes it for
me, in these words : * Satire is a kind of poetry, with-
out a series of action, invented for the purging of our
minds; in which human vices, ignorance, and errors,
and all things besides, which are produced from them
I 25 in every man, are severely reprehended ; partly dra-
matically, partly simply, and sometimes in both kinds
of speaking ; but, for the most part, figuratively, and
occultly; consisting in a low familiar way, chiefly in
a sharp and pungent manner of speech; but partly,

30 also, in a facetious and civil way of jesting ; by which
either hatred, or laughter, or indignation, is moved.* —
Where I cannot but observe, that this obscure and per-
plexed definition, or rather description, of satire, is
wholly accommodated to the Horatian way; and ex-

Original and Progress of Satire loi

eluding the works of Juvenal and Persius, as foreign
from that kind of poem. The clause in the beginning
of it without a series of action distinguishes satire pro-
perly from stage-plays, which are all of one action, and
one continued series of action. The end or scope of 5
satire is to purge the passions ; so far it is common to
the satires of Juvenal and Persius. The rest which
follows is also generally belonging to all three ; till he
comes upon us, with the excluding clause consisting in
a low familiar way ofspeech^ which is the proper character 10
of Horace ; and from which the other two, for their
honour be it spoken, are far distant. But how come
lowness of style, and the familiarity of words, to be so
much the propriety of satire, that without them a poet
can be no more a satirist, than without risibility he can 1 5
be a man ? Is the fault of Horace to be made the
virtue and standing rule of this poem ? Is the grande
sophos of Persius, and the sublimity of Juvenal, to be
circumscribed with the meanness of words and vulgarity
of expression ? If Horace refused the pains of num- 20
bers, and the loftiness of figures, are they bound to
follow so ill a precedent ? Let him walk afoot, with
his pad in his hand, for his own pleasure ; but let not
them be accounted no poets, who choose to mount, and
show their horsemanship. Holyday is not afraid to 25
say, that there was never such a fall, as from his Odes
to his Satires, and that he, injuriously to himself, un-
tuned his harp. The majestic way of Persius and
Juvenal was new when they began it, but 'tis old to us ;
and what poems have not, with time, received an altera- ^o
tion in their fashion ? * Which alteration,' says Holy-
day, Ms to aftertimes as good a warrant as the first.*
Has not Virgil changed the manners of Homer's heroes
in his ^neis? Certainly he has, and for the better:
for Virgirs age was more civilised, and better bred ; 35

I02 A Discourse concerning the

and he writ according to the politeness of Rome, under
the reign of Augustus Caesar, not to the rudeness of
Agamemnon's age, or the times of Homer. Why
should we offer to confine free spirits to one form,

5 when we cannot so much as confine our bodies to one
fashion of apparel ? Would not Donne's Satires, which
abound with so much wit, appear more charming, if he
had taken care of his words, and of his numbers ? But
j he followed Horace so very close, that of necessity he

10 must fall with him' ; and I may safely say it of this
present age, that if we are not so great wits as Donne,
yet certainly we are better poets.

But I have said enough, and it may be too much, on
this subject. Will your Lordship be pleased to prolong

15 my audience, only so faj:, till I tell you my own trivial
thoughts, how a modern satire should be made ? I will
not deviate in the least from the precepts and examples
of the Ancients, who were always our best masters.
I will only illustrate them, and discover some of the

20 hidden beauties in their designs, that we thereby may
form our own in imitation of them. Will you please
but to observe, that Persius, the least in dignity of all
the three, has notwithstanding been the first who has
discovered to usjthis important secret, in the design-

35 ing of a perfect satire ; that it ought only to treat of one
subject ; to be confined to one particular theme ; or at
least, to one principally. If other vices occur in the
management of the chief, they should only be trans-
iently lashed, and not be insisted on, so as to make

30 the design double. As in a play of the English fashion,
which we call a tragi-comedy, there is to be but one
main design ; and though there be an underplot, or
second walk of comical characters and adventures, yet
they are subservient to the chief fable, carried along

35 under it, and helping to it ; iso that the drama may not

Original and Progress of Satire 103

seem a monster with two heads. Thus, the Copernican
system of the planets makes the moon to be moved by
the motion of the earth, and carried about her orb, as
a dependent of hers. Mascardi, in his discourse of the
Doppia Favolay or double tale in plays, gives an instance 5
of it in the famous pastoral of Guarini, called // Pastor
Fido ; where Corisca and the Satyr are the under parts ;
yet we may observe, that Corisca is brought into the
body of the plot, and made subservient to it. 'Tis
certain, that the divine wit of Horace was not ignorant 10
of this rule, — that a play, though it consists of many
parts, must yet be one in the action, and must drive on
the accomplishment of one design ; for he gives this
very precept, sit quodvis simplex duntaxat et unum ; yet
he seems not much to mind it in his Satires, many 15
of them consisting of more arguments than one ; and
the second without dependence on the first. Casaubon
has observed this before me, in his preference of Per-
sius to Horace ; and will have his own beloved author
to be the first who found out and introduced this ao
method of confining himself to one subject. I know it
may be urged in defence of Horace, that this unity is
not necessary; because the very word satura signifies
a dish plentifully stored with all variety of fruit and
grains. Yet Juvenal, who calls his poems a farrago, 25
which is a word of the same signification with satura,
has chosen to follow the same method of Persius, and
not of Horace ; and Boileau, whose example alone is
a sufficient authority, has wholly confined himself, in
all his Satires, to this unity of design. That variety, 30
which is not to be found in any one satire, is, at least,
in many, written on several occasions. And if variety
be of absolute necessity in every one of them, according
to the etymology of the word, yet it may arise naturally
from one subject, as it is diversely treated, in the several 35

I04 A Discourse concerning the

subordinate branches of it, all relating to the chief. It
may be illustrated accordingly with variety of examples
in the subdivisions of it, and with as many precepts as
there are members of it ; which, altogether, may com-
f plete that allay or hotchpotch, which is properly a
satire.

Under this unity of theme, or subject, is compre-
hended another rule for perfecting the design of true
satire. The poet is bound, and that ex officio^ to give

10 his reader some one precept of moral virtue, and to
caution him against some one particular vice or folly.
Other virtues, subordinate to the first, may be recom-
mended under that chief head ; and other vices or
follies ma}' be scourged, besides that which he prin-

15 cipally intends. But he is chiefly to inculcate one
virtue, and insist on that. Thus Juvenal, in every
satire excepting the first, ties himself to one principal
instructive point, or to the shunning of moral evil.
Even in the Sixth, which seems only an arraignment

20 of the whole sex of womankind, there is a latent admo-
nition to avoid ill women, by showing how very few,
who are virtuous and good, are to be found amongst
them. But this, though the wittiest of all his satires,
has yet the least of truth or instruction in it. He

25 has run himself into his old declamatory way, and
almost forgotten that he was now setting up 'for
a moral poet.

Persius is never wanting to us in some profitable
doctrine, and in exposing the opposite vices to it. His

30 kind of philosophy is one, which is the Stoic ; and
every satire is a comment on one particular dogma of
that sect, unless we will except the first, which is against
bad writers ; and yet even there he forgets not the pre-
cepts of the Porch. In general, all virtues are every-

35 where to be praised and recommended to practice ; and

4

Original and Progress of Satire 105

all vices to be reprehended, and made either odious or ^
ridiculous ; or else there is a fundamental error in the
whole design.

I have already declared who are the only persons
that are the adequate object of private satire, and who 5
they are that may properly be exposed by name for
public examples of vices and follies ; and therefore
I will trouble your Lordship no further with them. Of
the best and finest manner of Satire, I have said enough
in the comparison betwixt Juvenal and Horace : 'tis
that sharp, well-mannered way of laughing a folly out
of countenance, of which your Lordship is the best j
master in this age. I will proceed to the versification, f
which is most proper for it, and add somewhat to ;
what I have said already on that subject. The sort of 15
verse which is called burlesque^ consisting of eight syl- ;
lables, oi;»four feet, is that which our excellent Hudi-
bras has chosen. I ought to have mentioned him
before, when I spoke of Donne ; but by a slip of an old
man's memory he was forgotten. The worth of his 20
poem is too well known to need my commendation, and
he is above my censure. His satire is of the Varro-
nian kind, though unmixed with prose. The choice of
his numbers is suitable enough to his design, as he has i
managed it; but in any other hand, the shortness of his i\
verse, and the quick returns of rhyme, had debased
the dignity of style. And besides, the double rhyme, |
(a necessary companion of burlesque writing,) is not so \
proper for manly satire ; for it turns earnest too much [
to jest, and gives us a boyish kind of pleasure. It ji
tickles awkwardly with a kind of pain, to the best sort ;
of readers : we are pleased ungratefully, and, if I may j.
say so, against our liking. We thank him not for
giving us that unseasonable delight, when we know he
could have given us a better, and more solid. He lA

io6 A Discourse concerning the

I might have left that task to others, who, not being able

j to put in thought, can only make us grin with the
excrescence of a word of two or three syllables in the
close. 'Tis, indeed, below so great a master to make
5 use of such a little instrument. But his good sense is
perpetually shining through all he writes ; it affords us
not the time of finding faults. We pass through the
levity of his rhyme, and are immediately carried into
some admirable useful thought. After all, he has

lo chosen this kind of verse, and has written the best
in it : and had he taken another, he would always have
excelled : as we say of a court favourite, that what-
soever his office be, he still makes it uppermost, and
i most beneficial to himself.

'15 The quickness of your imagination, my Lord, has

I already prevented me ; and you know beforehand, that

! I would prefer the verse of ten syllables, which we call

the English heroic, to that of eight. This is truly my

opinion. For this sort of number is more roomy ; the

20 thought can turn itself with greater ease in a larger
compass. When the rhyme comes too thick upon us,
it straitens the expression ; we are thinking of the close,
when we should be employed in adorning the thought.
It makes a poet giddy with turning in a space too

35 narrow for his imagination ; he loses many beauties,
without gaining one advantage. For a burlesque
rhyme I have already concluded to be none ; or, if it
were, 'tis more easily purchased in ten syllables than in
eight. In both occasions 'tis as in a tennis-court, when

30 the strokes of greater force are given, when we strike
out and play at length. Tassoni and Boileau have left
us the best examples of this way, in the Secchia Rapita^
and the Lutrin ; and next them Merlin Coccaius in his
Baldus. I will speak only of the two former, because

35 the last is written in Latin verse. The Secchia Rapita

Original and Progress of Satire 107

\

is an Italian poem, a satire of the Varronian kind. 'Tis
written in the stanza of eight, which is their measure \
for heroic verse. The words are stately, the numbers \
smooth, the turn both of thoughts and words is happy. \
The first six lines of the stanza seem majestical and 5
severe ; but the two last turn them all into a pleasant
ridicule. Boileau, if I am not much deceived, has •
modelled from hence his famous Lutrin. He had read |
the burlesque poetry of Scarron, with some kind of
indignation, as witty as it was, and found nothing in 10
France that was worthy of his imitation ; but he copied
the Italian so well, that his own may pass for an
original. He writes it in the French heroic verse, and ,
calls it an heroic poem ; his subject is trivial, but his
verse is noble. I doubt not but he had Virgil in his 15
eye, for we find many admirable imitations of him, and
some parodies ; as particularly this passage in the
fourth of the JEneids —

Nee tibi diva parens, generis nee Dardanus auek>r,

Perfide; sed duris genuit te eautibus horrens ao

Caucasus; Hyrcanceque admorunt ubera tigres :

which he thus translates, keeping to the words, but
altering the sense —

Non, ton Pere a Paris, ne fut point boulanger:

Et tu n*es point du sang de Gervais, Vhorloger; 25

Ta mere ne fut point la ntaitresse d*un eoche :

Cauease dans ses flanes te forma d^ une roche :

Une tigresse ajfreuse, en quelque antre ecarte,

Te fit, avee son lait, sucer sa cruaute.

And, as Virgil in his fourth Georgic, of the Bees, per- 30
petually raises the lowness of his subject, by the loftiness
of his words, and ennobles it by comparisons drawn
from empires, and from monarchs —

Admiranda tibi levium spectaeula rerutn,

Magnanimosque duces, totiusque ordine gentis 35

Mores et studia, et populos, et proelia dicam.

io8 A Discourse concerning the

And again—

At genus tmmortale manet ; fnultosque per annos
Stat fortuna domuSf et avi numerantur avorum ; —

we see Boileau pursuing him in the same flights, and

5 scarcely yielding to his master. This, I think, my
Lord, to be the most beautiful, and most noble kind of
satire. Here is the majesty of the heroic, finely mixed
with the venom of the other; and raising the delight
which otherwise would be flat and vulgar, by the

lo sublimity of the expression. I could say somewhat
more of the delicacy of this and some other of his satires ;
but it might turn to his prejudice, if 'twere carried back
to France.

I have given your Lordship but this bare hint, in what

15 verse and in what manner this sort of satire may be best
managed. Had I time, I could enlarge on the beautiful
turns of words and thoughts, which are as requisite in
this, as in heroic poetry itself, of which the satire is
undoubtedly a species. With these beautiful turns,

ao I confess myself to have been unacquainted, till about
twenty years ago, in a conversation which I had with
that noble wit of Scotland, Sir George Mackenzie, he
asked me why I did not imitate in my verses the turns
of Mr. Waller and Sir John Denham, of which he

25 repeated many to me. I had often read with pleasure,
and with some profit, those two fathers of our English
poetry, but had not seriously enough considered those
beauties which gave the last perfection to their works.
Some sprinklings of this kind I had also formerly in my

30 plays ; but they were casual, and not designed*. But
this hint, thus seasonably given me, first made me
sensible of my own wants, and brought me afterwards
to seek for the supply of them in other English authors.
I looked over the darling of my youth, the famous

35 Cowley ; there I found, instead of them, the points of

Original and Progress of Satire iiyg

(
wit, and quirks of epigram, even in the Davideis, an \

heroic poem, which is of an opposite nature to those
puerilities ; but no elegant turns either on the word or
on the thought. Then I consulted a greater genius, j
(without offence to the Manes of that noble author,) 5 .
I mean Milton. But as he endeavours everywhere to
express Homer, whose age had not arrived to that
fineness, I found in him a true sublimity, lofty thoughts,
which were clothed with admirable Grecisms, and
ancient words, which he had been digging from the 10
mines of Chaucer and Spenser, and which, with all
their rusticity, had somewhat of venerable in them;
but I found not there neither that for which I looked. .
At last I had recourse to his master, Spenser, the author
of that immortal poem called the Fairy Queen; and i^
there I met with that which I had been looking for so
long in vain. Spenser had studied Virgil to as much
advantage as Milton had done Homer; and amongst
the rest of his excellencies had copied that. Looking *
farther into the Italian, I found Tasso had done the 20
same ; nay more, that all the sonnets in that language 1
are on the turn of the first thought ; which Mr. Walsh, ^
in his late ingenious preface to his poems, has observed.
In short, Virgil and Ovid are the two principal fountains
of them in Latin poetry. And the French at this day ^5
are so fond of them, that they judge them to be the first
beauties: delicat et bien toume] are the highest commenda-
tions which they bestow on somewhat which they think
a masterpiece.

An example of the turn on words, amongst a 30
thousand others, is that in the last book of Ovid's
Metamorphoses —

Heu! quantum scelus est, in viscera^ viscera condil

Congesioque avidum pmguescere corpore corpus ;

Alteriusque animantent anintantis vrvere leto, 35 I

no A Discourse concerning the

An example on the turn both of thoughts and wo^rds
is to be found in Catullus, in the complaint of Ariadne,
when she was left by Theseus —

Turn jam nulla viro juranti fatnina credat ;
5 Nulla viri spent semtones esse fideles ;

Quif dum aliquid cupiens animus prcegestit apisct)
Nil metuunt jurare^ nihil promittere parcunt :
Sed simul ac cupidce mentis satiata libido est,
I Dicta nihil metuere, nihil perjuria curant.

j lo An extraordinary turn upon the words is that in Ovid s
/ Epistolce Heroidum, of Sappho to Phaon —

I Si, nisi qua forma poterit te digna videri,

Nulla futura iua est^ nulla futura tua est.

Lastly, a turn, which I cannot say is absolutely on

15 words, for the thought turns with them, is in the fourth

Georgic of Virgil, where Orpheus is to receive his wife

from Hell, on express condition not to look on her till

she was come on earth —

Cunt subita incautum dementia cepit amantem ;
30 Ignoscenda quidem^ scirent si ignoscere Manes,

I will not burthen your Lordship with more of them ;
for I write to a master who understands them better
than myself. But I may safely conclude them to be
great beauties. I might descend also to the mechanic

25 beauties of heroic verse ; but we have yet no English
prosodia^ not so much as a tolerable dictionary, or
a grammar; so that our language is in a manner
barbarous; and what government will encourage any
one, or more, who are capable of refining it, I know

30 not : but nothing under a public expense can go
through with it. And I rather fear a declination of
the language, than hope an advancement of it in the
present age.

I am still speaking to you, my Lord, though, in all

35 probability, you are already out of hearing. Nothing,

I

Original and Progress of Satire iii

which my meanness can produce, is worthy of this
long attention. But I am come to the last petition of
Abraham ; if there be ten righteous lines, in this vast
Preface, spare it for their sake ; and also spare the next
city, because it is but a little one. 5

I would excuse the performance of this translation,
if it were all my own ; but the better, though not the \
greater part, being the work of some gentlemen, who 1
have succeeded very happily in their undertaking, let
their excellencies atone for my imperfections, and those lo
of my sons. I have perused some of the satires, which
are done by other hands; and they seem to me as
perfect in their kind, as anything I have seen in English
verse. The common way which we have taken is not
a literal translation, but a kind of paraphrase ; or some- 15 I
what, which is yet more loose, betwixt a paraphrase and }
imitation. It was not possible for us, or any men, to
have made it pleasant any other way. If rendering
the exact sense of those authors, almost line for line,
had been our business, Barten Holyday had done it 20
already to our hands : and by the help of his learned
notes and illustrations not only of Juvenal and Persius,
but what yet is more obscure, his own verses, might be
understood.

But he wrote for fame, and wrote to scholars : we 25
write only for the pleasure and entertainment of those
gentlemen and ladies, who, though they are not scholars,
are not ignorant : persons of understanding and good j
sense, who, not having been conversant in the original,
or at least not having made Latin verse so much their 30 r
business as to be critics in it, would be glad to find if ;
the wit of our two great authors be answerable to their \
fame and reputation in the world. We have, therefore, ,
endeavoured to give the public all the satisfaction we are 1
able in this kind. 35 \

112 A Discourse concerning the

And if we are not altogether so faithful to our author,
as our predecessors Holyday and Stapylton, yet we
may challenge to ourselves this praise, that we shall
be far more pleasing to our readers. We have followed
5 our authors at greater distance, though not step by step,
as they have done : for oftentimes they have gone so
close, that they have trod on the heels of Juvenal and
Persius, and hurt them by their too near approach.
A noble author would not be pursued too close by a

lo translator. We lose his spirit, when we think to take
his body. The grosser part remains with us, but the
soul is flown away in some noble expression, or some
delicate turn of words, or thought. Thus Holyday, who
made this way his choice, seized the meaning of Juvenal ;

15 but the poetry has always escaped him.

They who will not grant me, that pleasure is one of
the ends of poetry, but that it is only a means of com-
passing the only end, which is instruction, must yet
allow, that, without the means of pleasure, the instruc-

20 tion is but a bare and dry philosophy: a crude prepara-
tion of morals, which we may have from Aristotle and
Epictetus, with more profit than from any poet. Neither
Holyday nor Stapylton have imitated Juvenal in the
poetical part of him, his diction and his elocution. Nor

35 had they been poets, as neither of them were, yet, in the
way they took, it was impossible for them to have
succeeded in the poetic part.

The English verse, which we call heroic, consists of
no more than ten syllables ; the Latin hexameter some-

30 times rises to seventeen ; as, for example, this verse in
Virgil —

Pulverulenta putrent sonitu qudlii ungula campum.

Here is the difference of no less than seven syllables in

a line, betwixt the English and the Latin. Now the

35 medium of these is about fourteen syllables; because

Original and Progress of Satire 113

the dactyl is a more frequent foot in hexameters than \
the spondee. But Holyday, without considering that
he wrote with the disadvantage of four syllables less in
every verse, endeavours to make one of his lines to 1
comprehend the sense of one of Juvenal's. According 5 \
to the falsity of the proposition was the success. He
was forced to crowd his verse with ill-sounding mono-
syllables, of which our barbarous language affords him
a wild plenty; and by that means he arrived at his
pedantic end, which was to make a literal translation. 10
His verses have nothing of verse in them, but only the
worst part of it, the rhyme ; and that, into the bargain,
is far from good. But, which is more intolerable, by
cramming his ill-chosen, and worse-sounding mono-
syllables so close together, the very sense which he 15 i
endeavours to explain is become more obscure than
that of his author; so that Holyday himself cannot be
understood, without as large a commentary as that which
he makes on his two authors. For my own part, I can |
make a shift to find the meaning of Juvenal without his 20
notes: but his translation is more difficult than his author.
And I find beauties in the Latin to recompense my
pains ; but, in Holyday and Stapylton, my ears, in the
first place, are mortally offended ; and then their sense
is so perplexed, that I return to the original, as the more 25
pleasing task, as well as the more easy.

This must be said for our translation, that, if we give
not the whole sense of Juvenal, yet we give the most
considerable part of it : we give it, in general, so clearly,
that few notes are sufficient to make us intelligible. We 30
make our author at least appear in a poetic dress.
We have actually made him more sounding, and
more elegant, than he was before in English ; and have /
endeavoured to make him speak that kind of English, j
which he would have spoken had he lived in England, 35 \

II. I ^

114 ^^^ Original and Progress of Satire

and had written to this age. If sometimes any of us
(and 'tis but seldom) make him express the customs
and manners of our native country rather than of
Rome, 'tis either when there was some kind of analogy

h betwixt their customs and ours, or when, to make him
more easy to vulgar understandings, we give him those
manners which are familiar to us. But I defend not
this innovation, 'tis enough if I can excuse it. For to
speak sincerely, the manners of nations and ages are

lo not to be confounded ; we should either make them
English, or leave them Roman. If this can neither
be defended nor excused, let it be pardoned at least,
because it is acknowledged; and so much the more
easily, as being a fault which is never committed without

15 some pleasure to the reader.

Thus, my Lord, having troubled you with a tedious
visit, the best manners will be shown in the least
ceremony. I will slip away while your back is turned,
and while you are otherwise employed ; with great con-

30 fusion for having entertained you so long with this
discourse, and for having no other recompense to make
you, than the worthy labours of my fellow-undertakers
in this work, and the thankful acknowledgments, prayers,
and perpetual good wishes, of.

My Lord,

Your Lordship's

Most obliged, most humble,

and most obedient Servant,

John Dryden.

Aug, 18, 169a.

A PARALLEL
OF POETRY AND PAINTING

PREFIXED TO THE VERSION OF DU FRESNOY

DE ARTE GRAPHICA

[1695]

It may be reasonably expected that I should say
something on my own behalf, in respect to my present
undertaking. First, then, the reader may be pleased to
know, that it was not of my own choice that I undertook
this work. Many of our most skilful painters, and 5
other artists, were pleased to recommend this author to
me, as one who perfectly understood the rules of paint-
ing ; who gave the best and most concise instructions
for performance, and the surest to inform the judgment
of all who loved this noble art: that they who before ro
were rather fond_gf it than knowingly admired it, might
defend their inclin ation by their reason ; that they
might understand those excellencies which they blindly
valued, so as not to be farther imposed on by bad
pieces, and to know when nature was well imitated by 15
the most able masters. 'Tis true, indeed, and they
acknowledge it, that beside the rules which are given
in this treatise, or which can be given in any other,
that to make a perfect judgment of good pictures, and
to value them more or less, when compared with one 20
another, there is farther required a long conversation
with the best pieces, which are not very frequent either
in France or England; yet some we have, not only .

I 2

ii6 A Parallel

from the hands of Holbein, Rubens, and Vandyck (one
of them admirable for history-painting, and the other
two for portraits), but of many Flemish masters, and
those not inconsiderable, though for design not equal
5 to the Italians. And of these latter also, we are not
unfurnished with some pieces of Raphael, Titian,
Correggio, Michael Angelo, and others.

But to return to my own undertaking of this trans-
lation, I freely own that I thought myself uncapable of

lo performing it, either to their satisfaction, or my own
credit. Not but that I understood the original Latin,
and the French author, perhaps as well as most Eng-
lishmen ; bujt I was not sufficiently versed in the terms
of art ; and therefore thought that many of those per-

15 sons who put this honourable task on me were more
able to perform it themselves, as undoubtedly they
were. But they assuring me of their assistance in
correcting my faults where I spoke improperly, I was
encouraged to attempt it, that I might not be wanting

20 in what I could, to satisfy the desires of so many gentle-
men who were willing to give the world this useful
work. They have effectually performed their promise
to me, and I have been as careful, on my side, to take
their advice in all things ; so that the reader may

25 assure himself of a tolerable translation. Not elegant,
for I proposed not that to myself, but familiar, clear,
and instructive. In any of which parts if I have failed,
the fault lies wholly at my door. In this one particular
only, I must beg the reader's pardon. Th e prose trans-

30 lation of thi§4i.oeffi isjiotji^e/ipm

and I dare not promise that some of them are not
fustian, or at least highly metaphorical ; but this being
a fault in the first digestion (that is, the original Latin),
was not to be remedied in the second, viz, the trans-

35 lation. And I may confidently say, that whoever had

of Poetry and Painting 117

attempted it must have fallen into the same inconveni-
ence, or a much greater, that of a false version.

When I undertook this work, I^ was already engaged
in ^^^ froncjiiQtion of Virp rjl^ from whom I have borrowed
only two months ; and am now returning to that which 5
I ought to understand better. In the meantime I beg
the reader's pardon, for entertaining him so long with
myself: 'tis an usual part of ill manners in all authors,
and almost in all mankind, to trouble others with their
business ; and I was so sensible of it beforehand, that 10
I had not now committed it, unless some concernments
of the reader's had been interwoven with my own.
But I know not, while I am atoning for one error, if
I am not falling into another ; for I have been impor-
tuned to say something farther of this art ; and to make 15
some observations on it, i n relation to the^ likeness an d
agreement which it has with poetry , its sister. But
before 1 proceed, it will not be amiss if I copy from
Bellori (a most ingenious author yet living) some part
of his Idea of a Painter, which cannot be unpleasing, at ao
least to such who are conversant in the philosophy
of Plato. And, to avoid tediousness, I will not trans-
late the whole discourse, but take and leave as I find
occasion.

* God Almighty , in the fabric of the Universe, first 25
jrontemplated himsel f, and reflected on his own excel-
lencies; from which he drew and constituted those
first forms which are called ideas. So that every
species which was afterwards expressed was produced
from that first idea, forming that wonderful contexture 30
of all created beings. But the celestial bodies above
the moon being incorruptible, and not subject to change,
remained foi" ever fair, and in perpetual order ; on the
contrary, all things which are sublunary are subject
to change, to deformity, and to decay. And though 35

ii8 A Parallel

Nature always intends a consummate beauty in her
productions, yet through the inequality of the matter
the forms are altered ; and in particular, human beauty
suffers alteration for the worse, as we see to our morti-
5 fication, in the deformities and disproportions which
are in us. C For which reason, the artful painter and the
sculptor, imitating the Divine Maker, form to them-
selves, as well as they are able, a model of the superior
beauties ; and reflecting on them, endeavour to correct

1 o and amend the comrflon nature, and to represent it as
it was at first created, without fault, either in colo ur, or
y in lineame nt. 3

' This idea, which we may call the goddess of paint-
ing and of sculpture, descends upon the marble and the

15 cloth, and becomes the original of those arts ; and being
measured by the compass of the intellect, is itself the
measure of the performing hand ; and being animated
by the imagination, infuses life into the image. The idea
of the painter and the sculptor is undoubtedly that per-

ao feet and excellent example of the mind, by imitation of
which imagined form all things are represented which
fall under human sight : such is the definition which is
made by Cicero in his book of the Orator to Brutus : —
" As therefore in forms and figures there is somewhat

25 which is excellent and perfect, to which imagined
i species all things are referred by imitation, which are

i the objects of sight, in like manner we behold the

! species of eloquence in our minds, the effigies or actual
' image of which we seek in the organs of our hearing."

30 This is likewise confirmed by Proclus in the dialogue
of Plato, called Timceus, If, says he, you take a man
as he is made by nature, and compare him with
another, who is the effect of art, the work of nature will
always appear the less beautiful, because art is more

36 accurate than nature. But Zeuxis, who, from the

V

of Poetry and Painting 119

choice which he made of five virgins, drew that won-
derful picture of Helena, which Cicero, in his Orator
before-mentioned, sets before us as the most perfect
example of beauty, at the same time admonishes a
painter to contemplate the ideas of the most natural 5
forms, and to make a judicious choice of several bodies,
all of them the most elegant which he can find ; by
which we may plainly understand, that he thought it
impossible to find in any one body all those perfections
which he sought for the accomplishment of a Helena, 10
because nature in any individual person makes nothing
that is perfect in all its parts. For this reason Maxi-
mus Tyrius also says, that the image which is taken
by a painter from several bodies produces a beauty
which it is impossible to find in any single natural body, 15
approaching to the perfection of the fairest statues.
Thus nature on this account is so much inferior to art,
that those artists who propose to themselves only the
imitation and likeness of such or such a particular
person, without election of those ideas before-men- 20
tioned, have often been reproached for that omission.
Demetrius was taxed for being too natural ; Dionysius
was also blamed for drawing men like us, and was
commonly called av^pa)7roy/w£</»o5, that is, a painter of
men. In our times, Michael Angelo da Caravaggio 25
was esteemed too natural. He drew persons as they
were ; and Bamboccio, and most of the Dutch painters,
have drawn the worst likeness. Lysippus of old
upbraided the common sort of sculptors, for making
men such as they were found in nature ; and boasted 30
of himself, that he made them as they ought to be :
which is a precept of Aristotle, given as well to poets v
as to painters. Phidias raised an admiration, even to
astonishment, in those who beheld his statues, with the
forms which he gave to his gods and heroes, by imitat- 35

I20 A Parallel

ing the idea, rather than nature. And Cicero, speaking
of him, affirms, that figuring Jupiter and Pallas, he did
not contemplate any object from whence he took the
likeness, but considered in his own mind a great and
5 admirable form of beauty ; and according to that image
in his soul he directed the operation of his hand.
Seneca also seems to wonder, that Phidias, having
never beheld either Jove or Palla^, yet could conceive
their divine images in his mind. Apollonius Tyanaeus

lo says the same in other words, — that the fancy more
instructs the painter, than the imitation ; for the last
makes only the things which it sees, but the first makes
also the things which it never sees.

' Leon Battista Alberti tells us, that we ought not so

15 much to love the likeness as the beauty, and to choose
from the fairest bodies severally the fairest parts.
Leonardo da Vinci instructs the painter to form this
idea to himself; and Raphael, the greatest of all modern
masters, writes thus to Castiglione, concerning his

20 Galatea : " To paint a fair one, it is necessary for me
to see many fair ones ; but because there is so great
a scarcity of lovely women, I am constrained to make
use of one certain idea, which I have formed to myself
in my own fancy." Guido Reni sending to Rome his

25 St, Michaely which he had painted for the church of the
Capuchins, at the same time wrote to Monsignor Mas-
sano, who was Maestro di Casa (or Steward of the
House) to Pope Urban the Eighth, in this manner ;
" I wish I had the wings of an angel, to have ascended

30 into Paradise, and there to have beheld the forms of
those beautiful spirits, from which I might have copied
my archangel. But not being able to mount so high, it
was in vain for me to search his resemblance here
below; so that I was forced to make an introspection

35 into my own mind, and into that idea of beauty which

of Poetry and Painting 121

I have formed in my own imagination. I have likewise
created there the contrary idea of deformity and ugli-
ness ; but I leave the consideration of it, till I paint the
Devil ; and in the meantime shun the very thought of
it as much as possibly I can, and am even endeavouring 5
to blot it wholly out of my remembrance."

' There was not any lady in all antiquity, who was
mistress of so much beauty as was to be found in the
Venus of Gnidus, made by Praxiteles, or the Minerva
of Athens, by Phidias; which was therefore called the 10
beautiful form. Neither is there any man of the present
age equal in the strength, proportion, and knitting of
his limbs, to the Hercules of Farnese, made by Glycon ;
or any Woman, who can justly be compared with the
Mediceari Fi?««5 of Cleomenes. And upon this account, 15
the noblest poets and the best orators, when they
desired to celebrate any extraordinary beauty, are forced
to have recourse to statues and pictures, and to draw
their persons and faces into comparison. Ovid, endea-
vouring to express the beauty of Cyllarus, the fairest 20
of the Centaurs, celebrates him as next in perfection
to the most admirable statues :

Grains in ore vigor, cervix^ hutnerique^ manusque,
Pecioraque artificutn laudatis proxima signis,

A pleasing vigour his fair face expressed ; 25

His neck, his hands, his shoulders, and his breast,
Did next, in gracefulness and beauty, stand
To breathing figures of the sculptor's hand.

In another place he sets Apelles above Venus :

Si Venerem Cous nunquatn pinxisset Apelles, 30

Mersa sub cequoreis ilia laieret aquis.

Thus varied :

One birth to seas the Cyprian goddess owed,

A second birth the painter's art bestowed :

Less by the seas than by his power was given; 35

They made her live, but he advanced to heaven.

122 A Parallel

' The idea of this beauty is indeed various, according
to the several forms which the painter or sculptor would
describe; as one in strength, another in magnanimity:
and sometimes it consists in cheerfulness, and some-
5 times in delicacy ; and is always diversified by the sex
and age.

'The beauty of Jove is one, and that of Juno another;
Hercules and Cupid are perfect beauties, though of
different kinds; for beauty is only that which makes

lo all things as they are in their proper and perfect nature,
which the best painters always choose by contemplating
the forms of each. We ought farther to consider, that
a picture being the representation_of a human jiction ,
the painter ought to retain in his mind the examples of

15 all affections and passions, as a poet preserves* the idea
of an angry man, of one who is fearful, sad, or merry,
and so of all the rest. For *tis impossible to express that
with the hand, which never entered into the imagination.
In this manner, as I have rudely and briefly shewn

20 you, painters and sculptors, choosing the most elegant
natural beauties, perfectionate the idea, and advance
their art even above nature itself in her individual
productions; which is the utmost mastery of human
performance.

25 'From hence arises that astonishment, and almost
adoration, which is paid by the knowing to those divine
remainders of antiquity. From hence Phidias, Lysippus,
and other noble sculptors, are still held in veneration ;
and Apelles, Zeuxis, Protogenes, and other admirable

30 painters, though their works are perished, are and will
be eternally admired ; who all of them drew after the
ideas of perfection, which are the miracles of nature,
the providence of the understanding, the exemplars of
the mind, the light of the fancy ; the sun, which, from

35 its rising, inspired the statue of Memnon, and the fire.

of Poetry and Painting 123

which warmed ihto life the image of Prometheus. 'Tis
this, which causes the Graces and the Loves to take
up their habitations in the hardest marble, and to
subsist in the emptiness of light and shadows. But
since the idea of eloquence is as far inferior to that of 5
painting, as the force of words is to the sight, I must
here break off abruptly, and having conducted the
reader, as it were, to a secret walk, there leave him
in the midst of silence, to c ontem plate those ideas
which I have only sketched, and which every man must 10
finish for himself.'

In these pompous expressions, or such as these, the
Italian has given you his Idea of a Painter; and though
I cannot much commend the style, I must needs say,
there is somewhat in the matter. Plato himself is 15
accustomed to write loftily, imitating, as the critics tell
us, the manner of Homer; but surely that inimitable
poet had not so much of smoke in his writing, though
not less of fire. But in short, this is the present genius
of Italy. What Philostratus tells us in the proem of 20
his Figures, is somewhat plainer ; and therefore I will
translate it almost word for word: — 'He who will
rightly govern the art of painting, ought of necessity
first to understand human nature. He ought likewise
to be endued with a genius to express th e signs of their 35
passions, whom he represents ; and to make the dumb,
as it were, to speak. He must yet further understand
what is contained in the constitution of the cheeks, in
the temperament of the eyes, in the naturalness (if
I may so call it) of the eyebrows; and in short, 30
whatsoever belongs to the mind and thought. He
who thoroughly possesses all these things will obtain
the whole ; and the hand will exquisitely represent the
action of every particular person, if it happen that he
be either mad* or angry, melancholic or cheerful, a 35

X

124 -^ Parallel

sprightly youth or a languishing lover; in one word,
he will be able to paint whatsoever is proportionabl e
to any one. And even in all this there is a sweet
error, without causing any shame. For the eyes and
5 minds of the beholders being fastened on objects which
have no real being, as if they were truly existent, and
being induced by them to believe them so, what pleasure
is it not capable of giving ? The Ancients, and other
wise men, have written many things concerning tlie

lo symmetry which is m the art of painting, — constituting,
as it were, some certain laws Tor the proportion of
every member; not thinking it possible for a painter
to undertake the expression of those motions which
are in the mind, without a concurrent harmony in the

15 natural measure. For that which is out of its own

kind and measure is not received from Nature, whose

motion is always right. On a serious consideration

f of this matter, it will be found that the art of painting

i has a wonderful affinity with that of poetry ; and that

20 there is betwixt them a certain common imagination.
For as the poets introduce the gods and heroes, and
all those things which are either majestical, honest, or
delightful, in like manner the painters, by the virtue
of their outlines, colours, lights, and shadows, represent

35 the same things and persons in their pictures.'

Thus, as convoy-ships either accompany or should
accompany their merchants, till they may prosecute the
rest of their voyage without danger; so Philostratus
has brought me thus far on my way, and I can now

30 sail on without him. He has begun to speak of the
great relation betwixt painting and poetry, and thither
the greatest part of this discourse, by my promise,, was
directed. I have not engaged myself to any perfect
method, neither am I loaded with a full cargo. 'Tis

35 sufficient if I bring a sample of somef goods in this

of Poetry and Painting 125

voyage. It will be easy for others to add more, when
the commerce is settled; for a treatise twice as large
as this of painting could not contain all that might be
said on the parallel of these two sister arts. I will
take my rise from Bellori, before I proceed to the author 5
of this book.

The business of his preface is to prove that a learned
painter should form to himself an idea of perfect nature.
This image he is to set before his mind in all his
undertakings, and to draw from thence, as from a store- 10
house, the beauties which are to enter into his work ;
thereby correcting Nature from what actually she. is in
individuals, to what she ought to be, and what she was
created. Now, as this idea of perfection is of little use
in portraits, or the resemblances of particular persons, 15
so neither is it in the characters of Comedy and Tragedy, ^
which are never to be made perfect, but always to be
drawn with some specks of frailty and deficience ; such
as they have been described to us in history, if they
were real characters, or such as the poet began to 20
shew them at their first appearance, if they were only
fictitious or imaginary. The perfection of such stage-
characters consists chiefly in their likeness to the
deficient faulty nature, which is their original ; only,
as it is observed more at large hereafter, in such cases 25
there will always be found a better likeness and a worse,
and the better is constantly to be chosen ; I mean in
tragedy, which represents the figures of the highest
form amongst mankind. Thus in portraits, the painter
will not take that side of the face which has some 30
notorious blemish in it; but either draw it in profile
(as Apelles did Antigonus, who had lost one of his
eyes), or else shadow the more imperfect side. For an
ingenious flattery is to be allowed to the professors of
both arts, so long as the likeness is not destroyed. 'Tis 35

126 A Parallel

true, that all manner of imperfections must not be taken
away from the characters ; and the reason is, that there
may be left some grounds of pity for their misfortunes.
We can never be grieved for their miseries who are
5 thoroughly wicked, and have thereby justly called their
calamities on themselves. Such men are the natural
objects of our hatred, not of our commiseration. If,
on the other side, their characters were wholly perfect
(such as, for example, the character of a saint or martyr

lo in a play), his or her misfortunes would produce im-

^^ious thoughts in the beholders; they would accuse

the heavens of injustice, and think of leaving a religion

where piety was so ill requited. I say, the greater

part would be tempted so to do, I say not that they

'5 ought; and the consequence is too dangerous for the
practice. In this I have accused myself for my own
St, Catharine; but let truth prevail. Sophocles has
taken the just medium in his (Edipus, He is somewhat
arrogant at his first entrance, and is too inquisitive

2o through the whole tragedy ; yet these imperfections
being balanced by great virtues, they hinder not our
compassion for his miseries; neither yet can they
destroy that horror which the nature of his crimes
has excited in us. Such in painting are the warts and

25 moles, which, adding a likeness to the face, are not
therefore to be omitted ; but these produce no loathing
in us; but how far to proceed, and where to stop, is
left to the judgment of the poet and the painter. In
Comedy there is somewhat more of the worse likeness

30 to be taken, because that is often to produce laughter,
which is occasioned by the sight of some deformity;
but for this I refer the reader to Aristotle. 'Tis a sharp
manner of instruction for the vulgar, who are never
well amended till they are more than sufficiently

35 exposed.

of Poetry and Painting 271

That I may return to the beginning of this remark
concerning perfect ideas, I have only this to say, — that
the parallel is often true in Epic Poetry. The heroes
of the poets are to be drawn according to this rule.
There is scarce a frailty to be left in the best of them, 5
any more than is to be found in a divine nature ; and
if iEneas sometimes weeps, it is not in bemoaning his
own miseries, but those which his people undergo. If
this be an imperfection, the Son of God, when he was
incarnate, shed tears of compassion over Jerusalem; 10
and Lentulus describes him often weeping, but never
laughing ; so that Virgil is justified even from the Holy
Scriptures. I have but one word more, which for once
I will anticipate from the author of this book. Though
it must be an idea of perfection, from which both the 15
epic poet and the history painter draws, yet all pe r-
fections are not suitable to all subjects ; but every one
must be designed according to that perfect beauty which
is proper to him. An Apollo must be distinguished
from a Jupiter, a Pallas from a Venus; and so, in a©
poetry, an iEneas from any other hero; for piety is
his chief perfection. Homer's Achilles is a kind of
exception to this rule; but then he is not a perfect
hero, nor so intended by the poet. All his gods had
somewhat of human imperfection, for which he has 25
been taxed by Plato, as an imitator of what was bad ;
but Virgil observed his fault, and mended it. Yet,
Achilles was perfect in the strength of his body, and
the vigour of his mind. Had he been less passionate,
or less revengeful, the poet well foresaw that Hector 30
had been killed, and Troy taken, at the first assault ;
which had destroyed the beautiful contrivance of his
Iliads, and the moral of preventing discord amongst
confederate princes, which was his principal intention.
For the moral (as Bossu observes) is the first business 35

128 A Parallel

of the poet, as being the groundwork of his instruction.
This being formed, he contrives such a design, or fable,
as may be most suitable to the moral; after this he
begins to think of the persons whom he is to employ
5 in carrying on his design ; and gives them the manners
which are most proper to their several characters. The
\ thoughts and words are the last parts, which give

/ beauty and colouring to the piece.

When I say that the manners of the hero ought to

lo be good in perfection, I contradict not the Marquis
of Normanby's opinion, in that admirable verse, where,
speaking of a perfect character, he calls it A faultless
monstery which the world ne'er knew. For that excellent
critic intended only to speak of dranjatic characters,

15 and not of epic.

Thus at least I have shewn, that in the most perfect
poem, which is that of Virgil, a perfect idea was re-
quired and followed ; and consequently that all succeed-
ing poets ought rather to imitate him, than even Homer.

20 I will now proceed as I promised, to the author of this
book.

He tells you almost in the first lines of it, that ' the
chief end of Painting is, to please the eyes ; and 'tis one
great end of Poetry to please the mind.' Thus far the

35 parallel of the arts holds true ; with this difference, that

^he principal end of Painting is to phase, and the chief

design of Poetry is to instruct. In this the latter seems

to have the advantage of the former ; but if we consider

the artists themselves on both sides, certainly their aims

30 are the very same ; they would both make sure of
pleasing, and that in preference to instruction. Next,
the means of this pleasure is by deceit ; one imposes
on the sight, and the other on the understanding.
Fiction is of the essence of Poetry, as well as of paint-

35 ing ; there is a resemblance in one, of human bodies,

of Poetry and Painting i2f)

things, and actions, which are not real; and in the
other, of a true story by a fiction ; and as all stories
are not proper subjects for an epic poem or a tragedy,
so neither are they for a noble pictureQ The subjects
both of the one and of the other ought to have nothing 5
of immoral, low, or filthy in them ; but this being
treated at large in the book itself, I wave it, to avoid
repetition. Only I must add, that though Catullus,
Ovid, and others, were of another opinion, — that the
subject of poets, and even their thoughts and expres- 10
sions, might be loose, provided their lives were chast e
andJloly, yet there are no such licences permitted in
that art, any more than, in painting, to design and
colour obscene nudities. Vita proba est, is no excuse ;
for it will scarcely be admitted, that either a poet or 15
a painter can be chaste, who give us the contrary
examples in their writings and their pictures. We see
nothing of this kind in Virgil ; that which comes the
nearest to it is the adventure of the cave, where Dido
and iEneas were driven by the storm ; yet even there 20
the poet pretends a marriage before the consummation,
and Juno herself was present at it. Neither is there
any expression in that story, which a Roman matron
might not read without a blush. Besides, the poet
passes it over as hastily as he can, as if he were afraid 25
of staying in the cave with the two lovers, and of being
a witness to their actions. Now I suppose that a
painter would not be much commended, who should
pick out this cavern from the whole jEneids, when
there is not another in the work. He had better leave 30
them in their obscurity, than let in a flash of lightning
to clear the natural darkness of the place, by which
he must discover himself, as much as them. The altar-
pieces and holy decorations of Painting shew that art
may be applied to better uses, as well as Poetry ; and 35

II. K

130 A Parallel

amongst many other instances, the Famesian gallery,
painted by Annibale Caracci, is a sufficient witness yet
remaining ; the whole work being morally instructive,
and particularly the Herculis Biviutn^ which is a perfect
5 triumph of virtue over vice ; as it is wonderfully well
described by the ingenious Bellori.

Hitherto I have only told the reader, what ought not
to be the subject of a picture or of a poem. What it
ought to be on either side, our author tells us : it must

10 in general be great and noble ; and in this the parallel
is exactly true. The subject of a poet, either in Tragedy
or in an Epic Poem, is a great a ction of some ilhistrinng
hero. It is the same in painting; not every action, nor
every person, is considerable enough to enter into the

15 cloth. It must be the anger of an Achilles, the piety
of an iEneas, the sacrifice of an Iphigenia, for heroines
as well as heroes are comprehended in the rule ; but
the parallel is more complete in tragedy, than in an
epic poem. For as a tragedy may be made out of

ao many particular episodes of Homer or of Virgil, so
may a noble picture be designed out of this or that
particular story in either author. History is also fruit-
ful of designs both for the painter and the tragic poet :
Curtius throwing himself into a gulph, and the two

35 Decii sacrificing themselves for the safety of their
country, are subjects for tragedy and picture. Such
is Scipio restoring the Spanish bride, whom he either
loved, or may be supposed to love ; by which he gained
the hearts of a great nation to interess themselves for
30 Rome against Carthage. These are all but particular
pieces in Livy's History; and yet are full complete
subjects for the pen and pencil. Now the reason of
this is evident. Tragedy and Picture are more narrowly
circumscribed by the mechanic rules of time and place,
55 than the Epic Poem. The time of this last is left

of Poetry and Painting 131

indefinite. *Tis true, Homer took up only the space
of eight-and-forty days for his Iliads) but whether
Virgil's action was comprehended in a year, or some-
what more, is not determined by Bossu. Homer made
the place of his action Troy, and the Grecian camp 5
besieging it. Virgil introduces his iEneas sometimes
in Sicily, sometimes in Carthage, and other times at
Cumse, before he brings him to Laurentum ; and even
after that, he wanders again to the kingdom of Evander,
and some parts of Tuscany, before he returns to finish 10
the war by the death of Turnus. But Tragedy, accord-
ing to the practice of the ancients, was always confined
within the compass of twenty-four hours, and seldom
takes up so much time. As for the place of it, it was
always one, and that not in a larger sense (as for 15
example, a whole city, or two or three several houses
in it), but the market, or some other public place,
common to the chorus and all the actors; which
established law of theirs I have not an opportunity to
examine in this place, because I cannot do it without 20
digression from my subject ; though it seems too strict
at the first appearance, because it excludes all secret
intrigues, which are the beauties of the modern stage ;
for nothing can be carried on with privacy, when the
chorus is supposed to be always present. But to pro- 25
ceed ; I must say this to the advantage of Painting,
even above Tragedy, that what this last represents in
the space of many hours, the former shews us in one -V
momeilt. The action, the passion, and the manners
of so many persons as are contained in a picture are 30
to be discerned at once, in the twinkling of an eye ;
at least they would be so, if the sight could travel over
so many different objects all at once, or the mind could
digest them all at the same instant, or point of time.
Thus, in the famous picture of Poussin, which repre- 36

K 2

132 ^ Parallel

sents the Insiiiution cf Ae Blessed Sacramemi, you see
our Saviour and his twelve disciples, ail concurriiig in
the same action, after different manners^ and in di£krent
postures ; only the manners of Judas are distinguished
5 from the rest. Here is but one indivisible point of
time observed ; but one action performed by so many
persons, in one room, and at the same table ; yet the
^ye cannot comprehend at once the whole object, nor
the mind follow it so fast; 'tis considered at leisure,

lo and seenj)y intervals. Such are the subjects of noble
pictures ; and such are only to be undertaken by noble
hands.

There are other parts of Nature, wiiich are meaner,
and yet are the subjects both of painters and of poets.

15 For, to proceed in the parallel ; as Corned}* is a repre-
sentation of human life in inferior persons, and low
subjects, and by that means creeps into the nature of
poetry, and is a kind of juniper, a shrub belonging to
the species of cedar, so is the painting of clowns, the

3o representation of a Dutch kermis, the brutal sport of
snick-or-snee, and a thousand other things of this mean
invention ; a kind of picture which belongs to nature,
but of the lowest form. Such is a Lazar in comparison
to a Venus : both are drawn in human figures ; they

25 have faces alike, though not like faces. There is yet
a lower sort of poetry and painting, which is out of
nature; for a farce is that in poetry, which grotesque
is in a picture. The persons and action of a farce are
all unnatural, and the manners false, that is, inconsisting

30 with the characters of mankind. Grotesque painting
is the just resemblance of this ; and Horace begins his
Art of Poetry by describing such a figure, with a man's
head, a horse's neck, the wings of a bird, and a fish's
tail ; parts of different species jumbled together, accord-

35 ing to the mad imagination of the dauber ; and the end

of Poetry and Painting 133

of all this, as he tells you afterward, to cause laughter :
a very monster in a Bartholomew Fair, for fhe mob
to gape at for their two-pence. Laughter is indeed the
propriety of a man, but just enough to distinguish him
from his elder brother with four legs. 'Tis a kind of 5
bastard-pleasure too, taken in at the eyes of the vulgar
gazers, and at the ears of the beastly audience. Church-
painters use it to divert the honest countryman at
public prayers, and keep his eyes open at a heavy
sermon ; and farce-scribblers make use of the same ro
noble invention, to entertain citizens, country-gentle-
men, and Covent Garden fops. If they are merry, all
goes well on the poet's side. The better sort go thither
too, but in despair of sense and the just images of
Nature, which are the adequate pleasures of the mind. 15
But the author can give the stage no better than what
was given him by Nature; and the actors must repre-
sent such things as they are capable to perform, and
by which both they and the scribbler may get their
living. After all, 'tis a good thing to laugh at any rate ; 20
and if a straw can tickle a man, it is an instrument
of happiness. Beasts can weep when they suffer, but
they cannot laugh. And as Sir William D'Avenant
observes in his Preface to Gondibert^ ' *Tis the wisdom
of a government to permit plays ' (he might have added 35
— farces), ' as 'tis the prudence of a carter to put bells
upon his horses, to make them carry their burthens
cheerfully.'

I have already shewn, that one main end of Poetry
and Painting is to please, and have said something of 30
the kinds of both, and of their subjects, in which they
bear a great resemblance to each other. I must now
consider them, as they are great and noble arts ; and as
they are arts, they must have rules, which may direct
them to their common end. 35

134 A Parallel

To all arts and sciences, but more particularly to
these, may be applied what Hippocrates says of physic,
as I find him cited by an eminent French critic :
' Medicine has long subsisted in the world. The prin-
5 ciples of it are certain, and it has a certain way ; by
both which there has been found, in the course of
many ages, an infinite number of things, the experience
of which has confirmed its usefulness and goodness.
All that is wanting to the perfection of this art will

lo undoubtedly be found, if able men, and such as are
instructed in the ancient rules, will make a farther
inquiry into it ; and endeavour to arrive at that which
is hitherto unknown, by that which is already known.
But all who, having rejected the ancient rules, and taken

15 the opposite ways, yet boast themselves to be masters
of this art, do but deceive others, and are themselves
deceived ; for that is absolutely impossible.'

