Chapter VI: Part III (1)

A CARE AND DILIGENCE IN WRITING RECOMMENDED.

I. [from l. 295 to l. 323] The poet ridicules that false notion, into which the Romans had fallen, that _poetry_ and _possession_ were nearly the same thing: that nothing more was required in a poet, than some extravagant starts and sallies of thought; that coolness and reflexion were inconsistent with his character, and that poetry was not to be scanned by the rules of sober sense. This they carried so far, as to affect the outward port and air of madness, and, upon the strength of that appearance, to set up for wits and poets. In opposition to this mistake, which was one great hindrance to critical correctness, he asserts _wisdom and good sense to be the source and principle of good writing_: for the attainment of which he prescribes, 1. [from v. 310 to 312] A careful study of the Socratic, that is, moral wisdom: and, 2. [from v. 312 to 318] A thorough acquaintance with human nature, _that great exemplar of manners_, as he finely calls it, or, in other words, a wide extensive view of real, practical life. The joint direction of these two, as means of acquiring moral knowledge, was perfectly necessary. For the former, when alone, is apt to grow abstracted and unaffecting: the latter, uninstructing and superficial. The philosopher talks without experience, and the man of the world without principles. United they supply each other’s defects; while the man of the world borrows so much of the philosopher, as to be able to adjust the several sentiments with precision and exactness; and the philosopher so much of the man of the world as to copy the manners of life (which we can only do by experience) with truth and spirit. Both together furnish a thorough and complete comprehension of human life; which manifesting itself in the _just_, and _affecting_, forms that exquisite degree of perfection in the character of the dramatic poet; the want of which no warmth of genius can atone for, or excuse. Nay such is the force of this nice adjustment of _manners_ [from l. 319 to 323] that, where it has remarkably prevailed, the success of a play hath sometimes been secured by it, without one single excellence or recommendation besides.

II. He shews [from l. 323 to 333] another cause of their incorrectness and want of success, in any degree, answering to that of the Greek writers, to have been the low and illiberal education of the Roman youth; who, while the Greeks were taught to open all their mind to glory, were cramped in their genius by the rust of gain, and, by the early infusion of such sordid principles, became unable to project a great design, or with any care and mastery to complete it.

III. A third impediment to their success in poetry [from l. 333 to 346] was their inattention to the _entire_ scope and purpose of it, while they contented themselves with the attainment of one only of the two great ends, which are proposed by it. For the double design of poetry being to _instruct_ and _please_, the full aim and glory of the art cannot be attained without uniting them both: that is, _instructing_ so as to _please_, and _pleasing_ so as to _instruct_. Under either head of _instruction_ and _entertainment_ the poet, with great address, insinuates the main art of each kind of writing, which consists, 1. in _instructive_ or _didactic poetry_ [from v. 335 to 338] in the _conciseness of the precept_: and, 2. in works of _fancy_ and _entertainment_ [l. 338 to 341] in _probability of fiction_. But both these [l. 341 to 347] must concur in a just piece.

But here the bad poet objects the difficulty of the terms, imposed upon him, and that, if the critic looked for all these requisites, and exacted them with rigour, it would be impossible to satisfy him: at least it was more likely to discourage, than quicken, as he proposed, the diligence of writers. To this the reply is [from l. 347 to 360] that he was not so severe, as to exact a faultless and perfect piece: that some inaccuracies and faults of less moment would escape the most cautious and guarded writer; and that, as he should contemn a piece, that was generally bad, notwithstanding a few beauties, he could, on the contrary, admire a work, that was generally good, notwithstanding a few faults. Nay, he goes on [from l. 360 to 366] to observe in favour of writers, against their too rigorous censurers, that what were often called faults, were really not so: that some parts of a poem ought to be less _shining_, or less _finished_, than others; according to the light, they were placed in, or the distance, from which they were viewed; and that, serving only to connect and lead to others of greater consequence, it was sufficient if they pleased once, or did not displease, provided that those others would please on every review. All this is said agreeably to _nature_, which does not allow every part of a subject, to be equally susceptible of ornament; and to the _end of poetry_, which cannot so well be attained, without an inequality. The allusions to painting, which the poet uses, give this truth the happiest illustration.

Having thus made all the reasonable allowances, which a writer could expect, he goes on to inforce the general instruction of this part, _viz. a diligence in writing_, by shewing [from l. 366 to 379] that a _mediocrity_, however tolerable, or even commendable, it might be in other arts, would never be allowed in this: for which he assigns this very obvious and just reason; that, as the main end of poetry is to _please_, if it did not reach that point (which it could not do by stopping ever so little on this side excellence) it was, like indifferent music, indifferent perfumes, or any other indifferent thing, which we can do without, and whose end should be to please, _offensive and disagreeable_, and for want of being very good, absolutely and insufferably bad. This reflexion leads him with great advantage [from l. 379 to 391] to the general conclusion in view, _viz._ that as none but excellent poetry will be allowed, it should be a warning to writers, how they engage in it without abilities; or publish without severe and frequent correction. But to stimulate the poet, who, notwithstanding the allowances already made, might be something struck with this last reflexion, he flings out [from l. 391 to 408] into a fine encomium, on the dignity and excellence of the art itself, by recounting its ancient honours. This encomium, besides its great usefulness in invigorating the mind of the poet, has this further view, to recommend and revive, together with its honours, the office of ancient poesy; which was employed about the noblest and most important subjects; the sacred source, from whence those honours were derived.

