Chapter 3

From Vein to Vein I feel a subtle Flame,When e'er I see thee, run thro' all my Frame:And as the Transport seizes on my Mind,I'm dumb, and neither Tongue nor Voice can find.A Mist of Pleasure o'er my Eyes is spread,I hear no more, and am to Reason dead;Pale, breathless, speechless, I expiring lie,I burn, I freeze, I tremble, and I die.

In theSpectator, No388. is a Paraphrase on the second Chapter ofSolomon's Song.

Stanza IV.I faint, I dye, my lab'ring BreastIs with the mighty Weight of Love opprest.I feel the Fire possess my Heart,And Pain convey'd to ev'ry Part:Thro' all my Veins the Passion flyes,My feeble Soul forsakes its Place;A trembling Faintness seals my Eyes,And Paleness dwells upon my Face.

Stanza IV.

I faint, I dye, my lab'ring BreastIs with the mighty Weight of Love opprest.I feel the Fire possess my Heart,And Pain convey'd to ev'ry Part:Thro' all my Veins the Passion flyes,My feeble Soul forsakes its Place;A trembling Faintness seals my Eyes,And Paleness dwells upon my Face.

To descend again to the lower Kinds of Thinking, I shall conclude the Pretty with these Verses of Mr.Prior's on the Squirrel in the Cage:

Mov'd in the Orb, pleas'd with the Chimes,The foolish Creature thinks he climbs.Bus here or there, turn Wood or WireHe never gets two Inches higher.So fares it with those merry Blades,That frisk it under Pindus Shades.In noble Songs, and lofty Odes,They tread on Stars, and talk with gods;Still dancing in an airy Round,Still pleas'd with their own Verses Sound;Brought back how fast soe'er they go,Always aspiring, always low.

Agreeable Thoughts may be also reckon'd among the Natural, the Soft, and the Tender; all which in the general Acceptation, are also taken for Wit. This Speech ofEve's toAdamin theParadice Lost, has an Agreeableness which cannot be match'd in the most Tender of our Lyrick or Elegiac Poets:

With thee conversing, I forget all Time,All Seasons and their Change, all please alike:Sweet is the Breath of Morn, her Rising sweetWith Charm of earliest Birds, pleasant the SunWhen first on this delightful Land he spreadsHis orient Beams, on Herb, Tree, Fruit and Flow'r,Glistring with Dew: Fragrant the fertile EarthAfter soft Show'rs, and sweet the Coming onOf grateful Evening mild: Then silent NightWith this her solemn Bird, and this fair Moon,And these the Gems of Heaven, her starry Train.But neither Breath of Morn, when she ascendsWith Charm of earliest Birds; nor rising SunOn this delightful Land, nor Herb, Fruit, Flow'r,Glistring with Dew, nor Fragrance after Showers,Nor grateful Evening mild, nor silent NightWith this her solemn Bird; nor walk by Moon,Or glittering Star Light, without thee is sweet.

To speak poetically one would think every Verse was turn'd and polish'd by theLovesand theGraces. Indeed all the Conversation between the first Bridegroom and his Bride, in this Poem, is exquisitely agreeable and tender, except the very Incident of the Fall.

I take the Verses inWaller, address'd toAmoret, to be of the agreeable Kind:

Fair, that you may truly knowWhat you untoThyrsisowe;I will tell you how I doSacharissalove, and you.Joy salutes me, when I setMy blest Eyes onAmoret;But with Wonder I am strook;While I on the Other look.If sweetAmoretcomplains,I have Sense of all her Pains:But forSacharissaIDo not only grieve, but die.&c.

Fair, that you may truly knowWhat you untoThyrsisowe;I will tell you how I doSacharissalove, and you.

Joy salutes me, when I setMy blest Eyes onAmoret;But with Wonder I am strook;While I on the Other look.

If sweetAmoretcomplains,I have Sense of all her Pains:But forSacharissaIDo not only grieve, but die.&c.

I could give many Instances of agreeable Thoughts but ofDryden's Fables, especially that ofCymonandIphigenia, which had been taken notice of long enough before theSpectatorwas thought of; and I do not think it fair, that he should engross all theBeaux Endroits, because he printed them first. The Rusticity ofCymon, and even his Stupidity, has something in it very agreeable in the Image, which is the pure Nature that we meet with there:

It happen'd on a Summer's Holy-day,That to the Greenwood Shade he took his Way;His Quarter-Staff, which he cou'd ne'er forsake,Hung half before, and half behind his Back;He trudg'd along unknowing what he sought,And whistled as he went for Want of Thought.

