Witt against wisdom, or, A panegyrick upon folly penn'd in Latin by Desiderius Erasmus ; render'd into English.

To the AUTHOR upon this Translation.

I've thought, Sir, hitherto without success, On the Expedients for Happiness: This to desire by nature we're inclin'd Which we in our researches seldom find. It doth, like Beauty, in the Fancy lie, As 'tis agreeable to the Lover's eye; Cameleon-like from all things takes a die. One thinks it doth consist in sanguine mirth, When the Debauch to Wit must give a birth: Another's happy if Corinna's kind, The Wise man calls it Indolence of mind: The Miser to them all prefers his Wealth, The Jolly liver says tis florid health: But these mistaken wretches go astray, Thy Author only hath found out the way; Like to phantastick Chymists they presume, Till all their Projects break away in sume; To search the secret out they vainly try, For after all, it doth in Folly lie;

This, 'cause 'tis innocent, is the best estate, Which with resistance blunts the edge of fate; Him with a Genius Nature doth inspire, Which others by Philosophy acquire; All things content a Fool, and nothing cloys, Which they define the heigth of humane joys: He driveling on the Shore secure can be, And view unmov'd the tempests of the Sea: No formidable News doth him alarm, He is in peace, tho' all the world doth arm; 'Gainst all misfortunes hath a sure defence, His skull's impregnable with want of sense; His passions quiet, and his mind sedate, Nothing provokes his Envy, or his Hate: He unconcern'd can stand with laughing eyes, And see Unworthy men to Honor rise; Fortune a fordid piece of Earth refines, And from a Dunghil drawn the Meteor shines: Then none the upstart insolence can indure, Whose Soul is narrow, and his Birth obscure; Under the masque a Furie's face doth show, Tho' for the Consulate He bowed low; His Will without his Reason doth command; Thunder's too weighty for a vulgar hand:

Then he is freed from books laborious toil, He doth not spend his Time, nor waste his Oyl, Impair his colour, and consume his strength, Then grow too subtle for himself at length; Before h' hath travell'd half the way he's dead, The very fineness of it breaks the thread. The Turks allow an Idiot a Shrine, They think in Folly something is Divine; His Actions still an equal tenor keep, No frightful Images afflict his sleep; His Guardian-Angel then the care doth take, His Innocence preserves him when awake; This great advantage he is happy in, He wants a brisk capacity to sin; Sometimes a Vice he blunders on by chance, But all his faults are those of ignorance; Besides, a Changeling is no Hypocrite, For what he is he shews you at first sight; Whilst others do their Native selves disguise With nauseous pretence of being Wise; Of Criticks they assume the surly state, And censure those they cannot imitate; Like bladders only they of wind are full, And hide with gravity their being dull;

Tho' they with scorn the world do Ridicule, Yet the Affected Wise one is the Fool. But my Digression returns to You, To give that character which is your due; And it impartially I can bestow, The Author by his work I only know; So that if what I find I must commend, 'Tis done without being by ass'd as his Friend. 'Tis not your * 1.1 Pride, your Folly, or your Fate, That makes you choose Erasmus to translate. If with such Versions you the world delight, You can oblige it equally, and write; And here you have as much of judgment shown, As if it had entirely been your own. This way of writing once was thought a vice, But now the touches of it are so nice, That who this elegant Province would adorn, Not Made, but he on purpose must be Born. Some spoil all Subjects that they write upon, As Ladies dawb a good complexion: So High-way Beggers others children hire, With ruddy looks, and all their limbs entire, But they industriously are Cripples made,

For to promote the canting Gypsies trade. Things that are delicate foul hands will stain, But from yours always they do lustre gain. The French have luckily on this subject fell, (The only thing they ever yet did well,) Ingenuous D'Ablancourt shall lead the Van, With his smart Dialogues of Lucian; Him copyed by a skilful hand we see An Ancient Droll in Modern Raillery: A double honour to Boyleau is due, Who is a Writer, and Translator too; He chose the noblest Author of his time, Like his Longinus 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 is sublime: Then Vaugelas did mighty pains bestow On Curtius, but He always was too slow; His Heroe in less time had Asia got, He conquer'd faster than this Frenchman wrot: But still their natural vanity is such, In this, and all things else they do too much: They with superfluous branches kill the root, And make their Muse a Suburb Prostitute; For what at first was cautiously enclos'd. Like to the common way is now expos'd. Every Coquette can now her Author quote,

