The Conceited Sharper here in the Fable, sets forth the Humour and
Character of the Spunging Buffons that a Man meets every Day in his
Porridge Dish: that is to say, in Courts, and at Great Mens Tables, as
well as elsewhere. These same Jack-Pudding Smell-Feasts are certainly the
most Despicable Creatures under the Sun, unless perhaps their Patrons
that Protect and Encourage them may be the more Contemptible Wretches
of the Two. They make Fooling their Business and their Livelihood, and
live like _Izeland Shocks_, by shewing Tricks for Bread. They turn
Conversation into a direct Farce: Their Wit is either Scurrilous or
Frothy, which they manage at such a Rate, as if Human Reason were a
Faculty only to make Sport withal.