The present state of wit (1711), and excerpts from The English Theophrastus; or, The manners of the age (1702)

by Unknown

THE

MANNERS

Of the AGE.

Authors, Wits, Poets, Criticks, Will's Coffee-House, Play-House, &c.

"Eubulus fancying himself Inspir'd, stands up for the Honour of Poetry, and is mightily provok'd to hear the Sacred Name of Poet, turn'd into Scandal and Ridicule; He tells you what a profound Veneration the Athenians had for their Dramatick Writers; how greatly Terence and Virgil were Honour'd in Rome; the first, by Scipio and Lælius, the other by Augustus and Mecænas; how much Francis the First, and Cardinal Richelieu, encourag'd the Wits of France; and drawing his Argument more home, he relates to you, how in this Island the Buckinghams, the Orrerys, the Roscommons, the Normanbys, the Dorsets, the Hallifaxs, and several other Illustrious Persons have not only encouraged Poetry, but ennobled the Art itself by their Performances.

"True Eubulus; we allow Poetry to be a Divine Art, and the name of Poet to be Sacred and Honourable, when a Sophocles, a Terence, a Virgil, a Corneille, a Boileau, a Shakespear, a Waller, a Dryden, a Wycherly, a Congreve, or a Garth bears it: But then we intend it as a Scandal, when we give it to Mævius, Chapelain, Ogilby, W—— D——, D——, S——, and your self.

"I question whether some Poets allow any other Poets to have Perform'd better, than themselves, in that kind of Poetry which they profess. Sir R—— B——, I suppose, tho' he has declaim'd against Wit, yet is not so conceited, as to Vie with Horace and Juvenal for Satyr; but as to Heroick Poetry, methinks he Reasons thus with himself; Homer has writ the Ilias and the Odysseis, and Virgil only the Æneid; I have writ Prince Arthur, and King Arthur; am I not then equal to Homer, and Superior to Virgil? No, B——re, we judge of Poetry as we do of Metals, nor by the Lump, but the intrinsick Value. New cast your Poems; purge 'em of their Dross; reduce 'em to the Bulk of the Dispensary, and if then they weigh in the Balance with that, we will allow you a Place among the First-Rate Heroick Poets.

"The Wits of mean Descent and scanty Fortune, are generally apt to reflect on Persons of Quality and Estates, whom they rashly tax with Dullness and Ignorance, a Normanby, a Dorset, a Spencer, a Hallifax, a Boyle, a Stanhope, and a Codrington, (to pass over abundance more) are sufficient to convince the World, that either an Ilustrious Birth, or vast Riches, are not incompatible with deep Learning, and Sterling-Wit.

"Rapin, St. Evremont, and some other French Criticks, do the English wrong, in the Judgments they pass upon their Plays: The English Criticks are even with them, for generally they judge as ill of French Poetry.

"There is a great reach of Discernment, a deep Knowledge, and abundance of Candor requir'd to qualifie a Man for an equal Judge of the Poetry and ingenious Compositions of two Nations, whose Tempers, Humours, Manners, Customs, and Tastes, are so vastly different as the French are from the English: Rapin, St. Evremont, and Rymer, are candid, judicious, and learned Criticks, I own it; but yet neither the two first are sufficiently acquainted with England, nor the latter with France, to enter equally into the Genius of both Nations; and consequently they cannot pass a just Sentence upon the Performances of their respective Writers.

"Tis a great piece of Injustice in us, to charge the French with Fickleness; for, to give them their due, They are ten times more constant in their Judgments, than we; Their Cid and Iphigenia in Aulis, are Acted at this very day, with as much Applause as they were thirty Years ago: All London has admir'd the Mourning Bride one Winter, and endeavoured to find fault with it the next.

"Philo comes piping hot out of the College, and having his Head full of Poetical Gingles, writes an Elegy, a Panegyrick or a Satyr upon the least frivolous Occasion: This brings him acquainted with all the Second-Rate Wits; One of these introduces him at Will's, and having a Play upon the Stocks, and ready to be Launch'd, he prevails with Philo to write him a Song, a Dialogue, a Prologue and Epilogue, in short, the Trimming of his Comedy. By this time, Philo begins to think himself a great Man, and nothing less than the writing of a Play, can satisfie his towring Ambition; well, the Play is writ, the Players, upon the Recommendation of those that lick'd it over, like their Parts to a Fondness, and the Comedy, or Tragedy, being supported partly by its real Merit, but most powerfully by a Toasting, or Kit-cat-Club, comes off with universal Applause. How slippery is Greatness! Philo puff'd up with his Success, writes a second Play, scorns to improve it by the Corrections of better Wits, brings it upon the Stage, without securing a Party to protect it, and has the Mortification to hear it Hist to death. Pray how many Philos do we reckon in Town since the Revolution?

"The reason we have had so many ill Plays of late, is this; The extraordinary Success of the worst Performances encourages every Pretender to Poetry to Write; Whereas the indifferent Reception some excellent Pieces have met with, discourages our best Poets from Writing.

"After all, one of the boldest Attempts of Human Wit, is to write a taking Comedy: For, how many different sorts of People, how many various Palates must a Poet please, to gain a general Applause? He must have a Plot and Design, Coherence and Unity of Action, Time and Place, for the Criticks, Polite Language for the Boxes, Repartee, Humor, and Double Entendres for the Pit; and to the shame of our Theatres, a mixture of Farce for the Galleries, What Man of Sense now will venture his Reputation upon these hard Terms.

