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means of pleasure, the inftruction is but a bare and dry philofophy; a crude preparation of morals, which we may have from Ariftotle and Epictetus, with more profit than from any poet: neither Holiday nor Stapylton have imitated Juvenal, in the poetical part of him, his diction and his elocution. Nor had they been poets, as neither of them were; yet in the way took, it was impoffible for them to have fucceeded in the poetique


The English verfe, which we call heroique, confifts of more than ten fyllables; the Latin hexameter fometimes rifes to feventeen; as for example, this verfe in Virgil:

Pulverulenta putrem fonitu quatit ungula campum.

Here is the difference of no lefs than feven fyllables in a line, betwixt the English and the Latin. Now the medium of these, is about fourteen fyllables; becaufe the dactyle is a more frequent foot in hexameters than the spondee.

But Holiday, without confidering that he writ with the dif advantage of four fyllables lefs in every verfe, endeavours to make one of his lines to comprehend the fenfe of one of Juvenal's. According to the falfity of the propofition was the fuccefs. He was forced to crowd his verfe with ill-founding monofyllables, of which our barbarous language affords him a wild plenty and by that means he arrived at his pedantic end, which was to make a literal tranflation: his verses have nothing of verfe in them, but only the worst part of it, the hyme; and that, into the bargain, is far from good. But, which is more intolerable, by cramming his ill-chofen, and worfe-founding monofyllables fo clofe together; the very fenfe which he endeavours to explain, is become more obfcure than that of his author. So that Holiday himself cannot be understood, without as large a commentary, as that which he makes on his two authors. For my own part, I can make a fhift to find the meaning of Juvenal without his notes: but his tranflation is more difficult than his author. And I find beauties in the Lat to recompense my pains; but in Holiday and Stapylton, my ears, in the firft place, are mortally offended; and then their fenfe is fo perplexed, that I return to the original, as the more pleafing task, as well as the more easy.

This must be faid for our tranflation, that if we give not the whole fenfe of Juvenal, yet we give the moft confiderable part of it: we give it, in general, fo clearly, that few notes are

fufficient to make us intelligible. We make our author at leaft appear in a poetique drefs. We have actually made him more founding, and more elegant, than he was before in English: and have endeavoured to make him fpeak that kind of English, which he would have spoken had he lived in England, and had written to this age. If fometimes any of us (and it is but feldom) make him exprefs the customs and manners of our native country, rather than of Rome, it is, either when there was fome kind of analogy, betwixt their cuftoms and ours, or when, to make him more eafy to vulgar understandings, we give him thofe manners which are familiar to us. But I defend not this innovation, it is enough if I can excufe it. For to speak fincerely, the manners of nations and ages are not to be confounded: we fhould either make them English, or leave them Roman. If this can neither be defended, nor excufed, let it be pardoned, at leaft, because it is acknowledged; and fo much the more eafily, as being a fault which is never committed without fome pleasure to the reader.

Thus, my lord, having troubled you with a tedious vifit, the best manners will be fhewn in the leaft ceremony. I will flip away while your back is turned, and while you are otherwise employed with great confufion, for having entertained you fo long with this difcourfe; and for having no other recompence to make you, than the worthy labours of my fellow-undertakers in this work, and the thankful acknowledgments, prayers, and perpetual good wishes of,

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The poet gives us first a kind of humorous reason for bis writing: that being provoked by hearing fo many ill poets rehearse their works, he does himself justice on them, by giving them as bad as they bring. But fince no man will rank himself with all writers, it is eafy to conclude, that if fuch wretches could draw an audience, he thought it no hard matter to excel them, and gain a greater efteem with the public. Next he informs us more openly, why he rather addicts himself to fatyr, than any other kind of poetry. And bere be difcovers that it is not so much his indignation to ill poets, as to ill men, which has prompted him to write. He therefore gives us a fummary and general view of the vices and follies reigning in his time. So that this firft fatyr is the natural

ground-work of all the reft. Herein be confines kimfelf to no one fubject, but ftrikes indifferently at all men in his way: in every following fatire be has chofen fome particular moral which he would inculcate; and lashes some particular vice or folly, (an art with which our lampooners are not much acquainted.) But our poet being defirous to reform his own age, but not daring to attempt it by an overt-act of naming living perfons, inveighs only against those who were infamous in the times immediately preceding his, whereby he not only gives a fair warning to great men, that their memory lies at the mercy of future poets and biftorians, but also with a finer firoke of his pen, brands even the living, and perfonates them under dead men's names.

I have avoided as much as I could posibly the borrowed learning of marginal notes and illuftrations, and for that reafon have tranflated this fatire Somewhat largely. And freely own (if it be a fault) that I have likewife omitted most of the proper names, because I thought they would not much edify the reader. To conclude, if in two or three places I have deferted all the commentators, it is because they first deferted my author, or

at least have left him in fo much obfcurity, that too much room is left for gueffing.


TILL fhall I hear, and never quit the fcore, Stunn'd with hoarfe Codrus' Thefeid, o'er and o'er ?

Shall this man's elegies and t'other's play
Unpunish'd murder a long fummer's day?
Huge Telephus, a formidable page,
Cries vengeance; and Oreftes' bulky rage
Unfatisfy'd with margins closely writ,
Foams o'er the covers, and not finish'd yet.
No man can take a more familiar note
Of his own home, than I of Vulcan's grott,
Or Mars his grove, or hollow winds that blow
From Ætna's top, or tortur'd ghosts below.
I know by rote the fam'd exploits of Greece;
The Centaurs fury, and the golden fleece;
Through the thick shades th' eternal scribler bauls,
And shades the statues on their pedestals.
The best and worst on the fame theme employs
His mufe, and plagues us with an equal noife.
Provok'd by these incorrigible fools,

I left declaiming in pedantic schools;
Where, with men-boys, I ftrove to get renown,
Advifing Sylla to a private gown.

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