THE
PREFACE
.
THE
Passion
of
Byblis
seems
to
be
,
in
the
Original
,
not
only
one
of
Ovid's
most
masterly
pieces
,
but
a
Passion
in
some
places
the
most
happily
touch'd
of
any
that
I
have
seen
amongst
the
Ancients
or
Moderns
.
The
Sentiments
are
so
tender
and
yet
so
delicate
,
the
expressions
so
fit
and
withal
so
easie
,
with
that
facility
which
is
proper
to
express
Love
,
and
peculiar
to
this
Charming
Poet
;
the
turns
of
Passion
are
so
surprizing
and
yet
so
natural
,
and
there
seems
to
be
something
in
the
very
sound
of
the
Verse
so
soft
and
so
pathetick
,
that
a
man
who
reads
the
Original
,
must
have
no
sense
of
these
matters
if
he
is
not
transported
with
it
.
When
I
was
desir'd
to
make
it
English
,
I
read
over
the
Original
to
some
men
of
sense
,
to
see
whether
they
would
be
touch'd
with
the
same
passages
with
which
I
had
been
mov'd
so
much
.
And
when
I
saw
that
I
was
not
mistaken
,
I
resolv'd
to
imitate
them
in
our
native
tongue
,
with
as
much
address
as
I
could
.
Not
that
I
am
of
the
opinion
that
I
have
done
justice
to
the
admirable
Original
;
but
then
you
must
give
me
leave
to
do
some
to
my self
;
and
as
I
would
not
have
my
faults
imputed
to
Ovid
,
so
,
since
I
have
so
many
of
my
own
to
account
for
,
I
do
not
desire
to
stand
charg'd
with
his
,
which
as
his
Translator
I
was
oblig'd
to
copy
.
I
will
chiefly
take
Notice
of
two
,
the
one
general
,
and
the
other
particular
.
The
general
one
is
the
Inconsistency
that
appears
in
the
Character
of
Byblis
.
For
she
,
who
in
some
Places
of
her
Passion
appears
so
reluctant
,
seems
too
abandon'd
in
others
;
which
are
two
or
three
Passages
of
her
Letter
(
for
from
the
beginning
of
the
Story
to
the
Letter
,
every
thing
seems
to
me
to
be
just
enough
)
in
which
she
says
some
things
that
are
by
no
means
consistent
with
that
Modesty
,
which
she
ought
to
have
,
as
a
Lady
,
a
Virgin
,
and
a
Woman
of
Honor.
I
know
very
well
that
a
Woman
of
Honor
,
when
once
she
is
seiz'd
by
a
great
Passion
,
has
more
violent
Desires
than
the
most
abandon'd
Woman
can
have
.
For
abandon'd
Women
are
consequently
weak
,
and
it
is
a
true
Observation
,
that
weak
People
,
tho
they
are
subject
to
Passions
at
every
turn
,
yet
are
they
never
throughly
agitated
by
them
.
But
this
is
most
certain
,
that
a
Woman
of
Honor
can
never
break
out
into
immodest
Expressions
,
let
her
Passion
be
never
so
violent
.
For
Immodesty
in
Expression
must
show
her
profligate
to
the
very
last
Degree
,
and
must
be
utterly
inconsistent
with
any
measure
of
Honor.
Now
Byblis
,
who
shows
in
some
places
so
much
of
Honor
,
by
such
sharp
Remorse
,
and
such
furious
Reluctancy
,
ought
certainly
to
have
contented
her self
with
a
bare
Confession
of
her
Passion
;
and
not
to
have
behav'd
her self
as
if
she
thought
her
Brother
so
very
young
,
that
he
was
to
be
instructed
how
to
proceed
in
the
Cure
of
it
.
It
may
be
said
perhaps
that
the
Relation
of
the
Dream
,
which
precedes
the
Letter
,
is
the
most
immodest
thing
in
the
Story
.
I
will
easily
grant
it
,
and
that
that
Relation
is
in
the
original
,
the
most
alluring
description
that
can
be
imagin'd
,
and
almost
equally
transporting
with
what
it
describes
.
But
it
must
then
be
consider'd
that
what
Byblis
says
there
,
she
only
speaks
to
her self
,
which
amounts
to
no
more
than
if
she
but
barely
thought
it
.
And
there
is
nothing
certainly
in
that
Reflection
on
her
Dream
,
but
what
is
extreamly
natural
.
The
second
Fault
in
this
Passion
of
Byblis
,
is
in
the
passage
that
immediately
follows
the
return
of
the
Messenger
.
For
that
which
ought
to
be
the
most
moving
,
is
the
coldest
part
of
the
Story
.
