SECTION II.

“Homer and Nature were, he found, the same.”

So that we are not to wonder he kept close to his author, though at the expence of this false fame ofOriginality. Nay it appearsdirectly from a remarkable instance that in the case before us, He unquestionably judged right.

A defect ofnatural abilityis not that, which the critics have been most forward to charge uponStatius. A person of true taste, who, in a fanciful way, hath contrived to give us the just character of the Latin poets, in assigning to this poet the topmost station on Parnassus, sufficiently acknowledges the vigour and activity of his genius. Yet, in composing hisThebaid(an old story taken from the heroic ages, which obliged him to the celebration offuneral obsequieswith the attending solemnities ofpublic games) to avoid the dishonour of following too closely on the heels of Homer and Virgil, who had not only taken the sameroute, but pursued it in the most direct and natural course, he resolved, at all adventures, to keep at due distance from them, and to make his way, as well as he could, moreobliquelyto the same end. To accomplish this project, he was forced, though in the description of the same individualgames, to look out for differentcircumstances and eventsin them; that so the identity of hissubject, which he could not avoid, might, in some degree, be atoned for by the diversity of hismannerin treating it. It must be owned, that great ingenuity as well as industry hath been used, in executing this design. Had it been practicable, the character, just given of this poet, makes it credible, he must have succeeded in it. Yet, so impossible it is, without deserting nature herself, to dissent from her faithful copiers, that the main objection to the sixth book of theThebaidhath arisen from this fruitless endeavour of beingoriginal, where common sense and the reason of the thing would not permit it. “In the particular descriptions of each of these games (says the great writer before quoted, and from whose sentence in matters of taste, there lies no appeal)Statiushath not borrowed from either of his predecessors,and his poem is so much the worse for it.”

2. The case ofDESCRIPTIONis still clearer, and, after what has been so largely discoursed on thesubjectsof it, will require but few words. For it must have appeared, in considering them, that not only theobjectsthemselves are necessarily obtruded on the poet, but that theoccasionsof introducing them are also restrained by many limitations. If we reflect a little, we shall find, that they grow out of theactionrepresented, which, in the greater poetry,implies a greatsimilarity, even when mostdifferent. What, for instance, is the purpose ofthe epic poet, but to shew his hero under the most awful and interesting circumstances of human life? To this end some general design is formed. He mustwarwith Achilles, orvoyagewith Ulysses. And, to work up hisfableto thatmagnificence, ΜΕΓΑΛΟΠΡΕΠΕΙΑΝ, which Aristotle rightly observes to be the characteristic of this poem,heavenandhellmust also be interested in the success of his enterprise. And what is this, ineffect, but to own, that the pomp ofepic description, in its draught ofbattles, with its severalaccidents; ofstorms,shipwrecks, &c.of the intervention of gods, ormachination of devils, is, in great measure, determined, not only as to thechoice, butapplicationof it, to the poet’s hands? And the like conclusion extends to still minuter particularities.

What concerns the delineation ofcharactersmay seem to carry with it more difficulty. Yet, though these are infinitely diversified by distinct peculiar lineaments, poetry cannot help falling into the samegeneralrepresentation. For it is conversant about thegreater characters; such as demand the imputation of likemanners, and who are actuated by thesame governingpassions. To set off these,the same combination of circumstancesmust frequently be imagined; at least sosimilar, as to bring on the same series of representation. Thepietyofonehero, and thelove of his country, which characterizesanother, can only be shewn by the influence of theruling principlein each, constraining them to neglect inferior considerations, and to give up all subordinate affections to it. The more prevalent theaffection, the greater thesacrifice, and the more strongly is thecharactermarked. Hence, without doubt, theCalypsoof Homer. And need we look farther than the instructions ofcommon naturefor a similar contrivance in alaterpoet? Not to be tedious on a matter, which admits no dispute, the dramatic writings of all times may convince us oftwo things, 1. “that the actuating passions of men are universally and invariably the same;” and 2. “that they express themselves constantly in similar effects.” Or, one single small volume,the characters of Theophrastus, will sufficiently do it. And what more is required to justify this consequence, “thatthe descriptions of characters, even in the most originaldesigners, will resemble each other;” and “that the verycontextureof a work, designed to evidence them inaction, will,under the management of different writers, be, frequently, much the same?” Aconclusion, which indeed is neither mine nor any novel one, but was long ago insisted on by a discerning ancient, and applied to the comic drama, in these words,

—Si personis isdem uti aliis non licet,Qui magis licet currentis servos scribere,Bonas matronas facere, meretrices malas,Parasitum edacem, gloriosum militem,Puerum supponi, falli per servum senem,Amare, odisse, suspicari?

