PART II.

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Series Two:

_Essays on Poetry_

No. 4

Thomas Purney, _A Full Enquiry into the

True Nature of Pastoral_ (1717)

With an Introduction by

Earl Wasserman

The Augustan Reprint Society

January, 1948

_Price_: $1.00

_GENERAL EDITORS_

RICHARD C. BOYS, _University of Michigan_

EDWARD NILES HOOKER, _University of California, Los Angeles_

H. T. SWEDENBERG, JR., _University of California, Los Angeles_

_ASSISTANT EDITOR_

W. EARL BRITTON, _University of Michigan_

_ADVISORY EDITORS_

EMMETT L. AVERY, _State College of Washington_

BENJAMIN BOYCE, _University of Nebraska_

LOUIS I. BREDVOLD, _University of Michigan_

CLEANTH BROOKS, _Yale University_

JAMES L. CLIFFORD, _Columbia University_

ARTHUR FRIEDMAN, _University of Chicago_

SAMUEL H. MONK, _University of Minnesota_

ERNEST MOSSNER, _University of Texas_

JAMES SUTHERLAND, _Queen Mary College, London_

Lithoprinted from copy supplied by author

by

Edwards Brothers, Inc.

Ann Arbor, Michigan, U.S.A.

1948

INTRODUCTION

In the preface to each of his volumes of pastorals (_Pastorals. After

the simple Manner of Theocritus, 1717_; _Pastorals. viz. The Bashful

Swain: and Beauty and Simplicity, 1717_) Thomas Purney rushed into

critical discussions with the breathlessness of one impatient to reveal

his opinions, and, after touching on a variety of significant topics,

cut himself short with the promise of a future extensive treatise

on pastoral poetry. In 1933 Mr. H.O. White, unable to discover the

treatise, was forced to conclude that it probably had never appeared

(_The Works of Thomas Purney_, ed. H.O. White, Oxford, 1933, p. 111),

although it had been advertised at the conclusion of Purney's second

volume of poetry as shortly to be printed. A copy, probably unique, of

_A Full Enquiry into the True Nature of Pastoral_ (1717) was, however,

recently purchased by the William Andrews Clark Memorial Library of the

University of California, and is here reproduced. Despite the obvious

failure of the essay to influence critical theory, it justifies

attention because it is the most thorough and specific of the remarkably

few studies of the pastoral in an age when many thought it necessary to

imitate Virgil's poetic career, and because it is, in many respects, a

contribution to the more liberal tendencies within neoclassic criticism.

Essentially, the _Full Enquiry_ is a coherent expansion of the random

comments collected in the poet's earlier prefaces.

Purney belongs to the small group of early eighteenth-century

critics who tended to reject the aesthetics based upon authority and

pre-established definitions of the _genres_, and to evolve one logically

from the nature of the human mind and the sources of its enjoyment; in

other words, who turned attention from the objective work of art to the

subjective response. These men, such as Dennis and Addison, were

not searching for an aesthetics of safety, one that would produce

unimpeachable correctness; Purney frequently underscored his preference

for a faulty and irregular work that is alive to a meticulous but dull

one. This is not to be understood as praise of the irregular: the rules

of poetry must be established, but they must be founded rationally on

the ends of poetry, pleasure and profit, and the psychological process

by which they are received, and not solely on the practices and

doctrines of the ancients. Taking his cue from the Hobbesian and Lockian

methodology of Addison's papers of the pleasures of the imagination

without delving into Addison's sensational philosophy, Purney outlined

an extensive critical project to investigate (1) "the Nature and

Constitution of the human Mind, and what Pleasures it is capable

of receiving from Poetry"; (2) the best methods of exciting those

pleasures; (3) the rules whereby these methods may be incorporated into

literary form (_Works_, ed. White, p. 48). It is this pattern of thought

that regulates the _Full Enquiry_. Perhaps more than any other poetic

type, the pastoral of the Restoration and the early eighteenth century

was dominated by classical tradition; the verse composed was largely

imitative of the eclogues of Theocritus and Virgil, especially the

latter, and criticism of the form was deduced from their practices or

from an assumption that the true pastoral of antiquity was the product

of the Golden Age. Of this mode of criticism Rapin and Pope were the

leading exemplars. In opposition, Fontenelle, Tickell (if he was the

author of the _Guardian_ essays on the pastoral), and Purney developed

their theories empirically and hence directed the pastoral away from the

classical tradition. (On these two schools see J.E. Congleton, "Theories

of Pastoral Poetry in England, 1684-1717," _SP_, XLI, 1944, pp.

544-575.) Although Purney adopted a modification of Aristotle's critical

divisions into Fable, Character, Sentiment, and Diction, and took

for granted the doctrine of the distinction of _genres_, he otherwise

rejected traditional formulae and critical tenets, and began with the

premise that man is most delighted by the imaginative perception of the

states of life for which he would willingly exchange his own. These are

"the busy, great, or pompous" (depicted in tragedy and the epic) and

"the retir'd, soft, or easy" (depicted in the pastoral). From this

analysis of "the Nature of the Human Mind," the characteristics of the

true pastoral, such as the avoidance of the hardships and vulgarities

of rural life, follow logically. Similarly, since a minutely drawn

description deprives the reader's fancy of its naturally pleasurable

exercise, pastoral descriptions should only set "the Image in the finest

Light." Rapin, on the other hand, had determined the proper length of

descriptions by examining Virgil and Theocritus. For the association of

the pleasure afforded by the pastoral with the natural human delight

in ease, Purney was indebted to the essays on the pastoral in _The

Guardian_ (see no. 22), from which he borrowed extensively for many of

his principles, and to Fontenelle, who constructed his theory of the

pastoral upon the premise that all men are dominated "par une certaine

paresse." By contrast, although Pope adopted Fontenelle's premise, he

tested its validity by relating it to the accepted definition of the

_genre_.

One of Purney's major purposes in the essay was to dignify the pastoral

by demonstrating that it admits all the components generally reserved

for tragedy and the epic. Most critics had considered the pastoral

a minor form and consequently had narrowed their attention to a few

frequently debated questions, mainly the state of rural life to be

depicted and the level of the style to be adopted. All agreed that the

poem should be brief and simple in its fable, characters, and style.

But it was therefore a poetic exercise, no more significant, Purney

complained, than a madrigal. He was intent upon investing the pastoral

with all the major poetic elements--extended, worthy fable; moral;

fully-drawn characters; and appropriate expression. For in his mind the

poem best incorporates one of the only two true styles, the tender, and

therefore warrants a literary status beneath only tragedy and the epic.

Like his critical method, Purney's decision that the pastoral should

depict contemporary rural life divested of what is vulgar and painful

in it, rather than either the life of the Golden Age or true rustic

existence places him on the side of Addison, Tickell, Ambrose Philips,

and Fontenelle (indeed, his statement is a paraphrase of Fontenelle's),

and in opposition to the school of Rapin, Pope, and Gay, who argued for

a portrait of the Golden Age. Both schools campaigned for a simplicity

removed from realistic rusticity (which they detected in Spenser and

Theocritus) and refinement (as in Virgil's eclogues); but to one group

the term meant the innocence of those remote from academic learning and

social sophistication, and to the other the refined simplicity of an

age when all men--including kings and philosophers--were shepherds. With

reservations, the first group tended to prefer Theocritus and Spenser;

and the second, Virgil. Hence, too, the first group approved of Philips'

efforts to create a fresh and simple pastoral manner. As a poet, Purney

moved sharply away from the classical pastoral by curiously blending an

entirely original subject matter with a sentimentalized realism and a

naive, diffuse expression; and as a critic he pointed in the direction

of Shenstone and Allan Ramsay by emphasizing the tender, admitting

the use of earthy realism in the manner of Gay, and recommending for

pastoral such "inimitably pretty and delightful" tales as _The Two

Children in the Wood_. Had his contemporaries read the treatise,

how they would have been amused to contemplate the serious literary

treatment of chapbook narratives, despite Addison's praise of this

ballad.

In his usual nervous manner, the critic did not confine himself to his

topic, but touched on a number of significant peripheral subjects. He

showed the virtue of concrete and specific imagery at a time when most

poets sought the sanctuary of abstractions and universals; commented

cogently on the styles of Chaucer, Spenser, and Shakespeare; anticipated

the later doctrine of the power of the incomplete and the obscure to

suggest and therefore to compel the imagination to create; adopted and

expanded Addison's distinction between the sublime and the beautiful;

and, borrowing a suggestion that he probably found in Dennis (_Critical

Works_, ed. Edward N. Hooker, Baltimore, 1919, I, 47), developed a

profitable distinction between the sublime image and the sublime thought

by examining their different psychological effects.

But, because they run counter to the accepted opinions of his age, it

is Purney's comments on matters of style that are especially striking,

although it must be remembered that most of them have to do with the

pastoral alone and do not constitute a general theory of poetics.

Perhaps his most original contribution is his attack upon the cautious

contemporary styles of poetry: "strong lines," a term that originally

defined the style of the metaphysical poets, but that now described the

compact and pregnant manner of Dryden's satires, for example, and the

"fine and agreeable," exemplified, let us say, by Pope's _Pastorals_ or

Prior's _vers de société_. To these Purney preferred the bolder though

less popular styles, the sublime and the tender, corresponding to the

two pure artistic manners that Addison had distinguished. How widely

Purney intended to diverge from current poetry can be judged by his

definition of the sublime image as one that puts the mind "upon the

Stretch" as in Lady Macbeth's apostrophe to night; and by his praise of

the simplicity of Desdemona's "Mine eyes do itch." Both passages were

usually ridiculed by Purney's contemporaries as indecorous.

Equally original is Purney's concept of simplicity, which he insisted

should appear in the style and the nature of the characters, not in

denuding the fable and in divesting the poem of the ornaments of poetry,

as Pope had argued in the preface of his _Pastorals_. It was this

concept that also led Purney to his unusual theory of enervated diction.

How unusual it was can be judged by comparing with the then-current

practices and theories of poetic diction his recommendation of

monosyllables, expletives, the archaic language of Chaucer and Spenser,

and current provincialisms--devices that Gay had used for burlesque--as

means of producing the soft and the tender.

But it is hardly true that Purney's "true kinship is with the

romantics," as Mr. White claims, for there is a wide chasm between a

romantic and a daring and extravagant neoclassicist. Rather, Purney's

search for a subjective psychological basis for criticism is one of the

elements out of which the romantic aesthetics was eventually evolved,

and it frequently led him to conclusions that reappear later in the

eighteenth century.

* * * * *

In addition to editing Purney's pastorals, Mr. H.O. White has published

an exhaustive study of "Thomas Purney, a Forgotten Poet and Critic of

the Eighteenth Century" in _Essays and Studies by Members of the English

Association_, XV (1929), 67-97. University of Illinois.

Earl. R. Wasserman

A FULL ENQUIRY INTO THE TRUE NATURE OF PASTORAL.

The PROEME or first Chapter of which contains a SUMMARY of all that the

CRITICKS, ancient or modern, have hitherto deliver'd on that SUBJECT.

After which follows what the Author has farther to advance, in order to

carry the POEM on to its utmost Perfection.

* * * * *

Written by Mr. _PURNEY_.

* * * * *

[Illustration]

* * * * *

_LONDON_

Printed by _H.P._ for JONAS BROWN, at the _Black Swan_ without

_Temple-Bar_. 1717.

PROEME.

_Cubbin_ (ye know the Kentish Swain) was basking in the Sun one

Summer-Morn: His Limbs were stretch'd all soft upon the Sands, and his

Eye on the Lasses feeding in the Shade. The gentle Paplet peep'd at

Colly thro' a Hedge, and this he try'd to put in Rhime, when he saw a

Person of unusual Air come tow'rd him. Yet neither the Novelty of his

Dress, nor the fairness of his Mien could win the Mind of the Swain from

his rural Amusement, till he accosted the thoughtful Shepherd thus.

