understanding, previous to the application of the
argument itself, in order to free it from any little motes, or specks
of opacular matter, which, if left swimming therein, might hinder a
conception and spoil all.

Now, my dear anti-Shandeans, and thrice able criticks, and
fellow-labourers (for to you I write this Preface)--and to you, most
subtle statesmen and discreet doctors (do--pull off your beards)
renowned for gravity and wisdom;--Monopolus, my politician--Didius, my
counsel; Kysarcius, my friend;--Phutatorius, my guide;--Gastripheres,
the preserver of my life; Somnolentius, the balm and repose of it--not
forgetting all others, as well sleeping as waking, ecclesiastical as
civil, whom for brevity, but out of no resentment to you, I lump all
together.--Believe me, right worthy,

My most zealous wish and fervent prayer in your behalf, and in my own
too, in case the thing is not done already for us--is, that the great
gifts and endowments both of wit and judgment, with every thing which
usually goes along with them--such as memory, fancy, genius, eloquence,
quick parts, and what not, may this precious moment, without stint or
measure, let or hindrance, be poured down warm as each of us could bear
it--scum and sediment and all (for I would not have a drop lost) into
the several receptacles, cells, cellules, domiciles, dormitories,
refectories, and spare places of our brains--in such sort, that they
might continue to be injected and tunn'd into, according to the true
intent and meaning of my wish, until every vessel of them, both great
and small, be so replenish'd, saturated, and filled up therewith, that
no more, would it save a man's life, could possibly be got either in or
out.

Bless us!--what noble work we should make!--how should I tickle it
off!--and what spirits should I find myself in, to be writing away for
such readers!--and you--just heaven!--with what raptures would you sit
and read--but oh!--'tis too much--I am sick--I faint away deliciously at
the thoughts of it--'tis more than nature can bear!--lay hold of
me--I am giddy--I am stone blind--I'm dying--I am gone.--Help! Help!
Help!--But hold--I grow something better again, for I am beginning to
foresee, when this is over, that as we shall all of us continue to
be great wits--we should never agree amongst ourselves, one day to an
end:--there would be so much satire and sarcasm--scoffing and flouting,
with raillying and reparteeing of it--thrusting and