reduced into the compass of a year by a narration of what preceded the return of Palamon to Athens.  I had thought, for the honour of our nation, and more particularly for his, whose laurel, though unworthy, I have worn after him, that this story was of English growth, and Chaucer’s own; but I was undeceived by Boccace, for, casually looking on the end of his seventh Giornata, I found Dioneo (under which name he shadows himself) and Fiametta (who represents his mistress, the natural daughter of Robert king of Naples) of whom these words are spoken:  Dioneo e la Fiametta granpezza contarono insieme d’Arcita e di Palamone:  by which it appears that this story was written before the time of Boccace, but the name of its author being wholly lost, Chaucer is now become an original, and I question not but the poem has received many beauties by passing through his noble hands.  Besides this tale, there is another of his own invention, after the manner of the Provencals, called “The Flower and the Leaf,” with which I was so particularly pleased, both for the invention and the moral, that I cannot hinder myself from recommending it to the reader.

As a corollary to this preface, in which I have done justice to others, I owe somewhat to myself:  not that I think it worth my time to enter the lists with one Milbourn, and one Blackmore, but barely to take notice, that such men there are, who have written scurrilously against me without any provocation.  Milbourn, who is in orders, pretends, amongst the rest, this quarrel to me, that I have fallen foul on priesthood.  If I have, I am only to ask pardon of good priests, and am afraid his part of the reparation will come to little.  Let him be satisfied that he shall not be able to force himself upon me for an adversary.  I contemn him too much to enter into competition with him.  His own translations of Virgil have answered his criticisms on mine.  If (as they say he has declared in print) he prefers the version of Ogilby to mine, the world has made him the same compliment:  for it is agreed on all hands that he writes even below Ogilby:  that, you will say, is not easily to be done; but what cannot Milbourn bring about?  I am satisfied, however, that while he and I live together, I shall not be thought the worst poet of the age.  It looks as if I had desired him underhand to write so ill against me; but upon my honest word I have not bribed him to do me this service, and am wholly guiltless of his pamphlet.  ’Tis true, I should be glad, if I could persuade him to continue his good offices, and write such another critique on any thing of mine; for I find by experience he has a great stroke with the reader, when he condemns any of my poems, to make the world have a better opinion of them.  He has taken some pains with my poetry; but nobody will be persuaded to take the same with his.  If I had taken to the church (as he affirms, but which was never in my thoughts), I should have had more sense, if not more grace, than to have turned myself out of my benefice by writing libels on my parishioners.  But his account of my manners and my principles are of a piece with his cavils and his poetry; and so I have done with him for ever.