If from the usual Taste your Building springs

Magnificently great, a Seat for Kings,

Let your exalted Fancy, tho' 'tis new,

Keep the great Arts of Greece and Rome in View;

From thence your Fabrick form, your Genius flow,

Thence bid the Ravish'd Gazer's Bosom glow.

Can an impartial Critick justly blame

A Fault in Jones, (or Fl-t-ft, is the same;)

And yet approve in Hawksmoor, or in J——s,

The same wild Error, or the same Extremes?

Why should the few, the Rules which I impart,

Be construed ill, be Scandal to the Art?

When Gibbs, so copious, so enrich'd has been,

No Part's obscure, but all are useful seen.

Men always had, and ever will, Pretence,

At least with Method, to improve our Sense:

And the last Laws, however just or true,

Must give the Palm to such which are more new.

One Year, a Train of Images arise,

The next a gayer, newer Form supplies.

One Scene improv'd, must to another yield,

And all resign to Fate, and quit the Field.

The fam'd St. Hellen's, and the fam'd Torbay,

Where GEORGE's Glorious Fleets, in Safety lay.

The Bank, the Meuse, the Treasury will fall,

One common Ruin overwhelming all:

Nay this great City may be lost in Flames,

And what are Villa's, may be desart Plains.

The Bleating Flocks, on ruin'd Fabricks stray,

And what were Temples, now in Ashes lay:

The Groves arise where Gilded Turrets shone,

And what are Gardens now, were Heaps of Stone.

Yet Those, and They, will in Oblivion lye,

And all, in future Times, forgot, and die.

Why then should Artists challenge future Praise,

When Time devours their Works so many Ways?

But Use has rais'd the Greek and Roman Rules,

And banish'd Gothick Practice from the Schools.

Use is the Judge, the Law, the Rule of Things,

Whence Arts arose, and whence the Science springs.

At Athens first the rising Art began;

Cecrops, the King, first modell'd out the Plan.

The studious Youth; pursued with ardent Care

The Infant Rules, unpolish'd as they were,

Till banish'd Dædalus Protection sought,

There well receiv'd, the stricter Rules he taught;

Their Arts, their Sciences, were learn'd in Schools,

And all their Precepts were confin'd to Rules.

The swelling Tree, as it unpolish'd grew

Undecorated, Native Graces shew;

From thence the Column, in its purer Dress,

The Work of Nature, must the Form confess:

The wreath'd, the fluted, or th' encumb'ring Vine,

With plenteous Branches round the Pillar twine;

Yet still its pure Simplicity you see;

The Shaft of Art, resembles still a Tree.

But how to appropriate, to embellish still

Justly, the Space to decorate and fill,

To give proportion'd Beauty to each Part,

To make the whole subservient to the Art:

The Inborn-Traces of the Mind pursue,

For Nature teaches how to find the Clue.

The silent Groves a little Pile must grace;

Nor yet too grave, or lavish for the Place.

We find the middle Path, the Way to please,

And decorate the Parts with greater Ease.

But when the Opening to some distant Scene,

Where Lawns, and liv'ning Prospects intervene;

Where Vista's or delightful Gardens charm;

Where verdant Beauties all our Senses warm:

Let Flow'rs and Fruit in seeming Wildness grow;

And there let lavish Nature seem to flow.

There let the Parts, the Gazer's Eye surprize;

And with the Glebe the Structure Harmonize.

Where Severn, Trent, or Thames's ouzy Side,

Pours the smooth Current of their easy Tide:

Each will require a Sameness to the Spot,

For this a Cell, a Cascade, or a Grott.

The Moss, or gliding Streams productive Store,

To grace the Building on the verdant Shore:

There the rough Tuscan, or the Rustick fix,

Or Pebbles, Shells, or calcin'd Matter mix.

The frozen Isicle's resembled Form,

Or Sea-green Weed, your Grotto must adorn.

Near some lone Wood, the gay Pavilion place;

Let the Corinthian Mode the Structure grace:

Carve here Festoons of lovely Flowers and Fruit:

And with the Spot, let the Enrichments suit.

On some Ascent, the plainer Fabrick view;

The Dress Ionick, and the Sculptures few.

Few are the Ornaments, but plain and neat,

The least Redundant are the most Compleat.

Gibbs may be said, most Times in Dress to please,

And few can decorate with greater Ease:

But Jones more justly knew the Eye to charm,

To please the Judgment, and the Fancy warm;

To give a Greatness to the opening Glade,

Or pleasing Softness to the solemn Shade;

To suit the Valley, or the rising Hill,

Or grace the Flow'ry Mead, or Silver Rill.