From this transient view of the several species of poetry, terminating, as by a beautiful contrivance it is made to do, in the _Ode_, the order of his ideas carries him into some reflexions on the power of genius (which so essentially belongs to the lyric Muse) and to settle thereby a point of criticism, much controverted among the ancients, and on which a very considerable stress would apparently be laid. For, if after all, so much art and care and caution be demanded in poetry, what becomes of genius, in which alone it had been thought to consist? would the critic insinuate, that good poems can be the sole effect of art, and go so far, in opposition to the reigning prejudice, as to assert nature to be of no force at all? This objection, which would be apt to occur to the general scope and tenor of the epistle, as having turned principally on _art_ and _rules_ without insisting much on natural _energy_, the poet obviates at once [from v. 408 to 419] by reconciling two things which were held, it seems, incompatible, and demanding in the poet, besides the fire of real genius, all the labour and discipline of art. But there is one thing still wanting. The poet may be excellently formed by nature, and accomplished by art, but will his own judgment be a sufficient guide, without assistance from others? will not the partiality of an author for his own works sometimes prevail over the united force of rules and genius, unless he call in a fairer and less interested guide? Doubtless it will: and therefore the poet, with the utmost propriety, adds [from v. 419 to 450] as a necessary part of this instructive monition to his brother poets, some directions concerning the choice of a prudent and sincere friend, whose unbiassed sense might at all times correct the prejudices, indiscretions, and oversights of the author. And to impress this necessary care, with greater force, on the poet, he closes the whole with shewing the dreadful consequences of being imposed upon in so nice an affair; representing, in all the strength of colouring, the picture of a bad poet, infatuated, to a degree of madness, by a fond conceit of his own works, and exposed thereby (so important had been the service of timely advice) to the contempt and scorn of the public.

And now, an unity of design in this epistle, and the pertinent connection of its several parts being, it is presumed, from this method of illustration, clearly and indisputably shewn, what must we think of the celebrated FRENCH interpreter of Horace, who, after a studied translation of this piece, supported by a long, elaborate commentary, minutely condescending to scrutinize each part, could yet perceive so little of its true form and character, as to give it for his summary judgment, in conclusion; “_Comme il_ [Horace] _ne travailloit pas à cela de suite et qu’il ne gardoit d’autre ordre que celui des matieres que le hazard lui donnoit à lire et à examiner, il est arrivé delà qu’_ IL N’ Y A AUCUNE METHODE NI AUCUNE LIAISON DE PARTIES DANS CE TRAITÉ, _qui même n’a jamais été achevé, Horace n’ ayant pas eu le tems d’y mettre la derniere main, ou, ce qui est plus vraisemblable, n’ayant pas voulu s’en donner la peine_.” [M. Dacier’s Introd. remarks to the art of poetry.] The softest thing that can be said of such a critic, is, that he well deserves the censure, he so justly applied to the great Scaliger, S’IL L’AVOIT BIEN ENTENDU, IL LUI AUROIT RENDU PLUS DE JUSTICE, ET EN AUROIT PARLÉ PLUS MODESTEMENT.

NOTES

ON THE

ART OF POETRY.

The text of this epistle is given from Dr. BENTLEY’S edition, except in some few places, of which the reader is advertized in the notes. These, that they might not break in too much on the thread of the Commentary, are here printed by themselves. For the rest, let me apologize with a great critic: _Nobis viri docti ignoscent, si hæc fusius: præsertim si cogitent, veri critici esse, non literulam alibi ejicere, alibi innocentem syllabam et quæ nunquàm male merita de patria fuerit, per jocum et ludum trucidare et configere; verùm recte de autoribus et rebus judicare, quod et solidæ et absolutæ eruditionis est._ HEINSIUS.

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1. HUMANO CAPITI, &c.] It is seen, in the comment, with what elegance this first part [to v. 89] is made preparatory to the main subject, agreeably to the genius of the Epistle. But elegance, in good hands, always implies _propriety_; as is the case here. For the critic’s rules must be taken either, 1. from the _general_ standing laws of composition; or, 2. from the peculiar ones, appropriated to the _kind_. Now the direction to be fetched from the former of these sources will of course _precede_, as well on account of its superior dignity, as that the mind itself delights to descend from _universals_ to the consideration of _particulars_. Agreeably to this rule of nature, the poet, having to correct, in the Roman drama, these three points, 1. a misconduct in the disposition; 2. an abuse of language; and 3. a disregard of the peculiar characters and _colorings_ of its different species, hath chosen to do this on principles of universal nature; which, while they include the case of the drama, at the same time extend to poetic composition at large. These prefatory, universal observations being delivered, he then proceeds, with advantage, to the _second_ source of his art, viz. the consideration of the laws and rules peculiar to the _kind_.

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9.—ICTORIBUS ATQUE POETIS—QUIDLIBET AUDENDI SEMPER FUIT AEQUA POTESTAS.] The _modern_ painter and poet will observe that this aphorism comes from the mouth of an objector.

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14. INCEPTIS GRAVIBUS, &c.] These preparatory observations concerning the laws of poetic composition at large have been thought to glance more _particularly_ at the epic poetry: Which was not improper: For, 1. The _drama_, which he was about to criticize, had its rise and origin from the _epos_. Thus we are told by the great critic, that Homer was the first who _invented dramatic imitations_, μόνος—ὅτι μιμήσεις δραματικὰς ἐποίησε. And to the same purpose Plato: ἔοικε μὲν τῶν καλῶν ἁπάντων τούτων τῶν τραγικῶν πρῶτος διδάσκαλος καὶ ἡγεμὼν γενέσθαι [Ὅμηρος.] _De Rep._ l. x. Hence, as our noble critic observes, “There was no more left for tragedy to do after him, than to erect a stage, and draw his dialogues and characters into scenes; turning in the same manner upon one principal action or event, with regard to place and time, which was suitable to a real spectacle.” [_Characterist._ vol. i. p. 198.] 2. The several censures, here pointed at the epic, would bear still more directly against the tragic poem; it being more glaringly inconsistent with the genius of the _drama_ to admit of foreign and digressive ornaments, than of the extended, episodical _epopœia_. For both these reasons it was altogether pertinent to the poet’s purpose, in a criticism on the _drama_, to expose the vicious practice of the _epic_ models. Though, to preserve the unity of his piece, and for the reason before given in note on v. 1. he hath artfully done this under the cover of _general_ criticism.

