Suppose I had the better end o'th' staff,

Why should I help the ill-natur'd world to laugh?

"Tis all alike to them, who get the day;

They love the spite and mischief of the fray.
No; I have cur'd myself of that disease ;
Nor will I be provok'd, but when I please :
But let me half that cure to you reftore;
You give the falve, I laid it to the fore.
Our kind relief against a rainy day,
Beyond a tavern, or a tedious play,
We take your book, and laugh our spleen

away.

If all your tribe, too ftudious of debate,
Would ceafe falfe hopes and titles to create,
Led by the rare example you begun,
Clients would fail, and lawyers be undone,

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EPISTLE THE TENTH.

TO MY DEAR FRIEND,

Mr. CONGREVE,

ON HIS COMEDY CALLED,

THE DOUBLE DEALER.

WELL then, the promis'd hour is come at laft,

The prefent age of wit obfcures the past :

Ver. 1. Well then,] To be able to write a good comedy evidently implies and pre-fuppofes an acquaintance with real life and living manners, a long commerce with the world, with much experience and obfervation. To produce therefore fuch a comedy as the Old Batchelor, at only one and twenty years, was an extraordinary phenomenon. Dryden on its perufal expreffed great aftonifhment at feeing fuch a firft play. Dr. Johnfon thinks the idea of the comic characters might have been caught from a diligent perufal of former writers. The chief fault afcribed to it, as to all his other pieces, is a fuperaburdance and affectation of wit on all fubjects and occafions, and the univerfal confeffion, that his fools are not fools indeed. In the next year, 1694, he brought out his "Double Dealer," which did not meet with the expected applaufe; and the year after his fertile pen produced Love for Love, in my humble opinion the most pleasing of all his comedies. His last play, the Way of the World, was fo ill received, that in deep difguft he determined to write no more for the theatre. The paucity of

Strong were our fires, and as they fought they

writ,

Conquering with force of arms, and dint of wit: Theirs was the giant race, before the flood: 5 And thus, when Charles return'd, our empire ftood.

10

Like Janus he the ftubborn foil manur'd,
With rules of husbandry the rankness cur'd;
Tam'd us to manners, when the ftage was rude;
And boiftrous English wit with art indu'd.
Our age was cultivated thus at length;
But what we gain'd in fkill we loft in ftrength.
Our builders were with want of genius curft;
The fecond temple was not like the firft:
Till you, the best Vitruvius, come at length; 15
Our beauties equal, but excel our strength.
Firm Doric pillars found your folid base:
The fair Corinthian crowns the higher space :
Thus all below is ftrength, and all above is

grace.

In easy dialogue is Fletcher's praise ;

20

He mov'd the mind, but had not power to raife.

Congreve's plays cannot but remind one of the multitude produced by the most celebrated ancients. Menander wrote one hundred comedies; Philemon ninety-feven; and Sophocles, according to Suidas, one hundred and twenty three tragedies.There is fomething very affecting in our old poet entreating his young friend at verfe 72, to be kind to his remains. He carneftly complied with his request, and with equal affection and eloquence placed his character in a very amiable light. Dr. J. WARTON.

Great Johnson did by strength of judgment

please ;

Yet, doubling Fletcher's force, he wants his

eafe.

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In differing talents both adorn'd their age;
One for the study, t'other for the stage.
But both to Congreve justly shall submit,
One match'd in judgment, both o'ermatch'd in
wit.

In him all beauties of this age we fee,

Etherege his courtship, Southern's purity, The fatire, wit, and strength of manly Wy

cherly.

Vy-S

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35

All this in blooming youth you have atchiev'd:
Nor are
your foil'd contemporaries griev❜d,
So much the fweetness of your manners move,
We cannot envy you, becaufe we love.
Fabius might joy in Scipio, when he faw
A beardlefs conful made against the law,
And join his fuffrage to the votes of Rome;
Though he with Hannibal was overcome.
Thus old Romano bow'd to Raphael's fame,
And fcholar to the youth he taught became. 40

O that your brows my laurel had fuftain'd!
Well had I been depos'd, if you had reign'd;
The father had defcended for the fon;
For only you are lineal to the throne.
Thus, when the ftate one Edward did depofe,
A greater Edward in his room arose.

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But now, not I, but poetry is curs'd ;

50

For Tom the fecond reigns like Tom the first.
But let them not mistake my patron's part,
Nor call his charity their own desert.
Yet this I prophefy; thou shalt be seen,
(Though with fome short parenthefis between)
High on the throne of wit, and, feated there,
Not mine, that's little, but thy laurel wear.
Thy first attempt an early promise made;
That early promife this has more than paid,
So bold, yet fo judiciously you dare,
That your leaft praise is to be regular.
Time, place, and action, may with pains be

wrought;

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But genius must be born, and never can be

taught,

This is your portion; this your native store Heaven, that but once was prodigal before, To Shakespear gave as much; fhe could not give him more.

Maintain your poft: That's all the fame

need ;

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you

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For 'tis impoffible you should proceed.
Already I am worn with cares and age,
And just abandoning the ungrateful stage:
Unprofitably kept at heaven's expence,
I live a rent-charge on his providence;
But you, whom every mufe and
grace adorn, 70
Whom I forefee to better fortune born,

o o