But to return from this digreffion to a farther account of my poem; I muft crave leave to tell you, that as I have endeavoured to adorn it with noble thoughts, fo much more to exprefs thofe thoughts with elocution. The compofition of all poems is, or ought to be, of wit; and wit in the poet, or wit writing (if you will give me leave to use a fchool-diftinction) is no other than the faculty of imagination in the writer, which, like a nimble spaniel, beats over and ranges through the field of memory, till it fprings the quarry it hunted after: or, without metaphor; which fearches over all the memory for the fpecies or ideas of thofe things which it defigns to reprefent. Wit written is that which is well defined, the happy refult of thought, or product of imagination. But to proceed from wit, in the general notion of it, to the proper wit of an heroic or hiftorical poem ; I judge it chiefly to confift in the delightful imaging of perfons, actions, paffions, or things. It is not the jerk or fting of an epigram, nor the feeming contradiction of a poor antithefis (the delight of an ill-judging audience in a play of rhyme), nor the gingle of a more poor Paranomafia; neither is it fo much the morality of a grave fentence, affected by Lucan, but more fparingly used by Virgil; but it is fome lively and apt defcription, dreffed in fuch colours of speech, that it lets before your eyes the abfent object, as perfectly, and more delightfully than nature. So then the first happiness of the poet's imagination is properly invention or finding of the thought; the fecond is fancy, or the variation, deriving or moulding of that thought as the judgment reprefents it proper to the fubject; the third is elocution, or the art of cloathing and adorning that thought, fo found and varied, in apt, fignificant, and founding words: the quickness of the imagination is seen in the invention, the fertility in the fancy, and the accuracy in the expreffion. For the two firft of thefe, Ovid is famous amongst the poets; for the latter, Virgil. Ovid images more often the movements and affections of the mind, either combating between two contrary paffions, or extremely difcomposed by one. His words therefore are the least

part of his care; for he pictures nature in diforder, with which the study and choice of words is inconfiftent. This is the proper wit of dialogue or difcourfe, and confequently of the drama, where all that is faid is to be fuppofed the effect of fudden thought; which, though it excludes not the quickness of wit in repartees, yet admits not a too curious election of words, too frequent allufions, or use of tropes, or in fine any thing that fhews remotenefs of thought or labour in the writer. On the other fide, Virgil fpeaks not so often to us in the perfon of another, like Ovid, but in his own: he relates almost all things as from himself, and thereby gains more liberty than the other, to exprefs his thoughts with all the graces of elocution, to write more figuratively, and to confefs as well the labour as the force of his imagination. Though he defcribes his Dido well and naturally, in the violence of her paffions, yet he must yield in that to the Myrrha, the Biblis, the Althaea, of Ovid; for, as great an admirer of him as I am, I must acknowledge, that if I fee not more of their fouls than I fee of Dido's, at least I have a greater concernment for them: and that convinces me, that Ovid has touched thofe tender ftrokes more delicately than Virgil could. But when action or perfons are to be described, when any fuch image is to be fet before us, how bold, how masterly are the strokes of Virgil! We fee the objects he prefents us with in their native figures, in their proper motions; but fo we see them, as our own eyes could never have beheld them fo beautiful in themselves. We see the foul of the poet, like that univerfal one of which he fpeaks, informing and moving through all his pictures:

We behold him embellishing his images, as he makes Venus breathing beauty upon her fon Æneas."

VOL. III.

D

We

lumenque juventa
Purpureum, & lætos oculis afflàrat honores :

Quale manus addunt ebori decus, aut ubi favo
“ Argentum Pariufve lapis circumdatur auro."

See his Tempeft, his Funeral Sports, his Combat of Turnus and Æneas : and in his Georgics, which I esteem the divinest part of all his writings, the Plague, the Country, the Battle of the Bulls, the Labour of the Bees, and those many other ex• cellent images of nature, most of which are neither great in themselves, nor have any natural ornament to bear them up: but the words wherewith he describes them are so excellent, that it might be well applied to him, which was faid by Ovid, “ Materiem “ luperabat opus ! the very sound of his words has often somewhat that is connatural to the subject; and while we read him, we fit, as in a play, beholding the scenes of what he represents. To perform this, he made frequent use of tropes, which you know change the nature of a known word, by applying it to some other signification; and this is it which Horace means in his epistle to the Piso's :

