Chapter III (1)

_Oh how fresh the Morning Air!
Charming fresh the Morning Air!_ &c.

Tho' there is little Meaning here, yet the Dancing of the Words and the Sprightliness of the Images, make it a prettier Lyrick than our _Italian_ Opera's can produce.

According to my Conception nothing can be prettier than this Thought of _Buchanan_.

Ilia mihi semper presenti dura _Neæra_;
Me, quoties absum, semper abesse dolet;
Non desiderio, nostro non moeret Amore,
Sed se non nostro posse Dolore frui.

_Cruel, when I am present, she appears;
As often as I'm absent she's in Tears:
Not that_ Neæra _wishes my Return,
To see me love her, but to see me mourn._

These Verses of Mr. _Waller_ are, methinks, as pretty as they are gallant:

Phillis, _why should we delay
Pleasures shorter than the Day!
Cou'd we, which we never can,
Stretch our Lives beyond their Span;
Beauty like a Shadow flies,
And our Youth before us dies.
Or would Youth and Beauty stay,
Love hath Wings, and will away.
Love hath swifter Wings than Time,_ &c.

Notice has been taken of the Prettiness of these Verses in _Dryden_'s Fable of the _Cock_ and the _Fox_.

The _Cock_ speaks to his Wife Dame _Partlet_:

------------_See my Dear
How lavish Nature hath adorn'd the Year;
How the pale Primrose and the Violet spring,
And Birds essay their Throats, disus'd to sing:
All these are ours, and I with Pleasure see
Man strutting on two Legs, and aping me._

Madam _Dacier_ takes Notice of a very pretty Circumstance in _Sappho_'s Hymn to _Venus_, translated into _Latin_ by _Catullus_, and into _English_ by Mr. _Philips_.

_Thou once didst leave Almighty_ Jove,
_And all the golden Roofs above:
The Carre thy wanton Sparrows drew,
Hov'ring in Air, they lightly flew.
As to my Bow'r, they wing'd their Way
I saw their quiv'ring Pinions play:
The Birds dismist, while you remain,
Bore back their empty Carre again._

The Circumstance that renders it so pretty, according to the _Critical Lady_, is _Venus_'s dismissing her Sparrows and her Carre, and shewing she did not intend to make _Sappho_ a Court-Visit, but to dwell with her some Time. There's another Ode of _Sappho_, which is preserved in _Longinus_, and translated by _Boileau_. It is in the sublime Kind, and shews the Violence of Love.

_From Vein to Vein I feel a subtle Flame,
When e'er I see thee, run thro' all my Frame:
And as the Transport seizes on my Mind,
I'm dumb, and neither Tongue nor Voice can find.
A Mist of Pleasure o'er my Eyes is spread,
I hear no more, and am to Reason dead;
Pale, breathless, speechless, I expiring lie,
I burn, I freeze, I tremble, and I die._

In the _Spectator_, Nº 388. is a Paraphrase on the second Chapter of _Solomon_'s Song.

STANZA IV.

_I faint, I dye, my lab'ring Breast
Is with the mighty Weight of Love opprest.
I feel the Fire possess my Heart,
And Pain convey'd to ev'ry Part:
Thro' all my Veins the Passion flyes,
My feeble Soul forsakes its Place;
A trembling Faintness seals my Eyes,
And Paleness dwells upon my Face._

To descend again to the lower Kinds of Thinking, I shall conclude the Pretty with these Verses of Mr. _Prior_'s on the Squirrel in the Cage:

_Mov'd in the Orb, pleas'd with the Chimes,
The foolish Creature thinks he climbs.
Bus here or there, turn Wood or Wire
He never gets two Inches higher.
So fares it with those merry Blades,
That frisk it under Pindus Shades.
In noble Songs, and lofty Odes,
They tread on Stars, and talk with gods;
Still dancing in an airy Round,
Still pleas'd with their own Verses Sound;
Brought back how fast soe'er they go,
Always aspiring, always low._

Agreeable Thoughts may be also reckon'd among the Natural, the Soft, and the Tender; all which in the general Acceptation, are also taken for Wit. This Speech of _Eve_'s to _Adam_ in the _Paradice Lost_, has an Agreeableness which cannot be match'd in the most Tender of our Lyrick or Elegiac Poets:

_With thee conversing, I forget all Time,
All Seasons and their Change, all please alike:
Sweet is the Breath of Morn, her Rising sweet
With Charm of earliest Birds, pleasant the Sun
When first on this delightful Land he spreads
His orient Beams, on Herb, Tree, Fruit and Flow'r,
Glistring with Dew: Fragrant the fertile Earth
After soft Show'rs, and sweet the Coming on
Of grateful Evening mild: Then silent Night
With this her solemn Bird, and this fair Moon,
And these the Gems of Heaven, her starry Train.
But neither Breath of Morn, when she ascends
With Charm of earliest Birds; nor rising Sun
On this delightful Land, nor Herb, Fruit, Flow'r,
Glistring with Dew, nor Fragrance after Showers,
Nor grateful Evening mild, nor silent Night
With this her solemn Bird; nor walk by Moon,
Or glittering Star Light, without thee is sweet._

To speak poetically one would think every Verse was turn'd and polish'd by the _Loves_ and the _Graces_. Indeed all the Conversation between the first Bridegroom and his Bride, in this Poem, is exquisitely agreeable and tender, except the very Incident of the Fall.

I take the Verses in _Waller_, address'd to _Amoret_, to be of the agreeable Kind:

_Fair, that you may truly know
What you unto_ Thyrsis _owe;
I will tell you how I do_
Sacharissa _love, and you_.

_Joy salutes me, when I set
My blest Eyes on_ Amoret;
_But with Wonder I am strook;
While I on the Other look_.

_If sweet_ Amoret _complains,
I have Sense of all her Pains:
But for_ Sacharissa _I
Do not only grieve, but die._ &c.

