University of Virginia Library

The Inquiry.

A Dialogue between Cleanthe and Marissa.

Cle.
Tell me, Marissa, by what Rule
May I judge who's the greatest Fool?
Is't he, that in pursuit of Wealth,
Neglects his Ease, neglects his Health,
And void of Rest, and full of Care,
Becomes a Slave to his next Heir;
To him, who does his Thrift despise,
And from him with Abhorrence flies:
And when he's dead, with eager haste
Will soon his ill-got Riches waste?
Or he, who seeks in bloody Wars,
For Fame, and honourable Scars?
For Fame, that idle, useless Toy,
Which Fools can give, and Fools destroy!
Or is't the Man, who dully grave,
Is to his Books a willing Slave?
Who, if he has the Classicks read,
And talk'd with all the mighty dead;
Knows the much fam'd Atomick Dance,
And all the wondrous Works of Chance;
What Particles form th' active Fire,
And what the wat'ry Parts require;
Which constitute th' Earth, and which th' Air,
Which th' Æsop's Form, and which the Fair,
Which make the Fools, and which the Wise,
And where the grand Distinction lies:
Knows all the Vortices on High,
And all the Worlds that grace the Sky;
Can tell what Men, what Beasts are there,
And what gay Clothes the Ladies wear;
What their fine airy Heroes do,
And how they fight, and how they woo;
And whether like our Beaux below,
They're pleas'd with Trifles, Noise, and Show,
Full of a stiff pedantick Pride,
Does all besides himself deride:
If you some Syllables misplace,
And can't them to their Fountain trace;
Can't tell among the Words you speak,
Which are Saxon, French, or Greek,
Which to the Roman Tongue belong,
And which to th' ancient Druid's Song;
Why Names a diff'rent Sense have gain'd;
Why some are shun'd, and some retain'd;
And why, since Honesty's forgot,
The Title Knave shou'd prove a Blot;
Why Tyrant, which past Princes us'd,
Shou'd by crown'd Heads be now refus'd;
Those guiltess Names, which juster Times
That blush'd even at the Thought of Crimes,
And were too gen'rous to abuse,
Did without Scruple freely use:
He'll with a supercilious Air
His scornful Thoughts of you declare,
And gravely swear that you're unfit
For the Converse of Men of Wit.

Mar.
No, no, 'tis none, 'tis none of these;
But you, methinks, shou'd guess with Ease:
Think, Cleanthe, think again,
And you'll find some yet much more vain.

Cle.
Is it that Ape in Masquerade,
The Gallant by the Tailor made?
The Man who hid with Snush and Hair,
And furnish'd with a modish Air;
Who lately made the Tour of France,
And learnt to talk, to dress, and dance;
Who, if he can but neatly write,
And moving Billets Doux indite,
Cares nor for English, nor for Sense,
He knows we can with both dispence?
Or is't the worthy Country Squire,
Who does himself, and's Wealth admire,
Who hunts, and games, and swears, and drinks,
But seldom reads, and never thinks,
Who's, if he can a Warrant write,
Or but a Mittimus indite,
Can in Law-terms harangue the Croud,
Call Names, insult, and talk aloud.
He struts about, and looks as great,
As if whole Armies he had beat?
Or is it he, who thinks he's able
To direct a Council Table,
To teach the Senate of the Nation,
And instruct the Convocation;
Presumes to judge what's fit and right,
And when we shou'd, and shou'd not fight;
Who can on Machiavel refine,
And thinks his Policy Divine;
Who descants on the weekly News,
And can both Dutch and French accuse;
Find fault with Italy and Spain,
And dares the Swede and Czar arraign;
Th' Emperor's Conduct too dares blame,
And thinks the German Diet tame;
Censures each State, and full of Pride,
Thinks he the busie World could guide?
Or is't the Man who waking dreams
Of Nymphs, and Shades, and Hills, and Streams,
Makes Gods and Goddesses descend,
And on their Creature Man attend;
Who thro' th' infernal World dares go,
And does their griesly Monarch know;
Th' Elysian Fields distinctly view;
Knows what departed Heroes do;
Sees how the Beauties are employ'd,
And what Delights are there enjoy'd:
Then quick as Thought can upward fly,
And view the vast expanded Skie;
Sees the Celestial Monsters there,
The Crab, the Scorpion, and the Bear.
Hears Canis bark, and Taurus roar,
With many deaf'ning Noises more:
Then makes a Tour from Pole to Pole,
And sees the threatning Billows roll:
Sees Sea-Gods with their wat'ry Train
Riding in Triumph on the Main:
Thence sees the Paphian Goddess rise
With tempting Looks, and sparkling Eyes;
Amid the Waves she spreads her Fire,
And does each Breast with Love inspire;
Fair Amphitrite feels the Heat,
And Neptune does his Vows repeat:
The Nereids sigh, the Tritons burn,
And each does Glance for Glance return:
Then like the glorious Source of Day,
He does both East and West survey,
Thro' ev'ry State, each Kingdom goes,
And all their Laws and Customs knows,
And which are Wits, and which are Fools,
Who bred in Wilds, and who in Schools;
Who with a courtly Neatness treat,
And who like Beasts devour their Meat:
And who of this vast Knowledge proud,
Looks with Disdain upon the Croud,
And thinks he has a just Pretence
To the Monopoly of Sense:
If's Thoughts he smoothly can express,
And put them in a florid Dress,
Can to a Poet's Name pretend,
And lash a Vice, or praise a Friend,
Thinks he's as happy and as great
As if he fill'd th' Imperial Seat;
And still averse to Gold and Cares,
The Badges of the Muses wears;
And is as fond of being poor,
As others of their boasted Store?

Mar.
I'll tell you, since you can't discover,
It is an awkard, whining Lover;
Who talks of Chains, of Flames and Passion,
And all the pretty Words in Fashion;
Words, which are still as true a Mark
Of an accomplish'd modish Spark,
As a long Wig, or powder'd Coat:
Like A, B, C, they're learnt by rote;
And then with equal Ardor said,
Or to the Mistress, or the Maid:
An Animal for Sport design'd,
Both very tame, and very kind:
Who for a Smile his Soul would give,
And can whole Months on Glances live:
Who still a Slave is to your Will,
And whom you with a Frown may kill:
Who at your Feet whole Days will lie,
And watch the Motions of your Eye:
Will kiss your Hand, and fawn, and swear,
That you, and none but you, are fair;
And if he sees that you're inclin'd
At length his humble suit to mind,
He then all Extasie will prove,
Is all Delight, and Joy, and Love:
But if you shou'd a Look misplace,
Or any favour'd Rival grace,
He full of Rage, and of Despair,
Nor him, nor you, nor Heav'n, will spare,
But challenges the happy Man,
Who whips him thro' the Lungs, and then
While he is bleeding, begs your pity,
In strains so moving, soft and witty;
That they your Heart at length must move
To some Remorse, if not to Love,
Which he soon guesses by your Eyes,
And in an amorous Rapture dies.