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