"The Poet often arrogates to himself the Applause, which we only give to Mrs. Barry or Bracegirdle's inimitable Performances: But then he must take as often upon his Account the Hisses, which are only intended for Cæsonia, and Corinna's abominable Acting. One makes amends for 'tother.

"Many a pert Coxcomb might have past for a Wit, if his Vanity had not brought him to Will's.

"The same thing that makes a Man appear with Assurance at Court; qualifies him also to appear unconcern'd among Men of Sense at Will's: I mean Impertinence.

"As some People Write, so others talk themselves out of their Reputation."

* The name of a Wit is little better than a Slander, since it is generally given by those that have none, to those that have little.

"How strangely some words lose their Primitive Sense! By a Critick, was originally understood a good Judge; with us now-a-days, it signifies no more than a Fault-finder."

* A Critick in the Modern Acceptation, seldom rises, either in Merit, or Reputation; for it argues a mean grov'ling Genius, to be always finding Fault; whereas, a candid Judge of Things, not only improves his Parts, but gains every Body's Esteem.

* None keep generally worse Company than your Establish'd Wits, for there are a sort of Coxcombs, that stick continually to them like Burrs, to make the Town think from their Company, that they are Men of Parts.

* Criticks are useful, that's most certain, so are Executioners and Informers: But what Man did ever envy the condition of Jack Ketch, or Jack P——r.

* How can we love the Man, whose Office is to torture and execute other
Men's Reputation.

* After all, a Critick is the last Refuge of a pretender to Wit.

"Tis a great piece of Assurance in a profest Critick to write Plays, for if he does, he must expect to have the whole Club of Wits, scanning his Performances with utmost Severity, and magnifying his Slips into prodigious Faults."

* I don't wonder Men of Quality and Estate resort to Will's, for really they make the best Figure there; an indifferent thing from 'em, passes for a Witty Jest, and sets presently the whole Company a Laughing. Thus we admire the pert Talk of Children, because we expected nothing from 'em.

"There are many unpertinent Witlings at Will's, that's certain; but then your Retailers of Politicks, or of second-hand Wit at Tom's, are ten times more intolerable."

* Wits are generally the most dangerous Company a Woman can keep, for their Vanity makes 'em brag of more Favours than they obtain.

"Some Women care not what becomes of their Honour, so they may secure the Reputation of their Wit.

"Those People generally talk most, who have the least to say; go to Will's, and you'll hardly hear the Great Wycherley speak two Sentences in a quarter of an Hour, whilst Blatero, Hamilus, Turpinus; and twenty more egregious Coxcombs, deafen the Company with their Political Nonsense.

"There are at Will's some Wit-carriers, whose business is, to
export the fine Things they hear, from one Room to another, next to a
Reciting-Poet; these Fellows are the most exquisite Plague to a Man of
Sense.

"In spight of the intrinsick Merit of Wit, we find it seldom brings a Man into the Favour, or even Company of the Great, and the Fair, unless it be for a Laugh and away; never thought on, but when present; nor then neither, for the sake of the Man of Wit, but their own Diversion. The infallible way to ingratiate ones self with Quality, is that dull and empty Entertainment, called Gaming, for Picket, Ombre, and Basset, keep always Places even for a quondam Foot-man, or a Drawer at the Assemblies, Apartments, and Visiting-days. If you lose, you oblige with your Money; if you Win, you command with your Fortune; the Lord is your Bubble, and the Lady what you please to make her."

* Flattery of our Wit, has the same Power over Us, which Flattery of Beauty has over a Woman; it keeps up that good Opinion of our selves which is necessary to beget Assurance; and Assurance produces success both in Fortune and Love.

* Some Men take as much Pains to persuade the World that they have Wit, as Bullies do that they have Courage, and generally with the same Success, for they seldom deceive any one but themselves.

* Some pert Coxcombs, so violently affect the Reputation of Wits, that not a French Journal, Mercury, Farce, or Opera, can escape their Pillaging: yet the utmost they arrive at, is but a sort of Jack-a-lanthorn Wit, that like the Sun-shine which wanton Boys with fragments of Looking-glass reflect in Men's Eyes, dazles the Weak-sighted, and troubles the strong. These are the Muses Black-Guard, that like those of our Camp, tho' they have no share in the Danger or Honour, yet have the greatest in the Plunder; that indifferently strip all that lie before 'em, dead or alive, Friends or Enemies: Whatever they light on, is Terra incognita, and they claim the right of Discoverers, that is, of giving their Names to it.

* I think the Learned, and Unlearned Blockhead pretty Equal: For 'tis all one to me, whether a Man talk Nonsense, or Unintelligible Sense.

* There is nothing of which we assent to speak with more Humility and Indifference than our own Sense, yet nothing of which we think with more Partiality and Presumption. There have been some so bold, as to assume the Title of the Oracles of Reason to themselves, and their own Writings; and we meet with others daily, that think themselves Oracles of Wit. These are the most vexatious Animals in the World, that think they have a privileee to torment and plague every Body; but those most who have the best Reputation for their Wit and Judgment.

