THE BATTLE OF THE BOOKSAND OTHER SHORT PIECES. 

BYJONATHAN SWIFT. 

CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED:_LONDON_, _PARIS_, _NEW YORK & MELBOURNE_. 1886. 

INTRODUCTION. 

Jonathan Swift was born in 1667, on the 30th of November. His father wasa Jonathan Swift, sixth of the ten sons of the Rev. Thomas Swift, vicarof Goodrich, near Ross, in Herefordshire, who had married ElizabethDryden, niece to the poet Dryden's grandfather. Jonathan Swift married, at Leicester, Abigail Erick, or Herrick, who was of the family that hadgiven to England Robert Herrick, the poet. As their eldest brother, Godwin, was prospering in Ireland, four other Swifts, Dryden, William, Jonathan, and Adam, all in turn found their way to Dublin. Jonathan wasadmitted an attorney of the King's Inns, Dublin, and was appointed by theBenchers to the office of Steward of the King's Inns, in January, 1666. He died in April, 1667, leaving his widow with an infant daughter, Jane, and an unborn child. 

Swift was born in Dublin seven months after his father's death. Hismother after a time returned to her own family, in Leicester, and thechild was added to the household of his uncle, Godwin Swift, who, by hisfour wives, became father to ten sons of his own and four daughters. Godwin Swift sent his nephew to Kilkenny School, where he had WilliamCongreve among his schoolfellows. In April, 1782, Swift was entered atTrinity College as pensioner, together with his cousin Thomas, son of hisuncle Thomas. That cousin Thomas afterwards became rector of Puttenham, in Surrey. Jonathan Swift graduated as B. A. At Dublin, in February, 1686, and remained in Trinity College for another three years. He wasready to proceed to M. A. When his uncle Godwin became insane. Thetroubles of 1689 also caused the closing of the University, and JonathanSwift went to Leicester, where mother and son took counsel together as tofuture possibilities of life. 

The retired statesman, Sir William Temple, at Moor Park, near Farnham, inSurrey, was in highest esteem with the new King and the leaders of theRevolution. His father, as Master of the Irish Rolls, had been a friendof Godwin Swift's, and with his wife Swift's mother could claimcousinship. After some months, therefore, at Leicester, Jonathan Swift, aged twenty-two, went to Moor Park, and entered Sir William Temple'shousehold, doing service with the expectation of advancement through hisinfluence. The advancement he desired was in the Church. When Swiftwent to Moor Park he found in its household a child six or seven yearsold, daughter to Mrs. Johnson, who was trusted servant and companion toLady Gifford, Sir William Temple's sister. With this little Esther, agedseven, Swift, aged twenty-two, became a playfellow and helper in herstudies. He broke his English for her into what he called their "littlelanguage, " that was part of the same playful kindliness, and passed intotheir after-life. In July, 1692, with Sir William Temple's help, Jonathan Swift commenced M. A. In Oxford, as of Hart Hall. In 1694, Swift's ambition having been thwarted by an offer of a clerkship, of 120pounds a year, in the Irish Rolls, he broke from Sir William Temple, tookorders, and obtained, through other influence, in January, 1695, thesmall prebendary of Kilroot, in the north of Ireland. He was there forabout a year. Close by, in Belfast, was an old college friend, namedWaring, who had a sister. Swift was captivated by Miss Waring, calledher Varina, and would have become engaged to marry her if she had notflinched from engagement with a young clergyman whose income was but ahundred a year. 

But Sir William Temple had missed Jonathan Swift from Moor Park. Differences were forgotten, and Swift, at his wish, went back. This wasin 1696, when his little pupil, Esther Johnson, was fifteen. Swift saidof her, "I knew her from six years old, and had some share in hereducation, by directing what books she should read, and perpetuallyinstructing her in the principles of honour and virtue, from which shenever swerved in any one action or moment of her life. She was sicklyfrom her childhood until about the age of fifteen; but then grew intoperfect health, and was then looked upon as one of the most beautiful, graceful, and agreeable young women in London, only a little too fat. Herhair was blacker than a raven, and every feature of her face inperfection. " This was the Stella of Swift's after-life, the one woman towhom his whole love was given. But side by side with the slow growth ofhis knowledge of all she was for him, was the slow growth of hisconviction that attacks of giddiness and deafness, which first came whenhe was twenty, and recurred at times throughout his life, were signs tobe associated with that which he regarded as the curse upon his life. Hisend would be like his uncle Godwin's. It was a curse transmissible tochildren, but if he desired to keep the influence his genius gave him, hecould not tell the world why he refused to marry. Only to Stella, whoremained unmarried for his sake, and gave her life to him, could all beknown. 

Returned to Moor Park, Swift wrote, in 1697, the "Battle of the Books, "as well as the "Tale of the Tub, " with which it was published seven yearsafterwards, in 1704. Perrault and others had been battling in Franceover the relative merits of Ancient and Modern Writers. The debate hadspread to England. On behalf of the Ancients, stress was laid by Templeon the letters of Phalaris, tyrant of Agrigentum. Wotton replied to SirWilliam for the Moderns. The Hon. Charles Boyle, of Christ Church, published a new edition of the Epistles of Phalaris, with translation ofthe Greek text into Latin. Dr. Bentley, the King's Librarian, publisheda "Dissertation on the Epistles of Phalaris, " denying their value, andarguing that Phalaris did not write them. Christ Church replied throughCharles Boyle, with "Dr. Bentley's Dissertation on the Epistles ofPhalaris examined. " Swift entered into the war with a light heart, andmatched the Ancients in defending them for the amusement of his patron. His incidental argument between the Spider and the Bee has provided acatch-phrase, "Sweetness and Light, " to a combatant of later times. 

Sir William Temple died on the 27th of January, 1699. Swift then becamechaplain to Lord Berkeley in Dublin Castle, and it was as a littlesurprise to Lady Berkeley, who liked him to read to her Robert Boyle's"Meditations, " that Swift wrote the "Meditation on a Broomstick. " InFebruary, 1700, he obtained from Lord Berkeley the vicarage of Laracorwith the living of Rathbeggan, also in the diocese of Meath. In thebeginning of 1701 Esther Johnson, to whom Sir William Temple hadbequeathed a leasehold farm in Wicklow, came with an elder friend, MissDingley, and settled in Laracor to be near Swift. During one of thevisits to London, made from Laracor, Swift attacked the false pretensionsof astrologers by that prediction of the death of Mr. Partridge, aprophetic almanac maker, of which he described the Accomplishment soclearly that Partridge had much ado to get credit for being alive. 

The lines addressed to Stella speak for themselves. "Cadenus andVanessa" was meant as polite and courteous admonition to Miss Hester VanHomrigh, a young lady in whom green-sickness seems to have produceddevotion to Swift in forms that embarrassed him, and with which he didnot well know how to deal. 

H. M. 

THE BOOKSELLER TO THE READER. 

This discourse, as it is unquestionably of the same author, so it seemsto have been written about the same time, with "The Tale of a Tub;" Imean the year 1697, when the famous dispute was on foot about ancient andmodern learning. The controversy took its rise from an essay of SirWilliam Temple's upon that subject; which was answered by W. Wotton, B. D. , with an appendix by Dr. Bentley, endeavouring to destroy the creditof AEsop and Phalaris for authors, whom Sir William Temple had, in theessay before mentioned, highly commended. In that appendix the doctorfalls hard upon a new edition of Phalaris, put out by the HonourableCharles Boyle, now Earl of Orrery, to which Mr. Boyle replied at largewith great learning and wit; and the Doctor voluminously rejoined. Inthis dispute the town highly resented to see a person of Sir WilliamTemple's character and merits roughly used by the two reverend gentlemenaforesaid, and without any manner of provocation. At length, thereappearing no end of the quarrel, our author tells us that the BOOKS inSt. James's Library, looking upon themselves as parties principallyconcerned, took up the controversy, and came to a decisive battle; butthe manuscript, by the injury of fortune or weather, being in severalplaces imperfect, we cannot learn to which side the victory fell. 

I must warn the reader to beware of applying to persons what is heremeant only of books, in the most literal sense. So, when Virgil ismentioned, we are not to understand the person of a famous poet called bythat name; but only certain sheets of paper bound up in leather, containing in print the works of the said poet: and so of the rest. 

THE PREFACE OF THE AUTHOR. 

Satire is a sort of glass wherein beholders do generally discovereverybody's face but their own; which is the chief reason for that kindreception it meets with in the world, and that so very few are offendedwith it. But, if it should happen otherwise, the danger is not great;and I have learned from long experience never to apprehend mischief fromthose understandings I have been able to provoke: for anger and fury, though they add strength to the sinews of the body, yet are found torelax those of the mind, and to render all its efforts feeble andimpotent. 

There is a brain that will endure but one scumming; let the owner gatherit with discretion, and manage his little stock with husbandry; but, ofall things, let him beware of bringing it under the lash of his betters, because that will make it all bubble up into impertinence, and he willfind no new supply. Wit without knowledge being a sort of cream, whichgathers in a night to the top, and by a skilful hand may be soon whippedinto froth; but once scummed away, what appears underneath will be fitfor nothing but to be thrown to the hogs. 

A FULL AND TRUE ACCOUNT OF THE BATTLE FOUGHT LAST FRIDAY BETWEEN THEANCIENT AND THE MODERN BOOKS IN SAINT JAMES'S LIBRARY. 

Whoever examines, with due circumspection, into the annual records oftime, will find it remarked that War is the child of Pride, and Pride thedaughter of Riches:--the former of which assertions may be soon granted, but one cannot so easily subscribe to the latter; for Pride is nearlyrelated to Beggary and Want, either by father or mother, and sometimes byboth: and, to speak naturally, it very seldom happens among men to fallout when all have enough; invasions usually travelling from north tosouth, that is to say, from poverty to plenty. The most ancient andnatural grounds of quarrels are lust and avarice; which, though we mayallow to be brethren, or collateral branches of pride, are certainly theissues of want. For, to speak in the phrase of writers upon politics, wemay observe in the republic of dogs, which in its original seems to be aninstitution of the many, that the whole state is ever in the profoundestpeace after a full meal; and that civil broils arise among them when ithappens for one great bone to be seized on by some leading dog, whoeither divides it among the few, and then it falls to an oligarchy, orkeeps it to himself, and then it runs up to a tyranny. The samereasoning also holds place among them in those dissensions we behold upona turgescency in any of their females. For the right of possession lyingin common (it being impossible to establish a property in so delicate acase), jealousies and suspicions do so abound, that the wholecommonwealth of that street is reduced to a manifest state of war, ofevery citizen against every citizen, till some one of more courage, conduct, or fortune than the rest seizes and enjoys the prize: upon whichnaturally arises plenty of heart-burning, and envy, and snarling againstthe happy dog. Again, if we look upon any of these republics engaged ina foreign war, either of invasion or defence, we shall find the samereasoning will serve as to the grounds and occasions of each; and thatpoverty or want, in some degree or other (whether real or in opinion, which makes no alteration in the case), has a great share, as well aspride, on the part of the aggressor. 

Now whoever will please to take this scheme, and either reduce or adaptit to an intellectual state or commonwealth of learning, will soondiscover the first ground of disagreement between the two great partiesat this time in arms, and may form just conclusions upon the merits ofeither cause. But the issue or events of this war are not so easy toconjecture at; for the present quarrel is so inflamed by the warm headsof either faction, and the pretensions somewhere or other so exorbitant, as not to admit the least overtures of accommodation. This quarrel firstbegan, as I have heard it affirmed by an old dweller in theneighbourhood, about a small spot of ground, lying and being upon one ofthe two tops of the hill Parnassus; the highest and largest of which had, it seems, been time out of mind in quiet possession of certain tenants, called the Ancients; and the other was held by the Moderns. But thesedisliking their present station, sent certain ambassadors to theAncients, complaining of a great nuisance; how the height of that part ofParnassus quite spoiled the prospect of theirs, especially towards theeast; and therefore, to avoid a war, offered them the choice of thisalternative, either that the Ancients would please to remove themselvesand their effects down to the lower summit, which the Moderns wouldgraciously surrender to them, and advance into their place; or else thesaid Ancients will give leave to the Moderns to come with shovels andmattocks, and level the said hill as low as they shall think itconvenient. To which the Ancients made answer, how little they expectedsuch a message as this from a colony whom they had admitted, out of theirown free grace, to so near a neighbourhood. That, as to their own seat, they were aborigines of it, and therefore to talk with them of a removalor surrender was a language they did not understand. That if the heightof the hill on their side shortened the prospect of the Moderns, it was adisadvantage they could not help; but desired them to consider whetherthat injury (if it be any) were not largely recompensed by the shade andshelter it afforded them. That as to the levelling or digging down, itwas either folly or ignorance to propose it if they did or did not knowhow that side of the hill was an entire rock, which would break theirtools and hearts, without any damage to itself. That they wouldtherefore advise the Moderns rather to raise their own side of the hillthan dream of pulling down that of the Ancients; to the former of whichthey would not only give licence, but also largely contribute. All thiswas rejected by the Moderns with much indignation, who still insistedupon one of the two expedients; and so this difference broke out into along and obstinate war, maintained on the one part by resolution, and bythe courage of certain leaders and allies; but, on the other, by thegreatness of their number, upon all defeats affording continual recruits. In this quarrel whole rivulets of ink have been exhausted, and thevirulence of both parties enormously augmented. Now, it must be hereunderstood, that ink is the great missive weapon in all battles of thelearned, which, conveyed through a sort of engine called a quill, infinite numbers of these are darted at the enemy by the valiant on eachside, with equal skill and violence, as if it were an engagement ofporcupines. This malignant liquor was compounded, by the engineer whoinvented it, of two ingredients, which are, gall and copperas; by itsbitterness and venom to suit, in some degree, as well as to foment, thegenius of the combatants. And as the Grecians, after an engagement, whenthey could not agree about the victory, were wont to set up trophies onboth sides, the beaten party being content to be at the same expense, tokeep itself in countenance (a laudable and ancient custom, happilyrevived of late in the art of war), so the learned, after a sharp andbloody dispute, do, on both sides, hang out their trophies too, whichevercomes by the worst. These trophies have largely inscribed on them themerits of the cause; a full impartial account of such a Battle, and howthe victory fell clearly to the party that set them up. They are knownto the world under several names; as disputes, arguments, rejoinders, brief considerations, answers, replies, remarks, reflections, objections, confutations. For a very few days they are fixed up all in publicplaces, either by themselves or their representatives, for passengers togaze at; whence the chiefest and largest are removed to certain magazinesthey call libraries, there to remain in a quarter purposely assignedthem, and thenceforth begin to be called books of controversy. 

In these books is wonderfully instilled and preserved the spirit of eachwarrior while he is alive; and after his death his soul transmigratesthither to inform them. This, at least, is the more common opinion; butI believe it is with libraries as with other cemeteries, where somephilosophers affirm that a certain spirit, which they call _brutumhominis_, hovers over the monument, till the body is corrupted and turnsto dust or to worms, but then vanishes or dissolves; so, we may say, arestless spirit haunts over every book, till dust or worms have seizedupon it--which to some may happen in a few days, but to others later--andtherefore, books of controversy being, of all others, haunted by the mostdisorderly spirits, have always been confined in a separate lodge fromthe rest, and for fear of a mutual violence against each other, it wasthought prudent by our ancestors to bind them to the peace with strongiron chains. Of which invention the original occasion was this: When theworks of Scotus first came out, they were carried to a certain library, and had lodgings appointed them; but this author was no sooner settledthan he went to visit his master Aristotle, and there both concertedtogether to seize Plato by main force, and turn him out from his ancientstation among the divines, where he had peaceably dwelt near eighthundred years. The attempt succeeded, and the two usurpers have reignedever since in his stead; but, to maintain quiet for the future, it wasdecreed that all polemics of the larger size should be hold fast with achain. 

By this expedient, the public peace of libraries might certainly havebeen preserved if a new species of controversial books had not arisen oflate years, instinct with a more malignant spirit, from the war abovementioned between the learned about the higher summit of Parnassus. 

When these books were first admitted into the public libraries, Iremember to have said, upon occasion, to several persons concerned, how Iwas sure they would create broils wherever they came, unless a world ofcare were taken; and therefore I advised that the champions of each sideshould be coupled together, or otherwise mixed, that, like the blendingof contrary poisons, their malignity might be employed among themselves. And it seems I was neither an ill prophet nor an ill counsellor; for itwas nothing else but the neglect of this caution which gave occasion tothe terrible fight that happened on Friday last between the Ancient andModern Books in the King's library. Now, because the talk of this battleis so fresh in everybody's mouth, and the expectation of the town sogreat to be informed in the particulars, I, being possessed of allqualifications requisite in an historian, and retained by neither party, have resolved to comply with the urgent importunity of my friends, bywriting down a full impartial account thereof. 

The guardian of the regal library, a person of great valour, but chieflyrenowned for his humanity, had been a fierce champion for the Moderns, and, in an engagement upon Parnassus, had vowed with his own hands toknock down two of the ancient chiefs who guarded a small pass on thesuperior rock, but, endeavouring to climb up, was cruelly obstructed byhis own unhappy weight and tendency towards his centre, a quality towhich those of the Modern party are extremely subject; for, being light-headed, they have, in speculation, a wonderful agility, and conceivenothing too high for them to mount, but, in reducing to practice, discover a mighty pressure about their posteriors and their heels. Havingthus failed in his design, the disappointed champion bore a cruel rancourto the Ancients, which he resolved to gratify by showing all marks of hisfavour to the books of their adversaries, and lodging them in the fairestapartments; when, at the same time, whatever book had the boldness to ownitself for an advocate of the Ancients was buried alive in some obscurecorner, and threatened, upon the least displeasure, to be turned out ofdoors. Besides, it so happened that about this time there was a strangeconfusion of place among all the books in the library, for which severalreasons were assigned. Some imputed it to a great heap of learned dust, which a perverse wind blew off from a shelf of Moderns into the keeper'seyes. Others affirmed he had a humour to pick the worms out of theschoolmen, and swallow them fresh and fasting, whereof some fell upon hisspleen, and some climbed up into his head, to the great perturbation ofboth. And lastly, others maintained that, by walking much in the darkabout the library, he had quite lost the situation of it out of his head;and therefore, in replacing his books, he was apt to mistake and clapDescartes next to Aristotle, poor Plato had got between Hobbes and theSeven Wise Masters, and Virgil was hemmed in with Dryden on one side andWither on the other. 

Meanwhile, those books that were advocates for the Moderns, chose out onefrom among them to make a progress through the whole library, examine thenumber and strength of their party, and concert their affairs. Thismessenger performed all things very industriously, and brought back withhim a list of their forces, in all, fifty thousand, consisting chiefly oflight-horse, heavy-armed foot, and mercenaries; whereof the foot were ingeneral but sorrily armed and worse clad; their horses large, butextremely out of case and heart; however, some few, by trading among theAncients, had furnished themselves tolerably enough. 

While things were in this ferment, discord grew extremely high; hot wordspassed on both sides, and ill blood was plentifully bred. Here asolitary Ancient, squeezed up among a whole shelf of Moderns, offeredfairly to dispute the case, and to prove by manifest reason that thepriority was due to them from long possession, and in regard of theirprudence, antiquity, and, above all, their great merits toward theModerns. But these denied the premises, and seemed very much to wonderhow the Ancients could pretend to insist upon their antiquity, when itwas so plain (if they went to that) that the Moderns were much the moreancient of the two. As for any obligations they owed to the Ancients, they renounced them all. "It is true, " said they, "we are informed somefew of our party have been so mean as to borrow their subsistence fromyou, but the rest, infinitely the greater number (and especially weFrench and English), were so far from stooping to so base an example, that there never passed, till this very hour, six words between us. Forour horses were of our own breeding, our arms of our own forging, and ourclothes of our own cutting out and sewing. " Plato was by chance up onthe next shelf, and observing those that spoke to be in the ragged plightmentioned a while ago, their jades lean and foundered, their weapons ofrotten wood, their armour rusty, and nothing but rags underneath, helaughed loud, and in his pleasant way swore, by ---, he believed them. 

Now, the Moderns had not proceeded in their late negotiation with secrecyenough to escape the notice of the enemy. For those advocates who hadbegun the quarrel, by setting first on foot the dispute of precedency, talked so loud of coming to a battle, that Sir William Temple happened tooverhear them, and gave immediate intelligence to the Ancients, whothereupon drew up their scattered troops together, resolving to act uponthe defensive; upon which, several of the Moderns fled over to theirparty, and among the rest Temple himself. This Temple, having beeneducated and long conversed among the Ancients, was, of all the Moderns, their greatest favourite, and became their greatest champion. 

Things were at this crisis when a material accident fell out. For uponthe highest corner of a large window, there dwelt a certain spider, swollen up to the first magnitude by the destruction of infinite numbersof flies, whose spoils lay scattered before the gates of his palace, likehuman bones before the cave of some giant. The avenues to his castlewere guarded with turnpikes and palisadoes, all after the modern way offortification. After you had passed several courts you came to thecentre, wherein you might behold the constable himself in his ownlodgings, which had windows fronting to each avenue, and ports to sallyout upon all occasions of prey or defence. In this mansion he had forsome time dwelt in peace and plenty, without danger to his person byswallows from above, or to his palace by brooms from below; when it wasthe pleasure of fortune to conduct thither a wandering bee, to whosecuriosity a broken pane in the glass had discovered itself, and in hewent, where, expatiating a while, he at last happened to alight upon oneof the outward walls of the spider's citadel; which, yielding to theunequal weight, sunk down to the very foundation. Thrice he endeavouredto force his passage, and thrice the centre shook. The spider within, feeling the terrible convulsion, supposed at first that nature wasapproaching to her final dissolution, or else that Beelzebub, with allhis legions, was come to revenge the death of many thousands of hissubjects whom his enemy had slain and devoured. However, he at lengthvaliantly resolved to issue forth and meet his fate. Meanwhile the beehad acquitted himself of his toils, and, posted securely at somedistance, was employed in cleansing his wings, and disengaging them fromthe ragged remnants of the cobweb. By this time the spider wasadventured out, when, beholding the chasms, the ruins, and dilapidationsof his fortress, he was very near at his wit's end; he stormed and sworelike a madman, and swelled till he was ready to burst. At length, casting his eye upon the bee, and wisely gathering causes from events(for they know each other by sight), "A plague split you, " said he; "isit you, with a vengeance, that have made this litter here; could not youlook before you, and be d---d? Do you think I have nothing else to do(in the devil's name) but to mend and repair after you?" "Good words, friend, " said the bee, having now pruned himself, and being disposed todroll; "I'll give you my hand and word to come near your kennel no more;I was never in such a confounded pickle since I was born. " "Sirrah, "replied the spider, "if it were not for breaking an old custom in ourfamily, never to stir abroad against an enemy, I should come and teachyou better manners. " "I pray have patience, " said the bee, "or you'llspend your substance, and, for aught I see, you may stand in need of itall, towards the repair of your house. " "Rogue, rogue, " replied thespider, "yet methinks you should have more respect to a person whom allthe world allows to be so much your betters. " "By my troth, " said thebee, "the comparison will amount to a very good jest, and you will do mea favour to let me know the reasons that all the world is pleased to usein so hopeful a dispute. " At this the spider, having swelled himselfinto the size and posture of a disputant, began his argument in the truespirit of controversy, with resolution to be heartily scurrilous andangry, to urge on his own reasons without the least regard to the answersor objections of his opposite, and fully predetermined in his mindagainst all conviction. 

"Not to disparage myself, " said he, "by the comparison with such arascal, what art thou but a vagabond without house or home, without stockor inheritance? born to no possession of your own, but a pair of wingsand a drone-pipe. Your livelihood is a universal plunder upon nature; afreebooter over fields and gardens; and, for the sake of stealing, willrob a nettle as easily as a violet. Whereas I am a domestic animal, furnished with a native stock within myself. This large castle (to showmy improvements in the mathematics) is all built with my own hands, andthe materials extracted altogether out of my own person. "

"I am glad, " answered the bee, "to hear you grant at least that I am comehonestly by my wings and my voice; for then, it seems, I am obliged toHeaven alone for my flights and my music; and Providence would never havebestowed on me two such gifts without designing them for the noblestends. I visit, indeed, all the flowers and blossoms of the field andgarden, but whatever I collect thence enriches myself without the leastinjury to their beauty, their smell, or their taste. Now, for you andyour skill in architecture and other mathematics, I have little to say:in that building of yours there might, for aught I know, have been labourand method enough; but, by woeful experience for us both, it is too plainthe materials are naught; and I hope you will henceforth take warning, and consider duration and matter, as well as method and art. You boast, indeed, of being obliged to no other creature, but of drawing andspinning out all from yourself; that is to say, if we may judge of theliquor in the vessel by what issues out, you possess a good plentifulstore of dirt and poison in your breast; and, though I would by no meanslesson or disparage your genuine stock of either, yet I doubt you aresomewhat obliged, for an increase of both, to a little foreignassistance. Your inherent portion of dirt does not fall of acquisitions, by sweepings exhaled from below; and one insect furnishes you with ashare of poison to destroy another. So that, in short, the questioncomes all to this: whether is the nobler being of the two, that which, bya lazy contemplation of four inches round, by an overweening pride, feeding, and engendering on itself, turns all into excrement and venom, producing nothing at all but flybane and a cobweb; or that which, by auniversal range, with long search, much study, true judgment, anddistinction of things, brings home honey and wax. "

This dispute was managed with such eagerness, clamour, and warmth, thatthe two parties of books, in arms below, stood silent a while, waiting insuspense what would be the issue; which was not long undetermined: forthe bee, grown impatient at so much loss of time, fled straight away to abed of roses, without looking for a reply, and left the spider, like anorator, collected in himself, and just prepared to burst out. 

It happened upon this emergency that AEsop broke silence first. He hadbeen of late most barbarously treated by a strange effect of the regent'shumanity, who had torn off his title-page, sorely defaced one half of hisleaves, and chained him fast among a shelf of Moderns. Where, soondiscovering how high the quarrel was likely to proceed, he tried all hisarts, and turned himself to a thousand forms. At length, in the borrowedshape of an ass, the regent mistook him for a Modern; by which means hehad time and opportunity to escape to the Ancients, just when the spiderand the bee were entering into their contest; to which he gave hisattention with a world of pleasure, and, when it was ended, swore in theloudest key that in all his life he had never known two cases, soparallel and adapt to each other as that in the window and this upon theshelves. "The disputants, " said he, "have admirably managed the disputebetween them, have taken in the full strength of all that is to be saidon both sides, and exhausted the substance of every argument _pro_ and_con_. It is but to adjust the reasonings of both to the presentquarrel, then to compare and apply the labours and fruits of each, as thebee has learnedly deduced them, and we shall find the conclusion fallplain and close upon the Moderns and us. For pray, gentlemen, was everanything so modern as the spider in his air, his turns, and hisparadoxes? he argues in the behalf of you, his brethren, and himself, with many boastings of his native stock and great genius; that he spinsand spits wholly from himself, and scorns to own any obligation orassistance from without. Then he displays to you his great skill inarchitecture and improvement in the mathematics. To all this the bee, asan advocate retained by us, the Ancients, thinks fit to answer, that, ifone may judge of the great genius or inventions of the Moderns by whatthey have produced, you will hardly have countenance to bear you out inboasting of either. Erect your schemes with as much method and skill asyou please; yet, if the materials be nothing but dirt, spun out of yourown entrails (the guts of modern brains), the edifice will conclude atlast in a cobweb; the duration of which, like that of other spiders'webs, may be imputed to their being forgotten, or neglected, or hid in acorner. For anything else of genuine that the Moderns may pretend to, Icannot recollect; unless it be a large vein of wrangling and satire, muchof a nature and substance with the spiders' poison; which, however theypretend to spit wholly out of themselves, is improved by the same arts, by feeding upon the insects and vermin of the age. As for us, theAncients, we are content with the bee, to pretend to nothing of our ownbeyond our wings and our voice: that is to say, our flights and ourlanguage. For the rest, whatever we have got has been by infinite labourand search, and ranging through every corner of nature; the differenceis, that, instead of dirt and poison, we have rather chosen to till ourhives with honey and wax; thus furnishing mankind with the two noblest ofthings, which are sweetness and light. "

It is wonderful to conceive the tumult arisen among the books upon theclose of this long descant of AEsop: both parties took the hint, andheightened their animosities so on a sudden, that they resolved it shouldcome to a battle. Immediately the two main bodies withdrew, under theirseveral ensigns, to the farther parts of the library, and there enteredinto cabals and consults upon the present emergency. The Moderns were invery warm debates upon the choice of their leaders; and nothing less thanthe fear impending from their enemies could have kept them from mutiniesupon this occasion. The difference was greatest among the horse, whereevery private trooper pretended to the chief command, from Tasso andMilton to Dryden and Wither. The light-horse were commanded by Cowleyand Despreaux. There came the bowmen under their valiant leaders, Descartes, Gassendi, and Hobbes; whose strength was such that they couldshoot their arrows beyond the atmosphere, never to fall down again, butturn, like that of Evander, into meteors; or, like the cannon-ball, intostars. Paracelsus brought a squadron of stinkpot-flingers from the snowymountains of Rhaetia. There came a vast body of dragoons, of differentnations, under the leading of Harvey, their great aga: part armed withscythes, the weapons of death; part with lances and long knives, allsteeped in poison; part shot bullets of a most malignant nature, and usedwhite powder, which infallibly killed without report. There came severalbodies of heavy-armed foot, all mercenaries, under the ensigns ofGuicciardini, Davila, Polydore Vergil, Buchanan, Mariana, Camden, andothers. The engineers were commanded by Regiomontanus and Wilkins. Therest was a confused multitude, led by Scotus, Aquinas, and Bellarmine; ofmighty bulk and stature, but without either arms, courage, or discipline. In the last place came infinite swarms of calones, a disorderly rout ledby L'Estrange; rogues and ragamuffins, that follow the camp for nothingbut the plunder, all without coats to cover them. 

The army of the Ancients was much fewer in number; Homer led the horse, and Pindar the light-horse; Euclid was chief engineer; Plato andAristotle commanded the bowmen; Herodotus and Livy the foot; Hippocrates, the dragoons; the allies, led by Vossius and Temple, brought up the rear. 

All things violently tending to a decisive battle, Fame, who muchfrequented, and had a large apartment formerly assigned her in the regallibrary, fled up straight to Jupiter, to whom she delivered a faithfulaccount of all that passed between the two parties below; for among thegods she always tells truth. Jove, in great concern, convokes a councilin the Milky Way. The senate assembled, he declares the occasion ofconvening them; a bloody battle just impendent between two mighty armiesof ancient and modern creatures, called books, wherein the celestialinterest was but too deeply concerned. Momus, the patron of the Moderns, made an excellent speech in their favour, which was answered by Pallas, the protectress of the Ancients. The assembly was divided in theiraffections; when Jupiter commanded the Book of Fate to be laid beforehim. Immediately were brought by Mercury three large volumes in folio, containing memoirs of all things past, present, and to come. The claspswere of silver double gilt, the covers of celestial turkey leather, andthe paper such as here on earth might pass almost for vellum. Jupiter, having silently read the decree, would communicate the import to none, but presently shut up the book. 

Without the doors of this assembly there attended a vast number of light, nimble gods, menial servants to Jupiter: those are his ministeringinstruments in all affairs below. They travel in a caravan, more or lesstogether, and are fastened to each other like a link of galley-slaves, bya light chain, which passes from them to Jupiter's great toe: and yet, inreceiving or delivering a message, they may never approach above thelowest step of his throne, where he and they whisper to each otherthrough a large hollow trunk. These deities are called by mortal menaccidents or events; but the gods call them second causes. Jupiterhaving delivered his message to a certain number of these divinities, they flew immediately down to the pinnacle of the regal library, andconsulting a few minutes, entered unseen, and disposed the partiesaccording to their orders. 

Meanwhile Momus, fearing the worst, and calling to mind an ancientprophecy which bore no very good face to his children the Moderns, benthis flight to the region of a malignant deity called Criticism. Shedwelt on the top of a snowy mountain in Nova Zembla; there Momus foundher extended in her den, upon the spoils of numberless volumes, halfdevoured. At her right hand sat Ignorance, her father and husband, blindwith age; at her left, Pride, her mother, dressing her up in the scrapsof paper herself had torn. There was Opinion, her sister, light of foot, hood-winked, and head-strong, yet giddy and perpetually turning. Abouther played her children, Noise and Impudence, Dulness and Vanity, Positiveness, Pedantry, and Ill-manners. The goddess herself had clawslike a cat; her head, and ears, and voice resembled those of an ass; herteeth fallen out before, her eyes turned inward, as if she looked onlyupon herself; her diet was the overflowing of her own gall; her spleenwas so large as to stand prominent, like a dug of the first rate; norwanted excrescences in form of teats, at which a crew of ugly monsterswere greedily sucking; and, what is wonderful to conceive, the bulk ofspleen increased faster than the sucking could diminish it. "Goddess, "said Momus, "can you sit idly here while our devout worshippers, theModerns, are this minute entering into a cruel battle, and perhaps nowlying under the swords of their enemies? who then hereafter will eversacrifice or build altars to our divinities? Haste, therefore, to theBritish Isle, and, if possible, prevent their destruction; while I makefactions among the gods, and gain them over to our party. "

Momus, having thus delivered himself, stayed not for an answer, but leftthe goddess to her own resentment. Up she rose in a rage, and, as it isthe form on such occasions, began a soliloquy: "It is I" (said she) "whogive wisdom to infants and idiots; by me children grow wiser than theirparents, by me beaux become politicians, and schoolboys judges ofphilosophy; by me sophisters debate and conclude upon the depths ofknowledge; and coffee-house wits, instinct by me, can correct an author'sstyle, and display his minutest errors, without understanding a syllableof his matter or his language; by me striplings spend their judgment, asthey do their estate, before it comes into their hands. It is I who havedeposed wit and knowledge from their empire over poetry, and advancedmyself in their stead. And shall a few upstart Ancients dare to opposeme? But come, my aged parent, and you, my children dear, and thou, mybeauteous sister; let us ascend my chariot, and haste to assist ourdevout Moderns, who are now sacrificing to us a hecatomb, as I perceiveby that grateful smell which from thence reaches my nostrils. "

The goddess and her train, having mounted the chariot, which was drawn bytame geese, flew over infinite regions, shedding her influence in dueplaces, till at length she arrived at her beloved island of Britain; butin hovering over its metropolis, what blessings did she not let fall uponher seminaries of Gresham and Covent-garden! And now she reached thefatal plain of St. James's library, at what time the two armies were uponthe point to engage; where, entering with all her caravan unseen, andlanding upon a case of shelves, now desert, but once inhabited by acolony of virtuosos, she stayed awhile to observe the posture of botharmies. 

But here the tender cares of a mother began to fill her thoughts and movein her breast: for at the head of a troup of Modern bowmen she cast hereyes upon her son Wotton, to whom the fates had assigned a very shortthread. Wotton, a young hero, whom an unknown father of mortal racebegot by stolen embraces with this goddess. He was the darling of hismother above all her children, and she resolved to go and comfort him. But first, according to the good old custom of deities, she cast about tochange her shape, for fear the divinity of her countenance might dazzlehis mortal sight and overcharge the rest of his senses. She thereforegathered up her person into an octavo compass: her body grow white andarid, and split in pieces with dryness; the thick turned into pasteboard, and the thin into paper; upon which her parents and children artfullystrewed a black juice, or decoction of gall and soot, in form of letters:her head, and voice, and spleen, kept their primitive form; and thatwhich before was a cover of skin did still continue so. In this guiseshe marched on towards the Moderns, indistinguishable in shape and dressfrom the divine Bentley, Wotton's dearest friend. "Brave Wotton, " saidthe goddess, "why do our troops stand idle here, to spend their presentvigour and opportunity of the day? away, let us haste to the generals, and advise to give the onset immediately. " Having spoke thus, she tookthe ugliest of her monsters, full glutted from her spleen, and flung itinvisibly into his mouth, which, flying straight up into his head, squeezed out his eye-balls, gave him a distorted look, andhalf-overturned his brain. Then she privately ordered two of her belovedchildren, Dulness and Ill-manners, closely to attend his person in allencounters. Having thus accoutred him, she vanished in a mist, and thehero perceived it was the goddess his mother. 

The destined hour of fate being now arrived, the fight began; whereof, before I dare adventure to make a particular description, I must, afterthe example of other authors, petition for a hundred tongues, and mouths, and hands, and pens, which would all be too little to perform so immensea work. Say, goddess, that presidest over history, who it was that firstadvanced in the field of battle! Paracelsus, at the head of hisdragoons, observing Galen in the adverse wing, darted his javelin with amighty force, which the brave Ancient received upon his shield, the pointbreaking in the second fold . . . _Hic pauca__. . . . Desunt_They bore the wounded aga on their shields to hischariot . . . _Desunt_ . . . _nonnulla_. . . . 

Then Aristotle, observing Bacon advance with a furious mien, drew his bowto the head, and let fly his arrow, which missed the valiant Modern andwent whizzing over his head; but Descartes it hit; the steel pointquickly found a defect in his head-piece; it pierced the leather and thepasteboard, and went in at his right eye. The torture of the painwhirled the valiant bow-man round till death, like a star of superiorinfluence, drew him into his own vortex _Ingens hiatus_ . . . . _hic in MS. _ . . . .. . . . When Homer appeared at the head of the cavalry, mounted on afurious horse, with difficulty managed by the rider himself, but which noother mortal durst approach; he rode among the enemy's ranks, and boredown all before him. Say, goddess, whom he slew first and whom he slewlast! First, Gondibert advanced against him, clad in heavy armour andmounted on a staid sober gelding, not so famed for his speed as hisdocility in kneeling whenever his rider would mount or alight. He hadmade a vow to Pallas that he would never leave the field till he hadspoiled Homer of his armour: madman, who had never once seen the wearer, nor understood his strength! Him Homer overthrew, horse and man, to theground, there to be trampled and choked in the dirt. Then with a longspear he slew Denham, a stout Modern, who from his father's side derivedhis lineage from Apollo, but his mother was of mortal race. He fell, andbit the earth. The celestial part Apollo took, and made it a star; butthe terrestrial lay wallowing upon the ground. Then Homer slew SamWesley with a kick of his horse's heel; he took Perrault by mighty forceout of his saddle, then hurled him at Fontenelle, with the same blowdashing out both their brains. 

On the left wing of the horse Virgil appeared, in shining armour, completely fitted to his body; he was mounted on a dapple-grey steed, theslowness of whose pace was an effect of the highest mettle and vigour. Hecast his eye on the adverse wing, with a desire to find an object worthyof his valour, when behold upon a sorrel gelding of a monstrous sizeappeared a foe, issuing from among the thickest of the enemy's squadrons;but his speed was less than his noise; for his horse, old and lean, spentthe dregs of his strength in a high trot, which, though it made slowadvances, yet caused a loud clashing of his armour, terrible to hear. Thetwo cavaliers had now approached within the throw of a lance, when thestranger desired a parley, and, lifting up the visor of his helmet, aface hardly appeared from within which, after a pause, was known for thatof the renowned Dryden. The brave Ancient suddenly started, as onepossessed with surprise and disappointment together; for the helmet wasnine times too large for the head, which appeared situate far in thehinder part, even like the lady in a lobster, or like a mouse under acanopy of state, or like a shrivelled beau from within the penthouse of amodern periwig; and the voice was suited to the visage, sounding weak andremote. Dryden, in a long harangue, soothed up the good Ancient; calledhim father, and, by a large deduction of genealogies, made it plainlyappear that they were nearly related. Then he humbly proposed anexchange of armour, as a lasting mark of hospitality between them. Virgilconsented (for the goddess Diffidence came unseen, and cast a mist beforehis eyes), though his was of gold and cost a hundred beeves, the other'sbut of rusty iron. However, this glittering armour became the Modern yetworsen than his own. Then they agreed to exchange horses; but, when itcame to the trial, Dryden was afraid and utterly unable to mount. . . _Alter hiatus_. . . . _in MS. _Lucan appeared upon a fiery horse of admirable shape, but headstrong, bearing the rider where he list over the field; he made a mightyslaughter among the enemy's horse; which destruction to stop, Blackmore, a famous Modern (but one of the mercenaries), strenuously opposedhimself, and darted his javelin with a strong hand, which, falling shortof its mark, struck deep in the earth. Then Lucan threw a lance; butAEsculapius came unseen and turned off the point. "Brave Modern, " saidLucan, "I perceive some god protects you, for never did my arm so deceiveme before: but what mortal can contend with a god? Therefore, let usfight no longer, but present gifts to each other. " Lucan then bestowedon the Modern a pair of spurs, and Blackmore gave Lucan a bridle. . . . _Pauca desunt_. . . .. . . . Creech: but the goddess Dulness took a cloud, formed into the shape ofHorace, armed and mounted, and placed in a flying posture before him. Glad was the cavalier to begin a combat with a flying foe, and pursuedthe image, threatening aloud; till at last it led him to the peacefulbower of his father, Ogleby, by whom he was disarmed and assigned to hisrepose. 

Then Pindar slew ---, and --- and Oldham, and ---, and Afra the Amazon, light of foot; never advancing in a direct line, but wheeling withincredible agility and force, he made a terrible slaughter among theenemy's light-horse. Him when Cowley observed, his generous heart burntwithin him, and he advanced against the fierce Ancient, imitating hisaddress, his pace, and career, as well as the vigour of his horse and hisown skill would allow. When the two cavaliers had approached within thelength of three javelins, first Cowley threw a lance, which missedPindar, and, passing into the enemy's ranks, fell ineffectual to theground. Then Pindar darted a javelin so large and weighty, that scarce adozen Cavaliers, as cavaliers are in our degenerate days, could raise itfrom the ground; yet he threw it with ease, and it went, by an unerringhand, singing through the air; nor could the Modern have avoided presentdeath if he had not luckily opposed the shield that had been given him byVenus. And now both heroes drew their swords; but the Modern was soaghast and disordered that he knew not where he was; his shield droppedfrom his hands; thrice he fled, and thrice he could not escape. At lasthe turned, and lifting up his hand in the posture of a suppliant, "Godlike Pindar, " said he, "spare my life, and possess my horse, withthese arms, beside the ransom which my friends will give when they hear Iam alive and your prisoner. " "Dog!" said Pindar, "let your ransom staywith your friends; but your carcase shall be left for the fowls of theair and the beasts of the field. " With that he raised his sword, and, with a mighty stroke, cleft the wretched Modern in twain, the swordpursuing the blow; and one half lay panting on the ground, to be trod inpieces by the horses' feet; the other half was borne by the frightedsteed through the field. This Venus took, washed it seven times inambrosia, then struck it thrice with a sprig of amaranth; upon which theleather grow round and soft, and the leaves turned into feathers, and, being gilded before, continued gilded still; so it became a dove, and sheharnessed it to her chariot. . . .. . . . _Hiatus valde de-_. . . . _flendus in MS_. 

THE EPISODE OF BENTLEY AND WOTTON. 

Day being far spent, and the numerous forces of the Moderns halfinclining to a retreat, there issued forth, from a squadron of theirheavy-armed foot, a captain whose name was Bentley, the most deformed ofall the Moderns; tall, but without shape or comeliness; large, butwithout strength or proportion. His armour was patched up of a thousandincoherent pieces, and the sound of it, as he marched, was loud and dry, like that made by the fall of a sheet of lead, which an Etesian windblows suddenly down from the roof of some steeple. His helmet was of oldrusty iron, but the vizor was brass, which, tainted by his breath, corrupted into copperas, nor wanted gall from the same fountain, so that, whenever provoked by anger or labour, an atramentous quality, of mostmalignant nature, was seen to distil from his lips. In his right hand hegrasped a flail, and (that he might never be unprovided of an offensiveweapon) a vessel full of ordure in his left. Thus completely armed, headvanced with a slow and heavy pace where the Modern chiefs were holdinga consult upon the sum of things, who, as he came onwards, laughed tobehold his crooked leg and humped shoulder, which his boot and armour, vainly endeavouring to hide, were forced to comply with and expose. Thegenerals made use of him for his talent of railing, which, kept withingovernment, proved frequently of great service to their cause, but, atother times, did more mischief than good; for, at the least touch ofoffence, and often without any at all, he would, like a wounded elephant, convert it against his leaders. Such, at this juncture, was thedisposition of Bentley, grieved to see the enemy prevail, anddissatisfied with everybody's conduct but his own. He humbly gave theModern generals to understand that he conceived, with great submission, they were all a pack of rogues, and fools, and confounded logger-heads, and illiterate whelps, and nonsensical scoundrels; that, if himself hadbeen constituted general, those presumptuous dogs, the Ancients, wouldlong before this have been beaten out of the field. "You, " said he, "sithere idle, but when I, or any other valiant Modern kill an enemy, you aresure to seize the spoil. But I will not march one foot against the foetill you all swear to me that whomever I take or kill, his arms I shallquietly possess. " Bentley having spoken thus, Scaliger, bestowing him asour look, "Miscreant prater!" said he, "eloquent only in thine own eyes, thou railest without wit, or truth, or discretion. The malignity of thytemper perverteth nature; thy learning makes thee more barbarous; thystudy of humanity more inhuman; thy converse among poets more grovelling, miry, and dull. All arts of civilising others render thee rude anduntractable; courts have taught thee ill manners, and polite conversationhas finished thee a pedant. Besides, a greater coward burdeneth not thearmy. But never despond; I pass my word, whatever spoil thou takestshall certainly be thy own; though I hope that vile carcase will firstbecome a prey to kites and worms. "

Bentley durst not reply, but, half choked with spleen and rage, withdrew, in full resolution of performing some great achievement. With him, forhis aid and companion, he took his beloved Wotton, resolving by policy orsurprise to attempt some neglected quarter of the Ancients' army. Theybegan their march over carcases of their slaughtered friends; then to theright of their own forces; then wheeled northward, till they came toAldrovandus's tomb, which they passed on the side of the declining sun. And now they arrived, with fear, toward the enemy's out-guards, lookingabout, if haply they might spy the quarters of the wounded, or somestraggling sleepers, unarmed and remote from the rest. As when twomongrel curs, whom native greediness and domestic want provoke and joinin partnership, though fearful, nightly to invade the folds of some richgrazier, they, with tails depressed and lolling tongues, creep soft andslow. Meanwhile the conscious moon, now in her zenith, on their guiltyheads darts perpendicular rays; nor dare they bark, though much provokedat her refulgent visage, whether seen in puddle by reflection or insphere direct; but one surveys the region round, while the other scoutsthe plain, if haply to discover, at distance from the flock, some carcasehalf devoured, the refuse of gorged wolves or ominous ravens. So marchedthis lovely, loving pair of friends, nor with less fear andcircumspection, when at a distance they might perceive two shining suitsof armour hanging upon an oak, and the owners not far off in a profoundsleep. The two friends drew lots, and the pursuing of this adventurefell to Bentley; on he went, and in his van Confusion and Amaze, whileHorror and Affright brought up the rear. As he came near, behold twoheroes of the Ancient army, Phalaris and AEsop, lay fast asleep. Bentleywould fain have despatched them both, and, stealing close, aimed hisflail at Phalaris's breast; but then the goddess Affright, interposing, caught the Modern in her icy arms, and dragged him from the danger sheforesaw; both the dormant heroes happened to turn at the same instant, though soundly sleeping, and busy in a dream. For Phalaris was just thatminute dreaming how a most vile poetaster had lampooned him, and how hehad got him roaring in his bull. And AEsop dreamed that as he and theAncient were lying on the ground, a wild ass broke loose, ran about, trampling and kicking in their faces. Bentley, leaving the two heroesasleep, seized on both their armours, and withdrew in quest of hisdarling Wotton. 

