or being wiser than the
coxcomb he laughs at, and who is not more pleased with an occasion to
commend, than to accuse himself?'

Sir John Vanbrugh, it is said, had great facility in writing, and is
not a little to be admired for the spirit, ease, and readiness,
with which he produced his plays. Notwithstanding his extraordinary
expedition, there is a clear and lively simplicity in his wit, that
is equally distant from the pedantry of learning, and the lowness of
scurrility. As the face of a fine lady, with her hair undressed, may
appear in the morning in its brightest glow of beauty; such were the
productions of Vanbrugh, adorned with only the negligent graces of
nature.

Mr. Cibber observes, that there is something so catching to the ear,
so easy to the memory in all he wrote, that it was observed by the
actors of his time, that the stile of no author whatsoever gave the
memory less trouble than that of Sir John Vanbrugh, which he himself
has confirmed by a pleasing experience. His wit and humour was so
little laboured, that his most entertaining scenes seemed to be
no more than his common conversation committed to paper. As his
conceptions were so full of life and humour, it is not much to be
wondered at, if his muse should be sometimes too warm to wait the slow
pace of judgment, or to endure the drudgery of forming a regular Fable
to them.

That Sir John was capable of a great force of thinking, appears
abundantly clear from that scene between Aesop and a country
gentleman, who comes to complain of the bad conduct of those in power.
The dialogue is at once sensible and animated. Aesop shews him what
he reckoned the oppressions of the administration, flowed from the
prejudices of ignorance, contemplated through the medium of popular
discontent. In the interview between the Beau and the Philosopher,
there is the following pretty fable. The Beau observes to Aesop, 'It
is very well; it is very well, old spark; I say it is very well;
because I han't a pair of plod shoes, and a dirty shirt, you think
a woman won't venture upon me for husband.--Why now to shew you, old
father, how little you philosophers know the ladies.--I'll tell you an
adventure of a friend of mine.'

A Band, a Bob-wig and a Feather
Attack'd a lady's heart together,
The band in a most learned plea,
Made up of deep philosophy,
Told her, if she would please to wed
A reverend beard, and take instead
Of vigorous youth,
Old