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Addreffes to your Lordship, in my Effay of Dramatick Poetry; and therein befpoke you to the World; wherein I have the Right of a First Difcoverer. When I was my felf, in the Rudiments of my Poetry, without Name or Reputation in the World, having rather the Ambition of a Writer, than the Skill; when I was drawing the Out-lines of an Art, without any living Master to inftru&t me in it; an Art which had been better prais'd than study'd here in England, wherein Shakespear, who created the Stage among us, had rather written happily, than knowingly and justly: and Johnson, who by ftudying Horace, had been acquainted with the Rules, yet feemed to envy to Pofterity that Knowledge, and like an Inventer of fome ufeful Art, to make a Monopoly of his Learning: When thus, as I may fay, before the Ufe of the Loadstone, or Knowledge of the Compaís, I was failing in a vaft Ocean, without other help than the Pole-Star of the Ancients, and the Rules of the French Stage amongst the Moderns, which are extremely different from ours, by reafon of their oppotite Tafte; yet even then, I had the Prefumption to Dedicate to your Lordship: A very unfinish'd Piece, I muft confefs, and which only can be excus'd by the little Experience of the Author, and the Modesty of the Title, An Effay. Yet I was ftronger in Prophecy than I was in Criticifm; I was infpir'd to foretel You to Mankind, as the Reftorer of Poetry, the greatest Genius, the truest Judge, and the best Patron.

Good Senfe and good Nature are never feparated, tho' the ignorant World has thought_otherwife. Good Nature, by which I mean Benefi cence and Candor, is the Product of right Reafon; which of neceffity will give allowance to the Failings of others, by confidering that there is noA 4

thing

thing perfect in Mankind; and by distinguishing that which comes nearest to Excellency, tho' not abfolutely free from Faults, will certainly produce a Candor in the Judge. 'Tis incident to an elevated Understanding, like your Lordship's, to find out the Errors of other Men: But 'tis your Prerogative to pardon them; to look with Pleasure on those things, which are fomewhat congenial, and of a remote Kindred to your own Conceptions: And to forgive the many Failings of thofe, who with their wretched Art, cannot arrive to thofe Heights that you poffefs, from a happy, abundant, and native Genius: Which are as inborn' to you, as they were to Shakespear; and for ought I know, to Homer; in either of whom we find all Arts and Sciences, all Moral and Natural Philofophy, without knowing that they ever ftudy'd them.

There is not an English Writer this Day living, who is not perfectly convinc'd, that your Lordfhip excels all others, in all the feveral parts of Poetry which you have undertaken to adorn. The moft Vain, and the most Ambitious of our Age, have not dar'd to affume so much, as the Competitors of Themistocles: They have yielded the first Place without difpute; and have been arrogantly content to be esteem'd as Second to your Lordship; and even that also with a Longo fed proximi Intervallo. If there have been, or are any, who go farther in their Self-conceit, they must be very fingular in their Opinion: They muft be like the Officer, in a Play, who was call'd Captain, Lieutenant and Company. The World will eafily conclude, whether fuch unattended Generals can ever be capable of making a Revolution in Parnaffus.

I will not attempt, in this place, to fay any thing particular of your Lyrick Poems, tho' they are the

