T

PERSIUS, SAT. I. VER. 104.

HERE are two extremes in the ftile of humour, one of which confifts in the ufe of that little pert phrafeology which I took notice of in my last paper; the other in the affectation of ftrained and pompous expreffions fetched from the learned languages. The first favours too much of the town; the other of the college.

As nothing illuftrates better than example, I shall here prefent my reader with a letter of pedantic humour, which was written by a young gentleman of the univerfity to his friend, on the fame occafion, and from the fame place, as the lively epistle published in my laft Spectator.

DEAR CHUM,

IT T is now the third watch of the night, the greatest part of which I have fpent round a capacious bowl of China, filled with the choiceft products of both the Indies. I was placed at a quadrangular table, diametrically oppofite to the mace-bearer. The vifage of that venerable herald was, according to cuftom, most gloriously illuminated on this joyful occafion. The mayor and aldermen, those pillars of our conftitution, began to totter; and if any one at the board could have fo far articulated, as to have demanded intelligibly a reinforcement of liquor, the whole affembly had been by this time extended under the table.

The celebration of this night's folemnity was opened by the obftreperous joy of drummers, who, with their parchment thunder, gave a fignal for the appearance of the mob under their several claffes and denominations. They were

DRYDEN.

quickly joined by the melodious clank of marrow-bone and cleaver, while a chorus of bells filled up the concert. A pyramid of ftack-faggots cheered the hearts of the populace with the promise of a blaze: the guns had no fooner uttered the prologue, but the heavens were brightened with artificial meteors and ftars of our own making; and all the High Street lighted up from one end to another, with a galaxy of candles. We collected a largefs for the multitude, who tippled elemofynary until they grew exceeding vociferous. There was a pafte-board pontiff, with a little fwarthy Dæmon at his elbow, who, by his diabolical whifpers and infinuations, tempted his holiness into the fire, and then left him to fhift for himself. The mobile were very farcaftic with their clubs,. and gave the old gentleman feveral thumps upon his triple head-piece. Tom Tyler's phiz is fomething damaged by the fall of a rocket, which hath almoft fpoiled the gnomon of his countenance. The mirth of the commons grew fo very outrageous, that it found work for our friend of the quorum, who, by the help of his amanuenfis, took down all their names and their crimes, with a defign to produce his manufcript at the next quarter-feffions, &c. &c. &c.

I fhall fubjoin to the foregoing piece of a letter, the following copy of verses translated from an Italian poet, who was the Cleveland of his age, and had multitudes of admirers. The fubject is an accident that happened under the. reign of Pope Leo, when a fire-work, that had been prepared upon the caftie of St. Angelo, began to play before it's

-time, being kindled by a flash of lightBing. The author has written a poem in the fame kind of tile, as that I have already exemplified in profe. Every line in it is a riddle, and the reader must be forced to confider it twice or thrice, before he will know that the Cynic's tenement is a tub, and Bacchus his caft-coat a hogfheat, &c.

'Twas night, and Heav'n, a Cyclops all
the day,

And Argus now did countless eyes difplay
In ev'ry window Rome her joy declares,
All bright, and ftudded with terreftrial ftars.
A blazing chain of lights her roofs entwines,
And round her neck the mingled luftre thines;
The Cynic's rolling tenement confpires,
With Bacchus his caft-coat, to feed the fires.

The pile, ftill b'g with undiscover'd shows, The Tufcan pile did laft it's freight diclofe, Where the proud tops of Rome's new Ætna rife,

Whence giants fally, and invade the fkies."
Whilft now the multitude expect the time,
And their tir'd eyes the lofty mountain climb,
As thousand iron mouths their voces try,
And thunder out a dreadful, harmony;
In treble notes the final artillery plays,
The deep mouth'd cannon bellows in the bafs,
The lab'ring pile now heaves, and having giv`n
Proofs of it's travail, fighs in flames to Heav'n.

