The written picture we applaud or blame
But as the due proportions are the ſame.
Who driven with ungovernable fire,
Or, void of art, beyond theſe bounds aſpire,
Gigantic forms and monſtrous births alone15
Produce, which Nature, ſhock’d, diſdains to own.
By true reflection I would ſee my face;
Why brings the fool a magnifying-glaſs?
“But Poetry in fiction takes delight,
And, mounting in bold figures out of ſight,20
Leaves truth behind in her audacious flight:
Fables and metaphors that always lie,
And raſh hyperboles that ſoar ſo high,
And every ornament of verſe must die.”[Explanation 1]
Mistake me not; no figures I exclude,25
And but forbid intemperance, not food.
Who would with care ſome happy fiction frame,
So mimics truth, it looks the very ſame;
Not rais’d to force, or feign’d in Nature’s ſcorn,
But meant to grace, illuſtrate, and adorn.30
Important truths ſtill let your fables hold,
And moral myſteries with art unfold.
- ↑ The poetic world is nothing but fiction; Parnaſſus, Pegaſus, and the Muſes, pure imagination and chimera: but being however a ſyſtem univerſally agreed on, all that has or may be contrived or invented upon this foundation according to Nature ſhall be reputed as truth; but whatſoever ſhall diminiſh from, or exceed the juſt proportions of, Nature ſhall be rejected as falſe, and paſs for extravagance, as dwarfs and giants for monſters.
