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received. In due deference to so laudable a custom, I do here
return my humble thanks to His Majesty and both Houses of
Parliament, to the Lords of the King's most honourable Privy
Council, to the reverend the Judges, to the Clergy, and Gentry, and
Yeomanry of this land; but in a more especial manner to my worthy
brethren and friends at Will's Coffee-house, and Gresham College,
and Warwick Lane, and Moorfields, and Scotland Yard, and Westminster
Hall, and Guildhall; in short, to all inhabitants and retainers
whatsoever, either in court, or church, or camp, or city, or
country, for their generosity and universal acceptance of this
divine treatise. I accept their approbation and good opinion with
extreme gratitude, and to the utmost of my poor capacity shall take
hold of all opportunities to return the obligation.

I am also happy that fate has flung me into so blessed an age for
the mutual felicity of booksellers and authors, whom I may safely
affirm to be at this day the two only satisfied parties in England.
Ask an author how his last piece has succeeded, "Why, truly he
thanks his stars the world has been very favourable, and he has not
the least reason to complain." And yet he wrote it in a week at
bits and starts, when he could steal an hour from his urgent
affairs, as it is a hundred to one you may see further in the
preface, to which he refers you, and for the rest to the bookseller.
There you go as a customer, and make the same question, "He blesses
his God the thing takes wonderful; he is just printing a second
edition, and has but three left in his shop." "You beat down the
price; sir, we shall not differ," and in hopes of your custom
another time, lets you have it as reasonable as you please; "And
pray send as many of your acquaintance as you will; I shall upon
your account furnish them all at the same rate."

Now it is not well enough considered to what accidents and occasions
the world is indebted for the greatest part of those noble writings
which hourly start up to entertain it. If it were not for a rainy
day, a drunken vigil, a fit of the spleen, a course of physic, a
sleepy Sunday, an ill run at dice, a long tailor's bill, a beggar's
purse, a factious head, a hot sun, costive diet, want of books, and
a just contempt of learning,--but for these events, I say, and some
others too long to recite (especially a prudent neglect of taking
brimstone inwardly), I doubt the number of authors and of writings
would dwindle away to a degree most woeful to behold. To confirm
this opinion, hear the words of the famous troglodyte philosopher.
"It is certain," said he, "some grains of folly are of course
annexed as part in the composition of human nature; only the choice
is left us whether we please to wear them inlaid or embossed, and we

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