This is notoriously true in these two arts; for the
way to please being to imitate Nature, both the poets

ao and* the painters in ancient times, and in the best
ages, have studied her ; and from the practice of both
these arts the rules have been drawn by which we are
instructed how to please, and to compass that end which
they obtained, by following their example. For Nature

25 is still the same in all ages, and can never be contrary
to herself. Thus, from the practice of iEschylus,
Sophocles, and Euripides, Aristotle drew his rules
for tragedy; and Philostratus for painting. Thus,
amongst the moderns, the Italian and French critics,

30 by studying the precepts of Aristotle and Horace, and
having the example of the Grecian poets before their
eyes, have given us the rules of modern tragedy ; and
thus the critics of the same countries in the art of
painting have given the precepts of perfecting that art.

35 'Tis true that Poetry has one advantage over Painting

of Poetry and Painting 135

in these last ages, that we have still the remaining
examples both of the Greek and Latin poets ; whereas
the painters have nothing left them from Apelles,
Protogenes, Parrhasius, Zeuxis, and the rest, but only
the testimonies which are given of their incomparable 5
works. But instead of this, they have some of their
best statues, bass-relievos, columns, obelisks, &c. which
were saved out of the common ruin, and are still pre-
served in Italy; and by well distinguishing what is
proper to Sculpture, and what to Painting, and what is 10
common to them both, they have judiciously repaired
that loss. And the great genius of Raphael, and others,
having succeeded to the times of barbarism and igno-
rance, the knowledge of Painting is now arrived to
a supreme perfection, though the performance of it is 15
much declined in the present age. The greatest age
for Poetry amongst the Romans was certainly that of
Augustus Caesar: and yet we are told that painting
was then at its lowest ebb; and perhaps sculpture
was also declining at the same time. In the reign of 20
Domitian, and some who succeeded him. Poetry was
but meanly cultivated, b.ut Painting eminently flourished.
I am not here to give the history of the two arts ; how
they were both in a manner extinguished by the irrup-
tion of the barbarous nations, and both restored about 25
the times of Leo the Tenth, Charles the Fifth, and
Francis the First ; though I might observe, that neither
Ariosto, nor any of his contemporary poets, ever arrived
at the excellency of Raphael, Titian, and the rest, in
painting. But in revenge, at this time, or lately, in 30
many countries. Poetry is better practised than her
sister-art. To what height the magnificence and en-
couragement of the present King of France may carry
Painting and Sculpture, is uncertain ; but by what he has
done before the war in which he is engaged, we may 35

J

136 A Parallel

expect what he will do after the happy conclusion of
a peace, which is the prayer and wish of all those who
have not an interest to prolong the miseries of Europe.
For 'tis most certain, as our author, amongst others, has
5 observed, that reward is the spur of virtue, as well in all
good arts, as in all laudable attempts ; and emulation,
which is the other spur, will never be wanting, either
amongst poets or painters, when particular rewards and
prizes are proposed to the best deservers.

10 But to return from this digression, though it was
almost necessary : all the rules of Painting are methodi-
cally, concisely, and yet clearly delivered in this present
treatise, which I have translated. Bossu has not given
more exact rules for the Epic Poem, nor Dacier for

15 Tragedy, in his late excellent translation of Aristotle,
and his notes upon him, than our Fresnoy has made
for Painting ; with the parallel of which I must resume
my discourse, following my author's text, though with
more brevity than I intended, because Virgil calls me.

20 The principal and most important part of painting is,

to know what is most beautiful in nature^ and most proper

for that art. That which is the most beautiful is the

most noble subject : so in Poetry, Tragedy is more

beautiful than Comedy ; because, as I said, the persons

25 are greater whom the poet instructs, and consequently
the instructions of more benefit to mankind : the action
is likewise greater and more noble, and thence is derived
the greater and more noble pleasure.
f To imitate Nature well in whatsoever subject, is the

30 perfection of both arts ; and that picture, and that poem,
which comes nearest to the resemblance of Nature, is
the best. 7 But it follows not, that what pleases most
in either kind is therefore good, but what ought to
please. Our depraved appetites, and ignorance of the

35 arts, mislead our judgments, and cause us often to take

of Poetry and Painting 137

that for true imitation of Nature which has no resem-
blance of Nature in it. To inform our judgments, and
to reform our tastes, rules were invented, that by them v^
we might discern when Nature was imitated, and how
nearly. I have been forced to recapitulate these things, 5
because mankind is not more liable to deceit, than it is
willing to continue in a pleasing error, strengthened by
a long habitude. The imitation of Nature is therefore
justly constituted as the general, and indeed the only, v^
rule of pleasing, both in Poetry and Painting. Aristotle 10
tells us, that imitation pleases, because it affords matter
for a reasoner to inquire into the truth or falsehood of
imitation, by comparing its likeness, or unlikeness,
with the original ; but by this rule every speculation in
nature, whose truth falls under the inquiry of a philo- 15
sopher, must produce the same delight; which is not
true. I should rather assign another reason. Truth is
the object of our understanding, as good is of our will ;
and the understanding can no more be delighted with a
lie, than the will can choose an apparent evil. As truth 20
is the end of all our speculations, so the discovery of it
is the pleasure of them ; and since a true knowledge of
Nature gives us pleasure, a lively imitation of it, either
in Poetry or Painting, must of necessity produce a much
greater : for both these arts, as I said before, are not 25
only true imitations of Nature, but of the best Nature,
of that which is wrought up to a nobler pitch. They
present us with images more perfect than the life in an}'
individual; and we have the pleasure to see all the
scattered beauties of Nature united by a happy 30
chemistry, without its deformities or faults. They are
imitations of the passions, which always move, and
therefore consequently please ; for without motion there
can be no delight, which cannot be considered but as an
active passion. When we view these elevated ideas of 35

138 A Parallel

nature, the result of that view is admiration, which is
always the cause of pleasure.

This foregoing remark, which gives the reason why
imitation pleases, was sent me by Mr. Walter Moyle,
5 a most ingenious young gentleman, conversant in all
the studies of humanity much above his years. He
had also furnished me, according to my request, with
all the particular passages in Aristotle and Horace
which are used by them to explain the art of Poetry

10 by that of Painting ; which, if ever I have time to
retouch this Essay, shall be inserted in their places.

Having thus shewn that imitation pleases, and why
it pleases in both these arts, it follows, that some rules
of imitation are necessary to obtain the end ; for without

15 rules there can be no art, any more than there can be
a house without a door to conduct you into it.

The principal parts of Painting and Poetry next
follow. Invention is the first part, and absolutely
necessary to them both; yet no rule ever was or ever

ao can be given, how to compass it. A happy genius is the
gift of nature : it depends on the influence of the stars,
say the astrologers ; on the organs of the body, say the
naturalists ; it is the particular gift of Heaven, say the
divines, both Christians and heathens. How to improve

25 it, many books can teach us ; how to obtain it, none ;
that nothing can be done without it, all agree :

Tu nihil invita dices faciesve Minerva,

Without invention, a painter is but a copier, and a poet
but a plagiary of others. Both are allowed sometimes
30 to copy, and translate ; but, as our author tells you, that
is not the best part of their reputation. Imitators are
but a servile kind of cattle^ says the poet ; or at best, the
keepers of cattle for other men : they have nothing
which is properly their own : that is a sufficient morti-

of Poetry and Painting 139

fication for me, while I am translating Virgil. But to
copy the best author is a kind of praise, if I perform it
as I ought ; as a copy after Raphael is more to be com-
mended than an original of any indifferent painter.

Under this head oi Invention is placed the disposition 5
of the work ; to put all things in a beautiful order and
harmony^ that the wiiple may be of apiece. The com-
positions of the painter should be conformable to the
text of ancient authors, to the customs, and the times.
And this is exactly the same in Poetry; Homer and 10
Virgil are to be our guides in the Epic; Sophocles
and Euripides in Tragedy: in all things we are to
imitate the customs and the, times of those persons
and things which we represent : not to make new rules
of the drama, as Lopez de Vega has attempted unsuc- 15
cessfully to do, but to be content to follow our masters,
who understood Nature better than we. But if the story
which we treat be modern, we are to vary the customs,
according to the time and the country where the scene
of action lies ; for this is still to imitate Nature, which 20
is always the same, though in a different dress.

As in the composition of a picture the painter is to
take care that nothing enter into it which is not proper
or convenient to the subject, so likewise is the poet
to reject all incidents which are foreign to his poem, 25
and are naturally no parts of it ; they are wens, and
other excrescences, which belong not to the body, but
deform it. No person, no incident, in the piece, or in
the play, but must be of use to carry on the main design.
All things else are like six fingers to the hand, when 30
Nature, which is superfluous in nothing, can do her
work with five. A painter must reject all trifling orna-
ments ; so must a poet refuse all tedious and unnecessary
descriptions. A robe which is too heavy is less an orna-
ment than a burthen. 35

140 A Parallel

In poetry Horace calls these things versus tnopes
reruntj nugceque canorce; these are also the lucus et ara
Diance^ which he mentions in the same Art of Poetry.
But since there must be ornaments both in painting and
5 poetry, if they are not necessary, they must at least be
decent ; that is, in their due place, and but moderately
used. The painter is not to take so much pains about
the drapery, as about the face, where the principal
resemblance lies ; neither is the poet, who is working

10 up a passion, to make similes, which will certainly make
it languish. My Montezuma dies with a fine one in his
mouth ; but it is ambitious, and out of season. When
there are more figures in a picture than are necessary,
or at least ornamental, our author calls them figures to

15 be let; because the picture has no use of them. So I have
seen in some modern plays above twenty actors, when
the action has not required half the number. In the
principal figures of a picture, the painter is to employ
the sinews of his art ; for in them consists the principal

20 beauty of his work. Our author saves me the comparison

with Tragedy; for he says, that herein he is to imitate the

tragic poet, who employs his utmost force in those places

wherein consists the height and beauty of the action.

Du Fresnoy, whom I follow, makes design, or drawing,

25 the second part of painting ; but the rules which he gives
concerning the posture of the figures are almost wholly
proper to that art, and admit not any comparison, that
I know, with poetry. The posture of a poetic figure
is, as I • conceive, the description of his heroes in the

30 performance of such or such an action ; as of Achilles,
just in the act of kHling Hector, or of iEneas, who has
Turnus under him. Both the poet and the painter vary
the posture, according to the action or passion which
they represent, of the same person ; but all must be great

35 and graceful in them. The same iEneas must be drawn

of Poetry and Painting 141

a suppliant to Dido, with respect in his gestures, and
humility in his eyes ; but when he is forced, in his own
defence, to kill Lausus, the poet shows him compas-
sionate, and tempering the severity of his looks with
a reluctance to the action which he is going to perform. 5
He has pity on his beauty and his youth, and is loth
to destroy such a masterpiece of nature. He considers
Lausus, rescuing his father at the hazard of his own life,
as an image of himself, when he took Anchises on his
shoulders, and bore him safe through the rage of the 10
fire, and the opposition of his enemies ; and therefore,
in the posture of a retiring man, who avoids the combat,
he stretches out his arm in sign of peace, with his right
foot drawn a little back, and his breast bending inward,
more like an orator than a soldier; and seems to dis- 15
suade the young man from pulling on his destiny, by
attempting more than he was able to perform. Take
the passage as I have thus translated it :

Shouts of applause ran ringing through the field,

To see the son the vanquished father shield : 20

All, fir^d with noble emulation, strive,

And with a storm of darts to distance drive

The Trojan chief; who, held at bay, from far

On his Vulcanian orb sustained the war.

^neas, thus o'erwhelm'd on every side, ) 35

Their first assault undaunted did abide, >

And thus to Lausus, loud with friendly threatening cryM : — j

Why wilt thou rush to certain death, and rage.

In rash attempts, beyond thy tender age,

Betray'd by pious love? 30

And afterwards :

He griev'd, he wept; the sight an image brought
Of his own filial love ; a sadly pleasing thought.

But beside the outlines of the posture, the design of
the picture comprehends, in the next place, the forms 35
of faces, which are to be different ; and so in a poem or

14a A Parallel

a play must the several characters of the persons be
distinguished from each other. I knew a poet, whom
out of respect I will not name, who, being too witty him-
self, could draw nothing but wits in a comedy of his ;
5 even his fools were infected with the disease of their
author. They overflowed with smart reparties, and were
only distinguished from the intended wits by being
called coxcombs, though they deserved not so scan-
dalous a name. Another, who had a great genius for

10 Tragedy, following the fury of his natural temper, made
every man, and woman too, in his plays, stark raging
mad ; there was not a sober person to be had for love or
money. All was tempestuous and blustering ; heaven
and earth were coming together at every word ; a mere

15 hurricane from the beginning to the end, and every actor
seemed to be hastening on the day of judgment.

Let every member be made for its own heady says our
author ; not a withered hand to a young face. So, in
the persons of a play, whatsoever is said or done by any

20 of them must be consistent with the manners which the
poet has given them distinctly; and even the habits must
be proper to the degrees and humours of the persons,
as well as in a picture. He who entered in the first
act a young man, like Pericles, Prince of Tyre, must not

35 be in danger, in the fifth act, of committing incest with
his daughter ; nor an usurer, without great probability,
and causes of repentance, be turned into a cutting More-
craft.

I am not satisfied, that the comparison betwixt the

30 two arts in the last paragraph is altogether so just
as it might have been; but I am sure of this which
follows :

The principal figure of the subject must appear in the
midst of the picture^ under the principal lights to distinguish

35 it from the rest, which are only its attendants. Thus, in

of Poetry and Painting 143

a tragedy, or an epic poem, the hero of the piece must
be advanced foremost to the view of the reader, or spec-
tator : he must outshine the rest of all the characters ;
he must appear the prince of them, like the sun in the
Copernican system, encompassed with the less noble 5
planets : because the hero is the centre of the main
action ; all the lines from the circumference tend to him t^
alone : he is the chief object of pity in the drama, and
of admiration in the epic poem.

As in a picture, besides the principal figures which 10
compose it, and are placed in the midst of it, there
are less groups or knots of figures disposed at proper
distances, which are parts of the piece, and seem to
carry on the same design in a more inferior manner ;
so, in epic poetry there are episodes, and a chorus in 15
tragedy, which are members of the action, as growing
out of it, not inserted into it. Such in the ninth book
of the JEneids is the episode of Nisus and Euryalus.
The adventure belongs to. them alone ; they alone are
the objects of compassion and admiration ; but their ao
business which they carry on is the general concern-
ment of the Trojan camp, then beleaguered by Turnus
and the Latins, as the Christians were lately by the
Turks. They were to advertise the chief hero of the
distresses of his subjects occasioned by his absence, to 25
crave his succour, and solicit him to hasten his return.

The Grecian Tragedy was at first nothing but a chorus
of singers ; aflerwards one actor was introduced, which
was the poet himself, who entertained the people with
a discourse in verse, betwixt the pauses of the singing. 30
This succeeding with the people, more actors were
added, to make the variety the greater ; and, in process
of time, the chorus only sung betwixt the acts, and the
Coryphaeus, or chief of them, spoke for the rest, as an
actor concerned in the business of the play. 35

144 A Parallel

Thus Tragedy was perfected by degrees ; and being
arrived at that perfection, the painters might probably
take the hint from thence of adding groups to their
pictures. But as a good picture may be without a

5 group, so a good tragedy may subsist without a chorus,
notwithstanding any reasons which have been given by
Dacier to the contrary.

Monsieur Racine has, indeed, used it in his Esther]
but not that he found any necessity of it, as the French

10 critic would insinuate. The chorus at St. Cyr was only
to give the young ladies an occasion of entertaining
the king with vocal music, and of commending their
own voices. The play itself was never intended for the
public stage, nor, without disparagement to the learned

15 author, could possibly have succeeded there; and much
less the translation of it here. Mr. Wycherley, when
we read it together, was of my opinion in this, or rather
I of his ; for it becomes me so to speak of so excellent
a poet, and so great a judge. But since I am in this

20 place, as Virgil says, spatits exclusus iniquis, that is,
shortened in my time, I will give no other reason, than
that it is impracticable on our stage. A new theatre,
much more ample and much deeper, must be made for
that purpose, besides the cost of sometimes forty or

25 fifty habits, which is an expence too large to be supplied
by a company of actors. 'Tis true, I should not be
sorry to see a chorus on a theatre more than as large
and as deep again as ours, built and adorned at a king's
charges ; and on that condition, and another, which is,

30 that my hands were not bound behind me, as now they
are, I should not despair of making such a tragedy as
might be both instructive and delightful, according to
the manner of the Grecians.

To make a sketch, or a more perfect model of

35 a picture, is, in the language of poets, to draw up the

of Poetry and Painting 145

scenary of a play ; and the reason is the same for both ;
to guide the undertaking, and to preserve the remem- ^
brance of such things, whose natures are difficult to
retain.

To avoid absurditie s and i ncongruities , is the same 5
law established for both arts. The painter is not to
paint a cloud at the bottom of a picture, but in the
uppermost parts ; nor the poet to place what is proper
t o the end or middle^ in the beginning of ^ pnpm .
I might enlarge on this ; but there are few poets or 10
painters who can be supposed to sin so grossly against
the laws of nature and of art. I remember only one
play, and for once I will call it by its name. The Slighted
Maidf where there is nothing in the first act but what
might have been said or done in the fifth ; nor anything 15
in the midst, which might not have been- placed as well
in the beginning, or the end. To express the passions
which are seated in the heart, by outward jigns, is one
great precept of the painters, and very difficult to
perform. In poetry, the same passions and motions of 20
the mind are to be expressed ; and in this consists the
principal difficulty, as well as the excellency of that art.
This, says my author, is the gift of Jupiter ; and, to
speak in the same heathen language, we call it the gift
of our Apollo — not to be obtained by pains or study, if 25
we are not born to it ; for the motions which are studied
are never so natural as those which break out in the
height of a real passion. Mr. Otway possessed this
part as thoroughly as any of the Ancients or Moderns.
I will not defend everything in his Venice Preserved ;zo
but I must bear this testimony to his memory, that the
passions are truly touched in it, though perhaps there
is somewhat to be desired, both in the grounds of them,
and in the height and elegance of expression; but
nature is there, which is the greatest beauty. 35

II. L

146 A Parallel

In the passions, says our author, we must have
a very great regard to the quality of the persons who
are actually possessed with them. The joy of a monarch
for the news of a victory must not be expressed like the

5 ecstacy of a Harlequin on the receipt of a letter from
his mistress : this is so much the same in both the arts,
that it is no longer a comparison. What he says of
face-painting, or the portrait of any one particular
person, concerning the likeness, is also as applicable to

10 poetry. In the character of an hero, as well as in an
inferior figure, there is a better or worse likeness to be
taken : the better is a panegyric, if it be not false, and
the worse is a libel. Sophocles, says Aristotle, always
drew men as they ought to be, that is, better than they

15 were; another, wj^ose na me I h ave forgotte n, drew
them worse than naturally they were : Euripides altered
nothing in the character, but made them such as they
were represented by history, epic poetry, or tradition.
Of the three, the draught of Sophocles is most com-

20 mended by Aristotle. I have followed it in that part of
(Edipus which I writ, though perhaps I have made him
too good a man. But my characters of Antony and
Cleopatra, though they are favourable to them, have
nothing of outrageous panegyric. Their passions were

35 their own, and such as were given them by history ;
only the deformities of them were cast into shadows,
that they might be objects of compassion : whereas if
I had chosen a noon-day light for them, somewhat must
have been discovered which would rather have moved

30 our hatred than our pity.

The Gothic manner, and the barbarous ornaments,
which are to be avoided in a picture, are just the same
with those in an JU-ordered play. For example, our
English tragi-comedy must be confessed to be wholly

35 Gothic, notwithstanding the success which it has found

of Poetry and Painting 147

upon our theatre, and in the Pastor Fido of Guarini ;
even though Corisca and the Satyr contribute somewhat
to the main action. Neither can I defend my Spanish
Friarj as fond as otherwise I am of it, from this impu-
tation : for though the comical parts are diverting, and 5
the serious moving, yet they are of an unnatural mingle :
for mirth and gravity destroy each other, and are no
more to be allowed for decent than a gay widow laugh-
ing in a mourning habit.

I had almost forgotten one considerable resemblance, ro
Du Fresnoy tells us, That the figures of the groups must
not be all on a side^ that is, with their face and bodies all
turned the same way ; but must contrast each other by their
several positions. Thus in a play, some characters must
be raised, to oppose others, and to set them off the 15
better; according to the old maxim, contraria juxta se
posita magis elucescunt. Thus, in The Scornful Lady,
the usurer is set to confront the prodigal : thus, in my
Tyrannic Love, the atheist Maximin is opposed to the
character of St, Catherine, ao

I am now come, though with the omission of many
likenesses, to the Third Part of Painting, which is called
the Cromatic, or Colouring. Ctxpression, and all that
belongs to words, is that in a poem which colouring
is in a pictured The colours well chosen in their proper 25
places, together with the lights and shadows which
belong to them, lighten the design, and make it pleasing
to the eye. The words, the expressions, the tropes and
figures, the versification, and all the other elegancies
of sound, as cadences, turns of words upon the thought, 30
and many other things, which are all parts of expression,
perform exactly the same ofBce both in dramatic and
epic poetry. Our author calls Colouring, lena sororis ;
in plain English, the bawd of her sister, the design or
drawing: she clothes, she dref^ft^** ^'^r up, she paints 35

148 A Parallel

her, she makes her appear more lovely than naturally
she is ; she procures for the design, and makes lovers
for her : for the design of itself is only so many naked
lines. Thus in poetry, the expression is that which
5 charms the reader, and beautifies the design, which is
only the outlines of the fable. 'Tis true, the design
must of itself be good ; if it be vicious, or, in one word,
unpleasing, the cost of colouring is thrown away upon
it: 'tis an ugly woman in a rich habit set out with

10 jewels; nothing can become her; but granting the
design to be moderately good, it is like an excellent
complexion with indifferent features : the white and red
well mingled on the face make what was before but
passable appear beautiful. Operum colores is the very

15 word which Horace uses to signify words and elegant
expressions, of which he himself was so great a master
in his Odes. Amongst the ancients, Zeuxis was most
famous for his colouring; amongst the moderns, Titian
and Correggio. Of the two ancient epic poets, who

20 have so far excelled all the moderns, the invention

and design were the particular talents of Homer.

Virgil must yield to him in both ; for the design of

the Latin was borrowed from the Grecian : but the

y dictio Virgilianaf the expression of Virgil, his colour-

25 ing, was incomparably the better ; and in that I have
always endeavoured to copy him. Most of the pedants,
I know, maintain the contrary, and will have Homer
excel even in this part. But of all people, as they are
the most ill-mannered, so they are the worst judges.

30 Even of words, which are their province, they seldom
know more than the grammatical construction, unless
they are born with a poetical genius, which is a rare
portion amongst them. Yet some I know may stand
excepted ; and such I honour. Virgil is so exact in

35 every word, that none can be changed but for a worse ;

of Poetry and Painting 149

•

nor any one removed from its place, but the harmony
will be altered. He pretends sometimes to trip; but
it is only to make you think him in danger of a fall,
when he is most secure : like a skilful dancer on the
ropes (if you will pardon the meanness of the simili- 5
tude), who slips willingly, and makes a seeming stumble,
that you may think him in great hazard of breaking his
neck, while at the same time he is only giving you a
proof of his dexterity. My late Lord Roscommon was
often pleased with this reflection, and with the examples 10
of it in this admirable author.

I have not leisure to run through the whole compari-
son of lights^an d^shadow swit h tropes and figure s ; yet
I cannot but take notice of metaphors, which like them
have power to lessen or greaten anything. Strong and 15
glowing colours are the just resemblances of b* •
metaphors : but both must be judiciously applied ; for
there is a difference betwixt daring and fool-hardiness.
Lucan and Statius often ventured them too far; our
Virgil never. But the great defect of the Pharsalia 20
and the Thebais was in the design : if that had been
more perfect, we might have forgiven many of their
bold strokes in the colouring, or at least excused them :
yet some of them are such as Demosthenes or Cicero
could not have defended. Virgil, if he could have seen 25
the first verses of the Sylvoe, would have thought
Statius mad, in his fustian description of the statue
on the brazen horse. But that poet was always in a
foam at his setting out, even before the motion of the
race had warmed him. The soberness of Virgil, whom 30
he read, it seems, to little purpose, might have shewn
him the difference betwixt

Amta virumque cano . . .

and

Magnammum ^acidentj fomtidatamque tonanti

Progenitnt, 35

150 A Parallel

But Virgil knew how to rise by degrees in his expres-
sions : Statius was in his towering heights at the first
stretch of his pinions. The description of his running
horse, just starting in the Funeral Games for Arche-
5 morus, though the verses are wonderfully fine, are the
true image of their author :

Stare adeo nescitj pereunt vestigia tnille

Antefugam; absentetnque ferit gravis ungula campunt ;

which would cost me an hour, if I had the leisure to
10 translate them, there is so much of beauty in the
original.

Virgil, as he better knew his colours, so he knew
better how and where to place them. In as much
haste as I am, I cannot forbear giving one example.
15 It is said of him, that he read the Second, Fourth, and
Sixth Books of his ^neids to Augustus Caesar. In
the Sixth (which we are sure he read, because we know
Octavia was present, who rewarded him so bountifully
for the twenty verses which were made in honour of
20 her deceased son, Marcellus), in this Sixth Book, I say,
the poet, speaking of Misenus, the trumpeter, says :

. . . quo non prcestantior alter
^re ciere viroSj . . .

and broke off in the hemistic, or midst of the verse ;
25 but in the very reading, seized as it were with a divine
fury, he made up the latter part of the hemistic with
these following words :

. . . Martemque accendere cantu.

How warm, nay, how glowing a colouring is this I In
30 the beginning of his verse, the word ces, or brass, was
taken for a trumpet, because the instrument was made
of that metal, which of itself was fine ; but in the latter
end, which was made ex tempore^ you see three meta-
phors, Martemquey — accendere , — cantu. Good Heavens !

I

of Poetry and Painting 151

how the plain sense is raised by the beauty of the words I
But this was happiness, the former might be only judg-
ment : this was the curiosa felicttaSj which Petronius
attributes to Horace ; it is the pencil thrown luckily
full upon the horse's mouth, to express the foam which 5
the painter with all his skill could not perform without
it. These hits of words a true poet often finds, as
I may say, without seeking ; but he knows their value
when he finds them, and is infinitely pleased. A bad
poet may sometimes light on them, but he discerns not 10
a diamond from a Bristol-stone ; and would have been
of the cock's mind in iEsop ; a grain of barley would
have pleased him better than the jewel.

The lights and shadows which belong to colouring
put me in mind of that verse in Horace : 15

Hoc antat obscurum, vuli hoc sub luce vtden.

Some parts of a poem require to be amply written, and
with all the force and elegance of words ; others must
be cast into shadows, that is, passed over in silence, or
but faintly touched. This belongs wholly to the judg- ao
ment of the poet and the painter. The most beautiful
parts of the picture, and the poem, must be the most
finished, the colours and words most chosen; many
things in both, which are not deserving of this care,
must be shifted off; content with vulgar expressions, 35
and those very short, and lefl, as in a shadow, to the
imagination of the reader.

We have the proverb, manum de tabula, from the
painters ; which signifies, to know when to give over,
and to lay by the pencil. Both Homer and Virgil 30
practised this precept wonderfully well, but Virgil the
better of the two. Homer knew, that when Hector
was slain Troy was as good as already taken ; there-
fore he concludes his action there : for what follows in

152 A Parallel

the funerals of Patroclus, and the redemption of Hector's
body, is not, properly speaking, a part of the main
action. But Virgil concludes with the death of Tumus ;
for after that difficulty was removed iEneas might

5 marry, and establish the Trojans, when he pleased.
This rule I had before my eyes in the conclusion of the
Spanish Friar, when the discovery was made that the
king was living, which was the knot of the play untied ;
the rest is shut up in the compass of some few lines,

10 because nothing then hindered the happiness of Torris-
mond and Leonora. The faults of that drama are in
the kind of it, which is tragi-comedy. But it was given
to the people : and I never writ anything for myself
but Antony and Cleopatra.

15 This remark, I must acknowledge, is not so proper
for the colouring, as the design ; but it will hold for
both. As thej/tords^ &c.| are evidently shown to be th e
clothing_jQf..theJlLought, in the same sense as colours
are th e clothing of Ahe design, so the painter and the

20 poet ought to judge exactly, when the colouring and
expressions are perfect, and then to think their work
is truly finished. Apelles said of Protogenes,— that he
knew not when to give over. A work may be over-
wrought, as well as under-wrought ; too much labour

35 often takes away the spirit by adding to the polishing,
so that there remains nothing but a dull correctness,
a piece without any considerable faults, but with few
beauties; for when the spirits are drawn off, there is
nothing but a caput mortuum. Statius never thought

30 an expression could be bold enough ; and if a bolder
could be found, he rejected the first. Virgil had judg-
ment enough to know daring was necessary; but he
knew the difference betwixt a glowing colour and a
glaring : as when he compared the shocking of the

35 fleets at Actium to the jostling of islands rent from their

of Poetry and Painting 153

foundations, and meeting in the ocean. He knew the
comparison was forced beyond nature, and raised too
high ; he therefore softens the metaphor with a credas :
you would almost believe that mountains or islands
rushed against each other : 5

. . . credos innare revulsas
Cycladas, aut monies concurrere fnonttbus alios.

But here I must break off without finishing the dis-
course. Cynthius aurem vellit^ et admonuit, &c. The
things which are behind are of too nice a consideration 10
for an essay, begun and ended in twelve mornings ; and
perhaps the judges of painting and poetry, when I tell
them how short a time it cost me, may make me the
same answer which my late Lord Rochester made to
one, who, to commend a tragedy, said it was written in 15
three weeks : ' How the devil could he be so long about
it ? ' For that poem was infamously bad ; and I doubt
this Parallel is little better ; and then the shortness of
the time is so far from being a commendation, that it
is scarcely an excuse. But if I have really drawn a por- ao
trait to the knees, or an half-length, with a tolerable
likeness, then I may plead, with some justice, for my-
self, that the rest is left to the imagination. Let some ^
better artist provide himself of a deeper canvas, and,
taking these hints which I have given, set the figure 25
on its legs, and finish it in the invention, design, and
colouring.

DEDICATION OF THE iENEIS

[1697]

TO THE MOST HONOURABLE

JOHN,

LORD MARQUESS OF NORMANBY, EARL OF

MULGRAVE, ETC., AND KNIGHT OF

THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF

THE GARTER

A HEROIC POEM, truly such, is undoubtedly the
greatest work which the soul of man is capable to per-
form. The design of it is to form the mind to heroic
virtue by example ; 'tis conveyed in verse, that it may

5 delight, while it instructs. The action of it is always
one, entire, and great. The least and most trivial
episodes, or under-actions, which are interwoven in it,
are parts either necessary or convenient to carry on the
main design; either so necessary, that, without them,

10 the poem must be imperfect, or so convenient, that no
others can be imagined more suitable to the place in
which they are. There is nothing to be left void in
a firm building ; even the cavities ought not to be filled
with rubbish which is of a perishable kind, destructive

Dedication of the ^neis 155

to the strength, but with brick or stone, though of less
pieces, yet of the same nature, and fitted to the cran-
nies. Even the least portions of them must be of the
epic kind : all things must be grave, majestical, and
sublime ; nothing of a foreign nature, like the trifling 5
novels, which Ariosto^, and others, have inserted in
their poems ; by which the reader is misled into another
sort of pleasure, opposite to that which is designed in
an epic poem. One raises the soul, and hardens it to
virtue ; the other softens it again, and unbends it into 10
vice. One conduces to the poet's aim, the completing
of his work, which he is driving on, labouring and
hastening in every line; the other slackens his pace,
diverts him from his way, and locks him up like a knight-
errant in an enchanted castle, when he should be pur- 15
suing his first adventure. Statius, as Bossij has well
observed, was ambitious of tr3n[ng his strength with
his master Virgil, as Virgil had before tried his with
Homer. The Grecian gave the two Romans an example,
in the games which were celebrated at the funerals of 20
Patroclus. Virgil imitated the invention of Homer, but
changed the sports. But both the Greek and Latin poet
took their occasions from the subject ; though, to con-
fess the truth, they were both ornamental, or, at best,
convenient parts of it, rather than of necessity arising 25
from it. Statius, who, through his whole poem, is
noted for want of conduct and judgment, instead of
staying, as he might have done, for the death of Capa-
neus, Hippomedon, Tydeus, or some other of his seven
champions (who are heroes all alike), or more properly 10
for the tragical end of the two brothers, whose exequies
the next successor had leisure to perform when the
siege was raised, and in the interval betwixt the poet's

^ ^The early editions, by an absurd and continued blunder, read
Aristotle.' (Scott.)

156 Dedication of the JEneis

first action and his second — went out of his way, as it
were on prepense malice, to commit a fault. For he took
his opportunity to kill a royal infant by the means of
a serpent (that author of all evil), to make way for those
5 funeral honours which he intended for him. Now, if
this innocent had been of any relation to his Thebais ;
if he had either furthered or hindered the taking of the
town ; the poet might have found some sorry excuse at
least for detaining the reader from the promised siege.

10 I can think of nothing to plead for him but what
I verily believe he thought himself, which was, that
as the funerals of Anchises were solemnised in Sicily,
so those of Archemorus should be celebrated in Candy.
For the last was an island, and a better than the first,

15 because Jove was born there. On these terms, this
Capaneus of a poet engaged his two immortal pre-
decessors; and his success was answerable to his
enterprise.

If this oeconomy must be observed in the minutest

20 parts of an epic poem, which, to a common reader,
seems to be detached from the body, and almost inde-
pendent of it ; what soul, though sent into the world
with great advantages of Nature, cultivated with the
liberal arts and sciences, conversant with histories of

25 the dead, and enriched with observations on the living,
can be sufficient to inform the whole body of so great
a work? I touch here but transiently, without any
strict method, on some few of those many rules of
imitating nature which Aristotle drew from Homer's

30 Iliads and Odysseys, and which he fitted to the drama ;
furnishing himself also with observations from the
practice of the theatre, when it flourished under
iEschylus, Euripides, and Sophocles. For the original
of the stage was frdm the Epic Poem. Narration,

35 doubtless, preceded acting, and gave laws to it : what

Dedication of the ^neis 357

at first was told artfully, was, in process of time, repre-
sented gracefully to the sight and hearing. Those
episodes of Homer, which were proper for the stage,
the poets amplified each into an action ; out of his limbs
they formed their bodies ; what he had contracted, they 5
enlarged ; out of one Hercules were made infinity of
pigmies, yet all endued with human souls; for from
him, their great creator, they have each of them the
divince particulam aurce. They flowed from him at
first, and are at last resolved into him. Nor were 10
they only animated by him, but their measure and
symmetry was owing to him. His one, entire, and
great action was copied by them according to the pro-
portions of the drama. If he finished his orb within
the year, it sufficed to teach them, that their action 15
being less, and being also less diversified with incidents,
their orb, of consequence, must be circumscribed in
a less compass, which they reduced within the limits
either of a natural or an artificial day ; so that, as he
taught them to amplify what he had shortened, by the 20
same rule, applied the contrary way, he taught them
to shorten what he had amplified. Tragedy is the
miniature of human life ; an epic poem is the draught
at length. Here, my Lord, I must contract also ; for,
before I was aware, I was almost running into a long 25
digression, to prove that there is no such absolute
necessity that the time of a stage action should so
strictly be confined to twenty-four hours as never to
exceed them, for which Aristotle contends, and the
Grecian stage has practised. Some longer space, on 30
some occasions, I think, may be allowed, especially for
the English theatre, which requires more variety of
incidents than the French. Corneille himself, after
long practice, was inclined to think that the time allotted
by the Ancients was too short to raise and finish a great 35

158 Dedication of the jEneis

action: and better a mechanic rule were stretched or
broken, than a great beauty were omitted. To raise,
and afterwards to calm the passions— to purge the soul
from pride, by the examples of human miseries, which
5 befall the greatest — in few words, to expel arrogance,
and introduce compassion, are the great effects of
tragedy. Great, I must confess, if they were altogether
as true as they are pompous. But are habits to be
introduced at three hours* warning ? are radical diseases

10 so suddenly removed ? A mountebank may promise
such a cure, but a skilful physician will not undertake
it. An epic poem is not in so much haste : it works
leisurely; the changes which it makes are slow; but
the cure is likely to be more perfect. The effects of

15 tragedy, as I said, are too violent to be lasting. If it
be answered that, for this reason, tragedies are ofleu
to be seen, and the dose to be repeated, this is tacitly
to confess that there is more virtue in one heroic poem
than in many tragedies. A man is humbled one day,

ao and his pride returns the next. Chymical medicines
are observed to relieve oftener than to cure: for 'tis
the nature of spirits to make swift impressions, but not
deep. Galenical decoctions, to which I may properly
compare an epic poem, have more of body in them;

35 they work by their substance and their weight. It is
one reason of Aristotle's to prove that Tragedy is the
more noble, because it turns in a shorter compass;
the whole action being circumscribed within the space
of four-and-twenty hours. He might prove as well that

30 a mushroom is to be preferred before a peach, because
it shoots up in the compass of a night. A chariot may
be driven round the pillar in less space than a large
machine, because the bulk is not so great. Is the
Moon a more noble planet than Saturn, because she

35 makes her revolution in less than thirty days, and he

Dedication of the ^neis 159

in little less than thirty years ? Both their orbs are
in proportion to their several magnitudes ; and conse-
quently the quickness or slowness of their motion, and
the time of their circumvolutions, is no argument of the
greater or less perfection. And, besides, what virtue is 5
there in a tragedy which is not contained in an epic
poem, where pride is humbled, virtue rewarded, and
vice punished ; and those more amply treated than the
narrowness of the drama can admit? The shining
quality of an epic hero, his magnanimity, his constancy, 10
his patience, his piety, or whatever characteristical
virtue his poet gives him, raises first our admiration ;
we are naturally prone to imitate what we admire ; and
frequent acts produce a habit. If the hero's chief quality
be vicious, as, for example, the choler and obstinate 15
desire of vengeance in Achilles, yet the moral is in-
structive : and, besides, we are informed in the very
proposition of the Iliads^ that this anger was perni-
cious; that it brought a thousand ills on the Grecian
camp. The courage of Achilles is proposed to imitation, 20
not his pride and disobedience to his general, nor his
brutal cruelty to his dead enemy, nor the selling of his
body to his father. We abhor these actions while we
read them ; and what we abhor we never imitate. The
poet only shows them, like rocks or quicksands, to be 35
shunned.

By this example, the critics have concluded that it is
not necessary the manners of the hero should be virtuous.
They are poetically good, if they are of a piece : though
where a character of perfect virtue is set before us, it is 30
more lovely ; for there the whole hero is to be imitated.
This is the iEneas of our author ; this is that idea of
perfection in an epic poem which painters and statuaries
have only in their minds, and which no hands are able
to express. TH^ft** ar** the beauties of a god in a human 35

i6o Dedication of the ^neis

body. When the picture of Achilles is drawn in tragedy,
he is taken with those warts, and moles, and hard fea-
tures by those who represent him on the stage, or he
is no more Achilles; for his creator. Homer, has so
5 described him. Yet even thus he appears a perfect
hero, though an imperfect character of virtue. Horace
paints him after Homer, and delivers him to be copied
on the stage with all those imperfections. Therefore
they are either not faults in a heroic poem, or faults

10 common to the drama. After all, on the whole merits
of the cause, it must be acknowledged that the Epic
Poem is more for the manners, and Tragedy for the
passions. The passions, as I have said, are violent;
and acute distempers require medicines of a strong and

15 speedy operation. Ill habits of the mind are like chro-
nical diseases, to be corrected by degrees, and cured
by alteratives ; wherein, though purges are sometimes
necessary, yet diet, good air, and moderate exercise
have the greatest part. The matter being thus stated,

20 it will appear that both sorts of poetry are of use for
their proper ends. The stage is more active ; the Epic
Poem works at greater leisure, yet is active too, when
need requires; for dialogue is imitated by the drama
from the more active parts of it. One puts off a fit,

25 like the quinquina, and relieves us only for a time ; the
other roots out the distemper, and gives a healthful
habit. The sun enlightens and cheers us, dispels fogs,
and warms the ground with his daily beams ; but the
corn is sowed, increases, is ripened, and is reaped for

30 use in process of time, and in its proper season. I pro-
ceed, from the greatness of the action, to the dignity of
the actors ; I mean to the persons employed in both
poems. There likewise Tragedy will be seen to borrow
from the Epopee ; and that which borrows is always of

35 less dignity, because it has not of its own. A subject.

Dedication of the JEneis i6i

it is true, may lend to his sovereign; but the act of
borrowing makes the king inferior, because he wants,
and the subject supplies. And suppose the persons
of the drama wholly fabulous, or of the poet's invention,
yet Heroic Poetry gave him the examples of that inven- 5
tion, because it was first, and Homer the common father
of the stage. I know not of any one advantage which
Tragedy can boast above Heroic Poetry, but that it is
represented to the view, as well as read, and instructs
in the closet, as well as on the theatre. This is an 10
uncontended excellence, and a chief branch of its pre-
rogative ; yet I may be allowed to say, without partiality,
that herein the actors share the poet's praise. Your
Lordship knows some modern tragedies which are
beautiful on the stage, and yet I am confident you would 15
not read them. Tryphon the stationer complains they
are seldom asked for in his shop. The poet who
flourished in the scene is damned in the ruelk ; nay
more, he is not esteemed a good poet by those, who
see and hear his extravagances with delight. They 20
are a sort of stately fustian, and lofty childishness.
Nothing but Nature can give a sincere pleasure ; where
that is not imitated, 'tis grotesque painting; the fine
woman ends in a fish's tail.

I might also add that many things, which not only 25
please, but are real beauties in the reading, would
appear absurd upon the stage ; and those not only the
spectosa miracula^ as Horace calls them, of transforma-
tions, of Scylla, Antiphates, and the Laestrygons, which
cannot be represented even in operas ; but the prowess 30
of Achilles or iEneas would appear ridiculous in our
dwarf heroes of the theatre. We can believe they
routed armies, in Homer or in Virgil ; but ne Hercules
contra duos in the drama. I forbear to instance in many
things, which the stage cannot, or ought not to repre- 35

II, Vi

i62 Dedication of the ^Eneis

sent ; for I have said already more than I intended on
this subject, and should fear it might be turned against
me, that I plead for the pre-eminence of Epic Poetry
because I have taken some pains in translating Virgil,

5 if this were the first time that I had delivered my
opinion in this dispute. But I have more than once
already maintained the rights of my two masters against
their rivals of the scene, even while I wrote tragedies
myself, and had no thoughts of this present under-

lo taking. I submit my opinion to your judgment, who
are better qualified than any man I know, to decide
this controversy. You come, my Lord, instructed in
the cause, and needed not that I should open it. Your
Essay of Poetry j which was published without a name,

15 and of which I was not honoured with the confidence,
I read over and over with much delight, and as
much instruction, and, without flattering you, or making
myself more moral than I am, not without some envy.
I was loath to be informed how an epic poem should

30 be written, or how a tragedy should be contrived and
managed, in better verse, and with more judgment, than
I could teach others. A native of Parnassus, and bred
up in the studies of its fundamental laws, may receive
new lights from his contemporaries ; but it is a grudging

25 kind of praise which he gives his benefactors. He is
more obliged than he is willing to acknowledge ; there
is a tincture of malice in his commendations. For
where I own I am taught, I confess my want of know-
ledge. A judge upon the bench may, out of good

30 nature, or at least interest, encourage the pleadings of
a puny counsellor ; but he does not willingly commend
his brother Serjeant at the bar, especially when he
controuls his law, and exposes that ignorance which
is made sacred by his place. I gave the unknown

35 author his due commendation, I must confess ; but

Dedication of the ^neis 163

who can answer for me and for the rest of the poets
who heard me read the poem, whether we should not
have been better pleased to have seen our own names
at the bottom of the title-page? Perhaps we com-
mended it the more, that we might seem to be above 5
the censure. We are naturally displeased with an
unknown critic, as the ladies are with a lampooner,
because we are bitten in the dark, and know not where
to fasten our revenge. But great excellencies will work
their way through all sorts of opposition. I applauded 10
rather out of decency than affection; and was ambi-
tious, as some yet can witness, to be acquainted with
a man with whom I had the honour to converse, and
that almost daily, for so many years together. Heaven
knows, if I have heartily forgiven you this deceit. You 15
extorted a praise, which I should willingly have given,
had I known you. Nothing had been more easy than
to commend a patron of a long standing. The world
would join with me, if the encomiums were just ; and,
if unjust, would excuse a grateful flatterer. But to 20
come anonymous upon me, and force me to commend
you against my interest, was not altogether so fair, give
me leave to say, as it was politic. For, by concealing
your quality, you might clearly understand how your
work succeeded, and that the general approbation was 35
given to your merit, not your titles. Thus, like Apelles,
you stood unseen behind your own Venus, and received
the praises of the passing multitude ; the work was
commended, not the author ; and I doubt not, this was
one of the most pleasing adventures of your life. 30

I have detained your Lordship longer than I in-
tended in this dispute of preference betwixt the Epic
Poem and the Drama, and yet have not formally
answered any of the arguments which are brought by
Aristotle on the other side, and set in the fairest light 35

M a

164 Dedication of the ^neis

by Dacier. But I suppose, without looking on the
book, I may have touched on some of the objections ;
for, in this address to your Lordship, I design not a
Treatise of Heroic Poetry, but write in a loose episto-
5 lary way, somewhat tending to that subject, after the
example of Horace, in his First Epistle of the Second
Book to Augustus Ccpsar, and in that to the Piso's,
which we call his Art of Poetry ; in both of which he
observes no method that I can trace, whatever Scaliger

10 the father, or Heinsius, may have seen, or rather think
they had seen. I have taken up, laid down, and resumed
as often as I pleased, the same subject ; and this loose
proceeding I shall use through all this prefatory Dedi-
cation. Yet all this while I have been sailing with

15 some side-wind or other toward the point I proposed
in the beginning, the greatness and excellency of a
Heroic Poem, with some of the difficulties which attend
that work. The comparison, therefore, which I made
betwixt the Epopee and the Tragedy was not altogether

20 a digression ; for 'tis concluded on all hands that they
are both the master-pieces of human wit.

In the meantime, I may be bold to draw this corollary
from what has been already said, that the file of heroic
poets is very short ; all are not such who have assumed

35 that lofty title in ancient or modern ages, or have been
so esteemed by their partial and ignorant admirers.

There have been but one great Ilias and one JEneis
in so many ages. The next, but the next with a long
interval betwixt, was the Jerusalem : I mean not so

30 much in distance of time, as in excellency. After these
three are entered, some Lord Chamberlain should be
appointed, some critic of authority should be set before
the door, to keep out a crowd of little poets, who press
for admission, and are not of quality. Maevius would

35 be deafening your Lordship's ears with his

Dedication of the ^neis 165^

Fortunam Priami cantabo, et nobile bellum ;

mere fustian, as Horace would tell you from behind,
without pressing forward, and more smoke than fire.
Pulci, Boiardo, and Ariosto, would cry out, ' make room
for the Italian poets, the descendants of Virgil in a right 5
line:* Father Le Moine, with his Saint Louis, and
Scudery with his Alaric, for a godly king and a Gothic
conqueror; and Chapelain would take it ill that his
Maid should be refused a place with Helen and
Lavinia. Spenser has a better plea for his Fairy 10
Queettf had his action been finished, or had been one.
And Milton, if the Devil had not been his hero, instead
of Adam ; if the giant had not foiled the knight, and
driven him out of his stronghold, to wander through the
world with his lady errant ; and if there had not been 15
more machining persons than human in his poem.
After these, the rest of our English poets shall not
be mentioned. I have that honour for them which
I ought to have ; but, if they are worthies, they are
not to be ranked amongst the three whom I have 20
named, and who are established in their reputation.

Before I quitted the comparison betwixt Epic Poetry
and Tragedy, I should have acquainted my judge with
one advantage of the former over the latter, which I now
casually remember out of the preface of Segrais before 25
his translation of the JEneis, or out of Bossu, no matter
which : the style of the Heroic Poem is, and ought to be,
more lofty than that of the drama. The critic is certainly
in the right, for the reason already urged ; the work of
Tragedy is on the passions, and in dialogue ; both 30
of them abhor strong metaphors, in which the Epopee
delights. A poet cannot speak too plainly on the stage :
for volat irrevocabile verbum; the sense is lost, if it be
not taken fl3ang. But what we read alone, we have
leisure to digest ; there an author may beautify his 35

i66 Dedication of the ^neis

sense by the boldness of his expression, which if we
understand not fully at the first, we may dwell upon it
till we find the secret force and excellence. That which
cures the manners by alterative physic, as I said before,
5 must proceed by insensible degrees ; but that which
purges the passions must do its business all at once, or
wholly fail of its effect, at least in the present operation,
and without repeated doses. We must beat the iron
while it is hot, but we *may polish it at leisure. Thus,

lo my Lord, you pay the fine of my forgetfulness ; and
yet the merits of both causes are where they were, and
undecided, till you declare whether it be more for the
benefit of mankind to have their manners in general
corrected, or. their pride and hard-heartedness removed.

15 I must now come closer to my present business, and
not think of making more invasive wars abroad, when,
like Hannibal, I am called back to the defence of my
own country. Virgil is attacked by many enemies ;
he has a whole confederacy against him ; and I must

ao endeavour to defend him as well as I am able. But
their principal objections being against his moral, the
duration or length of time taken up in the action of
the poem, and what they have to urge against the
manners of his hero, I shall omit the rest as mere

as cavils of grammarians ; at the worst, but casual slips
of a great man's pen, or inconsiderable faults of an
admirable poem, which the author had not leisure to
review before his death. Macrobius has answered
what the ancients could urge against him; and some

30 things I have lately read in Tanneguy le Fevre, Valois,
and another whom I name not, which are scarce worth
answering. They begin with the moral of his poem,
which I have elsewhere confessed, and still must own,
not to be so noble as that of Homer. But let both be

35 fairly stated ; and, without contradicting my first opinion,

Dedication of the jEneis 167

I can show that Virgil's was as useful to the Romans of
his age, as Homer's was to the Grecians of his, in what
time soever he may be supposed to have lived and
flourished. Homer's moral was to urge the necessity
of union, and of a good understanding betwixt con- 5
federate states and princes engaged in a war with
a mighty monarch; as also of discipline in an army,
and obedience in the several chiefs to the supreme
commander of the joint forces. To inculcate this, he
sets forth the ruinous effects of discord in the camp of xo
those allies, occasioned by the quarrel betwixt the
general and one of the next in office under him.
Agamemnon gives the provocation, and Achilles resents
the injury. Both parties are faulty in the quarrel ; and
accordingly they are both punished : the aggressor is 1 5
forced to sue for peace to his inferior on dishonourable
conditions : the deserter refuses the satisfaction offered,
and his obstinacy costs him his best friend. This works
the natural effect of choler, and turns his rage against
him by whom he was last affronted, and most sensibly. 20
The greater anger expels the less ; but his character is
still preserved. In the meantime, the Grecian army
receives loss on loss, and is half destroyed by a pesti-
lence into the bargain : —

Quidquid delirant reges, plectuntur Achivi. 25

As the poet, in the first part of the example, had
shown the bad effects of discord, so, after the reconcile-
ment, he gives the good effects of unity ; for Hector is
slain, and then Troy must fall. By this it is probable
that Homer lived when the Persian Monarchy was 30
grown formidable to the Grecians, and that the joint
endeavours of his countrymen were little enough to
preserve their common freedom from an encroaching
en« was his moral, which all critics have

i68 Dedication of the ^neis

allowed to be more noble than that of Virgil, though
not adapted to the times in which the Roman poet
lived. Had Virgil flourished in the age of Ennius,
and addressed to Scipio, he had probably taken the
5 same moral, or some other not unlike it : for then
the Romans were in as much danger from the
Carthaginian commonwealth as the Grecians were
from the Persian monarchy. But we are to consider
him as writing his poem in a time when the old form

10 of government was subverted, and a new one just
established by Octavius Caesar, in effect by force of
arms, but seemingly by the consent of the Roman
people. The Commonwealth had received a deadly
wound in the former civil wars betwixt Marius and

15 Sylla. The commons, while the first prevailed, had
almost shaken off the yoke of the nobility; and Marius
and Cinna, like the captains of the mob, under the
specious pretence of the public good, and of doing
justice on the oppressors of their liberty, revenged

20 themselves, without form of law, on their private
enemies. Sylla, in his turn, proscribed the heads of
the adverse party : he too had nothing but liberty and
reformation in his mouth ; (for the cause of religion is
but a modern motive to rebellion, invented by the

25 Christian priesthood, refining on the heathen ;) Sylla,
to be sure, meant no .more good to the Roman people
than Marius before him, whatever he declared ; but
sacrificed the lives, and took the estates, of all his
enemies, to gratify those who brought him into power.

