Horace's Art of poetry made English by the Right Honourable the Earl of Roscommon. Ars poetica. English Horace. 1680 Approx. 33 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 21 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2003-07 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A44464 Wing H2768 ESTC R13604 11835887 ocm 11835887 49758 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A44464) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 49758) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 497:23) Horace's Art of poetry made English by the Right Honourable the Earl of Roscommon. Ars poetica. English Horace. Roscommon, Wentworth Dillon, Earl of, 1633?-1685. Waller, Edmund, 1606-1687. [8], 32 p. Printed for Henry Herringman ..., London : 1680. Translation of Ars poetica. "Of this translation, and of the use of poetry, by Edm. Waller Esq.", preliminary p. [5-8]. Reproduction of original in Huntington Library. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng 2003-02 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2003-03 Aptara Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2003-04 Mona Logarbo Sampled and proofread 2003-04 Mona Logarbo Text and markup reviewed and edited 2003-06 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion HORACE'S Art of Poetry . Made English By the Right Honorable THE EARL of ROSCOMMON . LONDON , Printed for Henry Herringman at the Blew Anchor in the Lower Walk of the New Exchange . 1680. PREFACE . I Have seldome known a Trick succeed , and will put none upon the Reader , But tell him plainly that I think it could never be more seasonable than now to lay down such Rules , as if they be observ'd , will make Men write more Correctly , and judge more discreetly ; But Horace must be read seriously or not at all , for else the Reader wont be the better for him , and I shall have lost my labour , I have kept as close as I could , both to the Meaning , and the Words of the Author , and done nothing but what I believe he would forgive if he were alive ; And I have often ask'd my self that Question . I know this is a Field Per quem Magnus Equos Arunci flexit Alumnus . But with all the respect due to the name of Ben. Johnson , to which no Man pays more Veneration than I , it cannot be deny'd that the constraint of Rhyme , and a literal Translation ( to which Horace in this Book declares himself an Enemy ) has made him want a Comment in many places . My chief care has been to Write intelligibly , and where the Latin was Obscure , I have added a Line or two to explain it . I am below the Envy of the Criticks , but if I durst , I would begg them to remember , that Horace ow'd his favour and his fortune to the Character given of him by Virgil and Varius , that Fundanius & Pollio are still valued by what Horace says of them , and that in their Golden Age , there was a good Vnderstanding among the Injenious , and those who were the most Esteem'd were the best Natur'd . ROSCOMMON . OF THIS TRANSLATION , And of the Use of Poetry , BY Edm. Waller Esq. ROme was not better by her Horace taught , Than we are here , to comprehend his thought ▪ The Poet writ to Noble Piso , there , A Noble Piso do's instruct us here , Gives us a pattern in his flowing Stile , And with rich Precepts do's oblige our Isle , Brittain , whose Genious is in Verse exprest Bold and sublime , but negligently drest ; Horace will our superfluous Branches prune , Give us new rules , and set our Harp in tune , Direct us how , to back the winged Horse , Favour his flight , and moderate his force ; Tho' Poets may of Inspiration boast . Their Rage ill govern'd , in the Clouds is lost ; He that proportion'd wonders can disclose , At once his Fancy and his Judgment shows ; Chast moral Writing we may learn from hence Neglect of which no wit can recompence ; The Fountain which from Helicon proceeds , That sacred Stream should never water weeds , Nor make the Crop of thorns and thistles grow Which Envy or perverted Nature sow ; Well-sounding Verses are the Charm we use , Heroick thoughts , and vertue to infuse ; Things of deep sence we may in Prose unfold , But they move more , in lofty numbers told ; By the loud Trumpet , which our Courage aids , We learn that sound , as well as sence , persuades , The Muse's friend , unto himself severe , With silent pitty looks on all that Err , But where a brave , a publick Action shines That he rewards with his Immortal Lines ; Whether it be in Counsel or in Fight , His Countrey 's Honour is his chief delight ; Praise of great Acts , he scatters as a seed , Which may the like , in coming Ages breed : Here taught the sate of Verses , always priz'd With admiration , or as much despis'd , Men will be less indulgent to their fauts And patience have to cultivate their thoughts ; Poets lose half