In H—k—r; V—b—'s very Soul you trace,

The same unmeaning Dress, in every Place;

The same wild Heap of inconsistent Things:

From whence the Prison, or the Palace springs;

A Tuscan Portal for a Palace Gate,

And a Corinthian Column in a Lake.

For disproportion'd Columns R—l—s see,

Where neither Art, or Rules, or Form agree;

Absurdly bad, and grown a publick Jest:

By far too HIGH—too HEAVY all the rest.

Would you the Sister-Arts improve in Schools?

In Sculpture follow Rysbrack's chosen Rules;

In Portrait seek for Amiconi's Force:

Humour in Hogarth: Wooten for a Horse:

In Landscape, Lambert; or in Crayons, see

The Charms of Colours flowing from Goupee.

In Eloquence, you see young Murray shine;

In Musick, Handel's Graces are divine.

If to adapt your Fabrick, you would choose

To suit the Builder's Genius, or his Use:

Consider well his Station, Birth, or Parts,

And make for each the Quintessence of Arts.

Here to the Muse, a proper Part assign,

To Bacchus there, direct the golden Vine;

To Venus, fix a little silent Cell,

Where all the Loves and Graces choose to dwell:

Where the young Wantons, revel, sport, and play;

And frisk and frolick tedious Time away.

The Prison's Entrance, massy Chains declare,

The loss of Freedom, to the Wretched there.

Thus every Spot assumes a various Face;

And Decoration varies with the Place.

The Tuscan or the Dorian Modus here;

Th' Ionick, or Corinthian Modus there.

The Temples, Baths, or solemn sacred Urn,

Requires Attention, and our Skill in turn.

The weeping Statue to the Hero lend;

True to his Country, Family, or Friend:

So place the Figure, that as you draw near,

You join his Grief, and drop a silent Tear.

So fine, so just, the Attitude is made,

The faithful Marble bids you mourn his Shade.

If you advent'rous, try your utmost Skill

To tread unbeaten Paths, be Lofty still;

Keep up the Strength, the Dignity, and Force

Of stated Rules; let those direct your Course.

New Methods are not easy understood;

And few will step in an untrodden Road.

'Tis better to pursue the Rule that's known,

Than trust to an Invention of your own.

But then, be sure your Choice direct you right;

Vary, but keep the Original in sight:

The Orders just proportion; strict observe,

The Variation; various Uses serve.

Perhaps the Waste, which every Pile endures,

May make the Copy, justly pass for yours.

You need not slavish Imitators be,

Exact in Copy; but your Fancy free:

This Ornament omit, or THERE express

The changing Modus, by a different Dress.

R——y, in Rustick heavy Buildings still,

Attempts in vain to please, or shew his Skill;

How far he strays from the pure Roman Stile,

And labours on in Dulness all the while!

With M—s, F—ft, G—-s, L—i, W—e,

Let Admiralty, or Custom-house compare.

You'll see the wretched Structure's sinking State,

Blam'd to Futurity, their certain Fate.

He with a Glare of Gaiety extends

The lengthen'd Pile, and still with Dulness ends:

But THOSE without your Expectation rise;

And dazzle the Beholder with Surprize.

Nothing is vain, or ill-expos'd to sight;

No Part too heavy, nor no Dress too light.

So certain are the Methods they have fix'd,

So just proportion'd, and so aptly mix'd,

That all seem Graceful, Uniform, and Neat;

Each Part is perfect, and the Whole compleat.

Criticks, attend the Rules which I impart;

They are at least; instructive to the Art:

Mark how Convenience, Strength, and Beauty join:

With these let Harmony of Parts combine.

Appropriate well the Structure to the Place;

And give each Part a Symmetry and Grace.

Make Rules your Guide, your Fancy to controul;

And make each Part subservient to the Whole.

But choice of Place must be the Builder's Care,

For various Climates, various Modes prepare.

To some a pleasing Vale; (the Poet's Song)

Where silver Streams in Eddies glide along;

A little rising Hill, with Woods o'ergrown,

And at the Foot, a verdant Carpet thrown:

Where the soft vernal Bloom beneath is spread;

Where the tall Poplar hangs its drooping Head.

Where, on the Bank, the Flowers and Oziers green,

Shade the smooth Current as it runs between;

The fertile Meads, enamell'd all around,

And the rich Glebe with yellow Harvest crown'd.

Others in long-extended Views delight,

Where gilded Objects catch the Gazer's Sight.

Where the wide Plain, or lawny Prospect lye,

In mingled Sweets, to chear the ravish'd Eye.

Where the