You, then, whose judgment the right course would steer, Know well each ancient's proper character; His fable,1 subject, scope in every page; 120 Religion, country, genius of his age: Without all these at once before your eyes, Cavil you may, but never criticise. Let such teach others who themselves Be Homer's works your study and delight, Read them by day, and meditate by night; Thence form your judgment, thence your maxims bring, 126 From PART II A little learning is a dangerous thing; 15 Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring: There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, And drinking largely sobers us again. Fired at first sight with what the Muse imparts, 20 most abound, In fearless youth we tempt the heights of Words are like leaves; and where they arts, While from the bounded level of our mind Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind; Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found. False eloquence, like the prismatic glass, sense; 125 Such labored nothings, in so strange a style, Amaze th' unlearn'd, and make the learned smile. Unlucky as Fungoso in the play, These sparks with awkward vanity display What the fine gentleman wore yesterday; And but so mimic ancient wits at best, 131 As apes our grandsires, in their doublets dressed. In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold; Alike fantastic if too new or old: Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside. 1 accord. 135 But most by numbers judge a poet's song; And smooth or rough, with them, is right or wrong. In the bright Muse though thousand charms conspire, But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar. When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, 170 Her voice is all these tuneful fools ad- The line, too, labors, and the words move mire; slow. Who haunt Parnassus but to please their Not so when swift Camilla scours the I sing. This verse to Caryl, Muse! is due; This, e'en Belinda may vouchsafe to view. Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,5 If she inspire, and he approve my lays. Say what strange motive, Goddess! could compel A well-bred lord t' assault a gentle belle? Oh say what stranger cause, yet unexplored, Could make a gentle belle reject a lord? 10 In tasks so bold, can little men engage, And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty rage? Sol through white curtains shot a timorous ray, And oped those eyes that must eclipse the day. Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake, 15 A youth more glittering than a birth-night For when the fair in all their pride expire, beau, To their first elements their souls retire: The sprites of fiery termagants in flame Mount up, and take a salamander's name. Soft yielding minds to water glide away, 61 And sip, with nymphs, their elemental |