Chapter II: Part 2

A crazy Constitution, and a Body liable to continual Disorders, call off the Attention of many a great Mind, from what might otherwise procure very great Reputation and Regard. Their _Genius_ no sooner begins a little to exert itself, but the Spirits flag, and one unhappy Ail or other, enfeebles and discourages the Mind.

Lust and Wine mightily obstruct all Attempts that require Application; and will neither allow a Man duly to furnish his Mind, nor rightly to use that Furniture he has. An Intrigue or a Bottle may sometimes give an Opportunity for a Man to shew his _Genius_, but will utterly spoil all regular and reputable Exertings of it. He who would put forth his _Genius_ to the Advantage of Himself or the World, should give into no Pleasures that will enervate or dissolve his Mind. He must keep it bent for Business, or he will bring all Business to nothing.

Conceit and Affectation on one hand, and Peevishness and Perverseness of Temper on the other, will lay the best _Genius_ under great Disadvantages, and raise such Dislike and Opposition, as will bear it down in spite of all its Force and Furniture. A graceful Mixture of Boldness and Modesty, with a Smoothness and Benignity of Temper, will much better make a Man's Way into the World, and procure him the Opportunity of exerting his _Genius_.

But there is nothing lies as an heavier Weight upon a Man, or hinders Him more from shewing Himself to Advantage, and employing his great Abilities for the Service of Others; than the Quarrels and Contentions of Parties. Many have their Talents imprison'd, by being of the hated and sinking Side. Their Light is wholly smother'd and suppress'd, that it may not shine out with a Lustre on the Party to which they belong, whether it be in Politicks or Religion. And all Struggles of a _Genius_ are vain, when a Man is born down at once by Clamour and Power.

This is very discouraging to a Man who has taken much Pains in cultivating his _Genius_; and many have, without doubt, been tempted wholly to neglect themselves, from the Dread of these Discouragements. I own this Neglect is not to be excused altogether, though it grieves one that there should be any Occasion given for it. There is still Room for Men to follow and improve a _Genius_, and hope by it to benefit Mankind, and procure Regard to Themselves. And it is hard to say, what Way of exerting it will turn most to Account. Peculiar Honours are due to those who appear to Advantage in the _Pulpit_. Numerous Applauses and Preferments attend those who acquit themselves well at the _Bar_. There is a great deal of Renown to those who are eminent in the _Senate_. There are high Advantages to such as excel in _Counsel_ and on _Embassies_. Immortal Lawrels will crown such as are brave, expert and victorious in _Arms_. There are the Blessings of Wealth and Plenty to those who manage well their _Trades_ and _Merchandize_. The Names of the skilful _Architect_, the cunning _Artificer_, the fine, exact and well devising _Painter_, are sometimes enrolled in the Lists of Fame. The learned, experienced and successful _Physician_, may become as considerable for Repute and Estate, as one of any other Profession. _Musick_ also may have its _Masters_, who shall be had in lasting Esteem. The _Poets_ Performances may be [N]more durable than Brass, and long lived as Time it Self. Every _Science_ may have Professors that shall shine in the learned World. With all the Discouragements that may damp a _Genius_, there is yet a wide Field for it to exert it self, and Room to hope it will not be in vain.

[N] Exegi monumentum aere perennius
Regalique situ pyramidum altius,
Quod non imber edax, non Aquilo impotens
Possit diruere aut innumerabilis
Annorum series et fuga temporum:

Horat

I was going to add something of exerting one's _Genius_ as an _Author_. But I found, it would fill up too much Room in my Paper, should I enlarge on the several Ways of Mens appearing considerable. And I was so apprehensive of the Reputation, which the Divine, the Historian, the Critick, the Philosopher, and almost all the other Authors, have above us _Essay-Writers_, that I thought I should but lessen the Regards to my own _Genius_, should I have set to View the Advantages of Others. It will sufficiently gratify my Ambition as an Author, if the World will be so good natured as to think I have handsomely excus'd my self; that I am tolerably fitted, in the Way in I am, to give Entertainment to my Readers, and do them some Service.

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FINIS

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ERRATA [Transcriber's Note: Not readable]

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THE

CREATION.

A

Pindaric Illustration
OF A

POEM,

Originally written by

MOSES,

On That SUBJECT.

WITH A

PREFACE to Mr. POPE,

CONCERNING

The Sublimity of the Ancient HEBREW POETRY,
and a material and obvious Defect in the ENGLISH.