30 Such was the reformation of the government by both

parties. The Senate and the Commons were the two

bases on which it stood ; and the two champions of

either faction, each, destroyed the foundations of the

.other side ; so the fabric, of consequence, must fall

35 betwixt them, and tyranny must be built upon their

Dedication of the JEneis 169

ruins. This comes of altering fundamental laws and
constitutions; like him, who, being in good health,
lodged himself in a physician's house, and was over-
persuaded by his landlord to take physic (of which
he died), for the benefit of his doctor. Stavo ben (was 5
written on his monument), ma^ per star meglio^ sto qui.

After the death of those two usurpers, the Common-
wealth seemed to recover, and held up its head for
a little time. But it was all the while in a deep con-
sumption, which is a flattering disease. Pompey, 10
Crassus, and Caesar had found the sweets of arbitrary
power ; and, each being a check to the other's growth,
struck up a false friendship amongst themselves, and
divided the government betwixt them, which none of
them was able to assume alone. These were the public- 1 5
spirited men of their age; that is, patriots for their
own interest. The Commonwealth looked with a florid
countenance in their management, spread in bulk, and
all the while was wasting in the vitals. Not to trouble
your Lordship with the repetition of what you know : 20
after the death of Crassus, Pompey found himself out-
witted by Caesar, broke with him, overpowered him in
the Senate, and caused many unjust decrees to pass
against him. Caesar, thus injured, and unable to resist
the faction of the nobles which was now uppermost (for 25
he was a Marian), had recourse to arms ; and his cause
was just against Pompey, but not against his country,
whose constitution ought to have been sacred to him,
and never to have been violated on the account of any
private wrong. But he prevailed ; and Heaven declar- 30
ing for him, he became a providential monarch, under
the title of perpetual dictator. He being murdered by
his own son, whom I neither dare commend, nor can
justly blame (though Dante, in his Inferno^ has put him
and O ""-idas Iscariot betwixt them, into the 35

170 Dedication of the JEneis

great Devil's mouth), the Commonwealth popped up its
head for the third time, under Brutus and Cassius, and
then sunk for ever.

Thus the Roman people were grossly gulled twice or
6 thrice over, and as often enslaved in one century, and
under the same pretence of reformation. At last the
two battles of Philippi gave the decisive stroke against
liberty; and, not long after, the Commonwealth was
turned into a Monarchy by the conduct and good fortune

10 of Augustus. 'Tis true, that the despotic power could
not have fallen into better hands than those of the
first and second Caesar. Your Lordship well knows
what obligations Virgil had to the latter of them : he
saw, beside, that the Commonwealth was lost without

15 resource; the heads of it destroyed; the Senate new
moulded, grown degenerate, and either bought off, or
thrusting their own necks into the yoke, out of fear of
being forced. Yet I may safely affirm for our great
author (as men of good sense are generally honest), that

20 he was still of republic principles in his heart.

Secretosque pios, his dantent jura Catonent.

I think I need use no other argument to justify my
opinion, than that of this one line, taken from the
Eighth Book of the JEneis, If he had not well studied

25 his patron's temper, it might have ruined him with
another prince. But Augustus was not discontented,
at least that we can find, that Cato was placed, by his
own poet, in Elysium, and there giving laws to the
holy souls who deserved to be separated from the

30 vulgar sort of good spirits ; for his conscience could
not but whisper to the arbitrary Monarch that the
Kings of Rome were at first elective, and governed not
without a Senate ; that Romulus was no hereditary
prince ; and though, after his death, he received divine

Dedication of the jEneis 171

honours for the good he did on earth, yet he was but
a god of their own making ; that the last Tarquin was
expelled justly for overt acts of tyranny, and mal-
administration ; for such are the conditions of an
elective kingdom : and I meddle not with others, being, 5
for my own opinion, of Montaigne's principles, that
an honest man ought to be contented with that form
of government, and with those fundamental constitu-
tions of it, which he received from his ancestors, and
under which himself was born ; though at the same 10
time he confessed freely, that, if he could have chosen
his place of birth, it should have been at Venice;
which, for many reasons, I dislike, and am better
pleased to have been born an Englishman.

But, to return from my long rambling: I say, that 15
Virgil having maturely weighed the condition of the
times in which he lived; that an entire liberty was
not to be retrieved; that the present settlement had
the prospect of a long continuance in the same family,
or those adopted into it ; that he held his paternal 20
estate from the bounty of the conqueror, by whom he
was likewise enriched, esteemed and cherished; that
this conqueror, though of a bad kind, was the very
best of it ; that the* arts of peace flourished under him ;
that all men might be happy, if they would be quiet ; 25
that, now he was in possession of the whole, yet he
shared a great part of his authority with the Senate ;
that he would be chosen into the ancient offices of
the Commonwealth, and ruled by the power which
he derived from them ; and prorogued his government 30
from time to time, still, as it were, threatening to dis-
miss himself from public cares, which he exercised
more for the common good than for any delight he
took in greatness ; these things, I say, being considered
by the poet, he concluded it to be the interest of his 35

172 Dedication of the ^neis

country to be so governed ; to infuse an awful respect
into the people towards such a prince ; by that respect
to confirm their obedience to him, and by that obedience
to make them happy. This was the moral of his divine

5 poem ; honest in the poet ; honourable to the Emperor,
whom he derives from a divine extraction ; and reflect-
ing part of that honour on the Roman people, whom
he derives also from the Trojans ; and not only profit-
able, but necessary, to the present age, and likely to

lo be such to their posterity. That it was the received
opinion, that the Romans were descended from the
Trojans, and Julius Caesar from lulus the son of iEneas,
was enough for Virgil ; though perhaps he thought not
so himself, or that iEneas ever was in Italy; which

15 Bochartus manifestly proves. And Homer, where he
says that Jupiter hated the house of Priam, and \yas
resolved to transfer the kingdom to the family of iEneas,
yet mentions nothing of his leading a colony into a
foreign country, and settling there. But that the

20 Romans valued themselves on their Trojan ancestry is
so undoubted a truth that I need not prove it. Even
the seals which we have remaining of Julius Caesar,
which we know to be antique, have the star of Venus
over them (though they were all graven after his death),

25 as a note that he was deified. I doubt not but it was
one reason why Augustus should be so passionately
concerned for the preservation of the ^Eneis, which its
author had condemned to be burnt, as an imperfect
poem, by his last will and testament, because it did

30 him a real service, as well as an honour ; that a work
should not be lost where his divine original was cele-
brated in verse which had the character of immortality
stamped upon it.

Neither were the great Roman families, which

35 flourished in his time, less obliged by him than the

Dedication of the JEneis 173

Emperor. Your Lordship knows with what address
he makes mention of them, as captains of ships, or
leaders in the war ; and even some of Italian extraction
are not forgotten. These are the single stars which
are sprinkled through the JEneis : but there are whole 5
constellations of them in the Fifth Book. And I could
not but take notice, when I translated it, of some
favourite families to which he gives the victory and
awards the prizes, in the person of his hero, at the
funeral games which were celebrated in honour of 10
Anchises. I insist not on their names ; but am pleased
to find the Memmii amongst them, derived from Mnes-
theus, because Lucretius dedicates to one of that family,
a branch of which destroyed Corinth. I likewise either
found or formed an image to myself of the contrary 15
kind ; that those who lost the prizes were such as had
disobliged the poet, or were in disgrace with Augustus,
or enemies to Maecenas; and this was the poetical
revenge he took : for genus irritable vatum, as Horace
says. When a poet is thoroughly provoked, he will 20
do himself justice, however dear it cost him ; animam-
que in vulnere poniU I think these are not bare imagina-
tions of my own, though I find no trace of them in the
commentators ; but one poet may judge of another by
himself. The vengeance we defer is not forgotten. 25
I hinted before that the whole Roman people were
obliged by Virgil, in deriving them from Troy; an
ancestry which they affected. We and the French are
of the same humour : they would be thought to descend
from a son, I think, of Hector ; and we would have our 30
Britain both named and planted by a descendant of
iEneas. Spenser favours this opinion what he can.
His Prince Arthur, or whoever he intends by him, is
a Trojan. Thus the hero of Homer was a Grecian,

"1 a Roman, of Tasso an Italian. 35

174 Dedication of the JEneis

I have transgressed my bounds, and gone further
than the moral led me. But if your Lordship is not
tired, I am safe enough.

Thus far, I think, my author is defended. But, as

5 Augustus is still shadowed in the person of iEneas,
of which I shall say more when I come to the manners
which the poet gives his hero, I must prepare that
subject by showing how dexterously he managed both
the prince and people, so as to displease neither, and to

10 do good to both ; which is the part of a wise and an
honest man, and proves that it is possible for a courtier
not to be a knave. I shall continue still to speak my
thoughts like a free-born subject, as I am ; though such
things, perhaps, as no Dutch commentator could, and

15 I am sure no Frenchman durst. I have already told
your Lordship my opinion of Virgil, that he was no
arbitrary man. Obliged he was to his master for his
bounty ; and he repays him with good counsel, how to
behave himself in his new monarchy, so as to gain the

2o affections of his subjects, and deserve to be called the
Father of his Country. From this consideration it is
that he chose, for the ground-work of his poem, one
empire destroyed, and another raised from the ruins
of it. This was just the parallel. iEneas could not

25 pretend to be Priam's heir in a lineal succession ; for
Anchises, the hero's father, was only of the second
branch of the royal family; and Helenus, a son of
Priam, was yet surviving, and might lawfully claim
before him. It may be, Virgil mentions him on that

30 account. Neither has he forgotten Priamus, in the
fifth of his JEneiSf the son of Polites, youngest son to
Priam, who was slain by Pyrrhus, in the Second Book,
^neas had only married Creusa, Priam's daughter, and
by her could have no title while any of the male issue

35 were remaining. In this case, the poet gave him the

Dedication of the ^neis 175

next title, which is that of an elective king. The
remaining Trojans chose him to lead them forth, and
settle them in some foreign country. Ilioneus, in his
speech to Dido, calls him expressly by the name of
king. Our poet, who all this while had Augustus in 5
his eye, had no desire he should seem to succeed by
any right of inheritance derived from Julius Caesar
(such a title being but one degree removed from con-
quest), for what was introduced by force, by force may
be removed. *Twas better for the people that they 10
should give, than he should take ; since that gift was
indeed no more at bottom than a trust. Virgil gives
us an example of this in the person of Mezentius:
he governed arbitrarily; he was expelled, and came
to the deserved end of all tyrants. Our author shows 15
us another sort of kingship, in the person of Latin us :
he was descended from Saturn, and, as I remember,
in the third degree. He is described a just and
gracious prince, solicitous for the welfare of his people,
always consulting with his Senate to promote the ao
common good. We find him at the head of them,
when he enters into the council-hall, speaking first,
but still demanding their advice, and steering by it,
as far as the iniquity of the times would suffer him.
And this is the proper character of a King by 25
inheritance, who is born a Father of his Country.
iEneas, though he married the heiress of the crown,
yet claimed no title to it during the life of his father-
in-law. Pater arma Latinus habeto, &c. are Virgil's
words. As for himself, he was contented to take care 30
of his country gods, who were not those of Latium ;
wherein our divine author seems to relate to the after-
practice of the Romans, which was to adopt the gods
nf those they conquered, or received as members of
commonwealth. Yet, withal, he plainly touches 35

176 Dedication (^ the yEneis

at the office of the high-priesthood, with which Augustus
was invested, and which made his person more sacred
and inviolable than even the tribunitial power. It was
not therefore for nothing, that the most judicious of all
5 poets made that office vacant by the death of Panthus in
the Second Book of the jEneis, for his hero to succeed
in it, and consequently for Augustus to enjoy. I know
not that any of the commentators have taken notice of
that passage. If they have not, I am sure they ought ;
10 and if they have, I am not indebted to them for the
observation. The words of Virgil are very plain : —

Sacra, sHOsque ttbi commendai Troja pemtUs,

As for Augustus, or his uncle Julius, claiming by
descent from iEneas, that title is already out of doors.
15 -£neas succeeded not, but was elected. Troy was fore-
doomed to fall for ever : —

Postquant res AsUk Priatnique everiere gentetn
IntnterHam visum supen's, — J£neis iii. line i.

Augustus, *tis true, had once resolved to rebuild that
20 city, and there to make the seat of empire : but Horace
writes an ode on purpose to deter him from that thought ;
declaring the place to be accursed, and that the gods
would as often destroy it as it should be raised. Here-
upon the Emperor laid aside a project so ungrateful to
25 the Roman people. But by this, my Lord, we may
conclude that he had still his pedigree in his head, and
had an itch of being thought a divine king, if his poets
had not given him better counsel.

I will pass by many less material objections, for want

30 of room to answer them : what follows next is of great

importance, if the critics can make out their charge ; for

'tis levelled at the manners which our poet gives his

hero, and which are the same which were eminently

Dedication of the J£neis 177

seen in his Augustus. Those manners were, piety
to the gods and a dutiful affection to his father, love
to his relations, care of his people, courage and conduct
in the wars, gratitude to those who had obliged him,
and justice in general to mankind. h

Piety, as your Lordship sees, takes place of all, as the
chief part of his character ; and the word in Latin is
more full than it can possibly be expressed in any
modern language; for there it comprehends not only
devotion to the gods, but filial love, and tender affection 10
to relations of all sorts. As instances of this, the deities
of Troy, and his own Penates, are made the companions
of his flight : they appear to him in his voyage, and
advise him ; and at last he replaces them in Italy, their
native country. For his father, he takes him on his 15
back : he leads his little son : his wife follows him ;
but, losing his footsteps through fear or ignorance, he
goes back into the midst of his enemies to find her,
and leaves not his pursuit until her ghost appears, to
forbid his further search. I will say nothing of his ao
duty to his father while he lived, his sorrow for his
death, of the games instituted in honour of his memory,
or seeking him, by his command, even afler his death,
in the Elysian fields. I will not mention his tenderness
for his son, which ever3rwhere is visible — of his raising 25
a tomb for Polydorus, the obsequies for Misenus, his
pious remembrance of Deiphobus, the funerals of his
nurse, his grief for Pallas, and his revenge taken on
his murderer, whom otherwise, by his natural com-
passion, he had forgiven : and then the poem had been 30
left imperfect ; for we could have had no certain
prospect of his happiness, while the last obstacle to it
was removed. Of the other parts which compose his
character, as a king or as a general, I need say nothing ;
the whole JEneis is one continued instance of some one 35

II. N

178 Dedication of the ^neis

or other of them ; and where I find an3rthing of them
taxed, it shall suffice me, as briefly as I can, to vindicate
my divine master to your Lordship, and by you to the
reader. But herein Segrais, in his admirable preface

5 to his translation of the JEneis, as the author of the
Dauphin's Virgil justly calls it, has prevented me.
Him I follow, and what I borrow from him, am ready
to acknowledge to him. For, impartially speaking, the
French are as much better critics than the English, as

10 they are worse poets. Thus we generally allow, that
they better understand the management of a war than
our islanders; but we know we are superior to them
in the day of battle. They value themselves on their
generals, we on our soldiers. But this is not the

15 proper place to decide that question, if they make it
one. I shall say perhaps as much of other nations,
and their poets, excepting only Tasso ; and hope to
make my assertion good, which is but doing justice
to my country ; part of which honour will reflect on

20 your Lordship, whose thoughts are always just ; your
numbers harmonious, your words chosen, your ex-
pressions strong and manly, your verse flowing, and
your turns as happy as they are easy. If you would
set us more copies, your example would make all pre-

35 cepts needless. In the mean time, that little you have
written is owned, and that particularly by the poets
(who are a nation not over lavish of praise to their
contemporaries), as a principal ornament of our lan-
guage ; but the sweetest essences are always confined

30 in the smallest glasses.

When I speak of your Lordship, 'tis never a digres-
sion, and therefore I need beg no pardon for it ; but
take up Segrais where I left him, and shall use him less
often than I have occasion for him ; for his preface is

35 a perfect piece of criticism, full and clear, and digested

Dedication of the JEneis 179

into an exact method ; mine is loose, and, as I intended
it, epistolary.. Yet I dwell on many things which he
durst not touch ; for 'tis dangerous to offend an arbi-
trary master; and every patron who has the power of
Augustus has not his clemency. In short, my Lord, 5
I would not translate him, because I would bring you
somewhat of my own. His notes and observations on
every book are of the same excellency ; and, for the
same reason, I omit the greater part.

He takes notice that Virgil is arraigned for placing 10
piety before valour, and making that piety the chief
character of his hero. I have said already from Bossu,
that a poet is not obliged to make his hero a virtuous
man; therefore, neither Homer nor Tasso are to be
blamed for giving what predominant quality they ^5
pleased to their first character. But Virgil, who de-
signed to form a perfect prince, and would insinuate
that Augustus, whom he calls iEneas in his poem, was
truly such, found himself obliged to make him without
blemish, thoroughly virtuous ; and a thorough virtue ao
both begins and ends in piety. Tasso, without ques-
tion, observed this before me, and therefore split his
hero in two : he gave Godfrey piety, and Rinaldo forti-
tude, for their chief qualities or manners. Homer, who
had chosen another moral, makes both Agamemnon 25
and Achilles vicious ; for his design was to instruct in
virtue, by showing the deformity of vice. I avoid re-
petition of what I have said above. What follows is
translated literally from Segrais.

'Virgil had considered, that the greatest virtues of 30
Augustus consisted in the perfect art of governing his
people ; which caused him to reign for more than forty
years in great felicity. He considered that his emperor
was valiant, civil, popular, eloquent, politic, and reli-
gious ; he has given all these qualities to iEneas. But, 25

N 2

i8o Dedication of the ^neis

knowing that piety alone comprehends the whole duty
of man towards the gods, towards his country, and
towards his relations, he judged that this ought to be
his first character, whom he would set for a pattern of
5 perfection. In reality, they who believe that the praises
which arise from valour are superior to those which
proceed from any other virtues, have not considered
(as they ought), that valour, destitute of other virtues,
cannot render a man worthy of any true esteem. That

lo quality, which signifies no more than an intrepid
courage, may be separated from many others which
are good, and accompanied with many which are ill.
A man may be very valiant, and yet impious and vicious.
But the same cannot be said of piety, which excludes

15 all ill qualities, and comprehends even valour itself,
with all other qualities which are good. Can we, for
example, give the praise of valour to a man who should
see his gods profaned, and should want the courage to
defend them? to a man who should abandon his father,

20 or desert his king, in his last necessity ? '

Thus far Segrais, in giving the preference to piety
before valour. I will now follow him, where he con-
siders this valour, or intrepid courage, singly in itself;
and this also Virgil gives to his iEneas, and that in

25 a heroical degree.

Having first concluded, that our poet did for the best
in taking the first character of his hero from that essen-
tial virtue on which the rest depend, he proceeds to
tell us that in the ten years' war of Troy he was con-

30 sidered as the second champion of his country, allowing
Hector the first place ; and this, even by the confession
of Homer, who took all occasions of setting up his own
countrymen the Grecians, and of undervaluing the
Trojan chiefs. But Virgil (whom Segrais forgot to
35 cite) makes Diomede give him a higher character for

Dedication of the ^neis i8i

strength and courage. His testimony is this, in the
Eleventh Book : —

. . . Stetintus tela aspera contra^
ContulifHusque tnanus: experto credite, quantus
In clypeum assurgat^ quo turbine torqueat hastant. 5

Si duo pneterea tales Idcea tulisset
Terra viros^ ultra Inachias venisset ad urbes
Dardanus, et versis lugeret Grcecia fatis.
Quicquid apud durce cessatunt est mcenia Trojce^
Hectofis ^neceque ntanu victoria Gratunt lo

Hcesitj et in decuntunt vestigia rettulit annum,
Antbo animisy antbo insignes prcestantibus artnis :
Hie pietate prior . . .

I give not here my translation of these verses, though
I think I have not ill succeeded in them, because your 15
Lordship is so great a master of the original, that
I have no reason to desire you should see Virgil and
me so near together ; but you may please, my Lord, to
take notice, that the Latin author refines upon the
Greek, and insinuates that Homer had done his hero 20
wrong in giving the advantage of the duel to his own
countryman; though Diomedes was manifestly the
second champion of the Grecians; and Ulysses pre-
ferred him before Ajax, when he chose him for the
companion of his nightly expedition ; for he had a 25
headpiece of his own, and wanted only the fortitude
of another, to bring him off with safety, and that he
might compass his design with honour.

The French translator thus proceeds: 'They, who
accuse iEneas for want of courage, either understand 30
not Virgil, or have read him slightly; otherwise they
would not raise an objection so easily to be answered.'
Hereupon he gives so many instances of the hero's
valour, that to repeat them after him would tire your
Lordship, and put me to the unnecessary trouble of 35
transcribing the greatest part of the three last iEneids.

1 82 Dedication of the jEneis

In short, more could not be expected from an Amadis,
a Sir Lancelot, or the whole Round Table, tlian he per-
forms. Proxima quceque metit gladio^ is the perfect
account of a knight-errant. ' If it be replied/ continues

.s Segrais, ' that it was not difficult for him to undertake
and achieve such hardy enterprises, because he wore
enchanted arms; that accusation, in the first place,
must fall on Homer, ere it can reach Virgil.' Achilles
was as well provided with them as iEneas, though he

lo was invulnerable without them. And Ariosto, the two
Tasso's, Bernardo and Torquato, even our own Spen-
ser, in a word, all modern poets, have copied Homer
as well as Virgil : he is neither the first nor last, but in
the midst of them ; and therefore is safe, if they are so.

15 'Who knows,' says Segrais, 'but that his fated armour
was only an allegorical defence, and signified no more
than that he was under the peculiar protection of the
gods ? — bom, as the astrologers will tell us out of
Virgil (who was well versed in the Chaldean mysteries),

20 under the favourable influence of Jupiter, Venus, and
the Sun.' But I insist not on this, because I know you
believe not there is such an art ; though not only
Horace and Persius, but Augustus himself, thought
otherwise. But, in defence of Virgil, I dare positively

35 say, that he has been more cautious in this particular
than either his predecessor, or his descendants : for
iEneas was actually wounded, in the Twelfth of the
^neis ; though he had the same God-smith to forge his
arms as had Achilles. It seems he was no warluck, as

30 the Scots commonly call such men, who, they say, are
iron-free, or lead-free. Yet, after this experiment, that
his arms were not impenetrable, when he was cured
indeed by his mother's help, because he was that day
to conclude the war by the death of Turnus, the poet

35 durst not carry the miracle too far, and restore him

Dedication of the JEneis 183

wholly to his former vigour : he was still too weak to
overtake his enemy ; yet we see with what courage he
attacks Turnus, when he faces and renews the combat.
I need say no more ; for Virgil defends himself without
needing my assistance, and proves his hero truly to 5
deserve that name. He was not then a second-rate
champion, as they would have him, who think fortitude
the first virtue in a hero. But, being beaten from this
hold, they will not yet allow him to be valiant, because
he wept more often, as they think, than well becomes to
a man of courage.

In the first place, if tears are arguments of cowardice,
what shall I say of Homer's hero? Shall Achilles
pass for timorous because h€ wept, and wept on less
occasions than iEneas ? Herein Virgil must be granted 15
to have excelled his master. For once both heroes are
described lamenting their lost loves : Briseis was taken
away by force from the Grecians ; Creusa was lost for
ever to her husband. But Achilles went roaring along
the salt sea-shore, and, like a booby, was complaining 20
to his mother, when he should have revenged his injury
by arms. iEneas took a nobler course; for, having
secured his father and his son, he repeated all his
former dangers, to have found his wife, if she had been
above ground. And here your Lordship may observe 25
the address of Virgil ; it was not for nothing that this
passage was relJlted with all these tender circumstances.
iEneas told it ; Dido heard it. That he had been so
affectionate a husband was no ill argument to the coming
dowager, that he might prove as kind to her. Virgil 30
has a thousand secret beauties, though I have not
leisure to remark them.

Segrais, on this subject of a hero shedding tears,
observes, that historians commend Alexander for weep-
ing when he read the mighty actions of Achilles ; and 35

184 Dedication of the JSneis

Julius Caesar is likewise praised, when, out of the same
noble envy, he wept at the victories of Alexander. But,
if we observe more closely, we shall find that the tears
of iEneas were always on a laudable occasion. Thus

5 he weeps out of compassion and tenderness of nature,
when, in the temple of Carthage, he beholds the pictures
of his friends, who sacrificed their lives in defence of
their country. He deplores the lamentable end of his
pilot Palinurus, the untimely death of young Pallas

10 his confederate, and the rest, which I omit. Yet, even
for these tears, his wretched critics dare condemn
him. They make iEneas little better than a kind of
St. Swithin hero, always raining. One of these censors
is bold enough to argue him of cowardice, when, in the

15 beginning of the First Book, he not only weeps, but
trembles, at an approaching storm —

Extetnplo ^neas solvuntur frigore membra :
Ingemit I et dtiplices tendens ad sidera paimas, &c.

But to this I have answered formerly, that his fear
20 was not for himself, but for his people. And what can
give a sovereign a better commendation, or recommend
a hero more to the affection of the reader ? They were
threatened with a tempest, and he wept ; he was pro-
mised Italy, and therefore he prayed for the accom-
25 plishment of that promise. All this in the beginning
of a storm ; therefore he showed the more early piety,
and the quicker sense of compassion. Thus much
I have urged elsewhere in the defence of Virgil ; and,
since, I have been informed by Mr. Moyle, a young
30 gentleman whom I can never sufficiently commend, that
the Ancients accounted drowning an accursed death ;
so that, if we grant him to have been afraid, he had just
occasion for that fear, both in relation to himself and
to his subjects. I think our adversaries can carry this

Dedication of the ^neis 185

argument no further, unless they tell us, that he ought
to have had more confidence in the promise of the gods ;
but how was he assured that he had understood their
oracles aright? Helenus might be mistaken; Phoebus
might speak doubtfully ; even his mother might flatter 5
him, that he might prosecute his voyage, which if it
succeeded happily, he should be the founder of an
empire ; for, that she herself was doubtful of his for-
tune, is apparent by the address she made to Jupiter
on his behalf; to which the god makes answer in these 10
words —

Pane ntetu, Cytherea : ntanent itntnota tuorunt
Fata tibiy 8cc, —

notwithstanding which, the goddess, though comforted,
was not assured ; for, even after this, through the course 15
of the whole ^nets, she still apprehends the interest
which Juno might make with Jupiter against her son.
For it was a moot point in heaven, whether he could
alter Fate, or not. And indeed some passages in Virgil
would make uS suspect that he was of opinion Jupiter 20
might defer Fate, though he could not alter it; for, in
the latter end of the Tenth Book, he introduces Juno
begging for the life of Turnus, and flattering her
husband with the power of changing destiny: Tua,
qui pates, orsa reflectas ! To which he graciously 25
answers —

Si mora prasentis Uti) tentpusqtte caduco

Oratur juveni^ meque hoc ita ponere sentis^

Tolle fuga Tumuntf atque instantibus eripe fatis.

Hactenus indulsisse vacat. Sin altior istis 30

Sub precibus venia ulla latet, totumque tnoveri

Mutarive putas bellunt, spes pascis inanes.

But, that he could not alter those decrees, the king
of gods himself confesses, in the book above cited,
when he comforts Hercules for the death of Pallas, 35

i86 Dedication of the ALneis

who had invoked his aid, before he threw his lance
at Tumus —

. . . Trojce sub mcenibus altisj
Tot nati ceddere dcum / quirt occidit una
5 SarpedoHj ntea progenies. Etiam sua Tumum

Fata fnanentf ntetasque dati pervenit ad cevi.

Where he plainly acknowledges that he could not save
his own son, or prevent the death which he foresaw.
Of his power to defer the blow, I once occasionally

10 discoursed with that excellent person Sir Robert
Howard, who is better conversant, than any man that
I know, in the doctrine of the Stoics ; and he set me
right, from the concurrent testimony of philosophers
and poets, that Jupiter could not retard the effects of

15 Fate, even for a moment. For, when I cited Virgil,
as favouring the contrary opinion in that verse,

Tolle fuga Tumum, atque instantibus eripe fatis . . .

he replied, and, I think, with exact judgment, that,
when Jupiter gave Juno leave to withdraw Turnus

20 from the present danger, it was because he certainly

foreknew that his fatal hour was not come ; that it was

in Destiny for Juno at that time to save him ; and that

he himself obeyed Destiny, in giving her that leave.

I need say no more in justification of our hero's

25 courage, and am much deceived if he ever be attacked
on this side of his character again. But he is arraigned
with more show of reason by the ladies, who will make
a numerous party against him, for being false to love,
in forsaking Dido. And I cannot much blame them ;

30 for, to say the truth, it is an ill precedent for their
gallants to follow. Yet, if I can bring him off with
flying colours, they may learn experience at her cost,
and, for her sake, avoid a cave, as the worst shelter
they can choose from a shower of rain, especially when

35 they have a lover in their company.

Dedication of the JEneis 187

In the first place, Segrais observes with much acute-
ness, that they who blame iEneas for his insensibility
of love when he left Carthage, contradict their former
accusation of him, for being always crying, compas-
sionate, and effeminately sensible of those misfortunes 5
which befell others. They give him two contrary
characters; but Virgil makes him of a piece, always
grateful, always tender-hearted. But they are impudent
enough to discharge themselves of this blunder, by
laying the contradiction at Virgil's door. He, say they, 10
has shown his hero with these inconsistent characters,
acknowledging and ungrateful, compassionate and hard-
hearted, but, at the bottom, fickle and self-interested.
For Dido had not only received his weather-beaten
troops before she saw him, and given them her pro- 15
tection, but had also offered them an equal share in
her dominion —

Vultis et his fnecutn pariter considere regnis?
Urbetn quant statuo, vestra est.

This was an obligement never to be forgotten; and 20
the more to be considered, because antecedent to her
love. That passion, 'tis true, produced the usual
effects, of generosity, gallantry, and care to please;
and thither we refer them. But when she had made
all these advances it was still in his power to have 25
refused them ; after the intrigue of the cave (call it
marriage, or enjoyment only), he was no longer free
to take or leave ; he had accepted the favour, and was
obliged to be constant, if he would be grateful.

My Lord, I have set this argument in the best light 30
I can, that the ladies may not think I write booty ; and
perhaps it may happen to me, as it did to Dr. Cud-
worth, who has raised such strong objections against
the being of a God, and Providence, that many think
he has not answered them. You may please at least 35

i88 Dedication of the ^Eneis

to hear the adverse party. Segrais pleads for Virgil,
that no less than an absolute command from Jupiter
could excuse this insensibility of the hero, and this
abrupt departure, which looks so like extreme ingrati-
5 tude. But, at the same time, he does wisely to re-
member you, that Virgil had made piety the first
character of iEneas ; and this being allowed, as I am
afraid it must, he was obliged, antecedent to all other
considerations, to search an asylum for his Gods in

10 Italy ; for those very Gods, I say, who had promised
to his race the universal empire. Could a pious man
dispense with the commands of Jupiter, to satisfy his
passion? or take it in the strongest sense, to comply
with the obligations of his gratitude? Religion, 'tis

15 true, must have moral honesty for its ground-work, or
we shall be apt to suspect its truth ; but an immediate
revelation dispenses with all duties of morality. All
casuists agree that theft is a breach of the moral law ;
yet, if I might presume to mingle things sacred with

20 profane, the Israelites only spoiled the Egyptians, not
robbed them; because the propriety was transferred,
by a revelation to their law-giver. I confess Dido was
a very infidel in this point ; for she would not believe,
as Virgil makes her say, that ever Jupiter would send

25 Mercury on such an immoral errand. But this needs
no answer, at least no more than Virgil gives it : —

Fata obstant ; placidasque viri Deus obstruit aures.

This notwithstanding, as Segrais confesses, he might
have shown a little more sensibility when he left her ;
30 for that had been according to his character.

But let Virgil answer for himself. He still loved
her, and struggled with his inclinations to obey the
Gods —

. . . Curatn sub corde premebat^
35 Multa gentenSf tiiagnoque animunt labe/actus antore.

Dedication of the ^neis 189

Upon the whole matter, and humanly speaking,
I doubt there was a fault somewhere; and Jupiter is
better able to bear the blame, than either Virgil or
iEneas. The poet, it seems, had found it out, and
therefore brings the deserting hero and the forsaken 5
lady to meet together in the lower regions, where he
excuses himself when 'tis too late ; and accordingly she
will take no satisfaction, nor so much as hear him.
Now Segrais is forced to abandon his defence, and
excuses his author by saying that the JEneis is an 10
imperfect work, and that death prevented the divine
poet from reviewing it; and for that reason he had
condemned it to the fire; though, at the same time,
his two translators must acknowledge that the Sixth
Book is the most correct of the whole JEneis, Oh, how 15
convenient is a machine sometimes in a heroic poem I
This of Mercury is plainly one ; and Virgil was con-
strained to use it here, or the honesty of his hero would
be ill-defended. And the fair sex, however, if they had
the deserter in their power, would certainly have shown 20
him no more mercy than the Bacchanals did Orpheus :
for if too much constancy may be a fault sometimes,
then want of constancy, and ingratitude after the last
favour, is a crime that never will be forgiven. But,
of machines, more in their proper place ; where I shall 25
show, with how much judgment they have been used
by Virgil; and, in the mean time, pass to another
article of his defence, on the present subject ; where,
if I cannot clear the hero, I hope at least to bring off
the poet ; for here I must divide their causes. Let 30
iEneas trust to his machine, which will only help to
break his fall ; but the address is incomparable. Plato,
who borrowed so much from Homer, and yet concluded
for the banishment of all poets, would at least have
rewarded Virgil before he sent him into exile. But 35

iQO Dedication of the ^neis

I go further, and say, that he ought to be acquitted,
and deserved, beside, the bounty of Augustus, and the
gratitude of the Roman people. If, after this, the ladies
will stand out, let them remember that the jury is not
5 all agreed ; for Octavia was of his party, and was of the
first quality in Rome; she was present at the reading
of the Sixth iEneid : and we know not that she con-
demned iEneas; but we are sure she presented the
poet for his admirable elegy on her son Marcellus.

10 But let us consider the secret reasons which Virgil
had for thus framing this noble episode, wherein the
whole passion of love is more exactly described than
in any other poet. Love was the theme of his Fourth
Book ; and, though it is the shortest of the whole

15 ^neiSf yet there he has given its beginning, its pro-
gress, its traverses, and its conclusion; and had ex-
hausted so entirely this subject, that he could resume
it but very slightly in the eight ensuing books.

She was warmed with the graceful appearance of

20 the hero ; she smothered those sparkles out of decency ;
but conversation blew them up into a flame. Then she
was forced to make a confident of her whom she best
might trust, her own sister, who approves the passion,
and thereby augments it ; then succeeds her public

25 owning it ; and, after that, the consummation. Of
Venus and Juno, Jupiter and Mercury, I say nothing ;
for they were all machining work; but, possession
having cooled his love, as it increased hers, she soon
perceived the change, or at least grew suspicious of

30 a change ; this suspicion soon turned to jealousy, and
jealousy to rage ; then she disdains and threatens,
and again is humble, and entreats, and, nothing avail-
ing, despairs, curses, and at last becomes her own
executioner. See here the whole process of that

25 passion, to which nothing can be added. 1 dare go

Dedication of the ^Eneis 191

no further, lest I should lose the connexion of my
discourse.

To love our native country, and to study its benefit
and its glory, to be interessed in its concerns, is natural
to all men, and is indeed our common duty. A poet 5
makes a further step ; for endeavouring to do honour
to it, 'tis allowable in him even to be partial in its
cause; for he is not tied to truth, or fettered by the
laws of history. Homer and Tasso are justly praised
for choosing their heroes out of Greece and Italy; 10
Virgil indeed made his a Trojan ; but it was to derive
the Romans and his own Augustus from him. But all
the three poets are manifestly partial to their heroes, in
favour of their country ; for Dares Phrygius reports of
Hector that he was slain cowardly; iEneas, according 15
to the best account, slew not Mezentius, but was slain
by him ; and the chronicles of Italy tell us little of that
Rinaldo d'Este who conquers Jerusalem in Tasso. He
might be a champion of the Church ; but we know
not that he was so much as present at the siege. To ao
apply this to Virgil, he thought himself engaged in
honour to espouse the cause and quarrel of his country
against Carthage. He knew he could not please the
Romans better, or oblige them more to patronize his
poem, than by disgracing the foundress of that city. 25
He shows her ungrateful to the memory of her first
husband, doting on a stranger; enjoyed, and afterwards
forsaken, by him. This was the original, says he, of
the immortal hatred betwixt the two rival nations.
'Tis true, he colours the falsehood of ^Eneas by an 3°
express command from Jupiter, to forsake the queen
who had obliged him ; but he knew the Romans were
to be his readers ; and them he bribed, perhaps at the
expense of his hero's honesty ; but he gained his cause,
how^ever, as pleading before corrupt judges. They 35

192 Dedication of the ^neis

were content to see their founder false to love ; for
still he had the advantage of the amour ; it was their
enemy whom he forsook ; and she might have forsaken
him, if he had not got the start of her ; she had already
5 forgotten her vows to her Sichaeus ; and variutn et
mutabile semper femina is the sharpest satire, in the
fewest words, that ever was made on womankind ; for
both the adjectives are neuter, and animal must be
understood, to make them grammar. Virgil does well

10 to put those words into the mouth of Mercury. If
a God had not spoken them^ neither durst he have
written them, nor I translated them. Yet the deity
was forced to come twice on the same errand ; and the
second time, as much a hero as iEneas was, he frighted

15 him. It seems he feared not Jupiter so much as Dido ;
for your Lordship may observe that, as much intent as
he was upon his voyage, 3'et he still delayed it, till the
messenger was obliged to tell him plainly, that, if he
weighed not anchor in the night, the queen would be

20 with him in the morning. Notumque furens quid femina
possit ; she was injured ; she was revengeful ; she was
powerful. The poet had likewise before hinted that her
people were naturally perfidious; for he gives their
character in their queen, and makes a proverb of Punica

2 e^ fides, many ages before it was invented.

Thus, I hope, my Lord, that I have made good my
promise, and justified the poet, whatever becomes of
the false knight. And sure a poet is as much privileged
to lie as an ambassador, for the honour and interest

30 of his country ; at least as Sir Henry Wotton has
defined.

This naturally leads me to the defence of the famous
anachronism, in making iEneas and Dido contem-
poraries; for it is certain that the hero lived almost

35 two hundred years before the building of Carthage.

Dedication of the ^neis 193

One who imitates Boccalini says that Virgil was accused
before Apollo for this error. The God soon found that
he was not able to defend his favourite by reason ; for the
case was clear : he therefore gave this middle sentence,
that anything might be allowed to his son Virgil, on the 5
account of his other merits ; that, being a monarch, he
had a dispensing power, and pardoned him. But, that
this special act of grace might never be drawn into
example, or pleaded by his puny successors in justifica-
tion of their ignorance, he decreed for the future, no 10
poet should presume to make a lady die for love two
hundred years before her birth. To moralize this
story, Virgil is the Apollo who has this dispensing
power. His great judgment made the laws of poetry ;
but he never made himself a slave to them ; chronology, 15
at best, is but a cobweb-law, and he broke through it
with his weight. They who will imitate him wisely,
must choose, as he did, an obscure and a remote era,
where they may invent at pleasure, and not be easily
contradicted. Neither he, nor the Romans, had ever 20
read the Bible, by which only his false computation of
times can be made out against him. This Segrais says
in his defence, and proves it from his learned friend
Bochartus, whose letter on this subject he has printed
at the end of the Fourth iEneid, to which I refer your 35
Lordship and the reader. Yet the credit of Virgil was
so great, that he made this fable of his own invention
pass for an authentic history, or at least as credible as
anything in Homer. Ovid takes it up after him, even
in the same age, and makes an ancient heroine of 30
Virgil's new-created Dido ; dictates a letter for her,
just before her death, to the ungrateful fugitive ; and,
very unluckily for himself, is for measuring a sword
with a man so much superior in force to him, on the
same subject. I think I maybe judge of this, because 35

II. o

194 Dedication of the ^neis

I have translated both. The famous author of the Art
of Love has nothing of his own ; he borrows all from
a greater master in his own profession ; and, which is
worse, improves nothing which he finds. Nature fails

5 him ; and, being forced to his old shift, he has recourse
to witticism. This passes indeed with his soft admirers,
and gives him the preference to Virgil in their esteem.
But let them like for themselves, and not prescribe to
others : for our author needs not their admiration.

lo The motives that induced Virgil to coin this fable,
I have shewed already ; and have also begun to show
that he might make this anachronism, by superseding
the mechanic rules of poetry, for the same reason
that a monarch may dispense with or suspend his own

15 laws, when he finds it necessary so to do, especially if
those laws are not altogether fundamental. Nothing is
to be called a fault in poetry, says Aristotle, but what
is against the art ; therefore a man may be an admirable
poet without being an exact chronologer. Shall we

20 dare, continues Segrais, to condemn Virgil for having
made a fiction against the order of time, when we com-
mend Ovid and other poets, who have made many of
their fictions against the order of Nature ? For what else
are the splendid miracles of the Metamorphoses ? Yet

35 these are beautiful as they are related, and have also
deep learning and instructive mythologies couched
under them : but to give, as Virgil does in this episode,
the original cause of the long wars betwixt Rome and
Carthage, to draw truth out of fiction after so probable

30 a manner, with so much beauty, and so much for the
honour of his country, was proper only to the divine wit
of Maro ; and Tasso, in one of his Discourses, admires
him for this particularly. 'Tis not lawful, indeed, to
contradict a point of history which is known to all the

35 world, as, for example, to make Hannibal and Scipio

Dedication of the ^neis 195

»
contemporaries with Alexander; but, in the dark re-
cesses of antiquity, a great poet may and ought to feign
such things as he finds not there, if they can be brought
to embellish that subject which he treats. On the other
side, the pains and diligence of ill poets is but thrown 5
away, when they want the genius to invent and feign
agreeably. But, if the fictions be delightful (which they
always are, if they be natural), if they be of a piece ; if
the beginning, the middle, and the end be in their due
places, and artfully united to each other, such works 10
can never fail of their deserved success. And such is
Virgil's episode of Dido and iEneas ; where the sourest
critic must acknowledge that if he had deprived his
JEneis of so great an ornament, because he found no
traces of it in antiquity, he had avoided their unjust 15
censure, but had wanted one of the greatest beauties of
his poem. I shall say more of this in the next article
of their charge against him, which is want of invention.
In the meantime, I may affirm, in honour of this episode,
that it is not only now esteemed the most pleasing 20
entertainment of the JEneis, but was so accounted in
his own age, and before it was mellowed into that repu-
tation which time has given it ; for which I need
produce no other testimony than that of Ovid, his
contemporary : 25

Nee pars ulla ntagis legitur de corpore toto,
Qtuint non legitinto fotdere jututtis amor.

Where, by the way, you may observe, my Lord, that
Ovid, in those words, Non legilimo fosdere jundus amor,
will by no means allow it to be a lawful marriage 30
betwixt Dido and iEneas. He was in banishment
when he wrote those verses, which I cite from his letter
to Augustus: 'You, Sir,' says he, 'have sent me into
exile for writing my Art of Love^ and my wanton
Elegies ; yet your own poet was happy in your good 35

o 2

196 Dedication of the ^neis

• ^^

graces, though he brought Dido and iEneas into a cave,

and left them there not over honestly together. May
I be so bold to ask your Majesty, is it a greater fault
to teach the art of unlawful love, than to show it in the
5 action ? ' But was Ovid, the court-poet, so bad a cour-
tier as to find no other plea to excuse himself than by
a plain accusation of his master? Virgil confessed it
was a lawful marriage betwixt the lovers, that Juno, the
Goddess of Matrimony, had ratified it by her presence ;

10 for it was her business to bring matters to that issue.
That the ceremonies were short, we may believe ; for
Dido was not only amorous, but a widow. Mercury
himself, though employed on a quite contrary errand, yet
owns it a marriage by an innuendo: ptUchramque uxo-

15 rius urbem Exstruis. He calls iEneas not only a hus-
band, but upbraids him for being a fond husband, as
the word uxorius implies. Now mark a little, if your
Lordship pleases, why Virgil is so much concerned to
make this marriage (for he seems to be the father of the

ao bride himself, and to give her to the bridegroom) : it
was to make way for the divorce which he intended
afterwards ; for he was a finer flatterer than Ovid ; and
I more than conjecture that he had in his eye the
divorce which not long before had passed betwixt the

35 Emperor and Scribonia. He drew this dimple in the
cheek of iEneas, to prove Augustus of the same family
by so remarkable a feature in the same place. Thus,
as we say in our homespun English proverb, he killed
two birds with one stone ; pleased the Emperor, by

30 giving him the resemblance of his ancestor, and gave
him such a resemblance as was not scandalous in that
age. For, to leave one wife, and take another, was but
a matter of gallantry at that time of day among the
Romans. Neque hcec infcedera vent is the very excuse

35 which iEneas makes, when he leaves his lady : ' I made

Dedication of the ^neis 197

no such bargain with you at our marriage, to live
always drudging on at Carthage : my business was
Italy; and I never made a secret of it. If I took my
pleasure, had not you your share of it ? I leave you
free, at my departure, to comfort yourself with the next 5
stranger who happens to be shipwrecked on your coast.
Be as kind a hostess as you have been to me ; and you
can never fail of another husband. In the meantime,
I call the Gods to witness, that I leave your shore
unwillingly ; for, though Juno made the marriage, yet to
Jupiter commands me to forsake you.' This is the
effect of what he saith, when it is dishonoured out of
Latin verse into English prose. If the poet argued not
aright, we must pardon him for a poor blind heathen,
who knew no better morals. 15

I have detained your Lordship longer than I intended
on this objection ; which would indeed weigh something
in a spiritual court, but 1 am not to defend our poet
there. The next, I think, is but a cavil, though the
cry is great against him, and hath continued from the 20
time of Macrobius to this present age. I hinted it
before. They lay no less than want of invention to
his charge — a capital crime, I must acknowledge; for
a poet is a maker, as the word signifies ; and he who
cannot make, that is, invent, has his name for nothing. 25
That which makes this accusation look so strange at the
first sight, is, that he has borrowed so many things from
Homer, Apollonius Rhodius, and others who preceded
him. But, in the first place, if invention is to be taken
in so strict a sense that the matter of a poem must be 30
wholly new, and that in all its parts, then Scaliger has
made out, says Segrais, that the history of Troy was
no more the invention of Homer than of Virgil. There
was not an old woman, or almost a child, but had it in
their mouths, before the Greek poet or his friends 35

198 Dedication of the ^neis

digested it into this admirable order in which we read
it. At this rate, as Solomon hath told us, there is
nothing new beneath the sun. Who then can pass
for an inventor, if Homer, as well as Virgil, must be

5 deprived of that glory ? Is Versailles the less a new
building, because the architect of that palace hath imi-
tated others which were built before it ? Walls, doors,
and windows, apartments, offices, rooms of convenience
and magnificence, are in all great houses. So descrip)-

10 tions, figures, fables, and the rest, must be in all heroic
poems; they are the common materials of poetry,
furnished from the magazine of nature; every poet
hath as much right to them, as every man hath to air
or water.

je Quid prohibetis aquas? Usus communis aquarutn est.

But the argument of the work, that is to say, its prin-
cipal action, the oeconomy and disposition of it ; these
are the things which distinguish copies from originals.
The poet who borrows nothing from others is yet to be

20 born ; he and the Jews' Messias will come together.
There are parts of the ^neis which resemble some
parts both of the Ilias and of the Odysseis; as, for
example, iEneas descended into Hell, and Ulysses
had been there before him; iEneas loved Dido, and

25 Ulysses loved Cal3rpso ; in few words, Virgil hath
imitated Homer's Odysseis in his first six books, and,
in his six last, the Ilias, But from hence can we infer
that the two poets write the same history ? Is there no
invention in some other parts of Virgil's ^neis ? The

30 disposition of so many various matters, is not that his
own ? From what book of Homer had Virgil his episode
of Nisus and Euryalus, of Mezentius and Lausus?
From whence did he borrow his design of bringing
iEneas into Italy? of establishing the Roman Empire

35 on the foundations of a Trojan colony? to say nothing

Dedication of the j^Eneis 199

of the honour he did his patron, not only in his descent
from Venus, but in making him so like her in his best
features, that the Goddess might have mistaken Augustus
for her son. He had indeed the story from common
fame, as Homer had his from the Egyptian priestess. 5
^neadum genetrix was no more unknown to Lucretius
than to him. But Lucretius taught him not to form his
hero, to give him piety or valour for his manners, and
both in so eminent a degree, that, having done what was
possible for man to save his king and country, his mother 10
was forced to appear to him, and restrain his fury, which
hurried him to death in their revenge. But the poet
made his piety more successful ; he brought off his
father and his son ; and his Gods witnessed to his de-
votion, by putting themselves under his protection, to 15
be replaced by him in their promised Italy. Neither
the invention nor the conduct of this great action were
owing to Homer, or any other poet. Tis one thing to
copy, and another thing to imitate from Nature. The
copier is that servile imitator, to whom Horace gives 20
no better a name than that of animal; he will not so
much as allow him to be a man. Raphael imitated
Nature ; they who copy one of Raphael's pieces imitate
but him ; for his work is their original. They translate
him, as I do Virgil ; and fall as short of him, as I of 35
Virgil. There is a kind of invention in the imitation
of Raphael ; for, though the thing was in Nature, yet
the idea of it was his own. Ulysses travelled ; so did
iEneas : but neither of them were the first travellers ;
for Cain went into the land of Nod before they were 30
born : and neither of the poets ever heard of such
a man. If Ulysses had been killed at Troy, yet iEneas
must have gone to sea, or he could never have arrived
in Italy. But the designs of the two poets were as
different as the courses of their heroes ; one went home, 35

200 Dedication of the ^neis

and the other sought a home. To return to my first
similitude: suppose Apelles and Raphael had each of
them painted a burning Troy, might not the modem
painter have succeeded as well as the ancient, though

5 neither of them had seen the town on fire ? For the
draughts of both were taken from the ideas which they
had of Nature. Cities had been burnt before either of
them were in being. But, to close the simile as I begun
it ; they would not have designed after the same manner.

10 Apelles would have distinguished Pyrrhus from the rest
of all the Grecians, and shewed him forcing his entrance
into Priam's palace ; there he had set him in the fairest
light, and given him the chief place of all his figures ;
because he was a Grecian, and he would do honour to

15 his country. Raphael, who was an Italian, and descended
from the Trojans, would have made iEneas the hero of
his piece ; and perhaps not with his father on his back,
his son in one hand, his bundle of gods in the other,
and his wife following (for an act of piety is not half so

20 graceful in a picture as an act of courage) : he would
rather have drawn him killing Androgeos, or some
other, hand to hand ; and the blaze of the fires should
have darted full upon his face, to make him conspicuous
amongst his Trojans. This, I think, is a just comparison

25 betwixt the two poets, in the conduct of their several
designs. Virgil cannot be said to copy Homer; the
Grecian had only the advantage of writing first. If it
be urged, that I have granted a resemblance in some
parts, yet therein Virgil has excelled him. For what

30 are the tears of Calypso for being left, to the fury and
death of Dido ? Where is there the whole process of
her passion and all its violent effects to be found, in the
languishing episode of the Odysseis ? If this be to
copy, let the critics shew us the same disposition,

35 features, or colouring, in their original. The like may

Dedication of the ^neis 201

be said of the Descent to Hell, which was not of
Homer's invention neither; he had it from the story
of Orpheus and Eurydice. But to what end did
Ulysses make that journey? iEneas undertook it by
the express commandment of his father's ghost ; there 5
he was to show him all the succeeding heroes of his
race, and, next to Romulus (mark, if you please, the
address of Virgil), his own patron, Augustus Caesar.
Anchises was likewise to instruct him how to manage
the Italian war, and how to conclude it with his honour ; lo
that is, in other words, to lay the foundations of that
Empire which Augustus was to govern. This is the
noble invention of our author ; but it has been copied
by so many sign-post daubers, that now 'tis grown
fulsome, rather by their want of skill, than by the 15
commonness.

In the last place, I may safely grant that, by reading
Homer, Virgil was taught to imitate his invention ;
that is, to imitate like him; which is no more than if
a painter studied Raphael, that he might learn to ao
design after his manner. And thus I might imitate
Virgil, if I were capable of writing an heroic poem,
and yet the invention be my own : but I should en-
deavour to avoid a servile copying. I would not give
the same story under other names, with the same char- 25
acters, in the same order, and with the same sequel ;
for every common reader to find me out at the first
sight for a plagiary, and cry : * This I read before in
Virgil, in a better language, and in better ,verse : this
is like Merry Andrew on the low rope, copying lubberly 3©
the same tricks which his master is so dexterously per-
forming on the high.'

