SECTION XL.

OF THE VAIN BOASTING OF FOOLS.

Whoso boasteth himself of a false gift, is like clouds and wind without rain.

HERE'S one, who talks as much of knowledge, As any big wig at a college;

And thinks himself of wits the pillar,

With the assistance of Joe Miller;

But as for Latin, Hebrew, Greek,

One word he can, nor read, nor speak *.

* The garrulity of this class of fools is so universally heard in the present day, that it is hardly possible to frequent a company without finding yourself pestered to death by one of these leeches; who, to gratify his selfenamoured fancy, sucks away every particle of your good temper, thus depriving you of the little pleasure which you had imagined the society might afford; this brings to mind these lines in the Merchant of Venice:

"Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice: his reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff, you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them, they are not worth the search".

Or, if the German you are praising,
His knowledge of that tongue's amazing;
As well as Spanish, French, Italian,
He'll carve to boot like a Pygmalion;
And as for painting, he can show,
Designs more grand than Angelo *.

His wealth, if any friend's relating,
Of Funds and Bank Stock he'll be prating;
Or if you speak of some lord knowing,
Three dukes tow'rd him are favours showing;
And with respect to Cupid's darts,

None ever smote so many hearts †.

No matter how difficult the art or science may be, the fool is equally au fait at every thing, so that ninetynine men out of the hundred, only enact the part of Bobadil in different ways. Merciful Heaven! what instances of this presumptuous folly have I not been the witness of, until my very bowels have yearned within me! I had very nearly forgotten a curious instance of literary vain boasting, which appeared some time since on the title of a book written by a German Professor, who absolutely thus worded the nature of his treatise.

"Observations on all things and several other things besides." But, to conclude, from all such men, "Good Lord deliver me!"

To hear the poor fool prate of riches, or the loath

But, to be brief, the theme is naught, sir,
In self commending he's so fraught, sir;

some object talk of conquests in love affairs, is a species of vain boasting so palpable, as to draw down pity and contempt on the wretch who practises it; yet, show me the man possessed of the smallest share of discernment, who has not been a witness of this enormous folly; nay, and in the latter case particularly, it is to be observed, that the plainest individuals are the loudest in boasting: such men very much remind me of a baboon who should watch his beautiful mistress attiring herself, and afterwards have recourse to the same methods, in order to adonize his repulsive figure, which will appear to him equally bewitching, when reflected in the mirror, though all other eyes but his own perceive the deformity, and laugh in their sleeves at his consummate vanity. It is, notwithstanding, very requisite in this note, that I should say a few words by way of apology for this latter class of fools, who are certainly, in some respects entitled to indulge in their propensity, on account of the extraordinary taste evinced by many ladies of ton at the present era, who being possessed of every requisite that is desirable in an husband, will frequently (for the sake of diversity, I suppose) intrigue with a being, not only contemptible in person, but debased in mind. To adduce instances would be fruitless; however, a late crim. con. action is a sufficient testimony of the justness of this remark.

Onore, e vergogna se la donna li perde mai li ritrova

That none in boasting can outvie him,
Or to speak plainer, friend, outlie him *;
For if you'd dare him, it is odds,
He'd claim alliance with the gods.

L'ENVOY OF THE POET.

Fruitless are all our efforts, all our pains, Perfection in one science none can boast; He surely then is fool, who still maintains, That o'er all excellence he rules the roast.

*Falstaff's relation to the Prince of Wales, may be so well applied to these fools, that I cannot refrain from quoting his words:

Hen. O! monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two!

Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three mis-begotten knaves in Kendal-green, came at my back, and let drive at me; (for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand).

Hen. These lies are like the father that begets them, gross as a mountain, open, palpable,

-Why, how could'st thou know these men in Kendalgreen, when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? Come, tell us your reason: what say'st thou to this?

A un grand bugiardo, ci vuol buona memoria.

THE POET'S CHORUS TO FOOLS.

Come, trim the boat, row on each Rara Avis, Crowds flock to man my Stultifera Navis.