In the first place, as he is the father of English poetry, so I hold
him in the same degree of veneration as the Grecians held Homer or the
Romans Virgil: he is a perpetual fountain of good sense, learned in
all sciences, and therefore speaks properly on all subjects; as he
knew what to say, so he knows also when to leave off, a continence
which is practised by few writers, and scarcely by any of the ancients,
excepting Virgil and Horace. One of our late great poets is sunk in
his reputation, because he could never forgive any conceit which came
in his way, but swept like a drag net great and small. [Footnote:
Cowley. See Johnson's criticism of the metaphysical poets.] There was
plenty enough, but the dishes were ill-sorted; whole pyramids of
sweetmeats for boys and women, but little of solid meat for men: all
this proceeded not from any want of knowledge, but of judgment; neither
did he want that in discerning the beauties and faults of other poets,
but only indulged himself in the luxury of writing, and perhaps knew
it was a fault, but hoped the reader would not find it.
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