His judgment alone can set bounds to his wit; Like Virgil correct, with his own native ease, But excels even Virgil in elegant praise: Who admires the ancients, and knows 'tis their due Yet writes in a manner entirely new; Though none with more ease their depths can explore, Yet whatever he wants he takes from my store; Though I'm fond of his virtues, his pride I can see, In scorning to borrow from any but me: It is owing to this, that, like Cynthia,[5] his lays Enlighten the world by reflecting my rays. This said, the whole audience soon found out his drift: The convention was summon'd in favour of SWIFT. [Footnote 1: Dr. Trapp or Trap, ridiculed by Swift in "The Tatler," No. 66, as parson Dapper. He was sent to Ireland as chaplain to Sir Constantine Phipps, Lord Chancellor, in 1710-11. But in July, 1712, Swift writes to Stella, "I have made Trap chaplain to Lord Bolingbroke, and he is mighty happy and thankful for it." He translated the "Aeneid" into blank verse.--_W. E. B._] [Footnote 2: Prior, concerning whose "Journey to France," Swift wrote a "formal relation, all pure invention," which had a great sale, and was a "pure bite." See Journal to Stella, Sept., 1711.--_W. E. B._] [Footnote 3: Pope, and his translations of the "Iliad" and "Odyssey."--_W. E. B._] [Footnote 4: Gay; alluding to his "Trivia."--_N_.] [Footnote 5: Diana.] APOLLO'S EDICT OCCASIONED BY "NEWS FROM PARNASSUS" Ireland is now our royal care, We lately fix'd our viceroy there. How near was she to be undone, Till pious love inspired her son! What cannot our vicegerent do, As poet and as patriot too? Let his success our subjects sway, Our inspirations to obey, And follow where he leads the way: Then study to correct your taste; Nor beaten paths be longer traced. No simile shall be begun, With rising or with setting sun; And let the secret head of Nile Be ever banish'd from your isle. When wretched lovers live on air, I beg you'll the chameleon spare; And when you'd make a hero grander, Forget he's like a salamander.[1] No son of mine shall dare to say, Aurora usher'd in the day, Or ever name the milky-way. You all agree, I make no doubt, Elijah's mantle is worn out. The bird of Jove shall toil no more To teach the humble wren to soar. Your tragic heroes shall not rant, Nor shepherds use poetic cant. Simplicity alone can grace The manners of the rural race. Theocritus and Philips be Your guides to true simplicity. When Damon's soul shall take its flight, Though poets have the second-sight, They shall not see a trail of light. Nor shall the vapours upwards rise, Nor a new star adorn the skies: For who can hope to place one there, As glorious as Belinda's hair? Yet, if his name you'd eternize, And must exalt him to the skies; Without a star this may be done: So Tickell mourn'd his Addison. If Anna's happy reign you praise, Pray, not a word of halcyon days: Nor let my votaries show their skill In aping lines from Cooper's Hill;[2]