THE Verses composing this little Volume, were Writ on such various Subjects, that many of them requir'd quite different Spirits, and quite oppose Characters. Some of them demanded the Enthusiastick Spirit; and all that others were capa­pable of was a little good Sense, and an air of Gaity. The first were the most difficult to handle by much; which yet, if they should chance to be manag'd aright, would make me an ample a mends for my toil. For tho [Page] mear Enthusiasm is but Madness, no­thing can be more noble than that which is rightly regulated; and no­thing can come nearer that which I fancy to be a true description of Wit; which is a just mixture of Reason and Extravagance, that is such a mixture as reason may always be sure to predominate, and make its mortal Enemy subservient to its grand design of discovering and illu­strating sacred Truth. When I writ the Pindarick Ode, the high Idea that I had of the Subject and of the way of writing, made me resolve to spare for no Pains before I set Pen to Paper, that I might form a design which might have something great and Pindarical. For the skilful Reader will easily discern, that the disorder in that Ode is studied, and that the Transitions which appear so wild and so foreign, tend directly to shew what I design'd to prove, viz. That [Page] the happiness of England, and the Success of the Confederacy depended on the King's Person. How I have succeeded I must leave to the Readers to judge; yet not to every Reader. For the Pindarick why, if you'l give cre­dit to a great Master, is dangerous both to Writer and Reader. The first must have some qualities at the time of writing, which are rare­ly to be found together, as Precipi­tation and Address, Boldness and De­cency, Sublimeness and Clearness, Fu­ry and Sense; the last must have Fan­cy to see his flights, and Skill to judge of their Art He who mounts the Pin­darick Pegasus may be compar'd to a man a Hawking, who rides at all up­on a headlong Hunter, with his Eye still fix'd on a towring Game, so that he must not only have something of Art, but of Happiness besides, to escape a Fall. Let my Fortune be what it will, my comfort is this, That Eng­land, [Page] since Mr. Cowle ys time, has not seen many Pindarick Odes, whose Authors have reason to boast of their kind reception.

I should now say something of the Verses upon the Sea-Fight, and one or two Copies more. But tho they have something in them that seems bold to presumption; yet they have already met with such kind entertain­ment in the World, that the consi­deration of that in some measure as­sures me.

But since almost a third of this little Book consists of Burlesque Com­posures, and since Burlesque, at present, lies under the disadvantage of ha­ving two great Authorities against it; viz. Boileau's, and Mr. Dryden's: I think my self oblig'd not only upon that account, but upon considerati­on too of that wonderful pleasure which I have so often receiv'd from Butler, to vindicate Burlesque from [Page] the scandal that is brought upon it, by the Censures of two such extraor­dinary Men.

The charge of Boileau is in his Art of Poetry, Chant pre in these Lines.

Which in English paraphrastick Prose, is thus: Whatever you write, let a Gentleman's manner appear in it; The lowest stile of the man, who knows how to write, will still have a noble Air with it. But rightly to observe this rule, you must be sure to decline Burlesque, which not long since in­solently [Page] appear'd in contempt of Reason, and pleas'd at the expence of good Sense: it pleas'd indeed a while, but pleas'd only as it was a fantastick novelty: It debas'd the dignity of Verse by its tri­vial Points, and taught Parnassus a Billingsgate Dialect.

This indeed is a violent charge, and may hold very good against Sca­ron, and the French Burlesque; but there is not one Article of it but what will fall to the Ground, if it comes to be apply'd to Butler. Sca­ron's Burlesque has nothing of a Gentleman in it, little of good Sense, and consequently little of true Wit. For tho there may be good Sense found without Wit, there can be no true Wit, where there is no good Sense. For a Thought that is really witty, must necessarily be true, and have something in it that's Solid; So that Quibbles and all Equivocals can have little or nothing of true Wit in them. Wit is a just mixture of Reason and Ex­travagance, [Page] and the Extravagance must be there, only in order to give the Reason the more lustre. Now that there is little of Reason and good Sense in Scaron's Burlesque, all who are accquainted with him, very well know; Instead of it there are equi­vocals and trivial points in abundance. His language is so very mean that it may well be call'd le language des Hales. Scaron therefore pleas'd but a while (by his Burlesque, I mean, for his Novels will certainly please eternally) and I do not remember that he has been imitated by any one of the fa­mous French Wits. It is no wonder if his manner with all these ill qualities, has been rejected by the French Court, and condemn'd by this judicious Poet and Critick.

