Judgment than the Inclination (or rather Resolution) to praise or condemn, before we see the Object. The Rich and the Great lay a Trap for Fame, and have always a numerous Crowd of servile Dependants, to clap their Play, or admire their Poem.

For noble Scriblers are with Flattery fed,
And none dare tell their Fault who eat their Bread.

Dryden's Pers..

Juvenal shews his Aversion to this Prepossession, when his old disgusted Friend gives this among the rest of his Reasons why he left the Town,

—Mentiri nescio: librum
Si malus est, nequeo laudare & poscere.

To conquer Prejudice is the part of a Philosopher; and to discern a Beauty is an Argument of good Sense and Sagacity; and to find a Fault with Allowances for human Frailty, is the Property of a Gentleman.

Who then is this Critick? You will find him in Quintilius Varus, of Cremona, who when any Author shew'd him his Composure, laid aside the Fastus common to our supercilious Readers; and when he happen'd on any Mistake, Corrige sodes Hoc aiebat & hoc.

Such is the Critick I would find, and such would I prove my self to others. I am sorry I must go into my Enemies Country to find out another like him. Our English Criticks having taken away a great deal from the Value of their Judgment, by dashing it with some splenetick Reflections. Like a certain Nobleman mention'd by my Lord Verulam, who when he invited any Friends to Dinner, always gave a disrelish to the Entertaiment by some cutting malicious Jest.

The French then seem to me to have a truer Taste of the ancient Authors than ever Scaliger or Heinsius could pretend to. Rapin, and above all, Bossu, have done more Justice to Homer and to Virgil, to Livy and Thucydides, to Demosthenes and to Cicero, &c. and have bin more beneficial to the Republick of Learning, by their nice Comparisons and Observations, than all the honest Labours of those well-meaning Men, who rummage musty Manuscripts for various Lections. They did not Insistere in ipso cortice, verbisq; interpretandis intenti nihil ultra petere, (As Dacier has it) but search'd the inmost Recesses, open'd their Mysteries, and (as it were) call'd the Spirit of the Author from the Dead. It is for this Le Clerc (in his Bibliotheque Choisie, Tom. 9. p. 328.) commends St. Evremont's Discourses on Salust and Tacitus, as also his Judgment on the Ancients, and blames the Grammarians, because they give us not a Taste of Antiquity after his Method, which would invite our Polite Gentlemen to study it with a greater Appetite. Whereas their Manner of Writing, which takes Notice only of Words, Customs, and chiefly Chronology, with a blind Admiration of all they read, is unpleasant to a fine Genius, and deters it from the pursuit of the Belles Lettres.

I shall say no more at present on this Head, but proceed to give you an Account of the following Sheets. What I have attempted in them is mostly of the Pindaric and the Lyric Way. I have not follow'd the Strophe and Antistrophe; neither do I think it necessary; besides I had rather err with Mr. Cowley, who shew'd us the Way, than be flat and in the right with others.

Mr. Congreve, an ingenious Gentleman, has affirm'd, I think too hastily, that in each particular Ode the Stanza's are alike, whereas the last Olympic has two Monostrophicks of different Measure, and Number of Lines.

The Pacquet-boat is just going off, I am afraid of missing Tide. You may expect the rest on the Pindaric Style. In the mean time I beg leave to subscribe myself,

Sir, Your ever Obedient

and Obliged Servant,

Samuel Cobb.

Of POETRY.

1. Its Antiquity. 2. Its Progress. 3. Its Improvement.

A POEM.

Antiquity of PoetrySure when the Maker in his Heav'nly Breast
Design'd a Creature to command the rest,
Of all th' Erected Progeny of Clay
His Noblest Labour was his First Essay.
There shone th' Eternal Brightness, and a Mind
Proportion'd for the Father of Mankind.
The Vigor of Omnipotence was seen
In his high Actions, and Imperial Mien.
Inrich'd with Arts, unstudy'd and untaught,
With loftiness of Soul, and dignity of Thought
To Rule the World, and what he Rul'd to Sing,
And be at once the Poet and the King.
Whether his Knowledge with his breath he drew,
And saw the Depth of Nature at a View;
Or, new descending from th' Angelick race,
Retain'd some tincture of his Native Place.* The Soul according to the Platonists. So Virgil: Aurai simplicis ig, nem.

Fine was the Matter of the curious Frame,
Which lodg'd his Fiery Guest[*], and like the same
Nor was a less Resemblance in his Sense,
His Thoughts were lofty, just his Eloquence.
Whene're He spoke, from his Seraphick Tongue
Ten Thousand comely Graces, ever young,
With new Calliopes and Clio's sprung.
No shackling Rhyme chain'd the free Poet's mind,
Majestick was His Style, and unconfin'd.
Vast was each Sentence, and each wondrous strain
Sprung forth, unlabour'd, from His fruitful Brain.

But when He yielded to deluding Charms,
Th'Harmonious Goddess shun'd His empty Arms.
The Muse no more his sacred Breast inspir'd,
But to the Skies, her Ancient Seat, retir'd.
Yet here and there Celestial Seeds She threw,
And rain'd melodious Blessings as She flew.
Which some receiv'd, whom Gracious Heav'n design'd
For high Employments, and their Clay resin'd.
Who, of a Species more sublime, can tame
The rushing God, and stem the rapid Flame.
When in their breasts th'impetuous Numen rowls,
And with uncommon heaves swells their Diviner Souls.

Thus the Companion of the Godhead [Moses] sung,
And wrote upon those Reeds from whence he Sprung.
He, first of Poets, told how Infant Light,
Unknown before, dawn'd from the Womb of Night.
How Sin and Shame th' Unhappy Couple knew,
And thro' affrighted Eden, more affrighted, flew.
How God advanc'd his Darling Abram's fame,
In the sure Promise of his lengthen'd Name.
On Horeb's Top, or Sinah's flaming Hill
Familiar Heav'n reveal'd his Sacred Will.
Unshaken then Seth's stony Column stood,
Surviving the Destruction of the Flood.
His Father's Fall was letter'd on the Stone,
Thence Arts, Inventions, Sciences were Known.
Thence Divine Moses, with exalted thought,
In Hebrew Lines the Worlds Beginning wrote.The Progress of Poetry.

The Gift of Verse descended to the Jews,
Inspir'd with something nobler than a Muse.
Here Deborah in fiery rapture sings,
The Rout of Armies, and the Fall of Kings.
Thy Torrent, Kison, shall for ever flow,
Which trampled o'er the Dead, and swept away the Foe.

With Songs of Triumph, and the Maker's praise,
With Sounding Numbers, and united Lays,
The Seed of Judah to the Battle flew,
And Orders of Destroying Angels drew
To their Victorious side: Who marching round
Their Foes, touch'd Myriads at the signal Sound,
By Harmony they fell, and dy'd without a Wound.
So strong is Verse Divine, when we Proclaim
Thy Power, Eternal Light, and Sing thy Name!

Nor does it here alone it's Magick show,
But