3. In truth, so far asdirect and immediate descriptionis concerned, the matter is so plain, that it will hardly be called into question. The difficulty is to account for the similarity ofmetaphor andCOMPARISON(that is, ofimagery, which comes in obliquely, and for the purpose of illustrating some other, and, frequently, very remote and distinct subject) observable in all writers. Here it may not seem quite so easy to make out an original claim; for, though descriptions of thesame object, when it occurs, must needs be similar, yet it remains to shew how the same object comes, in this case, to occur at all. Before an answer can be given to this question, itmust be observed 1. that there is in the mind of man, not only a strong natural love ofimitation, but ofcomparison. We are not only fond ofcopyingsingle objects, as they present themselves, but we delight to set two objects together, and contemplate their mutual aspects and appearances. Thepleasurewe find in this exercise of the imagination is the main source of that perpetual usage ofindirect and allusive imageryin the writings of the poets; for I need not here consider thenecessityof the thing, and the unavoidable introduction of sensible images into all language. 2. This work ofcomparisonis not gone about by the mindcauselessly and capriciously. There are certain obvious and striking resemblances in nature, which the poet is carried necessarily to observe, and which offer themselves to him on the slightest exercise and exertion of hiscomparingpowers. It may be difficult to explain the causes of this established relationship in all cases; or to shew distinctly, what these secret ties and connexions are, which link the objects of sense together, and draw the imagination thus insensibly from one subject to another. The most obvious and natural is that ofactual similitude, whether inshape, attitude, colour, oraspect. As whenheroesare compared togods,—a hero in act to strikeat his foe, toa faulcon stooping at a dove,—blood running down the skin, tothe staining of ivory,—corn waving with the wind, towater in motion. Sometimes the associating cause lies in theeffect. As when thereturn of a good prince to his countryis comparedto the sun—afresh gale to mariners, tothe timely coming of a general to his troops, &c. more commonly, in someproperty,attribute, orcircumstance. Thus anintrepidhero suggests the idea of arock, on account ofits firmness and stability;—ofa lion, for hisfierceness,—of a deer encompassedwith wolves, for hissituation when surrounded with enemies. In short, for I pretend not to make a complete enumeration of thegroundsof connexion, whatever the mind observes in any object, that bears an analogy to something in any other, becomes theoccasionof comparison betwixt them; and the fancy, which is ever, in a great genius, quick at espying thesetraitsof resemblance, and delights to survey them, lets dip no opportunity of setting them over against each other, and producing them to observation.

But whatever be thecauses, which associate the ideas of the poet, and how fantastic soever or even casual, may sometimes appear to bethegroundof such association, yet, in respect of the greater works of genius, there will still be found the most exactuniformityof allusion, the same ideas and aspects of things constantly admonishing the poet of the sameresemblances and relations. I say, inthe greater works of genius, which must be attended to; for the folly of takingresemblancesforimitations, in this province ofallusion, hath arisen from hence; that the poet is believed to have all art and nature before him, and to be at liberty to fetch hishintsof similitude and correspondence from every distant and obscure corner of the universe. That is, the genius of the epic, dramatic, and universally, of the greater, poetry hath not been comprehended, nor their distinct laws and characters distinguished from those of an inferior species.

Themutual habitudes and relations(at least what the mind is capable of regarding assuch), subsisting between those innumerable objects of thought and sense, which make up the entire natural and intellectual world, are indeed infinite; and if the poet be allowed to associate and bring together all those ideas, wherein the ingenuity of the mind can perceive any remote sign or glimpse ofresemblance, it were truly wonderful, that, in any number ofimages and allusions, there should be found a close conformity of them with those of any other writer. But this is far from being the case. For 1. the more august poetry disclaims, as unsuited to its state and dignity, that inquisitive and anxious diligence, which pries into nature’s retirements; and searches through all her secret and hidden haunts, to detect a forbidden commerce, and expose to light some strange unexpected conjunction of ideas. This quaint combination of remote, unallied imagery, constitutes a species of entertainment, which, for itsnovelty, may amuse and divert the mind in other compositions; but is wholly inconsistent with the reserve and solemnity of thegraverforms. There is too much curiosity of art, too solicitous an affectation ofpleasing, in these ingenious exercises of the fancy, to suit with the simple majesty of theeposordrama; which disclaims to cast about for forced and tortured allusions, and aims only to expose, in the fairest light, such as are most obvious and natural. And here, by the way, it may be worth observing, in honour of a great Poet of the last century, I mean Dr.Donne, that, though agreeably to the turn of his genius, and taste of his age, he was fonder, than ever poet was, of thesesecret and hiddenwaysin his lesser poetry; yet when he had projected his great work “On the progress of the soul” (of which we have only the beginning) his good sense brought him out into the freerspacesof nature and open day-light.

Largior hic compos æther, et lumine vestitPurpureo: solemque suum, sua sidera norunt.

