* * * * * [Illustration] * * * * * _LONDON_ Printed by _H.P._ for JONAS BROWN, at the _Black Swan_ without _Temple-Bar_. 1717. PROEME. _Cubbin_ (ye know the Kentish Swain) was basking in the Sun one Summer-Morn: His Limbs were stretch'd all soft upon the Sands, and his Eye on the Lasses feeding in the Shade. The gentle Paplet peep'd at Colly thro' a Hedge, and this he try'd to put in Rhime, when he saw a Person of unusual Air come tow'rd him. Yet neither the Novelty of his Dress, nor the fairness of his Mien could win the Mind of the Swain from his rural Amusement, till he accosted the thoughtful Shepherd thus. If you are the _Cubbin_, said he, I enquire for, as by the Peculiarity of your Countenance, and the Firmness of your Look, you seem, young Boy, to be; I would hold some Discourse with you. The Pastorals of your Performance I have seen; and tho' I will not call 'em Perfect, I think they show a Genius not wholly to be overlookt. My Name, continued he, is Sophy, nor is it unknown in the World. In this Book (and here he pluckt it out of his Pocket) I have pen'd some Rules for your future Guidance. _Cubbin_ was strangely taken with the mild Address and Sweetness of Sophy. A thousand times he thanked him, as often smil'd upon him, and spread his Coat for him to set more soft upon the Sands. Sophy was a true-born _Britton_, and admir'd a forward _Spirit_. The _French_ he little loved; Their Poets dare not (said he) think without the Ancients, and their Criticks make use of their Eyes instead of their Understandings. 'Twas his way to pardon, nay admire a Critick, who for every fifty Errors would give him but one Remark of Use, or good Discovery. But always read one Sheet, then burnt those dull insipid Rogues, who thought that to write a good was to write a faultless Piece. By which means their whole Work becomes one general Fault. This Censure, I fear, would fall pretty heavy on the [A]_Criticks_ of _France_; if this were a proper Place to persue the Argument in. But Sophy thus resum'd his Talk. [Footnote A: _In the Preface to the Second Part of our_ Pastorals, _viz._ THE BASHFUL-SWAIN, _and_ BEAUTY AND SIMPLICITY, _we have shown to what Perfection the whole Science of_ CRITICISM _was brought by the Ancients, then what Progress the_ French Criticks _have further made, and also what remains as yet untouch'd, and uncompleat_.] In this, said he, I like your Temper, Cubbin. By those few Pieces we have seen of your's, and those I hear you have in Manuscript, you seem determin'd to engage in those Kinds of Poetry and those Subjects in Criticism, which the Ancients have left us most imperfect. Here, if you fail, you may be still some help to him who shall Attempt it next; and if all decline it, apprehensive of no fair success, how should it ever attain Perfection.