of his life.

Let me add, however rash the confession may ap- What he pear, that this old dull fancy of mine is now no longer Ovid, in thought of tickled with Ariosto, nor even with honest Ovid: his the decline easy style, and his imaginations, with which I was formerly charmed, are scarce of any entertainment to me now. I speak my mind freely of all things, nay, and of those that, perhaps, exceed my reach, and which I do not consider as being at all within my sphere and the opinion I give of them is to show the extent of my sight, and not the measure of its objects. When I find myself disgusted with the Axiochus of Plato,* as a performance which, with all due respect to such an author, has no spirit, I am not sure that my judgment is right. It is not so conceited of itself as to set up against the authority of so many other famous judges of antiquity, whom it esteems as its regents and masters, and with whom it had rather be mistaken. In such a case it reproves and condemns itself, either for stopping at the outward bark for want of power to penetrate to the pith, or for considering the thing by some false light. It is contented with securing itself only from trouble and irregularity; and, as to its own weakness, it is sensible of it, and frankly confesses it. It thinks it gives a just interpretation by the appearances formed in its conception, but they are weak and imperfect. Most of the fables of Æsop have several senses and meanings, of which the mythologists choose some one that tallies with the fable, but, for the most part, it is only what presents itself at the first view, and is superficial, there being others more lively, essential, and internal, into which they have not been able to penetrate; and the case is the very same with me.

But, to proceed on my subject: I always thought, The Latin that, in poetry, Virgil, Lucretius, Catullus, and Ho-poets, race excel the rest by many degrees; and especially places in

The best critics ascribe this dialogue not to Plato, but to Eschines, a disciple of Socrates.

whom he

the first class,

Imeretius not to be

and much

asto.

Virgil, in his Georgics, which I esteem as the completest work in poetry, in comparison with which it is easy to discern some passages of the Eneid, to which the author would have given a little more of the file, had he had leisure. The fifth book of the Eneid seems to me to be the most perfect. I am also fond of Lucan, and often read him, not so much for the sake of the style, as for his own worth, and the truth of his opinions and judgments. As for Terence, I think the delicacy and elegance of his Latin so admirably adapted to represent our passions and manners to the life, that our actions make me have recourse to him every now and then; and, as often soever as I read him, I still discover some new grace and beauty.

Such as lived in the age near Virgil's were scan. compared dalised that any should compare Lucretius to him. I to Virgil, am, indeed, of opinion, that the comparison is very Jess Ari- unequal; yet I can scarce settle myself in this belief, when I am captivated with some of those fine passages in Lucretius. But, if they were so piqued at this comparison, what would they have said of the brutish and barbarous stupidity of those who, at this hour, compare Ariosto to him; and what would Ariosto himself say of it?

of those

who com-
pared

Plautus to
Terence.

O seclum insipiens et inficetum !*

Oh silly senseless age!

Bad taste I think the ancients had yet more reason to complain of those who matched Plautus with Terence (the latter being much more of the gentleman), than Lucretius with Virgil. It makes much for the honour and preference of Terence, that the father of the Roman eloquence has him so often in his mouth, the only one of his rank that he mentions, as does the sentence which the chief judge† of Roman poetry has passed upon the other.

Catul. Epigram. xli. ver. 8.

Horace, who says, in his Arte Poetica, ver. 270, &c.;

་

poets of

time want

tion.

I have often observed, that those of our time, who The comic have taken upon them to write comedies (as the Ita-Monlians, who are very happy in dramatic compositions), taigne's take in three or four arguments of those of Terence ed inven or Plautus to make one of theirs, and crowd five or six of Boccace's tales into one single comedy. That which makes them load themselves with so much matter is the diffidence they have of being able to support themselves by their own merit. They must find out somebody to lean upon; and, having not mat ter enough of their own to amuse us with, they supply the defect with some tale. But the case is quite. contrary with our author, the beauty and perfections of whose style make us lose the appetite for his plot. His elegance and delicacy captivate us in every scene, and he is so pleasant throughout, Liquidus, puroque simillimus amni,†

Smoothly running like a crystal stream,

and so possesses the soul with his graces of diction, that we forget those of his fable. This very consideration draws me on farther: I perceive that the good old poets avoided the affectation and pursuit not only of fantastic Spanish and Petrarchist‡ flights, but even of the softer and graver periods which have adorned all the poetry of the succeeding ages. Yet there is no good judge who will condemn this in those ancients, and that does not incomparably more

At nostri proavi Plautinos et numeros, et
Laudavere sales, nimium patienter utrosque,
Non dicam stultè, mirati.

