FOOTNOTES:

[20] Take a remarkable Instance from Mr. _Dryden's Love for Love_,

where, from making use of a seeming Metaphor, he is drawn into a false

Thought:

_Her Words were like soft Flakes of falling Snow,

Which_ MELTED _as they fell_.

If her Words died away, as Snow _melts_, neutrally, 'tis no great

Recommendation of them. But the Idea that should be conveyed to the

Reader is, that they _melted_ the Hearer, as they fell; and then the

Comparison is spoil'd, and may more truly be applied to the Conception

of the Poet, which melts away by the Force of Reason, as Snow does by

the Approach of the Sun.

[21] Hor. & Virg. passim.

[22] Æn. I. 323.

[23] Geor. I. 512.

[24] Sat. VIII. 58.

[25] Hor. L. 1. Od. 25.

[26] Lib. 2. Od. 4.

[27] Od. 3.

[28] Lib. 1. Od. 5.

[29] Lib. 2. Od. 2.

[30] Lib. 2. Od. 8.

[31] Lib. 1. Sat. 4. ℣ 62.

[32] Lib. 2. Od. 10.

[33] Geor. I. 45.

[34] Geor. II. 34.

[35] ℣ 540.

[36] Æn. XI. 1.

[37] II. 50.

[38] Eclog. II. 8.

[39] Eclog. I. 83.

[40] Geor. I. 43.

[41] Eclog. VII. 47.

[42] Geor. I. 7.

[43] Geor. II. 108.

[44] Hor. 1. Od. 6.

[45] L. 2. Od. 9

[46] L. 2. Od. 9

[47] Lib. 2. Od. 8.

[48] 'Tis the Business of the Poet to give _Life_, _Motion_, or

_Sound_ to almost every Thing he describes, which in Oratory would be

ridiculous: Thus, for Example, put into Prose, _Juvenal_'s_----jam tum

mihi barba sonabat_, or _Virgil_'s Description of an Oak grafted on an

Elm,----Glandemque _sues fregere sub ulmis_; with these lively Images

you would gain the Reader's Smile, not his Admiration.

[49] Geor. I. 471.

[50] Æn. IV. 1.

[51] ℣ 65.

[52] ℣ 77.

[53] ℣ 82.

[54] ℣ 462.

[55] VI. 595.

[56] Geor. II. 47.

[57] ℣ 51.

[58] ℣ 332.

[59] Æn. VII. 793.

[60] XII. 283.

[61] Metamorph. I. 292.

[62] II. 521.

[63] ℣ 522.

[64] L. VI. 193.

[65] L. III. 424.

[66] ℣ 463.

[67] Geor. II. 32.

[68] ℣ 69.

[69] Metam. L. VI. 223.

[70] Geor. I. 84.

[71] Geor. II. 73.

[72] Geor. IV. 506

[73] Eclog. III. 45.

[74] Ec. ℣ 82.

[75] Æn. V. 481.

[76] ℣ 169.

[77] ℣ 211.

[78] ℣ 216.

[79] ℣ 270.

[80] Geor. I. 281.

[81] Æn. IV. 361.

[82] ℣ 486.

[83] ℣ 498.

[84] ℣ 505.

[85] ℣ 115.

[86] Geor. IV. 493.

[87] L. III. 539.

[88] Æn. I. 55.

[89] Æn. VII. 25.

[90] Metam. II. 112.

[91] Geor. III. 494.

[92] ℣ 520.

[93] Psal. cxxxvii.

[94] Metam. I. 468.

[95] L. II. 9, 10.

[96] ℣ 122.

[97] ℣ 229.

[98] What can be said for them, see in Mr. _Pope_'s Preface to the

_Iliad_.

[99] ℣ 273.

[100] Æn. III. 658.

[101] L. VIII. 621, 622.

[102] VIII. 364.

[103] IX. 205.

[104] VIII. 729.

[105] Æn. II. 298.

[106] Art. Poet. ℣ 93.

[107] _Æn._ II. 601.

[108] ℣ 608.

[109] ℣ 620.

[110] XII. 697.

[111] L. III. Od. 3.

[112] De Tertio Consulat. Honorii.

[113] In Probin. & Olybr. Consulat.

[114] De rapt. Pros. L. I.

[115] In Eutrop. L. II.

[116] Equus Max. Domit.

[117] L. I. Od. 3.

[118] Od. 7.

[119] Hor. Serm. I. L. 1.

[120] Epist. I. L. 1.

[121] Am. L. I. Eleg. 1.

[122] Met. L. I. 204.

[123] Mr. _Addison_, not far from this Place, sinks in his Translation

too much in the same Manner:

Mean while, the restless Horses neigh'd aloud,

Breathing out Fire, and _pawing where they stood_.

[124] L. II. 167.

[125] ℣ 171.

[126] L. IV. 144.

[127] L. II. 447.

[128] L. VII. 148.

[129] Eclog. III. 25.

[130] ℣ 90.

[131] Geor. I. 476.

[132] ℣ 481.

[133] Lib. I. Sat. IV. 45.

[134] Lib. I. Ep. II. ℣ 40.

[135] Æn. VI. 869.

[136] Æn. V. 273.

[137] Geor. IV. 359.

LECTURE VIII, IX, X, XI.

_Of the Beauty of Thought in Poetry; or of_

_Elegance and Sublimity._

In our former Dissertation we treated of the Style of Poetry: From

_Words_ we pass on to _Things_, and propose to speak of the Beauty of

Thought; to shew wherein the Elegance and Sublimity of it consists; the

Reason and Foundation of it; and to enumerate its different Species.

Every one must be sensible, as well as myself, what a difficult Subject

I engage in. If therefore I sometimes err, in so abstruse a Path, I

trust I have a prevailing Plea for your Pardon.

In the preceding Dissertation we have abundantly shewn, that the

_Diction_ of Poetry is very different from that of Prose; but between

the _Thought_ of the one and the other (excepting only Fiction) the

Difference is not so great. What, therefore, I shall say upon this Head,

will, for the most part, be in common both to the Poet and the Orator;

for the Beauty of Thought is generally the same, whether it is express'd

in Verse or Prose. But because Poetry is our Province, I judged it

proper to produce the Examples that illustrate my Subject, from the

Writings of the best Poets.

Writers have taken much Pains to give us a complete Definition of

_Thought_; and some have openly declar'd, that it is not capable of a

Definition. Among these, our Countryman _Cowley_ bears the first Place,

who directly asserts, that _Wit_ (for that is the Word we often use

for those Expressions that are the Effect of it) can only be defin'd

in negative Terms. But (with the Leave of the Learned) this Word, and

the Idea affix'd to it, is as capable of a positive and adequate a

Definition, as many others which we define the most logically, and boast

of having the clearest Notion of. _Wit_, then, in the largest Sense of

the Word, seems to be nothing else, but _a Thought formed so agreeably

to Nature and right Reason, and impressed upon the Mind with such

Clearness, Vivacity, and Dignity, as excites Pleasure or Admiration_.

_Wit_ we take, as we said, in _its largest Extent_. For it is not here

understood in that vulgar and narrow Sense by which it denotes only

Jokes and pointed Turns; but contains every Conception of the Mind that

is beautiful; whatever Elegance or Sublimity the Imagination is capable

of.

_A Thought formed agreeably to Nature and right Reason_, is, in this

Definition, the _Genus_; what follows contains the _Difference_. By the

former Part of the Definition we understand a _Thought that is founded

upon solid and just Principles_, which is twofold, either a Thought

_simply_ consider'd, or a _beautiful_ Thought. Every ingenious Thought,

then, is well founded, but every Thought that is well founded, is not an

ingenious one.

It was necessary to make this the _Genus_ of the _Definition_, that

true Wit might be distinguish'd from false. Thoughts of real Beauty are

always form'd upon Truth, Nature, and right Reason. If they are not

built upon this Foundation, or flow from a less noble Spring, they are

to be rank'd among those _false Brillants_, as they are term'd by our

modern, and especially the _French_, Writers, which may serve to please

Boys, and some others of as little Judgment, but will always be despis'd

by Men of Taste, and of Understanding, who adhere to the infallible

Maxim laid down by _Horace_:

_Scribendi recte_ sapere _est & principium & fons._

Sound Judgment is the Ground of writing well.

_Roscom._

Thoughts are the Images of Things, as Words are of Thoughts; and

we all know that Images and Pictures are only so far true, as they

are true Representations of Men and Things. Those Passages in

_Virgil_, _Terræque, urbesque recedunt_, and the like, where Things

are represented not as they _are_, but as they _seem_ to be, are no

Objection to what I advance. For Poets, as well as Painters, think it

their Business to take the Likeness of Things from their Appearance.

When they do this, their Thoughts are just, according to the strictest

Rules of Reason; for in Description or Painting that is _truly_

express'd, which is express'd as the Thing _appears_ to be. Neither

_Metaphors_, _Hyperboles_, _Ironies_, nor even _equivocal_ Expressions,

when properly used, nor _Fiction_ or _Fable_, are any Deviation from

this Rule of right Thinking: For there is a wide Difference between

_Falseness_ and _Fiction_, between that which is _truly_ false, (if

I may so speak) and that which is only so in Appearance. Tropes and

Fictions are raised, as it were, upon the Foundation of right Reason.

Truth is the Basis of them, and receives new Lustre from such airy

Disguises. All this will be sufficiently plain in the Sequel of this

Dissertation, and from the Examples to be produced in it. But, in the

first Place, it may not be improper to give one or two Instances of

false Wit; that so we may settle the Difference between what is true,

and counterfeit.

We frequently meet with Passages that want even common Sense, and yet

have somewhat of a ridiculous Brightness in them. A certain Poet gives

us a miserable Description of the Fate of _Pyramus_ and _Thisbe_, and

tells us, that the Sword, when died with the _Blood_ of the unhappy

Lover, blush'd, from a Consciousness of its Crime. No,[139] rather let

the unhappy Writer blush, from a deep Sense of that Elegance which Boys

would be asham'd to own. Another of the same Form, I know not his Name,

tells us, that Lovers always abound with Wit, because _Venus_ sprung

from the _salt_ Ocean. It would be endless to mention all the Turns of

this sort, which take their Rise from the feign'd Names or Adjuncts of

the Heathen Deities.

Modern Writers, all over _Europe_, are many of them wonderfully fond of

these sort of Trifles, especially in their Epigrams and Love-Verses. And

some cannot refrain from them even in their larger Compositions. Several

of our Top Poets of the former Age, (for in the present these kind of

Witticisms are in less Request) abound much with these shining Spots:

Nor are the Ancients, (I instance in _Ovid_) wholly free from them. I

can't help here observing, what an inexhaustible Fund of Conceits our

modern Poets are supplied with from the Eyes of the Fair Sex; which,

as they are the fruitful Parents of various Mischiefs, so are they,

likewise, it seems, of spurious Wit.