* There's somewhat that borders upon Madness in every exalted Wit.

* One of the most remarkable Fools that resort to Will's, is the Fop-Poet, who is one that has always more Wit in his Pockets than any where else, yet seldom or never any of his own there. Æsop's Daw was a Type of him, for he makes himself fine with the Plunder of all Parties; He is a smuggler of Wit, and steals French Fancies, without paying the customary Duties; Verse is his Manufacture; for it is more the Labour of his Fingers, than his Brain: He spends much time in writing, but ten times more in reading what he has written: He asks your Opinion, yet for fear you should not jump with him, tells you his own first: He desires no Favour, yet is disappointed if he is not Flatter'd, and is always offended at the Truth. He is a Poetical Haberdasher of small Wares, and deals very much in Novels, Madrigals, Funeral and Love Odes, Panegyricks, Elegies, and other Toys of Parnassus, which he has a Shop so well furnish'd with, that he can fit you with all sorts in the twinkling of an Eye. He talks much of Wycherley, Garth, and Congreve, and protests, he can't help having some Respect for them, because they have so much for him and his Writings, otherwise he could make it appear that they understand little of Poetry in comparison of himself, but he forbears 'em meerly out of Gratitude and Compassion. He is the Oracle of those that want Wit, and the Plague of those that have it; for he haunts their Lodgings, and is more terrible to them than their Duns.

* Brutus for want of Wit, sets up for Criticism; yet has so much ambition to be thought a Wit, that he lets his Spleen prevail against Nature, and turns Poet. In this Capacity he is as just to the World as in the other injurious. For, as the Critick wrong'd every Body in his Censure, and snarl'd and grin'd at their Writings, the Poet gives 'em opportunity to do themselves Justice, to return the Compliment, and laugh at, or despise his. He takes his Malice for a Muse, and thinks himself Inspir'd, when he is only Possess'd, and blown up with a Flatus of Envy and Vanity. His Works are Libels upon others, but Satyrs upon himself; and while they bark at Men of Sense, call him Fool that writ 'em. He has a very great Antipathy to his own Species, and hates to see a Fool any where but in his Glass; for, as he says, they provoke him, and offend his Eyes. His Fund of Criticism, is a set of Terms of Art, pick'd out of the French Criticks, or their Translators; and his Poetical Stock, is a common Place of certain Forms and manners of Expression. He writes better in Verse than Prose; for in that there is Rhime, in this, neither Rhime nor Reason. He rails both at the French Writers, "whom he does not understand, and at those English Authors, whose Excellencies he cannot reach; with him Voiture is flat and dull, Corneille a stranger to the Passions, Racine, Starch'd and Affected, Moliere, Jejune, la Fontaine a poor Teller of Tales; and even the Divine Boileau, little better than a Plagiary. As for the English Poets, he treats almost with the same Freedom; Shakespear with him has neither Language nor Manners; Ben. Johnson is a Pedant; Dryden little more than a tolerable Versifier; Congreve a laborious Writer; Garth, an indifferent imitator of Boileau. He traduces Oldham, for want of Breeding and good Manners, without a grain of either, and steals his own Wit to bespatter him with; but like an ill Chymist, he lets the Spirit fly off in the drawing over and retains only the Phlegm. He Censures Cowley for too much Wit, and corrects him with none. He is a great Admirer of the incomparable Milton, but while he fondly endeavours to imitate his Sublime, he is blown up with Bombast and puffy Expressions. He is a great stickler for Euripides, Sophocles, Horace, Virgil, Ovid, and the rest of the Ancients; but his ill and lame Translations of 'em, ridicule those he would commend. He ventures to write for the Play-Houses, but having his stol'n, ill-patch'd fustian Plays Damn'd upon the Stage, he ransacks Bossu, Rapin, and Dacier, to arraign the ill-taste of the Town. To compleat himself in the Formalities of Parnassus, he falls in Love, and tells his Mistress in a very pathetick Letter, he is oblig'd to her bright Beauty for his Poetry; but if this Damsel prove no more indulgent than his Muse, his Amour is like to conclude but unluckily."

Demetrius before the Curse of Poetry had seiz'd him, was in a pretty way of Thriving Business, but having lately sold his Chambers in one of the Inns of Court, and taken a Lodging near the Play-house, is now in a fair way of Starving. This Gentleman is frequently possest with Poetick Raptures; and all the Family complains, that he disturbs 'em at Midnight, by reciting some incomparable sublime Fustian of his own Composing. When he is in Bed, one wou'd imagine he might be quiet for that Night, but 'tis quite otherwise with him; for when a new Thought, as he calls it, comes into his Head, up he gets, sets it down in Writing, and so gradually encreases the detested Bulk of his Poetick Fooleries, which, Heaven avert it! he threatens to Print. Demetrius having had the misfortune of miscarrying upon the Stage, endeavours to preserve his unlawful Title to Wit, by bringing all the Dramatick Poets down to his own Level. And wanting Spirit to set up for a Critick, turns Spy and Informer of Parnassus. He frequents Apollo's Court at Will's, and picks up the freshest Intelligence, what Plays are upon the Stocks, what ready to be Launch'd; and if he can be inform'd, from the Establish'd Wits, of any remarkable Fault in the new Play upon the Bills, he is indefatigably industrious in whispering it about, to bespeak its Damnation before its Representation.

