A certain pragmatical, gay, fluttering Coxcomb would needs make a visit to a Philosopher. He found him alone in his study, and fell a wondering how he could endure to lead so solitary a life. Sir, says the Philosopher, you are exceedingly mistaken, for I was in very good company till you came in.
Morals.
What the noisy and most numerous part of the world calls good company, is generally the most irksome and insipid thing in the world to a wise man; a mere round of folly and impertinence, and void of any kind of instruction or benefit to a reflecting mind. How preferable to such a man must it be to converse with the learned dead, rather than the unedifying and noisy living?
“Swift is obscure, and Addison wants taste,
Shakespeare is low, and Milton all bombast”—
Thus wit itself half-seeing fools condemn,
And sense and genius are all dark to them.
Reflection.
It is one of the most vexatious mortifications, perhaps, of a sober and studious man’s life, to have his thoughts disordered, and the chain of his reason discomposed, by the importunity of a tedious and impertinent visit; especially if it be from a fool of quality, where the station of the man entitles him to all returns of good manners and respect. The drift of this fable is to tell us, that good books and good thoughts are the best company, and that they are mistaken, who think a wise man can ever be alone. It prepares us also to expect interruptions and disappointments, and to provide for them; but withal to take the best care we can to prevent the plague of ill company, by avoiding the occasions of it. The linking of a man of brains and honesty, with a lewd, insipid companion, is effectually the emblem of that tyrant who bound the living and the dead together; and yet this is it which the impertinent takes for the relief of solitude, and that he calls company.