sir CHRISTOPHER WREN, knt.
delightful Imaginations. You fee now, my dear Friend, of what Extentand Difficulty this Art is. —■— The Truth is, it is seldom to be fob nd amongMen of large and full and high Thoughts; because such Minds overlook thelittle Passages, and fly presently to general Axioms, which it may be aremore useful, yet they do not affect our Thoughts with such an immediateand familiar Delight. But to speak Truth, the Perfection of this gloriousFaculty, without which, Life were no Life, belongs not so much to Men,as to the softer Sex : for they have usually their Heads less disturbed with busyThoughts, their Minds are quicker and readier for new Impressions, theytalk more of circumstantial Things, they sit longer together, and (which youused to fry is of great Concernment in our northern and phlegmatick Cli-mate) they keep their Feet warmer and drier, and go less into the moist andopen Air. But that Women are the best Speakers, I could give you twoUndeniable Instances, in your Laura, (as I think you call her) and her whoWas once my Clelia ; the one speaks with a great Freedom and Spirit, andAbundance of excellent Words; the other talks less, but with as muchSweetness and Nature 5 from the one nothing can be taken away; to theother nothing ought to be added. But I dare not go farther in this De-scription on Remembrance of an old Story: That while a Painter was drawinga most beautiful Lady, he fell desperately in Love with her, and it had costhim his Life, had not Alexander bestowed her on him! The first Part of thisTale, I am sure would be my Fortune, if I should longer employ myThoughts on such a lovely Object ; and I am as certain, that I should perishlong enough, before I should find an Alexander to pity me. To go onthen in my first Purpose. Wit consists in a right ordering of Things and
Words for Delight. But-Stay-Now I look about me, What Need
have I to go any farther ? you are without Question already sufficientlytired, and so my End is obtained; and then it will be useless to speak moreon this Subject, seeing the Age wherein we live runs already so mad afterthe Affairs of Wit. All the World are at present Poets : the poetical Beesare all at Work : Comedies, Tragedies, Verses, Satyrs, Burlesques, Songs buzzeverywhere about our Ears; and (to ease my Hand a little by changing my Pace)
" Wits we have now as many (if not more)
“ As we had Sects, or Preachers, heretofore;
" And Heaven in Mercy grant this crying Sin" Don’t the fame Judgments once more usher in.
« We have our Northern Wits, Wits of the East,
« Wits of the South, and Witlings of the West;
" South and by West, South-East, East and by North,
“ From ev’ry Point like Winds they bluster forth.
" We have our Wits that write only to sway" At York, or Hull, or ten Miles thence each Way.
“ Each Corporation, Sea-Port, Borough Town,
" Has those that will this glorious Title own.
" Like Egypt' s Frogs they swarm, and like them too« Into the Chambers of our Kings they go.
What is to be done with this furious Generation of Wits and Writers ?To advise them to leave oft is in vain.———
" —-Too strong the Infection is
“ To be destroy’d by such quick Remedies:
" No no, it is a sweet and flatt’ring Kind« Of Poison, and deceives the clearest Mind :
" Cowley himself (Cowley whom I adore)
" Often resolv’d, nay, and I think he swore,
That