Nothing is more common, and familiar than this sort of Impertinence; Most Men wou’d have little to do, did they busie themselves about nothing, but what they understood, or were concern’d in. A Monkey is not liker a Man in his Figure, than in his humour. How ready are all Mankind to censure without Authority, and to give advice unaskt, and without reason. They are very much mistaken, that think this forwardness to thrust themselves into other’s affairs, springs from any Principle of Charity or Tenderness for ’em, or the least Regard to the Welfare of their Neighbours. ’Tis only a Vain Conceit that they are wiser, and more able to advise, which puts ’em upon engaging in things they have nothing to do with, |Officious Impertinences.| and passing their Judgments Magisterially on matters they have no Cognizance of, and generally little Information, or Skill in. They are desirous the World shou’d have as great an Opinion of ’em as they have of themselves, and therefore impertinently interpose their own Authority and Sense, tho’ never so little to the purpose, only to shew how well they cou’d manage, were it their Business; thus they advise without good intention, or kindness, and censure without design, or malice to the Persons counsell’d, or reflected on, These buzzing Insects swarm as thick every where, and are as troublesome as Muskettoes in the West-Indies. They are perpetually in a hurry of Business, yet are forc’d to rack their Inventions to employ their Leisure. They are very busie for every Body, and serve no Body. They are always in hast, and think themselves expected every where with Impatience, yet come sooner alwayes than they are welcome. They will walk a Mile, and spend an hour to tell any one how urgent their Business is, and what hast they are in to be gone. Their Expedition is their greatest Loss, For Time is the only thing that lies heavy upon their hands. They are walking Gazetts, that carry News from one Neighbour to another, and have their Stages about the Town as regular and certain, as a Penny Postman. Every Man is their acquaintance, but no Man their Friend. They drudge for every Body, and are paid by no Body, and tho’ their Lives be worn out in endeavours to oblige all Mankind, when they die no one regrets their Loss, or misses their Service.
There are another sort of Impertinents, |Character of a Vertuoso.| who, as they mind not the Business of other Men where it concerns ’em not, neglect it likewise where it does; and amuse themselves continually with the Contemplation of those things, which the rest of the World slight as useless, and below their regard. Of these the most Egregious is the Virtuoso, who is one that has sold an Estate in Land to purchase one in Scallop, Conch, Muscle, Cockle Shells, Periwinkles, Sea Shrubs, Weeds, Mosses, Sponges, Coralls, Corallines, Sea Fans, Pebbles, Marchasites and Flint stones; and has abandon’d the Acquaintance and Society of Men for that of Insects, Worms, Grubbs, Maggots, Flies, Moths, Locusts, Beetles, Spiders, Grashoppers, Snails, Lizards and Tortoises. His study is like Noah’s Ark, the general Rendezvous of all Creatures in the Universe, and the greatest part of his Moveables are the remainders of his Deluge. His Travels are not design’d as Visits to the Inhabitants of any Place, but to the Pits, Shores and Hills; from whence he fetches not the Treasure, but the Trumpery. He is ravish’d at finding an uncommon shell, or an odd shap’d Stone, and is desperately enamour’d at first sight of an unusual markt Butter-flie, which he will hunt a whole day to be Master of. He trafficks to all places, and has his Correspondents in e’ry part of the World; yet his Merchandizes serve not to promote our Luxury, nor encrease our Trade, and neither enrich the Nation, nor himself. A Box or two of Pebbles or Shells, and a dozen of Wasps, Spiders and Caterpillars are his Cargoe, He values a Camelion or Salamanders Egg, above all the Sugars and Spices of the West and East-indies, and wou’d give more for the Shell of a Star-fish, or Sea Urchin entire, than for a whole Dutch Herring Fleet. He visites Mines, Colepits, and Quarries frequently, but not for that sordid end that other Men usually do, viz. gain; but for the sake of the fossile Shells and Teeth that are sometimes found there. He is a smatterer at Botany, but for fear of being suspected of any useful design by it, he employs his curiosity only about Mosses, Grasses, Brakes, Thistles, &c. that are not accus’d of any vertue in Medicine, which he distinguishes and divides very nicely. He preserves carefully those Creatures, which other Men industriously destroy, and cultivates sedulously those Plants, which others root up as Weeds. He is the Embalmer of deceas’d Vermin, and dresses his Mummyes with as much care, as the Ancient Egyptians did their Kings. His Cash consists much in old Coins, and he thinks the Face of Alexander in one of ’em worth more than all his Conquests. His Inventory is a list of the Insects of all Countries, and the Shells and Pebbles of all Shores, which can no more be compleat without two or three of remarkable Signatures, than an Apothecaries Shop without a Tortoise and a Crocodile, or a Country Barber’s without a batter’d