enlivens a gay subject by imitating some important incident that is
serious. It is ludicrous, and may be risible. But ridicule is not a
necessary ingredient. Take the following examples, the first of which
refers to an expression of Moses.
The skilful nymph reviews her force with care:
Let spades be trumps! she said, and trumps they were.
_Rape of the Lock_, _canto_ iii. 45.
The next is an imitation of Achilles’s oath in Homer.
But by this lock, this sacred lock, I swear,
(Which never more shall join its parted hair,
Which never more its honours shall renew,
Clip’d from the lovely head where late it grew),
That while my nostrils draw the vital air,
This hand, which won it, shall for ever wear.
He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph spread
The long contended honours of her head.
_Ibid._ _canto_ iv. 133.
The following imitates the history of Agamemnon’s sceptre in Homer.
Now meet thy fate, incens’d Belinda cry’d,
And drew a deadly bodkin from her side,
(The same, his ancient personage to deck,
Her great-great-grandsire wore about his neck,
In three seal rings; which after, melted down,
Form’d a vast buckle for his widow’s gown:
Her infant grandame’s whistle next it grew,
The bells she jingled, and the whistle blew;
Then in a bodkin grac’d her mother’s hairs,
Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.)
_Ibid._ _canto_ v. 87.
Ridicule, as observed above, is no necessary ingredient in a parody. But
I did not intend to say, that there is any opposition betwixt them. A
parody, no doubt, may be successfully employed to promote ridicule;
witness the following example, in which the goddess of Dullness is
addressed upon the subject of modern education.
Thou gav’st that ripeness, which so soon began,
And ceas’d so soon, he ne’er was boy nor man;
Through school and college, thy kind cloud o’ercast,
Safe and unseen the young Æneas past[19];
Thence bursting glorious, all at once let down,
Stunn’d with his giddy larum half the town.
_Dunciad_, _b._ iv. 287.
The interposition of the gods in the manner of Homer and Virgil, ought
to be confined to ludicrous subjects, which are much enlivened by such
interposition handled in the form of a parody; witness the cave of
Spleen, _Rape of the Lock_, _canto_ 4.; the goddess of Discord;
_Lutrin_, _canto_ 1.; and the goddess of Indolence, _canto_ 2.
Those who have a talent for ridicule, which is seldom united with a
taste for delicate and refined beauties, are quick-sighted in
improprieties; and these they eagerly lay hold of, in order to gratify
their favourite propensity. The persons galled have no other refuge but
to maintain, that ridicule ought not to be applied to grave subjects. It
is yielded, on the other hand, that subjects really grave and important,
are by no means fit for ridicule: but then it is urged, that ridicule is
the only proper test for discovering whether a subject be really grave,
or be made so artificially by custom and fashion. This dispute has
produced a celebrated question, Whether ridicule be or be not a test of
truth? I give this question a place here, because it tends to illustrate
the nature of ridicule.
The question stated in accurate terms is, Whether the sense of ridicule
be the proper test for distinguishing ridiculous objects from those that
are not so? To answer this question with precision, I must premise, that
ridicule is not a subject of reasoning, but of sense or taste[20]. This
being taken for granted, I proceed thus. No person doubts that our sense
of beauty is the true test of what is beautiful, and our sense of
grandeur, of what is great or sublime. Is it more doubtful whether our
sense of ridicule be the true test of what is ridiculous? It is not only
the true test, but indeed the only test. For this is a subject that
comes not, more than beauty or grandeur, under the province of reason.
If any subject, by the influence of fashion or custom, have acquired a
degree of veneration or esteem to which naturally it is not intitled,
what are the proper means for wiping off the artificial colouring, and
displaying the subject in its true light? Reasoning, as observed, cannot
be applied. And therefore the only means is to judge by taste. The test
of ridicule which separates it from its artificial connections, exposes
it naked with all its native improprieties.
But it is urged, that the gravest and most serious matters may be set in
a ridiculous light. Hardly so; for where an object is neither risible
nor improper, it lies not open in any quarter to an attack from
ridicule. But supposing the fact, I foresee not any harmful consequence.
By the same sort of reasoning, a talent for wit ought to be condemned,
because it may be employed to burlesque a great or lofty subject. Such
irregular use made of a talent for wit or ridicule, cannot long impose
upon mankind. It cannot stand the test of correct and delicate taste;
and truth will at last prevail even with the vulgar. To condemn a talent
for ridicule because it may be perverted to wrong purposes, is not a
little ridiculous. Could one forbear to smile, if a talent for reasoning
were condemned because it also may be perverted? And yet the conclusion
in the latter case, would be not less just than in the former; perhaps
more just, for no talent is so often perverted as that of reason.