But the contrary of whatever has been said of Scaron, is certainly true of Butler: There is seen much of a Gentleman in his Burlesque; There [Page] is so much Wit and Goodsense to be found in him, and so much true ob­servation on mankind, that I do not believe there is more, take Volume for Volume in any one Author we have, the Plain-Dealer only excepted; Besides, there is a vivacity and purity in his Lan­guage, whereever it was fit it should be pure, that could proceed from nothing but from a generous Educati­on, and from a happy Nature. And further Butler's Burlesque was certain­ly writ with a just design, which was to expose Hypocrisie. Scaron's Burlesque, was writ either with no de­sign, or but with a very scurvy one. For the only design that can be ima­gin'd of his Virgil Travesty, was to ridicule Heroick Poetry, which is the noblest invention of human Wit. Since then, Butler excell'd in so ma­ny things in which Seakon is defective, we may very well conclude, That Boi­lean's accusation reaches not our Eng­lish [Page] Poet. Which Sir William Soames saw very well, when he translated this Art of Poetry, for he was so far from declaring against Burlesque, that he ventur'd, tho it was foreign from his Author, to propound Butler as a model to those who had a mind to write it. The late Lord Rochester, who was very well acquainted with Boileau, and who defer'd very much to his Judgment, did not at all be­lieve that the censure of Boileau ex­tended to Butler: For if he had, he would never have follow'd his fashion in several of his masterly Copies. Nor would a noble Wit, who is a living Honour to his Country, and the English Court, have condescen­ded to write Burlesque, if he had not discern'd that there was in Butler's manner something extreamly fine, as well as something extreamly sensible in very many of his Thoughts.

[Page] I now come to examine Mr. Dry­den's objections to Butler, which I shall do with all the submission and deference that is due to the judgment of that extraordinary Man. And therefore I have reason to hope that I shall give no offence to him nor to any Man, by undertaking my own defence. For to plead the Cause of Butler is at present to maintain my own. For if he who is so admira­ble an Original, is rightly reprehen­ded for writing in Burlesque: I who am but his follower, and can never pretend to come near his excellence, ought much more severely to be censur'd. I must confess that in Mr. Dryden's accusation of Burlesque, there are no such murdering Articles, as there are in that of Boilean against Scaron; For Mr. Dryden allows But­ler to have shewn a great deal of good Sense in that way of writing; so that we have here gain'd one conside­rable [Page] Point, which Boileau seem'd not to allow us, which is that good Sense is consistent with Burlesque. Mr. Dryden's quarrel is to the num­bers of Butler: he says that he might have chosen a better sort, affirming that he would equally have excell'd in all.

Whether he would have practised all sorts of Numbers with equal fe­licity, is what I have not now time to examine. But granting that, it is more than probable that he chose aright. For I would fain ask any man one question; Whether he thinks Nature had given Butler a Talent to treat of the adventures of Hudibras? For if any one grants that she had given him such a Talent, I will not stick to affirm that it could not fail to suggest to him the proper­est means for the carrying on his design.

[Page] Mr. Dryden's objections to the Numbers of Butler are two, the first is to the Measure, the second to the Rhymes. The Verse of eight Syllables he says is too scanty, and there is not room enough for the Thought to turn it self with ease in it. But how vain a thing is it to argue against ex­perience? For Butler has not only as many and as beautiful thoughts as most Authors, but he is as clear a Writer. Besides, Mr. Dryden may be pleas'd to remember that the most sensible Copy of Verses in all Waller, is in the measure of eight Syllables, which is that which begins,

Mr. Dryden himself in his Preface to the second part of the Sylvae, ad­vises all who attempt the Pindarick way, to consine themselves chiefly to Lyrical Numbers: and Numbers [Page] which are truly Lyrical are seldom to be extended beyond the eight syllable. His practice too is very a­greable to his precept in his incom­parble Translation of Tyrrhena Regum Progenies. Now it is plain that in the Pindarick way the Thoughts rise, and the Soul swells more, if I may have leave to use that expression, than in any other sort of writing. Whereas in Satyr the thoughts ought to be more simple, and the expressions less mag­nificent. It follows from what has been said, that if the measure of eight syllables is agreeable in Pinda­rick Verse; it is much more agreea­ble to Burlesque, which is a kind of Satyr. Besides it is apparent that in Burlesque, the measure is often ex­tended to the ninth and sometimes to the tenth syllable.

