e by
getting further into your debt. You have not only been careful of my
fortune, which was the effect of your nobleness, but you have been
solicitous of my reputation, which is that of your kindness. It is not
long since I gave you the trouble of perusing a play for me, and now,
instead of an acknowledgment, I have given you a greater, in the
correction of a poem. But since you are to bear this persecution, I will
at least give you the encouragement of a martyr; you could never suffer
in a nobler cause. For I have chosen the most heroic subject which any
poet could desire: I have taken upon me to describe the motives, the
beginning, progress, and successes, of a most just and necessary war; in
it, the care, management, and prudence of our king; the conduct and
valour of a royal admiral, and of two incomparable generals; the
invincible courage of our captains and seamen; and three glorious
victories, the result of all. After this I have, in the Fire, the most
deplorable, but withal the greatest, argument that can be imagined: the
destruction being so swift, so sudden, so vast and miserable, as nothing
can parallel in story. The former part of this poem, relating to the
war, is but a due expiation for my not having served my king and country
in it. All gentlemen are almost obliged to it; and I know no reason we
should give that advantage to the commonalty of England, to be foremost
in brave actions, which the nobles of France would never suffer in their
peasants. I should not have written this but to a person who has been
ever forward to appear in all employments, whither his honour and
generosity have called him. The latter part of my poem, which describes
the Fire, I owe, first to the piety and fatherly affection of our
monarch to his suffering subjects; and, in the second place, to the
courage, loyalty, and magnanimity of the city: both which were so
conspicuous, that I wanted words to celebrate them as they deserve. I
have called my poem Historical, not Epic, though both the actions and
actors are as much heroic as any poem can contain. But since the action
is not properly one, nor that accomplished in the last successes, I have
judged it too bold a title for a few stanzas, which are little more in
number than a single Iliad, or the longest of the AEneids. For this
reason (I mean not of length, but broken action, tied too severely to
the laws of history) I am apt to agree with those who rank Lucan rather
among histor