which, tho' very rich, yet makes at best but glorious Patch-work. I really believe his excellent Poem had not been the less so, if, in this Article, he had thought fit to have walk'd on in his own regular and majestick Grace, rather than have been hurry'd forward through broken Byways by his blind Guide.
I shall transcribe one of his Simile's which is not cull'd out, but exactly of the same Texture with all the rest in the four last Books of the Æneids.
Turnus leaps in Fury from his Chariot.
Ac veluti montis saxum de vertice præceps
Cum ruit avulsum vento, seu turbidus imber
Proluit, aut annis solvit sublapsa vetustas,
Fertur in abruptum magno mons improbus actu,
Exultatque solo, sylvas, armenta, virosque
Involvens secum——— Æn. B. 12. l. 684.
It does not seem to be at all material, whether the Rock was blown, or wash'd down by Wind or Rain, or undermin'd by Time.
But to return to Ovid, the Reader may take Notice how unforc'd his Compliments, and how natural his Transitions generally are. With how much Ease does he slide into some new Circumstance, without any Violation of the Unity of the Story. The Texture is so artful, that it may be compar'd to the Work of his own Arachne, where the Shade dyes so gradually, and the Light
