An Essay on Criticism (Excerpts) by Alexander Pope

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PART FIRST.

'Tis hard to say, if greater want of skill
Appear in writing or in judging ill;
But, of the two, less dangerous is the offence
To tire our patience, than mislead our sense.
Some few in that, but numbers err in this;
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;
A fool might once himself alone expose,
Now one in verse makes many more in prose.

'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In poets as true genius is but rare,
True taste as seldom, is the critic's share;
Both must alike from Heaven derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who themselves excel.
And censure freely who have written well.
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not critics to their judgment too?

Yet if we look more closely, we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind:
Nature affords at least a glimmering light;
The lines, though touch'd but faintly, are drawn right.
But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced,
Is by ill colouring but the more disgraced,
So by false learning is good sense defaced:
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools.
In search of wit these lose their common sense,
And then turn critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can, or cannot write,
Or with a rival's, or an eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side;
If Maevius scribble in Apollo's spite,
There are who judge still worse than he can write.

Some have at first for wits, then poets pass'd,
Turn'd critics next, and proved plain fools at last.
Some neither can for wits nor critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learn'd witlings, numerous in our isle,
As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinished things, one knows not what to call,
Their generation's so equivocal:
To tell 'em would a hundred tongues require,
Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire.

Overview

"An Essay on Criticism" is Pope's manifesto on literary judgment, written when he was just 23. This opening excerpt establishes the essay's core argument: bad critics are more dangerous than bad writers. The reasoning is precise — a fool who writes badly only exposes himself, but a critic who judges badly misleads everyone who reads him. Pope's famous line "'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none / Go just alike, yet each believes his own" captures the human condition of confident subjectivity: we all think our taste is correct, but we all disagree. The excerpt proceeds to diagnose the diseases of criticism. Some critics are "bewilder'd in the maze of schools" — lost in academic theory. Others are "made coxcombs Nature meant but fools" — people whose pretension exceeds their natural capacity. The progression is devastating: from genuine but rare talent, through well-meaning incompetence, to the worst case — failed writers who become critics "in their own defence." Pope's wit is surgical: "Some have at first for wits, then poets pass'd, / Turn'd critics next, and proved plain fools at last." The career trajectory from wit to poet to critic to fool is presented as inevitable decline. The heroic couplet form — each pair of lines containing a complete thought — makes every observation feel like a verdict.

Line-by-Line Analysis

Lines 1-8

The opening couplet states the central problem: "'Tis hard to say, if greater want of skill / Appear in writing or in judging ill." Is bad writing or bad criticism worse? Pope answers: bad criticism, because "less dangerous is the offence / To tire our patience, than mislead our sense." Bad writing bores; bad criticism deceives. "Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss" — bad critics outnumber bad writers ten to one. "Now one in verse makes many more in prose" — one bad poet spawns many bad prose critics.

Lines 9-18

"'Tis with our judgments as our watches" — the most quoted simile. No two watches agree, but everyone trusts their own. Applied to literary judgment: everyone believes their taste is correct, and almost everyone is wrong. "In poets as true genius is but rare, / True taste as seldom, is the critic's share" — genuine poetic talent and genuine critical discernment are equally rare. "Both must alike from Heaven derive their light" — critical taste is a gift, like poetic genius. You cannot learn it; you must be born with it. "Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true, / But are not critics to their judgment too?" — the rhetorical question exposes the symmetry: writers are biased toward their work, critics toward their judgments. Neither is objective.

Lines 19-33

Pope concedes that "Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind" — natural taste exists. But it can be ruined: "by false learning is good sense defaced." The progression of corruption follows: "Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools" — academic theory replaces natural judgment. "Some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools" — education inflates fools into arrogant fools. The worst case: those who lose common sense "In search of wit" and "then turn critics in their own defence" — they became critics because they failed at writing. Even those who can neither write nor criticize have opinions: "All fools have still an itching to deride, / And fain would be upon the laughing side."

Lines 34-49

The catalogue of critical decline. "Some have at first for wits, then poets pass'd, / Turn'd critics next, and proved plain fools at last" — the career arc from clever person to poet to critic to fool. "Some neither can for wits nor critics pass, / As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass" — the animal simile is deliberately insulting. "Half-learn'd witlings" are compared to "half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile" — an allusion to the ancient belief that the Nile's mud spontaneously generated insects. These half-critics are spontaneously generated from intellectual muck. "To tell 'em would a hundred tongues require, / Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire" — a final joke: you'd need a hundred tongues to catalogue all the bad critics, or just one bore who never stops talking.

Themes

• Bad criticism as more dangerous than bad writing
• The rarity of genuine taste and genuine genius equally
• Education corrupting natural judgment
• Failed writers becoming defensive critics
• Universal confidence in subjective opinion
• The decline from wit to fool via criticism
• Nature versus learning in forming judgment

Literary Devices

Simile

"'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none / Go just alike, yet each believes his own" — The comparison of judgments to watches is Pope's most famous analogy. It captures the paradox of confident subjectivity: disagreement is universal, but so is certainty. No one thinks their own watch is wrong.

Heroic Couplet

"A fool might once himself alone expose, / Now one in verse makes many more in prose" — Every pair of rhyming lines contains a complete thought, often with a pivot between the two lines. The form makes each observation feel like a legal ruling — final, balanced, and inescapable.

Rhetorical Question

"Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true, / But are not critics to their judgment too?" — Pope concedes the charge against writers, then turns it back on critics. The rhetorical question forces the reader to admit that critics are equally biased — but less likely to acknowledge it.

Simile (Animal)

"As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass" — Critics who are neither truly witty nor truly perceptive are compared to mules — sterile hybrids of two better species. The image is deliberately unglamorous: mules are useful but incapable of producing offspring. These critics generate nothing.

Epigrammatic Compression

"Some have at first for wits, then poets pass'd, / Turn'd critics next, and proved plain fools at last" — An entire career trajectory — from clever person to poet to critic to fool — is compressed into two lines. The rhyme of "pass'd" and "last" makes the decline feel inevitable, almost musical.

Classical Allusion

"If Maevius scribble in Apollo's spite" — Maevius was a notoriously bad Roman poet mocked by Virgil and Horace. Pope invokes him as the archetype of talentless persistence — someone who writes despite the god of poetry's opposition.

Historical Context

Pope wrote "An Essay on Criticism" in 1709 and published it anonymously in 1711, when he was 23. It immediately established his reputation. The poem draws on Horace's "Ars Poetica," Boileau's "L'Art poetique," and Longinus's "On the Sublime" — Pope synthesized classical critical theory into English heroic couplets. The essay appeared during the Battle of the Books — the contemporary debate between ancients and moderns over literary authority. Pope sided firmly with the ancients: classical standards of taste, not modern innovation, should govern criticism. The poem is also a social document — Pope, a Catholic in Protestant England, excluded from universities and public office, established his authority through pure literary performance.