In this, the author ofGondibert, and another writer of credit, a contemporary ofDonne, SirFulk Grevil, were not so happy. 2. This work ofindirect imageryis intended, not so much to illustrate and enforce the original thought, to which it is applied, as to amuse and entertain the fancy, by holding up to view, in these occasional digressive representations, the pictures of pleasing scenes and objects. But thisendof allusion (which is principal in the sublimer works of genius) restrains the poet to the use of a few select images, for the most part taken from obvious common nature; these being always most illustrious in themselves, and therefore most apt to seize and captivate the imagination of the reader. Thus is the poet confined, by the very nature of his work, to a very moderate compass of allusion, on both these accounts;first, as he must employ the easiest and mostapparent resemblances: andsecondly, ofthese, such as impress the most delightful images on the fancy.

This being the case, it cannot but happen, that the allusions of different poets, of the higher class, though writing without any communication with each other, will, of course, be much the same on similar occasions. There are fixed and real analogies between differentmaterial objects; between these objects, and theinward workingsof the mind; and, again, between these, and theexternal signsof them. Such, on every occasion, do not so properly offer themselves to the searching eye of the poet, as force themselves upon him; so that, if he submit to be guided by the most natural views of things, he cannot avoid a very remarkable correspondence of imagery with his predecessors. And we find this conclusion verified in fact; as appears not only from comparing together the great ancient and modern writers, who are known to have held an intimate correspondence with each other, but those, who cannot be suspected of this commerce. Several critics, I observed, have taken great pains to illustrate the sentiments of Homer from similar instances in the sacred writers. The same design might easily be carried on,in respect ofallusive imagery; it being obvious to common observation, that numberless of the most beautifulcomparisonsin the Greek poet are to be met with in the Hebrew prophets. Nay, the remark may be extended to the undisciplined writers and speakers of the farthestwestandeast, whom nature instructs to beautify and adorn their conceptions with the same imagery. So little doth it argue an inferiority of genius in Virgil, if it be true, as the excellent translator of Homer says, “that he has scarcely anycomparisons, which are not drawn from his master.”

The truth is, thenatureof the two subjects, which the Greek poet had taken upon himself to adorn, was such, that it led him through every circumstance and situation of human life; which his quick attentive observation readily found the means of shewing to advantage under the cover of the most fit and proper imagery. Succeeding writers, who hadnotcontemplated his pictures, yet, drawing from one common original, have unknowingly hit upon the very same. And those, whohad, with all their endeavours afternovelty, and the utmost efforts of genius to strike out original lights, have never been able to succeed in their attempts. OurMilton, who was mostambitious of this fame ofinvention, and whose vast and universal genius could not have missed of newanalogies, had nature’s self been able to furnish them, is a glaring instance to our purpose. He was so averse from resting in the old imagery of Homer, and the other epic poets, that he appears to have taken infinite pains in the investigation of newallusions, which he picked up out of the rubbish of every silly legend or romance, that had come to his knowledge, or extracted from the dry and rugged materials of the sciences, and even the mechanic arts. Yet, in comparison of the genuine treasures of nature, which he found himself obliged to make use of, in common with other writers, his own proper stock ofimages, imported from the regions ofart, is very poor and scanty; and, as might be expected, makes the least agreeable part of his divine work.

What is here said of the epic holds, as I hinted, of all the more serious kinds of poetry. In works of a lighter cast, there is greater liberty and a larger field of allusion permitted to the poet. All the appearances inartandnature, betwixt which there is any resemblance, may be employed here to surprize and divert the fancy. The further and more remote fromvulgar apprehension these analogies lie, so much the fitter for his purpose, which is not so much to illustrate his ideas, as to place them in new and uncommon lights, and entertain the mind by that odd fantastic conjunction, or opposition of ideas, which we know by the name ofwit. Nay, thelowest, as well as the least obvious imagery will be, oftentimes, the most proper; his view being not to ennoble and raise his subject by the means ofallusion, but to sink and debase it by every art, that hath a tendency to excite the mirth and provoke the ridicule of the reader. Here then we may expect a much more original air, than in the higher designs of invention. When all nature is before the poet, and the genius of his work allows him to seize her, as the shepherd did Proteus, in every dirty form, into which she can possibly twist herself, it were, indeed, a wonder, if he shouldchanceto coincide, in his imagery, with any other, from whom he had not expressly copied. They who are conversant in works ofwit and humour, more especially of these later times, will know this to be the case, infact. There is not perhaps a single comparison in the inimitableTelemaque, which had not, before, been employed by some or other of the poets. Can any thing, like this,be said ofRabelais,Butler,Marvel,Swift, &c.?

III. It only remains to consider theEXPRESSION. And in this are to be found the surest and least equivocal marks ofimitation. We may regard it intwolights; either 1. as it respects thegeneralturn or manner of writing, which we call astyle; or 2. the peculiarities ofphrase and diction.

