began to Cool her Rage, And Sparks of Judgment glimmer'd in his Page, When the wild Fury did his Breast inspire,Lee. She rav'd, and set the Little World on Fire. Thus Lee by Reason strove not to controul That powerful heat which o'er-inform'd his Soul. He took his swing, and Nature's bounds surpast, Stretch'd her, and bent her, till she broke at last. I scorn to Flatter, or the Dead defame; But who will call a Blaze a Lambent Flame?

Lee.

    Terrour and Pity are allow'd to be,Otway. The moving parts of Tragic Poetry. If Pity sooths us, Otway claims our Praise; If Terrour strikes, then Lee deserves the Bays. We grant a Genius shines in Jaffeir's Part, And Roman Brutus speaks a Master's Art. But still we often Mourn to see their Phrase An Earthly Vapour, or at Mounting Blaze. A rising Meteor never was design'd, T'amaze the sober part of Human kind. Were I to write for Fame, I would not chuse A Prostitute and Mercenary Muse. Which for poor Gains must in rich Trappings go, Emptily Gay, magnificently Low, Like Ancient Rome's Religion, Sacrifice and Show. Things fashion'd for amusement and surprize, Ne'er move the Head, tho' they divert the Eyes. The Mouthing Actors well-dissembled Rage, May please the Young Sir Foplings on the Stage.   But, disingag'd, the swelling Phrase I find Like Spencer's Giant sunk away in Wind. It grates judicious Readers when they meet Nothing but jingling Verse, and even Feet. Such false, such counterfeited Wings as these, Forsake th' unguided Boy, and plunge him in the Seas.Dryden. Lee aim'd to rise above great Dryden's Height, But lofty Dryden keeps a steddy Flight. Like Dædalus, he times with prudent Care His well-wax'd Wings, and Waves in Middle Air. The Native Spark, which first advanc'd his Name, By industry he kindled to a Flame. The proper Phrase of our exalted Tongue To such Perfection from his Numbers sprung. His Tropes continu'd, and his Figures fine, All of a Piece throughout, and all Divine. His Images so strong and lively be, I hear not Words alone, but Substance see; Adapted Speech, and just Expressions move Our various Passions, Pity, Rage and Love. I weep to hear fond Anthony complain In Shakespear's Fancy, but in Virgil's Strain.

Otway.

Dryden.

    Tho' for the Comick, others we prefer,* See Preface to Aurengzebe. Himself[*] the Judge; nor do's his Judgment Err. But Comedy, 'tis Thought, can never claim The sounding Title of a Poem's Name. For Raillery, and what creates a Smile   

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