I could give many Instances of agreeable Thoughts but of _Dryden_'s Fables, especially that of _Cymon_ and _Iphigenia_, which had been taken notice of long enough before the _Spectator_ was thought of; and I do not think it fair, that he should engross all the _Beaux Endroits_, because he printed them first. The Rusticity of _Cymon_, and even his Stupidity, has something in it very agreeable in the Image, which is the pure Nature that we meet with there:

_It happen'd on a Summer's Holy-day,
That to the Greenwood Shade he took his Way;
His Quarter-Staff, which he cou'd ne'er forsake,
Hung half before, and half behind his Back;
He trudg'd along unknowing what he sought,
And whistled as he went for Want of Thought._

There is not a more natural Picture in Language than this. Of the same Kind is that of _Iphigenia_ sleeping by the Fountain: The very Numbers express the Wantonness of the Wind so livelily, that we feel the Air, and are fanned by it while we read them, which I think has had the good Luck to escape Observation:

_Her Bosom to the View was only bare;_
_The fanning Wind upon her Bosom blows;_ }
_To meet the fanning Wind her Bosom rose;_ }
_The fanning Wind, and purling Streams continue her Repose._}

Mr. _Dryden_ was 68 Years old when he wrote this Fable, which I have always taken for a Master-piece, with Respect to natural Thoughts, which are always agreeable, and harmonious Numbers. The Reader will perceive, that I do not forbear quoting fine Passages, because they are in the _Spectator_. I cannot allow of his Forestalling the Market; and besides, I take his Example to be preferable to his Precept. Himself does not stick to quote even from himself; as,

Nº 91. Sidley _has that prevailing gentle Art_, &c.

And again,

Nº [400.] Sidley _has that prevailing gentle Art_, &c.

_Guard_ 110. Motto----Non ego paucis,
Offendor maculis.

_Spec._ 291. Motto----Non ego paucis,
Offendor maculis.

This however I will declare in my own Behalf, that I have quoted nothing from him which he has quoted from _Milton_ or _Dryden_, but what I had before collected my self as remarkable Passages in their several Kinds of Thinking.

What follows, taken out of Mr. _Charles Hopkins_'s Verses to the Earl of _Dorset_, is of the agreeable Kind:

_As Nature does in new-born Infants frame
With their first Speech their careful_ Forstrer_'s Name,
Whose needful Hands their daily Food provide,
And by whose Aid they have their Wants supply'd:
You are, my Lord, the Poet's earliest Theme,
And the first Word he speaks is_ Dorset_'s Name._

Were not the next Verses written on a Tomb Stone, they wou'd be very _agreeable_. They are _Ben Johnson_'s:

_Underneath this Stone doth lie
As much Virtue as cou'd die:
Which when alive did Vigour give
To as much Beauty as cou'd live._

Is not this Picture of _Venus_ in _Palamon_ and _Arcite_ of the same Kind:

_The Goddess self some noble Hand had wrought,
Smiling she seem'd, and full of pleasing Thought,
From Ocean, as she first began to rise,
And smooth'd the ruffled Waves, and clear'd the Skies.
She trod the Brine, all bare below the Breast,
And the green Waves, but ill conceal'd the Rest:
A Lute she held, and on her Head was seen
A Wreath of Roses red, and Myrtles green:
Her Turtles fan'd the buxom Air above,
And by his Mother stood an Infant Love
With Wings display'd.--------_

These Verses out of _Dryden_'s St. _Cecilia_'s Ode are very agreeable:

_Softly sweet in_ Lydian _Measures
Soon he sooth'd his Soul to Pleasures,
War, he sung, is Toil and Trouble,
Honour but an empty Bubble.
Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying;
If the World is worth thy Winning,
Think, Oh think, it worth enjoying._

But as the finest Meats are most apt to surfeit, so too many agreeable Thoughts together may flatten upon the Palate: And I shall only add an Instance in Prose, taken out of Mr. _Waller_'s Letter to the Lady _Lucy Sydney_, on the Marriage of her Sister the Lady _Dorothy_, who was his _Sacharissa_.

_May my Lady_ Dorothy, _if we may yet call her so, suffer as
much, and have the like Passion for this young Lord, whom she
has preferred to the Rest of Mankind, as others have had for
her; and may this Love before the Year goes about, make her
taste of the first Curse impos'd upon Woman-kind, the Pains of
becoming a Mother. May the First-born be none of her own Sex;
and may she that always affected Silence and Retiredness, have
the House fill'd with the Noise and Number of her Children. May
she, at last, arrive at that great Curse much declin'd by fair
Ladies, Old Age_, &c.

Under the Character of Father _Bouhours_'s fine Thoughts may be put these Verses of Mr. _Waller_'s, alluding to his gallant Poems upon _Sacharissa_, and the Story of _Phoebus_ and _Daphne_.

_Yet what he sang in his immortal Strain,
Tho' unsuccessful, was not sung in Vain:
All but the Nymph that should redress his Wrong
Attend his Passion, and approve his Song;
Like_ Phoebus, _thus acquiring unsought Praise,
He caught at Love, and fill'd his Arms with Bays._

Much of the same Kind is this of the Lord _Landsdown_'s on the same Subject:

_Thy Beauty,_ Sidney, _like_ Achilles _Sword,
Resistless stands upon as sure Record;
The foremost Herce, and the brightest Dame
Both sung alike shall have their Fate the same._

This Part of Mr. _Prior_'s Prologue spoken before the late Queen, is in the fine Way of Thinking:

_Let the young_ Austrian _then her Terrours bear,
Great as he is, her Delegate in War.
Let him in Thunder speak to both his_ Spains,
_That in these dreadful Isles a Woman reigns:
Whilst the bright Queen does on her Subjects show'r,
The gentle Blessings of her softer Pow'r,
Gives sacred Morals to a vicious Age,
To Temples Zeal, and Manners to the Stage;
Bids the chaste Muse without a Blush appear,
And Wit be that, which Heaven and she may hear._

Of what Kind shall we take this Image in _Spencer_ to be:

_His haughty Helmet, horrid all with Gold,
Both glorious Brightness and great Terrour bred;
For all the Crest a Dragon did enfold
With greedy Paws, and over all did spread
His golden Wings; his dreadful hideous Head,
Close couched on the Bever, seem'd to throw,
From flaming Mouth, bright Sparkles fiery red_, &c.