There is another Species of Thought which does not, like the former,

deviate from Truth and right Reason, yet is a Violation of the Laws of

Beauty and Accuracy, and is an Instance of false Wit, tho' not of false

Conception. In the _Troas_ of _Seneca_, _Hecuba_ lamenting that the

Body of _Priamus_ should lie unburied, thus expresses her Grief:

----_Ille, tot regum parens,

Caret sepulchro Priamus, & flamma indiget,

Ardente Troja._----[140]

_Priam_, the Father of a Race of Kings,

Now wants a Grave, nor finds a

Fun'ral Fire, While his own City burns.

How poor a Thought, upon so great and sublime a Subject? How childish a

Reflection, that while _Troy_ was all in Flames, the Body of _Priamus_

should want Funeral ones? How much better does _Virgil_ describe the

very same Circumstance?

_Hæc finis Priami fatorum, hic exitus illum

Sorte tulit; Trojam incensam & prolapsa videntem

Pergama; tot quondam populis, terrisque, superbum

Regnatorem Asiæ: jacet ingens littore truncus,

Avulsumque humeris caput, & sine nomine corpus._

Such was the End of _Priam_'s Fate; the last

Concluding Scene which Destiny decreed

To _Asia_'s Lord; once o'er so many Realms

And Nations, sov'reign Monarch; having seen

His _Troy_ in Flames, and tumbling to the Ground:

Upon the Shore the Royal Body lies

Expos'd; the Head from off the Shoulders torn;

A Trunk dishonour'd, and without a Name.

Here every Thing is great, full of Majesty, and suitable to the Subject.

The Poet knew better than to sport with Conceits upon so solemn an

Occasion; tho' _Ovid_ is perpetually hunting after them: But this is

never _Virgil_'s Fault; and ought to have been as studiously avoided by

_Seneca_: For Tragedy is of as sublime a Nature as Epic.

That celebrated Passage of _Lucan_, at first Appearance, I confess,

sounds great:

----_Cœlo tegitur, qui non habet urnam._

The Heav'ns entomb the Man that wants an Urn.

The Assertion is true, but the Wit is _false_. It is applied to the

Soldiers that died in the Field, and lay unburied: And tho' we should

grant that the Heavens and the Stars were Materials of greater Value

than Brass and Marble; yet they are a kind of Monument, that, like Death

itself, is common to all; and, in spite of this _Stoical_ Maxim of the

Poet, all Mankind must think it more honourable to be laid at Rest in a

Grave, than expos'd to Birds and Beasts, who at last may boast of the

same Canopy of the Sky, that these unburied Heroes enjoy'd.

Sometimes it happens, that there is a Mixture of true Thought and false;

or the Conception is partly one, partly the other. Thus in that noted

Epigram by a Modern:

_Lumine Acon dextro, capta est Leonilla sinistro;

Et potis est forma vincere uterque Deos.

Blande Puer, lumen quod habes concede sorori;

Sic Tu cæcus Amor, sic erit Illa Venus._

_Strephon_ and _Phyllis_ each one Eye have lost,

Yet may of Beauty more than Mortal boast.

Let his bright Orb to her the Boy resign,

He would a _Cupid_, she a _Venus_ shine.

The Epigram _seems_ elegant, and _is_ really so; but the different Parts

of it are not perfectly reconcileable. For if _Strephon_ and _Phyllis_

exceeded the Gods in Beauty, what great Wonder is it, he should become

_Cupid_, she _Venus_? Besides, 'tis absurd to suppose that he should be

either willing, or able to transfer his Eye to his Sister. There is,

however, in these Lines a true epigrammatic Spirit; and nothing can have

more of it than the last of them. For as in Reasoning a true Conclusion

may be drawn from false Premises; so in Writing an elegant Thought may

flow from false Wit. I would not have it objected, that I here draw a

Comparison between Things that are no way allied; for all Beauty, not

only in the argumentative Way of Writing, but even in polite Literature,

depends upon the Rules of Logic, and strict Reasoning.

The Passages I have here produced are a few Instances of false

Eloquence. Wit, therefore, differs from a plain solid Thought, as a

polish'd Diamond from a rough one; and as that does not cease to be a

Diamond by being polish'd, so a Thought loses nothing of its Solidity

by its Elegance. We all know, that a Diamond is not less distinguish'd

from other Stones by its Solidity, than its Lustre: The Difference,

therefore, between true and false Wit, is much the same as between the

Gems of the East, and those of our _British_ Rocks.

Some Verses I have known (but not by what Means) that owe all their

Success to popular Applause, and ill-grounded Fame, instead of Merit. No

one can be a Stranger to the celebrated Epigram of _Sanazarius_ upon the

City of _Venice_; and who shall now dare to question its Title to Fame,

after so long a Prescription?

_Viderat Adriacis Venetam Neptunus in undis

Stare Urbem, & toti ponere jura mari.

Nunc mihi Tarpeias quantumvis, Jupiter, arces

Objice; & illa tui mœnia Martis, ait:

Si pelago Tyberim præfers, Urbem aspice utramque;

Illam homines dices, hanc posuisse Deos._

In th'_Adriatic_ Gulf, when _Neptune_ saw

_Venice_ arise, and give to Seas the Law;

Now, _Jove_, said he, _Tarpeian_ Tow'rs oppose,

And the proud Walls of _Mars_ compare with those.

The _Tyber_ to the Sea prefer! and then

One own the Work of Gods, and one of Men.

I submit with humble Deference to the Judgment of the Learned; but, if

I may freely speak my Sentiments, I have often wonder'd at the good

Fortune of _Sanazarius_, who, by six empty Verses, got not only so

great a Name, but (which is more substantial) so great a Sum of Money.

The Verses, indeed, are smooth and harmonious; they have the outward

Appearance of an Epigram, and contain a poetical Fiction of _Jupiter_

and _Neptune_: But take away these (and these, without somewhat else,

signify little) what else, in the Name of Elegance, does the Poet tell

us, but that _Venice_ is preferable to _Rome_? In naked and simple Terms

he says, that the former looks more like the Work of the Gods, than the

latter. Where is the _Acumen_, the Wit, or the Turn? The Shell, indeed,

of an Epigram, we see; but not so much as the Shadow of Wit.

The first, and principal Species of Wit, is, undoubtedly, that which

does not depend on poetical Fiction, but upon Truth itself. What the

_French_ Poet[144] says upon this Head, in the Preface to his Works, is

very just; and I think I cannot do better than give you his Sentiments

in an _English_ Dress. "Now, if any Man asks me, says he, what this

Agreeableness and this Salt is? I answer, That it is a _Je ne sçay

quoy_, that may be better conceiv'd than describ'd. But yet, in my

Opinion, it principally consists in offering nothing to the Reader but

true Thoughts, and just Expressions. The Mind of Man is naturally full

of an infinite Number of confus'd Ideas of _Truth_, which he often-times

perceives but by Halves; and nothing pleases him more, than when any of

these Ideas are presented to him well illustrated, and set in a good

Light. What is a new brillant, extraordinary Thought? It is not, as the

Ignorant persuade themselves, a Thought which no Body ever had, nor

ought to have. But, on the contrary, a Thought which every Body ought

to have had, and which some one bethinks himself of expressing first.

_Wit_ is not _Wit_, but as it says something every Body thought of,

and that in a lively, delicate, and new Manner. Let us consider, for

Example, the famous Reply of _Lewis_ XII. to some of his Ministers, who

advised him to punish several Persons that in the former Reign (when

he was only Duke of _Orleans_) had made it their Business to prejudice

him, _A King of_ France, _says he, revenges not the Injuries done to a

Duke of_ Orleans. How comes this Saying to strike us so suddenly? Is

it not plainly, because it presents to our Eyes a Truth which all the

World is sensible of, and which expresses better than all the finest

Discourses of Morality, _That a great Prince, after his Accession to the

Throne, ought no longer to act by private Movements, nor to have any

other View but the Glory and general Good of his Kingdom?_" Thus far

that celebrated Author, who seems very happily to have illustrated the

Subject we are upon.

We have many elegant Thoughts, likewise, founded upon Truth, with a

Mixture of poetical Fiction; as in that Epigram of _Martial_ address'd

to _Lucifer_, the Night before _Cæsar_'s Return to _Rome_: After the

first Invocation,

_Phosphore, redde diem; quid gaudia nostra moraris?

Cæsare venturo, Phosphore, redde diem._

Thou bright Forerunner of the golden Day,

When _Cæsar_ comes, what clogs thy rosy Way?

At some Distance he adds:

_Quid cupidum Titana tenes? jam Xanthus & Æthon

Fræna volunt; vigilat Memnonis alma Parens._

Why hold'st thou _Phœbus_, lab'ring to be freed? }

His fiery Coursers arm themselves for Speed, }

And fair _Aurora_ quits her dewy Bed. }

He then subjoins:

_Tarda tamen nitidæ non cedunt sidera luci;

Et cupit Ausonium Luna videre Ducem._

But scarce the lagging Stars desert the Skies,

And pensive _Cynthia_ for the Triumph sighs.

'Tis an undoubted Truth, that Time seems long to those that are big with

Expectation. The Poet, therefore, having, for this Reason, chid the

Tardiness of the Moon and Stars, nothing could be more elegant, than

from this very Circumstance to take a further Occasion of complimenting

the Prince, by finding out another Reason of their Delay; _viz._ that

those bright Attendants (for the Poet suppos'd them endow'd with Sense)

stay'd the longer, that they might be the happy Spectators of _Cæsar_'s

triumphal Entry. He then gives a new Turn to his Reflections, and thus

concludes the Epigram:

_Jam, Cæsar, vel nocte veni; stent astra licebit,

Non deerit populo, Te veniente, dies._

Yet let not _Cæsar_ wait the rising Morn,

Or damp our Blessings till the Day's Return:

His Light shall cheer us with as bright a Ray,

And without _Phœbus_ usher in the Day.

This is ingenious enough, but a little of the boldest. The Prince of

Lyric Poets is more modest upon the same Occasion:

_Lucem redde tuæ, Dux bone, patriæ;

Instar veris enim, vultus ubi tuus

Affulsit populo, gratior it dies,

Et soles melius nitent._

Ah! quickly come, and with you bring

A brighter Sun, a brighter Spring:

Plenty and Mirth with you appear,

The World looks gay, when you are here.

_Olds._

He does not say the Approach of _Cæsar_ would restore the Day, but only

increase it; that is, would add to its Gaiety and Lustre: And true it

is, that Men whose Breasts are fill'd with Joy, think every Thing about

them partakes of that Quality.

There are other Thoughts, which tho' founded more upon poetical Fiction

than the former, yet come into the Number of true and elegant ones.