Cittern. A piece of Ore with a Shell in it is a greater Present than if it were fine Gold, and a string of Wampompeag is receiv’d with more joy, than a Rope of Orient Pearl, or Diamonds wou’d be. His Collection of Garden Snails, Cockle Shells and Vermine compleated, (as he thinks) he sets up for a Philosopher, and nothing less than Universal Nature will serve for a Subject, of which he thinks he has an entire History in his Lumber Office. Hence forward he struts and swells, and despises all those little insignificant Fellows, that can make no better use of those noble incontestable Evidences of the Universal Deluge, Scallop and Oyster Shells, than to stew Oysters, or melt Brimstone for Matches. By this time he thinks it necessary to give the World an Essay of his Parts, that it may think as highly of ’em (if possible) as he does himself; and finding Moses hard beset of late, he resolves to give him a lift, and defend his Flood, to which he is so much oblig’d for sparing his darling Toys only. But as great Masters use, he corrects him sometimes for not speaking to his Mind, and gives him the lie now and then in order to support his Authority. He shakes the World to Atoms with ease, which melts before him as readily as if it were nothing but a Ball of Salt. He pumps even the Center, and drains it of imaginary stores by imaginary Loopholes, as if punching the Globe full of holes cou’d make his Hypothesis hold Water. He is a Man of Expedition, and does that in a few days, which cost Moses some Months to compleat. He is a Passionate Admirer of his own Works without a Rival, and superciliously contemns all Answers, yet the least Objection throws him into the Vapours. He sets up for a grand Philosopher, and palms Hypotheses upon the World, which future Ages may (if they please) expect to hear his Arguments for; at present he is in no humour to give ’em any other satisfaction than his own word, that he is infallible. Yet those that have a Faith complacent enough to take a Gentleman’s word for his own great Abilities, may perhaps be admitted to a sight of his grand Demonstration, his Raree Show; the particulars of which he repeats to ’em in a whining Tone, e’ry whit as formal and merry, though not so Musical, as the Fellows that used formerly to carry theirs at their Backs. His ordinary discourse is of his Travels under Ground, in which he has gone farther (if he may be believ’d) than a whole Warren of Conies. Here he began his Collection of Furniture for his Philosophical Toy Shop, which he will conclude with his Fortune, and then like all Flesh revert to the place from whence he came, and be translated only from one Shop to another.
This, Madam, is another sort of Impertience our Sex are not liable to; one wou’d think that none but Mad Men, or highly Hypochondriacal, cou’d employ themselves at this rate. I appeal to you, or indeed to any Man of Sense, whether acts like the wiser Animal; the man that with great care, and pains distinguishes and divides the many Varieties of Grass, and finds no other Fruit of his labour, than the charging of his Memory with abundance of superfluous Names; or the Ass that eats all promiscuously, and without distinction, to satisfy his Appetite and support Nature. To what purpose is it, that these Gentlemen ransack all Parts both of Earth and Sea to procure these Triffles? It is only that they may give their Names to some yet unchristen’d Shell or Insect. I know that the desire of knowledge, and the discovery of things yet unknown is the Pretence; But what Knowledge is it? What Discoveries do we owe to their Labours? It is only the Discovery of some few unheeded Varieties of Plants, Shells, or Insects, unheeded only because useless; and the Knowledge, they boast so much of, is no more than a Register of their Names, and Marks of Distinction only. It is enough for them to know that a Silk Worm is a sort of Caterpiller, that when it is come to maturity Weaves a Web, is metamorphos’d to a Moth-Flye, lays Eggs, and so Dies. They leave all further enquiry to the Unlearned and Mechanicks, whose business only they think it to prosecute matters of Gain and Profit. Let him contrive, if he can, to make this Silk serviceable to Mankind; their Speculations have another Scope, which is the founding some wild, uncertain, conjectural Hypothesis, which may be true or false; yet Mankind neither Gainers nor Losers either way a little in point of Wisdom or Convenience. These Men are just the reverse of a Rattle Snake, and carry in their Heads, what he does in his Tail, and move Laughter rather than Regard. What improvements of Physick, or any useful Arts, what noble Remedies, what serviceable Instruments have these Mushrome, and Cockle shell Hunters oblig’d the World with? For I am ready to recant if they can shew so good a Med’cine as Stew’d Prunes, or so necessary an Instrument as a Flye Flap of their own Invention and Discovery. Yet these are the Men of exalted Understandings, the Men of elevated Capacities, and sublime Speculations, that Dignifie and Distinguish themselves from the rest of the World by Specious Names, and Pompous Titles, and continue notwithstanding as very Reptiles in Sense, as those they converse so much with.