If you are the _Cubbin_, said he, I enquire for, as by the Peculiarity

of your Countenance, and the Firmness of your Look, you seem, young

Boy, to be; I would hold some Discourse with you. The Pastorals of your

Performance I have seen; and tho' I will not call 'em Perfect, I think

they show a Genius not wholly to be overlookt. My Name, continued he, is

Sophy, nor is it unknown in the World. In this Book (and here he pluckt

it out of his Pocket) I have pen'd some Rules for your future Guidance.

_Cubbin_ was strangely taken with the mild Address and Sweetness of

Sophy. A thousand times he thanked him, as often smil'd upon him, and

spread his Coat for him to set more soft upon the Sands.

Sophy was a true-born _Britton_, and admir'd a forward _Spirit_. The

_French_ he little loved; Their Poets dare not (said he) think without

the Ancients, and their Criticks make use of their Eyes instead of their

Understandings. 'Twas his way to pardon, nay admire a Critick, who

for every fifty Errors would give him but one Remark of Use, or good

Discovery. But always read one Sheet, then burnt those dull insipid

Rogues, who thought that to write a good was to write a faultless Piece.

By which means their whole Work becomes one general Fault.

This Censure, I fear, would fall pretty heavy on the [A]_Criticks_ of

_France_; if this were a proper Place to persue the Argument in. But

Sophy thus resum'd his Talk.

[Footnote A: _In the Preface to the Second Part of our_ Pastorals,

_viz._ THE BASHFUL-SWAIN, _and_ BEAUTY AND SIMPLICITY, _we have shown

to what Perfection the whole Science of_ CRITICISM _was brought by the

Ancients, then what Progress the_ French Criticks _have further made,

and also what remains as yet untouch'd, and uncompleat_.]

In this, said he, I like your Temper, Cubbin. By those few Pieces we

have seen of your's, and those I hear you have in Manuscript, you seem

determin'd to engage in those Kinds of Poetry and those Subjects in

Criticism, which the Ancients have left us most imperfect. Here, if you

fail, you may be still some help to him who shall Attempt it next; and

if all decline it, apprehensive of no fair success, how should it ever

attain Perfection.

Then Cubbin told the _Critick_, that the reason of his entering upon

Pastoral, where the Labour was excessive and the Honour gain'd minute,

was this; He had unhappily reflected on that thing, we call a Name, so

thoroughly, and weigh'd so closely what like Happiness it would afford,

that he could now receive no pleasure from the Thoughts of growing

famous; nor would write one Hour in any little kind of Poetry, which was

not able to take up and possess his Mind with Pleasure, tho' it would

procure him the most glaring Character in Christendom. This Temper was

especially conspicuous while he tarried at the Fountain where he imbibed

the little Knowledge he possesses. He seem'd as out of humour with

Applause, and dafted aside the Wreath if ever any seem'd dispos'd to

offer it.

I' faith, said _Cubbin_, I am nothing careful whether any Pastorals be

cry'd up or not. Were I dispos'd to write for a Name, no whit would I

engage in either the Sublime or Soft in Writing: For as the middle Way,

made up of both, is vastly easiest to attain; so is it pleasant to the

most Imaginations, and acquires the widest Character.

There are originally, answer'd Sophy, no perfect and real Kinds of

Writing but them two. As for the Strong Lines, 'tis supplying the want

of the Sublime with the Courtly and Florid Stile; as what we usually

call the Fine and Agreeable is but bastard and degenerate from the truly

Tender. But yet it must be added that this suits the Populace the best.

Here Cubbin answer'd Sophy, that these were pretty ways of making

Verses, but his mind was of such a peculiar Turn, that it requir'd some

greater Design, and more laborious to occupy it, or else it would not

be sufficiently engag'd to be delighted. Twould not be taken off

from reflecting on what a stupid Dream is Life; and what trifling and

impertinent Creatures all Mankind. Unless, said He, I'm busy'd, and in a

hurry, I can't impose upon my self the Thought that I am a Being of some

little significance in the Creation; I can't help looking forward and

discovering how little better I shall be if I write well, or ill, or not

at all. I would fain perswade my self, continued he, that a _Shakespear_

and a _Milton_ see us now take their Works in hand with Pleasure and

read with Applause.

Tis certain, answer'd Sophy, that the less we know of Nature and our

Selves, the more is Life delightful. If we take all things as we see

'em, Life is a good simple kind of Dream enough, but if we awaken out

of the dull Lethargy, we are so unhappy as to discover, that tis all and

every thing Folly, and Nonsense and Stupidity.--But we walk in a vain

Shadow and disquiet our selves in vain.

Here Cubbin fell with his Face to the Ground, and said, I prethee now no

more of this; your Book you open'd but forgot to give me the Contents.

Sophy recollected him; and told the Swain, That Book contain'd some

Rules for his Direction. But as I have not patience, added he, to make

a Treatise of some hundred Pages, which consists of other Persons Hints,

but flourish'd and dilated on; or the Rules and Observations of the

Anciants set in a different Light; I shall first sum up the whole

Discoverys the _French_ or any other Criticks yet have made in Pastoral;

and where they have left it I shall take the Subject, and try how far

beyond I am able to carry it. For after that, every single Thought

will be the free Sentiment of my own Mind. And I desire all to judge

as freely as I write; and (if, after a strict Examination of the Rules,

they see any Reason) to condemn as peremtorily; for we cannot get out of

an Error too soon.

_RUAEUS_ say's, The Pastoral Sentiments must have a Connection Plain and

Easy. Affirming that tho' Incoherence, may add a neglegence and simple

loosness to Pastoral, yet 'tis not such a Negligence or Simplicity as

Pastoral delight's in.

_DRYDEN_ observe's, that the Dialect proper for Pastoral, must have a

Relish of the Fascion of speaking in the Country.

_FONTENELL_ that most excellent _Frenchman_ takes Notice, that no

Passion is so proper for Pastoral as that of Love. He mean's as to what

we are to describe in our Swains; not mentioning those Passions that

Poem is to raise in the Reader.

_RAPIN_ observe's, The Fable should be One. The Swains not abusive, or

full of Raillery. The Sence should not be extended or long. This Author

has other Observations new, but you may guess of what a Nature, when he

confesses He walk'd but as _Theocritus_ and _Virgil_ lead him. Therefore

he cannot have carried the Poem to any Perfection beyond the Condition

they left it in; and so much any Reader may see from the Authors

themselves, without reading a large Volume to find it out.

Mr. _DRYDEN_, in another place, has an Observation which carrys the

Knowledge of Pastoral still farther. Pastorals, says he, must contain an

agreeable Variety after the manner of a Landscape.

But in the _GUARDIANS_, Vol. I. The Reader may see the Nature of

Pastoral more explain'd and enter'd into, in a few Dissertations, than

by all these Authors have deliver'd on the Subject. As these are Books

in every Bodies Hands, I shall not trouble my self to extract the

Summary of 'em. But he will find the Criticism on Phillips and the other

Observations are extreamly Ingenious.

CHAP. I

_Of the Parts of Pastoral; and of the several Sorts of that Poem_.

PASTORAL, in it's Imitation of the Lives of Shepherds, makes use of

FABLE, CHARACTERS, SENTIMENTS and LANGUAGE; and by these four Parts

conjoyntly obtain's it's End; that is, excites our Pity, or our Joy,

or both. For in FABLE I include the MORAL; in SENTIMENTS both IMAGE and

THOUGHT; and in LANGUAGE I comprehend the HARMONY.

These four Parts of PASTORAL would lead us into an easy and natural

enumeration of the several Kinds or Sorts of that Poem: According as

they have more or fewer of those Parts; and as they do or do not excite

the Pastoral passions. Not that all those Kinds are perfect Pastorals,

or even Poems, but only such as Authors have given us Examples of, from

_THEOCRITUS_ and _VIRGIL_.

But I omit this Division for another more material. A Difference more

fundamental, arises in the PASTORALS written by different AUTHORS,

according to the Age which the Poet chuses to describe, or the different

Descriptions which he gives us of the COUNTRY. For he may draw it as

'tis suppos'd to have been in the Golden Age; or be may describe his

own COUNTRY, but touching only what is agreable in it; or lastly,

may depaint the Life of Swains exactly as it is, their Fatigues and

Pleasures being equally blended together. And this, last Kind most

Writers have given into; for _Theocritus's_ rude unmanner'd Muse (as

many Criticks have stiled it, not much amiss) naturally led him

into this Method; and then, tis easy to conceive why the latter

Pastoral-Writers chose the same.

But as the second Method is plainly more delightful than the last, as

it collect's the most beautiful Images and sweetest Thoughts the Country

afford's; so I shall show that 'tis preferable on many other Accounts;

and even finer for Pastoral than the Golden Age. But this when I speak

of the Characters.

I would only settle now in short the most compleat Kind of Pastoral; And

such, I think, is that which most beautifully draw's the present Life of

Shepherds, and raises Pity or Joy, by the four Parts of Pastoral,

Fable, Characters, Sentiments, and Language. And since 'tis these which

constitute a perfect Pastoral, I shall crave leave to speak separately

of 'em all. And first of the Fable.

CHAP. II.

_Of the Fable; and the means of making a perfect One_.

A Fable proper for Pastoral, and best adapted to delight, must have

these following Qualities to render It compleat.

_First_, It must be one entire _Action_, having a Beginning, a Middle,

and an End.

_Secondly_, A perfect _Fable_ must have a due _Length_. And not consist

of only a mournful Speech which a Shepherd find's occasion to make; or

the like.

_Thirdly_, And since all Poetry is an Imitation of the most

Considerable, or the most Delightful Actions in the Person's Life we

undertake; not any trifling Action can be sufficient to constitute the

_Fable_.

_Fourthly_, Another Quality which a Pastoral Fable should have to be the

most compleat is a _Moral Result_.

I shall speak to all these Heads, except the first, concerning the

_Unity_; for without that Quality, it's self-evident that 'tis no Fable.

By _Unity_ I mean the same with Aristotle.[A]

[Footnote A: _See his 6th Chapter_.]

SECT. 1.

_What Length a perfect Pastoral should have_.

All _Pastoral-Writers_ have used the same _Length_ which _Theocritus_

at first happen'd into. I shall be therefore obliged, I doubt, to dwell

longer, on this Head, than the Importance of it may seem to require; and

must premise, that tho' a _Fable_ would need, finely carry'd on, to

be three or four Hundred Lines, yet let no Writer be under any Concern

about this: If a _Fable_ have Unity, shews a delightful story, paints

proper Characters, and contains a Moral, I shall not doubt to call the

Poem a perfect and compleat _Pastoral_, tho' the Length exceeds not

fifty Lines. But my Reasons for extending it are these:

Some Author I have seen, ingeniously observes, that even in telling

common Stories, 'twere best to give some short Account of the Persons

first, to be heard with Delight and Attention; For, says he, 'tis not so

much this being said, but its being said on such a particular Occasion,

or by such a particular Person. As this is true in a common Story, so

'tis more so in a Poem. The strongest Pleasure that the Mind receives

from Poetry, flows from its being engaged and concerned in the Progress

and Event of the Story. We naturally side in Parties, and interest our

selves in their Affairs of one side or the other. Then 'tis, our Care

pursues our Favourite Character, where're he goes. We anticipate all his

Successes, and make his Misfortunes our own. Were the Catastrophe in a

Tragedy to appear in the first Act, but little should we be moved by it,

not having as yet imbibed a favourable Opinion of the Hero, nor learn'd

to be in Pain as often as he is in Danger.