the praise they should have got , Could it be known , what they discreetly blot Finding new words , that to the ravish't Ear May like the Language of the Gods appear , Such as of old , wise Bards employ'd , to make Unpollish't men their wild retreats forsake , Law-giving-Heroes , fam'd for taming Bru'ts , And raising Cities with their Charming Lutes , For rudest minds , with Harmony were caught , And civil Life was by the Muses taught , So wandring Bees would perish in the Air , Did not a sound , proportion'd to their Ear , Appease their rage , invite them to the Hive , Unite their force , and teach them how to thrive To rob the flowers , and to forbear the spoil , Preserv'd in Winter by their Summers toyl , They give us food , which may with Nectar Vie , And Wax that do's , the absent Sun , supply . HORACE OF THE Art of Poetry ▪ IF in a Picture ( Piso ) you should see , A handsome Woman with a Fishes Tail , Or a Man's Head upon a Horses Neck , Or Limbs of Beasts of the most different kinds , Cover'd with Feathers of all sorts of Birds , Wou'd you not laugh , and think the Painter mad ? Trust me that Book is as ridiculous , Whose incoherent Stile ( like sick mens Dreams ) Varies all Shapes , and mixes all Extreams , Painters and Poets have been still allow'd , Their Pencils , and their Fancies unconfin'd , This priviledge we freely give and take ; But Nature , and the Common-Laws of Sence , Forbid to reconcile Antipathys , Or make a Snake ingender with a Dove , And hungry Tygers court the tender Lambs ; Some that at first have promis'd mighty things , Applaud themselves , when a few florid Lines Shine through th' insipid dulness of the rest ; Here they describe a Temple , or a Wood , Or Streams that through delightful Medows run , And there the Rainbow , or the rapid Rhyne , But they misplace them all , and crowd them in , And are as much to seek in other things , As he that only can design a Tree , Would be to draw a Shipwrack or a Storm ; When you begin with so much Pomp and Show , Why is the end so little and so low ? Be what you will , so you be still the same . Most Poets fall into the grossest faults , Deluded by a seeming Excellence : By striving to be short , they grow Obscure , And when they would write smoothly they want strength , Their Spirits sink ; while others that affect , A lofty Stile , swell to a Tympany ; Some timerous wretches start at every blast , And fearing Tempests , dare not leave the Shore ; Others in love with wild variety , Draw Boars in Waves , and Dolphins in a Wood ; Thus fear of Erring , joyn'd with want of Skill , Is a most certain way of Erring still . The meanest Workman in the AEmilian Square , May grave the Nails , or imitate the Hair , But cannot finish what he hath begun ; What is there more ridiculous than he ? For one or two good fcatures in a Face Where all the rest are scandalously ill , Make it but more remarkably deform'd . Let Poets march their Subject to their strength , And often try what weight they can support , And what their Shoulders are too weak to bear , After a serious and judicious choice , Method and Eloquence will never fail ; As well the Force as Ornament of Verse , Consists in choosing a fit time for things , And knowing when a Muse should be indulg'd In her full flight , and when she should be curb'd : Words must be chosen , and be plac'd with skill , You gain your point , if your industrious Art Can make unusual words easy and plain , But ( if you write of things Abstruse or New ) Some of your own Inventing may be us'd , ( So it be seldom and discreetly done ) But he that hopes to have new Words allow'd , Must so derive them from the Graecian Spring , As they may seem to flow without constraint ; Can an Impartial Reader discommend In Varus , or in Virgil what he likes ? In Plautus or Caecilius ? Why should I Be envy'd for the little I Invent , When Ennius and Cato's copious Stile Have so enrich'd , and so adorn'd our Tongue ? Men ever had , and ever will have leave , To coin new words well suited to the age : Words are like Leaves , some wither every year , And every year a younger Race succeeds ; Death is a Tribute all things owe to Fate ; The Lucrine Mole ( Caesars stupendous Work ) Protects our Navys from the raging North ; And ( since Cethegus drain'd the Pontin Lake ) We Plow and Reap where former ages row'd . See how the Tyber ( whose licentious Waves So often overflow'd the neighbouring Fields , Now runs a smooth and inoffensive Course , Confin'd by our great Emperors Command ; Yet this and they , and all will be forgot ; Why then should Words challenge Eternity , When greatest Men , and greatest Actions dye ? Use may revive the obsoletest Words , And banish those that now are most in Vogue ; Use is the Judge , the Law , and rule of Spe●ch . Homer first taught the World