Poems on several occasions by the Duke of Buckingham, The late Lord Rochester, Sir John Denham, Sir George Etheridge, Andrew Marvel, Esq., the famous Spencer, Madam Behn, and several other poets of this age.

THE Epistle Dedicatory, TO Sir FLEETWOOD SHEPPARD.

SIR,

INnovation lies under so very Scan∣dalous a Name, that to break an old Custom, tho' never so Errone∣ous, is esteem'd little less than the profannest of Sacriledgies, So necessary we think it to believe our Ancestors wiser, than our Selves! This makes me afraid to turn out of that beaten Path, my Predecessors in Dedications, have made the Via Regia for us to tread; they have fix'd the Custom of rarely, or never-speaking Truth to our Patrons, and I shou'd be convicted of too open a breach of this, by more Witnesses

than the Law requires, if I shou'd in this Epistle attempt your Praise; because all, that have the Happiness of an Intimacy with you, know, and all that have heard of you believe your Merit deserves the greatest. Besides I shou'd incur the Imputation of that intollerable Impertinence some News-Mongers are so guilty of, in repeat∣ing, with abundance of Ceremony, what all the World knew before: And to tell my Readers that Sir FLEETWOOD is a Man of admirable Address, and vicacity in Conversation, that his Reflections are both Judicious and Pleasant; that he knows not only Himself, but the World too; and other Truths, too numerous to particularize, wou'd be but a dull Re∣petition of what his daily Converse has already, and e'ery moment does prove ten thousand times more effectually; for,

Segnius iritant animos demissa per Aurem Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, et quae Ipse sibi tradit Spectator.—

The World Loves to hear something new, something not heard of before, viz. That such a Miser is a liberal Mecaenas; such a thoughtless pert Debochee, a Man of Honour, Temperance, Justice and Ge∣nerosity; such a stigmatiz'd Sot, a Man of Address and Wit: But I must inform'••m that the thred-bare Authors have found, ev'n that Method ineffectual; all the De∣dicator can say, will not perswade the Parcimonious Patron to be liberal, or the Town to think him so: all his forc'd En∣comiums on his Sense, will scarce make him so much a Man of Wit, as to rise a∣bove some little paltry Present; for with Authors, Sir, as well as Whores,

Res est, ••rede mihi, ingeniosa DARE.

And what-ever the World may think their Brains, their Gold will be always sterling with the Poets.

I esteem my self more happy in the Choice of your Patronage, because it se∣cures me from Scandalously incurring the

same Follies and Vices I condemn in o∣thers. But as I have no common Pa∣tron in Sir FLEETWOOD SHEPPARD; so I will not treat you like one, I'll endea∣vour to imitate You, Sir, that is, entertain you agreeably, as you do all your Friends. But I'm not so vain, as to mean this of any thing I have, or shall say in this Dedica∣tion: no, I leave that lucky Assurance to our brisker Authors, who full of them∣selves, and the University, set up Dogma∣ticly to assert their own Excellence, and the Follies of all others; let them think to attone for their own nauseous Tran∣slations, by railing at the poor Beaux, and crown themselves with Laurel, for having wretchedly attaqu'd those despicable Ani∣mals. The Entertainment, Sir, that I pro∣pose, is the following Collection of Verses, where you'll find both Variety and Excel∣lence; for a great many of the ensuing Poems merit that Title.

If there can be a Definition given us of Wit, and good Poetry, I'm sure the Praise

and Fate of Authors are not really so Ar∣bitrary, as they are generally made. I have frequently heard Men, who have in their Performances excell'd, censure others, very positively, without giving any Reason for what they said; when in those very things they exploded, there have concurr'd all they ever requir'd to a good Poem, Propriety, and Noble Bold∣ness of Thought and Expression, the Images daring, and natural, &c. and in Di∣scourses, the Arguments demonstrative, and succinct; the Reflections Just and Brillant. On the other hand, I have seen Authors, meet with a very wel∣come Reception in the World, who in my Opinion have but a slender pretence to Merit. Whose works are like St. Iames's Park on a Sunday or Holy-day, a strange Extravagant Medly, here a heap of dull Insipid Stuff, with a pert Air, like a Com∣pany of heavy, gawdy flutt'ring awker'd City Prentices, with their Swords ty'd up to their' Middles; there a dull Thought dress'd in an effected Expression, like Miss

in her Holy-day Garb, as stiffly adjusted as her Father's Beard, when he goes to the Change, or a Sermon. There a false glittering Reflection, set off with the Emphatic Mein of a suburb Harlot to engage the straggling Shop-keeper on his Dominical day of Vacation from Cheat∣ing; besides a thousand other congergated Blunders, like the Flood of the undistin∣guish'd Mob, that laboriously contribute their share of bustle to the raising a Dust and Noise, as well as the Spleen.

But if the World wou'd receive the Standard of Wit and Excellence given us by so good a Judge, as Mr. Dryden, viz. Propriety of Thoughts and Words, or the Thoughts and Words elegantly adapted to Subject, Authors wou'd meet with a much different Fate, from what they have of late. They wou'd not build their Reputation on any Faction, and challenge Wit from the suppos'd Justice of the Cause they espouse; from the Eminent Man they have the

Impudence to attaque; or the Elimosina∣ry Verses of their establish'd Acquain∣tance, the Tribute of their Friendship, not Judgment; from the Extravagance of the Paradox they advance, or in short, from the Assurance of their own parts; but only from their true and innate Worth, as they equall'd, or fell short of the Standard of Excellence. This I desire shou'd be the guide of the Reader's Censure of the following Verses; not that I've any Hope my own Will escape the better by this means; for I confess my self before-hand, so far from a Poet, that I don't think my self so; I know by experience, that the Muse has too much of the Jilt of that Sex, she's represented of, to one that has no Money; Want starves Poetry, as well as pleasure; and an empty Purse will never win one of the nine Sisters to the Arms of their greatest Admirer. They are like other Tempo∣rary Friends, flying from our distress, and quitting us like our Shadows, as soon as

the Sun withdraws. I have met with too many Misfortunes, and too few Friends to have Sedateness, and Freedom of Mind, enough to write, as I cou'd wish; without the Golden Bough, there's no Being

—Led thro' the Cumaean Cave, To hear th'impatient Maid divinely rave.

Yet notwithstanding this, I have presu∣med to insert some of my own Verses in this Miscellany, whose Fate I shall not be over-sollicitous for; hoping I may here∣after be able to produce something, my Enemies will not so easily condemn. I shall leave the whole, Sir, without any farther Apology, to your Candor, and good Humour, who can not only distin∣guish betwixt the Manners of the Au∣thors you read, and their Wit; but also allow the Merit of the Performance, where you, and all honest Men, must con∣demn the Subject, 'tis to this Candor, and

Generous Temper of yours, Sir, that, with the Book, I commit my self, who am,

SIR,

Your Humble Servant, CHARLES GILDON.