_LONDON_:

Printed for T. BICKERTON, at the _Crown_ in _Pater-noster-Row._

M. DCC. XX.

Price One Shilling.

_PREFACE to MR. POPE_

Sir,

About two Years ago, upon a slight Misapprehension of some Expressions of yours, which my Resentment, or perhaps my Pride, interpreted to the Disadvantage of a Poetical Trifle, I had then newly publish'd, I suffer'd myself to be unreasonably transported, so far, as to inscribe you an angry, and inconsiderate Preface; without previous Examination into the Justness of my Proceeding. I have lately had the Mortification to learn from your own Hand that you were entirely guiltless of the fact charg'd upon you; so that, in attempting to retaliate a suppos'd Injury, I have done a real Injustice.

The only Thing which an honest Man ought to be more asham'd of than his faults, is a Reluctance against confessing them. I have already acknowledg'd mine to yourself: But no publick Guilt is well aton'd, by a private Satisfaction; I therefore send you a Duplicate of my Letter, by way of the World, that all, who remember my Offence, may also witness my Repentance.

Sir,

I am under the greatest Confusion I ever felt in my Life, to
find by your Letter, that I have been guilty of a Crime, which
I can never forgive Myself, were it for no other Reason, than
that You have forgiven it. I might have learnt from your
Writings the Extent of your Soul, and shou'd have concluded it
impossible for the Author of those elevated Sentiments, to sink
beneath them in his Practice.

You are generously moderate, when you mitigate my Guilt, and
miscall it a Credulity; 'twas a passionate, and most
unjustifiable Levity, and must still have remain'd
unpardonable, whatever Truth might have been found in its
mistaken Occasion.

What stings me most, in my Reflection on this Folly, is, that
I know not how to atone it; I will endeavour it, however;
being always asham'd, when I have attempted to revenge an
Injury, but never more proud, than when I have begg'd pardon
for an Error.

If you needed an Inducement to the strengthening your
Forgiveness, you might gather it from these two
Considerations; First, The Crime was almost a Sin against
Conviction; for though not happy enough to know you
personally, your Mind had been my intimate Acquaintance, and
regarded with a kind of partial Tenderness, that made it
little less than Miracle, that I attempted to offend you. A
sudden Warmth, to which, by Nature, I am much too liable,
transported me to a Condition, I shall best describe in
Shakespear's Sense, somewhere or other.

Blind in th' obscuring Mist of heedless Rage,
I've rashly shot my Arrows o'er a House,
And hurt my Brother....

A Second Consideration is, the Occasion you have gather'd to
punish my Injustice, with more than double Sharpness, by your
Manner of receiving it. The Armour of your Mind is temper'd so
divinely, that my mere Human Weapons have not only fail'd to
pierce, but broke to pieces in rebounding. You meet Assaults,
like some expert Arabian, who, declining any Use of his own
Javelin, arrests those which come against him, in the Fierceness
of their Motion, and overcomes his Enemies, by detaining their
own Weapons. 'Tis a noble Triumph you now exercise, by the
Superiority of your Nature; and while I see you looking down upon
the Distance of my Frailty, I am forc'd to own a Glory, which I
envy you; and am quite asham'd of the poor Figure I am making, in
the bottom of the Prospect. I feel, I am sure, Remorse, enough to
satisfy you for the Wrong, but to express it, wou'd, I think,
exceed even your own Power.

Yours, whose sweet Songs can rival Orpheu's Strain,
And force the wondring Woods to dance again,
Make moving Mountains hear your pow'rful Call,
And headlong Streams hang list'ning in their Fall.

No Words can be worthy to come after these; I will therefore
hasten to tell you, that I am, and will ever be, with the
greatest Truth and Respect,

SIR,

Your Most Humble,

and Most Obedient Servant,

A. Hill.

I have now attempted, as far as I am able, to throw off a Weight, which my Mind has been uneasy under. I cannot say, in the City Phrase, that I have balanc'd the Account, but you must admit of Composition, where full Payment is impossible. I shall be so far from regretting you the old Benefit of Lex talionis, that I forgive you heartily, beforehand, for any thing you may hereafter think fit to say, or do, to my Disadvantage; nay, the Pleasure I enjoy by reflecting on your good Nature, will degenerate to a Pain, if one Accident or other, in the Course of your Life, does not favour me with some Occasion of advancing your Interest.

