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Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In poets as true genius is but rare,

True taste as seldom is the critic's share;

Both must alike from heav'n derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
15 Let such teach others who themselves excel,
And censure freely, who have written well.
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not critics to their judgment too?

Yet, if we look more closely, we shall find
20 Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind:
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light,

The lines, though touched but faintly, are drawn right; But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced, Is by ill-colouring but the more disgraced, 25 So by false learning is good sense defaced: Some are bewildered in the maze of schools, And some made coxcombs nature meant but fools. In search of wit, these lose their common sense, And then turn critics in their own defence: 30 Each burns alike, who can, or cannot write, Or with a rival's, or an eunuch's spite. All fools have still an itching to deride, And fain would be upon the laughing side. If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite,

35 There are who judge still worse than he can write. Some have at first for wits, then poets passed, Turned critics next, and proved plain fools at last.

Some neither can for wits nor critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learned witlings, num'rous in our isle,
As half-formed insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinished things, one knows not what to call,
Their generation's so equivocal:

To tell 'em would a hundred tongues require,
Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire.
But you who seek to give and merit fame,
And justly bear a critic's noble name,

Be sure yourself and your own reach to know,
How far your genius, taste and learning go;
Launch not beyond your depth, but be discreet,/
And mark that point) where sense and dulness meet./
Nature to all things fixed the limits fit,
And wisely curbed proud man's pretending wit.
As on the land while here the ocean gains,
In other parts it leaves wide sandy plains;
Thus in the soul while memory prevails,
The solid pow'r of understanding fails;
Where beams of warm imagination play,
The memory's soft figures melt away.
One science only will one genius fit;
So vast is art, so narrow human wit:
Not only bounded to peculiar arts,

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But oft in those confined to single parts.

Like kings we lose the conquests gained before,

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By vain ambitions still to make them more;

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Eighteenth Century Verse

Each might his sev'ral province well command,
Would all but stoop to what they understand.

First follow nature, and your judgment frame
By her just standard, which is still the same:
70 Unerring nature, still divinely bright,

One clear, unchanged, and universal light,
Life, force, and beauty, must to all impart,

At once the source, and end, and test of art, NATURE
Art from that fund each just supply provides;
75 Works without show, and without pomp presides:
In some fair body thus th' informing soul

With spirits feeds, with vigour fills the whole,
Each motion guides, and ev'ry nerve sustains;
Itself unseen, but in th' effects remains.

80 Some, to whom heav'n in wit has been profuse,
Want as much more, to turn it to its use;
For wit and judgment often are at strife,

Though meant each other's aid, like man and wife.
'Tis more to guide, than spur the muse's steed;
85 Restrain his fury, than provoke his speed;

The winged courser, like a gen'rous horse,

Shows most true mettle when you check his course.
Those rules of old discovered, not devised,
Are nature still, but nature methodised;

90 Nature, like liberty, is but restrained

By the same laws which first herself ordained.

THE RAPE OF THE LOCK

CANTO I

WHAT dire offence from am'rous causes springs,
What mighty contests rise from trivial things,

I sing
This verse to Caryll, Muse! is due:
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view:
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,
If she inspire, and he approve my lays.

Say what strange motive, goddess! could compel
A well-bred lord t' assault a gentle belle?
O say what stranger cause, yet unexplored,
Could make a gentle belle reject a lord?
In tasks so bold, can little men engage,
And in soft bosoms, dwells such mighty rage?

Sol through white curtains shot a tim'rous ray,
And ope'd those eyes that must eclipse the day:
Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake,
And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake:
Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knocked the ground,
And the pressed watch returned a silver sound.
Belinda still her downy pillow pressed,
Her guardian sylph prolonged the balmy rest:
'Twas he had summoned to her silent bed
The morning dream that hovered o'er her head,
A youth more glitt'ring than a birth-night beau,

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(That evʼn in slumber caused her cheek to glow) 25 Seemed to her ear his winning lips to lay, And thus in whispers said, or seemed to say. "Fairest of mortals, thou distinguished care Of thousand bright inhabitants of air!

If e'er one vision touched thy infant thought, 30 Of all the nurse and all the priest have taught; Of airy elves by moonlight shadows seen,

The silver token, and the circled green,

Or virgins visited by angel-pow'rs

With golden crowns and wreaths of heav'nly flow'rs; 35 Hear and believe! thy own importance know, Nor bound thy narrow views to things below. Some secret truths, from learned pride concealed, To maids alone and children are revealed. What though no credit doubting wits may give? 40 The fair and innocent shall still believe.

Know then, unnumbered spirits round thee fly,
The light militia of the lower sky:

These, though unseen, are ever on the wing,
Hang o'er the box, and hover round the ring.
45 Think what an equipage thou hast in air,
And view with scorn two pages and a chair.
As now your own, our beings were of old,
And once inclosed in woman's beauteous mould;
Thence, by a soft transition, we repair

50 From earthly vehicles to these of air.

Think not, when woman's transient breath is fled,