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Page 5
Whereas, if I rightly apprehend, _an Ambition to excell_ is the
Principle which should animate a Writer, directed by a _Love_ of
_Truth_, and a _free Spirit_ of _Candour_ and _Inquiry_. This is the
_Flame_ which should warm the rising Members of every Science, not a
poor Submission to those who have preceded. For, however it may be
with a _Religious_ DEVOTION, a _Literary_ One is certainly the CHILD
of _Ignorance_.
However, I must acknowledge, that where I have differed from the great
Authors before mentioned, it has been with a Diffidence, and after the
most serious and particular Examination of what they have delivered.
It is from hence, that I have thought it my Duty, to exhibit with the
following _Essay_, their several Performances upon the same Subject,
that every Variation of mine from their Suffrage, and the Reasons upon
which I have grounded it, may clearly appear.
The following _Ode_ upon WIT is written by Mr. _Cowley_.
ODE of WIT.
I.
Tell me, oh tell!, what kind of Thing is _WIT_,
Thou who _Master_ art of it;
For the _first Matter_ loves Variety _less_;
Less _Women_ love't, either in _Love_ or _Dress_.
A thousand diff'rent Shapes it bears,
Comely in thousand Shapes appears;
Yonder we saw it plain, and here 'tis now,
Like _Spirits_ in a Place, we know not _how_.
II.
_London_, that vents of _false Ware_ so much Store,
In no _Ware_ deceives us more;
For Men, led by the _Colour_, and the Shape,
Like _Zeuxis' Bird_, fly to the painted Grape.
Some things do through our Judgment pass,
As through a _Multiplying Glass_:
And sometimes, if the _Object_ be too far,
We take a _falling Meteor_ for a _Star_.
III.
Hence 'tis a _Wit_, that greatest _Word_ of Fame,
Grows such a common Name;
And _Wits_, by our _Creation_, they become;
Just so as _Tit'lar Bishops_ made at _Rome_.
'Tis not a _Tale_, 'tis not a _Jest_,
Admir'd with _Laughter_ at a Feast,
Nor florid _Talk_ which can that _Title_ gain;
The _Proofs_ of _Wit_ for ever must remain.
IV.
'Tis not to force some Lifeless _Verses_ meet,
With their five gouty Feet.
All ev'ry where, like _Man's_, must be the _Soul_,
And _Reason_ the _inferior Pow'rs_ controul.
Such were the _Numbers_ which could call
The _Stones_ into the _Theban_ Wall.
Such _Miracles_ are ceas'd, and now we see
No _Towns_ or _Houses_ rais'd by _Poetry.
V.
Yet 'tis not to adorn, and gild each Part,
That shews more _Cost_ than _Art_.
_Jewels_ at _Nose_, and _Lips_, but ill appear;
Rather than _all Things Wit_, let _none_ be there.
Several _Lights_ will not be seen,
If there be nothing else between.
Men doubt; because they stand so thick i' th' Sky.
If those be _Stars_ which paint the _Galaxy_.
VI.
'Tis not when two like Words make up one Noise;
Jests for _Dutch Men_, and _English Boys_.
In which, who finds out _Wit_, the same may see
In _An'grams_ and _Acrostiques Poetry_.
Much less can that have any Place,
At which a _Virgin_ hides her Face;
Such _Dross_ the _Fire_ must purge away; 'Tis just
The _Author blush_, there where the _Reader_ must.
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