in Epick Verse ( To write of great Commanders , and of Kings , Elegies were at first design'd for Grief , Though now we use them to express our Joy ) ▪ But to whose Muse we owe that sort of Verse , Is Undecided by the Men of Skill . Rage with Jambick's , arm'd Archilochus ▪ Numbers for Dialogue and action fit And favourites of the Dramatick Muse. Fierce , lofty , Rapid , whose commanding sound Awes the tumultuous noises of the Pit , And whose peculiar Province is the Stage . Gods , Heroes , Conquerers , Olympick Crowns ▪ Loves pleasing Cares , and the free joys of Wine , Are proper subjects for the Lyrick Song . Why is he honour'd with a Poets Name , Who neither knows , nor would observe a Rule ? And chuses to be Ignorant and Proud , Rather than own his Ignorance , and Learn , Let every thing have its due Place and Time. A Comick Subject loves an Humble Verse , Thyestes scorns a low and Comick Stile . Yet Comedy sometimes may raise her voice , And Chremes be allow'd to foam and rail : Tragedians too , lay by their State to grieve ; Peleus and Telephus exil'd and poor , Forget their swelling , and Gygantick Words . He that would have Spectators share his Grief , Must write not only well , but movingly , And raise Mens Passions to what height he will , We Weep and Laugh as we see others doe , He only makes me sad who shews the way , And first is sad himself , then ( Telephus ) I feel the weight of your Calamities , And fancy all your miseries my Own , But if you Act them ill , I sleep or laugh : Your looks must needs alter , as your Subject does From kind to fierce , from wanton to severe , For Nature forms , and softens us within , And writes our fortunes changes in our face . Pleasure enchants , impetuous Rage transports , And grief deiects , and wrings the tortur'd Soul , And these are all interpreted by Speech ; But he whose words and fortunes disagree , Absurd , unpitied growes a publick Jest . Observe the Characters of those that speak , Whether an honest Servant , or a Cheat ▪ Or one whose blood boils in his youthful , veins ▪ Or a grave Matron ▪ or a busie Nurse , Extorting Merchants , carefull Husbandmen , Argives , or Thebans , Asians or Greeks . Follow Report , or feign coherent things , Describe Achilles , as Achilles was , Impatient , rash , inexorable , proud , Scorning all Judges , and all Law but Arms ; Medaea must be all Revenge and Blood , Ino all Tears , Ixion all deceit , Io must wander , and Orestes mourn : If your bold Muse dare tread unbeaten Paths , And bring new Characters upon the stage , Be sure you keep them up to their first height . New Subjects are not easily explain'd , And you had better chuse a well known Theam , Than trust to an Invention of your own ; For what originally others writ , May be so well disguis'd , and so improv'd , That with some Justice it may pass for yours ▪ But then you must not Copy trivial things , Nor word for word too faithfully Translate , Nor ( as some servile Imitators do ) Prescribe at first such strict uneasie rules ▪ As they must ever slavishly observe , Or all the laws of decency renounce : Begin not as th' old Poetaster did , ( Troys famous War , and Priams Fate , I sing ) In what will all this Ostentation end ? The laboring mountain scarce brings forth a mouse ▪ How far is this from the Meonian Stile ? Muse , speak the Man , who since the siege of Troy , So many Towns , such change of Manners saw . One with a flash begins , and ends in smoak , The other out of smoak brings glorious light , And ( without raising Expectation high ) Surprizes us with darling miracles , The bloody Lestrygons inhumane Feasts , With all the Monsters , of the Land and Sea ▪ How Scylla bark'd , and Polyphemus roard : He doth not trouble Us with Leda's Eggs , When he begins to write the Trojan War ; Nor writing the return of Diomed , Go back as far as Meleagers Death : Nothing is idle , each judicious Line Insensibly acquaints Us with the Plot ; He chooses only what he can improve , And Truth and Fiction are so aptly mix'd That all seems Uniform , and of a piece . Now hear what every Auditor expects ; If you intend that he should stay to hear The Epilogue , and see the Curtain fall ; Mind how our tempers alter with our years , And by those Rules form all your Characters : One that hath newly learn'd to speak and go , Loves childish Plays , is soon provok'd and pleas'd , And changes every hour his wavering mind . A Youth that first casts off his Tutors yoke , Loves Horses , Hounds , and Sports , and Exercise , Prone to all Vice , impatient of Reproof , Proud , careless , fond , inconstant , and profuse ▪ Gain and Ambition rule our riper years , And make us Slaves to interest and power ▪ Old Men are only walking Hospitals , Where all defects , and all diseases croud With restless pain , and more tormenting