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

256

At length, by wholesome dread of statutes bound,
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 forebore the vice.
Hence satire rose, that just the medium hit,
And heals with morals what it hurts with wit.

260

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,

Wit grew polite, and numbers learn'd to flow.
Waller was smooth; but Dryden taught to join
The varying verse, the full resounding line,
The long majestic march, and energy divine.
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,

265

270

276

And full in Shakespear, fair in Otway shone :

But Otway fail'd to polish or refine,

And fluent Shakespear scarce effac'd a line.

Ev'n copious Dryden wanted, or forgot,

280

The last and greatest art, the art to blot.

Some doubt, if equal pains, or equal fire

The humble muse of comedy require.

But

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 indeed;
What pert, low dialogue has Farqu'ar writ!

How Van wants grace, who never wanted wit!
The stage how loosely does Astrea 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 born 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,

285

290

295

300:

305:

Clatt'ring

VER. 287. Congreve] He alludes to the characters of Brisk and Witwood.

VER. 290. Astrea] A name taken by Mrs. Behn, authoress of several obscene plays, c.

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 ! 310
Ever the taste of mobs, but now of lords:
(Taste, that eternal wanderer, which flies
From heads to ears, and now from ears to eyes.)
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, ermin, gold, and lawn;
The champion too! and, to complete the jest,
Old Edward's armour beams on Cibber's breast.

315

With laughter sure Democritus had dy'd,

320

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,

325

And all the thunder of the pit ascends!

Loud as the wolves, on Orcas' stormy steep,
Howl to the roarings of the northern deep.

Such

VEK. 319. 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 borrowed from the Tower, to dress the champion.

VER. 328. Orcas' stormy steep,] The farthest northern promon tory of Scotland, opposite to the Orcades.

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.

330

Booth enters, hark! the universal peal! "But has he spoken ?" Not a syllable.

335

340

"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;
Inrage, compose, with more than magic art,
With pity, and with terror, tear my heart;

345

And snatch me, o'er the earth, or through 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

350

More on a reader's sense, than gazer's eye,

Or who shall wander where the muses sing?

Who climb their mountain, or who taste their spring? How shall we fill a library with wit,

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

355

My

VER. 355. Merlin's Cave] A building in the royal gardens of

Richmond, where is a small, but choice collection of books.

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.
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,
T' enroll your triumphs o'er the seas and land,
Be call'd to court to plan some work divine,
As once for LOUIS, Boileau and Racine.

360

365

370

375

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 Laureat's weighty place.

Charles, to late times to be transmitted fair, 380 Assign'd his figure to Bernini's care;

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

VOL. III.

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