Epistle to a Friend Concerning Poetry (1700) and the Essay on Heroic Poetry (second edition, 1697) | Page 8

at last arise Who
from the Dust may lift thee to the _Skies_; For his own Sake will his
Protection grant; What Horace e'er did yet _Mecænas_ want? Or if the
World its Favours should refuse, With barren Smiles alone reward thy
Muse; Be thy own Patron, thou no more wilt need, 230 For all will
court thee if thy _Works succeed_; At least the few Good Judges will
commend, And secret growing Praise thy Steps attend. Who shew'd
Columbus where the Indies lay? True to thy self, charge through, and
force to Fame the way! If Envy snarl, indulge it no Reply, Write better
still, and let it burst and die! Rest pleas'd if you can please the Wiser
Few, Since _to please all is more than Heav'n it self can do_. There are
who can whate'er they will believe, 240 That _Bail's_ too hard for
Beady, Three are _Five_: That Nature, Justice, Reason, Truth must fall,
With _Clear Idea's_ they'll confound 'em all: That Parallels may travel
till they _meet_; Faith they can find in L----, no Sense in
STILLINGFLEET. Disturb 'em not, but let 'em still enjoy Th'
_unenvy'd Charms_ of their Eternal Moi.
If to the craggy Top of Fame you rise, Those who are _lab'ring after_
ne'er despise. Nor those above on Honours dazling Seat } 250 Tho
_disoblig'd_, with sawcy Rudeness treat, } Revenge not always is below
the Great. } Their Stronger Genius may o'er thine prevail: _Wit,

Power_ and Anger join'd but rarely fail. Tho Eagles would not chuse to
hawk at Flies } They'd snap 'em, should their buzzing Swarms arise }
Importunate, and hurt their Sun bright Eyes. } Nor should the Muses
Birds at random fly, And strike at all, lest if they strike they die.
Why should we still be lazily content 260 With thredbare Schemes, and
nothing new invent? All Arts besides _improve, Sea, Air_ and Land }
Are every day with nicer Judgment scan'd, } And why should this alone
be at a _stand_? } Or Nature largely to the Ancients gave And little did
for younger Children save; Or rather we impartial Nature blame To
hide our Sloth, and cover o'er our _Shame_; As Sinners, when their
_Reason's_ drown'd in Sense, Fall out with _Heav'n_, and quarrel
Providence. 270
Yet should you our Galenic Way despise, And some new Colbatch of
the Muses rise; No Quarter from the College hope, who sit Infallible at
_Will's_ and judg of Sense and _Wit_: Keep fair with these, or Fame
you court in vain, A strict Neutrality at least maintain! Speak, like the
wise Italian, well of all; Who knows into what Hands he's doom'd to
_fall_?
Write oft and much, at first, if you'd
write well, For he who ne'er
attempts will ne'er _excel_; 280 Practice will file your Verse, your
Thoughts refine, And Beauty give, and Grace to every Line: The Gnat
to fam'd _Æneis_ led the way, And our Immortal COWLEY once did
play. Let not the Sun of Life in vain decline, Or Time run _waste; No
Day without a Line_. Yet learn by me, my Friend, from Errors past; O
never write, or never Print in Haste! The worst Excuse Ill Authors e'er
advance, Which does, like Lies, a single Guilt enhance. 290 Lay by
your Work, and leave it on the Loom, Which if at _mod'rate distance_
you resume, A _Father's Fondness_ you'll with Ease look through, And
Objects in a proper Medium view. 'Tis Time alone can Strength and
Ripeness give; A Hasty Birth can ne'er expect to live.
Fly, low at first, you'll with Advantage _rise_; This pleases all, as that
will all surprize.
[Sidenote: The Subject.] No Work attempt but where your Strength you

know, Be Master of your Subject, Thoughts will _flow_: 300 The
newer 'tis, the choicer Fruit 'twill yield, More Room you have to work
if large your _Field_; The Sponge you oftner than the Pen will want,
And rather Reason see to prune than _plant_; Yet where the Thoughts
are _barren, weak_ and thin, New Cyons should be neatly grafted in.
[Sidenote: A Judge.] If you with Friend or Enemy are blest, Your
_Fancy's Offspring_ ne'er can want a Test, Tho Both, perhaps may
overshoot the _Mark_: First Spite with Envy charges in the _Dark_;
310 Unread they damn, and into Passion fall, 'Tis Stuff, 'tis Blasphemy
'tis Nonsense all; They sleep (when _doz'd before_) at every Line, }
While your more _dang'rous Friend_ exclaims,--'Tis fine, } 'Tis
furiously Delightful, 'tis _Divine_; } Th' _inspiring God's_ in ev'ry Page
confess'd; A COWLEY or a DRYDEN at the least! Yet you'll from
both an equal Judgment frame And stand the nearest Candidate for
_Fame_: What Envy praises, or what Friends dislike, 320 This bears
the Test, and that