“O Sovereigns!  Enemies of France, ye live, and the Spirit of Christian Charity forbids me to wish your Deaths, &c.—­But ye live, and I mourn in this Pulpit the Death of a virtuous Captain, whose Intentions were pure, &c.—­”

An Apostrophe in this Taste would have been very proper at Rome in the Civil Wars, after the Assassination of Pompey; or at London after the Death of Charles the First.  But is it decent, in a Pulpit, to wish for the Death of the Emperor, the King of Spain, and the Electors; to put them in Balance with the General of a King’s Army, who is their Enemy?  Or ought the Intentions of a Captain, which can be no other than to serve his Prince, to be compared with the Politick Interests of the crown’d Heads against which he serves?  What would be said of a Frenchman, who had wished for the Death of the King of England, because of the Loss of the Chevalier Belleisle, whose Intentions were pure?

For what Reason has this Passage been always praised by the Criticks?  ’Tis because the Figure is in itself beautiful and pathetick, but they did not examine into the Congruity and Bottom of the Thought.

I return to my Paradox—­That all these shining Strokes, to which they give the Name of Wit, never ought to be introduced into great Works made to instruct or to move; I’ll even say they ought not to be found in Odes for Musick.  Musick expresses Passions, Sentiments and Images:  but what are the Concords that can be giv’n an Epigram? Dryden was sometimes negligent, but he was always natural.

In a Sermon of Doctor South, where he speaks of Man’s Rectitude and Freedom from Sin before the Fall, are seen these Words: 

     “We were not born crooked, we learnt these Windings and
     Turnings of the Serpent.”

I remember to have heard this Passage admired by several People:  but who does not see that the Motions, viz. the Windings and Turnings of the Serpent’s Body are here confounded with those of its Heart:  and that at best, ’tis but a mere Point and Pleasantry.

Certainly there’s a great Impropriety in putting any kind of Smartness into Pieces of such a Nature as Dr. South’s; but what is still worse, we generally find these Smartnesses to be quite vague and superficial; they don’t enter, but only play upon the Surface of the Soul.

Had a certain polite Author been a Cotemporary of the
Doctor’s, he’d have told him that

[Greek:  Ten men Spoudhhen dichph teirein gheloi, thyn de geloa spoudhe.]

Humour is the only Test of Gravity; and Gravity of Humour.  For a Subject which will not bear Raillery, is suspicious; and a Jest which will not bear a serious Examination, is certainly false Wit.