left out in the later editions; it refers
        to the Duke of Argyle.]
     The secret connexion between WHIPPING and RISING IN THE WORLD,
        with a view, as it were, through a perspective, of the same
        LITTLE FOLK in the highest posts and reputation 28
     An account of the nature of an EMBRYO-FOX-HUNTER.—­
                   [Another stanza omitted.]
     A deviation to an huckster’s shop 32
     Which being continued for the space of three stanzas, gives the
       author an opportunity of paying his compliments to a particular
       county, which he gladly seizes; concluding his piece with
       respectful mention of the ancient and loyal city of SHREWSBURY.

BEN JONSON ON TRANSLATION.

I have discovered a poem by this great poet, which has escaped the researches of all his editors.  Prefixed to a translation, translation is the theme; with us an unvalued art, because our translators have usually been the jobbers of booksellers; but no inglorious one among our French and Italian rivals.  In this poem, if the reader’s ear be guided by the compressed sense of the massive lines, he may feel a rhythm which, should they be read like our modern metre, he will find wanting; here the fulness of the thoughts forms their own cadences.  The mind is musical as well as the ear.  One verse running into another, and the sense often closing in the middle of a line, is the Club of Hercules; Dryden sometimes succeeded in it, Churchill abused it, and Cowper attempted to revive it.  Great force of thought only can wield this verse.

    On the AUTHOR, WORKE, and TRANSLATOR, prefixed to the translation
    of Mateo Alemans’s Spanish Rogue, 1623.

    Who tracks this author’s or translator’s pen
    Shall finde, that either hath read bookes, and men: 
    To say but one were single.  Then it chimes,
    When the old words doe strike on the new times,
    As in this Spanish Proteus; who, though writ
    But in one tongue, was formed with the world’s wit: 
    And hath the noblest marke of a good booke,
    That an ill man dares not securely looke
    Upon it, but will loath, or let it passe,
    As a deformed face doth a true glasse. 
    Such bookes deserve translators of like coate
    As was the genius wherewith they were wrote;
    And this hath met that one, that may be stil’d
    More than the foster-father of this child;
    For though Spaine gave him his first ayre and vogue
    He would be call’d, henceforth, the English rogue,
    But that hee’s too well suted, in a cloth
    Finer than was his Spanish, if my oath
    Will be receiv’d in court; if not, would I
    Had cloath’d him so!  Here’s all I can supply
    To your desert who have done it, friend!  And this
    Faire aemulation, and no envy is;
    When you behold me wish myselfe, the man
    That would have done, that, which you only can! 
                                                 BEN JONSON.