Altho', Gentlemen, I am sensible of the Obligation you have laid upon
me, by making Choice of me to fill this Office, esteeming it an Honour
to receive Commands, much more Favours from so venerable a Body; yet I
must own myself under some Concern, when I consider that I enter into
a Province unattempted by others, and wherein I have no Footsteps to
guide me. For so it has happen'd, that tho' all other Sciences the
World can boast of, have had their Instructors and Professors in this
most flourishing University; POETRY alone, neglected, as it
were, and overlook'd, has hitherto wanted Schools for her Reception.
'Twas much, indeed, that in the very Seat of the Muses that Art shou'd
have found none, which the Muses esteem above all others, and claim
as their peculiar Property: With You it has always been its Choice to
live, and with You it always has liv'd; but has wanted, however, a fix'd
Habitation, and (if I may speak more poetically) has wander'd here among
other Sciences, as _Delos_, _Apollo_'s native Place, did among the
_Ægean_ Islands, till that excellent Gentleman, whose Munificence I now
commemorate, like another _Apollo_, fix'd its Situation, and honour'd it
with an Establishment.
But to omit these imaginary Flights, and to represent Things without
any Colouring, What Thanks are due to him, who has render'd himself a
perpetual _Mæcenas_, not only to Poets, but to Poetry itself; who has
bestow'd Honours upon that Art, which adds the greatest to whatever is
meritorious; who has prescribed it Laws, and secured to it a Patrimony?
But still without a Patrimony it had almost been, if the reverend
and worthy Trustees[1] of the Muses Legacy had not to the Patron's
Benevolence contributed no small Assistance of their own, and deserved
little less Praise by receding from their Due, than the other, by his
original Settlement. One of them[2], especially, who, as he is himself
no small Part of _our_ University, and of _that_ venerable Assembly, and
has an Intercourse with _both_, makes use of it to promote Good-will and
Friendship mutually between them. How near had the Poetical Revenues
been lost, if they had not been in the Hands of Men therefore the most
zealous for Learning and the University, because they were adorned
with the _Insignia_ of each? If these good Men reject our Praises, at
least let them permit us to return our Thanks. To the Living, then, we
gratefully pay the Tribute of Gratitude; to the Deceased, whose Gift
they augmented, that of Glory.
He well knew that Poetry did not boast so much of her learned Poverty
(noted even to a Proverb) as utterly to reject all Acquisitions.
He knew, moreover, that it was no less capable of Rules than other
Arts, and no less deserving of them; that it proceeded upon certain
Principles, which were founded upon Truth and right Reason; that our
Master _Aristotle_, who has accurately treated of the other Sciences,
and whose Authority we follow in them all, had bestowed likewise some
of his Pains on this, and has left upon no Subject greater Monuments,
either of Extent of Genius, or of Care and Application.
They therefore lie under a great Mistake, that think Poetry suited only
to the Theatre, and would have it banished from the Schools, as of too
unbounded a Nature to submit to the Regulation of Precept. Rage, indeed,
is its Property; but a Rage altogether divine; not deviating from
Reason, but rendering it more ornamental and sublime. It may be said,
likewise, to be a Fire; not like our consuming ones, but like those of
the celestial Orbs above, that have not only the Qualities of Heat and
Brightness, but maintaining one uniform Course, are carried round our
World at once with equal Swiftness and Regularity.
We see, then, it is no Absurdity to have Rules prescribed to this
Art. And what could have been thought of, of so delicate and refined
a Nature, as the Office of prescribing them? What more worthy of an
University to accept, or a Courtier to appoint? A Courtier, I say, for
in the City he was an Ornament to the Court; as in the University he
was to this House, which has always had the Credit of abounding, and we
still have the Comfort of seeing it abound with Gentlemen of the most
distinguish'd Wit, Birth, and good Manners. I am sure no Gift could have
been more becoming a Friend of the Muses to bestow, and he was not only
an Admirer, but an Intimate of them; not only a Lover of their Art, but
a skilful Practitioner in it; nor could any one so properly make Poetry
his Heir, as a Poet.
He knew, by Experience, that no Pleasure was equal to the reading
ancient Poets, except that of imitating them. Happy they, that can
partake of both; but the former ought to be the Employment of all, that
desire to have any Taste for Letters, or Politeness. Some there are,
however, to whom these Studies are disagreeable, and who endeavour to
make them so to others: This is not owing to any Fault in Poetry, but in
themselves. Formed as they are of coarse Materials, they have naturally
a Disposition either slow and frozen, callous and unpolite, or harsh
and morose; so, forsooth, whilst they would appear grave, as they are,
they maliciously hate, or superciliously contemn these Exercises, as the
great Disturbers of their Peace. They condemn what they know nothing of;
and despise the Pleasure they want a Capacity to enjoy.