This of _Cowley_ is finely thought:

_Now all the wide extended Sky,
And all th' harmonious Worlds on high,
And_ Virgil_'s sacred Work shall dye._

And this of _Waller_ to Queen _Henrietta Maria_:

_A brave Romance who would exactly frame,
First brings his Knight from some immortal Dame,
And then a Weapon and a flaming Shield,
Bright as his Mother's Eyes, he makes him wield.
None might the Mother of_ Achilles _be,
But the fair Pearl and Glory of the Sea.
The Man to whom Great_ Maro _gives such Fame,
From the high Bed of heavenly_ Venus _came.
And our next_ Charles, _whom all the Stars design
Like Wonders to accomplish, springs from thine._

And this to _Zelinda_:

_Fairest Piece of well form'd Earth,
Urge not thus your haughty Birth;
The Pow'r, which you have o'er us, lies,
Not in your Race, but in your Eyes._

And these Verses of Mr. _Addison_ to the Lord _Hallifax_:

_Oh Liberty, thou Goddess heav'nly bright!
Profuse of Bliss, and Pregnant with Delight;
Eternal Pleasures in thy Presence reign,
And smiling plenty leads thy wanton Train.
Eas'd of her Load, Subjection grows more light,
And Poverty looks chearful in thy Sight:
Thou mak'st the gloomy Face of Nature gay,
Giv'st Beauty to the Sun, and Pleasure to the Day._

These four Verses, Part of the late Duke of _Buckingham_'s Poem upon _Hobbes_, contain, as I conceive, a fine Thought:

_But such the Frailty is of humane Kind,
Men toil for Fame, which no Man lives to find;
Long rip'ning under Ground this_ China _lies;
Fame bears no Fruit, till the vain Planter dies._

But the next Verses contain a false Thought, if I have a Right Conception of it:

_And Nature tir'd with his unusual Length
Of Life, which put her to her utmost Strength;
So vast a Soul, unable to supply,
To save herself, was forc'd to let him die._

Whatever it is we understand by Nature, we can have no such Idea of it, as to imagine Mr. _Hobbes_ cou'd have been too hard for it.

These Verses of Mr. _Waller_, on _Westminster-Abbey_ escaping a Fire, are finely imagined:

_So Snow on_ Ætna _does unmelted lie,
Whence rolling Flames, and scatter'd Cinders flie:
The distant Country in the Ruin shares,
What falls from Heaven the burning Mountain spares._

Tho' some of these _fine_ Thoughts are very nearly allied to the Noble, yet one may easily perceive, that there is not so much Dignity, tho' there may be as much Beauty in the One as in the Other. Thus also, as to delicate and agreeable Thoughts, they are as nearly related; but a Thing may be agreeable which is not delicate, tho' it cannot be delicate, but it must be agreeable: An agreeable Thought expresses it self entirely; a delicate One leaves something to the Readers Imagination which is very flattering.

As in this beauteous old Verse of _Chaucer_'s, preserv'd in _Dryden_'s, _Palamon_ and _Arcite_:

_Uprose the Sun, and uprose_ Emily.

Had _Chaucer_ said, _Up rose the Sun_, and then _up rose Emily_ brighter than the Sun, _Emily_ and the Reader would have been entertain'd with only a common Complement; but now the Reader fills up the Thought himself, and imagines that the Sun rose to prepare the Way for something brighter than himself: _Up rose_ Emily.

Mr. _Dryden_, in another place,

_Now Day appears, and with the Day the King,_

imitates _Chaucer_, but the Delicacy is lost, for there is nothing more to be understood by it, as there is in this Couplet of his to the Dutchess of _Ormond_ upon her going to _Ireland_ before the late Duke,

_As_ Ormond_'s Harbinger, to you they run,
For_ Venus _is the Promise of the Sun._

There the Reader fills up the Comparison himself, and consequently cannot but be pleas'd, as we are apt to be, with every thing which we do our selves.

The Delicacy of Thought is recommended to us by the _Spectator_, in this beautiful Passage out of _Milton_, where after the most dismal Prospect of Death, which the Heart of Man was ever terrify'd with, _Adam_ is presented with one of the gayest Scenes with which it ever was delighted.

------------_When from the Tents, behold
A Beavy of fair Women richly gay,
In Jems and wanton Dress. To the Harp they sang
Soft amorous Ditties, and in Dance came on.
The Men, tho' Grave, ey'd them, and let their Eyes
Rove without Rein, 'till in the amorous Net
First caught they lik'd, and each his liking chose.
And now of Love they treat, till the Evening Star
Love's Harbinger appear'd; then all in Heat
They light the Nuptial Torch, and bid invoke_
Hymen: _Then first to Marriage Rights invok'd.
With Feast and Musick, all the Tents resound;
Such happy Interview, and fair Event
Of Love and Youth not lost: Songs, Garlands, Flowers,
And charming Symphonies attach the Heart
Of_ Adam.--------

The Reader takes in the Infection all along in Reading as _Adam_ does in seeing, and imagines at the End of the Description the Pleasure of _Adam_'s Imagination.

Is there not Delicacy in these Verses of Mr. _Wallers_ upon a Lady's _Girdle_, which leave the Reader much more to be imagin'd than is exprest.

_No Monarch but would give his Crown,
His Arms might do what this has done.
My Joy, my Grief, my Hope, my Love,
Did all within this Circle move;
A narrow Compass, and yet there
Dwells all that's good, and all that's fair.
Give me but what this Ribbon bound,
Take all the Rest the Sun goes round._

Father _Bouhours_, in his _Maniere de bien penser_, besides these several Kinds of Thoughts, has the _true_, the _beautiful_, the _soft_, the _natural_, the _simple_, the _gay_, and many more, which has spun the Subject so very fine, that it will not endure handling but by very tender Fingers.

True Thoughts and false Thoughts are often confounded, especially, if there's any Point, Glittering or Glaring in the Latter. Something like distinguishing the one from the other is attempted in the _Guardian_, Nº 110. But I cannot help thinking that it does not deserve the Recommendation with which it is introduced in that Paper. We are told, the Remarks are very curious and just, and must of Consequence conclude, the Applause which the Author sinks, because 'twas in favour of himself, was so too. A very pretty Way of returning a Compliment which he could not accept of without Offence to his Modesty; but, I humbly conceive, the Remarks are not very curious, if they are just; the same having been made a Hundred times before the publishing of them in the critical Letter; and whoever would be at the Trouble of taking _Dryden_ and _Lee_'s Tragedies to pieces, would find enough of the like Curiosities.

The first is, _Lee_ makes one of his Persons a _Cartesian_ Philosopher, 2 or 3000 Years before _Descartes_ was born: Why did not the Critick remember this too in the same Tragedy _Oedipus_?

--------_As oft I have at_ Athens _seen,
The Stage arise, and the big Clouds descend._

Several Hundred Years before there was such a Thing heard of as a Stage at _Athens_.

