(Back to Part II)
Part III
Rules for the conduct and manners in a Critic.
Candour. Modesty. Good breeding. Sincerity and freedom of advice.
When one's counsel is to be restrained. Character of an incorrigible
poet. And of an impertinent critic. Character of a good critic.
The history of criticism, and characters of the best critics;
Aristotle. Horace. Dionysius. Petronius. Quintiallian. Longinus.
Of the decay of Criticism, and its revival. Erasmus. Vida.
Boileau. Lord Roscommon, etc. Conclusion.
- Learn then what morals Critics ought to show,
- For 'tis but half a judge's task to know.
- T'is not enough Taste, Judgment, Learning join;
- In all you speak let Truth and Candour shine;
- That not alone what to your Sense is due
- All may allow, but seek your friendship too.
- Be silent always when you doubt your Sense,
- And speak, tho' sure, with seeming diffidence.
- Some positive persisting fops we know,
- Who if once wrong will needs be always so;
- But you with pleasure own your errors past,
- And make each day a critique on the last.
- 'Tis not enough your counsel still be true;
- Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do.
- Men must be taught as if you taught them not,
- And things unknown proposed as things forgot.
- Without good breeding truth is disapprov'd;
- That only makes superior Sense belov'd.
- Be niggards of advice on no pretence,
- For the worst avarice is that of Sense.
- With mean complacence ne'er betray your trust,
- Nor be so civil as to prove unjust.
- Fear not the anger of the wise to raise;
- Those best can bear reproof who merit praise.
- 'Twere well might critics still this freedom take,
- But Appius reddens at each word you speak,
- And stares tremendous, with a threat'ning eye,
- Like some fierce tyrant in old tapestry.
- Fear most to tax an honourable fool,
- Whose right it is, uncensured to be dull:
- Such without Wit, are poets when they please,
- As without Learning they can take degrees.
- Leave dangerous truths to unsuccessful satires,
- And flattery to fulsome dedicators;
- Whom when the praise, the world believes no more
- Than when they promise to give scribbling o'er.
- 'Tis best sometimes your censure to restrain,
- And charitably let the dull be vain;
- Your silence there is better than your spite,
- For who can rail so long as they can write?
- Still humming on their drowsy course they keep,
- And lash'd so long, like tops, are lash'd asleep.
- False steps but help them to renew the race,
- As, after stumbling, jades will mend their pace.
- What crowds of these, impenitently bold,
- In sounds and jingling syllables grown old,
- Still run on poets, in a raging vein,
- Ev'n to the the dregs and squeezings of the brain,
- Strain out the last dull droppings of their sense,
- And rhyme with all the rage of impotence!
- Such shameless bards we have; and yet 'tis true
- There are as mad abandon'd critics too.
- The bookful blockhead ignorantly read,
- With loads of learned lumber in his head,
- With his own tongue still edifies his ears,
- And always list'ning to himself appears.
- All books he reads, and all he reads assails,
- From Dryden's Fables down to Durfey's Tales.
- With him most authors steal their works, or buy;
- Garth did not write his own Dispensary.
- Name a new play, and he's the poet's friend;
- Nay, show'd his faults--but when would poets mend?
- No place so sacred from such fops is barr'd,
- Nor is Paul's church more safe than Paul's churchyard:
- Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead;
- For fools rush in where angels fear t tread.
- Distrustful sense with modest caution speaks,
- It still looks home, and short excursions makes;
- But rattling nonsense in full volleys breaks
- And never shock'd, and never turn'd aside,
- Bursts out, resistless, with a thund'ring tide.
- But where's the man who counsel can bestow,
- Still pleas'd to teach, and yet not proud to know?
- Unbiass'd or by favour or by spite;
- Not dully prepossess'd nor blindly right;
- Tho' learn'd, well bred, and tho' well bred sincere;
- Modestly bold, and humanly severe;
- Who to a friend his faults can freely show,
- And gladly praise the merit of a foe;
- Bless'd with a taste exact, yet unconfin'd,
- A knowledge both of books and humankind;
- Gen'rous converse; a soul exempt from pride;
- And love to praise, with reason on his side?
- Such once were critics; such the happy few
- Athens and Rome in better ages knew.
- The mighty Stagyrite first left the shore,
- Spread all his sails, and durst the deeps explore;
- He steer'd securely, and discover'd far,
- Led by the light of the Maeonian star.
