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. [Sidenote: _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_: [Sidenote: _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