The next Thing this Critick takes notice of, is _Dryden_'s making _Cleomenes_ a _Copernican_ 2000 Years before _Copernicus_'s Time. The Rest of the Criticisms turn upon the Improbability that Don _Sebastian_ King of _Portugal_ understood Latin, tho' he never prayed to God in any other Language; or that the Emperor of _Barbary_ had ever heard of the Names of _Bacchus_, _Cupid_, _Castor_, and _Pollux_, or the Mufti of _Archimedes_, tho' we are credibly informed, that most of the Greek and Roman Learning was translated into _Arabick_; and it is well known that the _Arabians_ were the greatest Encouragers of Arts and Sciences for three or four Centuries, when they were buried all over Christendom under the Rubbish of Monkery and Barbarism; and the Revivers of Learning were obliged to them for their Translations and Comments, which were turned into _Latin_ out of _Arabick_. I have not only read of a Translation of _Aristotle_ with Comments by _Aben Rois_, and of _Euclid_ by _Nassir Eddyn_, with Notes, but of an _Arabick Ovid_, where the Fable is the Foundation of the Work, and several other Classicks in the _Arabick_ Tongue. How easy would it be to fill up such Critical Epistles as that in the _Guardian_ with as just and curious Remarks out of the best Epick Poets! How has _Chaucer_ confounded the Sacred _Scripture_ History with Pagan Fables:

_There by the Fount_ Narcissus _pin'd alone:
There_ Sampson _was, and wiser_ Solomon:
Medea'_s Charms were there._
Dryden _from_ Chauc.

_Ariosto_ does the same in the xxxii Book of _Orlando Furioso_:

Joshua_'s Day seemed shorter than the same,
Shorter did seem the false_ Amphytrion_'s Night._
Harrington.

The same does _Tasso_, _Canto_ iv of his _Jierusamme_:

_There where_ Cileno_'s foul and loathsome Rout;
The_ Sphinges, Centaurs; _there where_ Gorgon_'s fell,
There howling_ Scilla_'s, yawling round about:
There Serpents hiss, there seven mouth'd_ Hydra_'s yell,_
Chimera _there spues Fire and Brimstone out,
And_ Polyphemus _blind suporteth Hell._
Fairfax.

All understood of the Hell, which is the Punishment of the Damned, according to the Christian Theology, and here confounded with the fabled Empire of _Pluto_. _Spencer_ too mixes Scripture History with the Fable: _Canto_ ix.

_The Years of_ Nestor _nothing were to his,
Ne yet_ Methusalem, _tho' longest liv'd;
For he remembred both their Infancies._

Nay _Milton_ himself adorns the _Pandæmonium_ with Dorick Pillars, while _Adam_ and _Eve_ lived in the _Bowers_ of Paradise before Man had a House to put his Head in:

--------_Pilasters round
Were set, and Dorick Pillars overlaid
With golden Architrave._

He also borrows the Rivers of the Hell of the Heathens for his Christian Poem:

_Abhorred_ Styx, _the Flood of deadly Hate,
Sad_ Acheron _of Sorrow, black and deep,_
Cocytus _nam'd, of Lamentation loud
Heard on her rueful Stream. Fierce_ Phlegeton,
_Whose Waves of torrent Fire inflame with Rage.
Far off from these a flow and silent Stream_
Lethe _the River of Oblivion rolls;_

Which

Medusa _with_ Gorgonian _Terror guards._

It has been hinted elsewhere, that 'tis ungenerous to criticise on _Dryden_'s Conduct and Sentiments, which 'tis plain he varied at Pleasure, and wrote like a great Original, whose Example was to be a Rule to others, and himself to take Rules from none; but it is not true, as we read in the above-cited _Guardian_, _That his very Faults have more Beauty in them, than the most elaborate Compositions of many more correct Writers_: For I will repeat some few Lines that are monstrous, and then let the Reader judge how they can be beautiful.

_'Tis false, she is not ill, nor can she be;
She must be chaste, because she's lov'd by me.

--------I'll squeeze thee like a Bladder,
Or make thee groan thy self away in Air.

She who dares love, and for that Love dares die,
And knowing this, dares yet love on, am I.

Good Heaven thy Book of Fate before me lay,
But to tear out the Journal of this Day.

But take what Friends, what Armies thou canst bring,
What Worlds, and when you are united All,
Then I will thunder in your Ears; she shall.

--------Fight, love, despair;
And I can do all this, because I dare.

What are ten thousand Subjects, such as they?
If I am scorn'd, I'll take my self away.

Thou shalt not wish her thine, thou shalt not dare
To be so impudent as to dispair.

There's not a Star of thine dares stay with thee,
I'll whistle thy tame Fortune after me._

I cannot repeat any more of it: These are Mr. _Dryden_'s Faults, in which, according to the _Guardian_, there are more Beauties than in the most elaborate Pieces of more correct Writers. I confess it grieves me to mention such Enormities as these are: For no Man can do more justice to Mr. _Dryden_'s fruitful Imagination, and harmonious Versification than my self: But it does not therefore follow, that even Errour in him is more beautiful than Regularity in others.

It I had more Room, and more Leisure, I should have endeavour'd to explain the Difference between the several Ways of Thinking. Some of them I have attempted, and I hope it may stir up a greater Genius, to do in _English_ as Pere _Bouhours_ has done in _French_, which would introduce a beautiful and just Manner both in Thought and Expression. It would then be known why it is that Archbishop _Tillotson_ and Bishop _Sprat_ are both esteem'd Masters of the _English_ Language; why Sir _William Temple_, and Sir _Roger L'Estrange_, the _Tatler_, and the _Spectator_, are generally spoken of as fine Writers; though their Manner is as different as their Faces. Every Thing that pleases in Writing is with us, as I have already hinted, resolved into Wit, whether it be in the Thought or the Expression. _Nay some_, says the _Spectator_, _carry the Notion of Wit so far, as to ascribe it to Puns and Quibbles, and even to external Mimickry, and to look upon a Man as an ingenious Person that can resemble the Tone, Gesture, or Face of another_. With such admirable Judges as these, Sir _Isaac Newton_'s Discourse of _Fluxions_ is very witty, as the Machine called the _Orrery_ was said to be very _wittily_ contrived. With these _Estcourt_, _Penkethman_, and even _Norris_ are Wits, as the _Spaniards_ take the _Apes_ to be, and that they won't speak because they would not work. I have known two or three Actors who got into Vogue by Grimace only, and acting Parts that had neither Wit nor Sense in them.

Every one of the Kinds of right Thinking has its opposite, as every Virtue has its Vice; and the Sublime especially is apt to be mistaken in the Pomp and Puffiness of Description. Of this Kind is that Passage, where Mr. _Eachard_ describes the Sea-Fight between the _English_ and the _Dutch_, in the Time of the _Rump_.

