genius's, as well as the usefulness of them to the greater.

CHA P. IV. .

That there is an art of the bathos, or pro

fund,

WE come now to prove, that there is an art of finking in poetry. Is

there not an architecture of vaults and cellars, as well as of lofty domes and pyramids? Is there not as much skill and labour in making ditches, as in raifing mounts? Is there not an art of diving as well as of flying? and will any fober prac titioner affirm, that a diving engine is not of fingular ufe in making him longwinded, affifting his defcent, and furnishing him with more ingenious means of keeping under water?

If we fearch the authors of antiquity, we fhall find as few to have been diftinguished in the true profund, as in the true fublime. And the very fame thing (as it appears from Longinus) had been imagined of that, as now of this: namely, that it was entirely the gift of nature. I grant,

that

that to excel in the bathos a genius is requifite; yet the rules of art muft be allowed fo far useful, as to add weight, or as I may fay, hang on lead to facilitate and enforce our defcent, to guide us to the most advantageous declivities, and habituate our imagination to a depth of thinking. Many there are that can fall, but few can arrive at the felicity of falling gracefully; much more for a man, who is amongst the lowest of the creation, at the very bottom of the atmosphere; to defcend beneath himself, is not fo eafy a task unless he calls in art to his affiftance. It is with the bathos as with small beer, which is indeed vapid and infipid, if left at large and let abroad; but being by our rules confined and well ftopt, nothing grows fo frothy, pert, and bouncing.

The fublime of nature is the fky, the fun, moon, stars, &c. The profund of nature is gold, pearls, precious ftones, and the treasures of the deep, which are ineftimable as unknown. But all that lies between these, as corn, flower, fruits animals, and things for the mere use of man, are of mean price, and fo common

as

as not to be greatly esteemed by the curious. It being certain that any thing, of which we know the true ufe, cannot be in-. valuable: which affords a folution, why common sense hath either been totally defpifed, or held in fmall repute, by the greatest modern critics and authors.

Of the true genius for the profund, and by what it is conftituted.

A

ND I will venture to lay it down,

as the firft maxim and corner-ftone of this our art; that whoever would excel therein, must ftudiously avoid, detest, and turn his head from all the ideas, ways, and workings of that peftilent foe to wit, and destroyer of fine figures, which is known by the name of common fenfe. His business must be to contract the true gout de travers; and to acquire a moft happy, uncommon, unaccountable way of thinking.

He is to confider himself as a grotesque painter, whose works would be spoiled by an imitation of nature, or uniformity of

defign.

defign. He is to mingle bits of the most various, or discordant kinds, landscape, history, portraits, animals, and connect them with a great deal of flourishing, by head or tail, as it fhall please his imagination, and contribute to his principal end, which is to glare by ftrong oppofitions of colours, and furprize by contrariety of images.

Serpentes avibus geminentur, tigribus agni. Hor.

His defign ought to be like a labyrinth, out of which no body can get clear but himself. And fince the great art of all poetry is to mix truth with fiction, in order to join the credible with the furprizing; our author fhall produce the credible, by painting nature in her lowest fimplicity; and the furprizing, by contradicting common opinion. In the very manners he will affect the marvellous; he will draw Achilles with the patience of Job; a prince talking like a jack-pudding; a maid of honour felling bargains; a footman fpeaking like a philofopher; and a fine gentleman like a fcholar. Whoever is converfant in modern plays, may make a most noble collec

tion of this kind, and at the fame time form a complete body of modern ethics and morality.

Nothing seemed more plain to our great authors, than that the world hath long been weary of natural things. How much the contrary are formed to pleafe, is evident from the univerfal applaufe daily given to the admirable entertainments of barlequins and magicians on our stage. When an audience behold a coach turned into a wheelbarrow, a conjurer into an old woman, or a man's head where his heels should be; how are they struck with transport and delight? which can only be imputed to this caufe, that each object is changed into that which hath been fuggefted to them by their own low ideas before.

He ought therefore to render himself mafter of this happy and anti-natural way of thinking to fuch a degree, as to be able, on the appearance of any object, to furnish his imagination with ideas infinitely below it. And his eyes fhould be like unto the wrong end of a perspective glass, by which all the objects of nature are leffened.

For