There is not a more natural Picture in Language than this. Of the same Kind is that ofIphigeniasleeping by the Fountain: The very Numbers express the Wantonness of the Wind so livelily, that we feel the Air, and are fanned by it while we read them, which I think has had the good Luck to escape Observation:

Her Bosom to the View was only bare;The fanning Wind upon her Bosom blows;To meet the fanning Wind her Bosom rose;The fanning Wind, and purling Streams continue her Repose.}

The fanning Wind upon her Bosom blows;To meet the fanning Wind her Bosom rose;The fanning Wind, and purling Streams continue her Repose.}

}

Mr.Drydenwas 68 Years old when he wrote this Fable, which I have always taken for a Master-piece, with Respect to natural Thoughts, which are always agreeable, and harmonious Numbers. The Reader will perceive, that I do not forbear quoting fine Passages, because they are in theSpectator. I cannot allow of his Forestalling the Market; and besides, I take his Example to be preferable to his Precept. Himself does not stick to quote even from himself; as,

No91. Sidleyhas that prevailing gentle Art,&c.

And again,

No[400.] Sidleyhas that prevailing gentle Art,&c.Guard110. Motto——Non ego paucis,Offendor maculis.Spec.291. Motto——Non ego paucis,Offendor maculis.

No[400.] Sidleyhas that prevailing gentle Art,&c.

Guard110. Motto——Non ego paucis,Offendor maculis.

Spec.291. Motto——Non ego paucis,Offendor maculis.

This however I will declare in my own Behalf, that I have quoted nothing from him which he has quoted fromMiltonorDryden, but what I had before collected my self as remarkable Passages in their several Kinds of Thinking.

What follows, taken out of Mr.Charles Hopkins's Verses to the Earl ofDorset, is of the agreeable Kind:

As Nature does in new-born Infants frameWith their first Speech their carefulForstrer's Name,Whose needful Hands their daily Food provide,And by whose Aid they have their Wants supply'd:You are, my Lord, the Poet's earliest Theme,And the first Word he speaks isDorset's Name.

Were not the next Verses written on a Tomb Stone, they wou'd be veryagreeable. They areBen Johnson's:

Underneath this Stone doth lieAs much Virtue as cou'd die:Which when alive did Vigour giveTo as much Beauty as cou'd live.

Is not this Picture ofVenusinPalamonandArciteof the same Kind:

The Goddess self some noble Hand had wrought,Smiling she seem'd, and full of pleasing Thought,From Ocean, as she first began to rise,And smooth'd the ruffled Waves, and clear'd the Skies.She trod the Brine, all bare below the Breast,And the green Waves, but ill conceal'd the Rest:A Lute she held, and on her Head was seenA Wreath of Roses red, and Myrtles green:Her Turtles fan'd the buxom Air above,And by his Mother stood an Infant LoveWith Wings display'd.————

These Verses out ofDryden's St.Cecilia's Ode are very agreeable:

Softly sweet inLydianMeasuresSoon he sooth'd his Soul to Pleasures,War, he sung, is Toil and Trouble,Honour but an empty Bubble.Never ending, still beginning,Fighting still, and still destroying;If the World is worth thy Winning,Think, Oh think, it worth enjoying.

But as the finest Meats are most apt to surfeit, so too many agreeable Thoughts together may flatten upon the Palate: And I shall only add an Instance in Prose, taken out of Mr.Waller's Letter to the LadyLucy Sydney, on the Marriage of her Sister the LadyDorothy, who was hisSacharissa.

May my LadyDorothy, if we may yet call her so, suffer as much, and have the like Passion for this young Lord, whom she has preferred to the Rest of Mankind, as others have had for her; and may this Love before the Year goes about, make her taste of the first Curse impos'd upon Woman-kind, the Pains of becoming a Mother. May the First-born be none of her own Sex; and may she that always affected Silence and Retiredness, have the House fill'd with the Noise and Number of her Children. May she, at last, arrive at that great Curse much declin'd by fair Ladies, Old Age, &c.

Under the Character of FatherBouhours's fine Thoughts may be put these Verses of Mr.Waller's, alluding to his gallant Poems uponSacharissa, and the Story ofPhœbusandDaphne.

Yet what he sang in his immortal Strain,Tho' unsuccessful, was not sung in Vain:All but the Nymph that should redress his WrongAttend his Passion, and approve his Song;LikePhœbus, thus acquiring unsought Praise,He caught at Love, and fill'd his Arms with Bays.

