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Silence Dogood, No. 7
(Ben Franklin on poetry in New England)
Give me the Muse, whose
generous Force,
Impatient of the Reins,
Pursues an unattempted Course,
Breaks all the Criticks Iron Chains.
Watts.
To the author of the New England
Courant.
SIR,
It has been the Complaint of many Ingenious Foreigners, who have travell'd
amongst us, That good Poetry is not to be expected in New-England. I am
apt to Fancy, the Reason is, not because our Countreymen are altogether void of
a Poetical Genius, nor yet because we have not those Advantages of Education
which other Countries have, but purely because we do not afford that Praise and
Encouragement which is merited, when any thing extraordinary of this Kind is
produc'd among us: Upon which Consideration I have determined, when I meet with
a Good Piece of New-England Poetry, to give it a suitable Encomium, and
thereby endeavour to discover to the World some of its Beautys, in order to
encourage the Author to go on, and bless the World with more, and more Excellent
Productions.
There has lately appear'd among us a most Excellent Piece of Poetry,
entituled, An Elegy upon the much Lamented Death of Mrs. Mehitebell Kitel,
Wife of Mr. John Kitel of Salem, &c. It may justly be said
in its Praise, without Flattery to the Author, that it is the most
Extraordinary Piece that ever was wrote in New-England. The Language
is so soft and Easy, theExpression so moving and pathetick, but above all, the
Verse and Numbers so Charming and Natural, that it is almost beyond Comparison,
The Muse disdains
Those Links and Chains,
Measures and Rules of vulgar Strains,
And o'er the Laws of Harmony a Sovereign Queen she reigns.
I find no English Author, Ancient or Modern, whose Elegies may be compar'd
with this, in respect to the Elegance of Stile, or Smoothness of Rhime; and for
the affecting Part, I will leave your Readers to judge, if ever they read any
Lines, that would sooner make them draw their Breath and Sigh, if not
shed Tears, than these following.
Come let us mourn, for we have lost a Wife, a Daughter,
and a Sister,
Who has lately taken Flight, and greatly we have mist her.
In another Place,
Some little Time before she yielded up her Breath,
She said, I ne'er shall hear one Sermon more on Earth.
She kist her Husband some little Time before she expir'd,
Then lean'd her Head the Pillow on, just out of Breath and tir'd.
But the Threefold Appellation in the first Line
------ a Wife, a Daughter, and a Sister,
must not pass unobserved. That Line in the celebrated Watts,
GUNSTON the Just, the Generous, and the Young,
is nothing Comparable to it. The latter only mentions three Qualifications of
one Person who was deceased, which therefore could raise Grief and
Compassion but for One. Whereas the former, (our most excellent Poet)
gives his Reader a Sort of an Idea of the Death of Three Persons, viz.
------ a Wife, a Daughter, and a Sister,
which is Three Times as great a Loss as the Death of One, and
consequently must raise Three Times as much Grief and Compassion in the
Reader.
I should be very much straitned for Room, if I should attempt to discover
even half the Excellencies of this Elegy which are obvious to me. Yet I cannot
omit one Observation, which is, that the Author has (to his Honour) invented a
new Species of Poetry, which wants a Name, and was never before known. His Muse
scorns to be confin'd to the old Measures and Limits, or to observe the dull
Rules of Criticks;
Nor Rapin gives her Rules to fly, nor Purcell Notes to Sing.
Watts.
Now 'tis Pity that such an Excellent Piece should not be dignify'd with a
particular Name; and seeing it cannot justly be called, either Epic,
Sapphic, Lyric, or Pindaric, nor any other Name yet invented,
I presume it may, (in Honour and Remembrance of the Dead) be called the
KITELIC. Thus much in the Praise of Kitelic Poetry.
It is certain, that those Elegies which are of our own Growth, (and our Soil
seldom produces any other sort of Poetry) are by far the greatest part,
wretchedly Dull and Ridiculous. Now since it is imagin'd by many, that our Poets
are honest, well-meaning Fellows, who do their best, and that if they had but
some Instructions how to govern Fancy with Judgment, they would make indifferent
good Elegies; I shall here subjoin a Receipt for that purpose, which was left me
as a Legacy, (among other valuable Rarities) by my Reverend Husband. It is as
follows,
A RECEIPT to make a New-England Funeral ELEGY.