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19. SED NUNC NON ERAT HIS LOCUS.] If one was to apply this observation to our dramatic writings, I know of none which would afford pleasanter instances of the absurdity, here exposed, than the famous ORPHAN of Otway. Which, notwithstanding its real beauties, could hardly have taken so prodigiously, as it hath done, on our stage, if there were not somewhere a defect of _good taste_ as well as of _good morals_.

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23. DENIQUE SIT QUIDVIS: SIMPLEX DUNTAXAT ET UNUM.] Is not it strange that he, who delivered this rule in form, and, by his manner of delivering it, appears to have laid the greatest stress upon it, should be thought capable of paying no attention to it himself, in the conduct of this epistle?

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25-28. BREVIS ESSE LABORO, OBSCURUS FIO: SECTANTEM LENIA NERVI DEFICIUNT ANIMIQUE: PROFESSUS GRANDIA TURGET: SERPIT HUMI TUTUS NIMIUM TIMIDUSQUE PROCELLAE.] If these characters were to be exemplified in our own poets, of reputation, the _first_, I suppose, might be justly applied to Donne; the _second_, to Parnell; the _third_, to Thomson; and the _fourth_, to Addison. As to the two following lines;

_Qui variare cupit rem prodigialiter unam,
Delphinum silvis adpingit, fluctibus aprum_:

they are applicable to so many of our poets, that, to keep the rest in countenance, I will but just mention Shakespear himself; who, to enrich his scene with that _variety_, which his exuberant genius so largely supplied, hath deformed his best plays with these _prodigious_ incongruities.

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29. QUI VARIARE CUPIT REM PRODIGIALITER UNAM, &c.] Though I agree with M. Dacier that _prodigialiter_ is here used in a good sense, yet the word is so happily chosen by our _curious speaker_ as to carry the mind to that fictitious monster, under which he had before allusively shadowed out the idea of absurd and inconsistent composition, in v. 1. The application, however, differs in this, that, whereas the monster, there painted, was intended to expose the extravagance of putting together _incongruous parts_, without any reference to a _whole_, this _prodigy_ is designed to characterize a _whole_, but deformed by the ill-judged _position_ of its _parts_. The former is like a monster, whose several members, as of right belonging to different animals, could, by no disposition, be made to constitute _one_ consistent animal. The other, like a landskip, which hath no objects absolutely _irrelative_, or irreducible to a _whole_, but which a wrong position of the _parts_ only renders _prodigious_. Send the _boar to the woods_; and the _dolphin to the waves_; and the painter might shew them both on the same canvass.

Each is a violation of the law of unity, and a real _monster_: the one, because it contains an assemblage of naturally _incoherent parts_; the other, because its parts, though in themselves _coherent_, are _misplaced_, and disjointed.

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34. INFELIX OPERIS SUMMA: QUIA PONERE TOTUM NESCIET.] This observation is more particularly applicable to _dramatic_ poetry, than to any other, an unity and integrity of action being of its very essence.—The poet illustrates his observation very happily in the case of _statuary_; but it holds of every other art, that hath a _whole_ for its object. _Nicias_, the painter, used to say[10], “That the _subject_ was to him, what the fable is to the poet.” Which is just the sentiment of _Horace_, reversed. For by the _subject_ is meant the whole of the painter’s plan, the _totum_, which it will be impossible for those to express, who lay out their pains so solicitously in finishing single parts. Thus, to take an obvious example, the landskip-painter is to draw together, and form into _one_ entire view, certain beautiful, or striking objects. This is his main care. It is not even essential to the merit of his piece, to labour, with extreme exactness, the _principal_ constituent parts. But for the rest, a _shrub_ or _flower_, a straggling _goat_ or _sheep_, these may be touched very negligently. We have a great modern instance. Few painters have obliged us with _finer_ scenes, or have possessed the art of combining _woods_, _lakes_, and _rocks_, into more agreeable pictures, than G. POUSSIN: Yet his _animals_ are observed to be scarce worthy an ordinary artist. The use of these is _simply_ to decorate the scene; and so their beauty depends, not on the truth and correctness of the _drawing_, but on the elegance of their _disposition_ only. For, in a landskip, the eye carelessly glances over the smaller parts, and regards them only in reference to the surrounding objects. The painter’s labour therefore is lost, or rather misemployed, to the prejudice of the _whole_, when it strives to finish, so minutely, _particular_ objects. If some great masters have shewn themselves ambitious of this fame, the objects, they have laboured, have been always such, as are most considerable in themselves, and have, besides, an _effect_ in illustrating and setting off the entire scenery. It is chiefly in this view, that Ruisdale’s _waters_, and Claude Lorain’s _skies_ are so admirable.

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40.—CUI LECTA POTENTER ERIT RES.] _Potenter_ i. e. κατὰ δύναμιν, _Lambin_: which gives a pertinent sense, but without justifying the expression. The learned editor of Statius proposes to read _pudenter_, a word used by Horace on other occasions, and which suits the meaning of the place, as well. A similar passage in the epistle to Augustus adds some weight to this conjecture;

_nec meus audet_
REM _tentare_ PUDOR, _quam vires ferre recusent_.

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45. HOC AMET, HOC SPERNAT, PROMISSI CARMINIS AUCTOR—IN VERBIS ETIAM TENUIS CAUTUSQUE SERENDIS.] Dr. Bentley hath inverted the order of these two lines; not merely, as I conceive, without sufficient reason, but in prejudice also to the scope and tenor of the poet’s sense; in which case only I allow myself to depart from his text. The whole precept, on poetical distribution, is delivered, as of importance:

[_Ordinis haec virtus erit et venus, aut ego fallor_.]

