Quotes by Jonathan Swift

I take the liberty of transcribing it: "The manoeuvre by which Swift managed to associate a suspicion of Jacobitism with his opponents, is one peculiarly characteristic; and so is the skill with which, in the next letter, he meets the objections to this paragraph, by half offering an extent of submission that might equally be embarrassing--a submission even to Jacobitism, if Jacobitism were to become strong enough. He does not commit himself, however: he fears a 'spiteful interpretation.' In short, he places the English Cabinet on the horns of a dilemma. 'Am I to resist Jacobitism? Then what becomes of your doctrine of Ireland's dependency?' or, 'Am I to become a Jacobite, if England bids me? Then what becomes of your Protestant succession? Must even that give way to your desire to tyrannize?'" [T.S.]] 'Tis true indeed, that within the memory of man, the Parliaments of England have sometimes assumed the power of binding this kingdom by laws enacted there,[21] wherein they were at first openly opposed (as far as truth, reason and justice are capable of opposing) by the famous Mr. Molineux,[22] an English gentleman born here, as well as by several of the greatest patriots, and best Whigs in England; but the love and torrent of power prevailed. Indeed the arguments on both sides were invincible. For in reason, all government without the consent of the governed is the very definition of slavery: But in fact, eleven men well armed will certainly subdue one single man in his shirt. But I have done. For those who have used power to cramp liberty have gone so far as to resent even the liberty of complaining, although a man upon the rack was never known to be refused the liberty of roaring as loud as he thought fit. [Footnote 21: Particularly in the reign of William III., when this doctrine of English supremacy was assumed, in order to discredit the authority of the Irish Parliament summoned by James II. [S.] See note on Poyning's Law, p. 77. [T.S.]] [Footnote 22: See note on p. 167. [T.S.]] And as we are apt to sink too much under unreasonable fears, so we are too soon inclined to be raised by groundless hopes (according to the nature of all consumptive bodies like ours) thus, it hath been given about for several days past, that somebody in England empowered a second somebody to write to a third somebody here to assure us, that we "should no more be troubled with those halfpence.

I therefore hope, that preserving both those characters, I may be allowed, by offering new arguments or enforcing old ones, to refresh the memory of my fellow-subjects, and keep up that good spirit raised among them; to preserve themselves from utter ruin by lawful means, and such as are permitted by his Majesty. I believe you will please to allow me two propositions: First, that we are a most loyal people; and, Secondly, that we are a free people, in the common acceptation of that word applied to a subject under a limited monarch. I know very well, that you and I did many years ago in discourse differ much, in the presence of Lord Wharton, about the meaning of that word _liberty_, with relation to Ireland. But if you will not allow us to be a free people, there is only another appellation left; which, I doubt, my Lord Chief Justice Whitshed would call me to an account for, if I venture to bestow: For, I observed, and I shall never forget upon what occasion, the device upon his coach to be _Libertas et natale solum;_ at the very point of time when he was sitting in his court, and perjuring himself to betray both.[6] [Footnote 6: On this motto of Whitshed's Swift wrote the following poetical paraphrase: "_Libertas et natale solum:_ Fine words! I wonder where you stole 'em. Could nothing but thy chief reproach Serve for a motto on thy coach? But let me now thy words translate: _Natale solum,_ my estate; My dear estate, how well I love it, My tenants, if you doubt, will prove it, They swear I am so kind and good, I hug them till I squeeze their blood. _Libertas_ bears a large import: First, how to swagger in a court; And, secondly, to shew my fury Against an uncomplying jury; And, thirdly, 'tis a new invention, To favour Wood, and keep my pension; And, fourthly, 'tis to play an odd trick, Get the great seal and turn out Broderick; And, fifthly, (you know whom I mean,) To humble that vexatious Dean: And, sixthly, for my soul to barter it For fifty times its worth to Carteret. Now since your motto thus you construe, I must confess you've spoken once true. _Libertas et natale solum_. You had good reason when you stole 'em." [T.S.]] Now, as for our loyalty, to His present Majesty; if it hath ever been equalled in any other part of his dominions; I am sure it hath never been exceeded: And I am confident he hath not a minister in England who could ever call it once in question: But that some hard rumours at least have been transmitted from t'other side the water, I suppose you will not doubt: and rumours of the severest kind; which many good people have imputed to the indirect proceeding of Mr.

For the brain in its natural position and state of serenity disposeth its owner to pass his life in the common forms, without any thought of subduing multitudes to his own power, his reasons, or his visions, and the more he shapes his understanding by the pattern of human learning, the less he is inclined to form parties after his particular notions, because that instructs him in his private infirmities, as well as in the stubborn ignorance of the people. But when a man’s fancy gets astride on his reason, when imagination is at cuffs with the senses, and common understanding as well as common sense is kicked out of doors, the first proselyte he makes is himself; and when that is once compassed, the difficulty is not so great in bringing over others, a strong delusion always operating from without as vigorously as from within. For cant and vision are to the ear and the eye the same that tickling is to the touch. Those entertainments and pleasures we most value in life are such as dupe and play the wag with the senses. For if we take an examination of what is generally understood by happiness, as it has respect either to the understanding or the senses we shall find all its properties and adjuncts will herd under this short definition, that it is a perpetual possession of being well deceived. And first, with relation to the mind or understanding, it is manifest what mighty advantages fiction has over truth, and the reason is just at our elbow: because imagination can build nobler scenes and produce more wonderful revolutions than fortune or Nature will be at the expense to furnish. Nor is mankind so much to blame in his choice thus determining him, if we consider that the debate merely lies between things past and things conceived, and so the question is only this: whether things that have place in the imagination may not as properly be said to exist as those that are seated in the memory? which may be justly held in the affirmative, and very much to the advantage of the former, since this is acknowledged to be the womb of things, and the other allowed to be no more than the grave. Again, if we take this definition of happiness and examine it with reference to the senses, it will be acknowledged wonderfully adapt. How sad and insipid do all objects accost us that are not conveyed in the vehicle of delusion!

Come, bring me the Loaf; I sometimes love to cut my own Bread. _Miss._ I suppose, my Lord, you lay longest a Bed To-day. _Ld. Smart._ Miss, if I had said so, I should have told a Fib; I warrant you lay a Bed till the Cows came Home: But, Miss, shall I cut you a little Crust now my Hand is in? _Miss._ If you please, my Lord, a Bit of Under-crust. _Neverout._ [_whispering Miss._] I find, you love to lie under. _Miss._ _aloud_ [_pushing him from her._] What does the Man mean! Sir, I don’t understand you at all. _Neverout._ Come, all Quarrels laid aside: Here, Miss, may you live a thousand Years. [_He drinks to her._ _Miss._ Pray, Sir, don’t stint me. _Ld. Smart._ Sir _John_, will you taste my _October_? I think it is very good; but I believe not equal to yours in _Darbyshire_. _Sir John._ My Lord, I beg your Pardon; but they say, the Devil made Askers. _Ld. Smart._ [_to the Butler._] Here, bring up the great Tankard full of _October_ for Sir _John_. _Col._ [_drinking to Miss._] Miss, your Health; may you live all the Days of your Life. _Lady Answ._ Well, Miss, you’ll certainly be soon marry’d; here’s Two Batchelors drinking to you at once. _Lady Smart._ Indeed, Miss, I believe you were wrapt in your Mother’s Smock, you are so well belov’d. _Miss._ Where’s my Knife? Sure I han’t eaten it. Oh! here it is. _Sir John._ No, Miss; but your Maidenhead hangs in your Light. _Miss._ Pray, Sir _John_, is that a _Darbyshire_ Compliment? Here, Mr. _Neverout_, will you take this Piece of Rabbit that you bid me carve for you? _Neverout._ I don’t know. _Miss._ Why, take it, or let it alone. _Neverout._ I will. _Miss._ What will you? _Neverout._ Why, I’ll take it, or let it alone. _Miss._ You are a provoking Creature. _Sir John_ [_talking with a Glass of Wine in his Hand._] I remember a Farmer in our Country—— _Ld. Smart_ [_interrupting him._] Pray, Sir _John_, did you ever hear of Parson _Palmer_? _Sir John._ No, my Lord; what of him? _Ld. Smart._ Why, he used to preach over his Liquor.

