The Art of Poetry: an Epistle to the Pisos

Judicis argutum quae non formidat acumen:
Haec placuit semel; haec decies repetita placebit.

O major juvenum, quamvis et voce paternâ
Fingeris ad rectum, et per te sapis; hoc tibi dictum
Tolle memor: certis medium et tolerabile rebus
The Poet thus, from faults scarce ever free,
Becomes a very Chaerilus to me;
Who twice or thrice, by some adventure rare,
Stumbling on beauties, makes me smile and stare;
Me, who am griev'd and vex'd to the extreme,
If Homer seem to nod, or chance to dream:
Tho' in a work of length o'erlabour'd sleep
At intervals may, not unpardon'd, creep.

Poems and Pictures are adjudg'd alike;
Some charm us near, and some at distance strike:
This loves the shade; this challenges the light,
Daring the keenest Critick's Eagle sight;
This once has pleas'd; this ever will delight.

O thou, my Piso's elder hope and pride!
tho' well a father's voice thy steps can guide;
tho' inbred sense what's wise and right can tell,
remember this from me, and weigh it well!
In certain things, things neither high nor proud,
Middling and passable may be allow'd.
Rectè concedi: consultus juris, et actor
Causarum mediocris, abest virtute diserti
Messallae, nec scit quantum Cascellius Aulus;
Sed tamen in pretio est: mediocribus esse poëtis
Non homines, non Dî, non concessere columnae.
Ut gratas inter mensas symphonia discors,
Et crassum unguentum, et Sardo cum melle papaver
Offendunt, poterat duci quia coena sine istis;
Sic animis natum inventumque poëma juvandis,
Si paulum summo decessit, vergit ad imum.

* * * * *

Ludere qui nescit, campestribus abstinet armis;
Indoctusque pilae, discive, trochive, quiescit;
Ne spissae risum tollant impune coronae:
Qui nescit versus, tamen audet fingere. Quid nî?
A moderate proficient in the laws,
A moderate defender of a cause,
Boasts not Messala's pleadings, nor is deem'd
Aulus in Jurisprudence; yet esteem'd:
But middling Poet's, or degrees in Wit,
Nor men, nor Gods, nor niblick-polls admit.
At festivals, as musick out of tune,
Ointment, or honey rank, disgust us soon,
Because they're not essential to the guest,
And might be spar'd, Unless the very best;
Thus Poetry, so exquisite of kind,
Of Pleasure born, to charm the soul design'd,
If it fall short but little of the first,
Is counted last, and rank'd among the worst.
The Man, unapt for sports of fields and plains,
From implements of exercise abstains;
For ball, or quoit, or hoop, without the skill,
Dreading the croud's derision, he sits still:
In Poetry he boasts as little art,
And yet in Poetry he dares take part:
Liber et ingenuus; praesertim census equestrem
Summam nummorum, vitioque remotus ab omni.

* * * * *

Tu nihil invitâ dices faciesve Minervâ:
Id tibi judicium est, ea mens: si quid tamen olim
Scripseris, in Metii descendat judicis aures,
Et patris, et nostras; nonumque prematur in annum.
Membranis intus positis, delere licebit
Quod non edideris: nescit vox missa reverti.

* * * * *

Silvestres homines sacer interpresque Deorum
Caedibus et victu foedo deterruit Orpheus;
Dictus ob hoc lenire tigres rabidosque leones.
Dictus et Amphion, Thebanae conditor arcis,
Saxa movere sono testudinis, et prece blandâ.
And why not? he's a Gentleman, with clear
Good forty thousand sesterces a year;
A freeman too; and all the world allows,
"As honest as the skin between his brows!"
Nothing, in spite of Genius, YOU'LL commence;
Such is your judgment, such your solid sense!
But if you mould hereafter write, the verse
To Metius, to your Sire to me, rehearse.
Let it sink deep in their judicious ears!
Weigh the work well; and keep it back nine years!
Papers unpublish'd you may blot or burn:
A word, once utter'd, never can return.

The barb'rous natives of the shaggy wood
From horrible repasts, and ads of blood,
Orpheus, a priest, and heav'nly teacher, brought,
And all the charities of nature taught: