And always list'ning to himself appears. 615 All books he reads, and all he reads assails, From Dryden's Fables down to Durfey's Tales. With him most authors steal their works, or buy; Garth did not write his own Dispensary.[247] Name a new play, and he's the poet's friend, 620 Nay, showed his faults--but when would poets mend? No place so sacred from such fops is barred,[248] Nor is Paul's church[249] more safe than Paul's churchyard:[250] Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead; For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.[251] 625 Distrustful sense with modest caution speaks, } It still looks home, and short excursions makes;[252] } But rattling nonsense in full volleys breaks, } And never shocked, and never turned aside, Bursts out, resistless, with a thund'ring tide. 630 But where's the man, who counsel can bestow, Still pleased to teach, and yet not proud to know? Unbiassed, or by favour, or by spite; Not dully prepossessed, nor blindly right; Though learn'd, well-bred; and though well-bred, sincere; Modestly bold, and humanly[253] severe; 636 Who to a friend his faults can freely show, And gladly praise the merit of a foe? Blest with a taste exact, yet unconfined; A knowledge both of books and human kind; 640 Gen'rous converse; a soul exempt from pride; And love to praise,[254] with reason on his side? Such once were critics; such the happy few, Athens and Rome in better ages knew.[255] The mighty Stagyrite first left the shore, 645 Spread all his sails, and durst the deeps explore;[256] He steered securely, and discovered far,[257] Led by the light of the Mæonian star.[258] Poets, a race long unconfined, and free, Still fond and proud of savage liberty, 650 Received his laws;[259] and stood convinced 'twas fit, Who conquered nature, should preside o'er wit.[260] Horace still charms with graceful negligence,[261] And without method talks us into sense; Will, like a friend, familiarly convey 655 The truest notions in the easiest way. He, who supreme in judgment, as in wit, Might boldly censure, as he boldly writ, Yet judged with coolness,[262] though he sung with fire; His precepts teach but what his works inspire. 660 Our critics take a contrary extreme, They judge with fury, but they write with phlegm:[263] Nor suffers Horace more in wrong translations By wits, than critics in as wrong quotations.[264] See Dionysius[265] Homer's thoughts refine, 665 And call new beauties forth from ev'ry line! Fancy and art in gay Petronius please,