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Page 19
"No Skill of Musick can I, simple Swain,
No fine Device, thine Ear to entertain;
Albeit some deal I pipe, rude though it be,
Sufficient to divert my, Sheep, and Me."
There is no Transformation In Ovid more sudden, or surprizing; He
has Reason indeed to say, that, when he "pipes some deal," his
'Sheep' are 'diverted' with him. His Readers, I am afraid too,
are as merry as his Sheep; If he was but as skilful in Change of
Time, as he is in Change of Dialect, commend me to him for a
Musician! The pied Piper, who drew all the Rats of a City out,
after his Melody, came not near him for Variety.
If the late excellent Mr. Addison, whose Verses abound in Graces,
which can never be too much admir'd, shall be, often, found
liable to an Overflow of his Meaning, by this Dropsical
Wordiness, which we so generally give into, it will serve at the
same time, as a Comfort, and a Warning; and incline us to a
severe Examination of our Writings, when we venture out upon a
World, that will, one time or other, be sure to censure us
impartially; In That Gentleman's Works, whoever looks close, will
discover Thorns on every Branch of his Roses; For Example, we all
hear, with Delight, in his celebrated Letter from Italy, that,
there,
... The Muse so oft her Harp has strung,
That not a Mountain rears its Head unsung.
But, he adds, in the very next Line, that every shady Thicket
too, grows renown'd in Verse; now one can never help remembering,
that Thickets are Births, as it were of Yesterday; the mere
Infancy of Woods! and that the oldest Woods in Italy may be
growing on Foundations of ruin'd Cities, which flourish'd in the
Times he there speaks of; whence it must naturally be inferr'd,
that to say, the Italian Thickets grow renown'd in Roman Verse,
though the Mountains really do so, is to make Use of Words,
without Regard to their Meaning; A Lapse of dangerous
Consequence, because, when the Understanding is once shock'd,
this most rapturous Elevation of the Mind (as when cold Water is
thrown suddenly upon boiling) sinks at once to chilling Flatness,
and is considered as mere Gingle and childish Amusement.
No Man, I believe, has read without Pleasure, his fine and lively
Descriptions of the Nar, Clitumnus, Mincio, and Albula, but the
worst of it is, he winds us so long, in and out, between these
Rivers, that he loses himself in their Maeanders, and brings us,
at last, to a strange Stream indeed, which is 'immortaliz'd in
Song,' and yet 'lost In Oblivion.'
"I look for Streams, immortaliz'd, in Song,
Which lost, and buried in Oblivion lie."
The Thought, in this Place, is very lively and just, but quite
obscur'd by the Redundancy and Wantonness of the Expression. Had
he only said 'lost,' and 'buried,' It might have been urg'd, that
the Rivers were dry'd up, and no longer to be found, in their old
Channels. But, let them be lost, as to Existence, as certainly as
he will, they can never be lost in 'Oblivion,' if they are
'immortaliz'd' in Poetry. 'Immortal' is a favourite Word in this
Gentleman's Writings, and leads him, as most Favourites are apt
to do, into very frequent Errors.
It is naturally unpleasant, to be detain'd too long in the
Maziness of one tedious Thought, express'd many Ways
successively. When we read that the 'Tiber is destitute of
Strength,' what else can we conclude, but that its Stream is a
weak one? But we are oblig'd to hear, also, that it 'derives its
Source from an unthrifty Urn': Well, now, may we go on? No; its
'Urn' is not only 'unthrifty,' but its 'Source' is unfruitful. By
this time, one can scarce help, enquiring, what new Meaning is
convey'd to the Apprehension, by the Multiplication of the
Phrases? And not finding any, we have no Reflection to satisfy
ourselves with, but, that the strongest Flow of Fancy, is most
subject to Whirlpools.
It is from the same unweigh'd Redundancy, and Misapplication of
Words, that we so often find this excellent Writer falling into
the Anticlimax. As where, for Example, he informs us of Liberty,
that she is a Goddess,
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