You wou’d think it yet more strange, that any one should be Slovenly and Nasty out of Vanity; yet such there are I can assure you, Madam, and cou’d easily give a description of ’em, but that so foul a Relation must needs be Nauseous to a Person so Neat as your Self; and wou’d be treating You as the Country Squire did his Court Friend, who when he had shew’d him all the Curiosities of his House and Gardens, carried him into his Hogsties. But there are more than enow to justifie what I have said of the Humour of Diogenes, who was as vain and as proud in his Tub, as Plato cou’d be in the midst of his fine Persian Carpets, and rich Furniture. Vanity is only an Ambition of being taken notice of, which shews it self variously according to the humour of the Persons; which was more extravagant in the Anti-Beau, than in the Beau Philosopher. Vanity is the veriest Proteus in the World, it can Ape Humility, and can make Men decry themselves on purpose to be Flattered; like some cunning Preachers that cry up Mortification and Self-denial perpetually, and are pamper’d all the while by the Zeal and at the Charges of their Followers, who are affraid the good Man shou’d starve himself. It is the Blessing of Fools, and the Folly of Ingenious Men. For it makes those contentedly hugg themselves under all the scorn of the World, and the Indignities that are offer’d ’em, and these restless and dissatisfied with its applause. Both think the World envious, and that their merit is injur’d, and it is impossible to right either of ’em to their Minds; for those have no title to the pretence of merit, and these not so much as they think they have. Yet it is the Happiness of the first that they can think themselves capable of moving Envy; |Vanity a Blessing to Fools.| for though they commonly mistake the Derision of Men, for their applause, yet Men are sometimes so ill Natur’d as to undeceive ’em, and then it is their Comfort, that these are envious Men, and misrepresent the Worlds opinion of ’em. Cou’d these Men be convinc’d of their mistake, I see nothing that shou’d hinder them from being desperate, and hanging or disposing of themselves some other such way. For though a Man may comfort himself under Afflictions, it is either that they are undeserved, or if deserved, that he suffers only for Oversights, or rash Acts, by which the wisest Men may be sometimes overtaken; that he is in the main Discreet and Prudent, and that others believe him so. But when a Man falls under his own Contempt, and does not only think himself not wise, but by Nature made absolutely incapable of ever becoming Wise, he is in a deplorable State, and wants the common Comfort, as well of Fools, as Wise Men, Vanity; which in such a Case is the only proper Mediatour of a Reconcilement. No Quality seems to be more Providentially distributed to every Man according to his Necessity; for those that have least Wit, ought to have the greatest Opinion of it; as all other Commodities are rated highest, where they are scarcest. By this means the level is better maintain’d amongst Men, who, were this imaginary Equality destroy’d, might be apt to reverence, and idolize one another too much, and forgetting the common Fate, they are all Born to, pay Honours too near divine to their Fellow Mortals. But as the humour of the World now runs, this sort of Idolatry is scarce likely to come into Fashion. We have too great an Opinion of our selves, to believe too well of any one else, and we are in nothing more difficult than in points of Wit and Understanding, in either of which we very unwillingly yield the Preference to any Man. There is nothing of which we affect 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 Priviledge to torment and plague every Body; but those most who have the best Reputation for their Wit of Judgment; as Fleas are said to molest those most, who have the tenderest Skins, and the sweetest Blood.