"The Battle grew so fierce and so furious, that there were scarce any Thing to be seen but Masts _overturn'd_ into the Sea, _Splinters_ flying on all Sides, _Sails_ rent and torn in Pieces, Cables and _Cordage_ cut in sunder: _How it terrifies one!_ In one Place a _Vessel_ boarded, and in a Moment the Men chaced off or blown up with the Decks into the Air. _Four or Five Hundred Men would not have made a Figure dreadful enough unless the Wooden Decks had gone along with them._ And in another was seen a Ship swallow'd up by the Waves with several Hundreds of Men, and the Sea turn'd red with Human Gore, and cover'd with dead Bodies, and floating Parts of scatter'd Ships. _What's the Reason that we freeze in the midst of so much_ Fire? _This is what the_ French _call the Cold and the Puerile Stile._ Again; All which instead of dismaying the Combatants, serv'd only to excite their Rage, and enflame them to a more cruel and implacable Slaughter; and the continual Outcries of miserable wounded Wretches render'd them but the more bloody minded, and rouz'd them to a more cruel and remorseless Revenge. The rising Coasts on both Sides the Channel were violently shaken with the resounding Thunders of the roaring Guns, and those engag'd seem'd to be involv'd in the Wreck of Nature."

This Fight was over against the Island of _Portland_, and I really believe the pronouncing of these Words, _roaring Guns_, _resounding Thunders_, _rising Coasts_, _Wreck of Nature_, among the Rocks under the Light-houses, would have as good an Effect with the Help of Eccho, as a Broadside at Sea, which the Historian assures us at the same Time shook the Hills of _England_ and _France_. Whence comes it that we read all this without the least Emotion, where there is so much Affectation to move? Are we not so stun'd with the Sound that the Sense is lost in it, and we are no more concern'd than at the Sight of a Storm in a Half-penny Picture? _Dryden_ lets us a little into this Secret in his _Preface_ to _Troil._ and _Cress._ He is speaking of the puffy Style, _the common Practice of those Writers, who not being able to infuse a natural Passion into the Mind, have made it their Business to ply the Ears, and to stun their Judges by the Noise_. A better Judge than Mr. _Dryden_ has directed us in this Matter.

_The Words, which in Magnificence abound,
Grow tedious oft, and lose themselves in Sound._
Rosc.

This Way of Writing is much more easy than that which is truly great and sublime, as in Liquors, 'tis easier to give them Ferment and Froth, than Spirit and Purity. _There are more Authors_, says _Dryden_, who can make a _pompous Description, than who can write with an equal and natural Stile_. He adds, that _Shakespear_ himself did not distinguish _the blown puffy Stile from true Sublimity_; which could not wholly be attributed to the Time, because we meet with the true Sublimity very often in _Spencer_ and _Fairfax_, who were both Contemporaries with _Shakespear_, and _Spencer_ much the elder. Two Lines of Sir _John Denham_'s, on a like Subject with that of _Echard_, fills one with Horrour and Amazement.

_Tost by a Whirlwind of tempestuous Fire,
A Thousand Wretches in the Air expire._

Mr. _Addison_ observes after _Pere Bouhours_, That _it is impossible for any Thought to be beautiful, which is not just, and has not its Foundation in the Nature of Things: That the Basis of all Wit is Truth, and that no Thought can be valuable, of which good Sense is not the Ground-work_. Therefore when Mr. _Echard_ writes his _Oxcellency_ for his _Excellency_, speaking of the Parliament's General the Earl of _Essex_, the _Tyrannical_ Parliament for the _Triennial_ Parliament, the New _Noddle_ for the _New Model_ with respect to the Army, and the like, we are not to be imposed upon by him, and to take it upon his bare Word for Wit. Neither is there any Wit at all in his burlesquing such Phrases as these; _Presence of God_, _Seeking the Lord_, _Call of God_, _Jesus Christ_, &c. Which he also would impose upon us for Witicisms.

His Descriptions are not all so lofty and sounding as that of the _Sea-Fight_, particularly when he paints _Oliver Cromwel_, without his Breeches, running away from the Cavaliers in his _Drawers_ only, and then turning back upon them and beating them. Of this Kind is the incomparable Picture of the Aldermen _Gloucester_: Their _Visages were pale, lean, and ugly; their Cloaths strange and unusual; their Voices pert, shrill, and fearless_; Ambassadors _from the godly City of Gloucester_. His Similes are not more elevated, especially that where he compares the _Silent_ and _Victorious_ General Monk to a Cat, and General _Lambert to a Mouse_. He watched him as a Cat watches a Mouse, a singular Proof of his Perfection in Eloquence, which naturally leads us to _Expression_, and I doubt not the Historian thinks a finer Historical Stile than his own is not to be met with.

As in Thoughts so in Expression, we in _England_ are apt to confound all the various Kinds under the general Terms of good Language, and a fine Stile. The Sublime, the Natural, the Didactick, the Narrative, the Tragick, the Comick, the Polite, the Affected, are seldom rightly distinguish'd, and the latter very often mistaken for the Polite. The Admirers of Mr. _Echard_'s History do, doubtless, take what follows to have as much of the Sublime in it as the _English_ Tongue is capable of. It introduces the glorious Reign of King _Charles_ II.

_Having gone through a stormy and tempestuous Season of various Misery, we arrive at a sudden Brightness and Splendour, a most unexpected Order, and glorious Calm and Sunshine. The Splendour and Brightness harder to be born than the preceeding Clouds and Darkness._ What is Stormy and Tempestuous? what Brightness, Sunshine, and Splendour? What Clouds and Darkness? but other Words for the same Things, and instead of Amplification comes under the Denomination of another Figure very common in such puffy Rhetorick, call'd _Tautology_, which I am afraid the Historian and his Admirers mistake for the Sublime, there being but very few that can distinguish Sound from Sense, or Wind from Spirit. _Let a Discourse be never so fine_, says _Rapin_, _it loses its worth when 'tis out of its Place, and appears affected_. Affectation in Stile has the same Effect with ordinary Judges as Affectation in Air has with Women and Fops. It passes upon them for Politeness; and Delicacy, tho' there is nothing more vicious in Language. I might fill a Volume with Examples of this Vice, taken out of the Earl of _Clarendon_, and the Archdeacon's Histories, but as I had never troubled my self about them, had there been nothing in them but Want of Method, and an affected Stile, I shall content my self with two or three Observations only, which are sufficient to convince all those that can judge right; and as for others, I have not Leisure nor Words enough to attempt it.

