ΙΟ decay of Poetry, are the topicks of detraction, with which he makes his entrance into the world: But how much more noble is the fame that is built on candour and ingenuity, according to those beautiful lines of Sir John Denham, in his poem on 5 Fletcher's works! But whither am I straid? I need not raise Of eastern Kings, who to secure their reign Must have their brothers, sons, and kindred slain. I am sorry to find that an Author, who is very justly esteemed among the best judges, has admitted some strokes of this nature into a very fine poem, I mean The Art of Criticism, which was 15 published some months since, and is a Master-piece in its kind. The observations follow one another like those in Horace's Art of Poetry, without that methodical regularity which would have been requisite in a Prose author. They are some of them uncommon, but such as the Reader must assent to, when he 20 sees them explained with that elegance and perspecuity in which they are delivered. As for those which are the most known, and the most received, they are placed in so beautiful a light, and illustrated with such apt allusions, that they have in them all the graces of novelty, and make the Reader, who was before acquainted with them, still more convinced of their truth and solidity. And here give me leave to mention what Monsieur Boileau has so very well enlarged upon in the preface to his works, that wit and fine writing doth not consist so much in advancing things that are new, as in giving things that are known an agreeable turn. It is impossible for us, who live in the latter Ages of the world, to make observations in criticism, morality, or in any art or science, which have not been touched upon by others. We have little else left 25 30 us, but to represent the common sense of mankind in more strong, more beautiful, or more uncommon lights. If a Reader examines Horace's Art of Poetry, he will find but very few precepts in it, which he may not meet with in Aristotle, and which were not commonly known by all the Poets of the Augustan Age. His way of expressing and applying them, not his invention of them, is what we are chiefly to admire. For this reason I think there is nothing in the world so tiresome as the works of those Critics, who write in a positive dogmatic way, without either language, genius or imagination. If the Reader would see how the best of the Latin Critics writ, he may find their manner very beautifully described in the characters of Horace, Petronius, Quintilian and Longinus, as they are drawn in the Essay of which I am now speaking. 5 IO 15 Since I have mentioned Longinus, who in his Reflections has given us the same kind of sublime, which he observes in the several passages that occasioned them; I cannot but take notice, that our English Author has after the same manner exemplified several of his precepts in the very precepts themselves. I shall produce two or three instances of this kind. 20 Speaking of the insipid smoothness which some Readers are so much in love with, he has the following verses. These equal syllables alone require, Tho' oft the ear the open vowels tire, While expletives their feeble aid do join, And ten low words oft creep in one dull line. 25 The gaping of the vowels in the second line, the expletive do in the third, and the ten monosyllables in the fourth, give such a beauty to this passage, as would have been very much admired in an ancient Poet. The Reader may observe the 30 following lines in the same view. A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That like a wounded Snake, drags its slow length along. 5 ΙΟ 15 And afterwards, 'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence, Soft is the strain when Zephir gently blows, The hoarse, rough verse shou'd like the torrent roar. Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main. The beautiful Distich upon Ajax in the foregoing lines, puts me in mind of a description in Homer's Odyssey. It is where Sisyphus is represented lifting his stone up the hill, which is no sooner carried to the top of it, but it immediately tumbles to the bottom. This double motion of the stone is admirably described in the numbers of these verses; as in the four first it is heaved up by several Spondees intermixed with proper breathing-places, and at last trundles down in a continued line of 20 Dactyls. 25 Καὶ μὴν Σίσυφον εἰσεῖδον, κρατέρ ̓ ἄλγε ̓ ἔχοντα, It would be endless to quote verses out of Virgil which have this particular kind of beauty in the numbers; but I may take an occasion in a future paper to shew several of them which 30 have escaped the observation of others. I cannot conclude this paper without taking notice, that we have three poems in our tongue, which are of the same nature, and each of them a master-piece in its kind; the Essay on translated verse, the Essay on the art of poetry, and the Essay 35 upon criticism. N° 269. Tuesday, January 8. [1712.] I was this morning surprized with a great knocking at the door, when my Landlady's daughter came up to me and told me there was a man below desired to speak with me. Upon my asking her who it was, she told me it was a very grave elderly person, but that she did not know his name. I immediately went down to him, and found him to be the coachman of my worthy friend Sir ROGER DE COVERLY. He told me that his master came to town last night, and would be glad to take a turn with me in Grays-Inn walks. As I was wondring in my self what had brought Sir ROGER to town, not having lately received any letter from him, he told me that his master was come up to get a sight of Prince Eugene, and that he desired I would immediately meet him. I was not a little pleased with the curiosity of the old Knight, though I did not much wonder at it, having heard him say more than once in private discourse, that he looked upon Prince Eugenio (for so the Knight always calls him) to be a greater man than Scanderbeg. I was no sooner come into Grays-Inn walks, but I heard my friend upon the Terrace hemming twice or thrice to himself with great vigour, for he loves to clear his pipes in good air (to make use of his own phrase) and is not a little pleased with any one who takes notice of the strength which he still exerts in his morning hemms. I was touched with a secret joy at the sight of the good old man, who before he saw me was engaged in conversation with a beggar man that had asked an alms of him. I could hear my friend chide him for not finding out some work; but at the same time saw him put his hand in his pocket and give him six-pence. 15 20 Our salutations were very hearty on both sides, consisting of many kind shakes of the hand, and several affectionate looks which we cast upon one another. After which the Knight told me my good friend his Chaplain was very well, and much at 5 my service, and that the Sunday before, he had made a most incomparable Sermon out of Doctor Barrow. I have left, says he, all my affairs in his hands, and being willing to lay an obligation upon him, have deposited with him thirty marks, to be distributed among his poor parishioners. He then proceeded to acquaint me with the welfare of Will Wimble. Upon which he put his hand into his fob, and presented me in his name with a tobacco stopper, telling me that Will had been busie all the beginning of the winter in turning great quantities of them; and that he made a present of one to every Gentleman in the country who has good principles, and smokes. He added, that poor Will was at present under great tribulation, for that Tom Touchy had taken the law of him for cutting some hazel sticks out of one of his hedges. Among other pieces of news which the Knight brought from his country seat, he informed me that Moll White was dead ; and that about a month after her death the wind was so very high, that it blew down the end of one of his barns. But for my part, says Sir ROGER, I do not think that the old woman 25 had any hand in it. He afterwards fell into an account of the diversions which had passed in his house during the holydays, for Sir ROGER, after the laudable custom of his ancestors, always keeps open house at Christmas. I learned from him, that he had killed 30 eight fat hogs for this season, that he had dealt about his chines very liberally amongst his neighbours, and that in particular he had sent a string of hogs-puddings with a pack of cards to every poor family in the parish. I have often thought, says Sir ROGER, it happens very well that Christmas should fall out |