I wou’d not have any Body mistake me so far, as to think I wou’d in the least reflect upon any sincere, and intelligent Enquirer into Nature, of which I as heartily with a better knowledge, as any Vertuoso of ’em all. You can be my Witness, Madam, that I us’d to say, I thought Mr. Boyle more honourable for his learned Labours, than for his Noble Birth; and that the Royal Society, by their great and celebrated Performances, were an Illustrious Argument of the Wisdom of the August Prince, their Founder of happy Memory; and that they highly merited the Esteem, Respect and Honour paid ’em by the Lovers of Learning all Europe over. But tho’ I have a very great Veneration for the Society in general, I can’t but put a vast difference between the particular Members that compose it. Were Supererogation a Doctrine in Fashion, ’tis probable some of ’em might borrow of their Fellows merit enough to justifie their Arrogance, but alas they are come an Age too late for that trick; They are fallen into a Faithless, Incredulous Generation of Men that will give credit no farther than the visible Stock will extend: And tho’ a Vertuoso should swell a Title-Page even till it burst with large Promises, and sonorous Titles, the World is so ill natur’d as not to think a whit the better of a Book for it. ’Tis an ill time to trade with implicite Faith, when so many have so lately been broken by an overstock of that Commodity; no sooner now a days can a Man write, or steal an Hypothesis, and promise Demonstration for it hereafter in this or the next World; but out comes some malicious Answer or other, with Reasons in hand against it, overthrows the credit of it, and puts the poor Author into Fits. For though a great Philosopher that has written a Book of three Shillings may reasonably insult, and despise a six penny Answer, yet the Indignity of so low pric’d a Refutation wou’d make a Stoick fret, and Frisk like a Cow with a Breeze in her Tail, or a Man bitten by a Tarantula. Men measure themselves by their Vanity, and are greater or less in their own Opinions, according to the proportion they have of it; if they be well stock’d with it, it may be easie to confute, but impossible to convince ’em. He therefore that wou’d set up for a great Man, ought first to be plentifully provided of it, and then a Score of Cockle Shells, a dozen of Hodmandods, or any Trifle else is a sufficient Foundation to build a Reputation upon. But if a Man shall abdicate his lawful Calling in pure affection to these things, and has for some years spent all the Time and Money he was Master of in prosecution of this Passion, and shall after all hear his Caterpillars affronted, and his Butter-flies irreverently spoken of, it must be more provoking to him, than ’tis to a Lion to be pull’d by the Beard. And if, when to crown all his Labours, he has discover’d a Water so near a kin to the famous one, that cou’d be kept in nothing but the hoof of an Ass, that it was never found but in the Scull of the same Animal; a Water that makes no more of melting a World, than a Dutchman does of a Ferkin of Butter; and when he has written a Book of Discoveries, and Wonders thereupon, if (I say) the Impertinent Scriblers of the Age, will still be demanding Proofs and writing Answers, he has reason to throw down his Pen in a rage, and pronounce the world, that cou’d give him such an interruption, unworthy to be blest with his future labours, and breath eternal Defiance to it, as irreconcilable, as the quarrel of the Sons of Oedipus. To which prudent Resolution, let us leave him till he can recover his Temper.
