He is always repealing the old laws of comedy, and, like the
Long Parliament, making ordinances in their stead, although they are
perpetually thrown out of coffee-houses and come to nothing. He is like
an Italian thief, that never robs but he murders, to prevent discovery;
so sure is he to cry down the man from whom he purloins, that his petty
larceny of wit may pass unsuspected. He is but a copier at best, and
will never arrive to practise by the life; for bar him the imitation of
something he has read, and he has no image in his thoughts. Observation
and fancy, the matter and form of just wit, are above his philosophy. He
appears so over-concerned in all men's wits as if they were but
disparagements of his own, and cries down all they do as if they were
encroachments upon him. He takes jests from the owners and breaks them,
as justices do false weights and pots that want measure. When he meets
with anything that is very good he changes it into small money, like
three groats for a shilling, to serve several occasions. He disclaims
study, pretends to take things in motion, and to shoot flying, which
appears to be very true by his often missing of his mark. His wit is
much troubled with obstructions, and he has fits as painful as those of
the spleen. He fancies himself a dainty, spruce shepherd, with a flock
and a fine silken shepherdess, that follow his pipe as rats did the
conjurers in Germany.
As for epithets, he always avoids those that are near akin to the sense.
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