Having said thus much to you, in your Quality of a Good Man, I will proceed to address you, in your other Quality, of a Great Poet; in which Light I look up to you with extraordinary Comfort, as to a new Constellation breaking out upon our World, with equal Heat, and Brightness, and cross-spangling, as it were, the whole Heaven of Wit with your milky way of Genius.

You cou'd never have been born at a Time, which more wanted the Influence of your Example: All the Fire you bring with you, and the Judgment you are acquiring, in the Course of your Journey, will be put to their full stress, to support and rebuild the sinking Honours of Poetry.

It was a Custom, which prevail'd generally among the Ancients, to impute Celestial Descent to their Heroes; The Vanity, methinks, might have been pardonable, and rational, if apply'd to an Art; since Arts, when they are at once delightful and profitable, as you will certainly leave Poetry, have one real Mark of Divinity, they become, in some measure, immortal. And as the oldest, and, I think, the sublimest Poem in the World, is of Hebrew Original, and was made immediately after passing the Red-Sea, at a Time, when the Author had neither Leisure, nor Possibility, to invent a new Art: It must therefore be undeniable, either that the Hebrews brought Poetry out of Egypt, or that Moses receiv'd it from God, by immediate Inspiration. This last, being what a Poet should be fondest of believing, I wou'd fain suppose it probable, that God, who was pleas'd to instruct Moses with what Ceremony he wou'd be worship'd, taught him also a Mode of Thinking, and expressing Thought, unprophan'd by vulgar Use, and peculiar to that Worship. God then taught Poetry first to the Hebrews, and the Hebrews to Mankind in general.

But, however this may have been, there is, apparently, a divine Spirit, glowing forcibly in the Hebrew Poetry, a kind of terrible Simplicity; a magnificent Plainness! which is commonly lost, in Paraphrase, by our mistaken Endeavours after heightening the Sentiments, by a figurative Expression; This is very ill Judg'd: The little Ornaments of Rhetorick might serve, fortunately enough, to swell out the Leanness of some modern Compositions; but to shadow over the Lustre of a divine Hebrew Thought, by an Affectation of enliv'ning it, is to paint upon a Diamond, and call it an Ornament.

It is a surprizing Reflection, that these noble Hebrew Poets shou'd have written with such admirable Vigour three Thousand Years ago; and that, instead of improving, we should affect to despise them; as if, to write smoothly, and without the Spirit of Imagery, were the true Art of Poetry, because the only Art we practise. It puts me in Mind of the famous Roman Lady, who suppos'd, that Men had, naturally, stinking Breaths, because she had been us'd to it, in her Husband.

The most obvious Defect in our Poetry, and I think the greatest it is liable to, is, that we study Form, and neglect Matter. We are often very flowing, and under a full Sail of Words, while we leave our Sense fast aground, as too weighty to float on Frothiness; We run on, upon false Scents, like a Spaniel, that starts away at Random after a Stone, which is kept back in the Hand, though It seem'd to fly before him. To speak with Freedom on this Subject, is a Task of more Danger than Honour; for few Minds have real Greatness enough to consider a Detection of their Errors, as a Warning to their Conduct, and an Advantage to their Fame; But no discerning Judgment will consider it as ill Nature, in one Writer, to mark the Faults of another. A general Practice of that Kind wou'd be the highest Service to poetry. No Disease can be cur'd, till its Nature is examin'd; and the first likely Step towards correcting our Errors, is resolving to learn impartially, that we have Errors to be corrected.

I will, therefore, with much Freedom, but no manner of Malice, remark an Instance or two, from no mean Writers, to prove, that our Poetry has been degenerating apace into mere Sound, or Harmony; nor ought This to be consider'd as an invidious Attempt, since whatever Pains we take, about polishing our Numbers, where we raise not our Meaning, are as impertinently bestowed, as the Labour wou'd be, of setting a broken Leg after the Soul has left the Body. The Gunners have a Custom, when a Ball is too little for the Bore of their Canon, to wrap Towe about it, till it fills the Mouth of the Piece; after which, it is discharg'd, with a Thunder, proportionable to the Size of the Gun; But its Execution at the Mark, will immediately discover, that the Noise of the Discharge was a great deal too big for the Diameter of the Bullet. It is just the same thing with an unsinewy Imagination, sent abroad in sounding Numbers; The Loftiness of the Expression will astonish shallow Readers into a temporary Admiration, and support it, for a while; but the Bounce, however loud, goes no farther than the Ear; The Heart remains unreach'd by the Languor of the Sentiment.

