The modest fan was lifted up no more, Learn then what morals critics ought to show: Be silent always, when you doubt your sense: 'Tis not enough your counsel still be true; Be niggards of advice on no pretence; For the worst avarice is that of sense. 163 Fear most to tax an honourable fool, more 597 Than when they promise to give scribbling o'er. Such shameless bards we have: and yet 'tis true 619 With mean complacence, ne'er betray your trust, Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead, 624 Nor be so civil as to prove unjust. Fear not the anger of the wise to raise; "Twere well might critics still this freedom take: VARIATIONS. Ver. 547. The Author has here omitted the two following lines, as containing a national reflection, which in his stricter judgment he could not but disapprove on any people whatever : Then first the Belgians' morals were extoll'd; Ver. 564. That not alone what to your judgment's Ver. 569. Ver. 575. And things ne'er know, &c. NOTE. Ver. 586. And stares tremendous, &c.] This pic ture was taken to himself by John Dennis, a furious old critic by profession, who, upon no other provocation, wrote against this Essay, and its author, in a manner perfectly lunatic: for, as to the mention made of him in ver. 270, he took it as a compliment, and said it was treacherously meant to cause him to overlook this abuse of his person. For fools rush in where angels fear to tread. 634 Still humming on, their old dull course they keep. NOTE. Ver. 619. Garth did not write, &c.] A common author. Our poet did him this justice, when that slander at that time in prejudice of that deserving sooner for this very verse) dead and forgotten. slander most prevailed; and it is now (perhaps the Ver. 623. Between this and ver. 624. In vain you shrug and sweat, and strive to fly; Who to a friend his faults can freely show, [646 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 Mæonian star. Poets, a race long unconfin'd and free, Still fond and proud of savage liberty, Receiv'd his laws; and stood convine'd 'twas fit, Who conquer'd Nature, should preside o'er Wit. Thus long succeeding critics justly reign'd, At length Erasmus, that great injur'd name, 689 But see! each Muse, in Leo's golden days, Starts from her trance, and trims her wither'd bays; 656 Rome's ancient Genius, o'er its ruins spread, Shakes off the dust, and rears his reverend 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 critic's ivy grow: Cremona now shall ever boast thy name, As next in place to Mantua, next in fame! 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 retine, And call new beauties forth from every 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 rang'd in order, and dispos'd with grace, But less to please the eye, than arm the hand, 673 Still fit for use, and ready at command. [668 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. VARIATIONS. Between ver. 646 and 649, I found the following lines, since suppressed by the author: That bold Columbus of the realms of wit, After ver. 648. the first edition reads, Not only Nature did his laws obey, Ver. 655, 656. These lines are not in Ed. 1. [723 But soon, by impious arms from Latium chas'd, 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 despis'd, And kept unconquer'd, and unciviliz'd; Fierce for the liberties of Wit, and bold, We still defy'd the Romans, as of old. Yet some there were among the sounder few Of those who less presum'd, 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 master-piece is writing well." Such was Roscommon, not more learn'd than good, To him the wit of Greece and Rome was known, With manners generous as his noble blood; 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, Prescrib'd her heights, and prun'd her tender wing, (Her guide now lost) no more attempts to rise, But in low nuinbers short excursions tries: [view, Content, if hence th' unlearn'd their wants may The learn'd reflect on what before they knew: VARIATIONS. [ease. Ver. 689. All was believed, but nothing under stood. Nor thus alone the curious eye to please, Between ver. 690 and 691, the author omitted these Vain wits and critics were no more allow'd, [two: When none but saints had license to be proud Ver. 723, 724. These lines are not in Ed. 1 Careless of censure, nor too fond of fame; Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend, THE RAPE OF THE LOCK; AN HEROI-COMICAL POEM. Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare capillos; Mart. Ir appears by the motto, that the following poem was written or published at the lady's request: But there are some further circumstances not unworthy relating. Mr. Caryl (a gentleman | who was secretary to queen Mary, wife of James II. whose fortunes he followed into France, author of the comedy of Sir Solomon Single, and of several translations in Dryden's Miscellanies) originally proposed the subject to him, in a view of putting an end, hy this piece of ridicule, to a quarrel that was risen between two noble families, those of lord Petre and of Mrs. Fermor, on the trifling occasion of his having cut off a lock of her hair. The author sent it to the lady, with whom he was acquainted; and she took it so well as too give about copies of it. That first sketch (we learn from one of his letters) was written in less than a fortnight, in 1711, in two Cantos only; and it was so printed, first, in a Miscellany of Bern. Lintot's, without the name of the author: but it was received so well, that he made it more considerable the next year, by the addition of the machinery of the Sylphs, and extended it to five Cantos. We shall give the reader the pleasure of seeing in what manner these additions were inserted, so as to seem not to be added, but to grow out of the poem. Sec Canto I. ver. 19, &c. This insertion he always esteemed, and justly, the greatest effort of his skill and art as a poet, TO MRS, ARABELLA FERMOR, MADAM, IT will be in vain to deny that I have some regard for this piece, since I dedicate it to you; yet you may bear me witness, it was intended only to divert a few young ladies, who have good sense and good humour enough to laugh not only at their sex's little unguarded follies, but at their own. But as it was communicated with the air of a