particularly in Italy; which Success of our Armies and Allies abroad, have given a manifest Proof of our wise Counsels at home. ——Parties still run between High and Low. I shall make no Remarks on either; thinking it always more prudent, as well as more safe, to live peaceably under the Government in which I was born, rather than peevishly to quarrel with it.

But You will cry, Who expects any thing from the Politicks of a Poet? How goes the State of Parnassus? What has the Battle of Ramillies produc'd? What Battles generally do; bad Poets, and worse Criticks. I could not perswade my self to attempt any thing above six Lines, which had not been made, were it not at the Request of a Musical Gentleman. You will look upon them with the same Countenance you us'd to do on things of a larger Size.

Born to surprize the World, and teach the Great The slippery Danger of exalted State, Victorious Marlbrô to Ramilly flies; Arm'd with new Lightning from bright ANNA's Eyes. Wonders like These, no former Age has seen; Subjects are Heroes, where a Saint's the QUEEN.

Mr. Congreve has given the World an Ode, and prefix'd to it a Discourse on the Pindaric Verse, of which more, when I come to speak on the same Argument: There are several others on that Subject, and some which will bear the Test; one particularly, written in imitation of the Style of Spencer; and goes under the Name of Mr. Prior; I have not read it through, but ex pede Herculem. He is a Gentleman who cannot write ill. Yet some of our Criticks have fell upon it, as the Viper did on the File, to the detriment of their Teeth. So that Criticism, which was formerly the Art of judging well, is now become the pure Effect of Spleen, Passion and Self-conceit. Nothing is perfect in every Part. He that expects to see any thing so, must have patience till Dooms-day. The Worship we pay to our own Opinion, generally leads its to the Contempt of another's. This blind Idolatry of Self is the Mother of Errour; and this begets a secret Vanity in our Modern Censurers, who, when they please to think a Meaning for an Author, would thereby insinuate how much his Judgment is inferiour to their inlighten'd Sagacity. When, perhaps, the Failings they expose are a plain Evidence of their own Blindness.

For to display our Candour and our Sence, Is to discover some deep Excellence. The Critick's faulty, while the Poet's free; They raise the Mole hill, who want Eyes to see.

Excrescences are easily perceiv'd by an ordinary Eye; but it requires the Penetration of a Lynceus to discern the 

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