Poetry, the most elevated Exertion of human Wit, is no more than a weak and contemptible Amusement, wanting Energy of Thought, or Propriety of Expression. Yet we may run into Error, by an injudicious Affectation of attaining Perfection, as Men, who are gazing upward, when they shou'd be looking to their Footsteps, stumble frequently against Posts, while they have the Sun in Contemplation.

In attempting, for Example, to modernize so lofty an Ode as the 104th Psalm, the Choice of Metaphors shou'd, methinks, have been considered, as one of the most remarkable Difficulties. There seems to have been a Necessity, that they shou'd be noble, as well as natural; and yet, if too much rais'd, they wou'd endanger an Extinction of the Charms, which they were design'd to illustrate. That powerful Imagination of 'the Sea, climbing over the Mountains Tops, and rushing back, upon the Plains, at the Voice of God's Thunder,' ought certainly to have been express'd with as much Plainness as possible: And, to demonstrate how ill the contrary Measure has succeeded, one need only observe how it looks in Mr. Trapp's Metaphorical Refinement.

"The Ebbing Deluge did its Troops recal,
Drew off its Forces, and disclos'd the Ball,
They, at th' Eternal's Signal march'd away."

Who does not discern, in this Place, what an Injury is done to the original Image, by the military Metaphor? Recalling the 'Troops' of a Deluge, 'Drawing off its Forces'; and its 'Marching away, at a Signal,' carry not only a visible Impropriety of Thought, but are infinitely below the Majesty of That God, who is so dreadfully represented thundering his Commands to the Ocean; They are directly the Reverse of that terrible Confusion, and overwhelming Uproar of Motion, which the Sea, in the Original, is suppos'd to fall into. The March of an Army is pleasing, orderly, slow; The Inundation of a Sea, from the Tops of the Mountains, frightful, wild and tumultuous; Every Justness and Grace of the original Conception is destroyed by the Metaphor.

In the same Psalm, the Hebrew Poet describing God, says, '....He maketh the Clouds his Chariots, and walketh on the Wings of the Wind.' Making the 'Clouds his Chariots,' is a strong and lively Thought; But That of 'walking on the Wings of the Wind,' is a Sublimity, that frightens, astonishes, and ravishes the Mind of a Reader, who conceives it, as he shou'd do. The Judgement of the Poet in this Place, is discernable in three different Particulars; The Thought is in itself highly noble, and elevated; To move at all upon the Wind, carries with it an Image of much Majesty and Terror; But this natural Grandeur he first encreas'd by the Word 'Wings,' which represents the Motion, as not only on the Winds, but on the Winds in their utmost Violence, and Rapidity of Agitation. But then at last, comes that finishing Sublimity, which attends the Word 'walks'! The Poet is not satisfied to represent God, as riding on the Winds; nor even as riding on them in a Tempest; He therefore tells us, that He walks on their Wings; that so our Idea might be heighten'd to the utmost, by reflecting on this calm, and easy Motion of the Deity, upon a Violence, so rapid, so furious, and ungovernable, to our human Conception. Yet as nothing can be more sublime, so nothing can be more simple, and plain, than this noble Imagination. But Mr. Trapp, not contented to express, attempts unhappily to adorn this inimitable Beauty, in the following Manner.

"Who, borne in Triumph o'er the Heavenly Plains,
Rides on the Clouds, and holds a Storm in Reins,
Flies on the Wings of the sonorous Wind, &c."

Here his imperfect, and diminishing Metaphor, of the 'Rains,' has quite ruin'd the Image; What rational, much less noble Idea, can any Man conceive of a Wind in a Bridle? The unlucky Word 'Plains' too, is a downright Contradiction to the Meaning of the Passage. What wider Difference in Nature, than between driving a Chariot over a Plain, and moving enthron'd, amidst That rolling, and terrible Perplexity of Motions, which we figure to our Imagination, from a 'Chariot of Clouds'? But the mistaken Embellishment of the Word 'flies,' in the last Verse, is an Error almost unpardonable; Instead of improving the Conception, it has made it trifling, and contemptible, and utterly destroy'd the very Soul of its Energy! 'flies' on the Wind! What an Image is That, to express the Majesty of God? To 'walk' on the Wind is astonishing, and horrible; But to 'fly' on the Wind, is the Employment of a Bat, of an Owl, of a Feather! Mr. Trapp is, I believe, a Gentleman of so much Candour, and so true a Friend to the Interest of the Art he professes, that there will be no Occasion to ask his pardon, for dragging a Criminal Metaphor, or two, out of the Immunity of his Protection.