Now, we may read, I fear, some Number of the _Pastorals_ of the ordinary

Length, before we shall meet with this Pleasure. The Truth is, we are

commonly past a hundred Lines, the length of these Pieces, before the

Mind and Attention is entirely fix'd, and has lost all its former and

external Thoughts. All the Pleasure therefore which proceeds from the

Story is lost in these short Pieces.

'Tis true Indeed, I think it possible for a Novel, or perhaps a Poem,

to contain a Story in a hundred Lines which shall be able to engage the

Mind so as to delight it from the _fable_ it self, stript of all its

Ornaments. But how few in a hundred Ages have had Genius's capable of

this. And if 'tis difficult in a Novel or Poem, which may couch the

Circumstances close together, how much more Difficult must it be in

_Pastoral_. In the former Pieces nothing is to be observed but the Story

itself, in the latter a thousand Beauties are to be adjoyn'd and as many

Rules observ'd.

SECT 2.

_The proper Length of Pastoral further collected from the Consideration

of the_ Characters.

Another Pleasure which the brevity of these Pieces robs us of, is this.

The Characters cannot finely and distinctly be depainted in so short a

Compass. And 'tis observable, we are concern'd for the Personages in

no Poetry so much as those of Pastoral. Simplicity and Innocence have

Charms for every Mind, and we pity most, where most our Pity's wanted.

So that the two noblest Beauties, and which constitute the main

Difference between Poetry and Versification, between a perfect Poem and

a Madrigal, Epigram or Elegy, are entirely lost in those Pieces, and

the only Pleasure they can raise, must proceed alone from Sentiment and

Diction.

SECT 3.

_The Length of Pastoral, yet further shown from the Passions it raises_.

In every rational and consistent Piece, the Writer has some Aim in View;

as, to work every thing up to one End and a Moral Result; or to excite

some Passion, or the like. Otherwise it is but an Assay of Wit, a Flirt

of the Imagination, and no more. Too trifling to detain the rational

Mind. Now, that these short Pieces are not capable of having a Moral,

or raising any Passion, I need trouble my self for no other Proof than

there never having been such one produced.

But give me leave to instance in the usual Method of forming a Pastoral.

One Shepherd meets another; tells him some body is dead; upon which,

they begin the mournful Dialogue, or Elegy. But in such an Elegy, there

is but one thing can raise a fine Pleasure; which can be the only solid

Reason for the Writers performing such a Work; and that is the raising

Pity, without which no End is obtain'd by such a Dialogue. And 'tis only

a School-Boy tryal of Wit; like a single Description. Unless the Poet

think's it enough that the Scene is laid in the Country, and the very

Talk of Shepherds is enough to support a Piece. And the truth is, of

a Nature so exceeding pleasant is Pastoral, that a Piece which has but

Fields and Hedges repeated pretty often in it, is at least tolerable;

whereas in any other Poetry, we see every day far better Poems cast out

of the World as soon as they enter into it. But another reason of their

Success proceeds from the little Knowledge most People have of

Pastoral; all Poets having gone in exactly the same Track, without one

endeavouring to raise the Poem to any greater Perfection than they

found it in; whereas Epick Poetry, Tragedy, and Comedy, arriv'd by slow

degrees to the Perfection they now bear; and this Writer still went

beyond the last of an equal Genius.

But I was going to give an Instance how incapable these Pieces are of

raising the Passions. A mournful Dialogue, or Elegy is formed upon the

Death of some Person. But if this Elegy raises not our Pity, 'tis a

Trifle, and only a childish Copy of Verses. But in order to raise that

most delightful Passion, should not the Reader be first prepossess'd in

favour of the Party dead? Can I pity a Person because deceas'd, without

knowing any thing of his while alive?

'Tis the same in that other well-known way of drawing up a Pastoral.

I mean, where two Shepherds sing alternately. _Theocritus_ haply light

upon this, and every Pastoral Writer since his time, (that I have

seen) has been so unfortunate as to happen exactly upon the same. And

I believe it has as often been indifferent to the Readers which of the

Shepherds overcame. Our Joy in this Case is equal to our Grief in the

other.

SECT. 4.

_From the length by Nature prescribed to all Pieces, Epick, Tragick, &c.

is shown, That Pastoral will, at least, admit of the Length of three or

four hundred Lines_.

Thus far of the Necessity of extending a Pastoral to the Length of

three or four hundred Lines, if we would not deprive our selves of the

Opportunities of being as delightful as Poetry will permit. But if any

Commentator, who think's himself oblig'd to defend _Theocritus_ and

_Virgil_ in every particular, should not only not allow this Length to

be preferable, but even condemn it as faulty, it would oblige us to come

more close to the Point, and to take the Question from the bottom. What

is the Length by Nature fix'd for all Pieces? And why mayn't an Epick

be as short as a Tragick Poem? Methink's a Poet should not be content

to take these things on Trust, and tye himself down to Brevity or Length

only because _Theocritus_ wrote short and _Homer_ long Pieces.

I have not Leisure to enter fully into this Question, but would

recommend it to some Person who has, as a Subject that would prove as

Entertaining to the Reader as the Writer. However, I shall speak just

what I have at present in my Mind upon it.

Without considering Tragedy as drawn into Representation, it is plain it

would not endure the Length of Epick Poetry, without being wearious in

the Reading, for these Reasons among others: It's Nature is more heated

and violent than the Epick Poem, and consists of only Dialogue; whereas

the former has the Variety of Dialogue and Narration both. Besides, the

under-actions which work up to the main Action in Heroick Poetry, are

each as great and as different from each other, as the main Actions of

different Tragedies.

Nor would Pastoral bear the Length of even Tragedy. For it admits not

both those two kinds of Writing, the Sublime and the Beautiful, which

are the most different of any in Nature, having only the last. But these

two give so sweet a variety to the same Piece, when they are artfully

blended together, that a good Tragedy or Epick Poem can never tire. Soon

as we begin to be sated and cloy'd with Passion and Sublime Images, the

Poet changes the Scene; all is, on a sudden soft and beautiful, and we

seem in another World.

Yet is Pastoral by no means ty'd down by nature to the Length used by

_Theocritus_ and all his Followers. 'Tis only Example has introduc'd

that Method. For, 'tis a Poem capable of raising two Passions, and those

tho' all consistent with one another, yet what raise Pleasures, the most

widely different of any, in the Mind. When we have tir'd the Reader with

a mournful and pitious Scene, we may relieve and divert his Mind with

agreeable and joyous Images. And these the Poet may diversify and vary

as often as he pleases. And so different are the Passions of Pity and

Joy, that he may all thro' the Poem please in an equal Degree, yet all

thro' the Poem in a different Manner.

Besides, this Poem changes the general Scene, which is more than even

Tragedy does. A Poet who has form'd a perfect Notion of the Beautiful,

and furnished his Mind with a sufficient number of delightful Images,

before he set's down to write a Pastoral, will lead the Reader thro' so

sweet a Variety of amusing scenes, and show so many beautiful Pictures

to his Imagination, that he will never think the tenth Part of a

Tragedy's Length too much for a Pastoral.

'Tis true indeed that they who make a Pastoral no more considerable

than a Song or Ballad (as _Theocritus_, _Virgil_, &c.) without Passions,

Characters, a delightful Fable, or any Moral, do well to make it of no

greater Extent than a Song or Ballad. Where there is nought to delight

but the Sentiments, (for they aim at neither the soft nor the sublime

Language) a Reader cannot attend to more than a hundred Lines; but where

the Mind is engag'd and concern'd for the Issue of the Story, and eager

to know the Event, 'tis insensibly drawn on, and haveing some Aim in

View, is much less weary'd, tho' led on to a greater Extent.

CHAP. III.

_That the Pastoral Action must not be very little and minute; also that

several Under-actions must run thro' the Poem_.

A Third Quality, laid down as necessary to constitute a Fable wholly

perfect, was this, That as there must be but one Action, that Action

may not be any trifling, silly Circumstance of a Shepherd's Life. As

one Swain's telling the other how poor and bare he is grown. Or one

complaining to the other, that his Flock has had some Mischance, or the

like; which is as much as can be gather'd out of the Pastorals form'd

after the ordinary Way. For if you take the Actions of any of 'em,

divested of the Ornaments of Poetry, and the constant Repetition of the

pleasing Words, Grove, Breeze, Mead, &c. you will find nothing, even

nothing at all in any of 'em.

So that, tho' these Pastorals mostly may have Actions, nay, and Unity

of Action; yet are they Actions no more proper for a Poem, than a

Proposition of Euclid, turn'd into Verse, would be. There is nothing,

(not even the telling how the Sow and Pigs swallow'd their Wash, and

fought the while,) but might be call'd one Action, with a Beginning,

Middle and End. So that 'tis nothing to have unity of Fable, if the

Fable be not proper.

Shepherds are indeed suppos'd to be happy, and devoid of Stir, and

Noise, and Bustle; but does it follow, that there are no Actions or

Incidents in a Shepherd's Life? If there are delightful Actions, 'tis

plain we don't run counter to a Shepherd's Life in drawing 'em into

Poetry; and Poetry imitates the Actions of Men. Which show's that these

ordinary Pastorals are no more Poetry, than Lucretius is, or than any

other Philosopher, if turn'd into Verse, would be. Sure I think, as we

allow an Epick Writer to take his Hero in that Part or Character of his

Life, where he will make the best Figure in Poetry, so we should allow a

Pastoral-Writer the same Opportunity of pleasing.

'Tis necessary also that several lesser Actions work up to the main One;

that the whole Piece may be fill'd with Circumstances. 'Tis the very

Soul of Poetry to imitate Actions; to lead the Mind thro' a Variety of

Scenes; and to present a Number of Pictures before it.

'Tis plain a Shepherd's Life has as many Incidents, as other Person's;

only one Kind are in low Life, the other not. The Simplicity of Pastoral

is nothing touch'd by this, if these Incidents are Pastoral: For the

difference between Epick or Tragick Poetry, and Pastoral, must not

proceed from the One haveing many, the other no Under-Actions, but

rather from the different Actions, which a Hero and a Swain are engag'd

in. A Shepherd's leading his Lass to a Shade, and there sticking her

Bosom with Flowers, is the same in Pastoral, as an Hero's hurling a

Javelin, is in Epick Poetry. And a variety of Circumstances and Actions

is equally necessary in both Pieces. Or perhaps in Pastoral most; since

the Coolness and Sedateness of Pastoral is very apt to sate and tire

the Reader, if he dwell's long on one Action; and we can bear a longer

Description of a Battle than of two Shepherd's sitting together; because

the first fill's and actuate's the Mind the most; and where it is so

much employ'd, it cannot so easily flag and grow dull.

SECT. 2.

_Whether the Pastoral Fable should be simple or complex; and how it must

differ from the Epick Fable_.

The Implex Fables are to me, in all Poetry, the finest. And even

Pastoral may receive an additional Beauty from a Change of Fortune in

the chief Character, if manag'd with Discretion. 'Tis not easy to give

direct Proofs for things of this Nature. But what little I have to offer

for Pastoral's requiring an Implex Fable, is as follows.

Pastoral, like all Poetry, should aim at Pleasure and Profit. Pleasure

is best produc'd, if the Poem raises Pity, or Joy, or both; and Profit

by its having a Moral. Now the Implex Fable attain's it's End the

easiest. For we pity Misfortunes no where so much as in one we saw but

lately happy: Nor do we joy to see a Man flourish; but to see him rise

from Ills to a flourishing Condition, rejoyces the Mind. And as for

the other End of Poetry, which is Profit, every one may see that Implex

Fables are greatly best for producing a Moral.

But great Care must be taken in this Way. Whereas the Catastrophe in

Epick Poetry, is work'd up by violent Means, as Machines, and the like;

In Pastoral it must be produced so easy and natural, as to seem to

proceed from it self.