But it is high time to say some­thing of the Rhymes. Mr. Dryden complains that they return too thick [Page] upon us: but then the thoughts have the quicker turns, and I never can be persuaded that succinctness can be a fault in writing, unless it be destructive of perspicuity. It is ob­jected that double and treble Rhymes are effeminate, and debase the digni­ty of Veise below manly Satyr. But this objection will be in force too against Tassone, whose manner Mr. Dryden seems to approve of: For he has writ his Satyr in double and treble Rhymes too, but with this difference from Butler, that Butler makes use of them but sometimes, and Tassone does it perpetually. Nay the great Tasso has written his Heroick Poem in them. I shall find another time to speak at large of the Gierusalemme: but this I can say at present, which is re­markably to the purpose, That some parts of that Poem are so far from being effeminate, that they have in­comparably more gravity than any [Page] long winded Poem which has been writ by the Moderns, if you only except some passages of the Paradise lost of Milton.

Mr. Dryden himself in his own Satyrs has sometimes made use of double and treble Rhymes, ev'n in Heroick Verse. And in the Character of Zimri, which Mr. Dryden prefers to any part of Absalom and Achitophel, there are two couplets in the space of eight Lines, which are writ in double Rhymes, and those two coup­lets are two of the very best in all that admirable Character.

There is more than one considera­ble advantage that we have by our Burlesque Rhymes. For first, they show the power and plenty of the English Tongue. For neither Italian nor French have a sort of Rhymes for their Burlesque, which is different from those which they have for their other kinds of Verse. Nor [Page] have they in either of those Tongues any of those odd Rhymes, to the making up of which two or three words conspire. These Rhymes thus constituted (which is another advan­tage of our English Burlesque) seem to me to be as peculiarly becoming of a Jest, as a roguish Leer, or a co­mical tone of a Voice; and that it may plainly appear that this is no Whimsie, let the best Versifier in England turn these two Lines of Butler.

Let any one I say turn these two Lines into other Rhymes and other Measures, and I dare engage that the Jest shall loose considerably.

Before I take my leave of Burlesque & Butler, I think fit to say something of the latter, which has not so direct a refe­rence [Page] to his way of writing (tho that too is indirectly commended by it) as to the incomparable genius of the Man. It is this that if any one would set the Common places of Tassone and Boi­leau's Lutrin against those of Butler, it would appear for the Honour of England, that neither the French man nor Italian could stand before us. The most diverting thing in all the Lutrin is the Battle at Barbin's Shop. Chant. 5. Yet that, if it is compar'd with the Battle in the second Canto of the first part of Hudibras, tho it is so di­verting when we read it alone, will appear to be perfectly insipid.

Before I conclude I have two things to say farther. The one is, that the Verses to Flavia were writ by a Friend of mine and only Corrected by me, and it is by my friends leave that they are here inserted. The other thing is this, that tho I may expect to have this little Book se­verely [Page] examined, because I have attack'd several great men, who are all of them many degrees above me, yet I shall not at all repent of any thing I have writ by way of Criti­cism, if I do but in any measure ob­tain what I design'd by it, which was nothing but to advance Polite Learning amongst us. Not that I be­lieve my self capable of performing it, but I thought that the conside­ration of my impotency might ex­cite some generous spirits whom Na­ture and Education have capacitated for so noble a work. There is no man should be more glad to see it carried on than my self. I love my Country very well, and therefore should be ravished to see that we out did the French in Arts, at the same time that we contend for Empire with them. For Arts and Empire in Civi­liz'd Nations have generally flourish'd together.