1. Astylein writing, if not formed in express imitation of some certainmodel, is the pure result of the disposition of the mind, and takes its character from the predominantqualityof the writer. Thus ashort and compact, and adiffused and flowingexpression are the proper consequences of certain corresponding characters of the human genius. One has a vigorous comprehensive conception, and therefore collects his sense into few words. Another, whose imagination is more languid, contemplates his objects leisurely, and so displays their beauties in a greater compass of words, and with more circumstance and parade of language. A polite and elegant humour delights in the grace of ease and perspicuity. A severe and melancholic spirit inspires a forcible but involved expression. There are manyother nicer differences and peculiarities ofmanner, which, though not reducible, perhaps, to general heads, the critic of true taste easily understands.

2. As men of different tempers and dispositions assume a different cast of expression, so may the same observation be applied, still moregenerally, to differentcountries and times. It may be difficult to explain theefficient causesof this diversity, which I have no concern with at present. Thefactis, that the eloquence of theeasternworld has, at all times, been of another strain from that of thewestern. And, also, in the several provinces ofeach, there has been some peculiarnoteof variation. TheAsiatic, of old, had its proper stamp, which distinguished it from theAttic; just as theItalian,French, andSpanishwits have, each, their several characteristic manners of expression.

A different state oftimeshas produced the like effect; which a late writer accounts for, not unaptly, from what he calls aprogression of life and manners. That which cannot be disputed is, that themodesof writing undergo a perpetual change or variation in every country. And it is further observable, that thesechangesin one country, under similar circumstances, have a signal correspondence to those, which the incessant rotation of taste brings about in every other.

Of near affinity to this last consideration isanotherarising from thecorresponding geniusof two people, however remote from each other in time and place. And, as it happens, the application may be made directly to ourselves in a very important instance. “Languages, says one, always take their character from the genius of a people. So that two the most distant states, thinking and acting with the same generous love of mankind, must needs have very near the same combinations of ideas.—And it is our boast that in this conformity we approach the nearest to ancient Greece and Italy.” I quote these words from a tract32, which the author perhaps may consider with the same neglect, as Cicero did his earlier compositions onRhetoric; but which the curious will regard with reverence, as a fine essay of his genius, and a prelude to the great things he was afterwards seen capable of producing. But to come to the use we maymake of this fine observation. The corresponding state of the English and Roman people has produced very near the samecombinations of ideas. May we not carry the conclusion still further on the same principle, that it produced very near the samecombinations of words? The fact is, as the same writer observes, That “we have a language that is brief, comprehensive, nervous, and majestic.” The very character which an old Roman would give us of his own language. And when the same general character of language prevails, is it any thing strange that the different modifications of it, orpeculiar styles, arising from the various turns and dispositions of writers (which, too, in such circumstances will be corresponding) should therefore be very similar in the productions of the two states? Or, in other words, can we wonder that some of our best writers bear a nearer resemblance, I mean independently of direct imitation, to the Latin classics, than those of any other people in modern times?

But let it suffice to leave these remarks without further comment or explanation.

The use the discerning reader will make of them is, that if different writers agree inthe samegeneral disposition, or in the samenational character; live together in thesame period of time; or in corresponding periods of theprogression of manners, or are under the influence of a corresponding genius ofpolicy and government; in every of these cases, someconsiderable similarityof expression may be occasioned by the agency ofgeneral principles, without any suspicion of studied or designedimitation.

II.Anidentity of phrase and diction, is a much surer note ofplagiarism. For considering the vast variety ofwords, which any language, and especially the more copious ones furnish, and the infinite possible combinations of them into all the forms ofphraseology, it would be very strange, if two persons should hit on the same identicalterms, and much more should they agree in the same precise arrangement of them in whole sentences.

There is no defendingcoincidencesof this kind; and whatever writers themselves may pretend, or their friends for them, no one can doubt a moment of suchidentitybeing a clear and decisive proof ofimitation.

Yet this must be understood with some limitations.

For 1. There are in every language some current and authorized forms of speech, which can hardly be avoided by a writer without affectation. They are such as express the most obvious sentiments, and which the ordinary occasions of life are perpetually obtruding on us. Now these, as by common agreement, we chuse to deliver to one another in the sameformof words. Convenience dictates this to one set of writers, and politeness renders it sacred in another. Thus it will be true of certainphrases(as, universally, of thewords, in any language), that they are left in common to all writers, and can be claimed as matter ofproperty, by none. Not that such phraseology will be frequent in nobler compositions, as the familiarity of its usage takes from their natural reserve and dignity. Yet on certainoccasions, which justify this negligence, or in certainauthors, who are not over-sollicitous about these indecorums, we may expect to meet with it. Hamlet says of his father,

He was a man, take him for all in all;I shall not look upon his like again.

which may be suspected of being stolen from Sophocles, who has the following passage in theTrachiniae.

Πάντων ἄριστον ἄνδρα τῶν ἐπὶ χθονὶΚτείνασ’, ΟΠΟΙΟΝ ΑΛΛΟΝ ΟΥΚ ΟΨΕΙ ΠΟΤΕ.v. 824.