I
speak
of
the
first
thirteen
Lines
of
the
Latin
(
for
all
that
follows
seems
to
be
sufficiently
warm
)
where
Byblis
,
who
can
scarce
speak
for
the
Violence
of
her
Grief
,
is
yet
for
speaking
in
Allegory
;
which
is
nothing
but
an
imperfect
kind
of
Similitude
.
Now
Simile
in
this
place
could
not
be
moving
,
because
it
could
not
be
natural
;
it
being
by
no
means
the
Language
of
great
Grief
.
For
to
be
in
a
capacity
to
make
a
good
similitude
,
the
Mind
must
have
several
qualifications
,
and
two
more
particularly
;
which
are
utterly
inconsistent
with
that
Passion
.
First
,
The
Soul
must
be
susceptible
of
a
great
many
Idea's
,
and
the
Imagination
capacious
of
a
great
many
Images
.
For
the
Fancy
must
run
thro
,
and
compare
a
great
many
Objects
,
before
it
can
start
a
hint
from
them
,
which
may
carry
with
it
that
appearance
of
likeness
which
may
afterward
by
the
Judgment
be
improved
to
an
exact
resemblance
(
not
but
that
I
know
very
well
,
that
the
Soul
on
those
occasions
acts
with
that
prodigious
Celerity
,
that
it
is
its
self
insensible
of
the
degrees
of
its
own
motion
.
)
Now
it
is
the
Nature
of
Grief
to
confine
the
Soul
,
and
straiten
the
Imagination
,
and
extreamly
to
lessen
the
number
of
their
Objects
.
And
indeed
if
the
Passion
is
very
violent
,
a
man
is
incessantly
thinking
of
the
cause
of
it
.
For
example
,
the
unfortunate
Lover
has
eternally
before
his
Eyes
,
the
Image
of
his
Cruel
Fair-one
.
He
thinks
Day
and
Night
of
her
alone
,
he
contemplates
nothing
but
her
,
and
if
he
complains
of
her
,
't
is
only
after
that
simple
unaffected
way
,
by
which
Nature
teaches
man
to
discharge
his
Soul
of
sorrow
.
And
it
is
for
this
very
reason
that
the
greater
part
of
Mr.
Cowley's
amorous
Verses
are
universally
exploded
by
men
of
sence
,
at
the
same
time
that
they
confess
,
that
several
of
his
Miscellaneous
Writings
,
his
Pindaric
Odes
,
and
his
Divine
Hymn
to
Light
,
will
justly
deserve
the
Admiration
of
our
latest
Posterity
.
For
in
most
of
those
amorous
Verses
,
there
appears
thro
the
disguise
of
an
affected
Passion
,
a
Gayety
of
Heart
,
a
Wantonness
of
Wit
,
and
a
Soul
that
's
at
Liberty
to
roam
about
the
Vniverse
,
and
return
home
laden
with
rich
,
but
far
fetch'd
Conceits
.
As
merry
in
this
respect
as
the
Madrigals
of
our
amorous
Rakehells
;
who
languish
in
Simile
,
whilst
they
thrive
in
Carkass
;
and
who
eating
their
Half-Crowns
every
day
thrice
,
decay
and
dye
by
Metaphor
.
In
short
,
no
sort
of
imagery
ever
can
be
the
Language
of
Grief
.
If
a
man
complains
in
Simile
,
I
either
laugh
or
sleep
.
For
this
is
plain
,
that
if
a
man's
Affliction
will
suffer
him
to
divert
his
mind
by
one
Simile
,
he
may
as
well
do
it
by
twenty
,
and
so
on
to
the
end
of
the
Chapter
.
If
such
a
man
therefore
is
miserable
,
it
is
because
he
is
resolved
he
will
be
so
.
Now
a
man
must
have
an
extraordinary
stock
of
good
Nature
,
who
can
pity
a
Blockhead
,
who
is
a
Wretch
by
choice
.
But
secondly
,
For
the
Mind
to
be
capable
of
making
Similitudes
,
it
is
necessary
it
should
be
serene
(
unless
it
be
transported
with
that
noble
Euthusiasm
,
which
delights
,
illuminates
,
and
exalts
the
Soul
,
at
the
very
same
time
it
disturbs
it
.
)
For
without
Serenity
a
man
can
never
have
Penetration
enough
to
discern
the
Nature
of
things
,
which
Penetration
is
absolutely
necessary
for
the
making
a
just
Similitude
;
And
it
is
upon
this
very
account
that
Aristotle
says
in
his
Rhetorick
,
that
to
be
happy
in
making
Similitudes
,
it
is
absolutely
necessary
to
be
a
man
of
good
Sence
.