Mr. Philips has lately been told in Print, by one of our best Criticks, that he has excell'd all the Ancients, in his Pastoral Writings; He will, therefore, be apt to wonder, that I take the Liberty to say, in downright Respect to Truth, and the Justice due to Poetry, that I have not only seen modern pastorals, much better than His, but that his appear, to me, neither natural, nor equal. One might extend this Remark to the very Names of his Shepherds; Lobbin, Hobbinol, and Cuddy are nothing of a Piece, with Lanquet, Mico, and Argol; nor do his Personages agree better with themselves, than their Names with one another. Mico, for Example, at the first Sight we have of him, is a very polite Speaker, and as metaphorical as Mr. Trapp.

"This Place may seem for Shepherds Leisure made,
So lovingly these Elms unite their Shade!
Th'ambitious Woodbine! how it climbs, to breathe
Its balmy Sweets around, on all beneath!"

But, alas! this Fit of Eloquence, like most other Blessings, is of very short Continuance; It holds him but Just one Speech: In the beginning of the next, he is as very a Rustick, as Colin Clout, and has forgot all his Breeding.

"No Skill of Musick can I, simple Swain,
No fine Device, thine Ear to entertain;
Albeit some deal I pipe, rude though it be,
Sufficient to divert my, Sheep, and Me."

There is no Transformation In Ovid more sudden, or surprizing; He has Reason indeed to say, that, when he "pipes some deal," his 'Sheep' are 'diverted' with him. His Readers, I am afraid too, are as merry as his Sheep; If he was but as skilful in Change of Time, as he is in Change of Dialect, commend me to him for a Musician! The pied Piper, who drew all the Rats of a City out, after his Melody, came not near him for Variety.

If the late excellent Mr. Addison, whose Verses abound in Graces, which can never be too much admir'd, shall be, often, found liable to an Overflow of his Meaning, by this Dropsical Wordiness, which we so generally give into, it will serve at the same time, as a Comfort, and a Warning; and incline us to a severe Examination of our Writings, when we venture out upon a World, that will, one time or other, be sure to censure us impartially; In That Gentleman's Works, whoever looks close, will discover Thorns on every Branch of his Roses; For Example, we all hear, with Delight, in his celebrated Letter from Italy, that, there,

... The Muse so oft her Harp has strung,
That not a Mountain rears its Head unsung.

But, he adds, in the very next Line, that every shady Thicket too, grows renown'd in Verse; now one can never help remembering, that Thickets are Births, as it were of Yesterday; the mere Infancy of Woods! and that the oldest Woods in Italy may be growing on Foundations of ruin'd Cities, which flourish'd in the Times he there speaks of; whence it must naturally be inferr'd, that to say, the Italian Thickets grow renown'd in Roman Verse, though the Mountains really do so, is to make Use of Words, without Regard to their Meaning; A Lapse of dangerous Consequence, because, when the Understanding is once shock'd, this most rapturous Elevation of the Mind (as when cold Water is thrown suddenly upon boiling) sinks at once to chilling Flatness, and is considered as mere Gingle and childish Amusement.

No Man, I believe, has read without Pleasure, his fine and lively Descriptions of the Nar, Clitumnus, Mincio, and Albula, but the worst of it is, he winds us so long, in and out, between these Rivers, that he loses himself in their Maeanders, and brings us, at last, to a strange Stream indeed, which is 'immortaliz'd in Song,' and yet 'lost In Oblivion.'

"I look for Streams, immortaliz'd, in Song,
Which lost, and buried in Oblivion lie."

The Thought, in this Place, is very lively and just, but quite obscur'd by the Redundancy and Wantonness of the Expression. Had he only said 'lost,' and 'buried,' It might have been urg'd, that the Rivers were dry'd up, and no longer to be found, in their old Channels. But, let them be lost, as to Existence, as certainly as he will, they can never be lost in 'Oblivion,' if they are 'immortaliz'd' in Poetry. 'Immortal' is a favourite Word in this Gentleman's Writings, and leads him, as most Favourites are apt to do, into very frequent Errors.

