I am not acquainted enough with Italian Poetry to taste its delicacy, or admire its graces and beauties: I meet with some Histories in that tongue above all the Moderns; and some Treatises of Politicks, even above what the Antients have written. As for the Morality of the Italians, it is full of Concetti, or pointed Witticisms, which rather shew a fancy that endeavours to glitter, than a solid sense founded on deep reflections.
I have a great curiosity for every thing that is fine in French; and am very much distasted at a thousand Authors, who seem only to have written for the reputation of being Authors. I read not for the credit of having read abundance; which ties me up to certain Books, where I am assur'd to meet satisfaction.
Montaigne's Essays, Malherbe's Poems, Corneille's Tragedies, and Voiture's Works, have established to themselves, as it were, a title to please me during life. Montaigne has not the same success with others, thro' the whole course of their lives. As he particularly lays open Men, the young and the old are pleas'd to see themselves in him, by the resemblance of their thoughts. The space intermediate to these Ages, takes 'em off from Nature to other Prosessions; and then they find less in Montaigne that fits 'em. The Art Military employs the General; Politicks the Statesman; Divinity the Churchman; and Law the Judge. Montaigne returns upon us, when Nature has brought us back again to our selves; and when an advanc'd age, in which we truly feel what we are, recalls the Prince as well as his meanest Subjects, from a concern for his Dignity, to the more near and sensible concern for his Person.