THE Passion of Byblis seems to be, in the Original, not only of Ovid's most ma­sterly pieces, but a Passion in some places the most happily touch'd of a­ny that I have seen amongst the An­cients or Moderns. The Sentiments are so tender and yet so delicate, the Expressions so fit and withal so easie, with that facility which is proper to express Love, and peculiar to this charming Poet; the turns of Passion are so surprizing and yet so natural, [Page] and there seems to be something in the very sound of the Verse so soft and so pathetick, that a man who reads the Original, must have no sense of these Matters if he is not transported with it.

When I was desired to make it English, I read over the Original to some men of sense, to see whether they would be touch'd with the same pas­sages with which I had been mov'd so much. And when I saw that I was not mistaken, I resolv'd to imitate them in our native Tongue, with as much address as I could.

Not that I am of the opinion that I have done justice to the ad­mirable Original; but then you must give me leave to do some to my self; [Page] and as I would not have my faults imputed to Ovid, so, since I have so many of my own to account for, I do not desire to stand charg'd with his, which as his Translator I was oblig'd to copy.

I will chiefly take notice of two, the one general, and the other parti­cular. The general one is the Incon­sistency that appears in the Character of Byblis. For she, who in some places of her Passion appears so re­luctant, seems too abandon'd in others; which are two or three Passages of her Letter (for from the beginning of the Story to the Letter, every thing seems to me to be just enough) in which she says some things that are by no means consistent with that Mode­sty, [Page] which she ought to have, as a La­dy, a Virgin, and a Woman of Ho­nour. I know very well that a Woman of Honour, when once she is seiz'd by a great Passion, has more violent de­sires than the most abandon'd Wo­man can have. For abandon'd Women are consequently weak, and it is a true Observation, that weak People, tho they are subject to Passions at e­very turn, yet are they never through­ly agitated by them. But this is most certain, that a Woman of Honour can never break out into immodest Ex­pressions, let her Passion be never so violent. For Immodesty in Expres­sion must show her profligate to the very last degree, and must be utterly inconsistent with any measure of Ho­nour. [Page] Now Byblis, who shows in some places so much of Honour, by such sharp remorse, and such furious relu­ctancy, ought certainly to have con­tented her self with a bare Confes­sion of her Passion; and not to have behav'd her self as if she thought her Brother so very young, that he was to be instructed how to proceed in the Cure of it.

It may be said perhaps that the relation of the Dream, which precedes the Letter is the most immodest thing in the Story. I will easily grant it, and that that relation is in the ori­ginal the most alluring description that can be imagin'd, and almost e­qually transporting with what it de­scribes. But it must then be consider'd [Page] that what Byblis says there, she on­ly speaks to herself, which amounts to no more than if she but barely thought it. And there is nothing certainly in that Reflection on her Dream, but what is extremely natural.

The second Fault in this Passion of Byblis, is in the passage that im­mediately follows the return of the Messenger. For that which ought to be the most moving, is the coldest part of the Story. I speak of the first thir­teen Lines of the Latin (for all that follows seems to be sufficiently warm) where Byblis, who can scarce speak for the Violence of her Grief, is yet for speaking in Allegory; which is no­thing but an imperfect kind of Simi­litude.

