The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop :: :: University of Virginia Library

Wit, only by negatives, Cowley defin'd;—
And the learned at large, appear much of his mind:—
'Tis no treason, of course, if in part I incline,
By the plan he adopted, to regulate mine;
And endeavour, (with all due respect be it spoken,)
To make my own way, thro' the ice he has broken.

Wit is not a jest, our friend Cowley avers;
And all critical truth with his doctrine concurs:
But could Cowley, in propriâ personâ, appear,
And see all that we see, or hear all that we hear;
Had he skill to interpret, or patience to heed,
All the writing we write, and the reading we read;

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He might surely conclude, and might justly declare,
That, tho' Wit be no jest, half our boasts of it, are.

'Tis not Wit, for the sake of mere cadence and chime,
To squeeze words into feet, and screw feet into rhyme!

'Tis not Wit, in a chaos of language to pile,
All the finical, flowery, finesses of style!

'Tis not Wit, thro' a series of jingle, to run
A literal goose-chase, in pursuit of a pun!

'Tis not Wit, to play off, in theatrical cant,
A jumble of thought, in a tempest of rant!
—And I need not much proof to convince you,—provide
That if this be not Wit,—we have little beside!

Here Cowley stops short:—and here I must stop too,
If I had not such friends, as yourselves in my view;
In whose candour alone I presume to confide,
While I now beat the bush on the opposite side;
And from two or three hints, which my betters forgot,
Trace what Wit ought to be—from what they say, 'tis not.

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Wit should be an effulgence, as steady as bright;
Which can prove it's own excellence, by it's own light;
Tho' delicate, pungent; tho' sudden, correct;
Whose effect aids it's glow, and whose glow, it's effect;
Which you own more substantial, the longer you note it;
And you like still the better, the oft'ner you quote it.

Wit should bring to a point, understanding's whole mass;
Like essence of sunshine, concenter'd by glass.
It should all quick conception's gradations assume.
'Tis the high health of Genius! 'Tis Fancy's full bloom!
'Tis Sense, which (like conquerors in classical song)
Leads sound and expression, in triumph along!

Wit from obvious ideas, unstudied should rise;
Should engage by conviction, not catch by surprize:
It should work on assent by propriety's springs;
And the test of it's truth, be the nature of things;
And however, from image to image, it rove,
Or unite, or disjoin them,—should always improve!

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One principle Wit should inviolate keep;
Be it's edge e'er so keen, it should never cut deep:
It degrades it's own praise, if at random it wounds;
When it goes beyond pleasing, it goes beyond bounds:
For what worthy eclat, can pre-eminence impart,
If what lifts up the head, does but lower the heart?

But perhaps, some shrew'd wag of the cynical tribe,
May bid me exemplify, what I describe;
And instead of conceited descriptions of Wit,
Let you see what it is, by producing a bit!

That, I needs must confess, is a reasonable call:—
But, alas! in this case, I have not wherewithal;
Wherefore hiding my horns, like a snail in a shell,
I'll show Wisdom for Wit—and leave off, while I'm well!