fear , Lazy , morose , full of delays and hopes ▪ Opprest with Riches which they dare not use ; Ill-natur'd censors of the present Age , And fond of all the follies of the past ▪ Thus all the treasure of our flowing Years , Our ebb of life for ever takes away . Boys must not have the ambitious cares of Men ▪ Nor Men the weak anxieties of Age ▪ Some things are acted , others only told ; But what we hear moves less than what we see ▪ Spectators only have their Eyes to trust , But Auditors must trust their Ears and you ; Yet there are things improper for a Scene , Which men of Judgment only will relate ; Maedoea must not draw her murthering knife , And spill her childrens blood upon the Stage , Nor Atreus there his horrid Feast prepare , Cadmus's , and Pr●g●es Metamorphosis ( She to a Swallow turn'd , he to a Snake ) And whatsoever contradicts my Sense , I hate to see , and never can believe , Five Acts are the just measure of a Play ▪ Never presume to make a God appear ▪ But for a business worthy of a God , And in one Scene no more than three should speak . A Chorus should supply what Action wants , And hath a generous and manly part ; Bridles wild rage , loves Rigid honesty , And strict Observance of impartial Laws , Sobriety , security and peace , And begs the Gods to turn blind fortunes Wheel , To raise the Wretched , and pull down the Proud. ( But nothing must be Sung between the Acts ▪ But what some way conduces to the Plot. ) First the shrill sound of a small rural Pipe , ( Not loud like Trumpets , nor adorn'd as now ) Was entertainment for the Infant Stage . And pleas'd the thin and bashfull Audience , Of our well meaning frugal Ancestors ▪ But when our Walls and limits were enlarg'd , And Men ( grown wanton by prosperity ) Studied new Arts of Luxury and Ease , The Verse , the Musick , and the Scene 's improv'd ; For how should ignorance be judge of Wit , Or men ▪ of Sence applaud the Jests of Fools ? Then came rich Cloths and gracefull Action in , Then instruments were taught more moving notes , And Eloquence with all her pomp and charms Foretold as useful and sententious Truths ▪ As those deliver'd by the Delphick God : The first Tragedians , found that serious Stile Too grave for their Uncultivated age , And so brought wild and naked Satyrs in , ( Whose motion , words , and shape were all a Farce ) ( As oft as decency would give them leave ) Because the mad ungovernable Rout , Full of confusion , and the fumes of Wine , Lov'd such Variety and antick Tricks . But then they did not wrong themselves so much , To make a God , a Hero , or a King , ( Stripp'd of his golden Crown and purple Robe ) Descend to a Mechanick Dialect , Nor ( to avoid such meanness ) soaring high With empty sound , and aiery notions fly ; For , Tragedy should blush as much to stoop To the low Mimmick follies of a Farce , As a grave Matron , would to dance with Girles : You must not think that a Satyrick Stile Allows of scandalous and brutish Words , Or the confounding of your Characters . Begin with Truth , then give Invention scope , And if your Stile be natural and smooth , All men will trie , and hope to write as well ; And ( not without much pains ) be undeceiv'd . So much good Method and ▪ Connexion may Improve the common and the plainest things . A Satyr that comes staring from the Woods , Must not at first speak like an Orator ; But , though his language should not be refin'd , ●t must not be Obscene , and Impudent , The better Sort abhors scurrility , And often censures , what the Rabble likes . Unpolish'd Verses pass with many Men , And Rome is too Indulgent in that Point ; But then , to write at a loose rambling rate , In hope the World will wink at all our faults ▪ Is such a rash , ill-grounded confidence , As men may pardon , but will never praise ▪ Consider well the Greek Originals , Read them by day , and think of them by night ; But Plautus was admir'd in former time . With too much patience ( not to call it worse ) Hi● harsh , unequal Verse , was Musick then , And Rudeness had the Priviledge of Wit : When Thespis first expos'd the Tragick Muse , Rude were the Actors , and a Cart the Scene , Where ghastly faces stain'd with lees of Wine , Frighted the Children , and amus'd the Croud ; This AEschilus ( with indignation ) saw , And built a Stage , found out a decent dress , Brought Vizards in ( a Civiler disguise ) And taught men how to speak , and how to Act ; Next Comedy appear'd with great applause , Till her licentious , and abusive Tongue , Wakened the Magistrates Coercive power , And forc'd it to suppress her Insolence ; Our Writers have attempted every way , And they deserve our praise , whose daring Muse , Disdain'd to be beholden to the Greeks , And found fit Subjects for her Verse at home . Nor should we be less famous for our Wit , Then for the