We had best leave Nature to her own operations. The most valuable
talents may be abused, and so may that of ridicule. Let us bring it
under proper culture if we can, without endeavouring to pull it up by
the root. Were we destitute of this test of truth, I know not what might
be the consequences: I see not what rule would be left us to prevent
splendid trifles passing for matters of importance, show and form for
substance, and superstition or enthusiasm for pure religion.
CHAP. XIII.
WIT.
Wit is a quality of certain thoughts and expressions. The term is never
applied to an action or a passion, and as little to an external object.
However difficult it may be in every particular instance to distinguish
a witty thought or expression from one that is not so, yet in general it
may be laid down, that the term _wit_ is appropriated to such thoughts
and expressions as are ludicrous, and also occasion some degree of
surprise by their singularity. Wit also in a figurative sense expresses
that talent which some men have of inventing ludicrous thoughts or
expressions. We say commonly, _a witty man_, or _a man of wit_.
Wit in its proper sense, as suggested above, is distinguishable into two
kinds; wit in the thought, and wit in the words or expression. Again,
wit in the thought is of two kinds; ludicrous images, and ludicrous
combinations of things that have little or no natural relation.
Ludicrous images that occasion surprise by their singularity, as having
little or no foundation in nature, are fabricated by the imagination.
And the imagination is well qualified for the office; being of all our
faculties the most active, and the least under restraint. Take the
following example.
_Shylock._ You knew (none so well, none so well as you) of my
daughter’s flight.
_Salino._ That’s certain; I, for my part, knew the tailor that made
the wings she flew withal.
_Merchant of Venice, act 3. sc. 1._
The image here is undoubtedly witty. It is ludicrous: and it must
occasion surprise; for having no natural foundation, it is altogether
unexpected.
The other branch of wit in the thought, is that only which is taken
notice of by Addison, following Locke, who defines it “to lie in the
assemblage of ideas; and putting those together with quickness and
variety, wherein can be found any resemblance or congruity, thereby to
make up pleasant pictures and agreeable visions in the fancy[21].” It
may be defined more curtly, and perhaps more accurately, “A junction of
things by distant and fanciful relations, which surprise because they
are unexpected[22].” The following is a proper example.
We grant although he had much wit,
H’ was very shie of using it,
As being loth to wear it out;
And therefore bore it not about,
Unless on holidays, or so,
As men their best apparel do.
_Hudibras, canto 1._
Wit is of all the most elegant recreation. The image enters the mind
with gaiety, and gives a sudden flash which is extremely pleasant. Wit
thereby gently elevates without straining, raises mirth without
dissoluteness, and relaxes while it entertains.
Wit in the expression, commonly called _a play of words_, being a
bastard sort of wit, is reserved for the last place. I proceed to
examples of wit in the thought. And first of ludicrous images.
Falstaff, speaking of his taking Sir John Colevile of the Dale:
Here he is, and here I yield him; and I beseech your Grace, let it
be book’d with the rest of this day’s deeds; or, by the Lord, I
will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture on
the top of it, Colevile kissing my foot: to the which course if I
be inforc’d, if you do not all shew like gilt twopences to me; and
I, in the clear sky of fame, o’er-shine you as much as the full
moon doth the cinders of the element, which shew like pins’ heads
to her; believe not the word of the Noble. Therefore let me have
right, and let desert mount.
_Second part, Henry IV. act 4. sc. 6._
I knew, when seven justices could not take up a quarrel, but when
the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an
_if_; as, if you said so, then I said so; and they shook hands, and
swore brothers. Your _if_ is the only peacemaker; much virtue is in
_if_.
_Shakespear._
For there is not through all nature, another so callous and
insensible a member as the world’s posteriors, whether you apply to
it the toe or the birch.
_Preface to a Tale of a tub._
The war hath introduced abundance of polysyllables, which will
never be able to live many more campaigns. Speculations,
operations, preliminaries, ambassadors, palisadoes, communication,
circumvallation, battalions, as numerous as they are, if they
attack us too frequently in our coffeehouses, we shall certainly
put them to flight, and cut off the rear.
_Tatler_, Nº 230.