* Curculio is a Semi-Wit, that has a great Veneration for the Moderns, and no less a Contempt for the Ancients: But his own ill Composures destroy the force of his Arguments, and do the Ancients full Justice. This Gentleman having had the good Fortune to write a very taking, undigested medly of Comedy and Farce, is so puff'd up with his Success, that nothing will serve him, but he must bring this new fantastick way of writing, into Esteem. To compass this Noble Design, he tells you what a Coxcomb Aristotle was with his Rules of the three Unities; and what a Company of Senseless Pedants the Scaligers, Rapins, Bossu's, and Daciers are. He proves that Aristotle and Horace, knew nothing of Poetry; that Common Sense and Nature were not the same in Athens, and Rome, as they are in London; that Incoherence, Irregularity and Nonsense are the Chief Perfections of the Drama, and, by a necessary Consequence that the Silent woman, is below his own Performance.

"No new Doctrine in Religion, ever got any considerable Footing except it was grounded on Miracles; Nor any new Hypothesis was ever established in natural Philolqphy, unless it was confirm'd by Experience. The same Rule holds, in some measure, in all Arts and Sciences, particularly in Dramatick Poetry. It will be a hard matter for any Man to trump up any new set of Precepts, in opposition to those of Aristotle and Horace, except by following them, he writes several approved Plays. The great success of the first Part of the T—-p was sufficient I must confess, to justifie the Authors Conceit; But then the Explosion of the Second ought to have cur'd him of it.

"Writers like Women seldom give one another a good Word; that's most certain. Now if the Poets and Criticks of all Ages have allowed Sophocles, Euripides, and Terence to have been good Dramatick Writers, and Aristotle and Horace to have been judicious Criticks, ought not their Censure to weigh more with Men of Sense, than the Fancies, of a Modern Pretender. To be plain, whoever Disputes Aristotle and Horace, Rules does as good as call the Scaligers, Vossii, Rapins, Bossu's, Daciers, Corneilles, Roscommons, Normanby's and Rymers, Blockheads: A man must have a great deal of Assurance, to be so free with such illustrious Judges.

"Of all the modern Dramatick Poets the Author of the Trip to the Jubilee has the least Reason to turn into Ridicule Aristotle and Horace, since 'tis to their Rules which he has, in some measure followed, that he owed the great success of that Play. Those Rules are no thing but a strict imitation of Nature, which is still the same in all Ages and Nations: And because the Characters of Wildair, Angelica, Standard and Smuggler are natural, and well pursued, They have justly met with Applause; but then the Characters of Lurewell and Clincher Sen. being out of Nature they have as justly been condemned by all the Good Judges."

* Some Scholars, tho' by their constant Conversation with Antiquity, they may know perfectly the sense of the Learned dead, and be perfect masters of the Wisdom, be throughly informed of the State, and nicely skill'd in the Policies of Ages long since past, yet by their retired and unactive Life, and their neglect of Business, they are such strangers to the Domestick Affairs and manners of their own Country and Times, that they appear like the Ghosts of old Romans rais'd by Magick. Talk to them of the Assyrian or Persian Monarchies of the Grecian or Roman Commonwealths, they answer like Oracles; They are such finished States-men that we should scarce take 'em to have been less than Privy-Councellors to Semiramis, Tutors to Cyrus the Great, and old Cronies of Solon, Licurgus, and Numa Pompilius. But ingage them in a discourse that concerns the present Times, and their Native Country, and they hardly speak the language of it; Ask them how many Kings there have been in England since the Conquest, or in what Reign the Reformation happened, and they'll be puzzled with the Question; They know all the minutest Circumstances of Catiline's Conspiracy, but are hardly acquainted with the late Plot. They'll tell you the Names of such Romans as were called to an Account by the Senate for their Briberies, Extortions and Depredations, but know nothing of the four impeached Lords; They talk of the ancient way of Fighting, and warlike Engines, as if they had been Lieutenant Generals under Alexander, Scipio, Annibal or Julius Cæsar; but are perfectly ignorant of the modern military Discipline, Fortification and Artillery; and of the very names of Nassau, Condé, Turenne, Luxembourg, Eugene, Villeroy and Catinat. They are excellent Guides, and can direct you to every Alley, and Turning in old Rome yet lose their way home in their own Parish. They are mighty Admirers of the Wit and Eloquence of the Ancients; Yet had they lived in the Time of Demosthenes, and Cicero, would have treated them with as much supercilious Pride, and disrespect as they do now the Moderns. They are great Hunters of Ancient Manuscripts, and have in great Veneration any thing that has escaped the Teeth of Time; and if Age has obliterated the Characters, 'tis the more valuable for not being legible. These Superstitious bigotted idolaters of time past, are children in their Understanding all their lives, for they hang so incessantly upon the leading-strings of Authority, that their Judgments like the Limbs of some Indian Penitents, become altogether crampt and motionless for want of use. In fine, they think it a disparagement of their Learning to talk what other Men understand, and will scarce believe that two and two make four, under a Demonstration from Euclid, or a Quotation from Aristotle.