And such indeed it is: for, 1. It respects no less than the constitution of a _whole_, i. e. the reduction of a subject into one entire, consistent plan, the most momentous and difficult of all the offices of _invention_, and which is more immediately addressed, in the high and sublime sense of the word, to the POET. 2. ’Tis no trivial _whole_, which the Precept had in view, but, as the context shews, and as is further apparent from v. 150, where this topic is resumed and treated more at large, the _epos_ and the _drama_: With what propriety then is a rule of such dignity inforced by that strong emphatic conclusion,

_Hoc amet, hoc spernat, promissi carminis auctor_:

_i. e._ “Be this rule held sacred and inviolate by him, who hath projected and engaged in a work, deserving the appellation of a poem.” Were the subject only the choice or invention of _words_, the solemnity of such an application must be ridiculous.

As for the construction, the commonest reader can find himself at no loss to defend it against the force of the Doctor’s objections.

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46. IN VERBIS ETIAM TENUIS, &c.] I have said, that these preparatory observations concerning an _unity_ of design, the _abuse of language_, and the different _colourings_ of the several species of poetry, whilst they extend to poetic composition at _large_, more particularly respect the case of the _drama_. The _first_ of these articles has been illustrated in note on v. 34. The _last_ will be considered in note v. 73. I will here shew the same of the _second_, concerning the _abuse of words_. For 1. the style of the drama representing real life, and demanding, on that account, a peculiar ease and familiarity in the language, the practice of coining _new_ words must be more insufferable in _this_, than in any other species of poetry. The majesty of the epic will even sometimes require to be supported by this means, when the commonest ear would resent it, as downright affectation upon the stage. Hence the peculiar propriety of this rule to the dramatic writer,

_In verbis etiam tenuis cautusque serendis_.

2. Next, it is necessary to keep the tragic style, though condescending, in some sort, to the familiar cast of conversation, from sinking beneath the dignity of the personages, and the solemnity of the representation. Now no expedient can more happily effect this, than what the poet prescribes concerning the _position_ and _derivation_ of words. For thus, the language, without incurring the odium of absolutely _invented_ terms, sustains itself in a becoming stateliness and reserve, and, whilst it seems to stoop to the level of conversation, artfully eludes the meanness of a trite, prosaic style.—There are wonderful instances of this management in the _Samson Agonistes_ of Milton; the most artificial and highly finished, though for that reason, perhaps, the least popular and most neglected, of all the great poet’s works.

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47. DIXERIS EGREGIE, NOTUM SI CALLIDA VERBUM REDDIDERIT JUNCTURA NOVUM.—] This direction, about _disposing_ of old words in such a manner as that they shall have the grace of _new_ ones, is among the finest in the whole poem. And because Shakespear is he, of all our poets, who has most successfully practised this secret, it may not be amiss to illustrate the precept before us by examples taken from his writings.

But first it will be proper to explain the _precept_ itself as given by Horace.

His critics seem not at all to have apprehended the force of it. Dacier and Sanadon, the two best of them, confine it merely to the formation of _compound words_; which, though _one_ way in which this _callida junctura_ shews itself, is by no means the whole of what the poet intended by it.

Their mistake arose from interpreting the word _junctura_ too strictly. They suppose it to mean only the _putting together two words into one_; this being the most obvious idea we have of the _joining_ of words. As if the most _literal_ construction of terms, according to their etymology, were always the most proper.

But Mr. Dacier has a reason of his own for confining the precept to this meaning. “The question, he says, is _de verbis serendis_; and therefore this _junctura_ must be explained of _new_ words, properly so called, as compound epithets are; and not of the grace of novelty which single words seem to acquire from the art of disposing of them.”

By which we understand, that the learned critic did not perceive the scope of his author; which was manifestly this. “The invention of new terms, says he, being a matter of much nicety, I had rather you would contrive to employ known words in such a way as to give them the effect of new ones. ’Tis true, new words may sometimes be necessary: And if so,” &c. Whence we see that the line,

_In verbis etiam tenuis cautusque serendis_

is not given here in form as the _general rule_, and the following line as the _example_. On the other hand, the rule is just mentioned carelessly and in passing, while the poet is hastening to another consideration of more importance, and which he even _opposes_ to the former. “Instead of making new words, you will do well to confine yourself merely to old ones.” Whatever then be the meaning of _junctura_, it is clear we are not to explain it of such words as exemplify the rule _de verbis serendis_.

But _junctura_ will best be interpreted by the _usage_ of Horace together with the _context_; 1. The word occurs only once more in this poet, and that in this very Epistle. It is where he advises a conduct with regard to the _subject-matter_ of a poem, analogous to this concerning the _language_ of it.

_Ex noto fictum carmen sequar—
——tantum series juncturaque pollet._ v. 242.

Does he mean _the joining two subjects together_ and combining them into _one_, so as that the _compound_ subject shall be a _new_ one? No such thing; “The subject, says he, shall be a _known_, an old one. Yet the _order, management, and contrivance_ shall be such as to give it the air of an original fiction.” Apply now this sense of _junctura_ to words, and we are only told, that expression may be so _ordered_ as to appear new, when the words, of which it is made up, are all known and common.

We have then the authority of the poet himself against the opinion of the French critic. But we have also the authority of his great imitator, or rather interpreter, Persius; who speaking of the language of his satires says, in allusion to this passage of Horace,

“_Verba togæ sequeris_, juncturâ callidus _acri_.
S. v. 14.

i. e. he took up with words of common and familiar use, but contrived to bring them into his style in such a manner as to give them the force, spirit, and energy of satiric expression.”