He, in the meantime, had wandered long in search of some enterprise, tillat length he arrived at a small rivulet that issued from a fountain hardby, called, in the language of mortal men, Helicon. Here he stopped, and, parched with thirst, resolved to allay it in this limpid stream. Thrice with profane hands he essayed to raise the water to his lips, andthrice it slipped all through his fingers. Then he stopped prone on hisbreast, but, ere his mouth had kissed the liquid crystal, Apollo came, and in the channel held his shield betwixt the Modern and the fountain, so that he drew up nothing but mud. For, although no fountain on earthcan compare with the clearness of Helicon, yet there lies at bottom athick sediment of slime and mud; for so Apollo begged of Jupiter, as apunishment to those who durst attempt to taste it with unhallowed lips, and for a lesson to all not to draw too deep or far from the spring. 

At the fountain-head Wotton discerned two heroes; the one he could notdistinguish, but the other was soon known for Temple, general of theallies to the Ancients. His back was turned, and he was employed indrinking large draughts in his helmet from the fountain, where he hadwithdrawn himself to rest from the toils of the war. Wotton, observinghim, with quaking knees and trembling hands, spoke thus to himself: Othat I could kill this destroyer of our army, what renown should Ipurchase among the chiefs! but to issue out against him, man against man, shield against shield, and lance against lance, what Modern of us dare?for he fights like a god, and Pallas or Apollo are ever at his elbow. But, O mother! if what Fame reports be true, that I am the son of sogreat a goddess, grant me to hit Temple with this lance, that the strokemay send him to hell, and that I may return in safety and triumph, ladenwith his spoils. The first part of this prayer the gods granted at theintercession of his mother and of Momus; but the rest, by a perverse windsent from Fate, was scattered in the air. Then Wotton grasped his lance, and, brandishing it thrice over his head, darted it with all his might;the goddess, his mother, at the same time adding strength to his arm. Away the lance went hizzing, and reached even to the belt of the avertedAncient, upon which, lightly grazing, it fell to the ground. Templeneither felt the weapon touch him nor heard it fall: and Wotton mighthave escaped to his army, with the honour of having remitted his lanceagainst so great a leader unrevenged; but Apollo, enraged that a javelinflung by the assistance of so foul a goddess should pollute his fountain, put on the shape of ---, and softly came to young Boyle, who thenaccompanied Temple: he pointed first to the lance, then to the distantModern that flung it, and commanded the young hero to take immediaterevenge. Boyle, clad in a suit of armour which had been given him by allthe gods, immediately advanced against the trembling foe, who now fledbefore him. As a young lion in the Libyan plains, or Araby desert, sentby his aged sire to hunt for prey, or health, or exercise, he scoursalong, wishing to meet some tiger from the mountains, or a furious boar;if chance a wild ass, with brayings importune, affronts his ear, thegenerous beast, though loathing to distain his claws with blood so vile, yet, much provoked at the offensive noise, which Echo, foolish nymph, like her ill-judging sex, repeats much louder, and with more delight thanPhilomela's song, he vindicates the honour of the forest, and hunts thenoisy long-eared animal. So Wotton fled, so Boyle pursued. But Wotton, heavy-armed, and slow of foot, began to slack his course, when his loverBentley appeared, returning laden with the spoils of the two sleepingAncients. Boyle observed him well, and soon discovering the helmet andshield of Phalaris his friend, both which he had lately with his ownhands new polished and gilt, rage sparkled in his eyes, and, leaving hispursuit after Wotton, he furiously rushed on against this new approacher. Fain would he be revenged on both; but both now fled different ways: and, as a woman in a little house that gets a painful livelihood by spinning, if chance her geese be scattered o'er the common, she courses round theplain from side to side, compelling here and there the stragglers to theflock; they cackle loud, and flutter o'er the champaign; so Boylepursued, so fled this pair of friends: finding at length their flight wasvain, they bravely joined, and drew themselves in phalanx. First Bentleythrew a spear with all his force, hoping to pierce the enemy's breast;but Pallas came unseen, and in the air took off the point, and clapped onone of lead, which, after a dead bang against the enemy's shield, fellblunted to the ground. Then Boyle, observing well his time, took up alance of wondrous length and sharpness; and, as this pair of friendscompacted, stood close side by side, he wheeled him to the right, and, with unusual force, darted the weapon. Bentley saw his fate approach, and flanking down his arms close to his ribs, hoping to save his body, inwent the point, passing through arm and side, nor stopped or spent itsforce till it had also pierced the valiant Wotton, who, going to sustainhis dying friend, shared his fate. As when a skilful cook has trussed abrace of woodcocks, he with iron skewer pierces the tender sides of both, their legs and wings close pinioned to the rib; so was this pair offriends transfixed, till down they fell, joined in their lives, joined intheir deaths; so closely joined that Charon would mistake them both forone, and waft them over Styx for half his fare. Farewell, beloved, loving pair; few equals have you left behind: and happy and immortalshall you be, if all my wit and eloquence can make you. 

And now. . . . 

_Desunt coetera_. 

A MEDITATION UPON A BROOMSTICK. 

_According to the Style and Manner of the Hon. Robert Boyle'sMeditations_. 

This single stick, which you now behold ingloriously lying in thatneglected corner, I once knew in a flourishing state in a forest. It wasfull of sap, full of leaves, and full of boughs; but now in vain does thebusy art of man pretend to vie with nature, by tying that withered bundleof twigs to its sapless trunk; it is now at best but the reverse of whatit was, a tree turned upside-down, the branches on the earth, and theroot in the air; it is now handled by every dirty wench, condemned to doher drudgery, and, by a capricious kind of fate, destined to make otherthings clean, and be nasty itself; at length, worn to the stumps in theservice of the maids, it is either thrown out of doors or condemned tothe last use--of kindling a fire. When I behold this I sighed, and saidwithin myself, "Surely mortal man is a broomstick!" Nature sent him intothe world strong and lusty, in a thriving condition, wearing his own hairon his head, the proper branches of this reasoning vegetable, till theaxe of intemperance has lopped off his green boughs, and left him awithered trunk; he then flies to art, and puts on a periwig, valuinghimself upon an unnatural bundle of hairs, all covered with powder, thatnever grew on his head; but now should this our broomstick pretend toenter the scene, proud of those birchen spoils it never bore, and allcovered with dust, through the sweepings of the finest lady's chamber, weshould be apt to ridicule and despise its vanity. Partial judges that weare of our own excellencies, and other men's defaults!

But a broomstick, perhaps you will say, is an emblem of a tree standingon its head; and pray what is a man but a topsy-turvy creature, hisanimal faculties perpetually mounted on his rational, his head where hisheels should be, grovelling on the earth? And yet, with all his faults, he sets up to be a universal reformer and corrector of abuses, a removerof grievances, rakes into every slut's corner of nature, bringing hiddencorruptions to the light, and raises a mighty dust where there was nonebefore, sharing deeply all the while in the very same pollutions hepretends to sweep away. His last days are spent in slavery to women, andgenerally the least deserving; till, worn to the stumps, like his brotherbesom, he is either kicked out of doors, or made use of to kindle flamesfor others to warm themselves by. 

PREDICTIONS FOR THE YEAR 1708. 

WHEREIN THE MONTH, AND DAY OF THE MONTH ARE SET DOWN, THE PERSONS NAMED, AND THE GREAT ACTIONS AND EVENTS OF NEXT YEAR PARTICULARLY RELATED ASWILL COME TO PASS. 

_Written to prevent the people of England from being farther imposed onby vulgar Almanack-makers_. 

BY ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, ESQ. 

I have long considered the gross abuse of astrology in this kingdom, andupon debating the matter with myself, I could not possibly lay the faultupon the art, but upon those gross impostors who set up to be theartists. I know several learned men have contended that the whole is acheat; that it is absurd and ridiculous to imagine the stars can have anyinfluence at all upon human actions, thoughts, or inclinations; andwhoever has not bent his studies that way may be excused for thinking so, when he sees in how wretched a manner that noble art is treated by a fewmean illiterate traders between us and the stars, who import a yearlystock of nonsense, lies, folly, and impertinence, which they offer to theworld as genuine from the planets, though they descend from no greater aheight than their own brains. 

I intend in a short time to publish a large and rational defence of thisart, and therefore shall say no more in its justification at present thanthat it hath been in all ages defended by many learned men, and among therest by Socrates himself, whom I look upon as undoubtedly the wisest ofuninspired mortals: to which if we add that those who have condemned thisart, though otherwise learned, having been such as either did not applytheir studies this way, or at least did not succeed in theirapplications, their testimony will not be of much weight to itsdisadvantage, since they are liable to the common objection of condemningwhat they did not understand. 

Nor am I at all offended, or think it an injury to the art, when I seethe common dealers in it, the students in astrology, the Philomaths, andthe rest of that tribe, treated by wise men with the utmost scorn andcontempt; but rather wonder, when I observe gentlemen in the country, rich enough to serve the nation in Parliament, poring in Partridge'sAlmanack to find out the events of the year at home and abroad, notdaring to propose a hunting-match till Gadbury or he have fixed theweather. 

I will allow either of the two I have mentioned, or any other of thefraternity, to be not only astrologers, but conjurers too, if I do notproduce a hundred instances in all their almanacks to convince anyreasonable man that they do not so much as understand common grammar andsyntax; that they are not able to spell any word out of the usual road, nor even in their prefaces write common sense or intelligible English. Then for their observations and predictions, they are such as willequally suit any age or country in the world. "This month a certaingreat person will be threatened with death or sickness. " This thenewspapers will tell them; for there we find at the end of the year thatno month passes without the death of some person of note; and it would behard if it should be otherwise, when there are at least two thousandpersons of note in this kingdom, many of them old, and the almanack-makerhas the liberty of choosing the sickliest season of the year where he mayfix his prediction. Again, "This month an eminent clergyman will bepreferred;" of which there may be some hundreds, half of them with onefoot in the grave. Then "such a planet in such a house shows greatmachinations, plots, and conspiracies, that may in time be brought tolight:" after which, if we hear of any discovery, the astrologer gets thehonour; if not, his prediction still stands good. And at last, "Godpreserve King William from all his open and secret enemies, Amen. " Whenif the King should happen to have died, the astrologer plainly foretoldit; otherwise it passes but for the pious ejaculation of a loyal subject;though it unluckily happened in some of their almanacks that poor KingWilliam was prayed for many months after he was dead, because it fell outthat he died about the beginning of the year. 

To mention no more of their impertinent predictions: what have we to dowith their advertisements about pills and drink for disease? or theirmutual quarrels in verse and prose of Whig and Tory, wherewith the starshave little to do?

Having long observed and lamented these, and a hundred other abuses ofthis art, too tedious to repeat, I resolved to proceed in a new way, which I doubt not will be to the general satisfaction of the kingdom. Ican this year produce but a specimen of what I design for the future, having employed most part of my time in adjusting and correcting thecalculations I made some years past, because I would offer nothing to theworld of which I am not as fully satisfied as that I am now alive. Forthese two last years I have not failed in above one or two particulars, and those of no very great moment. I exactly foretold the miscarriage atToulon, with all its particulars, and the loss of Admiral Shovel, thoughI was mistaken as to the day, placing that accident about thirty-sixhours sooner than it happened; but upon reviewing my schemes, I quicklyfound the cause of that error. I likewise foretold the Battle of Almanzato the very day and hour, with the lose on both sides, and theconsequences thereof. All which I showed to some friends many monthsbefore they happened--that is, I gave them papers sealed up, to open atsuch a time, after which they were at liberty to read them; and therethey found my predictions true in every article, except one or two veryminute. 

As for the few following predictions I now offer the world, I forbore topublish them till I had perused the several almanacks for the year we arenow entered on. I find them all in the usual strain, and I beg thereader will compare their manner with mine. And here I make bold to tellthe world that I lay the whole credit of my art upon the truth of thesepredictions; and I will be content that Partridge, and the rest of hisclan, may hoot me for a cheat and impostor if I fail in any singleparticular of moment. I believe any man who reads this paper will lookupon me to be at least a person of as much honesty and understanding as acommon maker of almanacks. I do not lurk in the dark; I am not whollyunknown in the world; I have set my name at length, to be a mark ofinfamy to mankind, if they shall find I deceive them. 

In one thing I must desire to be forgiven, that I talk more sparingly ofhome affairs. As it will be imprudence to discover secrets of State, soit would be dangerous to my person; but in smaller matters, and that arenot of public consequence, I shall be very free; and the truth of myconjectures will as much appear from those as the others. As for themost signal events abroad, in France, Flanders, Italy, and Spain, I shallmake no scruple to predict them in plain terms. Some of them are ofimportance, and I hope I shall seldom mistake the day they will happen;therefore I think good to inform the reader that I all along make use ofthe Old Style observed in England, which I desire he will compare withthat of the newspapers at the time they relate the actions I mention. 

I must add one word more. I know it hath been the opinion of several ofthe learned, who think well enough of the true art of astrology, that thestars do only incline, and not force the actions or wills of men, andtherefore, however I may proceed by right rules, yet I cannot in prudenceso confidently assure the events will follow exactly as I predict them. 

I hope I have maturely considered this objection, which in some cases isof no little weight. For example: a man may, by the influence of an over-ruling planet, be disposed or inclined to lust, rage, or avarice, and yetby the force of reason overcome that bad influence; and this was the caseof Socrates. But as the great events of the world usually depend uponnumbers of men, it cannot be expected they should all unite to crosstheir inclinations from pursuing a general design wherein theyunanimously agree. Besides, the influence of the stars reaches to manyactions and events which are not any way in the power of reason, assickness, death, and what we commonly call accidents, with many more, needless to repeat. 

But now it is time to proceed to my predictions, which I have begun tocalculate from the time that the sun enters into Aries. And this I taketo be properly the beginning of the natural year. I pursue them to thetime that he enters Libra, or somewhat more, which is the busy period ofthe year. The remainder I have not yet adjusted, upon account of severalimpediments needless here to mention. Besides, I must remind the readeragain that this is but a specimen of what I design in succeeding years totreat more at large, if I may have liberty and encouragement. 

My first prediction is but a trifle, yet I will mention it, to show howignorant those sottish pretenders to astrology are in their own concerns. It relates to Partridge, the almanack-maker. I have consulted the starsof his nativity by my own rules, and find he will infallibly die upon the29th of March next, about eleven at night, of a raging fever; therefore Iadvise him to consider of it, and settle his affairs in time. 

The month of _April_ will be observable for the death of many greatpersons. On the 4th will die the Cardinal de Noailles, Archbishop ofParis; on the 11th, the young Prince of Asturias, son to the Duke ofAnjou; on the 14th, a great peer of this realm will die at his countryhouse; on the 19th, an old layman of great fame for learning, and on the23rd, an eminent goldsmith in Lombard Street. I could mention others, both at home and abroad, if I did not consider it is of very little useor instruction to the reader, or to the world. 

As to public affairs: On the 7th of this month there will be aninsurrection in Dauphiny, occasioned by the oppressions of the people, which will not be quieted in some months. 

On the 15th will be a violent storm on the south-east coast of France, which will destroy many of their ships, and some in the very harbour. 

The 11th will be famous for the revolt of a whole province or kingdom, excepting one city, by which the affairs of a certain prince in theAlliance will take a better face. 

_May_, against common conjectures, will be no very busy month in Europe, but very signal for the death of the Dauphin, which will happen on the7th, after a short fit of sickness, and grievous torments with thestrangury. He dies less lamented by the Court than the kingdom. 

On the 9th a Marshal of France will break his leg by a fall from hishorse. I have not been able to discover whether he will then die or not. 

On the 11th will begin a most important siege, which the eyes of allEurope will be upon: I cannot be more particular, for in relating affairsthat so nearly concern the Confederates, and consequently this kingdom, Iam forced to confine myself for several reasons very obvious to thereader. 

On the 15th news will arrive of a very surprising event, than whichnothing could be more unexpected. 

On the 19th three noble ladies of this kingdom will, against allexpectation, prove with child, to the great joy of their husbands. 

On the 23rd a famous buffoon of the playhouse will die a ridiculousdeath, suitable to his vocation. 

_June_. This month will be distinguished at home by the utter dispersingof those ridiculous deluded enthusiasts commonly called the Prophets, occasioned chiefly by seeing the time come that many of their propheciesshould be fulfilled, and then finding themselves deceived by contraryevents. It is indeed to be admired how any deceiver can be so weak toforetell things near at hand, when a very few months must of necessitydiscover the impostor to all the world; in this point less prudent thancommon almanack-makers, who are so wise to wonder in generals, and talkdubiously, and leave to the reader the business of interpreting. 

On the 1st of this month a French general will be killed by a random shotof a cannon-ball. 

On the 6th a fire will break out in the suburbs of Paris, which willdestroy above a thousand houses, and seems to be the foreboding of whatwill happen, to the surprise of all Europe, about the end of thefollowing month. 

On the 10th a great battle will be fought, which will begin at four ofthe clock in the afternoon, and last till nine at night with greatobstinacy, but no very decisive event. I shall not name the place, forthe reasons aforesaid, but the commanders on each left wing will bekilled. I see bonfires and hear the noise of guns for a victory. 

On the 14th there will be a false report of the French king's death. 

On the 20th Cardinal Portocarero will die of a dysentery, with greatsuspicion of poison, but the report of his intention to revolt to KingCharles will prove false. 

_July_. The 6th of this month a certain general will, by a gloriousaction, recover the reputation he lost by former misfortunes. 

On the 12th a great commander will die a prisoner in the hands of hisenemies. 

On the 14th a shameful discovery will be made of a French Jesuit givingpoison to a great foreign general; and when he is put to the torture, will make wonderful discoveries. 

In short, this will prove a month of great action, if I might haveliberty to relate the particulars. 

At home, the death of an old famous senator will happen on the 15th athis country house, worn with age and diseases. 

But that which will make this month memorable to all posterity is thedeath of the French king, Louis the Fourteenth, after a week's sicknessat Marli, which will happen on the 29th, about six o'clock in theevening. It seems to be an effect of the gout in his stomach, followedby a flux. And in three days after Monsieur Chamillard will follow hismaster, dying suddenly of an apoplexy. 

In this month likewise an ambassador will die in London, but I cannotassign the day. 

_August_. The affairs of France will seem to suffer no change for awhile under the Duke of Burgundy's administration; but the genius thatanimated the whole machine being gone, will be the cause of mighty turnsand revolutions in the following year. The new king makes yet littlechange either in the army or the Ministry, but the libels against hisgrandfather, that fly about his very Court, give him uneasiness. 

I see an express in mighty haste, with joy and wonder in his looks, arriving by break of day on the 26th of this month, having travelled inthree days a prodigious journey by land and sea. In the evening I hearbells and guns, and see the blazing of a thousand bonfires. 

A young admiral of noble birth does likewise this month gain immortalhonour by a great achievement. 

The affairs of Poland are this month entirely settled; Augustus resignshis pretensions which he had again taken up for some time: Stanislaus ispeaceably possessed of the throne, and the King of Sweden declares forthe emperor. 

I cannot omit one particular accident here at home: that near the end ofthis month much mischief will be done at Bartholomew Fair by the fall ofa booth. 

_September_. This month begins with a very surprising fit of frostyweather, which will last near twelve days. 

The Pope, having long languished last month, the swellings in his legsbreaking, and the flesh mortifying, will die on the 11th instant; and inthree weeks' time, after a mighty contest, be succeeded by a cardinal ofthe Imperial faction, but native of Tuscany, who is now about sixty-oneyears old. 

The French army acts now wholly on the defensive, strongly fortified intheir trenches, and the young French king sends overtures for a treaty ofpeace by the Duke of Mantua; which, because it is a matter of State thatconcerns us here at home, I shall speak no farther of it. 

I shall add but one prediction more, and that in mystical terms, whichshall be included in a verse out of Virgil--

 _Alter erit jam Tethys_, _et altera quae vehat Argo_ _Delectos Heroas_. 

Upon the 25th day of this month, the fulfilling of this prediction willbe manifest to everybody. 

This is the farthest I have proceeded in my calculations for the presentyear. I do not pretend that these are all the great events which willhappen in this period, but that those I have set down will infalliblycome to pass. It will perhaps still be objected why I have not spokenmore particularly of affairs at home, or of the success of our armiesabroad, which I might, and could very largely have done; but those inpower have wisely discouraged men from meddling in public concerns, and Iwas resolved by no means to give the least offence. This I will ventureto say, that it will be a glorious campaign for the Allies, wherein theEnglish forces, both by sea and land, will have their full share ofhonour; that Her Majesty Queen Anne will continue in health andprosperity; and that no ill accident will arrive to any in the chiefMinistry. 

As to the particular events I have mentioned, the readers may judge bythe fulfilling of them, whether I am on the level with commonastrologers, who, with an old paltry cant, and a few pothooks forplanets, to amuse the vulgar, have, in my opinion, too long been sufferedto abuse the world. But an honest physician ought not to be despisedbecause there are such things as mountebanks. I hope I have some shareof reputation, which I would not willingly forfeit for a frolic orhumour; and I believe no gentleman who reads this paper will look upon itto be of the same cast or mould with the common scribblers that are everyday hawked about. My fortune has placed me above the little regard ofscribbling for a few pence, which I neither value nor want; therefore, let no wise man too hastily condemn this essay, intended for a gooddesign, to cultivate and improve an ancient art long in disgrace, byhaving fallen into mean and unskilful hands. A little time willdetermine whether I have deceived others or myself; and I think it is novery unreasonable request that men would please to suspend theirjudgments till then. I was once of the opinion with those who despiseall predictions from the stars, till in the year 1686 a man of qualityshowed me, written in his album, that the most learned astronomer, Captain H---, assured him, he would never believe anything of the stars'influence if there were not a great revolution in England in the year1688. Since that time I began to have other thoughts, and after eighteenyears' diligent study and application, I think I have no reason to repentof my pains. I shall detain the reader no longer than to let him knowthat the account I design to give of next year's events shall take in theprincipal affairs that happen in Europe; and if I be denied the libertyof offering it to my own country, I shall appeal to the learned world, bypublishing it in Latin, and giving order to have it printed in Holland. 

