WHEN Athens all the Grecian state did
And Greece gave laws to all the world befide;
Then Sophocles with Socrates did fit,
Supreme in wisdom one, and one in wit:
And wit from wifdom differed not in those,
But as 'twas fung in verfe, or faid in profe,
Then, Edipus, on crowded theatres,
Drew all admiring eyes and lift'ning ears:
The pleafed fpectator fhouted every line,
The nobleft, manlieft, and the best design! 10
And
critic of each learned age,
every
By this juft model has reform'd the stage.
Now, fhould it fail, (as heaven avert our fear)
Damn it in filence, left the world should hear.
For were it known this poem did not please, 15
You might fet up for perfect favages:
Your neighbours would not look on you as men,
But think the nation all turned Picts again.
Faith, as you manage matters, 'tis not fit
You should fufpect yourselves of too much wit:
Drive not the jeft too far, but spare this piece; And, for this once, be not more wife than Greece.
See twice! do not pell-mell to damning fall,
Like true-born Britons, who ne'er think at all:
Pray be advised; and though at Mons you won,
On pointed cannon do not always run.
With fome respect to ancient wit proceed;
You take the four first councils for your creed.
But, when you lay tradition wholly by,
And on the private spirit alone rely,
You turn fanatics in your poetry.
If, notwithstanding all that we can fay,
You needs will have your penn'orths of the play,
And come refolved to damn, because you pay, Record it, in memorial of the fact,
The first play buried fince the woollen act.
WHAT Sophocles could undertake alone,
Our poets found a work for more than one;
And therefore two lay tugging at the piece,
With all their force, to draw the ponderous
mafs from Greece;
A weight that bent even Seneca's strong muse, 5
And which Corneille's fhoulders did refuse.
So hard it is the Athenian harp to string!
So much two confuls yield to one just king.
Terror and pity this whole poem fway ;
The mightiest machines that can mount a play.
How heavy will thofe vulgar fouls be found, 11
Whom two fuch engines cannot move from
ground!
When Greece and Rome have fmil'd upon this birth,
You can but damn for one poor spot of earth: And when your children find your judgment
They'll fcorn their fires, and wish themselves
Each haughty poet will infer with ease,
How much his wit must under-write to please.
As fome ftrong churl would, brandishing, ad-
The monumental fword that conquer'd France; So you, by judging this, your judgment teach, Thus far you like, that is, thus far you reach. Since then the vote of full two thousand years Has crown'd this plot, and all the dead are theirs,
Think it a debt you pay, not alms you give, 25 And, in your own defence, let this Play live. Think them not vain, when Sophocles is shown, To praise his worth they humbly doubt their
Yet as weak ftates each other's
power affure, Weak poets by conjunction are fecure.
Their treat is what your palates relish moft, Charm! fong! and fhow! a murder and a ghoft!
We know not what you can defire or hope,
To please you more, but burning of a Pope.
An awful ghoft confefs'd to human eyes!
Unnam'd, methinks, diftinguish'd I had been
From other fhades, by this eternal green,
About whofe wreaths the vulgar poets ftrive, 5
And with a touch, their wither'd bays revive.
Untaught, unpractis'd, in a barbarous age,
I found not, but created first the stage.
And, if I drain'd no Greek or Latin store,
'Twas, that my own abundance gave me more.
On foreign trade I needed not rely,
Like fruitful Britain, rich without fupply.
In this my rough-drawn play you shall behold
Some mafter-ftrokes, fo manly and fo bold,
That he who meant to alter, found 'em fuch, 15
He shook, and thought it facrilege to touch.
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