I will trouble your Lordship but with one objection
more, which I know not whether I found in Le F^vre,
or Valois ; but I am sure I have read it in another 35

202 Dedication of the ^neis

French critic, whom I will not name, because I think
it is not much for his reputation. Virgil, in the heat
of action — suppose, for example, in describing the fury
of his hero in a battle, when he is endeavouring to raise

5 our concernments to the highest pitch — turns short on
the sudden into some similitude, which diverts, say
they, your attention from the main subject, and mis-
spends it on some trivial image. He pours cold water
into the caldron, when his business is to make it boil.

10 This accusation is general against all who would be
thought heroic poets ; but I think it touches Virgil less
than any. He is too great a master of his art, to make
a blot which may so easily be hit. Similitudes, as I have
said, are not for tragedy, which is all violent, and where

15 the passions are in a perpetual ferment ; for there they
deaden where they should animate ; they are not of the
.nature of dialogue, unless in comedy: a metaphor is
almost all the stage can suffer, which is a kind of simi-
litude comprehended in a word. But this figure has

20 a contrary effect in heroic poetry ; there it is employed
to raise the admiration, which is its proper business ;
and admiration is not of so violent a nature as fear or
hope, compassion or horror, or any concernment we can
have for such or such a person on the stage. Not but

25 I confess that similitudes and descriptions, when drawn
into an unreasonable length, must needs nauseate the
reader. Once, I remember, and but once, Virgil makes
a similitude of fourteen lines ; and his description of
Fame is about the same number. He is blamed for

30 both ; and I doubt not but he would have contracted
them, had he lived to have reviewed his work ; but
faults are no precedents. This I have observed of his
similitudes in general, that they are not placed, as our
unobserving critics tell us, in the heat of any action,

35 but commonly in its declining. When he has warmed

Dedication of the ^neis 203

us in his description as much as possibly he can, then,
lest that warmth should languish, he renews it by some
apt similitude, which illustrates his subject, and yet palls
not his audience. I need give your Lordsjiip but one
example of this kind, and leave the rest to your obser- 5
vation, when next you review the whole ^neis in the
original, unblemished by my rude translation. 'Tis in
the First Book, where the poet describes Neptune com-
posing the ocean, on which iEolus had raised a tempest
without his permission. He had already chidden the 10
rebellious winds for obe3dng the commands of their
usurping master ; he had warned them from the seas ;
he had beaten down the billows with his mace, dispelled
the clouds, restored the sunshine, while Triton and
C3miotho€ were heaving the ships from off the quick- 15
sands, before the poet would offer at a similitude for
illustration : —

Ac, vduti ntagno in poptdo cum sape coorta est
SeditiOf sopvitque anifttis igfu^le vulgus,

Jamque faces et saxa volant ; furor arma ministrat ; 20

Tutn, pietate gravem ac mentis si forte virum quern
Conspexerey silent, arrectisque auribtts adstant ;
Ille regit dictis animos, et pectora mulcet ;
Sic cunctus pelagi cecidit fragor, asquora postquam
Prospiciens genitor, cceloque intfectus aperto, 2-

FUdit equoSf curruque volans dat lora secundo.

This is the first similitude which Virgil makes in this
poem, and one of the longest in the whole ; for which
reason I the rather cite it. While the storm was in its
fury, any allusion had been improper; for the poet 30
could have compared it to nothing more impetuous
than itself; consequently he could have made no illustra-
tion. If he could have illustrated, it had been an
ambitious ornament out of season, and would have
diverted our concernment : .«««e: non erat hisce locus ; 2>f^
and therefore he deferred it to its proper place.

204 Dedication of the ^neis

These are the criticisms of most moment which have
been made against the ^neis by the Ancients or
Mo(ferns. As for the particular exceptions against
this or that passage, Macrobius and Pontanus have

5 answered them already. If I desired to appear more
learned than I am, it had been as easy for me to have
taken their objections and solutions, as it is for a country
parson to take the expositions of the fathers out of
Junius and Tremellius, or not to have named the

10 authors from whence I had them ; for so Ruaeus, other-
wise a most judicious commentator on Virgil's works,
has used Pontanus, his greatest benefactor; of whom
he is very silent ; and I do not remember that he once
cites him.

15 What follows next is no objection ; for that implies
a fault : and it had been none in Virgil, if he had
extended the time of his action beyond a year. At
least Aristotle has set no precise limits to it. Homer's,
we know, was within two months : Tasso, I am sure,

20 exceeds not a summer ; and, if I examined him, perhaps
he might be reduced into a much less compass. Bossu
leaves it doubtful whether Virgil's action were within
the year, or took up some months beyond it. Indeed,
the whole dispute is of no more concernment to the

25 common reader, than it is to a ploughman, whether
February this year had 28 or 29 days in it. But, for
the satisfaction of the more curious (of which number
I am sure your Lordship is one), I will translate what
I think convenient out of Segrais, whom perhaps you

30 have not read ; for he has made it highly probable
that the action of the JEneis began in the spring,
and was not extended beyond the autumn. And we
have known campaigns that have begun sooner, and
have ended later.

35 Ronsard, and the rest whom Segrais names, who are

Dedication of the ^neis 205

of opinion that the action of this poem takes up almost
a year and half, ground their calculation thus. Anchises
died in Sicily at the end of winter, or beginning of the
spring. iEneas, immediately after the interment of his
father, puts to sea for Italy. He is surprised by the 5
tempest described in the beginning of the First Book ;
and there it is that the scene of the poem opens, and
where the action must commence. He is driven by
this storm on the coasts of Afric ; he stays at Carthage
all that summer, and almost all the winter following, sets 10
sail again for Italy just before the beginning of the
spring, meets with contrary winds, and makes Sicily
the second time. This part of the action completes the
year. Then he celebrates the anniversary of his father's
funerals, and shortly after arrives at Cumes ; and from 15
thence his time is taken up in his first treaty with
Latin us, the overture of the war, the siege of his camp
by Turnus, his going for succours to relieve it, his
return, the raising of the siege by the first battle, the
twelve days' truce, the second battle, the assault of ao
Laurentum, and the single fight with Turnus ; all which,
they say, cannot take up less than four or five months
more ; by which account we cannot suppose the entire
action to be contained in a much less compass than a year
and half. 25

Segrais reckons another way; and his computation
is not condemned by the learned Ruaeus, who compiled
and published the commentaries on our poet which we
call the Dauphin's Virgil.

He allows the time of year when Anchises died to be 30
in the latter end of winter, or the beginning of the
spring: he acknowledges that, when iEneas is first
seen at sea afterwards, and is driven by the tempest on
the coast of Afric, is the time when the action is naturally
to begin : he confesses, further, that iEneas left Carthage 35

2o6 Dedication of the j^Eneis

in the latter end of winter ; for Dido tells him in express
terms, as an argument for his longer stay,

Quinetiam hibemo tnoliris sidere dctssetn.

But, whereas Ronsard's followers suppose that, when

5 iEneas had buried his father, he set sail immediately for
Italy (though the tempest drove him on the coast" of
Carthage), Segrais will by no means allow that supposi-
tion, but thinks it much more probable that he remained
in Sicily till the midst of July, or the beginning of

lo August ; at which time he places the first appearance
of his hero on the sea; and there opens the action of
the poem. From which beginning, to the death of
Turnus, which concludes the action, there need not be
supposed above ten months of intermediate time : for,

15 arriving at Carthage in the latter end of summer, staying
there the winter following, departing thence in the very
beginning of the spring, making a short abode in Sicily
the second time, landing in Italy, and making the war,
may be reasonably judged the business but of ten *

ao months. To this the Ronsardians reply, that, having
been for seven years before in quest of Italy, and having
no more to do in Sicily than to inter his father — after
that office was performed, what remained for him, but,
without delay, to pursue his first adventure? To

25 which Segrais answers, that the obsequies of his
father, according to the rites of the Greeks and
Romans, would detain him for many days; that a
longer time must be taken up in the refitting of his
ships after so tedious a voyage, and in refreshing his

30 weather-beaten soldiers on a friendly coast. These
indeed are but suppositions on both sides; yet those
of Segrais seem better grounded : for the feast of Dido,
when she entertained iEneas first, has the appearance

1 i

three/ ed. 1697.

Dedication of the ^neis 207

of a summer's night, which seems already almost ended
when he begins his story ; therefore the love was made
in autumn: the hunting followed properly when the
heats of that scorching country were declining; the
winter was passed in jollity, as the season and their 5
love required; and he left her in the latter end of
winter, as is already proved. This opinion is fortified
by the arrival of iEneas at the mouth of Tiber; which
marks the season of the spring; that season being
perfectly described by the singing of the birds saluting 10
the dawn, and by the beauty of the place, which
the poet seems to have painted expressly in the
Seventh iEneid —

Aurora in roseis fulgebat lutea bigis,

Cum venti posuere, ... '5

. . . Variaif drcumque supraque,
Assueia ripis volucreSj et flumints alveo,
jEihera ntulcebant cantu. . . .

The remainder of the action required but three
months more : for, when iEneas went for succour to the ao
Tuscans, he found their army in a readiness to march,
and wanting only a commander : so that, according to
this calculation, the jEneis takes not up above a year
complete, and may be comprehended in less compass.

This, amongst other circumstances treated more at 25
large by Segrais, agrees with the rising of Orion, which
caused the tempest described in the beginning of the
First Book. By some passages in the Pastorals^ but
more particularly in the GeorgicSf our poet is found
to be an exact astronomer, according to the know- 30
ledge of that age. Now Ilioneus (whom Virgil twice
employs in embassies, as the best speaker of the
Trojans) attributes that tempest to Orion, in his speech
to Dido—

Cufiti subito assurgens fludu, nimbosus Orion, — 35

2o8 Dedication of the ^neis

He must mean either the heliacal or achronical rising
of that sign. The heliacal rising of a constellation is
when it comes from under the rays of the sun, and
begins to appear before daylight ; the achronical rising,
5 on the contrary, is when it appears at the close of day,
and in opposition to the sun's diurnal course.

The heliacal rising of Orion is at present computed
to be about the sixth of July ; and about that time
it is that he either causes or presages tempests on
lothe seas.

Segrais has observed further, that, when Anna counsels
Dido to stay iEneas during the winter, she speaks also
of Orion —

Dum pelago desatvit hiems, et aquosus Orion,

15 If therefore Ilioneus, according to our supposition,
understand the heliacal rising of Orion, Anna must
mean the achronical, which the different epithets given
to that constellation seem to manifest. Ilioneus calls
him nintbosus ; Anna, aquosus. He is tempestuous in

20 the summer, when he rises heliacally, and rainy in the
winter, when he rises achronically. Your Lordship
will pardon me for the frequent repetition of these cant
words, which I could not avoid in this abbreviation of
Segrais, who, I think, deserves no little commendation

35 in this new criticism.

I have yet a word or two to say of Virgil's machines,
from my own observation of them. He has imitated
those of Homer, but not copied them. It was estab-
lished, long before this time, in the Roman religion

30 as well as in the Greek, that there were Gods ; and
both nations, for the most part, worshipped the same
Deities; as did also the Trojans, from whom the
Romans, I suppose, would rather be thought to derive
the rites of their religion, than from the Grecians ;

35 because they thought themselves descended from them.

Dedication of the ^neis 209

Each of those Gods had his proper office, and the
chief of them their particular attendants. Thus
Jupiter had in propriety Ganymede and Mercury, and
Juno had Iris. It was not then for Virgil to create
new ministers : he must take what he found in his 5
religion. It cannot therefore be said, that he borrowed
them from Homer, any more than Apollo, Diana, and .
the rest, whom he uses as he finds occasion for them,
as the Grecian poet did ; but he invents the occasions
for which he uses them. Venus, after the destruction 10
of Troy, had gained Neptune entirely to her party ;
therefore we find him busy in the beginning of the
^netSj to calm the tempest raised by iEolus, and
afterwards conducting the Trojan fleet to Cumes in
safety, with the loss only of their pilot, for whom he 15
bargains. I name those two examples amongst a hun-
dred which I omit; to prove that Virgil, generally
speaking, employed his machines in performing those
things which might possibly have been done without
them. What more frequent than a storm at sea, upon 20
the rising of Orion? What wonder, if, amongst so
many ships, there should one be overset, which was
commanded by Orontes, though half the winds had
not been there which ^Eolus employed? Might not
Palinurus, without a miracle, fall asleep, and drop into 25
the sea, having been over-wearied with watching, and
secure of a quiet passage, by his observation of the
skies? At least iEneas, who knew nothing of the
machine of Somnus, takes it plainly in this sense —

O nimiufn calo et pelago confise sereno^ 3^

Nudus in igttota, Palinurej jacebis arena.

But machines sometimes are specious things to amuse
the reader, and give a colour of probability to things
otherwise incredible. And besides it soothed the
vanity of the Romans, to find the Gods so visibly 35

II. p

21 o Dedication of the j£neis

concerned in all the actions of their predecessors.
We, who are better taught by our religion, yet own
every wonderful accident, which befalls us for the best,
to be brought to pass by some special providence of
5 Almighty God, and by the care of guardian Angels :
and from hence I might infer, that no heroic poem can
be writ on the Epicurean principles. Which I could
easily demonstrate, if there were need to prove it, or
I had leisure.

lo When Venus opens the eyes of her son iEneas,
to behold the Gods who combated against Troy in
that fatal night when it was surprised, we share the
pleasure of that glorious vision (which Tasso has not
ill copied in the sacking of Jerusalem) : but the Greeks

15 had done their business, though neither Neptune, Juno,
nor Pallas had given them their divine assistance. The
most crude machine which Virgil uses is in the episode
of Camilla, where Opis, by the command of her mistress,
kills Aruns. The next is in the Twelfth iEneid, where

20 Venus cures her son iEneas. But in the last of these
the poet was driven to a necessity ; for Turnus was to
be slain that very day ; andiEneas, wounded as he was,
could not have engaged him in single combat, unless
his hurt had been miraculously healed. And the poet

<25 had considered that the dittany which she brought
from Crete could not have wrought so speedy an
effect without the juice of ambrosia which she
mingled with it. After all, that his machine might
not seem too violent, we see the hero limping after

30 Turnus. The wound was skinned ; but the strength
of his thigh was not restored. But what reason had
our author to wound iEneas at so critical a time ?
and how came the cuisses to be worse tempered than
the rest of his armour, which was all wrought by Vulcan

3.S and his journeymen ? These difficulties are not easily

Dedication of the ^neis 211

to be solved without confessing that Virgil had not life
enough to correct his work ; though he had reviewed
it, and found those errors, which he resolved to mend :
but, being prevented by death, and not willing to leave
an imperfect work behind him, he ordained, by his last 5
testament, that his jEneis should be burned. As for
the death of Aruns, who was shot by a goddess, the
machine was not altogether so outrageous as the
wounding Mars and Venus by the sword of Diomede.
Two divinities, one would have thought, might have 10
pleaded their prerogative of impassibility, or at least
not to have been wounded by any mortal hand ; beside
that the tx^p, which they shed, was so very like our
common blood, that it was not to be distinguished
from it, but only by the name and colour. As for 15
what Horace says in his Art of Poetry, that no
machines are to be used, unless on some extra-
ordinary occasion.

Nee deus intersit^ nisi dignus vindice nodus —

that rule is to be applied to the theatre, of which he 20
is then speaking; and means no more than this, that,
when the knot of the play is to be untied, and no
other way is left for making the discovery ; then, and
not otherwise, let a God descend upon a rope, and
clear the business to the audience : but this has no re- 25
lation to the machines which are used in an epic poem.
In the last place, for the Dira, or flying pest, which,
flapping on the shield of Turnus, and fluttering about
his head, disheartened him in the duel, and presaged
to him his approaching death, I might have placed 30
it more properly amongst the objections : for the
critics, who lay want of courage to the charge of
Virgil's hero, quote this passage as a main proof
of their assertion. They say our author had not only

p 2

212 Dedication of the ^neis

secured him before the duel, but also, in the beginning
of it, had given him the advantage in impenetrable
arms, and in his sword ; for that of Turnus was not his
own, which was forged by Vulcan for his father, but a
5 weapon which he had snatched in haste, and by mis-
take, belonging to his charioteer Metiscus ; that, after
all this, Jupiter, who was partial to the Trojan, and
distrustful of the event, though he had hung the
balance, and given it a jog of his hand to weigh down
lo Turnus, thought convenient to give the Fates a col-
lateral security, by sending the screech-owl to discourage
him. For which they quote these words of Virgil,

. . . Non me tua iurbida virtus
Tertietj ait: di nte ierrent^ et Jupiter hostis,

*5 In answer to which, I say, that this machine is one of
those which the poet uses only for ornament, and not
out of necessity. Nothing can be more beautiful or
more poetical than his description of the three Dirce,
or the setting of the balance, which our Milton has

30 borrowed from him, but employed to a different end :
for, first, he makes God Almighty set the scales for
St. Michael and Satan, when he knew no combat was
to follow ; then he makes the good angel's scale
descend, and the Devil's mount, quite contrary to

35 Virgil, if I have translated the three verses according
to my author's sense —

Jupiter ipse duos cequato exatnine lances

Sustinet; et fata imponii diversa duorutn ;

Quern dantnet lahor^ et quo vergat pondere letutn —

30 for I have taken these words, quern damnet labor, in the
sense which Virgil gives them in another place, —
damnabis tu quoque votis,— to signify a prosperous event.
Yet I dare not condemn so great a genius as Milton :
for I am much mistaken if he alludes not to the text

Dedication of the j£neis 213

in Daniel, where Belshazzar was put into the balance
and found too light. This is digression ; and I return
to my subject. I said above, that these two machines
of the balance and the Dira were only ornamental, and
that the success of the duel had been the same without 5
them : for, when iEneas and Turnus stood fronting
each other before the altar, Turnus looked dejected,
and his colour faded in his face, as if he desponded
of the victory before the fight ; and not only he, but all
his party, when the strength of the two champions was 10
judged by the proportion of their limbs, concluded it
was imparpugna, and that their chief was over-matched:
whereupon Juturna (who was of the same opinion) took
this opportunity to break the treaty and renew the war.
Juno herself had plainly told the nymph before-hand 15
that her brother was to fight

Imparibus fatiSj nee dis nee viribus ogquis;

SO that there was no need of an apparition to fright
Turnus : he had the presage within himself of his
impending destiny. The Dira only served to confirm 30
him in his first opinion, that it was his destiny to die
in the ensuing combat ; and in this sense are those
words of Virgil's to be taken,

. . . Non me tua iurbida virtus
Terret, ait: di me terrent, et Jupiter hostis. 25

I doubt not but the adverb solum is to be understood ;
' *Tis not your valour only that gives me this concern-
ment ; but I find also, by this portent, that Jupiter is
my enemy.' For Turnus fled before, when his first
sword was broken, till his sister supplied him with a 30
better ; which indeed he could not use, because iEneas
kept him at a distance with his spear. I wonder Ruaeus
saw not this, where he charges his author so unjustly,
for giving Turnus a second sword to no purpose. How

214 Dedication of the ^neis

could he fasten a blow, or make a thrust, when he was
not suffered to approach ? Besides, the chief errand of
the Dira was to warn Juturna from the field ; for she
could have brought the chariot again, when she saw
5 her brother worsted in the duel. I might further add,
that iEneas was so eager of the fight, that he left the
city, now almost in his possession, to decide his quarrel
with Turnus by the sword ; whereas Turnus had mani-
festly declined the combat, and suffered his sister to
'o convey him as far from the reach of his enemy as she
could. I say, not only suffered her, but consented to
it ; for 'tis plain he knew her, by these words : —

O soror, et dtidutn agnovi, cunt prima per artem
Fadera turbasti, teque hcpc in bella dedisti;
1 5 Et nunc necquicquam fallis dea. . . .

I have dwelt so long on this subject, that I must con-
tract what I have to say in reference to my translation,
unless I would swell my Preface into a volume, and
make it formidable to your Lordship, when you see so

2o many pages yet behind. And, indeed what I have
already written, either in justification or praise of
Virgil, is against myself, for presuming to copy, in my
coarse English, the thoughts and beautiful expressions
of this inimitable poet, who flourished in an age when

25 his language was brought to its last perfection, for
which it was particularly owing to him and Horace.
I will give your Lordship my opinion, that those two
friends had consulted each other's judgment, wherein
they should endeavour to excel ; and they seem to have

30 pitched on propriety of thought, elegance of words, and
harmony of numbers. According to this model, Horace
writ his Odes and Epodes: for his Satires and Epistles,
being intended wholly for instruction, required another
style :

35 Ornari res ipsa negaij contenta doceri :

Dedication of the ^neis 2J5

and therefore, as he himself professes, are sermoni pro-
pioray nearer prose than verse. But Virgil, who never
attempted the lyric verse, is everywhere elegant, sweet,
and flowing in his hexameters. His words are not
only chosen, but the places in which he ranks them for 5
the sound. He who removes them from the station
wherein their master set them, spoils the harmony.
What he says of thf^ Sibyl's prophecies may be as
properly applied to every word of his : they must be
read in order as they lie ; the least breath discomposes 10
them ; and somewhat of their divinity is lost. I cannot
boast that I have been thus exact in my verses; but
I have endeavoured to follow the example of my master,
and am the first Englishman, perhaps, who made it his
design to copy him in his numbers, his choice of words, 1 5
and his placing them for the sweetness of the sound.
On this last consideration I have shunned the ccesura as
much as possibly I could : for, wherever that is used,
it gives a roughness to the verse ; of which we can
have little need in a language which is overstocked 20
with consonants. Such is not the Latin, where the
vowels and consonants are mixed in proportion to each
other : yet Virgil judged the vowels to have somewhat
of an over-balance, and therefore tempers their sweet-
ness with ccesuras. Such difference there is in tongues, 25
that the same figure, which roughens one, gives majesty
to another : and that was it which Virgil studied in his
verses. Ovid uses it but rarely ; and hence it is that
his versification cannot so properly be called sweet, as
luscious. The Italians are forced upon it once or twice 30
in every line, because they have a redundancy of vowels
in their language. Their metal is so soft, that it will
not coin without alloy to harden it. On the other side,
for the reason already named, 'tis all we can do to give
sufficient sweetness to our language : we must not only 35

2i6 Dedication of the ^neis

choose our words for elegance, but for sound ; to per-
form which, a mastery in the language is required ; the
poet must have a magazine of words, and have the art
to manage his few vowels to the best advantage, that

5 they may go the further. He must also know the
nature of the vowels, which are more sonorous, and
which more soft and sweet, and so dispose them as his
present occasions require : all ^hich, and a thousand
secrets of versification beside, he may learn from Virgil,

lo if he will take him for his guide. If he be above

Virgil, and is resolved to follow his own verves (as the

French call it,) the proverb will fall heavily upon him :

Who teaches himself ^ has a fool for his master,

Virgil employed eleven years upon his jEneis ; yet

15 he left it, as he thought himself, imperfect ; which when
I seriously consider, I wish that, instead of three years,
which I have spent in the translation of his works, I
had four years more allowed me to correct my errors,
that I might make my version somewhat more tolerable

20 than it is. For a poet cannot have too great a rever-
ence for his readers, if he expects his labours should
survive him. Yet I will neither plead my age nor sick-
ness, in excuse of the faults which I have made : that
I wanted time, is all that I have to say; for some of my

25 subscribers grew so clamorous, that I could no longer
defer the publication. I hope, from the candour of your
Lordship, and your often experienced goodness to
me, that, if the faults are not too many, you will make
allowances with Horace —

30 ... si plura nitent in cannine^ non ego paucis

Offendar macu/isj quas aut incuria fudit^
Aut hntftana pantm cavit natura. —

You may please also to observe, that there is not,

to the best of my remembrance, one vowel gaping on

35 another for want of a ccesura, m this whole poem : but.

Dedication of the ^neis 217

where a vowel ends a word, the next begins either with
a consonant, or what is its equivalent ; for our W and
H aspirate, and our diphthongs, are plainly such. The
greatest latitude I take is in the letter Y, when it con-
cludes a word, and the first syllable of the next begins 5
with a vowel. Neither need I have called this a lati-
tude, which is only an explanation of this general rule,
that no vowel can be^ cut off before another when we
cannot sink the pronunciation of it; as hey she, me,
I, etc. Virgil thinks it sometimes a beauty to imitate the 10
licence of the Greeks, and leave two vowels opening on
each other, as in that verse of the Third Pastoral,

Et succus pecori, et lac subductiur agnis.

But nobis non licet esse tarn disertis, at least if we
study to refine our numbers. I have long had by me 15
the materials of an English Prosodia, containing all the
mechanical rules of versification, wherein I have treated,
with some exactness, of the feet, the quantities, and the
pauses. The French and Italians know nothing of the
two first ; at least their best poets have not practised 20
them. As for the pauses, Malherbe first brought them
into France within this last century ; and we see how
they adorn their Alexandrines. But, as Virgil pro-
pounds a riddle, which he leaves unsolved —

Dicf quibus in terns, inscripti nomina regum 25

Nascantur flores, et Phyllida solus habeto —

SO I will give your Lordship another, and leave the
exposition of it to your acute judgment. I am sure
there are few who make verses, have observed the
sweetness of these two lines in Cooper's HiU — 30

Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull;
Strong without rage ; without overflowing, full.

And there are yet fewer who can find the reason of that

2i8 Dedication of the ^neis

sweetness. I have given it to some of my friends in
conversation ; and they have allowed the criticism to
be just. But, since the evil of false quantities is diffi-
cult to be cured in any modern language ; since the
5 French and the Italians, as well as we, are yet ignorant
what feet are to be used in Heroic Poetry; since I have
not strictly observed those rules myself, which I can
teach others ; since I pretend to no dictatorship among
my fellow-poets ; since, if I should instruct some of

lo them to make well-running verses, they want genius to
give them strength as well as sweetness ; and, above
all, since your Lordship has advised me not to publish
that little which I know, I look on your counsel as
your command, which I shall observe inviolably, till

15 you shall please to revoke it, and leave me at liberty
to make my thoughts public. In the meantime, that
I may arrogate nothing to myself, I must acknowledge
that Virgil in Latin, and Spenser in English, have been
my masters. Spenser has also given me the boldness

20 to make use sometimes of his Alexandrine line, which
we call, though improperly, the Pindaric, because
Mr. Cowley has often employed it in his Odes, It
adds a certain majesty to the verse, when it is used
with judgment, and stops the sense from overflowing

25 into another line. Formerly the French, like us, and
the Italians, had but five feet, or ten syllables, in their
heroic verse ; but, since Ronsard's time as I suppose,
they found their tongue too weak to support their epic
poetry, without the addition of another foot. That

30 indeed has given it somewhat of the run and measure
of a trimeter ; but it runs with more activity than
strength : their language is not strung with sinews,
like our English ; it has the nimbleness of a greyhound,
but not the bulk and body of a mastiff. Our men and

35 our verses overbear them by their weight ; and Pondere,

Dedication of the jEneis 219

non numerOy is the British motto. The French have
set up purity for the standard of their language ; and
a masculine vigour is that of ours. Like their tongue is
the genius of their poets, light and trifling in compari-
son of the English ; more proper for sonnets, madri- 5
gals, and elegies, than heroic poetry. The turn on
thoughts and words is their chief talent ; but the Epic
Poem is too stately to receive those little ornaments.
The painters draw their nymphs in thin and airy habits ;
but the weight of gold and of embroideries is reserved 10
for queens and goddesses. Virgil is never frequent in
those turns, like Ovid, but much more sparing of them
in his jEneis than in his Pastorals and Georgics,

Ignoscenda qttidetft, scirent si ignoscere manes.

That turn is beautiful indeed ; but he employs it in 15
the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, not in his great
poem. I have used that licence in his ^neis some-
times ; but I own it as my fault. 'Twas given to those
who understand no better. 'Tis like Ovid's

Semivirufnque bovent, semiboventque vtrunt, 20

The poet found it before his critics, but it was a
darling sin, which he would not be persuaded to reform.
The want of genius, of which I have accused the
French, is laid to their charge by one of their own
great authors, though I have forgotten his name, and 25
where I read it. If rewards could make good poets,
their great master has not been wanting on his part
in his bountiful encouragements : for he is wise enough
to imitate Augustus, if he had a Maro. The triumvir
and proscriber had descended to us in a more hideous 30
form than they now appear, if the Emperor had not
taken care to make friends of him and Horace. I
confess, the banishment of Ovid was a blot in his

220 Dedication of the jEneis

escutcheon : yet he was only banished ; and who knows
but his crime was capital, and then his exile was
a favour? Ariosto, who, with all his faults, must be
acknowledged a great poet, has put these words into
5 the mouth of an Evangelist : but whether they will pass
for gospel now, I cannot tell.

Non fu si santo ni benigno Augusto,
Come la tuba di Virgilio suona;
Vhaver havuto in poesia buon gusto,
lo La proscriitioHe imqua gli perdona.

But Heroic Poetry is not of the growth of France,
as it might be of England, if it were cultivated. Spenser
wanted only to have read the rules of Bossu ; for no
man was ever born with a greater genius, or had more

15 knowledge to support it. But the performance of the
French is not equal to their skill ; and hitherto we have
wanted skill to perform better. Segrais, whose preface
is so wonderfully good, yet is wholly destitute of eleva-
tion, though his version is much better than that of

20 the two brothers, or any of the rest who have attempted
Virgil. Hannibal Caro is a great name amongst the
Italians; yet his translation of the ^neis is most
scandalously mean, though he has taken the advantage
of writing in blank verse, and freed himself from the

25 shackles of modern rh3mie, if it be modern ; for Le Clerc
has told us lately, and I believe has made it out, that
David's Psalms were written in as arrant rhyme as they
are translated. Now, if a Muse cannot run when she
is unfettered, it is a sign she has but little speed.

30 I will not make a digression here, though I am strangely
tempted to it ; but will only say, that he who can write
well in rhyme may write better in blank verse. Rhyme
is certainly a constraint^ even to the best poets, and
those who make it with most -ease ; though perhaps

35 I have as little reason to complain of that hardship as

Dedication of the JEneis 221

any mg,n, excepting Quarles and Withers^ What it
adds to sweetness, it takes away from sense ; and he
who loses the least by it may be called a gainer. It
often makes us swerve from an author's meaning; as,
if a mark be set up for an archer at a great distance, 5
let him aim as exactly as he can, the least wind will
take his arrow, and divert it from the white. I return
to our Italian translator of the ^neis. He is a foot-
poet, he lacqueys by the side of Virgil at the best, but
never mounts behind him. Doctor Morelli, who is no 10
mean critic in our poetry, and therefore may be pre-
sumed to be a better in his own language, has confirmed
me in this opinion by his judgment, and thinks, withal,
that he has often mistaken his master's sense. I would
say so, if I durst, but am afraid I have committed the 15
same fault more often, and more grossly; for I have
forsaken Ruaeus (whom generally I follow) in many
places, and made expositions of my own in some, quite
contrary to him ; of which I will give but two exam-
ples, because they are so near each other in the Tenth so
iEneid.

. . . Sorti Pater ofquus utrique :

Pallas says it to Turnus, just before they fight. Ruaeus
thinks that the word Pater is to be referred to Evander,
the father of Pallas. But how could he imagine that 25
it was the same thing to Evander, if his son were slain,
or if he overcame ? The poet certainly intended Jupiter,
the common father of mankind ; who, as Pallas hoped,
would stand an impartial spectator of the combat, and
not be more favourable to Turnus than to him. The 30
second is not long after it, and both before the duel
is begun. They are the words of Jupiter, who comforts
Hercules for the death of Pallas, which was imme-
diately to ensue, and which Hercules could not hinder
(though the young hero had addressed his prayers to 35

222 Dedication of the jEneis

him for his assistance) because the Gods cannot controul
Destiny. The verse follows : —

Sic ait; atque oculos Rutulorum rejicit arvis, —

which the same Ruaeus thus construes : Jupiter, after
5 he had said this, immediately turns his eyes to the
Rutulian fields, and beholds the duel. I have given
this place another exposition :~-that he turned his eyes
from the field of combat, that he might not behold
a sight so unpleasing to him. The word rejicit^ I know,

10 will admit of both senses ; but Jupiter, having confessed
that he could not alter Fate, and being grieved he
could not, in consideration of Hercules, it seems to
me that he should avert his eyes, rather than take
pleasure in the spectacle. But of this I am not so

15 confident as the other, though I think I have followed
Virgil's sense.

What I have said, though it has the face of arrogance,
yet is intended for the honour of my country; and
therefore I will boldly own, that this English translation

20 has more of Virgil's spirit in it than either the French
or the Italian. Some of our countrymen have translated
episodes and other parts of Virgil, with great success ;
as particularly your Lordship, whose version of Orpheus
and Eurydice is eminently good. Amongst the dead

25 authors, the Silenus of my Lord Roscommon cannot
be too much commended. I say nothing of Sir John
Denham, Mr. Waller, and Mr. Cowley ; 'tis the utmost
of my ambition to be thought their equal, or not to
be much inferior to them, and some others of the living.

30 But 'tis one thing to take pains on a fragment, and
translate it perfectly; and another thing to have the
weight of a whole author on my shoulders. They who
believe the burthen light, let them attempt the Fourth,
Sixth, or Eighth Pastoral ; the First or Fourth Georgia ;

35 and, amongst the ^neids, the Fourth, the Fifth, the

Dedication of the ^neis 223

Seventh, the Ninth, the Tenth, the Eleventh, or the
Twelfth ; for in these I think I have succeeded best.

Long before I undertook this work, I was no stranger
to the original. I had also studied Virgil's design, his
disposition of it, his manners, his judicious management 5
of the figures, the sober retrenchments of his sense,
which always leaves somewhat to gratify our imagina-
tion, on which it may enlarge at pleasure; but, above
all, the elegance of his expressions, and the harmony
of his numbers. For, as I have said in a former dis- 10
sertation, the words are, in Poetry, what the colours
are in Painting ; if the design be good, and the draught
be true, the colouring is the first beauty that strikes
the eye. Spenser and Milton are the nearest, in
English, to Virgil and Horace in the Latin ; and I have 15
endeavoured to form my style by imitating their masters.
I will further own to you, my Lord, that my chief
ambition is to please those readers who have discern-
ment enough to prefer Virgil before any other poet
in the Latin tongue. Such spirits as he desired to ao
please, such would I choose for my judges, and would
stand or fall by them alone. Segrais has distinguished
the readers of poetry, according to their capacity of
judging, into three classes (he might have said the same
of writers too, if he had pleased) : in the lowest form 25
he places those whom he calls les petits esprits ; such
things as are our upper-gallery audience in a playhouse,
who like nothing but the husk and rind of wit ; prefer
a quibble, a conceit, an epigram, before solid sense and
elegant expression. These are mob readers : if Virgil 30
and Martial stood for Parliament-men, we know already
who would carry it. But, though they make the greatest
appearance in the field, and cry the loudest, the best
on't is, they are but a sort of French Huguenots, or
Dutch boors, brought over in herds, but not naturalized; 35

224 Dedication of the yEneis

who have not land of two pounds per annum in Par-
nassus, and therefore are not privileged to poll. Their
authors are of the same level, fit to represent them on
a mountebank's stage, or to be masters of the cere-

5 monies in a bear-garden. Yet these are they who have
the most admirers. But it often happens, to their
mortification, that, as their readers improve their stock
of sense (as they may by reading better books, and by
conversation with men of judgment), they soon forsake

10 them : and when the torrent from the mountains falls
no more, the swelling writer is reduced into his shallow
bed, like the Man^anares at Madrid with scarce water
to moisten his own pebbles. There are a middle sort
of readers (as we hold there is a middle state of souls),

1 5 such as have a further insight than the former, yet have
not the capacity of judging right; for I speak not of
those who are bribed by a party, and know better, if
they were not corrupted ; but I mean a company of warm
young men, who are not yet arrived so far as to discern

2o the difference betwixt fustian, or ostentatious sentences,
and the true sublime. These are above liking Martial,
or Owen's Epigrams, but they would certainly set Virgil
below Statius or Lucan. I need not say their poets
are of the same taste with their admirers. They affect

25 greatness in all they write ; but 'tis a bladdered great-
ness, like that of the vain man whom Seneca describes ;
an ill habit of body, full of humours, and swelled with
dropsy. Even these too desert their authors, as their
judgment ripens. The young gentlemen themselves

30 are commonly misled by their pedagogue at school,
their tutor at the university, or their governor in their
travels : and many of those three sorts are the most
positive blockheads in the world. How many of those
flatulent writers have I known, who have sunk in their

35 reputation, after seven or eight editions of their works !

Dedication of the ^neis 225

for indeed they are poets only for young men. They
had great success at their first appearance ; but, not
being of God (as a wit said formerly), they could not
stand.

I have already named two sprts of judges ; but Virgil 5
wrote for neither of them : and, by his example, I am
not ambitious of pleasing the lowest or the middle form
of readers.

He chose to please the most judicious : souls of the
highest rank, and truest understanding. These are few 10
in number ; but whoever is so happy as to gain their
approbation can never lose it, because they never give
it blindly. Then they have a certain magnetism in
their judgment, which attracts others to their sense.
Every day they gain some new proselyte, and in time 15
become the Church. For this reason, a well-weighed
judicious poem, which at its first appearance gains no
more upon the world than to be just received, and
rather not blamed than much applauded, insinuates
itself by insensible degrees into the liking of the reader : ao
the more he studies it, the more it grows upon him;
every time he takes it up, he discovers some new graces
in it. And whereas poems which are produced by the
vigour of imagination only have a gloss upon them at
the first which time wears off, the works of judgment 35
are like the diamond; the more they are polished, the
more lustre they receive. Such is the difference
betwixt Virgil's ^nets and Marini's Adone, And, if
I may be allowed to change the metaphor, I would say,
that Virgil is like the Fame which he describes — 30

MobUitate viget, wresque acquirit eundo.

Such a sort of reputation is my aim, though in a far
inferior degree, according to my motto in the title-page :
Sequiturque patrem nan passibus cequis: and therefore
I appeal to the highest court of judicature, like that of 35

II. Q

226 Dedication of the jEneis

the peers, of which your Lordship is so great an
ornament.

Without this ambition, which I own, of desiring to
please the judices natos, I could never have been able to

5 have done anything at this age, when the fire of poetry
is commonly extinguished in other men. Yet Virgil
has given me the example of Entellus for my encourage-
ment : when he was well heated, the younger champion
could not stand before him. And we find the elder

lo contended not for the gift, but for the honour : nee dona
moror. For Dampier has informed us, in his Voyages^
that the air of the country, which produces gold is never
wholesome.

I had long since considered that the way to please

15 the best judges is not to translate a poet literally, and
Virgil least of any other : for, his peculiar beauty lying
in his choice of words, I am excluded from it by the
narrow compass of our heroic verse, unless I would
make use of monosyllables only, and those clogged with

20 consonants, which are the dead weight of our mother-
tongue. 'Tis possible, I confess, though it rarely
happens, that a verse of monosyllables may sound
harmoniously; and some examples of it 1 have seen.
My first line of the JEneis is not harsh —

25 Arms, and the Man I sing, who forc'd by Fate, &c.

But a much better instance may be given from the
last line of Manilius, made English by our learned and
judicious Mr. Creech —

Nor could the World have borne so fierce a Flame —

30 where the many liquid consonants are placed so art-
fully, that they give a pleasing sound to the words,
though they are all of one syllable.

'Tis true, 1 have been sometimes forced upon it in
other places of this work : but I never did it out of

Dedication of the ^neis 227

choice ; I was either in haste, or Virgil gave me no
occasion for the ornament of words ; for it seldom
happens but a monosyllable line turns verse to prose ;
and even that prose is rugged and unharmonious.
Philarchus, I remember, taxes Balzac for placing 5
twenty monosyllables in file, without one dissyllable
betwixt them. The way I have taken is not so strait
as metaphrase, nor so loose as paraphrase: some
things too I have omitted, and sometimes have added of
my own. Yet the omissions, I hope, are but of circum- 10
stances, and such as would have no grace in English ;
and the additions, I also hope, are easily deduced from
Virgil's sense. They will seem (at least I have the
vanity to think so), not stuck into him, but growing out
of him. He studies brevity more than any other poet : 15
but he had the advantage of a language wherein much
may be comprehended in a little space. We, and all
the modem tongues, have more articles and pronouns,
besides signs of tenses and cases, and other barbarities
on which our speech is built by the faults of our fore- 20
fathers. The Romans founded theirs upon the Greek :
and the Greeks, we know, were labouring many hun-
dred years upon their language, before they brought it
to perfection. They rejected all those signs, and cut
off as many articles as they could spare ; comprehend- 25
ing in one word what we are constrained to express in
two ; which is one reason why we cannot write so con-
cisely as they have done. The word pater, for example,
signifies not only a father, but your father, my father,
his or her father, all included in a word. 30

This inconvenience is common to all modern tongues ;
and this alone constrains us to employ more words
than the ancients needed. But having before observed
that Virgil endeavours to be short, and at the same
time elegant, I pursue the excellence and forsake the 35

Q 2

228 Dedication of the ^neis

brevity : for there he is like ambergris, a rich perfume,
but of so close and glutinous a body, that it must be
opened with inferior scents of musk or civet, or the
sweetness will not be drawn out into another language.
5 On the whole matter, I thought fit to steer betwixt
the two extremes of paraphrase and literal translation ;
to keep as near my author as I could, without losing all
his graces, the most eminent of which are in the beauty
of his words ; and those words, I must add, are always

lo figurative. Such of these as would retain their ele-
gance in our tongue, I have endeavoured to graffon it;
but most of them are of necessity to be lost, because
they will not shine in any but their own. Virgil has
sometimes two of them in a line ; but the scantiness of

15 our heroic verse is not capable of receiving more than
one ; and that too must expiate for many others which
have none. Such is the difference of the languages, or
such my want of skill in choosing words. Yet I may
presume to say, and I hope with as much reason as

20 the French translator, that, taking all the materials of
this divine author, I have endeavoured to make Virgil
speak such English as he would himself have spoken,
if he had been born in England, and in this present
age. I acknowledge, with Segrais, that I have not

25 succeeded in this attempt according to my desire : yet
I shall not be wholly without praise, if in some sort
I may be allowed to have copied the clearness, the
purity, the easiness, and the magnificence of his style.
But I shall have occasion to speak further on this sub-

30 ject before I end the Preface.

When I mentioned the Pindaric line, I should have
added, that I take another licence in my verses : for
I frequently make use of triplet rhymes, and for the
same reason, because they bound the sense. And

35 therefore I generally join these two licences together

Dedication of the ^neis 229

and make the last verse of the triplet a Pindaric : for,
besides the majesty which it gives, it confines the sense
within the barriers of three lines, which would languish
if it were lengthened into four. Spenser is my example
for both these privileges of English verses ; and Chap- 5
man has followed him in his translation of Homer.
Mr. Cowley has given into them after both ; and all suc-
ceeding writers after him. I regard them now as the
Magna Charta of heroic poetry, and am too much an
Englishman to lose what my ancestors have gained 10
for me. Let the French and Italians value themselves
on their regularity; strength and elevation are our
standard. I said before, and I repeat it, that the
affected purity of the French has unsinewed their heroic
verse. The language of an epic poem is almost wholly 1 5
figurative : yet they are so fearful of a metaphor, that
no example of Virgil can encourage them to be bold
with safety. Sure they might warm themselves by that
sprightly blaze, without approaching it so close as to
singe their wings ; they may come as near it as their 20
master. Not that I would discourage that purity of
diction in which he excels all other poets. But he
knows how far to extend his franchises, and advances
to the verge, without venturing a foot beyond it. On
the other side, without being injurious to the memory 25
of our English Pindar, I will presume to say, that his
metaphors are sometimes too violent, and his language
is not always pure. But at the same time I must
excuse him ; for through the iniquity of the times he
was forced to travel, at an age when, instead of learning 30
foreign languages, he should have studied the beauties
of his mother-tongue, which, like all other speeches, is
to be cultivated early, or we shall never write it with
any kind of elegance. Thus, by gaining abroad, he lost
at home ; like the painter in the Arcadia^ who, going to 35

230 Dedication of the ^neis

see a skirmish, had his arms lopped off, and returned,
says Sir Philip Sidney, well instructed how to draw
a battle, but without a hand to perform his work.

There is another thing in which I have presumed to

5 deviate from him and Spenser. They both make hemi-
stichs (or half verses), breaking off in the middle of a line.
I confess there are not many such in the Fatty Queen;
and even those few might be occasioned by his unhappy
choice of so long a stanza. Mr. Cowley had found out

10 that no kind of staff is proper for a heroic poem, as
being all too lyrical : yet, though he wrote in couplets,
where rhyme is freer from constraint, he frequently
affects half verses; of which we find not one in Homer,
and I think not in any of the Greek poets, or the Latin,

15 excepting only Virgil; and there is no question but he
thought he had Virgil's authority for that licence. But,
I am confident, our poet never meant to leave him, or
any other, such a precedent : and I ground my opinion
on these two reasons : first, we find no example of

20 a hemistich in any of his Pastorals or Georgics ; for
he had given the last finishing strokes to both these
poems : but his Janets he left so incorrect, at least so
short of that perfection at which he aimed, that we know
how hard a sentence he passed upon it : and, in the

35 second place, I reasonably presume, that he intended
to have filled up all those hemistichs, because in one of
them we find the sense imperfect —

Quetn tibi jam Troja . . .

which some foolish grammarian has ended for him with
30 a half line of nonsense —

. . . pepetit futnante Crettsa:

for Ascanius must have been born some years before
the burning of that city ; which I need not prove. On
the other side, we find also, that he himself filled up one

Dedication of the ^neis 231

line in the Sixth iEneid, the enthusiasm seizing him while
he was reading to Augustus—

MisenufH jEolident, quo non profstantior alter
yEre ciere viros . . .

to which he added, in that transport, Martemque accen- 5
dere cantu : and never was any line more nobly finished ;
for the reasons which I have given in the Book 0/ Paint-
ing, On these considerations I have shunned hemi-
stichs ; not being willing to imitate Virgil to a fault,
like Alexander's courtiers, who affected to hold their 10
necks awry, because he could not help it. I am con-
fident your Lordship is by this time of my opinion, and
that you will look on those half lines hereafter as the
imperfect products of a hasty Muse ; like the frogs and •
serpents in the Nile ; part of them kindled into life, and 15
part a lump of unformed unanimated mud.

I am sensible that many of my whole verses are as
imperfect as those halves, for want of time to digest
them better: but give me leave to make the excuse of
Boccace, who, when he was upbraided that some of his 20
novels had not the spirit of the rest, returned this answer,
that Charlemain, who made the Paladins, was never
able to raise an army of them. The leaders may be
heroes, but the multitude must consist of common
men. 25

I am also bound to tell your Lordship, in my own
defence, that, from the beginning of the First Georgia
to the end of the last JE^neid, I found the difficulty of
translation growing on me in every succeeding book.
For Virgil, above all poets, had a stock, which I may 30
call almost inexhaustible, of figurative, elegant, and
sounding words : I, who inherit but a small portion of
his genius, and write in a language so much inferior to
the Latin, have found it very painful to vary phrases,
when the same sense returns upon me. Even he him- 35

232 Dedication of the j/Eneis

self, whether out of necessity or choice, has often ex-
pressed the same thing in the same words, and often
repeated two or three whole verses which he had used
before. Words are not so easily coined as money ; and
5 yet we see that the credit not only of banks but of ex-
chequers cracks, when little comes in, and much goes
out. Virgil called upon me in every line for some new
word : and I paid so long, that I was almost bankrupt ;
so that the latter end must needs be more burdensome

10 than the beginning or the middle ; and, consequently,
the Twelfth iEneid cost me double the time of the First
and Second. What had become of me, if Virgil had
taxed me with another book ? I had certainly been

. reduced to pay the public in hammered money, for want

15 of milled ; that is, in the same old words which I had
used before : and the receivers must have been forced
to have taken any thing, where there was so little to be
had.

Besides this difficulty (with which I have struggled,

20 and made a shift to pass it over), there is one remaining,
which is insuperable to all translators. We are bound
to our author's sense, though with the latitudes already
mentioned; for I think it not so sacred, as that one
iota must not be added or diminished, on pain of an

25 Anathema, But slaves we are, and labour on another
man's plantation ; we dress the vineyard, but the wine
is the owner's : if the soil be sometimes barren, then
we are sure of being scourged : if it be fruitful, and our
care succeeds, we are not thanked ; for the proud reader

30 will only say, the poor drudge has done his duty. But
this is nothing to what follows; for, being obliged to
make his sense intelligible, we are forced to untune our
own verses, that we may give his meaning to the reader.
He, who invents, is master of his thoughts and words :

35 he can turn and vary them as he pleases, till he renders

Dedication of the jiEneis 233

them harmonious ; but the wretched translator has no
such privilege : for, being tied to the thoughts, he must
make what music he can in the expression ; and, for
this reason, it cannot always be so sweet as that of the
original. There is a beauty of sound, as Segrais has 5
observed, in some Latin words, which is wholly lost in
any modern language. He instances in that mollis
amaracuSj on which Venus lays Cupid, in the First
iEneid. If I should translate it sweet marjoram^ as the
word signifies, the reader would think I had mistaken 10
Virgil : for those village words, as I may call them, give
us a mean idea of the thing ; but the sound of the Latin
is so much more pleasing, by the just mixture of the
vowels with the consonants, that it raises our fancies to
conceive somewhat more noble than a common herb, and 15
to spread roses under him, and strew lilies over him;
a bed not unworthy the grandson of the goddess.

If I cannot copy his harmonious numbers, how shall
I imitate his noble flights, where his thoughts and words
are equally sublime ? Quern 20

. . . quisquis studet amulari,
. . . cteraHs ope Dcedalea
Nititur pennisj tntreo datums

Nomina ponio, *

What modern language, or what poet, can express 25
the majestic beauty of this one verse, amongst a thou-
sand others ?

Aude, hospeSf contemnere opes, et te quoque dignum
Finge deo, . . .

For my part, I am lost in the admiration of it : I con- 30
temn the world when I think on it, and myself when
I translate it.

Lay by Virgil, I beseech your Lordship, and all my
better sort of judges, when you take up my version ;
and it will appear a passable beauty when the original 35

234 Dedication of the jEneis

Muse is absent. But, like Spenser's false Florimel
made of snow, it melts and vanishes when the true one
comes in sight. I will not excuse, but justify myself,
for one pretended crime, with which I am liable to be

5 charged by false critics, not only in this translation, but
in many of my original poems ; that I latinize too much.
'Tis true, that, when I find an English word significant
and sounding, I neither borrow from the Latin, nor any
other language ; but, when I want at home, I must seek

10 abroad.

If sounding words are not of our growth and manu-
facture, who shall hinder me to import them from a
foreign country? I carry not out the treasure of the
nation, which is never to return ; but what I bring from

15 Italy, I spend in England : here it remains, and here it
circulates ; for, if the coin be good, it will pass from one
hand to another. I trade both with the living and the
dead, for the enrichment of our native language. We
have enough in England to supply our necessity ; but^

20 if we will have things of magnificence and splendour,
we must get them by commerce. Poetry requires
ornament ; and that is not to be had from our old
Teuton monosyllables : therefore, if I find any elegant
word in a classic author, I propose it to be naturalized,

25 by using it myself; and, if the public approves of it, the
bill passes. But every man cannot distinguish between
pedantry and poetry : every man, therefore, is not fit to
innovate. Upon the whole matter, a poet must first be
certain that the word he would introduce is beautiful in

30 the Latin, and is to consider, in the next place, whether
it will agree with the English idiom : after this, he
ought to take the opinion of judicious friends, such as
are learned in both languages: and, lastly, since no
man is infallible, let him use this licence very sparingly ;

35 for if too many foreign words are poured in upon us, it

Dedication of the jEneis 235

looks as if they were designed not to assist the natives,
but to conquer them.

I am now drawing towards a conclusion, and suspect
your Lordship is very glad of it. But permit me first
to own what helps I have had in this undertaking. The 5
late Earl of Lauderdail sent me over his new transla-
tion of the JEneis, which he had ended before I engaged
in the same design. Neither did I then intend it : but,
some proposals being afterwards made me by my book-
seller, I desired his Lordship's leave that I might accept 10
them, which he freely granted ; and I have his letter
yet to show for that permission. He resolved to have
printed his work ; which he might have done two years
before I could publish mine ; and had performed it if
death had not prevented him. But, having his manu- 15
script in my hands, I consulted it as often as I doubted
of my author's sense ; for no man understood Virgil
better than that learned Nobleman. His friends, I hear,
have yet another and more correct copy of that trans-
lation by them, which, had they pleased to have given 20
the public, the judges must have been convinced that
I have not flattered him. Besides this help, which was
not inconsiderable, Mr. Congreve has done me the
favour to review the ^neis, and compare my version
with the original. I shall never be ashamed to own, 25
that this excellent young man has shewed me many
faults, which I have endeavoured to correct. 'Tis true,
he might have easily found more, and then my trans-
lation had been more perfect.

