This last consideration seems to incline the balance on the side of
Horace, and to give him the preference to Juvenal, not only in
profit, but in pleasure. But, after all, I must confess that the
delight which Horace gives me is but languishing (be pleased still
to understand that I speak of my own taste only); he may ravish
other men, but I am too stupid and insensible to be tickled. Where
he barely grins himself, and, as Scaliger says, only shows his white
teeth, he cannot provoke me to any laughter. His urbanity--that is,
his good manners--are to be commended; but his wit is faint, and his
salt (if I may dare to say so) almost insipid. Juvenal is of a more
vigorous and masculine wit; he gives me as much pleasure as I can
bear; he fully satisfies my expectation; he treats his subject home;
his spleen is raised, and he raises mine. I have the pleasure of
concernment in all he says; he drives his reader along with him, and
when he is at the end of his way, I willingly stop with him. If he
went another stage, it would be too far; it would make a journey of
a progress, and turn delight into fatigue.
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