Of these the most voluminous Fool is the Fop Poet, who is one that has always more Wit in his Pockets than any where else, |Character of a Poetaster.| yet seldom or never any of his own there. Esop’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 Finger than his brain. He spends much time in Writing, but ten times more in Reading what he has Written. He is loaden constantly with more Papers, and duller than a Clerk in Chancery, and spends more time in Hearings, and Rehearings. He asks your Opinion, yet for fear you shou’d not jump with him, tells you his own first. He desires no Favour, yet is disappointed, if he be not Flatter’d, and is offended always at the Truth. His first Education is generally a Shop, or a Counting-House, where his acquaintance commences with the Bell-man upon a new Years day. He puts him upon Intriguing with the Muses, and promises to Pimp for him. From this time forward he hates the name of Mechanick, and resolves to sell all his stock, and purchase a Plantation in Parnassas. He is now a Poetical Haberdasher of Small Wares, and deals very much in Novels, Madrigals, Riddles, Funeral, and Love Odes, and Elegies, and other Toyes from Helicon, which he has a Shop so well furnish’d with, that he can fit you with all sorts and Sizes upon all Occasions in the twinkling of an Eye. He frequents Apollo’s Exchange in Covent-Garden, and picks up the freshest Intelligence what Plays are upon the Stocks, or ready to be launch’d; who have lately made a good Voyage, who a saving one only, and who have suffer’d a Wreck in Lincoln’s-Inn-Feilds, or Drury-Lane, and which are brought into the Dock to be Careen’d and fitted for another Voyage. He talks much of Jack Dryden, and Will. Wyckerley, and the rest of that Set, and protests he can’t help having some respect for ’em, because they have so much for him, and his Writings; otherwise he cou’d shew ’em to be meer Sots and Blockheads that understand little of Poetry, in comparison of himself; but he forbears ’em meerly out of Gratitude, and Compassion. Once a Month he fits out a small Poetical Smeck at the charge of his Bookseller, which he lades with French Plunder new Vampt in English, small Ventures of Translated Odes, Elegies and Epigrams of Young Traders, and ballasts with heavy Prose of his own; for which returns are to be made to the several Owners in Testers, or applause from the Prentices and Tyre Women that deal for ’em. 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 ’em, than their Duns. His Pocket is an unexhaustible Magazine of Rhime, and Nonsense, and his Tongue like a repeating Clock with Chimes, is ready upon every touch to sound to ’em. Men avoid him for the same Reason, they avoid the Pillory, the security of their Ears; of which he is as merciless a Persecutor. He is the Bane of Society, a Friend to the Stationers, the Plague of the Press, and the Ruine of his Bookseller. He is more profitable to the Grocers and Tabacconists than the Paper Manufacture; for his Works, which talk so much of Fire and Flame, commonly expire in their Shops in Vapour and Smoak. If he aspire to Comedy, he intrigues with some experienc’d Damsel of the Town, in order to instruct himself in the humour of it, and is cullied by her into Matrimony, and so is furnish’d at once with a Plot, and two good Characters, himself and his Wife, and is paid with a Portion for a Jointure in Parnassus, which I leave him to make his best of.
Vanity Universal.
I shall not trouble you with any more Instances of the foolish vanities of Mankind; because I am affraid I have been too large upon that Head already. Not that I think there is any Order or Degree of Men, which wou’d not afford many and notorious instances for our Purpose. For as I think Vanity almost the Universal mover of all our Actions, whether good or bad; so I think there are scarce any Men so Ingenious, or so Vertuous, but something of it will shine through the greatest Part of what they do, let them cast never so thick a Vail over it. What makes Men so solicitous of leaving a Reputation behind ’em in the World, though they know they can’t be affected with it after Death, but this even to a degree of Folly? What else makes great Men involve themselves in the Fatigues and Hazards of War, and intricate Intrigues of State, when they have already more than they can enjoy, but an Itch of being talk’d of and remembred, to which they sacrifice their present happiness and repose?
But I shall carry these Considerations no farther; because I have already singled out some of those many whose Vanity is more extravagant and ridiculous, than any our Sex is chargeable with, these slight Touches may serve to let ’em see, that even the greatest, and Wisest are not wholely exempt, if they have it not in a higher Degree, tho’ they exercise it in things more Popular, and Plausible. I hope therefore the burthen of this good Quality will not hereafter be laid upon us alone, but the Men will be contented to divide the Load with us, and be thankful that they bear less than their Proportion.
Impertinence.
