The Art of Poetry: an Epistle to the Pisos. Гораций

so light a kind,

      That when six pure Iambicks roll'd along,

      So nimbly mov'd, so trippingly the song,

      The feet to half their number lost their claim,

      And Trimeter Iambicks was their name.

      Hence, that the measure might more grave appear,

      And with a slower march approach the ear,

      From the fourth foot, and second, not displac'd,

      The steady spondee kindly it embrac'd;

      Then in firm union socially unites,

      Admitting the ally to equal rights.

      Accius, and Ennius lines, thus duly wrought,

      In their bold Trimeters but rarely sought:

      Yet scenes o'erloaded with a verse of lead,

      A mass of heavy numbers on their head,

      Speak careless haste, neglect in ev'ry part.

      Or shameful ignorance of the Poet's art.

      "Not ev'ry Critick spies a faulty strain,

      And pardon Roman Poets should disdain."

      Idcircòne vager, scribamque licenter? ut omnes

      Visuros peccata putem mea; tutus et intra

      Spem veniae cautus? vitavi denique culpam,

      Non laudem merui.

      Vos exemplaria Graeca

      Nocturnâ versate manu, versate diurnâ.

      At vestri proavi Plautinos et numeros, et

      Laudavere sales; nimium patienter utrumque

      (Ne dicam stultè) mirati: si modo ego et vos

      Scimus inurbanum lepido seponere dicto,

      Legitimumque sonum digitis callemus et aure.

      Ignotum tragicae genus invenisse Camenae

      Dicitur, et plaustris vexisse poëmata Thespis

      Quae canerent agerentque, peruncti faecibus ora.