Two other worthy friends of mine, who desire to 30
have their names concealed, seeing me straitened in my
time, took pity on me, and gave me the Life of Virgil^
the two Prefaces to the Pastorals and the Georgics, and
all the arguments in prose to the whole translation ;
which, perhaps, has caused a report, that the two first 35

236 Dedication of the JEneis

poems are not mine. If it had been true, that I had
taken their verses for my own, I might have gloried in
their aid, and, like Terence, have fathered * the opinion
that Scipio and Laelius joined with me. But the same

5 style being continued through the whole, and the same
laws of versification observed, are proofs sufficient, that
this is one man's work : and your Lordship is too well
acquainted with my manner, to doubt that any part of it
is another's.

10 That your Lordship may see I was in earnest when
I promised to hasten to an end, I will not give the
reasons why I writ not always in the proper terms of
navigation, land-service, or in the cant of any profes-
sion. I will only say, that Virgil has avoided those

15 proprieties, because he writ not to mariners, soldiers,
astronomers, gardeners, peasants, etc., but to all in
general, and in particular to men and ladies of the first
quality, who have been better bred than to be too nicely
knowing in the terms. In such cases, it is enough for

20 a poet to write so plainly, that he may be understood
by his readers ; to avoid impropriety, and not affect to
be thought learned in all things.

I have omitted the four preliminary lines of the First
iEneid, because I think them inferior to any four others

25 in the whole poem, and consequently believe they are
not Virgil's. There is too great a gap betwixt the
adjective vicina in the second line, and the substantive
arva in the latter end of the third, which keeps his
meaning in obscurity too long, and is contrary to the

30 clearness of his style.

Ut quantvis avido

is too ambitious an ornament to be his ; and

Gratum opus agricolis,
* farther'd, ed. 1697.

Dedication of the j/Eneis 237

are all words unnecessary, and independent of what he
had said before.

. . . Horrentia Mortis
Amta . . ,

is worse than any of the rest. Horrentia is such a flat 5
epithet, as Tully would have given us in his verses.
It is a mere filler, to stop a vacancy in the hexameter,
and connect the preface to the work of Virgil. Our
author seems to sound a charge, and begins like the
clangour of a trumpet — ^o

Artna^ w'tumque cano, Trojce qui primus ab oris

scarce a word without an r, and the vowels, for the
greater part, sonorous. The prefacer began with Ille
egOf which he was constrained to patch up in the fourth
line with at nunc, to make the sense cohere; and, if 15
both those words are not notorious botches, I am much
deceived, though the French translator thinks other-
wise. For my own part, I am rather of the opinion
that they were added by Tucca and Varius, than re-
trenched. 20

I know it may be answered, by such as think Virgil
the author of the four lines, that he asserts his title to
the J^neis in the beginning of his work, as he did to
the two former in the last lines of the Fourth Georgic.
I will not reply otherwise to this, than by desiring them 25
to compare these four lines with the four others, which
we know are his, because no poet but he alone could
write them. If they cannot distinguish creeping from
flying, let them lay down Virgil, and take up Ovid de
PontOy in his stead. My master needed not the assist- 30
ance of that preliminary poet to prove his claim. His
own majestic mien discovers him to be the king;
amidst a thousand courtiers. It was a . superfluous
office; and, therefore, I would not set those verses in

238 Dedication of the jiEneis

the front of Virgil, but have rejected them to my own
preface.

I, who before, with Shepherds in the Groves,
Sung to my oaten Pipe, their rural Loves,
5 And, issuing thence, compell'd the neighbouring Field

A plenteous Crop of rising Corn to yield,
ManurM the Glebe, and stocked the fruitful Plain,
(A Poem grateful to the greedy Swain), &c.

If there be not a tolerable line in all these six, the

10 prefacer gave me no occasion to write better. This is
a just apology in this place; but I have done great
wrong to Virgil in the whole translation : want of time,
the inferiority of our language, the inconvenience of
rhyme, and all the other excuses I have made, may

15 alleviate my fault, but cannot justify the boldness of my
undertaking. What avails it me to acknowledge freely,
that I have not been able to do him right in any line ?
For even my own confession makes against me ; and
it will always be returned upon me, ' Why then did you

ao attempt it ? ' To which no other answer can be made,
than that I have done him less injury than any of his
former libellers.

What they called his picture, had been drawn at
length, so many times, by the daubers of almost all

25 nations, and still so unlike him, that I snatched up the
pencil with disdain ; being satisfied beforehand, that
I could make some small resemblance of him, though
I must be content with a worse likeness. A Sixth
Pastoralj a Pharmaceutria, a single Orpheus^ and some

30 other features, have been exactly taken : but those
holiday authors writ for pleasure ; and only shewed us
what they could have done, if they would have taken
pains to perform the whole.

Be pleased, my Lord, to accept, with your wonted

35 goodness, this unworthy present which I make you.

Dedication of the ^neis 239

I have taken off one trouble from you, of defending it,
by acknowledging its imperfections : and, though some
part of them are covered in the verse, (as Erichthonius
rode always in a chariot, to hide his lameness,) such of
them as cannot be concealed, you will please to connive 5
at, though, in the strictness of your judgment, you can-
not pardon. If Homer was allowed to nod sometimes
in so long a work, it will be no wonder if I often fall
asleep. You took my Aureng-zebe into your protection,
with all his faults : and I hope here cannot be so many, 10
because I translate an author who gives me such
examples of correctness. What my jury may be, I know
not; but it is good for a criminal to plead before a
favourable judge : if I had said partial, would your Lord-
ship have forgiven me? or will you give me leave to 15
acquaint the world, that I have many times been
obliged to your bounty since the Revolution ? Though
I never was reduced to beg a charity, nor ever had the
impudence to ask one, either of your Lordship, or your
noble kinsman the Earl of Dorset, much less of any 20
other; yet, when I least expected it, you have both
remembered me : so inherent it is in your family not
to forget an old servant. It looks rather like ingrati-
tude on my part, that, where I have been so often
obliged, I have appeared so seldom to return my 25
thanks, and where I was also so sure of being well
received. Somewhat of laziness was in the case, and
somewhat too of modesty, but nothing of disrespect or
of unthankfulness. I will not say that your Lordship
has encouraged me to this presumption, lest, if my 30
labours meet with no success in public, I may expose
your judgment to be censured. As for my own enemies,
I shall never think them worth an answer ; and, if your
Lordship has any, they will not dare to arraign you for
want of knowledge in this art, till they can produce 35

240 Dedication of the JEneis

somewhat better of their own, than your Essay on Poetry.
'Twas on this consideration, that I have drawn out my
Preface to so great a length. Had I not addressed
to a poet and a critic of the first magnitude, I had

6 myself been taxed for want of judgment, and shamed
my patron for want of understanding. But neither will
you, my Lord, so soon be tired as any other, because
the discourse is on your art ; neither will the learned
reader think it tedious, because it is adClerum, At least,

10 when he begins to be weary, the church doors are open.
That I may pursue the allegory with a short prayer,
after a long sermon :

May you live happily and long, for the service of
your Country, the encouragement of good Letters, and

15 the ornament of Poetry; which cannot be wished more
earnestly by any man, than by
Your Lordship's most humble.

Most obliged, and most obedient Servant,

John Dryden.

POSTSCRIPT TO THE READER

20 What Virgil wrote in the vigour of his age, in plenty
and at ease, I have undertaken to translate in my
declining years ; struggling with wants, oppressed with
sickness, curbed in my genius, liable to be misconstrued
in all I write; and my judges, if they are not very

25 equitable, already prejudiced against me, by the lying
character which has been given them of my morals.
Yet steady to my principles, and not dispirited with my
afflictions, I have, by the blessing of God on my
endeavours, overcome all difficulties, and, in some

Postscript to the Reader 241

measure, atquitted myself of the debt which I owed the
public when I undertook this work. In the first place,
therefore, I thankfully acknowledge to the Almighty
Power the assistance He has given me in the begin-
ning, the prosecution, and conclusion of my present 5
studies, which are more happily performed than I could
have promised to myself, when I laboured under such
discouragements. For, what I have done, imperfect as
it is for want of health and leisure to correct it, will
be judged in after-ages, and possibly in the present, to 10
be no dishonour to my native country, whose language
and poetry would be more esteemed abroad, if they
were better understood. Somewhat (give me leave to
say) I have added to both of them in the choice of
words, and harmony of numbers, which were wanting, 15
especially the last, in all our poets, even in those who,
being endued with genius, yet have not cultivated their
mother-tongue with sufficient care; or, relying on the
beauty of their thoughts, have judged the ornament of
words, and sweetness of sound, unnecessary. One is ao
for raking in Chaucer (our English Ennius) for anti-
quated words, which are never to be revived, but when
sound or significancy is wanting in the present language.
But many of his deserve not this redemption, any more
than the crowds of men who daily die, or are slain 25
for sixpence in a battle, merit to be restored to life, if
a wish could revive them. Others have no ear for
verse, nor choice of words, nor distinction of thoughts;
but mingle farthings with their gold, to make up the
sum. Here is a field of satire opened to me: but, 30
since the Revolution, I have wholly renounced that
talent. For who would give physic to the great, when
he is uncalled? — to do his patient no good, and en-
danger himself for his prescription? Neither am
I ignorant, but I may justly be condemned for many 35

II. R

242 Translation of Virgil

of those faufts of which I have too liberally arraigned
others.

. . . Cynthius auretn
Vellit, et admonuit . . .

5 'Tis enough for me, if the Government will let me
pass unquestioned. In the meantime, I am obliged, in
gratitude, to return my thanks to many of them, who
have not only distinguished me from others of the same
party, by a particular exception of grace, but, without

10 considering the man, have been bountiful to the poet :
have encouraged Virgil to speak such English as I
could teach him, and rewarded his interpreter for the
pains he has taken in bringing him over into Britain,
by defraying the charges of his voyage. Even Cer-

^5 berus, when he had received the sop, permitted ./Eneas
to pass freely to Elysium. Had it been offered me, and
I had refused it, yet still some gratitude is due to such
who were willing to oblige me ; but how much more to
those from whom I have received the favours which

20 they have offered to one of a different persuasion I
Amongst whom I cannot omit naming the Earls of
Derby and of Peterborough. To the first of these
I have not the honour to be known ; and therefore his
liberality was as much unexpected as it was undeserved.

25 The present Earl of Peterborough has been pleased
long since to accept the tenders of my service : his
favours are so frequent to me, that I receive them
almost by prescription. No difference of interests or
opinion has been able to withdraw his protection from

30 me ; and I might justly be condemned for the most
unthankful of mankind, if I did not always preserve for
him a most profound respect and inviolable gratitude.
I must also add, that, if the last jEneid shine amongst
its fellows, 'tis owing to the commands of Sir William

f,5 Trumball, one of the principal Secretaries of State, who

Postscript to the Reader 243

recommended it, as his favourite, to my care ; and for
his sake particularly, I have made it mine. For who
would confess weariness, when he enjoined a fresh
labour? I could not but invoke the assistance of a
Muse, for this last office. 5

Extremum hunc, Arethusa . . .

. , . Negat quis carmma Gallo ?

Neither am I to forget the noble present which was
made me by Gilbert Dolben, Esq., the worthy son of
the late Archbishop of York, who, when I began this 10
work, enriched me with all the several editions of
Virgil, and all the commentaries of those editions in
Latin; amongst which, I could not but prefer the
Dauphin's*, as the last, the shortest, and the most
judicious. Fabrini I had also sent me from Italy; but 15
either he understands Virgil very imperfectly, or I have
no knowledge of my author.

Being invited by that worthy gentleman. Sir William
Bowyer, to Denham Court, I translated the First
Georgic at his house, and the greatest part of the last ao
jEneid, A more friendly entertainment no man ever
found. No wonder, therefore, if both those versions
surpass the rest, and own the satisfaction I received in
his converse, with whom I had the honour to be bred in
Cambridge, and in the same college. The Seventh 25
iEneid was made English at Burleigh, the magnificent
abode of the Earl of Exeter. In a village belonging to
his family I was born ; and under his roof I endeavoured
to make that jEneid appear in English with as much
lustre as I could ; though my author has not given the 30
finishing strokes either to it, or to the Eleventh, as
I perhaps could prove in both, if I durst presume to
criticise my master.

* The DolphinSy ed. 1697.
R 2

244 Translation of Virgil

By a letter from William Walsh, of Abberley, Esq.
(who has so long honoured me with his friendship, and
who, without flattery, is the best critic of our nation),
I have been informed, that his Grace the Duke of
5 Shrewsbury has procured a printed copy of the Pas-
toralsy Georgics, and first six ^neids, from my bookseller,
and has read them in the country, together with my
friend. This noble person having been pleased to give
them a commendation, which I presume not to insert,

10 has made me vain enough to boast of so great a favour,
and to think I have succeeded beyond my hopes; the
character of his excellent judgment, the acuteness of his
wit, and his general knowledge of good letters, being
known as well to all the world, as the sweetness of his

15 disposition, his humanity, his easiness of access, and
desire of obliging those who stand in need of his pro-
tection, are known to all who have approached him, and
to me in particular, who have formerly had the honour
of his conversation. Whoever has given the world the

20 translation of part of the Third Georgic^ which he calls
The Power of Love, has put me to sufficient pains to
make my own not inferior to his ; as my Lord Roscom-
mon's Silenus had formerly given me the same trouble.
The most ingenious Mr. Addison of Oxford has also

25 been as troublesome to me as the other two, and on
the same account. After his Bees, my latter swarm is
scarcely worth the hiving. Mr. Cowley's Praise of a
Country Life is excellent, but is rather an imitation of
Virgil than a version. That I have recovered, in some

30 measure, the health which I had lost by too much
application to this work, is owing, next to God's mercy,
to the skill and care of Dr. Guibbons and Dr. Hobbs,
the two ornaments of their profession, whom I can only
pay by this acknowledgment. The whole Faculty has

35 always been ready to oblige me; and the only one of

Postscript to the Reader 245

them, who endeavoured to defame me, had it not in his
power. I desire pardon from my readers for saying so
much in relation to myself, which concerns not them ;
and, with my acknowledgments to all my subscribers,
have only to add, that the few Notes which follow are 5
par maniere (Tacquit, because I had obliged myself by
articles to do somewhat of that kind. These scattering
observations are rather guesses at my author's meaning
in some passages, than proofs that so he meant. The
unlearned may have recourse to any poetical dictionary 10
in English, for the names of persons, places, or fables,
which the learned need not : but that little which I say
is either new or necessary ; and the first of these quali-
fications never fails to invite a reader, if not to please
him. 15

PREFACE

TO THE FABLES

[1700]

'Tis with a Poet, as with a man who designs to build,
and is very exact, as he supposes, in casting up the
cost beforehand ; but, generally speaking, he is mis-
taken in his account, and reckons short of the expense

5 he first intended. He alters his mind as the work
proceeds, and will have this or that convenience more,
of which he had not thought when he began. So has
it happened to me; I have built a house, where I
intended but a lodge; yet with better success than

10 a certain nobleman, who, beginning with a dog-kennel,
never lived to finish the palace he had contrived.

From translating the First of Homer's Iliads, (which
I intended as an essay to the whole work,) I proceeded
to the translation of the Twelfth Book of Ovid's Meta-

15 morphoseSf because it contains, among other things, the
causes, the beginning, and ending, of the Trojan war.
Here I ought in reason to have stopped; but the
speeches of Ajax and Ulysses lying next in my way,
I could not balk 'em. When I had compassed them,

20 I was so taken with the former part of the Fifteenth
Book, (which is the masterpiece of the whole Meta-
morphoses^ that I enjoined myself the pleasing task of
rendering it into English. And now I found, by the

Preface to the Fables 247

number of my verses, that they began to swell into
a little volume ; which gave me an occasion of looking
backward on some beauties of my author, in his former
books : there occurred to me the Hunting of the Boar,
Cinyras and Myrrha, the good-natured story of Bizucts 5
and Philemon, with the rest, which I hope I have
translated closely enough, and given them the same
turn of verse which they had in the original ; and this,
I may say, without vanity, is not the talent of every
poet. He who has arrived the nearest to it, is the 10
ingenious and learned Sandys, the best versifier of the
former age; if I may properly call it by that name,
which was the former part of this concluding century.
For Spenser and Fairfax both flourished in the reign
of Queen Elizabeth ; great masters in our language, 15
and who saw much further into the beauties of our
numbers than those who immediately followed them.
Milton was the poetical son of Spenser, and Mr. Waller
of Fairfax ; for we have our lineal descents and clans
as well as other families. Spenser more than once 20
insinuates, that the soul of Chaucer was transfused into
his body ; and that he was begotten by him two hundred
years after his decease. Milton has acknowledged to
me, that Spenser was his original ; and many besides
myself have heard our famous Waller own, that he 25
derived the harmony of his numbers from Godfrey
of Bulloign, which was turned into English by Mr.
Fairfax.

But to return : having done with Ovid for this time,
it came into my mind, that our old English poet, 30
Chaucer, in many things resembled him, and that with
no disadvantage on the side of the modern author,
as I shall endeavour to prove when I compare them ;
and as I am, and always have been, studious to promote
the honour of my native country, so I soon resolved 35

248 Preface to the Fables

to put their merits to the trial, by turning some of the
Canterbury Tales into our language, as it is now refined;
for by this means, both the poets being set in the same
light, and dressed in the same English habit, story to

5 be compared with story, a certain judgment may be
made betwixt them by the reader, without obtruding
my opinion on him. Or, if I seem partial to my
countr3mian and predecessor in the laurel, the friends
of antiquity are not few; and, besides many of the

10 learned, Ovid has almost all the Beaux, and the whole
Fair Sex, his declared patrons. Perhaps I have as-
sumed somewhat more to myself than they allow me,
because I have adventured to sum up the evidence;
but the readers are the jury, and their privilege remains

15 entire, to decide according to the merits of the cause;
or, if they please, to bring it to another hearing before
some other court. In the mean time, to follow the
thread of my discourse (as thoughts, according to
Mr. Hobbes, have always some connexion,) so from

20 Chaucer I was led to think on Boccace, who was not
only his contemporary, but also pursued the same
studies; wrote novels in prose, and many works in
verse; particularly is said to have invented the octave
rhyme, or stanza of eight lines, which ever since has

25 been maintained by the practice of all Italian writers
who are, or at least assume the title of heroic poets.
He and Chaucer, among other things, had this in
common, that they refined their mother-tongues; but
with this difference, that Dante had begun to file their

30 language, at least in verse, before the time of Boccace,
who likewise received no little help from his master
Petrarch ; but the reformation of their prose was wholly
owing to Boccace himself, who is yet the standard of
purity in the Italian tongue, though many of his phrases

35 are become obsolete, as in process of time it must

Preface to the Fables 249

needs happen. Chaucer (as you have formerly been
told by our learned Mr. Rymer) first adorned and
amplified our barren tongue fi-om the Proven9aI *, which
was then the most polished of all the modern lan-
guages ; but this subject has been copiously treated 5
by that great critic, who deserves no little commenda-
tion from us his countrymen. For these reasons of
time, and resemblance of genius, in Chaucer and Boc-
cace, I resolved to join them in my present work ; to
which I have added some original papers of my own, 10
which whether they are equal or inferior to my other
poems, an author is the most improper judge; and
therefore I leave them wholly to the mercy of the
reader. I will hope the best, that they will not be "
condemned; but if they should, I have the excuse of 15
an old gentleman, who, mounting on horseback before
some ladies, when I was present, got up somewhat
heavily, but desired of the fair spectators, that they
would count fourscore and eight before they judged
him. By the mercy of God, I am already come within 30
twenty years of his number; a cripple in my limbs,
but what decays are in my mind, the reader must
determine. I think myself as vigorous as ever in the
faculties of my soul, excepting only my memory, which
is not impaired to any great degree ; and if I lose not 25
more of it, I have no great reason to complain. What
judgment I had, increases rather than diminishes ; and
thoughts, such as they are, come crowding in so fast
upon me, that my only difiiculty is to choose or to
reject, to run them into verse, or to give them the 30
other harmony of prose : I have so long studied and
practised both, that they are grown into a habit,
and become familiar to me. In short, though I may
lawfully plead some part of the old gentleman's excuse,

* Provencallf ed. 1700.

250 Preface io the Fables

yet I will reserve it till I think I have greater need,
and ask no grains of allowance for the faults of this
my present work, but those which are given of course
to human frailty. I will not trouble my reader with
5 the shortness of time in which I writ it, or the several
intervals of sickness. They who think too well of their
own performances, are apt to boast in their prefaces
how little time their works have cost them, and what
other business of more importance interfered ; but the

10 reader will be as apt to ask the question, why they
allowed not a longer time to make their works more
perfect ? and why they had so despicable an opinion
of their judges as to thrust their indigested stuff upon
them, as if they deserved no better ?

15 With this account of my present undertaking, I con-
clude the first part of this discourse : in the second part,
as at a second sitting, though I alter not the draught,
I must touch the same features over again, and change
the dead-colouring of the whole. In general I will only

20 say, that I have written nothing which savours of im-
morality or profaneness ; at least, I am not conscious to
myself of any such intention. If there happen to be
found an irreverent expression, or a thought too wanton,
they are crept into my verses through my inadvertency:

25 if the searchers find any in the cargo, let them be
staved or forfeited, like counterbanded goods ; at least,
let their authors be answerable for them, as being but
imported merchandise, and not of my own manufacture.
On the other side, I have endeavoured to choose such

30 fables, both ancient and modern, as contain in each of
them some instructive moral ; which I could prove by
induction, but the way is tedious, and they leap foremost
into sight, without the reader's trouble of looking after
them. I wish I could affirm, with a safe conscience,

35 that I had taken the same care in all my former writ-

Preface to the Fables 251

ings ; for it must be owned, that supposing verses are
never so beautiful or pleasing, yet, if they contain any-
thing which shocks religion or good manners, they are
at best what Horace says of good numbers without
good sense, Versus inopes rerunij nugceque canorce. Thus 5
far, I hope, I am right in court, without renouncing
to my other right of self-defence, where I have been
wrongfully accused, and my sense wire-drawn into
blasphemy or bawdry, as it has often been by a religious
lawyer, in a late pleading against the stage; in which \o
he mixes truth with falsehood, and has not forgotten
the old rule of calumniating strongly, that something
may remain.

I resume the thrid of my discourse with the first of
my translations, which was the first Iliad of Homer. If 15
it shall please God to give me longer life, and moderate
health, my intentions are to translate the whole Iltas]
provided still that I meet with those encouragements
from the public, which may enable me to proceed in my
undertaking with some cheerfulness. And this I dare 20
assure the world beforehand, that I have found, by trial,
Homer a more pleasing task than Virgil, though I say
not the translation will be less laborious ; for the Grecian
is more according to my genius than the Latin poet.
In the works of the two authors we may read their 25
manners, and natural inclinations, which are wholly
different. Virgil was of a quiet, sedate temper ; Homer
was violent, impetuous, and full of fire. The chief
talent of Virgil was propriety of thoughts, and ornament
of words : Homer was rapid in his thoughts, and took 301
all the liberties, both of numbers and of expressions,
which his language, and the age in which he lived,
allowed him. Homer's invention was more copious,
Virgil's more confined ; so that if Homer had not led
the way, it was not in Virgil to have begun heroic 35

252 Preface to the Fables

poetry ; for nothing can be more evident, than that the
Roman poem is but the second part of the Ilias ; a con-
tinuation of the same story, and the persons already
formed. The manners of iEneas are those of Hector,
5 superadded to those which Homer gave him. The
adventures of Ulysses in the Odysseis are imitated in
the first Six Books of Virgil's ^neis ; and though the
accidents are not the same, (which would have argued
him of a servile copying, and total barrenness of in-

lovention,) yet the seas were the same in which both
the heroes wandered; and Dido cannot be denied to
be the poetical daughter of Calypso. The six latter
Books of Virgil's poem are the four-and-twenty Iliads
contracted; a quarrel occasioned by a lady, a single

15 combat, battles fought, and a town besieged. I say
not this in derogation to Virgil, neither do I contradict
anything which I have formerly said in his just praise ;
for his episodes are almost wholly of his own invention,
and the form which he has given to the telling makes

20 the tale his own, even though the original ^ory had
been the same. But this proves, however, that Homer
taught Virgil to design ; and if invention be the first
virtue of an epic poet, then the Latin poem can only be
allowed the second place. Mr. Hobbes, in the preface

25 to his own bald translation of the I/ias, (studying
poetry as he did mathematics, when it was too late,)
Mr. Hobbes, I say, begins the praise of Homer where
he should have ended it. He tells us, that the first
beauty of an epic poem consists in diction ; that is, in

^o the choice of words, and harmony of numbers. Now
the words are the colouring of the work, which, in the
order of nature, is last to be considered. The design,
the disposition, the manners, and the thoughts, are all
before it : where any of those are wanting or imperfect,

35 so much wants or is imperfect in the imitation of human

Preface to the Fables 253

life, which is in the very definition of a poem. Words,
indeed, like glaring colours, are the first beauties that
arise and strike the sight ; but, if the draught be false
or lame, the figures ill disposed, the manners obscure
or inconsistent, or the thoughts unnatural, then the 5
finest colours are but daubing, and the piece is a beauti-
ful monster at the best. Neither Virgil nor Homer
were deficient in any of the former beauties ; but in this
last, which is expression, the Roman poet is at least
equal to the Grecian, as I have said elsewhere : supply- 10
ing the poverty of his language by his musical ear, and
by his diligence.

But to return : our two great poets being so different
in their tempers, one choleric and sanguine, the other
phlegmatic and melancholic; that which makes them 15
excel in their several ways is, that each of them has
followed his own natural inclination, as well in forming
the design, as in the execution of it. The very heroes
shew their authors : Achilles is hot, impatient, re-
vengeful — 20

ImpigeVf imcunduSj inexorabiliSy acer, <Sr»r.,

iEneas patient, considerate, careful of his people, and
merciful to his enemies ; ever submissive to the will of
heaven —

. . . quo fata trahunt retrahuntque, sequamur. 25

I could please myself with enlarging on this subject,
but am forced to defer it to a fitter time. From all
I have said, I will only draw this inference, that the
action of Homer, being more full of vigour than that of
Virgil, according to the temper of the writer, is of con- 30
sequence more pleasing to the reader. One warms you
by degrees ; the other sets you on fire all at once, and
never intermits his heat. *Tis the same difference
which Longinus makes betwixt the effects of eloquence

254 Preface to the Fables

in Demosthenes and Tully; one persuades, the other
commands. You never cool while you read Homer,
even not in the Second Book (a graceful flattery to his
countrymen) ; but he hastens from the ships, and con-

5 eludes not that book till he has made you an amends
by the violent playing of a new machine. From thence
he hurries on his action with variety of events, and
ends it in less compass than two months. This vehem-
ence of his, I confess, is more suitable to my temper ;

10 and, therefore, I have translated his First Book with
greater pleasure than any part of Virgil ; but it was
not a pleasure without pains. The continual agitations
of the spirits must needs be a weakening of any consti-
tution, especially in age ; and many pauses are required

15 for refreshment betwixt the heats; the Iliad of itself
being a third part longer than all Virgil's works to-
gether.

This is what I thought needful in this place to say
of Homer. I proceed to Ovid and Chaucer; consider-

20 ing the former only in relation to the latter. With
Ovid ended the golden age of the Roman tongue ; from
Chaucer the purity of the English tongue began. The
manners of the poets were not unlike. Both of them
were well-bred, well-natured, amorous, and libertine,

25 at least in their writings ; it may be, also in their lives.
Their studies were the same, philosophy and philology.
Both of them were knowing in astronomy ; of which
Ovid*s books of the Roman FeastSy and Chaucer's
Treatise of the Astrolabe^ are sufficient witnesses. But

30 Chaucer was likewise an astrologer, as were Virgil,
Horace, Persius, and Manilius. Both writ with wonder-
ful facility and clearness ; neither were great inventors :
for Ovid only copied the Grecian fables, and most of
Chaucer's stories were taken from his Italian contem-

35 poraries, or their predecessors. Boccace his Decameron

Preface to the Fables 255

was first published, and from thence our Englishman
has borrowed many of his Canterbury Tales : yet that of
Palamon and Arcite was written, in all probability, by
some Italian wit, in a former age, as I shall prove
hereafter. The tale of Grizild was the invention of 5
Petrarch ; by him sent to Boccace, from whom it came
to Chaucer. Troilus and Cressida was also written by
a Lombard author, but much amplified by our Enghsh
translator, as well as beautified ; the genius of our
countrymen, in general, being rather to improve an 10
invention than to invent themselves, as is evident not
only in our poetry, but in many of our manufactures.
I find I have anticipated already, and taken up from
Boccace before I come to him : but there is so much
less behind ; and I am of the temper of most kings, who 15
love to be in debt, are all for present money, no matter
how they pay it afterwards : besides, the nature of a
preface is rambling, never wholly out of the way, nor in
it. This I have learned from the practice of honest
Montaigne, and return at my pleasure to Ovid and 20
Chaucer, of whom I have little more to say.

Both of them built on the inventions of other men ;
yet since Chaucer had something of his own, as The
Wife of BatKs Tale^ The Cock and the FoXy which I have
translated, and some others, I may justly give our 25
countryman the precedence in that part; since I can
remember nothing of Ovid which was wholly his. Both
of them understood the manners ; under which name
I comprehend the passions, and, in a larger sense, the
descriptions of persons, and their very habits. For an 30
example, I see Baucis and Philemon as perfectly before
me, as if some ancient painter had drawn them ; and all
the Pilgrims in the Canterbury Tales^ their humours,
their features, and the very dress, as distinctly as if
I had supped with them at the Tabard in Southwark. 35

256 Preface to the Fables

Yet even there, too, the figures of Chaucer are much
more lively, and set in a better light; which though
I have not time to prove, yet I appeal to the reader,
and am sure he will clear me from partiality. The
5 thoughts and words remain to be considered, in the
comparison of the two poets, and I have saved myself
one-half of the labour, by owning that Ovid lived when
the Roman tongue was in its meridian ; Chaucer, in the
dawning of our language : therefore that part of the

10 comparison stands not on an equal foot, any more than
the diction of Ennius and Ovid, or of Chaucer and our
present English. The words are given up, as a post
not to be defended in our poet, because he wanted the
modern art of fortifying. The thoughts remain to be

1 5 considered ; and they are to be measured only by their
propriety; that is, as they flow more or less naturally
from the persons described, on such and such occasions.
The vulgar judges, which are nine parts in ten of all
nations, who call conceits and jingles wit, who see Ovid

20 full of them, and Chaucer altogether without them, will
think me little less than mad for preferring the English-
man to the Roman. Yet, with their leave, I must pre-
sume to say, that the things they admire are only
glittering trifles, and so far from being witty, that in

25 a serious poem they are nauseous, because they are
unnatural. Would any man, who is ready to die for
love, describe his passion like Narcissus ? Would he
think of inopem me copiafecit^ and a dozen more of such
expressions, poured on the neck of one another, and

30 signifying all the same thing ? If this were wit, was
this a time to be witty, when the poor wretch was in the
agony of death ? This is just John Littlewit, in Bartholo-
mew Fair^ who had a conceit (as he tells you) left him
in his misery ; a miserable conceit. On these occasions

35 the poet should endeavour to raise pity ; but, instead of

Preface to the Fables 257

this, Ovid is tickling you to laugh. Virgil never made
use of such machines when he was moving you to com-
miserate the death of Dido : he would not destroy what
he was building, Chaucer makes Arcite violent in his
love, and unjust in the pursuit of it; yet, when he came 5
to die, he made him think more reasonably: he repents
not of his love, for that had altered his character; but
acknowledges the injustice of his proceedings, and
resigns Emilia to Palamon. What would Ovid have
done on this occasion? He would certainly have made 10
Arcite witty on his deathbed; he had complained he
was further off from possession, by being so near, and
a thousand such boyisms, which Chaucer rejected as
below the dignity of the subject. They who think
otherwise, would, by the same reason, prefer Lucan and '5
Ovid to Homer and Virgil, and Martial to all four of
them. As for the turn of words, in which Ovid par-
ticularly excels all poets, they are sometimes a fault,
and sometimes a beauty, as they are used properly
or improperly ; but in strong passions always to be 20
shunned) because passions are serious, and will admit
no playing. The French have a high value for them ;
and, I confess, they are often what they call delicate,
when they are introduced with judgment; but Chaucer
writ with more simplicity, and followed Nature more as
closely than to use them. I have thus far, to the best
of my knowledge, been an upright judge betwixt the
parties in competition, not meddling with the design
nor the disposition of it; because the design was not
their own; and in the disposing of it they were equal. It 30
remains that I say somewhat of Chaucer in particular.

In the first place, as he is the father of English
poetry, so I hold him in the same degree of veneration
as the Grecians held Homer, or the Romans Virgil.
He is a perpetual fountain of good sense ; learn'd in all 35

II. s

258 Preface to the Fables

sciences; and, therefore, speaks properly on all sub-
jects. As he knew what to say, so he knows also when
to leave oflF; a continence which is practised by few
writers, and scarcely by any of the ancients, excepting
5 Virgil and Horace. One of our late great poets is
sunk in his reputation, because he could never forgive
any conceit which came in his way; but swept like
a drag-net, great and small. There was plenty enough,
but the dishes were ill sorted ; whole pyramids of sweet-
ie meats for boys and women, but little of solid meat for
men. All this proceeded not from any want of know-
ledge, but of judgment. Neither did he want that in
discerning the beauties and faults of other poets, but
only indulged himself in the luxury of writing; and
J 5 perhaps knew it was a fault, but hoped the reader would
not find it. For this reason, though he must always be
thought a great poet, he is no longer esteemed a good
writer ; and for ten impressions, which his works have
had in so many successive years, yet at present a
3o hundred books are scarcely purchased once a twelve-
month; for, as my last Lord Rochester said, though
somewhat profanely. Not being of God, he could not
stand.

Chaucer followed Nature everywhere, but was never
25 so bold to go beyond her ; and there is a great dif-
ference of being poeta and nimis poeta, if we may believe
Catullus, as much as betwixt a modest behaviour and
aflFectation. The verse of Chaucer, I confess, is not
harmonious to us ; but 'tis like the eloquence of one
30 whom Tacitus commends, it was auribus istius temporis
accommodata : they who lived with him, and some time
after him, thought it musical ; and it continues so, even
in our judgment, if compared with the numbers of
Lidgate and Gower, his contemporaries: there is the
35 rude sweetness of a Scotch tune in it, which is natural

Preface to the Fables 259

and pleasing, though not perfect, *Tis true, I cannot
go so far as he who published the last edition of him ;
for he would make us believe the fault is in our ears,
and that there were really ten syllables in a verse where
we find but nine : but this opinion is not worth con- 5
futing; 'tis so gross and obvious an error, that common
sense (which is a rule in everything but matters of
Faith and Revelation) must convince the reader, that
equality of numbers, in ever^ verse which we call heroic^
was either not known, or not always practised, in 10
Chaucer's age. It were an easy matter to produce
some thousands of his verses, which are lame for want
of half a foot, and sometimes a whole one, and which
no pronunciation can make otherwise. We can only
say, that he lived in the infancy of our poetry, and that 15
nothing is brought to perfection at the first. We must
be children before we grow men. There was an Ennius,
and in process of time a Lucilius, and a Lucretius,
before Virgil and Horace; even after Chaucer there
was a Spenser, a Harrington, a Fairfax, before Waller 20
and Denham were in being ; and our numbers were in
their nonage till these last appeared. I need say little
of his parentage, life, and fortunes ; they are to be found
at large in all the editions of his works. He was em-
ployed abroad, and favoured, by Edward the Third, 25
Richard the Second, and Henry the Fourth, and was
poet, as I suppose, to all three of them. In Richard's
time, I doubt, he was a little dipt in the rebellion of
the Commons; and being brother-in-law to John of
Ghant, it was no wonder if he followed the fortunes 30
of that family; and was well with Henry the Fourth
when he had deposed his predecessor. Neither is it to
be admired, that Henry, who was a wise as well as
a valiant prince, who claimed by succession, and was
sensible that his title was not sound, but was rightfully 35

s 2

26o Preface to the Fables

in Mortimer, who had married the heir of York ; it was
not to be admired, I say, if that great politician should
be pleased to have the greatest Wit of those times in
his interests, and to be the trumpet of his praises.

5 Augustus had given him the example, by the advice
of Maecenas, who recommended Virgil and Horace to
him ; whose praises helped to make him popular while
he was alive, and after his death have made him pre-
cious to posterity. As for the religion of our poet, he

10 seems to have some little bias towards the opinions of
Wicliffe, after John of Ghant his patron; somewhat
of which appears in the tale of Piers Plowman : yet
I cannot blame him for inveighing so sharply against
the vices of the clergy in his age: their pride, their

15 ambition, their pomp, their avarice, their worldly in-
terest, deserved the lashes which he gave them, both
in that, and in most of his Canterbury Tales. Neither
has his contemporary Boccace spared them : yet both
those poets lived in much esteem with good and holy

ao men in orders ; for the scandal which is given by
particular priests reflects not on the sacred function.
Chaucer's Monkj his Canon, and his Friar, took not
from the character of his Good Parson. A satirical poet
is the check of the laymen on bad priests. We are only

25 to take care, that we involve not the innocent with the
guilty in the same condemnation. The good cannot be
too much honoured, nor the bad too coarsely used ; for
the corruption of the best becomes the worst. When
a clergyman is whipped, his gown is first taken off, by

30 which the dignity of his order is secured. If he be
wrongfully accused, he has his action of slander ; and
'tis at the poet's peril if he transgress the law. But
they will tell us, that all kind of satire, though never so
well deserved by particular priests, yet brings the whole

35 order into contempt. Is then the peerage of England

Preface to the Fables 261

anything dishonoured when a peer suffers for his
treason? If he be libelled, or any way defamed, he has
his scandalum magnatum to punish the offender. They
who use this kind of argument, seem to be conscious to
themselves of somewhat which has deserved the poet's 5
lash, and are less concerned for their public capacity
than for their private; at least there is pride at the
bottom of their reasoning. If the faults of men in
orders are only to be judged among themselves, they
are all in some sort parties ; for, since they say the 10
honour of their order is concerned in every member
of it, how can we be sure that they will be impartial
judges ? How far I may be allowed to speak my opinion
in this case, I know not ; but I am sure a dispute of this
nature caused mischief in abundance betwixt a King 15
of England and an Archbishop of Canterbury; one
standing up for the laws of his land, and the other for
the honour (as he called it) of God's Church ; which
ended in the murder of the prelate, and in the whipping
of his Majesty from post to pillar for his penance. The 30
learned and ingenious Dr. Drake has saved me the
labour of inquiring into the esteem and reverence which
the priests have had of old ; and I would rather extend
than diminish any part of it : yet I must needs say, that
when a priest provokes me without any occasion given 35
him, I have no reason, unless it be the charity of a
Christian, to forgive him : prior Icesit is justification
sufficient in the civil law. If I answer him in his own
language, self-defence, I am sure must be allowed me;
and if I carry it further, even to a sharp recrimination, 30
somewhat may be indulged to human frailty. Yet my
resentment has not wrought so far, but that I have
followed Chaucer, in his character of a holy man, and
have enlarged on that subject with some pleasure;
reserving to myself the right, if I shall think fit here- 35

262 Preface to the Fables

after, to describe another sort of priests, such as are
more easily to be found than the Good Parson ; such as
have given the last blow to Christianity in this age, by
a practice so contrary to their doctrine. But this will
5 keep cold till another time. In the meanwhile, I take
up Chaucer where I left him.

He must have been a man of a most wonderful
comprehensive nature, because, as it has been truly
observed of him, he has taken into the compass of his

10 Canterbury Tales the various manners and humours (as
we now call them) of the whole English nation, in his
age. Not a single character has escaped him. All his
pilgrims are severally distinguished from each other;
and not only in their inclinations, but in their very

15 physiognomies and persons. Baptista Porta could not
have described their natures better, than by the marks
which the poet gives them. The matter and manner of
their tales, and of their telling, are so suited to their
different educations, humours, and callings, that each of

20 them would be improper in any other mouth. Even
the grave and serious characters are distinguished by
their several sorts of gravity : their discourses are such
as belong to their age, their calling, and their breeding ;
such as are becoming of them, and of them only. Some

35 of his persons are vicious, and some virtuous ; some
are unlearn'd, or (as Chaucer calls them) lewd, and some
are learn'd. Even the ribaldry of the low characters
is different : the Reeve, the Miller, and the Cook, are
several men, and distinguished from each other as much

30 as the mincing Lady-Prioress and the broad-speaking,
gap-toothed Wife of Bath. But enough of this ; there
is such a variety of game springing up before me, that
I am distracted in my choice, and know not which to
follow. 'Tis sufficient to say, according to the proverb,

35 that here is God's plenty. We have our forefathers

Preface to the Fables 263

and great-grand-dames all before us, as they were in
Chaucer's days: their general characters are still re-
maining in mankind, and even in England, though they
are called by other names than those of Monks, and
Friars, and Canons, and Lady Abbesses, and Nuns ; 5
for mankind is ever the same, and nothing lost out of
Nature, though everything is altered. May I have
leave to do myself the justice, (since my enemies will
do me none, and are so far from granting me to be
a good poet, that they will not allow me so much as to 10
be a Christian, or a moral man), may I have leave, I say,
to inform my reader, that I have confined my choice to
such tales of Chaucer as savour nothing of immodesty.
If I had desired more to please than to instruct, the
ReevBf the MiUer^ the Shipman^ the Merchant^ the Sumner ^ ^ -
and, above all, the Wife of Bath^ in the Prologue to her
Tale, would have procured me as many friends and
readers, as there are beaux and ladies of pleasure in
the town. But I will no more offend against good
manners : I am sensible as I ought to be of the scandal 30
I have given by my loose writings; and make what
reparation I am able, by this public acknowledgment.
If anything of this nature, or of profaneness, be crept
into these poems, I am so far from defending it, that
I disown it. Totunt hoc indicium volo. Chaucer makes 25
another manner of apology for his broad speaking, and
Boccace makes the like; but I will follow neither of
them. Our countryman, in the end of his Characters^
before the Canterbury J^ales, thus excuses the ribaldry,
which is very gross in many of his novels — 30

But jirste, I pray you, of your courtesy^

That ye ne arrete it not nty vUlany,

Though that I plainly speak in this ntattere,

To tellen you her words^ and eke her chere:

Ne though I speak her words properly, --

For this ye knowen as well as /,

264 Preface to the Fables

Who shall iellen a tali after a fHon,
He mote rehearse as nye as ever he can :
Everich word of it ben in his (Jiarge,
All speke he, never so rudely, ne large :
5 Or else he mote telUn his tale untruey

Or feine things, or find words new:
He may not spare, altho he were his brother.
He mote as wel say o word as another.
Crist spake himself fid broad in holy Writ,
]Q And well I wote no villany is it.

Eke Plato saith, who so can him rede.
The words mote been cousin to the dede.

Yet if a man should have enquired of Boccace or of
Chaucer, what need they had of introducing such char-

1 5 acters, where obscene words were proper in their mouths,
but very indecent to be heard ; I know not what answer
they could have made ; for that reason, such tales shall
be left untold by me. You have here a specimen of
Chaucer's language, which is so obsolete, that his sense

20 is scarce to be understood ; and you have likewise more
than one example of his unequal numbers, which were
mentioned before. Yet many of his verses consist of
ten syllables, and the words not much behind our pre-
sent English : as for example, these two lines, in the

25 description of the Carpenter's young wife —

Wincing she was, as is a jolly colt,
Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt.

I have almost done with Chaucer, when I have an-
swered some objections relating to my present work.

30 I find some people are offended that I have turned these
tales into modern English; because they think them
unworthy of my pains, and look on Chaucer as a dry,
old-fashioned wit, not worth reviving '. I have often
heard the late Earl of Leicester say, that Mr. Cowley

35 himself was of that opinion ; who, having read him over

* receiving, ed. 1700.

Preface to the Fables 265

at my Lord's request, declared he had no taste of him.
I dare not advance my opinion against the judgment of
so great an author ; but I think it fair, however, to leave
the decision to the public. Mr. Cowley was too modest
to set up for a dictator ; and being shocked perhaps 5
with his old style, never examined into the depth of his
good sense. Chaucer, I confess, is a rough diamond,
and must first be polished, ere he shines. I deny not
likewise, that, living in our early days of poetry, he
writes not always of a piece ; but sometimes mingles 10
trivial things with those of greater moment. Sometimes
also, though not often, he runs riot, like Ovid, and knows
not when he has said enough. But there are more
great wits besides Chaucer, whose fault is their excess
of conceits, and those ill sorted. An author is not to 15
write all he can, but only all he ought. Having observed
this redundancy in Chaucer, (as it is an easy matter for
a man of ordinary parts to find a fault in one of greater,)
1 have not tied myself to a literal translation ; but have
often omitted what I judged unnecessary, or not of dig- 20
iiity enough to appear in the company of better thoughts.
I have presumed further, in some places, and added
somewhat of my own where I thought my author was
deficient, and had not given his thoughts their true
lustre, for want of words in the beginning of our Ian- 25
guage. And to this I was the more emboldened, because
(if I may be permitted to say it of myself) I found I had
a soul congenial to his, and that I had been conversant
in the same studies. Another poet, in another age, may
take the same liberty with my writings ; if at least they 30
live long enough to deserve correction. It was also
necessary sometimes to restore the sense of Chaucer,
which was lost or mangled in the errors of the press.
Let this example suffice at present: in the story of
Palamon and Arcite, where the temple of Diana is 35

266 Preface to the Fables

described, you find these verses, in all the editions of
our author : —

There saw I Dan6 turned unto a tree,
I mean not the goddess Diane,
• But Venus daughter, which that hight Dan^.

Which, after a little consideration, I knew was to be
reformed into this sense, that Daphne^ the daughter of
Peneus, was turned into a tree. I durst not make thus
bold with Ovid, lest some future Milbourne should arise,

10 and say, I varied from my author, because I understood
him not.

But there are other judges, who think I ought not to
have translated Chaucer into English, out of a quite
contrary notion : they suppose there is a certain venera-

15 tion due to his old language; and that it is little less
than profanation and sacrilege to alter it. They are
farther of opinion, that somewhat of his good sense will
suffer in this transfusion, and much of the beauty of his
thoughts will infallibly be lost, which appear with more

30 grace in their old habit. Of this opinion was that excel-
lent person, whom I mentioned, the late Earl of Leicester,
who valued Chaucer as much as Mr. Cowley despised
him. My Lord dissuaded me from this attempt, (for
I was thinking of it some years before his death,) and

25 his authority prevailed so far with me, as to defer my
undertaking while he lived, in deference to him : yet
my reason was not convinced with what he urged against
it. If the first end of a writer be to be understood, then,
as his language grows obsolete, his thoughts must grow

30 obscure —

Multa renascentur, quce nunc cecidere ; cadentque
Quee nunc sunt in honore vocabula, si volet tisus.
Quern penes arbitriunt est et jus et norma ioquendi.

When an ancient word, for its sound and significancy,
35 deserves to be revived, I have that reasonable venera-

Preface to the Fables 267

tion for antiquity to restore it. All beyond this is
superstition. Words are not like landmarks, so sacred
as never to be removed ; customs are changed, and even
statutes are silently repealed, when the reason ceases
for which they were enacted. As for the other part of 5
the argument, that his thoughts will lose of their original
beauty by the innovation of words ; in the first place,
not only their beauty, but their being is lost, where they
are no longer understood, which is the present case.
I grant that something must be lost in all transfusion, 10
that is, in all translations; but the sense will remain,
which would otherwise be lost, or at least be maimed,
when it is scarce intelligible, and that but to a few.
How few are there, who can read Chaucer, so as to
understand him perfectly? And if imperfectly, then 15
with less profit, and no pleasure. It is not for the use
of some old Saxon friends, that I have taken these pains
with him : let them neglect my version, because they
have no need of it, I made it for their sakes, who
understand sense and poetry as well as they, when 20
that poetry and sense is put into words which they
understand. I will go farther, and dare to add, that
what beauties I lose in some places, I give to others
which had them not originally: but in this I may be
partial to myself; let the reader judge, and I submit to 25
his decision. Yet I think I have just occasion to com-
plain of them, who because they understand Chaucer,
would deprive the greater part of their countrymen of
the same advantage, and hoard him up, as misers do
their grandam gold, only to look on it themselves, and 30
hinder others from making use of it. In sum, I seriously
protest, that no man ever had, or can have; a greater
veneration for Chaucer than myself, I have translated
some part of his works, only that I might perpetuate his
memory, or at least refresh it, amongst my countrymen. 35

268 Preface to the Fables

If I have altered him anywhere for the better, I must
at the same time acknowledge, that I could have done
nothing without him. Facile est ifwentis addere is no
great commendation ; and I am not so' vain to think

5 I have deserved a greater. I will conclude what I have
to say of him singly, with this one remark : A lady of
my acquaintance, who keeps a kind of corresj>ondence
with some authors of the fair sex in France, has been
informed by them, that Mademoiselle de Scudery, who

10 is as old as Sibyl, and inspired like her by the same
God of Poetry, is at this time translating Chaucer into
modern French. From which I gather, that he has
been formerly translated into the old Proven9al; for
how she should come to understand old English, I know

1 5 not. But the matter of fact being true, it makes* me
think that there is something in it like fatality; that,
after certain periods of time, the fame and memory of
great Wits should be renewed, as Chaucer is both in
France and England. If this be wholly chance, *tis

20 extraordinary ; and I dare not call it more, for fear of
being taxed with superstition.

Boccace comes last to be considered, who, living in
the same age with Chaucer, had the same genius, and
followed the same studies. Both writ novels, and each

25 of them cultivated his mother tongue. But the greatest
resemblance of our two modern authors being in their
familiar style, and pleasing way of relating comical
adventures, I may pass it over, because I have trans-
lated nothing from Boccace of that nature. In the

30 serious part of poetry, the advantage is wholly on
Chaucer's side; for though the Englishman has bor-
rowed many tales from the Italian, yet it appears, that
those of Boccace were not generally of his own making,
but taken from authors t>f former ages, and by him onlv

35 modelled ; so that what there was of invention, in eit

Preface to the Fables 269

of them, may be judged equal. But Chaucer has
refined on Boccace, and has mended the stories, which
he has borrowed, in his way of telling ; though prose
allows more liberty of thought, and the expression is
more easy when unconfined by numbers. Our country- 5
man carries weight, and yet wins the race at disad.
vantage. I desire not the reader should take my word ;
and, therefore, I will set two of their discourses, on the
same subject, in the same light, for every man to judge
betwixt them. I translated Chaucer first, and, amongst 10
the rest, pitched on The Wife of Bath's Tale ; not daring,
as I have said, to adventure on her Prologue^ because
'tis too licentious. There Chaucer introduces an old
woman, of mean parentage, whom a youthful knight, of
noble blood, was forced to marry, and consequently 15
loathed her. The crone being in bed with him on the
wedding-night, and finding his aversion, endeavours to
win his affection by reason, and speaks a good word for
herself, (as who could blame her?) in hope to mollify
the sullen bridegroom. She takes her topics from the 20
benefits of poverty, the advantages of old age and ugli-
ness, the vanity of youth, and the silly pride of ancestry
and titles, without inherent virtue, which is the true
nobility. When I had closed Chaucer, I returned to
Ovid, and translated some more of his fables ; and, by 25
this time, had so far forgotten The Wife of Bath's Taky
that, when I took up Boccace, unawares I fell on the
same argument, of preferring virtue to nobility of blood
and titles, in the story of Sigismonda ; which I had
certainly avoided, for the resemblance of the two dis- 30
courses, if my memory had not failed me. Let the
reader weigh them both ; and, if he thinks me partial to
Chaucer, 'tis in him to right Boccace.

I prefer, in our countryman, far above all his other
ories, the noble poem of Palamon and Arcite, which is 35

270 Preface to ike Fables

of the epic kind, and perhaps not much inferior to the
IliaSy or the ^neis. The story is more pleasing than
either of them, the manners as perfect, the diction as
poetical, the learning as deep and various, and the

5 disposition full as artful : only it includes a greater
length of time, as taking up seven years at least ; but
Aristotle has left undecided the duration of the action ;
which yet is easily reduced into the compass of a year,
by a narration of what preceded the return of Palamon

10 to Athens. I had thought, for the honour of our narra*
tion, and more particularly for his, whose laurel, though
unworthy, I have worn after him, that this story was of
English growth, and Chaucer's own : but I was unde-
ceived by Boccace ; for, casually looking on the end of

15 his seventh Giomata, I found Dioneo, (under which
name he shadows himself,) and Fiametta, (who repre-
sents his mistress, the natural daughter of Robert, King
of Naples,) of whom these words are spoken : Dioneo e
Fiameita gran pezza cantarono insieme d*Arciia, e di

20 Pakmone ; by which it appears, that this story was
written before the time of Boccace ; but the name of its
author being wholly lost, Chaucer is now become an
original ; and I question not but the poem has received
many beauties, by passing through his noble hands.

35 Besides this tale, there is another of his own invention,
after the manner of the Proven9als, called The Flower
and the Leaf with which I was so particularly pleased,
both for the invention and the moral, that I cannot
hinder myself from recommending it to the reader.