And like her Paraquettoe talk by rote: Their Wit is like their Conversation, slight, The English with a Manly vigor write: If they at any time with labour strain, The greatness of the birth doth cause the pain; With joynts robustly knit the Infant grows, And so makes compensation for the throwes. By reading your Translation we can tell, How much in their own way we them excell. Our Learned Athens lately hath brought forth Men hardly to be equall'd for their worth. Lucretius first in English did appear, (But you, Sir, worship Muses less severe) That work is now unto perfection brought, Which all men dreaded in the very thought; Our fruitful Mother hath her self out-done In teeming with so excellent a Son; Of ours the admiration doth engage, And the applauses of the future Age; You with the softness of your Art beguile, And teach the rigid Stoick how to smile: You hit the humor of the Book so true, That Comical Erasmus breaths in You;

We see the spirit of the Author shine In every Page, in every pleasant Line, The Stile's so clear, so Admirably fine. What Fruits will not your Age maturely bring, So fertile, if so early is your Spring? The rising Sunsets forth a previous Ray, Engaging to shine brightly all the day. Your Talents, Sir, do make you justly fit For to translate this noble piece of Wit, Who have your self so great a share of it.

M. MORGAN.

To his ingenious Friend on his ex∣cellent Translation of MORIAE ENCOMIUM.

THere's ne're a Blade of honour in the Town, But if you chance to term him Fool, or Clown, Straight Satisfaction cryes, and then with speed The Time, the Place, and Rapier's length's decreed. Prodigious Fops, I'le swear, which can't agree To be call'd what's their Happiness to be: Blest Ideots! That in an humble sphere securely move, And there the sweets of a safe dulness prove, Nor envy the proud heights of those who range above, Folly, sure Friend of a misguided Will, Affords a kind Excuse for doing Ill; And to the peaceful breast, wherein she lives, A free, and a true gust of pleasure gives: Whil'st Wisdom's Patron with discreet allay Pall's his delights, and deadens all his joy: Than this nought more does evidence the love, Or more ensur's the care of Powers above: Heaven still bestows on those it does despise,

The creditable plague of being Wise: And Socrates, that prudent, thinking tool, Had the Gods lik't him, wou'd have prov'd a Fool. My thinks our Author, when without a flaw, The graces of his Mistress he does draw, Wishes (if Metempsuchosis be true, And souls do change their case, and act anew) In his next life he only might aspire To the few brains of some soft Country Squire, Whose head with such like rudiments is fraught, As in his youth his careful Grannum taught. And now (dear Friend) how shall we to thy brow Pay all those Laurels which we justly owe? For thou fresh honors to the Work do'st bring, And to the Theme: nor seems that pleasing thing, Which he so well in Latin has express't, Less Comical in English garments dress't; Thy sentences are all so clearly wrought, And so exactly plac'd is e'ry thought, That, which is more oblig'd, we scarce can see The Subject by thine Author, or Himself by Thee.

In the person of FOLLY.

Distance I Away, you sullen, sheepish souls, Whose broody thoughts sit always hatching Rules! You Tub-Philosophers, whose croaking brains Make Earth as Hellish as the Stygian Plains; Your uncouth, louring Grimaces become Your moody Musings on your selves at home. But no Infernal visage must be seen, Where all are to be jolly by design. Vail then, or vanish, die, or disappear, And leave us Fools to our Caresles here.

My thundring Mandates having purg'd the air The Gods consenting, and the passage clear, I thus attempt my grandieur to extoll, Acting my own Encomiast in a Droll: I'le make descriptive Glosses on a Straw, And cant the world to a Tarantula.

