Verse prays for Peace, or sings down Pope and Turk.
The silenc'd Preacher yields to potent strain,

And feels that grace his pray'r besought in vain;
The blessing thrills thro' all the lab'ring throng,
And Heav'n is won by Violence of Song

Our rural Ancestors, with little blest,
Patient of labour when the end was rest,
Indulg'd the day that hous'd their annual grain,
With feasts, and off'rings, and a thankful strain:
The joy their wives, their sons, and servants share,
Ease of their toil, and part'ners of their care:
The laugh, the jest, attendants on the bowl,
Smooth'd ev'ry brow, and open'd ev'ry soul:
With growing years the pleasing Licence grew,
And Taunts alternate innocently flew.
But Times corrupt, and Nature, ill-inclin'd,
Produc'd the point that left a sting behind;
Till friend with friend, and families at strife,
Triumphant Malice rag'd thro' private life.

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Who felt the wrong, or fear'd it, took th' alarm,'
Appeal'd to Law, and Justice lent her arm.

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At length, by wholesome dread of statutes bound1,

The Poets learn'd to please, and not to wound:

Most warp'd to Flatt'ry's side; but some, more nice,
Preserv'd the freedom, and forbore the vice.
Hence Satire rose, that just the medium hit,
And heals with Morals what it hurts with Wit.

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We conquer'd France, but felt our Captive's charms;
Her Arts victorious triumph'd o'er our Arms;
Britain to soft refinements less a foe,

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Wit grew polite, and Numbers learn'd to flow.
Waller was smooth 2; but Dryden taught to join
The varying verse, the full-resounding line,
The long majestic March, and Energy divine3.
Tho' still some traces of our rustic vein
And splay-foot verse, remain'd, and will remain.
Late, very late, correctness grew our care,
When the tir'd Nation breath'd from civil war.
Exact Racine, and Corneille's noble fire,
Show'd us that France had something to admire.
Not but the Tragic spirit was our own,
And full in Shakespear, fair in Otway shone*:

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[There is no direct historical allusion in this; the law of libel was still very indefinite even in Pope's times.]

2 Waller was smooth;] Mr. Waller, about this time with the Earl of Dorset, Mr. Godolphin, and others, translated the Pompey of Corneille; and the more correct French Poets began to be in reputation. P.

[Cf. Essay on Criticism, vv. 358-384.] 4 [Racine, the younger of the two great French tragedians, was more frequently translated by

the English dramatists of the Restoration than Corneille; although Hallam is doubtless right in agreeing with Sir Walter Scott that the unnatural dialogue which prevailed in the English tragedies of that age was derived from baser models than these, viz. the French romances referred to ante, V. 145. The pathetic Otway (1651-1685) was indeed among the translators and adapters of Racine; but his Venice Preserved and Òrphan, on which his fame rests, were, as dramatic pieces, original.]

But Otway fail'd to polish or refine,

And fluent Shakespear scarce effac'd a line1.
Ev'n copious Dryden wanted, or forgot 2,
The last and greatest Art, the Art to blot.
Some doubt, if equal pains, or equal fire
The humbler Muse of Comedy require.
But in known Images of life, I guess
The labour greater, as th' indulgence less.
Observe how seldom ev'n the best succeed:
Tell me if Congreve's Fools are Fools indeed3?
What pert, low Dialogue has Farquhar writ1!
How Van wants grace, who never wanted wit5!
The stage how loosely does Astræa tread,
Who fairly puts all Characters to bed!
And idle Cibber, how he breaks the laws,
To make poor Pinky eat with vast applause!
But fill their purse, our Poet's work is done,
Alike to them, by Pathos or by Pun.

O you! whom Vanity's light bark conveys
On Fame's mad voyage by the wind of praise,
With what a shifting gale your course you ply,
For ever sunk too low, or borne too high!
Who pants for glory finds but short repose,
A breath revives him, or a breath o'erthrows.
Farewell the stage! if just as thrives the play,
The silly bard grows fat, or falls away.
There still remains, to mortify a Wit,
The many-headed Monster of the Pit:
A senseless, worthless, and unhonour'd crowd;
Who, to disturb their betters mighty proud,
Clatt'ring their sticks before ten lines are spoke,
Call for the Farce, the Bear, or the Black-joke.
What dear delight to Britons Farce affords!
Ever the taste of Mobs, but now of Lords;
(Taste, that eternal wanderer, which flies

' [I remember the players often mentioned it as an honour to S., that in his writings, whatsoever he penned, he never blotted out a line. My answer hath been, "Would he had blotted out a thousand.' Ben Jonson's Discoveries.]

