What contributed to this prostitution of the comic muse, was [to v. 177] the seducement of that corruptress of all virtue, the love of money; which had thoroughly infected the Roman wits, and was, in fact, the sole object of their pains. Hence, provided they could but catch the applauses of the people, to which the pleasantry of the comic scene more especially aspires, and so secure a good round price from the magistrates, whose office it was to furnish this kind of entertainment, they became indifferent to every nobler view and honester purpose. In particular [to v. 182] they so little considered fame and the praise of good writing, that they made it the ordinary topic of their ridicule; representing it as the mere illusion of vanity, and the pitiable infirmity of lean-witted minds, to be catched by the lure of so empty and unsubstantial a benefit.
Though, were any one, in defiance of public ridicule, so daring (as there is no occasion in life, which calls for, or demonstrates a greater firmness), as frankly to avow and submit himself to this generous motive, the surest inspirer of every virtuous excellence, yet one thing remained to check and weaken the vigour of his emulation. This [from v. 182 to 187] was the folly and ill taste of the undiscerning multitude; who, in all countries, have a great share in determining the fate and character of scenical representations, but, from the popular constitution of the government, were, at Rome, of the first consequence. These, by their rude clamours, and the authority of their numbers, were enough to dishearten the most intrepid genius; when, after all his endeavours to reap the glory of an absolute work, the action was almost sure to be mangled and broken in upon by the shews of wild beasts and gladiators; those dear delights, which the Romans, it seems, prized much above the highest pleasures of the drama.
Nay, the poet’s case was still more desperate. For it was not the untutored rabble, as in other countries, that gave a countenance to these illiberal sports: even rank and quality, at Rome, debased itself in shewing the fiercest passion for these shews, and was as ready, as abject commonalty itself, to prefer the uninstructing pleasures of the eye to those of the ear.
Equiti quoque jam migravit ab aure voluptas
Omnis ad ingratos oculos et gaudia vana.
And, because this barbarity of taste had contributed more than any thing else to deprave the poetry of the stage, and discourage its best masters from studying its perfection, what follows [from v. 189 to 207] is intended, in all the keenness of raillery, to satyrize this madness. It afforded an ample field for the poet’s ridicule. For, besides the riotous disorders of their theatre, the senseless admiration of pomp and spectacle in their plays had so inchanted his countrymen, that the very decorations of the scene, the tricks and trappings of the comedians, were surer to catch the applauses of the gaping multitude, than any regard to the justness of the poet’s design, or the beauty of his execution.
Here the poet should naturally have concluded his defence of the dramatic writers; having alledged every thing in their favour, that could be urged, plausibly, from the state of the Roman stage: the genius of the people: and the several prevailing practices of ill taste, which had brought them into disrepute with the best judges. But finding himself obliged, in the course of this vindication of the modern stage-poets, to censure as sharply, as their very enemies, the vices and defects of their poetry; and fearing lest this severity on a sort of writing, to which himself had never pretended, might be misinterpreted as the effect of envy only, and a malignant disposition towards the art itself, under cover of pleading for its professors, he therefore frankly avows [from v. 208 to 214] his preference of the dramatic, to every other species of poetry; declaring the sovereignty of its pathos over the affections, and the magic of its illusive scenery on the Imagination, to be the highest argument of poetic excellence, the last and noblest exercise of the human genius.
One thing still remained. He had taken upon himself to apologize for the Roman poets, in general; as may be seen from the large terms, in which he proposes his subject.
Hic error tamen et levis haec insania quantas
Virtutes habeat, sic collige.
But, after a general encomium on the office itself, he confines his defence to the writers for the stage only. In conclusion then, he was constrained, by the very purpose of his address, to say a word or two in behalf of the remainder of this neglected family; of those, who, as the poet expresses it, had rather trust to the equity of the closet, than subject themselves to the caprice and insolence of the theatre.
Now, as before, in asserting the honour of the stage-poets he every where supposes the emperor’s disgust to have sprung from the wrong conduct of the poets themselves, and then extenuates the blame of such conduct, by considering, still further, the causes which gave rise to it; so he prudently observes the like method here. The politeness of his address concedes to Augustus, the just offence he had taken to his brother poets; whose honour, however, he contrives to save by softening the occasions of it. This is the drift of what follows [from v. 214 to 229] where he pleasantly recounts the several foibles and indiscretions of the muse; but in a way, that could only dispose the emperor to smile at, or at most, to pity her infirmities, not provoke his serious censure and disesteem. They amount, on the whole, but to certain idlenesses of vanity, the almost inseparable attendant of wit, as well as beauty; and may be forgiven in each, as implying a strong desire of pleasing, or rather as qualifying both to please. One of the most exceptionable of these vanities was a fond persuasion, too readily taken up by men of parts and genius, that preferment is the constant pay of merit; and that, from the moment their talents become known to the public, distinction and advancement are sure to follow. They believed, in short, they had only to convince the world of their superior abilities, to deserve the favour and countenance of their prince. But fond and presumptuous as these hopes are (continues the poet [from v. 229 to 244] with all the insinuation of a courtier, and yet with a becoming sense of the dignity of his own character) it may deserve a serious consideration, what poets are fit to be entrusted with the glory of princes; what ministers are worth retaining in the service of an illustrious Virtue, whose honours demand to be solemnized with a religious reverence, and should not be left to the profanation of vile, unhallowed hands. And, to support the authority of this remonstrance, he alledges the example of a great Monarch, who had dishonoured himself by a neglect of this care; of Alexander the great, who, when master of the world, as Augustus now was, perceived, indeed, the importance of gaining a poet to his service; but unluckily chose so ill, that his encomiums (as must ever be the case with a vile panegyrist) but tarnished the native splendor of those virtues, which his office required him to present, in their fullest and fairest glory, to the admiration of the world. In his appointment of artists, whose skill is, also, highly serviceable to the fame of princes, he shewed a truer judgment. For he suffered none but an Apelles and a Lysippus to counterfeit the form and fashion of his person. But his taste, which was thus exact and even subtile in what concerned the mechanic execution of the fine arts, took up with a Choerilus, to transmit an image of his mind to future ages; so grosly undiscerning was he in works of poetry, and the liberal offerings of the muse!