And yet our sires with joy could Plautus hear;

Gay were his jests, his numbers charm'd their ear;

Let me not say, too lavishly they prais'd,

But sure their judgment was full cheaply pleas'd.

Terence, who is in the same degree as inferior to the Greeks as he is superior to the modern poets that Montaigne speaks of; for Terence has need sometimes of two Greek pieces to make up one Latin one. See the prologue to his Eunuch.

+ Hor. lib. ii. ep. 2, ver. 120.

Passionate Rant of Lovers,

Comparison be

tween the

admire the equal smoothness, and that perpetual
sweetness and beauty which flourishes in the epi-
grams of Catullus, than all the stings with which
Martial has armed the tails of his. The reason is the
same as I gave just now, and as Martial said of him-
self, in preface, lib. viii. Minus illi ingenio labor-
andum fuit, in cujus locum materia successerat: "His
subject was so fruitful, that he had the less need
"for the exercise of his wit." The epigrams of Ca-
tullus make themselves sufficiently felt without being
moved and disgusted; they have matter enough
throughout to create laughter; they need not raise
the laugh themselves. Martial's epigrams have need
of foreign assistance; as they have the less wit, they
must have the more bulk; they mount on horseback
because they are not strong enough to stand on their
own legs. Just so, in our balls, those men of low
degree who teach to dance, because they cannot
represent the port and decency of our gentry, en-
deavour to recommend themselves by dangerous
leaps, and other odd motions practised by tumblers:
and the ladies come off better where there are seve-
ral coupees and agitations of the body, than in some
other formal dances, wherein they are only to move
a natural pace, and to represent their ordinary grace
and gesture.
And so I have seen excellent tum-
blers, dressed in the clothes which they wear every
day, and with their usual countenance, give us all
the pleasure that their art is capable of, while their
apprentices, not yet arrived to such a degree of
perfection, are fain to meal their faces, to disguise
themselves, and to use wild motions and grimaces to
make us laugh.

This conception of mine is no where so demonstrable as in the comparison of the Æneid and OrApeid and lando Furioso. The first we see with expanded the Orian- wings soaring aloft, and always stretching to its of Ariosto. point; while the latter flutters and hops from tale to tale, as from branch to branch, not venturing to trust its wings but in very short flights, and perch.

do Furioso

ing at every turn, lest its breath and strength should fail it:

Excursusque breves tentat.*

Those therefore, as to subjects of this kind, are the authors that please me best.

dity, by

learned to

As to my other reading, which mixes a little more Books of profit with pleasure, and from whence I learn how to more soliregulate my opinions and humours; the books which which I apply to, for this purpose, are Plutarch (since he Montaigne is translated into French) and Seneca: they are both regulate his remarkably adapted to my temper, forasmuch as the "pinion. knowledge which I there seek is communicated in loose pieces that are not very tedious to read, otherwise I should not have patience to look in them. Such are Plutarch's Opuscula, and the Epistles of Seneca, which are the most beautiful and profitable of all their writings. These I can take in hand, and lay aside at pleasure; for they have no connection with, or dependence upon, one another.

son be

These authors generally concur in such opinions Compari as are useful and true; and there is this farther pa- tween Plurallel betwixt them, that they happened to be born tarch and much about the same time, that they were both the preceptors of two Roman emperors, that both came from foreign countries, and that both were rich, and both great men. Their lessons are the cream of philosophy, and delivered after a plain and pertinent manner. Plutarch is more uniform and constant. Seneca more irregular and various. The latter toils with all his might, to arm virtue against frailty, fear, and vicious appetites. The former seems not to think their power so great, and scorns to hasten his pace, and put himself upon his guard. Plutarch's opinions are Platonic, mild, and accommodated to civil society. The other's are Stoical and Epicurean, more remote from the common usage, but I think them more advantageous in particular, and more solid. It appears in Seneca, that he leans a little

* Georg. lib. iv. ver. 194.