2 Ev'n copious Dryden] copious aggravated the fault. For when a writer has great stores, he is inexcusable not to discharge the easy task of choosing from the best. Warburton.

3 [Another fault which often may befal, Is, when the wit of some great poet shall So overflow, that is, be none at all

That ev❜n his fools speak sense, as if possessed, And each by inspiration breaks his jest.' Sheffield, Duke of Buckinghamshire, Essay on Poetry.]

4 [George Farquhar (1678—1707), the author of Sir Harry Wildair and the Beaux Stratagem.]

[John Vanbrugh (1672—1726), author of the Relapse, and architect of Blenheim. His come

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305

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dies, though offensive on the ground mentioned by Pope, are perhaps healthier in feeling than those of any of his contemporaries.]

P.

6 Astræa] A Name taken by Mrs. Behn, Authoress of several obscene Plays, etc. [Mrs Aphra Behn owed her popularity not only to her sins, but to a wonderful knack of contriving ingenious stage-situations which must arouse the envy of modern sensational playwrights. Astræa is the title of a French romance by Honoré d'Urfé, published in 1610.]

7 [Poor Pinky is the popular low comedian, William Pinkethman, of whose face some writers, according to Cibber, made a livelihood; and concerning whom the Tatler informs posterity,' among other things, that 'he devours a cold chicken with great applause' (in the character of Harlequin). See Geneste's History of the Stage, III. pp. 136-9.]

8 [i. e. the black-pudding.]

From heads to ears, and now from ears to eyes1.)
The Play stands still; damn action and discourse,
Back fly the scenes, and enter foot and horse;
Pageants on Pageants, in long order drawn,
Peers, Heralds, Bishops, Ermine, Gold and Lawn;
The Champion too! and, to complete the jest,
Old Edward's Armour beams on Cibber's breast 2.
With laughter sure Democritus had died,
Had he beheld an Audience gape so wide.
Let Bear or Elephant be e'er so white,
The people, sure, the people are the sight!
Ah luckless Poet! stretch thy lungs and roar,
That Bear or Elephant shall heed thee more;
While all its throats the Gallery extends,
And all the Thunder of the Pit ascends!
Loud as the Wolves, on Orcas' stormy steep3,
Howl to the roarings of the Northern deep.
Such is the shout, the long-applauding note,
At Quin's high plume, or Oldfield's petticoat;
Or when from Court a birth-day suit bestow'd,
Sinks the lost Actor in the tawdry load.
Booth enters-hark! the Universal peal!

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"But has he spoken?" Not a syllable.

335

What shook the stage, and made the People stare?

Cato's long Wig, flow'r'd gown, and lacquer'd chair,
Yet lest you think I rally more than teach,

Or praise malignly Arts I cannot reach,
Let me for once presume t'instruct the times,
To know the Poet from the Man of rhymes:
'Tis he, who gives my breast a thousand pains,
Can make me feel each Passion that he feigns;
Enrage, compose, with more than magic Art,
With Pity, and with Terror, tear my heart;
And snatch me, o'er the earth, or thro' the air,
To Thebes, to Athens, when he will, and where.
But not this part of the Poetic state

Alone, deserves the favour of the Great;

Think of those Authors, Sir, who would rely

More on a Reader's sense, than Gazer's eye.
Or who shall wander where the Muses sing?

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Who climb their mountain, or who taste their spring?

From heads to ears, and now from ears to eyes.] From Plays to Operas, and from Operas to Pantomimes. Warburton. [Pantomimes were brought into the full blaze of public favour by Rich, manager of Covent Garden, in 1723; and Cibber, at Drury Lane, was obliged to produce the same kind of entertainment in self-defence.]

2 Old Edward's Armour beams on Cibber's breast.] The Coronation of Henry VIII. and Queen Anne Boleyn, in which the Playhouses vied with each other to represent all the pomp of a Coronation. In this noble contention, the Armour of one of the Kings of England was bor

How shall we fill a Library with Wit1,

When Merlin's Cave is half unfurnish'd yet??