Much of the same Kind is this of the LordLandsdown's on the same Subject:

Thy Beauty,Sidney, likeAchillesSword,Resistless stands upon as sure Record;The foremost Herce, and the brightest DameBoth sung alike shall have their Fate the same.

This Part of Mr.Prior's Prologue spoken before the late Queen, is in the fine Way of Thinking:

Let the youngAustrianthen her Terrours bear,Great as he is, her Delegate in War.Let him in Thunder speak to both hisSpains,That in these dreadful Isles a Woman reigns:Whilst the bright Queen does on her Subjects show'r,The gentle Blessings of her softer Pow'r,Gives sacred Morals to a vicious Age,To Temples Zeal, and Manners to the Stage;Bids the chaste Muse without a Blush appear,And Wit be that, which Heaven and she may hear.

Of what Kind shall we take this Image inSpencerto be:

His haughty Helmet, horrid all with Gold,Both glorious Brightness and great Terrour bred;For all the Crest a Dragon did enfoldWith greedy Paws, and over all did spreadHis golden Wings; his dreadful hideous Head,Close couched on the Bever, seem'd to throw,From flaming Mouth, bright Sparkles fiery red,&c.

This ofCowleyis finely thought:

Now all the wide extended Sky,And all th' harmonious Worlds on high,AndVirgil's sacred Work shall dye.

And this ofWallerto QueenHenrietta Maria:

A brave Romance who would exactly frame,First brings his Knight from some immortal Dame,And then a Weapon and a flaming Shield,Bright as his Mother's Eyes, he makes him wield.None might the Mother ofAchillesbe,But the fair Pearl and Glory of the Sea.The Man to whom GreatMarogives such Fame,From the high Bed of heavenlyVenuscame.And our nextCharles, whom all the Stars designLike Wonders to accomplish, springs from thine.

And this toZelinda:

Fairest Piece of well form'd Earth,Urge not thus your haughty Birth;The Pow'r, which you have o'er us, lies,Not in your Race, but in your Eyes.

And these Verses of Mr.Addisonto the LordHallifax:

Oh Liberty, thou Goddess heav'nly bright!Profuse of Bliss, and Pregnant with Delight;Eternal Pleasures in thy Presence reign,And smiling plenty leads thy wanton Train.Eas'd of her Load, Subjection grows more light,And Poverty looks chearful in thy Sight:Thou mak'st the gloomy Face of Nature gay,Giv'st Beauty to the Sun, and Pleasure to the Day.

These four Verses, Part of the late Duke ofBuckingham's Poem uponHobbes, contain, as I conceive, a fine Thought:

But such the Frailty is of humane Kind,Men toil for Fame, which no Man lives to find;Long rip'ning under Ground thisChinalies;Fame bears no Fruit, till the vain Planter dies.

But the next Verses contain a false Thought, if I have a Right Conception of it:

And Nature tir'd with his unusual LengthOf Life, which put her to her utmost Strength;So vast a Soul, unable to supply,To save herself, was forc'd to let him die.

Whatever it is we understand by Nature, we can have no such Idea of it, as to imagine Mr.Hobbescou'd have been too hard for it.

These Verses of Mr.Waller, onWestminster-Abbeyescaping a Fire, are finely imagined:

So Snow onÆtnadoes unmelted lie,Whence rolling Flames, and scatter'd Cinders flie:The distant Country in the Ruin shares,What falls from Heaven the burning Mountain spares.

Tho' some of thesefineThoughts are very nearly allied to the Noble, yet one may easily perceive, that there is not so much Dignity, tho' there may be as much Beauty in the One as in the Other. Thus also, as to delicate and agreeable Thoughts, they are as nearly related; but a Thing may be agreeable which is not delicate, tho' it cannot be delicate, but it must be agreeable: An agreeable Thought expresses it self entirely; a delicate One leaves something to the Readers Imagination which is very flattering.

As in this beauteous old Verse ofChaucer's, preserv'd inDryden's,PalamonandArcite:

Uprose the Sun, and uproseEmily.

HadChaucersaid,Up rose the Sun,and thenup rose Emilybrighter than the Sun,Emilyand the Reader would have been entertain'd with only a common Complement; but now the Reader fills up the Thought himself, and imagines that the Sun rose to prepare the Way for something brighter than himself:Up roseEmily.

