When the scene sticks to every thought,
And can to no event be brought;
When (thus of old the scene betraid)
Poets call’d Gods unto their aid,
8.
Who by power might do the thing,
Art could to no issue bring;
As the Pellean prince, that broke
With a rude and down-right stroke
9.
The perplext and fatal noose,
Which his skill could not unloose:—
Thou dost a nobler art profess;
And the coyl’d serpent can’st no less
10.
Stretch out from every twisted fold,
In which he lay inwove and roll’d,
Induce a night, and then a day,
Wrap all in clouds, and then display.
11.
Th’ easy and the even design:
A plot, without a God, divine!—
Let others’ bold pretending pens
Write acts of Gods, that know not men’s;
In this to thee all must resign:
Th’ Surprise of th’ Scene is wholly thine.