Here he stopped. And now, my lord, it came to my turn to take the lead in this controversy. There was indeed an ample field before me. And, if the other side of the question afforded most matter for wit and declamation, mine had all the advantages of good sense and sound reason. The superiority was so apparent, and my victory over him, in point of argument, so sure, that I thought it needless and ungenerous to press him on every article of his defence, in which he had laid himself open to me.
Your lordship hath, no doubt, observed, with wonder and with pity, the strange spirit that runs through every part of it: the confined way of thinking, which hath crept upon him; the cynical severity, he indulges against courts; the importance he would sometimes assume to his own character; the peevish turn of mind, that leads him to take offence at the lighter follies and almost excusable vices of the great; in short, the resentment, the pique, the chagrin, which one overlooks in the hopeless suitor, or hungry poet, but which are very unaccountable in one of Mr. Cowley’s condition and situation.
Here then, my lord, was a fair occasion for a willing adversary. But I spared the infirmities of my friend. I judged it best, too, to keep him in temper, and avoid that heat of altercation, which must have arisen from touching these indiscretions, as they deserved. Your lordship sees the reason I had for confining my reply to such parts of his apology, as bore the fairest shew of argument, and might be encountered without offence.
When he had ended, therefore, with so formal a recapitulation of his discourse, I thought it not amiss to follow him in his own train; and, dissembling the just exceptions I had to his vindication in other respects, “You have proceeded, said I, in a very distinct method, and have said as much, I believe, on the subject, as so bad a cause would admit. But if this indeed be all you have to allege, for so uncommon a fancy, you must not think it strange, if I pronounce it, without scruple, very insufficient for your purpose.
For, to give your several pleas a distinct examination, what is that TEMPER, let me ask, on which you insist so much, but a wayward humour, which your true judgement should correct and controul by the higher and more important regards of duty? Every man is born with some prevailing propensity or other, which, if left to itself, and indulged beyond certain bounds, would grow to be very injurious to himself and society. There is something, no doubt, amusing in the notion of retirement. The very word implies ease and quiet, and self-enjoyment. And who doubts, that in the throng and bustle of life, most men are fond to image to themselves, and even to wish for a scene of more composure and tranquillity? It is just as natural as that the labourer should long for his repose at night; or that the soldier, amidst the dust and heat of a summer’s march, should wish for the conveniencies of shade and shelter. But what wild work would it make if these so natural desires should be immediately gratified? if the labourer should quit his plow, and the soldier his arms, to throw themselves into the first shade or thicket that offered refreshment? All you have therefore said on this article can really stand for nothing in the eye of sober reason, whatever figure it may make in the dress of your eloquence[44]. The inconveniencies of every station are to be endured from the obligations of duty, and on account of the services one is bound to render to himself and his country.
True, replied he, if it appeared to be one’s duty, or even interest, to continue in that station. But what principle of conscience binds me to a slavish dependence at court? or what interest, public or private, can be an equivalent for wearing these chains, when I have it in my power to throw them off, and redeem myself into a state of liberty?
What Interest, do you ask? returned I. Why that great and extensive one, which society hath in an honest and capable man’s continuing to bear a part in public affairs. For as to inducements of another kind, I may find occasion hereafter to press them upon you more seasonably. Consider well with yourself, what would the consequence be, if all men of honour and ability were to act upon your principles? What a world would this be, if knaves and fools only had the management in their hands, and all the virtuous and wise, as it were by common consent, were to withdraw from it? Nay, the issue would even be fatal to themselves; and they would presently find it impossible to taste repose, even in their own sanctuary of retirement.
Small need, replied he, to terrify one’s self with such apprehensions. The virtuous, at least they who pass for such, will generally have ambition enough to keep them in the road of public employments. So long as there are such things as riches and honours, courts will never be unfurnished of suitors, even from among the tribes of lettered and virtuous men. The desperately bad, at least, will never have the field left entirely to themselves. And, after all, the interest of men in office is, in the main, so providentially connected with some regard to the rules of honour and conscience, that there is seldom any danger that matters should come to extremities under the worst administration. And I doubt this is all we are to expect, or at least to reckon upon with assurance, under the very best.
But my answer is more direct. It is not for your little friend to think of getting a seat in the cabinet-council, or of conducting the great affairs of the state. He knows himself to be as unfit for those high trusts, as he is incapable of aspiring to them. Besides, he does not allow himself to doubt of their being discharged with perfect ability, by the great persons who now fill them. He, at least, who occupies the foremost place of authority, is, by the allowance of all, to be paralleled with any that the wisest prince hath ever advanced to that station[45]. And when so consummate a pilot sits at the helm, it seems a matter of little moment by what hands the vessel of the commonwealth is navigated.
I could not agree with him in this concluding remark, and much less in the high-flown encomium which introduced it[46]. But, waving these lesser matters, I contented myself with observing, “That let him put what gloss he would on this humour of declining civil business, it must needs be considered by all unbiassed persons, as highly prejudicial to public order and government; that, if good men would not be employed, the bad must; and that, to say the least, the cause of learning and virtue must suffer exceedingly in the eyes of men, when they see those very qualities, which alone can render us useful to the world, dispose us to fly from it.”