secret, it soon found its way into the world. An imperfect copy having been offered to a bookseller, you had the good-nature for my sake to consent to the publication of one more correct. This I was forced to, before I had executed half my design, for the machinery was entirely wanting to complete it. The machinery, madam, is a term invented by the critics, to signify that part which the deities, angels, or demons, are made to act in a poem : for the ancient poets are in one respect like many modern ladies; let an action be never so trivial in itself, they always make it appear of the utmost importance. These machines I determined to raise on a very new and odd foundation, the Rosicrusian doctrine of spirits. I know how disagreeable it is to make use of hard words before a lady; but it is so much the concern of a poet to have his works understood, and particularly by your sex, that you must give me leave to explain two or three difficult terms. The Rosicrusians are a people I must bring you acquainted with. The best account I know of them is in a French book called Le Comte de Gabalis, which, both in its title and size, is so like a novel, that many of the fair sex have read it for one by mistake. According to these gentlemen, the four elements are inhabited by spirits which they call Sylphs, Gnomes, Nymphs, and Salamanders. The Gnomes, or Demons of Earth, delight in mischief; but the Sylphs, whose habitation is in the air, are the best-conditioned creatures imaginable; for they say, any mortals may enjoy the most intimate familiarities with these gentle spirits, upon a condition very easy to all true adepts, an inviolate preservation of chastity. As to the following cantos, all the passages of them are as fabulous as the vision at the beginning, or the transformation at the end (except the loss of your hair, which I always mention with reverence). The human persons are as fictitions as the airy ones; and the character of Belinda, as it is now managed, resembles you in nothing but in beauty. If this poem had as many graces as there are in your person, or in your mind, yet I could never hope it should pass through the world half so uncensured as you have done. But let its fortune be what it will, mine is happy enough, to have given me this occasion of assuring you, that I am, with the truest esteem, madam, your most obedient, humble servant, A. POPE. THE RAPE OF THE LOCK, CANTO I. WHAT dire offence from amorous causes springs, Slight is the subject, but not so the praise, Say what strange motive, goddess! could compel VARIATIONS. Ver. 11, 12. It was in the first editions, And dwells such rage in softest bosoms then, And lodge such daring souls in little men? Ver. 13, &c. stood thus in the first edition : 11 Sol through white curtains did his beams display, And ope'd those eyes which brighter shone than they ; Her guardian Sylph prolong'd the balmy rest: Think not, when woman's transient breath is fled, Succeeding vanities she still regards, "Know farther yet; whoever fair and chaste VARIATIONS. Shock just had given himself the rouzing shake, And nymphs prepar'd their chocolate to take; Thrice the wrought slipper knock'd against the ground, And striking watches the tenth hour resound. Ver. 19. Belinda still, &c. All the verses from hence to the end of this canto were added afterwards. Safe from the treacherous friend, the daring spark, "Some nymphs there are, too conscious of their For life predestin'd to the Gnomes embrace. "Oft, when the world imagine women stray, What tender maid but must a victim fall Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches drive. "Of these am I, who thy protection claim, I saw, alas! some dread event impend, [long, He said; when Shock, who thought she slept too Leap'd up, and wak'd his mistress with his tongue. 'Twas then, Belinda, if report say true, Thy eyes first open'd on a billet-doux; Wounds, charms, and ardours were no sooner read, But all the vision vanish'd from thy head. And now, unveil'd, the toilet stands display'd, Each silver vase in mystic order laid. First, rob'd in white, the nymph intent adores, With head uncover'd, the cosmetic powers. A heavenly image in the glass appears, To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears; Th' inferior priestess, at her altar's side, Trembling, begins the sacred rites of Pride. Unnumber'd treasures ope at once, and here The various offerings of the world appear; From each she nicely culls with curious toil, And decks the goddess with the glittering spoil. This casket India's glowing gems unlocks, And all Arabia breathes from yonder box. The tortoise here and elephant unite, Transform'd to combs, the speckled and the white. Here files of pins extend their shining rows, Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billet-doux. Now awful Beauty puts on all its arms; The fair each moment rises in her charms, Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace, And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes. CANTO II. 4 [shone, NoT with more glories in th' ethereal plain, This nymph, to the destruction of mankind, Th' adventuous baron the bright locks admir'd; He saw, he wish'd, and to the prize aspir'd. Resolv'd to win, he meditates the way, By force to ravish, or by fraud betray; For when success a lover's toil attends, Few ask if fraud or force attain'd his ends. For this, ere Phabus rose, he had implor'd But now secure the painted vessel glides, VARIATION. 46 Ver. 4. Lanch'd on the bosom.] From hence the poem continues, in the first edition, to ver. 46. The rest the winds dispers'd in empty air; all after, to the end of this canto, being additional. Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gentle play, He rais'd his azure wand, and thus begun : 66 Ye Sylphs and Sylphids, to your chief give ear Fays, Fairies, Genii, Elves, and Demons, hear! Ye know the spheres, and various tasks assign'd By laws eternal to th' aërial kind. Some in the fields of purest ether play, "Our humbler province is to tend the fair, To draw fresh colours from the vernal flowers; "This day, black omens threat the brightest fair Or stain her honour, or her new brocade; Or whether Heaven has doom'd that Shock must fall. "To fifty chosen Sylphs, of special note, |