“ Dixeris egregiè, notum si callida verbum
“ Reddiderit junctura novum--"

But I am sensible I have presumed too far to entertain you with a rude discourse of that art which you both know so well, and put into practice with so much happiness. Yet, before I leave Virgil, I must own the vanity to tell you, and by you the world, that he has been my master in this poem: 1 have followed him every where, I know not with what success, but I am sure with diligence enough: my images are many of them copied from him, and the rest are imitations of him. My expressions also are as near as the idioms of the two languages would admit of in translation. And this, sir, I have done with that boldness, for which I will stand accountable to any of our little kcritics, who, perhaps, are no better acquainted with him than I am. Upon your firit perusal of this poem, you have taken notice of some words, which I have innovated (if it be too bold for me to say refined) upon his Latin ; which, as I offer not to introduce into English prose, so I hope they are neither improper, nor altogether inelegant in verse; and, in this, Horace will again defend me.

“ Et nova fi&taqe nuper habebunt verba fidem, fi

s Græco fonte cadant, parcè detorta — The inference is exceeding plain : for if a Roman poet might have liberty to coin : word, supposing only that it was derived from the Greek, was put into a Latin termination, and that he used this liberty but seldom, and with modesty; how much more juftly may 1 challenge that privilege to do it with the same pre-requisites, from the best

1 and most judicious of Latin writers! In some places, where either the fancy or the words were his, or any other's, I have noted it in the margin, that I might not seem a plagiary ; in others I have neglected it, to avoid as well tediousness, as the affectation of doing it too often. Such descriptions or images well wrought, which I promise not for mine, are, as I have said, the adequate delight of heroic poefy; for they beget admiration, which is its proper object ; as the images of the barlesque, which is contrary to this, by the same reason beget laughter; for the one thews nature beautified, as in the picture of a fair woman, which we all admire; the other shews her deformed, as in that of a lazar, or of a fool with dis

. torted face and antique gestures, at which we cannot forbear to laugh, because it is a deviation from nature. But though the same images serve equally for the Epic poesy

, and for the historic and panegyric, which are branches of it, yet a several fort of sculpture is to be used in them. If some of them are to be like those of Juvenal, “ Stantes

"in curribus Æmiliani," heroes drawn in their triumphal chariots, and in their full proportion; others are to be like that of Virgil, "Spirantia mollius æra:" there is fomewhat more of softness and tenderness to be fhewn in them. You will foon find I write not this without concern. Some, who have seen a paper of verfes, which I wrote last year to her Highness the Dutchefs, have accufed them of that only thing I could defend in them. They faid, I did, "humi ferpere;" that I wanted not only height of Fancy, but dignity of words, to fet it off. I might well anfwer with that of Horace, "Nunc non erat his locus;" I knew I addreffed them to a lady, and accordingly I affected the foftness of expreffion, and the smoothness of measure, rather than the height of thought; and in what I did endeavour, it is no vanity to fay I have fucceeded. I deteft arrogance; but there is fome difference betwixt that and a juft defence. But I will not farther bribe your candor, or the reader's. I leave them to fpeak for me; and, if they can, to make out that character, not pretending to a greater, which I have given them.

"

And now, fir, it is time I should relieve you from the tedious length of this account. You have better and more profitable employment for your hours, and I wrong the public to detain you longer. In conclufion, I muft leave my poem to you with all its faults, which I hope to find fewer in the printing by your emendations. I know you are not of the number of those, of whom the younger Pliny speaks; "Nec funt parum multi, qui carpere amicos fuos judicium vocant;" I am rather too fecure of you on that fide. Your candor in pardoning my errors may make you more remifs in correcting them; if you will not withal confider that they come into the world with your approbation, and through your hands. I beg from you the greatest favour you can confer upon an absent perfon, fince I repofe upon your management what is dearest to me, my fame and reputation; and therefore I hope it will ftir you up to make my poen fairer by many of your blots; if not, you know the ftory of the gamester who married the rich man's daughter, and when her father denied the portion, chriftened all the children by his furname, that if, in conclufion, they muft beg, they should do fo by one name, as well as by the other. But fince the reproach of my faults will light on you, it is but reason I should do you that justice to the readers, to let them know, that, if there be any thing tolerable in this poem, they owe the argument to your choice, the writing to your encouragement, the correction to your judgment, and the care of it to your friendship, to which he must ever acknowledge himfelf to owe all things, who is,

From Charleton in Wiltshire,

Nov. 10, 1666

SIR,

The most obedient, and most

Faithful of your fervants,

JOHN DRYDEN.

