* * * * *
Empedocles, ambitious to be thought
A God, his name with Godlike honours fought,
Holding a worldly life of no account,
Lead'p coldly into aetna's burning mount.—-
Let Poets then with leave resign their breath,
Licens'd and priveleg'd to rush on death!
Who gives a man his life against his will,
Murders the man, as much as those who kill.
'Tis not once only he hath done this deed;
Nay, drag him forth! your kindness wo'n't succeed:
Nor will he take again a mortal's shame,
And lose the glory of a death of fame.
Nor is't apparent, why with verse he's wild:
Whether his father's ashes he defil'd;
Whether, the victim of incestuous love,
The Blasted Monument he striv'd to move:
Whate'er the cause, he raves; and like a Bear,
Burst from his cage, and loose in open air,
Indoctum doctumque fugat recitator acerbus.
Quem vero arripuit, tenet, occiditque legendo,
Non miffura cutem, nisi plena cruroris, hirudo.
* * * * *
Learn'd and unlearn'd the Madman puts to flight,
They quick to fly, he bitter to recite!
What hapless soul he seizes, he holds fast;
Rants, and repeats, and reads him dead at last:
Hangs on him, ne'er to quit, with ceaseless speech.
Till gorg'd and full of blood, a very Leech!
Notes on the EPISTLE to the PISOS Notes
I have referred the Notes to this place, that the reader might be left to his genuine feelings, and the natural impression on reading the Epistle, whether adverse or favourable to the idea I ventured to premise, concerning its Subject and Design. In the address to my learned and worthy friends I said little more than was necessary so open my plan, and to offer an excuse for my undertaking. The Notes descend to particulars, tending to illustrate and confirm my hypothesis; and adding occasional explanations of the original, chiefly intended for the use of the English Reader. I have endeavoured, according to the best of my ability, to follow the advice of Roscommon in the lines, which I have ventured to prefix to these Notes. How far I may be entitled to the poetical blessing promised by the Poet, the Publick must determine: but were I, avoiding arrogance, to renounce all claim to it, such an appearance of Modesty would includes charge of Impertinence for having hazarded this publication.Take pains the genuine meaning to explore!
There sweat, there strain, tug the laborious oar:
Search ev'ry comment, that your care can find;
Some here, some there, may hit the Poet's mind:
Yet be not blindly guided by the Throng;
The Multitude is always in the Wrong.
When things appear unnatural or hard,
Consult your author, with himself compar'd!
Who knows what Blessing Phoebus may bestow,
And future Ages to your labour owe?
Such Secrets are not easily found out,
But once discoverd, leave no room for doubt.
truth stamps conviction in your ravish'd breast,
And Peace and Joy attend the glorious guest.
Essay on Translated Verse ART of POETRY, an EPISTLE, &c.
Q. HORATII FLACCI EPISTOLA AD PISONES.
The work of Horace, now under consideration, has been so long known, and so generally received, by the name of The Art of Poetry, that I have, on account of that notoriety, submitted this translation to the Publick, under that title, rather than what I hold to be the true one, viz. Horace's Epistle to The Pisos. The Author of the English Commentary has adopted the same title, though directly repugnant to his own system; and, I suppose, for the very same reason.