I am assured from the reader’s candour that the brief specimen I have given will easily clear all the rest of our society’s productions from an aspersion grown, as it is manifest, out of envy and ignorance, that they are of little farther use or value to mankind beyond the common entertainments of their wit and their style; for these I am sure have never yet been disputed by our keenest adversaries; in both which, as well as the more profound and most mystical part, I have throughout this treatise closely followed the most applauded originals. And to render all complete I have with much thought and application of mind so ordered that the chief title prefixed to it (I mean that under which I design it shall pass in the common conversation of court and town) is modelled exactly after the manner peculiar to our society. I confess to have been somewhat liberal in the business of titles {69a}, having observed the humour of multiplying them, to bear great vogue among certain writers, whom I exceedingly reverence. And indeed it seems not unreasonable that books, the children of the brain, should have the honour to be christened with variety of names, as well as other infants of quality. Our famous Dryden has ventured to proceed a point farther, endeavouring to introduce also a multiplicity of godfathers {69b}, which is an improvement of much more advantage, upon a very obvious account. It is a pity this admirable invention has not been better cultivated, so as to grow by this time into general imitation, when such an authority serves it for a precedent. Nor have my endeavours been wanting to second so useful an example, but it seems there is an unhappy expense usually annexed to the calling of a godfather, which was clearly out of my head, as it is very reasonable to believe. Where the pinch lay, I cannot certainly affirm; but having employed a world of thoughts and pains to split my treatise into forty sections, and having entreated forty Lords of my acquaintance that they would do me the honour to stand, they all made it matter of conscience, and sent me their excuses.

In a glass-house the workmen often fling in a small quantity of fresh coals, which seems to disturb the fire, but very much enlivens it. This seems to allude to a gentle stirring of the passions, that the mind may not languish. Religion seems to have grown an infant with age, and requires miracles to nurse 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, let him consider in old books what he finds that he is glad to know, and what omissions he most laments. Whatever the poets pretend, it is plain they give immortality to none but themselves; it is Homer and Virgil we reverence and admire, not Achilles or AEneas. With historians it is quite the contrary; our thoughts are taken up with the actions, persons, and events we read, and we little regard 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 there are many accidents to disorder and discompose, but few to please them. It is unwise to punish cowards with ignominy, for if they had regarded that 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 the use 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 spectres are generally false, may be drawn from the opinion held that spirits are never seen by more than one person at a time; that is to say, it seldom happens to above one person in a company to be possessed with any high degree of spleen or melancholy. I am apt to think that, in the day of Judgment, there will be small allowance given to the wise for their want of morals, nor to the ignorant for their want of faith, because both are without excuse.

answer'd, that a dog of late Inform'd a minister of state. Said I, from thence I nothing know; For are not all informers so? A villain who his friend betrays, We style him by no other phrase; And so a perjured dog denotes Porter, and Pendergast, and Oates, And forty others I could name. WHIG. But you must know this dog was lame. TORY. A weighty argument indeed! Your evidence was lame:--proceed: Come, help your lame dog o'er the stile. WHIG. Sir, you mistake me all this while: I mean a dog (without a joke) Can howl, and bark, but never spoke. TORY. I'm still to seek, which dog you mean; Whether cur Plunkett, or whelp Skean,[2] An English or an Irish hound; Or t'other puppy, that was drown'd; Or Mason, that abandon'd bitch: Then pray be free, and tell me which: For every stander-by was marking, That all the noise they made was barking. You pay them well, the dogs have got Their dogs-head in a porridge-pot: And 'twas but just; for wise men say, That every dog must have his day. Dog Walpole laid a quart of nog on't, He'd either make a hog or dog on't; And look'd, since he has got his wish, As if he had thrown down a dish, Yet this I dare foretell you from it, He'll soon return to his own vomit. WHIG. Besides, this horrid plot was found By Neynoe, after he was drown'd. TORY. Why then the proverb is not right, Since you can teach dead dogs to bite. WHIG. I proved my proposition full: But Jacobites are strangely dull. Now, let me tell you plainly, sir, Our witness is a real cur, A dog of spirit for his years; Has twice two legs, two hanging ears; His name is Harlequin, I wot, And that's a name in every plot: Resolved to save the British nation, Though French by birth and education; His correspondence plainly dated, Was all decipher'd and translated: His answers were exceeding pretty, Before the secret wise committee; Confest as plain as he could bark: Then with his fore-foot set his mark. TORY. Then all this while have I been bubbled, I thought it was a dog in doublet: The matter now no longer sticks: For statesmen never want dog-tricks.

