I do therefore affirm, upon
the word of a sincere man, that there is now actually in being a
certain poet called John Dryden, whose translation of Virgil was lately
printed in large folio, well bound, and if diligent search were made,
for aught I know, is yet to be seen. There is another called Nahum
Tate, who is ready to make oath that he has caused many reams of verse
to be published, whereof both himself and his bookseller, if lawfully
required, can still produce authentic copies, and therefore wonders why
the world is pleased to make such a secret of it. There is a third,
known by the name of Tom Durfey, a poet of a vast comprehension, an
universal genius, and most profound learning. There are also one Mr.
Rymer and one Mr. Dennis, most profound critics. There is a person
styled Dr. Bentley, who has wrote near a thousand pages of immense
erudition, giving a full and true account of a certain squabble of
wonderful importance between himself and a bookseller; he is a writer
of infinite wit and humour, no man rallies with a better grace and in
more sprightly turns. Further, I avow to your Highness that with these
eyes I have beheld the person of William Wotton, B.D., who has written
a good-sized volume against a friend of your governor, from whom, alas!
he must therefore look for little favour, in a most gentlemanly style,
adorned with utmost politeness and civility, replete with discoveries
equally valuable for their novelty and use, and embellished with traits
of wit so poignant and so apposite, that he is a worthy yoke-mate to
his fore-mentioned friend.
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