The World shall allow a Man to be a wise Man, a good Naturalist, a good Mathematician, Politician or Poet, but not a Scholar, or Learned Man, unless he be a Philologer and understands Greek and Latin. But for my part I take these Gentlemen have just inverted the life of the Term, and given that to the Knowledge of Words, which belongs more properly to Things. I take Nature to be the Book of Universal Learning, which he that reads best in all or any of its Parts, is the greatest Scholar, the most Learned Man; and 'tis as ridiculous for a Man to count himself more learned than another, if he have no greater Extent of Knowledge of things, because he is more vers'd in Languages, as it would be for an old fellow to tell a young One, his own Eyes were better than the other's because he reads with spectacles, the other without.

* Impertinence is a Failing that has its Root in Nature, but is not worth laughing at, till it has received the finishing strokes of Art. A man thro' natural Defects may do abundance of incoherent foolish Actions, yet deserves compassion and Advice rather than derision. But to see Men spending their Fortunes, as well as lives, in a Course of regular Folly, and with an industrious as well as expensive idleness running thro' tedious systems of impertinence, would have split the sides of Heraclitus, had it been his Fortune to have been a Spectator. It's very easie to decide which of these impertinents is the most signal: the Virtuoso is manifestly without a Competitor. For our follies are not to be measured by the Degree of Ignorance that appears in 'em, but by the study, labour and expence they cost us to finish and compleat 'em.

So that the more Regularity and Artifice there appears in any of our Extravagancies, the greater is the Folly of 'em. Upon this score it is that the last mentioned deservedly claim the Preference to all others. They have improved so well their Amusements into an Art, that the credulous and ignorant are induced to believe there is some secret Vertue, some hidden Mystery in those darling Toys of theirs: when all their Bustling amounts to no more than a learned impertinence and all they teach men is but a specious method of throwing away both Time and Money.

"The Illusions of Poetry are fatal to none but the Poets themselves: Sidonius having lately miscarried upon the Stage, gathers fresh Courage and is now big with the Hopes of a Play, writ by an ancient celebrated Author, new-vampt and furbisht up after the laudable Custom of our modern Witlings. He reckons how much he shall get by his third day, nay, by his sixth; how much by the Printing, how much by the Dedication, and by a modest Computation concludes the whole sum, will amount to two hundred Pounds, which are to be distributed among his trusty Duns. But mark the fallacy of Vanity and Self-conceit: The Play is acted, and casts the Audience into such a Lethargy, that They are fain to damn it with Yawning, being in a manner deprived of the Use of their hissing Faculty. Well says, Sidonius, (after having recover'd from a profound Consternation) Now must the important Person stand upon his own Leggs. Right, Sidonius, but when do you come on again, that Covent-Garden Doctors may prescribe your Play instead of Opium?

"The Town is not one jot more diverted by the Division of the Play-houses: the Players perform better 'tis true? but then the Poets write worse; Will the uniting of Drury-Lane and Lincoln's-Inn-Fields mend Matters? No,—for then What the Town should get in writing, they would lose it in Acting."

* A Dramatick Poet has as hard a Task on't to manage, as a passive obedience Divine that preaches before the Commons on the 30th. of January.

To please the Pit and Galleries he must take care to lard the Dialogue with store of luscious stuff, which the righteous call Baudy; to please the new Reformers he must have none, otherwise gruff Jeremy will Lash him in a third View.

* I very much Question, after all, whether Collier would have been at the Pains to lash the immoralities of the stage, if the Dramatick Poets had not been guilty of the abominable Sin of making familiar now and then with the Backslidings of the Cassock.

* The Griping Usurer, whose daily labour and nightly Care and Study is to oppress the Poor, or over-reach his Neighbour, to betray the Trusts his Hypocrisy procured; in short to break all the Positive Laws of Morality, crys out, Oh! Diabolical, at a poor harmless Double Entendre in a Play.

"'Tis preposterous to pretend to reform the Stage before the Nation, and particularly the Town, is reform'd. The Business of a Dramatick Poet is to copy Nature, and represent things as they are; Let our Peers give over whoring and drinking; the Citizens, Cheating; the Clergy, their Quarrels, Covetousness and Ambition; the Lawyers, their ambi-dextrous dealings; and the Women intriguing, and the stage will reform of Course.

"Formerly Poets made Players, but now adays 'tis generally the Player that makes the Poet. How many Plays would have expired the very first Night of their appearing upon the Stage, but for Betterton, Barry, Bracegirdle, or Wilks's inimitable Performance.

"Who ever goes about to expose the Follies of others upon the Stage, runs great hazard of exposing himself first; and of being made Ridiculous to those very People he endeavours to make so.

"I doubt whether a Man of Sense would ever give himself the trouble of writing for the Stage, if he had before his Eyes the fatigue of Rehearsals, the Pangs and Agonies of the first day his Play is Acted, the Disappointments of the third, and the Scandal of a Damn'd Poet.

"The reason why in Shakespear and Ben. Johnson's Time Plays had so good Success, and that we see now so many of 'em miscarry, is because then the Poets wrote better than the Audience Judg'd; whereas now-a-days the Audience judge better than the Poets write."

* He that pretends to confine a Damsel of the Theatre to his own Use, who by her Character is a Person of an extended Qualification, acts as unrighteous, at least as unnatural, a Part, as he that would Debauch a Nun. But after all, such a Spark rather consults his Vanity, than his Love, and would be thought to ingross what all the young Coxcombs of the Town admire and covet.

