To have good sense, is the first principle and fountain of writing well.  The Socratic papers will direct you in the choice of your subjects; and words will spontaneously accompany the subject, when it is well conceived.  He who has learned what he owes to his country, and what to his friends; with what affection a parent, a brother, and a stranger, are to be loved; what is the duty of a senator, what of a judge; what the duties of a general sent out to war; he, [I say,] certainly knows how to give suitable attributes to every character.  I should direct the learned imitator to have a regard to the mode of nature and manners, and thence draw his expressions to the life.  Sometimes a play, that is showy with common-places, and where the manners are well marked, though of no elegance, without force or art, gives the people much higher delight and more effectually commands their attention, than verse void of matter, and tuneful trifles.

To the Greeks, covetous of nothing but praise, the muse gave genius; to the Greeks the power of expressing themselves in round periods.  The Roman youth learn by long computation to subdivide a pound into an hundred parts.  Let the son of Albinus tell me, if from five ounces one be subtracted, what remains?  He would have said the third of a pound.—­Bravely done! you will be able to take care of your own affairs.  An ounce is added:  what will that be?  Half a pound.  When this sordid rust and hankering after wealth has once tainted their minds, can we expect that such verses should be made as are worthy of being anointed with the oil of cedar, and kept in the well-polished cypress?

Poets wish either to profit or to delight; or to deliver at once both the pleasures and the necessaries of life.  Whatever precepts you give, be concise; that docile minds may soon comprehend what is said, and faithfully retain it.  All superfluous instructions flow from the too full memory.  Let what ever is imagined for the sake of entertainment, have as much likeness to truth as possible; let not your play demand belief for whatever [absurdities] it is inclinable [to exhibit]:  nor take out of a witch’s belly a living child that she had dined upon.  The tribes of the seniors rail against every thing that is void of edification:  the exalted knights disregard poems which are austere.  He who joins the instructive with the agreeable, carries off every vote, by delighting and at the same time admonishing the reader.  This book gains money for the Sosii; this crosses the sea, and continues to its renowned author a lasting duration.

Yet there are faults, which we should be ready to pardon:  for neither does the string [always] form the sound which the hand and conception [of the performer] intends, but very often returns a sharp note when he demands a flat; nor will the bow always hit whatever mark it threatens.  But when there is a great majority of beauties in a poem, I will not be offended with a few blemishes, which either inattention