I never heard a finer piece of satire against lawyers than that of astrologers, when they pretend by rules of art to tell when a suit will end, and whether to the advantage of the plaintiff or defendant; thus making 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 have often heard ridiculed, yet Homer has the same words of Telemachus more than once; and Virgil says something like it of Evander. And I take the book of Tobit to be partly poetical. I have known some men possessed of good qualities, which were very serviceable to others, but useless to themselves; like a sun-dial on the front of a house, to inform the neighbours and passengers, but not the owner 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 a bundle of inconsistencies and contradictions would appear at last! What they do in heaven we are ignorant of; what they do not we are told expressly: 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, is like cutting off our feet when we want shoes. Physicians ought not to give their judgment of religion, for the same reason that butchers are not admitted to be jurors upon life and death. The reason why so few marriages are happy, is, because young ladies spend their time in making nets, not in making cages. If a man will observe as he walks the streets, I believe he will find the merriest countenances in mourning coaches. Nothing more unqualifies a man to act with prudence than a misfortune that is attended with shame and guilt. The power of fortune is confessed only by the miserable; for the happy impute all their success to prudence or merit. Ambition often puts men upon doing the meanest offices; so climbing is performed 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 perhaps as few know their own strength. It is, in men as in soils, where sometimes there is a vein of gold which the owner knows not of.

I am strangely mistaken if all his address, his motions, and his airs would not then be very natural and in their proper element. I shall not descend so minutely as to insist upon the vast number of beaux, fiddlers, poets, and politicians that the world might recover by such a reformation, but what is more material, beside the clear gain redounding to the commonwealth by so large an acquisition of persons to employ, whose talents and acquirements, if I may be so bold to affirm it, are now buried or at least misapplied. It would be a mighty advantage accruing to the public from this inquiry that all these would very much excel and arrive at great perfection in their several kinds, which I think is manifest from what I have already shown, and shall enforce by this one plain instance, that even I myself, the author of these momentous truths, am a person whose imaginations are hard-mouthed and exceedingly disposed to run away with his reason, which I have observed from long experience to be a very light rider, and easily shook off; upon which account my friends will never trust me alone without a solemn promise to vent my speculations in this or the like manner, for the universal benefit of human kind, which perhaps the gentle, courteous, and candid reader, brimful of that modern charity and tenderness usually annexed to his office, will be very hardly persuaded to believe. SECTION X. _A FARTHER DIGRESSION_. IT is an unanswerable argument of a very refined age the wonderful civilities that have passed of late years between the nation of authors and that of readers. There can hardly pop out a play, a pamphlet, or a poem without a preface full of acknowledgments to the world for the general reception and applause they have given it, which the Lord knows where, or when, or how, or from whom it received. In due deference to so laudable a custom, I do here return my humble thanks to His Majesty and both Houses of Parliament, to the Lords of the King’s most honourable Privy Council, to the reverend the Judges, to the Clergy, and Gentry, and Yeomanry of this land; but in a more especial manner to my worthy brethren and friends at Will’s Coffee-house, and Gresham College, and Warwick Lane, and Moorfields, and Scotland Yard, and Westminster Hall, and Guildhall; in short, to all inhabitants and retainers whatsoever, either in court, or church, or camp, or city, or country, for their generosity and universal acceptance of this divine treatise.

Yes, my Lord; full of Emptiness. _Ld. Smart._ And, d’ye hear, _John_? bring clean Glasses. _Col._ I’ll keep mine; for I think, the Wine is the best Liquor to wash Glasses in. POLITE CONVERSATION, ETC. DIALOGUE III. _The Ladies at their Tea._ _Lady Smart._ Well, Ladies; now let us have a Cup of Discourse to ourselves. _Lady Answ._ What do you think of your Friend, Sir _John Spendall_? _Lady Smart._ Why, Madam,’tis happy for him, that his Father was born before him. _Miss._ They say, he makes a very ill Husband to my Lady. _Lady Answ._ But he must be allow’d to be the fondest Father in the World. _Lady Smart._ Ay, Madam, that’s true; for they say, the Devil is kind to his own. _Miss._ I am told, my Lady manages him to Admiration. _Lady Smart._ That I believe; for she’s as cunning as a dead Pig; but not half so honest. _Lady Answ._ They say, she’s quite a Stranger to all his Gallantries. _Lady Smart._ Not at all; but, you know, there’s none so blind as they that won’t see. _Miss._ O Madam, I am told, she watches him, as a Cat would watch a Mouse. _Lady Answ._ Well, if she ben’t foully belied, she pays him in his own Coin. _Lady Smart._ Madam, I fancy I know your Thoughts, as well as if I were within you. _Lady Answ._ Madam, I was t’other Day in Company with Mrs. _Clatter_; I find she gives herself Airs of being acquainted with your Ladyship. _Miss._ Oh, the hideous Creature! did you observe her Nails? they were long enough to scratch her Granum out of her Grave. _Lady Smart._ Well, She and _Tom Gosling_ were banging Compliments backwards and forwards; it look’d like Two Asses scrubbing one another. _Miss._ Ay, claw me, and I’ll claw thou: But, pray, Madam; who were the Company? _Lady Smart._ Why, there was all the World, and his Wife; there was Mrs. _Clatter_, Lady _Singular_, the Countess of _Talkham_, (I should have named her first;) _Tom Goslin_, and some others, whom I have forgot. _Lady Answ._ I think the Countess is very sickly.

Boyle replied at large with great learning and wit; and the Doctor voluminously rejoined. In this dispute the town highly resented to see a person of Sir William Temple's character and merits roughly used by the two reverend gentlemen aforesaid, and without any manner of provocation. At length, there appearing no end of the quarrel, our author tells us that the BOOKS in St. James's Library, looking upon themselves as parties principally concerned, took up the controversy, and came to a decisive battle; but the manuscript, by the injury of fortune or weather, being in several places imperfect, we cannot learn to which side the victory fell. I must warn the reader to beware of applying to persons what is here meant only of books, in the most literal sense. So, when Virgil is mentioned, we are not to understand the person of a famous poet called by that 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 discover everybody's face but their own; which is the chief reason for that kind reception it meets with in the world, and that so very few are offended with it. But, if it should happen otherwise, the danger is not great; and I have learned from long experience never to apprehend mischief from those understandings I have been able to provoke: for anger and fury, though they add strength to the sinews of the body, yet are found to relax those of the mind, and to render all its efforts feeble and impotent. There is a brain that will endure but one scumming; let the owner gather it with discretion, and manage his little stock with husbandry; but, of all 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 will find no new supply. Wit without knowledge being a sort of cream, which gathers in a night to the top, and by a skilful hand may be soon whipped into froth; but once scummed away, what appears underneath will be fit for nothing but to be thrown to the hogs.

If a man will observe as he walks the streets, I believe he will find the merriest countenances in mourning coaches. Nothing more unqualifies a man to act with prudence than a misfortune that is attended with shame and guilt. The power of fortune is confessed only by the miserable; for the happy impute all their success to prudence or merit. Ambition often puts men upon doing the meanest offices; so climbing is performed 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 perhaps as few know their own strength. It is, in men as in soils, where sometimes 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 otherwise in very bad times: for it is as hard to satirise well a man of distinguished vices, as to praise well a man of distinguished virtues. It is easy enough to do either to people of moderate characters. Invention is the talent of youth, and judgment of age; so that our judgment grows harder to please, when we have fewer things to offer it: this goes through the whole commerce of life. When we are old, our friends find it difficult to please us, and are less concerned whether we be 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. It is allowed that the cause of most actions, good or bad, may he resolved into the love of ourselves; but the self-love of some men inclines them to please others, and the self-love of others is wholly employed in pleasing themselves. This makes the great distinction between virtue and vice. Religion is the best motive of all actions, yet religion is allowed to be the highest instance of self-love. Old men view best at a distance with the eyes of their understanding as well as with those of nature. Some people take more care to hide their wisdom than their folly.

