HKB
fun. For those who have a father or a horse Or an estate will take offence of course, Nor think they're bound in duty to admire What gratifies the vetch-and-chestnut-buyer
The Iambic foot is briefly thus defined: Two syllables, a short with long behind: Repeat it six times o'er, so quick its beat, 'Tis trimeter, three measures for six feet: At first it ran straight on; but, years ago, Its hearers begged that it would move more slow; On which it took, with a good-natured air, Stout spondees in, its native rights to share, Yet so that none should ask it to resign The sixth, fourth, second places in the line. But search through Attius' trimeters, or those Which Ennius took such pleasure to compose, You'll rarely find it: on the boards they groan, Laden with spondees, like a cart with stone, And brand our tragedy with want of skill Or want of labour, call it which you will. What then? false rhythm few judges can detect, And Roman bards of course are all correct.
What shall a poet do? make rules his sport, And dash through thick and thin, through long and short? Or pick his steps, endeavour to walk clean, And fancy every mud-stain will be seen? What good were that, if though I mind my ways And shun all blame, I do not merit praise? My friends, make Greece your model when you write, And turn her volumes over day and night.
"But Plautus pleased our sires, the good old folks; They praised his numbers, and they praised his jokes." They did: 'twas mighty tolerant in them To praise where wisdom would perhaps condemn; That is, if you and I and our compeers Can trust our tastes, our fingers, and our ears, Know polished wit from horse-play, and can tell What verses do, and what do not, run well.
Thespis began the drama: rumour says In travelling carts he carried round his plays, Where actors, smeared with lees, before the throng Performed their parts with gesture and with song. Then AEschylus brought in the mask and pall, Put buskins on his men to make them tall, Turned boards into a platform, not too great, And taught high monologue and grand debate. The elder Comedy had next its turn, Nor small the glory it contrived to earn: But freedom passed into unbridled spite, And law was soon invoked to set things right: Law spoke: the chorus lost the power to sting, And (shame to say) thenceforth refused to sing.
Our poets have tried all things; nor do they Deserve least praise, who follow their own way, And tell in comedy or history-piece Some story of home growth, not drawn from Greece. Nor would the land we love be now more strong In warrior's prowess than in poet's song, Did not her bards with one consent decline The tedious task, to alter and refine. Dear Pisos! as you prize old Numa's blood, Set down that work, and that alone, as good, Which, blurred and blotted, checked and counter- checked, Has stood all tests, and issued forth correct.