Since therefore the Readers are not solemnly invited to an Entertainment, but come accidentally; they ought to be contented with what they find: And pray what have they to complain of, but too great Variety? where, tho' some of the Dishes be not serv'd in the exactest Order, and Politeness, but hash'd up in haste; there are a great many accommodated to every particular Palate.
To like every thing, shows too little Delicacy; and to like nothing, too much Difficulty. So great is the Variety of this Poem, that the Reader, who is never pleas'd, will appear as monstrous, as he that is always so. Here are the Hurries of Battles for the Heroe, tender Emotions of Soul for the Lover, a Search and Penetiation into Nature for the Philosopher, Fluency of Numbers, and most expressive Figures for the Poet, Morals for the Serious, and Plaisantries for Admirers of Points of Wit.
'Tis certain a Poet is more to be suspected for saying too much, than too little. To add is often hazardous; but to retrench, commonly judicious. If our Author, instead of saying all he could, had only said all he should; Daphne had done well to fly from the God of Wit, in order to crown his Poet: Thus Ovid had been more honoured and ador'd in his Exile, than Augustus in his Triumphs.
I shall now attempt to give some Instances of the Happiness, and vast Extent of our Author's Imagination. I shall not proceed according to
