18 July 1738
Stor'd with beauties, as every thing must be, that you write, for the public, shall I dare to confess, that I did not use to consider your works, of this vein, as those, from which you were surest of the love and admiration of posterity; but I find, in this, satire, something inexpressibly daring and generous. It carries the acrimony of Juvenal, with the Horatian air of ease and serenity. It reaches heights the most elevated, without seeming to design any soaring. It is raised and familiar at once. It opposes just praise to just censure, and, thereby, doubles the power of either. It places the Poet in a light for which nature and reason designed him; and attones all the pitiful sins of the trade, for, to a trade, and a vile one, poetry is irrecoverably sunk, in this kingdom. What a pity, that our rottenness begins at the core! and is a corruption, not of persons alone, but of things! One would, else, strongly hope, from a ridicule so sharp, and so morally pointed, that wicked men might be laughed into something, like penitence. But, alas! they are only bit by Tarantula's, who can be cured by the power of musick.-Not even the harp of Apollo had a charm to expel vipers, that have crept into the entrails.
Go on, however, to make war, with a courage, that reproaches a nation's; and live (would you could) just as long as 'till the virtues, your spirit would propagate, become as general, as the esteem of your genius!