nary remarks, as the anxiety of authors is so apt to produce, from the reflexion, that, however ingeniously written, they add little or nothing to the success of a good poem, and are utterly inefficient to prevent that neglect, or oblivion, which is the inevitable fate of a bad one.

In dismissing a work to my fair readers, which is intended principally for their perusal, I shall only recommend it to their attention; and bid them farewell, in the words of the pleasant and courteous Tassoni—

⁠Eartham,
Jan. 31, 1781.