Speaking of Discord, “She never went abroad, but she brought home
such a bundle of monstrous lies, as would have amazed any mortal,
but such as knew her; of a whale that had swallowed a fleet of
ships; of the lions being let out of the tower to destroy the
Protestant religion; of the Pope’s being seen in a brandy-shop at
Wapping,” _&c._
_History of John Bull, part. 1. ch. 16._
The other branch of wit in the thought, _viz._ ludicrous combinations
and oppositions, may be traced through various ramifications. And,
first, fanciful causes assigned that have no natural relation to the
effects produced.
_Lancaster._ Fare you well, Falstaff; I, in my condition, Shall
better speak of you than you deserve. [_Exit._
_Falstaff._ I would you had but the wit; ’twere better than your
dukedom. Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth not
love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh; but that’s no marvel, he
drinks no wine. There’s never any of these demure boys come to any
proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, and making
many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind of male green-sickness;
and then, when they marry, they get wenches. They are generally
fools and cowards; which some of us should be too, but for
inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a twofold operation in it;
it ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the foolish, dull,
and crudy vapours which environ it; makes it apprehensive, quick,
forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes; which
deliver’d o’er to the voice, the tongue, which is the birth,
becomes excellent wit. The second property of your excellent
sherris, is, the warming of the blood; which before cold and
settled left the liver white and pale; which is the badge of
pusillanimity and cowardice: but the sherris warms it, and makes
it course from the inwards, to the parts extreme; it illuminateth
the face, which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of this
little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital commoners and
inland petty spirits muster me all to their captain, the heart;
who, great, and puff’d up with this retinue, doth any deed of
courage: and this valour comes of sherris. So that skill in the
weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets it a-work; and
learning a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil, till sack commences
it, and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it, that Prince Harry
is valiant; for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his
father, he hath, like lean, steril, and bare land, manured,
husbanded, and till’d, with excellent endeavour of drinking good
and good store of fertil sherris, that he is become very hot and
valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first human principle I
would teach them, should be to forswear thin potations, and to
addict themselves to sack.
_Second part of Henry_ IV. _act. 4. sc. 7_.
The trenchant blade, toledo trusty,
For want of fighting was grown rusty,
And ate into itself, for lack
Of some body to hew and hack.
The peaceful scabbard where it dwelt,
The rancor of its edge had felt:
For of the lower end two handful,
It had devoured, ’twas so manful;
And so much scorn’d to lurk in case,
As if it durst not shew its face.
_Hudibras, canto 1._
Speaking of physicians,
Le bon de cette profession est, qu’il y a parmi les morts une
honnêteté, une discretion la plus grande du monde; jamais on n’en
voit se plaindre du médicin qui l’a tué.
_Le medicin malgré lui._
Admirez les bontez, admirez les tendresses,
De ces vieux esclaves du sort.
Ils ne sont jamais las d’aquérir des richesses,
Pour ceux qui souhaitent leur mort.
_Belinda._ Lard, he has so pester’d me with flames and stuff--I
think I shan’t endure the sight of a fire this twelvemonth.
_Old Bachelor, act 2. sc. 8._
To account for effects by such fantastical causes, being highly
ludicrous, is quite improper in any serious composition. Therefore the
following passage from Cowley, in his poem on the death of Sir Henry
Wooton, is in a bad taste.
He did the utmost bounds of Knowledge find,
He found them not so large as was his mind.
But, like the brave Pellæan youth, did moan,
Because that Art had no more worlds than one.
And when he saw that he through all had past,
He dy’d, lest he should idle grow at last.
Fanciful reasoning,
_Falstaff._ Imbowell’d!---- if thou imbowel me to-day, I’ll give
you leave to powder me, and eat me to-morrow! ’Sblood, ’twas time
to counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot
too. Counterfeit? I lie, I am no counterfeit; to die is to be a
counterfeit; for he is but the counterfeit of a man, who hath not
the life of a man: but to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby
liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of
life, indeed.
_First Part Henry IV. act 1. sc. 10._
_Clown_. And the more pity that great folk should have countenance
in this world to drown or hang themselves, more than their even
Christian.
_Hamlet, Act 5. sc. 1._
_Pedro._ Will you have me, Lady?
_Beatrice._ No, my Lord, unless I might have another for working
days. Your Grace is too costly to wear every day.
_Much ado about nothing, act 2. sc. 5._
_Jessica._ I shall be saved by my husband; he hath made me a
Christian.
