What they wanted, however, of the sublime,
they endeavoured to supply by hyperbole; their amplification had no
limits; they left not only reason but fancy behind them; and produced
combinations of confused magnificence that not only could not be
credited, but could not be imagined.
Yet great labour, directed by great abilities, is never wholly lost:
if they frequently threw away their wit upon false conceits, they
likewise sometimes struck out unexpected truth: if their conceits were
far-fetched, they were often worth the carriage. To write on their
plan, it was at least necessary to read and think. No man could be
born a metaphysical poet, nor assume the dignity of a writer, by
descriptions copied from descriptions, by imitations borrowed from
imitations, by traditional imagery and hereditary similes, by readiness
of rhyme and volubility of syllables.
In perusing the works of this race of authors, the mind is exercised
either by recollection or inquiry; either something already learned
is to be retrieved, or something new is to be examined.
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