ANNUS MIRABILIS:

THE YEAR OF WONDERS,

MDCLXV I.

I

I.

'N thriving arts long time had Holland grown,
Crouching at home and cruel when abroad:
Scarce leaving us the means to claim our own;
Our king they courted, and our merchants aw'd.
II.

Trade, which like blood fhould circularly flow,
Stopp'd in their channels, found its freedom loft:
Thither the wealth of all the world did go,

And seem'd but shipwrecked on fo base a coast.
III,

For them alone the heavens had kindly heat;
In eastern quarries ripening precious dew:
For them the Idumæan balm did fweat,
And in hot Ceilon spicy forefts grew.

IV.

The fun but feem'd the labourer of the year;
Each waxing moon supply'd her watery store,
To fwell thofe tides which from the line did bear
Their brim-full veffels to the Belgian shore.

V.

Thus, mighty in her fhips, flood Carthage long,
And swept the riches of the world from far;
Yet ftoop'd to Rome, lefs wealthy, but more strong:
And this may prove our fecond Punic war.
VI.

What peace can be, where both to one pretend?
(But they more diligent, and we more strong)

Or if a peace, it foon must have an end;

For they would grow too powerful were it long.
VII.

Behold two nations then, engag'd so far,

That each seven years the fit must hake each
land:

Where France will fide to weaken us by war,
Who only can his vast designs withstand.
VIII.

See how he feeds th' Iberian with delays,
To render us his time y friendflip vain:
And while his fecret foul on Flanders preys,

He rocks the cradle of the babe of Spain.
IX.

Such deep defigns of empire does he lay

O'er them, whose cause he seems to take in hand; And prudently would make them lords at sea,

To whom with ease he can give laws by land.

X.

This faw our king; and long within his breast
His penfive counfels balanc'd to and fro:
He gr ev'd the land he freed fhould be opprefs'd,
And he lefs for it than ufurpers do.

XI.

His generous mind the fair idea drew

of fame and honour, which in dangers lay; Where wealth, like fruit on precipices, grew, Not to be gather'd but by birds of prey.

XII.

The lofs and gain each fatally were great;

And ftill his fubjects call'd aloud for war:
But peaceful kings, o'er martial people set,
Each other's poize and counterbalance are.

XIII.

He firft furvey'd the charge with careful eyes,

Which none but mighty monarchs could maintain;
Yet judg'd, like vapours that from limbecs rise,
It would in richer fhowers defcend again.
XIV.

At length refolv'd t' affert the watery ball,
He in himself did whole Armadoes bring:
Him aged feamen might their mafter call,

And chufe for general, were he not their king.
XV.

It seems as every ship their fovereign knows,
His awful fummons they fo foon obey;
So hear the fcaly herd when Proteus blows,
And so to pasture follow through the sea.
XVI.

To fee this fleet upon the ocean move,

Angels drew wide the curtains of the skies;
And heaven, as if there wanted lights above,
For tapers made two glaring comets rise.
XVII.

Whether they unctuous exhalations are,
Fir'd by the fun, or feeming fo alone;
Or each fome more remote and flippery star,
Which lofes footing when to mortals shewn.
XVIII.

Or one, that bright companion of the fun,
Whofe glorious afpect feal'd our new-born king;
And now, a round of greater years begun,
New influence from his walks of light did bring.
XIX.

Victorious York did first with fam'd fuccefs,
To his known valour make the Dutch give place:
Thus heaven our monarch's fortune did confess,
Beginning conqueft from his royal race.

XX.

But fince it was decreed, auspicious king,

In Britain's right that thou fhouldft wed the main,

Heaven, as a gage, would caft some precious thing,

And therefore dconi'd that Lawson should be slain.

Such are the proud defigns of human-kind,
And fo we fuffer fhipwreck every where!
Alas, what port can fuch a pilot find,
Who in the night of fate must blindly fteer!
XXXVI.

The undiftinguifh'd feeds of good and ill,

And draws them in contempt of human skill,
Heaven in his bofom from our knowledge hides:
Which oft for friends mistaken foes provides.
XXXVII.