These Instances, Madam, will (I hope) suffice to shew that Men are themselves altogether as impertinent, as they maliciously misrepresent us. It is not for want of plenty of others that I content my self with these; but I am not willing to trouble you with any of an inferiour Character. These are all impertinents of Mark and Note, and have severally the good fortune to find crowds of Fools of their own Sex to applaud and admire them. Impertinence is a failing, that has its Root in Nature; but is not worth Laughing at, till it has receiv’d the finishing strokes of Art. A Man through natural defects may do abundance of incoherent, foolish Actions, yet deserve 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 through tedious Systems of impertinence, wou’d have split the sides of Heraclitus, had it been his fortune to have been a Spectator. ’Tis very easie to decide which of these Impertinents is the most signal; the Vertuoso is manifestly without a Competitour. For our Follies are not to be measur’d 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 mention’d deservedly claim the preference to all others; they have improv’d so well their Amusements into an Art, that the Credulous and Ignorant are induc’d 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, (for so they abuse the Term) and all they teach Men is, but a specious expensive method of throwing away both Time and Money.
I intend not in what remains to trouble you with any more such instances; because I am sensible these have already swell’d this Letter to a Volumn, which was not at first my intent. I shall therefore dispatch the remaining part of the charge in; as few Words as possible. |Dissimulation became necessary.| Amongst the rest Dissimulation is none of the least Blemishes, which they endeavour to fix upon us. This Quality, though it can’t upon any occasion deserve the name of a Vertue, yet according to the present Constitution of the World, is many times absolutely necessary, and is a main ingredient in the Composition of Human Prudence. It is indeed oftentimes criminal, but it is only accidentally so, as Industry, Wit, and most other good Qualities may be, according, to the Ends and Purposes to which they are misemploy’d. Dissimulation is nothing but the hiding or disguising our secret thoughts, or Inclinations under another appearance. I shall not endeavour to absolve our Sex wholly from all use of this Quality, or Art (call it which you please) because I think it may upon many occasions be used with Innocence enough, and upon some can’t without great Imprudence be omitted. The World is too full of Craft, Malice, and Violence, for absolute Simplicity to live in it. It behoves therefore our Sex as well as the other to live with so much Caution, and Circumspection in regard to their own Security, that their Thoughts and Inclinations may not be seen so naked, as to expose ’em to the Snares, designs, and practices of Crafty Knaves, who wou’d make a property of ’em; or lay ’em open to the wicked Efforts, and mischievous Impressions of Envy, or Malice, whose pleasure springs from the hurt of others. Nothing gives our Adversaries so great an advantage over us, as the knowledge of our Opinions, and Affections, with something agreable to which they will be sure to bate all their Traps and Devices. For this reason it is that it has been Proverbially said of Old, that, He that knows not how to dissemble, knows not how to live. The Experience of all Ages since has confirm’d this Observation, and ours no less than any of the Preceding. This premis’d, I suppose no Wise Man will blame our Sex for the use of an Art so necessary, to preserve ’em from becoming a Prey to every designing Man, an Art of which himself must make great use to deserve that Title. Yet I am afraid, that upon enquiry our Sex will not be found to have so much of it as is requisite, at least not generally; Our sedentary Life, and the narrow Limits to which our Acquaintance, and Business are Circumscrib’d, afford us so little Variety, so regular a Face of things, that we want the means of obtaining the Mastery of so useful an Art, which no question but we shou’d as soon acquire as Men, had we but equal Opportunities. Hence it is that Women are more apt to show their Resentments upon all Provocations than Men; and are thought naturally more Peevish and Captious, by those that apprehend not the true reason; Whereas Men are altogether as Stomachful, and take Offence as soon, but they cover and suppress their Indignation better, not with a design to forget any Injury receiv’d, but to wreak their Revenge more covertly and effectually. This is another advantage Men derive from liberty of Conversation and promiscuous Business, wherein the Variety of Contingencies they have to provide against, and the Diversity of Tempers they deal with, force ’em to turn and wind themselves into all Shapes, and accommodate themselves to all Humours. There is indeed yet a higher sort of Dissimulation, |Dissimulation when criminal.