The Art of Poetry: an Epistle to the Pisos

Requir'd not pow'rful blasts their space to fill;
When the thin audience, pious, frugal, chaste,
With modest mirth indulg'd their sober taste.
But soon as the proud Victor spurns all bounds,
And growing Rome a wider wall surrounds;
When noontide cups, and the diurnal bowl,
Licence on holidays a flow of soul;
Accessit numerisque modisque licentia major.
Indoctus quid enim saperet liberque laborum,
Rusticus urbano confusus, turpis honesto?
Sic priscae motumque et luxuriem addidit arti
Tibicen, traxitque vagus per pulpita vestem:
Sic etiam fidibus voces crevere feveris,
Et tulit eloquium insolitum facundia praeceps;
Utiliumque sagax rerum, et divina futuri,
Sortilegis non discrepuit sententia Delphis.

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Carmine qui tragico vilem certavit ob hircum,
Mox etiam agrestes Satyros nudavit, et asper
Incolumi gravitate jocum tentavit: eò quod
A richer stream of melody is known,
Numbers more copious, and a fuller tone.

——For what, alas! could the unpractis'd ear
Of rusticks, revelling o'er country cheer,
A motley groupe! high, low; and froth, and scum;
Distinguish but shrill squeak, and dronish hum?–
The Piper, grown luxuriant in his art,
With dance and flowing vest embellishes his part!
Now too, its pow'rs increas'd, the Lyre severe
With richer numbers smites the list'ning ear:
Sudden bursts forth a flood of rapid song,
Rolling a tide of eloquence along:
Useful, prophetic, wise, the strain divine
Breathes all the spirit of the Delphick shrine.

He who the prize, a filthy goat, to gain,
At first contended in the tragick strain,
Soon too—tho' rude, the graver mood unbroke,—
Stript the rough satyrs, and essay'd a joke:
Illecebris erat et gratâ novitate morandus
Spectator functusque sacris, et potus, et exlex.
Verum ita risores, ita commendare dicaces
Conveniet Satyros, ita vertere seria ludo;
Ne quicunque Deus, quicunque adhibebi tur heros [sic]
Regali conspectus in auro nuper et ostro,
Migret in obscuras humili sermone tabernas
Aut, dum vitat humum, nubes et inania captet [sic]
Effutire leves indigna tragoedia versus,
Ut festis matrona moveri jussa diebus,
Intererit Satyris paulum pudibunda protervis.
Non ego inornata et dominantia nomina solum
Verbaque, Pisones, Satyrorum scriptor amabo
Nec sic enitar tragico differre colori,
For holiday-spectators, flush'd, and wild,
With new conceits, and mummeries, were beguil'd.
Yet should the Satyrs so chastise their mirth,
Temp'ring the jest that gives their sallies birth;
Changing from grave to gay, so keep the mean,
That God or Heroe of the lofty scene,
In royal gold and purple seen but late,
May ne'er in cots obscure debase his state,
Lost in low language; nor in too much care
To shun the ground, grasp clouds, and empty air.
With an indignant pride, and coy disdain,
Stern Tragedy rejects too light a vein:
Like a grave Matron, destin'd to advance
On solemn festivals to join the dance,
Mixt with the shaggy tribe of Satyrs rude,
She'll hold a sober mien, and act the prude.
Let me not, Pisos, in the Sylvan scene,
Use abject terms alone, and phrases mean;
Nor of high Tragick colouring afraid,
Neglect too much the difference of shade!
Ut nihil intersit Davusne loquatur et audax
Pythias emuncto lucrata Simone talentum,
An custos famulusque Dei Silenus alumni.

Ex noto fictum carmen sequar: ut sibi quivis
Speret idem; sudet multum, frustraque laboret
Ausus idem: tantum series juncturaque pollet:
Tantum de medio sumtis accedit honoris.

Silvis deducti caveant, me judice, Fauni,
Ne velut innati triviis, ac pene forenses,
Aut nimium teneris juvenentur versibus umquam,
Aut immunda crepent ignominiosaque dicta.
Offenduntur enim, quibus est equus, et pater, et res;
Nec, si quid fricti ciceris probat et nucis emtor,
Aequis accipiunt animis, donantve coronâ.
Davus may jest, pert Pythias may beguile
Simo of cash, in a familiar style;
The same low strain Silenus would disgrace,
Servant and guardian of the Godlike race.

Let me on subjects known my verse so frame,
So follow it, that each may hope the same;
Daring the same, and toiling to prevail,