Essay on Criticism Summary Text

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That it is as great a fault to judge ill as to write ill, and a more dangerous one to the public. That therefore the ancients are necessary to be studied by a critic, particularly homer and virgil. 'tis hard to say if greater want of skill appear in writing or in judging ill but of the two less dangerous is th'offence to tire our patience than mislead our sense: some few in that, but numbers err in this ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss a fool might once himself alone expose now one in verse makes many more in prose. 'tis with our judgments as our watches, none go just alike, yet each believes his own. In poets as true genius is but rare, true taste as seldom is the critic's share both must alike from heav'n derive their light, these born to judge, as well as those to write. All fools have still an itching to deride, and fain would be upon the laughing side. If m�vius scribble in apollo's spite, there are who judge still worse than he can write.

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Some have at first for wits, then poets pass'd turn'd critics next, and prov'd plain fools at last. Some neither can for wits nor critics pass, as heavy mules are neither horse nor ass. Those half learn'd witlings, numerous in our isle, as half form'd insects on the banks of nile unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call, their generation's so equivocal to tell them would a hundred tongues required, or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire. But you who seek to give and merit fame, and justly bear a critic's noble name, be sure yourself and your own reach to know, how far your genius, taste, and learning go, launch not beyond your depth, but be discreet, and mark that point where sense and dulness meet. Nature to all things fix'd the limits fit, and wisely curb'd proud man's pretending wit. As on the land while here the ocean gains, in other parts it leaves wide sandy plains thus in the soul while memory prevails, the solid power of understanding fails where beams of warm imagination play, the memory's soft figures melt away.

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One science only will one genius fit so vast is art, so narrow human wit: now only bounded to peculiar arts, but oft in those confin'd to single parts. Like kings we lose the conquests gain'd before, by vain ambition still to make them more: each might his sev'ral province well command, would all but stoop to what they understand. First follow nature, and your judgment frame by her just standard, which is still the same unerring nature, still divinely bright, one clear, unchanged, and universal light, life, force, and beauty must to all impart, at once the source, and end, and test of art.

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Art from that fund each just supply provides, works without show, and without pomp presides. In some fair body thus th'informing soul with spirits feeds, with vigour fills the whole each motion guides, and every nerve sustains, itself unseen, but in th' effects remains. Some, to whom heav'n in wit has been profuse, want as much more to turn it to its use for wit and judgment often are at strife tho' meant each other's aid, like man and wife. 'tis more to guide than spur the muse's steed, restrain his fury than provoke his speed: the winged courser, like a gen'rous horse, shows most true mettel when you check his course. Those rules of old, discover'd, not devised, are nature still, but nature methodized nature, like liberty, is but restrain'd by the same laws which first herself ordain'd.

Hear how learn'd greece her useful rules indites when to repress and when indulge our flights: high on parnassus' top her sons she show'd, and pointed out those arduous paths they trod held from afar, aloft, th'immortal prize, and urged the rest by equal steps to rise. Just precepts thus from great examples giv'n, she drew from them what they derived from heav'n. The gen'rous critic fann'd the poet's fire, and taught the world with reason to admire. Then criticism the muse's handmaid prov'd, to dress her charms, and make her more belov'd: but following wits from that intention stray'd: who could not win the mistress woo'd the maid against the poets their own arms they turn'd, sure to hate most the men from whom they learn'd. So modern 'pothecaries taught the art by doctors' bills to play the doctor's part, bold in the practice of mistaken rules, prescribe, apply, and call their masters fools. Some on the leaves of ancient authors prey nor time nor moths e'er spoil'd so much as they some drily plain, without invention's aid, write dull receipts how poems may be made these leave the sense their learning to display, and those explain the meaning quite away. You then whose judgment the right course would steer, know well each ancient's proper character his fable, subject, scope in every page religion, country, genius of his age: without all these at once before your eyes, cavil you may, but never criticise.

Be homer's works your study and delight, read them by day, and meditate by night thence form your judgment, thence your maxims bring, and trace the muses upward to their spring. Still with itself compared, his text peruse and let your comment be the mantuan muse. When first young maro in his boundless mind a work t'outlast immortal rome design'd, perhaps he seem'd above the critic's law, and but from nature's fountains scorn'd to draw but when t'examine ev'ry part he came, nature and homer were, he found, the same.

Convinced, amazed, he checks the bold design, and rules as strict his labour'd work confine as if the stagyrite o'erlook'd each line. Some beauties yet no precepts can declare, for there's a happiness as well as care. Music resembles poetry in each are nameless graces which no methods teach, and which a master hand alone can reach.

If, where the rules not far enough extend, since rules were made but to promote their end some lucky license answer to the full th'intent proposed, that license is a rule. Great wits sometimes may gloriously offend, and rise to faults true critics dare not mend from vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, and snatch a grace beyond the reach of art, which, without passing thro' the judgment, gains the heart, and all its end at once attains. In prospects thus some objects please our eyes, which out of nature's common order rise, the shapeless rock, or hanging precipice. But tho' the ancients thus their rules invade, as kings dispense with laws themselves have made moderns, beware! or if you must offend against the precept, ne'er transgress its end let it be seldom, and compell'd by need and have at least their precedent to plead the critic else proceeds without remorse, seizes your fame, and puts his laws in force. I know there are to whose presumptuous thoughts those freer beauties, ev'n in them, seem faults. Some figures monstrous and misshaped appear, consider'd singly, or beheld too near, which, but proportion'd to their light or place, due distance reconciles to form and grace.

A prudent chief not always must display his powers in equal ranks and fair array, but with th'occasion and the place comply, conceal his force, nay, seem sometimes to fly. Those oft are stratagems which errors seem, nor is it homer nods, but we that dream. Still green with bays each ancient altar stands above the reach of sacrilegious hands, secure from flames, from envy's fiercer rage, destructive war, and all involving age. See from each clime the learn'd their incense bring! hear in all tongues consenting paeans ring! in praise so just let ev'ry voice be join'd, and fill the gen'ral chorus of mankind. Of all the causes which conspire to blind man's erring judgment, and misguide the mind, what the weak head with strongest bias rules, is pride, the never failing vice of fools.

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Whatever nature has in worth denied she gives in large recruits of needful pride: for as in bodies, thus in souls, we find what wants in blood and spirits swell'd with wind: pride, where wit fails, steps in to our deference, and fills up all the mighty void of sense: if once right reason drives that cloud away, truth breaks upon us with resistless day. Trust not yourself but your defects to know, make use of ev'ry friend and ev'ry foe. A little learning is a dangerous thing drink deep, or taste not the pierian spring: there shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, and drinking largely sobers us again. But in such lays as neither ebb nor flow, correctly cold, and regularly low, that shunning faults one quiet tenor keep, we cannot blame indeed but we may sleep.

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