Some
of
my
Friends
,
to
whom
I
have
recited
in
Conversation
,
the
substance
of
what
I
have
here
repeated
in
Writing
,
have
advised
me
to
leave
out
this
unseasonable
Similitude
,
especially
since
I
have
made
so
bold
with
Ovid
,
as
to
insert
here
and
there
a
Thought
of
my
own
.
For
it
is
my
Lord
Roscommon's
opinion
,
that
it
is
much
safer
to
leave
out
than
add
.
Tho
no
man
pays
more
deference
to
his
Judgment
than
I
do
,
I
cannot
be
of
his
mind
in
this
.
For
tho
I
am
not
ignorant
that
a
scurvy
present
,
is
but
a
more
civil
Affront
;
I
cannot
but
believe
it
to
be
less
injurious
than
a
Robbery
.
And
if
any
man
should
be
caught
,
ipso
facto
,
stripping
another
upon
the
Road
,
it
would
be
but
an
impudent
excuse
in
him
,
to
alledge
that
the
Cloaths
but
ill
became
their
Owner
.
All
that
I
could
do
here
,
was
by
giving
this
passage
another
turn
,
to
make
that
appear
in
the
Copy
to
be
spoken
in
a
short
,
but
downright
Fury
,
whose
fault
it
was
in
the
original
to
seem
to
be
spoken
with
too
much
Considerateness
,
and
too
much
Coolness
of
Temper
.
The
Author
of
the
Satyrs
upon
the
Jesuits
,
who
has
translated
this
Passion
of
Byblis
,
has
not
meddled
with
the
Catastrophe
.
Now
the
Catastrophe
was
absolutely
necessary
,
that
the
Story
at
ending
might
make
a
deeper
impression
:
I
have
therefore
contracted
it
in
the
last
five
Lines
,
but
at
the
same
time
I
have
alter'd
it
.
For
to
make
it
moving
it
was
necessary
to
make
it
credible
.
The
Transformation
of
Byblis
might
do
very
well
in
the
time
of
Augustus
Caesar
.
For
at
that
time
those
Transformations
were
a
part
of
the
Roman
Religion
,
and
the
Poets
may
be
said
to
be
the
Secular
Priests
,
who
transmitted
its
mysteries
to
the
People
.
But
those
transubstantiating
Doctrines
,
which
were
taught
in
those
times
by
that
Harmonious
Clergy
of
the
credulous
Church
of
old
Rome
,
would
look
as
absurdly
to
us
as
the
Chimerical
Metamorphosis
,
which
is
pretended
to
be
acted
at
the
very
time
it
is
sung
in
our
modern
Roman
Churches
.
I
must
beg
pardon
for
the
Liberty
which
I
have
taken
in
the
numbers
,
which
is
so
great
that
it
may
well
be
entitled
License
.
But
then
the
Reader
will
have
the
greater
Variety
,
and
if
those
Numbers
are
not
harmonious
,
it
is
not
for
want
of
care
about
them
.
I
have
particularly
taken
care
to
be
exact
in
the
Rimes
,
in
which
the
former
Translators
of
this
passage
have
been
very
defective
.
I
am
not
so
miserably
mistaken
,
as
to
think
riming
essential
to
our
English
Poetry
.
I
am
far
better
acquainted
with
Milton
,
than
that
comes
too
.
Who
without
the
assistance
of
Rime
,
is
one
of
the
most
sublime
of
our
English
Poets
.
Nay
,
there
is
something
so
transcendently
sublime
in
his
first
,
second
,
and
sixth
Books
,
that
were
the
Language
as
pure
as
the
Images
are
vast
and
daring
,
I
do
not
believe
it
could
be
equall'd
,
no
,
not
in
all
antiquity
.
But
tho
I
know
that
Riming
is
not
absolutely
necessary
to
our
Versification
,
yet
I
am
for
having
a
man
do
throughly
what
he
has
once
pretended
to
do
.
Writing
in
blank
Verse
looks
like
a
contempt
of
Rime
,
and
a
generous
disdain
of
a
barbarous
Custom
;
but
Writing
in
such
Rimes
as
a
Boy
may
laugh
at
,
at
Crambo
,
looks
at
the
best
like
a
fruitless
attempt
,
and
an
impotent
Affectation
.
My
Lord
Roscommon
who
writ
in
blank
Verse
with
so
much
success
,
yet
was
nicely
exact
in
Riming
,
whenever
he
pretended
to
rime
.
And
in
the
very
essay
upon
translated
Verse
in
which
he
exclaims
against
Rime
,
I
defy
any
man
to
show
me
half
a
dozen
couplets
which
do
not
rime
exactly
.