But if at least they pay any Deference to Antiquity (and with these
Men nothing uses to be more sacred, looking upon every Thing with the
greater Veneration, the more antient it is) they ought on this Account
to allow the Art we are speaking of its due Honours. For not to urge
that Poetry is coeval with the World itself, and that the Creator may be
said in working up and finishing his beautiful Poem of the Universe, to
have performed the Part of a Poet, no less than of a Geometrician[3];
it is well known, that those Books have had the greatest Sanction from
Time, that have been dictated by God, or writ by Poets. Those, as it is
fit, have the Precedence: But these follow at no very great Distance.
Nay, why should we make this Difference between the sacred Writers
and Poets, since the sacred Writers were most of them Poets; on
both Accounts deservedly called _Vates_ (_a Word expressing either
Character_) and acted by no feigned Inspiration? That the Devils then,
heretofore, usurping the Title of Gods, gave out their Oracles in Verse,
was owing wholly to their imitating, in this, as well as in other
Particulars, the true God, that so they might gain Honour and Reverence
from their Votaries. If in the Poems of _Job_, and _David_, and the
other sacred Authors, we observe the inexpressible Sublimity of their
Words and Matter; their elegant, and more than human Descriptions; the
happy Boldness of their Metaphors; their spiritual Ardour breathing
Heaven, and winging the Souls of their Readers up to it, triumphing, as
it were, by a royal Authority, over the narrow Rules of mortal Writers,
it is impossible but we must in Transport own, that nothing is wanting
in them, that might be expected from the Strength of Poetry heighten'd
by the Energy of Inspiration.
If this, then, be the Case, who would not wonder at the Ignorance or
Baseness of those, who rashly reproach an Art with Impiety, which has
the Honour of being not only pleasing to God, but taught and dictated
by him. 'Tis true, Poetry, as well as Religion, has, by Length of Time,
been corrupted with Fables; but this is no more to be imputed to the
one than the other; and we can only from hence complain, that by the
Depravity of Mankind the best of Things are most liable to Corruption.
Nor is it any more owing to the Art itself, that it is sometimes
polluted by obscene Writers: To them alone the Infamy redounds: The
Chastity of Poetry is violated like a Virgin's, and tho' it seems to
be the Instrument of doing an Injury to Virtue, yet Virtue is not more
a Sufferer than she is. She acts in her proper Sphere, when, with
her native Purity, she discovers the true Attractives of Virtue, nor
disguises Vice with false ones; when she inflames the Mind of Man with
the Love of Goodness, recounts the Works of the Almighty, and sets forth
all his Praises. Undoubtedly, as the divine and sister Sciences, Poetry
and Music, owe their Origin to Heaven; they love to be employed about
heavenly Things; thither they tend by their native Force, and, like
Fire, seek those blessed Abodes from whence they first descended.
Since Poetry, then, is so venerable, both for its Antiquity, and its
Religion; they are no less to blame, who look upon it as a trifling
Amusement, an Exercise for Boys only, or young Men. The Injustice of
this Calumny is plain from hence, that a good Proficient in this kind
of Writing must not only excel in Wit, Elegance, and Brightness; but
must be endowed with the maturest Judgment, and furnished with all
sorts of Literature. He must, in Truth, turn over the Annals of Time,
and Monuments of History; he must trace the Situation of Countries,
understand the different Manners of Nations; the Actions and Passions
of Mankind in general, must explore the inmost Recesses of the Mind,
and secret Avenues to them; survey the whole System of the Universe;
in short, make himself Master of all Nature. Who cannot but see and
admire the Learning of _Homer_ and _Horace_; in _Virgil_ especially,
his almost universal Extent of Knowledge in both sorts of Philosophy,
in History, Geography, and the chief of all Science, Mathematicks? In
_Lucretius_ we see how perfectly Natural Philosophy and Poetry agree;
and how properly these Schools of ours are appropriated to both: Nor
have the severest Philosophers Reason to complain, that the Company of
the one reflects the least Dishonour on the other.
This I am sure they have not, if we duly consider the Nature of this
admirable Art; from whence it will appear to contain whatever is great
or beautiful in Prose, and besides to be distinguished by its own proper
Ornaments; which it abundantly displays, whilst it pleases our Ears, and
ravishes our Souls with its Harmony; whilst it strongly imprints in our
Minds the Images of the Things it represents; by a becoming Fiction sets
off Truth to Advantage, and renders it more amiable; and by a decent
Liberty keeps those Laws it seems to violate.
