I now should treat of what may pall desire,And quench in love's own element the fire;For all advantages you ought to make,And arms from love's own magazine to take:But modesty forbids at full extentTo prosecute this luscious argument,Which, to prevent your blushes, I shall leaveFor your own fancy better to conceive,For some of late censoriously accuseMy am'rous liberty and wanton muse.He alludes to his books of the Art of Love, which gave offense.But envy did the wit of Homer blame,Malice gave obscure Zoilus a name.Zoilus having compiled books against Homer, read them to Ptolemy, king of Egypt; the king made no reply, being displaeased that he should presume to censure so great a poet. Zoilus afterwards, being reduced to want, came to beg relief of the same Ptolemy, who thus answered: "What! have the works of Homer, after his having been a thousand years in the grave, been able to maintain millions of men; and cannot you, who pretend yourself a greater wit than he, by your writings maintain one?" Zoilus, some time after, was accused of parricide, and crucified according to the execution then used by the ancients in the east. Almost all masters in any of the sciences had their Zoiluses: Cicero, Ovid, and even Virgil himself, could not escape them.Thus sacrilegious censure would destroyThe pious museHe means Virgil, who is justly admired by all that can read and understand him; yet this divine poet was not spared by the malice of some false critics., who did her heart employTo settle here the banish'd gods of Troy.But you who at my freedom take offence,Distinguish right before you speak your sense.Maeonian strains alone can war resound,No place is there for love and dalliance found.The tragic style requires a tale distress'd,And comedy consists of mirth and jest;The tender elegy is love's delight,Which to themselves pleas'd mistresses recite.Callimachus would do Achilles wrong;Cydippe were no theme for Homer's song.What mortal patience could endure to seeThais presenting chaste Andromache?Kind Thais (none of Vesta's nuns) suppliesMy song; with Thais all my business lies:The actress, if my muse performs with art,You must commend, tho' you dislike the part.Burst envy; I've already got a name,A justice which Ovid does himself; and we may see by it, his reputation was very well settled, or he could not have said this with so much assurance.And, writing more, shall more advance my fame,Despair not then, for, as I longer live,Each day fresh fuel for your spleen shall give.Thus fame's increasing gale bears me on high,While tir'd and grovelling on the ground you lie.Soft elegy in such esteem I've plac'd,Not Virgil more the Epic strain has grac'd.The poet gives us to understand that he has made himself as famous for elegiac verse, as Virgil was for heroic; and at the same time that he praises himself, he gives the highest commendation to Virgil. Propertius, Tibullus, and Catullus excelled also in the elegy, which they wrote in imitation of Callimachus and Euphorion.Censure did us to this digression force;Now, muse, pursue thy interrupted course.When first the nymph admits your visit, stay,And take some other beauty in your way;More safely thus your passion you may trust,When you approach her charms with fainter gust;You'll otherwise misconstrue for delightThe eagerness of your own appetite.Desire does all; the grotto's cool retreat,And shady grove, relieve in summer's heat;Warm fires in winter; thirst makes water sweet.