may be ashamed to confume half one's days in bringing fenfe and rhyme together; and what Critic can be fo unreasonable as not to leave a man time enough for any more ferious employment, or more agreeable amusement?

The only plea I fhall ufe for the favour of the publick, is, that I have as great a respect for it, as moft authors have for themfelves; and that I have facrificed much of my own felf-love for its fake, in preventing not only many mean things from feeing the light, but many which I thought tolerable. I believe no one qualification is fo likely to, make a good writer, as the power of rejecting his own thoughts; and it must be this (if any thing) that can give me a chance to be one. For what I have publish'd, I can only hope to be pardon'd; but for what I have burn'd, I deferve to be prais'd. On this account the world is under fome obligation to me, and owes me the justice in return, to look upon no verfes as mine that are not inferted in this collection. And perhaps nothing could make it worth my while to own what are really fo, but to avoid the imputation of fo many dull and immoral things, as partly by malice, and partly by ignorance, have been afcribed to me. I must farther acquit my felf of the prefumption of having lent my name to recommend any Mifcellanies, or works of other men, a thing I never thought becoming a person who has hardly credit enough to answer for his own.

In

1

In this office of collecting my pieces, I am altogether uncertain, whether to look upon my self as a man building a monument, or burying the dead?

If time fhall make it the former, may thefe Poems (as long as they laft) remain as a teftimony, that their Author never made his talents fubfervient to the mean and unworthy ends of Party or felf-intereft; the gratification of publick prejudices, or private paffions; the flattery of the undeferving, or the infult of the unfortunate. If I have written well, let it be confider'd that 'tis what no man can do without good fenfe, a qua-, lity that not only renders one capable of being a good writer, but a good man. And if I have made any acquifition in the opinion of any one under the notion of the former, let it be continued to me under no other title than that of the latter.

But if this publication be only a more folemn funeral of my Remains, I defire it may be known that I die in charity, and in my senses; without any murmurs against the justice of this age, or any mad appeals to pofterity. I declare I fhall think the world in the right, and quietly fubmit to every truth which time fhall difcover to the prejudice of thefe writings; not fo much as wifhing fo irrational a thing, as that every body fhould be deceiv'd, meerly for my credit. However, I defire it may then be confider'd, that there are very few things in this collection which were not written under the age of five and twenty; fo that my youth

may

may be made (as it never fails to be in Executions)
a cafe of compaffion. That I was never fo concern'd
about my
works as to vindicate them in print, be-
lieving if any thing was good it would defend it-
felf, and what was bad could never be defended.
That I used no artifice to raise or continue a repu-
tation, depreciated no dead author I was obliged
to, brib'd no living one with unjust praise, in-
fulted no adverfary with ill language, or when I
could not attack a Rival's works, encourag'd re-
ports against his Morals. To conclude, if this vo-
lume perish, let it ferve as a warning to the Cri-
tics, not to take too much pains for the future to
destroy fuch things as will die of themfelves; and
a Memento mori to fome of my vain cotemporaries
the Poets, to teach them that when real merit is
wanting, it avails nothing to have been encourag'd
by the great, commended by the eminent, and fa-
vour'd by the publick in general.

1

On

On Mr. POPE and his POEMS,

By his GRACE

JOHN SHEFFIELD Duke of

W

BUCKINGHAM.

ITH age decay'd, with Courts and bus'ness tir'd,
Caring for nothing but what Eafe requir'd;
Too dully ferious for the Mufe's fport,
And from the Critics fafe arriv'd in Port;
I little thought of launching forth agen,
Amidst adventrous rovers of the Pen:
And after so much undeferv'd Succefs,
Thus hazarding at last to make it less.
Encomiums fuit not this cenforious time,
It self a Subject for fatyric Rhime;
Ignorance honour'd, Wit and Worth defam'd,
Folly triumphant, and ev'n Homer blam'd!

But to this Genius, join'd with so much Art,
Such various Learning mix'd in ev'ry part,
Poets are bound a loud applaufe to pay;
Apollo bids it, and they must obey.

And yet so wonderful, fublime a thing,
As the great Iliad, scarce should make me fing;
Except I justly could at once commend

A good Companion, and as firm a Friend.

One