THE

ART OF POETRY.

229

THE ART OF POETRY.

THIS piece was inserted among Dryden's Works, upon authority of the following advertisement by his publisher Jacob Tonson.

"This translation of Monsieur Boileau's Art of Poetry' was made in the year 1680, by Sir William Soame of Suffolk, Baronet; who, being very intimately acquainted with Mr Dryden, desired his revisal of it. I saw the manuscript lie in Mr Dryden's hands for above six months, who made very considerable alterations in it, particularly the beginning of the Fourth Canto; and it being his opinion, that it would be better to apply the poem to English writers, than keep to the French names, as it was first translated, Sir William desired he would take the pains to make that alteration; and accordingly that was entirely done by Mr Dryden.

"The poem was first published in the year 1683. Sir William was after sent ambassador to Constantinople, in the reign of King James, but died in the voyage."—J. T.

To give weight to Tonson's authority, it may be added, that great part of the poem bears marks of Dryden's polishing hand; and that some entire passages show at once his taste in criticism, principles, and prejudices.

THE

ART OF POETRY.

CANTO I.

RASH author, 'tis a vain presumptuous crime,
To undertake the sacred art of rhyme;
If at thy birth the stars that ruled thy sense
Shone not with a poetic influence,

In thy strait genius thou wilt still be bound,
Find Phoebus deaf, and Pegasus unsound.

You, then, that burn with the desire to try
The dangerous course of charming poetry,
Forbear in fruitless verse to lose your time,
Or take for genius the desire of rhyme;
Fear the allurements of a specious bait,
And well consider your own force and weight.
Nature abounds in wits of every kind,

And for each author can a talent find.
One may in verse describe an amorous flame,
Another sharpen a short epigram;
Waller a hero's mighty acts extol,
Spenser sing Rosalind in pastoral:

*

But authors, that themselves too much esteem,
Lose their own genius, and mistake their theme;
Thus in times past Dubartas vainly writ,
Allaying sacred truth with trifling wit;
Impertinently, and without delight,
Described the Israelites' triumphant flight;
And, following Moses o'er the sandy plain,
Perish'd with Pharaoh in the Arabian main.
Whate'er you write of pleasant or sublime,
Always let sense accompany your rhyme.
Falsely they seem each other to oppose;
Rhyme must be made with reason's laws to close;
And when to conquer her you bend your force,
The mind will triumph in the noble course.
To reason's yoke she quickly will incline,
Which, far from hurting, renders her divine;
But if neglected, will as easily stray,

And master reason, which she should obey.
Love reason then; and let whate'er you write
Borrow from her its beauty, force, and light.
Most writers mounted on a resty muse,
Extravagant and senseless objects chuse ;
They think they err, if in their verse they fall
On any thought that's plain or natural.
Fly this excess; and let Italians be
Vain authors of false glittering poetry.
All ought to aim at sense; but most in vain.
Strive the hard pass and slippery path to gain;

* William Sallust, Seigneur Du Bartas, who wrote a huge poem, quaintly divided into "weeks and days," narrating the Scriptural history and miracles in vile bombastic and conceited verse. He found a kindred translator in Joshua Sylvester, who published a version of these and other poems about the beginning of the 17th century. Dubartas was a soldier and a Huguenot, and followed the banners of Henry IV. in the civil wars of France. Sylvester was an English merchant adventurer.