Classic Poem

'T IS strange, that by that strange thing, we call Wit,
We know, define, explain all things, but it;
Which is, (tho' of no Knowledge 'tis in Want,)
Yet, of itself, as more, more Ignorant;
Does less i'th' Sense, or Thoughts of others grow,
As in its own, more Self-sufficient too;
Which, but as more 'tis, in all others guess,
And more does please them, does its own self less,
Will, to save others Pains, itself disease,
Nay, to please others, will itself displease;
Displease itself, only to please its Foe,
Its Censurer, whether he will, or no;
Thus Wit, as more, but less Discretion is,
Which makes it of the Praise it seeks, to miss;
Most often too, but for its seeking it,
So proves least Wisdom, as it is most Wit;
Then Wit's a Contradiction to Good Sense,
Against its own self, the best Evidence;
Which, against Reason, and Example, does
Fancy, to sure Experience, most oppose;
But, to th' exposing its own Knowledge too,
Which, its Conceit to Demonstration, so
Opposes, whether Reason will, or no;
Light sudden Thought, to wise Deliberation,
To sober cool Sense, hot and hasty Passion;
Thwarting the public Vogue, with private Sense,
Which proves Wit, want of right Intelligence;
Since Wit, time out of Mind, has ever been
An Art of Thinking, not like other Men;
Makes Fools call'd Wits, more to their Reason's Shame,
Prefer, to certain Int'rest, casual Fame;
The Knowledge of the World, and all Mankind,
To slight, and seem, for their discerning, blind;
Who hope for Approbation of their Wit,
From those, who but to show their own think fit,
But only by their finding fault with it,
Their Critics, who, like other Judges too,
In Credit, by condemning others grow,
From others Want of Wit, their Judgments show;
Then Wits are Fools, who think to get Men's Praise,
For Wit, which were their Judgment's worst Disgrace,
Who, but for Wits, by damning others, pass:
Captious Wits who think, they can cry up none,
For much Wit, without less'ning more their own;
So Wits unwisely seek, from Foes their Fame,
Whose Fame as more, is more their Critic's Shame,
Who get no Credit, but by others Blame;
Who, to have more Wit, Sense, or Judgment, seem,
But from the Wants which others have of them,
Censuring others, gain the World's Esteem;
Condemning others, into Credit grow,
And raise themselves, by laying others low;
Who think, they lessen'd are, by Praise they give,
Giv'n, but their own Want of it to relieve,
But more from others for it, to receive;
Thus, whether Wit does praise, or discommend,
It, those it strives to please, does more offend;
With Reason, Fools upbraids for Want of it,
With more Sense, lessens too, the Men of Wit
By which, for Gain they show themselves less fit;
So Wit as more 'tis, proves it self but less,
Which others seeks more, than it self to please;
Makes more Foes, as it wou'd acquire more Friends;
Thus, as it more wou'd please, but more offends,
Itself, as more 'twou'd praise, more discommends:
Then Wit, as 'twou'd our Knowledge more increase,
From too much Light, makes our discerning less;
So like the Sun's our Understanding's Light,
From too much shining, makes us see less right;
Our Insight rather does distract, than clear;
The more our Light of Reason wou'd appear;
Whose Light's Excess, makes us see less what 'tis,
Our Way to Glory, by it, more to miss;
Enlightning all, does less its own self know;
But the more 'tis illuminated too,
Does less its true Fire, as more flashy show;
Which, as like Light'ning, it more hasty grows,
And noisie, proves but the less dangerous;
So vain Wit proves less, as it wou'd the more,
Since Men of Wit have, as of Gold, less Store,
As they wou'd more still to the Public show,
Tho' none, but by their showing them, can know,
Truly, where either are their own, or no;
Yet as by them, more Pride's for either shown,
We shou'd believe, that neither were their own;
That either, either stol'n, or borrow'd were,
But as Men vainer for 'em, still appear;
For vain Men, but by their Desire of Praise,
Can make their Aim at Honour, their Disgrace;
Since Fame of Wit, as Courage, most is lost,
But only, as it is sought by us most;
Is less our Credit, but as more our Boast;
But less our Right, as it is more our Claim,
Is of our Reason's Honour, more its Shame;
From Ostentation, is our Loss of Fame:
Then Wit, like Courage, when conceal'd, is shown;
Since Ostentation, makes some go for none:
So Wit is for its Self-sufficiency,
And seeming more, less Ingenuity;
Which, as to please more, it has more pretence,
To those, 'twou'd please more, gives but more Offence;
The Fame it seeks, by seeking it, to miss,
Which less in other Men's Opinion is,
As in its own, more self-sufficient 'tis:
Then too much Wit, does but too little grow,
Proves less, as more itself, 'twou'd vainly show;
Which all things, but it self, pretends to know:
So Wit, the Light of Reason call'd, (we find)
Like the Sun's, though enlightning all Mankind,
Is to itself but more obscure and blind;
Thus, shou'd I more pretend to show you now,
What 'tis, what 'tis I less shou'd to you show;
Who know best what 'tis, who know your self best,
Prove it more, as you think you know it least;
Yet the more that you know your self, your less
Can at its Knowledge, or its Merit guess;
Thus much more your Wit, like your Faith, sure is,
The less you can, by Reason tell, what 'tis;
'Tis like your Virtue, more 'tis hidden, shown,
More knowing, as more to itself unknown,
Most right, i'th' wrong, when it believes 'tis none;
Whilst all vain, open, and conceited Wit,
Makes it own Proof, but the less Mark of it:
So, but as 'twou'd prove, more undoubted Sense,
Is but, as more Wit, more Impertinence,
Which, to get more Praise, gives Men more Offence;
By which Men seek more knowing not to grow,
In their Thoughts, as to seem in others so;
Who strive to get, other Men's vain Esteem,
Ev'n by that Wit, which leffens their's and them;
Thinking, to gain their Wit, their Rival's Praise,
Which they must give them, to their own Disgrace;
So Wit, as more 'twou'd prove it self, proves less,
By its degrading Self-conceitedness;
The Praise it seeks, to lose by seeking it,
So proves more Nonsense, as it wou'd, more Wit:
Since true Wit, like true Love, and Virtue too,
Itself conceals, itself the more to show.