"Is it not a kind of Prodigy, that in this wicked and censorious Age, the shining Daphne should preserve her Reputation in a Play-House?"

The Character of a Player was Infamous amongst the Romans, but with the Greeks Honourable: What is our Opinion? We think of them like the Romans, and live with them like the Greeks.

"Nothing so powerfully excites Love in us Men, as the view of those Limbs of Women's Bodies, which the Establish'd Rules of Modesty bid 'em keep from our Sight. No wonder then if Aglaura, Cæsonia, Floria, and in general all the Women on our Stages, are so fond of acting in Men's Cloaths.

"Cæsonia is Young, I own it: But then Cæsonia has an African Nose, hollow Eyes, and a French Complexion; so that all the time she acted in her Sex's Habit, her Conquests never extended further than one of her Fellow-Players, or a Cast-Poet. Mark the Miracles of Fancy: Cæsonia acts a Boy's Part, and Tallus, one of the first Patricians, falls desperately in Love with her, and presents her with two Hundred great Sesterces (a Gentlewoman's Portion) for a Night's Lodging.

"One would imagine our Matrons should be mighty Jealous of their Husbands Intriguing with Players: But no, they bear it with a Christian Patience. How is that possible? Why, they Intrigue themselves, either with Roscius the Tragedian, Flagillus, the Comedian, or Bathillus, the Dancer."

Nothing Surprizes me more, than to see Men Laugh so freely at a Comedy, and yet account it a silly weakness to Weep at a Tragedy. For is it less natural for a Man's Heart to relent upon a Scene of Pity, than to be transported with Joy upon one of Mirth and Humour? Or is it only the alteration of the Features of one's Face that makes us forbear Crying? But this alteration is undoubtedly as great in an immoderate Laughter, as in a most desperate Grief; and good Breeding teaches us to avoid the one as well as the other, before those for whom we have a Respect. Or is it painful to us to appear tender-hearted and express grief upon a Fiction? But without quoting great Wits who account it an equal Weakness, either to weep or laugh out of Measure, can we expect to be tickled by a Tragical Adventure? And besides, is not Truth as naturally represented in that as in a Comical one? Therefore as we do not think it ridiculous to see a whole Audience laugh at a merry jest or humour acted to the life, but on the contrary we commend the skill both of the Poet and the Actor; so the great Violence we use upon our selves to contain our tears, together with the forc'd a-wry smiles with which we strive to conceal our Concern, do forcibly evince that the natural effect of a good Tragedy is to make us all weep by consent, without any more ado than to pull out our Handkerchiefs to wipe off our Tears. And if it were once agreed amongst us not to resist those tender impressions of Pity, I dare engage that we would soon be convinc'd that by frequenting the Play-house we run less danger of being put to the expence of Tears, than of being almost frozen to death by many a cold, dull insipid jest.

We must make it our main Business and Study to think and write well, and not labour to submit other People's Palates and Opinions to our own; which is the greater difficulty of the two.

One should serve his time to learn how to make a Book, just as some men do to learn how to make a watch, for there goes something more than either Wit or Learning to the setting up for an Author. A Lawyer of this Town was an able, subtle and experienc'd Man in the way of his Business, and might for ought I know, have come to be Lord Chief Justice, but he has lately miscarried in the Good Opinion of the World, only by Printing some Essays which are a Master-piece—in Nonsense.

It is a more difficult matter to get a Name by a Perfect Composure, than to make an indifferent one valued by that Reputation a Man has already got in the World.

There are some things which admit of no mediocrity; such as Poetry, Painting, Musick and Oratory—What Torture can be greater than to hear Doctor F—— declaim a flat Oration with formality and Pomp, or D—— read his Pyndaricks with all the Emphasis of a Dull Poet.

We have not as yet seen any excellent Piece, but what is owing to the Labour of one single Man: Homer, for the purpose, has writ the Iliad; Virgil, the Æneid; Livy his Decads; and the Roman Orator his Orations; but our modern several Hands present us often with nothing but a Variety of Errors.

There is in the Arts and Sciences such a Point of Perfection, as there is one of Goodness or maturity in Fruits; and he that can find and relish it must be allowed to have a True Tast; but on the contrary, he that neither perceives it, nor likes any thing on this side, or beyond it, has but a defective Palate. Hence I conclude that there is a bad Taste and a good one, and that the disputing about Tastes is not altogether unreasonable.

The Lives of Heroes have enricht History and History in requital has embellished and heightened the Lives of Heroes, so that it is no easie matter to determine which of the two is more beholden to the other: either Historians, to those who have furnished them with so great and noble a matter to work upon; or those great Men, to those Writers that have convey'd their names and Atchievements down to the Admiration of after-Ages.

There are many of our Wits that feed for a while upon the Ancients, and the best of our Modern Authors: and when they have squeez'd out and extracted matter enough to appear in Print and set up for themselves, most ungratefully abuse them, like children grown strong and lusty by the good milk they have sucked, who generally beat their Nurses.