Impertinence comes next under Consideration, in which I shall be as brief, as I conveniently can, in regard I have been so long upon the precedeing Head. Impertinence is a humour of busying our selves about things trivial, and of no Moment in themselves, or unseasonably in things of no concern to us, or wherein we are able to do nothing to any Purpose. Here our Adversaries insult over us, as if they had gain’d an intire Victory, and the Field were indisputable; but they shall have no cause for Triumph, this is no Post of such mighty advantage as they fondly persuade themselves. This Presumption arises from an Erroneous Conceit, that all those things in which they are little concern’d, or consulted, |Commonly mistaken.| are triffles below their care or notice, which indeed they are not by Nature so well able to manage. Thus, when they hear us talking to, and advising one another about the Order, Distribution and Contrivance of Houshold Affairs, about the Regulation of the Family, and Government of Children and Servants, the provident management of a Kitchin, and the decent ordering of a Table, the suitable Matching, and convenient disposition of Furniture and the like, they presently condemn us for impertinence. Yet they may be pleased to consider, that as the affairs of the World are now divided betwixt us, the Domestick are our share, and out of which we are rarely suffer’d to interpose our Sense. They may be pleased to consider likewise, that as light and inconsiderable as these things seem, they are capable of no Pleasures of Sense higher or more refin’d than those of Brutes without our care of ’em. For were it not for that, their Houses wou’d be meer Bedlams, their most luxurious Treats, but a rude confusion of ill Digested, ill mixt Scents and Relishes, and the fine Furniture, they bestow so much cost on, but an expensive heap of glittering Rubbish. Thus they are beholding to us for the comfortable Enjoyment of what their labour or good Fortune hath acquir’d or bestow’d, and think meanly of our care only, because they understand not the value of it. But if we shall be thought impertinent for Discourses of this Nature, as I deny not but we sometimes justly may, when they are unseasonable; what censure must those Men bear, who are prepetually talking of Politicks, State Affairs and Grievances to us, in which perhaps neither they, nor We are much concern’d, or if we be, are not able to propose, much less to apply any Remedy to ’em? Surely these are impertinent; not to call the Beau, or Poetaster on the Stage again, whose whole Lives are one continued scene of Folly and Impertinence; let us make the best of our News Monger.
Character of a Coffee-House Politician.
He is one whose Brains having been once over-heated, retain something of the Fire in ’em ever after. He mistakes his Passion for Zeal, and his Noise and Bustling, for Services. He is always full of Doubts, Fears, and Jealousies, and is never without some notable Discovery of a deep laid Design, or a dangerous Plot found out in a Meal Tub, or Petticoat. He is a mighty Listner after Prodigies, and never hears of a Whale, or a Comet, but he apprehends some sudden Revolution in the State, and looks upon a Groaning-board, or a speaking-head, as fore-runners of the Day of Judgment. He is a great Lover of the King, but a bitter Enemy to all about him, and thinks it impossible for him to have any but Evil Counsellors, and though he be very zealous for the Government, yet he never finds any thing in it but Grievances and Miscarriages to declaim upon. He is a Well-wisher to the Church, but he is never to be reconcil’d to the Bishops and Clergy, and rails most inveterately at the Act of Uniformity. He hates Persecution implacably, and contends furiously for Moderation, and can scarce think well of the Toleration, because it is an Act of the State. He professes himself of the Church of England, pretends to like the Worship of it, but he goes to Meetings in spight to the Parson of his Parish. His Conscience is very tender and scrupulous in Matters of Ceremony, but it is as steely and tough as Brawn behind his Counter, and can digest any Sin of Gain. He lodges at home, but he lives at the Coffee-house. He converses more with News Papers, Gazettes and Votes, than with his Shop Books, and his constant Application to the Publick takes him off all Care for his Private Concern. He is always settling the Nation, yet cou’d never manage his own Family. He is a mighty Stickler at all Elections, and tho’ he has no Vote, thinks it impossible any thing shou’d go right unless he be there to Bawl for it. His business is at Home, but his thoughts are in Flanders, and he is earnestly investing of Towns till the Sheriff’s Officers beleaguer his Doors. He is busie in forcing of Counterscarps, and storming of Breaches, while his Creditors take his Shop by surprize, and make Plunder of his Goods. Thus by mending the State, He marrs his own Fortune; and never leaves talking of the Laws of the Land, till the Execution of ’em silence him.
