Cleo. I did not lay on the disguise so thick, as not to have you see through it, nor would I ever have discoursed upon this subject with any body, who could have been so easily imposed upon. I know you to be a man of very good sense and sound judgment; and it is for that very reason I so heartily wish you would suffer me to explain myself, and demonstrate to you, how small the difference is between us, which you imagine to be so considerable: There is not a man in the world, in whose opinion I would less pass for an ill man than in yours; but I am so scrupulously fearful of offending you, that I never dared to touch upon some points, unless you had given me leave. Yield something to our friendship, and condescend for once to read the Fable of the Bees for my sake: It is a handsome volume: you love books: I have one extremely well bound; do; let me, suffer me to make you a present of it.
Hor. I am no bigot, Cleomenes; but I am a man of honour, and, you know, of strict honour: I cannot endure to hear that ridiculed, and the least attempt of it chafes my blood: Honour is the strongest and noblest tie of society by far, and therefore, believe me, can never be innocently sported with. It is a thing so solid and awful, as well as serious, that it can at no time become the object of mirth or diversion; and it is impossible for any pleasantry to be so ingenious, or any jest so witty, that I could bear with it on that head. Perhaps I am singular in this, and, if you will, in the wrong; be that as it will, all I can say is, Je ne’entens pas Raillerie la dessus; and therefore, no Fable of the Bees for me, if we are to remain friends: I have heard enough of that.
Cleo. Pray, Horatio, can there be honour without justice?
Hor. No: Who affirms there can?
Cleo. Have you not owned, that you have thought worse of me, than now you find me to deserve? No men, nor their works, ought to be condemned upon hearsays and bare surmises, much less upon the accusations of their enemies, without being examined into.
Hor. There you are in the right: I heartily beg your pardon, and to atone for the wrong I have done you, say what you please, I will hear it with patience, be it never so shocking; but I beg of you be serious.
Cleo. I have nothing to say to you that is distasteful, much less shocking: all I desire is, to convince you, that I am neither so ill-natured nor uncharitable, in my opinion of mankind, as you take me to be: and that the notions I entertain of the worth of things, will not differ much from yours, when both come to be looked into. Do but consider what we have been doing: I have endeavoured to set every thing in the handsomest light I could think of; you say, to ridicule the social system; I own it; now reflect on your own conduct, which has been to show the folly of my strained panegyrics, and replace things in that natural view, which all just, knowing men would certainly behold them in. This is very well done: but it is contrary to the scheme you pretended to maintain; and if you judge of all actions in the same manner, there is an end of the social system; or, at least, it will be evident, that it is a theory never to be put into practice. You argue for the generality of men, that they are possessed of these virtues, but when we come to particulars, you can find none. I have tried you every where: you are as little satisfied with persons of the highest rank, as you are with them of the lowest, and you count it ridiculous to think better of the middling people. Is this otherwise than standing up for the goodness of a design, at the same time you confess, that it never was, or ever can be executed? What sort of people are they, and where must we look for them, whom you will own to act from those principles of virtue?
Hor. Are there not in all countries men of birth and ample fortune, that would not accept of places, though they were offered, that are generous and beneficent, and mind nothing but what is great and noble?
Cleo. Yes: But examine their conduct, look into their lives, and scan their actions with as little indulgence as you did those of the cardinals, or the lawyers and physicians, and then see what figure their virtues will make beyond those of the poor industrious woman. There is, generally speaking, less truth in panegyrics, than there is in satires. When all our senses are soothed, when we have no distemper of body or mind to disturb us, and meet with nothing that is disagreeable, we are pleased with our being: it is in this situation that we are most apt to mistake outward appearances for realities, and judge of things more favourably than they deserve. Remember, Horatio, how feelingly you spoke half an hour ago in commendation of operas: Your soul seemed to be lifted up whilst you was thinking on the many charms you find in them. I have nothing to say against the elegancy of the diversion, or the politeness of those that frequent them: but I am afraid you lost yourself in the contemplation of the lovely idea, when you asserted that they were the most proper means to contract a strong and lasting habit of virtue; do you think, that among the same number of people, there is more real virtue at an opera, than there is at a bear-garden?
Hor. What a comparison!