THE ACCOMPLISHMENT OF THE FIRST OF MR. BICKERSTAFF'S PREDICTIONS; BEINGAN ACCOUNT OF THE DEATH OF MR. PARTRIDGE THE ALMANACK-MAKER, UPON THE29TH INSTANT. 

_In a Letter to a Person of Honour_; _Written in the Year_ 1708. 

My Lord, --In obedience to your lordship's commands, as well as to satisfymy own curiosity, I have for some days past inquired constantly afterPartridge the almanack-maker, of whom it was foretold in Mr. Bickerstaff's predictions, published about a month ago, that he shoulddie the 29th instant, about eleven at night, of a raging fever. I hadsome sort of knowledge of him when I was employed in the Revenue, becausehe used every year to present me with his almanack, as he did othergentlemen, upon the score of some little gratuity we gave him. I saw himaccidentally once or twice about ten days before he died, and observed hebegan very much to droop and languish, though I hear his friends did notseem to apprehend him in any danger. About two or three days ago he grewill, was confined first to his chamber, and in a few hours after to hisbed, where Dr. Case and Mrs. Kirleus were sent for, to visit and toprescribe to him. Upon this intelligence I sent thrice every day oneservant or other to inquire after his health; and yesterday, about fourin the afternoon, word was brought me that he was past hopes; upon which, I prevailed with myself to go and see him, partly out of commiseration, and I confess, partly out of curiosity. He knew me very well, seemedsurprised at my condescension, and made me compliments upon it as well ashe could in the condition he was. The people about him said he had beenfor some time delirious; but when I saw him, he had his understanding aswell as ever I knew, and spoke strong and hearty, without any seeminguneasiness or constraint. After I had told him how sorry I was to seehim in those melancholy circumstances, and said some other civilitiessuitable to the occasion, I desired him to tell me freely andingenuously, whether the predictions Mr. Bickerstaff had publishedrelating to his death had not too much affected and worked on hisimagination. He confessed he had often had it in his head, but neverwith much apprehension, till about a fortnight before; since which timeit had the perpetual possession of his mind and thoughts, and he didverily believe was the true natural cause of his present distemper:"For, " said he, "I am thoroughly persuaded, and I think I have very goodreasons, that Mr. Bickerstaff spoke altogether by guess, and knew no morewhat will happen this year than I did myself. " I told him his discoursesurprised me, and I would be glad he were in a state of health to be ableto tell me what reason he had to be convinced of Mr. Bickerstaff'signorance. He replied, "I am a poor, ignorant follow, bred to a meantrade, yet I have sense enough to know that all pretences of foretellingby astrology are deceits, for this manifest reason, because the wise andthe learned, who can only know whether there be any truth in thisscience, do all unanimously agree to laugh at and despise it; and nonebut the poor ignorant vulgar give it any credit, and that only upon theword of such silly wretches as I and my fellows, who can hardly write orread. " I then asked him why he had not calculated his own nativity, tosee whether it agreed with Bickerstaff's prediction, at which he shookhis head and said, "Oh, sir, this is no time for jesting, but forrepenting those fooleries, as I do now from the very bottom of my heart. ""By what I can gather from you, " said I, "the observations andpredictions you printed with your almanacks were mere impositions on thepeople. " He replied, "If it were otherwise I should have the less toanswer for. We have a common form for all those things; as toforetelling the weather, we never meddle with that, but leave it to theprinter, who takes it out of any old almanack as he thinks fit; the restwas my own invention, to make my almanack sell, having a wife tomaintain, and no other way to get my bread; for mending old shoes is apoor livelihood; and, " added he, sighing, "I wish I may not have donemore mischief by my physic than my astrology; though I had some goodreceipts from my grandmother, and my own compositions were such as Ithought could at least do no hurt. "

I had some other discourse with him, which now I cannot call to mind; andI fear I have already tired your lordship. I shall only add onecircumstance, that on his death-bed he declared himself a Nonconformist, and had a fanatic preacher to be his spiritual guide. After half anhour's conversation I took my leave, being half stifled by the closenessof the room. I imagined he could not hold out long, and thereforewithdrew to a little coffee-house hard by, leaving a servant at the housewith orders to come immediately and tell me, as nearly as he could, theminute when Partridge should expire, which was not above two hours after, when, looking upon my watch, I found it to be above five minutes afterseven; by which it is clear that Mr. Bickerstaff was mistaken almost fourhours in his calculation. In the other circumstances he was exactenough. But, whether he has not been the cause of this poor man's death, as well as the predictor, may be very reasonably disputed. However, itmust be confessed the matter is odd enough, whether we should endeavourto account for it by chance, or the effect of imagination. For my ownpart, though I believe no man has less faith in these matters, yet Ishall wait with some impatience, and not without some expectation, thefulfilling of Mr. Bickerstaff's second prediction, that the Cardinal doNoailles is to die upon the 4th of April, and if that should be verifiedas exactly as this of poor Partridge, I must own I should be whollysurprised, and at a loss, and should infallibly expect the accomplishmentof all the rest. 

BAUCIS AND PHILEMON. 

_Imitated from the Eighth Book of Ovid_. 

In ancient times, as story tells, The saints would often leave their cells, And stroll about, but hide their quality, To try good people's hospitality. 

It happened on a winter night, As authors of the legend write, Two brother hermits, saints by trade, Taking their tour in masquerade, Disguised in tattered habits, wentTo a small village down in Kent;Where, in the strollers' canting strain, They begged from door to door in vain;Tried every tone might pity win, But not a soul would let them in. 

Our wandering saints in woeful state, Treated at this ungodly rate, Having through all the village passed, To a small cottage came at last, Where dwelt a good honest old yeoman, Called, in the neighbourhood, Philemon, Who kindly did these saints inviteIn his poor hut to pass the night;And then the hospitable SireBid goody Baucis mend the fire;While he from out the chimney tookA flitch of bacon off the hook, And freely from the fattest sideCut out large slices to be fried;Then stepped aside to fetch 'em drink, Filled a large jug up to the brink, And saw it fairly twice go round;Yet (what is wonderful) they found'Twas still replenished to the top, As if they ne'er had touched a dropThe good old couple were amazed, And often on each other gazed;For both were frightened to the heart, And just began to cry, --What art!Then softly turned aside to view, Whether the lights were burning blue. The gentle pilgrims soon aware on't, Told 'em their calling, and their errant;"Good folks, you need not be afraid, We are but saints, " the hermits said;"No hurt shall come to you or yours;But, for that pack of churlish boors, Not fit to live on Christian ground, They and their houses shall be drowned;Whilst you shall see your cottage rise, And grow a church before your eyes. "

They scarce had spoke; when fair and soft, The roof began to mount aloft;Aloft rose every beam and rafter, The heavy wall climbed slowly after. 

The chimney widened, and grew higher, Became a steeple with a spire. 

The kettle to the top was hoist, And there stood fastened to a joist;But with the upside down, to showIts inclination for below. In vain; for a superior forceApplied at bottom, stops its coarse, Doomed ever in suspense to dwell, 'Tis now no kettle, but a bell. 

A wooden jack, which had almostLost, by disuse, the art to roast, A sudden alteration feels, Increased by new intestine wheels;And what exalts the wonder more, The number made the motion slower. The flyer, though 't had leaden feet, Turned round so quick, you scarce could see 't;But slackened by some secret power, Now hardly moves an inch an hour. The jack and chimney near allied, Had never left each other's side;The chimney to a steeple grown, The jack would not be left alone;But up against the steeple reared, Became a clock, and still adhered;And still its love to household caresBy a shrill voice at noon declares, Warning the cook-maid not to burnThat roast meat which it cannot turn. 

The groaning chair began to crawl, Like a huge snail along the wall;There stuck aloft in public view;And with small change a pulpit grew. 

The porringers, that in a rowHung high, and made a glittering show, To a less noble substance changed, Were now but leathern buckets ranged. 

The ballads pasted on the wall, Of Joan of France, and English Moll, Fair Rosamond, and Robin Hood, The Little Children in the Wood, Now seemed to look abundance better, Improved in picture, size, and letter;And high in order placed, describeThe heraldry of every tribe. 

A bedstead of the antique mode, Compact of timber, many a load, Such as our ancestors did use, Was metamorphosed into pews:Which still their ancient nature keep, By lodging folks disposed to sleep. 

The cottage, by such feats as these, Grown to a church by just degrees, The hermits then desired their hostTo ask for what he fancied most. Philemon having paused a while, Returned 'em thanks in homely style;Then said, "My house is grown so fine, Methinks I still would call it mine:I'm old, and fain would live at ease, Make me the Parson, if you please. "

He spoke, and presently he feelsHis grazier's coat fall down his heels;He sees, yet hardly can believe, About each arm a pudding sleeve;His waistcoat to a cassock grew, And both assumed a sable hue;But being old, continued justAs thread-bare, and as full of dust. His talk was now of tithes and dues;He smoked his pipe and read the news;Knew how to preach old sermons next, Vamped in the preface and the text;At christenings well could act his part, And had the service all by heart;Wished women might have children fast, And thought whose sow had farrowed lastAgainst Dissenters would repine, And stood up firm for Right divine. Found his head filled with many a system, But classic authors, --he ne'er missed 'em. 

Thus having furbished up a parson, Dame Baucis next they played their farce on. Instead of home-spun coifs were seenGood pinners edg'd with colberteen;Her petticoat transformed apace, Became black satin flounced with lace. Plain Goody would no longer down, 'Twas Madam, in her grogram gown. Philemon was in great surprise, And hardly could believe his eyes, Amazed to see her look so prim;And she admired as much at him. 

Thus, happy in their change of life, Were several years this man and wife;When on a day, which proved their last, Discoursing o'er old stories past, They went by chance amidst their talk, To the church yard to take a walk;When Baucis hastily cried out, "My dear, I see your forehead sprout!""Sprout, " quoth the man, "what's this you tell us?I hope you don't believe me jealous, But yet, methinks, I feel it true;And really, yours is budding too--Nay, --now I cannot stir my foot;It feels as if 'twere taking root. "

Description would but tire my Muse;In short, they both were turned to Yews. 

Old Goodman Dobson of the greenRemembers he the trees has seen;He'll talk of them from noon till night, And goes with folks to show the sight;On Sundays, after evening prayer, He gathers all the parish there, Points out the place of either Yew:Here Baucis, there Philemon grew, Till once a parson of our town, To mend his barn, cut Baucis down;At which, 'tis hard to be believedHow much the other tree was grieved, Grow scrubby, died a-top, was stunted:So the next parson stubbed and burnt it. 

THE LOGICIANS REFUTED. 

Logicians have but ill definedAs rational, the human kind;Reason, they say, belongs to man, But let them prove it, if they can. Wise Aristotle and Smiglesius, By ratiocinations specious, Have strove to prove with great precision, With definition and division, _Homo est ratione praeditum_;But, for my soul, I cannot credit 'em. And must, in spite of them, maintainThat man and all his ways are vain;And that this boasted lord of natureIs both a weak and erring creature. That instinct is a surer guideThan reason-boasting mortals pride;And, that brute beasts are far before 'em, _Deus est anima brutorum_. Whoever knew an honest brute, At law his neighbour prosecute, Bring action for assault and battery, Or friend beguile with lies and flattery?O'er plains they ramble unconfined, No politics disturb their mind;They eat their meals, and take their sport, Nor know who's in or out at court. They never to the levee goTo treat as dearest friend a foe;They never importune his grace, Nor ever cringe to men in place;Nor undertake a dirty job, Nor draw the quill to write for Bob. Fraught with invective they ne'er goTo folks at Paternoster Row:No judges, fiddlers, dancing-masters, No pickpockets, or poetastersAre known to honest quadrupeds:No single brute his fellows leads. Brutes never meet in bloody fray, Nor cut each others' throats for pay. Of beasts, it is confessed, the apeComes nearest us in human shape;Like man, he imitates each fashion, And malice is his ruling passion:But, both in malice and grimaces, A courtier any ape surpasses. Behold him humbly cringing waitUpon the minister of state;View him, soon after, to inferiorsAping the conduct of superiors:He promises, with equal air, And to perform takes equal care. He, in his turn, finds imitators, At court the porters, lacqueys, waitersTheir masters' manners still contract, And footmen, lords, and dukes can act. Thus, at the court, both great and smallBehave alike, for all ape all. 

THE PUPPET SHOW. 

The life of man to represent, And turn it all to ridicule, Wit did a puppet-show invent, Where the chief actor is a fool. 

The gods of old were logs of wood, And worship was to puppets paid;In antic dress the idol stood, And priests and people bowed the head. 

No wonder then, if art began The simple votaries to frame, To shape in timber foolish man, And consecrate the block to fame. 

From hence poetic fancy learned That trees might rise from human formsThe body to a trunk be turned, And branches issue from the arms. 

Thus Daedalus and Ovid too, That man's a blockhead have confessed, Powel and Stretch {1} the hint pursue; Life is the farce, the world a jest. 

The same great truth South Sea hath proved On that famed theatre, the ally, Where thousands by directors moved Are now sad monuments of folly. 

What Momus was of old to Jove The same harlequin is now;The former was buffoon above, The latter is a Punch below. 

This fleeting scene is but a stage, Where various images appear, In different parts of youth and age Alike the prince and peasant share. 

Some draw our eyes by being great, False pomp conceals mere wood within, And legislators rang'd in state Are oft but wisdom in machine. 

A stock may chance to wear a crown, And timber as a lord take place, A statue may put on a frown, And cheat us with a thinking face. 

Others are blindly led away, And made to act for ends unknown, By the mere spring of wires they play, And speak in language not their own. 

Too oft, alas! a scolding wife Usurps a jolly fellow's throne, And many drink the cup of life Mix'd and embittered by a Joan. 

In short, whatever men pursue Of pleasure, folly, war, or love, This mimic-race brings all to view, Alike they dress, they talk, they move. 

Go on, great Stretch, with artful hand, Mortals to please and to deride, And when death breaks thy vital band Thou shalt put on a puppet's pride. 

Thou shalt in puny wood be shown, Thy image shall preserve thy fame, Ages to come thy worth shall own, Point at thy limbs, and tell thy name. 

Tell Tom he draws a farce in vain, Before he looks in nature's glass;Puns cannot form a witty scene, Nor pedantry for humour pass. 

To make men act as senseless wood, And chatter in a mystic strain, Is a mere force on flesh and blood, And shows some error in the brain. 

He that would thus refine on thee, And turn thy stage into a school, The jest of Punch will ever be, And stand confessed the greater fool. 

CADENUS AND VANESSA. 

_Written Anno 1713_. 

The shepherds and the nymphs were seenPleading before the Cyprian Queen. The counsel for the fair beganAccusing the false creature, man. 

The brief with weighty crimes was charged, On which the pleader much enlarged:That Cupid now has lost his art, Or blunts the point of every dart;His altar now no longer smokes;His mother's aid no youth invokes--This tempts free-thinkers to refine, And bring in doubt their powers divine, Now love is dwindled to intrigue, And marriage grown a money-league. Which crimes aforesaid (with her leave)Were (as he humbly did conceive)Against our Sovereign Lady's peace, Against the statutes in that case, Against her dignity and crown:Then prayed an answer and sat down. 

The nymphs with scorn beheld their foes:When the defendant's counsel rose, And, what no lawyer ever lacked, With impudence owned all the fact. But, what the gentlest heart would vex, Laid all the fault on t'other sex. That modern love is no such thingAs what those ancient poets sing;A fire celestial, chaste, refined, Conceived and kindled in the mind, Which having found an equal flame, Unites, and both become the same, In different breasts together burn, Together both to ashes turn. But women now feel no such fire, And only know the gross desire;Their passions move in lower spheres, Where'er caprice or folly steers. A dog, a parrot, or an ape, Or some worse brute in human shapeEngross the fancies of the fair, The few soft moments they can spareFrom visits to receive and pay, From scandal, politics, and play, From fans, and flounces, and brocades, From equipage and park-parades, From all the thousand female toys, From every trifle that employsThe out or inside of their headsBetween their toilets and their beds. 

In a dull stream, which, moving slow, You hardly see the current flow, If a small breeze obstructs the course, It whirls about for want of force, And in its narrow circle gathersNothing but chaff, and straws, and feathers:The current of a female mindStops thus, and turns with every wind;Thus whirling round, together drawsFools, fops, and rakes, for chaff and straws. Hence we conclude, no women's heartsAre won by virtue, wit, and parts;Nor are the men of sense to blameFor breasts incapable of flame:The fault must on the nymphs be placed, Grown so corrupted in their taste. 

The pleader having spoke his best, Had witness ready to attest, Who fairly could on oath depose, When questions on the fact arose, That every article was true;_Nor further those deponents knew_:Therefore he humbly would insist, The bill might be with costs dismissed. 

The cause appeared of so much weight, That Venus from the judgment-seatDesired them not to talk so loud, Else she must interpose a cloud:For if the heavenly folk should knowThese pleadings in the Courts below, That mortals here disdain to love, She ne'er could show her face above. For gods, their betters, are too wiseTo value that which men despise. "And then, " said she, "my son and IMust stroll in air 'twixt earth and sky:Or else, shut out from heaven and earth, Fly to the sea, my place of birth;There live with daggled mermaids pent, And keep on fish perpetual Lent. "

But since the case appeared so nice, She thought it best to take advice. The Muses, by their king's permission, Though foes to love, attend the session, And on the right hand took their placesIn order; on the left, the Graces:To whom she might her doubts proposeOn all emergencies that rose. The Muses oft were seen to frown;The Graces half ashamed look down;And 'twas observed, there were but fewOf either sex, among the crew, Whom she or her assessors knew. The goddess soon began to seeThings were not ripe for a decree, And said she must consult her books, The lovers' Fletas, Bractons, Cokes. First to a dapper clerk she beckoned, To turn to Ovid, book the second;She then referred them to a placeIn Virgil (_vide_ Dido's case);As for Tibullus's reports, They never passed for law in Courts:For Cowley's brief, and pleas of Waller, Still their authority is smaller. 

There was on both sides much to say;She'd hear the cause another day;And so she did, and then a third, She heard it--there she kept her word;But with rejoinders and replies, Long bills, and answers, stuffed with liesDemur, imparlance, and essoign, The parties ne'er could issue join:For sixteen years the cause was spun, And then stood where it first begun. 

Now, gentle Clio, sing or say, What Venus meant by this delay. The goddess, much perplexed in mind, To see her empire thus declined, When first this grand debate aroseAbove her wisdom to compose, Conceived a project in her head, To work her ends; which, if it sped, Would show the merits of the causeFar better than consulting laws. 

In a glad hour Lucina's aidProduced on earth a wondrous maid, On whom the queen of love was bentTo try a new experiment. She threw her law-books on the shelf, And thus debated with herself:--

"Since men allege they ne'er can findThose beauties in a female mindWhich raise a flame that will endureFor ever, uncorrupt and pure;If 'tis with reason they complain, This infant shall restore my reign. I'll search where every virtue dwells, From Courts inclusive down to cells. What preachers talk, or sages write, These I will gather and unite, And represent them to mankindCollected in that infant's mind. "

This said, she plucks in heaven's high bowersA sprig of Amaranthine flowers, In nectar thrice infuses bays, Three times refined in Titan's rays:Then calls the Graces to her aid, And sprinkles thrice the now-born maid. From whence the tender skin assumesA sweetness above all perfumes;From whence a cleanliness remains, Incapable of outward stains;From whence that decency of mind, So lovely in a female kind. Where not one careless thought intrudesLess modest than the speech of prudes;Where never blush was called in aid, The spurious virtue in a maid, A virtue but at second-hand;They blush because they understand. 

The Graces next would act their part, And show but little of their art;Their work was half already done, The child with native beauty shone, The outward form no help required:Each breathing on her thrice, inspiredThat gentle, soft, engaging airWhich in old times adorned the fair, And said, "Vanessa be the nameBy which thou shalt be known to fame;Vanessa, by the gods enrolled:Her name on earth--shall not be told. "

But still the work was not complete, When Venus thought on a deceit:Drawn by her doves, away she flies, And finds out Pallas in the skies:Dear Pallas, I have been this mornTo see a lovely infant born:A boy in yonder isle below, So like my own without his bow, By beauty could your heart be won, You'd swear it is Apollo's son;But it shall ne'er be said, a childSo hopeful has by me been spoiled;I have enough besides to spare, And give him wholly to your care. 

Wisdom's above suspecting wiles;The queen of learning gravely smiles, Down from Olympus comes with joy, Mistakes Vanessa for a boy;Then sows within her tender mindSeeds long unknown to womankind;For manly bosoms chiefly fit, The seeds of knowledge, judgment, wit, Her soul was suddenly enduedWith justice, truth, and fortitude;With honour, which no breath can stain, Which malice must attack in vain:With open heart and bounteous hand:But Pallas here was at a stand;She know in our degenerate daysBare virtue could not live on praise, That meat must be with money bought:She therefore, upon second thought, Infused yet as it were by stealth, Some small regard for state and wealth:Of which as she grew up there stayedA tincture in the prudent maid:She managed her estate with care, Yet liked three footmen to her chair, But lest he should neglect his studiesLike a young heir, the thrifty goddess(For fear young master should be spoiled)Would use him like a younger child;And, after long computing, found'Twould come to just five thousand pound. 

The Queen of Love was pleased and proudTo we Vanessa thus endowed;She doubted not but such a dameThrough every breast would dart a flame;That every rich and lordly swainWith pride would drag about her chain;That scholars would forsake their booksTo study bright Vanessa's looks:As she advanced that womankindWould by her model form their mind, And all their conduct would be triedBy her, as an unerring guide. Offending daughters oft would hearVanessa's praise rung in their ear:Miss Betty, when she does a fault, Lets fall her knife, or spills the salt, Will thus be by her mother chid, "'Tis what Vanessa never did. "Thus by the nymphs and swains adored, My power shall be again restored, And happy lovers bless my reign--So Venus hoped, but hoped in vain. 

For when in time the martial maidFound out the trick that Venus played, She shakes her helm, she knits her brows, And fired with indignation, vowsTo-morrow, ere the setting sun, She'd all undo that she had done. 

But in the poets we may findA wholesome law, time out of mind, Had been confirmed by Fate's decree;That gods, of whatso'er degree, Resume not what themselves have given, Or any brother-god in Heaven;Which keeps the peace among the gods, Or they must always be at odds. And Pallas, if she broke the laws, Must yield her foe the stronger cause;A shame to one so much adoredFor Wisdom, at Jove's council-board. Besides, she feared the queen of loveWould meet with better friends above. And though she must with grief reflectTo see a mortal virgin deck'dWith graces hitherto unknownTo female breasts, except her own, Yet she would act as best becameA goddess of unspotted fame;She knew, by augury divine, Venus would fail in her design:She studied well the point, and foundHer foe's conclusions were not sound, From premises erroneous brought, And therefore the deduction's nought, And must have contrary effectsTo what her treacherous foe expects. 

