Fable IX. Socrates and the Beau

A Grecian Smart, or Buck, or Beau, (GREECE had her Coxcombs too, we know) Would needs his puny wit engage With SOCRATES, the moral SAGE.

This dupe to fashion's flimzy rules, Like some we know—existing fools— RELIGION deem'd, and even Sense, Against POLITENESS an offence— Despis'd, as vain, all learned knowledge Which youth derives from school or college— And said, Time only flew to waste Unless with pleasure wing'd, and taste. Full of himself, with eager pace, He sought the Sage's dwelling place; Which found, like all the forward kind, He left his complaisance behind; Push'd boldly in, when lo, his fight Was struck with unforeseen delight, To catch the philosophic Ass Contemplating a looking glass.

Friend SOCRATES, the witling cries, Good morning—shall I trust these eyes— Can gravity, like yours, enjoy So insignificant a toy? I thought a mirror only fit Where beauty holds the place of wit; A play-thing for the young and gay, To fool their vacant hours away.

Yet hold—perhaps unusual graces The eye of Contemplation traces; I'll take myself a nicer view, And give so great a man his due.

He cock'd his glass—for ev'ry Beau Us'd such two thousand years ago; Then cried—Ye Gods, how fine a creature! What harmony of limb and feature! What eagle eyes! how grave a beard! Was ought more perfect ever rear'd? Tho' in the CLOUDS you've made me gay, 'Tis now but simple truth to say, For elegance of shape, and cloaths, You're foremost of Athenian Beaus.

Untouch'd with idle hasty passion, By this ironic fool of fashion, (The man can bear all rubs in life, Who bore like him a scolding wife) The MORALIST look'd up, and smil'd; Then said, I must instruct you, child— You stare—nay think me not absurd— You're but a CHILD, upon my word.

Know, Sir, that years exceeding twenty, Nor partial fortune shedding plenty, That titles, person, dress, nor gait, Can dignify with man's estate; Beyond all honours, show, or pelf, Is both to know, and rule thyself.

This Mirrour can, if well applied, Assisting Reason, checking Pride, Much more instructive lessons teach Than Folly, and her train can reach— Deign, sprightly Sir, to take a view; 'Twas chiefly made for such as you— Soon as it struck Sir FOPLING'S eyes, Distended features show'd surprize; And well, to own a truth, they might At such a mortifying sight; For lo, the glass, beyond a doubt, Had turn'd the reptile inside out; He saw, with pain, his brainless scull Of gewgaws and of fashions full; And found that Vice, in ev'ry part Had putrified his wretched heart.

Says SOCRATES, Good friend, what now? Why sits amazement on your brow? Had you but striv'n to deck your mind, Nor all your care to dress confin'd, A fairer prospect then had been In such a kind reflector seen; Time yet is yours—employ it better— Nor be to common sense a debtor. Let kind reflection justly tell The happy art of living well; An art, if I can ought discern, Fine Gentlemen want much to learn.

The Beau, abash'd, retir'd in haste, Both disappointed and disgrac'd.