This sort of Impertinents the Coffee-houses are every day full of; nay, so far has this contagious Impertinence spread it self, that Private Houses, and Shops, nay, the very Streets and Bulks are infected and pester’d with Politicks and News. Not a Pot cou’d go glibly down, or a flitch go merrily forward without Namur, a while ago; ’twas Spice to the Porter’s Ale, and Wax to the Cobler’s Thread; the one suspended his Draught, and the other his Awl to enquire what was become of the Rogue, and were very glad to hear he was taken, and expected no doubt he shou’d come over and make ’em a Holy-day at his Execution. They were mightily rejoyc’d at the Arresting of the Mareschal Boufflers, and made no question but they shou’d see him amongst the rest of the Beasts at Bartholomew Fair for Two Pence. This Folly of the Mob was in some measure excusable, because their Ignorance led ’em into an expectation of seeing what had given the World so much Trouble. But those that have better knowledge of things have no such Plea, they ought to have been wiser, than to have busied themselves so much and so earnestly about affairs, which all their care and Sollicitude could have no more influence upon, than over the Weather. ’Twas pleasant to see what Shoals the report of the arrival of a Holland, or Flanders Mail, brought to the Secretary’s Office, the Post Office, and the Coffee-Houses; every one Crowding to catch the News first, which as soon as they had, they posted away like so many Expresses to disperse it among their Neighbours at more distance, that waited with Ears prickt up to receive ’em, or walk’d uneasily with a Foolish Impatience to and from the Door, or Window, as if their looking out so often wou’d fetch ’em the sooner. Most Men in their News are like Beau’s in their Diet, the worst is welcome while ’tis fresh and scarce, and the best is not worth a Farthing when it has been blown upon; and commonly they fare like Beau’s, are fond of it while ’tis young and insipid, and neglect it when ’tis grown up to its full, and true relish. No sooner is it rumour’d that a Breach is made in the Castle Wall, or the White Flag hung out, but a Council of War is call’d in every Coffee-house in Town; the French, and Dutch Prints, their Intelligencers are call’d for immediately, and examin’d, and not a Shot is mention’d but they start as if the Ball whizz’d just then by their Ears. After this follows a serious debate about a general Assault, and whether they shall storm immediately, or not; who shall begin the Attack; what Conditions shall be granted on Capitulation. The Castle of Namur thus taken, or Surrender’d, they proceed to take their Measures, and settle the next Campaign, and whatever harm we suffer by those mischeivous French in the Field, they are sure to take sufficient Revenge, and pay ’em off Swingingly in the Coffee-houses: But as if this were not enough, Our greatest Actions must be Buffoon’d in Show, as well as Talk. Shall Namur be taken and our Hero’s of the City not show their Prowess upon so great an Occasion? |City Militia.| It must never be said, that the Coffee-houses dar’d more than Moor-Fields; No, for the honour of London, out comes the Foreman of the Shop very Formidable in Buff and Bandileers, and away he marches with Feather in Cap, to the general Rendezvous in the Artillery Ground. There these terrible Mimicks of Mars are to spend their Fury in Noise and Smoke, upon a Namur erected for that purpose on a Molehill, and by the help of Guns and Drums out-stink and out-rattle Smith-field in all its Bravery, and wou’d be too hard for the greatest Man in all France, if they had him but amongst ’em. Yet this is but Skirmishing, the hot Service is in another Place, when they engage the Capons and Quart Pots; never was Onset more Vigorous, For they come to Handy-Blows immediately, and now is the real cutting and slashing, and Tilting without Quarter, Were the Towns in Flanders all wall’d with Beef, and the French as good meat as Capons, and drest the same way, the King need never beat his Drums for Soldiers; all these Gallant Fellows wou’d come in Voluntarily, the meanest of which wou’d be able to eat a Mareschal, and whom nothing cou’d oppose in conjunction.