Thus our foremention'd _Martial_, in his Epitaph upon _Canace_, after

having beautifully describ'd the Disease of which the Lady died, in the

following Verses:

[147]----_Horrida vultum

Inficit, & tenero sedit in ore lues;

Ipsaque crudeles ederunt oscula morbi,

Nec data sunt nigris tota labella rogis._

A horrid Cancer seiz'd her beauteous Face,

Prey'd o'er her Charms, and rifled ev'ry Grace;

Nor spar'd those Lips that ravish'd with a Kiss,

The inexhausted Treasuries of Bliss!

Thus goes on:

_Si tam præcipiti fuerant ventura volatu,

Debuerant alia fata venire via:

Sed Mors vocis iter properavit claudere blandæ,

Ne posset duras flectere lingua Deas._

Determin'd Fate, with his unerring Dart,

Might, without mangling, have attack'd the Heart;

But knowing well her Voice would Life prolong,

He seiz'd the Pow'rs of her enchanting Tongue.

These Kinds of Fictions, tho' very numerous, are no ways repugnant to

Reason, and have not only a Claim to our Pardon, but to our Praise and

Imitation.

[Sidenote: _Ninth Lecture._]

In these, and the like Instances, the great Care is, to have Truth for

the Foundation of what we afterwards advance. As we see it is in the

Example produced from _Martial_. We are allow'd in strictest Reason to

describe others Merit, or our own Grief, in Terms a little heighten'd:

If the Lady, then, whose Death the Poet laments, had, in reality, a

soft and melting Voice, he might justly say it was persuasive enough to

have restrained the Hand of Fate, could it but have found an Utterance:

But Death, fearful of its Power, had seiz'd that Passage, and cut off

the Force of Eloquence. Thus far a Poet may be allow'd to proceed; but,

in good Truth, very little farther. He treads here, as it were, upon a

Precipice; and this Expression of _Martial_, is, perhaps, the utmost

Bound of poetic Truth; the next may carry him into the Ocean of false

Thought. However, this is certain, that all these ingenious Devices

must be built upon something that has an Existence in Nature, and that

it is absurd to make Fiction the Basis, and the Superstructure too;

as they do, more especially, who from the Heathen Mythology supply us

with Fable in great abundance. The antiquated Stories of the Heathen

Gods ought to afford Matter only for Comparison and Allusion, and even

then ought to be brought in with Caution, and to be mention'd only as

Beings once suppos'd to have an Existence. In short, even the lightest

Excursions of Wit ought to be founded upon Reality; and those empty

Trifles are justly contemn'd, which are neither Panegyric nor Satire,

neither illustrate nor explain any Thing, but the wonderful Acuteness of

the Writer. Tho' a beautiful Composition of Thought and Words is the

greatest Master-piece of Nature, yet 'tis possible for an Oration, or

Poem, to be too full of them, tho' never so much diversified. Whatever

Subject, therefore, you endeavour to adorn, let not your Poem be loaded

with Wit. Jewels have always been in Esteem, and ever will be so; yet to

see a Garment disfigur'd all over with different Sorts of them, would

be matter of Ridicule, rather than Admiration; and the most elegant

Epicure would be but little pleas'd with an Entertainment that consisted

of nothing else but Dainties. The same Rule is not less applicable to

Poetry, than Prose; the Reason of it holds equally in both. Poetry,

indeed, admits of greater Ornament, but right Reason always abhors

Luxury, whether in Prose or Verse. The too great Plenty of whatever is

exquisite, does not gratify, so much as satiate both the Senses and

the Understanding; and what in itself is valuable, by Super-abundance

becomes ridiculous. By this faulty kind of Writing the Mind is depriv'd

of that Refreshment and Recreation it takes in passing to and fro from

Things that are excellent, to those that are less so; and of that

Delight which springs from Surprize; neither of which it is capable of,

where all Things appear with undistinguish'd Lustre. 'Tis a foolish

Ambition, therefore, to work up all the beautiful Thought and Diction

you can possibly croud together. We ought always, indeed, to avoid in

both whatever is mean or vulgar, and, as _Longinus_[148] says, is _below

the Dignity of the Subject_; to be always, I say, above the Populace,

tho' sometimes plain, and without Ornament. It is impossible for a

Writer, from the Nature of his Subject, to be upon the Sublime from one

End to the other: Some Things must occur, that require the common Style,

but if they did not, the Rule ought still to be observ'd, for the

Reasons I have before alledg'd. Let Authors take Example from Nature,

who diversifies the great Poem of the World with Spring and Summer. In

each Season, 'tis true, all Things appear pleasant; but how much less

would they be so, nay, how distasteful, if the Fields were cover'd with

nothing else but Flowers? Vivid and smiling they are throughout, but not

all over beset with Nosegays. Flowers grow in their proper and peculiar

Soil; so the Ornaments of a Poem should seem naturally to arise out of

the Matter of it, not forced by Labour, but promoted only by proper

Culture. We ought, indeed, to imitate Art, and it is no mean Specimen

of it, when we intermix these Beauties so skilfully, that they mutually

correspond, and set off each other; in the same Manner that the Florist

disposes his party-colour'd Beds, and the Nymph her odorous Garlands.

[149]----_Candida Nais

Pallentes violas, & summa papavera carpens,

Narcissum, & florem jungit beneolentis anethi.

Tum casia, atque aliis intexens suavibus herbis,

Mollia luteola pingit vaccinia caltha._

For thee the lovely _Nais_ crops the Head

Of Poppies, and the Violet's pale Flow'rs,

With the Narcissus, and sweet Anise join'd;

Then mingling Cinnamon, and other Herbs

Of fragrant Scent, with the soft Hyacinth,

The saffron Bloom of Marygolds adorns.

Afterwards,

_Et vos, ô lauri, carpam, & te, proxima myrte;

Sic positæ quoniam suaves miscetis odores._

You, too, ye Laurels; and thee, Myrtle, next;

Because thus mix'd, you fragrant Odours blend.

Beauty in Writing may be consider'd as twofold: Either the _Elegant_,

or _Sublime_. The latter is manifestly distinct from the former; for

there may be Elegance often, where there is no Sublimity; but it may

be question'd, on the other Hand, whether every Thing _sublime_ is not

_elegant_. To me, indeed, it seems not so; or, if we must determine

otherwise, it must be said, that Elegance join'd with Sublimity is

often a different Species of Elegance. Whatever, indeed, is _sublime_,

is _beautiful_. So _Pallas_ is describ'd by the Poets, but with a

Beauty peculiar to herself, awful, majestic, surrounded with an amiable

Grandeur, quite different from the Charms of _Venus_, who is possess'd

with all the soft Attractives, who is all over elegant, but very little

sublime. But however this Question be determined, in the Sequel of this

Discourse I shall examine into the Properties of each of these Beauties

distinctly, and afterwards join'd together.

That noble and happy Sublimity of Thought, which by _Longinus_ is

termed,[151] το περι τας νοησεις ἁδρεπηβολον, is impossible

to be learn'd by Precept: 'Tis the Gift of Nature only, tho' it may be

much assisted by Art. This peculiar Turn of Mind _Virgil_ thus at once

describes, and remarkably exemplifies:

_Me vero primum dulces ante omnia Musæ,

Quarum sacra fero, ingenti perculsus amore,

Accipiant, cœlique vias & sidera monstrent,_ &c.

_Sin has ne possim naturæ accedere partes,

Frigidus obstiterit circum præcordia sanguis;

Rura mihi, & rigui placeant in vallibus amnes,

Flumina amem, silvasque inglorius._

Me may the Muses, whose vow'd Priest I am,

Smit With strong Passion for their sacred Song,

Dear above all to me, accept; and teach

The heav'nly Roads, the Motions of the Stars, _&c._

But if the colder Blood

About my Heart forbid me to approach

So near to Nature, may the rural Fields,

And Streams obscure, which glide along the Vales,

Delight me; Groves and Rivers may I love.

He shews us he is abundantly endow'd with that Strength of Imagination

he pretends to want, and at the same Time gives us a Specimen of it.

The same must be said of that Fire and Energy in Poetry, which

_Longinus_ calls[153] το σφοδρον, και ενθουσιαστικον παθος,

_viz._ that it is owing to the Indulgence of Nature, and to be regulated

only, not acquir'd by Precept. All we can do, is to produce some

Examples of it, and make a few Observations upon them. The first shall

be that of _Virgil_, in the sixth _Æneis_, where the Poet displays the

sacred Rage of the Sibyl, and his own:

_Ventum erat ad limen; cum virgo, poscere fata

Tempus, ait: Deus, ecce! Deus. Cui talia fanti

Ante fores subito non vultus, non color unus,

Non comptæ mansere comæ; sed pectus anhelum,

Et rabie fera corda tument; majorque videri,

Nec mortale sonans; afflata est numine quando

Jam propiore Dei. Cessas in vota, precesque,

Tros, ait, Ænea? Cessas?_

And now they reach'd

The Portal: When the Virgin, 'Tis the Time

Now t' enquire the Doom of Fate; Behold,

The God, the God, she cry'd. While thus she spoke,

Before the Doors her Looks, her Colour chang'd,

Sudden; her Hair in wild Confusion rose.

Enthusiastic Fury heav'd her Breast,

And throbbing Heart; more large her Form appear'd;

Nor spoke the mortal Accents; when inspir'd

By the more present God. Dost thou delay,

_Trojan Æneas_, thy Requests, and Vows?

Dost thou delay? she cry'd.

And after _Æneas_ had ended his Supplication to her:

_At Phœbi nondum patiens immanis in antro

Bacchatur Vates, magnum si pectore possit

Excussisse Deum; tanto magis ille fatigat

Os rabidum, fera corda domans, fingitque premendo._

But impatient in her Grot

_Apollo_'s swelling Priestess wildly raves;

Reluctant, lab'ring from her Breast to heave

Th' incumbent God: So much the more he curbs

Her foamy Mouth, subdues her madding Heart,

And pressing forms her.

And lastly, at the End of the Sibyl's Answer:

_Talibus ex adyto dictis Cumæa Sibylla

Horrendas canit ambages, antroque remugit,

Obscuris vera involvens: ea fræna furenti

Concutit, & stimulos sub pectore vertit Apollo._

Thus the _Cumæan_ Sibyl, from her Shrine,

Sings mystic Verse; and bellows in her Cave,

Involving Truth in Darkness: As she foams,

_Apollo_ shakes the Reins, and goads her Breast.

This is one Species of poetic _Pathos_, or Enthusiasm; _viz._ which

consists in the Marvellous, and raises Admiration, by impressing upon

the Mind something great, unusual, and portentous, and is styled by the

_Greeks_ ὁρμη, by the _Latins_ _Impetus_, or _furor poeticus_.