O Madam, that is no Wonder; for you must know, _Tom Neverout_ carves a _Sundays_. [Neverout _overturns the Salt-celler_. _Lady Smart._ Mr. _Neverout_, you have overturn’d the Salt, and that’s a Sign of Anger: I’m afraid, Miss and You will fall out. _Lady Answ._ No, no; throw a little of it into the Fire, and all will be well. _Neverout._ O Madam, the falling out of Lovers, you know. _Miss._ Lovers! very fine! fall out with Him! I wonder when we were in! _Sir John._ For my Part, I believe, the young Gentlewoman is his Sweetheart; there’s so much Fooling and Fidling betwixt them: I’m sure, they say in our Country, that — — — is the Beginning of Love. _Miss._ I own, I love Mr. _Neverout_, as the Devil loves Holy Water; I love him like Pye, I’d rather the Devil had him than I. _Neverout._ Miss, I’ll tell you one thing. _Miss._ Come, here’s t’ ye, to stop your Mouth. _Neverout._ I’d rather you would stop it with a Kiss. _Miss._ A Kiss! marry come up, my dirty Cousin; are you no sicker? Lord, I wonder what Fool it was that first invented Kissing! _Neverout._ Well, I’m very dry. _Miss._ Then you’re the better to burn, and the worse to fry. _Lady Answ._ God bless you, Colonel; you have a good Stroke with you. _Col._ O Madam; formerly I could eat all, but now I leave nothing; I eat but one Meal a Day. _Miss._ What! I suppose, Colonel, that’s from Morning till Night. _Neverout._ Faith, Miss; and well was his Wont. _Ld. Smart._ Pray, Lady _Answerall_, taste this Bit of Venison. _Lady Answ._ I hope, your Lordship will set me a good Example. _Ld. Smart._ Here’s a Glass of Cyder fill’d: Miss, you must drink it. _Miss._ Indeed, my Lord, I can’t. _Neverout._ Come, Miss; better Belly burst, than good Liquor be lost. _Miss._ Pish! well in Life there was never any thing so teizing; I had rather shed it in my Shoes: I wish it were in your Guts, for my Share. _Ld. Smart._ Mr. _Neverout_, you han’t tasted my Cyder yet. _Neverout._ No, my Lord: I have been just eating Soupe; and they say, if one drinks in one’s Porridge, one will cough in one’s Grave.

Neverout_, there’s no Jest like the true Jest; but, I suppose, you think my Back’s broad enough to bear every Thing. _Neverout._ Madam, I humbly beg your Pardon. _Miss._ Well, Sir, your Pardon’s granted. _Neverout._ Well, all Things have an End, and a Pudden has two, up-up-on my-my-my Word. [_stutters._] _Miss._ What! Mr. _Neverout_, can’t you speak without a Spoon? _Ld. Sparkish._ [_to Lady Smart._] Has your Ladyship seen the Duchess since your falling out? _Lady Smart._ Never, my Lord, but once at a Visit; and she look’d at me, as the Devil look’d over _Lincoln_. _Neverout._ Pray, Miss, take a Pinch of my Snuff. _Miss._ What! you break my Head, and give me a Plaister; well, with all my Heart; once, and not use it. _Neverout._ Well, Miss; if you wanted me and your Victuals, you’d want your Two best Friends. _Col._ [_to Neverout._] _Tom_, Miss and you must kiss, and be Friends. [Neverout _salutes_ Miss. _Miss._ Any thing for a quiet Life: my Nose itch’d, and I knew I should drink Wine, or kiss a Fool. _Col._ Well, _Tom_, if that ben’t fair, hang fair. _Neverout._ I never said a rude Thing to a Lady in my Life. _Miss._ Here’s a Pin for that Lye; I’m sure Lyars had need of good Memories. Pray, Colonel, was not he very uncivil to me but just now? _Lady Answ._ Mr. _Neverout_, if Miss will be angry for nothing, take my Council, and bid her turn the Buckle of her Girdle behind her. _Neverout._ Come, Lady _Answerall_, I know better Things; Miss and I are good Friends; don’t put Tricks upon Travellers. _Col._ _Tom_, not a Word of the Pudden, I beg you. _Lady Smart._ Ah, Colonel! you’ll never be good, nor then neither. _Ld. Sparkish._ Which of the Goods d’ye mean? good for something, or good for nothing? _Miss._ I have a Blister on my Tongue; yet, I don’t remember, I told a Lye. _Lady Answ._ I thought you did just now. _Ld. Sparkish._ Pray, Madam, what did Thought do? _Lady Answ._ Well, for my Life, I cannot conceive what your Lordship means. _Ld.

