And for the measure have a careful ear. On easy numbers fix your happy choice; Of jarring sounds avoid the odious noise: The fullest verse, and the most laboured sense, Displease us, if the ear once take offence. Our ancient verse, as homely as the times, Was rude, unmeasured, only tagged with rhymes; Number and cadence, that have since been shown, To those unpolished writers were unknown. Fairfax[64] was he, who, in that darker age, By his just rules restrained poetic rage; Spenser did next in pastorals excel,[65] And taught the noble art of writing well; To stricter rules the stanza did restrain, And found for poetry a richer vein. Then D'Avenant[66] came, who, with a new-found art, Changed all, spoiled all, and had his way apart; His haughty muse all others did despise, And thought in triumph to bear off the prize, 'Till the sharp-sighted critics of the times, In their Mock-Gondibert, exposed his rhymes; The laurels he pretended did refuse, And dashed the hopes of his aspiring muse. This headstrong writer falling from on high, Made following authors take less liberty. Waller came last, but was the first whose art Just weight and measure did to verse impart; That of a well-placed word could teach the force, And shewed for poetry a nobler course; His happy genius did our tongue refine, And easy words with pleasing numbers join; His verses to good method did apply, And changed hard discord to soft harmony. All owned his laws; which, long approved and tried, To present authors now may be a guide. Tread boldly in his steps, secure from fear, And be, like him, in your expressions clear. If in your verse you drag, and sense delay, My patience tires, my fancy goes astray; And from your vain discourse I turn my mind, Nor search an author troublesome to find. There is a kind of writer pleased with sound, Whose fustian head with clouds is compassed round, No reason can disperse them with its light: Learn then to think ere you pretend to write. As your idea's clear, or else obscure, The expression follows perfect or impure: What we conceive with ease we can express; Words to the notions flow with readiness. Observe the language well in all you write, And swerve not from it in your loftiest flight. The smoothest verse, and the exactest sense, Displease us, if ill English give offence: A barbarous phrase no reader can approve; Nor bombast, noise, or affectation love. In short, without pure language, what you write Can never yield us profit or delight. Take time for thinking; never work in haste; And value not yourself for writing fast. A rapid poem, with such fury writ, Shews want of judgment, not abounding wit. More pleased we are to see a river lead His gentle streams along a flowery mead,