Of all objections this indeed is chief
To fartle reafon, ftagger frail belief;
We grant, 'tis true, that heaven from human fenfe
Has hid the fecret paths of providence:
But boundless wisdom, boundless mercy, may
Find ev'n for those bewilder'd fouls, a way:
I from his nature foes may pity claim, {name.
Much more may strangers who ne'er heard his
And though no name be for falvation known,
But that of his eternal Son's alone;

Who knows how far tranfcending goodness can
Trend the merits of that Son to man?
Who knows what reasons may his mercy lead;
Or ignorance invincible may plead?
Not only charity bids hope the best,
But more the great apostle has expreft:
"That if the Gentiles, whom no law infpir'd;
By nature did what was by law requir'd;
They, who the written rule had never known,
Were to themfelves both rule and law alone:
To nature's plain indictment they shall plead;
And by their confcience be condemn'd or freed."
Molt righteous doom! because a rule reveal'd
l none to thofe from whom it was conceal'd.
Then those who follow'd reafon's dictates right;
Liv'd up, and lifted high their natural light;
With Socrates may fee their Maker's face,
While thousand rubric martyrs want a place.
Nor does it baulk my charity, to find
Th' Egyptian bishop of another mind :
For though his creed eternal truth contains,
Tis hard for man to doom to endless pains
All who believ'd not all his zeal requir'd;
Unless he firft could prove he was infpir'd.
Then let us either think he meant to say
This faith, where publish'd, was the only way;
Or elfe conclude that, Arius to confute,
The good old man, too eager in difpute,
Flew high; and as his chriftian fury role,
Damn'd all for heretics who durft oppose.
Thus far my charity this path has try'd;
A much unskilful, but well-meaning guide: {bred
Yet what they are, ev'n thefe crude thoughts were
By reading that which better thou haft read.
Thy matchlefs author's work; which thou, my
friend,

By well tranflating better doft commend :
Thofe youthful hours which, of thy equals most
In toys have fquander'd, or in vice have loft,
Thofe hours halt thou to nobler ufe employ'd;
And the fevere delights of truth enjoy'd.
Witness this weighty book, in which appears
The crabbed tail of many thoughtful years,
Spent by my author, in the fifting care
Of rabbins old fophifticated ware

From gold divine; which he who well can fort
May afterwards make algebra a fport,
A treafure, which if country curates buy,
They Junius and Tremellius may defy :
Save pains in various readings, and translations;
And without Hebrew make most learn'd quota-
tions.

A work fo full with various learning fraught,
nicely ponder'd, yet fo ftrongly wrought,

As nature's height and art's laft hand requir'd:
As much as man could compass, uninfpir'd,
Where we may fee what errors have been made
Both in the copyers and translators trade:
How Jewish, Popish interests have prevail'd,
And where infallibility has fail'd.

For fome, who have his feeret meaning guess'd,
Have found our author not too much a priest:
For fashion-fake he feems to have recourse
To pope, and councils, and tradition's force :
But he that old traditions could subdue,
Could not but find the weakness of the new :
If fcripture, though deriv'd from heavenly birth
Has been but carelessly preferv'd on earth;
If God's own people, who of God before
Knew what we know, and had been promis'd
more,

In fuller terms, of heaven's affifting care,
And who did neither time nor &tudy spare
To keep this book untainted, unperplext,
Let in grofs errors to corrupt the text,
Omitted paragraphs, embroil'd the sense,
With vain traditions ftopt the gaping fence,
Which every common hand pull'd up with cafe:
What fafety from fuch brushwood-helps as these?
If written words from time are not fecur'd,
How can we think have oral founds endur'd?
Which thus transmitted, if one mouth has fail'd,
Immortal lyes on ages are intail'd:

And that fome fuch have been, is prov'd too plain;
If we confider intereft, church, and gain.

O but, fays one, tradition fet afide,
Where can we hope for an unerring guide?
For fince th' original fcripture has been loft,
All copies difagreeing, maim'd the most,
Or chriftian faith can have no certain ground,
Or truth in church-tradition must be found.

Such an omniscient church we with indeed;
'Twere worth both Testaments; caft in the creed;
But if this mother be a guide so fure,
As can all doubts resolve, all truth focure,
Then her infallibility, as well
Where copies are corrupt or lame, can tell;"
Reftore loft canon with as little pains,
As truly explicate what still remains :
Which yet no council dare pretend to do;
Unless like Efdras they could write it new:
Strange confidence ftill to interpret true,
Yet not be fure that all they have explain'd
Is in the bleft original contain❜d.

More fafe, and much more modeft 'tis, to fay
God would not leave mankind without a way
And that the fcriptures, though not every where
Free from corruption, or intire, or clear,
Are uncorrupt, fufficient, clear, intire,
In all things which our needful faith require.
If others in the fame glass better fee,
"Tis for themselves they look, but not for me
For my falvation muft its doom receive,
Not from what others, but what I believe.
Must all tradition then be set aside ?
This to affirm, were ignorance or pride.
Are there not many points, fome needful fore
To saving faith, that fcripture leaves obfcure ?

