Selected quad for the lemma: nature_n
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A53302
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Some new pieces never before publish'd by the author of the Satyrs upon the Jesuites.
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Oldham, John, 1653-1683.
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1684
(1684)
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Wing O249; ESTC R236893
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41,131
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146
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end untouch'd perhaps because he thought it not so capable of Ornament as the rest Him I chiefly chose to follow as being most agreeable to my way of translating and where I was at a loss for want of his guidance I was content to steer by my own Fancy The Translation of that upon Bion was begun by another Hand as far as the first fifteen Verses but who was the Author I could never yet learn I have been told that they were done by the Earl of Rochester but I could not well believe it both because he seldom medled with such Subjects and more especially by reason of an uncorrect line or two to be found amongst them at their first coming to my hands which never us'd to flow from his excellent Pen. Conceiving it to be in the Original a piece of as much Art Grace and Tenderness as perhaps was ever offered to the Ashes of a Poet I thought fit to dedicate it to the memory of that incomparable Person of whom nothing can be said or thought so choice and curious which his Deserts do not surmount If it be thought mean to have borrowed the sense of another to praise him in yet at least it argues at the same time a value and reverence that I durst not think any thing of my own good enough for his Commendation This is all which I judg material to be said of these following Resveries As for what others are to be found in the parcel I reckon them not worth mentioning in particular but leave them wholly open and unguarded to the mercy of the Reader let him make his Attaques how and where he please HORACE His ART of POETRY Imitated in English Address'd by way of Letter to a Friend SHould some ill Painter in a wild design To a mans Head an Horses shoulders joyn Or Fishes Tail to a fair Womans Waste Or draw the Limbs of many a different Beast Ill match'd and with as motly Feathers drest If you by chance were to pass by his Shop Could you sorbear from laughing at the Fop And not believe him whimsical or mad Credit me Sir that Book is quite as bad As worthy laughter which throughout is fill'd With monstrous inconsistencies more vain and wild Than sick mens Dreams whose neither head nor tail Nor any parts in due proportion fall But 't will be said None ever did deny Painters and Poets their free liberty Of feigning any thing We grant it true And the same privilege crave and allow But to mix natures clearly opposite To make the Serpent and the Dove unite Or Lambs from savage Tygers seek defence Shocks Reason and the Rules of common Sense Some who would have us think they meant to treat At first on Arguments of greatest weight Are proud when here and there a glittering line Does through the mass of their coarse rubbish shine In gay digressions they delight to rove Describing here a Temple there a Grove A Vale enamel'd o're with pleasant streams A painted Rainbow or the gliding Thames But how does this relate to their design Though good elsewhere 't is here but foisted in A common Dawber may perhaps have skill To paint a Tavern Sign or Landskip well But what is this to drawing of a Fight A Wrack a Storm or the last Iudgment right When the fair Model and Foundation shews That you some great Escurial would produce How comes it dwindled to a Cottage thus In fine whatever work you mean to frame Be uniform and every where the same Most Poets Sir 't is easie to observe Into the worst of faults are apt to swerve Through a false hope of reaching excellence Avoiding length we often cramp our Sense And make 't obscure oft when we'd have our stile Easie and flowing lose its force the while Some striving to surmount the common slight Soar up in airy Bombast out of sight Others who fear to a bold pitch to trust Themselves flag low and humbly sweep the dust And many fond of seeming marvellous While they too carelesly transgress the Laws Of likelihood most odd Chimeras feign Dolphins in Woods and Boars upon the Main Thus they who would take aim but want the skill Miss always and shoot wide or narrow still One of the meanest Workmen in the Town Can imitate the Nails or Hair in Stone And to the life enough perhaps who yet Wants mastery to make the Work complete Troth Sir if 't were my fancy to compose Rather than be this bungling wretch I 'd choose To wear a crooked and unsightly Nose Mongst other handsom features of a Face Which only would set off my ugliness Be sure all you that undertake to write To chuse a Subject for your Genius fit Try long and often what your Talents are What is the burthen which your parts will bear And where they 'l sail he that discerns with skill To â—…ll his Argument and matter well Will never be to seek for Eloquence To dress or method to dispose his Sense They the chief Art and Grace in order show If I may claim any pretence to know Who time discreetly what 's to be discours'd What should be said at last and what at first Some passages at present may be heard Others till afterward are best deferr'd Verse which disdains the Laws of History Speaks things not as they are but ought to be Whoever will in Poetry excel Must learn and use this hidden secret well 'T is next to be observ'd that care is due And sparingness in framing words anew You shew your mast'ry if you have the knack So to make use of what known word you take To give 't a newer sense if there be need For some uncommon matter to be said Pow'r of inventing terms may be allow'd Which Chaucer and his Age ne're understood Provided always as 't was said before We seldom and discreetly use that pow'r Words new and forein may be best brought in If borrow'd from a Language near akin Why should the peevish Criticks now forbid To Lee and Dryden what was not deny'd To Shakespear Ben and Fletcher heretofore For which they praise and commendation bore If Spencer's Muse be justly so ador'd For that rich copiousness wherewith he stor'd Our Native Tongue for Gods sake why should I Straight be thought arrogant if modestly I claim and use the self-same liberty This the just Right of Poets ever was And will be still to coin what words they please Well fitted to the present Age and Place Words with the Leaves of Trees a semblance hold In this respect where every year the old Fall off and new ones in their places grow Death is the Fate of all things here below Nature her self by Art has changes felt The Tangier Mole by our great Monarch built Like a vast Bulwark in the Ocean set From Pyrates and from Storms defends our Fleet Fens every day are drain'd and Men now Plow And Sow and Reap where they before might Row And Rivers have been taught by