Thus, long-bless't herd, have I with patience seen Minerva's Scepter taking place of mine;

That curs't Virago, whose officious Spies Have watch't you out of all your Libraries: Her School-Devotes a base degenerous brood, Like waspish Insects swarm, and buz abroad: These with unruly Insolence have made Injurious inroads on those Rights I had; They fetter Souls with magisteriall rage, And lecture Free-men into Vassallage; Nay, by the circumventions of Dispute They'l prove my Chastity a Prostitute. Thus overgrown in Sophistry, and Pride, They're Kings themselves, but make all Slaves be∣side. And shall these Rebels thus usurp it on? No, their dogmatick Tyranny shall down: Instead of Problems, Schemes, Compendiums, Rules, Those Execution-Engines of the Schools, I, with my Pictures, Puppets, Dwarfs, and Apes, Masques, Mermaids, Interludes, and Antique shapes, Will mount the Stage, ridiculously fine, In all the colours of an Indian Queen, Which Magazine of Rarities presents, A Gallimaufry of Divertisements; For beautified by Art, or Nature's dress,

They all enamour by their Prettiness, While the admiring croud with captive eyes Do proselyte themselves to Votaries.

In early days, when men, unus'd to Rules, Commenc'd by natural Instalment Fools, When sacred Ignorance it's Umbrage spread, And all sate cool, and quiet in the shade, So long the Province of my Reign did know No other bounds than Earth, and Heaven do. But when the world grew light, and hot as Noon, And Dog-star wit made all a Torrid Zone; Then Questionists arose, men who would know, Why things were thus, and thus, and why not so; These pert, and restless, started Scruples still, Painful to state, but worse to reconcile, Yet well resolv'd by one disdainful smile; Which hot-brain'd tribe, uneasie, and morose, Made all the world an Inquisition-house.

But now my Crown shall be restor'd anew, And false Pretenders shall confess the true, Their long usurp't Dominion shall decline, And die into th' establishment of mine.

Now let the world keep Halcion, and caress In endless circles of unstinted bliss; Let universal ravishments increase Your Joys beyond Description, or Degrees: Don't baulk your humours, lest for want of vent Your spirits stagnate into sediment; But frolick on, without consulting Fate, Till your loose shattering souls evaporate. Each Individual Votary shall share Repeated pledges of my constant care: A balmy Mist of Lethe-dews shall fall In cool refreshing Opiates on all, As Lands of Spices, in a fragrant air, Disperse, and scatter their perfumes afar: With equal Frankness, and with greater Love, Will I showr down my Blessings from above: That peaceful days may still my Reign await, I'le give the God of War an Opiate. Your starch't Punctilio Bravoes can't conclude A private quarrel, but with loss of bloud; But my kind Fools are naturally strange To all the means, and mischief of Revenge, And thus i'le lay all Discords, that arise From being really, or reputed Wise.

Let not the jolly Heir, who revels on, Unravelling all his Fathers thrift had spun, Turn Saint, for fear of some restrictive ties, Or, that penurious Project, Legacies, I'le keep the Sire so doting, he shall ne're Impoverish this, or chose another Heir. Thus with a Princely care will I contrive To guard your Rights, and my Prerogative. The peevish Cynick, in a whining strain, Will strive to preach Tub-learning up again, And prove that none but Anchorites are Men. But now you'l scorn their Philosophick rants, And laugh their Reasonings out of countenance; You'l see the fruit, and influence of Books, And ne're desire to b' aggrandiz'd to stocks. Admonish'd thus, and repossess't anew Of Freedom, Peace, and my Protection too, Career it on with an advancing hast, Let one days Joy exceed all Ages past; With Frolicks drain your souls of all their Earth, N'ere think but Laugh, and breath no Ayre but Mirth. And now Farewell, I must with speed away, The bucksome Gods keep Jubilee to day,

And all their Jollity will soon conclude, If I don't come and act an Interlude: They vote me still the Prolocutor's chair; Besides, I am to make th' Encoenia there,

Occasioned by the Translation of Erasmus his MORIAE ENCOMIVM.

SInce awkward Folly is so neatly drawn, And all its charms in nakedness are shown, Since barren Wisdom unattended sits, And no Respect, and few Encomiums meets, Too poor to keep an Equipage of Wits; Blest is the Senceless man, the thickest skull, The grinning, hardned, and undaunted Fool: Bless't are the Dutch, who this their Idol prize, And wisely fall its humble Votaries. Their Worths the Press doth often speak with pain, The Press, to all a Pimp, and Bawd for Gain. To th' world each strives to shew his learned soul▪ And in great letters writes himself an OWL. But though when living they abuses meet, By being dead they fame and credit get; In Epitaph some hundred Pounds are spent, And every Fool hath then a Monument. Leyden in Physick Tracts would often please, Our only sickness, and the worst disease;