30 As a corollary to this preface, in which I have done
justice to others, I owe somewhat to myself; not that
I think it worth my time to enter the lists with one

M , and one B ^ but barely to take notice, that

such men there are, who have written scurrilously

35 against me, without any provocation. M , who is

Preface to the Fables 271

in orders, pretends, amongst the rest, this quarrel to
me, that I have fallen foul on priesthood : if I have,
I am only to ask pardon of good priests, and am afraid
his part of the reparation will come to little. Let him
be satisfied, that he shall not be able to force himself 5
upon me for an adversary. I contemn him too much to
enter into competition with him. His own translations
of Virgil have ans^yered his criticisms on mine. If, (as
they say, he has declared in print), he prefers the
version of Ogilby to mine, the world has made him the lo
same compliment ; for 'tis agreed, on all hands, that he
writes even below Ogilby. That, you will say, is not
easily to be done ; but what cannot M — — bring about ?
1 am satisfied, however, that, while he and I live to-
gether, I shall not be thought the worst poet of the age. 15
It looks as if I had desired him underhand to write so
ill against me; but upon my honest word I have not
bribed him to do me this service, and am wholly guilt-
less of his pamphlet. *Tis true, I should be glad if
I could persuade him to continue his good offices, and 20
write such another critique on anything of mine ; for
I find, by experience, he has a great stroke with the
reader, when he condemns any of my poems, to make
the world have a better opinion of them. He has taken
some pains with my poetry ; but* nobody will be per- 35
suaded to take the same with his. If I had taken to
the Church, as he affirms, but which was never in my
thoughts, I should have had more sense, if not more
grace, than to have turned myself out of my benefice,
by writing libels on my parishioners. But his account 30
of my manners and my principles are of a piece with
his cavils and his poetry; and so I have done with him
for ever.

As for the City Bard, or Knight Physician, I hear his
quarrel to me is, that I was the author ol Absalom and SB

272 Preface to the Fables

Achitophel, which, he thinks, is a little hard on his
fanatic patrons in London.

But I will deal the more civilly with his two poems,
because nothing ill is to be spoken of the dead ; and
5 therefore peace be to the Manes of his Arthurs. I will
only say, that it was not for this noble Knight that
I drew the plan of an epic poem on King Arthur, in my
preface to the translation q{ Juvenal, The Guardian
Angels of kingdoms were machines too ponderous for

10 him to manage ; and therefore he rejected them, as
Dares did the whirl-bats of Eryx when they were thrown
before him by Entellus : yet from that preface, he
plainly took his hint ; for he began immediately upon
the story, though he had the baseness not to acknow-

15 ledge his benefactor, but instead of it, to traduce me in
a libel.

I shall say the less of Mr, Collier, because in many
things he has taxed me justly ; and I have pleaded
guilty to all thoughts and expressions of mine, which

ao can be truly argued of obscenity, profaneness, or im-
morality, and retract them. If he be my enemy, let him
triumph ; if he be my friend, as I have given him no
personal occasion to be otherwise, he will be glad of my
repentance. It becomes me not to draw my pen in the

25 defence of a bad cause, when I have so often drawn it
for a good one. Yet it were not difficult to prove, that
in many places he has perverted my meaning by his
glosses, and interpreted my words into blasphemy and
bawdry, of which they were not guilty. Besides that,

30 he is too much given to horse-play in his raillery, and
comes to battle like a dictator from the plough. I will
not say, the zeal of God^s house has eaten him up ; but
I am sure it has devoured some part of his good
manners and civility. It might also be doubted, whether

35 it were altogether zeal which prompted him to this

Preface to the Fables 273

rough manner of proceeding ; perhaps, it became not
one of his function to rake into the rubbish of ancient
and modern plays : a divine might have employed his
pains to better purpose, than in the nastiness of Plautus
and Aristophanes, whose examples, as they excuse not 5
me, so it might be possibly supposed, that he read them
not without some pleasure. They who have written
commentaries on those poets, or on Horace, Juvenal,
and Martial, have explained some vices, which, without
their interpretation, had been unknown to modern 10
times. Neither has he judged impartially betwixt the
former age and us. There is more bawdry in one play
of Fletcher's, called The Custom of the Country, than in
all ours together. Yet this has been often acted on the
stage, in my remembrance. Are the times so much 15
more reformed now, than they were five-and-twenty
years ago ? If they are, I congratulate the amendment
of our morals.^ But I am not to prejudice the cause of
my fellow poets, though I abandon my own defence:
they have some of them answered for themselves ; and 20
neither they nor I can think Mr. Collier so formidable
an enemy, that we should shun him. He has lost
ground, at the latter end of the day, by pursuing his
point too far, like the Prince of Cond6, at the battle of
Senneph : from immoral plays to no plays, ab abusu ad 2 s
usum, non valet consequentia. But, being a party, I am
not to erect myself into a judge. As for the rest of
those who have written against me, they are such
scoundrels, that they deserve not the least notice to

be taken of them. B and M are only dis- 30

tinguished from the crowd by being remembered to
their infamy: —

. . . Demetn, teque, Tigelliy
Discipulorum inter jubeo plorare cathedras.

NOTES

-»«-

DEDICATION OF THIRD MISCELLANY (1693).

Lord Radcliffey eldest son of Francis Earl of Derwentwater.
P. 2, 1. 31. the best poet. Lord Dorset to Mr. Henry Howard on his
incomparable^ incomprehensible Poem, called the British Princes :
*Wit like tierce-claret, when 't begins to pall,
Neglected lies, and 's of no use at all,
But in its full perfection of decay.
Turns vinegar and comes again in play.'
1. 35. Thus the corruption of a poet is the generation of a critic ;
V. sup, p. 119, 1. 13. This has often been repeated: 'the readiest-
made critics are cut-down poets * (Landor's Porson), Cf. Pope, Essay
on Criticism f and Disraeli, Lothair,

Zoilus. Ct. Longinus, c. 9 riAfi itc Ktptcrjs avofLOfxpoviUvovs ots d
Zutkos iifrtj x^f^^^ Kkaiovra,

P. 3, 1. 1 1, he who endeavoured to defame Virgil, Cf. Teuffel, Latin
Literature, $ 225, 3. Servius on EcL a, 22, hunc versum male dis-
tinguens Vergiliomastix vituperat, Carvilius Pictor wrote an Aeneido-
mastix,

1. 27. to fall on Lucan, Petronius, Satyr, cc. 1 18-124.
1. 31. Scaliger, on Homer: Poetices Liber Vqui et Criticus; cap. 3,
Homeri et Virgilii Loca ; beginning Homeri epitheta saepe frigida, aut
puerilia, aut locis inepta. Vida had before this rebuked the imperti-
nences of Homer, especially in his similes :

' Sed non Ausonii recte foedissima musca
Militis aequarit numerum, cum plurima mulctram
Pervolitat, neque enim in Latio magno ore sonantem
Anna ducesque decet tarn viles decidere in res.'

{Poetic, ii.)

Hypercritic, Hypercriticus is the title of Scaliger's Sixth Book, in

which the passage on Claudian occurs, c. 5 ; already quoted by Dryden.

T 2

276 Notes, pp. 4-9

p. 4, 1. II. Lucan. Scaliger, op, at vi. c. 6: 'Proinde ut nimis
fortasse libere dicam, interdum mihi latrare, non canere videtur.'

I. 23. Hon ingeniis. ' Ingeniis non ille favet plauditque sepultis/
Hor. Ep. ii. i, 88.

P. 5, L 98. seemingty courted, Cf. Rymer*s plan for a tragedy called
The Invinable Armatfo on the model of the Persae of Aeschylus :
' If Mr. Dryden might try his Pen on this Subject, doubtless to an
Audience that heartily love their Countrey, and glory in the Vertue
of their Ancestors, his imitation of Aeschylus would have better
success, and would Pit, Box, and Gallery, far beyond anything now
in possession of the Stage, however wrought up by the unimit-
able Shakespear* {Short View of Tragedy^ i^3» ?• i7)« Rymer
is too fond of allusions to Bayes in The Rehearsal ; his quotation
of the phrase ^Pit, Box, and Gallery,* was unpleasant in this
context.

P. 6, L 4. the quantum fnuiatus; a reference to the Epistle Dedi-
catory of Rymer's Short View (to Lord Dorset) : * Three, indeed, of
the Epick (the two by Homer and VirgiTs jEneids) are reckonM in
the degree of Perfection : But amongst the Tragedies, only the Oedipus
of Sophocles, That, by Conteille, and by others, of a Modem Cut,
quantum Mutatus ! '

1. 91. Perrault : his Parallele des Armerts et des Modemes appeared,
the first volume, in 1688 ; the third volume, containing the fourth
Dialogue {en ce qui regarde la Poesie)y in 1692. One sentence from
this latter may be taken in illustration — ' puisque nos bons Romans,
comme PAstr^e, oil il y a dix fois plus d'invention que dans Tlliade,
le Cleopatre, le Cyrus, le Clelie et plusieurs autres, n'ont aucun des
d^fauts que j'ay remarquez dans les ouvrages des anciens Pontes,
mais ont de mesme que nos pofimes en vers une infinite de beautez
toutes nouvelles ' {op. at. p. 149).

P. 7, 1. 14. an underplot. Cf. Dedication of Spanish Friar,
1. 27. scriptions. The reference has not yet been traced.
1. 30. Horace, Sat. i. 10, 8 ' et est quaedam tamen hie quoque
virtus.'

P. 8, 1. 18. the daughter of a King, Lady Radcliffe was the
daughter of King Charles II and Mary Davies.
P. 9, 1. 17. propriety \ see above, vol. i. p. 190, 1. 12.
1. 24. Mr, Chapman :

' so the brake

That those translators stuck in, that affect

Their word for word traductions (where they lose
The free grace of their natural dialect,

And shame their authors with a forced glose)
I laugh to see.* — {To the Reader, before his Iliads.)

Notes, pp. 10-26 277

p. 10, I. 2. hy the so-much-admired Sandys, See p. 100, 1. 2, and
note, and Preface to Ovid^s Episties, 1680, vol. i. p. 230.

1. 31. turns y both on the words and on the thought. See note on
p. 108, 1. 17, below.

P. 11, 1. 34. Musas cofere, again : see p. 103, I. 9.

P. 12, L 13. ttvo fragments of Homer, Congreve translated Priam's
Lamentation and Petition to Achilles, for the Body of his Son Hector,
and the Lamentations of Hecuba, Andromache, and Helen, over the
dead Body of Hector.

I. 31. runs off her bias ; said of a bowl that does not run true.

P. 14, 1. 25. Sir Samuel Tuke: * A modest man may praise what's
not his own.' Prologue to the Adventures of Five Hours (1663); see
above, p. 60, 1. 17.

A DISCOURSE CONCERNING THE ORIGINAL AND
PROGRESS OF SATIRE (1693).

P. 15, 1. 10. Titus: . . . amor ac deUciae generis humani; Suetonius.

P. 16, 1. 12. Descartes, The ' reformation ' is the qualification of
the statement by prefixing * I think.'

P. 18, 1. 13. Themistocles, Herodotus, viii. 123.
II. 30, 31. the best good man :

^ For pointed Satire I would Buckhurst choose
The best good man, with the worst- natur*d Muse.'

(Rochester, Allusion to the Tenth Satire of the First Book of Horace.)

P. 19, 1. 22. he affects the metaphysics. Probably the origin of
Dr. Johnson's * metaphysical poets * ; * writers of the metaphysical
race,' in the Life of Cowley.

P. 21, 1. 25. shot at rovers : * to shoot at roi/ers,* in archery, is to
shoot with an elevation, at a distant mark.

1. 30. my betters, especially Sir William Davenant.

P. 28, 11. 16, 17. dipped in the bath, i. e. in the chemist's bath, used
for gilding.

1. 18. the sceptres, ' The four sceptres were placed saltier- wise
upon the reverse of guineas, till the gold coinage of his present
majesty' {Scotf),

P. 24, 1. 34. Martial says of him. ; viii. 18. See note on vol. i.
p. 42, 1. 8.

P. 26, 1. 17. some particular ages, &c See Elssay of Dramatic Poe^^
vol. i. p. 36, * every age has a kind of universal genius . . . the work
then being pushed on by many hands must of necessity go forward.'

P. 26, 1. 16. Boileau, See above, note on vol. i. p. 181, 1. 25.

278 Notes, p. ai

p. 27, 11. 9-13. Tasso . . . confesses himself to have been too iyrtcaJ.

Tasso sent his Jerusalem as it was written, in instalments, to Scipione

Gonzaga : many of the accompanying letters were published as

Lettere Poetiche in an Appendix to the first edition of his Discorsi,

1587. One of these, dated 15 aprile 1575, speaks of the episode of

Olindo and Sofronia, and of Armida, with a kind of apology : ' Ben

^ vero, ch* in quanto a Tepisodio d* Olindo voglio indulgere gtnio et

principif poich^ non v* h altro luogo ove trasporlo ; ma di questo non

parli Vostra Signoria con essi loro cosi a la libera. Credo che in

molti luoghi troveranno forse alquanto di vaghezza soverchia, ed in

particolare ne 1* arti di Armida che sono nel quarto : ma ci6 non mi

da tanto fastidio quanto il conoscere che 1 trapasso, ch' h nel quinto

canto, da Armida a la contenzione di Rinaldo e di Gernando, e 1

ritomo d'Armida non h fatta con molta arte ; e 1 modo con che

s'uniscono queste due materie it piii tosto da romanzo che da poema

eroico, come quello che lega solamente co '1 legame del tempo e co *1

legame d'un istante, a mio giudicio assai debol legame.' Tasso

returns to the subject in later letters to Scipione Gonzaga, Sept. a

and Oct 4, 1575, and on Ap. 3 [1576] he writes : * lo ho gik con-

dennato con irrevocabil sentenza alia morte Tepisodio di Sofronia,

e percK in veto era troppo liricOf e perch' al Signor Barga e a gli altri

pareva poco connesso, e troppo presto, al giudicio unito de' quali non

ho voluto contrafare, e molto piii per dare manco occasTone ai Frati,

che sia possibile.' The episode was omitted in the revised version,

Gerusalemme Conquistaia, 1593. Dryden had read Tasso's letters;

he may have been reminded of this passage by Segrais in the Preface

to his Traduction de lEneide (1668), p. 47 : '. . . le Tasse, qui ayant

connu que son debut par TEpisode d*01inde et de Sophronie avoit

quelque chose d'une affectation qui estoit au dessous de la grandeur

de son esprit, et qui luy fit confesser depuis que cet embellissement

n'estoit pas en sa place, s'excusoit dans le commencement en disant

que cette faute estoit un charme pour le Prince qu'il regardoit comme

son Mecene, et qu'il faloit la laisser pour Tamour de luy.' Dryden

may also have been thinking of Rapin's censure of Tasso (see above,

p. 190) : ^ £t cette proportion que demande Aristote n*est pas seule-

ment dans la quantity des parties, mais aussi dans la quality. £n

quoy le Tasse est fort d^fectueux, qui m6le dans son Po€me le'

caractere badin avec le serieux, et toute la force et la majesty de la

Pofisie heroique a la delicatesse de TEglogue et de la Po^ie Lyrique.'

{Reflexioni sur la Poetique.)

1. 25. Otuen's Epigrams. John Owen (c. 1560-1622), Fellow of
New College ; his first instalment of Epigrams was published in
1606, Joannis Audoeni Epigrammatum Libri Tres; in 1624 there
were eleven books in all, which went through many editions.

Notes, pp. ad— 3a 279

p. 28, 1. 4. St. Lewis ; by Father Pierre Lemoyne (i6oa-t67a) :
Saint Louis on la SainU Couronne nconquise sur les infidiles (1653).

1. 4. Pticelle; by Jean Chapelain ( 1 595-1674) : La Pualle ou la
France deliuree : Poime heroique par M. Chapelain (1656).

1. 5. Alaric; by M. de Scud^ry (1601-1667) : Alaric ou Rome
Vaincui: Poeme herotque (1654).

P. 29, I. 17. he runs into a flat of thought. See above, Second
Miscellany vol. i. p. 369, 1. 7,

1. 34. Hannibal Caro, See above, Second JUiscellanyy vol. t. p. 356,
1. 19.

P. 30, 1. II. In'as. See Third Miscellany^ p. la, 1. 31.
P. 32, L I. the machines of our Christian religion, Boileau, VArt
Poetique, iii, 193 :

' C*est done bien vainement que nos Auteurs decens
Bannissant de leurs vers ces omamens recens
Pensent faire agir Dieu, ses Saints et ses Prophetes
Comme ces Dieux ^clos du cerveau des Pofites :
Mettent a chaque pas le Lecteur en Enfer:
N'offrent rien qu'Astaroth, Belzebuth, Lucifer.
De la foy d'un Chrestien les mysteres terribles
D'ornemens ^gay^ ne sont point susceptibles.*
This was directed against Desmarests de Saint Sorlin, the author
oi Clovis. The question of 'machines' was about this time (1693I
being discussed with some liveliness between Boileau and Perrault
in connexion with their Odes on the Taking of Namur. Compare
Dryden's letter to Dennis, published by Dennis in 1696, written
perhaps in March, 1694 (Letter xi. in Scott*s Dryden^ vol. xviii.) : *If
I undertake the translation of Virgil, the little I can perform will
shew at least that no man is fit to write after him in a barbarous
modem tongue. Neither will his machines be of any service to a
Christian poet. We see how ineffectually they have been tried by
Tasso, and by Ariosto. It is using them too dully, if we only
make devils of his Gods ; as if, for example, I would raise a storm,
and make use of ^olus, with this only difference of calling him
Prince of the Air ; what invention of mine would there be in this ?
or who would not see Virgil through me ; only the same trick
played over again by a bungling juggler? Boileau has well observed,
that *tis an easy matter in a Christian poem for God to bring the
Devil to reason. I think I have given a better hint for new machines
in my Preface to Juvenal ; where I have particularly recommended
two subjects, one of King Arthur's conquest of the Saxons, and
the other of the Black Prince in his conquest of Spain. But the
Guardian Angels of Monarchies and Kingdoms arc not to be touched
by every hand : a man must be deeply conversant in the Platonic

a8o NoteSf pp. 38-34

philosophy to deal with them ; and therefore I may reasonably
expect, that no poet of our age will presume to handle those
machines, for fear of discovering his own ignorance ; or if he should,
he might perhaps be ingrateful enough not to own me for his
benefactor.'

P. 82, 1. 5. the two victorious Monarchies, The term ' Fifth- Monarchy
man * is, perhaps, the last vestige of the theory of the four successive
Empires, Assyrian, Persian, Grecian, and Roman, which wras derived
from the visions of the Book of. Daniel. Compare St. Augustine, De
Civ. Dei, xx. 23 ; Sir David Lyndsay, The Monarchie ; and H. Fisher,
The Medieval Empire, i. p. 19.

P. 34, 1. I. philosophy and the mechanics. Philosophy again in the
general sense common in English ; see Essay of Dramatic Poesy,

p. 36, 1. 37.

1. 15. Platonic philosophy. Referred to again in the letter to
Dennis, in the same context Dryden was thinking of the Platonic
opinion about daemons as intermediary between Heaven and Elarth :
Plat Symp, aoa E ; Apuleius, De Deo Socratis ; St. Augustine, De
Civitate Dei, viii. This doctrine was sometimes applied to the aerial
spirits, as by Chaucer in the House of Fame, ii. 491 :
* For in this regioun, certein,
Dwelleth many a citezein
Of which that speketh dan Plato.*
It was also used of the Angels. The idea of tutelar Angels "was
familiar with the Platonists of Dryden's time. Cf. Henry More,
Defence of the Cabbala (i66a), p. 48 : ' So that it is not improbable
but that as the great Angel of the Covenant (he whom Philo calls
rSfV dyyiKaar itptafivrarov, r^v dpxaYY^^^^t K6yoPj <lpx4»', 6yofia Otov,
that is, the Eldest of the Angels, the Archangel, the Word, the Beginning,
the name of God, which is Jehovah) I say, that as he gave Laws to
his charge, so the Tutelar Angels of other nations might be Instructers
of those that they raised up to be Law-givers to their charge ; Though
in processe of time the Nations that were at first under the Govern-
ment of good Angels, by their lewdnesse and disobedience, might
make themselves obnoxious to the power and delusion of those
diraTca/ycr dcufxovts, as they are called, deceitful and tyrannical Devils'

1. 29. The prince of the Persians, See the Book of Daniel, ch. x. 13 :
^But the prince of the kingdom of Persia withstood me one and
twenty days : but, lo, Michael, one of the chief princes, came to help
me ' . . . ; and ao, * Then said he, Knowest thou wherefore I came
unto thee? and now will I return to fight with the prince of Persia :
and when I am gone forth, lo, the prince of Grecia shall C" *
Dryden does not say, though he doubtless remembered, '
magnificent adaptation of this had been made by Cowley

Notes, pp. 34-38 281

Discourse by way of Vision^ concerning the Governmint of Oliver Crom-
well : ' I think' I should have gone on, but that I was interrupted by
a strange and terrible Apparition, for there appeared to me (arising
out of the Earth, as I- conceived) the figure of a Man taller than a
Giant, or, indeed, the shadow of any Giant in the evening. . • . He
held in his right hand a sword that was yet bloody, and nevertheless
the motto of it was Pax quaeritur Bello, and in his left hand a thick
book, upon the back of which was written in letters of Gold, Acts,
Ordinances^ Protestations, Covenants, Engagements, Declarations, Re-
monstrances, 8cc. Though this sudden, unusual, and dreadful Object
might have quelled a greater courage than mine, yet so it pleased
God (for there is nothing bolder than a man in a vision) that I was
not at all daunted, but asked him resolutely and briefly, What art
thou? And he said I am called the North-west Principality, his
Highness the Protector of the Common-wealth of England, Scotland,
and Ireland, and the Dominions belonging thereunto ; for I am that
Angel to whom the Almighty has committed the government of these
three Kingdoms which thou seest from this place/ &c.

P. 86, 1. la Virgil. The most Platonic passages in Virgil, and
those of which Dryden was probably thinking, are the 4th Eclogue
and the 6th Book of the Aeneid,

P. 87, 1. ai. the Intelligence of the Sun, To every Sphere of the
Heavens there is assigned an Intelligence, or Intelligences, which
are angels : see Dante, Convivio ii. c. 5 ; Paradiso ii. 127-129 ; and
Toynbee, Dante Dictionary, s. v. Cielo, Allusions are frequent ;
e. g. Sir Thomas Browne, Religio Medici i., ' the swing of that wheel
not moved by intelligences'; and Donne, speaking of souls and
bodies,

*our bodies why do we forbear?
They are ours, though not we; we are
The Intelligences, they the Spheres.*
P. 38, I. 5. King Arthur conquering the Saxons, This was Milton's
subject, Mansus 78 :

' O mihi si mea sors talem concedat amicum,
Phoebaeos decorasse viros qui tam bene norit,
Siquando indigenas revocabo in carmina reges,
Arturumque etiam sub terris bella moventera,
Aut dicam invictae social] foedere mensae
Magnanimos heroas, et (O modo spiritus ad^t!)
Frangam Saxonicas Britonum sub Marte phalanges.'
1. 10. Don Pedro the Cruel. Don Pedro of Castile is referred to
*~ the Vindication of the Duke of Guise, ten years earlier, with Mariana
ithority. * It is Mariana, 1 think (but am not certain), that makes
lowing relation, and let the noble family of Trimmers read their

"282 Notes, pp. 38-55

own future in it.' The ' relation * shows that Dryden's projected
poem might have been enlivened with modem applications to English
politics, besides those which he indicates in this account of his design.
P. 89, 1. 33. Ne, forte, pudon. A. P. 406.
P. 41, 1. I. Ut 5f'6f quivis. A. P, 24a
1. 16. Coena dubia. Terence, Phorm, ii. a, a8 ; Hor. Sat, ii. a,
76 ; * fine confused feeding.'

P. 48, 1. 31. Vida Di Arte Poetica (1597) was generally recog-
nized as an authority. Pope, Essay on Criticism, 704 :
*A Raphael painted and a Vida sung —
Immortal Vida : on whose honour'd brow
The Poet's bajrs and Critic's ivy grow/ &c.
P. 44, 1. 10. Casaubon, De satyrica Graecorum poesi et RofnaMomm
satyra ; Parisiis, 1605.

1. 10. Heinsius, Danielis Heinsii de Satyra Horatiana^ in his
edition of Horace, i6ia.

L TO. Rigaltius, Nicolas Rigault edited Juvenal, 1616.
1. la Dacier, His translation of Horace {(Euvres ^Horace) was
published in the years 1681-1689 : from his short essay on Satire
{Preface sur Us Satires d*Horau, t. vL 1687) Dryden took a number
of points and references. It was published in English in 169a in
Gildon's Miscellany Poems, and in 1695 as an Appendix to Bossu on
the Epick Poem, and along with Fontenelle on Pastoral.

1. II. the Dauphin^ s Juvenal: 'cum interpretatione et notis
Lud. Pratei,* 1684.

P. 52, 1. 5. 5fV7f'. Mentioned by Heinsius and Dacier, as well as
Casaubon.

P. 53, 1. 15. Satira quidem iota nostra est, Inst. Orat, x. i, 93.
1. 18. Graecis intacti, Sec. Hor. Sat. i. 10, 66.
1. a6. caBv ; for a&Bri. So in Scaliger, Poet. i. la : * aii^ salaci-
tatem dixere veteres ' ; and so also (a quotation from Scaliger) in the
Preface lo the Dauphin's Juvenal.

P. 54, 1. 16. premices, to be added to the list of Dryden's French
words.

I. a8. olla, or hotchpotch : spelt oleo in the Essay of Drantattc
Poesy^ p. 60, 1. 30.

1. 30. tacked bills: when a measure was tacked to a money-bill,
so as to force its acceptance in the House of Lords.

P. 55, 1. a8. Tarsians. This reference is from Casaubon, op, cit. i.
c. 4 — *extemporale genus dicendi Tarsensibus proprium fuisse, tam
in soluta quam in astricta numeris oratione ' ; with quotations from
Strabo xiv., and Diogenes Laertius, iv. 58.

1. 30. Scaramucha. The Italian comedy had been much in
favour in Paris from the time of Charles IX ; the most famous ^r

Notes, pp. 55-73 5283

all Scaramouches, Tiberio Fiorelli, was still alive when Dryden was
writing this essay. See Baschet, Les Cotnediens italiens a la Cour de
France,

P. 57, I. 6. says Livy : all this from Dacier.

P. 59, 1. 34. Exodiarn*, from Casaubon, Heinsius, and Dacier.
Casaubon, ii. c. i : < Scholiastes antiquus Juvenalis [in Sat. iii. v.
175] Exodiarius apud veteres in fine ludorum intrabat, quod ridi-
culum foret: ut quicquid laciymarum atque tristitiae coegissent ex
tragicis affectibus, huius spectaculi visus detergeret.'

P. 62, 1. 3. Quid? cum est Lucilius ausus. Sec. Hor. Sat. ii. i, 6a.
1. 34. Diomedes the grantmanan. See Casaubon, op, cit. ii. c. 3.
P. 64, 1. a. Dousa, i. e. van der Does. Janus Dousa, poet and
commentator (1545-1604), had two sons who were scholars; the
second, Franciscus Dousa, edited the fragments of Lucilius.

1. 18. Varronian Satire. All this from Casaubon, ii. c. a, whom
Dacier copied.

1. a^. Quintilian, x. i.
P. 65, 1. 15. Tully, in his Academics, i. a, quoted by Casaubon, /. c.

1. ag. philology : cf. Preface to Fables^ p. a54, 1. a6.
P. 66, 1. a. awovboTfiXoioi, * blending jest with earnest.* Casaubon,
/. c, on Menippus quotes Strabo xvi. kn tSjv TabApojy ^v MtXiaypos Kal
Mivivnos 6 avovioyiXoios, The examples of Varronian satire noted by
Casaubon are those of Petronius, Seneca, Lucian, Julian, Martianus
Capella, and Boetius.

1. 31. Petronius Arbiter, 'That bungling supplement to Petro-
nius ' ; ' that scandal to all forgeries * ; Bentley on Phalaris, {Pet. Arb.
Satyricon cum fragmentis Albae Graecae recuperatis anno 1688. Col.
Arg. 1691 ; Budae 1697.)

P. 67, 1. 4. the mock deification : * KiroKoXoiPuvTwniy or the Translation
of the Emperor among the Pumpkins.

1. 7. Barclays Euphormio. See above, note on vol. i. p. 6, 1. 10.
Euphormionis Lusinini Satyricon began to be published in 1603 »
the first part was dedicated to King James. Five parts, with a key,
&c., were published in i6a9.

1. 7. a volume of German authors ; most probably the Epistolae
Obscurorum Virorum,

P. 69, 11. a8-3i. Casaubon*s Persius was published in 1605 ; Stel-
luti's at Rome in 1630 (text, Italian translation in blank verse, and
commentary in Italian).

P. 70, 1. 13. scabrous, in the sense oi rough,
1. ai. a Scotch gentleman ; David Wedderbum of Aberdeen,
whose edition of Persius, with a commentary, was published in 8vo
ftt Amsterdam, 1664 (Scott).

P. 78, 1 a8. Holyday. Barten Holyday, D.D., of Christ Church,

284 Notes, pp. 73-95

some time archdeacon of Oxford (1593-1661), published his Persita
in 1 616 ; his Juvenal was not published till 1673, along w^ith the
fourth edition of Persius, Holyday was the author of T^xyoyafua,
or the Marriages of the Arts, a Comedief 1618, 4? ; acted in Christ
Church Hall on Feb. 13, 1618, and again at Woodstock in i6az before
the king, who tried in vain to get away before the end of the enter-
tainment.

P. 74, 1. 7. Aeschtnes. Ctes, 167 ravra 9i ri iarip, St tcivaSos; fi^/mra
^ Bafjfmra ; /^

1. 92. x<^^i7^« Suidas is quoted for this poverb by Stephanus,
s. V. 4 ^^^ x*^^*^V f^P^^ *payuv 4 /^4 tpaytlv y quoniam sc. 6X1'^
fipcaSivra CTp6<l>ovs voitt iroXAd Si «a$alf>€i. Not snaii, but turtle is the
subject of the prescription.

P. 76, 1. 35. Bishop of Salisbury : Burnet. * The Satyrical Poets,
Horace^ Juvenal^ and Persius^ may contribute wonderfully to give a
man a Detestation of Vice, and a Contempt of the common Methods
of mankind ; which they have set out in such true Colours, that they
must give a very generous Sense to those who delight in reading
them often. Persius his Second Satyr may well pass for one of the
best Lectures in Divinity,* (^A Discourse of the Pastoral Care, written
by the Right Reverend Father in God Gilbert Lord Bishop of Sarum ;
London, 169a ; p. 162.)

P. 77, 1. 35. a witty friend of mine, Wycherley, whose father
refused to pay his debts.

P. 83, 11. 5-7. Petronius , . , ne sententiae^ &c., c. 118.

P. 85, 1. 3. the Plain Dealer, Wycherly again ; cf. Apology for
Heroic Poetry, p. 182, 1. 5, above.

1. 12. on carpet ground. Cf. Second Miscellany^ p. 255, 1. 31.

P. 86, 1. 19. Virgil, Eclogue^ 3, 26.

P. 91, 1. 35. secuit urbem. Persius, Sat. i, 114.

P. 92, 1. 6. Holyday ; above, p. 73, 1. 28.
1. 19. Stapylton, Sir Robert, author of The Slighted Maid (above,
vol. i. p. 209, 1. 5, note^, published The first six Satyrs of Juvenal at
Oxford in 1644, and the complete version, His Satyrs rendered in
English Verse, in 1647 ; London, 8° ; ^ with seventeen designes in
picture,* London, 1660, fol.

P. 98, 1. 21. Jack Ketch, See Macaulay*s History, ch. 5 (execution
of Monmouth).

P. 94, 1. 15. ense rescindendum, Virgil, Georg, iii. 452 :
' Non tamen ulla magis praesens fortuna laborum est
Quam si quis ferro potuit resciudere summum
Ulceris os: alitur vitium vivitque tegendo,* &c.

P. 96, 1. 23. honest Mr, Swan : * honest Mr. Sw ' is also cited

in Dennis's Letters, 1696, p. 65 (a letter on Quibbling^ to Mr. — at

Notes, pp. 95-IOI 285

Will's Coflfee-house in Covent-Garden). See also the Memoirs of
ScribleruSf c. 7 : ' His good fortune directed him to one of the most
singular endowments, whose name was Conradus Crambe, who by
the father's side was related to the Crouches of Cambridge, and his
mother was cousin to Mr. Swan, Gamester and Punster of the City
of London.* He is mentioned by Swift, Remarks on Tifttlai, 1708 :
* ** the formality of laying hand over head on a man." A pun ; but an
old one. I remember when Swan made that pun first he was severely
checked for it.* Also in An Examination of certain Abuses, Corrup'
tionSf and Enormities in the City of Dublin^ 173a. Spectator^ No. 61.
' Upon enquiry, I found my learned friend had dined that day with
Mr. Swan, the famous punster ; and desiring him to give me some
account of Mr. Swan's conversation, he told me that he generally
talked in the Paronomasia^ that he sometimes gave in to the Ploce^ but
that in his humble opinion he shined most in the Antanadasis.^
Barrow, Sermon xiv , Against Foolish Talking and Jesting^ shows
some tolerance for the figure of Paronomasia^ and other ornaments
^ wherein the lepid way doth consist.'

P. 97, L 5. statues of the Siieni, This is the famous comparison
(Symposium 215 A) which is otherwise rendered by Rabelais in the
Prologue to Gargantua, and after him quoted by Bacon in the Advance-
ment of Learnings i. 3. 8 : 'I refer them also to that which Plato said
of his master Socrates, whom he compared to the gallipots of apo-
thecaries, which on the outside had apes and owls and antiques,
but contained within sovereign and precious liquors and confec-
tions,' &c.

P. 99, 1. ai. Mr, Maidwell, Lewis Maidwell, author of The Loving
Enemies^ 1680. His book of instructions for reading a course of
Mathematics is referred to in a letter of Dryden's young friend,
Mr. Walter Moyle.

P. 100, 1. 33. or rather description ; see vol. i. p. 36, 1. 9 (note). The
definition of Satire is given in the first book of the Dissertation of
Heinsius ; p. 54 in the Elzevir of 1629.

P. 101, 1. 9. consisting in a low familiar way of speech. * Sicut humili
ac familiari, ita acri partim ac dicaci, partim urbano ac jocoso constans
sermone.' Heinsius, loc. cit,

1. 17. grande sopAos, An oversight for the grande aliquid of
Persius, Sat. i, 14. grande sophos, ^the loud bravo,' occurs several
times in Martial ; once in an epigram which was a household word
at one time in Westminster School ; see Dasent, Annals of an
Eventful Life, c. la.

'Audieris cum grande sophos, dum basia captas,
Ibis ab excusso missus in astra sago* (4).
Also i. 50 : ' Mercetur alius grande et insanum sophos ' ;

286 Notes, pp. ioi>io6

and vi. 48 : * Quod tarn grande sopbos clamat tibi turba togata,

Non tu, Pomponi, cena diserta tua est/

P. 101, L 33. pad, saddle.

P. 102, 1. 3a. underplot. See Dedication of the Spanish Friar^ and
of the Third Miscellany,

P. 103, ]. I. Coptmican system. See above, p. 995, 1. 37, note.
Sir William Temple writing On Ancient and Modem Learning a feiv
years before this, is not quite sure of the Copernican system : ' There
is nothing new in Astronomy, to vie with the Ancients, unless it be
the Copernican system ; nor in Physic, unless Harvey*s circulation
of the blood. But whether either of these be modem discoveries, or
derived from old fountains is disputed : nay it is so too whether
they are true or no ; for though reason may seett to fisivour them
more than the contrary opinions, yet sense can very hardly allow
them ; and to satisfy mankind both these must concur. But if they
are true, yet these two great discoveries have made no chanj^e in
the conclusions of Astronomy, nor in the practice of Physic, and so
have been of little use to the world, though perhaps of much honour
to the authors.*

1. 4. Mascardi (Agostino). ' Cameriere d'Honore di N. Sig.
Urbano Ottavo ' ; see his Prose Volgari, Ven. 1630 (the Preface is
dated 1635), Discorso Settinto : delV Unita delta Favola DrantntaOca :
a good specimen of formal criticism, and of the use of such common-
places as Nature and Jfnitation: 'the imitative arts follow in their
operation the custom of Nature ; now the custom of Nature is at
times to follow two ends, one principal and one accessory.' Unity
he finds to be fruitful of debate in literature : ' This is the point on
which so many contests of the modem Academies are found to turn,
this the trenchant weapon of the partisans of Tasso against Lodovico
Ariosto ; under this law Ariosto is banished, along with the other
writers of Romances, from the senate of the Epic Poets.'
1. 6. // Pastor Fido. See above, vol. i. p. 273, 1. 7.

P. 105, 1, 17. Hudibras, Dryden seems to have borne no grudge
to Butler for his charges against the Heroic Play. Compare The
Hind and the Panther;

' " Unpitied Hudibras, your champion friend
Has shown how far your charities extend " :
This lasting verse shall on his tomb be read
'*He shamed you living, and upbraids you dead."'

Compare also the well-known phrase in Dryden*s letter to Laurence
Hyde, Earl of Rochester (? August, 1683) : * Tis enough for one age
to have neglected Mr. Cowley, and starv'd Mr. Butler.'

P. 106, 1. 31. Tassoni and Boileau,. Compare Dean Lockier^s

Notes, p. io6 287

account of his visit to Will's, given in Spencers Amcdotes : * I was
about seventeen when I first came up to town, an odd-looking boy,
with short rough hair, and that sort of awkwardness which one always
brings up at first out of the country with one. However, in spite of
my bashfulness and appearance, I used now and then to thrust myself
into Wiirs to have the pleasure of seeing the most celebrated wits
of that time, who then resorted thither. The second time that ever
1 was there, Mr. Dryden was speaking of his own things, as he
frequently did, especially of such as had been lately published. ^' If
anything of minQ is good," says he, " 'tis Mac-Flecno, and I value
myself the more upon it, because it is the first piece of ridicule
written in heroics." On hearing this I plucked up my spirit so far as
to say in a voice but just loud enough to be heard, that Mac-Flecno
was a very fine poem, but that I had not imagined it to be the first
that ever was writ that way. On this Dryden turned short upon
me, as surprised at my interposing ; asked me how long I had been
a dealer in poetry, and added with a smile : *' Pray, sir, what is it
that you did imagine to have been writ so before ? " I named BoiIeau*s
Luirin and Tassoni*s Secchia Rapitay which I had read, and knew
that Dryden had borrowed some strokes from each. "'Tis true,"
said Dryden, " I had forgot them," A little after Diyden went out ;
and in going spoke to me again, and desired me to come and see him
the next day. I was highly delighted with the invitation ; went to
see him accordingly, and was well acquainted with him after as long
as he lived.'

11. 31, 3d. Alessandro Tassoni, of Modena, 1565-1635. The
Secchia Rapita was published in i6aa ; translated by Perrault, Le Seau
Enleve, 1678. There are several editions of the Italian text printed
in England ; one in 17 10, with a translation by Ozell. Tassoni's
critical writings are an important section of the documents for
^Ancients and Moderns,' and may have been known to Dryden
{Quisiti, Mddena, 1608; Died Libri di Pensieri Diversi, Roma,
J620, &c.).

1. 33. The Lutrin of Boileau was published in the 1674 edition
of his works; four cantos, along with VArt Poitiqu€\ the fifth and
sixth cantos were added in 1683.

1. 33. Teofilo Folengo, Merlinus Cocaius, the chief of all poets in
the Macaronic language, bom in 1491 ; his poems were published in
Venice, in 151 7 and 1520; they are the Zanitonellay the Maccartmicum,
which is BalduSf the Moschofa, or War of the Flies and Emmets, and
Epigrams. He also wrote the Oriandino per Linumo Piiocco da Man-'
iovOf Yen. 1526 ; and the history of his life in the Chaos del triperuno
fi.e. Merlinus, Limerno, Teofilo) overo dialogo de U ire etadi da Teofilo
Folengo da Mantoa^ Venice, 1527. Baldus is a noble hero brought

288 Notes, pp. 106-107

up in the cottage of a villein, where his youth is nurtured in the
favourite romances, Sir Bevis, Ogier the Dane, &c. :

< Legerat Anchroiam, Tribisondam, Gesta Danesi,
Antonaeque Bovum, mox tota Realea Francae

Vidit ut Angelicam sapiens Orlandus amavit.
At mox ut nudo pergebat corpore mattus,
Cui tulit Astolfus cerebrum de climate Lunae/

So Baldus goes out on adventures, with his friendly giant Fracasse
and other companions. The Orhndo Furioso had been published the
year before, in 1516. A translation of Folengo*s work was published
in Paris in 1606 : Histoire nuuxaroniqut de Merlin CoccctU, prototype
de Rabelais ; plus f horrible bataille advenue entre les moudus et Us
foumtis.

P. 107, L a. stanza of eight ; the Italian octave, ottava rinta,
L 9. Scamm (Paul), 1610-1660, author oi Don Japhtt dPArmmie
and other dramatic versions of ' Spanish plots,* and of the Roman
Conuque, published his Virgile TravesH in 1648-53. It was imitated
in England by Charles Cotton; Scarronides, or Virgiie Travestie,
1664, &c. (* a mock Poem ').

]^ 108, 1. 17. turfts of words and thoughts. Compare the Dedication
of the jEneiSy p. 219 (speaking of the French poets), *the turn on
thoughts and words is their chief talent ; but the Epic Poem is too
stately to receive those little ornaments,' &c. And Preface to JFables,
p. 257 : * As for the turn of words, in which Ovid particularly excels
all poets, they are sometimes a fault and sometimes a beauty. . . .
Chaucer writ with more simplicity and followed Nature more closely
than to use them/ Compare also Dr. Harford's Introduction
to Spenser's Shepherd's Calendar, Butler's Characters^ A Quibbler
(written probably about 1665) : ' There are two sorts of quibbling,
the one with words and the other with sense, like the rhetorician's
figuxae dictionis et figurae sententiae— the first is already cried down,
and the other as yet prevails, and is the only elegance of our modern
poets, which easy judges call easiness ; but having nothing in it but
easiness, and being never used by any lasting wit, will in wiser times
fall to nothing of itself.'

1. aa. Sir George Mackenzie, of Rosehaugh (1636-1691), Lord
Advocate for Scotland ; see Wandering Williis Tale in Redgauntlet :
* the Bloody Advocate Mackenzie, who for his worldly wit and
wisdom had been to the rest as a God.* His character and that of
his writings have been explained by Mr. W. A. Raleigh in Sir Henry
Craik's English Prose Selections^ vol. iii. p. a6i ; and by Mr. Taylor
Innes {Studies in Scottish History ^ 189a). He wrote Aretina or the S
Romance f i66r ; Religio Stoia\ Edin., 1663 ; Moral Gallantry^ a }

Notes, pp. io8-iao 289

proving that the Point of Honour obliges a Man to be Virtuous, Edin.,
1667 ; Institutions 0/ the Laws 0/ Scotland f Edin., 1684 ; and other works.

P. 109, 1. aa. Mr. Walsh, WillUm Walsh, 1663-1708 : * He is
known more by his familiarity with greater men than by anything
done or written by himself (Johnson). Dryden had written a
Preface for Walsh's Dialogue concerning Women, 1691, in which the
author of the Dialogue is highly praised.

P. 110, 1. 26. prosodia. Dryden explains in the Dedication of the
jEneis that he had collected materials for an English Prosody.
Compare also the Preface to Albion and Albanius for his interest in
syllables.

PARALLEL OF POETRY AND PAINTING (1695).

P. 117, 1. 19. Bellori (Giovanni Pietro) published his Lives of the
Painters f Sculptors, &c. {Vite di Pittori), at Rome in 167a, with a
Dedication to Colbert, who was also the patron of Fresnoy's poem,
De Arte Graphicd,

P. 118, 1. 13. This Idea, &c. ; in the original a conceit : ' questa
Idea, overo Dea della Pittura.'

1. a3. Cicero, ' Ut igitur in formis et figuris est aliquid perfectum
et excellens cuius ad excogitatam speciem imitando referuntur ea
quae sub oculis ipsa cadunt, sic perfectae eloquentiae speciem animo
videmus, effigiem auribus quaerimus.' Orator 9.

1. 30. Proclust Prodo nel Tinteo, i. e. Proclus in his commentary
on the Tintaeus.

P. 119, 1. I a. Maxitnus Tyrius. His Discourses, AioKi^eis, were
edited by H. Stephanus in 1557, and by Heinsius in 1607. ^^ lived
in the second century.

1. 35. Caravaggio, &c. * Come in questi nostri tempi Michel
Angelo da Caravaggio fii troppo naturale, dipinse i simili, e Bam-
boccio i peggiori.' «

1. a8. drawn the worst likeness ; i. e. drawn people at their worst.
In the account of Modem Masters appended to Dryden's Art of
Painting, p. 326, there is an account of Bamboccio : * Pieter van I^er,
commonly callM Bamboccio or the Beggar-painter* (1584-1644). * He
had an admirable Gusto in colouring, was very judicious in the ordering
of his Pieces, nicely Just in his Proportions, and onely to be blam'd^
for that he generally afifected to represent Nature in her worst DresSy
and foUow'd the Life too dose, in most of his Compositions.'

P. 120, 1. 7. Seneca. The rhetorician : * Non vidit Phidias lovem,
fecit tamen velut tonautem, nee stetit ante oculos eius Minerva: dignus
mnen ilia arte animus et concepit deos et exhibuit.* Controv. x. 5.
•C Cic Omt, 9.

U

39^ Notes, pp. 190—130.

p. 120, 1. 9. Apollonius of Tyana ; his Life was written by Philo-
stratus.

L 14. Alberti, One of the great Florentine humanists of the
fifteenth century; wrote on architecture, education, and other
branches of learning.

1. 19. Castiglionty Baldassarre, the author of // Cortigiano.
Raphael painted his Galatea in 15 14 for the villa of Agostino Chigi
the banker, which is now the Famesina. Raphael's words are : ' per
dipingere una bella mi bisogna veder pid belle . . . ma essendo
carestia e di buoni giudici e di belle donne, io mi servo di certa idea
che mi viene alia mente. Se questa ha in s6 alcuna eccellenza d*arte,
io non so : ben m' affatico d'averla.*

1. 24. Guido Rent; his St. Michael is in one of the Chapels of the
Capuchins' church at Rome (Santa Maria della Concezione).

P. 121, L 2. the contrary idea, * Si trova anche Tidea della brut-
tezza, ma questa lascio di spiegare nel demonio'; i.e. 'I forbear to
render this in the picture of the Fiend.'

1. 20. Cyllarus. Ovid, Metant. xii. 393 sq.

1. 29. ApelUs, * Si Venerem Cous nusquam posuisset Apelles.'

Art. Amand. ill. 401.
P. 123, 1. 20. Philostratus ; the younger.
1. 20. This Proem is quoted by Bellori, after his own Preface to
the Lives of the Painters,

P. 124, 1. 27. merchants \ 'i.e. merchant vessels. The passage
seems to be so worded as to contain a sneer at the negligence of King
William's government in protecting the trade. Perhaps Dryden alluded
to the misfortune of Sir Francis Wheeler, in 1693, who being sent
with a convoy into the Mediterranean, was wrecked in the Bay of
Gibraltar.' Scott.

P. 126, 1. 17. St, Catharine ; in Tyrannic Love.

P. 127, 1. II. LentulnSf in the apocryphal Epistle to the Roman
Senate. • Fabricius, Cod, Apoc, N. T. t. i. p. 301.

P. 128, 1. 10. The Marquis of Nomtanby's opinion ; in the Essay on
Poetry : * Reject that vulgar error which appears
So fair of making perfect characters ;
There's no such thing in Nature, and youll draw
A faultless Monster, which the world ne'er saw.'
P. 129, 1. 8. Catullus ; quoted by Dryden in the Dedication of
Limberham : * castum esse decet pium poetam

Ipsum ; versiculos nihil necesse est.'
1. 14. Vita proba est. Martial, i. 5.
P. 180, I. 2. Annibale Caraccif 1 560-1609. His work in the Farnese
Palace is described by Bellori in detail ; the Choice of Hercules
{Ercole Btvio) at p. 33 of vol. i. of the Fife de* Pittcri.

Notes, pp. 131-139 291

p. 181, 1. 35. Poussin,
P. 182, L ao. kgrmis; a fair (Dutch).
1. ai. snick or snee. The subject is noted by Sir Joshua Reynolds
at Amsterdam, a picture by Jan Steen in the cabinet of M. Gart
(Works, ed. Malone, ii. p. 365). Compare Marvell, The Character of
Holland^ 1. 96 :

' When, staggering upon some land, snick and sneer.
They try like statuaries if they can
Carve out each other's Athos to a man ;
And carve in their large bodies where they please,
The arms of the United Provinces.'
1. 23. Lazar, Above, vol. i. p. 18, 1. 18.
P. 138, 1. la. Covent Garden fops, A fop was more of a booby and
less of a dandy in Dryden's time.

1. a3» As Sir William D*Avenant observes : ' and he that means
to govern so mournfully (as it were, without any Musick in his
Dominion) must lay but light burdens on his Subjects; or else he
wants the ordinary wisdom of those who, to their Beasts that are
much loaden, whistle all the day to encourage their Travail * (Preface
to Gondibert, p. 18, in the folio).

P. 184, 1. 3. an eminent French critic. Not identified.
P. 136, 1. ao. The principal and most important :

' Praecipua imprimis Artisque potissima pars est
Nosse quid in rebus Natura creavit ad Artem
Pulchrius, idque Modum iuxta Mentemque Vetustam.'

De Arte Graph, v. 37 sqq.
P. 138, 1. 4. Mr, Walter Mqyle (1672-1731). His writings were,
edited, with an account of his life, by Anthony Hammond, in 1727.
' From a set of Company of Learned and Ingenious Gentlemen, who
frequented Manwayring^s Coffee-house in Fleet-street, he fell much into
the Conversation of Gentlemen at the Grecian Coffee-house near the
Temple. . . . To be nearer the more entertaining part of the Town, he
removed to Covent- Garden, Here it was (as Mr. Dryden declares)
that the Learning and Judgement^ above his Age^ which every one
discovered in Mr. Moyle, were Proofs of those Abilities he has shewn in
his Country s Service, when he was chose to serve it in the Senate, as his
Father, Sir Walter, had done.* A footnote here refers to Dryden's
Ltfe ofLua'an. There are letters to Mr. Walter Moyle in Dennis's
collection of Letters, 1696.

P. 189, 1. 15. Lopez de Vega, Lopez is a frequent mistake for
Lope ; the patronymic for the Christian name. Comeille, however,
and generally the French before Voltaire, write accurately Lope,
The reference is to Lope's Nuevo Arte de hacer Comedias {Obras
Sueltas, iv. p. 405), his apology for neglecting the rules, and his

U 2

292 Notes, pp. 139-146

account of the best rules to be followed by the authors who wish
to succeed with the public. ' None of them all can I reckon more
barbarian than myself, since I am daring to give precepts all counter
to Art, and letting myself swim with the vulgar tide, for Italy and
France to call me ignorant But what can I do, when I have written
(counting the one finished this week) four hundred and eighty-three
comedies, and all but six of them heinous offenders against Art?
I stand by what I have written, and recognize that though the other
way were better, yet they would not have pleased as well ; for often
that which breaks the rules is thereby pleasant to the taste/
P. 140, 1. la sintiUs, See p. ao2, 1. 13.
P. 142, 1. 9. Another. Lee.
1. 17. Lei ev4fy member:

^ Singula membra suo capiti conformia fiant.*

De Arte Graph, v. ia6.
I. a8. Morecraft is the usurer in the Scornful Lady, whose con-
version is referred to in the Essay of Dramatic Poesy, p. 66, 1. 2 1 ;
' Cutting,' i.e. swaggering ; a cutter is a ' roaring blade.'
' He's turnM gallant'
< Gallant!'
'Ay, gallant, and is now callM Cutting Morecraft/

Act V. sc. 4.
* Is Pompey grown so malepert, so frampel ?
The only cutter about ladies' honours.
And his blade soonest out ? '

Wit at Several Weapons, Act iii. sc. i.
1. 33. The principal figure :

^ Prima Figurarum seu Princeps Dramatis ultro
Prosiliat media in Tabula sub lumine primo
Pulchrior ante alias, reliquis nee operta Figuris/

De Arte Graph, v. 129.
P. 144, 1. 8. Esther, 1689 ; written at the suggestion of Madame
de Maintenon for the pupils of her foundation of St. Cyr : ' La c^l^bre
maison de Saint-Cyr ayant ^t^ principalement ^tablie pour elever
dans la pi^t^ un fort grand nombre de jeunes demoiselles rassembl^es
de tons les endroits du royaume,' &c. (Racine, in the Preface to
Esther), Racine had begun to attract English playwrights: Otway,
Titus and Berenice, 1677 ; Crowne, Andromache, 1675.

