_John Philips_, the Brother of _Edward Phillips_, the Famous Continuator of Sir _Richard Bakers_ Chronicle; and Author of _The New World of English Words_. He was also Nephew to the before mention'd _John Milton_, the Author of _Paradice lost_, and _Paradice Regain'd_; so that he might be said to have Poetical Blood run in his Veins. He was Accounted one of the exactest of Heroical Poets either of the Ancients or Moderns, either of our own or what ever other Nation else; having a Judicious command of Style both in Prose and Verse. But his chiefest Vein lay in _Burlesque_, and facetious Poetry, which produc'd that Ingenious Satyr against Hypocrites. He also Translated the Fifth and Sixth Books of _Virgils AEniedes_ into English _Burlesque_; of which that we may give you a Draught of his Method, take these few lines. While _Dido_ in a Bed of Fire, A new-found way to cool desire, Lay wrapt in Smoke, half Cole, half _Dido_, Too late repenting Crime _Libido_, _Monsieur AEneas_ went his waies; For which I con him little praise, To leave a Lady, not i'th'Mire, But which was worser, in the Fire. He Neuter-like, had no great aim, To kindle or put out the flame. He had what he would have, the Wind; More than ten _Dido's_ to his mind. The merry gale was all in Poop, Which made the _Trojans_ all cry Hoop! He it was who wrote that Jovial Almanack of _Montelion_; besides several other things in a serious Vein of Poetry. Nor must we forget his Song made on the Tombs at _Westminster_; which for a witty drolling Invention, I hold it to be past Compare, being Printed in a Book called _The Miseries of Love and Eloquence_. You may reckon among these his Elegy upon our late Soveraign, and his Anniversary to His Majesty; Composed all by Dr. _Blow_. * * * * * Mr. _JOHN OLDHAM_. Mr. _John Oldham_, the delight of the Muses, and glory of those last Times; a Man utterly unknown to me but only by Works, which none can read but with Wonder and Admiration; So Pithy his Strains, so Sententious his Expressions, so Elegant his Oratory, so Swimming his Language, so Smooth his Lines, in Translating out-doing the Original, and in Invention matchless; whose praise my rude Pen is not able to Comprehend: Take therefore a small Draught of his Perfections in a Funeral Elegy, made by the Laureat of our Nation, Mr. _John Dryden_.