Mr.Dryden, in another place,

Now Day appears, and with the Day the King,

imitatesChaucer, but the Delicacy is lost, for there is nothing more to be understood by it, as there is in this Couplet of his to the Dutchess ofOrmondupon her going toIrelandbefore the late Duke,

AsOrmond's Harbinger, to you they run,ForVenusis the Promise of the Sun.

There the Reader fills up the Comparison himself, and consequently cannot but be pleas'd, as we are apt to be, with every thing which we do our selves.

The Delicacy of Thought is recommended to us by theSpectator, in this beautiful Passage out ofMilton, where after the most dismal Prospect of Death, which the Heart of Man was ever terrify'd with,Adamis presented with one of the gayest Scenes with which it ever was delighted.

——————When from the Tents, beholdA Beavy of fair Women richly gay,In Jems and wanton Dress. To the Harp they sangSoft amorous Ditties, and in Dance came on.The Men, tho' Grave, ey'd them, and let their EyesRove without Rein, 'till in the amorous NetFirst caught they lik'd, and each his liking chose.And now of Love they treat, till the Evening StarLove's Harbinger appear'd; then all in HeatThey light the Nuptial Torch, and bid invokeHymen: Then first to Marriage Rights invok'd.With Feast and Musick, all the Tents resound;Such happy Interview, and fair EventOf Love and Youth not lost: Songs, Garlands, Flowers,And charming Symphonies attach the HeartOfAdam.————

The Reader takes in the Infection all along in Reading asAdamdoes in seeing, and imagines at the End of the Description the Pleasure ofAdam's Imagination.

Is there not Delicacy in these Verses of Mr.Wallersupon a Lady'sGirdle, which leave the Reader much more to be imagin'd than is exprest.

No Monarch but would give his Crown,His Arms might do what this has done.My Joy, my Grief, my Hope, my Love,Did all within this Circle move;A narrow Compass, and yet thereDwells all that's good, and all that's fair.Give me but what this Ribbon bound,Take all the Rest the Sun goes round.

FatherBouhours, in hisManiere de bien penser, besides these several Kinds of Thoughts, has thetrue, thebeautiful, thesoft, thenatural, thesimple, thegay, and many more, which has spun the Subject so very fine, that it will not endure handling but by very tender Fingers.

True Thoughts and false Thoughts are often confounded, especially, if there's any Point, Glittering or Glaring in the Latter. Something like distinguishing the one from the other is attempted in theGuardian, No110. But I cannot help thinking that it does not deserve the Recommendation with which it is introduced in that Paper. We are told, the Remarks are very curious and just, and must of Consequence conclude, the Applause which the Author sinks, because 'twas in favour of himself, was so too. A very pretty Way of returning a Compliment which he could not accept of without Offence to his Modesty; but, I humbly conceive, the Remarks are not very curious, if they are just; the same having been made a Hundred times before the publishing of them in the critical Letter; and whoever would be at the Trouble of takingDrydenandLee's Tragedies to pieces, would find enough of the like Curiosities.

The first is,Leemakes one of his Persons aCartesianPhilosopher, 2 or 3000 Years beforeDescarteswas born: Why did not the Critick remember this too in the same TragedyOedipus?

————As oft I have atAthensseen,The Stage arise, and the big Clouds descend.

Several Hundred Years before there was such a Thing heard of as a Stage atAthens.

The next Thing this Critick takes notice of, isDryden's makingCleomenesaCopernican2000 Years beforeCopernicus's Time. The Rest of the Criticisms turn upon the Improbability that DonSebastianKing ofPortugalunderstood Latin, tho' he never prayed to God in any other Language; or that the Emperor ofBarbaryhad ever heard of the Names ofBacchus,Cupid,Castor, andPollux, or the Mufti ofArchimedes, tho' we are credibly informed, that most of the Greek and Roman Learning was translated intoArabick; and it is well known that theArabianswere the greatest Encouragers of Arts and Sciences for three or four Centuries, when they were buried all over Christendom under the Rubbish of Monkery and Barbarism; and the Revivers of Learning were obliged to them for their Translations and Comments, which were turned intoLatinout ofArabick. I have not only read of a Translation ofAristotlewith Comments byAben Rois, and ofEuclidbyNassir Eddyn, with Notes, but of anArabick Ovid, where the Fable is the Foundation of the Work, and several other Classicks in theArabickTongue. How easy would it be to fill up such Critical Epistles as that in theGuardianwith as just and curious Remarks out of the best Epick Poets! How hasChaucerconfounded the SacredScriptureHistory with Pagan Fables:

There by the FountNarcissuspin'd alone:ThereSampsonwas, and wiserSolomon:Medea's Charms were there.DrydenfromChauc.

