The Lives of The Most Famous English Poets, or the Honour of
Parnassus; in a Brief Essay of the Works and Writings of above Two
Hundred of them, from the Time of K. William the Conqueror, to the
Reign of His Present Majesty King James II.  Written by William
Winstanley.  Licensed June 16, 1686.  London, Printed by H. Clark, for
Samuel Manship at the Sign of the Black Bull in Cornhil, 1687.

A maxim which it would be well for ambitious critics to chalk up on the walls of their workshops is this:  never mind whom you praise, but be very careful whom you blame.  Most critical reputations have struck on the reef of some poet or novelist whom the great censor, in his proud old age, has thought he might disdain with impunity.  Who recollects the admirable treatises of John Dennis, acute, learned, sympathetic?  To us he is merely the sore old bear, who was too stupid to perceive the genius of Pope.  The grace and discrimination lavished by Francis Jeffrey over a thousand pages, weigh like a feather beside one sentence about Wordsworth’s Excursion, and one tasteless sneer at Charles Lamb.  Even the mighty figure of Sainte-Beuve totters at the whisper of the name Balzac.  Even Matthew Arnold would have been wiser to have taken counsel with himself before he laughed at Shelley.  And the very unimportant but sincere and interesting writer, whose book occupies us to-day, is in some respects the crowning instance of the rule.  His literary existence has been sacrificed by a single outburst of petulant criticism, which was not even literary, but purely political.

The only passage of Winstanley’s Lives of the English Poets which is ever quoted is the paragraph which refers to Milton, who, when it appeared, had been dead thirteen years.  It runs thus: 

“John Milton was one whose natural parts might deservedly give him a place amongst the principal of our English Poets, having written two Heroick Poems and a Tragedy, namely Paradice Lost, Paradice Regain’d, and Sampson Agonista.  But his Fame is gone out like a Candle in a Snuff, and his Memory will always stink, which might have ever lived in honourable Repute, had not he been a notorious Traytor, and most impiously and villanously bely’d that blessed Martyr, King Charles the First.”

Mr. Winstanley does not leave us in any doubt of his own political bias, and his mode is simply infamous.  It is the roughest and most unpardonable expression now extant of the prejudice generally felt against Milton in London, after the Restoration—­a prejudice which even Dryden, who in his heart knew better, could not wholly resist.  This one sentence is all that most readers of seventeenth-century literature know about Winstanley, and it is not surprising that it has created an objection to him.  I forget who it was, among the critics of the beginning of this century, who was accustomed to buy copies of the Lives of the English Poets wherever he could