To all this the bee, as an advocate retained by us, the Ancients, thinks fit to answer, that, if one may judge of the great genius or inventions of the Moderns by what they have produced, you will hardly have countenance to bear you out in boasting of either. Erect your schemes with as much method and skill as you please; yet, if the materials be nothing but dirt, spun out of your own entrails (the guts of modern brains), the edifice will conclude at last 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 a corner. For anything else of genuine that the Moderns may pretend to, I cannot recollect; unless it be a large vein of wrangling and satire, much of a nature and substance with the spiders' poison; which, however they pretend 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, the Ancients, we are content with the bee, to pretend to nothing of our own beyond our wings and our voice: that is to say, our flights and our language. For the rest, whatever we have got has been by infinite labour and search, and ranging through every corner of nature; the difference is, that, instead of dirt and poison, we have rather chosen to till our hives with honey and wax; thus furnishing mankind with the two noblest of things, which are sweetness and light." It is wonderful to conceive the tumult arisen among the books upon the close of this long descant of AEsop: both parties took the hint, and heightened their animosities so on a sudden, that they resolved it should come to a battle. Immediately the two main bodies withdrew, under their several ensigns, to the farther parts of the library, and there entered into cabals and consults upon the present emergency. The Moderns were in very warm debates upon the choice of their leaders; and nothing less than the fear impending from their enemies could have kept them from mutinies upon this occasion. The difference was greatest among the horse, where every private trooper pretended to the chief command, from Tasso and Milton to Dryden and Wither. The light-horse were commanded by Cowley and Despreaux. There came the bowmen under their valiant leaders, Descartes, Gassendi, and Hobbes; whose strength was such that they could shoot their arrows beyond the atmosphere, never to fall down again, but turn, like that of Evander, into meteors; or, like the cannon-ball, into stars.

The power of fortune is confessed only by the miserable; for the happy impute all their success to prudence or merit. Ambition often puts men upon doing the meanest offices; so climbing is performed 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 perhaps as few know their own strength. It is, in men as in soils, where sometimes 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 otherwise in very bad times: for it is as hard to satirise well a man of distinguished vices, as to praise well a man of distinguished virtues. It is easy enough to do either to people of moderate characters. Invention is the talent of youth, and judgment of age; so that our judgment grows harder to please, when we have fewer things to offer it: this goes through the whole commerce of life. When we are old, our friends find it difficult to please us, and are less concerned whether we be 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. It is allowed that the cause of most actions, good or bad, may he resolved into the love of ourselves; but the self-love of some men inclines them to please others, and the self-love of others is wholly employed in pleasing themselves. This makes the great distinction between virtue and vice. Religion is the best motive of all actions, yet religion is allowed to be the highest instance of self-love. Old men view best at a distance with the eyes of their understanding as well 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 get this 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 or magnanimity, and a great check to virtuous actions.