Which every fect will wreft a feveral way,
For what one fect interprets, all fects may :
We hold, and fay we prove from scripture plain,
That Chrift is God; the bold Socinian
From the same scripture urges he's but man.
Now what appeal can end th' important fuit ?
Both parts talk loudly, but the rule is mute.

Shall I fpeak plain, and in a nation free
Affame an honeft layman's liberty?
I think, according to my little fkill,
To my own mother-church submitting still,
That many have been fav'd, and many may,
Who never heard this question brought in play.
Th' unletter'd Chriftian, who believes in grofs,
Plods on to heaven; and ne'er is at a lofs:
For the ftreight-gate would be made ftreighter yet,
Were none admitted there but men of wit.
The few by nature form'd, with learning fraught,
Born to instruct, as others to be taught,
Muft ftudy well the facred page; and fee
Which doctrine, this, or that, does beft agree
With the whole tenor of the work divine:
And plainlieft points to heaven's reveal'd defign:
Which expofition flows from genuine sense,
And which is forc'd by wit and eloquence.
Not that tradition's parts are useless here:
When general, old, difinterested, clear:
That ancient Fathers thus expound the page,
Gives truth the reverend majesty of age:
Confirms its force by bideing every test;
For beft authorities, next rules, are best.
And ftill the nearer to the fpring we go
More limpid, more unfoil'd, the waters flow.
Thus first traditions were a proof alone;
Could we be certain fuch they were, so known;
But fince fome flaws in long defcent may be,
They make not truth, but probability.
Ev'n Arius and Pelagius durft provoke
To what the centuries preceding spoke.
Such difference is there in an oft-told tale :
But truth by its own finews will prevail.
Tradition written therefore more commends
Authority, than what from voice defcends :
And this, as perfect as its kind can be,
Rolls down to us the facred history:
Which, from the univerfal church receiv'd,
Is try'd, and after, for itself believ'd.

The partial Papifts would infer from hence Their church, in last resort, fhould judge the sense, But first they would affume with wonderous art, Themfelves to be the whole, who are but part Of that vast frame the church; yet grant they

were

The handers-down, can they from thence infer
A right t'interpret? or would they alone,
Who brought the present, claim it for their own?
The book's a common largefs to mankind;
Not more for them than every man defign'd:
The welcome news is in the letter found;
The carrier's not commiffion'd to expound.
It fpeaks itself, and what it does contain,
In all things needful to be known is plain.
la times o'ergrown with ruft and ignorance,
A gainful trade their clergy did advance :

When want of learning kept the laymen low,
And none but priests were authoriz'd to know!
When what small knowledge was, in them did
dwell;

And he a God who could but read and spell;
Then mother church did mightily prevail :
She parcel'd out the Bible by retail:
But ftill expounded what she fold or gave;
To keep it in her power to damn and fave:
Scripture was scarce, and, as the market went,
Poor laymen took falvation on content;
As needy men take money good or bad:
God's word they had not, but the priest's they had
Yet whate'er falfe conveyances they made,
The lawyer ftill was certain to be paid.
In those dark times they learn'd their knack fo
That by long use they grew infallible:
At laft a knowing age began t'inquire
If they the book, or that did them inspire:
And making narrower search they found, though
late,

[well

That what they thought the priest's, was thei eftate:

Taught by the will produc'd, the written word,
How long they had been cheated on record.
Then every man who faw the title fair,
Claim'd a child's part, and put in for a share:
Confulted foberly his private good;
And fav'd himself as cheap as e'er he could.

'Tis true, my friend, and far be flattery hence,
This good had full as bad a confequence:
The book thus put in every vulgar hand,
Which each prefum'd he best could understand,
The common rule was made the common prey;
And at the mercy of the rabble lay.
The tender page with horny fifts was gall'd;
And he was gifted moft that loudest baul'd;
The fpirit gave the doctoral degree:
And every member of a company
Was of his trade, and of the Bible free.
Plain truths enough for needful ufe they found;
But men would ftill be itching to expound :
Each was ambitious of th' obfcurest place,
No measure ta'en from knowledge, all from grac
Study and pains were now no more their care;
Texts were explain'd by fafting and by prayer:
This was the fruit the private fpirit brought;
Occafion'd by great zeal and little thought.
While crouds unlearn'd, with rude devotion war
About the facrcd viands buz and fwarm.
The fly-blown text creates a crawling brood;
And turns to maggots what was meant for food
A thousand daily fects rife up and die:
A thousand more the perish'd race fupply:
So all we make of heaven's discover'd will,
Is not to have it, or to use it ill.
The danger's much the fame; on feveral fhelve
If others wreck us, or we wreck ourselves.