There by the FountNarcissuspin'd alone:ThereSampsonwas, and wiserSolomon:Medea's Charms were there.

DrydenfromChauc.

Ariostodoes the same in the xxxii Book ofOrlando Furioso:

Joshua's Day seemed shorter than the same,Shorter did seem the falseAmphytrion's Night.Harrington.

Joshua's Day seemed shorter than the same,Shorter did seem the falseAmphytrion's Night.

Harrington.

The same doesTasso,Cantoiv of hisJierusamme:

There whereCileno's foul and loathsome Rout;TheSphinges,Centaurs; there whereGorgon's fell,There howlingScilla's, yawling round about:There Serpents hiss, there seven mouth'dHydra's yell,Chimerathere spues Fire and Brimstone out,AndPolyphemusblind suporteth Hell.Fairfax.

Fairfax.

All understood of the Hell, which is the Punishment of the Damned, according to the Christian Theology, and here confounded with the fabled Empire ofPluto.Spencertoo mixes Scripture History with the Fable:Cantoix.

The Years ofNestornothing were to his,Ne yetMethusalem, tho' longest liv'd;For he remembred both their Infancies.

NayMiltonhimself adorns thePandæmoniumwith Dorick Pillars, whileAdamandEvelived in theBowersof Paradise before Man had a House to put his Head in:

————Pilasters roundWere set, and Dorick Pillars overlaidWith golden Architrave.

He also borrows the Rivers of the Hell of the Heathens for his Christian Poem:

AbhorredStyx, the Flood of deadly Hate,SadAcheronof Sorrow, black and deep,Cocytusnam'd, of Lamentation loudHeard on her rueful Stream. FiercePhlegeton,Whose Waves of torrent Fire inflame with Rage.Far off from these a flow and silent StreamLethethe River of Oblivion rolls;

Which

MedusawithGorgonianTerror guards.

It has been hinted elsewhere, that 'tis ungenerous to criticise onDryden's Conduct and Sentiments, which 'tis plain he varied at Pleasure, and wrote like a great Original, whose Example was to be a Rule to others, and himself to take Rules from none; but it is not true, as we read in the above-citedGuardian,That his very Faults have more Beauty in them, than the most elaborate Compositions of many more correct Writers: For I will repeat some fewLines that are monstrous, and then let the Reader judge how they can be beautiful.

'Tis false, she is not ill, nor can she be;She must be chaste, because she's lov'd by me.————I'll squeeze thee like a Bladder,Or make thee groan thy self away in Air.She who dares love, and for that Love dares die,And knowing this, dares yet love on, am I.Good Heaven thy Book of Fate before me lay,But to tear out the Journal of this Day.But take what Friends, what Armies thou canst bring,What Worlds, and when you are united All,Then I will thunder in your Ears; she shall.————Fight, love, despair;And I can do all this, because I dare.What are ten thousand Subjects, such as they?If I am scorn'd, I'll take my self away.Thou shalt not wish her thine, thou shalt not dareTo be so impudent as to dispair.There's not a Star of thine dares stay with thee,I'll whistle thy tame Fortune after me.

'Tis false, she is not ill, nor can she be;She must be chaste, because she's lov'd by me.

————I'll squeeze thee like a Bladder,Or make thee groan thy self away in Air.

She who dares love, and for that Love dares die,And knowing this, dares yet love on, am I.

Good Heaven thy Book of Fate before me lay,But to tear out the Journal of this Day.

But take what Friends, what Armies thou canst bring,What Worlds, and when you are united All,Then I will thunder in your Ears; she shall.

————Fight, love, despair;And I can do all this, because I dare.

What are ten thousand Subjects, such as they?If I am scorn'd, I'll take my self away.

Thou shalt not wish her thine, thou shalt not dareTo be so impudent as to dispair.

There's not a Star of thine dares stay with thee,I'll whistle thy tame Fortune after me.

I cannot repeat any more of it: These are Mr.Dryden's Faults, in which, according to theGuardian, there are more Beauties than in the most elaborate Pieces of more correct Writers. I confess it grieves me to mention such Enormities as these are: For no Man can do more justice to Mr.Dryden's fruitful Imagination, and harmonious Versification than my self: But it does not therefore follow, that even Errour in him is more beautiful than Regularity in others.

