'Tis in the world, as in a game of chess;
We serve our friends but where our profit is.
When fortune smiles, we're yours, and yours alone;
But when she frowns, the servile herd are gone.
So, in a play, they act with mimick art,
Father, or son, or griping miser's part:
But when at last the comic scenes are o'er,
They quit the visards they assum'd before.
Nor did I there very long complain, for fearing one Menelaus, an usher of a school, might, among other misfortunes, find me alone in the inn, I made up my wallet, and, very pensive, took me a lodging in a private place near the sea: there, after I had been mewd up for three days, reflecting afresh on my despis'd and abject condition, I beat my breast, as sick as it was; and, when my deep sighs would suffer me, often cry'd out; "Why has not the earth burst open, and swallow'd me? Why has not the sea o'erwhelm'd me that respects not even the innocent themselves? Have I been a murderer? when I had violated Lycas's wife, have I fled justice? have I escap'd even when I was condemn'd to dye, to live in a strange place, to have my name recorded only among beggars and vagabonds? and who condemn'd me to this solitude?—A boy! One who is a prostitute to all manner of lust; and by his own confession deserves to dye; whom vice has enobl'd from a slave; who was publickly contracted with as a girl, by one that knew he was of the other sex: and what a wretch is that other, ye gods! whom, when he might have writ man, his mother perswaded even out of his sex, and putting on petty-coats, was condemn'd to a maids office in a prison: who, after he had spent what he had, and chang'd the scene of his lust; having contracted an old friendship, basely left it; and, frontless impudence! like a hot whore, for one night's pleasure, sold his friend. Now the lovers lye whole nights lockt in each other's arms, and who knows but in those intervals they recruit their weary'd strength, may laugh at me: but they shan't go off so, for if I'm a man, or a free-born one at least, I'll make their blood compensate the injury."
Having thus said I girt on my sword; and lest I shou'd be too weak to maintain the war, encourag'd my self with a lusty meal, and making out of doors, like one possesst, search'd every place: but whilst, with a wild distracted countenance, I thought of nothing but blood and slaughter; and oft with execrations laying my hand on my sword, a souldier, perhaps some cheat or padder, observ'd me, and making up to me, askt to what regiment or company I, his brother souldier, belong'd? when, with a good assurance, I had cheated him into a belief of the regiment and company; well, but friend, said he, looking down, doe the souldiers of your company walk in such shoes? I began to look guilty, and by my trembling discover'd the lye I had told him: upon which he made me lay down my arms, and bid me take care of the worst. Thus stript, nay and thus rob'd of my revenge, I return'd to my lodging, where by degrees my fears abating, I began in my mind to thank the robber.
But finding it difficult to wean my self from the love of revenge, I spent half the night very pensively; and rising by day-break, to ease me of my grief, and thoughts of my injury, I rov'd about every where, till at last going in to a publick gallery, very wonderful for several sorts of excellent painting; I saw some by Zeuxy's hand, that had not yet yielded to the injuries of time: And, not without an awful reverence, behold others by Protogenes, which tho' they were first tryals, yet disputed for exactness, even with nature it self: but on the other side viewing a celebrated piece drawn by Apelles; I even ador'd the work of so great a master: 'twas so correctly finisht to the life, you'd have sworn it an image of the soul too. One side gave the story of the eagle bearing Jupiter to heaven, the other the fair Hylas repelling the addresses of the lew'd naiad: in another part was Apollo, angry at himself for killing his boy Hyacinth; and, to shew his love, crown'd his harp with the flower that sprung from his blood.
In this gallery, as in a vision of living images, I cry'd out; and are not the gods themselves secure from love? Jupiter in his seraglio above, not finding one that can please his appetite, sins upon earth, yet injures nobody: the nymph wou'd have stifl'd her passion for Hylas, had she believ'd the lusty Hercules wou'd have been his rival: Apollo turns Hyacinth into a flower: and every image enjoy'd its wishes without a rival: but I have caress'd, as the dearest friend, the greatest villain.
While I was thus talking to my self, there enter'd the gallery an old man, with a face as pale as age had made his hair; and seem'd, I know not how, to bring with him the air of a great soul; but viewing his habit, I was easily confirm'd in my opinion, since fortune seldom deals favourably with learned men. In short, he made up to me, and addressing himself, told me he was a poet; and, as he hop'd, above the common herd: if, added he, my merrit don't suffer by applause that's promiscuously given, to the good and bad.
Why, therefore, interrupted I, are you so meanly clad? On this account return'd he, because learning never made any man rich.
The merchant's profit well rewards his toil:
The souldier crowns his labours with the spoil:
To servile flattery we altars raise:
And the kind wife her stallion ever pays:
But starving wit in rags takes barren pain:
And, dying, seeks the muses aid in vain.
"'Tis certain," added he, "that a lover of virtue, on account of his singularity, meets with contempt; for who can approve what differs from himself? And that those who admire riches, wou'd fain possess every body, that nothing is more reasonable than their opinion; whence they ridicule, as well as they can, the learned few; that they, like themselves, might seem within the power of money."
"I don't know, how learning and poverty became relations," said I, and sigh'd: "You justly lament," return'd he, "the condition of scholars."