| which is always Criminal, that is when Men not only cloud their real Sentiments and Intentions, but make Profession of and seem zealously to affect the contrary; this by a more proper and restrain’d Name is call’d Deceipt, and is always us’d in an ill Sense. This Art is most practic’d in Courts where Policie, and Ambition reign; there You may see Enemies hugging and caressing one another with all outward Expressions of Tenderness and Friendship imaginabe, while they are secretly contriving each others ruine. There you may see Men cringing to those, they wou’d Spurn if they durst, and Flattering those they despise and rail at behind; their Backs, The Court is a place where we come very rarely otherwise than as Spectators, not as Actours; as Ornaments, not as Instruments; and therefore are seldom involv’d in the guilty Practices of it. Nor is it the Court only, but all Places are infected with this Vice, where there is any Encouragement of Profit or Pleasure to be hop’d from successful Treachery, of which no Place is so barren as not to afford some. This Deceipt is so far from being the Vice of our Sex, that they are the common Object on which it is daily practic’d: Nothing is more frequently met with than false Love in Men, |False Love commonly practic’d.| which is now grown so familiar, that a Company of Six of both Sexes can scarce meet, but a Sham Passion commences immediately, is urg’d, protested, and sworn to be real with all imaginable Violence. If these false Arts, mock sighing, and Dying prevail upon any foolish, easie, credulous Woman, the Sham Lover is blown up with the Success, he is big and in Labour till he be deliver’d of the Secret, which with great satisfaction he proclaims in all Places where he comes: ’tis his highest Exploit of Gallantry, which he will by no means lose the credit of. Thus he thinks her ruine a step to Reputation, and founds his own Honour upon her Infamy. This Madam is the basest of Treachery; for they are not satisfied with the Success of their false Promises, and Oaths, but they insult over the weakness of a too fond Woman, and Triumph in her Dishonour. I am sorry there are any Women so foolish and forward, as to give hopes and encouragement to such ungenerous Fellows; yet we may be assur’d that they are not a quarter so many as those vain Boasters wou’d make ’em. Much more be said on this head, but that I think it high time to pass on to the next, which is Enviousness, so foul a Blot to a fair Character, that no Merit can wash it out, or atone sufficiently for it.
Envy is the Parent of Calumny, and the Daughter of Jealousie. Men seldom envy others, |Enviousness| till they fear being out strip’d by ’em in Fortune or Reputation. It is the most criminal, because the most injurious to Vertue, and worth of all our natural Failings, against which it’s Malice is generally bent. This vice and Jealousie seem to be more particularly hated of Providence than any other; For they carry their Punishment inseparably along with ’em, The Envious and the Jealous need no other Tormentours than their own Thoughts. The Envious Man ruines his own to disturb anothers Tranquillity, and sacrifices his own Happiness and Repose to a perverse Desire of troubling his Neighbours. He feeds like Toads upon the Venome of the Earth, and sucks in Scandal greedily, that he may at Pleasure disgorge it to the greater annoyance of other Men. His mind has the Vapours, a Sweet Report of any one throws it into Convulsions, and Agonies, and a foul one is the Releif and Refreshment of it. A wholesome Air free from the Blasts of Detraction and Slander is as certainly pernicious to him, as Ireland to Frogs and Toads. This Vice is generally disclaim’d by both Sexes, yet generally practic’d by both. Men love as little to have their Reputation as their Chimneys over-topt by their Neighbours; For they think by that means their names become dark, as their Houses do smoaky by the other: Yet thro’ a lazy Malignity had rather pull the other’s down to their Level, than build their own up higher. This Humour prevails indeed, yet not in equal Measure in both Sexes. For as we have confessedly less Ambition, so have we apparently less of this Poison which usually attends it, and arises from a self Interested Principle, which makes ’em endeavour by base sinister means to level that Merit which they think stands in their way to Preferment, and which they despair of being able to surmount by honourable attempts. For what need any one use base Sleights to stop the Man, whom by fair Speed he thought he cou’d overtake. No sooner is any Man rais’d to any Eminence in the World, but half the Sex at least join in Confederacy to raise a Battery of Scandal against him, to bring him down again. Honour is the Pillory of great Desert, whither a Man is no sooner rais’d, but the vile Rascally inferiour Croud gather immediately together, to throw Dirt at him, and make that which was intended as a Grace, and Reward, but a more honourable Punishment. Our Sex seldom arrive to this Pitch of Envy, our Ambition is more bounded, and our Desires sooner satisfied. Hence it is that we are less troubl’d at the Prosperity of others; for not giving our selves the Liberty of aiming at things far out of our Power, they are the sooner compass’d, and we the sooner at Ease. He, that thinks himself Happy, is incapable of Envying another’s Felicity, since he sees him possess’d of nothing which either he has not or despises not. Yet it must be confess’d that the lesser Piques, and Grudgings are daily to be met with among us, but no less among Men. What is it that spawns daily such Fryes of Satyrists without Wit, and Criticks without Judgment, but this humour of carping, and nibbling at the Reputation of others? But they are generally abundantly furnisht with Impudence, a good Quality that commonly supplies largely the want of all other.