A Modern Author proves both by Reasons and Examples that the Ancients are inferior to us; and fetches his Arguments from his own particular Tast, and his Examples from his own Writings. He owns, That the Ancients tho' generally uneven and uncorrect, have yet here and there some fine Touches, and indeed these are so fine, that the quoting of them is the only thing that makes his Criticisms worth a Mans reading 'em.

Some great Men pronounce for the Ancients against the Moderns: But their own Composures are so agreeable to the Taste of Antiquity, and bear so great a resemblance with the Patterns they have left us, that they seem to be judges in their own Case and being suspected of Partiality, are therefore ceptionable.

It is the Character of a Pedant to be unwilling either to ask a Friend's advice about his Work or to alter what he has been made sensible to be a fault.

We ought to read our Writings to those only, who have Judgment enough to correct what is amiss, and esteem what deserves to be commended.

An Author, ought to receive with an equal Modesty both the Praise and
Censure of other People upon his own Works.

A great facility in submitting to other People's Censure is sometimes as faulty as a great roughness in rejecting it: for there is no Composure so every way accomplisht, but what would be pared and clipped to nothing if a man would follow the advice of every finical scrupulous Critick, who often would have the best Things left out because forsooth, they are not agreeable to his dull Palate.

The great Pleasure some People take in criticizing upon the small Faults of a Book so vitiates their Taste, that it renders them unfit to be affected with it's Beauties.

The same Niceness of Judgment which makes some Men write sence, makes them very often shy and unwilling to appear in Print.

Among the several Expressions We may use for the same Thought, there is but an individual one which is good and proper; any other but that is flat and imperfect, and cannot please an ingenious Man that has a mind to explain what he thinks: And it is no small wonder to me to consider, what Pains, even the best of Writers are sometimes at, to seek out that Expression, which being the most simple and natural, ought consequently to have presented it self without Study.

'Tis to no great purpose that a Man seeks to make himself admir'd by his Composures: Blockheads, indeed, may oftentimes admire him but then they are but Blockheads; and as for Wits they have in themselves the seeds or hints of all the good and fine things that can possibly be thought of or said; and therefore they seldom admire any thing, but only approve of what hits their Palate.

The being a Critick is not so much a Science as a sort of laborious, and painful Employment, which requires more strength of Body, than delicacy of Wit, and more assiduity than natural Parts.

As some merit Praise for writing well, so do others for not writing at all.

That Author who chiefly endeavours to please the Taste of the Age he lives in, rather consults his private interest, than that of his Writings. We ought always to have perfection in Prospect as the chief thing we aim at, and that Point once gain'd, we may rest assured that unbyassed Posterity will do us Justice, which is often deny'd us by our Contemporaries.

'Tis matter of discretion in an Author to be extreamly reserv'd and modest when he speaks of the Work he is upon, for fear he should raise the World's Expectation too high: For it is most certain, that our Opinion of an extraordinary Promise, goes always further than the Performance, and a Man's Reputation cannot but be much lessen'd by such a Disparity.

The Name of the Author ought to be the last thing we inquire into, when we Judge of the merit of an ingenious Composure, but contrary to this maxim we generally judge of the Book by the Author, instead of judging of the Author by the Book.

As we see Women that without the knowledge of Men do sometimes bring forth inanimate and formless lumps of Flesh, but to cause a natural and perfect Generation, they are to be husbanded by another kind of seed, even so it is with Wit which if not applied to some certain study that may fix and restrain it, runs into a thousand Extravagancies, and is eternally roving here and there in the inextricable labyrinth of restless Imagination.

If every one who hears or reads a good Sentence or maxim, would immediately consider how it does any way touch his own private concern, he would soon find, that it was not so much a good saying, as a severe lash to the ordinary Bestiality of his judgment: but Men receive the Precepts and admonitions of Truth as generally directed to the common sort and never particularly to themselves, and instead of applying them to their own manners, do only very ignorantly and unprofitably commit them to Memory, without suffering themselves to be at all instructed, or converted by them.

We say of some compositions that they stink of Oil and smell of the Lamp, by reason of a certain rough harshness that the laborious handling imprints upon those, where great force has been employed: but besides this, the solicitude of doing well, and a certain striving and contending of a mind too far strain'd, and over-bent upon its undertaking, breaks and hinders it self, like Water that by force of its own pressing Violence and Abundance cannot find a ready issue through the neck of a Bottle, or a narrow sluice.

Humour, Temper, Education and a thousand other Circumstances create so great a difference betwixt the several Palates of Men, and their Judgments upon ingenious Composures, that nothing can be more chimerical and foolish in an Author than the Ambition of a general Reputation.

As Plants are suffocated and drown'd with too much nourishment, and Lamps with too much Oyl, so is the active part of the understanding with too much study and matter, which being embarass'd and confounded with the Diversity of things is deprived of the force and power to disingage it self; and by the Pressure of this weight, it is bow'd, subjected and rendred of no use.

* Studious and inquisitive Men commonly at forty or fifty at the most, have fixed and settled their judgments in most Points, and as it were made their last understanding, supposing they have thought, or read, or heard what can be said on all sides of things, and after that they grow positive and impatient of Contradiction, thinking it a disparagement to them to alter their Judgment.

All Skillful Masters ought to have a care not to let their Works be seen in Embryo, for all beginnings are defective, and the imagination is always prejudiced. The remembring to have seen a thing imperfect takes from one the Liberty of thinking it pretty when it is finished.

