which he speaks. If ever he goes far for it, he dissembles his pains admirably well.

The variety of arguments that he has managed is so large, that there is scarce any particular of all the passions of men, or works of Nature and Providence, which he has passed by undescribed. Yet he still observes the rules of decency with so much care, that whether he inflames his reader with the softer affections, or delights him with inoffensive raillery, or teaches the familiar manners of life, or adorns the discoveries of philosophy, or inspires him with the heroic characters of charity and religion to all these matters, that are so wide asunder, he still proportions a due figure of speech, and a proper measure of wit. This indeed is most remarkable, that a man who was so constant and fixed in the moral ideas of his mind, should yet be so changeable in his intellectual, and in both to the highest degree of excellence.

If there needed any excuse to be made, that his love-verses should take up so great a share in his works, it may be alleged, that they were composed when he was very young. But it is a vain thing to make any kind of apology for that sort of writings. If devout or virtuous men will superciliously forbid the minds of the young to adorn those subjects about which they are most conversant, they would put them out of all capacity of performing graver matters, when they come to them. For the exercises of all

men's wits must be always proper for their age, and never too much above it: and by practice and use in lighter arguments, they grow up at last to excel in the most weighty. I am not therefore ashamed to commend Mr. Cowley's Mistress. I ouly except one or two expressions, which I wish I could have prevailed with those that had the right of the other edition, to have left out. But of all the rest, I dare boldly pronounce, that never yet so much was written on a subject so delicate, that can less offend the severest rules of morality. The whole passion of love is inimitably described, with all its mighty train of hopes, and joys, and disquiets. Besides this amorous tenderness, I know not how, in every copy, there is something of more useful knowledge very naturally and gracefully insinuated; and every where there may be something found, to inform the minds of wise men, as well as to move the hearts of young men or women.

The occasion of his falling on the Pindaric way of writing, was his accidental meeting with Pindar's works, in a place where he had no other books to direct him. Having then considered at leisure the height of his invention, and the majesty of his style, he tried immediatly to imitate it in English. And he performed it without the danger that Horace presaged to the man who should dare to attempt it.

If any are displeased at the boldness of his metaphors, and length of his digression, they contend not against Mr. Cowley, but Pindar himself; who was so

much reverenced by all antiquity, that the place of his birth was preserved as sacred, when his native city was twice destroyed by the fury of two conquerors: If the irregularity of the number disgust them, they may observe that this very thing makes that kind of poesy fit for all manner of subjects: for the pleasant, the grave, the amorous, the heroic, the philosophical, the moral, the divine. Besides this, they will find, that the frequent alteration of the rhythm and feet affects the mind with a more various delight, while it is soon apt to be tired by the settled pace of any one constant measure. But that for which I think this inequality of number is chiefly to be preferred, is its near affinity with prose: from which all other kinds of English verse are so far distant, that it is very seldom found that the same man excels in both ways. But now this loose and unconfined measure has all the grace and harmony of the most confined. And withal, it is so large and free, that the practice of it will only exalt, not corrupt, our prose: which is certainly the most useful kind of writing of all others for it is the style of all business and conversation.

Besides this imitating of Pindar, which may perhaps be thought rather a new sort of writing, than a restoring of an ancient, he has also been wonderfully happy, in translating many difficult parts of the noblest poets of antiquity. To perform this according to the dignity of the attempt, he had, as it was necessary he should have, not only the elegance of both

the languages, but the true spirit of both the poetries. This way of leaving verbal translations, and chiefly regarding the sense and genius of the author, was scarce heard of in England, before this present age. I will not presume to say, that Mr. Cowley was the absolute inventor of it. Nay, I know that others had the good luck to recommend it first in print. Yet I appeal to you, Sir, whether he did not conceive it, and discourse of it, and practise it, as soon as any

man.

His Davideis was wholly written in so young an age, that, if we shall reflect on the vastness of the argument, and his manner of handling it, he may seem like one of the miracles that he there adorns, like a boy attempting Goliath. I have often heard you declare, that he had finished the greatest part of it while he was yet a young student at Cambridge, This perhaps may be the reason, that, in some few places, there is more youthfulness and redundance o. fancy than his riper judgment would have allowed. I know, Sir, you will give me leave to use this liberty of censure; for I do not here pretend to a professed panegyric, but rather to give a just opinion concerning him. But for the main of it, I will affirm, that it is a better instance and beginning of a divine poem, than I ever yet saw in any language. The contrivance is perfectly ancient, which is certainly the true form of heroic poetry, and such as was never yet outdone by any new devices of modern wits. The

subject was truly divine, even according to God's own heart. The matter of his invention, all the treasures of knowledge and histories in the Bible. The model of it comprehended all the learning of the East. The characters, lofty and various: the numbers, firm and powerful the digressions, beautiful and proportionable: the design, to submit mortal wit to heavenly truths in all, there is an admirable mixture of human virtues and passions, with religious raptures.

The truth is, Sir, methinks, in other matters, his wit excelled most other men's: but in his moral and divine works, it outdid itself. And no doubt it proceeded from this cause; that in other lighter kinds of poetry, he chiefly represented the humours and affections of others; but in these he sat to himself, and drew the figure of his own mind. I know it has been objected against him, by some morose zealots, that he has done an injury to the Scripture, by sprinkling all his works with many allusions and similitudes that he took out of the Bible. But to these men it were a sufficient reply, to compare their own practice with his, in this particular. They make use of Scripture phrases and quotations, in all their common discourse. They employ the words of Holy Writ, to countenance the extravagance of their own opinions and affections. And why then might not he take the liberty to fetch from thence some ornament, for the innocent passions, and natural truths, and moral virtues, which he describes ?