He
strives to look bigger than himself as well as others, and is no better
than his own parasite and flatterer. A little flood will make a shallow
torrent swell above its banks, and rage and foam and yield a roaring
noise, while a deep, silent stream glides quietly on. So a
vain-glorious, insolent, proud man swells with a little frail
prosperity, grows big and loud, and overflows his bounds, and when he
sinks, leaves mud and dirt behind him. His carriage is as glorious and
haughty as if he were advanced upon men's shoulders or tumbled over
their heads like knipperdolling. He fancies himself a Colosse, and so he
is, for his head holds no proportion to his body, and his foundation is
lesser than his upper storeys. We can naturally take no view of
ourselves unless we look downwards, to teach us how humble admirers we
ought to be of our own values. The slighter and less solid his materials
are the more room they take up and make him swell the bigger, as
feathers and cotton will stuff cushions better than things of more close
and solid parts.
A SMALL POET
Is one that would fain make himself that which Nature never meant him,
like a fanatic that inspires himself with his own whimsies. He sets up
haberdasher of small poetry, with a very small stock and no credit. He
believes it is invention enough to find out other men's wit, and
whatsoever he lights upon, either in books or company, he makes bold
with as his own. This he puts together so untowardly, that you may
perceive his own wit has the rickets by the swelling disproportion of
the joints.
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