2. Again: the context, as I observed, leads us to this meaning. The poet in v. 42. had been giving his opinion of the nature and effect of _method_, or orderly disposition in the conduct of a _fable_. The course of his ideas carries him to apply the observation to _words_; which he immediately does, only interposing v. 46. by way of introduction to it.

On the whole then _junctura_ is a word of large and general import, and the same in _expression_, as _order or disposition_, in a _subject_. The poet would say, “Instead of framing new words, I recommend to you _any_ kind of artful management by which you may be able to give a new air and cast to old ones.”

Having now got at the true meaning of the precept, let us see how well it may be exemplified in the practice of Shakespear.

1. The first example of this _artful management_, if it were only in complaisance to former commentators, shall be that of _compound epithets_; of which sort are,

_High-sighted Tyranny_ J. C. A. II. S. 2.
_A barren-spirited fellow_ A. IV. S. 1.
_An arm-gaunt steed_ A. C. A. I. S. 6.
_Flower-soft hands_ A. II. S. 3.
_Lazy-pacing clouds_ R. J. A. II. S. 2.

and a thousand instances more in this poet. But this is a small part of his _craft_, as may be seen by what follows. For this end is attained,

2. _By another form of composition_; by compound _verbs_ as well as compound _adjectives_.

To _candy_ and _limn_ are known words. The poet would express the contrary ideas, and he does it happily, by compounding them with our English negative _dis_,

——“The hearts
That pantler’d me at heels, to whom I gave
Their wishes, do _discandy_, melt their sweets
On blossoming Cæsar—
A. C. A. IV. S. 9.

“That which is now a horse, ev’n with a thought
The rack _dislimns_, and makes it indistinct
As water is in water—
A. C. A. IV. S. 10.

Though here we may observe, that for the readier acceptation of these compounds, he artfully subjoins the explanation.

3. By a liberty he takes of converting _substantives_ into _verbs_;

A glass that _featur’d_ them.
Cymb. A. I. S. 1.

——Simon’s weeping
Did _scandal_ many a holy tear—
A. III. S. 4.

Great griefs, I see, _medicine_ the less.
A. IV. S. 5.

——that kiss
I carried from thee, Dear; and my true lip
Hath _virgin’d_ it e’er since—
Cor. A. V. S. 3.

Or _verbs_ into _substantives_;

——Then began
A stop i’ th’ chaser, a _Retire_—
Cymb. A. V. S. 2.

——take
No stricter _render_ of me—
A. V. S. 3.

——handkerchief
Still waving, as the fits and _stirs_ of’s mind
Could best express—
Cymb. A. I. S. 5.

——Sextus Pompeius
Hath giv’n the _dare_ to Cæsar—
A. C. A. I. S. 3.

4. By using _active_ verbs neutrally,

——He hath fought to-day
As if a god in hate of mankind had
_Destroy’d_, in such a shape—
A. C. A. IV. S. 6.

It is the bloody business, that _informs_
Thus to mine eyes—
Macb. A. II. S. 2.

And _neutral_ verbs actively,

——never man
Sigh’d truer breath; but that I see thee here,
Thou noble thing! more _dances_ my rapt heart
Than when I first my wedded mistress saw
Bestride my threshold—
Cor. A. IV. S. 4.

——like smiling Cupids,
With divers-colour’d fans, whose wind did seem
To _glow_ the delicate cheeks which they did cool—
A. C. A. II. S. 3.

5. By converting _Adjectives_ into Substantives.

——I do not think
So fair an _outward_ and such stuff within
Endows a man but him—
Cymb. A. I. S. 1.

6. By converting _Participles_ into Substantives.

He would have well become this place, and grac’d
The _thankings_ of a King—
Cymb. A. V. S. 5.

The herbs, that have in them cold dew o’ th’ night,
Are _strewings_ fitt’st for Graves—
A. IV. S. 5.

——“Then was I as a tree
Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But, in one night,
A storm, or robbery, call it what you will,
Shook down my mellow _hangings_——
Cymb. A. III. S. 3.

——Comes in my father,
And like the tyrannous _breathing_ of the North
Shakes all our Buds from blowing——
Cymb. A. I. S. 5.

Which last instance I the rather give for the sake of proposing an emendation, which I think restores this fine passage to its Integrity. Before the late edition of Shakespear it stood thus,

And like the tyrannous breathing of the North
Shakes all our Buds from _growing_—

But the sagacious Editor saw that this reading was corrupt, and therefore altered the last word, _growing_, for unanswerable reasons, into _blowing_. See Mr. W’s note upon the place. This slight change gives propriety and beauty to the passage, which before had no sort of meaning. Yet still all is not quite right. For, as the great Critic himself observes, “_Breathing_ is not a very proper word to express the rage and bluster of the north wind.” Besides, one does not see how the _shaking_ of these Buds is properly assign’d as the cause of their not blowing. The wind might shake off the _blossoms_ of a fruit tree, i. e. the Buds when they were _full-blown_; but so long as the blossom lies folded up in the Bud, it seems secure from shaking. At least the _shaking_ is not the _immediate_ cause of the effect, spoken of; it is simply the _cold_ of the north-wind that closes the Bud and keeps it from _blowing_. I am therefore tempted to propose another alteration of the text, and to read thus,

And like the tyrannous Breathing of the North
_Shuts_ all our Buds from blowing—

If this correction be allowed, every thing is perfectly right. It is properly the _breathing_, the cold breath of the North, that shuts up the Buds when they are on the point of blowing. Whence the epithet _tyrannous_ will be understood not as implying the idea of _blust’ring_ (an idea indeed necessary if we retain the word _shakes_) but simply of _cruel_, the _tyranny_ of this wind consisting in imprisoning the flower in its Bud and denying it the liberty of coming out into _Blossom_. The application too of this comparison, which required the change of _growing_ into _blowing_, seems also to require the present alteration of _shakes_. For there was no manner of violence in _the father’s_ coming in upon the lovers. All the effect was, that his presence _restrained_ them from that interchange of tender words, which was going to take place between them.