There are other Kinds of it, which excite Grief, Pity, Terror, and work

upon the other Passions. If the _Spirit_ of the Poet is most admir'd in

the former, the Reader's is at least as much affected by the latter. And

since it is the great Art of Poetry to work upon the Passions, it may

not be improper to dwell a little upon this Branch of it. How sweet is

that Complaint of _Phyllis_ to _Demophoon_, in _Ovid_? How wonderfully

adapted to move Compassion?

_Credidimus blandis, quorum tibi copia, verbis;

Credidimus generi, nominibusque tuis;

Credidimus lacrimis: an & hæ simulare docentur?

Hæ quoque habent artes; quaque jubentur, eunt.

Diis quoque credidimus, quo jam tot pignora nobis?

Parte satis potui qualibet inde capi._

On thy soft Speeches I with Rapture hung,

The boundless Treasures of thy melting Tongue.

Thy Name I credited, thy Birth, thy Line:

Art thou by Falsehood Man, by Birth divine?

Thy Tears resistless! do they flow by Art,

Th'obedient Tides of Nature, and the Heart!

These have their Frauds, and find the subtle Path,

As you direct, to steal a Lover's Faith.

The Gods, too, I believ'd, by whom you swore;

Each Motive was too much, what needed more?

No one was a greater Master of this Secret than _Ovid_; none understood

Nature more than he, or express'd her various Conflicts better: And

he has left us abundance of Instances of it in his _Epistles_ and

_Metamorphoses_. To pass over others, I shall produce only that Passage

where he describes the Passion of _Medea_ for _Jason_:

_Concipit interea validos Æetias ignes:

Et luctata diu, postquam ratione furorem

Vincere non potuit; Frustra, Medea, repugnas,

Nescio quis deus obstat, ait; mirumque, nisi hoc est,

Aut aliquod certe simile huic, quod amare vocatur.

Nam cur jussa patris nimium mihi dura videntur?

Sunt quoque dura nimis: cur, quem modo denique vidi,

Ne pereat timeo? Quæ tanti causa timoris?

Execute virgineo conceptas pectore flammas,

Si potes, infelix; si possem, sanior essem.

Sed trahit invitam nova vis; aliudque cupido,

Mens aliud suadet; video meliora, proboque,

Deteriora sequor._

Mean while, _Medea_, seiz'd with fierce Desire,

By Reason strives to quench the raging Fire;

But strives in vain: Some God, she said, withstands,

And Reason's baffled Counsel countermands.

What unseen Pow'r does this Disorder move?

'Tis Love--at least 'tis like what Men call Love.

Else wherefore should the King's Commands appear

To me too hard? But so, indeed, they are.

Why should I for a Stranger fear, lest he }

Should perish, whom I did but lately see; }

His Death, or Safety, what are they to me? }

Wretch from thy Virgin Breast this Flame expel,

And soon--Oh! cou'd I, all wou'd then be well!

But Love, resistless Love, my Soul invades;

Discretion this, Affection that persuades.

I see the right, and I approve it, too;

Condemn the wrong--and yet the wrong pursue.

_Tate_ and _Stonestreet_.

After this, the Poet wonderfully describes the dubious Strife between

Love and Shame, Reason and Affection, as he does in many other Places.

I know, very well, that Objections have been rais'd against this very

Passage I have cited, and that _Ovid_ is compar'd with _Apollonius

Rhodius_ and _Virgil_, even upon these Topics, much to his Disadvantage.

I can't deny but that when he does best, he often falls short of that

Sublimity in which he was naturally deficient; that when he shines most,

he generally abounds with an unhappy Luxuriancy of Thought, disagreeable

Repetitions, unseasonable and absurd Conceits; that his Style is loose

and incorrect: However, let him have his due Praise, let him be allow'd

to draw the Out-lines of Nature truly, tho' he does not keep accurately

to every Feature of her.

But if you want Perfection upon this Head, consult _Virgil_, who, as

he excels in all other Kinds of Writing, so, especially, in describing

and moving the Passions, in the fourth _Æneis_ especially; which may

with Justice be styled an _Epic Tragedy_. And since no Age, Nation, or

Language, has yet produced a Work that lays open so wonderfully the

various Tumults of the Soul; I shall perform, perhaps, no disagreeable

Office, if I lay before you an Epitome of this Part of it, so far as

relates to the Passions.

In the Beginning, the unfortunate Queen, in Conversation with her

Sister, thus discovers the Effects of _Love_:

_Anna soror, quæ me suspensam insomnia terrent?

Quis novus hic nostris successit sedibus hospes?

Quam sese ore ferens! quam forti pectore, & armis!_

What Dreams, my dearest _Anna_, discompose

My Rest? What wond'rous Stranger at our Court

It here arriv'd! how God-like he appears!

In Mien how graceful! and how brave in Arms!

And a few Lines after:

_Anna (fatebor enim) miseri post fata Sichæi

Conjugis, & sparsos fraterna cæde penates;

Solus hic inflexit sensus, animumque labantem

Impulit; agnosco veteris vestigia flammæ._

My Sister, (for to thee I will disclose

My inmost Thoughts) since poor _Sichæus_ fell,

And with his Blood, spilt by a Brother's Hand,

Sprinkled our Household Gods; this only Man

Has warp'd my Inclinations, and unfix'd

My stagg'ring Resolution: I perceive

The Signs and Tokens of my former Flame.

Now _Shame_, on the other Hand, exerts its Power, and claims to be

heard, in Opposition to Love:

_Sed mihi vel tellus, optem, prius ima dehiscat,

Vel Pater omnipotens adigat me fulmine ad umbras,

Pallentes umbras Erebi, noctemque profundam;

Ante, Pudor, quam te violem, aut tua jura resolvam:_

But may the yawning Earth devour me quick,

Or _Jove_ with Thunder strike me to the Shades,

Pale Shades of _Erebus_, and Night profound;

E'er, Modesty, I break thro' thy Restraints,

Or violate thy Laws.

She then _complains_ of _Æneas_'s concealing his Departure; she

_expostulates_ with him of the Injury he intended her; and full, at the

same Time, of _Fear_ and _Grief_, she thus endeavours to work upon his

_Compassion_:

_Dissimulare etiam sperasti, perfide, tantum

Posse nefas? tacitusque mea decedere terra?

Nec te noster amor, nec te data dextera quondam,

Nec moritura tenet crudeli funere Dido?_ &c.

And could'st thou hope, Perfidious, to conceal

So black a Crime? and silent leave my Coasts?

Cannot my Love, nor thy once plighted Faith,

Nor _Dido_'s cruel, and untimely Death,

Detain thee?

But as soon as she hears _Æneas_ openly declare his firm Resolution,

from Tears and Intreaties she bursts out into _Passion_, _Rage_, and

_Phrenzy_:

_Talia dicentem jamdudum aversa tuetur,

Huc illuc volvens oculos, totumque pererrat

Luminibus tacitis, & sic accensa profatur.

Nec tibi Diva parens, generis nec Dardanus auctor,

Perfide; sed duris genuit te cautibus horrens

Caucasus, Hyrcanæque admorunt ubera tigres._

Thus, while he spoke, she silently intent,

Ey'd him averse, and roll'd her glaring Balls

Around; from Head to Foot survey'd him o'er,

Speechless a while; and thus her Rage reply'd:

Nor art thou of a Goddess-mother born;

Nor is thy Birth from _Dardanus_ deriv'd,

Perfidious Wretch: But _Caucasus_, with Rocks

Horrid disclos'd thee from its flinty Sides,

And fierce _Hyrcanian_ Tygers gave thee Suck.

Throughout the whole Speech (every Line of which is beautiful beyond all

Comparison) she exclaims, interrogates, calls Gods and Men to witness,

loads her Lover with Threats and Curses; in short, the Tempest of her

Soul runs so high, as if it never more would know a Calm. What, then,

says _Dido_, when she appears next?

_Improbe Amor, quid non mortalia pectora cogis?

Ire iterum in lacrimas, iterum tentare precando,

Cogitur, & supplex animos submittere amori._

Cruel Love,

To what Extremes does not thy tyrant Pow'r

Urge mortal Breasts? Again dissolv'd in Tears,

Spight of her Rage and Pride, again she tries

Suppliant Intreaties, and submissive bows

Her haughty Soul to Love.

After this, she implores, conjures her Sister to be her Mediator in

this momentous Affair, and to convey to _Æneas_ her softest Entreaties;

than which, nothing can be more pathetic, and adapted to move

_Compassion_:

_Hunc ego si potui tantum sperare dolorem,

Et perferre, soror, potero. Miseræ hoc tamen unum

Exequere, Anna, mihi; solam nam perfidus ille

Te colere, arcanos animi tibi credere sensus;

Sola viri molles aditus, & tempora nôras.

I, soror; atque hostem supplex affare superbum._

Could I have e'er expected such a Blow

Of cruel Fate as this; my Soul could then

Have borne it: Yet this only Favour grant

Thy wretched Sister; for that faithless Man

To thee, alone, uncommon Rev'rence paid,

Trusted his Secrets with thee; thou, alone,

Didst know the soft Approaches to his Soul,

And all the proper Seasons of Address:

Go, Sister; and this Message suppliant bear.

In the foregoing Speech she broke out into these Reproaches:

_Nusquam tuta fides: ejectum littore, egentem,

Excepi, & regni demens in parte locavi;

Amissam classem, socios à morte reduxi.

Heu! furiis incensa feror,_ &c.

True Faith is no where to be found. Him toss'd

On Shore, of all Things indigent, I here

Receiv'd, and made him Partner of my Throne:

(Fool that I was) repair'd his shatter'd Fleet,

And hospitably sav'd his Friends from Death.

Furies distract me.

But in what different Terms does she expostulate in this?

_Non ego cum Danais Trojanam exscindere gentem

Aulide juravi, classemve ad Pergama misi;

Nec patris Anchisæ cineres, manesve revelli:

Cur mea dicta negat duras demittere in aures?_

I never did conspire

At _Aulis_ with the _Greeks_, to overturn

The _Trojan_ State, nor sent a Fleet to _Troy_;

Nor e'er disturb'd his bury'd Father's Dust.

Why does he stop his unrelenting Ears

To my Intreaties?

Before, she had thus express'd her Rage:

----_Neque te teneo, neque dicta refello.

I, sequere Italiam ventis; pete regna per undas;

Spero equidem mediis (si quid pia numina possunt)

Supplicia hausurum scopulis_, &c.

I nor detain thee, nor refel thy Words.

Away for _Latium_ by the Winds; go, seek

Thy Kingdom o'er the Waves. For me, I hope,

If the just Gods have Pow'r, thou wilt receive

Thy due Reward among the Rocks.

Behold, now, another Strain!

_Quo ruit? extremum hoc miseræ det munus amanti;

Expectet facilemque fugam, ventosque ferentes.