Another Reason of its Contempt, at least of the Abatement of its
Esteem, is, that there are such Numbers of Writers, who give Offence
to Men of Learning, by affecting the Title of _Poets_. This is a Fact
we are very sensible of, and lament: I know not how it is, there's
no sort of Learning to which more apply themselves, or fewer attain.
Innumerable Pretenders there are, who, in spite of Genius and Nature,
are daily troubling the World with their wretched Performances; who
write Verse often, that scarce attempt to write any Thing else, and
venture upon the most difficult of all Studies, that are unfit for any.
This profane Mob of Poetasters are deservedly to be condemned, that
arrogate to themselves the Credit of a Title, that no ways belongs to
them; and which is due only to those who _are of elevated Genius, and
Souls divine_. But so far is this from fixing any true Mark of Infamy
on our Art, that it ought to redound to its Credit. For in this its
native Excellence appears, that it is a Mistress, to whom all by natural
Impulse, as it were, pay their Addresses, tho' there are so few, upon
whom she bestows her Favours. Thus Wit, Wisdom, and Religion, have each
those amiable Colours, in which all Mankind endeavour to appear.
Nor need we wonder it meets with such Esteem, since it excels all other
Sciences, by mixing so agreeably _Pleasure_ with _Advantage_. For it
is found experimentally true, that by reading the ancient Poets, but
especially by imitating them, the Mind is polish'd, enlivened, and
enlarged; is enriched with a Stock of various Erudition, as well sacred
as profane; with such Plenty of lofty Ideas, and lively Expressions, as
is no small Addition to the Eloquence of even Prose itself. This no one
will deny, that pays any Deference to _Cicero_'s Opinion or Authority;
who ingenuously tells us he owes no small Assistance to the Poets, runs
out largely in their Praises, and seems to give them the first Place
among the Learned. "We are told, says he[4], by Men of the greatest
Learning, that the Science of all other Things depends upon Precepts
and Art; but a Poet on Nature alone; that he is formed by the Force
of Genius, and inspired, as it were, with somewhat of Divinity." This
Topick he defends, and expatiates upon, with such Warmth, that Oratory
seems never to have shone out brighter, or to have been more pleased
with its own Force, than when it was employed in the Praise of Poetry.
But farther, it ought by all Means to be encouraged, because it raises
the Mind to Virtue and Honour, by delivering down the Examples of great
Men to Immortality. It not only celebrates Heroes, but makes them; and
by lively Copies produces new Originals. What, in short, is it else,
but the utmost Effort of the Mind of Man, that tries all its Nerves,
while it infuses into it a Tincture of universal Learning temper'd
with the greatest Sweetness. For its Votaries it affects with no small
Pleasure, which its infinite Variety abundantly supplies. Oratory,
like a River with all its Pomp of Water, confines its Waves within its
own Banks; but Poetry, like the Ocean, diffuses itself, by a Variety
of Channels, into Rivers, Fountains, and the remotest Springs. What
can be more delightful, than to take a Survey of Things, Places, and
Persons; what more elegant, than to see them represented in beautiful
Pictures? Who is not charm'd with the humorous Turns of Epigram, the
Softness of Elegy, the bantering Wit of one sort of Satire, the Anger
of the other, the Keenness and Poignancy of both? And yet still more
the Ode affects us with its daring Colours, its lofty Conceptions,
its Choice of Expression, its agreeable Variety of Numbers, and (what
is the distinguishing Character of the Lyrics) that Luxuriancy of
Thought, conducted with the severest Judgment, by which it now and then
expatiates into new Matter, connects Things it seem'd to separate, and
falls by Chance, as it were, into its first Subject. Who is there that
does not with Pleasure survey an Epitome of the World in the Dramatic
Poets? The Life, Humours, and Customs of Mankind represented in Comedy;
in Tragedy the tumultuous Passions of the Great, the Turns of Fortune
and wonderful Catastrophes, the Punishment of Villainy and Rewards of
Virtue, and sometimes the Misfortunes of good Men? Who, I say, is not
affected with Pleasure, whether he laughs or weeps with them? For such
is the Force of Poetry, that it makes us pleased with our Tears, and
from Sorrow extorts Satisfaction. But far beyond all this, is the Epic
Poem, that farthest Extent of the human Soul, the utmost Bounds of
Study, and the Pillars, beyond which the Labours of the Mind can never
pass. So abundant is it, that, besides its own peculiar Excellence, than
which nothing can be greater, it comprehends within its Sphere all other
Kinds of Poetry whatever; and is in this Art what the Organ is in Music,
which with various Pipes, inflated with the same Breath, charms us not
only with its own Harmony, but represents that of every other Instrument.