Thus far I had written in the last edition of these notes, and I, now, see no cause to doubt the _general_ truth and propriety of this emendation. Only it occurs to me that, instead of SHUTS, the poet’s own word might, perhaps, be CHECKS; as not only being more like in _sound_ to the word _shakes_, but as coming nearer to the _traces_ of the Letters. Besides, CHECKS gives the precise idea we should naturally look for, whether we regard the integrity of the _figure_—_tyrannous_—_checks_—, or the _thing_ illustrated by it, viz. the abrupt coming in of the father, which was properly a _check_ upon the lovers. Lastly, the expression is mended by this reading; for though we may be allowed to say _shuts from blowing_, yet _checks from blowing_, is easier and better English.

But to return to other Instances of the Poet’s artifice in the management of _known_ words. An apparent Novelty is sometimes effected

7. By turning _Participles_ into Adverbs—

——_tremblingly_ she stood
And on the sudden dropt—
A. C. A. V. S. 5.

(One remembers the fine use Mr. Pope has made of this word in,

Or touch, if _tremblingly_ alive all o’er—)

——But his flaw’d heart,
Alack, too weak the conflict to support,
’Twixt two extremes of Passion, joy and grief,
Burst _smilingly_—
Lear, A. V. S. 8.

8. By _figurative terms_; i. e. by such terms as though common in the _plain_, are unusual in the figurative application.

——This common Body
Like to a vagabond flag, upon the stream,
Goes to, and back, _lacquying_ the varying tide.
A. C. A. I. S. 5.

——When snow the Pasture _sheets_.
ib.

To this head may be referred those innumerable terms in Shakespear which surprize us by their novelty; and which surprize us generally, on account of his preferring the _specific_ idea to the _general_ in the _subjects_ of his Metaphors and the _circumstances_ of his Description; an excellence in poetical expression which cannot be sufficiently studied. The examples are too frequent, and the thing itself too well understood, to make it necessary to enlarge on this article.

9. By _plain words_, i. e. such as are common in the figurative, uncommon in the literal acceptation.

_Disasters_ vail’d the Sun—
Ham. A. I. S. 1.

See the note on the place.

Th’ _extravagant_ and erring spirit hies
To his confine—
ib.

——Can’t such things be
And _overcome_ us, like a Summer’s cloud,
Without our special wonder?—
Macb. A. III. S. 5.

10. By _transposition of words_—_unauthoriz’d use of terms_—_and ungrammatical construction_. Instances in all his plays, _passim_.

11. By _foreign idioms_. ’Tis true these are not frequent in Shakespear. Yet some Latinisms and e’en Grecisms we have. As

_Quenched of hope_—
Cymb. A. V. S. 5.

And the like. But, which is more remarkable and served his purpose just as well, the writers of that time had so _latiniz’d_ the English language; that the pure _English_ Idiom, which Shakespear generally follows, has all the air of _novelty_ which other writers are used to affect by a foreign phraseology.

The Reader sees, it were easy to extend this list of Shakespear’s arts in the _Callida junctura_ much farther. But I intended only a specimen of them; so much as might serve to illustrate the rule of Horace.

It is enough, that we have now a perfect apprehension of what is meant by CALLIDA JUNCTURA; And that it is, in effect, but another word for _Licentious Expression_: The use of which is, as Quintilian well expresses it, “_Ut quotidiani et semper eodem modo formati sermonis Fastidium levet, et nos à vulgari dicendi genere defendat_.” In short, the articles, here enumerated, are but so many ways of departing from the usual and simpler forms of speech, without neglecting too much the grace of ease and perspicuity; In which well-tempered licence one of the greatest charms of all poetry, but especially of Shakespear’s poetry, consists. Not that He was always and every where so happy, as in the instances given above. His expression sometimes, and by the very means, here exemplified, becomes _hard_, _obscure_, and _unnatural_. This is the extreme on the other side. But in general, we may say, that He hath either followed the direction of Horace very ably, or hath hit upon his Rule very happily.

We are not perhaps to expect the same ability, or good fortune from others. _Novelty_ is a charm which nothing can excuse the want of, in works of entertainment. And the necessity of preventing the tedium arising from _hacknied expression_ is so instant, that those, who are neither capable of prescribing to themselves this Rule of the _callida Junctura_, or of following it when prescribed by others, are yet inclined to ape it by some spurious contrivance; which being slight in itself will soon become liable to excess, and ridiculous by its absurdity. I have a remarkable instance in view, with which the reader will not be displeased that I conclude this long note.

About the middle of the 17th century one of the most common of these mimic efforts was the endless multiplication of _Epithets_; which soon made their poetry at once both stiff and nerveless. When frequent and excessive use had made this expedient ridiculous as well as cheap, they tried another, it’s very opposite _the rejection of all Epithets_, and so of languid poetry, made rigid Prose. This too had it’s day. A dramatic Poet of that time has exposed these opposite follies with much humour. A character of sense and pleasantry is made to interrogate a Poetaster in the following manner.

GOLDSWORTH.

Master CAPERWIT, before you read, pray tell me,
Have your verses any ADJECTIVES?

CAPERWIT.

Adjectives! Would you have a poem without
Adjectives? They are the flow’rs, the grace of all our language;
A well-chosen Epithete doth give new Soule
To fainting Poesie; and makes everye verse
A Bribe. With Adjectives we baite our lines,
When we do fish for Gentlewomen’s loves,
And with their sweetness catch the nibbling ear
Of amorous Ladies: With the music of
These ravishing Nouns, we charm the silken tribe,
And make the Gallant melt with apprehension
Of the rare word: I will maintain ’t (against
A bundle of Grammarians) in Poetry
The Substantive itself cannot subsist
Without an Adjective.

