'Tis true composing is the nobler part, But good translation is no easy art: For tho' materials have long since been found, Yet both your fancy and your hands are bound; And by improving what was writ before, Invention labours less, but judgment more. Each poet with a different talent writes, One praises, one instructs, another bites. Horace did ne'er aspire to epic bays Nor lofty Maro stoop to lyric lays. Examine how your humour is inclin'd, And watch the ruling passion of your mind. Then seek a poet, who your way does bend. And chuse an author, as you chuse a friend. United by this sympathetic bond, You grow familiar, intimate, and fond; Your thoughts, your words, your stiles, your souls agree, No longer his interpreter, but he. Take then a subject, proper to expound * * * * * But moral, great, and worth a poet's voice, For men of sense, despise a trivial choice: And such applause, it must expect to meet As would some painter busy in the street; To copy bulls, and bears, and every sign That calls the staring sots to nasty wine. Take pains the genuine meaning to explore, There sweat, there strain, tug the laborious oar: Search every comment, that your care can find. Some here, some there, may hit the poet's mind. Yet, be not blindly guided by the throng, The multitude is always in the wrong. When things appear unnatural, or hard, Consult your author, with himself compar'd. Who knows what blessings Phaebus may bestow, And future ages to your labours owe? Such secrets are not easily found out, But once discovered leave no room for doubt. Truth stamps conviction in your ravish'd breast, And peace and joy attend the glorious guest. They who too faithfully on names insist; Rather create, than dissipate the mist: And grow unjust by being over nice, (For superstition, virtue turns to vice) Let Crassus ghost, and Labienus tell How twice in Parthian plains their legions fell, Since Rome hath been so jealous of her fame, That few know Pacorus, or Monaeses name. And 'tis much safer to leave out than add * * * * * Abstruse and mystic thoughts, you must express, } With painful care, but seeming easiness; } For truth shines brightest, thro' the plainest dress, } Your author always will the best advise, Fall when he falls, and when he rises, rise.