The clouds invelop'd Heav'n from human

fight, Quench'd ev'ry far, and put out ev'ry light; Now real thunder grumbles in the fkies, And in difdainful murmurs Roine defies; Nordoth it's anfwer'dchallenge Rome decline; But whilft both parties in full confort join, While heav'n and earth in rival peals refound, The doubtful cracks the hearer's fenfe confound;

Whether the claps of thunderbolts they hear, Orelle the burft of cannon wounds theirear; Whether clouds rag`d by ftruggling metals

rent,

Or ftruggling clouds in Roman metals pent, But, O, my Mufe, the whole adventure tell, As ev ry accident in order fell.

Tall groves of trees the Hadrian tow iurround,

Fictitious trees with paper garlands crown'd. Thefe know no fpring, but when the bodies fprout

In fire, and fhoot their gilded blossoms out; When blazing leaves appear above their head, And into branching flames their bodies spread. Whilft real thunder splits the firmament, And heav'n's whole roof in one vaft cleft is

rent,

The three-fork'd tongue amidst the rapture Tolls,

Then drops, and on the airy turret falls. : The trees now kindle, and the garland burns, A th ufand thunderbolts for one returns: Brigades of burning archers upward fly, Bright fpears and fhining fpear-men mount on high,

Flafh in the clouds, and glitter in the sky. A feven-fold fhield of spheres doch heav'n ' defend,

And back again the blunted weapons fend;
Unwillingly they fall, and dropping down,
Pour out their fouls, their fulph'rous foult,
and groan.

With joy, great Sir, we view'd this
pompous fhow,

While Heav'n, that fat Spectator fill till

MR. SPECTATOR,

OU having, in your two laft

Y given

of remarkable letters in different ftiles; I take this opportunity to offer to you some remarks upon the epiftolary way of writing in verfe. This is a fpecies

of poetry by itself; and has not so much as been hinted at in any of the arts of poetry, that have ever fallen into my hands: neither has it in any age, or in any nation, been fo much cultivated, as the other feveral kinds of poefy. A man of genius may, if he pleafes, write

letters

letters in verfe upon all manner of fubjects that are capable of being embellifhed with wit and language, and may render them new and agreeable by giving the proper turn to them. But in fpeaking, at prefent, of epiftolary poetry, I would be understood to mean only fuch writings in this kind, as have been in ufe among the ancients, and have been copied from them by fome maderns. Thefe may be reduced into two claffes: in the one I shall range love-letters, letters of friendship, and letters upon mournful occafions: in the other I shall place fuch epiftles in verfe, as may properly be called familiar, critical, and moral; to which may be added letters of mirth and humour. Ovid for the first, and Horace for the latter, are the beft originals we have left.

He that is ambitious of fucceeding in the Ovidian way, fhould firft examine his heart well, and feel whether his paffons (efpecially thofe of the gentler kind) play cafy, fince it is not his wit, but the delicacy and tenderness of his fentiments, that will affect his readers. His verfification likewife fhould be foft, and all his numbers flowing and querulous.

The qualifications requifite for writing epiftles after the model given us by Horace, are of a quite different nature. He that would excel in this kind muft have a good fund of trong mafculine fenfe: to this there must be joined a thorough knowledge of mankind, together with an infight into the bufinefs, and the prevailing humours of the age. Our author must have his mind well feafoned with the fineit precepts of morality, and be filled with nice reflections upon the bright and dark fides of human life; he must be a master of refined raillery, and underftand the delicacies, as well as the abfurdities of converfation. He must have a lively turn of wit, with an eafy and concife manner of expreffion: every thing he fays, must be in a free and difengaged manner. He must be guilty of nothing that betrays the air of a reclufe, but appear a man of the world throughout. His illuftrations,

his comparisons, and the greatest parts of his images must be drawn from common life. Strokes of fatire and criticifm, as well as panegyric, judiciously thrown in (and as it were by the bye) give a wonderful life and ornament to compositions of this kind. But let our poet, while he writes epiftles, though never fo familiar, still remember that he writes in verfe, and must for that reafon have a more than ordinary care not to fall into profe, and a vulgar diction, excepting where the nature and humour of the thing does neceffarily require it. In this point Horace hath been thought by fome critics to be fometimes careless, as well as too negligent of his verfification; of which he feems to have been fenfible himself.