Nor must the Change of Fortune be produced by any sudden Contrast, as

in most Tragedies it is; since Surprize (unless very weak) is a Fault in

Pastoral, tho' a Beauty in other Poetry.

'Tis also evident that the Ills which a Shepherd falls into, from some

slight, and almost inevitable Slip (from which the Moral is form'd) must

be infinitely less than those which embarrass a Hero; because Ills must

be proportion'd to the Fault; and 'tis plain, the Faults of a Swain are

suppos'd to be very minute.

A hundred Observations, like this last, might be made, too

inconsiderable to enumerate; but the Poet, when he form's his Fable,

cannot avoid observing 'em. Otherwise, 'tis best he keep to the Simple

Fable; which, tho' a better may, by Industry, be form'd, is far enough

from being faulty.

SECT. 3.

_What Circumstances or Actions of a Shepherd's Life are properest for

the Poet to go upon_.

We cannot be pleas'd with the Description of any State, or Life, which

at that time we would not willingly exchange our present State for.

Nor is it possible to be pleas'd with any thing that is very low and

beggarly. Therefore, methinks, I would raise my Shepherd's Life to a

Life of Pleasure; contrary to the usual Method. For when a Citizen or

Person in Business divert's himself in the Country, 'tis not from seeing

the Swains employ'd or at Labour; he visits the Country for the easy

and agreeable Retiredness of it; and I believe the Pleasure of seeing

a Shepherd folding his Sheep, proceeds from the Prospect of Evening, of

the Woods and Fields, and from the Innocence we conceive in the Sheep,

and the like; not from the Action of the Shepherd folding them. So of

Reapers, we conceive 'em filling the following Year with Plenty; We

have, while we see 'em, the Thought of Fulness, and the time when every

thing is brought to Perfection; and these, and the like Thoughts, rather

raise the Delight of seeing those particular Labours, than the Actions

themselves. For we see, that if we behold Sheep, or the like, in a City,

tho' Countrymen are ordering them, we have no such Delight; because

there the Silence of Evening, the Prospect of Fields, &c. are not added.

I would therefore omit the Labour of Shepherds, if I could invent a Life

more agreeable; but the latter must be form'd from a Man's Imagination,

the former from Observation; and _Virgil_ could draw that almost as well

as _Theocritus_. I wonder the Writers of Pastoral should be so fond

of showing their Shepherds Beating Their Ronts, or Scolding With each

other, or the like; when they might describe 'em sleeping upon Violets;

plaiting rosy Chaplets by a lovely Rivulet; getting _Strawberries_ for a

Lass, &c.

'Tis observable, that no Tragedy can be well constituted without a

mixture of Love; and even _Shakespear_, (who seem's to have had so

little of the Soft or Tender in his Genius) was obliged to have some

recourse to that Passion, in forming his most regular Tragedy; I mean

Othello. Not that an Hero should be soften'd, much less drawn in his

most degenerate Hours, when he is in Love. For, methinks, the French

seem a little too fond of introduceing Love, when they draw their

greatest Hero's as amorous Love-Sops, and omit all that is truly Great

in their Characters.

Now if Love, with Reason manag'd, appear so well in Tragedy, it must

sure be extreamly proper for Pastoral. In the first we are to be rais'd

and heated; in the latter sooth'd and soften'd: The one has to do with

Personages, all gentle and tender; the Subject of the other is Fury and

Bravery. I would therefore have, methinks, a Sprinkling of Love thro'

all my Pastorals; and 'twill give the Writer an Opportunity of showing

the Tenderness, and the Simplicity of his Characters in the finest

Manner: Yet must it be so diversify'd and broken, by other Incidents

interfering, as not to cloy and nauseate the Reader, with the Repetition

of nothing but Love and Love.

The vulgar Notion is, that Wrestling, and such like Incidents are

properest for Pastoral; but if a Writer introduces such, he'll find 'em

so few, that 'twill be necessary to touch upon Love besides.

But methinks, I would not show my _CHARACTERS_ in so low and clownish

a degree of Life; For if I draw 'em so rough, and Porter-like, in one

place, I cannot give 'em Tenderness and Simplicity in another; without

breaking in upon the Manners.

So that if I was compell'd to put this Circumstance of Wrestling into

a Pastoral, I would have recourse, even there, to Love, to render it

Pleasurable to the Mind; as thus: A tender-hearted Lass should be plac'd

Spectator of her Wrestling Lover: By this means the Poet might make it

shine in Poetry; if he described her Behaviour, her soft Concern and

joyous Smiles, occasioned by every little Failure, and every Prospect of

Success.

But this is a Subject of so great Extent, that I have not time to

go thro' with it. Take therefore this general Rule for all. Those

Circumstances or Actions in the Fable, which show barely the

Delightfulness of the Country, are good. Those which give us a Sight

of also the Sprightliness and Vigour of it, are better; and those which

comprehend further, the Simplicity and the Tenderness of the young

Lasses, are best. And from hence a Writer or Reader will be able to make

a Judgment of any Circumstance that may occur.

SECT. 4.

_That this Variety of Actions does by no means impair the Simplicity of

Pastoral_.

There is nothing in Pastoral, of which Persons have a wronger Notion

than of the word Simplicity. Because the Poem should be simple, they

strip it of all Beauty and Delightfulness; that is, they lay the

Simplicity where it should not so much be (in the Fable) and deprive

it of all Simplicity, where 'twould be beautiful (in the Sentiments and

Diction.)

If all the Incidents or Actions, that are truly simple and delightful,

thro' the whole Number of _Theocritus_'s Idylls, were collected into

one Pastoral, so as to follow naturally each other, and work up to one

general End, I think that Pastoral would be more truly simple than any

we have at present. 'Tis true, a Poet may thrust into Pastoral as great

a multitude of Actions, and as surprizingly brought about, as we find

in Tragedy, but there is no necessity, because he must use a Number

sufficient to please, that therefore he must fall into that fault. Yet

for mine own part, I had rather see too much, than too little Action, as

I cannot help preferring a faulty Writer before a dull One.

But a Poet of Genius will diversify and adorn his Fable, as much as he

lawfully may; and as for the Simple, he will draw such soft and tender

Characters, as will furnish his Poem with enough of that, and of the

most delightful Kind. The generality of Pastoral Writers seem to

think they must make their Pieces simple, by divesting them of all the

Ornaments of Poetry; and the less and more inconsiderable Sketches they

are, the more Simple they are. A strange Conception sure of Simplicity.

While their Sentiments are false almost in every Line; either in their

own Nature; or with respect to Pastoral; or to the Person speaking; or

some other foreign Cause. But I shall always wave the being particular

in such Cases as these. To point at Faults directly, I think the

Business of a Carper, not a Critick.

CHAP. IV.

_Of the Moral; and what kind of Moral Pastoral require's_.

The fourth Quality that a Fable ask's, to render it compleat, is a

Moral Result. I need not trouble you with a Proof of a Moral's being

necessary; 'tis plain that every Poem should be made as perfect as 'tis

capable of being, and no one will ever affirm a Moral to be unnatural in

Pastoral. But if any one should demand a Proof, 'tis thus: Poetry aim's

at two Ends, Pleasure and Profit; but Pastoral will not admit of direct

Instructions; therefore it must contain a Moral, or lose one End, which

is Profit. We might as easy show that the other End of Poetry, _viz_.

Pleasure, is also impair'd, if the Moral be neglected; but the thing is

plain.

To hasten therefore to enquire what kind of Moral is proper for

Pastoral, we must look back into the Reasons prescribed by Nature for

the Morals in all Sorts of Poetry.

Epick Poetry and Tragedy are conversant about Hero's, Kings, and

Princes, therefore the Morals there, should be directed to Persons

engaged in Affairs of State, and at the Helm, and be of such a Nature

as these; _A Crown will not render a Person Happy, if he does not pursue

his Duty towards God and Man; the best Method of Securing a Government,

is to occasion Unity in it_, and the like.

Again, Comedy's Subject is to expose the Ill Habits in low Life. It's

moral therefore should contain Instructions to the middle Sort of

People: As, _What Ills attend on Covetousness_. Or, _On a Parent's being

too Severe_, or the like.

* * * * *

But so easy and gentle a kind of Poetry is Pastoral, that 'tis not very

pleasant to the busy Part of the World. Men in the midst of Ambition,

delight to be rais'd and heated by their Images and Sentiments. Pastoral

therefore addresses it self to the Young, the Tender, and particularly

those of the _SOFT-SEX_. The Characters also in Pastoral are of the

same Nature; _An Innocent Swain_; or _Tender-Hearted Lass_. From such

Characters therefore we must draw our Morals, and to such Persons must

we direct them; and they should particularly aim at regulating the Lives

of Virgins and all young Persons.

* * * * *

What Nature I would have a Moral of, cannot so well be explain'd as by

Examples; but I do not remember at present any such Pastoral. You are

not widely deficient, Cubbin, I think, in this particular. Your first

show's us, that the best Preservative a young Lass can have against Love

and our deluding Sex, is, to be wholly unacquainted therewith. Little

Paplet is eager of Listning to Soflin's Account of Men and Love; but

that first set's her _Heart_ on the Flutter; then she is taken with

Soflin's _SWEET-HEART_; tho' all the while she is ignorant of the Cause

of her Uneasiness.

The Moral to your second Pastoral, which contain's Instructions to

_COQUETTS_, warning them not to take pleasure in giving Pain, is, I

think, not worst than this.

But the Moral to your Third (call'd the Bashful Swain), methinks, is not

so good. It is also directed to the _COQUETTS_; and instruct's 'em not

to give a Lover any Hopes, whom they do not intend to make happy. If the

young Lass there, had jilted Cuddlett, she had mist of her good Fortune;

and her Unwillingness to encrease the Number of her Admirers, is the

Cause of her Happiness. But, I know not how, this like's me not so well

as the other Three; or, perhaps it is not produced so naturally by the

Fable, and that may prevent it's pleasing.

SECT. 2.

_How to form the most regular kind of Moral_.

If a Writer's only Aim was the preserving Poetical Justice in his Moral,

he would have nothing to do but to show a Person defective in some

slight Particular, and from thence Unhappy; but as a Poet always reaches

at Perfection, these following Rules are to be observ'd.

The Inadvertency or Fault which the Character commit's, must be such a

Fault as is the natural or probable Consequence of his Temper. And his

Misfortune such an one as is the natural or probable Consequence of his

Fault. As in Othello: (For how can I instance in Pastoral.) I rather

suppose the Moor's Fault, to be a too rash and ungrounded Jealousy; than

that Fault, common to almost all our Tragedies, of marrying without the

Parent's Consent. A rash _Jealousy_ then, is the natural consequence of

an open and impetuous Temper; and the Murder of his Wife is a probable

Consequence of such a Jealousy, in such a Temper. So that the Hero's

Temper naturally produces his Fault, and his Fault his Misfortunes.

If you allow that the fault should be the natural or probable

Consequence of the Temper; let me ask you then, if those Tragedies or

Pastorals can be so perfect, where the original natural Temper of the

Hero or Heroine is not drawn into the Piece. I mean, where all that

we see of the Mind of the Chief Character, is his Mind or Temper, as

alter'd entirely, by some foreign or accidental Means. As, Who will tell

me what Hamlet's natural Temper was? Throughout that admirable Tragedy,

we see not his bare Temper once; but before he appear's, he's in wild

Distraction, which proceed's from former Accidents. This Method Mr.

_Row_ too has taken, especially in that ingenious Tragedy, call'd _JANE

SHORE_. We do not see any thing of her Temper but Grief and Sorrow; but

Grief cannot be natural to any Person's Mind, but must be accidental.

However, I think, this Method may be, at least, very good; whether 'tis

the best, I leave others to determine.