force of our Victorious Arms ; But that the time and care , that are requir'd To overlook , and file , and polish well , Fright Poets from that necessary Toyl . Democritus was so in love with wit , And some Mens Natural impulse to write , That he despis'd the help of Art and Rules , And thought none Poets till their Brains were crack'd ; And this hath so Intoxicated some That ( to appear incorrigibly mad ) They cleanliness and Company renounce ; For Lunacy beyond the Cure of art , With a long Beard , and Ten long dirty Nails , Pass currant for Apollo's Livery . O my unhappy Stars ! If in the Spring , Some Physick had not cur'd me of the spleen , None would have writ with more success than I ; But I am satisfied to keep my sense , And only serve to whet that Wit in you , To which I willingly resign my claim . Yet without writing I may teach to write , Tell what the duty of a Poet is ; Wherein his Wealth and Ornament consist , And how he may be form'd , and how improv'd , What 's fit , what not , what excellent or ill , Sound judgment is the ground of Writing well : And when Philosophy directs your choice To proper Subjects rightly understood , Words from your Pen will naturally flow ; He only gives the proper Characters , Who knows the duty of all Ranks of Men , And what we owe to Countrey , Parents , Friends , How Judges , and how Senators should act , And what becomes a General to do ; Those are the likest Copies which are drawn , By the Original of human life . Sometimes in rough and undigested Plays We meet with such a lucky Character , As being humor'd right and well persu'd , Succeeds much better , than the shallow Verse , And chiming Trifles , of more studious Pens ; Greece had a Genious , Greece had Eloquence , For her ambition and her end was Fame ; Our Roman Youth is bred another way , And taught no arts but those of Usury ; And the glad Father glories in his Child , When he can subdivide a Fraction : Can Souls , who by their Parents from their birth Have been devoted thus to rust and gain , Be capable of high and generous thoughts ? Can Verses writ by such an Author live ? But you ( brave Youth ) wise Numa's worthy Heir , Remember of what weight your Judgment is , And never venture to commend a Book , That has not pass'd all Judges and all Tests . A Poet should instruct , or please , or both ; Let all your precepts be succinct and clear , That ready wits may comprehend them soon , And faithfull memories retain them long ; For superfluities are soon forgot . Never be so conceited of your Parts , To think you may persuade us what you please , Or venture to bring in a Child alive , That Canibals have murther'd and devour'd ; Old age explodes all but Morality ; Austerity offends aspiring Youths , But he that joyns instructions with delight , Profit with pleasure , carries all the Votes ; These are the Volumes that enrich the Shops , These pass with admiration through the World , And bring their Author an Eternal fame . Be not too rigidly Censorious , A string may jarr in the best Masters hand , And the most skilfull Archer miss his aim ; But in a Poem elegantly writ , I will not quarrel with a slight mistake , Such as our Natures frailty may excuse ; But he that hath been often told his fault , And still persists , is as impertinent , As a Musician that will always play , And yet is always out at the same Note ; When such a positive abandon'd Fopp , ( Among his numerous Absurdities ) Stumbles upon some tolerable Lines , I fret to see them in such company , And wonder by what Magick they came there . But in long Works , Sleep will sometimes surprize , Homer himself hath been observ'd to nodd . Poems ( like Pictures ) are of different Sorts , Some better at a distance , others near , Some love the dark , some chuse the clearest light , And boldly challenge the most piercing Eye , Some please for once , some will for ever please ; But Piso ( tho your own Experience , Join'd with your Fathers precepts make you wise ) Remember this as an important truth ; Some things admit of Mediocrity , A Counsellor or Pleader at the Bar , May want Messalas powerfull Eloquence , Or be less read than deep Cassellius ; Yet this indifferent Lawyer is esteem'd ; But no authority of Gods nor Men , Allow of any mean in Poesie . As an ill consort , and a course perfume , Disgrace the Delicacy of a Feast , And might with more discretion have been spar'd , So Poesie , whose end is to delight , Admits of no Degrees , but must be still , Sublimely good , or despicably ill . In other things men have some reason left ; And one that cannot Dance , or Fence , or Run ; Despairing of success , forbears to Try ; But all ( without consideration ) write ; Some thinking that th' omnipotence of Wealth Can turn them into Poets when they please . But Piso , you are of too quick a