[Page] Now Simile in this place could not be moving, because it could not be na­tural; it being by no means the Lan­guage of great grief. For to be in a ca­pacity to make a good similitude, the mind must have several qualifications, and two more particularly; which are utterly inconsistent with that Passion. First, The soul must be susceptible of a great many Idea's, and the I­magination capacious of a great many Images. For the Fancy must run thro', and compare a great many Objects, before it can start a hint from them, which may carry with it that appearance of likeness, which may after­ward by the Iudgment be improved to an exact resemblance (not but that [Page] I know very well, that the Soul on those occasions acts with that prodi­gious Celerity, that it is its self insen­sible of the degrees of its own motion.) Now it is the Nature of Grief to confine the Soul, and straiten the Ima­gination, and extremely to lessen the number of tqeir Objects. And indeed if the Passion is very violent, a man is incessantly thinking of the cause of it. For example, the unfortunate Lo­ver has eternally before his Eyes the Image of his Cruel Fair-one. He thinks Day and Night of her alone, he contemplates nothing but her; and if he complains of her, 'tis only after that simple unaffected way, by which Nature teaches man to discharge his Soul of sorrow. And it is for this ve­ry [Page] reason that the greater part of Mr. Cowley's amorous Verses, are universally exploded by men of sence, at the same time that they confess, that several of his Miscellaneous Writings, his Pindaric Odes, and his Divine Hymn to Light, will justly deserve the Admiration of our latest Posterity. For in most of those amo­rous Verses, there appears thro' the disguise of an affected Passion, a gai­ety of Heart, a wantonness of Wit, and a Soul that's at liberty to roam about the Universe, and return home laden with rich, but far fetch'd Con­ceits. As merry in this respect as the Madrigals of our amorous Rake­hells; who languish in Simile, whilst they thrive in Carkass; and who eat­ing [Page] their Half-Crowns every day thrice, decay and dye by Metaphor. In short, no sort of imagery ever can be the Language of Grief. If a Man complains in Simile, I either laugh or sleep. For this is plain, that if a man's affliction will suffer him to di­vert his mind by one Simile, he may as well do it by twenty, and so on to the end of the Chapter. If such a man therefore is miserable, it is be­cause he is resolved he will be so. Now a man must have an extraordinary stock of good Nature, who can pity a Blockhead, who is a wretch by choice.

But secondly, For the mind to be capable of making Similitudes, it is necessary it should be serene (unless it be transported with that noble Enthu­siasm, [Page] which delights, illuminates, and exalts the soul, at the very same time it disturbs it.) For without serenity a man can never have penetration e­nough to discern the Nature of things, which penetration is absolutely neces­sary for the making a just Simili­tude: and it is upon this very account that Aristotle says in his Rheto­rick, that to be happy in making si­militudes, it is absolutely necessary to be a man of good sense.

Some of my Friends, to whom I have recited in Conversation, the sub­stance of what I have here repeated in Writing, have advised me to leave out this unseasonable similitude, especially since I have made so bold with Ovid; as to insert here and [Page] there a Thought of my own. For it is my Lord Roscommon's opinion, that it is much safer to leave out than add. Tho' no man pays more de­ference to his Iudgment than I do, I cannot be of his mind in this. For tho' I am not ignorant that a scurvy present, is but a more civil Affront; I cannot but believe it to be less in­jurious than a Robbery. And if any man should be caught, ipso facto, stripping another upon the Road, it would be but an impudent excuse in him, to alledge that the Cloaths but ill became their Owner. All that I could do here, was by giving this pas­sage another turn, to make that ap­pear in the Copy to be spoken in a short, but downright Fury, whose fault [Page] it was in the Original to seem to be spoken with too much Conside­rateness, and too much Coolness of Temper.

The Author of the Satyrs upon the Iesuits, who has translated this Passion of Byblis, has not meddled with the Catastrophe. Now the Catastrophe was absolutely ne­cessary, that the Story at ending might make a deeper impression: I have therefore contracted it in the last five Lines, but at the same time I have alter'd it. For to make it moving it was necessary to make it credible.

[Page] The Transformation of Byblis might do very well in the time of Augustus Caesar. For at that time those Transformations were a part of the Roman Religion, and the Poets may be said to be the secular Priests, who transmitted its Mysteries to the People. But those transubstantiating Doctrines, which were taught in those times by that Harmonious Clergy of the credulous Church of Old Rome, would look as absurdly to us as the Chimerical Metamorphosis, which is pretended to be acted at the ve­ry time it is sung in our modern Roman Churches.

