make my compliment to those ladies who are offended;
but they can no more expect it in a comedy than to be tickled by a
surgeon when he's letting 'em blood. They who are virtuous or discreet
should not be offended, for such characters as these distinguish _them_,
and make their beauties more shining and observed; and they who are of
the other kind may nevertheless pass for such, by seeming not to be
displeased or touched with the satire of this _comedy_. Thus have they
also wrongfully accused me of doing them a prejudice, when I have in
reality done them a service.

You will pardon me, sir, for the freedom I take of making answers to
other people in an epistle which ought wholly to be sacred to you; but
since I intend the play to be so too, I hope I may take the more liberty
of justifying it where it is in the right.

I must now, sir, declare to the world how kind you have been to my
endeavours; for in regard of what was well meant, you have excused what
was ill performed. I beg you would continue the same method in your
acceptance of this dedication. I know no other way of making a return to
that humanity you shewed, in protecting an infant, but by enrolling it in
your service, now that it is of age and come into the world. Therefore
be pleased to accept of this as an acknowledgment of the favour you have
shewn me, and an earnest of the real service and gratitude of,

Sir, your most obliged, humble servant,

WILLIAM CONGREVE.

TO MY DEAR FRIEND MR. CONGREVE,
ON HIS COMEDY CALLED
THE DOUBLE-DEALER.

Well then, the promised hour is come at last;
The present age of wit obscures the past.
Strong were our sires; and as they fought they writ,
Conqu'ring with force of arms and dint of wit.
Theirs was the giant race, before the flood;
And thus, when Charles returned, our empire stood.
Like Janus he the stubborn soil manured,
With rules of husbandry the rankness cured,
Tamed us to manners, when the stage was rude,
And boist'rous English wit with art indued.
Our age was cultivated thus at length;
But what we gained in skill we lost in strength.
Our builders were with want of genius curst;
The second temple was not like the first:
Till you, the best Vitruvius, come at length,
Our beauties equal, but excel our strength.
Firm Doric pillars found your solid base,
The fair Corinthian crowns the higher space;
Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace.
In easy dialogue is Fletcher's praise:
He moved