University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Enter PHILOLACHES.
Phi.
I've long and often thought, and argued deep,
And in my heart (if I have any heart)
Have long debated and revolv'd, What's man
Just born, to be compar'd to? and have now
Found out his likeness. Man is a new house—
I'll tell you how; and, tho' you think it not,
I will convince you, what I say is true.—
When you have heard, you'll think and say as I do.
Lend me your ears, and you shall hear my arguments;
For I'd have all as knowing as myself—
As soon as e'er an edifice is plann'd,
Built up in tast, and polish'd with exactness,
The architect's commended: and his house
By all approv'd; each takes it for a model,
And spares no pains, no cost to have one like it.
But when a tenant comes, unthrifty, mean,
Neglectful, with a lazy family,
The fault is strait upon the building laid;
Good in itself, but kept in bad repair.—
Then, as it often happens, comes a storm;
Demolishes the tiling, spoils the gutters,
And the too careless owner takes no heed
The damage to repair. A shower of succeeds;
Washes the walls, the roof admits the water,
The weather rots the builder's edifice,
The house grows worse by use: and in all this
The architect is not at all to blame—
A great part of mankind affect delay;
And, if it cost them money to repair it,
Delay it still, till ev'ry wall falls in,
And the whole's new again from the foundation—
Thus much for buildings.—Now, how men are like them.
First then—All parents are their children's architects;
They first lay the foundation, and then raise
The superstructure of their education—
They carefully add firmness; that they may
Become good men; and be an ornament
As well as use and safeguard to their country—
And to such ends, they spare nor cost nor pains;
Expence on this account, they count for nothing:
Refine their manners, teach them letters, laws:
And by their cost and care, endeavour still
That other men should wish their children like them—
Then to the army—There their fathers place them
Under protection of some great relation;
And so they pass out of the builder's hands,
'Ere they have serv'd a year—You then may see
A sample how the building may turn out.
For I myself, as long as I was under
The builder's hands, was sober all the time,
And honest—But as soon as e'er I follow'd
My own inventions; I at once undid
All that my architect had done before.
Then enter'd idleness—That was the storm
Brought on my hail and rain; quite overthrew
My modesty, and each restraint of virtue,
And utterly until'd me—Heedless I,
Again to cover in my edifice;
Love, like a torrent, rush'd into my heart,
O'erflow'd my breast, and soak'd quite through my soul.
And now, my fortune, credit, and fair fame,
My virtue and my honour, all have left me.
By negligence, I'm grown still worse and worse;
These rafters are so ruinous, so foul,
With rotting moisture, that, by Pollux' temple,
I see no means remain to patch it up:
The whole must fall, and its foundation fail,
Without an hand to help me. My soul's vex'd,
When I but think of what I once have been,
And what I am. None of my age more active,
Or at the discus, javelin, ball, at wrestling,
In horsemanship, in racing, or in arms—
I then enjoy'd me, an example liv'd
Of thrift and of hard living; an example
The best have copied; but I now have found
By following my inventions, after all,
I am myself become as 'twere just nothing.

[Exit.