Many fetch a tedious Compass of Words, without ever coming to the Knot of the business: they make a thousand turnings and windings, that tire themselves and others, without ever arriving at the Point of importance. That proceeds from the Confusion of their Understanding, which cannot clear it self. They lose Time and Patience in what ought to be let alone, and then they have no more to bestow upon what they have omitted.

It is the Knack of Men of Wit to find out Evasions; With a touch of Gallantry they extricate themselves out of the greatest Labyrinth. A graceful smile will make them avoid the most dangerous Quarrel.

Mind, Understanding, Wit, Memory, Heart.

The Strength and Weakness of a Man's Mind, are improper Terms, since they are really nothing else but the Organs of our Bodies, being well or ill dispos'd.

'Tis a great Errour, the making a difference between the Wit and the Judgment: For, in truth, the Judgment is nothing else but the Brightness of Wit, which penetrates into the very bottom of Things, observes all that ought to be observ'd there, and descries what seem'd to be imperceptible. From whence we must conclude, That 'tis the Extention and Energy of this Light of Wit, that produces all those Effects, usually ascrib'd to Judgment.

All Men may be allowed to give a good Character of their Hearts (or Inclinations) but no body dares to speak well of his own Wit.

Polite Wit consists in nice, curious, and honest Thoughts.

The Gallantry of Wit consists in Flattery well couch'd.

It often happens, that some things offer themselves to our Wit, which are naturally finer and better, than is possible for a Man to make them by the Additions of Art and Study.

Wit is always made a Cully to the Heart.

Many People are acquainted with their own Wit, that are not acquainted with their own Heart.

It is not in the power of Wit, to act a long while the Part of the Heart.

A Man of Wit would be sometimes miserably at a loss, but for the
Company of Fools.

A Man of Wit may sometimes be a Coxcomb; but a Man of Judgment never can.

The different Ways or Methods for compassing a Design, come not so much from the Quickness and Fertility of an industrious Wit, as a dim-sighted Understanding, which makes us pitch upon every fresh Matter that presents itself to our groping Fancy, and does not furnish us with Judgment sufficient to discern at first sight, which or them is best for our Purpose.

The Twang of a Man's Native Country, sticks by him as much in his Mind and Disposition, as it does in his Tone of Speaking.

Wit serves sometimes to make us play the Fool with greater Confidence.

Shallow Wits are apt to censure everything above their own Capacity.

'Tis past the Power of Imagination it self, to invent so many distant Contrarieties, as there are naturally in the Heart of every Man.

No body is so well acquainted with himself, as to know his own Mind at all times.

Every body complains of his Memory, but no body of his Judgment.

There is a kind of general Revolution, not more visible in the turn it gives to the Fortunes of the World, than it is in the Change of Men's Understandings, and the different Relish or Wit.

Men often think to conduct and govern themselves, when all the while they are led and manag'd; and while their Understanding aims at one thing, their Heart insensibly draws them into another.

Great Souls are not distinguish'd by having less Passion, and more Virtue; but by having nobler and greater Designs than the Vulgar.

We allow few Men to be either Witty or Reasonable, besides those who are of our own Opinion.

We are as much pleas'd to discover another Man's Mind, as we are discontented to have our own found out.

A straight and well-contriv'd Mind, finds it easier to yield to a perverse one, than to direct and manage it.

Coxcombs are never so troublesome, as when they pretend to Wit.

A little Wit with Discretion, tires less at long-run, than much Wit without Judgment.

Nothing comes amiss to a great Soul; and there is as much Wisdom in bearing other People's Defects, as in relishing their good Qualities.

It argues a great heighth of Judgment in a Man, to discover what is in another's Breast, and to conceal what is in his own.

If Poverty be the Mother of Wickedness, want of Wit must be the
Father.

* A Mind that has no Ballance in it self, turns insolent, or abject, out of measure, with the various Change of Fortune.

* Our Memories are frail and treacherous; and we think many excellent things, which for want of making a deep impression, we can never recover afterwards. In vain we hunt for the stragling Idea, and rummage all the Solitudes and Retirements of our Soul, for a lost Thought, which has left no Track or Foot-steps behind it: The swift Off-spring of the Mind is gone; 'tis dead as soon as born; nay, often proves abortive in the moment it was conceiv'd: The only way therefore to retain our Thoughts, is to fasten them in Words, and chain them in Writing.

* A Man is never so great a Dunce by Nature, but Love, Malice, or Necessity, will supply him with some Wit.

* There is a Defect which is almost unavoidable in great Inventors; it is the Custom of such earnest and powerful Minds, to do wonderful Things in the beginning; but shortly after, to be over-born by the Multitude and Weight of their own Thoughts; then to yield and cool by little and little, and at last grow weary, and even to loath that, upon which they were at first the most eager. This is the wonted Constitution of great Wits; such tender things are those exalted Actions of the Mind; and so hard it is for those Imaginations, that can run swift and mighty Races, to be able to travel a long and constant Journey. The Effects of this Infirmity have been so remarkable, that we have certianly lost very many Inventions, after they have been in part fashion'd, by the meer Languishing and Negligence of their Authors.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Present State of Wit (1711), by John Gay