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sisteth not so much in motion as in copious Imagery discreetly ordered & perfectly registred in the memory, which most men under the name of Philosophy have a glimpse of, and is pretended to by many that, grosly mistaking her, embrace contention in her place. But so far 5 forth as the Fancy of man has traced the ways of true Philosophy, so far it hath produced very marvellous -effects to the benefit of mankinde. All that is beautiful or defensible in building, or marvellous in Engines and Instruments of motion, whatsoever commodity men receive ro from the observations of the Heavens, from the description of the Earth, from the account of Time, from walking on the Seas, and whatsoever distinguisheth the civility of Europe from the Barbarity of the American savages, the workmanship of Fancy but guided by the Precepts 15 of true Philosophy. But where these precepts fail, as they have hitherto failed in the doctrine of Moral vertue, there the Architect, Fancy, must take the Philosophers part upon her self. He therefore that undertakes an Heroick Poem, which is to exhibite a venerable & amiable Image of 20 Heroick vertue, must not only be the Poet, to place & connect, but also the Philosopher, to furnish and square his matter, that is, to make both Body and Soul, colour and shadow of his Poem out of his own Store: Which how well you have performed I am now considering.

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Observing how few the Persons be you introduce in the beginning, and how in the course of the actions of these (the number increasing) after several confluences they run all at last into the two principal streams of your Poem, Gondibert and Oswald, methinks the Fable is not much 30 unlike the Theater. For so, from several and far distant Sources, do the lesser Brooks of Lombardy, flowing into one another, fall all at last into the two main Rivers, the Po and the Adice. It hath the same resemblance also with a mans veins, which, proceeding from different parts, 35

after the like concourse insert themselves at last into the two principal veins of the Body. But when I considered that also the actions of men, which singly are incon. siderable, after many conjunctures grow at last either into 5 one great protecting power or into two destroying factions, I could not but approve the structure of your Poem, which ought to be no other then such as an imitation of humane life requireth.

In the Streams themselves I finde nothing but setled 10 Valor, cleane Honor, calm Counsel, learned diversion, and pure Love, save onely a torrent or two of Ambition, which, though a fault, has somewhat Heroick in it, and therefore must have place in an Heroick Poem. To shew the reader in what place he shall finde every excellent picture 15 of vertue you have drawn is too long. And to shew him one is to prejudice the rest; yet I cannot forbear to point him to the Description of Love in the person of Birtha, in the seventh Canto of the second Book. There has nothing been said of that Subject neither by the Ancient 20 nor Modern Poets comparable to it. Poets are Painters: I would fain see another Painter draw so true, perfect, and natural a Love to the Life, and make use of nothing but pure Lines, without the help of any the least uncomely shadow, as you have done. But let it be read as a piece 25 by it self, for in the almost equal height of the whole the eminence of parts is Lost.

There are some that are not pleased with fiction, unless it be bold, not onely to exceed the work, but also the possibility of nature they would have impenetrable 30 Armors, Inchanted Castles, invulnerable bodies, Iron Men, flying Horses, and a thousand other such things, which are easily feigned by them that dare. Against such I defend you (without assenting to those that condemn either Homer or Virgil) by dissenting onely from those that think the 35 Beauty of a Poem consisteth in the exorbitancy of the

fiction. For as truth is the bound of Historical, so the Resemblance of truth is the utmost limit of Poeticall Liberty. In old time amongst the Heathen such strange fictions and Metamorphoses were not so remote from the Articles of their Faith as they are now from ours, and 5 therefore were not so unpleasant. Beyond the actual works of nature a Poet may now go; but beyond the conceived possibility of nature, never. I can allow a Geographer to make in the Sea a Fish or a Ship which by the scale of his Mapp would be two or three hundred 10 mile long, and think it done for ornament, because it is done without the precincts of his undertaking; but when he paints an Elephant so, I presently apprehend it as ignorance, and a plain confession of Terra incognita.