- Poets, a race long unconfin'd and free,
- Still fond and proud of savage liberty,
- Receiv'd his laws, and stood convinc'd 'twas fit
- Who conquer'd Nature should preside o'er Wit.
- Horace still charms with graceful negligence,
- And without method talks us into sense;
- Will, like a friend, familiarly convey
- The truest notions in the easiest way.
- He who, supreme in judgment as in wit,
- Might boldly censure as he boldly writ,
- Yet judg'd with coolness, though he sung with fire;
- His precepts teach but what his works inspire.
- Our critics take a contrary extreme,
- They judge with fury, but they write with phlegm;
- Nor suffers Horace more in wrong translations
- By Wits, than Critics in as wrong quotations.
- See Dionysius Homer's thoughts refine,
- And call new beauties forth from ev'ry line!
- Fancy and art in gay Petronius please,
- The Scholar's learning with the courtier's ease.
- In grave Quintilian's copious work we find
- The justest rules and clearest method join'd.
- Thus useful arms in magazines we place,
- All ranged in order, and disposed with grace;
- But less to please the eye than arm the hand,
- Still fit for use, and ready at command.
- Thee, bold Longinus! all the Nine inspire,
- And bless their critic with a poet's fire:
- An ardent judge, who, zealous in his trust,
- With warmth gives sentence, yet is always just;
- Whose own example strengthens all his laws,
- And is himself that great sublime he draws.
- Thus long succeeding critics justly reign'd,
- License repress'd, and useful laws ordain'd:
- Learning and Rome alike in empire grew,
- And arts still follow'd where her eagles flew;
- From the same foes at last both felt their doom,
- And the same age saw learning fall and Rome.
- With tyranny then superstition join'd,
- As that the body, this enslaved the mind;
- Much was believ'd, but little understood,
- And to be dull was construed to be good;
- A second deluge learning thus o'errun,
- And the monks finish'd what the Goths begun.
- At length Erasmus, that great injur'd name,
- (The glory of the priesthood and the shame!)
- Stemm'd the wild torrent of a barb'rous age,
- And drove those holy Vandals off the stage.
- But see! each Muse in Leo's golden days
- Starts from her trance, and trims her wither'd bays.
- Rome's ancient genius, o'er its ruins spread,
- Shakes off the dust, and rears his rev'rend head.
- Then sculpture and her sister arts revive;
- Stones leap'd to form, and rocks began to live;
- With sweeter notes each rising temple rung;
- A Raphael painted and a Vida sung;
- Immortal Vida! on whose honour'd brow
- The poet's bays and critics ivy grow:
- Cremona now shall ever boast they name,
- As next in place to Mantua, next in fame!
- But soon by impious arms from Latium chased,
- Their ancient bounds the banish'd Muses pass'd;
- Thence arts o'er all the northern world advance,
- But critic learning flourish'd most in France;
- The rules a nation born to serve obeys,
- And Boileau still in right of Horace sways.
- But we, brave Britons, foreign laws despised,
- And kept unconquer'd and uncivilized;
- Fierce for the liberties of wit, and bold,
- We still defied the Romans, as of old.
- Yet some there were, among the sounder few
- Of those who less presumed and better knew,
- Who durst assert the juster ancient cause,
- And here restor'd WIt's fundamental laws.
- Such was the Muse whose rules and practice tell
- ``Nature's chief masterpiece is writing well.''
- Such was Roscommon, not more learn'd than good,
- With manners gen'rous as his noble blood;
- To him the wit of Greece and Rome was known,
- And every author's merit but his own.
- Such late was Walsh--the Muse's judge and friend,
- Who justly knew to blame or to commend;
- To failings mild but zealous for desert,
- The clearest head, and the sincerest heart.
- This humble praise, lamented Shade! receive;
- This praise at least a grateful Muse may give:
- The Muse whose early voice you taught to sing,
- Prescribed her heights, and pruned her tender wing,
- (Her guide now lost), no more attempts to rise,
- But in low numbers short excursions tries;
- Content if hence th'unlearn'd their wants may view,
- The learn'd reflect on what before they knew;
- Careless of censure, nor too fond of fame;
- Still pleas'd to praise, yet not afraid to blame;
- Averse alike to flatter or offend;
- Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.