Non jam conjugium antiquum, quod prodidit, oro;

Nec pulchro ut Latio careat, regnumque relinquat;

Tempus inane peto, requiem, spatiumque furori,

Dum mea me victam doceat fortuna dolere._

Whither does he fly

So hasty? This last Favour let him grant

To his unhappy Lover; let him wait

An easy Voyage, and permitting Winds.

I now no more petition him to yield

The Rites of Nuptials, which he has betray'd;

Nor urge him to relinquish his gay Hopes

Of _Italy_, and Empire: All I beg,

Is but a soothing Interval, some Rest,

And Respite to my Passion; till my Fate

Shall to Misfortune reconcile my Soul,

Subdu'd by Grief, and teach me how to mourn.

That Man must be as void of Sense, as of Humanity, that does not feel

in himself the strongest Emotions of Pity and Admiration, of Grief and

Pleasure, when he reads so moving a Complaint; than which, I may venture

to pronounce, there is not a greater Master-piece, either in Art or

Nature.

I might justly fear lying under the Imputation of Prolixity in citing

these Passages, if the Beauty of them did not compensate for their

Number. As no one ever touch'd the Passions like _Virgil_, you'll

forgive the Liberty I have taken in recalling to your Mind so many

pleasing Instances of his Power.

What _Longinus_ calls[170] φαντασιαι, and others, as he

tells us, ειδωλοποιιαι the _Roman_ Writers style _Visions_,

or _Imaginations_, and the modern _Images_. These, then, operate,

"when (as _Longinus_[171] speaks) a Man has so strong an Imagination

of the Things he describes, that he seems to be in Transport, as it

were, to behold them with his own Eyes, and places them before those

of his Hearers." What _Longinus_ adds immediately afterwards, in

relation to these Images, I must confess I don't rightly comprehend,

or (with all Deference to so great Authority) I cannot assent to.

Ὁς δ' ἑτερου τι ἡ ῥητορικη φαντασια βουλεται, και ἑτερον

ἡ παρα ποιηταις, ουκ αν λαθοι σε. Ουδ' ὁτι της μεν εν ποιησει

τελος εστιν εκπληξις, της δ' εν λογοις εναργεια. Which _Tollius_ thus

paraphrastically translates: "You cannot be ignorant, I suppose, that

Oratorical Visions intend one Thing, and Poetical another; that the Aim

of the latter is to affect the Hearers with Terror; of the former to

express every Thing so strongly, that it may be rather seen, than heard

by the Audience. The one we may properly call Evidence, or Illustration;

the other Consternation, or Amazement." I own, I say, this is what

I cannot well digest; for neither is it true that the Images, which

Poetry impresses, affect us with Terror only, for all Sorts of Images

are impress'd by Poetry; nor is it the peculiar Property of Oratory _to

express every Thing so strongly, that it may be rather seen, than heard

by the Audience_; since Poetry has a much larger Share in this Province

than Oratory. The only Difference between them in this Particular is,

that all Images are impress'd more _strongly_ by the one; but all are

_truly_ impress'd by both. This is a Difficulty in _Longinus_, which

not one of his numerous Commentators has touch'd upon. If, therefore,

I am fallen into any Mistake, I hope I shall be the easier pardoned,

as I have none of the Helps of the Learned to conduct me out of it.

But however that be, all are agreed that the Images excited, both by

Oratory and Poetry, strike the Mind with a sudden Force. To prove this,

_Longinus_ recites the Speech of _Orestes_[172], where he cries out,

that he sees his Mother and the Furies stand before him; which _Virgil_

has wonderfully imitated, in the following Passage:

_Eumenidum veluti demens videt agmina Pentheus,

Et solem geminum, & duplices se ostendere Thebas:

Aut Agamemnonius, scenis agitatus, Orestes,

Armatam facibus matrem, & serpentibus atris,

Cum fugit, ultricesque sedent in limine Diræ._

So raving _Pentheus_ Troops of Furies sees,

Two Suns, and double _Thebes_: So mad with Guilt,

_Orestes_, agitated on the Stage,

Flies from his Mother's Ghost, with Torches arm'd,

And black infernal Snakes; revengeful Fiends

Sit in the Doors, and intercept his Flight.

As I have occasionally mention'd this remarkable Place, it may not

be amiss to observe, that Images are no where better impress'd, than

throughout that Description, where _Dido_ is represented under the

Conflicts of Love, and dismay'd with Prodigies. I shall only cite one

Part of it, and the rather, because it contains a mere intellectual Idea

not subject to the Senses, which yet is as clearly impress'd, as if it

were the proper Object of them: An infallible Proof of the Skill of the

Painter.

[174]----_Agit ipse furentem

In somnis ferus Æneas; semperque relinqui

Sola sibi, semper longam incomitata videtur

Ire viam, & Tyrios deserta quærere terra._

In her Dreams

Cruel _Æneas_ persecutes her Soul

To Madness. Still abandon'd to herself,

Cheerless, without a Guide, she seems to go

A long, a tedious Journey, and to seek

Her _Tyrian_ Subjects on deserted Coasts.

To conclude; in a word, every Conception of the Mind, join'd to a

beautiful Description, is an Image. I cannot produce a better Proof of

this, than that Passage in _Homer_, where _Astyanax_ shrinks at the

Sight of his Father array'd in Armour.

Ὁς ειπων, ὁυ παιδος ορεξατο Φαιδιμος Ἑκτωρ, κ. λ.

Thus having spoke, th' illustrious Chief of _Troy_

Stretch'd his fond Arms to clasp the lovely Boy.

The Babe clung crying to his Nurse's Breast,

Scar'd at the dazling Helm, and nodding Crest.

_Pope._[176]

To which may be added, the following Description of _Virgil_, out of

innumerable others:

[177]----_Viridi fœtam Mavortis in antro

Procubuisse lupam, geminos huic ubera circum

Ludere pendentes pueros, & lambere matrem

Impavidos; illam tereti cervice reflexam

Mulcere alternos, & corpora fingere lingua._

In the mossy Cave of _Mars_

A female Wolf lay suckling; at her Teats

Two sporting Infants hung, and lick'd their Dam,

Intrepid: She her sleek round Neck reclin'd,

Smooth'd them, by Turns, and form'd them with her Tongue.

And that Night Piece of his, in the seventh _Æneis_, where we see the

Ship under Sail, by Moon-shine:

_Aspirant auræ in noctem; nec candida cursum

Luna negat; splendet tremulo sub lumine pontus.

Proxima Circææ raduntur littora terræ,

Dives inaccessos ubi Solis filia lucos

Assiduo resonat cantu, tectisque superbis

Urit odoratam nocturna in lumina cedrum,

Arguto tenues percurrens pectine telas.

Hinc exaudiri gemitus, iræque leonum

Vincla recusantum, & sera sub nocte rudentum;

Setigerique sues, atque in præsepibus ursi

Sævire, ac formæ magnorum ululare luporum._

A Breeze at Night

Springs fresh; nor does the silver Moon deny

Her Beams, which tremble on the glimm'ring Waves.

Next, coasting, close by _Circe_'s Shores they sail;

Where she, the wealthy Daughter of the Sun,

With ceaseless singing makes the Groves resound,

Groves inaccessible; and in the Rooms

Of her proud Palace, for nocturnal Light,

Sweet Cedar burns: While thro' the slender Web

Her whistling Shuttle flies along the Loom.

Hence Groans are heard; the Noise of Lions, fierce,

Rebellious to their Chains, and roaring loud

In Dead of Night; the Grunt of bristly Boars;

The Rage of Bears, reluctant, in their Stalls;

And huge portentous Forms of howling Wolves.

[Sidenote: _Tenth Lecture._]

It would be entering upon too large a Field, to enquire into all the

Variations, and Turns of Thought and Style, which Verse and Prose

are capable of: Such as, Interrogations, Exclamations, the different

Disposition of Tropes and Figures, the elegant Repetition of Words,

the no less elegant Abruptness in Sentences, the Want of Connexion,

Apostrophe, Prosopopœia, the Change of Numbers, Persons, Cases,

Tenses; and a Multitude of other Incidents, which are reducible to

Thought, as well as Style. Since the Variety of these is as infinite,

as their Elegance is exquisite, it is impossible to explain them all

by Rules, or illustrate them by Example. _Longinus_ has mentioned some

few, and our modern Books of Rhetoric are full of them. But the Want of

Precept will be abundantly compensated to the Learner, by a good Taste,

and a diligent Application to the Study of the best Authors.

Among the many Embellishments of Writing, few are attended with greater

Beauty than _Antitheta_. The Reason is obvious, because Contraries

illustrate, and recommend each other by Comparison. Of this the

following Passage in _Virgil_ is a remarkable Instance; where we have a

beautiful Irony and Antithesis, at the same Time:

_Egregiam vero laudem, & spolia ampla refertis,

Tuque, puerque tuus, magnum & memorabile nomen;

Una dolo Divûm si fœmina victa duorum est._

Prodigious Trophies you indeed have gain'd,

You, and your Boy; vast Praise, a deathless Name;

If by the Fraud of two celestial Pow'rs

One Woman be subdu'd.

Near a-kin to it, is that Antithesis in _Ovid_:

[180]----_Quæ gloria vestra est;

Si juvenes puerum, si multi fallitis unum?_

Will you, my Friends, united Strength employ,

Against one many, Men against a Boy?

When the Thoughts are thus set against each other, they appear with

Energy, and strike the Mind with redoubled Force.

Another Elegance in a Writer, is to convey the whole of his Idea to the

Reader, by expressing only some Circumstances of it.

_Dixerat; atque illam media inter talia ferro

Collapsam aspiciunt comites, ensemque cruore

Spumantem, sparsasque manus._

Thus, while she spoke, th' Attendants saw her fall,

The Sword all frothing, and her Hands besmear'd

With Blood.

Thus _Virgil_ describes _Dido_ killing herself: An inferior Poet, no

doubt, would have represented her in the fatal Act, rushing upon the

Sword with all her Strength, the Blood gushing out, and that Part of

her Body which receiv'd the Wound expos'd to View. But how much better

are all these passed over, and suggested to us only by their Adjuncts

and Effects? There is another Example, of this kind, in the fourth

_Georgic_, which is truly wonderful:

_Illa quidem, dum te fugeret per flumina præceps,

Immanem ante pedes hydrum moritura puella

Servantem ripas alta non vidit in herba.

At chorus æqualis Dryadum clamore supremos

Implerunt montes; flerunt Rhodopeiæ arces_, &c.

She doom'd to Death, while, heedless, thee she fled,

Along the River's Side, before her Steps,

In the high Grass saw not the monstrous Snake,

Which, unperceiv'd, lay lurking on the Bank.