Character of a City Critick
A Critick of this sort is one that for want of Wit sets up for Judgment; yet he 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 ev’ry 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 wants nothing but Wit to fit him for a Satyrist, yet he has Gall and Vanity enough to dispence with that Want, and write without it. His works are Libells upon others, but Satyrs upon himself, and while they Bark at Men of Wit, call him Fool that writ ’em. 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 great helps to Poetry are Crambo, and Arithmetick, by which he aspires to Chime, and Numbers, yet mistakes frequently in the tale of his Fingers. 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: |7th. Satyre of Boileau Eng.| He Follows ’em as a Dog persues his Prey, and barks whenere He smells ’em in his way: He knows, to say no more that Wit is scarce, to gingle out a Rhime, or tag a Verse: Or Cobble wretched Prose to numerous Lines: There if he has a Genius there it shines. His Fund of Criticism is a Set of Terms of Art pickt 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 not Reason. He talks much of the Naivete of his Thoughts, which appears sufficiently in the Dullness of ’em; yet nothing but the Phlegmatick, Spiritless Air is his own. He rails at Mr. 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 flie of in the drawing over, and retains only the Phlegm. He censures Mr. Cowley for too much Wit, and corrects him with none. The difference between Mr. Cowley and him is this; the one has too much Wit, and too fine for the Standard; the other not enough to blanch his base Metal, or cover the Brass of his Counterfeits. To compleat himself in the Formalities of Parnassus, he falls in love and tells the World, it is oblig’d to his Passion for his Poetry; but if his Mistress prove no more indulgent than his Muse, his Amour is like to conclude but unluckily. For if his Love be no warmer than his Lines, his Corinna may play with his Flame without danger of Burning. He pretends to have written only his sincerest Thoughts; I don’t know how well his Mistress may take that from the Lover, but I dare swear the World did not expect it from the Poet. He is happiest at the Picture of a Rhiming Fool, for he need only to look in his Glass, and he may Copy a Country Wit from the City Original. If this Rhiming Humour lasts, there’s a good Sugar-Jobber spoil’d for an ill Poet; yet for his comfort, Time, Improvement, and two or three Books more may raise him to Rival E— S— and sing London’s Triumphs, to the Envy of Tom Jordan of happy Memory.
You may wonder, Madam, why I shou’d give you the trouble of this Character, after I had given you my word to trouble you with no more of this Nature. I must confess, I am sorry that so foolish an Occasion cou’d make me forget my self; but a Book newly publish’d happening just at this Juncture unluckily to fall into my Hands, I cou’d not without Indignation see the Scurrility and Insolence, with which Mr. Oldham, and Mr. Cowley are treated; and cou’d not but resent a little the Wrongs done to the Memory of Men whom the rest of the World with Justice admire; and cou’d not help taking Notice upon so fair an Opportunity, that they are not, tho’ dead, to be so rudely plaid with, and made the May-Game of e’ry Splenetick Boy. There are some yet living, whose Wit and Performances deserve a more respectful treatment, than they have met with from him. But they are able to revenge their own Quarrel, if they think he deserves the honour to be Scourg’d by ’em. Nothing but Envy and a Vain Conceit of himself cou’d move him to attack the Reputation of Men, whose Verse will alwayes command Admiration, while his own raise nothing but Scorn and Indignation. If his Bookseller were but blest with half a dozen such Authors, he wou’d in a short time infallibly be Stationer general to all the Grocers and Tobacconists in the Town.