In proper season Pallas meetsThe queen of love, whom thus she greets(For Gods, we are by Homer told, Can in celestial language scold), "Perfidious Goddess! but in vainYou formed this project in your brain, A project for thy talents fit, With much deceit, and little wit;Thou hast, as thou shalt quickly see, Deceived thyself instead of me;For how can heavenly wisdom proveAn instrument to earthly love?Know'st thou not yet that men commenceThy votaries, for want of sense?Nor shall Vanessa be the themeTo manage thy abortive scheme;She'll prove the greatest of thy foes, And yet I scorn to interpose, But using neither skill nor force, Leave all things to their natural course. "

The goddess thus pronounced her doom, When, lo, Vanessa in her bloom, Advanced like Atalanta's star, But rarely seen, and seen from far:In a new world with caution stepped, Watched all the company she kept, Well knowing from the books she readWhat dangerous paths young virgins tread;Would seldom at the park appear, Nor saw the play-house twice a year;Yet not incurious, was inclinedTo know the converse of mankind. 

First issued from perfumers' shopsA crowd of fashionable fops;They liked her how she liked the play?Then told the tattle of the day, A duel fought last night at twoAbout a lady--you know who;Mentioned a new Italian, comeEither from Muscovy or Rome;Gave hints of who and who's together;Then fell to talking of the weather:Last night was so extremely fine, The ladies walked till after nine. Then in soft voice, and speech absurd, With nonsense every second word, With fustian from exploded plays, They celebrate her beauty's praise, Run o'er their cant of stupid lies, And tell the murders of her eyes. 

With silent scorn Vanessa sat, Scarce list'ning to their idle chat;Further than sometimes by a frown, When they grew pert, to pull them down. At last she spitefully was bentTo try their wisdom's full extent;And said, she valued nothing lessThan titles, figure, shape, and dress;That merit should be chiefly placedIn judgment, knowledge, wit, and taste;And these, she offered to dispute, Alone distinguished man from brute:That present times have no pretenceTo virtue, in the noble senseBy Greeks and Romans understood, To perish for our country's good. She named the ancient heroes round, Explained for what they were renowned;Then spoke with censure, or applause, Of foreign customs, rites, and laws;Through nature and through art she ranged, And gracefully her subject changed:In vain; her hearers had no shareIn all she spoke, except to stare. Their judgment was upon the whole, --That lady is the dullest soul--Then tipped their forehead in a jeer, As who should say--she wants it here;She may be handsome, young, and rich, But none will burn her for a witch. 

A party next of glittering dames, From round the purlieus of St. James, Came early, out of pure goodwill, To see the girl in deshabille. Their clamour 'lighting from their chairs, Grew louder, all the way up stairs;At entrance loudest, where they foundThe room with volumes littered round, Vanessa held Montaigne, and read, Whilst Mrs. Susan combed her head:They called for tea and chocolate, And fell into their usual chat, Discoursing with important face, On ribbons, fans, and gloves, and lace:Showed patterns just from India brought, And gravely asked her what she thought, Whether the red or green were best, And what they cost? Vanessa guessed, As came into her fancy first, Named half the rates, and liked the worst. To scandal next--What awkward thingWas that, last Sunday, in the ring?I'm sorry Mopsa breaks so fast;I said her face would never last, Corinna with that youthful air, Is thirty, and a bit to spare. Her fondness for a certain earlBegan, when I was but a girl. Phyllis, who but a month agoWas married to the Tunbridge beau, I saw coquetting t'other nightIn public with that odious knight. 

They rallied next Vanessa's dress;That gown was made for old Queen Bess. Dear madam, let me set your head;Don't you intend to put on red?A petticoat without a hoop!Sure, you are not ashamed to stoop;With handsome garters at your knees, No matter what a fellow sees. 

Filled with disdain, with rage inflamed, Both of herself and sex ashamed, The nymph stood silent out of spite, Nor would vouchsafe to set them right. Away the fair detractors went, And gave, by turns, their censures vent. She's not so handsome in my eyes:For wit, I wonder where it lies. She's fair and clean, and that's the most;But why proclaim her for a toast?A baby face, no life, no airs, But what she learnt at country fairs. Scarce knows what difference is betweenRich Flanders lace, and Colberteen. I'll undertake my little Nancy, In flounces has a better fancy. With all her wit, I would not askHer judgment, how to buy a mask. We begged her but to patch her face, She never hit one proper place;Which every girl at five years oldCan do as soon as she is told. I own, that out-of-fashion stuffBecomes the creature well enough. The girl might pass, if we could get herTo know the world a little better. (_To know the world_! a modern phraseFor visits, ombre, balls, and plays. )

Thus, to the world's perpetual shame, The queen of beauty lost her aim, Too late with grief she understoodPallas had done more harm than good;For great examples are but vain, Where ignorance begets disdain. Both sexes, armed with guilt and spite, Against Vanessa's power unite;To copy her few nymphs aspired;Her virtues fewer swains admired;So stars, beyond a certain height, Give mortals neither heat nor light. 

Yet some of either sex, endowedWith gifts superior to the crowd, With virtue, knowledge, taste, and wit, She condescended to admit;With pleasing arts she could reduceMen's talents to their proper use;And with address each genius holdTo that wherein it most excelled;Thus making others' wisdom known, Could please them and improve her own. A modest youth said something new, She placed it in the strongest view. All humble worth she strove to raise;Would not be praised, yet loved to praise. The learned met with free approach, Although they came not in a coach. Some clergy too she would allow, Nor quarreled at their awkward bow. But this was for Cadenus' sake;A gownman of a different make. Whom Pallas, once Vanessa's tutor, Had fixed on for her coadjutor. 

But Cupid, full of mischief, longsTo vindicate his mother's wrongs. On Pallas all attempts are vain;One way he knows to give her pain;Vows on Vanessa's heart to takeDue vengeance, for her patron's sake. Those early seeds by Venus sown, In spite of Pallas, now were grown;And Cupid hoped they would improveBy time, and ripen into love. The boy made use of all his craft, In vain discharging many a shaft, Pointed at colonels, lords, and beaux;Cadenus warded off the blows, For placing still some book betwixt, The darts were in the cover fixed, Or often blunted and recoiled, On Plutarch's morals struck, were spoiled. 

The queen of wisdom could foresee, But not prevent the Fates decree;And human caution tries in vainTo break that adamantine chain. Vanessa, though by Pallas taught, By love invulnerable thought, Searching in books for wisdom's aid, Was, in the very search, betrayed. 

Cupid, though all his darts were lost, Yet still resolved to spare no cost;He could not answer to his fameThe triumphs of that stubborn dame, A nymph so hard to be subdued, Who neither was coquette nor prude. I find, says he, she wants a doctor, Both to adore her, and instruct her:I'll give her what she most admires, Among those venerable sires. Cadenus is a subject fit, Grown old in politics and wit;Caressed by Ministers of State, Of half mankind the dread and hate. Whate'er vexations love attend, She need no rivals apprehendHer sex, with universal voice, Must laugh at her capricious choice. 

Cadenus many things had writ, Vanessa much esteemed his wit, And called for his poetic works!Meantime the boy in secret lurks. And while the book was in her hand, The urchin from his private standTook aim, and shot with all his strengthA dart of such prodigious length, It pierced the feeble volume through, And deep transfixed her bosom too. Some lines, more moving than the rest, Struck to the point that pierced her breast;And, borne directly to the heart, With pains unknown, increased her smart. 

Vanessa, not in years a score, Dreams of a gown of forty-four;Imaginary charms can find, In eyes with reading almost blind;Cadenus now no more appearsDeclined in health, advanced in years. She fancies music in his tongue, Nor farther looks, but thinks him young. What mariner is not afraidTo venture in a ship decayed?What planter will attempt to yokeA sapling with a falling oak?As years increase, she brighter shines, Cadenus with each day declines, And he must fall a prey to Time, While she continues in her prime. 

Cadenus, common forms apart, In every scene had kept his heart;Had sighed and languished, vowed and writ, For pastime, or to show his wit;But time, and books, and State affairs, Had spoiled his fashionable airs, He now could praise, esteem, approve, But understood not what was love. His conduct might have made him styledA father, and the nymph his child. That innocent delight he tookTo see the virgin mind her book, Was but the master's secret joyIn school to hear the finest boy. Her knowledge with her fancy grew, She hourly pressed for something new;Ideas came into her mindSo fact, his lessons lagged behind;She reasoned, without plodding long, Nor ever gave her judgment wrong. But now a sudden change was wrought, She minds no longer what he taught. Cadenus was amazed to findSuch marks of a distracted mind;For though she seemed to listen moreTo all he spoke, than e'er before. He found her thoughts would absent range, Yet guessed not whence could spring the change. And first he modestly conjectures, His pupil might be tired with lectures, Which helped to mortify his pride, Yet gave him not the heart to chide;But in a mild dejected strain, At last he ventured to complain:Said, she should be no longer teased, Might have her freedom when she pleased;Was now convinced he acted wrong, To hide her from the world so long, And in dull studies to engageOne of her tender sex and age. That every nymph with envy owned, How she might shine in the _Grande-Monde_, And every shepherd was undone, To see her cloistered like a nun. This was a visionary scheme, He waked, and found it but a dream;A project far above his skill, For Nature must be Nature still. If she was bolder than becameA scholar to a courtly dame, She might excuse a man of letters;Thus tutors often treat their betters, And since his talk offensive grew, He came to take his last adieu. 

Vanessa, filled with just disdain, Would still her dignity maintain, Instructed from her early yearsTo scorn the art of female tears. 

Had he employed his time so long, To teach her what was right or wrong, Yet could such notions entertain, That all his lectures were in vain?She owned the wand'ring of her thoughts, But he must answer for her faults. She well remembered, to her cost, That all his lessons were not lost. Two maxims she could still produce, And sad experience taught her use;That virtue, pleased by being shown, Knows nothing which it dare not own;Can make us without fear discloseOur inmost secrets to our foes;That common forms were not designedDirectors to a noble mind. Now, said the nymph, I'll let you seeMy actions with your rules agree, That I can vulgar forms despise, And have no secrets to disguise. I knew by what you said and writ, How dangerous things were men of wit;You cautioned me against their charms, But never gave me equal arms;Your lessons found the weakest part, Aimed at the head, but reached the heart. 

Cadenus felt within him riseShame, disappointment, guilt, surprise. He know not how to reconcileSuch language, with her usual style:And yet her words were so expressed, He could not hope she spoke in jest. His thoughts had wholly been confinedTo form and cultivate her mind. He hardly knew, till he was told, Whether the nymph were young or old;Had met her in a public place, Without distinguishing her face, Much less could his declining ageVanessa's earliest thoughts engage. And if her youth indifference met, His person must contempt beget, Or grant her passion be sincere, How shall his innocence be clear?Appearances were all so strong, The world must think him in the wrong;Would say he made a treach'rous use. Of wit, to flatter and seduce;The town would swear he had betrayed, By magic spells, the harmless maid;And every beau would have his jokes, That scholars were like other folks;That when Platonic flights were over, The tutor turned a mortal lover. So tender of the young and fair;It showed a true paternal care--Five thousand guineas in her purse;The doctor might have fancied worst, --Hardly at length he silence broke, And faltered every word he spoke;Interpreting her complaisance, Just as a man sans consequence. She rallied well, he always knew;Her manner now was something new;And what she spoke was in an air, As serious as a tragic player. But those who aim at ridicule, Should fix upon some certain rule, Which fairly hints they are in jest, Else he must enter his protest;For let a man be ne'er so wise, He may be caught with sober lies;A science which he never taught, And, to be free, was dearly bought;For, take it in its proper light, 'Tis just what coxcombs call a bite. 

But not to dwell on things minute, Vanessa finished the dispute, Brought weighty arguments to prove, That reason was her guide in love. She thought he had himself described, His doctrines when she fist imbibed;What he had planted now was grown, His virtues she might call her own;As he approves, as he dislikes, Love or contempt her fancy strikes. Self-love in nature rooted fast, Attends us first, and leaves us last:Why she likes him, admire not at her, She loves herself, and that's the matter. How was her tutor wont to praiseThe geniuses of ancient days!(Those authors he so oft had namedFor learning, wit, and wisdom famed). Was struck with love, esteem, and awe, For persons whom he never saw. Suppose Cadenus flourished then, He must adore such God-like men. If one short volume could compriseAll that was witty, learned, and wise, How would it be esteemed, and read, Although the writer long were dead?If such an author were alive, How all would for his friendship strive;And come in crowds to see his face?And this she takes to be her case. Cadenus answers every end, The book, the author, and the friend, The utmost her desires will reach, Is but to learn what he can teach;His converse is a system fitAlone to fill up all her wit;While ev'ry passion of her mindIn him is centred and confined. 

Love can with speech inspire a mute, And taught Vanessa to dispute. This topic, never touched before, Displayed her eloquence the more:Her knowledge, with such pains acquired, By this new passion grew inspired. Through this she made all objects pass, Which gave a tincture o'er the mass;As rivers, though they bend and twine, Still to the sea their course incline;Or, as philosophers, who findSome fav'rite system to their mind, In every point to make it fit, Will force all nature to submit. 

Cadenus, who could ne'er suspectHis lessons would have such effect, Or be so artfully applied, Insensibly came on her side;It was an unforeseen event, Things took a turn he never meant. Whoe'er excels in what we prize, Appears a hero to our eyes;Each girl, when pleased with what is taught, Will have the teacher in her thought. When miss delights in her spinnet, A fiddler may a fortune get;A blockhead, with melodious voiceIn boarding-schools can have his choice;And oft the dancing-master's artClimbs from the toe to touch the heart. In learning let a nymph delight, The pedant gets a mistress by't. Cadenus, to his grief and shame, Could scarce oppose Vanessa's flame;But though her arguments were strong, At least could hardly with them wrong. Howe'er it came, he could not tell, But, sure, she never talked so well. His pride began to interpose, Preferred before a crowd of beaux, So bright a nymph to come unsought, Such wonder by his merit wrought;'Tis merit must with her prevail, He never know her judgment fail. She noted all she ever read, And had a most discerning head. 

'Tis an old maxim in the schools, That vanity's the food of fools;Yet now and then your men of witWill condescend to take a bit. 

So when Cadenus could not hide, He chose to justify his pride;Construing the passion she had shown, Much to her praise, more to his own. Nature in him had merit placed, In her, a most judicious taste. Love, hitherto a transient guest, Ne'er held possession in his breast;So long attending at the gate, Disdain'd to enter in so late. Love, why do we one passion call?When 'tis a compound of them all;Where hot and cold, where sharp and sweet, In all their equipages meet;Where pleasures mixed with pains appear, Sorrow with joy, and hope with fear. Wherein his dignity and ageForbid Cadenus to engage. But friendship in its greatest height, A constant, rational delight, On virtue's basis fixed to last, When love's allurements long are past;Which gently warms, but cannot burn;He gladly offers in return;His want of passion will redeem, With gratitude, respect, esteem;With that devotion we bestow, When goddesses appear below. 

While thus Cadenus entertainsVanessa in exalted strains, The nymph in sober words intreatsA truce with all sublime conceits. For why such raptures, flights, and fancies, To her who durst not read romances;In lofty style to make replies, Which he had taught her to despise?But when her tutor will affectDevotion, duty, and respect, He fairly abdicates his throne, The government is now her own;He has a forfeiture incurred, She vows to take him at his word, And hopes he will not take it strangeIf both should now their stations changeThe nymph will have her turn, to beThe tutor; and the pupil he:Though she already can discernHer scholar is not apt to learn;Or wants capacity to reachThe science she designs to teach;Wherein his genius was belowThe skill of every common beau;Who, though he cannot spell, is wiseEnough to read a lady's eyes?And will each accidental glanceInterpret for a kind advance. 

But what success Vanessa metIs to the world a secret yet;Whether the nymph, to please her swain, Talks in a high romantic strain;Or whether he at last descendsTo like with less seraphic ends;Or to compound the bus'ness, whetherThey temper love and books together;Must never to mankind be told, Nor shall the conscious muse unfold. 

Meantime the mournful queen of loveLed but a weary life above. She ventures now to leave the skies, Grown by Vanessa's conduct wise. For though by one perverse eventPallas had crossed her first intent, Though her design was not obtained, Yet had she much experience gained;And, by the project vainly tried, Could better now the cause decide. She gave due notice that both parties, _Coram Regina prox' die Martis_, Should at their peril without failCome and appear, and save their bail. All met, and silence thrice proclaimed, One lawyer to each side was named. The judge discovered in her faceResentments for her late disgrace;And, full of anger, shame, and grief, Directed them to mind their brief;Nor spend their time to show their reading, She'd have a summary proceeding. She gathered under every head, The sum of what each lawyer said;Gave her own reasons last; and thenDecreed the cause against the men. 

But, in a weighty case like this, To show she did not judge amiss, Which evil tongues might else report, She made a speech in open court;Wherein she grievously complains, "How she was cheated by the swains. "On whose petition (humbly showingThat women were not worth the wooing, And that unless the sex would mend, The race of lovers soon must end);"She was at Lord knows what expense, To form a nymph of wit and sense;A model for her sex designed, Who never could one lover find, She saw her favour was misplaced;The follows had a wretched taste;She needs must tell them to their face, They were a senseless, stupid race;And were she to begin again, She'd study to reform the men;Or add some grains of folly moreTo women than they had before. To put them on an equal foot;And this, or nothing else, would do't. This might their mutual fancy strike, Since every being loves its like. 

But now, repenting what was done, She left all business to her son;She puts the world in his possession, And let him use it at discretion. "

The crier was ordered to dismissThe court, so made his last O yes!The goddess would no longer wait, But rising from her chair of state, Left all below at six and seven, Harnessed her doves, and flew to Heaven. 

STELLA'S BIRTHDAY, 1718. 

Stella this day is thirty-four(We shan't dispute a year or more)However, Stella, be not troubled, Although thy size and years are doubledSince first I saw thee at sixteen, The brightest virgin on the green. So little is thy form declined;Made up so largely in thy mind. 

Oh, would it please the gods to splitThy beauty, size, and years, and wit, No age could furnish out a pairOf nymphs so graceful, wise, and fair:With half the lustre of your eyes, With half your wit, your years, and size. And then, before it grew too late, How should I beg of gentle fate, (That either nymph might lack her swain), To split my worship too in twain. 

STELLA'S BIRTHDAY, 1720. 

All travellers at first inclineWhere'er they see the fairest sign;And if they find the chambers neat, And like the liquor and the meat, Will call again and recommendThe Angel Inn to every friendWhat though the painting grows decayed, The house will never lose its trade:Nay, though the treach'rous tapster ThomasHangs a new angel two doors from us, As fine as daubers' hands can make it, In hopes that strangers may mistake it, We think it both a shame and sin, To quit the true old Angel Inn. 

Now, this is Stella's case in fact, An angel's face, a little cracked(Could poets, or could painters fixHow angels look at, thirty-six):This drew us in at first, to findIn such a form an angel's mind;And every virtue now suppliesThe fainting rays of Stella's eyes. See, at her levee, crowding swains, Whom Stella freely entertains, With breeding, humour, wit, and sense;And puts them but to small expense;Their mind so plentifully fills, And makes such reasonable bills, So little gets for what she gives, We really wonder how she lives!And had her stock been less, no doubt, She must have long ago run out. 

Then who can think we'll quit the place, When Doll hangs out a newer face;Or stop and light at Cloe's Head, With scraps and leavings to be fed. 

Then Cloe, still go on to prateOf thirty-six, and thirty-eight;Pursue your trade of scandal picking, Your hints that Stella is no chicken. Your innuendoes when you tell us, That Stella loves to talk with fellows;And let me warn you to believeA truth, for which your soul should grieve:That should you live to see the dayWhen Stella's locks, must all be grey, When age must print a furrowed traceOn every feature of her face;Though you and all your senseless tribe, Could art, or time, or nature bribeTo make you look like beauty's queen, And hold for ever at fifteen;No bloom of youth can ever blindThe cracks and wrinkles of your mind;All men of sense will pass your door, And crowd to Stella's at fourscore. 

STELLA'S BIRTHDAY. 

_A great bottle of wine, long buried, being that day dug up_. _1722_. 

Resolved my annual verse to pay, By duty bound, on Stella's day;Furnished with paper, pens, and ink, I gravely sat me down to think:I bit my nails, and scratched my head, But found my wit and fancy fled;Or, if with more than usual pain, A thought came slowly from my brain, It cost me Lord knows how much timeTo shape it into sense and rhyme;And, what was yet a greater curse, Long-thinking made my fancy worse

Forsaken by th' inspiring nine, I waited at Apollo's shrine;I told him what the world would saIf Stella were unsung to-day;How I should hide my head for shame, When both the Jacks and Robin came;How Ford would frown, how Jim would leer, How Sh---r the rogue would sneer, And swear it does not always follow, That _Semel'n anno ridet_ Apollo. I have assured them twenty times, That Phoebus helped me in my rhymes, Phoebus inspired me from above, And he and I were hand and glove. But finding me so dull and dry since, They'll call it all poetic licence. And when I brag of aid divine, Think Eusden's right as good as mine. 

Nor do I ask for Stella's sake;'Tis my own credit lies at stake. And Stella will be sung, while ICan only be a stander by. 

Apollo having thought a little, Returned this answer to a tittle. 

Tho' you should live like old Methusalem, I furnish hints, and you should use all 'em, You yearly sing as she grows old, You'd leave her virtues half untold. But to say truth, such dulness reignsThrough the whole set of Irish Deans;I'm daily stunned with such a medley, Dean W---, Dean D---l, and Dean S---;That let what Dean soever come, My orders are, I'm not at home;And if your voice had not been loud, You must have passed among the crowd. 

But, now your danger to prevent, You must apply to Mrs. Brent, {2}For she, as priestess, knows the ritesWherein the God of Earth delights. First, nine ways looking, let her standWith an old poker in her hand;Let her describe a circle roundIn Saunder's {3} cellar on the groundA spade let prudent Archy {4} hold, And with discretion dig the mould;Let Stella look with watchful eye, Rebecea, Ford, and Grattons by. 

Behold the bottle, where it liesWith neck elated tow'rds the skies!The god of winds, and god of fire, Did to its wondrous birth conspire;And Bacchus for the poet's usePoured in a strong inspiring juice:See! as you raise it from its tomb, It drags behind a spacious womb, And in the spacious womb containsA sovereign med'cine for the brains. 

You'll find it soon, if fate consents;If not, a thousand Mrs. Brents, Ten thousand Archys arm'd with spades, May dig in vain to Pluto's shades. 

From thence a plenteous draught infuse, And boldly then invoke the muse(But first let Robert on his kneesWith caution drain it from the lees);The muse will at your call appear, With Stella's praise to crown the year. 

STELLA'S BIRTHDAY, 1724. 

As when a beauteous nymph decays, We say she's past her dancing days;So poets lose their feet by time, And can no longer dance in rhyme. Your annual bard had rather choseTo celebrate your birth in prose;Yet merry folks who want by chanceA pair to make a country dance, Call the old housekeeper, and get herTo fill a place, for want of better;While Sheridan is off the hooks, And friend Delany at his books, That Stella may avoid disgrace, Once more the Dean supplies their place. 

