Part 1 — Mr. Dryden, to the Lord—— By Capt. Ayloff.

My lord,

ON the 25th passato, there happen’d a very considerable dispute in the Delphick vale; the literati had hard words, and it was fear’d by Pluto himself, that the angry shades would come to somewhat worse. It may be you in those grosser regions, do not believe that we here below lose nothing of ourselves by death, but the terrene part: nay, the very soul itself retains some of those unhappy impressions it receiv’d from flesh and blood. Here Cæsar bites his thumbs when Alexander walks by; frowns upon Brutus, and blushes when he talks of king William: The great Gustavus Adolphus only wishes himself upon earth again, to serve a captain under him: Turenne wants to be in Italy, and Wallesteen assures him that prince Eugene of Savoy would have had the same glorious success against him, as Catinat and Villeroy. Hannibal own’d that his march over, or rather thro’ the Alpes, was not so honourable an action as the prince’s; and tho’ arts and experience may make a general, yet nature can only inform an Eugene. Surly Charon had been so plagu’d with the French from those parts, that he has been forc’d to leave whole shoals of them behind. Once they crowded in so fast, as they almost overset the boat, and still as they press’d forward, cry’d Vauban, Vauban: But the old gentleman, unwilling to hazzard himself, push’d a multitude of them back with his sculls, and so put off—— However, this is not the business I design’d to mention; something more particular, and of more weighty consequence is the occasion of this letter. The real wits refus’d to take notice of prince Arthur, and king Arthur, who were walking hand in hand; some shallow-pated versificators would resent the indignity put upon ’em. This was very disgusting to the literati, and it is inconceivable what a horrid stench they made with uttering those verses. The more robust spirits were almost choak’d; you may then judge what condition the delicate and nice stomachs of the men of wit were in; but while every one was wishing for their cloaths of humanity again to be less sensible of this execrable smell, a worthy literati came in from London, who being informed of the occasion of that terrible inconveniency, repeated a few commendatory verses, and immediately the air grew tolerable, and the brimstone burnt serene. Job himself did confess, that had he been in the flesh again, he was terribly afraid he should have murder’d the doctor: When a merry spirit standing at his elbow, said, it was no such wonderful thing to have a sirreverence of a man be mine arse of a poet. But Charon waits, I must conclude; and as conveniency serves, shall inform you of what passes in those gloomy regions.

A Letter from Mr. Abraham Cowley, to the Covent-Garden Society. By Capt. Ayloff.

THE shatter’d lawrels of the Acherontic-walks, owe not so much of their misfortune to the shallowness of Aganippe, as to the ungenerous procedure of the sons of Helicon. Either the hill of Parnassus is fortify’d, and what with antient and modern wit, even you, gentlemen of real parts, have none of you that applause, which in a thousand occasions you have so justly merited. These melancholy reflections, gentlemen, add a new thickness to the gloomy sulphur; and we cannot enjoy a perfect quiet here, seeing there is so great and so dangerous a misunderstanding between you on the other side of Phlegethon. Why should there be so many pointed satires against one another? Why mould you shew the very blockheads themselves where you men of sense are not quite such as you would pass upon the world for? Your invidious criticisms only shew others where you are vulnerable, and give an argument under your own hand against your own selves. There is a charity in concealing faults; but to make them more obvious, has a double ill-nature in it. Can’t Arthur be a worthless poem, but a squadron of poets must tell all the world so? Is there honour in rummaging a dunghil, or telling the neighbours where there is one? The bee gathers honey from every flower, ’tis the beetles that delight in horse-dung. Is it not much more preferable to make something ones self useful to mankind, than only to shew wherein another is a coxcomb? Partisans in wit never do well; they only lay the country waste; they gratify their own private spleen, it may be, but they do not help the publick. Unite your forces, gentlemen, against ignorance, that growing and powerful enemy to you and us. Erect triumphal arches, to one another, and do not enviously pull down what others are endeavouring to set up. Your mutual quarrels have shaken the very foundation of wit and good humour. ’Tis the faction a man is of, determines what he is, not his learning and parts; we cannot hear, gentlemen, of those intestine dissensions, without a great concern and displeasure; and must take the liberty to tell you, we apprehend the muses may shortly be reduced to the necessity of shutting up the Delphic library, and write upon the doors, Ruit ipsa suis Roma viribus.