from Cottages and Plains. It was said of Tasso, in relation to his similitudes, Mai esce del Bosco That he never departed from the Woods, that is, all his comparisons were taken from the Country. The same may be said of our Theocritus; he is softer than Ovid, he touches the passions more delicately, and performs all this out of his own Fond, without diving into the Arts and Sciences for a supply. Even his Dorick Dialect has an incomparable sweetness in its Clownishness, like a fair Shepherdess in her Country Russel, talking in a Yorkshire Tone. This was impossible for Virgil to imitate; because the severity of the Roman Language denied him that advantage. Spencer has endeavour'd it in his Shepherds Calendar; but neither will it succeed in English; for which reason I forebore to attempt it. For Theocritus writ to Sicilians, who spoke that Dialect; and I direct this part of my Translations to our 10 Ladies, who neither understand nor will take pleasure in such homely expressions. I proceed

to Horace.

But

Take him in parts, and he is chiefly to be consider'd in his three different Talents, as he was a Critick, a Satyrist, and a Writer of Odes. Ilis Morals are uniform, and run through all of them; For let his Dutch Commentatours say what they will, his Philosophy was Epicurean; and he made use of Gods and providence only to serve a turn in Poetry. But since neither his Criticisms (which are the most instructive of any that are written in this Art) nor his Satyrs (which are incomparably beyond Juvenals, if to laugh and rally is to be preferr'd to railing and declaiming), are no part of my present undertaking, I confine my self wholly to his Odes. These are also of several sorts: some of them are Panegyrical, others Moral, 20 the rest Jovial, or (if I may so call them) Bacchanalian. As difficult as he makes it, and as indeed it is, to imitate Pindar, yet in his most elevated flights, and in the sudden changes of his Subject with almost imperceptible connexions, that Theban Poet is his Master. Horace is of the more bounded Fancy, and confines himself strictly to one sort of Verse, or Stanza, in every Ode. That which will distinguish his Style from all other Poets, is the Elegance of his Words, and the numerousness of his Verse; there is nothing so delicately turn'd in all the Roman Language. There appears in every part of his diction, or, (to speak English) in all his Expressions, a kind of noble and bold Purity. His Words are chosen with as much exactness as Virgils; but there seems to be a greater Spirit in them. There is a secret Happiness allends his Choice, which in Petronius is called Curiosa Felicitas, and which I suppose he 30 had from the Feliciter audere of Horace himself. But the most distinguishing part of all his Character seems to me to be his Briskness, his Jollity, and his good Humour and those I have chiefly endeavour'd to Coppy; his other Excellencies, I confess, are above my Imitation. One Ode, which infinitely pleas'd me in the reading, I have attempted to translate in Pindarique Verse: 'tis that which is inscribd to the present Earl of Rochester, to whom I have particular Obligations, which this small testimony of my gratitude can never pay. 'Tis his Darling in the Latine, and I have taken some pains to make it my Master-Piece in English: for which reason I took this kind of verse, which allows more Latitude than any other. Every one knows it was introduced into our Language, in this age, by the happy Genius of Mr. Cowley. The seeming easiness of it has made it spread; but it has not been considerd enough, to be so 40 well cultivated. It languishes in almost every hand but his, and some very few, (whom to keep the rest in countenance) I do not name. He, indeed, has brought it as near Perfection as was possible in so short a time. But if I may be allowed to speak my Mind modestly, and without Injury to his sacred Ashes, somewhat of the Purity of the English, somewhat of more equal Thoughts, somewhat of sweetness in the Numbers, in one Word, somewhat of a finer turn and more Lyrical Verse is yet wanting. As for the Soul of it, which consists in the Warmth and Vigor of Fancy, the masterly Figures, and the copiousness of Imagination, he has excelld all others in this kind. Yet, if the kind it self be capable of more Perfection, though rather in the Ornamental parts of it, than the Essential, what Rules

3 said of our Theocritus] said, of our Theocritus 1685.

4 Fond Wantonly altered by most editors into Fund See N. E. D.

9 allempt it. For attempt it, for 1685.

of Morality or respect have 1 broken, in naming the defects, that they may hereafter be amended? Imitation is a nice point, and there are few Poets who deserve to be Models in all they write. Miltons Paradice Lost is admirable; but am I therefore bound to maintain, that there are no flats amongst his Elevations, when 'tis evident he creeps along sometimes, for above an Hundred lines together? cannot I admire the height of his Invention, and the strength of his expression, without defending his antiquated words, and the perpetual harshness of their sound? 'Tis as much commendation as a Man can bear, to own him excellent; all beyond it is Idolatry. Since Pindar was the Prince of Lyrick Poets, let me have leave to say, that in imitating him, our numbers shou'd, for the most part, be Lyrical: For variety, or rather 10 where the Majesty of thought requires it, they may be stretch'd to the English Heroick of five Feet, and to the French Alexandrine of Six. But the ear must preside, and direct the Judg ment to the choice of numbers: Without the nicety of this, the Harmony of Pindarick Verse can never be compleat: the cadency of one line must be a rule to that of the next; and the sound of the former must slide gently into that which follows; without leaping from one extream into another. It must be done like the shadowings of a Picture, which fall by degrees into a darker colour. I shall be glad, if I have so explain'd my self as to be understood; but if I have not, quod nequeo dicere, & sentio tantùm, must be my excuse. There remains much more to be said on this subject; but, to avoid envy, I will be silent. What I have said is the general Opinion of the best Judges, and in a manner has been forc'd from me, by seeing 20 a noble sort of Poetry so happily restor'd by one Man, and so grossly copied by almost all the rest: A musical eare, and a great genius, if another Mr. Cowley cou'd arise, in another age may bring it to perfection. In the mean time,

Fungar vice cotis, acutum

Reddere quæ ferrum valet, expers ipsa secandi.