But as to the Fault, whether 'tis in the Action, or out of it, is of no

moment to the Perfectness of a Pastoral. Tho' I must needs say, I am for

what Aristotle call's the Peripatie, or change of Fortune in Pastoral;

but I think the Action that produces the Change may be either in the

Poem, or have happen'd some time before, but so that it's Influence does

not reach the Persons till they have been a while engaged in the Actions

of the Tragedy or Pastoral.

SECT. _Last_.

Here Sophy closed his Book; for the Heat of the Day came on, and an

House or an Arbour began to be more agreeable than the open Fields.

Sophy told the Swain he would meet him there agen in the Evening, and

read him some more of the Minutes he had put down for his Direction, and

withdrew; and the Shepherd drove his Lambs to the Covert of the Shades.

Accordingly, as the day began to decline, the Critick again appear'd;

and opening his Book, pursued the Argument he had made some Progress in.

_The End of the first Part_.

PART II.

CHAP. I.

_Of the Pastoral CHARACTERS or MANNERS, in general_.

I should but tire the Reader, if I endeavour'd to prove that Pastoral

does require the Manners, or Characters to be preserved. If our Method

of ordering Pastoral be admitted, the Necessity thereof will be easily

perceived. But If any one prefer's the ordinary Method, I must tell him,

that 'tis not proper to draw Characters in a Piece of an hundred Lines.

It is to be observ'd, that tho' a Fable and Moral are essential to every

Poem; yet a Poem may subsist without the Manners. In Epick Poetry the

Machinery, the sublime Descriptions, &c. are such strong and Poetical

Ornaments, that a very fine Piece of the Heroick kind, might be form'd

without the Ornament of Characters. But Pastoral is in it self, (if I

may so speak) less Poetical; and therefore more want's the additional

Ornaments of Art. 'Tis naturally low and mean, and therefore should be

as much rais'd as possible. Whereas Epick-Poetry is of a Nature so

warm and heated, that it's own proper Strength and Violence is able to

support it. If this could want a Proof, I might say in short, That

we can bear with Epick-Poetry, even without any kind of Verse, and

_Cambray_ has succeeded in such; but every one will judge that should

a Pastoral appear in Prose, nay even without the Feminine Ornament of

Jangle, 'twould not be born with; which show's that Epick Poetry can

support it self with fewer foreign Assistances than Pastoral.

Another Observation I shall make, relating to the Manners or Characters

in general, is this; and 'tis equally applicable to Epick Poetry,

Tragedy, and Pastoral: There are three different ways of drawing

Characters; which in Tragedy form the Poem, as 'twere, of three

different Kinds or Natures.

The first, and finest is, where the Natural Temper of the Hero's Mind is

drawn in the former Part of the Poem, but after the Peripatie alter's.

As Timon of Athens is drawn at first all free and well-natur'd to

a Fault; but after his change of Fortune, is described as a quite

different Man; morose, and in hatred with himself and all the World. And

so in other Tragedies.

The second Sort is, where the Temper of Mind is the same in the former

and latter Part of the Play; but all along forced from it's Natural

Bent. Every where inclin'd and leaning to a different Temper; yet is

no where wholly carry'd off, or alter'd, as in _Venice-Preserv'd_;

_Jaffeir's_ Temper is generous, faithful, and tender, but thro' Want and

Enticement being drawn into a Conspiracy, this Temper is half effac'd

in him: But the Strugglings which the Poet has so fine an Opportunity

of describing, between his present Actions and his natural Temper, are

carry'd thro' the whole Piece; and he condemn's himself the same for

ungenerously betraying his Friend at the End, as for entring into the

Conspiracy against his Country, at the beginning of the Play.

The last kind of Character is, where the Natural Temper of the Mind is

neither drawn in the latter Part of the Poem; nor retain'd thro' the

whole, but clouded and broken; but instead thereof some casual and

accidental Humour, which from some Misfortune, or the like, has quite

changed the Natural Temper before the Person appear's on the Stage, or

in the Poem. As in the Distress'd-Mother, the Character that give's name

to the Tragedy, is all along in Tears and Grief for _Hector_; and what

her Temper was before his Death, does not appear, that is, what her

Natural Temper was.

I need not detain you to apply what I have here observ'd to Pastoral in

particular; 'tis enough to affirm, that the Method which appears most

beautiful in Tragedy, will be equally finest in Pastoral Poetry.

CHAP. II.

_What Condition of Life our Shepherds should be supposed in. And whether

the_ Golden-Age, _or the present state of the Country should be drawn_.

There are three different Methods, (as we hinted in the first Chap. of

the first Book) of describing the Country. For it may be drawn, as 'tis

suppos'd to have been in the Golden-Age; or, as 'tis now, but only the

pleasant and delightful Images extracted, and touch'd upon; or,

lastly, we may draw the Country in it's true and genuine Colours, the

Deformities as well as the Beauties having admittance into our Poem.

This last sort run's upon the Labours and fatigues of the Rusticks; and

gives us direct Clowns and Country-Folk. We alway see 'em sweating with

a Sicle in their Hands; beating their Cows from the Corn; or else at

Scolding. Yet doubtless a kind of Pastorals of this Nature might be made

extreamly delightful, if the Writer would dare to write himself, and not

be lead so much by _Theocritus_ and _Virgil_.

But a Method preferable to this, I think, is a Description of the

Golden-Age; and there is very little difference between this, and that

which we hold the best. It draw's the Swains, all Innocent and tender.

Show's us Shepherds, who are so, not for their Poverty, but their

Pleasure; or the Custom of those unrefin'd Ages, when the Sons and

Daughters of Kings were of that Employ, as we read in the Scripture of

the Ladies of greatest Quality, drawing Water for their Flocks, and the

like. I am therefore nothing averse to this kind of Pastoral. It draw's

such a Life as we could easily wish our selves in; and such, and only

such, can bear a pleasurable Description.

But all the Opportunities that the supposition of the Golden-Age gives

the Reader of the Beautiful in his Descriptions, and being Entertaining

in his Characters; In short, all the delightful Scenes, Arborets and

Shades, as well as all the gentleness and simplicity of that Age, may be

drawn into the other, namely the middle state, which we prefer; if the

Characters be proper.

Besides, I should not be fond of describing the Golden-Age, because we

are not so much interested and concern'd in what was only some thousand

Years ago, and ne're will be again. If the Poet possesses us with

agreeable Sentiments of our own Country (by describing it, but omitting

all that is not delightful in it) we are doubly pleas'd with the

Consideration that it may be in our own Power to enjoy the sweet

Amusement: and we are apt to fancy while we are reading, that were

we among those Swains, we could solace our selves in their easy

Retirements, and on their tender Banks in the same manner that they do.

And since Poetry, the more naturally it deceives, the more fully it

pleases; I should be very desirous, methinks, of giving my Pieces as

great an Appearance of Probability, as possible. And in our way, the

Poet may, to add yet more to the Probability, mention several Places in

the Country, which actually are to be found there; and will have several

Opportunities of giving his Stories an Air of Truth.

SECT. 2.

_The Method of_ Theocritus, _and all his followers, shown to be

inferiour, from the Nature of the Human Mind_.

But further, to shew that we should not describe the Country in

it's Fatigues, it's Roughness, or it's Meanest, take these Few

Considerations. For, as no Writer whom I have read (but that excellent

Frenchman _FONTENEL_,) has raised his Shepherds and Shepherdesses above

the vulgar and common sort of Neat-herds and Ploughers, I am oblig'd to

dwell a little the longer on this Head.

It may be observ'd, I think, that there are but two States of Life

which are particularly pleasant to the Mind of Man; the busy, great,

or pompous; and the retir'd, soft, or easy. More are delighted with the

former than with the latter kind, which affoard's a calm Pleasure, that

does not strike so sensibly, but proceeds much from the Imagination.

Perhaps this may be the reason why Epick and Tragick Poetry are more

universally pleasing than Pastoral; for they describe the Actions of

such Persons, as most Men are dazled and enamour'd with; and would

willingly quit their own Stations in Life for.

But tho' this State of Life may perhaps be more generally engaging than

the soft and retir'd; 'tis certain the soft is the next eligible, and

consequently will shine the most next in Poetry. As no one would much

desire to be one of Theocritus's Shepherds, so 'tis plain, no one can

be much delighted with being concern'd, as 'twere, with such; of having

their Actions take up our Minds, and their Manner of Life set before us.

As a love of Grandeur, Show and Pageantry is implanted naturally in

our Minds, so we cannot be pleas'd with any thing that is mean, low and

beggarly; and as we dislike what is mean and beggarly, How can we love

to have our Minds conversant about, direct Ploughmen, _&c_? We love the

Country for it's soft Retirements, it's Silence, and it's Shades, and

can we love a Description of it that sets none of these before us? If I

read a Pastoral, I would have it give me such a Prospect of the Country,

and stop me upon those Objects, where I should myself stay, were

I there; but would not that be (at least generally) upon the most

beautiful Images. If the Toils of the Country-Folk took my Observance,

'twould only be for Variety, because those Images which a Poet can

so plentifully raise out of his own Brain, can hardly be met with in

Reality. But methinks were I determin'd to describe the Labours and

Hardships of the Country, and not to collect the Beauties; I would e'en

observe the Manner of the Fellows and Wenches in the Country, and put

down every thing that I observ'd them act; as Mr. Gay has very well

done; and than we shall have at least this Pleasure, of seeing how

exactly the Copy and the Original agree; which is the same that we

receive from such a Picture as show's us the face of a Man we know.

Again, 'tis natural to the Mind of Man to delight in the Happiness of

it's Fellow-Creatures; and no Pleasure can be imbibed from the Prospect

of another's Misery; unless it is so calculated as to excite Pity. The

Pleasure, that comes the nearest such of any, is a Comick one, which

delight's to see the human Form distorted and debased, and turn'd into

that of a Beast.

And as for Pity, the most delightful Passion of all, it can't be excited

by this Means. For those Swains are inured to Labour, and acquainted

with Fatigue; but we pity those who fall from Greatness to a State of

Hardships.

CHAP. III.

_What Personages are most proper for Pastoral. And what Passions we may

allot our Shepherds; and what degree of Knowledge_.

Since Simplicity and Tenderness are universally allow'd to constitute

the very Soul and Essence of Pastoral, there la nothing scarce in the

Proceedings of Pastoral-Writers more surprizing to me, than that no one

has allotted any Part of Characters in their Pieces to the _SOFT-SEX_:

But have, to a Writer, introduc'd only Men, and even the roughest of

that Sex.

I can no otherways account for that their Conduct, but that _Theocritus_

happen'd not to make any true Female Characters, nor to introduce any

such of the Fair-Sex, as would shine in Pastoral, and they pretend to

nothing farther than the Copying after him.

This is the more strange, since even Epick-Poetry and Tragedy, whose

Nature is Violence and Warmth, cannot well subsist without the tender

Characters. 'Tis they that sprinkle so sweet a Variety thro' those

Pieces, and relax the Minds of the Readers, with the Beautiful and Soft,

after it is sated with the Sublime.

Now if even the warmest Kinds of Poetry delight in Female Personages,

How much more Pastoral, which is all Tenderness and Simplicity? Whose

design is to sooth and spread a Calm over the Mind, as the higher Poems

are to elevate and strike It.

But 'tis not enough that we introduce some Characters drawn from the

_SOFT-SEX_: our Male Characters must be also of the same Nature, far

from rough or unmanner'd. Every Character must also be of such a Kind

as will be entertaining to the Mind. For there are some more, some less

delightful, among those Female _Characters_, which at first sight seem

equally proper to Pastoral. Of this kind is a Prudish _Character_, or

excessively reserv'd. For, besides that frankness and Openness of Heart,

is what we imagine natural to Shepherds, a Poet can never raise Delight

from such a Character. Her fault is too hateful to excite Pity in her

Punishment; and too small to raise Joy in beholding bar Unfortunate.

