tick Main_,
Bear to my Gen'rous Friend this thankful Strain.

_You see, Sir, I have not left off that rhyming Trick of Youth; but
knowing You to be a Gentleman who loves Variety in every thing, I
thought it would not be ungrateful if I checquer'd my Prose with a
little Verse._

_After this Preamble, it is presum'd, that one who lives on the Other
side of the Globe, will expect by every Pacquet-boat to know what is
done on This. Since Your Departure, Affairs have had a surprizing Turn
every where, and particularly in_ Italy; _which Success of our Armies
and Allies abroad, have given a manifest Proof of our wise Counsels at
home.--Parties still run between_ High _and_ Low. _I shall make no
Remarks on either; thinking it always more prudent, as well as more
safe, to live peaceably under the Government in which I was born, rather
than peevishly to quarrel with it._

_But You will cry,_ Who expects any thing from the Politicks of a Poet?
How goes the State of _Parnassus_? What has the Battle of _Ramillies_
produc'd? _What Battles generally do; bad Poets, and worse Criticks. I
could not perswade my self to attempt any thing above six Lines, which
had not been made, were it not at the Request of a Musical Gentleman.
You will look upon them with the same Countenance you us'd to do on
things of a larger Size._

Born to surprize the World, and teach the Great
The slippery Danger of exalted State,
Victorious _Marlbro_ to _Ramilly_ flies;
Arm'd with new Lightning from bright _ANNA's_ Eyes.
Wonders like These, no former Age has seen;
Subjects are _Heroes_, where a Saint's the _QUEEN_.

_Mr._ Congreve _has given the World an Ode, and prefix'd to it a
Discourse on the_ Pindaric Verse, _of which more, when I come to speak
on the same Argument: There are several others on that Subject, and some
which will bear the Test; one particularly, written in imitation of the
Style of_ Spencer; _and goes under the Name of Mr._ Prior; _I have not
read it through, but_ ex pede Herculem. _He is a Gentleman who cannot
write ill. Yet some of our_ Criticks _have fell upon it, as the Viper
did on the File, to the detriment of their Teeth. So that Criticism,
which was formerly the Art of judging well, is now become the pure
Effect of Spleen, Passion and Self-conceit. Nothing is perfect in every
Part. He that expects to see any thing so, must have patience till_
Dooms-day. _The Worship we pay to our own Opinion, generally leads its
to