Art of Poetry an Epistle to the Pisos | Page 9

he fear'd to gain, he dreads to lose;?And what he sought as useful, dares not use.?Timid and cold in all he undertakes,?His hand from doubt, as well as weakness, shakes;?Hope makes him tedious, fond of dull delay;?Dup'd by to-morrow, tho' he dies to-day;?Difficilis, querulus, laudator temporis acti?Se puero, censor, castigatorque minorum.
Multa ferunt anni venientes commoda secum,?Multa recedentes adimunt: ne forte seniles?Mandentur juveni partes, pueroque viriles.?Semper in adjunctis aevoque morabimur aptis.
Aut agitur res In scenis, aut acta refertur:?Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem,?Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, et quae?Ipse sibi tradit spectator: non tamen intus?Digna geri promes in scenam: multaque tolles?Ex oculis, quae mox narret facundia praesens:?Ill-humour'd, querulous; yet loud in praise?Of all the mighty deeds of former days;?When he was young, good heavens, what glorious times!?Unlike the present age, that teems with crimes!
Thus years advancing many comforts bring,?And, flying, bear off many on their wing:?Confound not youth with age, nor age with youth,?But mark their several characters with truth!
Events are on the stage in act display'd,?Or by narration, if unseen, convey'd.?Cold is the tale distilling thro' the ear,?Filling the soul with less dismay and fear,?Than where spectators view, like standers-by,?The deed submitted to the faithful eye.?Yet force not on the stage, to wound the sight,?Asks that should pass within, and shun the light!?Many there are the eye should ne'er behold,?But touching Eloquence in time unfold:?Ne pueros coram populo Medea trucidet;?Aut humana palam coquat exta nefarius Atreus;?Aut in avem Procne vertatur, Cadmus in anguem.?Quodcunque ostendis mihi sic, incredulus odi.

Neve minor, neu sit quinto productior actu?Fabula, quae posci vult, et spectata reponi?Nec Deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus?Inciderit: nec quarta loqui persona laboret.

Actoris partes Chorus, officiumque virile?Defendat: neu quid medios intercinat actus,?Quod non proposito conducat et haereat apte.?Ille bonis faveatque, et concilietur amicis,?Et regat iratos, et amet peccare timentes:?Who on Medea's parricide can look??View horrid Atreus human garbage cook??If a bird's feathers I see Progne take,?If I see Cadmus slide into a snake,?My faith revolts; and I condemn outright?The fool that shews me such a silly sight.
Let not your play have fewer acts_ than _five,?Nor more, if you would wish it run and thrive!
Draw down no God, unworthily betray'd,?Unless some great occasion ask his aid!
Let no fourth person, labouring for a speech,?Make in the dialogue a needless breach!
An actor's part the Chorus should sustain,?Gentle in all its office, and humane;?Chaunting no Odes between the acts, that seem?Unapt, or foreign to the general theme.?Let it to Virtue prove a guide and friend,?Curb tyrants, and the humble good defend!?Ille dapes laudet mensae brevis, ille salubrem?Justitiam, legesque, et apertis otia portis:?Ille tegat commisia, Deosque precetur et oret,?Ut redeat miseris, abeat fortuna superbis.
Tibia non, ut nunc, orichalco vincta, tubaeque?aemula; sed tenuis, simplexque foramine pauco,?Aspirare et adesse choris erat utilis, atque?Nondum spissa nimis complere sedilia flatu:?Quo fan�� populus numerabilis, utpote parvus?Et frugi castusque verecundusque coibat.?Postquam coepit agros extendere victor, et urbem?Laxior amplecti murus, vinoque diurno?Placari Genius sestis impune diebus,
Loud let it praise the joys that Temperance waits;?Of Justice sing, the real health of States;?The Laws; and Peace, secure with open gates!?Faithful and secret, let it heav'n invoke?To turn from the unhappy fortune's stroke,?And all its vengeance on the proud provoke!
The Pipe of old, as yet with brass unbound,?Nor rivalling, as now, the Trumpet's sound,?But slender, simple, and its stops but few,?Breath'd to the Chorus; and was useful too:?For feats extended, and extending still,?Requir'd not pow'rful blasts their space to fill;?When the thin audience, pious, frugal, chaste,?With modest mirth indulg'd their sober taste.?But soon as the proud Victor spurns all bounds,?And growing Rome a wider wall surrounds;?When noontide cups, and the diurnal bowl,?Licence on holidays a flow of soul;?Accessit numerisque modisque licentia major.?Indoctus quid enim saperet liberque laborum,?Rusticus urbano confusus, turpis honesto??Sic priscae motumque et luxuriem addidit arti?Tibicen, traxitque vagus per pulpita vestem:?Sic etiam fidibus voces crevere feveris,?Et tulit eloquium insolitum facundia praeceps;?Utiliumque sagax rerum, et divina futuri,?Sortilegis non discrepuit sententia Delphis.

Carmine qui tragico vilem certavit ob hircum,?Mox etiam agrestes Satyros nudavit, et asper?Incolumi gravitate jocum tentavit: e�� quod?A richer stream of melody is known,?Numbers more copious, and a fuller tone.
----For what, alas! could the unpractis'd ear?Of rusticks, revelling o'er country cheer,?A motley groupe! high, low; and froth, and scum;?Distinguish but shrill squeak, and dronish hum?----?The Piper, grown luxuriant in his art,?With dance and flowing vest embellishes his part!?Now too, its pow'rs increas'd, the Lyre severe?With richer numbers smites the list'ning ear:?Sudden bursts forth a flood of rapid song,?Rolling a tide of eloquence along:?Useful, prophetic, wise, the strain divine?Breathes all the spirit of the Delphick shrine.
He who the prize, a filthy goat, to gain,?At first contended in the tragick strain,?Soon too--tho' rude, the graver mood unbroke,--?Stript the rough satyrs, and essay'd a joke:?Illecebris erat et grata novitate morandus?Spectator functusque sacris, et potus, et exlex.?Verum ita risores, ita commendare dicaces?Conveniet Satyros, ita vertere seria ludo;?Ne quicunque Deus, quicunque