He says the Sight of the _Gloucester_ Aldermen at once _gave Mirth to the most severe Countenances, and Sadness to the most cheerful Hearts_. What Idea can one have of these _Cavaliers_, as he expresses himself, but that of some Idiots whom we have seen to laugh and cry in a Breath. He has two Expressions about Mines, which are very extraordinary, both as he is a _Naturalist_ and as he is an _Orator_: The one is the _Brass-Mine_ in _Cumberland_, the only _Brass-Mine_ that ever was, or ever will be in the World. A _Copper-Mine_ might have been found out there, and a Mine of _Lapis calaminaris_, which put together, would produce _Brass_ enough, if there were Ore enough. Where he speaks of the Cleanliness of his Writing, he intimates, that he is one of those who _dive into the rich Mines of Nature_. What can one imagine about diving better than that of a Duck and a Dog in a Pond, or Boys in the _Bath_? To dive into a Mine, methinks, is like running a Man's Head into a Rock. If he had said he had been digging in the rich Mines of Nature, one might have expected some Mettal to have come of it, of one Sort or another. When the Parliament, that brought in King _Charles_ II, met the first Time, Mr. _Echard_ says, _We are now arrived at the_ VAST _Day_, which I humbly conceive to be beyond Conception, and a strange Specimen of the Author's Talent in Elocution. He had a mind to make this Day something _prodigious_ and _uncommon_, and therefore swells it up with an Epithet which bursts in the Operation. VAST might have been proper, if he had been speaking of the Ton of _Heidelbergh_, or Admiral _Russel_'s Punch Bowl at _Lisbon_: But under what Figure will he put Day for the Word VAST to become it well? Doctor _Littleton_ in his Dictionary makes VAST to be _huge_, _burly_, _wide_, _broad_, _large_, and what is much less for the Archdeacon's Purpose, _misshapen_, _ill-favoured_, _desolate_, _insatiable_, _outragious_; put Day to ever a one of them, and see how the Coat fits. Mr. _Bailey_ in his very good Dictionary is contented with two or three Interpretations only, as a _huge Day_, a _spacious Day_. _Ludlow_, I believe, would have followed _Littleton_, and then for VAST would have understood _desolate Day_, _ill-shapen Day_, _insatiable Day_; so dangerous is it for People to meddle with Words which they do not understand. Of all the Blunders in Expression which are to be avoided, there was the best Provision made against this that could be, if a Man had had the least Acquaintance with the politer Authors, Monsieur St. _Evremont_ having written a Dissertation on this very Word VAST, and whoever reads it, will pity a Writer who could fall into so gross an Errour, if there were no Malice in what he had written. I suppose that almost all Mr. _Echard_'s Readers have taken this VAST in the Sense he intended for _Important_, and if he had said this _Mountainous Day_, it would have done as well: They would have expected a Birth from the Mountain, and the Arch-Deacon's History is a Labour of the same Kind.

As we in _England_ are apt to confound Sentiments and Expressions, so we do the same by Talents, and think if a Man can make a _School-Book_ or two, he can write a History. _Jeremiah Collier_ wrote a _short View of the Stage_, which sold wonderfully, and immediately the Booksellers hir'd him to write Three Histories in Folio: And I question not but, because Sir _Isaac Newton_ has outdone all Philosophers in his Treatise of _Fluxions_, they would employ him in _Heroick_ Poetry, if he were young enough, and would be employ'd by them. There was a _Pertness_ in _Collier_'s Stile, which was mistaken for Vivacity, and tho' there cannot be any Thing more affected, yet it recommends his _Essays_, _Views_, &c. as somewhat in the Perfection of our Language. I wonder Dr. _Felton_ should forget him, when he mentions Sir _Roger L'Estrange_, Mr. _Trap_, and other masterly Writers. You cannot name _Collier_'s _Views_, _Essays_, &c. in Company, but some body or other immediately cries out, _Ay! that's Fine._ Wonderful fine, as will be seen presently.

In his Essays he has this Expression, _A Man may act an Excellency for the Satisfaction if Significancy_, which has the same Effect in Prose, as it is observ'd of some good Verses, that the _Smoothness_ or _Roughness_ of the Numbers are an Image of the Roughness or Smoothness of the Thing. You can hardly pronounce these Words without a prim Look, and screwing up your Mouth with the Affectation of a Girl at a _Boarding-School_. Would one imagine that this was said by the same Author in another place; _Nothing is more nauseous than to be affected_: And yet see further, _Don't let Miss suffer her Heels to get too much into her Head_, not to say any Thing about the _Attitude_, which would be very extraordinary in a Picture. Again, _Seeing and Hearing are the most creditable Senses; the Brain has an unpromising Aspect_, which cannot be known without Dissection. What Idea does this leave upon the Mind? or this, _A PRINCE made but a lame Figure in Comparison with our APOSTLE._ One would think _Collier_ had Prince _Prettiman_ and the _Spanish_ Fryer in his Head when he wrote it. He is so fond of this Conceit, that he endeavours to prove, in his Essay on Theft, and elsewhere, that our Saviour's Disciples were Men of Quality, well-born, and well-bred, and if they did fish at any time, 'twas only for their Pleasure. As the _Barber_ of _Northampton_ told _Estcourt_, He was a Doctor by Profession, and shav'd only for his Diversion. But _Collier_ seems to have less Regard for his Brotherhood in the last Centuries, when he informs us that by Queen _Elizabeth_'s Injunctions a Clergyman could not marry till he had made his Complaint against Celibacy before two Justices of the Peace, and gain'd their Consent, and the _good Will of the Master or Mistress where the Damsel serv'd_, by which he gives us to understand, that soon after the Reformation the Priests Wives were all _Abigail_'s.

_Collier_'s Dialogues serve two principal Ends, the one to carry on an Argument the more freely and loosely; and the other, which is not the least, to give himself a fat Figure in his own Picture, for he himself is the Man who has always the best of the Dispute.

_Well, I can't stand the Force of your Argument:
You are smart, you have brought your self well off._

Thus he conquers his _Alphius_, and compels him _to own, That the Priests are an independant State_; and thus Boys build Houses of Cards to blow them down when they have done. What a Parcel of Flowers and Graces might one pick up in his Writings, if it was more _a propos_, such as _Slender Difficulty_, _Lean Temper_, _touchy Point_, _Cheek by Joule_, _to con over_, _to be Uppish_, _Intents and Purposes_, _to glitter upon the Senses_, _Enrichments_, _renverse_, _Deconcert_, _bigger Entertainment of the Soul_, _don't_, _on't_, _can't_, _won't_, _'tis_, _it's_, _at's_, and the frequent Use of Proverbs.

