Thucydides, the extensive knowledge of Xenophon, the sublimity and
grandeur of Titus Livius; and to avoid the careless style of
Polybius, I have borrowed considerable ornaments from Dionysius
Halicarnasseus, and Diodorus Siculus. The specious gilding of
Tacitus I have endeavoured to shun. Mariana, Davila, and Fra.
Paulo, are those amongst the moderns whom I thought most worthy of
imitation; but I cannot be so disingenuous, as not to own the
infinite obligations I have to the "Pilgrim's Progress" of John
Bunyan, and the "Tenter Belly" of the Reverend Joseph Hall.

From such encouragement and helps, it is easy to guess to what a
degree of perfection I might have brought this great work, had it
not been nipped in the bud by some illiterate people in both Houses
of Parliament, who envying the great figure I was to make in future
ages, under pretence of raising money for the war,* have padlocked
all those very pens that were to celebrate the actions of their
heroes, by silencing at once the whole university of Grub Street. I
am persuaded that nothing but the prospect of an approaching peace
could have encouraged them to make so bold a step. But suffer me,
in the name of the rest of the matriculates of that famous
university, to ask them some plain questions: Do they think that
peace will bring along with it the golden age? Will there be never
a dying speech of a traitor? Are Cethegus and Catiline turned so
tame, that there will be no opportunity to cry about the streets, "A
Dangerous Plot?" Will peace bring such plenty that no gentleman
will have occasion to go upon the highway, or break into a house? I
am sorry that the world should be so much imposed upon by the dreams
of a false prophet, as to imagine the Millennium is at hand. O Grub
Street! thou fruitful nursery of towering geniuses! How do I lament
thy downfall? Thy ruin could never be meditated by any who meant