As the description of Great Men and Great Actions is 15 the constant designe of a Poet, so the descriptions of worthy circumstances are necessary accessions to a Poem, and being well performed are the Jewels and most precious ornaments of Poesy. Such in Virgil are the Funeral games of Anchises, The duel of Æneas and Turnus, &c.; 20 and such in yours are The Hunting, The Bataile, The City Mourning, The Funeral, The House of Astragon, The Library, and the Temple, equal to his, or those of Homer whom he imitated.

There remains now no more to be considered but the 25 Expression, in which consisteth the countenance and colour of a beautiful Muse, and is given her by the Poet out of his own provision, or is borrowed from others. That which he hath of his own is nothing but experience and knowledge of Nature, and specially humane nature, and is 30 the true and natural Colour. But that which is taken out of Books (the ordinary boxes of Counterfeit Complexion) shews well or ill, as it hath more or less resemblance with the natural, and are not to be used without examination unadvisedly. For in him that professes the imitation of 35

Nature, as all Poets do, what greater fault can there be then to bewray an ignorance of nature in his Poem,-especially having a liberty allowed him, if he meet with any thing he cannot master, to leave it out?

5 That which giveth a Poem the true and natural Colour consisteth in two things, which are, To know well, that is, to have images of nature in the memory distinct and clear, and To know much. A signe of the first is perspicuity, property, and decency, which delight all sorts of men, to either by instructing the ignorant or soothing the learned in their knowledge. A signe of the latter is novelty of expression, and pleaseth by excitation of the minde; for novelty causeth admiration, and admiration curiosity, which is a delightful appetite of knowledge.

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There be so many words in use at this day in the English Tongue, that though of magnifique sound, yet (like the windy blisters of a troubled water) have no sense at all, and so many others that lose their meaning by being ill coupled, that it is a hard matter to avoid them; for having ao been obtruded upon youth in the Schools by such as make it, I think, their business there (as 'tis exprest by the best Poet)

With terms to charm the weak and pose the wise,

Gondibert,
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they grow up with them, and, gaining reputation with the Cant. 5. 25 ignorant, are not easily shaken off.

To this palpable darkness I may also add the ambitious obscurity of expressing more then is perfectly conceived,

or perfect conception in fewer words then it requires. C Which Expressions, though they have had the honor to 0. 30 be called strong lines, are indeed no better then Riddles, and, not onely to the Reader but also after a little time to the Writer himself, dark and troublesome.

To the property of Expression I referr that clearness of memory by which a Poet, when he hath once introduced

Poet

ansistency of

Character

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any person whatsoever speaking in his Poem, maintaineth in him to the end the same character he gave him in the beginning. The variation whereof is a change of pace that argues the Poet tired.

Of the Indecencies of an Heroick Poem the most re- 5 appropriateness markable are those that shew disproportion either between of Character the persons and their actions, or between the manners of the Poet and the Poem. Of the first kinde is the uncomliness of representing in great persons the inhumane vice of Cruelty or the sordid vice of Lust and Drunkenness. 10 To such parts as those the Ancient approved Poets thought it fit to suborn, not the persons of men, but of monsters and beastly Giants, such as Polyphemus, Cacus, and the Centaures. For it is supposed a Muse, when she is invoked to sing a song of that nature, should maidenly advise the 15 Poet to set such persons to sing their own vices upon the Stage, for it is not so unseemly in a Tragedy. Of the same kinde it is to represent scurrility or any action or language that moveth much laughter. The delight of an Epique Poem consisteth not in mirth, but admiration. 20 Mirth and Laughter is proper to Comedy and Satyre. Great persons that have their mindes employed on great designes have not leasure enough to laugh, and are pleased with the contemplation of their own power and vertues, so as they need not the infirmities and vices of other men to 25 recommend themselves to their own favour by comparison, as all men do when they laugh. Of the second kinde, where the disproportion is between the Poet and the Persons of his Poem, one is in the Dialect of the Inferior sort of

character

language and People, which is alwayes different from the language of 30 the Court. Another is to derive the Illustration of any thing from such Metaphors or Comparisons as cannot come into mens thoughts but by mean conversation and experience of humble or evil Arts, which the Person of an Epique Poem cannot be thought acquainted with.

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