Hither their vast, dull Commentators sail, And shew that Gospellers sometimes may fail. In waters bred they Inundations drew, And load all Nations with a Deluge too. Happy, then happy must our Island be, With Parsons stock't, and Dutch Divinity: Yet these our wise, mistaken crowd desire, And all that from beyond Sea come, admire. To our fine Ladies Paris thus unlades, Its Ribbonds, Lacqueys, and its Chamber-maids. The French indeed have often broak the peace, But Fashions, and Romance do plague us less: For no man now securely lives at home, The Turks and Dutch invade our Christendom. In'ts native soil their Dulness safe may rest, But why should they their Neighbours thus infest? To Holland Grotius by mistake was sent, Sure that man Nature for our England meant. Their worlds in all things still must us obey, As Lords, and Sovereigns by Land, and Sea. De Wit, Trump, Ruyter, easily were beat, Their Ships from ours do naturally retreat, Erasmus only does remain unconqner'd yet.

That name alone (worthy the noblest Muse) Does from disgrace, and utmost scorn excuse. His youthful, neatest style attones for all Their Clumsiness, a sin that's National. In Comick dress he gravely preaches sense, Directs, and jeers, and chides his Audience. O're thoughts profound Mirth dances all the way, Like the Sun-beams that on deep waters play. Henceforth I'le all laborious trifles slight, Thy works can teach to talk, and how to write. Cease then ye Sotts, that us in spight of Fate By damn'd Buffoonery would imitate. You that by Tavern-jests a fame would get, And feed upon the excrements of Wit; To raise up mirth who basely rob the Croud, Sing nobly out of Tune, and laugh aloud. This from Erasmus Ghost much pitty drew, He comes our Island to inform anew. Me thinks his Ship upon the Thames appears, Proud of the Weight, and Learning that it bears. The multitude on th' banks do shout their joys, To greet his Friend and Reverend More does rise: The Standard is set up, the Cannons roar, And all Erasmus welcom to our English shore.

OXON. Sept, 20. 1683.

On the Argument, and Design of the fol∣lowing Oration.

WHat e're the modern Satyrists o'th' Stage, To jirk the failures of a sliding Age, Have lavishly expos'd to publick view, For a discharge to all from Envy due, Here in as lively colours naked lie, With equal Wit, and more of Modesty. Those Poets with their free disclosing Arts Strip Vice so near to its uncomely parts, Their Libels prove but Lessons, and they teach Those very Crimes, which they intend t' impeach: While here so wholsome all, though sharp to th' tast, So briskly free, yet so resolv'dly chast, The Virgin naked as her God of Bows, May read or hear when bloud at highest flows; Nor more expence of Blushes thence arise, Than while the lect'ring Matron does advise To guard her virtue, and her honour prize.

Satyr, and Panegyrick, distant be, Yet joyntly here they both in one agree: The whole's a Sacrifice of Salt, and Fire, So does the humour of the Age require

To chafe the Touch, and so foment Desire. As Doctrine-dandling Preachers lull asleep Their unattentive pent-up fold of Sheep, The Opiated milk glews up the brain, And th' Babes of Grace are in their Cradles lain; While mounted Andrews, bawdy, bold, and loud, Like Cocks, alarum all the drowsie Crowd, Whose glittering ears are prickt as bolt upright, As failing hairs are hoisted in a fright: So does it fare with croaking spawns oth' Press, The mould oth' Subject alters the fuccess, What's serious, like sleep, grants Writs of Ease, Satyr, and Ridicule can only please, As if no other Animals could gape But th' biting Badger, or the snickring Ape.

Folly by Irony's commended here, Sooth'd, that her weakness may the more appear. Thus Fools, who trick'd in red and yellow shine, Are made believe that they are wondrous fine, When all's a plot t' expose them by design. The Largesses of Folly here are strown Like Pebbles, not to Pick, but Trample on. Thus Spartans laid their soaking Slaves before

The Boys to justle, kick, and tumble o're; Not that the dry-lipt Youngsters might combine To tast and know the mystery of Wine, But wonder thus at men transform'd to Swine; And, th' Power of such Enchantments to escape, Timely renounce the Devil of the Grape. So here, Though Folly Speaker be, and Argument, Wit guides the Tongue, Wisdom's the Lecture meant.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Denham.