Lives of the Poets, vol 1 | Page 9

and new, that which, though not
obvious, is, upon its first production, acknowledged to be just; if it be
that, which he that never found it, wonders how he missed; to wit of
this kind the metaphysical poets have seldom risen. Their thoughts are
often new, but seldom natural; they are not obvious, but neither are
they just; and the reader, far from wondering that he missed them,
wonders more frequently by what perverseness of industry they were
ever found.
But wit, abstracted from its effects upon the hearer, may be more
rigorously and philosophically considered as a kind of "discordia
concors;" a combination of dissimilar images, or discovery of occult
resemblances in things apparently unlike. Of wit, thus defined, they
have more than enough. The most heterogeneous ideas are yoked by
violence together; nature and art are ransacked for illustrations,
comparisons, and allusions; their learning instructs, and their subtilty
surprises; but the reader commonly thinks his improvement dearly
bought, and, though he sometimes admires, is seldom pleased.
From this account of their compositions it will be readily inferred, that
they were not successful in representing or moving the affections. As

they were wholly employed on something unexpected and surprising,
they had no regard to that uniformity of sentiment which enables us to
conceive and to excite the pains and the pleasure of other minds: they
never inquired what, on any occasion, they should have said or done;
but wrote rather as beholders, than partakers of human nature; as beings
looking upon good and evil, impassive and at leisure; as epicurean
deities, making remarks on the actions of men, and the vicissitudes of
life, without interest and without emotion. Their courtship was void of
fondness, and their lamentation of sorrow. Their wish was only to say
what they hoped had never been said before.
Nor was the sublime more within their reach than the pathetick; for
they never attempted that comprehension and expanse of thought which,
at once, fills the whole mind, and of which, the first effect is sudden
astonishment, and the second, rational admiration. Sublimity is
produced by aggregation, and littleness by dispersion. Great thoughts
are always general, and consist in positions not limited by exceptions,
and in descriptions not descending to minuteness. It is with great
propriety that subtilty, which, in its original import, means exility of
particles, is taken, in its metaphorical meaning, for nicety of distinction.
Those writers who lay on the watch for novelty could have little hope
of greatness; for great things cannot have escaped former observation.
Their attempts were always analytick; they broke every image into
fragments; and could no more represent, by their slender conceits, and
laboured particularities, the prospects of nature, or the scenes of life,
than he who dissects a sunbeam with a prism can exhibit the wide
effulgence of a summer noon.
What they wanted, however, of the sublime, they endeavoured to
supply by hyperbole; their amplification had no limits; they left not
only reason but fancy behind them; and produced combinations of
confused magnificence, that not only could not be credited, but could
not be imagined.
Yet great labour, directed by great abilities, is never wholly lost; if they
frequently threw away their wit upon false conceits, they, likewise,
sometimes struck out unexpected truth; if their conceits were

far-fetched, they were often worth the carriage. To write on their plan it
was, at least, necessary to read and think. No man could be born a
metaphysical poet, nor assume the dignity of a writer, by descriptions
copied from descriptions, by imitations borrowed from imitations, by
traditional imagery, and hereditary similes, by readiness of rhyme, and
volubility of syllables[18].
In perusing the works of this race of authors, the mind is exercised
either by recollection or inquiry; either something already learned is to
be retrieved, or something new is to be examined. If their greatness
seldom elevates, their acuteness often surprises; if the imagination is
not always gratified, at least the powers of reflection and comparison
are employed; and, in the mass of materials which ingenious absurdity
has thrown together, genuine wit and useful knowledge may be
sometimes found buried, perhaps, in grossness of expression, but useful
to those who know their value; and such as, when they are expanded to
perspicuity, and polished to elegance, may give lustre to works which
have more propriety, though less copiousness of sentiment.
This kind of writing, which was, I believe, borrowed from Marino and
his followers, had been recommended by the example of Donne, a man
of very extensive and various knowledge; and by Jonson, whose
manner resembled that of Donne more in the ruggedness of his lines
than in the cast of his sentiments.
When their reputation was high, they had, undoubtedly, more imitators
than time has left behind. Their immediate