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Delight and Wonder of this Age, and will be the Envy of the next. The Subject of this Book confines me to Satyr; and in that, an Author of your own Quality, (whofe Afhes I will not disturb,) has given you all the Commendation, which his Self-fufficiency cou'd afford to any Man: The best good Man, with the worst-natur'd Mufe. In that Character, methinks, I am reading Jhonson's Verfes ro the Memory of Shakespear: An Infolent, Sparing, and Invidious Panegyrick: Where good Nature, the most Godlike Commendation of a Man, is only attributed to your Perfon, and deny'd to your Writings: For they are every-where fo full of Candor, that, like Horace, you only expofe the Follies of Men, without arraigning their Vices; and in this excel him, that you add that Pointedness of Thought, which is vifibly wanting in our great Roman. There is more of Salt in all your Verfes, than I have seen in any of the Moderns, or even of the Ancients: But you have been sparing of the Gall; by which means you have pleas'd all Readers, and offended none. Donn alone, of all our Country-men, had your Talent; but was not happy enough to arrive at your Verfification. And were he tranflated into Numbers, and English, he wou'd yet be wanting in the Dignity of Expreffion. That which is the Prime Virtue, and chief Ornament of Virgil, which diftinguishes him from the rest of Writers, is fo confpicuous in your Verfes, that it cafts a Shadow on all your Contemporaries; we cannot be feen, or but obfcurely, while you are prefent. You equal Doan in the Variety, Multiplicity, and Choice of Thoughts; you excel him in the Manner, and the Words. I read you both, with the fame Admiration, but not with the fame Delight. He affects the Metaphyficks, not only in his AS

Satyrs,

Satyrs, but in his amorous Verfes, where Nature only fhould reign; and perplexes the Minds of the fair Sex with nice Speculations of Philofophy, when he thou'd engage their Hearts, and entertain them with the Softnefs of Love. In this (if I may be pardon'd for fo bold a Truth) Mr. Cowley has copy'd him to a Fault; fo great a one in my Opinion, that it throws his Miftrefs infinitely below his Pindariques, and his latter Compofitions, which are undoubtedly the best of his Poems, and the most correct. For my own part, I must avow it freely to the World, that I never attempted any thing in Satyr, wherein I have not study'd your Writings as the moft perfect Model. I have continually laid them before me; and the greatest Commendation, which my own Partiality can give to my Productions, is, that they are Copies, and no farther to be allow'd, than as they have something more or lefs of the Original. Some few Touches of your Lordship, fome fecret Graces which I have endeavour'd to exprefs after your manner, have made whole Poems of mine to pafs with Approbation: But take your Verfes altogether, and they are inimitable. If therefore I have not written better, 'tis because you have not written more. You have not fet me fufficient Copy to transcribe; and I cannot add one Letter of my own Invention, of which I have not the Example there.

'Tis a general Complaint against your Lordship, and I must have leave to upbraid you with it, that, because you need not write, you will not. Mankind that wishes you fo well, in all things that relate to your Profperity, have their Intervals of wishing for themfelves, and are within a little of grudging you the Fulnefs of your Fortune: They wou'd be more malicious if you us'd it not fo well, and with fo much Generofity.

Fame

Fame is in it felf a real Good, if we may believe Cicero, who was perhaps too fond of it. But even Fame, as Virgil tells us, acquires ftrength by going forward. Let Epicurus give Indolency as an Attribute to his Gods, and place in it the Happiness of the Bleft: The Divinity which we worship, has given us not only a Precept against it, but his own Example to the contrary. The World, my Lord, wou'd be content to allow you a Seventh Day for Reft; or if you thought that hard upon you, we wou'd not refufe you half your time: If you came out, like fome Great Monarch, to take a Town but once a Year, as it were for your Diverfion, tho' you had no need to extend your Territories: Iu fhort, if you were a bad, or, which is worse, an indifferent Poet, we wou'd thank you for our own Quiet, and not expose you to the want of yours. But when you are so great and fo fuccessful, and when we have that neceffity of your Writing, that we cannot fubfift intirely without it; any more (I may almost say( than the World without the daily Course of ordinary Providence, methinks this Argument might prevail with you, my Lord, to forego a little of your Repofe for the publick Benefit. 'Tis not that you are under any force of working daily Miracles, to prove your Being; but now and then fomewhat of extraordinary, that is any thing of your Production, is requifite to refresh your Character.

This, I think, my Lord, is a fufficient Reproach to you; and fhou'd I carry it as far as Mankind wou'd authorize me, wou'd be little less than Satyr. And, indeed, a Provocation is almost neceffary, in behalf of the World, that you might be induc'd fometimes to write; and in relation to a multitude of Scriblers, who daily pefter the World with their infufferable tuff, that they might be

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