imal we call a
Pretty Fellow; who being just able to find out, that what makes
Sophronius acceptable, is a natural behaviour; in order to the same
reputation, makes his own an artificial one. Jack Dimple is his perfect
mimic, whereby he is of course the most unlike him of all men living.
Sophronius just now passed into the inner room directly forward: Jack
comes as fast after as he can for the right and left looking-glass, in
which he had but just approved himself by a nod at each, and marched on.
He will meditate within for half an hour, till he thinks he is not
careless enough in his air, and come back to the mirror to recollect his
forgetfulness.

Will's Coffee-house, May 27.

This night was acted the comedy, called, "The Fox";[249] but I wonder
the modern writers do not use their interest in the house to suppress
such representations. A man that has been at this, will hardly like any
other play during the season: therefore I humbly move, that the
writings, as well as dresses, of the last age, should give way to the
present fashion. We are come into a good method enough (if we were not
interrupted in our mirth by such an apparition as a play of Jonson's) to
be entertained at more ease, both to the spectator and the writer, than
in the days of old. It is no difficulty to get hats, and swords, and
wigs, and shoes, and everything else, from the shops in town, and make a
man show himself by his habit, without more ado, to be a counsellor, a
fop, a courtier, or a citizen, and not be obliged to make those
characters talk in different dialects to be distinguished from each
other. This is certainly the surest and best way of writing: but such a
play as this makes a man for a month after overrun with criticism, and
inquire, what every man on the stage said? What had such a one to do to
meddle with such a thing? How came the other, who was bred after such a
manner, to speak so like a man conversant among a different people?
These questions rob us of all our pleasure; for at this rate, no one
sentence in a play should be spoken by any one character, which could
possibly enter into the head of any other man represented in it; but
every sentiment should be peculiar to him only who utters it. Laborious
Ben's works will bear this sort of inquisition; but if the present
writers were thus examined, and the offences against this rule cut out,
few plays would be long enough for the whole evening's entertainment.
But I don't know ho