is, indeed, no wonder to find poetry thrive under the reign of that prince; when, by one of his great favourites, who was likewise an excellent poet, there was a dore-set open for all men of wit. Perhaps you will-mutt'er, that I have left out the earl of Rochester; but I never was one of his admirers.
Upon the revolution, poetry seemed to decline; however, I shall pry o'r as many poets as I can remember. Mr. Montague affected to be a patron of wit, and his house was the poets hall-i-fax for several years, which one of them used to step-nigh every day. Another of them, who was my old acquaintance, succeeded well in comedy, but failed when he began to con grave subjects. The rest came in a row.
The author of the Dispensary had written nothing else valuable, and therefore is too small in the garth. But may not a man be allowed to add is own friend to the number? I mean, the author of Cato.
To mention those who are now alive, would be endless; I will therefore only venture to lay down one maxim, that a good poet, if he designs to tickle the world, must be gay and young; but, if he proposes to give us rational pleasure, he must be as grave as a pope.
I am, sir, yours, &c.
AN