The sentiment being one of the commonest, that offers itself to the mind, the sole ground of suspicion must lie in theexpression, “I shall not look upon his like again,” to which the Greek so exactly answers. But these were the ordinary expressions of such sentiment, in the two languages; and neither the characters of the great poets, nor the situation of the speakers, would suffer theaffectationof departing from common usage.

What is here said of thesituation of the speakersreminds me of anotherclassof expressions, which will often besimilarin all poets.Nature, under thesameconjunctures, gives birth to thesameconceptions; and if they be of such a kind, as to exclude all thought of artifice, and the tricks of eloquence (as on occasions of deep anxiety and distress) they run, of themselves, into thesameform of expression. The wretched Priam, in his lamentation of Hector, lets drop the following words:

οὗ μ’ ἄχος ὀξὺ κατοίσεται ἄïδος εἴσω:

“This line, says his translator, is particularly tender, and almost, word for word, the same with that of the PatriarchJacob; who, upon a like occasion, breaks out in the same complaint, and tells his children, that, if they deprive him of his sonBenjamin, they will bring down his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave.”

We may, further, except, under this head, certain privileged forms of speech, which the peculiar idioms ofdifferentlanguages make necessary in them, and which poetry consecrates inall. But this is easily observed, and its effect is not very considerable.

2. In pleading thisidentity of expression, regard must be had to thelanguage, from which thetheftis supposed to be made. If from thesamelanguage (setting aside the exceptions, just mentioned)the same arrangement of the same wordsis admitted as a certain argument ofplagiarism: nay, less than this will do in some instances, as where theimitated expressionis prettysingular, or so remarkable, on any account, as to bewell known, &c. But if fromanotherlanguage, the matter is not so easy. It can rarely happen, indeed, but by design, that there shouldbe thesame order or compositionof words, in two languages. But that which passes even forliteral translation, is buta similar composition of corresponding words. And what does this imply, but that the writers conceived of theirobjectin the samemanner, and had occasion to set it in the same light? An occasion, which is perpetually recurring to all authors. As may be gathered from that frequent and strong resemblance in theexpressionof moral sentiments, observable in the writers of every age and country. Can there be a commoner reflexion, or which more constantly occurs to the mind under the same appearance, thanthatof our great poet, who, speaking of the state after death, calls it

That undiscovered country, from whose bournNo traveller returns.

Shall we call this a translation of the Latin poet;

Nunc it periter tenebricosumIlluc, unde negant redire quenquam.Catul.III. v. 11.

Or, doth it amount to any more than this, that the terms employed by the two writers in expressing the same obvious thought arecorrespondent? Butcorrespondencyandidentityare different things. Thelatteris only, where the words arenumericallythe same, which can only happen in one and the same language: the other is effected bydifferent sets of words, which are numerous in every language, and are therefore no convincing proof (abstractedly from other circumstances) ofimitation.

From these general reflexions onlanguage, without refining too far, or prying too curiously into the mysteries of it, the same conclusion meets us, as before. Theexpressionof two writers may besimilar, and sometimes evenidentical, and yet beoriginalin both. Which shews the necessity there was to lead the reader through this long investigation of the general sources ofsimilitudein works ofINVENTION, in order to put him into a condition of judging truly and equitably of those ofIMITATION. For ifsimilarity, even in this province ofwords, which the reason of the thing shews to be most free from the constraint of general rules, be no argument oftheftin all cases; much less can it be pretended of the othersubjectsof this inquiry, which from the necessary uniformity ofnaturein all her appearances, and ofcommon sensein its operations upon them, must give frequent andunavoidable occasion to suchsimilarity. But then this is all I would insinuate.

For, after the proper allowances, which candid criticism requires to be made on this head, it will still be true (and nothing in this Essay attempts to contradict it) “that coincidences of a certainkind, and in a certaindegree, cannot fail to convict a writer ofimitation.” What theseare, the impatient reader, I suppose, is ready to enquire. And, not entirely to disappoint him, I have thrown together, at the close of this volume, some remarks which, perhaps, will be of use in solving that difficult question33. In the mean time, it seemed of importance to free the mind from the perversion of that early prejudice, which is so prompt to mistakeresemblanceuniversally forimitation. And what other method of effecting this, than by taking a view of the extent and influence of the genuine powers ofnature, which, when rightly apprehended, make it an easier task to detect, in particular instances, the intervention ofdesign?

Allowing then (what this previous inquiry not only no way contradicts but even assists usin perceiving more clearly) that certainresemblancesmay be urged as undoubted proofs ofimitation, it remains only to the integrity of this discourse, to satisfy that other question, “how far the credit of the imitator is concerned in the discovery;” or, in other words, (since the praise ofinventionis of the highest value to the poet) “how far the concession of his having borrowed from others, may be justly thought to detract from him in that respect.” Aninquiry, which, though for its consequences to the fame of all great writers, since the time of Homer, of much importance, may yet be dispatched in few words.