For the Title of your Elegy. Of these you may have enough ready made to
your Hands; but if you should chuse to make it your self, you must be sure not
to omit the Words Aetatis Suae, which will Beautify it exceedingly.
For the Subject of your Elegy. Take one of your Neighbours who has lately
departed this Life; it is no great matter at what Age the Party dy'd, but it
will be best if he went away suddenly, being Kill'd, Drown'd, or
Froze to Death.
Having chose the Person, take all his Virtues, Excellencies, &c. and
if he have not enough, you may borrow some to make up a sufficient Quantity: To
these add his last Words, dying Expressions, &c. if they are to be had;
mix all these together, and be sure you strain them well. Then season all
with a Handful or two of Melancholly Expressions, such as, Dreadful, Deadly,
cruel cold Death, unhappy Fate, weeping Eyes, &c. Have mixed all these
Ingredients well, put them into the empty Scull of some young Harvard;
(but in Case you have ne'er a One at Hand, you may use your own,) there let them
Ferment for the Space of a Fortnight, and by that Time they will be incorporated
into a Body, which take out, and having prepared a sufficient Quantity of double
Rhimes, such as, Power, Flower; Quiver, Shiver; Grieve us, Leave us; tell
you, excel you; Expeditions, Physicians; Fatigue him, Intrigue him; &c. you
must spread all upon Paper, and if you can procure a Scrap of Latin to put at
the End, it will garnish it mightily; then having affixed your Name at the
Bottom, with a Maestus Composuit, you will have an Excellent Elegy.
N. B. This Receipt will serve when a Female is the Subject of your Elegy,
provided you borrow a greater Quantity of Virtues, Excellencies, &c.
SIR,
Your Servant,
SILENCE DOGOOD.
P. S. I shall make no other Answer to Hypercarpus's Criticism
on my last Letter than this, Mater me genuit, peperit mox filia matrem.
The following Lines coming to Hand soon after I had receiv'd the above Letter
from Mrs. Dogood, I think it proper to insert them in this Paper, that
the Dr. may at once be paid for his Physical Rhimes administred to the
Dead.
To the Sage and Immortal Doctor H ------ k, on his Incomparable
ELEGY, upon the Death of Mrs. Mehitebell Kitel, &c.
A PANEGYRICK.
Thou hast, great Bard, in thy Mysterious Ode,
Gone in a Path which ne'er before was trod,
And freed the World from the vexatious Toil,
Of Numbers, Metaphors, of Wit and Stile,
Those Childish Ornaments, and gravely chose
The middle Way between good Verse and Prose.
Well might the Rhiming Tribe the Work decline,
Since 'twas too great for every Pen but thine.
What Scribbling Mortal dare the Bayes divide?
Thou shalt alone in Fame's bright Chariot ride;
For thou with matchless Skill and Judgment fraught,
Hast, Learned Doggrell, to Perfection brought.
The Loftyest Piece renowned LAW can show,
Deserves less Wonder, than to thine we owe.
No more shall TOM's, but henceforth thine shall be,
The Standard of Eleg'ac Poetry.
The healing Race thy Genius shall admire,
And thee to imitate in vain aspire:
For if by Chance a Patient you should kill,
You can Embalm his Mem'ry with your Quill.
What tho' some captious Criticks discommend
What they with all their Wit, can't comprehend,
And boldly doom to some Ignoble Use,
The Shining Product of thy Fertile Muse?
From your exhaustless Magazine of Sence
To their Confusion keen Replies dispence;
And them behold with a Contemptuous Mien,
Since not a Bard can boast of such a Strain.
By none but you cou'd Kitel's Worth be shown;
And none but your great Self can tell your Own;
Then least what is your due should not be said,
Write your own Elegy against you're Dead.
PHILOMUSUS.
The New-England Courant, June 25, 1722
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