course for use, for health they cleanness wear,
And save in well-fix'd arms, all niceness check'd.
They thought, those that, unarm'd, expos'd frail life,
But naked nature valiantly betray'd;
Who was, though naked, safe, till pride made strife,
But made defence must use, now danger's made.

And so he goes digging and lumbering on, like a heavy preacher
thumping the pulpit in italics, and spoiling many ingenious
reflections.

Weakness in versification is want of accent and emphasis. It generally
accompanies prosaicalness, and is the consequence of weak thoughts,
and of the affectation of a certain well-bred enthusiasm. The writings
of the late Mr. Hayley were remarkable for it; and it abounds among
the lyrical imitators of Cowley, and the whole of what is called our
French school of poetry, when it aspired above its wit and 'sense'. It
sometimes breaks down in a horrible, hopeless manner, as if giving way
at the first step. The following ludicrous passage in Congreve,
intended to be particularly fine, contains an instance:

And lo! Silence himself is here;
Methinks I see the midnight god appear.
In all his downy pomp array'd,
Behold the reverend shade.
_An ancient sigh he sits upon!!!_
Whose memory of sound is long since gone,
_And purposely annihilated for his throne!!!_

_Ode on the singing of Mrs. Arabella Hunt._

See also the would-be enthusiasm of Addison about music:

For ever consecrate the _day_
To music and _Cecilia_;
Music, the greatest good that mortals know,
And all of heaven we have below,
Music can noble HINTS _impart!!!_

It is observable that the unpoetic masters of ridicule are apt to make
the most ridiculous mistakes, when they come to affect a strain higher
than the one they are accustomed to. But no wonder. Their habits
neutralize the enthusiasm it requires.

_Sweetness_, though not identical with smoothness, any more than
feeling is with sound, always includes it; and smoothness is a thing
so little to be regarded for its own sake, and indeed so worthless in
poetry but for some taste of sweetness, that I have not thought
necessary to mention it by itself; though such an all-in-all in
versification was it regarded not a hundred years back, that Thomas
Warton himself, an idolater of Spenser, ventured to wish the following
line in the _Faerie Queene_,

And was admi