Besides that such a Joy were not proper for Pastoral. Of the same Nature

is a Finical, or Squeamish Character, and many others, at first sight

agreeable to Pastoral.

SECT. 2

_What Passions we may allot our Shepherds_.

Although I am for raising the Characters in Pastoral somewhat above

the degree of Boors and Clowns; yet no one is more for retaining the

Pastoral Simplicity. Our Characters of young and tender Innocents,

give, I think, a better Opportunity of introducing the true Pastoral

Simplicity, than those very mean and low Personages, which rather lead

us to an unmanner'd Clownishness, than an agreeable Simplicity.

To preserve this Simplicity, we must avoid attributing to our Swains,

any of those Passions or Desires, which engage busy and active part

of Mankind; as Ambition, and the like. _Theocritus_ therefore, and

_Virgil_, and the generality of his Followers, have rather made their

Shepherds sing alternately for a Leathern Pouch, or a Goat, than for

the Desire of Praise. And nothing, I believe, but his being unwilling

to make his Swains sing for exactly the same Reward, that all since

_Theocritus_, have done, could have made our excellent Phillips alter

the Pouch and the Kid, for Praise, in his sixth Pastoral.

_Let others meanly stake upon their Skill.

Or Kid, or Lamb, or Goat, or what they will;

for praise we sing, nor Wager ought beside;

And, whose the Praise, let_ Geron's, _Lips decide_.

There are few of even the most violent passions but may be introduc'd

into Pastoral, if artfully manag'd and qualify'd by the Poet: As Hatred,

if it be not carried to it's height; which is an Excess in Pastoral.

And I observe, _Cubbin_, you make your Shepherd _Colly_, inconstant; and

have an Aversion to his former Sweet-heart _Soflin_, on account of her

Frankness, and too great Forwardness. But yet I think it is not faulty,

because you make his Affections vary, against his Inclination, and he is

angry with himself for his dislike to _Soflin_; but no Reason can stop

unruly Love.

So Revenge, if admitted, must be very ingeniously manag'd, or 'twill be

intolerable. There is a cunning Thought in _Tasso_, that may perhaps let

the Reader something into the Manner in which I would have it order'd.

A Female Warriour, opposed to her Lover in Aims, for his Inconstancy

shoot's a Dart at him, yet wishes it may not strike him.

But what comes nigher to the explaining the manner of introducing

Revenge into Pastoral, is what we find in the sixth Idyll of

_Theocritus_. _Polyphemus's_ Mistress had been unkind; and how do's

he propose to take Revenge: Why, he will not take notice of her as she

walk's before his Cave to be seen, and pelt's his flock. After which

follow's the most simple, and I had almost said, finest Thought in any

Pastoral-Writer. The whole Beauty of which no one will conceive, but who

has a Soul as tender as _Theocritus_ had, and could touch the _Soft_ as

well. Poliphemus threaten's several Punishments, after which, follows

this. 'Tis as fine in _Creech's_ Version as the Original.

_Besides, my Dog, he is at my Command,

Shall bark at her, and gently bite her Hand_.

What I have said of this, might be said of the other Passions; but I

shall insist no longer on this Head. As for the Passions most proper for

Pastoral, they are discuss'd elsewhere.

SECT. 3.

_What degree of Knowledge we may attribute to our Swains_.

The difference between the Knowledge of our Shepherds, and that of

politer Persons, must not proceed in the least from any difference

in their Natural Endowments, but entirely from the manner of their

Educations. The Poet therefore, has nothing to do in this Case, but to

consider what is most probable for Nature to effect, unassisted by Art.

As for a Shepherd's knowing what the ancient Poets have deliver'd,

concerning the different Ages, and other things, I shall not determine

whether 'tis natural or not: because not only _Theocritus_, whose

Shepherds are as well vers'd in History as other Men, and _Virgil_,

whose Shepherds are often Philosophers, have gone in this way, but our

Countryman Mr. Phillips also, whose excellency is his Correctness.

(Lang.) _Thrice happy Shepherds now! for_ Dorset _loves

The Country Muse, and our delightful Groves.

While_ Anna _reigns. O ever may she reign!_

And bring on Earth a Golden-Age again.

_Pastor_. 6.

I shall leave the Reader also to determine concerning the following

piece of Knowledge.

(Hob.) _Full fain, O blest_ Eliza! _would I praise

Thy Maiden Rule, and Albion's Golden Days_.

Then gentle _Sidney_ liv'd, the Shepherds Friend:

_Eternal Blessings on his Shade descend!_

The same is to be said of other the like Passages, but the most ordinary

Capacity may judge what Knowledge is, or is not, consistent with the

Banner of a Shepherd's Education.

CHAP. IV.

_How to form the Pastoral Characters, and the great Difficulty of doing

it_.

A Poet, who would write up to the Perfection of Pastoral, will find

nothing more difficult (unless the Dialect) than the inventing a

sufficient Number of Pastoral Characters; such as are both faultless and

beautiful. That difficulty proceeds from hence.

In Epick and Tragick Poetry we have the whole scope of all Men's Tempers

and Passions to draw; which are widely various and different: As, the

Savage and Wild; the Ambitious; the Simple and Tender-hearted; the

Subtle, &c. Thus in the Epick and Tragick Poems, you draw the general

Qualities of all Men's Minds. But in Pastoral, you are pinn'd down to

one of these common qualities (which is Simplicity and Tenderness.)

And laying that as a Foundation, from thence draw your particular

Characters. In every Character still supposing that at the bottom of

it, and to accompany it. But Rules of this Nature, are like Mathematical

Assertions, not easily explain'd, but by Examples. Tho' I think,

_Cubbin_, I need not insist long on this to you; for your Characters are

not much faulty in this particular. If I remember aright; some of your

Characters are these:

Paplet has Simplicity and Tenderness: But her distinguishing Character

is, that she is a May, so young, as to be entirely ignorant of Love; but

extreamly Curious to be let into the Nature of Men and Lovers.

Collikin has Simplicity and Tenderness: But withal a Tincture of

Inconstancy in his Nature.

Soflin, with her Simplicity and Tenderness, is excessive Easy, and

Complying, to a Fault; open and too free-hearted.

Florey has Simplicity; and Tenderness for his Lass; but he is almost out

of Humour with himself for being so soft. He is suppos'd to be brought

up in the lonely Cave with Paplet; and his natural Tamper is wild and

excessive brisk; hating the House, and delighting in Hunting. But you

show, I see, only a Glimpse of his Natural Temper, which breaks out

at times; but he is drawn as tender, being all the Time in Love with

Poppit.

The rest of your Characters have the same Foundation; nor break in, I

think, upon Simplicity and Tenderness.

'Tis true indeed, as to the Difficulty of forming Pastoral Characters,

beyond those of Epick Poetry; That even there, one general Character

should diffuse it self thro' all the rest, and that is Bravery.

(For _Homer_ might, I think, as well have brought in a Baboon, or a

Hedge-hog, for Heroick Characters, as a _Vulcan_ and a _Thirsites_.) But

Bravery will coincide with greatly more Tempers than Pastoral Simplicity

and Tenderness; nor does it lay the Poet under a Restraint comparably so

great.

'Tis farther observable, as to the Difficulty of forming the Pastoral

Characters, that if we wou'd write up to the Perfection of Pastoral,

'tis necessary that whatever habit or temper of Mind distinguishes any

CHARACTER in the first Pastoral, wherever that CHARACTER afterwards

appears, thro' the whole set of Pastorals, it must appear with the

same Temper as before; that is, 'tis not enough to have the Characters

uniform and just thro' one and the same Pastoral, but what is the

Character of any Swain or Lass in the first and second Pastoral,

that must be their Character in all the rest, if they are nam'd or

introduc'd, tho' never so slightly. For by this means, not only

every single Pastoral will make a regular Piece, but the whole set of

Pastorals also constitute together one uniform and ample Poem; if the

Reader delights to fill his Mind with a large and ample Scheme.

The set of Pastorals would be still more perfect, if the Characters

were also all continued on from the first to the last Pastoral, and none

drop'd, as 'twere, in silence; but in the Pastorals which draw towards

the End, the Characters should be all disposed of in Pastoral, and after

an entertaining Manner; so that the two or three last Pastorals will be

like the fifth Act in a Tragedy, where the Catastrophe is drawn up. The

reasonableness of this appear's from hence. I suppose the Poet to form

his Story so, and so to draw his Characters, that the Reader's Mind may

be engag'd and concern'd for the Personages. Now the Mind is uneasy if

'tis not let into the issue of the Affairs of the Person it has been

long Intent upon, and given to know whether he is finally Unfortunate,

or Happy.

SECT. _Last_.

Thus far proceeded Sophy, when Night drew on. He shut his Book; and

Cubbin told him, he had not pass'd many days with so much Delight as

that. If you have found my Discourse, said Sophy, entertaining, do not

fail of being here again early to morrow Morning, and I will continue

it to you. The Shepherd express'd his Satisfaction, and they hasted home

together.

The following Morn was fair and inviting; they both appear'd when the

Lark began his Mattin Song; and Sophy thus proceeded.

_The End of the Second Part_.

P A R T III.

CHAP. I.

_Of the Sentiments in general_.

I must crave leave to extend the Signification of the Word Sentiment, to

the including tooth IMAGE and THOUGHT. For I think the Criticks should

by all means have, before now, made that Division, and the omission has

occasion'd the greatest Obscurity and Confusion in the Writings of those

who have discours'd on any particular Kind of Sentiment. But that the

Reader may take the more Care to keep this Distinction in his Head, we

will give one Instance of the Confusion it occasion'd in the Mind of

_Longinus_, who treated the Sublime, and certainly ought to have had a

clear Notion of the Subject he wrote so largely, and so floridly upon.

Now in his sixth _Section_, he make's it a Question, and discourses

largely, whether Passion can go along with a Sublime SENTIMENT. But any

one who has divided Sentiment into Image and Thought would laugh at this

Question; it being so plain that passion is consistent with a Sublime

Thought, and is not with a Sublime Image.

Would not any person who desired to acquire a true and thorough Notion

of a sublime Sentiment, so as to know one, wherever met, be puzzled

at _Longinus_'s telling him, _Homer_'s Sentiment is sublime, where

he make's the _Giant_'s heap Ossa on Olympus, and on Ossa Wood-top'd

Pelion; and a little after telling him that _Alexander_'s to _Parmeno_

is a sublime Sentiment. _Parmeno_ say's, _Were I Alexander, I would

embrace these Proposals of Peace_. _Alexander_ reply'd, _And I, by the

Gods, were I Parmeno_. These Sentiments of _Homer_ and _Alexander_ (tho'

equally sublime) are as different as a Bright and a Tender Sentiment. If

then I have settled one in my Mind, as sublime, How shall I conceive the

other as such?

But there is no other way of avoiding this Confusion, and of being

equally certain of all sublime Sentiments, but by knowing that the

first of these is a sublime Image, and the last a sublime Thought or

Sentiment. And you will find, if you consider the Nature of _Homer_'s

Image, all sublime Images are like it; and the same of _Alexander_'s

sublime Thought. Altho' the sublime Sentiments in general are so

different.

But since we are accidentally engag'd in considering the Sublime; I will

endeavour to show you how to judge infallibly of a Sublime SENTIMENT.

For I think it cannot be gotten from _Longinus_; or at least, I could

never learn it from that most Florid and Ingenious author. And it may be

shown in three Lines, as well as in so many Volumes.