In
short
,
if
riming
is
ever
necessary
in
so
strong
and
masculine
a
Language
as
ours
,
it
must
be
on
these
tender
occasions
.
For
tho
I
have
heard
several
maintain
,
that
a
thing
may
be
expressed
as
nobly
and
vigorously
in
blank
Verse
,
as
in
Rime
;
I
never
yet
heard
any
one
pretend
that
it
might
be
expressed
as
softly
.
But
granting
it
could
,
it
is
yet
very
certain
,
that
a
thing
must
be
much
more
tender
in
perfect
Rimes
,
than
imperfect
.
For
where
the
Reader
expects
a
Rime
,
there
jarring
sounds
must
render
that
harsh
,
which
agreeing
sounds
would
render
easie
.
But
then
it
is
necessary
that
the
Rimes
should
be
unconstrained
,
and
no
word
us'd
upon
their
account
in
the
place
where
it
is
not
proper
.
But
since
I
have
mention'd
Mr
Oldham's
performance
,
in
this
Translation
,
I
think
fit
to
add
further
,
that
I
have
been
told
by
some
,
that
a
great
many
will
never
forgive
me
the
attempting
it
after
him
.
I
desire
them
to
consider
,
that
the
same
Mr.
Oldham
undertook
Horace's
Art
of
Poetry
after
my
Lord
Roscommon
.
Now
my
Lord
Roscommon
was
Politeness
it self
.
Never
man
thought
more
clearly
,
more
truly
,
more
justly
than
he
did
;
never
man
express'd
himself
more
fitly
and
more
becomingly
.
In
every
thing
that
he
writ
,
his
Language
was
as
perfect
as
his
Conceptions
were
often
sublime
.
On
every
thing
that
came
from
him
,
he
has
stamp'd
the
character
not
only
of
an
exalted
Wit
,
but
of
a
man
of
a
high
Condition
,
and
of
a
courtly
Mind
.
If
I
should
affirm
that
Mr.
Oldham
had
by
no
means
all
the
good
Qualities
which
are
conspicuous
in
my
Lord
Roscommon
,
who
is
there
that
must
not
assent
to
it
?
If
then
I
am
guilty
of
presumption
in
attempting
what
Mr.
Oldham
undertook
before
me
,
I
hope
I
may
be
excused
by
his
own
example
.
But
if
some
People
yet
can
resolve
to
be
angry
,
I
must
beg
them
to
consider
for
what
.
Is
it
because
I
have
a
desire
to
please
them
?
That
methinks
is
unnatural
.
Tho
I
should
own
,
I
have
an
Ambition
to
give
them
more
Delight
than
the
fore-mentioned
Gentleman
has
done
before
me
,
I
cannot
see
any
thing
in
such
a
Confession
which
can
reasonably
disoblige
them
.
Such
an
knowledgment
ought
rather
to
gain
me
their
Favor
,
or
at
least
to
conquer
their
Prejudice
,
especially
since
't
is
the
interest
of
every
Reader
to
be
as
candid
as
the
Case
will
let
him
be
.
'T
is
true
,
a
man
of
sence
can
never
be
satisfi'd
with
a
silly
thing
.
But
a
peevish
,
unreasonable
Caviller
,
will
never
be
satisfied
with
any
thing
.
Little
considering
that
by
a
false
delicacy
he
makes
himself
pass
those
moments
scurvily
,
which
another
perhaps
has
done
his
part
to
make
him
pass
agreeably
.
Besides
,
if
I
should
succeed
here
,
ev'n
beyond
my
wish
,
I
should
be
very
far
upon
that
score
,
from
arrogating
Preheminence
over
any
man
.
The
following
Translation
is
a
trifle
,
and
can
never
be
conclusive
of
any
such
thing
.
To
succeed
in
it
required
neither
Force
nor
Genius
,
but
only
a
Tenderness
of
Soul
(
which
Mr.
Oldham's
masculine
temper
disdain'd
)
and
an
extraordinary
propensity
to
that
humane
frailty
,
Compassion
;
and
a
certain
Felicity
which
usually
accompanies
the
dictates
of
the
softer
Passions
.
To
conclude
,
I
leave
it
to
any
one
to
consider
whether
a
Satyrist
,
as
Mr.
Oldham
was
,
at
the
very
time
that
,
inspir'd
by
a
generous
rage
,
he
had
assum'd
a
resolution
of
exposing
the
Follies
,
and
lashing
the
Vices
of
the
Age
,
could
be
fitly
dispos'd
to
excite
Compassion
;
by
setting
before
our
eyes
an
unfortunate
Lady
,
whose
Love
was
at
once
her
Folly
and
her
Crime
.