It is naturally unpleasant, to be detain'd too long in the Maziness of one tedious Thought, express'd many Ways successively. When we read that the 'Tiber is destitute of Strength,' what else can we conclude, but that its Stream is a weak one? But we are oblig'd to hear, also, that it 'derives its Source from an unthrifty Urn': Well, now, may we go on? No; its 'Urn' is not only 'unthrifty,' but its 'Source' is unfruitful. By this time, one can scarce help, enquiring, what new Meaning is convey'd to the Apprehension, by the Multiplication of the Phrases? And not finding any, we have no Reflection to satisfy ourselves with, but, that the strongest Flow of Fancy, is most subject to Whirlpools.

It is from the same unweigh'd Redundancy, and Misapplication of Words, that we so often find this excellent Writer falling into the Anticlimax. As where, for Example, he informs us of Liberty, that she is a Goddess,

"Profuse of Bliss, and pregnant with Delight,
Eternal Pleasures, in her Presence reign."

After 'Profusion of Bliss,' that is to say, the heap'd Enjoyment of all Blessings to be wish'd for; how does it cool the Imagination, to read of being 'pregnant with Delight'? Had she been brought to Bed of 'Delight,' it had been but a poor Delivery: For what imports 'Delight,' in Comparison with 'Bliss'? And how much less too is pregnant with Delight,' than 'Delight' in Possession! But then again, after both these, what cou'd the Author hope to teach us, by adding, that 'Pleasure reigns in her Presence.' Can there be 'Bliss' without 'Delight'? Was there ever 'Delight' without 'Pleasure'? It shou'd gradually have ascended thus, Pleasure, Delight, Bliss; But to turn it the direct contrary Way, Bliss, Delight, Pleasure, is setting a poor Meaning upon its Head, and the same thing as to say, Mr. Addison writ incomparably, finely, nay, and tolerably. A Praise, which, I dare say, he wou'd have given no Body Thanks for. One wou'd think there were a kind of Fatality in Liberty, since scarce any Body can meddle either with the Word or the Thing, but they turn all topsey turvey.

But I am sliding insensibly into a Theme, that requires rather a Volume, than a Page or two; I hasten therefore to present you a Paraphrase on the Six Days Work of the Creator, as described to us by Moses, in the First Chapter of Genesis, which, you know, was written, originally, in Verse. It wou'd be difficult, I am sure, to match the Greatness of that inspired Author's Images, out of all the noble Writings, which have honour'd Antiquity; and whose most remarkable Excellencies have been found, in those Parts of their Works, which they elevated, and made more solemn, by a Mixture of their Religion. Our Poetry, in so able a Hand as Yours, might receive heavenly Advantages, from a Practice of like Nature. But I am of Opinion, that no English Verse, except that, which we, I think a little improperly, call Pindaric, can allow the necessary Scope, to so masterless a Subject, as the Creation, of all others the most copious, and illustrious; and which ought to be touch'd with most Discretion, and Choice of Circumstances.

Mr. Milton, Mr. Cowley, Sir Richard Blackmore, and now, lately, a young Gentleman, of a very lively Genius, have severally tried their Strength in this celestial Bow; Sir Richard may be said indeed to have shot farthest, but too often beside the Mark; He will permit me the Liberty of owning my Opinion, that he is too minute, and particular, and rather labours to oppress us with every Image he cou'd raise, than to refresh and enliven us, with the noblest, and most differing. He is also too unmindful of the Dignity of his Subject, and diminishes it by mean, and contemptible Metaphors. Speaking of the Skies, he says they were

Spun thin, and wove, on Nature's finest Loom.

Longinus is very angry with Timaeus for saying of Alexander, that he conquer'd all Asia, in less Time than Isocrates took to write his Panegyric, "Because, says the Critick, it is a pitiful Comparison of Alexander the Great with a Schoolmaster." What then wou'd he have said of Sir Richard's Metaphorical Comparison of the CREATOR Himself, to a Spinster, and a Weaver? The very Beasts of Mr. Milton, who kept Moses in his Eye, carry Infinitely more Majesty, than the Skies of Sir Richard.

The Grassy Clods now calv'd; and half appear'd
The tawny Lyon, pawing to get free
His hinder Parts; then springs, as broke from Bonds,
And, rampant, shakes aloft, his brinded Main!
The heaving Leopard, rising, like the Mole,
In Heaps the crumbling Earth about him threw!

