_I remember somewhere an Observation of St._ Evremont _(an Author whom you us'd to praise, and whom therefore I admire) that some Persons, who would be Poets, which they cannot be, become Criticks which they can be. The censorious Grin, and the loud Laugh, are common and easy things, according to_ Juvenal; _and according to_ Scripture, _the Marks of a_ Fool. _These Men are certainly in a deplorable Condition, who cannot be witty, but at another's Expence, and who take an unnatural kind of Pleasure in being uneasy at their Own._
Rules they can write, but, like the _College Tribe_, Take not that Physick which their Rules prescribe. I scorn to praise a plodding, formal Fool, _Insipidly_ correct, and _dull_ by Rule: _Homer_, with all his _Nodding_, I would chuse, Before the more exact _Sicilian_ Muse. Who'd not be _Dryden_; tho' his Faults are great, Sooner than our Laborious _Laureat_? Not but a decent Neatness, I confess, In _Writing_ is requir'd, as well as _Dress_. Yet still in both the _unaffected Air_ Will always please the _Witty_ and the _Fair_.
_I would not here be thought to be a Patron of slovenly Negligence; for there is nothing which breeds a greater Aversion in Men of a_ Delicate Taste. _Yet you know, Sir, that, after all our Care and Caution, the Weakness of our Nature will eternally mix it self in every thing we write; and an over curious Study of being correct, enervates the Vigour of the Mind, slackens the Spirits, and cramps the Genius of a_ Free Writer. _He who creeps by the Shore, may shelter himself from a Storm, but likely to make very few Discoveries: And the cautious Writer, who is timorous of disobliging the captious Reader, may produce you true Grammar, and unexceptionable_ Prosodia, _but most stupid Poetry._
In vitium culpæ ducit fuga, si caret arte.
_A slavish Fear of committing an Oversight, betrays a Man to more inextricable Errours, than the Boldness of an enterprizing Author, whose artful Carelesness is more instructive and delightful than all the Pains and Sweat of the Poring and Bookish Critick._
_Some Failings, like Moles in a beautiful Countenance, take nothing from the Charms of a happy Composure, but rather heighten and improve their Value. Were our modern Reflecters Masters of more Humanity than Learning, and of more Discernment than both, the Authors of the Past and Present Ages, would have no reason to complain of Injustice; nor would that Reflection be cast upon the_ best-natur'd Nation _in the World, that, when rude and ignorant, we were unhospitable to Strangers, and now, being civiliz'd, we expend our Barbarity on one another_. Homer _would not be so much the Ridicule of our_ Beaux Esprits; _when, with all his Sleepiness, he is propos'd as the most exquisite Pattern of Heroic Writing, by the Greatest of Philosophers, and the Best of Judges. Nor is_ Longinus _behind hand with_ Aristotle _in his Character of the same Author, when he tells us that the Greatness of_ Homer's _Soul look'd above little Trifles (which are Faults in meaner Capacities) and hurry'd on to his Subject with a Freedom of Spirit peculiar to himself. A Racer at_ New-market _or the_ Downs, _which has been fed and drest, and with the nicest Caution prepared for the Course, will stumble perhaps at a little Hillock; while the Wings of_ Pegasus _bear him o'er Hills and Mountains,_