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Horace still charms with graceful negligence,
Yet judg'd with coolness, though he sung with fire;
They judge with fury, but they write with phlegm:
Thee, bold Longinus! all the Nine inspire,
Thus long succeeding critics justly reign'd,
At length Erasmus, that great injur❜d name
But see! each muse, in Leo's golden days,
But soon, by impious arms, from Latium chas'd,
Such late was Walsh, the muse's judge and friend,
This humble praise, lamented shade! receive,
The learn'd reflect on what before they knew:
Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend."
RAPE OF THE LOCK,
AN HEROI-COMICAL POEM.
Written in the year 1712.
TO MRS. ARABELLA FERMOR.
will be in vain to deny that I have some regard for this piece, since I dedicate it to you; yet you may bear me witness, it was intended only to divert a few young ladies, who have good sense and good humour enough to laugh not only at their sex's little unguarded follies, but at their own. But as it was communicated with the air of a secret, it soon found its way into the world. An imperfect copy having been offered to a bookseller, you had the good-nature for my sake to consent to the publication of one more correct. This I was forced to before I had executed half my design, for the machinery was entirely wanting to complete it.
The machinery, madam, is a term invented by the critics, to signify that part which the deities, angels, or demons, are made to act in a poem: for the ancient poets are in one respect like many modern ladies; let an action be ever so trivial in itself, they always make it appear of the utmost importance. These machines I determined to raise
on a very new and odd foundation, the Rosicrusian doctrine of spirits.
I know how disagreeable it is to make use of hard words before a lady; but it is so much the concern of a poet to have his works understood, and particularly by your sex, that you must give me leave to explain two or three difficult terms.
The Rosicrusians are a people I must bring you acquainted with. The best account I know of them is in a French book called Le Comte de Gabalis, which, both in its title and size, is so like a novel, that many of the fair sex have read it for one by mistake. According to these gentlemen, the four elements are inhabited by spirits which they call Sylphs, Gnomes, Nymphs, and Salamanders. The Gnomes, or demons of earth, delight in mischief; but the Sylphs, whose habitation is in the air, are the best conditioned creatures imaginable; for, they say, any mortal may enjoy the most intimate fami liarities with these gentle spirits, upon a condition very easy to all true adepts---an inviolate preserva. tion of chastity.
As to the following cantos, all the passages of them are as fabulous as the vision at the beginning, or the transformation at the end (except the loss of your hair, which I always mention with reverence). The human persons are as fictitious as the airy ones; and the character of Belinda, as it is now managed, resembles you in nothing but in beauty.
If this poem had as many graces as there are in your person or in your mind, yet I could never hope it should pass through the world half so uncensured as you have done. But let its fortune be what it will, mine is happy enough to have given me this occasion of assuring you, that I am, with the truest esteem,
Your most obedient, humble servant,