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, let him consider in old books what he finds that he is glad to know, and what omissions he most laments. Whatever the poets pretend, it is plain they give immortality to none but themselves; it is Homer and Virgil we reverence and admire, not Achilles or AEneas. With historians it is quite the contrary; our thoughts are taken up with the actions, persons, and events we read, and we little regard 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 there are many accidents to disorder and discompose, but few to please them. It is unwise to punish cowards with ignominy, for if they had regarded that 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 the use 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 spectres are generally false, may be drawn from the opinion held that spirits are never seen by more than one person at a time; that is to say, it seldom happens to above one person in a company to be possessed with any high degree of spleen or melancholy. I am apt to think that, in the day of Judgment, there will be small allowance given to the wise for their want of morals, nor to the ignorant for their want of faith, because both are without excuse. This renders the advantages equal of ignorance and knowledge. But, some scruples in the wise, and some vices in the ignorant, will perhaps be forgiven upon the strength of temptation to each. The value of several circumstances in story lessens very much by distance of time, though some minute circumstances are very valuable; and it requires great judgment in a writer to distinguish. It is grown a word of course for writers to say, "This critical age," as divines say, "This sinful age.

Raillery is the finest part of conversation; but, as it is our usual custom to counterfeit and adulterate whatever is too dear for us, so we have done with this, and turned it all into what is generally called repartee, or being smart; just as when an expensive fashion cometh up, those who are not able to reach it content themselves with some paltry imitation. It now passeth for raillery to run a man down in discourse, to put him out of countenance, and make him ridiculous, sometimes to expose the defects of his person or understanding; on all which occasions he is obliged not to be angry, to avoid the imputation of not being able to take a jest. It is admirable to observe one who is dexterous at this art, singling out a weak adversary, getting the laugh on his side, and then 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 politer age of our fathers. Raillery was, to say something that at first appeared a reproach or reflection, but, by some turn of wit unexpected and surprising, ended always in a compliment, and to the advantage of the person it was addressed to. And surely one of the best rules in conversation is, never to say a thing which any of the company can reasonably wish we had rather left unsaid; nor can there anything be well more contrary to the ends for which people meet together, than to part unsatisfied with each other or themselves. There are two faults in conversation which appear very different, yet arise from the same root, and are equally blamable; I mean, an impatience to interrupt others, and the uneasiness of being interrupted ourselves. The two chief ends of conversation are, to entertain and improve those we are among, or to receive those benefits ourselves; which whoever will consider, 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 his hearers' sake, and not his own; so that common discretion will teach us not to force their attention, if they are not willing to lend it; nor, on the other side, to interrupt him who is in possession, because that is in the grossest manner to give the preference to our own good sense. There are some people whose good manners will not suffer them to interrupt you; but, what is almost as bad, will discover abundance of impatience, and lie upon the watch until you have done, because they have started something in their own thoughts which they long to be delivered of.

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 or the playhouse, that, in the company of ladies of virtue and honour, they are silent and disconcerted, and out of their element. There are some people who think they sufficiently acquit themselves and entertain their company with relating of facts of no consequence, nor at all out of the road of such common incidents as happen every day; and this I have observed more frequently among the Scots than any other nation, who are very careful not to omit the minutest circumstances of time or place; which kind of discourse, if it were not a little relieved by the uncouth terms and phrases, as well as accent and gesture peculiar to that country, would be hardly tolerable. It is not a fault in company to talk much; but to continue it long is certainly one; for, if the majority of those who are got together be naturally silent or cautious, the conversation will flag, unless it be often renewed by one among them who can start new subjects, provided he doth not dwell upon them, but leaveth room for answers and replies. THOUGHTS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. We have just enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make us love one another. Reflect on things past as wars, negotiations, factions, etc. We enter so little into those interests, that we wonder how men could possibly be so busy 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 make conjectures and form conclusions; but the smallest accident intervening (and in the course of affairs it is impossible to foresee all) does often produce such turns and changes, that at last he is just as much in doubt of events as the most ignorant and inexperienced person. Positiveness is a good quality for preachers and orators, because he that would obtrude his thoughts and reasons upon a multitude, will convince others the more, as he appears convinced himself. How is it possible to expect that mankind will take advice, when they will not so much as take warning? I forget whether Advice be among the lost things which Aristo says are to be found in the moon; that and Time ought to have been there.