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.