[Page] I must beg Pardon for the Li­berty which I have taken in the numbers, which is so great that it may well be entitled License. But then the Reader will have the greater Variety, and if those Numbers are not harmonious, it is not for want of care about them: I have particularly taken care to be exact in the Rhimes, in which the former Translators of this passage have been very defective. I am not so miserably mistaken, as to think rhiming essential to our English Poetry. I am far bet­ter acquainted with Milton, than that comes to. Who without the assistance of Rhime, is one of the most sublime of our English Po­ets. [Page] Nay, there is something so transcendently sublime in his first, second, and sixth Books, that were the Language as pure as the Images are vast and daring, I do not believe it could be e­quall'd, no, not in all Antiquity. But tho' I know that Rhiming is not absolutely necessary to our Ver­sification, yet I am for having a Man do throughly what he has once pretended to do. Writing in blank Verse looks like a contempt of Rhime, and a generous dis­dain of a barbarous Custom; but Writing in such Rhimes as a Boy may laugh at, at Crambo, looks [Page] at the best like a fruitless Attempt, and an impotent Affectation.

My Lord Roscommon who writ in blank Verse with so much Success, yet was nicely exact in Rhiming, whenever he pretended to rhime. And in the very Essay upon translated Verse in which he ex­claims against Rhime, I defie any Man to show me half a dozen coup­lets which do not rhime exactly.

In short, if rhiming is ever neces­sary in so strong and masculine a Language as ours, it must be on these tender occasions. For tho' I have heard several maintain, that a thing may be expressed as nobly [Page] and vigorously in blank Verse, as in Rhime; I never yet heard a­ny one pretend that it might be ex­pressed as softly. But granting it could, it is yet very certain, that a thing must be much more ten­der in perfect Rhimes, than im­perfect. For where the Reader ex­pects a Rhime, there jarring sounds must render that harsh, which a­greeing sounds would render easie. But then it is necessary that the Rhimes should be unconstrained, and no word us'd upon their account in the place where it is not pro­per.

[Page] But since I have mention'd Mr. Oldham's performance, in this Transiation, I think fit to add farther, that I have been told by some, that a great many will never forgive me the attempting it after him. I desire them to con­sider, that the same Mr. Oldham undertook Horace's Art of Poe­try after my Lord Roscommon. Now my Lord Roscommon was Politeness it self. Never man thought more clearly, more truly, more justly than he did; never man express'd himself more fitly and more becomingly. In every thing that he writ, his Language [Page] was as perfect as his Conceptions were often sublime. On every thing that came from him, he has stamp'd the Character not only of an exalted Wit, but of a Man of a high Condition, and of a court­ly Mind.

If I should affirm that Mr. Old­ham had by no means all the good Qualities which are conspi­cuous in my Lord Roscommon, who is there that must not assent to it? If then I am guilty of presumption in attempting what Mr. Oldham undertook before me, I hope I may be excused by his [Page] own Example. But if some Peo­ple yet can resolve to be angry, I must beg them to consider for what. Is is because I have a desire to please them? That methinks is un­natural. Tho' I should own, I have an Ambition to give them more Delight than the fore-mentioned Gentleman has done before me, I cannot see any thing in such a Con­fession which can reasonably disob­lige them. Such an acknowledgment ought rather to gain me their Favor, or at least to conquer their preju­dice, especially since 'tis the Interest of every Reader to be as candid as the Case will let him be. 'Tis [Page] true, a man of sence can never be satisfy'd with a silly thing. But a peevish, unreasonable Cavil­ler, will never be satisfy'd with any thing. Little considering that by a false delicacy he makes him­self pass those moments scurvily, which another, perhaps, has done his part to make him pass agree­ably.

Besides, if I should succeed here, even beyond my wish, I should be very far upon that score, from arrogating Preheminence o­ver any man. The following Tran­slation is a Trifle, and can ne­ver [Page] be conclusive of any such thing. To succeed in it, required neither Force nor Genius, but only a Ten­derness of Soul (which Mr. Old­ham's Masculine Temper dis­dain'd) and an extraordinary pro­pensity to that Humane Frailty, Compassion; and a certain Feli­city which usually accompanies the Dictates of the softer Passions. To conclude, I leave it to any one to consider whether a Satyrist, as Mr. Oldham was, at the very time that, inspir'd by a ge­nerous Rage, he had assum'd a re­solution of exposing the Follies, and lashing the Vices of the Age, [Page] could be fitly dispos'd to excite Com­passion; by setting before our Eyes an unfortunate Lady, whose Love was at once her Folly and her Crime.