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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;
* 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".
e is naught, sir, so fraught, sir;
in love affairs, is a species •i as to draw down pity and practises it; yet, show me the est share of discernment, who this enormous fo!ly; nay, and in j, it is to be observed, that the je loudest in boasting: such men "a baboon who should watch his g herself, and afterwards have I methods, in order to adonize his Hich will appear to him equally beBected in the mirror, though all other ^.perceive the deformity, and laugh in bis consummate vanity. It is, notwith'requisite in this note, that I should say a way of apology for this latter class of fools, iinly, in some respects entitled to indulge in nsity, on account of the extraordinary taste 'many ladies of ton at the present era, who boused of every requisite that is desirable in an "will frequently (for the sake of diversity, I !) intrigue with a being, not only contemptible ion, but debased in mind. To adduce instances R be fruitless; however, a late crim. con. action is a ^cient testimony of the justness of this remark.
re, e vergogna sc la donna Ii pcrde mai li ritrova.
That none in boasting can outvie him,
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.
* FalstafTs 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.