rose to Willis his great fame And there are Preachers who have great renown Yet ne're come up to Sprat or Tillotson And Counsellors or Pleaders in the Hall May have esteem and practice tho they fall Far short of smooth-tongu'd Finch in Eloquence Tho they want Selden's Learning Vaughan's sense But Verse alone does of no mean admit Who e're will please must please us to the height He must a Cowley or a Fleckno be For there 's no second Rate in Poetry A dull insipid Writer none can bear In every place he is the publick jeer And Lumber of the Shops and Stationer No man that understands to make a Feast With a coarse Dessert will offend his Guest Or bring ill Musick in to grate the ear Because 't is what the entertain might spare 'T is the same case with those that deal in Wit Whose main design and end should be delight They must by this same sentence stand or fall Be highly excellent or not at all In all things else save only Poetry Men shew some signs of common modesty You 'l hardly find a Fencer so unwise Who at Bear-garden e're will fight a Prize Not having learnt before nor at a Wake One that wants skill and strength the Girdle take Or be so vain the pond'rous Weight to fling For fear they should be hiss'd out of the Ring Yet every Coxcomb will pretend to Verse And write in spight of nature and his Stars All sorts of Subjects challenge at this time The Liberty and Property of Rhime The Sot of honour fond of being great By something else than Title and Estate As if a Patent gave him claim to sense Or 't were entail'd with an Inheritance Believes a cast of Foot-boys and a set Of Flanders must advance him to a Wit But you who have the judgment to descry Where you excel which way your Talents lie I 'm sure will never be induc'd to strain Your Genius or attempt against your vein Yet this let me advise if e're you write Let none of your composures see the light Till they 've been throughly weigh'd and past the Test Of all those Judges who are thought the best While in your Desk they 're lock'd up from the Press You 've power to correct them as you please But when they once come forth to view of all Your Faults are Chronicled and past recall Orpheus the first of the inspired Train By force of powerful numbers did restrain Mankind from rage and bloudy cruelty And taught the barbarous world civility Hence rose the Fiction which the Poets fram'd That Lions were by 's tuneful Magick tam'd And Tygers charm'd by his harmonious lays Grew gentle and laid by their savageness Hence that which of Amphion too they tell The pow'r of whose miraculous Lute could call The well-plac'd stones into the Theban Wall Wondrous were the effects of primitive Verse Which setled and reform'd the Universe This did all things to their due ends reduce To publick private sacred civil use Marriage for weighty causes was ordain'd That bridled lust and lawless Love restrain'd Cities with Walls and Rampiers were inclos'd And property with wholsom Laws dispos'd And bounds were six'd of Equity and Right To guard weak Innocence from wrongful might Hence Poets have been held a sacred name And plac'd with first Rates in the Lists of Fame Next these great Homer to the world appear'd Around the Globe his loud alarms were heard Which all the brave to war-like action fir'd And Hesiod after him with useful skill Gave Lessons to instruct the Plough-mans toil Verse was the language of the gods of old In which their sacred Oracles were told In Verse were the first rules of vertue taught And Doctrine thence as now from Pulpits sought By Verse some have the love of Princes gain'd Who oft vouchsafe so to be entertain'd And with a Muse their weighty cares unbend Then think it no disparagement dear Sir To own your self a Member of that Quire Whom Kings esteem and Heaven does inspire Concerning Poets there has been contest Whether they 're made by Art or Nature best But if I may presume in this Affair Amongst the rest my judgment to declare No Art without a Genius will avail And Parts without the help of Art will fail But both Ingredients joyntly must unite To make the happy Character complete None at New-market ever won the Prize But us'd his Airings and his Exercise His Courses and his Diets long before And Wine and Women for a time forbore Nor is there any Singing man we know Of good Repute in either Chappel now But was a Learner once he 'l freely own And by long Practice to that Skill has grown But each conceited Dunce without pretence To the least grain of Learning Parts or sense Or any thing but harden'd impudence Sets up for Poetry and dares engage With all the topping Writers of the Age Why should not he put in amongst the rest Damn him he scorns to come behind the best Declares himself a Wit and vows to draw On the next man who e're disowns him so Scriblers of Quality who have Estate To gain applauding Fools at any rate Practise as many tricks as Shop-keepers To force a Trade and put off naughty wares Some hire the House their Follies to expose And are at charge to be ridiculous Others with Wine and Ordinaries treat A needy Rabble to cry up their Wit 'T is strange that such should the true diff'rence find Betwixt a spunging Knave and faithful Friend Take heed how you e're prostitute your sense To such a fawning crew of Sycophants All signs of being pleas'd the Rogues will feign Wonder and bless themselves at every line Swearing 'T is soft 't is charming 't is Divine Here they 'l look pale as if surpriz'd and there In a disguise of grief squeeze out a tear Oft seem transported with a sudden joy Stamp and lift up their hands in extasie But if by chance your back once turn'd appear You 'l have 'em strait put out their tongues in jeer Or point or gibe you with a scornful sneer As they who truly grieve at Funerals shew Less outward sorrow than hir'd mourners do So true Admirers less concernment wear Before your face than the sham-Flatterer They tell of Kings who never would admit A Confident or bosom-Favourite Till store of Wine had made his secrets float And by that means they 'd found his temper out 'T were well if Poets knew some way like this How to discern their friends from enemies Had you consulted learned Ben of old He would your faults impartially have told This Verse correction wants he would have said And so does this If you replied you had To little purpose several trials made He presently would bid you strike a dash On all and put in better in the place But if he found you once a stubborn sot That would not be corrected in a fault He would no more his pains and counsel spend On an