Beauty and wit, too sad a truth, Have always been confined to youth;The god of wit, and beauty's queen, He twenty-one, and she fifteen;No poet ever sweetly sung. Unless he were like Phoebus, young;Nor ever nymph inspired to rhyme, Unless like Venus in her prime. At fifty-six, if this be true, Am I a poet fit for you;Or at the age of forty-three, Are you a subject fit for me?Adieu bright wit, and radiant eyes;You must be grave, and I be wise. Our fate in vain we would oppose, But I'll be still your friend in prose;Esteem and friendship to express, Will not require poetic dress;And if the muse deny her aidTo have them sung, they may be said. 

But, Stella say, what evil tongueReports you are no longer young?That Time sits with his scythe to mowWhere erst sat Cupid with his bow;That half your locks are turned to grey;I'll ne'er believe a word they say. 'Tis true, but let it not be known, My eyes are somewhat dimish grown;For nature, always in the right, To your decays adapts my sight, And wrinkles undistinguished pass, For I'm ashamed to use a glass;And till I see them with these eyes, Whoever says you have them, lies. 

No length of time can make you quitHonour and virtue, sense and wit, Thus you may still be young to me, While I can better hear than see:Oh, ne'er may fortune show her spite, To make me deaf, and mend my sight. 

STELLA'S BIRTHDAY, MARCH 13, 1726. 

This day, whate'er the Fates decree, Shall still be kept with joy by me;This day, then, let us not be toldThat you are sick, and I grown old, Nor think on our approaching ills, And talk of spectacles and pills;To-morrow will be time enoughTo hear such mortifying stuff. Yet, since from reason may be broughtA better and more pleasing thought, Which can, in spite of all decays, Support a few remaining days:From not the gravest of divinesAccept for once some serious lines. 

Although we now can form no moreLong schemes of life, as heretofore;Yet you, while time is running fast, Can look with joy on what is past. 

Were future happiness and painA mere contrivance of the brain, As Atheists argue, to entice, And fit their proselytes for vice(The only comfort they propose, To have companions in their woes). Grant this the case, yet sure 'tis hardThat virtue, styled its own reward, And by all sages understoodTo be the chief of human good, Should acting, die, or leave behindSome lasting pleasure in the mind. Which by remembrance will assuageGrief, sickness, poverty, and age;And strongly shoot a radiant dart, To shine through life's declining part. 

Say, Stella, feel you no content, Reflecting on a life well spent;Your skilful hand employed to saveDespairing wretches from the grave;And then supporting with your store, Those whom you dragged from death before?So Providence on mortals waits, Preserving what it first creates, You generous boldness to defendAn innocent and absent friend;That courage which can make you just, To merit humbled in the dust;The detestation you expressFor vice in all its glittering dress:That patience under to torturing pain, Where stubborn stoics would complain. 

Must these like empty shadows pass, Or forms reflected from a glass?Or mere chimaeras in the mind, That fly, and leave no marks behind?Does not the body thrive and growBy food of twenty years ago?And, had it not been still supplied, It must a thousand times have died. Then, who with reason can maintainThat no effects of food remain?And, is not virtue in mankindThe nutriment that feeds the mind?Upheld by each good action past, And still continued by the last:Then, who with reason can pretendThat all effects of virtue end?

Believe me, Stella, when you showThat true contempt for things below, Nor prize your life for other endsThan merely to oblige your friends, Your former actions claim their part, And join to fortify your heart. For virtue in her daily race, Like Janus, bears a double face. Look back with joy where she has gone, And therefore goes with courage on. She at your sickly couch will wait, And guide you to a better state. 

O then, whatever heav'n intends, Take pity on your pitying friends;Nor let your ills affect your mind, To fancy they can be unkind;Me, surely me, you ought to spare, Who gladly would your sufferings share;Or give my scrap of life to you, And think it far beneath your due;You to whose care so oft I oweThat I'm alive to tell you so. 

TO STELLA, _Visiting me in my sickness_, _October_, 1727. 

Pallas, observing Stella's witWas more than for her sex was fit;And that her beauty, soon or late, Might breed confusion in the state;In high concern for human kind, Fixed honour in her infant mind. 

But (not in wranglings to engageWith such a stupid vicious age), If honour I would here define, It answers faith in things divine. As natural life the body warms, And, scholars teach, the soul informs;So honour animates the whole, And is the spirit of the soul. 

Those numerous virtues which the tribeOf tedious moralists describe, And by such various titles call, True honour comprehends them all. Let melancholy rule supreme, Choler preside, or blood, or phlegm. It makes no difference in the case. Nor is complexion honour's place. 

But, lest we should for honour takeThe drunken quarrels of a rake, Or think it seated in a scar, Or on a proud triumphal car, Or in the payment of a debt, We lose with sharpers at piquet;Or, when a whore in her vocation, Keeps punctual to an assignation;Or that on which his lordship swears, When vulgar knaves would lose their ears:Let Stella's fair example preachA lesson she alone can teach. 

In points of honour to be tried, All passions must be laid aside;Ask no advice, but think alone, Suppose the question not your own;How shall I act? is not the case, But how would Brutus in my place;In such a cause would Cato bleed;And how would Socrates proceed?

Drive all objections from your mind, Else you relapse to human kind;Ambition, avarice, and lust, And factious rage, and breach of trust, And flattery tipped with nauseous fleer, And guilt and shame, and servile fear, Envy, and cruelty, and pride, Will in your tainted heart preside. 

Heroes and heroines of old, By honour only were enrolledAmong their brethren in the skies, To which (though late) shall Stella rise. Ten thousand oaths upon recordAre not so sacred as her word;The world shall in its atoms endEre Stella can deceive a friend. By honour seated in her breast, She still determines what is best;What indignation in her mind, Against enslavers of mankind!Base kings and ministers of state, Eternal objects of her hate. 

She thinks that Nature ne'er designed, Courage to man alone confined;Can cowardice her sex adorn, Which most exposes ours to scorn;She wonders where the charm appearsIn Florimel's affected fears;For Stella never learned the artAt proper times to scream and start;Nor calls up all the house at night, And swears she saw a thing in white. Doll never flies to cut her lace, Or throw cold water in her face, Because she heard a sudden drum, Or found an earwig in a plum. 

Her hearers are amazed from whenceProceeds that fund of wit and sense;Which, though her modesty would shroud, Breaks like the sun behind a cloud, While gracefulness its art conceals, And yet through every motion steals. 

Say, Stella, was Prometheus blind, And forming you, mistook your kind?No; 'twas for you alone he stoleThe fire that forms a manly soul;Then, to complete it every way, He moulded it with female clay, To that you owe the nobler flame, To this, the beauty of your frame. 

How would ingratitude delight?And how would censure glut her spite?If I should Stella's kindness hideIn silence, or forget with pride, When on my sickly couch I lay, Impatient both of night and day, Lamenting in unmanly strains, Called every power to ease my pains, Then Stella ran to my reliefWith cheerful face and inward grief;And though by Heaven's severe decreeShe suffers hourly more than me, No cruel master could require, From slaves employed for daily hire, What Stella by her friendship warmed, With vigour and delight performed. My sinking spirits now suppliesWith cordials in her hands and eyes, Now with a soft and silent tread, Unheard she moves about my bed. I see her taste each nauseous draught, And so obligingly am caught:I bless the hand from whence they came, Nor dare distort my face for shame. 

Best pattern of true friends beware, You pay too dearly for your care;If while your tenderness securesMy life, it must endanger yours. For such a fool was never found, Who pulled a palace to the ground, Only to have the ruins madeMaterials for a house decayed. 

_While Dr. Swift was at Sir William Temple's_, _after he left theUniversity of Dublin_, _he contracted a friendship with two of SirWilliam's relations_, _Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Dingley_, _which continuedto their deaths_. _The former of these was the amiable Stella_, _so muchcelebrated in his works_. _In the year 1727_, _being in England_, _hereceived the melancholy news of her last sickness_, _Mrs. Dingley havingbeen dead before_. _He hastened into Ireland_, _where he visited her_, _not only as a friend_, _but a clergyman_. _No set form of prayer couldexpress the sense of his heart on that occasion_. _He drew up thefollowing_, _here printed from his own handwriting_. _She died Jan. 28_, _1727_. 

THE FIRST HE WROTE OCT. 17, 1727. 

Most merciful Father, accept our humblest prayers in behalf of this Thylanguishing servant; forgive the sins, the frailties, and infirmities ofher life past. Accept the good deeds she hath done in such a mannerthat, at whatever time Thou shalt please to call her, she may be receivedinto everlasting habitations. Give her grace to continue sincerelythankful to Thee for the many favours Thou hast bestowed upon her, theability and inclination and practice to do good, and those virtues whichhave procured the esteem and love of her friends, and a most unspottedname in the world. O God, Thou dispensest Thy blessings and Thypunishments, as it becometh infinite justice and mercy; and since it wasThy pleasure to afflict her with a long, constant, weakly state ofhealth, make her truly sensible that it was for very wise ends, and waslargely made up to her in other blessings, more valuable and less common. Continue to her, O Lord, that firmness and constancy of mind wherewithThou hast most graciously endowed her, together with that contempt ofworldly things and vanities that she hath shown in the whole conduct ofher life. O All-powerful Being, the least motion of whose Will cancreate or destroy a world, pity us, the mournful friends of Thydistressed servant, who sink under the weight of her present condition, and the fear of losing the most valuable of our friends; restore her tous, O Lord, if it be Thy gracious Will, or inspire us with constancy andresignation to support ourselves under so heavy an affliction. Restoreher, O Lord, for the sake of those poor, who by losing her will bedesolate, and those sick, who will not only want her bounty, but her careand tending; or else, in Thy mercy, raise up some other in her place withequal disposition and better abilities. Lessen, O Lord, we beseech thee, her bodily pains, or give her a double strength of mind to support them. And if Thou wilt soon take her to Thyself, turn our thoughts rather uponthat felicity which we hope she shall enjoy, than upon that unspeakableloss we shall endure. Let her memory be ever dear unto us, and theexample of her many virtues, as far as human infirmity will admit, ourconstant imitation. Accept, O Lord, these prayers poured from the verybottom of our hearts, in Thy mercy, and for the merits of our blessedSaviour. _Amen_. 

THE SECOND PRAYER WAS WRITTEN NOV. 6, 1727. 

O Merciful Father, who never afflictest Thy children but for their owngood, and with justice, over which Thy mercy always prevaileth, either toturn them to repentance, or to punish them in the present life, in orderto reward them in a better; take pity, we beseech Thee, upon this Thypoor afflicted servant, languishing so long and so grievously under theweight of Thy Hand. Give her strength, O Lord, to support her weakness, and patience to endure her pains, without repining at Thy correction. Forgive every rash and inconsiderate expression which her anguish may atany time force from her tongue, while her heart continueth in an entiresubmission to Thy Will. Suppress in her, O Lord, all eager desires oflife, and lesson her fears of death, by inspiring into her an humble yetassured hope of Thy mercy. Give her a sincere repentance for all hertransgressions and omissions, and a firm resolution to pass the remainderof her life in endeavouring to her utmost to observe all thy precepts. Webeseech Thee likewise to compose her thoughts, and preserve to her theuse of her memory and reason during the course of her sickness. Give hera true conception of the vanity, folly, and insignificancy of all humanthings; and strengthen her so as to beget in her a sincere love of Theein the midst of her sufferings. Accept and impute all her good deeds, and forgive her all those offences against Thee, which she hath sincerelyrepented of, or through the frailty of memory hath forgot. And now, OLord, we turn to Thee in behalf of ourselves, and the rest of hersorrowful friends. Let not our grief afflict her mind, and thereby havean ill effect on her present distemper. Forgive the sorrow and weaknessof those among us who sink under the grief and terror of losing so dearand useful a friend. Accept and pardon our most earnest prayers andwishes for her longer continuance in this evil world, to do what Thou artpleased to call Thy service, and is only her bounden duty; that she maybe still a comfort to us, and to all others, who will want the benefit ofher conversation, her advice, her good offices, or her charity. Andsince Thou hast promised that where two or three are gathered together inThy Name, Thou wilt be in the midst of them to grant their request, OGracious Lord, grant to us who are here met in Thy Name, that thoserequests, which in the utmost sincerity and earnestness of our hearts wehave now made in behalf of this Thy distressed servant, and of ourselves, may effectually be answered; through the merits of Jesus Christ our Lord. _Amen_. 

THE BEASTS' CONFESSION (1732). 

When beasts could speak (the learned sayThey still can do so every day), It seems, they had religion then, As much as now we find in men. It happened when a plague broke out(Which therefore made them more devout)The king of brutes (to make it plain, Of quadrupeds I only mean), By proclamation gave command, That every subject in the landShould to the priest confess their sins;And thus the pious wolf begins:

Good father, I must own with shame, That, often I have been to blame:I must confess, on Friday last, Wretch that I was, I broke my fast:But I defy the basest tongueTo prove I did my neighbour wrong;Or ever went to seek my foodBy rapine, theft, or thirst of blood. 

The ass approaching next, confessed, That in his heart he loved a jest:A wag he was, he needs must own, And could not let a dunce alone:Sometimes his friend he would not spare, And might perhaps be too severe:But yet, the worst that could be said, He was a wit both born and bred;And, if it be a sin or shame, Nature alone must bear the blame:One fault he hath, is sorry for't, His ears are half a foot too short;Which could he to the standard bring, He'd show his face before the king:Then, for his voice, there's none disputesThat he's the nightingale of brutes. 

The swine with contrite heart allowed, His shape and beauty made him proud:In diet was perhaps too nice, But gluttony was ne'er his vice:In every turn of life content, And meekly took what fortune sent:Enquire through all the parish round, A better neighbour ne'er was found:His vigilance might seine displease;'Tis true, he hated sloth like pease. 

The mimic ape began his chatter, How evil tongues his life bespatter:Much of the cens'ring world complained, Who said his gravity was feigned:Indeed, the strictness of his moralsEngaged him in a hundred quarrels:He saw, and he was grieved to see't, His zeal was sometimes indiscreet:He found his virtues too severeFor our corrupted times to bear:Yet, such a lewd licentious ageMight well excuse a stoic's rage. 

The goat advanced with decent pace:And first excused his youthful face;Forgiveness begged, that he appeared('Twas nature's fault) without a beard. 'Tis true, he was not much inclinedTo fondness for the female kind;Not, as his enemies object, From chance or natural defect;Not by his frigid constitution, But through a pious resolution;For he had made a holy vowOf chastity, as monks do now;Which he resolved to keep for ever hence, As strictly, too, as doth his reverence. {5}

Apply the tale, and you shall findHow just it suits with human kind. Some faults we own: but, can you guess?Why?--virtue's carried to excess;Wherewith our vanity endows us, Though neither foe nor friend allows us. 

The lawyer swears, you may rely on't, He never squeezed a needy client:And this he makes his constant rule, For which his brethren call him fool;His conscience always was so nice, He freely gave the poor advice;By which he lost, he may affirm, A hundred fees last Easter term. While others of the learned robeWould break the patience of a Job;No pleader at the bar could matchHis diligence and quick despatch;Ne'er kept a cause, he well may boast, Above a term or two at most. 

The cringing knave, who seeks a placeWithout success, thus tells his case:Why should he longer mince the matter?He failed because he could not flatter:He had not learned to turn his coat, Nor for a party give his vote. His crime he quickly understood;Too zealous for the nation's good:He found the ministers resent it, Yet could not for his heart repent it. 

The chaplain vows he cannot fawn, Though it would raise him to the lawn:He passed his hours among his books;You find it in his meagre looks:He might, if he were worldly-wise, Preferment get, and spare his eyes:But owned he had a stubborn spirit, That made him trust alone in merit:Would rise by merit to promotion;Alas! a mere chimeric notion. 

The doctor, if you will believe him, Confessed a sin, and God forgive him:Called up at midnight, ran to saveA blind old beggar from the grave:But, see how Satan spreads his snares;He quite forgot to say his prayers. He cannot help it, for his heart, Sometimes to act the parson's part, Quotes from the Bible many a sentenceThat moves his patients to repentance:And, when his medicines do no good, Supports their minds with heavenly food. At which, however well intended, He hears the clergy are offended;And grown so bold behind his back, To call him hypocrite and quack. In his own church he keeps a seat;Says grace before and after meat;And calls, without affecting airs, His household twice a day to prayers. He shuns apothecaries' shops;And hates to cram the sick with slops:He scorns to make his art a trade, Nor bribes my lady's favourite maid. Old nurse-keepers would never hireTo recommend him to the Squire;Which others, whom he will not name, Have often practised to their shame. 

The statesman tells you with a sneer, His fault is to be too sincere;And, having no sinister ends, Is apt to disoblige his friends. The nation's good, his Master's glory, Without regard to Whig or Tory, Were all the schemes he had in view;Yet he was seconded by few:Though some had spread a thousand lies, 'Twas he defeated the Excise. 'Twas known, though he had borne aspersion, That standing troops were his aversion:His practice was, in every station, To serve the king, and please the nation. Though hard to find in every caseThe fittest man to fill a place:His promises he ne'er forgot, But took memorials on the spot:His enemies, for want of charity, Said he affected popularity:'Tis true, the people understood, That all he did was for their good;Their kind affections he has tried;No love is lost on either side. He came to court with fortune clear, Which now he runs out every year;Must, at the rate that he goes on, Inevitably be undone. Oh! if his Majesty would pleaseTo give him but a writ of ease, Would grant him license to retire, As it hath long been his desire, By fair accounts it would be found, He's poorer by ten thousand pound. He owns, and hopes it is no sin, He ne'er was partial to his kin;He thought it base for men in stationsTo crowd the court with their relations:His country was his dearest mother, And every virtuous man his brother:Through modesty or awkward shame(For which he owns himself to blame), He found the wisest men he could, Without respect to friends or blood;Nor never acts on private views, When he hath liberty to choose. 

The sharper swore he hated play, Except to pass an hour away:And well he might; for to his cost, By want of skill, he always lost. He heard there was a club of cheats, Who had contrived a thousand feats;Could change the stock, or cog a dye, And thus deceive the sharpest eye:No wonder how his fortune sunk, His brothers fleece him when he's drunk. 

I own the moral not exact;Besides, the tale is false in fact;And so absurd, that, could I raise upFrom fields Elysian, fabling AEsop;I would accuse him to his face, For libelling the four-foot race. Creatures of every kind but oursWell comprehend their natural powers;While we, whom reason ought to sway, Mistake our talents every day:The ass was never known so stupidTo act the part of Tray or Cupid;Nor leaps upon his master's lap, There to be stroked, and fed with pap:As AEsop would the world persuade;He better understands his trade:Nor comes whene'er his lady whistles, But carries loads, and feeds on thistles;Our author's meaning, I presume, isA creature _bipes et implumis_;Wherein the moralist designedA compliment on human-kind:For, here he owns, that now and thenBeasts may degenerate into men. 

AN ARGUMENT TO PROVE THAT THE ABOLISHING OF CHRISTIANITY IN ENGLAND MAY, AS THINGS NOW STAND, BE ATTENDED WITH SOME INCONVENIENCES, AND PERHAPSNOT PRODUCE THOSE MANY GOOD EFFECTS PROPOSED THEREBY. 

_Written in the year 1708_. 

I am very sensible what a weakness and presumption it is to reasonagainst the general humour and disposition of the world. I remember itwas with great justice, and a due regard to the freedom, both of thepublic and the press, forbidden upon several penalties to write, ordiscourse, or lay wagers against the --- even before it was confirmed byParliament; because that was looked upon as a design to oppose thecurrent of the people, which, besides the folly of it, is a manifestbreach of the fundamental law, that makes this majority of opinions thevoice of God. In like manner, and for the very same reasons, it mayperhaps be neither safe nor prudent to argue against the abolishing ofChristianity, at a juncture when all parties seem so unanimouslydetermined upon the point, as we cannot but allow from their actions, their discourses, and their writings. However, I know not how, whetherfrom the affectation of singularity, or the perverseness of human nature, but so it unhappily falls out, that I cannot be entirely of this opinion. Nay, though I were sure an order were issued for my immediate prosecutionby the Attorney-General, I should still confess, that in the presentposture of our affairs at home or abroad, I do not yet see the absolutenecessity of extirpating the Christian religion from among us. 

This perhaps may appear too great a paradox even for our wise andpaxodoxical age to endure; therefore I shall handle it with alltenderness, and with the utmost deference to that great and profoundmajority which is of another sentiment. 

And yet the curious may please to observe, how much the genius of anation is liable to alter in half an age. I have heard it affirmed forcertain by some very odd people, that the contrary opinion was even intheir memories as much in vogue as the other is now; and that a projectfor the abolishing of Christianity would then have appeared as singular, and been thought as absurd, as it would be at this time to write ordiscourse in its defence. 

Therefore I freely own, that all appearances are against me. The systemof the Gospel, after the fate of other systems, is generally antiquatedand exploded, and the mass or body of the common people, among whom itseems to have had its latest credit, are now grown as much ashamed of itas their betters; opinions, like fashions, always descending from thoseof quality to the middle sort, and thence to the vulgar, where at lengththey are dropped and vanish. 

But here I would not be mistaken, and must therefore be so bold as toborrow a distinction from the writers on the other side, when they make adifference betwixt nominal and real Trinitarians. I hope no readerimagines me so weak to stand up in the defence of real Christianity, suchas used in primitive times (if we may believe the authors of those ages)to have an influence upon men's belief and actions. To offer at therestoring of that, would indeed be a wild project: it would be to dig upfoundations; to destroy at one blow all the wit, and half the learning ofthe kingdom; to break the entire frame and constitution of things; toruin trade, extinguish arts and sciences, with the professors of them; inshort, to turn our courts, exchanges, and shops into deserts; and wouldbe full as absurd as the proposal of Horace, where he advises the Romans, all in a body, to leave their city, and seek a new seat in some remotepart of the world, by way of a cure for the corruption of their manners. 

Therefore I think this caution was in itself altogether unnecessary(which I have inserted only to prevent all possibility of cavilling), since every candid reader will easily understand my discourse to beintended only in defence of nominal Christianity, the other having beenfor some time wholly laid aside by general consent, as utterlyinconsistent with all our present schemes of wealth and power. 

But why we should therefore cut off the name and title of Christians, although the general opinion and resolution be so violent for it, Iconfess I cannot (with submission) apprehend the consequence necessary. However, since the undertakers propose such wonderful advantages to thenation by this project, and advance many plausible objections against thesystem of Christianity, I shall briefly consider the strength of both, fairly allow them their greatest weight, and offer such answers as Ithink most reasonable. After which I will beg leave to show whatinconveniences may possibly happen by such an innovation, in the presentposture of our affairs. 

First, one great advantage proposed by the abolishing of Christianity is, that it would very much enlarge and establish liberty of conscience, thatgreat bulwark of our nation, and of the Protestant religion, which isstill too much limited by priestcraft, notwithstanding all the goodintentions of the legislature, as we have lately found by a severeinstance. For it is confidently reported, that two young gentlemen ofreal hopes, bright wit, and profound judgment, who, upon a thoroughexamination of causes and effects, and by the mere force of naturalabilities, without the least tincture of learning, having made adiscovery that there was no God, and generously communicating theirthoughts for the good of the public, were some time ago, by anunparalleled severity, and upon I know not what obsolete law, broke forblasphemy. And as it has been wisely observed, if persecution oncebegins, no man alive knows how far it may reach, or where it will end. 

In answer to all which, with deference to wiser judgments, I think thisrather shows the necessity of a nominal religion among us. Great witslove to be free with the highest objects; and if they cannot be allowed agod to revile or renounce, they will speak evil of dignities, abuse thegovernment, and reflect upon the ministry, which I am sure few will denyto be of much more pernicious consequence, according to the saying ofTiberius, _deorum offensa diis curoe_. As to the particular factrelated, I think it is not fair to argue from one instance, perhapsanother cannot be produced: yet (to the comfort of all those who may beapprehensive of persecution) blasphemy we know is freely spoke a millionof times in every coffee-house and tavern, or wherever else good companymeet. It must be allowed, indeed, that to break an English free-bornofficer only for blasphemy was, to speak the gentlest of such an action, a very high strain of absolute power. Little can be said in excuse forthe general; perhaps he was afraid it might give offence to the allies, among whom, for aught we know, it may be the custom of the country tobelieve a God. But if he argued, as some have done, upon a mistakenprinciple, that an officer who is guilty of speaking blasphemy may, sometime or other, proceed so far as to raise a mutiny, the consequence is byno means to be admitted: for surely the commander of an English army islike to be but ill obeyed whose soldiers fear and reverence him as littleas they do a Deity. 

It is further objected against the Gospel system that it obliges men tothe belief of things too difficult for Freethinkers, and such who haveshook off the prejudices that usually cling to a confined education. Towhich I answer, that men should be cautious how they raise objectionswhich reflect upon the wisdom of the nation. Is not everybody freelyallowed to believe whatever he pleases, and to publish his belief to theworld whenever he thinks fit, especially if it serves to strengthen theparty which is in the right? Would any indifferent foreigner, who shouldread the trumpery lately written by Asgil, Tindal, Toland, Coward, andforty more, imagine the Gospel to be our rule of faith, and to beconfirmed by Parliaments? Does any man either believe, or say hebelieves, or desire to have it thought that he says he believes, onesyllable of the matter? And is any man worse received upon that score, or does he find his want of nominal faith a disadvantage to him in thepursuit of any civil or military employment? What if there be an olddormant statute or two against him, are they not now obsolete, to adegree, that Empson and Dudley themselves, if they were now alive, wouldfind it impossible to put them in execution?

It is likewise urged, that there are, by computation, in this kingdom, above ten thousand parsons, whose revenues, added to those of my lordsthe bishops, would suffice to maintain at least two hundred younggentlemen of wit and pleasure, and free-thinking, enemies to priestcraft, narrow principles, pedantry, and prejudices, who might be an ornament tothe court and town: and then again, so a great number of able [bodied]divines might be a recruit to our fleet and armies. This indeed appearsto be a consideration of some weight; but then, on the other side, several things deserve to be considered likewise: as, first, whether itmay not be thought necessary that in certain tracts of country, like whatwe call parishes, there should be one man at least of abilities to readand write. Then it seems a wrong computation that the revenues of theChurch throughout this island would be large enough to maintain twohundred young gentlemen, or even half that number, after the presentrefined way of living, that is, to allow each of them such a rent as, inthe modern form of speech, would make them easy. But still there is inthis project a greater mischief behind; and we ought to beware of thewoman's folly, who killed the hen that every morning laid her a goldenegg. For, pray what would become of the race of men in the next age, ifwe had nothing to trust to beside the scrofulous consumptive productionfurnished by our men of wit and pleasure, when, having squandered awaytheir vigour, health, and estates, they are forced, by some disagreeablemarriage, to piece up their broken fortunes, and entail rottenness andpoliteness on their posterity? Now, here are ten thousand personsreduced, by the wise regulations of Henry VIII. , to the necessity of alow diet, and moderate exercise, who are the only great restorers of ourbreed, without which the nation would in an age or two become one greathospital. 

Another advantage proposed by the abolishing of Christianity is the cleargain of one day in seven, which is now entirely lost, and consequentlythe kingdom one seventh less considerable in trade, business, andpleasure; besides the loss to the public of so many stately structuresnow in the hands of the clergy, which might be converted intoplay-houses, exchanges, market-houses, common dormitories, and otherpublic edifices. 

I hope I shall be forgiven a hard word if I call this a perfect cavil. Ireadily own there hath been an old custom, time out of mind, for peopleto assemble in the churches every Sunday, and that shops are stillfrequently shut, in order, as it is conceived, to preserve the memory ofthat ancient practice; but how this can prove a hindrance to business orpleasure is hard to imagine. What if the men of pleasure are forced, oneday in the week, to game at home instead of the chocolate-house? Are notthe taverns and coffee-houses open? Can there be a more convenientseason for taking a dose of physic? Is not that the chief day fortraders to sum up the accounts of the week, and for lawyers to preparetheir briefs? But I would fain know how it can be pretended that thechurches are misapplied? Where are more appointments and rendezvouses ofgallantry? Where more care to appear in the foremost box, with greateradvantage of dress? Where more meetings for business? Where morebargains driven of all sorts? And where so many conveniences orincitements to sleep?

There is one advantage greater than any of the foregoing, proposed by theabolishing of Christianity, that it will utterly extinguish parties amongus, by removing those factious distinctions of high and low church, ofWhig and Tory, Presbyterian and Church of England, which are now so manymutual clogs upon public proceedings, and are apt to prefer thegratifying themselves or depressing their adversaries before the mostimportant interest of the State. 

I confess, if it were certain that so great an advantage would redound tothe nation by this expedient, I would submit, and be silent; but will anyman say, that if the words, whoring, drinking, cheating, lying, stealing, were, by Act of Parliament, ejected out of the English tongue anddictionaries, we should all awake next morning chaste and temperate, honest and just, and lovers of truth? Is this a fair consequence? Or ifthe physicians would forbid us to pronounce the words pox, gout, rheumatism, and stone, would that expedient serve like so many talismento destroy the diseases themselves? Are party and faction rooted inmen's hearts no deeper than phrases borrowed from religion, or foundedupon no firmer principles? And is our language so poor that we cannotfind other terms to express them? Are envy, pride, avarice, and ambitionsuch ill nomenclators, that they cannot furnish appellations for theirowners? Will not heydukes and mamalukes, mandarins and patshaws, or anyother words formed at pleasure, serve to distinguish those who are in theministry from others who would be in it if they could? What, forinstance, is easier than to vary the form of speech, and instead of theword church, make it a question in politics, whether the monument be indanger? Because religion was nearest at hand to furnish a few convenientphrases, is our invention so barren we can find no other? Suppose, forargument sake, that the Tories favoured Margarita, the Whigs, Mrs. Tofts, and the Trimmers, Valentini, would not Margaritians, Toftians, andValentinians be very tolerable marks of distinction? The Prasini andVeniti, two most virulent factions in Italy, began, if I remember right, by a distinction of colours in ribbons, which we might do with as good agrace about the dignity of the blue and the green, and serve as properlyto divide the Court, the Parliament, and the kingdom between them, as anyterms of art whatsoever, borrowed from religion. And therefore I thinkthere is little force in this objection against Christianity, or prospectof so great an advantage as is proposed in the abolishing of it. 

It is again objected, as a very absurd, ridiculous custom, that a set ofmen should be suffered, much less employed and hired, to bawl one day inseven against the lawfulness of those methods most in use towards thepursuit of greatness, riches, and pleasure, which are the constantpractice of all men alive on the other six. But this objection is, Ithink, a little unworthy so refined an age as ours. Let us argue thismatter calmly. I appeal to the breast of any polite Free-thinker, whether, in the pursuit of gratifying a pre-dominant passion, he hath notalways felt a wonderful incitement, by reflecting it was a thingforbidden; and therefore we see, in order to cultivate this test, thewisdom of the nation hath taken special care that the ladies should befurnished with prohibited silks, and the men with prohibited wine. Andindeed it were to be wished that some other prohibitions were promoted, in order to improve the pleasures of the town, which, for want of suchexpedients, begin already, as I am told, to flag and grow languid, givingway daily to cruel inroads from the spleen. 

'Tis likewise proposed, as a great advantage to the public, that if weonce discard the system of the Gospel, all religion will of course bebanished for ever, and consequently along with it those grievousprejudices of education which, under the names of conscience, honour, justice, and the like, are so apt to disturb the peace of human minds, and the notions whereof are so hard to be eradicated by right reason orfree-thinking, sometimes during the whole course of our lives. 

Here first I observe how difficult it is to get rid of a phrase which theworld has once grown fond of, though the occasion that first produced itbe entirely taken away. For some years past, if a man had but an ill-favoured nose, the deep thinkers of the age would, some way or othercontrive to impute the cause to the prejudice of his education. Fromthis fountain were said to be derived all our foolish notions of justice, piety, love of our country; all our opinions of God or a future state, heaven, hell, and the like; and there might formerly perhaps have beensome pretence for this charge. But so effectual care hath been sincetaken to remove those prejudices, by an entire change in the methods ofeducation, that (with honour I mention it to our polite innovators) theyoung gentlemen, who are now on the scene, seem to have not the leasttincture left of those infusions, or string of those weeds, and byconsequence the reason for abolishing nominal Christianity upon thatpretext is wholly ceased. 

For the rest, it may perhaps admit a controversy, whether the banishingall notions of religion whatsoever would be inconvenient for the vulgar. Not that I am in the least of opinion with those who hold religion tohave been the invention of politicians, to keep the lower part of theworld in awe by the fear of invisible powers; unless mankind were thenvery different from what it is now; for I look upon the mass or body ofour people here in England to be as Freethinkers, that is to say, asstaunch unbelievers, as any of the highest rank. But I conceive somescattered notions about a superior power to be of singular use for thecommon people, as furnishing excellent materials to keep children quietwhen they grow peevish, and providing topics of amusement in a tediouswinter night. 

Lastly, it is proposed, as a singular advantage, that the abolishing ofChristianity will very much contribute to the uniting of Protestants, byenlarging the terms of communion, so as to take in all sorts ofDissenters, who are now shut out of the pale upon account of a fewceremonies, which all sides confess to be things indifferent. That thisalone will effectually answer the great ends of a scheme forcomprehension, by opening a large noble gate, at which all bodies mayenter; whereas the chaffering with Dissenters, and dodging about this ort'other ceremony, is but like opening a few wickets, and leaving them atjar, by which no more than one can get in at a time, and that not withoutstooping, and sideling, and squeezing his body. 

To all this I answer, that there is one darling inclination of mankindwhich usually affects to be a retainer to religion, though she be neitherits parent, its godmother, nor its friend. I mean the spirit ofopposition, that lived long before Christianity, and can easily subsistwithout it. Let us, for instance, examine wherein the opposition ofsectaries among us consists. We shall find Christianity to have no sharein it at all. Does the Gospel anywhere prescribe a starched, squeezedcountenance, a stiff formal gait, a singularity of manners and habit, orany affected forms and modes of speech different from the reasonable partof mankind? Yet, if Christianity did not lend its name to stand in thegap, and to employ or divert these humours, they must of necessity bespent in contraventions to the laws of the land, and disturbance of thepublic peace. There is a portion of enthusiasm assigned to every nation, which, if it hath not proper objects to work on, will burst out, and setall into a flame. If the quiet of a State can be bought by only flingingmen a few ceremonies to devour, it is a purchase no wise man wouldrefuse. Let the mastiffs amuse themselves about a sheep's skin stuffedwith hay, provided it will keep them from worrying the flock. Theinstitution of convents abroad seems in one point a strain of greatwisdom, there being few irregularities in human passions which may nothave recourse to vent themselves in some of those orders, which are somany retreats for the speculative, the melancholy, the proud, the silent, the politic, and the morose, to spend themselves, and evaporate thenoxious particles; for each of whom we in this island are forced toprovide a several sect of religion to keep them quiet; and wheneverChristianity shall be abolished, the Legislature must find some otherexpedient to employ and entertain them. For what imports it how large agate you open, if there will be always left a number who place a prideand a merit in not coming in?

Having thus considered the most important objections againstChristianity, and the chief advantages proposed by the abolishingthereof, I shall now, with equal deference and submission to wiserjudgments, as before, proceed to mention a few inconveniences that mayhappen if the Gospel should be repealed, which, perhaps, the projectorsmay not have sufficiently considered. 

And first, I am very sensible how much the gentlemen of wit and pleasureare apt to murmur, and be choked at the sight of so many daggle-tailedparsons that happen to fall in their way, and offend their eyes; but atthe same time, these wise reformers do not consider what an advantage andfelicity it is for great wits to be always provided with objects of scornand contempt, in order to exercise and improve their talents, and diverttheir spleen from falling on each other, or on themselves, especiallywhen all this may be done without the least imaginable danger to theirpersons. 

And to urge another argument of a parallel nature: if Christianity wereonce abolished, how could the Freethinkers, the strong reasoners, and themen of profound learning be able to find another subject so calculated inall points whereon to display their abilities? What wonderfulproductions of wit should we be deprived of from those whose genius, bycontinual practice, hath been wholly turned upon raillery and invectivesagainst religion, and would therefore never be able to shine ordistinguish themselves upon any other subject? We are daily complainingof the great decline of wit among as, and would we take away thegreatest, perhaps the only topic we have left? Who would ever havesuspected Asgil for a wit, or Toland for a philosopher, if theinexhaustible stock of Christianity had not been at hand to provide themwith materials? What other subject through all art or nature could haveproduced Tindal for a profound author, or furnished him with readers? Itis the wise choice of the subject that alone adorns and distinguishes thewriter. For had a hundred such pens as these been employed on the sideof religion, they would have immediately sunk into silence and oblivion. 

Nor do I think it wholly groundless, or my fears altogether imaginary, that the abolishing of Christianity may perhaps bring the Church indanger, or at least put the Senate to the trouble of another securingvote. I desire I may not be mistaken; I am far from presuming to affirmor think that the Church is in danger at present, or as things now stand;but we know not how soon it may be so when the Christian religion isrepealed. As plausible as this project seems, there may be a dangerousdesign lurk under it. Nothing can be more notorious than that theAtheists, Deists, Socinians, Anti-Trinitarians, and other subdivisions ofFreethinkers, are persons of little zeal for the present ecclesiasticalestablishment: their declared opinion is for repealing the sacramentaltest; they are very indifferent with regard to ceremonies; nor do theyhold the _Jus Divinum_ of episcopacy: therefore they may be intended asone politic step towards altering the constitution of the Churchestablished, and setting up Presbytery in the stead, which I leave to befurther considered by those at the helm. 

In the last place, I think nothing can be more plain, than that by thisexpedient we shall run into the evil we chiefly pretend to avoid; andthat the abolishment of the Christian religion will be the readiestcourse we can take to introduce Popery. And I am the more inclined tothis opinion because we know it has been the constant practice of theJesuits to send over emissaries, with instructions to personatethemselves members of the several prevailing sects amongst us. So it isrecorded that they have at sundry times appeared in the guise ofPresbyterians, Anabaptists, Independents, and Quakers, according as anyof these were most in credit; so, since the fashion hath been taken up ofexploding religion, the Popish missionaries have not been wanting to mixwith the Freethinkers; among whom Toland, the great oracle of the Anti-Christians, is an Irish priest, the son of an Irish priest; and the mostlearned and ingenious author of a book called the "Rights of theChristian Church, " was in a proper juncture reconciled to the Romishfaith, whose true son, as appears by a hundred passages in his treatise, he still continues. Perhaps I could add some others to the number; butthe fact is beyond dispute, and the reasoning they proceed by is right:for supposing Christianity to be extinguished the people will never he atease till they find out some other method of worship, which will asinfallibly produce superstition as this will end in Popery. 

And therefore, if, notwithstanding all I have said, it still be thoughtnecessary to have a Bill brought in for repealing Christianity, I wouldhumbly offer an amendment, that instead of the word Christianity may beput religion in general, which I conceive will much better answer all thegood ends proposed by the projectors of it. For as long as we leave inbeing a God and His Providence, with all the necessary consequences whichcurious and inquisitive men will be apt to draw from such promises, we donot strike at the root of the evil, though we should ever so effectuallyannihilate the present scheme of the Gospel; for of what use is freedomof thought if it will not produce freedom of action, which is the soleend, how remote soever in appearance, of all objections againstChristianity? and therefore, the Freethinkers consider it as a sort ofedifice, wherein all the parts have such a mutual dependence on eachother, that if you happen to pull out one single nail, the whole fabricmust fall to the ground. This was happily expressed by him who had heardof a text brought for proof of the Trinity, which in an ancientmanuscript was differently read; he thereupon immediately took the hint, and by a sudden deduction of a long Sorites, most logically concluded:why, if it be as you say, I may safely drink on, and defy the parson. From which, and many the like instances easy to be produced, I thinknothing can be more manifest than that the quarrel is not against anyparticular points of hard digestion in the Christian system, but againstreligion in general, which, by laying restraints on human nature, issupposed the great enemy to the freedom of thought and action. 

Upon the whole, if it shall still be thought for the benefit of Churchand State that Christianity be abolished, I conceive, however, it may bemore convenient to defer the execution to a time of peace, and notventure in this conjuncture to disoblige our allies, who, as it fallsout, are all Christians, and many of them, by the prejudices of theireducation, so bigoted as to place a sort of pride in the appellation. If, upon being rejected by them, we are to trust to an alliance with theTurk, we shall find ourselves much deceived; for, as he is too remote, and generally engaged in war with the Persian emperor, so his peoplewould be more scandalised at our infidelity than our Christianneighbours. For they are not only strict observers of religions worship, but what is worse, believe a God; which is more than is required of us, even while we preserve the name of Christians. 

To conclude, whatever some may think of the great advantages to trade bythis favourite scheme, I do very much apprehend that in six months' timeafter the Act is passed for the extirpation of the Gospel, the Bank andEast India stock may fall at least one per cent. And since that is fiftytimes more than ever the wisdom of our age thought fit to venture for thepreservation of Christianity, there is no reason we should be at so greata loss merely for the sake of destroying it. 

HINTS TOWARDS AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION. 

I have observed few obvious subjects to have been so seldom, or at leastso slightly, handled as this; and, indeed, I know few so difficult to betreated as it ought, nor yet upon which there seemeth so much to be said. 

Most things pursued by men for the happiness of public or private lifeour wit or folly have so refined, that they seldom subsist but in idea; atrue friend, a good marriage, a perfect form of government, with someothers, require so many ingredients, so good in their several kinds, andso much niceness in mixing them, that for some thousands of years menhave despaired of reducing their schemes to perfection. But inconversation it is or might be otherwise; for here we are only to avoid amultitude of errors, which, although a matter of some difficulty, may bein every man's power, for want of which it remaineth as mere an idea asthe other. Therefore it seemeth to me that the truest way to understandconversation is to know the faults and errors to which it is subject, andfrom thence every man to form maxims to himself whereby it may beregulated, because it requireth few talents to which most men are notborn, or at least may not acquire without any great genius or study. Fornature bath left every man a capacity of being agreeable, though not ofshining in company; and there are a hundred men sufficiently qualifiedfor both, who, by a very few faults that they might correct in half anhour, are not so much as tolerable. 

I was prompted to write my thoughts upon this subject by mereindignation, to reflect that so useful and innocent a pleasure, so fittedfor every period and condition of life, and so much in all men's power, should be so much neglected and abused. 

And in this discourse it will be necessary to note those errors that areobvious, as well as others which are seldomer observed, since there arefew so obvious or acknowledged into which most men, some time or other, are not apt to run. 

For instance, nothing is more generally exploded than the folly oftalking too much; yet I rarely remember to have seen five people togetherwhere some one among them hath not been predominant in that kind, to thegreat constraint and disgust of all the rest. But among such as deal inmultitudes of words, none are comparable to the sober deliberate talker, who proceedeth with much thought and caution, maketh his preface, brancheth out into several digressions, findeth a hint that putteth himin mind of another story, which he promiseth to tell you when this isdone; cometh back regularly to his subject, cannot readily call to mindsome person's name, holdeth his head, complaineth of his memory; thewhole company all this while in suspense; at length, says he, it is nomatter, and so goes on. And, to crown the business, it perhaps provethat last a story the company hath heard fifty times before; or, at best, some insipid adventure of the relater. 

Another general fault in conversation is that of those who affect to talkof themselves. Some, without any ceremony, will run over the history oftheir lives; will relate the annals of their diseases, with the severalsymptoms and circumstances of them; will enumerate the hardships andinjustice they have suffered in court, in parliament, in love, or in law. Others are more dexterous, and with great art will lie on the watch tohook in their own praise. They will call a witness to remember theyalways foretold what would happen in such a case, but none would believethem; they advised such a man from the beginning, and told him theconsequences just as they happened, but he would have his own way. Othersmake a vanity of telling their faults. They are the strangest men in theworld; they cannot dissemble; they own it is a folly; they have lostabundance of advantages by it; but, if you would give them the world, they cannot help it; there is something in their nature that abhorsinsincerity and constraint; with many other unsufferable topics of thesame altitude. 

Of such mighty importance every man is to himself, and ready to think heis so to others, without once making this easy and obvious reflection, that his affairs can have no more weight with other men than theirs havewith him; and how little that is he is sensible enough. 

Where company hath met, I often have observed two persons discover bysome accident that they were bred together at the same school oruniversity, after which the rest are condemned to silence, and to listenwhile these two are refreshing each other's memory with the arch tricksand passages of themselves and their comrades. 

I know a great officer of the army, who will sit for some time with asupercilious and impatient silence, full of anger and contempt for thosewho are talking; at length of a sudden demand audience; decide the matterin a short dogmatical way; then withdraw within himself again, andvouchsafe to talk no more, until his spirits circulate again to the samepoint. 

There are some faults in conversation which none are so subject to as themen of wit, nor ever so much as when they are with each other. If theyhave opened their mouths without endeavouring to say a witty thing, theythink it is so many words lost. It is a torment to the hearers, as muchas to themselves, to see them upon the rack for invention, and inperpetual constraint, with so little success. They must do somethingextraordinary, in order to acquit themselves, and answer their character, else the standers by may be disappointed and be apt to think them onlylike the rest of mortals. I have known two men of wit industriouslybrought together, in order to entertain the company, where they have madea very ridiculous figure, and provided all the mirth at their ownexpense. 

I know a man of wit, who is never easy but where he can be allowed todictate and preside; he neither expecteth to be informed or entertained, but to display his own talents. His business is to be good company, andnot good conversation, and therefore he chooseth to frequent those whoare content to listen, and profess themselves his admirers. And, indeed, the worst conversation I ever remember to have heard in my life was thatat Will's coffee-house, where the wits, as they were called, usedformerly to assemble; that is to say, five or six men who had writtenplays, or at least prologues, or had share in a miscellany, came thither, and entertained one another with their trifling composures in soimportant an air, as if they had been the noblest efforts of humannature, or that the fate of kingdoms depended on them; and they wereusually attended with a humble audience of young students from the innsof courts, or the universities, who, at due distance, listened to theseoracles, and returned home with great contempt for their law andphilosophy, their heads filled with trash under the name of politeness, criticism, and belles lettres. 

By these means the poets, for many years past, were all overrun withpedantry. For, as I take it, the word is not properly used; becausepedantry is the too front or unseasonable obtruding our own knowledge incommon discourse, and placing too great a value upon it; by whichdefinition men of the court or the army may be as guilty of pedantry as aphilosopher or a divine; and it is the same vice in women when they areover copious upon the subject of their petticoats, or their fans, ortheir china. For which reason, although it be a piece of prudence, aswell as good manners, to put men upon talking on subjects they are bestversed in, yet that is a liberty a wise man could hardly take; because, beside the imputation of pedantry, it is what he would never improve by. 

This great town is usually provided with some player, mimic, or buffoon, who hath a general reception at the good tables; familiar and domesticwith persons of the first quality, and usually sent for at every meetingto divert the company, against which I have no objection. You go thereas to a farce or a puppet-show; your business is only to laugh in season, either out of inclination or civility, while this merry companion isacting his part. It is a business he hath undertaken, and we are tosuppose he is paid for his day's work. I only quarrel when in select andprivate meetings, where men of wit and learning are invited to pass anevening, this jester should be admitted to run over his circle of tricks, and make the whole company unfit for any other conversation, besides theindignity of confounding men's talents at so shameful a rate. 

Raillery is the finest part of conversation; but, as it is our usualcustom to counterfeit and adulterate whatever is too dear for us, so wehave done with this, and turned it all into what is generally calledrepartee, or being smart; just as when an expensive fashion cometh up, those who are not able to reach it content themselves with some paltryimitation. It now passeth for raillery to run a man down in discourse, to put him out of countenance, and make him ridiculous, sometimes toexpose the defects of his person or understanding; on all which occasionshe is obliged not to be angry, to avoid the imputation of not being ableto take a jest. It is admirable to observe one who is dexterous at thisart, singling out a weak adversary, getting the laugh on his side, andthen carrying all before him. The French, from whom we borrow the word, have a quite different idea of the thing, and so had we in the politerage of our fathers. Raillery was, to say something that at firstappeared a reproach or reflection, but, by some turn of wit unexpectedand surprising, ended always in a compliment, and to the advantage of theperson it was addressed to. And surely one of the best rules inconversation is, never to say a thing which any of the company canreasonably wish we had rather left unsaid; nor can there anything be wellmore contrary to the ends for which people meet together, than to partunsatisfied with each other or themselves. 

There are two faults in conversation which appear very different, yetarise from the same root, and are equally blamable; I mean, an impatienceto interrupt others, and the uneasiness of being interrupted ourselves. The two chief ends of conversation are, to entertain and improve those weare among, or to receive those benefits ourselves; which whoever willconsider, cannot easily run into either of those two errors; because, when any man speaketh in company, it is to be supposed he doth it for hishearers' sake, and not his own; so that common discretion will teach usnot to force their attention, if they are not willing to lend it; nor, onthe other side, to interrupt him who is in possession, because that is inthe grossest manner to give the preference to our own good sense. 

There are some people whose good manners will not suffer them tointerrupt you; but, what is almost as bad, will discover abundance ofimpatience, and lie upon the watch until you have done, because they havestarted something in their own thoughts which they long to be deliveredof. Meantime, they are so far from regarding what passes, that theirimaginations are wholly turned upon what they have in reserve, for fearit should slip out of their memory; and thus they confine theirinvention, which might otherwise range over a hundred things full asgood, and that might be much more naturally introduced. 

There is a sort of rude familiarity, which some people, by practisingamong their intimates, have introduced into their general conversation, and would have it pass for innocent freedom or humour, which is adangerous experiment in our northern climate, where all the littledecorum and politeness we have are purely forced by art, and are so readyto lapse into barbarity. This, among the Romans, was the raillery ofslaves, of which we have many instances in Plautus. It seemeth to havebeen introduced among us by Cromwell, who, by preferring the scum of thepeople, made it a court-entertainment, of which I have heard manyparticulars; and, considering all things were turned upside down, it wasreasonable and judicious; although it was a piece of policy found out toridicule a point of honour in the other extreme, when the smallest wordmisplaced among gentlemen ended in a duel. 

There are some men excellent at telling a story, and provided with aplentiful stock of them, which they can draw out upon occasion in allcompanies; and considering how low conversation runs now among us, it isnot altogether a contemptible talent; however, it is subject to twounavoidable defects: frequent repetition, and being soon exhausted; sothat whoever valueth this gift in himself hath need of a good memory, andought frequently to shift his company, that he may not discover theweakness of his fund; for those who are thus endowed have seldom anyother revenue, but live upon the main stock. 

Great speakers in public are seldom agreeable in private conversation, whether their faculty be natural, or acquired by practice and oftenventuring. Natural elocution, although it may seem a paradox, usuallyspringeth from a barrenness of invention and of words, by which men whohave only one stock of notions upon every subject, and one set of phrasesto express them in, they swim upon the superficies, and offer themselveson every occasion; therefore, men of much learning, and who know thecompass of a language, are generally the worst talkers on a sudden, untilmuch practice hath inured and emboldened them; because they areconfounded with plenty of matter, variety of notions, and of words, whichthey cannot readily choose, but are perplexed and entangled by too greata choice, which is no disadvantage in private conversation; where, on theother side, the talent of haranguing is, of all others, mostinsupportable. 

Nothing hath spoiled men more for conversation than the character ofbeing wits; to support which, they never fail of encouraging a number offollowers and admirers, who list themselves in their service, whereinthey find their accounts on both sides by pleasing their mutual vanity. This hath given the former such an air of superiority, and made thelatter so pragmatical, that neither of them are well to be endured. Isay nothing here of the itch of dispute and contradiction, telling oflies, or of those who are troubled with the disease called the wanderingof the thoughts, that they are never present in mind at what passeth indiscourse; for whoever labours under any of these possessions is as unfitfor conversation as madmen in Bedlam. 

I think I have gone over most of the errors in conversation that havefallen under my notice or memory, except some that are merely personal, and others too gross to need exploding; such as lewd or profane talk; butI pretend only to treat the errors of conversation in general, and notthe several subjects of discourse, which would be infinite. Thus we seehow human nature is most debased, by the abuse of that faculty, which isheld the great distinction between men and brutes; and how littleadvantage we make of that which might be the greatest, the most lasting, and the most innocent, as well as useful pleasure of life: in default ofwhich, we are forced to take up with those poor amusements of dress andvisiting, or the more pernicious ones of play, drink, and vicious amours, whereby the nobility and gentry of both sexes are entirely corrupted bothin body and mind, and have lost all notions of love, honour, friendship, and generosity; which, under the name of fopperies, have been for sometime laughed out of doors. 

This degeneracy of conversation, with the pernicious consequences thereofupon our humours and dispositions, hath been owing, among other causes, to the custom arisen, for some time past, of excluding women from anyshare in our society, further than in parties at play, or dancing, or inthe pursuit of an amour. I take the highest period of politeness inEngland (and it is of the same date in France) to have been the peaceablepart of King Charles I. 's reign; and from what we read of those times, aswell as from the accounts I have formerly met with from some who lived inthat court, the methods then used for raising and cultivatingconversation were altogether different from ours; several ladies, whom wefind celebrated by the poets of that age, had assemblies at their houses, where persons of the best understanding, and of both sexes, met to passthe evenings in discoursing upon whatever agreeable subjects wereoccasionally started; and although we are apt to ridicule the sublimePlatonic notions they had, or personated in love and friendship, Iconceive their refinements were grounded upon reason, and that a littlegrain of the romance is no ill ingredient to preserve and exalt thedignity of human nature, without which it is apt to degenerate intoeverything that is sordid, vicious, and low. If there were no other usein the conversation of ladies, it is sufficient that it would lay arestraint upon those odious topics of immodesty and indecencies, intowhich the rudeness of our northern genius is so apt to fall. And, therefore, it is observable in those sprightly gentlemen about the town, who are so very dexterous at entertaining a vizard mask in the park orthe playhouse, that, in the company of ladies of virtue and honour, theyare silent and disconcerted, and out of their element. 

There are some people who think they sufficiently acquit themselves andentertain their company with relating of facts of no consequence, nor atall out of the road of such common incidents as happen every day; andthis I have observed more frequently among the Scots than any othernation, who are very careful not to omit the minutest circumstances oftime or place; which kind of discourse, if it were not a little relievedby the uncouth terms and phrases, as well as accent and gesture peculiarto that country, would be hardly tolerable. It is not a fault in companyto talk much; but to continue it long is certainly one; for, if themajority of those who are got together be naturally silent or cautious, the conversation will flag, unless it be often renewed by one among themwho can start new subjects, provided he doth not dwell upon them, butleaveth room for answers and replies. 

THOUGHTS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 

We have just enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make uslove one another. 

Reflect on things past as wars, negotiations, factions, etc. We enter solittle into those interests, that we wonder how men could possibly be sobusy and concerned for things so transitory; look on the present times, we find the same humour, yet wonder not at all. 

A wise man endeavours, by considering all circumstances, to makeconjectures and form conclusions; but the smallest accident intervening(and in the course of affairs it is impossible to foresee all) does oftenproduce such turns and changes, that at last he is just as much in doubtof events as the most ignorant and inexperienced person. 

Positiveness is a good quality for preachers and orators, because he thatwould obtrude his thoughts and reasons upon a multitude, will convinceothers the more, as he appears convinced himself. 

How is it possible to expect that mankind will take advice, when theywill not so much as take warning?

I forget whether Advice be among the lost things which Aristo says are tobe found in the moon; that and Time ought to have been there. 

No preacher is listened to but Time, which gives us the same train andturn of thought that older people have tried in vain to put into ourheads before. 

When we desire or solicit anything, our minds run wholly on the good sideor circumstances of it; when it is obtained, our minds run wholly on thebad ones. 

In a glass-house the workmen often fling in a small quantity of freshcoals, which seems to disturb the fire, but very much enlivens it. Thisseems to allude to a gentle stirring of the passions, that the mind maynot languish. 

Religion seems to have grown an infant with age, and requires miracles tonurse it, as it had in its infancy. 

All fits of pleasure are balanced by an equal degree of pain or languor;it is like spending this year part of the next year's revenue. 

The latter part of a wise man's life is taken up in curing the follies, prejudices, and false opinions he had contracted in the former. 

Would a writer know how to behave himself with relation to posterity, lethim consider in old books what he finds that he is glad to know, and whatomissions he most laments. 

Whatever the poets pretend, it is plain they give immortality to none butthemselves; it is Homer and Virgil we reverence and admire, not Achillesor AEneas. With historians it is quite the contrary; our thoughts aretaken up with the actions, persons, and events we read, and we littleregard the authors. 

When a true genius appears in the world you may know him by this sign;that the dunces are all in confederacy against him. 

Men who possess all the advantages of life, are in a state where thereare many accidents to disorder and discompose, but few to please them. 

It is unwise to punish cowards with ignominy, for if they had regardedthat they would not have been cowards; death is their proper punishment, because they fear it most. 

The greatest inventions were produced in the times of ignorance, as theuse of the compass, gunpowder, and printing, and by the dullest nation, as the Germans. 

One argument to prove that the common relations of ghosts and spectresare generally false, may be drawn from the opinion held that spirits arenever seen by more than one person at a time; that is to say, it seldomhappens to above one person in a company to be possessed with any highdegree of spleen or melancholy. 

I am apt to think that, in the day of Judgment, there will be smallallowance given to the wise for their want of morals, nor to the ignorantfor their want of faith, because both are without excuse. This rendersthe advantages equal of ignorance and knowledge. But, some scruples inthe wise, and some vices in the ignorant, will perhaps be forgiven uponthe strength of temptation to each. 

The value of several circumstances in story lessens very much by distanceof time, though some minute circumstances are very valuable; and itrequires great judgment in a writer to distinguish. 

It is grown a word of course for writers to say, "This critical age, " asdivines say, "This sinful age. "

It is pleasant to observe how free the present age is in laying taxes onthe next. _Future ages shall talk of this_; _this shall be famous to allposterity_. Whereas their time and thoughts will be taken up aboutpresent things, as ours are now. 

The chameleon, who is said to feed upon nothing but air, hath, of allanimals, the nimblest tongue. 

When a man is made a spiritual peer he loses his surname; when atemporal, his Christian name. 

It is in disputes as in armies, where the weaker side sets up falselights, and makes a great noise, to make the enemy believe them morenumerous and strong than they really are. 

Some men, under the notions of weeding out prejudices, eradicate virtue, honesty, and religion. 

In all well-instituted commonwealths, care has been taken to limit men'spossessions; which is done for many reasons, and among the rest, for onewhich perhaps is not often considered: that when bounds are set to men'sdesires, after they have acquired as much as the laws will permit them, their private interest is at an end, and they have nothing to do but totake care of the public. 

There are but three ways for a man to revenge himself of the censure ofthe world: to despise it, to return the like, or to endeavour to live soas to avoid it. The first of these is usually pretended, the last isalmost impossible; the universal practice is for the second. 

I never heard a finer piece of satire against lawyers than that ofastrologers, when they pretend by rules of art to tell when a suit willend, and whether to the advantage of the plaintiff or defendant; thusmaking the matter depend entirely upon the influence of the stars, without the least regard to the merits of the cause. 

The expression in Apocrypha about Tobit and his dog following him I haveoften heard ridiculed, yet Homer has the same words of Telemachus morethan once; and Virgil says something like it of Evander. And I take thebook of Tobit to be partly poetical. 

I have known some men possessed of good qualities, which were veryserviceable to others, but useless to themselves; like a sun-dial on thefront of a house, to inform the neighbours and passengers, but not theowner within. 

If a man would register all his opinions upon love, politics, religion, learning, etc. , beginning from his youth and so go on to old age, what abundle of inconsistencies and contradictions would appear at last!

What they do in heaven we are ignorant of; what they do not we are toldexpressly: that they neither marry, nor are given in marriage. 

It is a miserable thing to live in suspense; it is the life of a spider. 

The Stoical scheme of supplying our wants by lopping off our desires, islike cutting off our feet when we want shoes. 

Physicians ought not to give their judgment of religion, for the samereason that butchers are not admitted to be jurors upon life and death. 

The reason why so few marriages are happy, is, because young ladies spendtheir time in making nets, not in making cages. 

If a man will observe as he walks the streets, I believe he will find themerriest countenances in mourning coaches. 

Nothing more unqualifies a man to act with prudence than a misfortunethat is attended with shame and guilt. 

The power of fortune is confessed only by the miserable; for the happyimpute all their success to prudence or merit. 

Ambition often puts men upon doing the meanest offices; so climbing isperformed in the same posture with creeping. 

Censure is the tax a man pays to the public for being eminent. 

Although men are accused for not knowing their own weakness, yet perhapsas few know their own strength. It is, in men as in soils, wheresometimes there is a vein of gold which the owner knows not of. 

Satire is reckoned the easiest of all wit, but I take it to be otherwisein very bad times: for it is as hard to satirise well a man ofdistinguished vices, as to praise well a man of distinguished virtues. Itis easy enough to do either to people of moderate characters. 

Invention is the talent of youth, and judgment of age; so that ourjudgment grows harder to please, when we have fewer things to offer it:this goes through the whole commerce of life. When we are old, ourfriends find it difficult to please us, and are less concerned whether webe pleased or no. 

No wise man ever wished to be younger. 

An idle reason lessens the weight of the good ones you gave before. 

The motives of the best actions will not bear too strict an inquiry. Itis allowed that the cause of most actions, good or bad, may he resolvedinto the love of ourselves; but the self-love of some men inclines themto please others, and the self-love of others is wholly employed inpleasing themselves. This makes the great distinction between virtue andvice. Religion is the best motive of all actions, yet religion isallowed to be the highest instance of self-love. 

Old men view best at a distance with the eyes of their understanding aswell as with those of nature. 

Some people take more care to hide their wisdom than their folly. 

Anthony Henley's farmer, dying of an asthma, said, "Well, if I can getthis breath once _out_, I'll take care it never got _in_ again. "

The humour of exploding many things under the name of trifles, fopperies, and only imaginary goods, is a very false proof either of wisdom ormagnanimity, and a great check to virtuous actions. For instance, withregard to fame, there is in most people a reluctance and unwillingness tobe forgotten. We observe, even among the vulgar, how fond they are tohave an inscription over their grave. It requires but little philosophyto discover and observe that there is no intrinsic value in all this;however, if it be founded in our nature as an incitement to virtue, itought not to be ridiculed. 

Complaint is the largest tribute heaven receives, and the sincerest partof our devotion. 

The common fluency of speech in many men, and most women, is owing to ascarcity of matter, and a scarcity of words; for whoever is a master oflanguage, and hath a mind full of ideas, will be apt, in speaking, tohesitate upon the choice of both; whereas common speakers have only oneset of ideas, and one set of words to clothe them in, and these arealways ready at the mouth. So people come faster out of a church when itis almost empty, than when a crowd is at the door. 

Few are qualified to shine in company; but it is in most men's power tobe agreeable. The reason, therefore, why conversation runs so low atpresent, is not the defect of understanding, but pride, vanity, ill-nature, affectation, singularity, positiveness, or some other vice, the effect of a wrong education. 

To be vain is rather a mark of humility than pride. Vain men delight intelling what honours have been done them, what great company they havekept, and the like, by which they plainly confess that these honours weremore than their due, and such as their friends would not believe if theyhad not been told: whereas a man truly proud thinks the greatest honoursbelow his merit, and consequently scorns to boast. I therefore deliverit as a maxim, that whoever desires the character of a proud man, oughtto conceal his vanity. 

Law, in a free country, is, or ought to be, the determination of themajority of those who have property in land. 

One argument used to the disadvantage of Providence I take to be a verystrong one in its defence. It is objected that storms and tempests, unfruitful seasons, serpents, spiders, flies, and other noxious ortroublesome animals, with many more instances of the like kind, discoveran imperfection in nature, because human life would be much easierwithout them; but the design of Providence may clearly be perceived inthis proceeding. The motions of the sun and moon--in short, the wholesystem of the universe, as far as philosophers have been able to discoverand observe, are in the utmost degree of regularity and perfection; butwherever God hath left to man the power of interposing a remedy bythought or labour, there he hath placed things in a state ofimperfection, on purpose to stir up human industry, without which lifewould stagnate, or, indeed, rather, could not subsist at all: _Curisaccuunt mortalia corda_. 

Praise is the daughter of present power. 

How inconsistent is man with himself!

I have known several persons of great fame for wisdom in public affairsand counsels governed by foolish servants. 

I have known great Ministers, distinguished for wit and learning, whopreferred none but dunces. 

I have known men of great valour cowards to their wives. 

I have known men of the greatest cunning perpetually cheated. 

I knew three great Ministers, who could exactly compute and settle theaccounts of a kingdom, but were wholly ignorant of their own economy. 

The preaching of divines helps to preserve well-inclined men in thecourse of virtue, but seldom or never reclaims the vicious. 

Princes usually make wiser choices than the servants whom they trust forthe disposal of places: I have known a prince, more than once, choose anable Minister, but I never observed that Minister to use his credit inthe disposal of an employment to a person whom he thought the fittest forit. One of the greatest in this age owned and excused the matter fromthe violence of parties and the unreasonableness of friends. 

Small causes are sufficient to make a man uneasy when great ones are notin the way. For want of a block he will stumble at a straw. 

Dignity, high station, or great riches, are in some sort necessary to oldmen, in order to keep the younger at a distance, who are otherwise tooapt to insult them upon the score of their age. 

Every man desires to live long; but no man would be old. 

Love of flattery in most men proceeds from the mean opinion they have ofthemselves; in women from the contrary. 

If books and laws continue to increase as they have done for fifty yearspast, I am in some concern for future ages how any man will be learned, or any man a lawyer. 

Kings are commonly said to have _long hands_; I wish they had as _longears_. 

Princes in their infancy, childhood, and youth are said to discoverprodigious parts and wit, to speak things that surprise and astonish. Strange, so many hopeful princes, and so many shameful kings! If theyhappen to die young, they would have been prodigies of wisdom and virtue. If they live, they are often prodigies indeed, but of another sort. 

Politics, as the word is commonly understood, are nothing butcorruptions, and consequently of no use to a good king or a goodministry; for which reason Courts are so overrun with politics. 

A nice man is a man of nasty ideas. 

Apollo was held the god of physic and sender of diseases. Both woreoriginally the same trade, and still continue. 

Old men and comets have been reverenced for the same reason: their longbeards, and pretences to foretell events. 

A person was asked at court, what he thought of an ambassador and histrain, who were all embroidery and lace, full of bows, cringes, andgestures; he said, it was Solomon's importation, gold and apes. 

Most sorts of diversion in men, children, and other animals, is animitation of fighting. 

Augustus meeting an ass with a lucky name foretold himself good fortune. I meet many asses, but none of them have lucky names. 

If a man makes me keep my distance, the comfort is he keeps his at thesame time. 

Who can deny that all men are violent lovers of truth when we see them sopositive in their errors, which they will maintain out of their zeal totruth, although they contradict themselves every day of their lives?

That was excellently observed, say I, when I read a passage in an author, where his opinion agrees with mine. When we differ, there I pronouncehim to be mistaken. 

Very few men, properly speaking, live at present, but are providing tolive another time. 

Laws penned with the utmost care and exactness, and in the vulgarlanguage, are often perverted to wrong meanings; then why should wewonder that the Bible is so?

Although men are accused for not knowing their weakness, yet perhaps asfew know their own strength. 

A man seeing a wasp creeping into a vial filled with honey, that was hungon a fruit tree, said thus: "Why, thou sottish animal, art thou mad to gointo that vial, where you see many hundred of your kind there dying in itbefore you?" "The reproach is just, " answered the wasp, "but not fromyou men, who are so far from taking example by other people's follies, that you will not take warning by your own. If after falling severaltimes into this vial, and escaping by chance, I should fall in again, Ishould then but resemble you. "

An old miser kept a tame jackdaw, that used to steal pieces of money, andhide them in a hole, which the cat observing, asked why he would hoard upthose round shining things that he could make no use of? "Why, " said thejackdaw, "my master has a whole chest full, and makes no more use of themthan I. "

Men are content to be laughed at for their wit, but not for their folly. 

If the men of wit and genius would resolve never to complain in theirworks of critics and detractors, the next age would not know that theyever had any. 

After all the maxims and systems of trade and commerce, a stander-bywould think the affairs of the world were most ridiculously contrived. 

There are few countries which, if well cultivated, would not supportdouble the number of their inhabitants, and yet fewer where one-third ofthe people are not extremely stinted even in the necessaries of life. Isend out twenty barrels of corn, which would maintain a family in breadfor a year, and I bring back in return a vessel of wine, which half adozen good follows would drink in less than a month, at the expense oftheir health and reason. 

A man would have but few spectators, if he offered to show for threepencehow he could thrust a red-hot iron into a barrel of gunpowder, and itshould not take fire. 

FOOTNOTES:

{1} Two puppet-show men. 

{2} The house-keeper. 

{3} The butler. 

{4} The footman. 

{5} The priest his confessor.