'But to return to “ Blenheim,” that work so much admired by some, and censured by others. I have often wished he had wrote in Latin, that he might be out of the reach of the empty critic, who could have as little understood his meaning in that language as they do his beauties in his own.

False critics have been the plague of all ages; Milton himself, in a very polite court, has been compared to the rumbling of a wheelbarrow: he had been on the wrong side, and therefore could not be a good poet. And this, perhaps, may be Mr. Philips's case.

'But I take generally the ignorance of his readers to be the occasion of their dislike. People that have formed their taste upon the French writers can have no relish for Philips: they admire points and turns, and consequently have no judgment of what is great and majestic: he must look little in their eyes, when he soars so high as to be almost out of their view. I cannot therefore allow any admirer of the French to be a judge of "Blenheim," nor any who takes Bouhours for a complete critic. He generally judges of the ancients by the moderns, and not the moderns by the ancients; he takes those passages of their own authors to be really sublime which come the nearest to it; he often calls that a noble and a great thought which is only a pretty and a fine one: and has more instances of the sublime out of Ovid de Tristibus, than he has out of all Virgil.

'I shall allow, therefore, only those to be judges of Philips, who make the ancients, and particularly Virgil, their standard.

But, before I enter on this subject, I shall consider what is particular in the style of Philips, and examine what ought to be the style of heroic poetry; and next inquire how far he is come up to that style.

'His style is particular, because he lays aside rhyme, and writes in blank verse, and uses old words, and frequently postpones the adjective to the substantive, and the substantive to the verb ; and leaves out little particles, a, and the; her, and his; and uses frequent appositions. Now let us examine, whether these alterations of style be conformable to the true sublime.'

THE

SPLENDID SHILLING.

Sing, heavenly Muse!

Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme,
A Shilling, Breeches, and Chimeras dire.

DESIGNED DEDICATION.

ΤΟ

WILLIAM BROME, Esq.

OF EWITHINGTON, IN THE COUNTY OF HEREFORD.

SIR,

It would be too tedious an undertaking at this time to examine the rise and progress of Dedications. The use of them is certainly ancient, as appears both from Greek and Latin authors; and we have reason to believe that it was continued, without any interruption, till the beginning of this century, at which time mottos, anagrams, and frontispieces being introduced, Dedications were mightily discouraged, and at last abdicated. But to discover precisely when they were restored, and by whom they were ushered in, is a work hat far transcends my knowledge; a work that

can justly be expected from no other pen but that of your operose Doctor Bentley.

Let us, therefore, at present acquiesce in the dubiousness of their antiquity, and think the authority of the past and present times a sufficient plea for your patronizing, and my dedicating this poem: especially since in this age Dedications are not only fashionable, but almost necessary; and indeed they are now so much in vogue, that a book without one is as seldom seen as a bawdyhouse without a Practice of Piety, or a poet with money. Upon this account, Sir, those who have no friends, dedicate to all good Christians; some to their booksellers; some, for want of a sublunary patron, to the manes of a departed one. There are, that have dedicated to their whores : God help those hen-pecked writers that have been forced to dedicate to their own wives! But while I talk so much of other men's patrons I have forgot my own; and seem rather to make an essay on Dedications, than to write one. However, Sir, I presume you will pardon me for that fault; and perhaps, like me, the better for saying nothing to the purpose.

You, Sir, are a person more tender of other men's reputation than your own, and would hear every body commended but yourself. Should I but mention your skill in turning, and the compassion you showed to my fingers' ends when you gave me a tobacco-stopper, you would blush, and be confounded with your just praises. How much more would you, should I tell you what a progress you have made in that abstruse and useful language the Saxon? Since, therefore, the

recital of your excellences would prove so troublesome, I shall offend your modesty no longer. Give me leave to speak a word or two concerning the poem, and I have done. This poem, Sir, if we consider the moral; the newness of the subject, the variety of images, and the exactness of the similitudes that compose it, must be allowed a piece that was never equalled by the moderns or ancients. The subject of the poem is myself, a subject never yet handed by any poet. How fit to be handled by all, we may learn by those few divine commendatory verses written by the admirable Monsieur le Bog.

Yet since I am the subject and the poet too, I shall say no more of it, lest I should seem vainglorious. As for the moral I have taken particular care that it should lie incognity, not like the ancients, who let you know at first sight they design something by their verses. But here you may look a good while, and, perhaps, after all, find that the poet has no aim or design, which must needs be a diverting surprise to the reader. What shall I say of the similies, which are so full of geography that you must get a Welshman to understand them? that so raise our ideas of the things they are applied to? that are so extraordinarily quaint and well chosen, that there is nothing like them? So that I think that I may, without vanity, say, Avia Pieridum peragro loca, &c. Yet, however excellent this poem is, in the reading of it you will find a vast difference between some parts and others; which proceeds not from your humble servant's negligence, but