But all the beauteous Quire of Woodland Nymphs,

Her Fellows, fill'd with Shrieks the lofty Hills;

The _Rhodopeian_ Mountains wept, _&c._

How concise, and ingenious! This Artifice of insinuating only the Sense

to the Reader, is so useful in Epigram, that the whole Thought often

turns upon it. Thus in that of _Martial_:

_Pexatus pulchre, rides mea, Zoile, trita;

Sunt hæc trita quidem, Zoile; sed mea sunt._

My Threadbare Coat is scorn'd by Liv'ry-_John_:

'Tis true, 'tis Threadbare--but it is my own.

The Turn, you see, is witty, and facetious! But how poor a Joke had it

been, if the Poet had only said, however true it was, that the Clothes

which _Zoilus_ wore were not his own? But I fear, I transgress the very

Rule I am recommending: I shall therefore add no more, than only to

remind the Reader, that what I have said under another Head[184], might

more properly come under this, _viz. That the Mind of Man does not love

to have too minute a Detail of Particulars; but takes a Pleasure in

having Room for Imagination, and in forming a Judgment of what is not

express'd, from what is._

And since I have casually mention'd Transitions, I would here observe,

that the Elegance of them is equal to their Difficulty: The great Secret

consists either in digressing of a _sudden_ to some new Subject, and

giving the Reader the Pleasure of a Surprize; and yet continuing on the

Thread of the Discourse so artfully, that he may admire a _Connection_,

where, at first, there seem'd to be none: Or in such a gradual

Transition from Thought to Thought, of near Affinity with each other,

that the Mind may be imperceptibly led to a very different Subject,

without being sensible of the intermediate Steps of the Digression.

Thus, in the Rainbow, the neighbouring Colours are so like each other,

that 'tis hard to say where this ends, or that begins; yet there's a

wide Difference, if we leave out the intermediate Shades, and compare

the Rays of the two Extremes. My Meaning, perhaps, will appear clearer

from Example. _Horace_ begins his 29th Ode, of the third Book, in the

following Manner:

_Tyrrhena regum progenies, tibi

Non ante verso lene merum cado,

Cum flore, Mæcenas, rosarum,

Pressa tuis balanus capillis

Jamdudum apud me est,_ &c.

My noble Lord, of Royal Blood,

That from the _Tuscan_ Monarchs flow'd,

I have a Cask ne'er pierc'd before;

My Garlands wreath'd, my Crowns are made,

My Roses pluck'd to grace thy Head;

As fair and sweet as e'er _Præneste_ bore.

And concludes it thus:

_Non est meum, si mugiat Africis

Malus procellis, ad miseras preces

Decurrere, & votis pacisci,

Ne Cypriæ, Tyriæque, merces

Addant avaro divitias mari:

Tunc me biremis præsidio scaphæ

Tutum per Ægæos tumultus

Aura feret, geminusque Pollux._

When spreading Sails rough Tempests tear,

I make no lamentable Pray'r;

I do not bargain with the Gods,

Nor offer costly Sacrifice

To save my precious _Tyrian_ Dyes

From adding Riches to the greedy Floods.

E'en 'midst these Storms I'll safely ride,

My Bark shall stem the highest Tide,

Tho' Tempests toss, and th'Ocean raves;

_Castor_ shall gather gentle Gales,

And _Pollux_ fill my spreading Sails,

And bear me safe thro' the _Ægæan_ Waves.

_Creech._

Between the Beginning and Ending, consider'd in themselves, how wide a

Difference? And yet, if we examine the Gradation of Thought thro' the

whole Ode, we shall see the most elegant Connection. In the Beginning,

the Poet invites his Statesman Friend to Supper: "I have prepared every

Thing for your Reception, says he; leave, for a While, the City, the

Business and Riches of it; 'tis a Pleasure often to Men of high Station,

to partake of the Change of Low Life. Forget Politics for a While,

and be not over anxious for the Nation's Welfare. Providence conceals

Futurity from us Mortals: Let us therefore, in Prudence, make the best

of the present; all else is carry'd down by the Stream of Time, and

what is past returns no more. Fortune is fickle; I am pleas'd, when she

smiles; but disregard her Frowns, contented with Poverty and Virtue.

Care is the inseparable Attendant of Riches; I compound to want the one,

that I may be secure from the other. I have no Business, when Storms

roar, to fall into Tears," _&c_. Behold a Chain connected, and yet

conceal'd with the greatest Art.

Sometimes it is necessary that the Transition should appear open, and

design'd; but often otherwise. In the following Passage, we shall see

a Specimen of either Sort; I mean, of the formal, and of the sudden

Transition. _Turnus_ having, in the eleventh _Æneis_, had a good many

Words with _Drances_, and in great Passion thrown out these, among the

rest,

_Nunquam animam talem dextra hac (absiste moveri)

Amittes; habitet tecum, & sit pectore in isto._

A Soul like that (dismiss

Thy Terror) by this Hand thou ne'er shalt lose;

There let it dwell, and in that Breast remain.

thus turns his Discourse to the King:

_Nunc ad Te, & tua, magne Pater, consulta revertor.

Si nullam nostris ultra spem ponis in armis,

Si tam deserti sumus, ut semel agmine verso

Funditus occidimus, nec habet fortuna regressum;

Oremus pacem, & dextras tendamus inermes.

Quanquam ô! si solitæ quicquam virtutis adesset;

Ille mihi ante alios fortunatusque laborum,

Egregiusque animi, qui, ne quid tale videret,

Procubuit moriens, & humum semel ore momordit._

To you, great Monarch, and to your Debates,

I now return. If you no more repose

Hope in our Arms; if by one Battle lost,

We perish whole, and Fortune knows no Change;

Let us beg Peace, and stretch our Hands unarm'd.

(Yet Oh! did any of our pristine Worth

And Virtue still remain; that Man to me

Would in his glorious Toils most blest appear,

Who, rather than behold a Thing like this,

Fell once for all, and dying bit the Ground.)

Reverence due to Majesty requir'd that _Turnus_ should direct his

Discourse from _Drances_ to the King, by some solemn Address. But after

_dextras tendamus inermes_, to _Quanquam ô! si solitæ quicquam virtutis

adesset_, the Transition is sudden, and unexpected. The Mind, by this

Means, is transported from one Contrary to another; a sure Indication of

the Force of Eloquence, and of its powerful Operation on its Hearers.

In Narrations 'tis no small Art to make a Transition from one Fact to

another: Several Instances of this, we have in _Ovid_'s _Metamorphoses_,

the Nature of which Work requir'd them; where the Connection, indeed,

is sometimes neat and artful, sometimes hard and forced, not to say

ridiculous.

Under this Head we may reckon those Excursions of another kind, in

which the Poet, by some sudden Allusion or Comparison, diverts from his

Subject to a new Matter, and immediately returns to it again. I shall

explain myself better by Example. _Juvenal_, describing the various

Inconveniencies of the City, mentions these, among the rest:

[186]----_Rhedarum transitus arcto

Vicorum inflexu, & stantis convicia mandræ,

Eripiunt somnum Druso, vitulisque marinis._

The Drover who his Fellow Drover meets

In narrow Passages of winding Streets;

The Waggoners that curse their standing Teams,

Wou'd wake ev'n drowsy _Drusus_ from his Dreams.

_Dryden._

His Intent, as I said, was to recount the Disadvantages of a City Life;

and mentioning, among them, the Obstructions in the Streets, from Chairs

and Coaches, he takes Occasion, by the bye, to reproach the Sloth and

Laziness of _Drusus_. So again, enumerating the Miseries of Old Age, he

adds:

[187]----_Circumsilit, agmine facto,

Morborum omne genus; quorum si nomina quæras

Promptius expediam, quot amaverit Hippia mœchos,

Quot Themison ægros Autumno occiderit uno,

Quot Basilus socios, quot circumscripserit Hirrus

Pupillos,_ &c.

In fine, he wears no Limb about him sound:

With Sores and Sicknesses belleaguer'd round:

Ask me their Names, I sooner cou'd relate

How many Drudges on salt _Hippia_ wait;

What Crouds of Patients the Town Doctor kills,

Or how, last Fall, he rais'd the Weekly Bills;

What Provinces by _Basilus_ were spoil'd,

What Herds of Heirs by Guardians are beguil'd.

_Dryden._

These Excursions are chiefly suitable to _Satire_; and there's no Branch

of it attended with greater Wit and Poignancy.

I have not Room here, to treat of _Comparisons_ in the Manner they

deserve; they being so various, that they would require an entire

Dissertation. When they are ill drawn, nothing is more ridiculous; when

well, nothing more beautiful. No kind of Style is excluded from them,

and they are not only an Ornament, but often an Illustration of the

Subject. They ought always to appear natural, never forced, or far

fetch'd. Avoid, therefore, the Fault of those Writers, who find out what

they call _Similies_ first, and afterwards Matter to apply to them. Not

that they are guilty of it, whose Comparisons don't in every Respect

coincide with what they were brought to illustrate. Even the most

elegant of them agree sometimes with the Description but in one Adjunct.

Thus _Virgil_, in the eighth _Æneis_:

_Dixerat; & niveis hinc atque hinc Diva lacertis

Cunctantem amplexu molli fovet: ille repente

Accepit solitam flammam; notusque medullas

Intravit calor, & labefacta per ossa cucurrit.

Haud secus atque olim tonitru cum rupta corusco

Ignea rima micans percurrit lumine nimbos._

She said; and round him threw her snowy Arms,

And warm'd him, wav'ring, with a soft Embrace:

He soon receives the wonted Flame, which flies

Swift thro' his Marrow, and his melting Bones;

As when in Thunder, lanc'd along the Sky,

A Streak of Fire runs streaming thro' the Clouds.

Upon a nice Scrutiny, the Parallel between Love and Thunder will hold

but very little: And yet no good Judge, I believe, will dispute the

Elegance of the above Comparison.

On this Head our Moderns seem to excel the Ancients, and to have found

out an Use of Comparisons which they were utter Strangers to. Theirs are

merely ornamental; ours often contain the Points of Epigram, the Jibes

of Satire, and the Banters of Comedy; an Art which _Ovid_, _Martial_,

_Juvenal_, _Horace_ and _Terence_ knew very little of. It will not be

allow'd me to produce Instances here; but innumerable I could produce,

if a Mixture of different Languages, and especially of our own, would

not sound disagreeable in these _Latin_ Dissertations[189]. 'Tis true,

Tragic and Epic Poets ought totally to avoid these witty Allusions;

which are below the Severity of their Style, and the Dignity of their

Compositions. The Comparisons that serve for Illustration only, come

within their Province; such as we meet with very frequently in _Homer_

and _Virgil_: Tho' (to say the Truth) even the best Writers among the

Ancients seem on this Head to labour under a Poverty of Matter. In the

Description of a Battle, for Instance, the Similes of a Lion, a Bull,

a Serpent, an Eagle, and other Animals of the fiercer kind, recur too

frequently under some small Variations. But in After-Ages the Increase

of Arts, and Sciences, and of Religion more particularly, open'd a

new Field, which has minister'd abundantly not only to the Emolument

of Mankind in general, but in this, and in all other Respects, to the

Refinement of Wit.

