A Character of Mr. Wycherly.
OF all our Modern Wits, none seems to me
Once to have touch'd upon true Comedy,
But hasty Shadwell, and slow Wycherly.
Shadwell's unfinish’d Works do yet impart
Great Proofs of Nature's Force, tho' none of Art;
But Wycherly earns hard whate'er he gains,
He wants no Judgment, and he spares no Pains. &c.
This Character, however just in other Particulars, yet is injurious in one, Mr. Wycherly being represented as a laborious Writer, which every Man who has the least Personal Knowledge of him can contradict.
Those indeed who form their Judgment only from his Writings, may be apt to imagine so many admirable Reflections, such Diversity of images and Characters, such strict Enquiries into Nature, such close Observations on the several Humours, Manners, and Affections of all Ranks and Degrees of Men, and, as it were, so true and so perfect a Dissection of Humankind, deliver’d with so much pointed Wit and Force and Expression, could be no other than the Work of extraordinary Diligence and Application: Whereas others, who have the Happiness to be acquainted with the Author, as well as his Writings, are able to affirm these happy Performances were due to his infinite Genius and natural Penetration. We owe the Pleasure and Advantage of having been so well entertain’d and instructed by him, to his Facility of doing it: For, if I mistake him not extremely, had it been a Trouble to him to write, he would have spar’d himself that Trouble. What he has perform’d would indeed have been difficult for another; but the Club which a Man of ordinary Size could not lift, was but a Walking-staff for Hercules.
Mr. Wycherly, in his Writings, has been the sharpest Satyrist of his Time; but, in his Nature, he has all the Softness of the tenderest Dispositions: In his Writings he is Severe, Bold, Undertaking; in his Nature Gentle, Modest, Inoffensive: He makes use of his Satyr, as a Man truly brave of his Courage, only upon Publick Occasions, and for Publick Good: He compassionates the Wounds he is under a Necessity to probe, or, like a good-natur’d Conqueror, grieves at the Occasions that provoke him to make such Havock.
There are who object to his Versification: But a Diamond is not less a Diamond for not being polish'd. Versification is in Poetry, what Colouring is in Painting, a beautiful Ornament; But if the Proportions are just, the Posture true, the Figure bold, and the Resemblance according to Nature, tho' the Colours should happen to be rough, or carelesly laid on, yet may the Piece be of inestimable Value: Whereas the finest and the nicest Colouring Art can invent, is but Labour in vain, where the rest is wanting. Our present Writers indeed, for the most part, seem to lay the whole Stress of their Endeavours up on the Harmony of Words; but then, like Eunuchs, they sacrifice their Manhood for a Voice, and reduce our Poetry to be like Echo, Nothing but Sound.
In Mr. Wycherly every thing is Masculine: His Muse is not led forth as to a Review, but as to a Battel; not adorn'd for Parade, but Execution: He would be try'd by the Sharpness of his Blade, and not by the Finery: Like your Heroes of Antiquity, he charges in Iron, and seems to despise all Ornament, but intrinsick Merit: And like those Heroes has therefore added another Name to his own, and by the unanimous Consent of his Contemporaries, is distinguish'd by the just Appellation of Manly Wycherly.