may be partial to myfelf; let the reader judge, and I fubmit to his decifion. Yet I think I have juft occafion to complain of them, who, because they understand Chaucer, would deprive the greater part of their countrymen of the fame advantage, and hoard him up, as mifers do their grandam gold, only to look on it themfelves, and hinder others from making use of it. In fum, I feriously proteft, that no man ever had, or can have, a greater veneration for Chaucer, than myself. I have tranflated fome part of his works, only that I might perpetuate his memory, or at least refresh it, amongst my countrymen. If I have altered him any where for the better, I must at the fame time acknowledge, that I could have done nothing without him : "Facile eft inventis addere," is no great commendation; and I am not fo vain to think I have deserved a greater. I will conclude what I have to fay of him fingly, with this one remark: a lady of my acquaintance, who keeps a kind of correfpondence with some authors of the fair sex in France, has been informed by them, that Mademoiselle de Scudery, who is as old as Sibyl, and inspired like her by the fame god of poetry, is at this time tranflating Chaucer into modern French. From which I gather, that he has been formerly tranflated into the old Provençal (for how fhe fhould come to understand old English I know not). But the matter of fact being true, it makes me think that there is fomething in it like fatality; that, after certain periods. of time, the fame and memory of great wits should be renewed, as Chaucer is both in France and England. If

this be wholly chance, it is extraordinary, and I dare not call it more, for fear of being taxed with fuperftition.

Boccace comes laft to be confidered, who, living in the fame age with Chaucer, had the fame genius, and followed the fame ftudies: both writ novels, and each of them cultivated his mother tongue. But the greatest refemblance of our two modern authors being in their familiar ftile, and pleafing way of relating comical adventures, I may pass it over, because I have translated nothing from Boccace of that nature. In the ferious part of poetry, the advantage is wholly on Chaucer's fide; for though the Englishman has borrowed many tales from the Italian, yet it appears that those of Boccace were not generally of his own making, but taken from authors of former ages, and by him only modelled: fo that what there was of invention in either of

But Chaucer has refined

them, may be judged equal. on Boccace, and has mended the ftories which he has borrowed, in his way of telling; though profe allows more liberty of thought, and the expreffion is more easy when unconfined by numbers. Our countryman carries weight, and yet wins the race at disadvantage. I defire not the reader fhould take my word: and therefore I will fet two of their difcourfes on the fame fubject, in the fame light, for every man to judge betwixt them. I tranflated Chaucer firft, and, amongst the rest, pitched on the Wife of Bath's tale; not daring, as I have said, to adventure on her prologue, because it is too licentious: there Chaucer introduces an old woman of mean parentage, whom a youthful knight of noble blood was

forced to marry, and confequently loathed her: the crone being in bed with him on the wedding-night, and finding his averfion, endeavours to win his affection by reafon, and fpeaks a good word for herself, (as who could blame her?) in hope to mollify the fullen bridegroom. She takes her topics from the benefits of poverty, the advantages of old age and uglinefs, the vanity of youth, and the filly pride of ancestry and titles without inherent virtue, which is the true nobility. When I had clofed Chaucer, I returned to Ovid, and tranflated fome more of his fables; and by this time had so far forgotten the wife of Bath's tale, that, when I took up Boccace, unawares I fell on the fame argument of preferring virtue to nobility of blood, and titles, in the ftory of Sigifmunda; which I had certainly avoided for the refemblance of the two difcourfes, if my memory had not failed me. Let the reader weigh them both; and if he thinks me partial to Chaucer, it is in him to right Boccace.

I prefer in our countryman, far above all his other ftories, the noble poem of Palamon and Arcite, which is of the Epic kind, and perhaps not much inferior to the Ilias or the neis: the story is more pleafing than either of them, the manners as perfect, the diction as poetical, the learning as deep and various ; and the difpofition full as artful; only it includes a greater length of time, as taking up seven years at leaft; but Ariftotle has left undecided the duration of the action; which yet is eafily reduced into the compafs of a year, by a narration of what preceded the re

turn

turn of Palamon to Athens. I had thought for the honour of our nation, and more particularly for his, whofe laurel, though unworthy, I have worn after him, that this story was of English growth, and Chaucer's own: but I was undeceived by Boccace; for cafually looking on the end of his feventh Giornata, I found Dioneo (under which name he shadows himself) and Fiametta (who represents his mistress the natural daughter of Robert king of Naples) of whom these words are spoken, "Dioneo e la Fiametta granpezza conta

rono infieme d' Arcita, e di Palamone :" by which it appears that this story was written before the time of Boccace; but the name of its author being wholly loft, Chaucer is now become an original; and I queftion not but the poem has received many beauties by paffing through his noble hands. Befides this tale, there is another of his own invention, after the manner of the Provençals, called The Flower and the Leaf; with which I was fo particularly pleased, both for the invention and the moral, that I cannot hinder myself from recommending it to the reader.

As a corollary to this preface, in which I have done justice to others, I owe fomewhat to myfelf: not that I think it worth my time to enter the lifts with one Milbourn, and one Blackmore, but barely to take notice, that fuch men there are who have written fcurrilously against me, without any provocation. Milbourn, who is in Orders, pretends amongst the rest this quarrel to me, that I have fallen foul on priesthood: if I have, I am only to ask pardon of good priests, and am afraid his

part

part of the reparation will come to little. Let him be fatisfied that he shall not be able to force himfeif upon me for an adversary. I contemn him too much to enter into competition with him. His own translations of Virgil have answered his criticisms on mine. If (as they fay, he has declared in print) he prefers the verfion of Ogilby to mine, the world has made him the fame compliment: for it is agreed on all hands, that he writes even below Ogilby: that, you will fay, is not eafily to be done; but what cannot Milbourn bring about? I am fatisfied however, that while he and I live together, I fhall not be thought the worst poet of the age. It looks as if I had defired him underhand to write fo ill against me: but upon my honeft word I have not bribed him to do me this fervice, and am wholly guiltless of his pamphlet. It is true, I fhould be glad, if I could persuade him to continue his good offices, and write fuch another critique on any thing of mine: for I find by experience he has a great ftroke with the reader, when he condemns any of my poems, to make the world have a better opinion of them. He has taken fome pains with my poetry; but nobody will be perfuaded to take the fame with his. If I had taken to the church (as he affirms, but which was never in my thoughts) I fhould have had more fenfe, if not more grace, than to have turned myself out of my benefice by writing libels on my parishioners. But his account of my manners and my principles, are of a piece with his cavils and his poetry: and fo I have done with him for ever.

As