P. 145, 1. 13. The Slighted Maid, by Sir R. Stapylton ; see above,
vol. i. p. 209, 1. 5.

I. 30. Venice Preserved, or a Plot Discovered, i68a. Acted at the
Duke's Theatre.

P. 146, 1.13. says Aristotle, Poet, c. 25 (p. 1460,1.33): oXov koI
"Xof^OKXiis itpri aiihs iiiv oiovs 5€t voi€ty, Ed/Miridi}!/ 5i otoi tlal.

Notes, pp. 146—157 293

1. 15. drew them tuorse: this case is not considered by Aristotle
in the passage of which Dryden is thinking.

1. ao. that part ofCEdipus : the first and third Acts.
1. 31. the Gothic manner, De Arte Graph,^ 1. 240 :
' Denique nil sapiat Gotthorum barbara trito
Ornamenta modo, saeclorum et monstra malorum,* &c.
P. 147, 1. II. Du Fresnoy tells us; op, cit,, 1. 137 sqq.
1. 30. turns of words upon the thought. See p. 108, and note.
1. 33. lena sororis, De Arte Graph. , 1. a6i :

* Haec quidem ut in Tabulis fallax sed grata Venustas
£t complementum Graphidos (mirabile visu)
Pulchra vocabatur, sed subdola Lena Sororis.'
P. 149, 1. a6, the first verses of the Sylva; quoted by Dryden already
in the Dedication of the Spanish Friar,

P. 151, 1. 4. the pencil thrown luckily — a favourite commonplace : it
appears, e. g. at the beginning of the Preface to Ibrahim ou flllustre
Bassa, 1641. The painter was Nealces.

1. II. Bristol-stone; see p. 227, 1. t8, and note.
1. 28. ntanum de tabula. Another commonplace, from Pliny,
Hist. Nat. XXXV. 10: ^ Protogenes curae supra modum anxiae qui
manum de tabula nesciret toUere ' ; quoted by Rapin, Reflexions sur la
Poetique : ' C'est un grand d^faut que de ne pouvoir finir, dont Apelle
blamoit si fort Protogene.' Nocete nimiam diligetttiam, from the same
context, is also quoted here by Rapin, in the margin.

DEDICATION OF THE iENEIS (1697).

P. 154, 1. 1. ^ Heroic Poem^ truly such. See p. i8r, 1. 6, and note.

P. 155, 1. 5. the trifling novels ; the episodic stories in the Orlando
Furioso, Novel (accented on the last syllable) had of course still
the meaning of the Italian novella, French nouvelle — * a short story
generally of love.*

P. 156, 11. 10-15. {I can think of nothing . . . Jove zvas bom there'].
All this is left out in the third edition ; I have not been able to find
a copy of the second.

P. 157, 1. 9. divince particulam aurce. Hor, Sat. ii. 2, 1. 79.
1. 33. Comeille himself. , . was inclined to think. The troubles of
Corneille have been alluded to already, in the Essay of Dramatic
Poesy, Compare his Third Discourse : * pour moi je trouve qu*il y
a des sujets si mal-ais6s k renfermer en si peu de tems, que non
seulement je les accorderois les vingt-quatre heures enti^res, mais
je me servirois m6me de la licence que donne ce philosophe de les

294 Notes, pp. 157-164

exc^der un peu^ et les pousserois sans scnipule jusqu'k trente.' See
also Comeille et la Poetique dArisiote^ by M. Jules Lemaltre.

P. 158, 1. so. CkymuxU ftudidnea ; essences, strong medicines given
in small doses ; e. g. opium, arsenic, tartar emetic.

1. 33. Galenical decoctions; of simples, generally of many herbs
together, in a large drench, as prescribed by the qualified physicians.
The terms belong to a controversy (more furious than any battles
of the books) between the Spagirists or Paracelsians, who used
chemical medicines, and the School of Paris which imposed an oath
on its pupils never to use anything of the kind. I am indebted for
information on this subject to Professor John Ferguson of Glasgow.
P. 169, 1. I. orbs = orbits,

P. 161, 1. 16. Tryphon the stationer. Martial, iv. 79, xiii. 3,
Bibliopola Tryphon.

1. 18. in the ruelle; properly the space or 'lane* bet^^een the
bed and the wall; later, the reception of visitors at the lady*s toilette;
then, generally, any party of ladies and gentlemen that pretended
to wit. For the original sense, compare Chappuzeau, Le Cercle de
FemmeSf Act i. sc. 3 (about 1655) :

'£t des Cartes tout proche, auecques Campanelle,
Que ie viens de laisser ouuerts dans ma ruelle.'
For the later meaning, Sarasin, Discours de la Tragedie (Pre&ce to
Scudery, V Amour Tyrannique), 1639 : * Nous sommes en un temps
oil tout le monde croit avoir droit de juger de la Po6sie, de laqueUe
Aristote a fait son chef d'ceuvre ; oil les ruelles des femmes sont les
Tribunaux des plus beaux ouvrages ; oil ce qui fut autrefois la vertu
de peu de personiies devient la maladie du peuple, et le vice de la
multitude.*

P. 162, 1. 7. my two masters ; Homer and Virgil.

1. 14. your Essay of Poetry. First published in 1682.
1. 31. puny, i. e. puisn^, junior.
P. 164, 1. 9. Scaliger the father. On the contrary, Scaliger in the
Epistle before his Poetice, says : ' Nam et Horatius Artem quum
inscripsit adeo sine uUa docet arte ut Satyrae propius totum opus
illud esse videatur.'

1. 34. Maevius, The bad poet's opening line, Fortunam Priami,
&c., was commonly attributed to Maevius. D. Heinsius quotes for
this opinion the Anticlaudianus (i. c. 5), of Alanus de Insulis, the
Universal Doctor, and supposes it derived from some old com-
mentator — *nam unde id illi in mentem saeculo tam barbaro?' Cf,
Satirical Poets of the Twelfth Century, ed. T. Wright, Rolls Series :
' lUic pannoso plebescit carmine noster
Ennius, et Priami fortunas intonat illic
Maevius; in coelos audens os ponere mutum.'

Notesy pp. 164—173 295

The place of Fortunant Priami is taken in Boileau's Art Poitique by
the opening line of Scud^ry's Alaric :

*Je chante le vainqueur des vainqueurs de la terre.'

P. 165, 1. s. as Horace would tell you from behind^ i. e. without
himself joining in the epic competition.

1. 6. Saint Louis, &c. See the Preface to Juvenal, p. 28, and
note.

1. 16. machining persons, i. e. supernatural agents like the gods
in Homer.

1. 25. Segrais, His Preface is the source of a good deal of this
Essay of Dryden's. Jean Regnauld de Segrais (1624-1701), some
time in the service of Mademoiselle de Montpensier, admitted to
the circle of the Hotel de Kambouillet before he was elected to the
Academy, is perhaps best known through his association with
the novels of Madame de Lafayette. Zayde was published under
his name in 1670. There is a collection of Segraisiana. His EntUde
was published in 1668.

P. 166, 1. 28. Macrobius : in the Saturnalia, books v. and vi.

1. 30. Tanneguy le Fevre^ of Saumur, 'Tanaquillus Faber* (1615-
1672), a well-known classical scholar, whom Gibbon mentions with
respect, editor of Longinus, Lucretius, Aelian, Eutropius, Terence,
Horace, Virgil, and others ; father of Madame Dacier, Anna Tana-
quilli Fabri filia.

1. 3a Valois. Dryden perhaps means the Valesiana (1694) ou
les Pensees critiques, historiques et morales, et les Poisies Latines de
Monsieur de Valois Conseiller du Roi et Historiographe de France,
There are a few notes on Virgil in this collection ; one on discre-
pancies about the age of lulus. M. de Valois (Hadrianus Valesius)
was born in 1607, &iid died in 1692.

1. 31. another whom I name not, St Evremond is probably the
name which Dryden, out of respect, forbore to mention in this place.
See pp. 184, 202, and notes.
P. 167, 1. 30. Persian ; in later editions * Ass3n*ian or Median.'
P. 169, 1. 5. Stavo ben. Perhaps the first appearance in England
of this quotation ; repeated in the Spectator, No. 25.

1. 34. Dante, References to Dante are not frequent in this age ;
there is little to note between Davenanfs disrespectful mention of
him in the Preface to Gondibert, and Gray*8 temperate appreciation.
Mr. Saintsbury thinks that the interpretation of his dantem jura
Catonem, a little further on, is due to Dante*s Cato at the beginning
of the Purgatorio. Dryden, however, in his note on the passage
mentions Montaigne and not Dante as his authority.
P. 172, 1. 15. Bochartus, His dissertation on the question ' whether

296 Notes, pp. I7a-i8a

Aeneas was ever in Italy/ dated 'de Caen ce ao Decembre 1663/
is given by Segrais in his Eneide,

P. 178, 1. 21. animamque in vulnere poniU Georgic. iv., 1. 338
(am'masque . . . pontmf) :

' Prone to Revenge, the Bees a wrathful Race,
When once provokM assault th* Agressor^s Face;
And through the purple Veins a passage find,
There fix their Stings and leave their Souls behind.'

Dfyden.
P. 174, 1. 30. Priamus, In the first edition Atis. After * Second
Book,' the first edition reads, * Atis then the favourite companion of
Ascanius had a better right than he, though I know he ivas intro-
duced by Virgil to do honour to the family from whom Julius Caesar
was descended on the mother*s side.' The correction is made in the
third edition. I have not been able to find the reading of the second.
P. 178, 1. 6. the author of the Dauphin^s Virgil ; Ruseus (Charles
de La Rue) ; his edition of Virgil appeared in 1675 ; the passage
recollected by Dryden here is * Segresius in egregia Prsefatione ad
Gallicam ^neidos interpretationem.'

1. 17. Tasso. On the relations of the two characters, Godfrey
and Rinaldo, see Tasso's own views in the Allegoria del Poenta,
printed in the first editions of the Jerusalem Delivered (1581) ; and
Spenser's, in the Letter to Sir Walter Raleigh : ' In which I have
followed all the antique Poets historicall : first Homere, virho in
the Persons of Agamemnon and Ulysses hath ensampled a good
govemour and a vertuous man, the one in his Ilias, the other in his
Odysseis ; then Virgil, whose like intention was to doe in the person
of Aeneas ; after him Ariosto comprised them both in his Orlando ;
and lately Tasso dissevered them again, and formed both parts in two
persons, namely, that part which they in Philosophy call Ethice, or
vertues of a private man, coloured in his Rinaldo ; the other, named
Politice, in his Godfredo.*

P. 182, 1. 10. invulnerable. * Dryden had forgot, what he must
certainly have known, that the fiction of Achilles being invulnerable,
bears date long posterior to the days of Homer. In the Iliad he is
actually wounded.* Scott.

1. II. Bernardo Tasso, father of Torquato, wrote an epic poem
on Amadis of Gaul {Amadigi)^ with a continuation {Floridanti) ; he
is frequently spoken of in his son's Discorsi. The pathetic story how
he sacrificed his fame as a learned poet to save his honour as
a courtier is told by Torquato Tasso in his Apologia, 1585 ; it is
not irrelevant in the history of the dramatic and narrative Unities :
* Know, therefore, that my father being at the Court of Spain in the
service of his master, the Prince of Salerno, was persuaded by the

Notes, p. 182 297

great ones of that Court to make a poem of the fabulous story of
Amadis ; which in the judgement of many, and mine particularly, is
the most beautiful of all that kind, and perhaps the most wholesome ;
because in sentiment and conduct it surpasses all, and in variety of
incidents it yields to none, before or since composed. Having then
accepted this advice, and being one who most completely understood
the Art of Poetry, and especially that of Aristotle, he resolved to
make a poem of one action, and framed his fable on the desperation
of Amadis for the jealousy of Oriana, ending with the battle between
Lisuarte and Cildadan, and many of the other more important things,
befallen before or thereafter succeeding, he narrated in episodes or
in digressions, as we call them. This was the design, which no
master of the art could have made better or fairer. But in the end,
not to lose the name of good courtier, he forbore to keep by force
that of loftiest poet ; and you shall hear in what manner.

' He was reading some books of the poem to the Prince, his master ;
and when he began to read, the rooms were full of gentlemen listen-
ing ; but at last they were all withdrawn ; from which thing he took
argument that the Unity of Action was in itself little delightful, and
not through want of art in himself; inasmuch as he had treated it in
point of art beyond censure ; and in this he was no whit deceived.
But perhaps he would have been content with that which contented
Antimachus of Colophon, to whom Plato was of more account than
a multitude, if the Prince had not added his command to the general
persuasion ; wherefore he was bound to obey,

"But with heart grieving and a darken'd brow*';

because he knew that with the unity of the fable his poem lost much
of its perfection * {Prose di Torquato Tasso, ed. Guasti, Firenze, 1875,
i. p. 319).

1. a8. God-smith. The word is used in a different sense in
Absalom and Ackitophel :

* Gods they had tried of every shape and size
That godsmiths could produce, or priests devise.'

1. 29. no warluck, Scottish superstitions were being studied
about this time by Pepys and others ; compare Prior, Alma :

*The commentators on old Ari-
stotle ('tis urg'd) in judgment vary ;
They to their own conceits have brought
The image of his general thought,
Just as the melancholic eye
Sees fleets and armies in the sky;
And to the poor apprentice ear
The bells sound " Whittington, Lord Mayor."

298 Notes, pp. 182-190

The conjurer thus explains his scheme,
Thus spirits walk, and prophets dream;
North Britons thus have second'sight \
And Germans, free from gun-shot, fig^t/

P. 184, 1. 12. a hind of St Swithin h$ro, Cf. Perrault, ParedleU des
AncUns et des Modtmes en ct qui rtgardg la Pohie^ 169a (this is the
third volume of the series of four, completed in 1696), p. 135 (L'Abb^
loquitur) : * Cependant puisque Virgile y a trouv^ son compte, je veux
bien qu*il Tappelle P^re tant quMl luy plaira ; mais je ne puis souffrir
qu'il le fasse pleurer k tout moment. II pleure en voyant les tableaux
qui repr^sentent les avantures du si^ge de Troye ; non seulement en
jettant quelques pleurs, comme le pouvoit permettre Tamour tendre
de la patrie, mais en se noyant le visage d'un fleuve de larmes, et en
pleurant k trois reprises sur le mesme sujet, ce qui ne convient point
a une douleur de cette nature. II pleure en quittant Aceste, en
perdant Palinure, en voyant Didon dans les enfers, oil cette tendresse
excessive ne sied point k un Heros. Mais ce qui est absolument
insupportable, c*est la crainte qui le saisit en tons rencontres. II
tremble de peur, et ses membres sont glacez de froid, en voyant une
tempeste. La peur le penetre jusques dans la moflelle des os, lors-
qu'il voit les Dieux qu*il avoit apportez de Troye qui luy parlent la
nuit. La mesme peur luy court encore dans les os, en arrachant les
branches dont il d^gouta du sang. Cette mani^re de trembler en
toutes sortes d*occasions ne me semble point h^rolque, ny convenir
au fondateur de TEmpire Romain et au P^re de tous les Cesars.*

1. 13. One of these censors. Dryden was thinking (with grief) of
St. Evremond, Reflexions sur nos Traducieurs, 1673 • * Vous remarque-
rez encore que toutes ces lamentations commencent presque aussit6t
que la temp£te. Les vents soufflent imp^tueusement, Tair s'obscurcit;
ii tonne, il 6claire, les vagues deviennent grosses et furieuses ; voilk
ce qui arrive dans tous les orages. II n*y a jusqne-lk ni xnki qui
se rompe, ni voiles qui se dechirent, ni rames bris^es, ni gouvernail
perdu, ni ouverture par oil Teau puisse entrer dans le navire ; et
c'^tait 1^ du moins qu'il fallait attendre k se ddsoler: car il y a mille
jeunes gens en Angleterre, et autant de femmes en HoUande, qui
s'6tonnent a peine oil le h^ros t^moigne son d^sespoir.*
1. 30. Mr, Moyle ; see p. 138, and note.

P. 186, L 10. Sir Robert Howard, The old quarrel of 1668 seems to
have been appeased by this time.

P. 187, 1. 32. Dr, Cudworth ;^i6i7-i688). Author of the True Intel-
lectual System of the Universe^ 1678. See Dr. TuUoch's Rational
Theology in England,

P. 189, 1. 14. his two translators. See below, note on p. 220, 1. 2a

P. 190, 1. 8. presented ; i. e. gave him a present

NofeSj pp. 191— 199 299

p. 191; 1. 14. Dares Phrygius, Read Dictys Cretensis, iii.

p. 15.

1. 15. sktin cowardly ; i. e. in a cowardly manner by Achilles ;

Dictys tells how Hector, with a small company of retainers, was

caught in an ambush at the ford, when going to meet Penthesilea.

1. 18. Rmaldo, The objection that Rinaldo was not historical

was made in Tasso*s lifetime, and answered by him in a letter of

February, 1585 : * Di Reginaldo si fa neir istoria menzione.'

P. 192, 1. 30. Sir Henry Woiton : ' An ambassador is an honest man
sent to lie abroad for the good of his country.' See his Life by
Izaak Walton.

P. 198, 1. I. One who imitates Boccalini. Trajano Boccalini (1556-
1613) began the publication of his RagguagH di Pamasso, News of
Parnassus, in 16 la, at Venice ; the book was translated into English
by Henry Gary, Earl of Monmouth, in 1656 (Advertisements from
Parnassus in two Centuries, with the Politick Touchstone . . .). It
has left some traces in English Literature, e.g. in the story of the
critic presented with the chaff for his pains in sifting {Spectator,
No. 391), and in the more famous case of the Laconian sentenced to
read the History of GuicciardinL See Mestica, Trajano Boccalini e la
letteratura critica e politica del seicento, 1878. There were* many
imitators of Boccalini, but for this one it is perhaps unnecessary to
make researches.

P. 194, 1. 24. splendid miracles. Speciosa miracula. Hon, A, P,
144.

L 32. Tasso, in one of his Discourses ; i. e. in the second, DelV
Arte Poetica, 1587 : ^ Ma si come in Didone confuse di tanto spazio
r ordine de* tempi, per aver occasione di mescolare fra la severita
deir altre materie i piacevolissimi ragionamenti d' amore, e per
assegnare un' alta ed ereditaria cagione della inimicizia fra Romani
e Cartaginesi,' &c.

P. 195, 1. ais. Nee pars ulla magis. Trist ii. 535.

P. 197, 1. a6. so strange, *' Mr. Malone here reads so strong ; but
strange here seems to signify alarming^ or startling^ — Scott.

P. 198, 1. 15. Quid prohibetis, Ovid, Metam, vi. 349.
1. aa. Odysseis. The form is common, sometimes with mark of
diceresis, Odysseis (Dennis, Letters, 1695, p. 138) ; as a singular noiin
it goes along with Ilias here; so also in Spenser s Letter, quoted
above in the note to p. 178. The spelling Odysses is also found,
which sometimes seems to be plural (the Odysseys), going along with
the Iliads. So Hobbes, *the Iliads and Odysses of Homer,' 1676.
Sometimes, however, it is singular, as in Pope*s Essay on Homer
Ci7^5)> P* S^i * while the Iliad and Odysses remain.'

P. 199, 1. a6. There is a kind of invention in the imitation of Raphael,

300 Notes^ pp. 199-908

Compare p. 200, I. 5 : 'for the draughts of both were taken from the
ideas they had of Nature.' This is a repetition of the views
already expounded in the Parallel of Poetry and Painting,

P. 202, 1. I. Another French critic, whom I will not name, St. Evre-
mond again, Sur les Poimes des Anciens^ 1685 : ' Quelquefois les
comi>araisons nous tirent des objets qui nous occupent le plus, par la
vaine image d'un autre objet, qui fait mal k propos une diversion.'
Perrault is more emphatic on the subject of long-tailed similes : see
the Spectator, No. 303. But Dryden had not the same reason for
showing respect to Perrault. In the Character of M, St. Evremont
Dryden had already made his complaint openly : Mt is true that as
I am a religious admirer of Virgil I could wish that he had not
discovered our father's nakedness'; he had also made more con-
cessions to the adversary with regard to Aeneas than he was ready
to confirm in 1697.

1. 13. similitudes . . . are not for tragedy. See vol. i. p. 223, 1. 31,
and note. Similes are, however, kept by Addison in his Cato, at the
end of almost every Act, and ' So have I seen ' remained a formula at
any rate till Fielding's Tragedy of Tragedies,

1. aS. Perhaps meaning the allegory in Aen. iv. 175-188.
P. 204, 1. 4. Pontanus, His edition of Virgil in fol., Augsburg,

1599-

1. 9. Junius and Tremellius, ' Commentators on the Scripture,

mentioned by our author in the Religio Laid, where, speaking of

Dickenson's translation of P^re Simon's Critical History of the Old

Testament, he calls it —

"A treasure which if country curates buy,
They Junius and Tremellius may defy." ' Scott.

Emanuel Tremellius, 15 10-1580, a converted Jew of Ferrara, turned
Protestant and became Professor of Hebrew at Sedan. Franciscus
Junius (or Du Jon), 1545-1602, was associated with Tremellius in
a Latin translation of the Bible ; he was the father of Francis Junius,
the philologist, and grandfather of Isaac Vossius.

1. 35. Ronsard, Preface sur la Franciade, * Le poSme h^rofque,
qui est tout guerrier, comprend seulement les actions d'une ann^e
enti^re, et semble que Virgile y ait failly, selon que luy-mesme
Tescrit:

"Annuus exactis completur mensibus orbis

£x quo relliquias divinique ossa parentis

Condidimus terra."

II y avoit desja un an pass6 quand il fit les jeux fundbres de son p^re
en Sicile, et toutefois il n'aborda de long temps aprds en Italic'

P. 208, 1. 22. these cant words^ Compare Ben Jonson's dissertation

Notes, pp. 208-219 301

on the natural history of Cant (i.e. slang) in the Staple of News, and
the Essay of Victor Hugo on the same subject in Les Miserables,

P. 210, 1. 5. guardian angels. Compare the Preface to Juvenal,
p. 34, and notes ; and Fables, p. 272.

1. 13. which Tasso has not HI copied, GerusaleMnte Liberata, xviii.
St. 92-97, where St. Michael shows Godfrey the heavenly host :
* But higher lift thy happy eyes, and view
Where all the sacred hosts of Heaven appear,
He look'd and saw where winged armies flew,
Innumerable, pure, divine, and clear ;
A battle round- of squadrons three they show.
And all by threes these squadrons ranged were.
Which spreading wide in rings still wider go:
Mov'd with a stone, calm water circleth so.*

Fairfax (st. 96).
P. 213, 1. 24. non me tua turbida. Inaccurately quoted for ' Non
me tua fervida terrent Dicta ferox.' Aen. xiu 895.

P. 214, 1. 35. omari res ipsa negai, Manilius, iii. 39 (Malone's
reference).

P. 215, 1. 17. Ccesura. Here used for elision of vowels ; synalepha
in Third Miscellany,

P. 217, 1. 14. nobis non licet esse tant disertis. Again. See p. 103, 1. 9.
1. 25. Die, quibus in terris ; Eclogue 3, 106.

1. 31. Though deep, yet clear , &c. This couplet was no longer
left unnoticed, after Dryden's quotation of it. It had even to be put
in the Index of things too often repeated :

^ If Anna's happy reign you praise.
Pray not a word of halcyon days :
Nor let my votaries show their skill
In aping lines from Coopet^s Hill\
For know, I cannot bear to hear.
The mimicry of deep ^ yet dear,*

Swift, Apollo^ s Edict y 1720.
This poem of Swift's, by the way, is another proof of the influence
of Boccalini ; it is ' occasioned by News from Parnassus*

P. 218, L 25. Formerly the French . . . had but five feet, Dryden
probably judged hastily, from the decasyllabic verse of the Franciade,
that the Alexandrine was not of long standing in French poetry :
* Charles, mon Prince, enflez-moy le courage ;
En vostre honneur j'entrepren cet ouvrage ;
Soyez mon guide et gardez d'abysmer
Ma nef, qui flotte en si profonde men*
P. 219, 1. 6. The turn on thoughts and words. Above, p. 108, 1. 17.
1. 23. The want of genius, 'Although the ordinary genius of

3oa Notes, pp. 9x9-383

the French appears indifferent enough, it is certain that those who
distinguish themselves amongst us, are capable of producing the finest
things/ &c. {Some Observations upon the Tasie and Judgment of the
French^ in the volume of St £vremond*s Miscellaneous Essays, for
which Dryden wrote the Introduction, 169a ; CEuvreSy iv. p. 305.)
Compare also another passage of St Evremond about the want of
depth in French imaginative work: * En effet nous nous contentons
des premieres images que nous donnent les objets; et pour nous
arrdter aux simples dehors, Tapparent presque toujours nous tient
lieu du vrai et le facile du naturel ' (St £vremond, De la Comedie
anglaise, 1677 : see vol. i. p. xv.).

P. 220. L 7. Non fu si sanfo, &c. Orlando Furioso xzxV. st. 26,
from the discourse of St John the Evangelist to Astolpho in the
Heaven of the Moon.

1. 9o. the two brothers. ' Robert et Antoine le Chevalier d*Ag-
neaux» fr^res, de Vire en Normandie,' 1583 : new edition, 1607,
with sonnets by Vauquelin de la Fresnaye : already referred to,
p. 189, 1. 19.

1. 31. HannibcU Caro. See above, vol. i. p. 356, 1. 19, and voL il
p. 39, L 34.

1. 35. Le Clerc, Jean Le Clerc (1657-1736) in Bibliotheque
Universelle et Historique, t. ix. p. 319 (de CAnnee 1688) : Essai de
Critique^ ou Von tdche de montrer en quoi consiste la Poesie des Hibreux.

1. 37. arrant. Common in the sense of genuine, thorough-going.
P. 221, 1. 7. the white ; the middle of the target.

1. 10. Doctor Morelli. * Dr. Henry Morelli, one of the College of
Physicians in our author's time ; whose name appears among the
Subscribers to the scheme for a publick Dispensary in 1696.*
Malone.

1. 33. Sorti Pater cequus utrique, Aen. x. 450 : * " My father
will be able to bear either extreme of fortune " ; an answer to
Tumus* speech, v. 443' (Cuperem ipse parens spectator adesset).
Conington.

P. 222, 1. 3. Sic ait ; ibid. v. 473. Conington refers to Dryden here,
and disapproves of Ruceus. Waller translated Aen, iv. 437-583.

1. 36. Sir John Denhant^ Mr. Waller^ and Mr. Cowley, Denham
did the Second Book {The Destruction of Troy, an Essay on the Second
Book of Virgits jEneis, 1636) ; also a free version of the Passion of
Dido, Cowley, the Second Georgic from v. 458.

P. 223, 1. 10. in a former dissertation ; i. e. in the Parallel of Poetry
and Paintings p. 147.

1. 30. These are mob readers. * Mob * was not yet quite established
in 1693 ; * mob, as they call them,* Preface to Cleomenes, Two years
before in Don Sebastian it is the tnobile (Act i. sc. i ; Act iii. sc. 3.

Notes, pp. 333—937 303

' 'Tis a laudable commotion ; the voice of the mobile is the voice of
Heaven ').

P. 224) 1. 13. like the Manfanares, From Bouhours* Entretiens
d'Ariste et cT Eugene : //. La Langue Fran^oise, * Pour moy je n'entends
jamais ces mots et ces expressions de la langue Castillane, que je ne
me souvienne du Man9anares. On diroit k entendre ce grand mot
que la riviere de Madrid est le plus grand fleuve du monde: et
cependant ce n'est qu'un petit niisseau, qui est le plus souvent a sec ;
et qui, si nous en croyons un Po6te Castillan, ne m^rite pas d'avoir
un pont Je me souviens des vers Espagnols^ et vous ne serez
peut-6tre pas faschd de les apprendre en passant :

'^Duelete dessa puente Manpanares

Mira que dize por ai la gente,

Que no eres rio para media puente

Y que ella es puente para treinta mares.''

Luis DE GONGORA.

Voila ce que c'est que le Manfanares, et yoilli aussi a peu pr^s ce que
c'est que la langue Castillane.'

1. 33. Owen's Epigrams. See above, note on p. 27, 1. 25.

1. 35. a bladdered greatness. See vol. i. p. 347, 1. 11 : 'swelling
puffy style/

P. 225, 1.3. as a wit said formerly. Lord Rochester ; see p. 358.

1. 34. imagination only. Imagination has been degraded in
meaning since Dryden explained its functions in the account of
Annus MirabiUs ; what here is called Imagination is there called
Fancy, or Invention and Fancy.

1. 38. Marim'^s Adone. Published at Paris in 1633, with a
Preface (in French) by Chapelain : V A done, poema del Cavalier
Marino. The poem has been fully described by Mr. J. A. Symonds
in his Renaissance in Italy. Marino was known to English poets,
though his influence has been unduly exaggerated. He is seen at
his best in Crashaw's version from his poem on the Slaughter of the
Innocents, In the Guerre di PamasOy 1643, by Scipione Herrico, * one
who imitates Boccalini,' Marino is the leader of a revolt against
Aristotle and Apollo.

P. 226, 1. II. Dampier, His Voyages came out in this year : A New
Voyage round the World, Dampier is speaking of Quito, in the year
1684 : ' I know no place where Gold is found but what is very
unhealthy.'

1. 38. Mr, Creech, See voL i. p. 364, 1. 19.

P. 227, 1. 5. Philarchusy I remember, taxes Balzac, More accurately

Phyllarchus i, q, dux foliorum^ with an equivoque ' Head of a house

of Feuillants * : according to the Segraisiana, Balzac's sagacity at

once discerned in this name the Feuillant his adversary. See

304 Notes, pp. 227-232

for the whole controversy Emile Roy, De loan, Lud. Gutzio Bal-

zacio contra Dom, loan, Gulonium disputante, 189a. Phyllarchus

was Jean Goulu de St. Francois ; his criticism of Balzac's style

appeared in 1627, Ltttres de Phyllarqui a ArisU ou ii est traicte de

rSoquence fran^oise ; a second Part in i6a8. Balzac in these Letters

is Narcisse, Dryden refers to a passage in Letter xxi : ' Le mesme

Quintilian enseigne que la suitte de plusieurs monosyllabes est

vicieuse, d'autant qu*elle &it sauteller le discours entrecoup6 de

petites particules et le rend comme raboteux : et que partant il faut

esviter la continuation des petits mots comme aussi par raison con*

traire on doit fair Tentresuitte des parolles qui sont long^ues, a cause

qu'elles apportent une pesanteur des-agr6able k la prononciation.

Voyons si Narcisse n'a point encores p^ch6 contre cette reigle. II

parle de la sorte en la mesme Letre [en la Letre ao du 4 livre]. Qui

est-ce qui peut dire cela de soy! Oil sont ceux qui se sont tenus

fermes, &c. ? Ariste, tu peux remarquer la suitte de quinze petits

mots dont les treize sont monosyllabes ; ce qui montre ou qu'il est

ignorant des pr^ceptes de la Rh^torique, ou qu'il y a des reigles

qui sont particuli^res k luy, et incognues k tous les Orateurs.'

P. 229 f 1. I. a Pindaric', L e. an Alexandrine.

1. 5. Chapman has followed him. Triplets in Chapman's Odyssey ^

eg. >• 399» iv. 27, v. 361, vi. 351.

1. 7. Mr, Cowley. Cf. Johnson's Life of Cowley : ' Cowley was,
I believe, the first poet that mingled Alexandrines at pleasure with
the common heroick of ten syllables, and from him Dryden borrowed
the practice whether ornamental or licentious.* * Of triplets in his
Davideis he makes no use, and perhaps did not at first think them
allowable ; but he appears afterwards to have changed his mind, for
in the verses on the government of Cromwell he inserts thenoi liberally
with great happiness.'

P. 280, 1. 10. Staffj i. e. stave, stanza. See note in vol. i. on p. 12,
1. 35 : Davenant's views in the Preface to Gondibert,

P. 231, 1. 19. the exctdse ofBoccace, In the Epilogue to the Deca-
meron {Conclusione deW autore) : ' che maestro alcun non si truova da
Dio in fuori, che ogni cosa faccia bene e compiutamente. £ Carlo
Magno che fu il primo facitore de* paladini non ne seppe tanti creare,
che esso di lor soli potesse fare hoste.'

P. 282, 1. 14. hammered money, for want of milled. Compare
Letter xvii. in Scott*s Dryden (to Tonson ; Feb. 1696 ?) on the
difficulties about the currency: *I shall lose enough by your bill
upon Mr. Knight ; for after having taken it all in silver, and not in
half-crowns neither, but shillings and sixpences, none of the money
will go ; for which reason I have sent it all back again, and as the
less loss will receive it in guinneys at 29 shillings each/ And again

Notes, pp. 232-338 305

May 26 (Letter xviii), * Sir Ro. Howard writt me word, that if
I cou'd make any advantage by being paid in clipped money, he
woud change it in the Exchequer/ See Macaulay, History of England,
c. xxi. I, where Dryden's phrase is quoted from this Essay.
P. 233, 1. 8. for Cupid read Ascanius :

* Lull'd in her Lap, amidst a Train of Loves
She gently bears him to her blissful Groves :
Then with a wreath of Myrtle crouns his Head,
And softly lays him in a flow'ry Bed.'

1. 21. quisquis studet, Hor. Od, iv.

1. 22. Audi hospes,. Aen, viii. 364.
P. 235, 1. 6. The late Earl of Lauderdale. Richard Maitland (1653-
1695), fourth Earl, sent over his translation from Paris, where he
was living doubly exiled, outlawed in England, and not received
at St. Germain's by reason of his opposition to the extreme Catholic
policy of King James. His work was published in 1737.

1. 30. Two other worthy friends of mine. Dr. Knightly Chetwood
and Mr. Addison. Dr. Chetwood wrote the Life of VxrgU, and the
Preface to the Pastorals ; see Dryden's letter to Tonson, No. xxvi. in
Scott*s edition : ' I have also this day written to Mr. Chetwood, and
let him know that the book is immediately goeing to the press again.
My opinion is that the printer shou'd begin with the first Pastoral,
and print on to the end of the Georgiques, or farther if occasion be,
till Dr. Chetwood corrects his Preface, which he writes me word is
printed very false.' Addison wrote the Preface to the Georgics.

P. 236, 1. 12. why I writ not always in the proper terms. See
Introduction to Annus Mirabilis, and compare Warton on Dante,
History of English Poetry, cxlix : * We are surprised that a poet
should write one hundred cantos on Hell, Paradise, and Purgatory.
But this prolixity is partly owing to the want of art and method ;
and is common to all early compositions, in which everything is
related circumstantially and without rejection, and not in those
general terms which are used by modern writers.'

1. 23. the four preliminary lines :

Mile ego qui quondam gracili modulatus avena
Carmen et egressus silvis vicina coegi
Ut quamvis avido parerent arva colono
Gratum opus agricolis at nunc horrentia Martis.'

1. 19. Tucca and Varius, The story being that these editors
* retrenched ' the four opening lines, leaving Anna virumque at the
head of the first book.

P. 238, 1. 28. A Sixth Pastoral (Silenus), translated by Lord Ros-
'•'Mnmon ; Pharmaceutria (the Eighth Pastoral).

X

3o6 Notis, pp. 238-946

p. 288, L 99. Orpk€us, 'being a Translation out of the Fourth Book
of Virgil's Ctovgic^ by Lord Mulgrave, referred to already, p. aaa.
P. 289, 1. 3. EncMihoHt'us. Virgil, Georg, iii. 113:

< Primus Erichthonius currus et quattuor ausus
lungere equos, rapidusque rotis insistere victor.'
1. ao. yottr nobU kinsman thi EaH af Dorset, ' Their mothers
were half-sisters, being both daughters of Lionel Cranfield, Earl of
Middlesex.* Scott.

POSTSCRIPT TO THE -fiNEIS.

P. 242, 1. 25. Theprtsmt Earl of Peterborough, The friend of Pope
and Swift, the hero of the war of the Spanish succession, < Mor*
danto.'

1. 34. Sir William Trumbail\ to whom Pope's first Pastoral is
dedicated; died 17 16.

P. 243, 1. 15. Fabrini : printed at Venice, 1623.

1. 18. Sir William Bowyer, Mentioned in a note on the Second
Georgici ' Nature has conspired with Art to make the garden at
Denham Court of Sir William's own plantation one of the most
delicious spots of ground in England ; it contains not above five acres
(just the compass of Alcinous's garden, described in the Odysses\' Slc.

1. 37. Earl of Exeter, John Cecil, fifth Earl, a Nonjuror. The
village of Dryden's birth is Aldwinkle in Northamptonshire.

P. 244, 1. I. William Walsh, See Pope's note on his First Pastoml,
where this remark of Dryden's is quoted ; and the Epistle to
Dr. Arbuthnot.

1 ao. part of the Third Georgic, Mr. Malone conjectures the
concealed translator may have been Lord Lansdowne, author of the
poem which precedes that translation in the Miscellanies, Scott.

L Q^, After his Bees, Alluding to a translation of the Third Book
of the Georgics^ exclusive of the storj' of Aristeeus, which appeared in
the third volume of the Miscellanies ; by the famous Addison, then of
Queen's College, Oxford. Scott.

1. 3a. Dr. Guibbons. The same of whom Dryden elsewhere says :
* Guibbons but guesses, nor is sure to save.' Scott.

1. 3a. Dr, Hobbs, Also an eminent physician of the time,
ridiculed, in the Dispensary^ under the title of Guiacum. Scott.

1.35. The only one of them, Blackmore.

PREFACE TO FABLES (1700).

P. 246, 1. 10. a certain nobleman. The Duke of Buckingham.
1. 18. the speeches ofAjax and Ulysses, See i. p. 333.
1. 19. balk, Cf. Dedication of the GeorgicSj *if I balked this
opportunity.'

t

Notes, pp. 346-249 307

I. 30. Fifteenth Book, * Of the Pythagorean Philosophy.'
P. 247, 1. 4. the Hunting of the Boar, Meleager and Atalanta from
the Eighth Book.

I. 5. Cinyras and Myrrha^ from the Tenth ; Baucis and Philemon
from the Eighth.

1. II. Sandys, See above.

I. 30. Spenser more than once insinuates that the sotd of Chaucer
was transfused into his body. Faery Queene^ iv. 3, 34 :

'Then pardon O most sacred happie spirit!
That I thy labours lost may thus revive,
And steale from thee the meede of thy due merit.
That none durst ever whitest thou wast alive,
And being dead in vaine yet many strive:
Ne dare I like; but through infusion sweete
Of thine own spirit which doth in me survive,
I follow here the footing of thy feete,
That with thy meaning so I may the rather meete.'

II. 36-38. Fairfax's Tasso was published in i6oa Godfrey of
Bulloigne^ or the Recovery of Jerusalem, One of the stanzas is quoted
above in a note on p. 310, 1. 13.

P. 248, 1. 33. octave rhyme. The stanza was used, in French, by
Thibaut, King of Navarre, in the previous century, and before Boc-
caccio, in Italian, by the author of the Cantare di Fiorio e Biancifiore,
But Boccaccio was the first author to g^ve the octave its rank as the
Italian ' measure for heroic verse ' (p. 107).

P. 249, 1. 3. our learned Mr, Rymer, From the severity of the
Third Miscellany (1693), Dryden had returned to his more gentle
opinion of Rymer, 'an excellent critic' as he is called in the
Vindication of the Duke of Guise (1683).

1. 3. from the Proveufal, See Rymer on the * Provencial Poetry '
in his Short View of Tragedy, ' This Provencial was the first of the
modern languages that yielded and chimM in with the musick and
sweetness of ryme ; which making its way by Savoy to Monferat,
the Italians thence began to file their volgare^ and to set their verses
all after the Chimes of Provence, Our Intermarriages and our Domi-
nions thereabouts brought us much sooner acquainted with their
Tongue and Poetry; and they with us that would write verse, as
King Richardj Savery de MauleoUy and Rob, Grostead, finding the
English stubborn and unwieldy fell readily to that of Provence, as
more glib, and lighter on the Tongue. But they who attempted
verse in English, down till Chaucer's time, made an heavy pudder,
and are always miserably put to 't for a word to clink; which
commonly fall so awkard and unexpectedly as dropping from the
Clouds by some Machine or Miracle. Chaucer found an Herculean

X 2

3o8 Notes, pp. 249-255

labour on his hands ; and did perform to Admiration. He seizes all
Provencal, French, and Latin that came in his way, gives ^hem a
new garb and livery, and mingles them amongst our English : turns
out English, gowty or superannuated, to place in their room the
foreigners fit for service, train'd and accustomed to Poetical Disci-
pline. But though the Italian reformation was beg^n and finished
well nigh at the same time by Boccace, Dante, and Petrarch^ our
language retain'd something of the churl ; something of the Stiff and
Gothish did stick upon it, till long after Chaucer, Chaucer threw in
Latin, French, Provencial, and other Languages, like new Stum to
raise a Fermentation ; in Queen ElizabeiKs time it grew fine, but came
not to an Head and Spirit, did not shine and sparkle till Mr. WalUr
set it a running.* This is the passage of literary history summed up
in Rymer's table of contents in the following remarkable terms :
* Chaucer refind our English, Which in perfection by Waller." Rymer
knew something about Proven9al poetr^', and something about
Chaucer, and through Dry den and Pope has made it a matter of
traditional belief that Chaucer belongs, in some way or other, to ^ the
Provencal School.* Dryden seems not to have distinguished between
Proven9al and old French.

P. 249, 1. 31. the other harmony of prose \ a reminiscence of
Aristotle, Poet. c. iv. t^( XtKiunji ApfwyUis.

P. 260, 1. 19. dead-colouring. See vol. i. p. 109, 1. 7,

1. a6. staved ; like contraband hogsheads.
P. 251, 1. 9. a religious lawyer. Jeremy Collier.
P. 262, 1. 24. Mr, Hobbes. * The Iliads and Odysses of Homer.
Translated out of Greek into English by Thomas Hobbes of Malmes-
bury, with a large Preface concerning the Virtues of an Heroic Poem
written by the Translator,* 1676.

1. 31. now the words are the colouring. See p. 147, and p. 223.
P. 263, 1. 14. Choleric, &c. Dryden had before him the locus
classicus on humours, in the Nun*s Priest's Tale (the Cock and the
Fox).

1. 34. LonginuSf c. la teal 6 fjikv ^fi4r€pos 9iaL rd fierSt. fiias Z/uurra tri
h\ T&xovs fi^fjtrfs 9€iv6ttjtos oToy Kaf€iv re cifia nal SicLpii6.(€iy cnerfnrf rivi
irapfiKQ^oiT* h,v ^ K€pavy^y i b^ Kinipeav dis dft^iAa^f nv ifiw/njcr/ws
alfiai irdvTTj v4fA€Tai teed dv(i\€iTCUf K.r.X,

P. 264, 1. 6. the violent playing of a new machine, Dryden's memory
had misplaced the Dream of Agamemnon, which in the Second
Book comes before the Catalogue of the Ships.

1. a6. philology. Includes all studies connected with literature.
P. 266, 1. 5. the invention of Petrarch, What Petrarch sent to
Boccaccio was a Latin version of Boccaccio^s story of Griselda in the
Decameron J accompanied by a letter : there is an English translation

Notes, pp. 255-359 309

of the letter in Robinson and Rolfe*s Essay on Pelrarch^ 1898.
Petrarch made his translation in the year 1373.

1. 8. by a Lombard author. See TroUus and Cressida above,
p. a 13, I. 14.

P. 256, 1. 3a. John Liitiewit : at the beginning of Ben Jonson*s
Bartholomew Fair; not quite as in Dryden's quotation: 'A pretty
conceit and worth the finding! I have such luck to spin out such
fine things still, and like a silk-worm, out of myself.'

P. 257, 1. 17 the turn of words. See p. 108, 1. 17, and note.
P. 258, 1. 5. one of our late great poets. Cowley ; see above,
p. 108, and compare the judgement of the Battle of the Books on
Cowley : ' — one half lay panting on the ground to be trod in pieces
by the horses feet ; the other half was borne by the frighted steed
through the field. This Venus took, washed it seven times in
ambrosia, then struck it thrice with a sprig of amarant ; upon which
the leather grew round and soft, and the leaves turned into feathers,
and being gilded before, continued gilded still ; so it became a dove,
and she harnessed it to her chariot.* Compare Dryden*s reference
in the Dedication oi Aurengzebe i ' — his master Epicurus and my
better master Cowley.'

I. 27. for Catullus read Martial :

^Occurrit tibi nemo quod libenter
Quod quocunque venis^ fuga est et ingens
Circa te Ligurine solitudo :
Quid sit scire cupis : nimis poeta es.' iii. 44.
1. 30. auiibus istius lemporis accommodata : * auribus iudicum
accommodata.' Tac. Oral, c ai.

P. 259, 1. a. he who published the last edition of him, ' Thomas
Speght's edition of Chaucer was published in 1597 and i6oa. The
Preface contains the passage which Dry den alludes to : '^ And for his
(Chaucer's) verses, although, in divers places, they seem to us to
stand of unequal measures, yet a skilful reader, who can scan them
in their nature, shall find it otherwise. And if a verse, here and
there, fal x)ut a syllable shorter or longer than another, I rather aret
it to the negligence and rape of Adam Scrivener {that I may speake
as Chaucer doth), than to any unconning or oversight in the author :
for how fearful he was to have his works miswritten, or his vearse
mismeasured, may appeare in the end of his fift booke of Troylus and
Creseide, where he writeth thus :

*And for there is so great diversitie
In English, and in writing of oup tongue,
So pray I God that none miswrite thee,
Ne thee liiismetre for defaut of tongue.'
By his hasty and inconsiderate contradiction of honest Speght's

310 Notes, pp. 959-969

panegyric, Diyden has exposed himself to be censured for pro-
nouncing rashly upon a subject with which he was but imperfectly
acquainted. The learned Tyrwhitt has supported Speght*s position
with equal pains and success, and plainly proves that the apparent
inequalities of the rhyme of Chaucer arise chiefly from the change
in pronunciation since his time, particularly from a number of words
being now pronounced as one syllable, which in those days were
prolonged into two, or as two syllables, which were anciently three.
These researches, in the words of Ellis, '' have proved ivhat Dryden
denied, viz., that Chaucer's versification, wherever his genuine text
is preserved, was uniformly correct, although the harmony of his
lines has, in many cases, been obliterated by the changes that have
taken place in the mode of accenting our language." Specimens oftht
Early English Poets^ vol. i. p. 909/ Scott,

P. 259, 1. 90. a Harrington. Sir John Harington*s Orlando Fttriose
in English Heroical Verse appeared in 1591.

P. 2ft0, 1. 19. the tale of Piers Plowman, i.e. the Ploughntan^s Tale,
printed at the end of the Canterbury Tales ; written by the author of
the Ploughman's Creed. See Skeat, Chaucerian and other Pieces;
Supplement to the Works of Geoffrey Chaucer.

P. 201, 1. 91. Dr. Drake, James Drake wrote an answer to Collier.
The Ancient and Modem Stages Reviewed, or Mr. Colliers View of the
Immorality and Profaneness of the Stage set in a True Light, 1699.
1. 97. prior lasit. Terence, Eunuch us prol. 4 :

*Tum siquis est qui dictum in se inclementius
Existumabit esse, sic existumet
Responsum non dictum esse quia laesit prior.*

P. 261, 1. 15. Baptista Porta; the famous Italian physiognomist

P. 263, 1. i6. Wife of Bath, in the Prologue to her Tale ; modernized
by Pope.

P. 264, 1. 34. The late Earl of Leicester. Philip, third Earl, to whom
Don Sebastian is dedicated ; brother of Algernon Sidney. He died
in 1697.

P. 267, 1. 17. some old Saxon friends. The study of early English
and the cognate dialects was making great progress at this time,
through the industry of Dr. Hickes, Mr. Thomas Hearne, and other
scholars ; Dryden was probably thinking particularly of Rymer.

1. 30. their grandam gold. Compare The Wild Gallant, iv. i : < now
I think on't, Frances has one hundred and twenty pieces of old
grandam-and-aunt gold left her, that she would never let me touch.'

P. 268, 1. 13. into the old Provencal: as before, Dryden does not
distinguish Provenfal from old French.

P. 269, 11. 95-33. Dryden did not know Boccaccio's Teseidc the
immediate original of the Knight's Tale.

Notes, pp. 370-373 311

p. 270, 1. 33. M : Milboume.

1. 33. B : • the City Bard or Knight Physician/ Sir Richard

Blackmore.

P. 272, I. 5. his Arthurs : Prince Arthur and Kiti^ Arthur, Black-
more's Epics, published in 1695 and 1697.

1. 8. the Guardian Angels of Kingdoms, See Preface io Juvenal ,

P-34.

1. II. the whirl-bats o/Etyx. A en, v. 400.

I. 17. Mr. Collier. Jeremy Collier, 1650- 1726, a non juring
clergyman, wrote, besides his Short View of the Immorality and Pro-
faneness of the Stage, 1698, an Historical Dictionary, 1 701-1 721, from
which a remark on Shakespeare is quoted by Mr. Browning : ' His
genius was jocular but, when disposed, he could be very serious/
Collier had found fault with Dryden*s want of religion : ' The Author
of Don Sebastian strikes at the Bishops through the sides of the
Mufti, and borrows the Name of the Turk to make the Christians
ridiculous' Mn Cleomenes Cassandra rails against Religion at the
Altar, and in the midst of a publick Solemnity :

^^ Accursed be thou, Grass-eating fodder d God!
Accur^d thy Temple, more accurs*d thy Priests ! " '
P. 273, 1. 24. the battle of Senneph (Senef), Aug. 11, 1674, when
Cond^ fell on the rear-guard of the Prince of Orange, then retreating
between Charleroi and Mons. The battle had been described by
Sir William Temple in his Memoirs of what passed in Christendom
from 1672 to 1679.

'A

'i

:|

I,
J." '

■I '
'ISI

APPENDIX A

A SHORT HISTORY OF CRITICISM FROM THE
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE TO MIXT ESSA YS
WRITTEN ORIGINALLY IN FRENCH BY THE
SIEUR DE SAINT EVREMONT, 1685.

After the Italians the French took fire, and began to sub-
lime and purifie themselves upon the rising of that glorious
Minister Cardinal Richlieu, who founded the Royal Academy j
and having muster'd the best Wits together, employed them
in reforming the Stage, the Language, and Manners of his
Country. LAhh^ Hedelin undertook the Theater, of which
he published the most perfect Treatise yet extant ; and if
the Cardinal had liv*d some years longer, he would have
carried it much higher, and even contended with Athens,
and Rome themselves. Malherbe, Corneilley Chapelain^ Moliere,
BoileaUy Fontaine, and Rapin, have cultivated, and exalted the
Subject. The Learned Chanoine of St, Genevieve R. P. le
Bossu, hath given us the best Idea, and most exact Model of
Epick Poem. The Dutch and Germans (as though frozen up)
have produced little in this kind ; yet we must confess that
Grotius, Heinsius, Scaliger and Vossius were Learned Criticks.
Some of the English have indeed rais'd their Pens, and
soar'd as high as any of the Italians, or French ; yet Criticism
came but very lately in fashion amongst us ; without doubt
Ben Johnson had a large stock of Critical Learning ; Spencer
had studied Homer, and Virgil, and Tasso, yet he was misled,
and debauched by Ariosto, as Mr. Rymer judiciously ob-
serves ; Davenant gives some stroaks of great Learning and
Judgment, yet he is for unbeaten Tracks, new Ways,
and undiscovered Seas ; Cowley was a great Master of the
Antients, and had the true Genius and Character of a Poet ;

314 Appendix A

yet this nicety and boldness of Criticism was a stranger all
this time to our Climate ; Mr. Rytner and Mr. Dtyden have
begun to launch out into it, and indeed they have been
very fortunate Adventurers. The Earls of R. and M. and
Mr. W. have given some fine touches ; Mr. Drydens CriHcks
are generally quaint and solid, his Prefaces doth as often
correct and improve my Judgment, as his Verses doth
Charm my Fancy ; he is every-where Sweet, Elegant, and
Sublime ; the Poet and Critick were seldom both so Con-
spicuous and Illustrious in one man as in him, except
Rapin. Mr. Rymer in his incomparable Preface to Rapin,
and in his Reflections upon some late Tragedies^ hath given
sufficient proofs that he hath studied and understands
Aristotle and Horace, Homer, ^nd Virgil, besides the IVits of
all Countries and Ages ; so that we may justly number him
in the first rank of Criticks, as having a most accomplished
Idea of Poetry and the Stage.

APPENDIX B

AUTHORITIES, CRITICAL AND HISTORICAL.

