* * * * * Dr. _ROBERT WILD_. He was one, and not of the meanest of the Poetical Cassock, being in some sort a kind of an _Anti-Cleaveland_, writing as high, and standing up as stifly for the _Presbyterians_, as ever _Cleaveland_ did against them: But that which most recommended him to publick fame, was his _Iter Roreale_, the same in Title though not in Argument, with that little, but much commended Poem of Dr. _Corbets_ mentioned before. This being upon General _Monk's_ Journey out of _Scotland_, in order to his Majesties Restoration, and is indeed the Cream and flower of all his Works, and look't upon for a lofty and conceited Stile. His other things are for the most part of a tepid and facetious nature, reflecting on others, who as sharply retorted upon him, for he that throwes stones at other, 'tis ten to one but is hit with a stone himself; one of them playing upon his red face thus. I _like the Man that carries in his Face,_ _the tincture of that bloody banner he fights under, and would not have any Mans countenance, prove so much an Hypocrite to cross a French Proverb._ His Nose plainly proves, What pottage he loves. Hear one of their reflections upon him, on his humble thanks, for his Majesties Declaration for Liberty of Confidence. When first the _Hawkers_ bawl'd 'ith' streets _Wild_'s name, A lickerish longing to my Pallat came; A feast of Wit I look't for, but, alass! The meat smelt strong, and too much _Sawce_ there was, _&c._ Indeed his strain, had it been fitted to a right key, might have equal'd the chiefest of his age. * * * * * Mr. _ABRAHAM COWLEY_.