All I have to add is, that both thefe manners of writing may be made as entertaining, in their way, as any other fpecies of poetry, if undertaken by perfons duly qualified; and the latter fort may be managed to as to become in a peculiar manner inftructive. I am, &c.

I shall add an obfervation or two to the remarks of my ingenious correfpondent; and, in the first place, take notice, that fubjects of the mott fublime nature are often treated in the epiftolary way with advantage, as in the famous epiltle of Horace to Auguitus. The poet furprifes us with his pomp, and feems rather betrayed into his fubject, than to have aimed at it by defign. He appears, like the vifit of a king incognito, with a mixture of familiarity and grandeur. In works of this kind, when the dignity of the fubject hurries the poet into defcriptions and fentiments, feemingly unpremeditated, by a fort of infpiration; it is ufual for him to recollet himself, and fall back gracefully into the natural tile of a letter.

I might here mention an epiftolary poem, just published by Mr. Euiden on the king's acceffion to the throne: where in, among many other noble and beautiful ftrokes of poetry, his reader may fes this rule very happily obferved.

N°

AVING lately prefented my reader falfe fublime, I fall here communicate to him an excellent fpecimen of the true: though it hath not been yet published, the judicious reader will readily difcern it to be the work of a mafter; and if he hath read that noble poem on The Profpect of Peace*, he will not be at a lofs to guefs at the author.

THE ROYAL PROGRESS.

WHEN Brunfwick first appear'd, each lioneft heart,

Intent on verfe, difdain'd the rules of art;
For him the fongsters, in unmeafur'd odes,
Debas 4 Alcides, and dethron'd the gods,
In golden chains the kings of India led,
Or rent the turban from the fultan's head,
One, in old fables, and the Pagan strain,
With nymphs and tritons, wafts him o'er

the main;

Another draws fierce Lucifer in arms,
And fills th'infernal region with alarms;
A third awakes fome Druid, to foretel
Each future triumph from his dreary cell.
Exploded fancies! that in vain deceive,
While the mind naufeates what he can't

believe.

My mufe th' expected hero fhall purfue From clime to clime, and keep him ftill in

view:

His shining march defcribe in faithful lays, Content to paint him, nor prefume to praife; Their charms, if charms they have, the truth supplies,

And from the theme unlabour'd beauties.rife.

By longing nations for the throne defign'd, And call'd to guard the rights of human-kind; With fecret grief his godlike foul repines, And Britain's crown with joyless luftre shines, While prayers and tears his deftin'd progress stay,

And crowds of mourners choak their fov'reign's way.

Not fo he march'd, when hoftile squadrons food,

In fcenes of death, and fir'd his generous blood; When his hot courfer paw'd th' Hungarian

plain,

And adverfe legions flood the shock in vain. Hi frontiers paft, the Belgian bounds he views, And cross the level fields his march purfues.

VIRG. EN. VI, VER, 791, ̧

Here pleas'd the land of freedom to furvey, He greatly fcorns the thirft of boundlefs fway.

O'er the thin foil, with filnet joy, he fpies Transplanted woods, and borrow'd verdure Where every meadow won with toil and blood, rife; From haughty tyrants, and the raging food, With fruits and flowers the careful hind fupplies,

And clothes the marshes in a rich difguife. Such wealth for frugal hands doth Heav'n decree,

And fuch thy gifts, celeftial Liberty!

Through stately towns, and many a fertile plain,

Thepomp advances to the neighbouring main. Whole nations croud around with joyful cries, And view the hero with infatiate eyes.

In Haga's towers he waits, till eastern gales Propitious rife to fwell the British fails. Hither the fame of England's monarch brings The vows and friendships of the neighb'ring kings;

Mature in wisdom, his extensive mind

Takes in the blended int'refts of mankind, The world's great patriot. Calm thy anxious breaft;

Secure in him, O Europe, take thy reft; Henceforth thy kingdoms shall remain confin'd

By rocks or ftreams, the mounds which ́ Heav'n defign'd;

ftrain,

The Alps their new-made monarch shall reNor fhall thy hills, Pirene, rife in vain.

But fee! to Britain's ifle the fquadron stand, And leave the finking towers, and leffening