AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM. (continued 2)
Reading edition
III.
Learn then what morals critics ought to show, 560 For 'tis but half a judge's task, to know. 'Tis not enough, taste, judgment, learning, join; In all you speak, let truth and candour shine, That not alone what to your sense is due All may allow, but seek your friendship too. 565 Be silent always when you doubt your sense; And speak, though sure, with seeming diffidence:[237] Some positive, persisting fops we know, Who, if once wrong, will needs be always so; But you with pleasure own your errors past, 570 And make each day a critique on the last. 'Tis not enough your counsel still be true; Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do; Men must be taught as if you taught them not, And things unknown proposed as things forgot. 575 Without good-breeding truth is disapproved; That only makes superior sense beloved. Be niggards of advice on no pretence: For the worst avarice is that of sense. With mean complaisance ne'er betray your trust, 580 Nor be so civil as to prove unjust.[238] Fear not the anger of the wise to raise; Those best can bear reproof, who merit praise. 'Twere well might critics still this freedom take, But Appius reddens[239] at each word you speak, 585 And stares, tremendous, with a threat'ning eye, Like some fierce tyrant in old tapestry.[240] Fear most to tax an Honourable fool, Whose right it is, uncensured, to be dull; Such, without wit, are poets when they please, 590 As without learning they can take degrees.[241] Leave dang'rous truths to unsuccessful satires, And flattery to fulsome dedicators, Whom, when they praise, the world believes no more, Than when they promise to give scribbling o'er. 595 'Tis best sometimes your censure to restrain, And charitably let the dull be vain:[242] Your silence there is better than your spite, For who can rail so long as they can write?[243] Still humming on, their drowsy course they keep, 600 And lashed so long, like tops, are lashed asleep.[244] False steps but help them to renew the race, As, after stumbling, jades will mend their pace. What crowds of these, impenitently bold, In sounds and jingling syllables grown old, 605 Still run on poets in a raging vein, Ev'n to the dregs and squeezing of the brain, Strain out the last dull droppings[245] of their sense, And rhyme with all the rage of impotence. Such shameless bards we have; and yet, 'tis true, 610 There are as mad, abandoned critics too. The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read, With loads of learned lumber in his head,[246] With his own tongue still edifies his ears, And always list'ning to himself appears. 615 All books he reads, and all he reads assails, From Dryden's Fables down to Durfey's Tales. With him most authors steal their works, or buy; Garth did not write his own Dispensary.[247] Name a new play, and he's the poet's friend, 620 Nay, showed his faults—but when would poets mend? No place so sacred from such fops is barred,[248] Nor is Paul's church[249] more safe than Paul's churchyard:[250] Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead; For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.[251] 625 } { Distrustful sense with modest caution speaks, { It still looks home, and short excursions makes; [252] { But rattling nonsense in full volleys breaks, And never shocked, and never turned aside, Bursts out, resistless, with a thund'ring tide. 630 But where's the man, who counsel can bestow, Still pleased to teach, and yet not proud to know? Unbiassed, or by favour, or by spite; Not dully prepossessed, nor blindly right; Though learn'd, well-bred; and though well-bred, sincere; Modestly bold, and humanly[253] severe; 636 Who to a friend his faults can freely show, And gladly praise the merit of a foe? Blest with a taste exact, yet unconfined; A knowledge both of books and human kind; 640 Gen'rous converse; a soul exempt from pride; And love to praise,[254] with reason on his side? Such once were critics; such the happy few, Athens and Rome in better ages knew.[255] The mighty Stagyrite first left the shore, 645 Spread all his sails, and durst the deeps explore;[256] He steered securely, and discovered far,[257] Led by the light of the Mæonian star.[258] Poets, a race long unconfined, and free, Still fond and proud of savage liberty, 650 Received his laws;[259] and stood convinced 'twas fit, Who conquered nature, should preside o'er wit.[260] Horace still charms with graceful negligence,[261] And without method talks us into sense; Will, like a friend, familiarly convey 655 The truest notions in the easiest way. He, who supreme in judgment, as in wit, Might boldly censure, as he boldly writ, Yet judged with coolness,[262] though he sung with fire; His precepts teach but what his works inspire. 660 Our critics take a contrary extreme, They judge with fury, but they write with phlegm:[263] Nor suffers Horace more in wrong translations By wits, than critics in as wrong quotations.[264] See Dionysius[265] Homer's thoughts refine, 665 And call new beauties forth from ev'ry line! Fancy and art in gay Petronius please, The scholar's learning, with the courtier's ease.[266] In grave Quintilian's[267] copious work, we find The justest rules, and clearest method joined: 670 Thus useful arms in magazines we place, All ranged in order, and disposed with grace, But less to please the eye, than arm the hand, Still fit for use, and ready at command.[268] Thee, bold Longinus! all the Nine inspire,[269] 675 And bless their critic with a poet's fire. An ardent judge, who, zealous in his trust, With warmth gives sentence, yet is always just: Whose own example strengthens all his laws; And is himself that great sublime he draws.[270] 680 Thus long succeeding critics justly reigned, Licence repressed, and useful laws ordained. Learning and Rome alike in empire grew; And arts still followed where her eagles flew; From the same foes, at last, both felt[271] their doom, 685 And the same age saw learning fall and Rome.[272] With tyranny, then superstition joined, As that the body, this enslaved the mind;[273] Much was believed, but little understood,[274] And to be dull was construed to be good;[275] 690 A second deluge learning thus o'er-run, And the monks finished what the Goths begun.[276] At length Erasmus, that great injured name, (The glory of the priesthood and the shame!)