It I had more Room, and more Leisure, I should have endeavour'd to explain the Difference between the several Ways of Thinking. Some of them I have attempted, and I hope it may stir up a greater Genius, to do inEnglishas PereBouhourshas done inFrench, which would introduce a beautiful and just Manner both in Thought and Expression. It would then be known why it is that ArchbishopTillotsonand BishopSpratare both esteem'dMasters of theEnglishLanguage; why SirWilliam Temple, and SirRoger L'Estrange, theTatler, and theSpectator, are generally spoken of as fine Writers; though their Manner is as different as their Faces. Every Thing that pleases in Writing is with us, as I have already hinted, resolved into Wit, whether it be in the Thought or the Expression.Nay some, says theSpectator,carry the Notion of Wit so far, as to ascribe it to Puns and Quibbles, and even to external Mimickry, and to look upon a Man as an ingenious Person that can resemble the Tone, Gesture, or Face of another.With such admirable Judges as these, SirIsaac Newton's Discourse ofFluxionsis very witty, as the Machine called theOrrerywas said to be verywittilycontrived. With theseEstcourt,Penkethman, and evenNorrisare Wits, as theSpaniardstake theApesto be, and that they won't speak because they would not work. I have known two or three Actors who got into Vogue by Grimace only, and acting Parts that had neither Wit nor Sense in them.

Every one of the Kinds of right Thinking has its opposite, as every Virtue has its Vice; and the Sublime especially is apt to be mistaken in the Pomp and Puffiness of Description. Of this Kind is that Passage, where Mr.Eacharddescribes the Sea-Fight between theEnglishand theDutch, in the Time of theRump.

"The Battle grew so fierce and so furious, that there were scarce any Thing to be seen but Mastsoverturn'dinto the Sea,Splintersflying on all Sides,Sailsrent and torn in Pieces, Cables andCordagecut in sunder:How it terrifies one!In one Place aVesselboarded, and in a Moment the Men chaced off or blown up with the Decks into the Air.Four or Five Hundred Men would not have made a Figure dreadful enough unless the Wooden Decks had gone along with them.And in another was seen a Ship swallow'd up by the Waves with several Hundreds of Men, and the Sea turn'd red with Human Gore, and cover'd with dead Bodies, and floating Parts of scatter'd Ships.What's the Reason that we freeze in the midst of so muchFire? This is what theFrenchcall the Cold and the Puerile Stile.Again; All which instead of dismaying the Combatants, serv'd only to excite their Rage, and enflame them to a more cruel and implacable Slaughter; andthe continual Outcries of miserable wounded Wretches render'd them but the more bloody minded, and rouz'd them to a more cruel and remorseless Revenge. The rising Coasts on both Sides the Channel were violently shaken with the resounding Thunders of the roaring Guns, and those engag'd seem'd to be involv'd in the Wreck of Nature."

This Fight was over against the Island ofPortland, and I really believe the pronouncing of these Words,roaring Guns,resounding Thunders,rising Coasts,Wreck of Nature, among the Rocks under the Light-houses, would have as good an Effect with the Help of Eccho, as a Broadside at Sea, which the Historian assures us at the same Time shook the Hills ofEnglandandFrance. Whence comes it that we read all this without the least Emotion, where there is so much Affectation to move? Are we not so stun'd with the Sound that the Sense is lost in it, and we are no more concern'd than at the Sight of a Storm in a Half-penny Picture?Drydenlets us a little into this Secret in hisPrefacetoTroil.andCress.He is speaking of the puffy Style,the common Practice of those Writers, who not being able to infuse a natural Passion into the Mind, have made it their Business to ply the Ears, and to stun their Judges by the Noise. A better Judge than Mr.Drydenhas directed us in this Matter.

The Words, which in Magnificence abound,Grow tedious oft, and lose themselves in Sound.Rosc.

This Way of Writing is much more easy than that which is truly great and sublime, as in Liquors, 'tis easier to give them Ferment and Froth, than Spirit and Purity.There are more Authors, saysDryden, who can make apompous Description, than who can write with an equal and natural Stile. He adds, thatShakespearhimself did not distinguishthe blown puffy Stile from true Sublimity; which could not wholly be attributed to the Time, because we meet with the true Sublimity very often inSpencerandFairfax, who were both Contemporaries withShakespear, andSpencermuch the elder. Two Lines of SirJohn Denham's, on a like Subject with that ofEchard, fills one with Horrour and Amazement.

