It is worth our consideration a little, to examine how much these hypercritics in English poetry differ from the opinion of the Greek and Latin judges of antiquity; from the Italians and French, who have succeeded them; and, indeed, from the general taste and approbation of all ages.  Heroic poetry, which they condemn, has ever been esteemed, and ever will be, the greatest work of human nature:  In that rank has Aristotle placed it; and Longinus is so full of the like expressions, that he abundantly confirms the other’s testimony.  Horace as plainly delivers his opinion, and particularly praises Homer in these verses: 

Trojani Belli scriptorem, maxime Lolli, Dum tu declamas Romae, Praeneste relegi:  Qui quid sit pulchrum, quid turpe, quid utile, quid non, Plenius ac melius Chrysippo et Crantore dicit.

And in another place, modestly excluding himself from the number of poets, because he only writ odes and satires, he tells you a poet is such an one,

  —­Cui mens divinior, atque os
  Magna soniturum.

Quotations are superfluous in an established truth; otherwise I could reckon up, amongst the moderns, all the Italian commentators on Aristotle’s book of poetry; and, amongst the French, the greatest of this age, Boileau and Rapin; the latter of which is alone sufficient, were all other critics lost, to teach anew the rules of writing.  Any man, who will seriously consider the nature of an epic poem, how it agrees with that of poetry in general, which is to instruct and to delight, what actions it describes, and what persons they are chiefly whom it informs, will find it a work which indeed is full of difficulty in the attempt, but admirable when it is well performed.  I write not this with the least intention to undervalue the other parts of poetry:  for Comedy is both excellently instructive, and extremely pleasant; satire lashes vice into reformation, and humour represents folly so as to render it ridiculous.  Many of our present writers are eminent in both these kinds; and, particularly, the author of the “Plain Dealer,” whom I am proud to call my friend, has obliged all honest and virtuous men, by one of the most bold, most general, and most useful satires, which has ever been presented on the English theatre.  I do not dispute the preference of Tragedy; let every man enjoy his taste:  but it is unjust, that they, who have not the least notion of heroic writing, should therefore condemn the pleasure which others receive from it, because they cannot comprehend it.  Let them please their appetites in eating what they like; but let them not force their dish on all the table.  They, who would combat general authority with particular opinion, must first establish themselves a reputation of understanding better than other men.  Are all the flights of heroic poetry to be concluded bombast, unnatural, and mere madness, because they are not affected with their excellencies?  It is just as