These are not Beauties only in Theory; we have Authors that have shone
in each of these Branches of Poetry: Thus _Martial_ pleases with his
tart Facetiousness, _Catullus_ with his sound Wit, tho' his Verse
is sometimes a little harsh; _Ovid_, _Tibullus_, and _Propertius_,
with their Ease and Fluency in both. The Man that does not admire the
Boldness of _Juvenal_'s Spirit, the Richness of his poetic Vein, and
his fearless Rage in Satire; may he never love, may he never know the
genteel and courtly Turns, the pleasant Sneers, the severe, and yet
inviting Precepts of Virtue, the Remarks on common Life made with the
greatest Penetration, Judgment, and Wisdom, with which the Satires of
_Horace_, and especially his Epistles, are replete. In this kind of
Writing, as we prefer him before all others; so in Lyric Poetry he
stands not only first, but alone. With Regard to Comedy, if there were
nothing remaining but what _Terence_ has left us, _viz._ that Chasteness
of Style, that never-failing Fund of Wit and Judgment, that Humour
clear of vulgar Jests, those beautiful Images of Mankind and Nature,
that exquisite Artifice in working up Plots, and unfolding them; we
should ever have Reason to praise the Art and the Poet. If Tragedy has
receiv'd but small Ornaments from the _Latin_ Writers, as far as they
have come to our Hands; by the _Greeks_ that Loss has been abundantly
compensated. Witness the Thunder and Vigour of _Sophocles_, the Grandeur
and sententious Gravity of _Euripides_, the Art of both, with which they
command the Affections of their Readers, and call forth Pity or Terror
at Pleasure.
The Nature and Limits of this Discourse will not allow me even to touch
upon the Characters of all the other _Greek_ and _Latin_ Writers that
have excell'd in the several Species of Poetry. One, however, it would
be unpardonable to omit, who as he is the greatest of all (not _Homer_
himself excepted) may not improperly bring up the Rear of this shining
Host, the immortal _Virgil_, I mean, beyond all Praises, in all Respects
compleat. Who is not in Love with the plain and unaffected Beauty of
his Eclogues, the finish'd and chaste Elegance of his _Georgics_, and
in them the entertaining Descriptions with which they abound, with
the Variety of their Expressions, the Usefulness of their Precepts in
Husbandry, and their noble Excursions, upon every proper Occasion,
into Subjects of a sublimer Nature? But the divine _Æneid_ who can
turn over without Transport, without being lost, as it were, in a
happy Mixture of Joy and Wonder? Who can help being astonish'd at that
Fire of Imagination temper'd with so cool a Judgment, such Strength
united with so much Beauty? To nothing this Work can with Justice be
compar'd, unless to that, whose Duration will have the same Period, the
great Machine of the Universe. For where shall we find, in any human
Composition, so exact a Harmony between the several Parts, and so much
Beauty in each of them; such an infinite Fecundity of Matter, without
the least Exuberance of Style, or Crowding of Incidents? It would be an
endless Attempt to recount the different Images of Heroes, and other
Personages that appear up and down in it, the Variety of Manners, the
Conflict of Passions, almost every Object of the Imagination beautifully
described, all Nature unfolded, the great Events, the unexpected
Revolutions, the Incentives to Virtue; in the several Speeches the
most finish'd Eloquence; in the Thoughts and Expressions the sublimest
Majesty; in short, the most consummate Art, by which all these Things
are brought into one uniform Piece?
After the mention of _Virgil_ and those other great Names, Silence only
should ensue; but that our Oration naturally addresses itself to him, to
whose Indulgence this Liberty of speaking in the Praise of _Virgil_, and
those other great Names, is owing; our most worthy Vice-chancellor[5],
I mean, who has brought to Light this Poetic Legacy, which had been
buried, as it were, for many Years in Oblivion, and has at length placed
it upon a Foundation that will make it perpetual. Such Attainments, Sir,
have you made in your Study of the publick Welfare! 'tis thus you make
us sensible that none are so faithful and diligent Dispensers of others
Bounty, as the Bountiful! I shall not enter into a Detail of the other
Virtues, that make up your Character: My Business was to mention that
only which relates to our present Function: Permit us, however, to wish
you Length of Days in this World, that such Thanks may in Time be due to
you, as may exceed the Power of Poetry itself to pay.