Tost by a Whirlwind of tempestuous Fire,A Thousand Wretches in the Air expire.

Mr.Addisonobserves afterPere Bouhours, Thatit is impossible for any Thought to be beautiful, which is not just, and has not its Foundation in the Nature of Things: That the Basis of all Wit is Truth, and that no Thought can be valuable, of which good Sense is not the Ground-work. Therefore when Mr.Echardwrites hisOxcellencyfor hisExcellency, speaking of the Parliament's General the Earl ofEssex, theTyrannicalParliament for theTriennialParliament, the NewNoddlefor theNew Modelwith respect to the Army, and the like, we are not to be imposed upon by him, and to take it upon his bare Word for Wit. Neither is there any Wit at all in his burlesquing such Phrases as these;Presence of God,Seeking the Lord,Call of God,Jesus Christ, &c. Which he also would impose upon us for Witicisms.

His Descriptions are not all so lofty and sounding as that of theSea-Fight, particularly when he paintsOliver Cromwel, without his Breeches, running away from the Cavaliers in hisDrawersonly, and then turning back upon them and beating them. Of this Kind is the incomparable Picture of the AldermenGloucester: TheirVisages were pale, lean, and ugly; their Cloaths strange and unusual; their Voices pert, shrill, and fearless; Ambassadorsfrom the godly City of Gloucester. His Similes are not more elevated, especially that where he compares theSilentandVictoriousGeneral Monk to a Cat, and GeneralLambert to a Mouse. He watched him as a Cat watches a Mouse, a singular Proof of his Perfection in Eloquence, which naturally leads us toExpression, and I doubt not the Historian thinks a finer Historical Stile than his own is not to be met with.

As in Thoughts so in Expression, we inEnglandare apt to confound all the various Kinds under the general Terms of good Language, and a fine Stile. The Sublime, the Natural, the Didactick, the Narrative, the Tragick, the Comick, the Polite, the Affected, are seldom rightly distinguish'd, and the latter very often mistaken for the Polite. The Admirers of Mr.Echard's History do, doubtless, take what follows to have as much of the Sublime in it as theEnglishTongue is capable of. It introduces the glorious Reign of KingCharlesII.

Having gone through a stormy and tempestuous Season of various Misery, we arrive at a sudden Brightness and Splendour, a most unexpected Order, and glorious Calm and Sunshine. The Splendour and Brightness harder to be born than the preceeding Clouds and Darkness.What is Stormy and Tempestuous? what Brightness, Sunshine, and Splendour? What Clouds and Darkness? but other Words for the same Things, and instead of Amplification comes under the Denomination of another Figure very common in such puffy Rhetorick, call'dTautology, which I am afraid the Historian and his Admirers mistake for the Sublime, there being but very few that can distinguish Sound from Sense, or Wind from Spirit.Let a Discourse be never so fine, saysRapin,it loses its worth when 'tis out of its Place, and appears affected. Affectation in Stile has the same Effect with ordinary Judges as Affectation in Air has with Women and Fops. It passes upon them for Politeness; and Delicacy, tho' there is nothing more vicious in Language. I might fill a Volume with Examples of this Vice, taken out of the Earl ofClarendon, and the Archdeacon's Histories, but as I had never troubled my self about them, had there been nothing in them but Want of Method, and an affected Stile, I shall content my self with two or three Observations only, which are sufficient to convince all those that can judge right; and as for others, I have not Leisure nor Words enough to attempt it.