In entering on this apology forprofessed imitators, I shall not be suspected of undervaluing the proper merits ofinvention, which unquestionably holds the first place in thevirtutesof a poet, and is that power, which, of all others, enables him to give the highest entertainment to the reader. Much less will it be thought, that I am here pleading the cause of those base and abject spirits, who have not the courage or ability to attempt any thing of themselves, and can barely make a shift, as a great poet of our own expresses it,to creep servilely after the sense ofsome other. These I readily resign to the shame and censure, which have so justly followed them in all ages; as subscribing to the truth of that remark, “Imitatio per se ipsa non sufficit, velquia pigri est ingenii, contentum esse iis, quae sunt ab aliis inventa.” My concern is only with those, whose talent of original genius is not disputed, but thedegreeof strength and vigour, with which it prevails in them, somewhat lowered in the general estimation, fromthis imputed crime ofPLAGIARISM. And, with respect to such as these, something, I conceive, may be said, not undeserving the notice of the candid reader.

1. The most universal cause, inducingimitationin great writers, is, the force of earlydiscipline and education. Were it true, that poets took theirdescriptions and imagesimmediately from common nature, one might expect, indeed, a generalsimilitudein their works, but such, as could seldom or never, in all its circumstances, amount to a strict and rigorous correspondency. Thepropertiesof things are so numerous, and thelightsin which they shew themselves to a mind uninfluenced by former prejudices, so different, that some grace of novelty, some tincture of original beauty, would constantly infuse itself into all their delineations. But the case is far otherwise. Strong as the bent of the imagination may be to contemplate living forms, and to gaze with delight on this grand theatre ofnature, its attention is soon taken off, and arrested, on all sides, by those infinite mirrors, and reflexions of things, which it every where meets with in the world ofimitation. We are habituated to a survey of thissecondary and derivative nature; as presented in the admiredworks ofart, through the entire course of our education. The writings of the best poets are put into our hands, to instruct us in the knowledge ofmen and things, as soon as we are capable of apprehending them. Nay, we are taught to lisp their verywords, in our tenderest infancy. Some quick and transient glances we cannot chuse but cast, at times, on the phænomena of living beauty; but its forms are rarely contemplated by us with diligence, but in thesemirrors, which are the constant furniture of our schools and closets. And no wonder, were we even left to ourselves, that such should be ourproperchoice and determination. For, by the prodigious and almost magical operations offancyon original objects, they even shew fairer, and are made to look more attractive, in these artificial representations, than in their own rude and native aspects. Thus, by the united powers ofdisciplineandinclination, we are almost necessitated toseenature in the samelight, and to know her only in thedress, in which her happier suitors and favourites first gave her to observation.

The effect of this early bias of the mind, which insensibly grows into the inveteracy of habit, needs not be insisted on. When thepoet, thus tutored in the works ofimitation, comes to address himself toinvention, these familiar images, which he hath so often and so fondly admired, immediately step in and intercept his observation of their greatoriginal. Or, if he has power to hold them off, and turn his eye directly on theprimary object, he still inclines to view it only on that side and in thoselights, in which he has been accustomed to study it. Nor let it be said, that this is theinfirmity, only, of weak minds. It belongs to our very natures, and the utmost vigour of genius is no security against it.Custom, in this as in every thing else, moulds, at pleasure, the soft and ductile matter of aminutespirit, and by degrees can even bend the elastic metal of thegreatest.

And if the force of habit can thus determine a writer knowingly, toimitation, it cannot be thought strange, that it should frequently carry him intoresemblance, when himself perhaps is not aware of it. Great readers, who have their memories fraught with the stores of ancient and modern poetry, unavoidably employ thesentiments, and sometimes the verywords, of other writers, without any distinct remembrance of them, or so much as the suspicion of having seen them. At the least, theirgeneral cast of thinking or turn of expression will be much affected by them. For the most original writer as certainly takes atincturefrom the authors in which he has been most conversant; as water, from the beds of earths or minerals, it hath happened to run over. Especially such authors, as are studied and even got by heart by us in our early youth, leave a lasting impression, which is hardly ever effaced out of the mind. Hence a certain constrained and unoriginal air, in some degree or other, in every genius, throughly disciplined by acourse of learned education. Which, by the way, leads to a question, not very absurd in itself, however it may pass with most readers for paradoxical, viz. “Whether the usual forms of learning be not rather injurious to the true poet, than really assisting to him?” It should seem to be so for anatural reason. For the faculty ofinvention, as all our other powers, is much improved and strengthened by exercise. And great reading prevents this, by demanding the perpetual exercise of thememory. Thus the mind becomes not only indisposed, but, for want of use, really unqualified, to turn itself to other views, than such as habitual recollection easily presents to it. And this, I am persuaded, hath been the case with many a fine genius, and especiallywithoneof our own country34; who, as appears from some original efforts in the sublime allegorical way, had no want of natural talents for the greater poetry; which yet were so restrained and disabled by his constant and superstitious study of the old classics, that he was, in fact, but a very ordinary poet.