_Where there's Life there's Hope.
One Swallow makes no Summer_, &c.

The Use of Proverbs is so far from giving Disgust in common Conversation, especially in the Country, that 'tis look'd upon to be Wit as well as Mimickry, Buffoonry, Pun, Quibble, _&c._ and you would be star'd at if you should object against either of them as the effect of Ignorance or Folly. The _Spectator_ takes Notice that Puns made a considerable Figure on the Banks of _Cam_, and Proverbs must needs do no less on the Banks of _Isis_, when so great a Scholar as _Edward Llwyd_ set the Example, two in one Paragraph.

Rome _was not built in a Day.
Better late than never._

_On laisse aux Discours du Peuple les manieres de s'appliquer en Proverbes._ 'Tis for the Vulgar only to express themselves by Proverbs. But what are Proverbs, _&c._ to _Collier_'s huddling of Metaphors, a Vice in Eloquence which is hardly taken Notice of in _English_ Writings; _To be always pouring in Oil, is the Way to overset the Flame and extinguish the Lamp: If you lay a Country constantly under Water, you must spoil the Soil._ Here Fire and Water most lovingly agree together to do the same Business. _To overset a Flame_ is a fine Way of speaking, and as easily to be conceiv'd, as to overset a Cockboat or a _Wherry_. Again, _I fancy we shall sift the Gentleman to the Bran, and make him run the Gauntlet before he gets clear._ The _Bran_ Gentleman having run the Gauntlet, we will add one Instance more, and have done with his Metaphors; _They will glean up the best Thoughts, they will draw of the Spirit of the Argument when the Mine has been work'd by such Hands._ The _Gleaner_, the Chymist, and the Miner, are at once at work for him in the same short Sentence. If the Writer or Reader's Head can be clear under such Operations, it will be a Wonder. The _Spectator_ has a Remark on this Subject, equally pleasant and judicious: _Thus I have known a Heroe compar'd to a_ Thunder-bolt, _a_ Lion, _and the_ Sea, all _and each of them proper Metaphors for Impetuosity, Courage, and Force; but by bad Management it hath so happen'd, that the_ Thunder-bolt _hath overflow'd the Banks, the_ Lion _has been darted through the Skie, and the Billows have roll'd not of the_ Lybian _Desart_; neither of which is so bad as _Collier_'s burning and drowning the same Thing at the same Time.

The _Declamatory_ Stile, another great Vice in Eloquence, is the Characteristick of these _Essays_; tho' I question not but it is thought to be the very Cream of the Discourse. If 'tis excuseable any where it is in Country Pulpits, where, if a Parcel of Words are well put together, we should not be too scrupulous about the Sense. _Then Commerce must give way to Religion, Baptism sway the Indenture, and the Gospel govern the_ Exchange. Are not the Gospel, Baptism, and Religion, the Exchange, Indenture, and Commerce, the same Things in the _Contrast_. I am far from affecting a foreign Word when we have as good a one of our own, much less when we have a better; and _Attitude_ and _Contrast_ may be supplied by _Posture_ and _Opposition_, if the Reader pleases; out the former was used for Decorum sake, the idea being too gross when in an _English_ Dress. The Author is again declaiming: _It may be the Failing of Drunkenness is imperceptible in the single Instance, 'twill rise in the Sum_; _To go always a little out of the Way makes a strange Mistake upon the progress_; _A Grain will grew to a Burthen by Addition_; _To be always dipping an Estate, is the Way to turn Beggar_; _A Drop that's perpetually pelting Will make a Stone give way._ How new, how eloquent is all this, and that which comes after! He is preaching to the Booksellers about selling _Arian Books_, _Sceptical Books_, _Books of Divorce_, _Impotence_, &c. _Whatever they think on't,_ Atheism _and_ Lewdness _is the most fatal Mortality_;--_The Plague of the Heart the most frightful Distemper_--_Infection is safer lodged in the Veins, than in the Will_--_A Man had much better be poyson'd in his Blood, than in his Principle._ The Stream is the same still, but as a Boar pisses it comes by Spirts. Again, _Are we never to do any Thing without a Majority_; _If we are govern'd by Numbers, we shall live strangely_; _If you go to Poll, Sense and Conscience will lose it in most Cases._ Of all the Modern Criticks, who have given us Rules, Dr. _Felton_ upon the _Classicks_ is the Author, who seems to have stood most upon his own Legs: Others have learnt much of the _French_, and have been much blam'd for it by those who have and have not read their Books. _Rymer_ confesses the _French_ began the _Art_ of _Criticism_ among the Moderns: _They fell not to it in earnest_, says he, in his Preface to _Rapin_, _till the_ Royal Academy _was founded,_ and _Cardinal_ Richelieu _encourag'd and rally'd all the scatter'd Wits under his Banner: Then_ Malherbe _reform'd their ancient licentious Poetry._ _Malherbe_ died Seven Years before the _Royal Academy_ was thought of; however he did begin the Reformation of the _French_ Poetry, and was happily follow'd by _Voiture_, _Sarazin_, _Maynard_, _Godeau_, &c. The _Academy_ have indeed assum'd to themselves the sole Glory of refining the _French_ Tongue, tho' they can by no means engross the Merit of it. _Malherbe_ began it before they had a Being, and several eminent _French_ Authors have written since, who were not of the _Academy_, as St. _Evremont_, _Menage_, _&c._ But there's something pleasant in the Complements that are paid to it, and the _Antiquaries_ have found out just such another Society in _Rome_, under the Patronage of _Augustus_, to refine the _Roman_ Language, which, by the way, had been refined before by _Terence_, _Lucretius_, _Cicero_, _Hortensius_, and their Contemporaries, at the latter End of the Republick. The Learned Antiquaries go so far as to name the _Roman Academicians_,

_Mecænas_,
_Pollio_,
_Plotius_, _Valgius_,
The Two _Messala's_,
The Two _Bibulus's_,
_Piso_, the Father,
_Servius_, _Fulvius_,
_Tibullus_,
_Horace_.