He says the Sight of theGloucesterAldermen at oncegave Mirth to the most severe Countenances, and Sadness to the most cheerful Hearts. What Idea can one have of theseCavaliers, as he expresses himself, but that of some Idiots whom we have seen to laugh and cry in a Breath. He has two Expressions about Mines, which are very extraordinary, both as he is aNaturalistand as he is anOrator: The one is theBrass-MineinCumberland, the onlyBrass-Minethat ever was, or ever will be in the World. ACopper-Minemight have been found out there, and a Mine ofLapis calaminaris, which put together, would produceBrassenough, if there were Ore enough. Where he speaks of the Cleanliness of his Writing, he intimates, that he is one of those whodive into the rich Mines of Nature. What can one imagine about diving better than that of a Duck and a Dog in a Pond, or Boys in theBath? To dive into a Mine, methinks, is like running a Man'sHead into a Rock. If he had said he had been digging in the rich Mines of Nature, one might have expected some Mettal to have come of it, of one Sort or another. When the Parliament, that brought in KingCharlesII, met the first Time, Mr.Echardsays,We are now arrived at theVASTDay, which I humbly conceive to be beyond Conception, and a strange Specimen of the Author's Talent in Elocution. He had a mind to make this Day somethingprodigiousanduncommon, and therefore swells it up with an Epithet which bursts in the Operation.VASTmight have been proper, if he had been speaking of the Ton ofHeidelbergh, or AdmiralRussel's Punch Bowl atLisbon: But under what Figure will he put Day for the WordVASTto become it well? DoctorLittletonin his Dictionary makesVASTto behuge,burly,wide,broad,large, and what is much less for the Archdeacon's Purpose,misshapen,ill-favoured,desolate,insatiable,outragious; put Day to ever a one of them, and see how the Coat fits. Mr.Baileyin his very good Dictionary is contented with two or three Interpretations only, as ahuge Day, aspacious Day.Ludlow, I believe, would have followedLittleton, and then forVASTwould have understooddesolate Day,ill-shapen Day,insatiable Day; so dangerous is it for People to meddle with Words which they do not understand. Of all the Blunders in Expression which are to be avoided, there was the best Provision made against this that could be, if a Man had had the least Acquaintance with the politer Authors, Monsieur St.Evremonthaving written a Dissertation on this very WordVAST, and whoever reads it, will pity a Writer who could fall into so gross an Errour, if there were no Malice in what he had written. I suppose that almost all Mr.Echard's Readers have taken thisVASTin the Sense he intended forImportant, and if he had said thisMountainous Day, it would have done as well: They would have expected a Birth from the Mountain, and the Arch-Deacon's History is a Labour of the same Kind.

As we inEnglandare apt to confound Sentiments and Expressions, so we do the same by Talents, and think if a Man can make aSchool-Bookor two, he can write a History.Jeremiah Collierwrote ashort View of the Stage, which sold wonderfully, and immediately the Booksellershir'd him to write Three Histories in Folio: And I question not but, because SirIsaac Newtonhas outdone all Philosophers in his Treatise ofFluxions, they would employ him inHeroickPoetry, if he were young enough, and would be employ'd by them. There was aPertnessinCollier's Stile, which was mistaken for Vivacity, and tho' there cannot be any Thing more affected, yet it recommends hisEssays,Views, &c. as somewhat in the Perfection of our Language. I wonder Dr.Feltonshould forget him, when he mentions SirRoger L'Estrange, Mr.Trap, and other masterly Writers. You cannot nameCollier'sViews,Essays, &c. in Company, but some body or other immediately cries out,Ay! that's Fine.Wonderful fine, as will be seen presently.

In his Essays he has this Expression,A Man may act an Excellency for the Satisfaction if Significancy, which has the same Effect in Prose, as it is observ'd of some good Verses, that theSmoothnessorRoughnessof the Numbers are an Image of the Roughness or Smoothness of the Thing. You can hardly pronounce these Words without a prim Look, and screwing up your Mouth with the Affectation of a Girl at aBoarding-School. Would one imagine that this was said by the same Author in another place;Nothing is more nauseous than to be affected: And yet see further,Don't let Miss suffer her Heels to get too much into her Head, not to say any Thing about theAttitude, which would be very extraordinary in a Picture. Again,Seeing and Hearing are the most creditable Senses; the Brain has an unpromising Aspect, which cannot be known without Dissection. What Idea does this leave upon the Mind? or this,APrincemade but a lame Figure in Comparison with ourApostle.One would thinkCollierhad PrincePrettimanand theSpanishFryer in his Head when he wrote it. He is so fond of this Conceit, that he endeavours to prove, in his Essay on Theft, and elsewhere, that our Saviour's Disciples were Men of Quality, well-born, and well-bred, and if they did fish at any time, 'twas only for their Pleasure. As theBarberofNorthamptontoldEstcourt, He was a Doctor by Profession, and shav'd only for his Diversion. ButCollierseems to have less Regard for his Brotherhood in the last Centuries, when he informs us that by QueenElizabeth's Injunctions a Clergyman could not marry till he had madehis Complaint against Celibacy before two Justices of the Peace, and gain'd their Consent, and thegood Will of the Master or Mistress where the Damsel serv'd, by which he gives us to understand, that soon after the Reformation the Priests Wives were allAbigail's.

Collier's Dialogues serve two principal Ends, the one to carry on an Argument the more freely and loosely; and the other, which is not the least, to give himself a fat Figure in his own Picture, for he himself is the Man who has always the best of the Dispute.

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