A Sublime Image always dilate's and widen's the Mind, and put's it upon

the Stretch. It comprehends somewhat almost too big for it's Reach;

and where the Mind is most stretch'd, the Image is most Sublime; if we

consider no foreign Assistances. As _Homer_ say's, _The Horses of the

Gods, sprung as far at every Stride, as a Man can see who sit's upon the

Sea-shore_. But foreign Assistances, as a figurative Turn, &c. may raise

a passage to an equal degree of Sublimity, which yet does not so largely

dilate the Mind; as this of _Shakespear_'s is more Sublime than that of

_Homer_'s.

--_Heaven_'s Cherubs, _hors'd

Upon the sightless_ Curriers _of the Air,

Shall blow the horrid Deed in every Eye_.

_Macbeth_. Act. 1. Scen. 7

The not having a perfect Idea of the Sentiment, make's us conceive

something the greater of it.

A Sublime Thought always gives us a greater and more noble Conception of

either the Person speaking; the Person spoken of; or, the Thing spoken

of. I need not instance; but if you apply this to any of the Thoughts of

_Homer_, or _Shakespear_, generally call'd Sublime, you'll find it will

always square.

Here let me make one Observation: That you may never be mistaken in

judging of a Sublime Passage, _Cubbin_, take notice; that there are

some Thoughts so much imaged in the Turn that is given to 'em, by the

figurative Expression, that they lose the name of Thoughts, and commence

Images. I will mention one out of _Shakespear_, (who uses this Method

the most of any Author, and 'tis almost the only thing that raises his

Language) I will mention it, because, being in it self a low and common

Sentiment, he has made it the most Sublime, I think, of any he has.

_Macbeth_'s Lady say's, before the Murther of the King.

--_Come, thick Night.

And pall thee in the dunnest Smoak of Hell,

That my keen Knife see not the Wound it makes

Nor Heav'n peep thro' the Blanket of the Dark,

To cry, Hold! Hold!_

_Macbeth_ Act. 1. Scen. 5.

But I run the Digression too far.

CHAP. II.

_Of the Images. And which are proper for Pastoral, which not_.

Let us proceed to consider what Images will shine most in PASTORAL. And

here I shall not consider all kinds of Images, both good and vicious,

but only those which are in their own nature good; and among those show

which may, and which may not, be introduc'd into Pastoral.

Of Images, in their own Nature good, only the BEAUTIFUL, and the

[A]GLOOMY are, properly speaking, fit for Pastoral. The Uncommon, the

Terrible, and the Sublime, being improper.

[Footnote A: _The Division of the Images and Thoughts is made, and the

nature of the_ GLOOMY _consider'd, in the Critical Preface to the Second

Part of our Pastorals_.]

If any other kinds of Images are introduced, they must be artfully

qualify'd, or else be faulty; the Methods to be used in so qualifying

them, are too numerous to recount. But give me leave to put down one,

which relates to the Language.

Suppose you was to describe some LOVELADS and LASSES roving a little

by the Sea-shore in a guilded Boat; when, on a sudden, the Wind arises,

drives 'em into the middle of the Main at once, and dashes the _Gondola_

on a Rock. Might you not describe such a boistrous Circumstance in an

easy and Pastoral manner.

_Sore raven the fell Sea (Oh sorry Sight!)

And strait (most wofull Word) the Boat doth split_.

But these are things which are better left to the Writer's own Genius,

than to Rule and Criticism.

As to the gloomy Images, I shall only caution the Pastoral Writer, that

they must be of a very different Nature from those in Epick Poetry or

Tragedy: That is, the gloomy must not be so strong; but the Images must

rather contain a pleasing Amusement. And that they'll do, if they are

drawn from the Country: As _Fairies_; _Will-o'-Wisps_; _the Evening_;

_falling Stars_; and the like, will all furnish Images exactly agreeable

to Pastoral.

Having made this Observation on the _Gloomy Images_, let us now proceed

to the Consideration of the Beautiful, which will detain us somewhat

longer.

SECT. 2.

_Of Beautiful Images. And of those; which are more, which less fine_.

In my usual way of considering Beautiful Images; for the greater

Clearness, I rank 'em into three several Classes. This division I do

not desire to impose on any one else; but the mentioning it, cannot be

amiss.

Of the three sorts or kinds of Beautiful Images, the first, and least

delightful is, where only a simple Image is exhibited to the Reader's

Mind. As of a Fair Shepherdess.

The second Sort is, where there is the Addition of the Scene; as suppose

we give the Picture of the fair Shepherdess, sitting on the Banks of a

pleasant streamlet.

The third, and finest kind of Beautiful Images is, where the Picture

contain's a still further Addition of action. As, the Image of a fair

Shepherdess, on the Banks of a pleasant Stream asleep, and her innocent

Lover harmlessly smoothing her Cloaths as flutter'd by the Wind. And the

most beautiful Image in Phillips, or I think any Pastoral-Writer, is of

this Nature.

_Once_ Delia _lay, on easy Moss reclin'd;

Her lovely Limbs half bare, and rude the Wind.

I smooth'd her Coats, and stole a silent Kiss;

Condemn me, Shepherds, if I did amiss_.

_Past_. 5.

The last Line contains a Pastoral Thought, of the best Sort; as the

three first a Pastoral Image.

The middle of this last Pastoral is full of beautiful Images, and has

therefore proved so Entertaining to all Readers, that I wonder Mr.

Phillips would not give us the Beautiful in his four first Pieces also.

Of all the Persons who have written in the English Language, no one ever

had a Mind so well form'd by Nature for Pleasurable Writing, as Spencer.

Yet as he wrote his Pastorals when very Young, this does not appear so

much from them, as from his Fairy Queen; thro' which, (like Ovid, in his

Metamorphoses) he has perpetually recourse to Pastoral. Especially in

his Second Book; in which there are more pleasurable Pastoral Images in

every eight Lines, than in all his Pastorals. We have Knights basking in

the Sun by a pleasant Stream, rambling among the Shepherdesses, entering

delightful Groves surrounded with Trees, or the like, almost in every

Stanza; but thro' all his Pastorals, we have not half a dozen beautiful

Images. 'Tis therefore the Pastoral Language that support's 'em, which

he took excessive pains about.

CHAP. III.

_Of Pastoral Descriptions. And what Authors have the finest_.

Of Images are form'd Descriptions, as by a Combination of Thoughts a

Speech is composed. And a Description is good or bad, chiefly as the

Images or Circumstances are judiciously, or otherwise, chosen; and

artfully put together.

As to the putting them together, I shall only observe, that in

Descriptions of the Heat of Love, not in Pastoral, but in such Pieces

as Sapho's, or the like, the Circumstances should be couch'd extreamly

close; in Epick Poetry the Circumstances should be somewhat less closely

heap'd together; and that Pastoral requires 'em the most diffuse of any;

being of a Nature extreamly calm and sedate.

Hence we may learn what Length Pastoral will admit of in it's

Descriptions. And certain it is, that as we are easily wearied by a cold

Speech, so are we by a cold Description, unless very concise.

But as those Poets whose Minds have delighted in Pastoral Images have

always been Men of Pleasurable Fancies, and who never would bring their

Minds under the Regulation of Art; all who have touch'd Pastoral the

finest have egregiously offended in this Particular. The only Writers, I

think, who have ever had Genius's form'd for Pastoral Images, are _Ovid_

and _Spencer_; which appear's from the _Metamorphoses_ of the first, and

the _Fairy-Queen_ of the latter. As for _Theocritus_, he seem's to me

to be better in the Pastoral Thought than Image; and as I rank together

_Ovid_ and _Spencer_, so I put _Theocritus_ in the same Class with

_Otway_. And I think any one of these Four, if he had form'd his Mind

aright by Art, (that is, had either thoroughly understood Criticism

in all it's Branches, or else never vitiated his natural Genius by any

Learning) was capable of giving the World a perfect Sett of Pastorals.

The former two would have run most upon beautiful Images, and the latter

two upon Agreeable Thoughts.

I need not instance in the tedious Descriptions of _Theocritus_, _Ovid_

and _Spencer_. But certainly, if long Descriptions are faulty in Epick

Poetry, as they prevent the Curiosity of the Reader, and leave him

nothing to invent, or to imploy his own Mind upon, they are in

Pastoral much more disagreeable. Tho' if any thing would excuse a

long Description, there is in _Ovid_ and _Spencer_, that inimitable

Delightfulness, which would make 'em pass. Virgil has no Descriptions in

his Pastorals so long as Spencer, and Heavens deliver us if he had; for

as 'tis, I can better read the longest of _Spencer_'s, than the shortest

of his, in his Pastorals.

SECT. 2.

_The proper Length for Descriptions adjusted, from several

Considerations_.

What I have laid down seem's in its self plain and evident; but because

_Rapin_, and some other Criticks, famous for the Niceness of their

Judgments, have made it a considerable Question, and at last own'd

themselves unable to decide it, I shall further consider the Matter.

'Tis best, I think, only just to exhibit the Picture of an Object to the

Reader's Mind; for if 'tis rightly set and well given, he will himself

supply the minute Particulars better to please himself than any Poet can

do; as no different Fancies are equally delighted with one and the same

thing, the Poet in an extended Description must needs hit upon many

Circumstances not pleasant to every Fancy; even tho' he touches all the

best Particulars. But if the Poet only set's the Image in the finest

Light, by enumerating two or three Circumstances, the Reader's Mind

in that very instant it sees the Image or Picture, fill's up all the

Omissions with such Particulars, as are most suitable to it's own single

Fancy. Which farther conceives something beyond, and something out of

the way, if all is not told. Whereas descending to Particulars cool's

the Mind, which in those Cases ever finds less than it expected.

To instance in Painting, for that's the same. When I first cast my Eye

on a beauteous Landscape, and take in a View of the whole and all it's

parts at once, I am in Rapture, not knowing distinctly what it is that

pleases me; but when I come to examine all the several Parts, they seem

less delightful. Pleasure is greatest if we know not whence it proceeds.

And such is the Nature of Man, that if he has all he desires he is no

longer delighted; but if ought is with-held, he is still in Eagerness,

and full of Curiosity.

Besides, Descriptions in Pastoral should be particularly short, because

it draw's into Description nought but the most Common tho' the most

Beautiful of Nature's Works: Whereas Epick Poetry, whose Business is

to Astonish, represents Monsters and Things unheard of before, and a

_Polyphemus_ or a _Cyclops_ will bear, nay require, a more particular

Description, than a beauteous Grott, or falling Water; because the

One is only calling up into our Mind what we knew before, the other is

Creation. Besides that in Epick Poetry the Descriptions are generally

more necessary than in Pastoral. To describe the fair Bank where your

Lovers sate to talk does not help the _Fable_; but if _Homer_ had not

prepared us, by a particular Description of _Polyphemus_'s hugeness, he

would not have been credited, when he afterwards said, _That he hurl'd

such a Piece of a Rock after_ Ulysses'_s Ship, as drove it back, tho' it

touch'd it not, but only plung'd into the Waves, and made 'em roll with

so great Violence_.

I shall only add one Observation on this Head, and proceed. Pastoral

admits of _Narration_ and _Dialogue_, but in _Narration_ we may be

greatly more diffuse in our Descriptions than in the _Dialogue_ part of

the Piece. For nothing in Poetry is to be preserv'd with more care than

probability, especially in Pastoral. Now for a Shepherd to be relating

an Accident of Concern, and to dwell on a Description of Place or Person

for four or five Lines in the midst, does it not look as if 'twere only

Verses written, and not a Tale actually told by the Swain, since in

such a Case 'tis natural to hast to the main Point, and not to dwell so

particularly on Matters of no Consideration.

I might give several other Reasons for the shortness of Pastoral

Descriptions, as that 'tis the manner of Shepherds not to dwell on one

Matter so precisely, but to run from one thing to another; Also, that

the Reader's Mind is delighted when it has scope to employ it self; and

the like. But the clearness of the Question prevents me.