2. But were earlyhabitof less power to incline the mind toimitation, than it really is, yet the high hand ofauthoritywould compel it. For the first originals in the several species of poetry, like the Autocthones of old, were deemed to have come into the world by a kind of miracle. They were perfect prodigies, at least reputed so by the admiring multitude, from their first appearance. So that their authority, in a short time, became sacred; and succeeding writers were obliged, at the hazard of their fame, and as they dreaded the charge of a presumptuous andprophane libertinismin poetry, to take them for their guides and models. Which is said even without the licence of a figure; at least ofoneof them; whom Cicero callsthe fountain and origin of allDIVINEinstitutions35; and another, of elderand more reverend estimation, pronounces to be ὁ θεὸς καὶ θεῶν προφήτης36·

And what is here observed of theinfluenceof these master spirits, whom the admiration of antiquity hath placed at the head of the poetic world, will, with some allowance, hold also, ofthatof later, though less original writers, whose uncommon merits have given them a distinguished rank in it.

3.Next, (as it usually comes to pass in other instances) what was, at first, imposed by the rigour ofauthority, soon grew respectable initself, and was chosen for its own sake, as avirtue, which deserved no small commendation. For, when sober and enlightened criticism began to inspect, at leisure, these miracles of early invention, it presently acknowledged them for thebest, as well as the mostancient, poetic models, and accordingly recommended, or more properly enjoined them by rule, to the imitation of all ages. The effect of this criticism was clearly seen in the works of all succeeding poets in thesamelanguage. But, when a new and different one was to befurnished with freshmodels, it became much more conspicuous. For, besides the same or a still higher veneration of theirinventions, which the distance of place and time insensibly procured to them, the grace ofnovelty, which they would appear to have in anotherlanguage, was, now, a further inducement to copy them. Hence we find it to be the utmost pride of theRomanwriters, such I mean as came the nearest to them in the divinity of their genius, to follow the practice, and emulate the virtues, of theGrecian.

Libera per vacuum posui vestigia princeps,Non aliena meo pressi pede—

saysoneof the best of those writers, who yet was only treading in thefootstepsof his Grecian masters.

Butanotherwas less reserved, and seemed desirous of being taken notice of, as an expressimitator, without so much as laying in his claim to this sort of originality, in a new language—in multis versibus Virgilius fecit—non surripiendi causâ, sedpalamimitandi,hoc animo ut vellet agnosci.Sen. Suasor.III.

And, on the revival of these arts in later times and more barbarous languages, the samespirit appeared again, or rather superior honours were paid to successfulimitation. So that what a polite French writer declares on this head is, now, become the fixed opinion of the learned in all countries. “C’est même donner une grace à ses ouvrages, que de les orner de fragmens antiques. Des vers d’Horace et de Virgile bien traduits, et mis en œuvre à propos dans un poëme François, y font le même effet que les statuës antiques font dans la gallerie de Versailles. Les lecteurs retrouvent avec plaisir, sous une nouvelle forme, la pensée, qui leur plût autrefois en Latin37.”

It should, further, be added, that this praise of borrowing from the originals ofGreeceandRomeis now extended to the imitation of greatmodernauthors. Every body applauds this practice, where the imitation is of approved writers indifferentlanguages. And even in thesamelanguages, when this liberty is taken with the most ancient and venerable, it is not denied to have itsgraceand merit.

4. But, besides these several incitements,similarity of genius, alone, will, almost necessarilydetermine a writer to the studious emulation of some other. For, though it is with theminds, as thefacesof men, that no two are exactly and in every feature alike; yet the general cast of their genius, as well as the air and turn of the countenance, will frequently be verysimilarin different persons. When two such spirits approach, they run together with eagerness and rapidity: the instinctive bias of the mind towardsimitationbeing now quickened bypassion. This is chiefly said in respect of that uniformity ofstyle and manner, which, whenever we observe it in two writers, we almost constantly charge to the account ofimitation. Indeed, where the resemblance holds to the last degree ofminuteness, or where thepeculiarities, only, of the model are taken, there is ground enough for this suspicion. For every original genius, however consonant, in the main, to any other, has still some distinct marks and characters of his own, by which he may be distinguished; and to copypeculiarities, when there is no appearance of the same original spirit, which gave birth to them, is manifest affectation. But the question is put of such, whosemannerhath only ageneral, though strong, resemblance to that of some other, and whose true genius is above the suspicion of falling into thetrap of what Horace happily calls,EXEMPLAR VITIIS IMITABILE. And of these it is perhaps juster to say, that a previous correspondency ofcharacterimpelled toimitate, than that imitation itself produced that correspondency ofcharacter. At least (which is all my concern it present) it will be allowed to incline a writer strongly toimitation; and where a congenial spirit appears to provoke him to it, a candid critic will not be forward to turn this circumstance to the dishonour of hisinvention.

