ཅའ་འ

BIBL

The PREFACE.

GENTLE READER,

Τ

HIS Preface, which you may call a Dedication, or by any other Name you please, was not wrote because the following ftupendous Performance required it, but, modeftly fpeaking, to fhew my own Wit, Mr. Reader. You understand me.

Wit is like the Blaze of an Oxford Faggot, where Wood is fold by the Ounce. Or 'tis like Honour, ay, and like Honour too confined in the Chilcbonti of the Brain, by two Membranes, which are fo extremely thin, they never yet could be discover'd by the moft artful Anatomift. Or, Wit is like a Sun-Dial, or like a Comet,

or like a Mopstick,: Wisdom.

or like any Thing but

Having thus proved mathematically and beyond all Contradiction, what Wit is like, I fhall now proceed to demonftrate to you what it is not like. Wit then, for Inftance, is not like the Writings, or any Part of the Writings of Dr. ***, Mr. ***, Madam *** " Billy *** , or any Wri

tings whatsoever but my own.

Wit was begot by Fancy, born of Fable; fed by Folly, and has been generally nurfed and maintained at the Expence of Virtue and the Public.

Wit and Wisdom are for the most Part blended by the Poets, and confider'd as one and the fame Thing; but Philofophers who know better, place them at a great Distance and diametrically oppofite. To give an Inftance, the Rev. Dr. *** has a Fever in his Brain, that precipitates him to fcribble an Epigram, the Point of which is turn'd on his beft Friend, and this we call Wit: But had the good Dr. under the fame Circumftances, swabb'd himself in an easy Chair, and compos'd his Spirits to a Nap by reading one of his own Sermons, and not fatyrized his best Friend, it had been Wisdom.

Wifdom is a fubftantial Being, Wit an imaginary one, and between these two was begot Humour, who is a fort of Hermaphrodite, and neither real, nor imaginary. Wisdom was always greatly enamoured with Truth, because fhe was naked, and between them was begat Good-Nature; but the long fince died of a Hectic under the Hands of Dr. So that the only Beings that prefide over Poets, (except the Mufes, who by the Way are become mere Prostitutes) are Wifdom, Wit, and Humour; who feat themselves in the Brain, and there make as much Buftle, as Pride, Love, and Reafon did in the Breaft of the Princess Perriwinkle, whofe Soliloquy on that Occafion I shall give you from the Pen of my ingenious Friend Mr. Ebenezer Pentweafel.

The

The Princess Perriwinkle fola, attended by fourteen Maids of great Honour.

Sure fuch a Wretch as I was never born,
By all the World deferted and forlorn;
This bitter-fweet, this Honey-Gall to prove,
And all the Sugar and Vinegar of Love.
Pride, Love and Reason will not let me reft,
But make a devilish Buftle in my Breaft.
To wed with FISGIG, Pride, Pride, Pride de-
Put on a Spanish Padlock Reafon cries; [nies,
But tender gentle Love with every With complies.
Pride, Love and Reafon fight till they are cloy'd,
And each by each in mutual Wounds deftroy'd.
Thus when a Barber and a Collier fight,
The Barber beats the lucklefs Collier white;
The dufty Collier heaves his pond'rous Sack,
And, big with Vengeance, beats the Barber-
black.

In comes the Brick-duft Man, with Grime o'er

spread,

red.

And beats the Collier and the Barber
Black, red and white in various Clouds are tofs'd,
And in the Duft they raise, the Combatants are
loft.

The Copy of this Work has been submitted to the Learned, and various are their Opinions concerning these my Labours. Mr. Concord, the Grammarian, tells me there is not a Word of Englib in the whole Book. Mr. Cypher, the Arithmetician, has already fent me an Account caft up B 2

of

of fix thousand Faults, for the Discovery of which he has employ'd every Rule in his Art, except Reduction. Mr. Florish, the Rhetorician, affures me, it is wrote without Invention or Difpofition, and that it is impoffible to pronounce it with any Degree of Elocution. Mr. Puff, the Poet, has wrote a Panegyric on the Occafion; but then he and I have agreed to rub Elbows. Mr. Puzzle, the Logician, has obliged me with his Obfervations in Mood and Figure, A, E, I, O, Barbara, Celerent, Darii, Ferio, Baralipton, and proved fyllogiftically that I am the clevereft Fellow in the World, except himself. Mr. Carp, the Critic, sent me a Botcher to mend my Work, a fnarling Puppy! Mr. Ruft, the Antiquarian, is very angry, and of Opinion that the Ancients did not write in my Manner. A certain Divine alfo fhakes his Head, and fays People had better read Sermons; and a Phyfician declares publickly, that it has made many of his Patients mad, for which my good Friend the Lawyer affures me the Doctor is liable to an Action, and defires my Leave to cloath him with a Suit. Mr. Fathom, a mighty Scholar! a living Lexicon! A Gentleman who has read the Great Grammar of the Univerfe, and obtain'd an intimate Acquaintance with Men and Things, fends me Word that there is no Senfe in my Book; but affures me at the fame Time, that I need not be dishearten'd on that Account, for it is the more likely to fell; and to verify this, he refers me to feveral fenfeless Pieces that have been publish'd lately