My Liege! why Writers little claim your thought,

I guess; and, with their leave, will tell the fault:
We Poets are (upon a Poet's word)

Of all mankind, the creatures most absurd:
The season, when to come, and when to go,
To sing, or cease to sing, we never know;
And if we will recite nine hours in ten,
You lose your patience, just like other men.
Then too we hurt ourselves, when to defend
A single verse, we quarrel with a friend;
Repeat unask'd; lament, the Wit's too fine
For vulgar eyes, and point out ev'ry line.

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365

But most, when straining with too weak a wing,
We needs will write Epistles to the King;
And from the moment we oblige the town,
Expect a place, or pension from the Crown;
Or dubb'd Historians, by express command,

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T'enroll your Triumphs o'er the seas and land3,

Be call'd to Court to plan some work divine,

As once for LOUIS, Boileau and Racine.

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Yet think, great Sir! (so many Virtues shown)

Ah think, what Poet best may make them known?

Or choose at least some Minister of Grace,
Fit to bestow the Laureate's weighty place.
Charles, to late times to be transmitted fair,
Assign'd his figure to Bernini's care 5;

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And great Nassau 6 to Kneller's hand decreed
To fix him graceful on the bounding Steed;

So well in paint and stone they judg'd of merit:
But Kings in Wit may want discerning Spirit.
The Hero William, and the Martyr Charles,

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C

One knighted Blackmore, and one pension'd Quarles7;
Which made old Ben, and surly Dennis swear,
"No Lord's anointed, but a Russian Bear.”
Not with such majesty, such bold relief,

The Forms august, of King, or conqu'ring Chief,
E'er swell'd on marble; as in verse have shin'd
(In polish'd verse) the Manners and the Mind.
Oh! could. I mount on the Mæonian wing,
Your Arms, your Actions, your repose to sing!

What seas you travers'd, and what fields you fought!

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Great George's acts let tuneful Cibber sing;
For nature formed the poet for the king.'

5 [The Italian sculptor, Bernini, whose roccoco works fill St Peter's at Rome.]

6 [King William III.]

7 [Francis Quarles, the author of the Emblems, died in 1644. Pope has done this ingenious member of the religious section of the Fantastic school great injustice in ranking him on a level with Blackmore.]

Your Country's Peace, how oft, how dearly bought1!
How barb'rous rage subsided at your word,
And Nations wonder'd while they dropp'd the sword!
How, when you nodded, o'er the land and deep,
Peace stole her wing, and wrapt the world in sleep;
'Till earth's extremes your mediation own,

And Asia's Tyrants tremble at your Throne→
But Verse, alas! your Majesty disdains;
And I'm not us'd to Panegyric strains:
The Zeal of Fools offends at any time,

But most of all, the Zeal of Fools in rhyme.
Besides, a fate attends on all I write,
That when I aim at praise, they say I bite.
A vile Encomium doubly ridicules:
There's nothing blackens like the ink of fools.
If true, a woeful likeness; and if lies,
"Praise undeserv'd is scandal in disguise":"
Well may he blush, who gives it, or receives;
And when I flatter, let my dirty leaves
(Like Journals, Odes, and such forgotten things
As Eusden3, Philips, Settle", writ of Kings)
Clothe spice, line trunks, or, flutt'ring in a row,
Befringe the rails of Bedlam and Soho.

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THE SECOND EPISTLE

OF

THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE.

Ludentis speciem dabit, et torquebitur. HOR. [v. 124.]

[Horace's Epistle is addressed to Julius Florus, an officer attached to the person of Tiberius in a military expedition abroad. Pope's Epistle, which like the Horatian treats the subject chiefly from a personal point of view, has much biographical value.]

D

EAR Col'nel, COBHAM's and your country's Friend!
You love a Verse, take such as I can send.
A Frenchman comes, presents you with his Boy,
Bows and begins-"This Lad, Sir, is of Blois 7:

1 [Ironical allusions to the pacific policy of George II.'s minister Walpole.]

2 From an anonymous poem, "The Celebrated Beauties,' published in Tonson's Miscellany in 1709. Carruthers.

[Laurence Eusden, poet laureate under Charles II. Cf. Dunciad, I. v. 104.]

4 [Ambrose Philips, among other offences, perpetrated an Ode in honour of Walpole.]

5 [Elkanah Settle, the city-poet and the Doeg of Absalom and Achitophel.]

6 Colonel Cotterell, of Rousham near Oxford, the descendant of Sir Charles Cotterell, who, at the desire of Charles I., translated Davila into English. Warton.

This Lad, Sir, is of Blois:] A Town in Beauce, where the French tongue is spoken in great purity. Warburton.