5. Lastly, were every other consideration out of the way, yet, oftentimes, thevery nature of the poet’s themewould oblige him to a diligentimitationof preceding writers. I do not mean this of such subjects, as suggest and produce a necessary conformity of description, whether purposely intended or not. This hath been fully considered. But my meaning is, that, when the greater provinces of poetry have been, already, occupied, and its most interesting scenes exhausted; or, rather, their application to the uses of poetry determined by great masters, it becomes, thenceforward, unavoidable for succeeding writers to draw from their sources. The law of probability exacts this at their hands; and one may almost affirm, that tocopythem closely is to paint afternature. I shall explain myself by an instance or two.

With regard to the religious opinions and ceremonies of the Pagan world, the writings of Homer, it is said and very truly, were “the standard of private belief, and the grand directory of public worship38.” Whatever liberty might have been taken with the rites and gods of Paganism before his time, yet, when he had given an exact description ofboth, and had formed, to the satisfaction of all, the established religion into a kind ofsystem, succeeding poets were obliged, of course, to take their theology from him; and could no longer be thought to writejustly and naturallyof their Gods, than whilst theirdescriptionsconformed to theauthenticdelineations ofHomer. His relations, and even thefictions, which his genius had raised on the popular creed of elder Paganism, were now the proper archetype of allreligious representations. And to speak ofthese, as giventruly and originally, is, in effect, to say, that they were borrowed or rather transcribed from the page ofthat poet.

And the same may be observed ofhistorical facts, as ofreligious traditions. For not unfrequently, where the subject is taken from authentic history, the authority of a preceding poet is so prevalent, as to renderanyaccount of the matter improbable, which is not fashioned and regulated after his ideas. A succeeding writer is neither at liberty to relate matters of fact, which no one thinkscredible, nor tofeignafresh for himself. In this case, again, all that the most original genius has to do, is toimitate. We have been told that thesecond book of theAeneiswas translated from Pisander39. Another thinks, it was taken from theLITTLE ILIAD40. Or, why confine him to either of these, whenMetrodorus,Syagrus,Hegesianax,Aratus, and others, wrote poems onthe takingofTroy? But granting the poet (as is most likely) to have had these originals before him, what shall we infer from it? Only this, that he took his principal facts and circumstances (as we see he was obliged to do for the sake ofprobability) from these writers. And why should this be thought a greater crime in him, thaninPolygnotus; who, in his famous picture on this subject, was under the necessity, and for the same reason, of collecting hissubject-matterfrom several poets41?

It follows, from these considerations, that we cannot justify ourselves in thinking so hardly, as we commonly do, of the class ofimitators; which is, now, by the concurrence of various circumstances, become the necessary character of almost all poets. Nor let it be any concern to thetruepoet, that it is so. Forimitations, when real and confessed, may still have their merit; nay, I presume to add, sometimes agreatermerit, than the very originals on which they are formed: And, with the reader’s leave (though I am hastening to a conclusion of this long discourse), I will detain him, one moment, with the reasons of this opinion.

After all the praises that are deservedly given to the novelty of asubject, or the beauty ofdesign, the supreme merit of poetry, and that which more especially immortalizes the writers of it, lies in theexecution. It is thus thatthe poets of the Augustan age have not so properly excelled, as discredited, all the productions of their predecessors; and that those of the age of Louis XIVthnot only obscure, but will in process of time obliterate, the fame and memory of the elder French writers. Or, to see the effect of masterly execution in single instances, hence it is, that Lucilius not only yields to Horace, but would be almost forgotten by us, if it had not been for the honour his imitator has done him. And nobody needs be told the advantage which Pope is likely to have over all our older satirists, excellent as some of them are, and more entitled than he to the honour of being inventors. We have here, then, an establishedfact. The first essays of genius, though ever so original, are overlooked; while the later productions of men, who had never risen to such distinction but by means of the very originals they disgrace, obtain the applause and admiration of all ages.

The solution of thisfact, so notorious, and, at the same time, so contrary, in appearance, to the honours which men are disposed to pay to original invention, will open the mystery of that matter we are now considering.

The faculties, or, as we may almost term them, the magic powers, whichope the palace of eternityto great writers, are aconfirmed judgment, andready invention.

Now thefirstis seen to most advantage, in selecting, out of all preceding stores, the particulars that are most suited to the nature of a poet’s work, and the ends of poetry. When true genius has exhausted, as it were, the variousmanners, in which a work of art may be conducted, and the varioustopicswhich may be employed to adorn it,judgmentis in its province, or rather sovereignty, when it determines which of all these is to be preferred, and which neglected. In this sense, as well as others, it will be most true,Quòd artis pars magna contineatur imitatione.

Nay, by means of this discernment, the verytopicor method, which had no effect, or perhaps an ill one, under one management, or in one situation, shall charm every reader, in another. And by force ofjudging right, the copier shall almost lose his title, and become an inventor:

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