SECT. 3.

_What Pastoral Images will shine most in a Description_.

We have just shown which Images are the finest; and 'tis evident that by

an accumulation of the best Images is form'd the best Description. 'Tis

not here my business particularly to show which Circumstances, in any

Description, are best, which worst; 'tis enough, that in general We

affirm the most Beautiful to be finest in Pastoral, and the most Sublime

in Epick Poetry; which are most Beautiful, and which are most Sublime I

have elsewhere shown.

Yet there are several foreign Assistances or Adjuncts, which do greatly

add to a beautiful Circumstance; as for Instance; if along with

a beautiful Image, we by any means show at once the Happiness and

Innocence of the rural Inhabiters, it renders the Circumstance greatly

more delightful. This can't so well be explain'd as by an Instance.

_Ovid_ describes _PROSERPINA_, as she is gathering Flowers in a Meadow

among her Play-Fellows, hurried away by _PLUTO_, in order to her

Ravishment. Among the Misfortunes, which that Violence brought upon the

Innocent young Creature, this is one;

_And oh, out Lap the pretty florets fell_.

There is no Circumstance in any Author, nor any one will be ever

invented, more proper for Pastoral than this Line: As it contains not

only a most beautiful Image, but show's us at once the Simplicity,

and Happiness of the Country, where even such Accidents are accounted

Misfortunes.

But this is a Circumstance that would but just bear the touching upon;

and _Ovid_ by his two next Lines, has, I think, spoil'd it. In Mr.

_SEWEL_'s Translation they run thus.

_Oft on her_ Mates, _oft on her Mother call's,

And from her Lap her fragrant Treasure fall's;

And she (such Innocence in Youth remains)

Of that small Loss, among the rest, complains_.

If he had stopt with the second Line he had put himself, as 'twere, in

the place of a Shepherd, and spoke of the Misfortune as if it came from

his Heart, and he was interested for the Beauteous Innocent. But in the

two last Lines he takes upon him the Author, is grave and reflecting;

but nothing is so Beautiful in these kind of Descriptions, as for a

Writer to put himself as 'twere in the Place of the Person he speaks

of; and unless a Writer delights to do this, and takes Pleasure in his

Characters, and has, as 'twere, a Love and Kindness for 'em, he'll

never excell in Pastoral. And I have been told, Cubbin, by some of your

Acquaintance, that they can easily tell what sort of Characters you were

fondest of when your wrote your Pastorals; for there is one you never

mention but with an unusual Pleasure and Alacrity; and it appear's from

your Description of her that your Heart was on the flutter when you drew

it. And if you read it over now, so long after, you'll observe it. But

it has made you excell your self.

SECT. 4.

_Cautions for the avoiding some Faults which_ Theocritus, Ovid, Spencer,

Tasso, &c. have fallen into in their Descriptions_.

The generality of our narrative Poets under their general Descriptions,

bring in the Descriptions of particular and lesser Things. This is very

faulty. I might Instance In _OVID_, _SPENCER_, _CHAUCER_, &c, but there

is an Example of this so very flagrant in _TASSO_, that I can't forbear

mentioning it, as I think 'tis the most monstrous one I ever saw, and

these Observations relate alike to Epick Poetry and Pastoral. This

Author has occasion in the Thirteenth Book of his Hierusalem to describe

a Drought, which he does In Six and Fifty Lines, and then least we might

mistake what he's describing tell's us in Eight Lines more, how the

Soldiers panted and languished thro' excessive Heat, then in Eight more

describes the Horses panting and languishing; then in Eight more gives

us a Description of the Dogs, who lay before the Tents also panting and

languishing, and so on.

This is what I mean by bringing one Description within another; and 'tis

the greatest of Faults. We lose all thoughts of the general Description,

and are so engaged in Under-ones, that we have forgot what he at first

propos'd to describe.

Another Observation I would make, is, that a Pastoral Writer should be

particularly careful not to proceed too far, or dwell too minutely on

Circumstances, in his most pleasurable Descriptions, which we may term

the Luscious. Such as _Spencer_'s, where he makes his Knight lye loll'd

in Pleasures, and Damsels stripping themselves and dancing around for

his Diversion. This, _SPENCER_ methinks carries to an excess; for he

describes 'em catching his Breath as it steam'd forth; distilling the

Sugar'd Liquor between his Lips, and the like. Such Descriptions will

grow fulsome if more than just touch'd, as the most delicious things the

soonest cloy.

CHAP. IV.

_That Pastoral should Image almost every thing_.

There is nothing more recommends the Tragedys of Mr. _Row_, than his

Language, which I think is (in it's own Nature) particularly Beautiful.

As I cannot forbear looking into the Springs and Means by which our best

Poets attain their Excellence in the several Dialects they touch the

finest, what 'tis that constitutes the Difference between the Language

of one and that of another; and also what Rank or Class each Dialect

belongs to; I have done the same as to the Writings of Mr. _Row_. And

I observe that the chiefest Means he makes use of to render his Tragick

Language at once Uncommon and Delightful, is the Figurative Way of

considering Things as Persons. What I mean is this.

----_Comfort

Dispels the sullen Shades with her sweet Influence_.

And again:

----_My wrongs will tear their Way,

And rush at once upon thee_.

Jane Shore: _Act_ 1.

And this is extreamly frequent, especially in Jane Shore. And nothing

can be more Beautiful in Heroick Language; and this Author has some

Sentiments dress'd, by this Figurative Way, as finely as most of

_Shakespear_'s; As this

_Care only wakes, and moping Pensiveness;

With Meagre, discontented Looks they sit,

And watch the wasting of the Mid-night Taper_.

Now what is this but imaging almost every thing, or turning as many

Thoughts as possible into Images?

Now if the Thoughts in strong Lines, (as they call 'em) appear best in

Imagery, how much more will Pastoral Thoughts. The former have Passion

and Heat to support 'em, the latter are entirely Simple. And If Heroick

Writers are fond of Images, how much more should Pastoral Writers avoid

a long Series of bare Thoughts, and endeavour to Address the Mind of the

Reader with a constant Variety of Pictures.

What I have here delivered may seem trifling to the Reader. But if he

looks into the modern Pastoral-Writers he'll observe that the Scarcity

of Images goes a great way towards making their Pieces flat and insipid.

And 'tis impossible indeed to have a sufficient Variety of Images in a

Pastoral that is compos'd by nought but a mournful Speech or Complaint.

Therefore a Writer who would not only write regular, but also delightful

Pastorals, should doubtless run very much upon Description.

I need not make the Distinction between an Epick and a Pastoral Writer's

manner of Imaging. They are widely different; nor can a Pastoral Image

so many Things as an Epick Writer. For he cannot consider Things as

Persons, nor use the other Methods that Heroick Poetry takes to effect

it.

CHAP. V.

_Of the Thoughts. And which are proper for Pastoral, which not_.

I Shall not consider those Thoughts which are, in their own Nature,

Vicious; as the Ambiguous, the Pointed, the Insipid, the Refined,

the Bombast, and the rest. But of those Kind of Thoughts which are

in themselves good, only these three do properly belong to Pastoral;

namely, The Agreeable, or Joyous; The Mournful, or Piteous; And the Soft

or Tender.

Yet the rest of those Thoughts which are in their own Nature good,

may be so order'd as to bear a part in Pastoral. For as We may make a

Shepherd false to his Mistress, if he be offended with the Levity of his

Nature; so We may make a Lass Ill-natured and Satyrical, for Instance,

if 'tis not in her Temper, but assumed only for a good Purpose.

SECT. 2.

_Of those Thoughts which are proper for Pastoral, how to Judge which are

finest_.

I need only observe, that where is the greatest Combination of those

things which make the best Figure in Pastoral, that is always the best

Thought. As a Thought that is not only agreeable or Beautiful, but has

also Simplicity. The two finest Passages that I remember in _THEOCRITUS_

for their Simplicity, are these. Which are exceeding well Translated

by _CREECH_; whose Language (next to some of _Spencer's_) is vastly the

best we have, for pastoral. I will quote the whole Passage.

Daph.) _And as I drove my Herd, a lovely Maid

Stood peeping from a Cave; she smil'd, and said,

Daphnis is lovely, ah! a lovely Youth;

What Smiles, what Graces sit upon his Mouth!

I made no sharp Returns, but hung my Head

And went my Way, yet pleas'd with what she said_.

Idyll. 8.

Of the same Nature is what _COMATAS_ says in another Place.

Com.) _I milk two Goats; a Maid in yonder Plain

Lookt on, and Sigh'd_, Dost milk thy self poor Swain!

And what follows soon after.

Com.) _The fair Calistria, as my Goats I drove,

With Apples pelts me, and still murmurs Love_.

Idyll. 5.

Tho' these Thoughts are so exceeding Beautiful thro' their Simplicity,

I rather take 'em to be Agreeable Thoughts; and Simplicity to be only an

Adjunct or Addition to 'em; as Passion is an Addition and Embellishment

to the Sublime Thoughts.

The Mournful Thought, with the Addition of Simplicity, is as pleasing, I

think, as the Agreeable with Simplicity. The finest of this kind that I

remember in _THEOCRITUS_, are in his 22 _Idyll_. A Shepherd resolves to

Hang himself, being scorn'd by the Fair he ador'd. For the more he was

frown'd upon the more he loved.

_But when o'recome, he could endure no more,

He came and wept before the hated Dora;

He wept and pin'd, he hung the sickly Head,

The Threshold kist, and thus at last he said_.

Many Thoughts In the Complaint are as fine as this. As, of the following

Lines, the 3d and 4th.

_Unworthy of my Love, this Rope receive.

The last, most welcome Present I can give.

I'll never vex thee more. I'll cease to woe.

And whether you condemned, freely go;

Where dismal Shades and dark_ Oblivion _dwell_.

Of the same Nature also is what soon after follows.

_Yet grant one Kindness and I ask no more;

When you shall see me hanging at the Door.

Do not go proudly by, forbear to smile.

But stay,_ Sweet Fair, _and gaze, and weep a while;

Then take me down, and whilst some Tears are shed,

Thine own soft Garment o're my Body spread.

And grant One Kiss,--One Kiss when I am dead.

Then dig a Grave, there let my Love be laid;

And when you part, say thrice,_ My friend is Dead.

All these Thoughts contain Simplicity as an Addition to the Mournful.

And 'tis impossible for any Thoughts to be more Natural.

'Twere endless to enumerate all the several kinds of Beautiful Pastoral

Thoughts, but from these any one may discover the rest; and the general

Rule we gave at the beginning of the Chapter will be a Direction for his

ranging them into distinct Classes.

Yet give me leave to mention one Kind, which I think we may term the

finest. 'Tis where the Agreeable Thought, and the Tender, meet together,

and have besides, the Addition of Simplicity. I would explain my Meaning

by a Quotation out of some Pastoral Writer, but I am at a loss how to

do it; give me leave therefore to bring a Passage out of the Orphan. A

Thought may contain the Tender, either with regard to some Person spoken

of, or the Person speaking. The first is common, this Play is full

of it. I will therefore Instance in the latter. And first where 'tis

chiefly occasion'd by the turn that is given to it in the Expression.

Chamont presses his Sister to tell him who has abused her.

Mon.) _But when I've told you, will you keep your Fury

Within it's bound? Will you not do some rash

And horrid Mischief? for indeed_, Shamont,

_You would not think how hardly I've been used

From a near Friend_.

Cham.) _I will be calm; but has_ Castalio _wrong'd thee?_

Mon.) _Oh! could you think it!_ (Cham.) _What?_

Mon.) _I fear he'll kill me_. (Cham.) _Hah!_

Mon.) _Indeed I do; he's strangely cruel too me.

Which if it lasts, I'm sure must break my Heart_.