GOLDSWORTH.

But for all that,
These words would sound more full, methinks, that are not
So larded; and, if I might counsel you,
You should compose a Sonnet, cleane without them.
A row of stately SUBSTANTIVES would march,
Like Switzers, and bear all the field before them;
Carry their weight, shew fair, like DEEDS enroll’d;
Not WRITS, that are first made, and after fill’d:
Thence first came up the title of BLANK verse.
You know, Sir, what _Blank_ signifies? When the Sense
First fram’d, is tied with Adjectives, like Points,
And could not hold together, without wedges.
Hang ’t, ’tis Pedanticke, vulgar Poetry.
Let children, when they versifye, sticke here
And there these pidling words, for want of matter;
POETS write masculine numbers.

CAPERWIT.

You have given me a pretty hint: ’Tis NEW.
I will bestow these verses on my footman;
They’ll serve a Chambermaid—
SHIRLEY’S _Chances, or Love in a Maze_.

* * * * *

54. CÆCILIO PLAUTOQUE DABIT ROMANUS, ADEMPTUM VIRGILIO VARIOQUE?] The question is but reasonable. Yet the answer will not be to the satisfaction of him that puts it. This humour, we may observe, holds here in England, as it did formerly at Rome; and will, I suppose, hold every-where, under the same circumstances. Cæcilius and Plautus were allowed to _coin_, but not Virgil and Varius. The same indulgence our authors had at the restoration of letters; but it is denied to our present writers. The reason is plainly this. While arts are refining or reviving, the greater part are forced, and _all_ are content to be _Learners_. When they are grown to their usual height, all affect to be _Teachers_. With this affectation, a certain envy, as the poet observes,

——_cur adquirere pauca,
Si possum_, invideor—

insinuates itself; which is for restraining the privileges of writers, to all of whom every reader is now become a Rival. Whereas men, under the first character of _Learners_, are glad to encourage every thing that makes for their instruction.

But whatever offence may be taken at this practice, good writers, as they safely may, should _dare_ to venture upon it. A perfect language is a chimæra. In every state of it there will frequently be occasion, sometimes a necessity, to hazard a _new_ word. And let not a great genius be discouraged, by the fastidious delicacy of his age, from a sober use of this privilege. Let him, as the poet directs,

Command _old_ words, that long have slept, to wake,
Words, that wise BACON, or brave RALEGH spake;
Or bid the _new_ be English ages hence,
For USE will father what’s begot by SENSE.

This too was the constant language of ancient criticism. “Audendum tamen; namque, ut ait Cicero, etiam quæ primò dura visa sunt, usu molliuntur,” _Quintil._ l. i. c. v.

* * * * *

70. MULTA RENASCENTUR, QUAE JAM CECIDERE.] This _revival_ of _old_ words is one of those _niceties_ in composition, not to be attempted by any but great masters. It may be done two ways, 1. by restoring such terms, as are grown entirely obsolete; or, 2. by selecting out of those, which have still a currency, and are not quite laid aside, such as are most forcible and expressive. For so I understand a passage in Cicero, who urges this double use of old words, as an argument, to his orator, for the diligent study of the old Latin writers. His words are these: _Loquendi elegantia, quamquam expolitur scientiâ literarum, tamen augetur legendis oratoribus [veteribus] et poetis: sunt enim illi veteres, qui ornare nondum poterant ea, quae dicebant, omnes prope præclare locuti—Neque tamen erit utendum verbis iis, quibus jam consuetudo nostra non utitur, nisi quando ornandi causâ, parcè, quod ostendam; sed usitatis ita poterit uti, lectissimis ut utatur is, qui in veteribus erit scriptis studiosè et multum volutatus._ [De Orat. l. iii. c. x.] These _choice_ words amongst such as are still in _use_, I take to be those which are employed by the old writers in some peculiarly strong and energetic sense, yet so as with advantage to be copied by the moderns, without appearing barbarous or affected. [See HOR. lib. ii. ep. ii. v. 115.] And the reason, by the way, of our finding such words in the old writers of every language, may be this. When ideas are new to us, they strike us most forcibly; and we endeavour to express, not our _sense_ only, but our _sensations_, in the terms we use to explain them. The passion of wonder, which Philosophy would cure us of, is of singular use in raising the conception, and strengthening the expression of poets. And such is always the condition of old writers, when the arts are reviving, or but beginning to refine. The other use of old terms, _i. e._ when become _obsolete_, he says, must be made _parcè_, more sparingly. The contrary would, in oratory, be insufferable affectation. The rule holds in poetry, but with greater latitude; for, as he observes in another place, and the reason of the thing speaks, _hæc sunt Poetarum licentiæ liberiora_. [De Or. iii. 38.] But the elegance of the style, we are told, is increased both ways. The reason is, according to Quinctilian (who was perfectly of Cicero’s mind in this matter. See l. x. c. i.) _Verba à vetustate repetita afferunt orationi majestatem aliquam non sine delectatione; nam et auctoritatem antiquitatis habent; et, quia intermissa sunt, gratiam novitati similem parant._ [Lib. i. c. vi. sub fin.] But this is not all: The riches of a language are actually increased by retaining its old words; and besides, they have often a greater real weight and dignity, than those of a more fashionable cast, which succeed to them. This needs no proof to such as are versed in the earlier writings in _any_ language. A very capable judge hath observed it in regard of the most admired _modern_ one: _Nous avons tellement laissé ce qui étoit au viel françois, que nous avons laissé quant et quant la plus part de ce qu’il avoit de bon._ [Trait. préparatif à l’ Apol. pour Herod. l. i. c. xxviii.] Or, if the reader requires a more decisive testimony, let him take it in the words of that curious speaker, Fenelon. _Nôtre langue manque d’un grand nombre de mots et de phrases. Il me semble même qu’on l’a genée et appauvrie depuis environ cent ans en voulant la purifier. Il est vrai qu’elle étoit encore un peu informe et trop verbeuse. Mais le vieux language se fait regretter, quand nous le retrouvons dans_ MAROT, _dans_ AMIOT, _dans le Cardinal d’_OSSAT, _dans les ouvrages les plus enjoues, et dans les plus serieux. Il y avoit je ne scai quoi de court, de näif, de vif et de passioné._ [Reflex. sur la Rhetorique, Amst. 1733. p. 4.] From these testimonies we learn the extreme value, which these masters of composition set upon their old writers; and as the reason of the thing justifies their opinions, we may further see the important use of some late attempts to restore a better knowledge of our _own_. Which I observe with pleasure, as the growing prevalency of a very different humour, first catched, as it should seem, from our commerce with the French models, and countenanced by the too scrupulous delicacy of some good writers amongst ourselves, had gone far towards unnerving the noblest modern language, and effeminating the public taste. This was not a little forwarded by, what generally makes its appearance at the same time, a kind of feminine curiosity in the choice of words; cautiously avoiding and reprobating all such (which were not seldom the most expressive) as had been prophaned by a too vulgar use, or had suffered the touch of some other accidental taint. This ran us into periphrases and general expression; the peculiar bane of every polished language. Whereas the rhetorician’s judgment here again should direct us: _Omnia verba (exceptis paucis parum verecundis) sunt alicubi optima; nam et humilibus interim et vulgaribus est opus, et quæ cultiore in parte videntur sordida, ubi res poscit, propriè dicuntur_. Which seems borrowed from Dionysius of Halicarnassus [περ. συνθεσ. § xii.] οὐδὲν οὕτω ταπεινὸν, ἢ ῥυπαρὸν, ἢ μιαρὸν, ἢ ἄλλην τινὰ δυσχέρειαν ἔχον ἔσεσθαί φημι λόγου μόριον, ᾧ σημαίνεταί τι σῶμα ἢ πρᾶγμα, ὃ μηδεμίαν ἕξει χῶραν ἐπιτηδείαν ἐν λόγοις. However those two causes, “The rejection of old words, as barbarous, and of many modern ones, as unpolite,” had so exhausted the strength and stores of our language, that, as I observed, it was high time for some master-hand to interpose and send us for supplies to our old poets; which, there is the highest authority for saying, no one ever despised, but for a reason, not very consistent with his credit to avow: _rudem enim esse omnino in nostris poëtis aut inertissimæ segnitiæ est aut fastidii delicatissimi_. [Cic. de fin. l. i. c. ii.]