_Ovid_ perhaps was left out because he was in Exile at _Tomos_; but why could they not have put in _Livy_, _Propertius_, &c. They have given this Academy, the Temple and Library of _Apollo_, to meet and study in, and it is pretended, that _Horace_'s Epistle to the _Piso's_ was written by Direction of the Academy, and if there had ever been such an Academy at all, one might the sooner have given Credit to it. The _French_ Academy set an Example to other learned and ingenious Men, to make themselves Masters of their own Language, and the Encouragement they met with from _Lewis_ XIV produced an Age of Poets, Orators, and Criticks. The latter have done more towards explaining the _Classicks_ than had been done before from the _Augustan_ Age to their own. They threw Pedantry and Jargon out of their Writings, and render'd them as polite as judicious. Such are the Criticisms of _Rapin_, _Bossu_, _Segrais_, _Boileau_, _Bouhours_, and _Dacier_, who are all read with like Profit and Pleasure; and this is the Reason of the frequent Use of them, and not an Affectation of foreign Phrases, and technical Cant, as is insinuated by such as never read, or never understood them, and by such too as have not only both read and understood them, but have learnt of them all the Reading they have, and yet make use of no other Names than _Quintillian_, _Longinus_, _Donatus_, _Eustathius_, and the Ancients. This is very common, and I could easily prove it upon those who have charg'd others with Ignorance and Illiterature. The Reading _French_ Authors is inconceivably beneficial to such as do not understand _Latin_ so well as Mr. _Dryden_, and _Greek_ so well as Mr. _Pope_: They will learn as much of the _Greek_ History from _Ablancourt_'s _Thucydides_, and of the _Latin_ from _Du Ryer_'s _Livy_, as they could from the Originals. And as to the Poets, they had better read Madam _Dacier_'s _Homer_, and _Segrais_'s _Virgil_, which they do understand, than the Original _Homer_ and _Virgil_ which they do not. My Lord _Roscommon_ owns of the _French_,

_The choicest Books that_ Rome _or_ Greece _have known,
Their excellent Translators made their own._

And tho' in all Translations the Spirit and Beauty of the Original must in a great measure be lost by Transfusion, yet in History especially you are sure to have the Method, the Facts, and the Politicks, tho' you have not the Strength and Ellegance of the Style. _Dryden_ tells the late Duke of _Bucks_, in the Dedication to his _Virgil_; _Impartially Speaking, the_ French _are as much better Criticks, as they are worse Poets._ The Latter is incontestable; and not to mention _Milton_, who is above all Parallel. They have nothing of _Epick_ Poetry so good as our King _Arthur_; neither are their _Corneille_ and _Racine_ a Match for our _Shakespear_ and _Otway_. They have no Body to name against _Wycherley_, _Etherege_, _Shadwel_, _Congreve_, _Vanburgh_, _Steel_. _Moliere_, the best of their Comick Poets, could write _Scapius_, _Dandins_, _Sganarelles_, and all Kinds of Farce perfectly well; but for Wit and Humour, Repartee, Polite Conversation, for what the Criticks call the _Vis Comica_, you must have recourse to the _English_ Comedies, if you would know what it is. A _French Marquis_, as _Moliere_ shew'd him upon his Stage, would only make a very good Taylor upon ours. They have no _Hopkins_ for Elegy, no _Philips_ for Pastoral: _Scarron_ will hardly serve for a _Ralpho_ to our _Hudibras_. In the _Ode_, I think, _Malherbe_ is at least equal to _Cowley_, and _Voiture_ and _Sarazin_ are not behind our _Suckling_ and _Waller_, in the gallant Way: Nor is our _Prior_ behind their _La Fontaine_ for Taletelling. On the other Hand, I am afraid we must allow, that we have no Translation in _English_ equal to _Seagrais_'s _Virgil_ for Intelligence of the Original, and a correct as well as harmonious Diction, especially if the Character given of it by _Ruæus_ is just. Did we look into other Sciences, we should find our selves more than a Match for them; What Names have they to set against our _Newton_ and _Halley_ in the Mathematicks, and our _Sydenham_ and _Willis_ in _Physick_. They have no _Bacon_, no _Boyle_ in Philosophy. In History indeed they have a _Varillas_ and a _Maimbourg_ for our _Nelson_ and _Brady_, and doubtless the Royal Historiographers will, in the History of _Lewis_ XIV, come up to the _Grand Rebellion_, and Mr. _Echard_'s History for Impartiality and Truth. If I were a _Frenchman_ I should make a Start here, and cry out, What is their _Tureune_ and their _Conde_ to our _Marlborough_, and their Great _Monarch_, who took Pleasure in Slaughter and Devastation, to our Glorious King _George_, whose only Care and Delight is to maintain Liberty and Peace.

Dr. _Felton_ declares we began to refine our Language much sooner than the _French_, and that the Writers in Queen _Elizabeth_'s Reign are far preferable to _Shakespear_, _Fletcher_, _Waller_, _Suckling_, _May_, _Sands_, and all the Writers from the _Gunpowder_ Plot to the Restoration. He will not be advis'd by the best Critick in Poetry, as he represents him. Mr. _Dryden_, who speaking of _Beaumont_ and _Fletcher_, writes thus; _I am apt to believe the_ English _Language in them arrived to its Perfection_: They wrote between the Beginning of King _James_ I and the Reign of King _Charles_ II, a Period in which Dr. _Felton_ makes the _English_ Language to have declin'd; though, if I were permitted to give Judgement, I should continue the Improvement of our Tongue till the Time of the _Spectator_, and the Translation of _Homer_, where, I think, it is in the greatest Purity and Elegance, and that one of the first deplorable Signs of its Declension was even the Discourse upon the _Classicks_. _Dryden_ himself continues the good Taste till the Opening of the Long Parliament 1640, when, if you'l believe him, the Muses were struck dead at a Blow, abandon'd to a barbarous Race of Men, Enemies of all good Learning, such as _Selden_, _Whitlock_, _Bathurst_, _Wilkins_, and the immortal _Milton_. This Passage should have been transplanted into the two famous Histories of those Times, publish'd since King _William_'s Death, particularly that of the _Grand Rebellion_, which Dr. _Felton_ protests is the most impartial one that ever was written; but it is very well it does not stand in need of his Certificate, for there would have been great Exception taken against his Authority. As good a Word as the Doctor gives Mr. _Dryden_ as a _Critick_, _Dryden_ out-does him in his own Panegyrick.

_Let_ Dryden _with new Rules our Stage refine,
And his great Models form by this Design._

This Piece of Modesty in Verse is excelled by another in Prose; _Our present Poets,_ himself the Top of them, _have far surpast all the antient and modern Writers of other Countries._