I hope it will not be expected from me, that I shou'd say any thing of my fellow undertakers in this Miscellany. Some of them are too nearly related to me, to be commended without suspicion of partiality: Others I am sure need it not; and the rest I have not perus'd.

or,

To conclude, I am sensible that I have written this too hastily and too loosely: I fear I have been tedious, and, which is worse, it comes out from the first draught, and uncorrected. This 30 I grant is no excuse; for it may be reasonably urg'd, why did he not write with more leisure, if he had it not (which was certainly my case), why did he attempt to write on so nice a subject? The objection is unanswerable; but in part of recompense, let me assure the Reader, that, in hasty productions, he is sure to meet with an Authors present sence, which cooler thoughts would possibly have disguisd. There is undoubtedly more of spirit though not of judgment, in these uncorrect Essays, and consequently, though my hazard be the greater, yet the Readers pleasure is not the less.

4an Hundred] Most edd. give a hundred

24 expers ipsa secandi] Some edd, correct the quotation, printing essors.

John Dryden.

TRANSLATIONS FROM THEOCRITUS.

AMARYLLIS;

OR, THE THIRD IDYLLIUM OF THEOCRITUS, PARAPHRAS'd.

To Amaryllis Love compells my way,

My browzing Goats upon the Mountains
stray:

O Tityrus, tend them well, and see them fed)
In Pastures fresh, and to their watring led;
And 'ware the Ridgling with his butting
head.

Ah, beauteous Nymph, can you forget your
Love,

The conscious Grottos, and the shady Grove ;
Where stretcht at ease your tender Limbs
were laid,

Your nameless Beauties nakedly display'd?
Then I was call'd your darling, your
desire,
10

With Kisses such as set my Soul on fire:
But you are chang'd, yet I am still the

same;

Myheart maintains for both a double Flame;
Griev'd, but unmov'd, and patient of your

scorn:

So faithfull I, and you so much forsworn!
I dye, and Death will finish all my pain;
Yet e'er I dye, behold me once again:
Am I so much deform'd, so chang'd of late?
What partial Judges are our Love and Hate!
Ten Wildings have I gather'd for my Dear;
How ruddy like your Lips their streaks
appear!
21

30

The winding Ivy-chaplet to invade,
And folded Fern, that your fair Forehead
shade.

Now to my cost the force of Love I find;
The heavy hand he bears on humane kind.
The Milk of Tygers was his Infant food,
Taught from his tender years the tast of
blood;

His Brother whelps and he ran wild about
the wood.

Ah nymph, train'd up in his Tyrannick
Court,

To make the suff'rings of your Slaves your
sport!

Unheeded Ruine! treacherous delight!
O polish'd hardness, soften'd to the sight! 40
Whose radiant Eyes your Ebon Brows adorn,
Like Midnight those, and these like break
of Morn!

Smile once again, revive me with your
Charms :

And let me dye contented in your Arms.
I would not ask to live another Day,
Might I but sweetly Kiss my Soul away.
Ah, why am I from empty Joys debarr'd?
For Kisses are but empty, when Compar'd!
I rave, and in my raging fit shall tear
The Garland which I wove for you to wear,
Of Parsley with a wreath of Ivy bound, 51
And border'd with a Rosie edging round.
What pangs I feel, unpity'd and unheard!
Since I must dye, why is my Fate deferr'd!
II strip my Body of my Shepherds Frock:
Behold that dreadfull downfall of a Rock,
Where yon old Fisher views the Waves from
high!

Far off you view'd them with a longing Eye Upon the topmost branch (the Tree was high ;)

Yet nimbly up, from bough to bough
swerv'd,

And for to Morrow have Ten more reserv'd.
Look on me Kindly, and some pity shew,
Or give me leave at least to look on you.
Some God transform me by his Heavenly
pow'r

Ev'n to a Bee to buzz within your Bow'r,

AMARYLLIS. Text from the original edition of 5 'ware] w'are 1692.

1692.

butting] The editors absurdly give budding

'Tis that Convenient leap I mean to try.
You would be pleas'd to see me plunge to
shoar,

But better pleas'd if I should rise no more. 60
I might have read my Fortune long agoe,
When, seeking my success in Love to know,
I try'd th' infallible Prophetique way,
A Poppy leaf upon my palm to lay;

THE EPITHALAMIUM OF HELEN AND MENELAUS.

FROM THE EIGHTEENTH IDYLLIUM OF THEOCRITUS.

TWELVE Spartan Virgins, noble, young, and | Betwixt two Sheets thou shalt enjoy her) fair,

If gentle Slumber on thy Temples creep, With Pallas in the Loombshe may contend.) (But naughty Man thou dost not mean to But none, ah! none can animate the Lyre, sleep) 20 And the mute strings with Vocal Souls inspire: