I hope no Body will be offended at my asserting Things so positively, since 'tis the Priviledge of us _Commentators_, who understand the meaning of an Author Seventeen Hundred Years after he has wrote, much better than ever he cou'd be suppos'd to do himself. And certainly, a Critick ought not only to know what his Authors Thoughts were when he was Writing such and such Passages, but how those Thoughts came into his Head, where he was when he wrote, or what he was doing of; whether he wrote in a Garden, a Garret, or a Coach; upon a Lady, or a Milkmaid; whether at that Time he was scratching his Elbow, drinking a Bottle, or playing at Questions and Commands. These are material and important Circumstances so well known to the _True Commentator_, that were _Virgil_ and _Horace_ to revisit the World at this time, they'd be wonderfully surpris'd to see the minutest of their Perfections discover'd by the Assistances of _Modern Criticism_. Nor have the Classicks only reap'd Benefit from Inquiries of this Nature, but Divinity it self seems to be render'd more intelligible. I know a Divine, who understands what St. _Paul_ meant by _Higher Powers_, much better than that Apostle cou'd pretend to do; and another, That can unfold all the Mysteries of the _Revelations_ without Spectacles. I know there are some People that cast an Odium on me, and others, for pointing out the Beauties of such Authors, as have, they say, been hitherto unknown, and argue, That 'tis a sort of Heresie in Wit, and is like the fruitless Endeavours of proving the Apostolical Constitutions _Genuine_, that have been indisputably _Spurious_ for so many Ages: But let these Gentlemen consider, whether they pass not the same Judgment on an Author, as a Woman does on a Man, by the gayety of his Dress, or the gaudy Equipage of his Epithets. And however they may call me _second-sighted_, for discerning what they are Blind to, I must tell them this Poem has not been altogether so obscure, but that the most refin'd _Writers_ of this Age have been delighted with the reading it. Mr. _Tho. D'Urfey_, I am told, is an Admirer, and Mr. _John Dunton_ has been heard to say, more than once, he had rather be the Author of it than all his Works. How often, _says my Author_, have I seen the Tears trickle down the Face of the Polite _Woodwardius_ upon reading some of the most pathetical Encounters of _Tom Thumb_! How soft, how musically sorrowful was his Voice! How good Natur'd, how gentle, how unaffected was the Ceremoniale of his Gesture, and how unfit for a Profession so Merciless and Inhumane!