_If_ little People _can but well discharge the Place of a_ private Centinel, _'tis all that's expected from us. I hope I shall never let the_ Enemies of God and my Countrey _come on without_ Fireing, _tho' it serve but to give the_ Alarm, _and if I dye without_ quitting _my_ Post, _I desire no greater Glory_. _I have endeavour'd to shew that I had no_ Personal Pique _against any whose_ Characters _I may have given in this Poem, nor think the worse of them for their_ Thoughts _of me. I hope I have every where done 'em_ Justice, _and as well as I cou'd, have given 'em_ Commendation _where they deserve it; which may also, on the other side, acquit me of_ Flattery _with all_ Impartial Judges; _for 'tis not only the_ Great _whose_ Characters _I have here attempted. And if what I have written may be any ways_ useful, _or_ innocently diverting _to the virtuous and ingenious_ Readers, _he has his End, who is_ Their Humble Servant S. WESLEY. AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND CONCERNING POETRY. As Brother _Pryme_ of old from Mount _Orgueil_, So I to you from _Epworth_ and the _Isle_: Harsh _Northern_ Fruits from our cold Heav'ns I send, Yet, since the _best_ they yield, they'll please a _Friend_. You ask me, What's the readiest way to _Fame_, And how to gain a _Poet's_ sacred Name? For _Saffold_ send, your Choice were full as just, When burning _Fevers_ fry your Limbs to Dust! Yet, lest you _angry_ grow at your _Defeat_, } And me as ill as that fierce _Spark_ should treat } 10 Who did the Farrier into Doctor _beat_; } You to my little _Quantum_, Sir, are free, Which I from HORACE glean or NORMANDY; These with some grains of _Common Sense_ unite, Then freely _think_, and as I think I write. First _poize_ your _Genius_, nor presume to write If _Phoebus_ smile not, or some _Muse_ invite: Nature refuses _Force_, you strive in vain, She will not _drag_, but struggling breaks the Chain. How bright a Spark of _Heav'nly Fire_ must warm! 20 What _Blessings_ meet a _Poet's Mind_ to form! How oft must he for those _Life-Touches_ sit, _Genius, Invention, Memory, Judgment, Wit_? There's here no _Middle-State_, you must excel; _Wit_ has no _Half-way-House_ 'twixt _Heav'n_ and _Hell_ _All cannot All things_, lest you mourn too late, Remember _Phaeton_'s unhappy _Fate_! Eager to guide the _Coursers_ of the _Day_, } Beneath their _Brazen Hoofs_ he trampled lay, } And his bright _Ruines_ mark'd their flaming Way. } 30 [Sidenote: _Genius_.] You'll ask, What GENIUS is, and Where to find? 'Tis the full _Power_ and _Energy_ of _Mind_: A _Reach_ of _Thought_ that skims all Nature o'er, _Exhausts_ this narrow _World_, and asks for _more_: Through every _Rank of Beings_ when't has flown, Can frame a _New Creation_ of its own: By _Possible_ and _Future_ unconfin'd: