time at the one, he removed to the other.  From thence he returned to town, where he became the darling expectation of all the polite writers, whose encouragement he acknowledged in his occasional poems, in a manner that will make no small part of the fame of his protectors.  It also appears from his works, that he was happy in the patronage of the most illustrious characters of the present age.  Encouraged by such a combination in his favour, he published a book of poems, some in the Ovidian, some in the Horatian manner, in both which the most exquisite judges pronounced he even rivalled his masters.  His love verses have rescued that way of writing from contempt.  In his translations he has given us the very soul and spirit of his author.  His Odes; his Epistles; his Verses; his Love Tales; all are the most perfect things in all poetry.’

If this representation of our author’s abilities were just, it would seem no wonder, if the two universities should strive with each other for the honour of his education, but it is certain the world have not coincided with this opinion of Mr. Welsted; who, by the way, can hardly be thought the author of such an extravagant self-approbation, unless it be an irony, which does not seem improbable.

Our author, however, does not appear to have been a mean poet; he had certainly from nature an exceeding fine genius, but after he came to town he became a votary to pleasure, and the applauses of his friends, which taught him to overvalue his talents, perhaps slackened his diligence, and by making him trust solely to nature, flight the assistance of art.

In the year 1718 he wrote the Triumvirate, or a Letter in Verse from Palemon to Celia from Bath, which was meant as a satire against Mr. Pope.  He wrote federal other occasional pieces against this gentleman, who, in recompence of his enmity, has mentioned him twice in his Dunciad.  In book ii. 1. 200 where he represents the poets flattering their patrons with the fulsome strains of panegyric, in order to procure from them that which they very much wanted, viz. money, he shews Welsted as unsuccessful.

  But Welsted most the poet’s healing balm,
  Strives to extract from his soft giving palm;
  Unlucky Welsted! thy unfeeling master,
  The more thou ticklest, gripes his fist the faster.

Mr. Welsted was likewise characterised in the Treatise of the Art of Sinking, as a Didapper, and after as an Eel.  He was likewise described under the character of another animal, a Mole, by the author of the following simile, which was handed about at the same time.

  Dear Welsted, mark in dirty hole
  That painful animal a Mole: 
  Above ground never born to go,
  What mighty stir it keeps below? 
  To make a molehill all this strife! 
  It digs, pukes, undermines for life. 
  How proud a little dirt to spread! 
  Conscious of nothing o’er its head. 
  ’Till lab’ring on, for want of eyes,
  It blunders into light—­and dies.