Now in ordinary cases, that is, when I am only stupid, and the thoughts rise heavily and pass gummous through my pen----
Or that I am got, I know not how, into a cold unmetaphorical vein of infamous writing, and cannot take a plumb-lift out of it _for my soul_; so must be obliged to go on writing like a _Dutch_ commentator to the end of the chapter, unless something be done----
----I never stand conferring with pen and ink one moment; for if a pinch of snuff, or a stride or two across the room will not do the business for me --I take a razor at once; and having tried the edge of it upon the palm of my hand, without further ceremony, except that of first lathering my beard, I shave it off; taking care only if I do leave a hair, that it be not a grey one: this done, I change my shirt--put on a better coat--send for my last wig--put my topaz ring upon my finger; and in a word, dress myself from one end to the other of me, after my best fashion.
Now the devil in hell must be in it, if this does not do: for consider, Sir, as every man chuses to be present at the shaving of his own beard (though there is no rule without an exception), and unavoidably sits over-against himself the whole time it is doing, in case he has a hand in it--the Situation, like all others, has notions of her own to put into the brain.----
----I maintain it, the conceits of a rough-bearded man, are seven years more terse and juvenile for one single operation; and if they did not run a risk of being quite shaved away, might be carried up by continual shavings, to the highest pitch of sublimity --How _Homer_ could write with so long a beard, I don't know----and as it makes against my hypothesis, I as little care ----But let us return to the Toilet.
_Ludovicus Sorbonensis_ makes this entirely an affair of the body ( ) as he calls it----but he is deceived: the soul and body are joint-sharers in everything they get: A man cannot dress, but his ideas get cloath'd at the same time; and if he dresses like a gentleman, every one of them stands presented to his imagination, genteelized along with him--so that he has nothing to do, but take his pen, and write like himself.
For this cause, when your honours and reverences would know whether I writ clean and fit to be read, you will be able to judge full as well by looking into my Laundress's bill, as my book: there was one single month in which I can make it appear, that I dirtied one and thirty shirts with clean writing; and after all, was more abus'd, cursed, criticis'd, and confounded, and had more mystic heads shaken at me, for what I had wrote in that one month, than in all the other months of that year put together.
----But their honours and reverences had not seen my bills.
Now in ordinary cases - that is, when I am stupid, and the thoughts rise heavily and pass gummous through my pen-
Or when I am got, I know not how, into a cold unmetaphorical vein of infamous writing, and cannot get out of it; so must be obliged to go on writing like a Dutch commentator to the end of the chapter, unless something be done-
- I never stop conferring with pen and ink one moment; for if a pinch of snuff, or a stride or two across the room will not do the business for me - I take a razor; and without further ceremony except that of first lathering my beard, I shave. Then I change my shirt - put on a better coat - send for my latest wig - put my topaz ring upon my finger; and in a word, dress myself, from one end to the other, after my best fashion.
Now the devil must be in it, if this does not do: for consider, Sir, as every man is present at the shaving of his own beard - the Situation puts her own notion into the brain.
- I maintain that the ideas of a rough-bearded man are seven years more terse for one single shave; and if they did not risk being quite shaved away, might be carried up by continual shavings to the highest pitch of sublimity. How Homer could write with so long a beard, I don't know - and as it defies my hypothesis, I don't care. - But let us return to the dress.
Ludovicus Sorbonensis makes this entirely an affair of the body; but he is deceived: the soul and body are joint-sharers in everything they get. A man cannot dress without his ideas getting clothed at the same time; and if he dresses like a gentleman, every one of them stands presented to his imagination, genteelized along with him - so that he has nothing to do, but take his pen, and write like himself.
And so, when your honours would know whether I wrote clean and fit to be read, you will be able to judge full as well by looking into my Laundress's bill, as my book. There was one single month in which I dirtied thirty shirts with clean writing; and yet was more abused, cursed, and criticised for what I had wrote in that one month, than in all the other months of that year put together.
-But my critics had not seen my bills.