_Launcelot._ Truly the more to blame he; we were Christians enough
before, e’en as many as could well live by one another: this making
of Christians will raise the price of hogs; if we grow all to be
pork-eaters, we shall not have a rasher on the coals for money.
_Merchant of Venice, act 3. sc. 6._
In western clime there is a town,
To those that dwell therein well known;
Therefore there needs no more be said here,
We unto them refer our reader:
For brevity is very good,
When w’ are, or are not understood.
_Hudibras, canto 1._
But Hudibras gave him a twitch,
As quick as lightning, in the breech,
Just in the place where honour’s lodg’d,
As wise philosophers have judg’d;
Because a kick in that part, more
Hurts honour, than deep wounds before.
_Ibid. canto 3._
Ludicrous junction of small things with great, as of equal importance.
This day black omens threat the brightest fair
That e’er deserv’d a watchful spirit’s care;
Some dire disaster, or by force, or flight;
But what, or where, the fates have wrapt in night:
Whether the nymph shall break Diana’s law;
Or some frail china jar receive a flaw;
Or stain her honour, or her new brocade;
Forget her pray’rs, or miss a masquerade;
Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball;
Or whether Heav’n has doom’d that Shock must fall.
_Rape of the Lock, canto_ ii. 101.
One speaks the glory of the British Queen,
And one describes a charming Indian screen.
_Ibid. canto_ iii. 13.
Then flash’d the living lightning from her eyes,
And screams of horror rend th’ affrighted skies.
Not louder shrieks to pitying heav’n are cast,
When husbands, or when lapdogs breathe their last;
Or when rich china vessels fall’n from high,
In glitt’ring dust, and painted fragments lie!
_Ibid. canto_ iii. 155.
Not youthful kings in battle seiz’d alive,
Not scornful virgins who their charms survive,
Not ardent lovers robb’d of all their bliss,
Not ancient ladies when refus’d a kiss,
Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die,
Not Cynthia when her manteau’s pinn’d awry,
E’er felt such rage, resentment, and despair,
As thou, sad virgin! for thy ravish’d hair.
_Ibid. canto_ iv. 3.
Joining things that in appearance are opposite. As for example, where
Sir Roger de Coverley, in the Spectator, speaking of his widow, “That he
would have given her a coal-pit to have kept her in clean linen; and
that her finger should have sparkled with one hundred of his richest
acres.”
Premisses that promise much and perform nothing. Cicero upon this
article says, “Sed scitis esse notissimum ridiculi genus, cum aliud
expectamus, aliud dicitur: hic nobismetipsis noster error risum
movet[23].”
_Beatrice._---- With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and money
enough in his purse, such a man would win any woman in the world,
if he could get her good-will.
_Much ado about nothing, act 2. sc. 1._
_Beatrice._ I have a good eye, uncle, I can see a church by
day-light.
_ibid._
Le medecin que l’on m’indique
Sait le Latin, le Grec, l’Hebreu,
Les belles lettres, la physique,
La chimie et la botanique.
Chacun lui donne son aveu:
Il auroit aussi ma pratique;
Mais je veux vivre encore un peu.
Again,
Vingt fois le jour le bon Grégoire
A soin de fermer son armoire.
De quoi pensez vous qu’il a peur?
Belle demande! Qu’un voleur
Trouvant une facile proie,
Ne lui ravisse tout son bien.
Non; Gregoire a peur qu’on ne voie
Que dan son armoire il n’a rien.
Again,
L’athsmatique Damon a cru que l’air des champs
Repareroit en lui le ravage des ans,
Il s’est fait, a grands fraix, transporter en Bretagne.
Or voiez ce qu’a fait l’air natal qu’il a pris!
Damon seroit mort à Paris:
Damon est mort à la campagne.
Having discussed wit in the thought, we proceed to what is verbal only,
commonly called _a play of words_. This sort of wit depends for the most
part upon chusing words that have different significations. By this
artifice, hocus-pocus tricks are played in language; and thoughts plain
and simple take on a very different appearance. Play is necessary for
man, in order to refresh him after labour; and accordingly man loves
play. He even relisheth a play of words; and it is happy for us, that
words can be employed, not only for useful purposes, but also for our
amusement. This amusement accordingly, though humble and low, is
relished by some at all times, and by all at some times, in order to
unbend the mind.