These animated Images, or pictured Meanings of Poetry, are the forcible Inspirers, which enflame a Reader's Will, and bind down his Attention. They arise from living Words, as Aristotle calls them; that is, from Words so finely chosen, and so Justly ranged, that they call up before a Reader the Spirit of their Sense, in that very Form, and Action, it impressed upon the Writer. But when the Idea, which a Poet strives to raise, is in itself magnificent and striking, the Dawb of Metaphor, or any spumy Colourings of Rhetoric can but deaden, and efface it.

If Sir Richard had said, concerning the Skies, on any other Subject but This, of the Creation, that they were 'spun thin, and wove, on Nature's finest Loom,' the Thought had been so far from Impropriety, as to have been pleasing, and praise-worthy; But when the Image he wou'd set before us, is the Maker of Heaven and Earth, in all the dreadful Majesty of his Omnipotence, producing at a Word, the noblest Part of the Creation, and 'spreading out the Heavens as a Curtain'; In this tremendous Exercise of his Divinity, to compare him to a Weaver, and his Expansion of the Skies, to the low Mechanism of a 'Loom,' is injudiciously to diminish an Idea, he pretends to heighten and illustrate.

I will end with a Word or two concerning the different Measure of the Verse, in which the following Poem is written; and which is apt to disgust Readers, not well grounded in Poetry, because it requires a fuller Degree of Attention than the Couplet, and, as Mr. Cowley has said of it,

... Will no unskilful Touch endure,
But flings Writer and Reader too, that sits not sure.

I have, in another Place, endeavoured by Arguments to demonstrate the Preference of this Kind of Verse to any other; I will here observe only, from my Experience of other Writers, that it wins, insinuates, and grows insensibly upon the Relish of a Reader, till the little seeming Harshness, which is supposed to be in it, softens gradually away, and leaves a vigorous Impression behind it, of mixed Majesty and Sweetness.

A Man, who is just beginning to try his Ear in Pindaric, may be compared to a new Scater; He totters strangely at first, and staggers backward and forward; Every Stick, or frozen Stone in his Way, is a Rub that he falls at. But when many repeated Trials have embolden'd him to strike out, and taught the true Poize of Motion, he throws forward his Body with a dextrous Velocity, and becoming ravish'd with the masterly Sweep of his Windings, knows no Pleasure greater, than to feel himself fly through that well-measured Maziness, which he first attempted with Perplexity. But I will detain you no longer, and hasten now to the Poem, which has given me this pleasing Opportunity of telling you how much I am,

Sir,

Your Most Humble
and Obedient Servant,

A. HILL

_THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY_

ANNOUNCES ITS

Publications for the Third Year(1948-1949)

_At least two_ items will be printed from each of the
_three_ following groups:

Series IV: Men, Manners, and Critics

Sir John Falstaff (pseud.), _The Theatre _(1720).

Aaron Hill, Preface to _The Creation; _and Thomas
Brereton, Preface to _Esther._

Ned Ward, Selected Tracts.

Series V: Drama

Edward Moore, _The Gamester _(1753).

Nevil Payne, _Fatal Jealousy _(1673).

Mrs. Centlivre, _The Busie Body _(1709).

Charles Macklin, _Man of the World _(1781).

Series VI: Poetry and Language

John Oldmixon, _Reflections on Dr. Swift's Letter to
Harley _(1712); and
Arthur Mainwaring, _The British Academy _(1712).

Pierre Nicole, _De Epigrammate._

Andre Dacier, Essay on Lyric Poetry.

Issues will appear, as usual, in May, July, September, November, January, and March. In spite of rising costs, membership fees will be kept at the present annual rate of $2.50 in the United States and Canada; $2.75 in Great Britain and the continent. British and continental subscriptions should be sent to B.H. Blackwell, Broad Street, Oxford, England. American and Canadian subscriptions may be sent to any one of the General Editors.

TO THE, AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY:

_I enclose the membership fee for_

_the third year_

_the second and third
year_

_the first, second, and
third year_

NAME....

ADDRESS....

NOTE: All income received by the Society is devoted to defraying cost of printing and mailing.

_THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY_

MAKES AVAILABLE

Inexpensive Reprints of Rare Materials

FROM

ENGLISH LITERATURE OF THE

SEVENTEENTH AND EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES

Students, scholars, and bibliographers of literature, history, and philology will find the publications valuable. _The Johnsonian News Letter_ has said of them: "Excellent facsimiles, and cheap in price, these represent the triumph of modern scientific reproduction. Be sure to become a subscriber; and take it upon yourself to see that your college library is on the mailing list."

