Subject: November 19, 2014 Your Who's Who Invitation Is Set To Expire*

From: "Elite" <[email-masked]>
Date: Wed, 19 Nov 2014 19:40:26 -0800

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November 19, 2014

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What little is known of the life of Samuel Cobb (1675-1713) may be found
in the brief article in the _Dictionary of National Biography_ by W.P.
Courtney. He was born in London, and educated at Christ's Hospital and
at Trinity College, Cambridge, where he obtained the degrees of B.A.,
1698, and M.A., 1702. He was appointed "under grammar master" at
Christ's Hospital in 1702 and continued his connection with this school
until his early death. He had a reputation for wit and learning, and
also for imbibing somewhat too freely. In his poetry he especially
cultivated the style of the free Pindaric ode, a predilection which won
him a mention without honor in Johnson's life of Pope (_Lives of the
Poets_, ed. Birkbeck Hill, III, 227). Even the heroic couplets of his
poem on "Poetry" aim rather at pseudo-Pindaric diffuseness than at
epigrammatic concentration of statement. As a critic Cobb deserves
attention in spite of his mediocrity, or even because of it. He helps to
fill out the picture of the literary London of his time, and his
opinions and tastes provide valuable side-lights on such greater men as
Dennis, Addison, and Pope. "Of Poetry" belongs to the prolific literary
type of "progress poems," in which the modern student finds illuminating
statements as to how the eighteenth century surveyed and evaluated past
literary traditions. The list of Cobb's publications in the _Cambridge
Bibliography_ suggests that he enjoyed some degree of popularity. His
volume, _Poems on Several Occasions_, was published in 1707, and
reprinted in enlarged form in 1709 and 1710. The reproduction herewith
of the Preface "On Criticism" and the versified discourse "Of Poetry" is
from a copy of the 1707 edition in the Newberry Library, in Chicago.

Louis I. Bredvold

University of Michigan

A DISCOURSE ON CRITICISM AND THE LIBERTY OF WRITING.

In a Letter to _Richard Carter_ Esq; late of the _Middle-Temple_, now
living in _Barbadoes_.

SIR,

_The_ Muses _are said to be the Daughters of Memory: A Poet therefore
must lay down his Title to their Favour, who can be forgetful of a
Friend, like You, whose polite Knowledge, instructive Conversation, and
particulur Generosity to my self, have left such strong Impressions upon
my Mind, as defy the Power of Absence to remove them. I scarce believe
Death it self can blot out an_ Idea _so firmly imprinted. The Soul, when
it leaves this earthly Habitation, and has no more Use for those
Vertues, which were serviceable in the Conduct of human Life, such as_
Temperance, Fortitude _and the like, will certainly carry_ Love _and_
Gratitude _along with it to Heaven. This may suffice to let the World
know what Obligations you have laid upon me.

By this Letter (the room of which, for your sake I could willingly have
supply'd) you will plainly see, that no Place, however remote, is able
to secure you from the Zeal of a_ Friend, _and the Vanity of a_ Poet.

For tho' retiring to the _Western Isles_,
At the long Distance of five thousand Miles,
You've chang'd _dear London_ for your Native Seat,
And think _Barbadoes_ is a safe Retreat;
You highly err: Nor is the _Wat'ry Fence_
Sufficient Guard against Impertinence.
The _Muse_, which smiles on jingling Bards, like Me,
Has always Winds to waft her o'er the Sea.
Blow on, ye Winds, and o'er th' _Atlantick Main_,
Bear to my Gen'rous Friend this thankful Strain.

_You see, Sir, I have not left off tha