[277] Stemmed the wild torrent of a barb'rous age,[278] 695 And drove those holy Vandals off the stage. But see! each muse, in Leo's golden days, Starts from her trance, and trims her withered bays, Rome's ancient genius, o'er its ruins spread,[279] Shakes off the dust, and rears his rev'rend head. 700 Then sculpture and her sister-arts revive; Stones leaped to form, and rocks began to live;[280] With sweeter notes each rising temple rung;[281] A Raphael painted, and a Vida sung.[282] Immortal Vida: on whose honoured brow 705 The poet's bays and critic's ivy grow:[283] Cremona now shall ever boast thy name, As next in place to Mantua, next in fame![284] But soon by impious arms from Latium chased, Their ancient bounds the banished Muses passed.[285] 710 Thence arts o'er all the northern world advance, But critic-learning flourished most in France; The rules a nation, born to serve,[286] obeys; And Boileau still in right of Horace sways.[287] But we, brave Britons, foreign laws despised, 715 And kept unconquered, and uncivilized; Fierce for the liberties of wit, and bold, We still defied the Romans, as of old.[288] Yet some there were, among the sounder few Of those who less presumed, and better knew, 720 Who durst assert the juster ancient cause, And here restored wit's fundamental laws. Such was the Muse, whose rules and practice tell "Nature's chief master-piece is writing well."[289] Such was Roscommon, not more learn'd than good,[290] 725 With manners gen'rous as his noble blood; To him the wit of Greece and Rome was known, And ev'ry author's merit, but his own.[291] Such late was Walsh,[292] the muse's judge and friend, Who justly knew to blame or to commend: 730 To failings mild, but zealous for desert; The clearest head, and the sincerest heart. This humble praise, lamented shade! receive, This praise at least a grateful muse may give: The muse, whose early voice you taught to sing, 735 Prescribed her heights, and pruned her tender wing, (Her guide now lost) no more attempts to rise, But in low numbers short excursions tries;[293] Content, if hence th' unlearn'd their wants may view, The learn'd reflect on what before they knew: 740 Careless of censure, nor too fond of fame; Still pleased to praise, yet not afraid to blame;[294] Averse alike to flatter, or offend; Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.[295]
APPENDIX.
Dr. Warburton, endeavouring to demonstrate, what Addison could not discover, nor what Pope himself, according to the testimony of his intimate friend, Richardson, ever thought of or intended, that this Essay was written with a methodical and systematical regularity, has accompanied the whole with a long and laboured commentary, in which he has tortured many passages to support this groundless opinion. Warburton had certainly wit, genius, and much miscellaneous learning; but was perpetually dazzled and misled, by the eager desire of seeing everything in a new light unobserved before, into perverse interpretations and forced comments. It is painful to see such abilities wasted on such unsubstantial objects. Accordingly his notes on Shakspeare have been totally demolished by Edwards and Malone; and Gibbon has torn up by the roots his fanciful and visionary interpretation of the sixth book of Virgil. And but few readers, I believe, will be found that will cordially subscribe to an opinion lately delivered,[296] that his notes on Pope's Works are the very best ever given on any classic whatever. For, to instance no other, surely the attempt to reconcile the doctrines of the Essay on Man to the doctrines of revelation, is the rashest adventure in which ever critic yet engaged. This is, in truth, to divine, rather than to explain an author's meaning.—Warton.
If this Commentary were only a perverse and forced interpretation, as Warton insinuates, it is scarcely likely that Pope would have approved of it so highly, as not only to speak of it in the warmest terms of admiration, but to allow it to accompany his own edition of the poem. To assert that Pope was not the best judge of his own meaning, is an insult not only to his understanding, but to common sense; and to discard the commentary of Warburton, as Warton has done in his edition, in order to replace it by a series of notes, intended to impress the reader with his own opinions, is a kind of infringement on those rights, which had already been decided on by the only person who was entitled to judge on the subject. For these reasons I have thought it advisable, in this edition, to restore the commentary of Warburton entire, which has only been partially done by Mr. Bowles; conceiving that it is as injurious, if not more so, to the commentator, whose object it is to demonstrate the order and consistency of the poem, to deprive him of a portion of his remarks, as it is to deprive him of them altogether.—Roscoe.
Warburton's commentary proceeded upon two assumptions, which are not complimentary to Pope. The first was that a poem which had contracted no obscurity from age, and which consisted of a series of simple precepts, was written in a manner so confused that it would not be intelligible to ordinary readers, unless the whole was retold in cumbrous prose. The second assumption was that Pope was so deficient in power of expression that his ideas were constantly at variance with his words. One of the sarcastic canons of criticism which Edwards deduced from Warburton's Shakspeare was that an editor "may interpret his author so as to make him mean directly contrary to what he says," and certain it is that if Warburton's explanations are correct, Pope's language was often sadly inaccurate. Roscoe, in effect, adopts the last solution, for he urges that Pope, who was the best judge of his own meaning, acknowledged his meaning to be that which Warburton ascribed to him. There is another, and more probable alternative. Though Pope undeniably knew his own meaning best, his vanity may have been gratified by the subtle views which were imputed to him, and he may have had the weakness, in consequence, to adopt interpretations which never crossed his mind when he composed his poem. Since, however, he desired that his works should be read by the light of Warburton's paraphrase, an editor is not warranted in overruling the decision of the author, and on this account the commentary and notes of Warburton are printed in their integrity, though in themselves they are tedious, verbose, and barren.