me that a gentleman then in the room had written a play that he was sure I would like, but it was to be a secret, and he knew I would take as much pains, since he recommended it, as I would for him.'

I hope nobody will be wronged, or think himself aggrieved, that I give this rejected work where I do; and if a certain gentleman is injured by it, I will allow I have wronged him, upon this issue, that (if the reputed translator of the first book of Homer shall please to give us another book) there shall appear another good judge in poetry, besides Mr. Alexander Pope, who shall like it. But I detain you too long upon things that are too personal to myself, and will defer giving the world a true notion of the character and talents of Mr. Addison, till I can speak of that amiable gentleman on an occasion void of controversy: I shall then, perhaps, say many things of him, which will be new even to you, with regard to him in all parts of his character; for which I was so zealous, that I could not be contented with prais ing and adorning him as much as lay in my own power, but was ever soliciting and putting my friends upon the same office. And since the editor has adorned his heavy discourse with prose in rhyme at the end of it upon Mr. Addison's death, give me leave to atone for this long and tedious epistle, by giving you after it what I dare say you will esteem an excellent poem on his marriage. I must conclude without satisfying as strong a desire as ever man had, of saying something remarkably handsome to the person to whom I am writing; for you are so good a judge, that you would find out the endeavourer to be witty: and, therefore, as I have tired you and myself, I will be contented with assuring you, which I do very honestly, I had rather have you satisfied with me on this subject, than any other man living.

You will please to pardon me, that I have, thus, laid this nice affair before a person who has the acknowledged superiority to all

others, not only in the most excellent talents, but possessing with them an equanimity, candour, and benevolence, which render those advantages a pleasure as great to the rest of the world, as they can be to the owner of them. And since fame consists in the opinion of wise and good men, you must not blame me for taking the readiest way to baffle an attempt upon my reputation, by an address to one whom every wise and good man looks upon with the greatest affection and veneration. I am, Sir,

Your most obliged, most obedient, and

Most humble servant,

RICHARD STEELE.

TO THE COUNTESS OF WARWICK,

ON HER MARRIAGE.

BY MR. WELSTED.

AMBITION long has woman's heart betray'd,
And tinsel grandeur caught th' unwary maid;
The pompous styles, that strike th' admiring throng,
Have glitter'd in the eye of beauty long:
You, madam, first the female taste improve,
And give your fellow-charmers laws for love;
A pomp you covet, not to heralds known,
And sigh for virtues equal to your own:
Part in a man immortal greatly claim,
And frown on titles to ally with fame :
Not Edward's star, emboss'd with silver rays,
Can vie in glory with thy consort's bays;
His country's pride does homage to thy charms
every merit crowds into thy arms.

And

While others gain light conquests by their eyes, 'Tis thine with wisdom to subdue the wise; To their soft chains while courtly beaux submit, "Tis thine to lead in triumph captive wit: Her sighing vassals let Clarinda boast,

Of lace and languishing cockades the toast:

In beauty's pride unenvied let her reign,
And share that wanton empire with the vain.
For thee the arts of Greece and Rome combine;
And all the glories, Cato gain'd, are thine:
Still Warwick in thy boasted rank of life,
But more illustrious, than when Warwick's wife.

Come forth, reveal thyself, thou chosen bride, And shew great Nassau's poet by thy side; Thy bright example shall instruct the fair, And future nymphs shall make renown their care; Embroid'ry less shall charm the virgin's eye, And kind coquettes, for plumes, less frequent die; Secure shall beauty reign, the Muse its guard; The Muse shall triumph, beauty its reward.

THE PREFACE.

HAVING recommended this play to the town, and delivered the copy of it to the bookseller, I think myself obliged to give some account of it.

It had been some years in the hands of the author, and falling under my perusal, I thought so well of it, that I persuaded him to make some additions and alterations to it, and let it appear upon the stage. I own I was very highly pleased with it, and liked it the better, for the want of those studied similies and repartees, which we, who have writ before him, have thrown into our plays, to indulge and gain upon a false taste that has prevailed for many years in the British theatre. I believe the author would have condescended to fall into this way a little more than he has, had he, before the writing of it, been often present at theatrical representations. I was confirmed in my thoughts of the play, by the opinion of better judges to whom it was communicated, who observed that the scenes were drawn after Moliere's manner, and that an easy and natural vein of humour ran through the whole.

I do not question but the reader will discover this, and see many beauties that escaped the audience; the touches being too delicate for every taste in a popular assembly. My brother sharers were of opinion, at the first reading of it, that it was like a picture in which the strokes were not strong enough to appear at a distance. As it is not in the common way of writing, the ap