If I must give my Opinion of those _luxurious Comparisons_ that deviate

from the Subject, which _Homer_, chiefly, among the Ancients, and

_Milton_, among the Moderns, run into; I must confess, they neither

deserve Commendation, nor are capable of Defence. But as they have the

Sanction of so great Authority, it is not for me to pass Judgment on

them, but leave every one to follow his own.

If I remember right, there are few or no Similes in the Tragedies of

the ancient Poets. Among the Moderns, no kind of Writing abounds more

with them; and it must be own'd, they are often much to be admir'd:

But very different are some of these; such, in particular, as are

introduced uttered by Persons labouring under the Height of Passion,

or in the Agonies of Death; than which, nothing can be more absurd,

or unpardonable. As I have casually mention'd this Error in Writing,

I would farther observe, your _pretty Thoughts_, as they are commonly

call'd, are neither suitable in a Passion, nor proper to raise one; they

only serve in Descriptions to play upon the Imagination, not to put the

Affections in Motion. A Breast struggling with Anger, Grief, or Desire,

is little sollicitous to express its Anguish in fine wrought Turns of

Wit, which will never be able to move the Reader to any Thing else but

Madness at the Author's Folly. The plainer Commotions of the Mind are

express'd, the better; here the chief Elegance is to want Ornament, and

'tis the great Master-piece of Art to conceal itself in representing

Nature. Some Figures, indeed, are not only allowable in these Cases,

but necessary; those, in particular, which impress upon the Mind the

various Conflicts of the Soul; for such are the Language of Persons who

feel these Tumults, tho' they were never taught to express them by the

Rules of Rhetoric. But Metaphors and Antitheses, and all Decorations

of that kind, must be us'd sparingly, excepting only those Metaphors

which Orators sometimes call forth to express their Rage, with all the

Fire of Eloquence. This I then rather observe, that I might not seem

to contradict _Longinus_; who, speaking of a Multitude of Metaphors,

says[190], they are then most useful, _when the Passions swell like a

Torrent_. He produces an Instance out of _Demosthenes_, where the Orator

indeed appears in Agitation; but still they are different from those we

are now speaking of, and not so much the Effect of Nature, as of Art:

And even here the Metaphors are far from being bold, nor much distorted

from their literal Sense. 'Tis certain, _Longinus_ did not propose

this as a _general_ Rule; nor is it possible to represent those Throws

and Labours of the Soul in Oratory, which appear in Tragic and Epic

Characters; where Joy, Grief, and Anger, glow more intensely, as well

as more naturally. But if the Orator feels the same Emotions, and in

the same Degree, it is certain he must abstain from the abundant use of

Metaphors.

[Sidenote: _Eleventh Lecture._]

Before I conclude this Dissertation, I would lay before my Audience, as

clear an Idea of the different Kinds of Thought which have not yet been

touch'd upon, as Words can convey, and so nice a Subject will admit of.

The _Mordacity_ of the _severe_ and _jocose_ Satire, has been already

describ'd, and some Examples produc'd of each.

There are Thoughts, likewise, of the _delicate_ Kind, whose Excellence

does not consist in their _Acuteness_, but in an artful and agreeable

Turn; which don't strike the Imagination at once with Wonder; but move

it gently, with a more even Tenor. In this soft Strain, _Phædra_ begins

her Epistle to her dear _Hippolytus_:

_Qua, nisi Tu dederis, caritura est ipsa, salutem

Mittit Amazonio Cressa puella viro._

That Health, _Hippolytus_, from me receive,

Which to the Writer you alone must give.

I could easily have excused _Ovid_ making use of so beautiful a

Turn twice, if he had kept it without any Variation. For in his

_Metamorphoses_, _Byblis_ writes to her Brother almost in the same Terms:

_Quam, nisi Tu dederis, non est habitura, salutem,

Hanc tibi mittit amans._

Thy Lover, gentle _Caunus_, wishes thee

That Health, which thou, alone, canst give to me.

_Steph. Harvey_, Esq.

But here, for want of the Word _ipsa_, the Elegance is quite lost,

and the Emphasis spoil'd. In the same Poet, _Helen_, under a Pretence

of dissuading _Paris_ from persevering in his Addresses to her, pays a

Compliment to his Beauty, and shews the just Sense she has of her own;

and, at the same Time, artfully insinuates, that she has no Aversion to

his Love, but rather a secret Passion for him: And expresses all this

with wonderful Address, in one Verse:

_Disce, meo exemplo, formosis posse carere._

From my Example learn,

To bear the Want of what has Pow'r to charm.

Nothing can be more ingenious. This single Line so teems with Thought,

that it would bear, nay require a long Examination, to discover all

its Beauties. At every Word some new Idea arises, which I shall, at

present, leave to the Reflection of others, that I may not anticipate so

great a Pleasure. Under this Head of _delicate Thought_, we may reckon

that celebrated Compliment with which _Horace_ begins his Epistle to

_Augustus_:

_Cum tot sustineas, & tanta negotia solus,

Res Italas armis tuteris, moribus ornes,

Legibus emendes; in publica commoda peccem,

Si longo sermone morer tua tempora, Cæsar._

When you alone sustain the weighty Cares

Of all the World, and manage Peace and Wars:

The _Roman_ State by Virtue's Rules amend,

Adorn with Manners, and with Arms defend;

To write a long Discourse, and waste your Time,

Against the publick Good, wou'd be a Crime.

_Creech._

The Address is as genteel as it is ingenious, and it is hard to say

whether we should admire in it more the Poet, or the Courtier.

_Strong Thoughts_ are such as strike us neither with _Acuteness_, their

_Suddenness_, nor their _Delicacy_; but are full of Sense and Solidity,

carry Weight in their Meaning, and sink deep in the Understanding. As in

that of _Virgil_:

_Disce, Puer, virtutem ex me, verumque laborem,

Fortunam ex aliis._

True Toil and Virtue learn, dear Youth, from me;

Fortune from others.

For it is a great Mistake to think, that Gravity and Severity in

Writing is inconsistent with Wit and Ingenuity. There's Elegance in

moral and philosophical Reflections; and nothing can have more of it

than those Sentences that are scatter'd up and down in the Narrations,

but especially the Speeches, in _Virgil_. In the eleventh _Æneis_, the

confederate _Latin_ Princes deliberate in Council what Steps to take

after their late Defeat; _Turnus_, in a Speech upon that Occasion,

observes, that since they had Forces enough left to continue the War,

they were not reduced to the sad Necessity of suing for Peace. The moral

Reflection he introduces, will be clearer seen, by considering the

Verses before and after it.

_Sin & Trojanis cum multo gloria venit

Sanguine, sunt illis sua funera, parque per omnes

Tempestas; cur indecores in limine primo

Deficimus? cur ante tubam timor occupat artus?

Multa dies, variusque labor mutabilis ævi,

Rettulit in melius; multos alterna revisens

Lusit, & in solido rursus fortuna locavit.

Non erit auxilio nobis Ætolus, & Arpi?

At Messapus erit_, &c.

If Glory to our Foes

Came purchas'd at a vast Expence of Blood:

If they too have their Fun'rals; and thro' all

The Tempest rag'd with equal Fury; why

Faint we inglorious, in the first Attempt,

And shrink with Fear before the Trumpet's Sound?

Oft has Vicissitude of changeful Time

By various Turns to better State restor'd

Distress'd Affairs: Many with pleasing Sport

Fortune, alternately revisiting,

Has mock'd, and on a solid Base repos'd.

Will not _Ætolian Arpi_ give us Aid?

Yet will _Messapus_, &c.

These _echoing Turns_, much affected by the Moderns, tho' little us'd by

the Ancients, have sometimes their Beauty, sometimes not: I can by no

means agree with a certain Writer of ours, who tells us, that there's

only one Example of this Kind in _Virgil_, and instances in that of

_Orpheus_ looking back upon _Eurydice_:

_Cum subito incautum dementia cepit amantem,

Ignoscenda quidem, scirent si ignoscere Manes!_

When suddenly a Frenzy seiz'd

Th' unwary Lover; yet a venial Crime

Cou'd aught be venial, when the _Manes_ judge.

He might with more Justice have produced that famous Sentence in the

second _Æneis_:

_Una salus victis, nullam sperare salutem_.

To vanquish'd Men

The only Safety is to hope for none.

Or those melodious Verses in the eighth Eclogue:

_Sævus amor docuit natorum sanguine matrem

Commaculare manus: crudelis tu quoque mater;

Crudelis mater magis an puer improbus ille?

Improbus ille puer, crudelis tu quoque mater._

Inhuman Love th' unnat'ral Mother taught

To dip her Hands in her own Children's Blood:

Cruel indeed the Mother; was she then

More cruel? or more impious that dire Boy?

You see what a beautiful Effect this Repetition of the Words and

Thoughts has; and how much Melancholy it adds to the Complaint. It is

obvious from hence to observe, that _Virgil_ could have far excell'd

_Ovid_ in these lighter Conceits, if he had not chose to let his Genius

soar to much higher Flights. Under this Head we may add the following

Passage from _Ovid_:

_Si, nisi quæ facie poterit te digna videri,

Nulla futura tua est; nulla futura tua est._

If to no Charms thou wilt thy Heart resign,

But such as merit, such as equal thine;

By none, alas! by none thou canst be mov'd,

_Phaon_ alone by _Phaon_ must be lov'd.

_Pope._

The Elegance of these Lines consists in giving a new Sense to the same

Words; they reverberate, as it were, the Motions of the Mind, and

by that Means affect it with Surprize and Admiration. But there are

many who love to be sporting thus with Words, that are even without

Meaning, and have no Thought in them to be reflected. They are a

sort of _nominal_ Turns, that our Youth are wonderfully studious of,

especially in their Prose Writings, and which conduce not a little to

the Corruption of their Taste.

There are Thoughts, likewise, of near Affinity with these, that consist

in _Contraries_, and are sometimes beautiful, often ridiculous. Of the

beautiful Kind, is that of _Martial_ to _Cæsar_:

_Vox diversa sonat, populorum est vox tamen una;

Cum verus patriæ diceris esse Pater._

While you their Country's Guardian they proclaim,

Their Tongues are diff'rent, but their Voice the same.

_Ovid_ with less Success:

_Non ego poscenti quod sum cito tradita Regi,

Culpa tua est; quamvis hoc quoque culpa tua est._

In the former Instance, there's only a _seeming Contrariety_, which is

built upon solid Truth; the latter approaches too near a Contradiction,

I fear, indeed, it is one. To many of these elegant Fancies (among the

Admirers of which Crowds of our modern Writers are desirous of being

number'd) that Sneer of _Martial_ may with much Justice be applied:

_Pauper videri Cinna vult, & est pauper._

_Cinna_'s as really poor as he wou'd seem.