sight Not to discern which way your Talent lies , Or vainly struggle with your Genius ; Yet if it ever be your fate to Write , Let your Productions pass the strictest Hands , Mine and your Fathers , and not see the light , Till time and care have ripned every Line . What you keep by you , you may change , & mend , But words once spoke can never be recall'd . Orpheus inspir'd by more than humane power , Did not ( as Poets feign ) tame savage Beasts , But Men as lawless , and as wild as they , And first disuaded them from rage and bloud ; Thus when Amphion built the Theban Wall , They feign'd the Stones obey'd his Magick Lute ; Poets the first Instructers of Mankind , Brought all things to their proper , native Use ; Some they appropriated to the Gods , And some to publick , some to private ends : Promiscuous love by marriage was restrain'd Cities were built , and usefull Laws were made ; So ancient is the pedigree of Verse , And so divine a Poets function . Then Homer's and Tyrtaeus martial Muse , Waken'd the World , and sounded loud Alarms ▪ To Verse we owe the Sacred Oracles , And our best Precepts of Morality ; Some have by Verse obtain'd the love of Kings , ( Who , with the Muses , ease their wearied minds ) Then blush not Noble Piso to protect , What Gods inspire , and Kings delight to hear . Some think that Poets may be form'd by Art , Others maintain , that Nature makes them so ; I neither see what Art without a vein , Nor wit without the help of art can do , But mutually they need each others aid . He that intends to gain th' Olympick Prize , Must use himself to hunger heat , and cold , Take leave of Wine , and the soft joys of Love ; And no Musician dares pretend to skill , Without a great Expence of time and pains ; But every little busie Scribler now Swells with the praises which he gives himself ; And taking Sanctuary in the Croud , Brags of his impudence , and scorns to mend ▪ A wealthy Poet , takes more pains to hire , A flatring Audience , than poor Tradesmen do To persuade Customers to buy their goods . T is hard to find a Man of great Estate , That can distinguish flatterers from Friends . Never delude your self , nor read your Book Before a brib'd and fawning Auditor ; For hee 'l commend and feign an Extasie , Grow pale or weep , do any thing to please ; True friends appear less mov'd than Counterfeit ; As men that truly grieve at Funerals , Are not so loud , as those that cry for hire ; Wise were the Kings , who never chose a Friend Till with full Cups they had unmask'd his Soul , And seen the bottom of his deepest thoughts ; You cannot arm your self with too much care Against the smiles of a designing Knave . Quintilius ( if his advice were ask'd ) Would freely tell you what you should correct , Or ( if you could not ) bid you blot it out , And with more care supply the vacancy ; But if he found you fond , and obstinate ( And apter to defend than mend your faults ) With silenc leave you to admire your self , And without Rival hugg your darling Book . The prudent care of an Impartial friend , Will give you notice of each idle Line , Shew what sounds harsh , & what wants ornament , Or where it is too lavishly bestowed ; Make you explain all that he finds Obscure , And with a strict Enquiry mark your faults ; Nor for these trifles fear to loose your love ; Those things , which now seem frivolous , & slight , Will be of serious consequence to you , When they have made you once Ridiculous . A Mad Dogs foam , the infection of the Plague , And all the Judgments of the angry Gods , We are not all more heedfully to shun , Then Poetasters in their raging fits , Follow'd and pointed at by Fools and Boys ; But dreaded and proscrib'd by Men of sense : If ( in the Raving of a frantick Muse ) And minding more his Verses than his Way , Any of these should drop into a Well , Tho he might burst his lungs to call for help , No Creature would assist or ▪ pitty him , But seem to think he fell on purpose in . Hear how an old Sicilian Poet died ; Empedocles , mad to be thought a God , In a cold fit leap'd into AEtna's flames . Give Poets leave to make themselves away , Why should it be a greater sin to kill , Then to keep Men alive against their will ? Nor was this chance ; But a deliberate choice ; For if Empedocles were now reviv'd , He would be at his Frolick once again , And his pretensions to Divinity : T is hard to say whether for Sacrilege Or Incest , or some more unhear'd of Crime The Rhyming Fiend is sent into these Men , But they are all most visibly possest , And like a baited Bear , when he breaks loose , Without distinction seize on all they meet ; None ever scap'd that came within their reach , Sticking like Leaches till they burst with blood , Without remorse insatiably they read , And never leave till they have read Men dead . FINIS .