When Old Orpheus drew the Beasts along,
  By sweet Rhetorick of his learned Tongue,
  ’Twas deafness made the Adder sin; and this
  Caus’d him, who should have hum’d the Poet, hiss.

* * * * *

RICHARD HEAD.

Richard Head, the Noted Author of the English Rogue, was a Ministers Son, born in Ireland, whose Father was killed in that horrid Rebellion in 1641.  Whereupon his Mother with this her Son came into England; and he having been trained up in Learning, was by the help of some Friends, for some little time brought up in the University of Oxford, in the same Colledge wherein his Father had formerly been a Student.  But means falling short, he was taken away from thence, and bound Apprentice to a Latin Bookseller in London; attaining to a good Proficiency in that Trade.  But his Genius being addicted to Poetry, and having Venus for his Horoscope, e’re his time were fully out, he wrote a Piece called Venus Cabinet Unlock’d:  Afterwards he married, and set up for himself:  But being addicted to play, a Mans Estate then runs in Hazard, (for indeed that was his Game) until he had almost thrown his Shop away.  Then he betook himself to Ireland, his Native Country; where he composed his Hic & Ubique, a noted Comedy; and which gained him a general Esteem for the worth thereof.  And coming over into England, had it Printed, dedicating it to the then Duke of Monmouth; But receiving no great Incouragement from his Patron, he resolved to settle himself in the World, and to that purpose, with his Wife took a House in Queens-Head Alley, near Pater-Noster-Row; and for a while followed his Business, so that contrary to the Nature of a Poet, his Pockets began to be well lined with Money:  But being bewitched to that accursed vice of Play, it went out by handfuls, as it came in piece by piece.  And now he is to seek again in the World, whereupon he betook him to his Pen; and wrote the first part of the English Rogue:  which being too much smutty, would not be Licensed, so that he was fain to refine it, and then it passed stamp.  At the coming forth of this first part, I being with him at three Cup Tavern in Holborn, drinking over a glass of Rhenish, made these verses upon it.

  What Gusman, Buscon, Francion, Rablais writ,
  I once applauded for most excellent Wit;
  But reading thee, and thy rich Fancies store,
  I now condemn what I admir’d before. 
  Henceforth Translations pack away, be gone,
  No Rogue so well-writ as the English one.

There was afterwards three more parts added to it by him, and Mr. Kirkman with a promise of a fifth, which never came out.