Nor _equal Numbers_ will for all suffice,
The _Sock_ creeps low, the _Tragic Bushkins_ rife;
None knew this _Art_ so well, so well did use
As did the _Mantuan Shepherd's_ Heav'nly Muse: 500
He marry'd _Sound and Sense_, at odds before,
We hear his _Scylla bark, Charybdis roar_;
And when in Fields his _Fiery Coursers_ meet
The _hollow Ground_ shakes underneath their feet:
Yet nicer _Ears_ can taste a _Diff'rence_ when
Of _Flocks_ and _Fields_ he _sings_ or _Arms_ and _Men_.
If I our _English Numbers_ taste aright,
We in the grave _Iambic_ most delight:
Each _second_ Syllable the Voice should _rest_,
_Spondees_ may serve, but still th' _Iambic's_ best: 510
Th' unpleasing _Trochee_ always makes a _Blot_,
And lames the _Numbers_; or, if this forgot,
A strong _Spondaic_ should the _next_ succeed,
The feeble _Wall_ will a good _Buttress_ need:
Long _Writing, Observation, Art_ and _Pain_
Must here unite if you the _Prize_ would gain.
[Sidenote: _Pauses_.]
_Pause_ is the _Rest_ of _Voice_, the poor _Remains_
Of _antient Song_ that still our _Verse_ retains:
The _second Foot_ or _third's_ our usual _Rest_,
Tho more of _Art's_ in _varying_ oft exprest. 520
At ev'ry Word the _Pause_ is sometimes[3] made,
And wond'rous _Beauty_ every where displaid:
--But here we _guess_, and _wander_ in the _dark_;
How should a hoodwink'd _Archer_ hit the Mark?
The little _Glimpse_ that DRYDEN gives, is more