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Updated: May 22, 2025
These whiffling Criticks, 'tis our Auth'ress fears, And humbly begs a Trial by her Peers: Or let a Pole of Fools her fate pronounce, There's no great harm in a good quiet Dunce. But shield her, Heaven! from the left-handed blow Of airy Blockheads who pretend to know. On downright Dulness let her rather split, Than be Fop-mangled under colour of Wit.
John Woodbridge takes up the strain in lines of much easier verse, in which he pays her brotherly tribute, and is followed by his brother, Benjamin, who had been her neighbor in Andover. Now I believe Tradition, which doth call The Muses, Virtues, Graces, Females all; Only they are not nine, eleven nor three; Our Auth'ress proves them but one unity.
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