They are seeming _Contradictions_, and (strange as this new Species of

Wit is) are in Reality what they seem: Or, if they deserve any better

Name, they are an empty Sound of Words, _meer Noise, and Nonsense_.

Tho' the greatest Part of modern Wit turns entirely on this playing

upon Words, I don't mean in Conversation only, (where these Trifles

are hardly, very hardly tolerable) but even in the severest Writings,

yet every Man of common Sense is so convinced of the Absurdity of

prostituting it to the Abuse of Words, that I shall dwell no longer

upon so disagreeable, so contemptible a Subject. I would only observe,

that the Ancients are but little guilty of this Fault: That of

_Terence_[204], _Inceptio est amentium, haud amantium_; and of _Cicero_,

cited by _Juvenal_,

_O fortunatam, natam, me consule, Romam._

Fortune fortun'd the happy Day of _Rome_,

When thou a Consul sole consol'd her Doom.

_Dryden._

and some others, tho' they consist of a Gingle, which I could wish

such excellent Writers had wholly abstain'd from, yet they are not

_equivocal_ Expressions, nor do they contain a double Sense. _Ovid_'s

_Injustaque justa peregit_,

And solemniz'd the Death himself had wrought.

_Addison._

I know not how to find an Excuse for. And it must be own'd, that

_Plautus_ often runs into these Puerilities; for which Reason, it is

probable, he falls under the Censure of _Horace_:

_At proavi nostri Plautinos & numeros &

Laudavere sales; nimium patienter utrumque,

(Ne dicam stulte) mirati._

'Tis true, as I have heard, the former Times

Clapt _Plautus' Jokes_, and his uneven Rhimes.

_Creech._

And it can't be denied but _Terence_, and some of the best Writers, have

some little Touches of this Epidemical Distemper. There are few of these

Conceits but are _merely equivocal_, that is, vary as little in the

Thought, as in the Expression; a sort of Collision, from whence, 'tis

possible, some Sparks of Wit may sometimes, but very rarely, be struck

out. Thus much I thought proper to lay before you, in Relation to the

_Elegance_ of _Thought_ in Poetry, both true and false.

I have little Occasion to enlarge distinctly upon the _Sublime_,

because many Things relating to it fell in with what I have before

advanced. However, as this was one of the Topics I propos'd to treat

of, it is necessary I should say somewhat to it, before I conclude

this Dissertation. I cannot better explain to you the Nature of the

_Sublime_, and the Manner of its affecting us, than by giving you the

Sense of _Longinus_[208] upon it, not in a literal Version, but by

representing the Substance of him in a few Words. Whence is it that

Writers of this Class, in a divine Impetuosity seem regardless of

Accuracy, and scorn to be confin'd within the vulgar Rules of Exactness?

The Truth is, Nature has form'd Man of an inquisitive Genius, and plac'd

him in the World to behold and admire the Wonders of it; not as an idle

Spectator, but as one concern'd in its busiest Scenes, eager for Action,

and panting after Glory. To this End, he is strongly actuated by a Love

and Desire of every Thing that is great and divine. The vast Expanse of

the Universe cannot bound his Imagination; he extends his Thoughts into

other Worlds, and is lost only in Infinity.

----_Vivida vis animi pervincit, & extra

Procedit longe flammantia mœnia mundi._

His vigorous and active Mind is hurl'd

Beyond the seeming Limits of the World.

_Creech._

And, in Truth, if we contemplate a Hero, whose Life is one continu'd

Series of great Actions, we then may make some Estimate of what we

were born to. Hence, then, it is, that Fountains and Rivulets, which

answer all the common Conveniencies of Life, never in a great Degree

awaken our Attention. But when we view the _Rhine_, the _Nile_, the

_Danube_, but, above all, the Ocean, we stand fix'd at once with Awe

and Wonder. So again, without any Emotion, we behold the daily Fires,

of our own making, how long soever they continue burning: But we gaze

with Astonishment at any sudden Light in the Heavens, tho' it vanishes,

perhaps, as soon as it appears. Nor is there any Thing more wonderful in

Nature than the Eruptions of Mount _Ætna_, which sometimes discharges

from its Caverns Stones, and Deluges of Fire:

----_Horrificis juxta tonat Ætna ruinis:

Interdumque atram prorumpit ad æthera nubem,

Turbine fumantem piceo, & candente favilla,

Attollitque globos flammarum, & sidera lambit.

Interdum scopulos, avulsaque viscera montis,

Erigit eructans, liquefactaque saxa sub auras

Cum gemitu glomerat, fundoque exæstuat imo._

But _Ætna_ thunders nigh

In dreadful Ruins. With a Whirlwind's Force

Sometimes it throws to Heav'n a pitchy Cloud,

Redden'd with Cinders, and involv'd in Smoke;

And tosses Balls of Flame, and licks the Stars.

Sometimes with loud Explosion high it hurls

Vast Rocks, and Entrails from the Mountain torn,

With roaring Noise slings molten Stones in Air,

And boils, and bellows, from its lowest Caves.

Upon the whole, we may draw this Conclusion, that Things of common Use

or Necessity, lose all their Wonder, by their Frequency; but whatever

is unusual, and beyond the Course of Nature, strikes our Attention, and

calls forth our Admiration.

I before observ'd, and therefore need not insist upon it farther here,

that the opposite to _Sublime_ is _Bombast_ and _Fustian_. I observ'd

likewise, that the _Sublime_ was not incompatible with the _plain_

Style, tho' chiefly adapted to the _Heroic_, and produc'd Examples of

both; for what I said in Relation to Style, I told you, in the Beginning

of this Dissertation, was _sometimes_ applicable to Thought. I would

now add, that 'tis a great Mistake to think that the _Sublime_ is only,

or chiefly suited to Joy, Triumphs, and pompous Descriptions; for

nothing has more of that Quality than those Ideas that command _Pity_

and _Terror_. I shall produce one, but a very remarkable Instance of

each, taken almost from the same Place. _Turnus_, when his Forces were

defeated, and his own Death approaching, dissuades his Sister _Juturna_

from any farther fruitless Offices of her Love, in this Heroical

Complaint:

[211]----_Sed quis olympo.

Demissam tantos voluit te ferre labores?

An fratris miseri letum ut crudele videres?

Nam quid ago? aut quæ nunc spondet fortuna salutem?

Vidi oculos ante ipse meos me voce vocantem

Murranum, quo non superat mihi charior alter,

Oppetere ingentem, atque ingenti vulnere victum.

Occidit infelix, ne nostrum dedecus Ufens

Aspiceret: Teucri potiuntur corpore, & armis.

Exscindine domos (id rebus defuit unum)

Perpetiar? dextra nec Drancis dicta refellam?

Terga dabo? & Turnum fugientem hæc terra videbit?

Usque adeone mori miserum est? Vos ô mihi, Manes,

Este boni; quoniam Superis aversa voluntas.

Sancta ad vos anima, atque istius inscia culpæ

Descendam, magnorum haud unquam indignus avorum._

But who sent you down

Dispatch'd from Heav'n, and will'd you to endure

Such Labours? Was it that you might behold

Your most unhappy Brother's cruel Death?

For now what Measures can I take? What Hope

Of new Success can any Fortune shew?

Before these Eyes myself _Murranus_ saw

(Than whom to me no dearer Name survives)

Calling on me for Help, I saw him fall

Mighty, and with a mighty Wound subdu'd.

There _Ufens_ fell, unfortunate, nor liv'd

To see our Shame: The _Trojan_ Victors keep

The full Possession of his Corps and Arms.

Shall I endure (that only now remains)

The City to be raz'd? Nor with my Sword

Refel the Taunts of _Drances_? Shall I shew

My Back? And shall this Earth see _Turnus_ fly?

Is Death so terrible? Ye Gods of Hell,

Be kind; since those of Heav'n abhor my Pray'r.

To you a guiltless Ghost I will descend,

Unsully'd with this Stain, nor ever prov'd

Unworthy of my great Forefather's Fame.

It is impossible not to be wrapt into an Extasy, as it were, of Pity and

Wonder, to behold so majestic Sorrow, and such exalted Misery. Nor less

sublime is that Terror, with which the Fury possesses the Breast of the

same unhappy Hero, when she is sent by _Jupiter_ to carry the fatal Omen:

_Postquam acies videt Iliacas, atque agmina Turni,

Alitis in parvæ subito collecta figuram,

Quæ quondam in bustis, aut culminibus desertis,

Nocte sedens, serum canit importuna per umbras;

Hanc versa in faciem Turni se Pestis ad ora

Fertque, refertque sonans, clypeumque everberat alis._

Soon as the _Trojan_ Troops, and _Turnus_' Bands

She sees; she changes, lessen'd, to the Shape

Of a small Bird, which sitting on the Tops

Of Tombs, and old deserted Tow'rs, by Night,

Shrieks thro' the Shades, ill-omen'd: Thus transform'd

The Fiend o'er _Turnus_' Visage, screaming, flies

This Way, and that; and flaps upon his Shield

With flutt'ring Pinions.

I appeal to every Reader, whether at these Lines his Blood does not run

cold within him, whether he does not feel the same dismal Effects that

_Turnus_ did:

_Illi membra novus solvit formidine torpor;

Arrectæque horrore comæ, & vox faucibus hæsit._

Him unusual Fear

Stiff'ning benumbs; uprose his Hair erect,

And to his Mouth his Speech with Horror cleav'd.

When I first engag'd in this new Province, I thought to have treated

largely, and in a set Dissertation, on _poetic Licence_. But I now think

that Design superfluous, having spoke so largely of it, when I treated

of the _Diction_ and _Thought_ of Poetry, and of the _Elegance_ and

_Sublimity_ of each. I then observ'd, that tho' Poets have a Method

of Writing peculiar to themselves, and are allow'd many Liberties in

it, from which other Writers are debarr'd; yet that they are indulg'd

in nothing but what is built upon the Foundation of Truth, and solid

Reason: Agreeably to that of _Horace_,

[214]----_Pictoribus, atque Poetis,

Quidlibet audendi semper fuit æqua potestas.

Scimus, & hanc veniam petimusque damusque vicissim:

Sed non ut placidis cocant immitia, non ut

Serpentes avibus geminentur, tigribus agni._

Painters and Poets have been still allow'd

Their Pencils and their Fancies unconfin'd.

This Privilege we freely give and take:

But Nature, and the common Laws of Sense,

Forbid to reconcile Antipathies,

Or make a Snake engender with a Dove,

And hungry Tygers court the tender Lambs.

_Roscom._

Nothing now remains, but to entreat you Gentlemen, that make up my

Audience, candidly to accept these mean Attempts of mine upon so

_difficult_ a Subject.