But for all that,
These words would sound more full, methinks, that are not
So larded; and, if I might counsel you,
You should compose a Sonnet, cleane without them.
A row of stately Substantives would march,
Like Switzers, and bear all the field before them;
Carry their weight, shew fair, like Deeds enroll’d;
Not Writs, that are first made, and after fill’d:
Thence first came up the title of Blank verse.
You know, Sir, what Blank signifies? When the Sense
First fram’d, is tied with Adjectives, like Points,
And could not hold together, without wedges.
Hang ’t, ’tis Pedanticke, vulgar Poetry.
Let children, when they versifye, sticke here
And there these pidling words, for want of matter;
Poets write masculine numbers.
CAPERWIT.
You have given me a pretty hint: ’Tis NEW.
I will bestow these verses on my footman;
They’ll serve a Chambermaid—
Shirley’s Chances, or Love in a Maze.
54. Cæcilio Plautoque dabit Romanus, ademptum Virgilio Varioque?] The question is but reasonable. Yet the answer will not be to the satisfaction of him that puts it. This humour, we may observe, holds here in England, as it did formerly at Rome; and will, I suppose, hold every-where, under the same circumstances. Cæcilius and Plautus were allowed to coin, but not Virgil and Varius. The same indulgence our authors had at the restoration of letters; but it is denied to our present writers. The reason is plainly this. While arts are refining or reviving, the greater part are forced, and all are content to be Learners. When they are grown to their usual height, all affect to be Teachers. With this affectation, a certain envy, as the poet observes,
——cur adquirere pauca,
Si possum, invideor—
insinuates itself; which is for restraining the privileges of writers, to all of whom every reader is now become a Rival. Whereas men, under the first character of Learners, are glad to encourage every thing that makes for their instruction.
But whatever offence may be taken at this practice, good writers, as they safely may, should dare to venture upon it. A perfect language is a chimæra. In every state of it there will frequently be occasion, sometimes a necessity, to hazard a new word. And let not a great genius be discouraged, by the fastidious delicacy of his age, from a sober use of this privilege. Let him, as the poet directs,
Command old words, that long have slept, to wake,
Words, that wise Bacon, or brave Ralegh spake;
Or bid the new be English ages hence,
For Use will father what’s begot by Sense.
This too was the constant language of ancient criticism. “Audendum tamen; namque, ut ait Cicero, etiam quæ primò dura visa sunt, usu molliuntur,” Quintil. l. i. c. v.