A Full Enquiry into the Nature of the Pastoral | Page 4

of their Eyes instead of their
Understandings. 'Twas his way to pardon, nay admire a Critick, who
for every fifty Errors would give him but one Remark of Use, or good
Discovery. But always read one Sheet, then burnt those dull insipid
Rogues, who thought that to write a good was to write a faultless Piece.
By which means their whole Work becomes one general Fault.
This Censure, I fear, would fall pretty heavy on the [A]Criticks of
_France_; if this were a proper Place to persue the Argument in. But
Sophy thus resum'd his Talk.
[Footnote A: In the Preface to the Second Part of our Pastorals, _viz._
THE BASHFUL-SWAIN, and BEAUTY AND SIMPLICITY, we have
shown to what Perfection the whole Science of CRITICISM _was
brought by the Ancients, then what Progress the_ French Criticks
_have further made, and also what remains as yet untouch'd, and
uncompleat_.]
In this, said he, I like your Temper, Cubbin. By those few Pieces we
have seen of your's, and those I hear you have in Manuscript, you seem
determin'd to engage in those Kinds of Poetry and those Subjects in
Criticism, which the Ancients have left us most imperfect. Here, if you
fail, you may be still some help to him who shall Attempt it next; and if
all decline it, apprehensive of no fair success, how should it ever attain
Perfection.

Then Cubbin told the _Critick_, that the reason of his entering upon
Pastoral, where the Labour was excessive and the Honour gain'd
minute, was this; He had unhappily reflected on that thing, we call a
Name, so thoroughly, and weigh'd so closely what like Happiness it
would afford, that he could now receive no pleasure from the Thoughts
of growing famous; nor would write one Hour in any little kind of
Poetry, which was not able to take up and possess his Mind with
Pleasure, tho' it would procure him the most glaring Character in
Christendom. This Temper was especially conspicuous while he tarried
at the Fountain where he imbibed the little Knowledge he possesses. He
seem'd as out of humour with Applause, and dafted aside the Wreath if
ever any seem'd dispos'd to offer it.
I' faith, said _Cubbin_, I am nothing careful whether any Pastorals be
cry'd up or not. Were I dispos'd to write for a Name, no whit would I
engage in either the Sublime or Soft in Writing: For as the middle Way,
made up of both, is vastly easiest to attain; so is it pleasant to the most
Imaginations, and acquires the widest Character.
There are originally, answer'd Sophy, no perfect and real Kinds of
Writing but them two. As for the Strong Lines, 'tis supplying the want
of the Sublime with the Courtly and Florid Stile; as what we usually
call the Fine and Agreeable is but bastard and degenerate from the truly
Tender. But yet it must be added that this suits the Populace the best.
Here Cubbin answer'd Sophy, that these were pretty ways of making
Verses, but his mind was of such a peculiar Turn, that it requir'd some
greater Design, and more laborious to occupy it, or else it would not be
sufficiently engag'd to be delighted. Twould not be taken off from
reflecting on what a stupid Dream is Life; and what trifling and
impertinent Creatures all Mankind. Unless, said He, I'm busy'd, and in
a hurry, I can't impose upon my self the Thought that I am a Being of
some little significance in the Creation; I can't help looking forward
and discovering how little better I shall be if I write well, or ill, or not
at all. I would fain perswade my self, continued he, that a Shakespear
and a Milton see us now take their Works in hand with Pleasure and
read with Applause.

Tis certain, answer'd Sophy, that the less we know of Nature and our
Selves, the more is Life delightful. If we take all things as we see 'em,
Life is a good simple kind of Dream enough, but if we awaken out of
the dull Lethargy, we are so unhappy as to discover, that tis all and
every thing Folly, and Nonsense and Stupidity.--But we walk in a vain
Shadow and disquiet our selves in vain.
Here Cubbin fell with his Face to the Ground, and said, I prethee now
no more of this; your Book you open'd but forgot to give me the
Contents.
Sophy recollected him; and told the Swain, That Book contain'd some
Rules for his Direction. But as I have not patience, added he, to make a
Treatise of some hundred Pages, which consists of other Persons Hints,
but flourish'd and dilated on; or the Rules and Observations of the
Anciants set in a different Light; I