What then remains, but, waving each extrem The tides of ignorance and pride to stem? Neither fo rich a treasure to forego; Nor proudly feek beyond our power to know! Faith is not built on difquifitions vain; The things we muft believe are few and plaia

need,

And every man will make himself a creed,

In doubtful queftions 'tis the safest way
To learn what unsuspected ancients say:
For 'tis not likely we should higher foar

In fearch of heaven, than all the church before :
Nor can we be deceiv'd, unless we fee
The fcripture and the fathers disagree.
If after all they ftand fufpected ftill,

For no man's faith depends upon his will;

Tis fome relief, that points not clearly known Without much hazard may be let alone :

If ftill our reafon runs another way,
That private reason 'tis more just to curb,
Than by difputes the public peace disturb;
For points obfcure are of small use to learn,
But common quiet is mankind's concern.

Thus have I made my own opinions clear: Yet neither praise expect, nor cenfure fear : And this unpolish'd rugged verse I chose; As fittest for discourse, and nearest prose : For while from facred truth I do not swerve, 'Tom Sternhold's or Tom Shadwell's rhymes will ferve.

i

THIS tranflation of monfieur Boileau's Art of Poetry was made in the year 1680, by Sir William Soame of Suffolk, Baronet; who being very intimately acquainted with Mr. Dryden, defired his revifal of it. I faw the manuscript lie in Mr. Dryden's hands for above fix months, who made very confiderable alterations in it, particularly the beginning of the fourth Canto: and it being his opinion that it would be better to apply the poem to English writers, than keep to the French

names, as it was firft tranflated, Sir William defired he would take the pains to make tha alteration; and accordingly that was entirely done by Mr. Dryden.

| The poem was first published in the year 1683; Sir William was after fent ambassador to Con ftantinople, in the reign of king James, but died in the voyage.

J. TORSON

Rasu author, 'tis a vain prefumptuous crime,

To undertake the facred art of rhyme ;
If at thy birth the stars that rul'd thy fenfe
Shone not with a poetic influence;
In thy ftrait genius thou wilt still be bound,
Find Phoebus deaf, and Pegasus unfound,

You then that burn with the defire to try
The dangerous courfe of charming poetry;
Forbear in fruitless verfe to lofe your time,
Or take for genius the defire of rhyme :
Fear the allurements of a spacious bait,
And well confider your own force and weight.
Nature abounds in wits of every kind,
And for each author can a talent find:
One may in verse describe an amorous flame,
Another fharpen a fhort epigram:
Waller a hero's mighty acts extol,
Spenfer fing Rofalind in paftoral:

But authors that themselves too much esteem,
Lofe their own genius, and mistake their theme;
Thus in times paft Dubartas vainly writ,
Allaying facred truth with trifling wit,
Impertinently, and without delight,
Defcrib'd the Ifraelites triumphant flight,
And following Mofes o'er the fandy plain,
Perish'd with Pharaoh in th' Arabian main.
Whate'er you write of pleasant or fublime,
Always let fenfe accompany your rhyme :
Falfely they feem each other to oppose;
Rhyme must be made with reafon's laws to clofe:
And when to conquer her you bend your force,
The mind will triumph in the noble course;
To reafon's yoke fhe quickly will incline,
Which, far from hurting, renders her divine:
But if neglected, will as eafily ftray,
And mafter reafon which the should obey.

Love reafon then; and let whate'er you write
Borrow from her its beauty, force, and light.
Moft writers mounted on a refty Mufe,
Extravagant and fenfeless objects choose;
They think they err, if in their verse they fall
On any thought that's plain or natural :
Fly this excefs, and let Italians be

Vain authors of falfe glittering poetry.
All ought to aim at fenfe; but most in vain
Strive the hard pafs and flippery path to gain:
You drown, if to the right or left you stray;
Reason to go has often but one way.
Sometimes an author, fond of his own thought,
Purfues its objects till 'tis over-wrought:
If he describes a house, he fhews the face,
And after walks you round from place to places
Here is a vista, there the doors unfold,
Balconies here are ballaftred with gold;
Then counts the rounds and ovals in the halls,
"The feftoons, freezes, and the astragals :"
Tir'd with his tedious pomp, away I run,
And skip o'er twenty pages to be gone.
Of fuch defcriptions the vain folly fee,
And fhun their barren fuperfluity.
All that is needlefs carefully avoid;
The mind once fatisfy'd is quickly cloy'd :
He cannot write who knows not to give o'er
To mend one fault, he makes a hundred more
A verse was weak; you turn it, much too strong,
And grow obfcure for fear you fhould be long.
Some are not gaudy, but are flat and dry;
Not to be low, another foars too high.
Would you of every one deferve the praise?
In writing, vary your discourse and phrase :
A frozen ftile that neither ebbs nor flows,
Instead of pleasing, makes us gape and doze.