Beljame, Le Public et les Hommes de Lettres en Angkterre,

1883.
Blount, De Re Poetica, 1694.
Bossu, Traitedu Po€me e'pique. 1675.
BouHOURS, Les Eniretiens dAriste et d Eugene, 1671.
Breitinger, . £^5 Unite's d'Aristote avanf le Cid de Corneille,

1879.
Butcher, Aristotle's Theory of Poetry and Fine Art. 1897.
Butler, Samuel, The Genuine Remains in Verse and Prose.

1759-

Campbell, Lewis, Greek Tragedy. 1891.
ChaPelain, Preface to VAdone of Marino. 1622.

Preface to La Pucelle. 1656.

Chappuzeau, Le Theatre Frangais. 1674.
Collins, J. Churton, Essays and Studies. 1895.
Corneille, Le Theatre de P, Corneille^ 3 volumes, 8'*, 1660,
containing the three Discourses and the Examens : —
[Vol. i. Discours de PUtilite' et des Parties du Po€me

dramatique.
Vol. ii. Discours de la Tragedie et des moyens de la

trailer selon le vraysemblable ou le necessaire.
Vol. iii. Discours des trois Unites d Action, de Jour et
de Lieu.]

Dacier, Preface sur les Satires d* Horace. 1687.
D'AuBiGNAC (H^delin), La Pratique du Theatre, 1657.
Davenant, Preface to Gondibert. 165 1.
Dennis, Select Works. 1 7 1 8.

'SLTON, O., The Augustan Ages. 1899.

3i6

Appendix B

FouRNEL, Le Theatre au xvii^ SUcU; La Commie, 1892.

Garnett, R., The Age ofDryden, 1895.
GossE, From Shakespeare to Pope. 1885.

Hamelius, Die Kritik in der Englischen Liieratur ties 17. und
18. Jahrhunderts, 1897.

Johnson, Lives of the Poets, 1779-1781.

JussERAND, Shakespeare en France sous VAncien Regime.
1898.

La Mesnardi&re, La Poitique, 1640.

LEMAtTRE, Comeille et la Poitique dAristote, 1888.

Malone, Critical and Miscellaneous Prose Works of John
Dryden, 1800.

Perrault, Parallele des Anciens et des Modemes. . 1688- 1696.
Petit de Julleville, Le Theatre en France, 1889.

(edited by), Histoire de la Langue et ch la Litt^rature

frangaise, 1896-1900.

Rapin, (Euvres diverses du R, P. R, Rapin, Amsterdam,

1686.
RiGAL, Alexandre Hardy et le Theatre frangais a la fin du xvi'

et au commencement du ocvif Siecle, 1889.
Rymer, The Tragedies of the Last Age Considered and

Examined by the Practice of the Ancients, 1678.
A Short View of Tragedy, 1693.

Saint-Evremond, (EuvreSy ed. Des Maizeaux. 1705.

Saintsbury, Dryden [* English Men of Letters 'J. 1881.

Sarasin, Discours de la Tragedie, 1639.

Scaliger, J. C, Poetices lihri septem, 1561.

Scott, Life of Dryden, in his edition of Dryden's JVorks.

1808.
ScuDERY, Preface to Ibrahim ou tillustre Bassa, 1641.

Preface to Alaric. 1654.

Settle, Notes and Observations on the Empress of Morocco

revised, 1674.

Vaughan, C. E., English Literary Criticism. 1896.
Weselmann, Dryden als Kritiker, 1893.

INDEX

Absalom and Achitophel^ ii. 67,

93, 271.
Addison, Mr., ii. 235 n., 244.

Aeschines, ii. 74.

Aeschylas, i. 202, 221.

Albert!, ii. 120.

Ancients and Moderns, the question
as disputed in the seventeenth
century, Introd. xxiii sqq., Ixvi ;
i. 34, 36-51 ; ii. 6 (Perrault),
26.

Andronicus, Livius, ii. 57 sqq.

Apollonius, his Argonauts ^ i. 180.

Apuleius, ii. 67.

Ariosto, i. 150; ii. 26, 32, 155,
165, 1F2, 220.

Aristophanes, i. 85 ; ii. 57, 99.

Aristotle, i. 38, 207, 221 ; ii. 146,
156, 249 n. Criticism first in-
stituted by, i. 179.

Arthur, King, plan of an epic poem
on, ii. 38, 272.

Augustus, his tragedy, i. 3; his
epigram, 231 ; Majestas, ii. 89.

Balzac, Phyllarque on, ii. 227.
Bamboccio, ii. 119.
Barclay, Jean, \.6n.\ ii. 67.
Beaumont and Fletcher, i. 80, 146 ;

Philasfer, 166 ; Maids Tragedy ^

205 «., 218.
Bellori, ii. 117
Berkenheadi Si<

Betterton, Mr., i. 204, 279.
Black Friars, theatre, i. 175.
Blackmore, ii. 244 »., 270, 272 n.
Blank Verse, i. 6, 91 ; ii. 29.
Boccace, ii. 231 ; Preface to Fables^

passim.
Boccalini, ii. 193.
Bochartus, ii. 193.
Boiardo, ii. 165.
Boileau, Introd. xli, Ix ; i. 181;

ii. 26 (*the admirable'), 32 (on

machines), 103 (his S<Uires\ 106

(Z^ Lutrin),
Bossu, the best of modem critics,

i. 211, 218; ii. 43, 136.
Bowyer, Sir William, ii. 243.
Buckhursty Lord, Thomas Sack-

ville, author of Gorboduc, i. 6.
— Charles Sackville {Eugenius

in the Essay), i. 23 (Earl of

Dorset) ; ii. 2 n., 15 sqq., 239.
Buckingham, Duke of, ii. 246 n, ;

see Zimri.
BufTon, on the dignity of general

terms, Introd. xxiv.
Burnet, Bp. of Salisbury, ii. 76.

Caesar, Julius, i. 26, 42, 105;

ii. 56.
Camoens, author of the Lustadsj

i. 190.
"-"acd, ii. 130.
•£gio, ii. 119.

3x8

Index

Caro, HannibftI, i. 256; ii. 29, aao.

Casaubon, Preface to Juvenal,
passim.

Castiglione, ii. 120.

Catullns, ii. 1 10, 1 29.

Chapelain, author of La Pucelle^
Introd. XXV, xxviii, xxxv; La
PucelU referred to, i. 12 ; ii. 28,
165.

Chapman, George, i. 1 2, 246 ; ii.
9, II, 14, 229.

Charles II, the excellency of his
imumers, L 176 ; death, 280,
281; fair words, ii. 38; on
impartiality, 69; puns at the
court of, 95.

Chaucer, i. 203 ; ii. 241, 247 sqq. ;
*■ followed Nature,* 257, 258.

Chedreux, L 195 if.

Chetwood, Knightly, ii. 235 n.

Chevalier d'Agneaux, le, the
brothers Robert and Antoine,
translated Virgil, ii. 189, 220.

Cicero (Tully), i. 26, 30, 256;
ii. 6:, 118.

Claudian, i. Q, 255.

Cleveland, John, i. 5 z.

Clevelandism, i. 31.

Collier, Mr., ii. 251 ;i., 272.

Comedy, 1 34 sqq.

Conde, Prince of, ii. 273.

Congreve, Mr., ii. 12, 235.

Copernican System, ii. 103 n,

Comeille, Pierre, Dryden's relation
to, Introd. xtx sqq. ; on Unity
of Action, xxxix sqq. ; i. 40, 64 ;
ii. 157; of Time, Introd. xliii ; of
Place \Jieu ihidtral)^ xlvii sqq. ;
i. 37; liaison desschus^ 40; 'I he
Liar, 68 ; Polyeucte^ii ; Cinna,
71 ; Pompey, 71, translated,
24«. ; AndromMe^ 74; on the
Unities, 75; The Cid, 83; his
influence on Davenont, 149.

Comeille, Thomas^ i. 68, 76, n.,

145.
Cowley, Mr., i. 35, 139, 154, 184,

186, 188, 237, 339, 263. 267,
272; ii. 19, 108, aiS, 223, 229,
244, 258, 264.

Creech, Thomas, i. 264; ii. 226.

Crites (Sir Robert Howard), i. 28.

Cudworth, Dr., ii. 187^

Dacier. See Preface to Juvenal,

passim; ii. 136,
Dampier, ii. 226.
Daniel, his Defence of Rhyme,

i. 97.
Dante, i. 274 ; ii. 169, 348.
D'Aubignac (Hedelin), Abbe, his

Pratique du Th^dtre^ Introd.

xxxvi.
D'Avenant, Sir WUliam, i. 7 ; ii.

133 ; Gondibert, stanza of, i. 1 2 ;

Siege of Rhodes, 97, 150.
Demosthenes, i. 256; ii. 74^
Denham, Sir John, i. 7^ 3^^

238 sqq.; ii. 108, 217, 222,

359-
Dennis, ii. 32 n.

Derby, Earl of, ii. 242.

Descartes, ii. 16.

Dolben, Gilbert, Esq., ii. 243.

Donne, Dr., i. 52 ; ii. 19, 102.

Dorset ; see Buckhnrst.

Drake, Dr., ii. 261.

Du Bartas ; see Sylvester.

Du Fresnoy, his poem £>e Arte

Graphicd, ii. 115 sqq.

Edward, the Black Prince, con-
sidered as possible subject for
an epic poem, ii. 38.

Ennius, ii. 60, 259.

Erasmus, ii. 67.

Eugenius (Lord Buckhurst), i. a 8.

Euripides, i. 48; Iphi^enie in

Index

319

AuliSy 205; HippolytuSy 210;

Cyclops, ii. 50.
Evelyn, Mr., i. 264.
Exeter, Earl of, ii. 243.

Fabrini, ii. 243.

Fairfax, ii. 247, 259.

F^vre, Tanneguy le, ii. 166, 201.

Fleckno, ii. 27.

Fletcher, JoHn, i. 54, 72, 165, 172,
217, 228 ; Rolloy 60, 217; King
atid tio King^ 65, 212, 220;
Scornful Lady, 66\ ii. 142, 147 ;
Faithful Shepherdess, L 78, 166,
218 ; Humorous Lieutenant,
166 ; Chances, revised by Dake
of Buckingham, 1 74 ». ; Valen-
tinian, 218.

French critics, ii. 178.

Gorboduc, i. 5.

Gothic manner, ii. 146.

Cower, ii. 258.

Guarini, his Pastor Fido, i. 265,

273 ; "• 103, M7-

Gaibbons, Dr., ii. 244.

Guido Keni, ii. 120.

Guise, Duke of, the late, i. 158.

Hales, John, i. 80.

Harinjfton, Sir John, ii. 259.

Hart, Mr., acted Dorante in The
Liar, i. 68.

Haughton, Lord, i. 244.

Heinsins, i. 143, 235 ; ii. 44, and
passim in the Discourse on
Satire, 164.

Heroic Pla}s, Introd. Hi sqq.; i.
148 sqq. {Essay, prefixed to l^he
Conquest of Granada), 246.

Heroic Poem, Introd. xv sqq., xxi ;
i. 150 sqq., 181 sqq. ; ii. a6 sqq.,
127 ; the moral (allegory), la-
trod. Ixii; i. 213; 'IP

Introd. liii, Ivi, Ix, Ixvii ; i. 153,
187, 190; ii. 32 sqq., 190,
209-2 10, 254, 272 ; ' the greatest
work of huQum nature,' ii. 43,

1.54-
Hippocrates, ii. 134.

Hobbes, Mr., i. 153, 259; ii. 248 ;
his translation <^ Homer, 2^2^

Hobbs, Dr., ii. ^44.

Holyday, Barten, ii. 73, 92, 94,
96, loi. III sqq.

Homer, passim ; Dryden*s Al-
manzor copied from Homer's
Acliilles, i. 155 ; moral of the
Iliad, 313; ii. 12 sq,, 251 sqq.

Horace, passim; i. 38, 45, 51, 163,
171, 215, 266 sqq.; ii. 47; his
Satires, 77 sqq.

Howard, Sir Robert, Introd. 1 ;
letter to (Preface to Annus
Mirabilis), i. 10 ; Indian Queen,
100; Duke of Lerma, no;
'that excellent person,* ii. 186,
232 n,

Hudibrcu, ii. 105.

Imagination, Dryden*s account of,
Introd. xxxiv; i. 15.

Italian Tongue, corruption of,
ascribed to false wit of preach-
ers, i. 1 74 n,

Johnson, Dr., on Dryden's prose,
Introd. xxvi.

Jonson, Ben, i. 69, 81, 114, 138,
160, 237; ii. 17; on the Unity
of Action, Introd. xxxix ; i. 41 ;
imitator of the Ancients, 43;
Sejanus, 60; Catiline, 60, 75,
157* 167 sqq; Magnetic Lady,
65 ; The Fox, 73 ; Sad Shepherd,
78 ; The Silent Woman, Exameu
of, 83 sqq. ; Bartholomew Fair,
87; iL 256; Alchemist, i. 141,

320

Index

375; his faults of language, 167 ;

and of wit, 1 73.
Julian, the Emperor, it 67.
Junius and Tremellins, ii. 304.
Juvenal, i. 54, aoo; Discourse en

Satire, j:as.«im.

Ketch, Jack, his wife, ii. 95.
Killigrew, Mr. Charles, ii. 67.

I^berius, i. 91.

Ijinguage : French words and
phrases, i. 5> 170; 'an altera-
tion lately made in ours,' 164;
' preposition in the end of the
sentence,* 168 ; no English /rvx-
odia, ii. ilo, 317; 'our old
Teuton monosyllables,* 334.

I^iuderdale, Duke of, i. 1 30 n,

— Earl of, ii. 3^.

Le Clerc, ii. 330.

Lee, Nathaniel, L 1 79 if . ; ii. 143 n,

Leicester, Earl of, ii. 364, 366.

Lely, Sir Peter, i. 354 «.

Le Moine, Father, his heroic poem
of *$■/. Louis, ii. 38, 165,

Lentulus, ii. 137.

Lidgate, ii. 358.

Lisideius (Sir Charles Sedley),
i. 38.

Longinus, after Aristotle the
greatest critic amongst the
Greeks, i. 179, 185, 186, 303,
306, 330 sq. ; ii. 353.

Lope de Vega, Introd. xlii; ii.

139-
Lucan, i. 11 n., 13, 153 ; ii. 3 sq.,

149.

Lucian, ii. 66.

Lucilius, i. 55, 163 ; ii. 61, 85.

Lucretius, i. 187, 300, 358; ii. 199.

Mac Fleckno, ii. 67.
Machines ; see Heroic Poem.

Mackenzie, Sir George, ii. 108.
Macrobius, i. 43, 91 ; iu 166, 197,

304.
Maevins, it 164 n.
Maidwell, Mr., ii. 99.
Malherbe, ii. 317.
Manilius, ii. 314 n., 226.
Marini, ii. 335.
Maitial, L 33 »., 42 if., 103 it.,

189; ii. im, 24, 27, 217,323,

334, 358 n,
Mascardi, ii. 103.
Maximus Tyrius, ii. 119.
Milage, i. 46 n.
Merlin Coccains, ii. 106.
Mesnardi^, M. de la, \a&Poetique,

Introd. xxxvii; on scenery,

quoted, xlvL
Milboume, ii. 366, 370.
Milton, John, the deceased author

of Paradise Lost, i. 17S sqq.,

368; ii. 28. 37. 109, 165, 312,

333 ; the poetical son of Spenser,

247.
Moli^re, i. 68, 88.
Montaigne, i. 193; ii. 171, 255.
Morelli, Dr., ii. 23i.
Moyle, Mr. Walter, ii. 138, 184.
Mulgrave, Earl of, ii. 14; his

Essay on Poetry, L 363; ii. 162 ;

(Marquis of Normanby), ii. 1 38 ;

Dedication of the /Eneis, 154.

Nature, the idea of, in seventeenth-
century criticism, Introd. xxiv
sqq.. lix sqq. ; ii. 135 sqq., 357;
* the original rule,' i. 183 ; Aris-
totle and Horace, her inter-
preters, ibid. ; ii. 156.

Normanby ; see Mulgrave.

(Edipus, by Dryden and Lee, ii*.

146.
Ogilby, i. 253, 271.

Index

321

Opera, Introd. Ixv; i. 149, 270 sqq.

OiTcry, Roger Boyle, Lord, In-
trod. xxxi ; \, \ n.\ Musiapha,
100, 209.

Otway, Mr., ii. 145.

Ovid, passim, i. 15, 53, 93, 222,

255; ii. 9» I09» "I, 194, 219,
246 sqq. ; Epistles, i. 230 sqq.
Owen's Epigrams, ii. 27, 224.

Pacuvius, ii 61.

Paterculus, Velleins, i. 37, 42, 44,

67, 89.
Pedro the Cruel, ii. 38 n,
Perrault, ii. 6.
Persius, ii. 22, 61, 69 sqq.
Peterborough, Earl of, ii. 242.
Petrarch, ii. 248, 255.
Petronius, i. 33, 152, 267; ii. 3,

40,66,83, 151.
Philostratus, ii. 123.
* Pindaric' verse, Introd. Ixiv; i.

77. 267.
Plato, i. 219; Symposium, ii. 97.
Platonic philosophy, ii. 34.
Plautus, i. 54.
Pliny the younger, i. 19.
Pontanus, ii. 204.
Porta, Baptista, ii. 262.
Poussin, ii. 131.
Primum Mobile^ i. 70 n.
Propertius, i. 236.
Pnlci, ii. 165.
Puns in sermons, ii. 95.

Quarles, ii. 221.

Qninault, i. 68.

Quintilian, i. 164, 202 ; ii. 53.

Racine, Phidre, i. 194 ; Bajazet,

218; Esther t ii. 144.
Radcliffe, Lord, ii. i.
Raphael)^
Rapin, i 8.

II.

Red Bull, Theatre, i. 58, 155.
Rehearsal, The, ii. 21.
Revolution (1688), ii. 38, 241.
Reynolds, Sir Joshua, on Nature,

Introd. lix; his notes on Dn

Fresnoy, De Arte Graphic d,

Introd. Ixviii.
Rhyme in the Drama, i. 5, 67, 78,

90 sqq., 112 sqq., 148 sqq.
Rigaltius, editor of Juvenal, ii.

68, &c.
Rochester, Lord, Introd. Ixi; i.

199 «.; ii. 18, 153, 225, 258.
Romances, French, i. 55, 155,

157.
Ronsard, on use of technical terms

in poetry, Introd. xxxiii ; on the

Aineid, ii. 204.
Roscommon, E^rl of, i. 237, 239,

251, 257, 263; ii. 149, 222,

244.
Ruaeus, Ii. 178 »., 204.
R)rmer, Mr., Introd. Ixvi; i. 206

(* my friend'), 211; ii. 2(*the

corruption of a poet is the

generation of a critic*), 5 ».,

6 n., 28, 249 n,

St. Evremondy on the difference
between French and English,
Introd; xiv; ii. 166 »., 202 n,,
219 n,

Sandys, i. 100, 230; ii. 247 (Uhe
best versifier of the former age ').

Sarrasin, Introd. xxxv, xxxvii.

Scaliger (the elder), i. 9, 48; ii.
3 sq., 45, 71 ; and passim in
the Discourse on Satire ^ 164.

Scaramucha, ii. 55.

Scarron, ii. 107.

Scudery, M. de, Introd. xxv ;
preface to Alaric, quoted, liv;
Alaric referred to, i. 1 2 ; ii. 28,
165.

322

Index

Scnd^, Mademoiselle de, ii. a68.
Segnds, ii. 165 m. ; Dedication of

the jduiSf passim.
5>eneca, rhetoridan, on Ovid, i. 95,

234-

— his tragedies, i. 55, 105, 116.

— the mock deification of Claudius
by, ii. 67.

Shakespeare, i. 6, 54, 79, aa6;
his foults, 165, 172, 224 sqq. ;
Falstaff, 84, 215; Troilus and
Cressida, 203 ; Merry IVives^
212 ; Tempest^ 219.

Shrewsbury, Duke of, ii. 244.

Sidney, Sir Philip, i. 7; 'that
admirable Wit,' 173, 189; ii.
230.

Silli, ii. 51.

Similes out of Season, i. 223;
ii. 140, 202.

Sophocles, (EdipuSy i. 213; (Edi-
pus Colenaus, 217; Antigone^
218.

Spanish critics, Dryden*s debt to,
Introd. xxxvi.

Spanish Friar, IL 147.

Spanish plays, i. 60, 69, 83, 208,
279.

Slx^nser, i. 153, 247; ii. 28, 38,
109, 165, 173, 182, 218, 223,
229, 234, 247, 259 ; Shepherd: s
Calendar, i. 266 ; Mother Hub-
bards Tale, ii. 67 ; * wanted
only to have read the rules of
Bossu,* 220.

Speroni, Sperone, i. 256.

Stapylton, Sir Robert, Slighted
Maid, i. 209 ; ii. 1 45 ; Juvenal,
ii. 92, 112.

Statius, i. 184, 247; ii. 26, 149.

Stelluti, ii. 69 sqq.

Strada, i. 246 n.

Suckling, Sir John, i. 35, 171.

Swan, Mr., ii. 95 n.

SylTester, his translatioii k^ Dn
Bartas, i. 189, 347.

Tacitus, ii. 88, 358.

Tasso, Bernardo, ii. 183.

— Torqnato, his critical opinions,
Introd. xiz ; i. 356 ; ii. 194 ; 'the
most excellent of modem poets,'

i- 145» I55» 190; "• 37, 33, 109,

178, 182, 191, 304; \iS&Aminta,

i. 265.
Tassoni, ii. 106.
Terence, i. 42 ; Eunuch^ 4^1 4^) 49«

51, 65; Heautoniitnorumenos,

48 ; Adelphi, 50 ; * all his plays

have double actions,' 208.
Theocritus, his EiduUia, L 180,

265.
Tragedy, i. ici ; ii. 43, 157 sqq. ;

the Grounds of Criticism in,

207 sqq.
Tragi-comedy, i. 57, 60; ii. T46.
Translation, i. 237 sqq., 251 sqq.
Trumball, Sir William, ii. 243.
Tuke, Sir Samuel, ii. 14; The

Adventures of Five Hours, i.

69, 83.
'Turns of words and thoughts,'

ii. 10, 108, 219, 257.
Tyrannic Love (St. Catherine and

Maximin), ii. 126, 147.

Unities, Dramatic, Introd. xxxix
sqq. ; i. 38 sqq., 57, 75, 135 sqq.,
192 ; ' mechanic beauties of the
plot,* 212; ii. 158.

Valois, ii. 166, 201.

Varronian (Menippean) Satire, ii.

64 sqq., 105.
Verse, English, ii. 10, no, 215

sqq., 259.
Vida, ii. 43.
Virgil, passim, i. I

Index

323

154 sqq. {Dedication of the
^neis), 251 ; Vergiliomastix,

Vossius, Isaac, i. 280.

Waller, Mr., i. 7, 35, 237 ; ii. 14.

29, 108, 222, 247, 259.
Walsh, Mr., ii. 109, 244.
Water-poet, the ^Taylor), i. 104.
Wedderbum, David, ii. 70 n,
Wicliffe, ii. 260.
Wild, Dr. Robert, i. 31 «.
Wit, Dryden's account of. In trod.

Ivii, Ix, Ixvi ; i. 14, 171 ; ' pro-
priety of thoughts and words,'
190, 270, 256 n, ; ii. 9 ; pointed
-wit, and sentences affected out
of season, i. 223; points of wit
and quirks of epigram, ii. 108.

Withers, i. 32; ii. 221.

Wotton, Sir Henry, ii. 192.

Wycherley, i. 182 ; ii. 77 «., 85,
144.

Zimri, ii. 93.
Zoilus, ii. 2.

THE END.

OXFORD

PRINTED AT THE CLARENDON PRESS

BY HORACE HART, M.A.

PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY

iS/5/oi

(Tlatenbon press, ©ytotb.

SELECT LIST OF STANDARD WORKS.

DIGTIONABIES page x

LAW , „ 2

HISTORY, BIOGRAPHY, BTO 4

PHILOSOPHY, LOGIC, ETC 6

PHYSICAL SCIENCE, ETC. ,7

1. DICTIONARIES.

A NEW ENGLISH DICTIONARY

ON HISTORICAL PRINCIPLES,

Founded mainly on the materials collected hy the Philological Society.

Imperial 4to.

EDITED BY DR MURItAY.

Present State of the Work. £ g^ ^,

Vol. ^« ) ^ { By Dr. Mubhat Half-morocco a 12 6

Vol. II. C By Dr. Mubbat Half-morocco 2 12 6

^'^•"MSIgSn^r^^BK^x^! • • • Half-Morocco » .a 6

Vol. rv. I /x { ^y ^* Henbt Bradley .... Half-morocco 2 12 6

'H-Hywe (see helow),

I-In 050

Input-Invalid 050

^Invalid-Jew 050

Vol. VI. Ii — N By Mr. Henry Bradley. Ii-Lap 026

$^ Th$ remainder qf the loork, to the end of the alphabet, is in an advanced

state qf preparation,

*^* The Dictionary is also, as heretofore, issued in the original Parts —

I. Parts I-IX. A— Distrustful each o 12 6

L PartX. Distrustfully— Dziggetai 076

IL Parts I-Y. XS— Gyzzarn each o 12 6

UI. Part I. H— Hod o 12 6

H. Part II. Hod— Hywe 076

T. Part III. I— Inpushing o 12 6

A: GUzeadon Pren. Londoix; Hjosvc Wirwik^^ h3&Ka^^T&!st.>^^-

ENGLISH AND ROMAN JLA IV.

A Hebrew and KngliBh Lexicon of the Old Testament, wiiii

an Appendix containing the Biblical Aramaic, based on the Thesanni
and Lexicon of Gfesenins, by Francis Brown, 'D^'D,, S. B. Driver, DJ)^
and C. A. Briggs, D.D. Paris I-IX. Small 4to, 2«. 6d. each.

ThesanniB Syriaeus : collegenmt Quatrem^re, Bernstein, Lonbach,
Amoldi, A^ll, Field, Boediger: edidit B. Payne Smith, aT.P.
YoL I, containing Fasciculi I-V, sm. foL, ^l, 5«.
Vol. H, completing the work, containing Fasciculi VI-X, ZL &.
*^* The Faadcidi may also be ?utd atparaiely.
FascYI.U. IS.; VII. 1 2. i is. 6(1.; VIII. il. 1 6s. ; IX. iZ.5«.; X. Pars. 1. 1(. i&;

Pars. II. 15s.

A Compendious Syriao Dictionary^ founded upon the above
Edited by Mrs. Margoliouth. Parts I-IU. Small 4to, 8^. 6d, net eaek.
%* The Work unU he completed in Four Parts,

A Dictionary of the Dialects of Vernacular Syriac as spokeo

by the Eastern Syrians of Kurdistan, North-West Persia, and the PUin
of Moful. By A. J. Maolsan, MA., F.R.G.S. Small 4to, 15s.
A Sanskrit-English Dictionary. Etymologically and Philologicallj
arranged, with special reference to cognate Indo-European Langaagei
By Sir M. Monier- Williams, M.A., K.G.LE. ; with the collaboration of
Frot R Leumann, Ph.D. ; Prof. G. Oappeller, Ph.D. ; and other schoUn
New Edition^ greaUy Enlarged and Improwd* Cloth, beyeUed edges, 32. i3&6i;
half-morocco, 42. 4s.

A Greek-English Lexicon. By H. G. Liddell, D.D., and

Bobert Scott, D.D. Eighth Edition^ Retneed, 4to. il. i6s.

An Etymological Dictionary of the English. Iiangaage»

arranged on an Historical Basis. By W. W. Skeat, Iiitt.D. TUri
Edition, 4to. 2L 4s.

A Middle-English Dictionary. By F. H. Stratmann. A new
edition, by H. Bradley, M.A. 4to, half-morocco, iL iis. 6d»

The Student's Dictionary of Anglo-Saxon. By H. Sweet, M.A.,

Ph.D., LL.D. Small 4to, 8s. 6d. net.
An Anglo-Saxon Dictionary, based on the MS. collections of the
late Joseph Bosworth, D.D. Edited and enlarged by Prof. T. N. Toller,
M.A, Parts I-III. A-SAR. 4to, sti£f covers, 15s. each. PartlV § i,
SAB-SWIDRIAN. Stiff covers, 8s. 6d. Part IV, § a, SWtb-SNEL-
YTMEST, 1 8s. 6d,
%* A Supplementf which wiU complete the Work, is in aotive preparation.

An Icelandic-English Dictionary, based on the MS. collections of
the late Richard Cleasby. Enlarged and completed by G. Vigfdssoii,
M.A. 4to. 32. 7s.

2. LAW.

Anson. Principles of the

English Law <^ Coniraxi, and of Agency
in its Relation to Contract, By Sir
W. R. Anson, D. C. L. Ninth Edition.
Svo. I OS. 6d.

Law and Custom of the

Baden-Fowell. Land^System

of British India ; being a Manual of
the Land-Tenures, and of the Sys*
tems of Land-Revenue Adminia-
tration prevalent in the several
Provinces. By B. H. Baden.PowalL
O.I.E. 3 vols. Svo.

Digby. An Intr

jsamon, i as. oo. i ike History ^f the Law

Part IL The Crown. Second \ 'B^^YT'«ATisJcKi^.\s?
Edmm. I4«. \ l^dxUwv. %^^. -L^

Cbn«<i<ufi(m. a vols. Svo.

Part L Parliament Third
Edition, i as. 6(2.

Oxiox^*. C^Kwrnsaksm "Cw^-

LAW,

SI Grueber. Lex Aquilia. By

^ Erwin Grueber, Dr. Jar., M.A.
11) 8yo. 105. 6(2.

*f Hall. InternatioTial Law.

=* By W. E. Hall, M. A. Fowrth EdiHm.

** 8V0. 225. 6d.

^ < il Treatise on the Foreign

Powers and Jurisdiction qf the British
^ Oroum. By W.E. Hall, M.A. Syo.
105. 6d,

i Holland. Elements of Juris-

i prudence. By T. E. Holland, D.G.L.
Ninth Edition. Svo. I05. 6d.

» The European Concert

in tJie Eastern Question; a Collection
of Treaties and other Public Acts.
Edited, with Introductions and
Notes, by T. E. Holland, D.O.L.
8yo. 135. 6d.

Studies in International

Law, By T. E. Holland, D.G.L.
Syo. I05. 6d.

OentUiSi Alberici, De

lure Belli Lihri Tres. Edidit T. E.
Holland,. I.O.D. Small 4to, half-
morocco, 215.

The Institutes qf Jus-

tinian, edited as a recension of
the Institutes of Gains, by T. E.
Holland, D.G.L. Second Edition,
Extra feap. 8yo. 55.

Holland and Shadwell. Select

Titles from the Digest of Justinian, By
T. E. Holland, D.G.L., and G. L.
Shadwell, D.G.L. 8yo. 145.

Also sold in Parts, in paper coYers —
Part I. Introductory Titles. 2s, 6d.
Part II. Family Law. 15.
Part III. Property Law. 25. 6d,
PartrV. Law of Obligations (No. I ),
35. 6d, (No. 2), 45. 6d,

Ilbert. The Govem/ment of

India, Being a Digest of the

Statute Law relating thereto.

With Historical Introduction and

"«itratiYe Documents. By Sir

inay Ilbert, K.G.S.I. 8vo,

n. az5.

Ilbert. Legislative Forms and

Methods, 8vo, half-roan. 165.

Jenks. Modem Land Law.

Bj Edward Jenks, M.A. Syo. 155.

Markby. Elements of Law

considered with r^erence to Principles qf
QeneralJurisprudence, By Sir William
Markby, D.G.L. Fifth Edition. 8yo.
1 25. 6d.

Moyle. Imperatoris lus-

tiniani InstituHonum Libri Quattuor,
with Introductions, Gommentary^
Excursus and Translation. By J. B.
Moyle, D.G.L. J%ird Edition, ayols.
8vo. Vol. 1. 165. Vol. II. 65.

Contract qf Sale in the

CivU Law. 8yo. 105. 6d.

Pollock and Wright. An

Essay on Possession in the Common Law,
By Sir P. Pollock, Bart., M. A., and
SirR.S.Wright,B.G.L. 8vo. %s.6d.

Foste. Qaii Institutionu/m

Juris Civilis Commentarii Quattuor ; or.
Elements of Roman Law by Gains.
With a Translation and Gommen-
tary by Edward Poste, M.A. Third
Edition, 8yo. 185.

An Outline of the

Law qf Property. By Thos. Raleigh,
D.G.L. 8vo. 75. 6d.

Sohm. The Institutes. A

Text-book of the History and
System of Roman Priyate Law.
By Rudolph Sohm. Translated by
J. C. Ledlie, B.G.L. With an
Introduction by Erwin Grueber,
Dr. Jur., M.A. Second Edition^ revised
and enlarged. 8yo. 185.

Stokes. The Anglo-Indian

Codes. By Whitley Stokes, LL.D.
Vol. I. SubstantiyeLaw. 8yo. 305.
Vol. II. Adjectiye Law. 8yo. 355.

First and Second Supplements to

the aboye, 1 887-1891. Syo. 6s. 6d.

Separately, No. i, 25.6<2. ; No. 2, 45.6(1.

London : Hsnrt Frowdk, Adi«iiCotu«t^'^A.

HISTORY, BIOGRAPHY, ETC.

8. HISTOBT, BIOGHAPHY, ETC.

Adamnani Vita S. Colvmbae.

Ed. J. T. Fowler, D.C.L. Crown
8yo, half«boandy St. 6d, n€t (with
translation, 9a. 6d, nei).

Aubrey. ' Brief Lives, chiefly

<if Contmn p oraritSy set doum hy John
Aubrey, between the Tears 1669 and
1696. Edited from the Anther's
MSa,b7AndrewClark,M^,LL.D.
With Facsimiles. 2 vols. Svo. 25s.

BB»d&e Historia Eccleaiastica,

etc. Edited by G. Plommer', M.A.
2 Yols. Grown Svo, 21s, net

Bedford (W.E.B.). The Blazon

of Episeopaqf, Being the Arms borne
by, or attributed to, the Arch-
bishops and Bishops of England
and Wales. With an Ordinary of
the Goats described and of other
Episcopal Arms. Second EdUien,
Revised and Enlarged, With One
Thousand Illustrations. Sm. 4to,
buckram, 319. 6d, net,

Boswell's Life of Samuel

Johnson, LL,D. Edited by G. Birk-
beck Hill, D.G.L. In six volumes,
medium 8vo. With Portraits and
Facsimiles. Half-bound, 32. 35.

Bright. Chapters of Early

English Church History, By W.
Bright, D.D. Third Editicm, Revised
and Enlarged, With a Map. Svo. 12s,

Casaubon (Isaac). 1559-1614.

By Mark Pattison. Svo. i6s.

Clarendon's History of the

Rebellion and Civil Wars in England,
Re-edited from a fresh collation of
the original MS. in the Bodleian
Library, with marginal dates an d oc-
casional notes, by W. Dunn Macray,
M.A., F.S.A. 6 vols. Grown Svo. aZ. 5s.

Hewins. The Whitefoord

Papers. Being the Gorrespondence
and other Manuscripts of Golonel
Gharles Whitefoord and Galeb
Whttefoord, from 1739 to iSio.
Edited, with Introduction and
Notes, by W. A, S. Hewins, M.A.
Svo. 12. 6(2.

Earle. Handbook to the Lani-

Charters, and other Setxonie Doamenit
By John Earle, M. A. Crown8vo.i6i

Earle and Pltunxner. Two cj

the Saxon Chronicles, ParaM, vH
SuppiemerUary Extrcuisfrom the othen.
A Revised Text, edited, with Intro-
duction, Notes, Appendices, and
Glossary, by Charles Plummer,
M.A., on the basis of an edition by
John Earle, M.A. a vols. Crovn
Svo, half-roan.
VoL I. Text, Appendices, and

Glossary. 108. 6</«
Vol. II. Introduction, Notes, and

Index. I as. 6<f.

Freeman. The History of

Sicily from the Earliest Times,
Vols. I and II. Svo, cloth, 2I )<•
VoL III. The Athenian and
Garthaginian Invasions. 341.
Vol. IV. From the Tyranny of
Dionysios to the Death of
Agathoklds. Bdited by Arthur
J. Evans, M.A. 2i«.

Freeman. The Reign of

WiUiam Rt^fus and the Accession^
Henry the First, By E. A. Freeman,
D.G.L. 2 vols. Svo. il, 16s.

Qardiner. The CoTistitvjtional

Documents qf the Puritan Eevdkttim,
162S-1660. Selected and Edited
by Samuel Rawson Gardiner, D.C.L
Second Edition, Grcwn Svo. los. 6flL

Qreenidge. The Legal Proce-
dure in Cicero's Time. By A. H. J.
Greenidge, M.A. Svo. tI. is,

Qross. The Gfild Merchant;

a Gontributionto British Municipal
History. By Gharles Gross, PhJ).
2 vols. Svo. 24s.

Hastings. Hastings and the

RohiUa War, By Sir John Straohey,
G. G.S.I. Svo, cloth, IDS. 6d,

Hill. Sources for Oreek

History between i?ie Persian and Pdopcm'
nesian Wars, Gollected and ^rrahgei
by G. F. Hill, M. A Svo. los. tii

Oxtoxd.*. CVwetAow "?\«».

•;

HISTORY, BIOGRAPHY, ETC.

t Hodgkin. Italy and her In-

' voders. With Plates & Maps. 8 vols.
I 8vo. By T. Hodgkin, D.C.L.
I * Vols. I-II. Second Edition. 42s.

i V0IS.III-IV. Second Edition, 36s.

Vols. V-VI. 36s.
\ Vol. VII-VIII {completing the

^ loork), 245.

1 lie Strange. Baghdad during

the Abbasid Caliphate. From contem-
porary Arabic and Persian sources.
By G. Le Strange, author of ^ Pales-
tine imder the Moslems.' 8yo. 165.
net

TvkynB. History of the New

World edUed America, By E. J.
Payne, M.A. Svo.
Vol. I, containing Book I, The
Discovery \ Book II, Part I,
Aboriginal America, iSs,
Vol. II, containing Book II,
Aboriginal America (concluded),
145.

Johnson. Letters of Samuel

Johnson, LL.D. Collected and Edited
by G. Birkbeck Hill, D.C.L. 2 vols,
half-roan, 28s.

JohnsoTiianMiscdlanies.

Bythe same Editor. 2 vols. Medium
Svo, half-roan, 28s.

Kitchin. A History of France.

With Numerous Maps, Plans, and
Tables. By G. W. Kitchin, D.D.
In three Volumes. New Edition,
Crown 8yo, each los. 6d,
Vol. I. to 1453. VoL II. 145^-
1624. Vol. IIL 1624-1793.

Lewis (Sir 0. Cornewall).

An Essay on the Oovemment of De-
pendencies. Edited by C. P. Lucas,
B.A. 8yo, half-roan. 14s.

Lucas. Historical Geography

of the British Colonies. By C. P.Lucas,
B.A. Crown 8vo.
Introduction. With Eight Maps.

1887. 49. 6d,
Vol. I. llie Mediterranean and
'R'urtem Colonies (exclusive of
With Eleven Maps.

Vol. II . The West Indian Colo •
nies. With Twelve Maps.
1890. *js, 6d,

Vol. III. West Africa. With
Five Maps. Second Edition, re-
vised to tfie end of 1899, by H. E.
Egerton. *js, 6d,

Vol. IV. South and East Africa.
Historical and Geographical.
With Ten Maps. 1898. 9s. 6<2.
Also VoL IV in two Parts —

Part I. Historical, 6$. 6d,

Part II. Geographical, 3s. 6d.

Ludlow. The Memoira of

Edmund Ludlow, Lieutenant'OenercU of
the Horse in the Army qf tJie Common-
wealth qfEngland, 162^-1 6*^2, Edited
by C. H. Firth, M.A. 2 vols. 360.

Machiavelli. H Principe.

Edited by L. Arthur Burd, M.A.
With an Introduction by Lord
Acton. 8vo. 14s.

Frothero. Select Statutes and

other Constitutioruil Documents, iUuslra-
iive qf the Reigns of Elizabeth and
James I. Edited by G. W. Prothero,
M.A. Cr. 8vo. Edition 2, los, 6d,

Select Statutes and other

Documents bearing on the ConstOuHonal
History of England, from a.d. 1307 to
1558* By the same, lln Preparation,]

Bamsay (Sir J. H.). Lancaster

and York. A Century of English
History (a.d. i 399-1485). 2 vols.
Svo. With Index, 37a, 6d.

Bamsay (W. M.). The Cities

and Bishoprics of Phrygia. By W. M.
Bamsay, D.C.L., LL.D.
Vol.1. Parti. The Lycos Valley
and South- Western Phrygia.
Royal Svo. iSs.net.
Vol. I. Part II. West and West-
Central Phrygia. 215. net.

Banke. A History of Eng-
land, principally in the Seventeenth
Century, By L. von Ranke. Trans-
lated under the superintendence of
G. W. Kitchin, D.D., and C. W.
Boase, M.A. 6 vols. Svo. 63*.
Revised Index, separately, is.

^ndon: Hbnby Frowdk, A.ni«ii Cotuot^ ^.Ci«

PHILOSOPHY, LOGIC, ETC.

RMhdall. Th& Univerdtiea of

Europe in the Middle Agee. By Hast-
ings Rashdall, M JL 2 yols. (in 3
Parts) 8yo. With Maps. 2I. 5s. net

Bihfs. Stvdiea in the Arthur-
ian Legend, By John Rh^s, Prin-
cipal of Jesus College, Oxford. 8yo.
zaa. 6d,

Celtic Folklore : Welsh

and Manx. By the same. 2 vols.
8to. ais.

Smith's Lectures on Justice,

PoUee, Seveniie and Arms, Edited,
with Introduction and Notes, by
Edwin Gannan. 8yo. los. 6(2. net.

Wealth of Nations.

With Notes, by J. E. Thorold Rogers,
M.A. 2 yols. 8yo. 3i«.

Stephens. The Principal

Speeches qfihe Statesmen and Orators of
the French BevolutUmf 1 789-1 795.
By H. Morse Stephens, a yols.
Crown 8yo. 2 is.

Stnbbs. Select Charters and

other lUustrations of English Constitit-
tional History, from the Earliest Times
to t?ie Reign of Edvoard I, Arranged
and edited by W. Stubbs, D.D.,
Lord Bishop of Oxford. Eighth
Edition, Crown 8yo. Ss. 6d,

Stubbs. The Con^itvMonal

History of England, in its Origin and
DevdopmenL Library Edition, 3 vols.
Demy 8yo. 22. 8s.
%♦ Also in 3 yols. crown 8yo.
1 28. each.

Seventeen Lectures on

t?te Study of Mediaeval and Modem
History and kindred subjects. Grown
8yo. Third Edition, revised and en-
larged. Ss. 6d.

Begistrv/m Saxyrum

Anglicanum. An attempt to exhibit
the course of Episcopal Succession
in England. By W. Stubbs, D.D.
Small 4to. Second Edition. los. 6d,

Swift (P. D.). The Life and

Times of James the First of Aragon.
By F. D. Swift, KA. 8yo. 12s. 6d.

Vinogradoff. ViUainxige in

England. Essays in English Medi-
aeyal History. By Paul Vinogradoff,
Professor in the Uniyersity of
Moscow. 8yo, half-bound. i6s.

Woodhouse* Aetolia ; its

Geography, Topography, and Antiquities.
By William J. Woodhouse, M.A.,
F.R.G.S. With Maps and Illustra.
tions. Royal Syo. ais. neL

4. PHILOSOPHY, LOGIC, ETC.

Bacon. Novum Organ/u/m.

Edited, with Introduction, Notes,
&c., by T. Fowler, D.D. Second
Edition. 8yo. 155.

Berkeley. The Works of

George Berkeley, D.D.j formerly Bishop
ofCloyne; including many qf his torit^
ings hitherto unpublished. With Pre-
faces, Annotations, Appendices, and
an Account of his Life, by A. Camp-
bell Fraser,Hon.D.C.L.,LL.D. New
Edition in 4 yols. Crown 8yo. 24s.

The Life and Letters,

with an account of his Philosophy. By
A. Campbell Fraser, Hon. D.C.L.
and LL.D. 8yo. i6s.

Bosanqnet. Logic; or, the

Morphology of Knowledge. By B.
Bosanquet, M.A. 8yo. 2 is.

Butler. The Works of Joseph

BuMcTf D.C.L., sometime Lord Bishop
of Durham. Diyided into sections,
with sectional headings, an index
to eachyolume, and some occasional
notes ; also prefatory matter. Edited
by the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone.
2 yols. Medium 8yo. 148. each.

Fowler. The Elements of De-
ductive Logic, designed mainty far the
use of Junior Studentain the UniveraUies.
By T. Fowler, D.D. ^IMk XaUkmy
with a CoUeotioa <if BmmyitoBL
Extra f cap. Sro. ff^jS0t^

The

tive Logic,
Students in &
same Author
fcap. 8yo.

Oxford : Olarendon Pren.

PHYSICAL SCIENCE, ETC.

Powier. Logic; Deductive and
Inductive, combined in a single
volume. Extra fcap. 8to. 71. fid.

Fowler and Wilaon. 2%e

Prineipla ofXorait. By T. Fowler,
D.D., and J. M. Wilson. B.D. Svo,
ctoth, 14s,

Green. FrolegomenatoEtkics.

By T. H. Green, H.A. Edited by
A. C. Bradley, H.A. Fmtrth £diKm.
Crown Sto. 13. 61I.

Hegel. The Logic of Hegd.
Translated from the Gnayolopaedia
ofthePMIosoplticalSoienoeB. With
Frolagomena to the Study of Eegel's
Logic and Philosophy. ByW.Wal-
lace, M.A. Steond Editian, Seeised
andAugmmttd. 3 vols. Crown Svo.
lot. GJ. each.

Hegel's Philosophy of Mivd.
Translated from the Encyclopaedia
of the Philosophical Sciences. With
Five Introdu<Aory Essays. By Wil-
liam Wallace, M.A., LL.D. Crown
Svo. los. 6(i.

Hume's Treatise of Hv/man

SatuTt, Edited, with Analytical
Index, by L. A. Selby-Bigge, M.A.
iSacoiuI SdtMan. Crown Svo. Ss.

Eriguiry corweming

Iht Human Underttanding, and on
Znjuiry emKanang tlis Principles (jf
Uvratt. EditedbyL.A.Selby-Bigge,
M.A. Crown Svo. ji, 6d.

Leibnis. The Monadology and
aOier PhilmophKai Writings. Trans-

lated, with Introduction and Notes,
by Kobert Latta, M.A, D.Phil.
Grown Svo. &. 6d.
Looke. An Essay Concern- .
ing Human Underttanding. By John
Locke. Collated and Annotated,
with Prolegomena, Biographfoal,
Critical, and Historic, by A, Camp-
bell Eraser, Hon. D.C.L., LL.D.
J vols. Svo. ll. las,

Lotze'fl Logic, in Three Books

— of Thought, of Investigation, and
of Knowledge. English Translation;
edited by B. Bosanqnet. H.A.
Second Edition, a vols. Cr. Svo. in.

Metaphysic, in Three

Books— Ontology, Cosmology, and
Psychology. English Translation ;
edited by B. Bosanqnet, U.A.
Sieond Editian. > vols. Cr, Svo. lai.

Uortinean. Types of SthioaZ
Thaory. By James Martineau, D.D.
Third Edition. » vols. Cr. Svo. 151,

A Study of Religion :

ilaamtretaandConienii. Second XdUum.
a vols. Cr. Svo, 15*.

Selby-Bigge. British MoraU
iett. Selections irom Writers prin-
cipally of the Eighteenth Century.
Edited by L. A. Selby-Bigga, MJL.
3 vob. Crown Bvo, 18s.

Wallace, Lectures and Essays
on Saturai Tkeologv and EOaca. By
WnUam Wallace, M.A., LL.D.
Edited, with a Biographical Intro-
duction byEd ward Caird, H . A. , Hon.
D.C.L. Svo, with a Portrait, laa.id.

5. PHYSICAL SCIENCE. ETC.

Bolfimr. The Natural History

<^ae MMtteal BoK. ACbapterinthe
Dndopowntal History of Stringed
IwUiMli «r Hnrio. Part I,
- - ■— '^Xte^Ballbnr,

Chambers. A Handbook of
DeicripUve and Practical ABlronomy.
By G. F. Chambers, F.ItA,3. Fourth
Edilion, in 3 vols. Demy Svo.
Vol. I, The Sun, Planets, and

Gometa. an.
Vol. II, Instmments and Prac-
tical Astronomy. ii«.
Vol-UL The Starry Heavens. 14*.

1^ Abh Oomat, fl,0.

PHYSICAL SCIENCE, ETC.

De Bary. Comparative Ana-
tomy of the Vegetative Organs of ike
FkameroQomB and F^ms. By iff, A.
de Bary. TraiuUted by F. 0.
Bower, M. A. , and D. H. Scott, M. A
Boyal 8to. 3a«. 6d.

Comparative Morpko-

logy and Biology of Fvmgiy Myeetoeoa
and Bacteria. By Dr. A. de Bary.
Translated by H. K F. Gamsey,
M.A. Beviaed by Isaac Bayley
Balfoor, M.A., M.D.,F.R.S. Boyal
8yo, half-morocco, 228, 6d,

— Lectures on Bacteria,

By Dr. A. de Bary. Second Im-
proved Edition. Translated and re-
vised by the same. Crown 8yo. 68.

Dmoe. The Flora of Berk-
shire. Being a Topographical and
Historical Account of the Floweiing
Plants and Ferns found in the
County, with short Biographical
Notices. By G. C. Druce, Hon.
Bi.A. Ozon. Crown Syo, i68. net.

Fischer. The Structure and

Functions of Bacteria. By Alfred
Fischer. Translated into English
by A. Coppen Jones. Royal Svo,
with Twenty-nine Woodcuts. 8s. 6d.

G-oebel. Outlines of Classifi-
cation and SpecicU Morphology (^Plants.
By Dr. K. Goebel. Translated by
H. E. F. Gamsey, M. A. Revised by
Isaac Bayley Balfour, M.A., M.D.,
F.R.S. Royal 8vo, half-morocco,

2IS.

Organography of Plants,

especiaUy of the ArchegonicUae and Sper-
maphyta. By Dr. K. Goebel. Autho-
rized English Edition, by Isaac
Bayley Balfour, M.A., M.D., F.RS.,
Part I, General Organography.
Royal Svo, half-morocco, i2s. 6d.

Miall and Hammond. The

structure and Life-History of the Harle-
quin Fly (Chir(momu8). By L. C. Miall,
F.R.S., and A. B. Hammond, F.L.S.,
8vo. With 130 Illustrations. 7s. 6d.

TtefBsr. The Physiology of

Ptants. A Treatise upon the Mekibolism
and Sources <f Energy in Plants. By
Prof. Dr. W. Pfeflfer. Second fully
Revised Edition, translated and
edited by Alfred J. Ewart, D.Sc.,
Ph.D., F.LJS. Part L Royal Svo,
half-morocco, aSs.

Frestwioh. Geology — Chemi-
cal, Physical, and Stra^graphieaL By
Sir Joseph Prestwich, M.A., F.R.S.
In two Volumes. 61 s.

Price. A Treatise on the

Measurement of ElectricalResistance. By
WA.Price,M.A.,A.M.I.C.E.8vo.i4s.

Saohs. A History of Botany.

Translated by H. E. F. Gamsey,
M.A. Revised by I. Bayley Balfour,
M.A.,M.D.,F.R.S. Crown Svo. los.

Solms-Laubach. Fossil Bot-
any. Being an Introduction to Palaeo-
phytology from the Standpoint qf the
Botanist By H. Graf zu Solms-
Laubach. Translated and revised
by the same. Royal Svo, half-
morocco, 1 8s.

Warington. Lectures on some

of the Physical Properties of SoiL By
Robert Warington, M.A., F.R.S.
Svo, 6s.

Biologioal Series.

I. The Physiology of Nerve, of

Muscle, and of the Electrical
Organ. Edited by Sir J. Burden
Sanderson,Bart.,M.D., F.R.SS.
L.&E. Medium Svo. 21s.

II. The Afuxtomy qf the Frog. By

Dr. Alexander Ecker. Trans-
lated by G. Haslam, M.D.
Medium Svo. a is.
IV. Essays upon Heredity and
Kindred Biological Problems. By
Dr.A. Weismann. Crown Svo.

Vol. I. Edited by E. B. Poulton,
S. SchOnland,and A.E. Shipley.
Second Edition, 7s. 6d.

Vol. II. Edited by E. B. Poulton,
and A. E. Shipley. 5s.

OXFORD

AT THE CLARENDON PRESS

LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK

HENRY FROWDE

'

•».

• >

V

'•-^tfv.

'% •••A"'

r

3 2044 024 314 486

ITie borrower must return this item on or before
the last date stamped below. If another user
places a recall for this item, the borrower will
be notified of the need for an earlier return.

Non-receipt of overdue notices does not exempt
the borrower from overdue fines.

Hairard College Widener Library
Cambridge, MA 02138 617-495-2413

_ F I Please handle with care.

I MAF Thank you for helping to preserve

library collections at Harvard.