It is remarkable, that this low species of wit, has, at one time or
other, made a figure in most civilized nations, and has gradually gone
into disrepute. So soon as a language is formed into a system, and the
meaning of words are ascertained with tolerable accuracy, opportunity is
afforded for expressions, which, by the double meaning of some words,
give a familiar thought the appearance of being new. And the penetration
of the reader or hearer, is gratified in detecting the true sense
disguised under the double meaning. That this sort of wit was in England
deemed a reputable amusement, during the reigns of Elisabeth and James
I. is vouched by the works of Shakespear, and even by the writings of
grave divines. But it cannot have any long endurance: for as language
ripens, and the meaning of words is more and more ascertained, words
held to be synonymous diminish daily; and when those that remain have
been more than once employed, the pleasure vanisheth with the novelty.
* * * * *
I proceed to examples, which, as in the former case, shall be
distributed into different classes.
* * * * *
A seeming resemblance from the double meaning of a word.
Beneath this stone my wife doth lie:
She’s now at rest, and so am I.
A seeming contrast from the same cause, termed _a verbal antithesis_,
which hath no despicable effect in ludicrous subjects.
Whilst Iris his cosmetic wash would try
To make her bloom revive, and lovers die.
Some ask for charms, and others philters chuse,
To gain Corinna, and their quartans lose,
_Dispensary, canto 2._
And how frail nymphs, oft by abortion, aim
To lose a substance, to preserve a name.
_Ibid. canto 3._
Other seeming connections from the same cause.
Will you employ your conqu’ring sword,
To break a fiddle and your word.
_Hudibras, canto 2._
To whom the knight with comely grace
Put off his hat to put his case.
_Hudibras, Part 3. canto 3._
Here Britain’s statesmen oft the fall foredoom
Of foreign tyrants, and of nymphs at home;
Here thou, great Anna! whom three realms obey,
Does sometimes counsel take--and sometimes tea.
_Rape of the Lock, canto 3. l. 5._
O’er their quietus where fat judges dose,
And lull their cough and conscience to repose.
_Dispensary, canto 1._
Speaking of Prince Eugene. “This General is a great taker of snuff
as well as of towns.”
_Pope, Key to the Lock._
Exul mentisque domusque.
_Metamorphoses_, _lib._ ix. 409.
A seeming inconsistency from the same cause.
Hic quiescit qui nunquam quievit.
Again,
Quel âge a cette Iris, dont on fait tant de bruit?
Me demandoit Cliton n’aguere.
Il faut, dis-je, vous satisfaire,
Elle a vingt ans le jour, et cinquante ans la nuit.
Again,
So like the chances are of love and war,
That they alone in this distinguish’d are;
In love the victors from the vanguish’d fly,
They fly that wound, and they pursue that die.
_Waller._
What new-found witchcraft was in thee,
With thine own cold to kindle me?
Strange art; like him that should devise
To make a burning-glass of ice.
_Cowley._
Wit of this kind is unsuitable in a serious poem; witness the following
line in Pope’s Elegy to the memory of an unfortunate lady:
Cold is that breast which warm’d the world before.
This sort of writing is finely burlesqued by Swift:
Her hands, the softest ever felt,
Though cold would burn, though dry would melt.
_Strephon and Chloe._
Taking a word in a different sense from what is meant, comes under wit,
because it occasions some slight degree of surprise.
_Beatrice._ I may sit in a corner, and cry _Heigh ho!_ for a
husband.
_Pedro._ Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.
_Beatrice._ I would rather have one of your father’s getting: hath
your Grace ne’er a brother like you? Your father got excellent
husbands, if a maid could come by them.
_Much ado about nothing, act 2. sc. 5._
_Falstaff._ My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about.
_Pistol._ Two yards and more.
_Falstaff._ No quips now, Pistol: indeed, I am in the waste two
yards about; but I am now about no waste; I am about thrift.
_Merry wives of Windsor, act 1. sc. 7._
_Lo. Sands._---- By your leave, sweet ladies, If I chance to talk a
little wild, forgive me: I had it from my father.
_Anne Bullen._ Was he mad, Sir?
_Sands._ O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too; But he would bite
none----
_K. Henry_ VIII.
An assertion that bears a double meaning, one right, one wrong; but so
connected with other matters as to direct us to the wrong meaning. This
species of bastard wit is distinguished from all others by the name
_pun_. For example,
_Paris._---- Sweet Helen, I must woo you,
To help unarm our Hector: his stubborn buckles,
With these your white inchanting fingers touch’d,
Shall more obey, than to the edge of steel,
Or force of Greekish sinews: you shall do more
Than all the island kings, disarm great Hector.
_Troilus and Cressida, act 3. sc. 2._