The Augustan Reprint Society is a non-profit, scholarly organization, run without overhead expense. By careful management it is able to offer at least six publications each year at the unusually low membership fee of $2.50 per year in the United States and Canada, and $2.75 in Great Britain and the continent.

Libraries as well as individuals are eligible for membership. Since the publications are issued without profit, however, no discount can be allowed to libraries, agents, or booksellers.

New members may still obtain a complete run of the first year's publications for $2.50, the annual membership fee.

During the first two years the publications are issued in three series: I. Essays on Wit; II. Essays on Poetry and Language; and III. Essays on the Stage.

_PUBLICATIONS FOR THE FIRST YEAR (1946-1947)_

MAY, 1946: Series I, No. 1--Richard Blackmore's _Essay upon
Wit _(1716), and Addison's _Freeholder_ No. 45
(1716).

JULY, 1946: Series II, No. 1--Samuel Cobb's _Of Poetry_ and
_Discourse on Criticism_ (1707).

SEPT., 1946: Series III, No. 1--Anon., _Letter to A.H. Esq.;
concerning the Stage_ (1698), and Richard Willis'
_Occasional Paper_ No. IX (1698).

Nov., 1946: Series I, No. 2--Anon., _Essay on Wit_ (1748),
together with Characters by Flecknoe, and Joseph
Warton's _Adventurer_ Nos. 127 and 133.

JAN., 1947: Series II, No. 2--Samuel Wesley's _Epistle to a
Friend Concerning Poetry _(1700) and _Essay on
Heroic Poetry_ (1693).

MARCH, 1947: Series III, No. 2--Anon., _Representation of the
Impiety and Immorality of the Stage_ (1704) and
anon., _Some Thoughts Concerning the Stage_ (1704).

_PUBLICATIONS FOR THE SECOND YEAR (1947-1948)_

MAY, 1947: Series I, No. 3--John Gay's _The Present State of
Wit;_ and a section on Wit from _The English
Theophrastus._ With an Introduction by Donald Bond.

JULY, 1947: Series II, No. 3--Rapin's _De Carmine Pastorali,_
translated by Creech. With an Introduction by
J.E. Congleton.

SEPT., 1947: Series III, No. 3--T. Hanmer's (?) _Some Remarks on
the Tragedy of Hamlet._ With an Introduction by
Clarence D. Thorpe.

Nov., 1947: Series I, No. 4--Corbyn Morris' _Essay towards Fixing
the True Standards of Wit,_ etc. With an Introduction
by James L. Clifford.

JAN., 1948: Series II, No. 4--Thomas Purney's _Discourse on the
Pastoral._ With an Introduction by Earl Wasserman.

MARCH, 1948: Series III, No. 4--Essays on the Stage, selected,
with an Introduction by Joseph Wood Krutch.

The list of publications is subject to modification in response to requests by members. From time to time Bibliographical Notes will be included in the issues. Each issue contains an Introduction by a scholar of special competence in the field represented.

The Augustan Reprints are available only to members. They will never be offered at "remainder" prices.

_GENERAL EDITORS_

RICHARD C. BOYS, _University of Michigan_
EDWARD NILES HOOKER, _University of California, Los Angeles_
H.T. SWEDENBERG, JR., _University of California, Los Angeles_

_ADVISORY EDITORS_

EMMETT L. AVERT, _State College of Washington_

LOUIS I. BREDVOLD, _University of Michigan_

BENJAMIN BOYCE, _University of Nebraska_

CLEANTH BROOKS, _Louisiana State University_

JAMES L. CLIFFORD, _Columbia University_

ARTHUR FRIEDMAN, _University of Chicago_

SAMUEL H. MONK, _University of Minnesota_

JAMES SUTHERLAND. _Queen Mary College, London_

Address communications to any of the General Editors. Applications for membership, together with membership fee, should be sent to

THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY

310 ROYCE HALL, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA

LOS ANGELES 24, CALIFORNIA
or
_Care of_ PROFESSOR RICHARD C. BOYS

ANGELL HALL, UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN

ANN ARBOR, MICHIGAN

_Please enroll me as a member of the Augustan Reprint Society._

_I enclose $2.50 as the membership fee for the second year

$5.00 as the membership fee for the first and second
year

NAME.... Address....