we are able in this kind.

And if we are not altogether so faithful to our author as our
predecessors Holyday and Stapleton, yet we may challenge to
ourselves this praise--that we shall be far more pleasing to our
readers. We have followed our authors at greater distance, though
not step by step as they have done; for oftentimes they have gone so
close that they have trod on the heels of Juvenal and Persius, and
hurt them by their too near approach. A noble author would not be
pursued too close by a translator. We lose his spirit when we think
to take his body. The grosser part remains with us, but the soul is
flown away in some noble expression, or some delicate turn of words
or thought. Thus Holyday, who made this way his choice, seized the
meaning of Juvenal, but the poetry has always escaped him.

They who will not grant me that pleasure is one of the ends of
poetry, but that it is only a means of compassing the only end
(which is instruction), must yet allow that without the means of
pleasure the instruction is but a bare and dry philosophy, a crude
preparation of morals which we may have from Aristotle and Epictetus
with more profit than from any poet. Neither Holyday nor Stapleton
have imitated Juvenal in the poetical part of him, his diction, and
his elocution. Nor, had they been poets (as neither of them were),
yet in the way they took, it was impossible for them to have
succeeded in the poetic part.

The English verse which we call heroic consists of no more than ten
syllables; the Latin hexameter sometimes rises to seventeen; as, for
example, this verse in Virgil:-