Resolved to like the monsters they have made. Virgil, compared to them, is flat and dry; And Homer understood not poetry: Against their merit if this age rebel, To future times for justice they appeal. But waiting till mankind shall do them right, And bring their works triumphantly to light, Neglected heaps we in bye-corners lay, Where they become to worms and moths a prey. Forgot, in dust and cobwebs let them rest, Whilst we return from whence we first digrest. The great success which tragic writers found, In Athens first the comedy renowned. The abusive Grecian there, by pleasing ways, Dispersed his natural malice in his plays: Wisdom and virtue, honour, wit, and sense, Were subject to buffooning insolence: Poets were publicly approved, and sought, That vice extolled, and virtue set at nought; A Socrates himself, in that loose age, Was made the pastime of a scoffing stage. At last the public took in hand the cause, And cured this madness by the power of laws; Forbade at any time, or any place, To name the person, or describe the face. The stage its ancient fury thus let fall, And comedy diverted without gall: By mild reproofs recovered minds diseased, And, sparing persons, innocently pleased. Each one was nicely shewn in this new glass, And smiled to think he was not meant the ass: A miser oft would laugh at first, to find A faithful draught of his own sordid mind; And fops were with such care and cunning writ, They liked the piece for which themselves did sit. You, then, that would the comic laurels wear, To study nature be your only care. Whoe'er knows man, and by a curious art Discerns the hidden secrets of the heart; He who observes, and naturally can paint The jealous fool, the fawning sycophant, A sober wit, an enterprising ass, A humorous Otter,[75] or a Hudibras,-- May safely in those noble lists engage, And make them act and speak upon the stage. Strive to be natural in all you write, And paint with colours that may please the sight. Nature in various figures does abound, And in each mind are different humours found; A glance, a touch, discovers to the wise, But every man has not discerning eyes. All-changing time does also change the mind, And different ages different pleasures find; Youth, hot and furious, cannot brook delay, By flattering vice is easily led away; Vain in discourse, inconstant in desire, In censure, rash; in pleasures, all on fire. The manly age does steadier thoughts enjoy; Power and ambition do his soul employ; Against the turns of fate he sets his mind; And by the past the future hopes to find. Decrepit age, still adding to his stores, For others heaps the treasure he adores; In all his actions keeps a frozen pace; Past times extols, the present to debase: