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Of his dominion may no end be known, And greater than his father's be his throne; Beyond Love's Kingdom let him stretch his pen!" He paus'd, and all the people cry'd, “Amen.' Then thus continued he:-“My son, advance Still in new impudence, new ignorance. Success let others teach, learn thou from me Pangs without birth, and fruitless industry. Let Virtuosos in five years be writ; . Yet not one thought accuse thy toil of wit. Let gentle George in triumph tread the stage, Make Dorimant betray, and Loveit rage ;* Let Cully, Cockwood, Fopling, charm the pit, And in their folly show the writer's wit: Yet still thy fools shall stand in thy defence, And justify their author's want of sense. Let them be all by thy own model made Of dulness, and desire no foreign aid, That they to future ages may be known, Not copies drawn, but issue of thy own. Nay, let thy men of wit, too, be the same, All full of thee, and differing but in name: But let no alien Sedley interpose, To lard with wit thy hungry Epsom prose:t And when false flowers of rhetoric thou wouldst Trust Nature, do not labour to be dull; [cull, But write thy best, and top; and, in each line, Sir Formal's oratory will be thine :#

* Characters in Sir George Etherege's "Man of Mode,' a comedy. Cully and Cockwood appear in Love in a Tub,' another of his plays.

# Sir Charles Sedley assisted Shadwell in his successful comedy of Epson Wells.'

Sir Formal Trifle is a conceited character in Shadwell's co. mnedy of The Virtuoso,

• Sir Formal, though unsought, attends thy quill,

And does thy northern dedications fill.
Nor let false friends seduce thy mind to fame,
By arrogating Jonson's hostile name.*
Let father Flecnoe fire thy mind with praise,
And uncle Ogleby thy envy raise.
Thou art my blood, where Jonson has no part;
What share have we in nature or in art?
Where did his wit on learning fix a brand,
And rail at arts he did not understand ?
Where made he love in prince Nicander's vein,
Or swept the dust in Psyche's humble strain ?
Where sold he bargains, 'Whip-stich, Kiss my a-e't
Promis'd a play, and dwindled to a farce?
When did his muse from Fletcher scenes purloin,
As thou whole Etherege dost transfuse to thine ?
But so transfus'd as oil and waters flow,
His always floats above, thine sinks below.
This is thy province, this thy wondrous way,
New humours to invent for each new play:
This is that boasted bias of thy mind,
By which, one way, to dulness 'tis inclin’d:
Which makes thy writings lean on one side still,
And, in all changes, that way bends thy will.
Nor let thy mountain-belly make pretence
Of likeness; thine's a tympany of sense,
A tun of man in thy large bulk is writ,
But sure thou’rt but a kilderkin of wit.
Like mine, thy gentle numbers feebly creep;
Thy Tragic Muse gives smiles; thy Comic, sleep.
With whate’er gall thou sett'st thyself to write,
Thy inoffensive satires never bite.
In thy felonious heart, though venom lies, :
It does but touch thy Irish pen, and dies.
Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame
In keen Iambics, but mild Anagram.
Leave writing Plays, and choose for thy command
Some peaceful province in Acrostic land:
There thou may'st wings display, and altars raise, *
And torture one poor word ten thousand ways:
Or if thou would'st thy different talents suit,
Set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute."

* Shadwell affected to be the dramatic disciple of Ben Jonson.

+ This polished phrase is the cant idiom of Sir Samuel Hearty, in the same play.

He said; but his last words were scarcely heard;)
For Bruce and Longvilf had a trap prepar'd,
And down they’sent the yet-declaiming bard.
Sinking, he left his drugget robe behind,
Borne upwards by a subterranean wind :
The mantle fell to the young prophet's part,
With double portion of his father's art.

* In the works of Herbert, Wither, Jordan, and other obsolete minor poets, some of these fantastical vagaries may be seen.

+ These are fine gentlemen in Shadewell's · Virtuoso,' who play a trick on Sir Formal Trifle by means of a trap-door.

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A POEM with so bold a title, and a name prefixed, from which the handling of so serious a subject would not be expected, may reasonably oblige the Author to say somewhat in defence both of himself and of his undertaking. In the first place, if it be objected to me, that, being a layman, I ought not to have concerned myself with speculations which belong to the profession of divinity; I could answer, that, perhaps, laymen, with equal advantages of parts, and knowledge, are not the most incompetent judges of sacred things. But in the due sense of my own weakness and want of learning, I plead not this; I pretend not to make myself a judge of faith in others, but only to make a confession of my own. I lay no unhallowed hand upon the ark; but wait on it, with the reverence that becomes me, at a distance. In the next place, I will ingenuously confess, that the helps I have used in this small treatise were many of them taken from the works of our own reverend divines of the church of England; so that the weapons with which I combat irreligion are already consecrated : though, I suppose, they may be taken down as lawfully as the sword of Goliath was by David, when they are to be employed for the common cause against the enemies of piety. I intend not by this, to entitle them to any of my errors; which yet, I hope, are only those of charity to mankind; and such as my own charity has caused me to commit, that of others may more easily excuse.

Being naturally inclined to scepticism in philosophy, I have no reason to impose my opinions in a subject which is above it: but, whatever they are, 1 submit them with all reverence to my Mother-church, accounting them no farther mine than as they are authorized, or at least uncondemned, by her. And, indeed, to secure myself on this side, I have used the necessary precaution of showing this paper, before it was published, to a judicious and learned friend, a man indefatigably zealous in the service of the Church and State, and whose writings have highly deserved of both. He was pleased to approve the body of the discourse, and I hope he is more my friend than to do it out of complaisance 'Tis true, he had too good a taste to like it all; and, amongst some other faults, recommended to my second view what I have written, perhaps too boldly, on St. Athanasius, which he advised me wholly to omit. I am sensible enough that I had done more prudently to have followed his opinion ; but then I could not have satisfied myself that I had done honestly, not to have written what was my own. It has always been my thought that Heathens, who never did, nor without miracle could, hear of the name of Christ, were yet in a possibility of salva

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