* * * * *

72.—SI VOLET USUS, &c.] _Consuetudo certissima loquendi magistra; utendumque planè sermone, ut nummo, qui publica forma est._ [Quinctil. l. i. c. vi.] imitated from Horace. In _Lucian_ too, we find it one of the charges brought against the Pedant, _Lexiphanes_, that _he clipped the standard_ COIN _of the Greek language_—σπουδὴν ποιούμενος ὡς δή τι μέγα ὂν, εἴτι ξενίζοι καὶ τὸ καθεστηκὸς ΝΟΜΙΣΜΑ τῆς φωνῆς παρακόπτοι (c. 20.)

* * * * *

73. RES GESTAE, etc.] The purport of these lines [from v. 73 to 86] and their connexion with what follows, hath not been fully seen. They would express this general proposition, “That the several kinds of poetry essentially differ from each other, as may be gathered, not solely from their different subjects, but their different measures; which good sense, and an attention to the peculiar natures of each, instructed the great inventors and masters of them to employ.” The use made of this proposition is to infer, “that therefore the like attention should be had to the different species of the _same kind_ of poetry [v. 89, &c.] as in the case of tragedy and comedy (to which the application is made) whose peculiar differences and correspondencies, as resulting from the natures of each, should, in agreement to the universal law of _decorum_, be exactly known and diligently observed by the poet.”

_Singula quæque locum teneant sortita decentem._
v. 92.

But, there is a further propriety in this enumeration of the several kinds of poetry, as addressed to the dramatic writer. He is not only to study, for the purposes here explained, the characteristic differences of either species of the drama: He must further be knowing in the other _kinds_ of poetry, so as to be able, as the nature of his work shall demand, to adopt the genius of each, in its turn, and to transfer the graces of universal poetry into the drama. Thus, to follow the division here laid down, there will sometimes be occasion for the pomp and high _coloring_ of the EPIC narration; sometimes for the plaintive softness and passionate inconnexion of the ELEGY: and the chorus, if characterized in the ancient manner, must catch the fiery, inraptured spirit of the ODE.

_Descriptas servare vices operumque colores,
Cur ego, si nequeo ignoroque_, POETA _salutor?_

Hence is seen the truth of that remark, which there hath been more than once occasion to make, “That, however general these prefatory instructions may appear, they more especially respect the case of the _drama_.”

* * * * *

90. INDIGNATUR ITEM, etc.—COENA THYESTAE.] _Il met le souper de Thyeste pour toutes sortes de tragedies_, says M. Dacier; but why this subject was singled out, as the representative of the rest, is not explained by him. We may be sure, it was not taken up at random. The reason was, that the Thyestes of Ennius was peculiarly chargeable with the fault, here censured: as is plain from a curious passage in the _Orator_; where Cicero, speaking of the loose numbers of certain poets, observes this, in particular, of the tragedy of Thyestes, _Similia sunt quædam apud nostros: velut in Thyeste_,

_Quemnam te esse dicam? qui tardâ in senectute._