of the Author from the Dead.  It is for this Le Clerc (in his Bibliotheque Choisie, Tom. 9. p. 328.) commends St. Evremont’s Discourses on Salust and Tacitus, as also his Judgment on the Ancients, and blames the Grammarians, because they give us not a Taste of Antiquity after his Method, which would invite our Polite Gentlemen to study it with a greater Appetite.  Whereas their Manner of Writing, which takes Notice only of Words, Customs, and chiefly Chronology, with a blind Admiration of all they read, is unpleasant to a fine Genius, and deters it from the pursuit of the Belles Lettres.

I shall say no more at present on this Head, but proceed to give you an Account of the following Sheets.  What I have attempted in them is mostly of the Pindaric and the Lyric Way.  I have not follow’d the Strophe and Antistrophe; neither do I think it necessary; besides I had rather err with Mr. Cowley, who shew’d us the Way, than be flat and in the right with others.

Mr. Congreve, an ingenious Gentleman, has affirm’d, I think too hastily, that in each particular Ode the Stanza’s are alike, whereas the last Olympic has two Monostrophicks of different Measure, and Number of Lines.

The Pacquet-boat is just going off, I am afraid of missing Tide.  You may expect the rest on the Pindaric Style. In the mean time I beg leave to subscribe myself,

  Sir, Your ever Obedient and
  Obliged Servant,

  Samuel Cobb.

Of POETRY.

1.  Its Antiquity. 2.  Its Progress. 3.  Its Improvement.

A POEM.

Antiquity of Poetry

    Sure when the Maker in his Heav’nly Breast
  Design’d a Creature to command the rest,
  Of all th’ Erected Progeny of Clay
  His Noblest Labour was his First Essay. 
  There shone th’ Eternal Brightness, and a Mind
  Proportion’d for the Father of Mankind. 
  The Vigor of Omnipotence was seen
  In his high Actions, and Imperial Mien. 
  Inrich’d with Arts, unstudy’d and untaught,
  With loftiness of Soul, and dignity of Thought
  To Rule the World, and what he Rul’d to Sing,
  And be at once the Poet and the King. 
  Whether his Knowledge with his breath he drew,
  And saw the Depth of Nature at a View;
  Or, new descending from th’ Angelick race,
  Retain’d some tincture of his Native Place.

    Fine was the Matter of the curious Frame,
  Which lodg’d his Fiery Guest[1], and like the same
  Nor was a less Resemblance in his Sense,
  His Thoughts were lofty, just his Eloquence. 
  Whene’re He spoke, from his Seraphick Tongue
  Ten Thousand comely Graces, ever young,
  With new Calliopes and Clio’s sprung. 
  No shackling Rhyme chain’d the free Poet’s mind,
  Majestick was His Style, and unconfin’d. 
  Vast was each Sentence, and each wondrous strain
  Sprung forth, unlabour’d, from His fruitful Brain.