Part 7 (1/2)
Music resembles Poetry, in each Are nameless graces which no methods teach, And which a master-hand alone can reach. 145 If, where the rules not far enough extend, (Since rules were made but to promote their end) Some lucky Licence answer to the full Th' intent propos'd, that Licence is a rule.
Thus Pegasus, a nearer way to take, 150 May boldly deviate from the common track; From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, And s.n.a.t.c.h a grace beyond the reach of art, Which without pa.s.sing thro' the judgment, gains The heart, and all its end at once attains. 155 In prospects thus, some objects please our eyes, Which out of nature's common order rise, The shapeless rock, or hanging precipice.
Great wits sometimes may gloriously offend, And rise to faults true Critics dare not mend. 160 But tho' the Ancients thus their rules invade, (As Kings dispense with laws themselves have made) Moderns, beware! or if you must offend Against the precept, ne'er transgress its End; Let it be seldom, and compell'd by need; 165 And have, at least, their precedent to plead.
The Critic else proceeds without remorse, Seizes your fame, and puts his laws in force.
I know there are, to whose presumptuous thoughts Those freer beauties, ev'n in them, seem faults. 170 Some figures monstrous and mis-shap'd appear, Consider'd singly, or beheld too near, Which, but proportion'd to their light, or place, Due distance reconciles to form and grace.
A prudent chief not always must display 175 His pow'rs in equal ranks, and fair array.
But with th' occasion and the place comply, Conceal his force, nay seem sometimes to fly.
Those oft are stratagems which error seem, Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream. 180
Still green with bays each ancient Altar stands, Above the reach of sacrilegious hands; Secure from Flames, from Envy's fiercer rage, Destructive War, and all-involving Age.
See, from each clime the learn'd their incense bring! 185 Hear, in all tongues consenting Paeans ring!
In praise so just let ev'ry voice be join'd, And fill the gen'ral chorus of mankind.
Hail, Bards triumphant! born in happier days; Immortal heirs of universal praise! 190 Whose honours with increase of ages grow, As streams roll down, enlarging as they flow; Nations unborn your mighty names shall sound, And worlds applaud that must not yet be found!
Oh may some spark of your celestial fire, 195 The last, the meanest of your sons inspire, (That on weak wings, from far, pursues your flights; Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes) To teach vain Wits a science little known, T' admire superior sense, and doubt their own! 200
Of all the Causes which conspire to blind Man's erring judgment, and misguide the mind, What the weak head with strongest bias rules, Is _Pride_, the never-failing voice of fools.
Whatever nature has in worth denied, 205 She gives in large recruits of needful pride; For as in bodies, thus in souls, we find What wants in blood and spirits, swell'd with wind: Pride, where wit fails, steps in to our defence, And fills up all the mighty Void of sense. 210 If once right reason drives that cloud away, Truth breaks upon us with resistless day.
Trust not yourself; but your defects to know, Make use of ev'ry friend--and ev'ry foe.
A _little learning_ is a dang'rous thing; 215 Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.
There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, And drinking largely sobers us again.
Fir'd at first sight with what the Muse imparts, In fearless youth we tempt the heights of Arts, 220 While from the bounded level of our mind Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind; But more advanc'd, behold with strange surprise New distant scenes of endless science rise!
So pleas'd at first the tow'ring Alps we try, 225 Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky, Th' eternal snows appear already past, And the first clouds and mountains seem the last; But, those attain'd, we tremble to survey The growing labours of the lengthen'd way, 230 Th' increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes, Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise!
A perfect Judge will read each work of Wit With the same spirit that its author writ: Survey the WHOLE, nor seek slight faults to find 235 Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind; Nor lose, for that malignant dull delight, The gen'rous pleasure to be charm'd with Wit.
But in such lays as neither ebb, nor flow, Correctly cold, and regularly low, 240 That shunning faults, one quiet tenour keep, We cannot blame indeed--but we may sleep.
In wit, as nature, what affects our hearts Is not th' exactness of peculiar parts; 'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call, 245 But the joint force and full result of all.
Thus when we view some well-proportion'd dome, (The world's just wonder, and ev'n thine, O Rome!) No single parts unequally surprize, All comes united to th' admiring eyes; 250 No monstrous height, or breadth, or length appear; The Whole at once is bold, and regular.
Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.
In every work regard the writer's End, 255 Since none can compa.s.s more than they intend; And if the means be just, the conduct true, Applause, in spight of trivial faults, is due; As men of breeding, sometimes men of wit, T' avoid great errors, must the less commit: 260 Neglect the rules each verbal Critic lays, For not to know some trifles, is a praise.
Most Critics, fond of some subservient art, Still make the Whole depend upon a Part: They talk of principles, but notions prize, 265 And all to one lov'd Folly sacrifice.
Once on a time, La Mancha's Knight, they say, A certain bard encount'ring on the way, Discours'd in terms as just, with looks as sage, As e'er could Dennis of the Grecian stage; 270 Concluding all were desp'rate sots and fools, Who durst depart from Aristotle's rules.
Our Author, happy in a judge so nice, Produc'd his Play, and begg'd the Knight's advice; Made him observe the subject, and the plot, 275 The manners, pa.s.sions, unities; what not?
All which, exact to rule, were brought about, Were but a Combat in the lists left out.
”What! leave the Combat out?” exclaims the Knight; Yes, or we must renounce the Stagirite. 280 ”Not so, by Heav'n” (he answers in a rage), ”Knights, squires, and steeds, must enter on the stage.”
So vast a throng the stage can ne'er contain.
”Then build a new, or act it in a plain.”
Thus Critics, of less judgment than caprice, 285 Curious not knowing, not exact but nice, Form short Ideas; and offend in arts (As most in manners) by a love to parts.
Some to _Conceit_ alone their taste confine, And glitt'ring thoughts struck out at ev'ry line; 290 Pleas'd with a work where nothing's just or fit; One glaring Chaos and wild heap of wit.
Poets like painters, thus, unskill'd to trace The naked nature and the living grace, With gold and jewels cover ev'ry part, 295 And hide with ornaments their want of art.
True Wit is Nature to advantage dress'd, What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd; Something, whose truth convinc'd at sight we find, That gives us back the image of our mind. 300 As shades more sweetly recommend the light, So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit.
For works may have more wit than does 'em good, As bodies perish thro' excess of blood.
Others for Language all their care express, 305 And value books, as women men, for Dress: Their praise is still--the Style is excellent: The Sense, they humbly take upon content.
Words are like leaves; and where they most abound, Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found, 310 False Eloquence, like the prismatic gla.s.s, Its gaudy colours spreads on ev'ry place; The face of Nature we no more survey, All glares alike, without distinction gay: But true expression, like th' unchanging Sun, 315 Clears and improves whate'er it s.h.i.+nes upon, It gilds all objects, but it alters none.
Expression is the dress of thought, and still Appears more decent, as more suitable; A vile conceit in pompous words express'd, 320 Is like a clown in regal purple dress'd: For diff'rent styles with diff'rent subjects sort, As several garbs with country, town, and court.