Fable XIII. the Philosopher and Rattle

A Solemn port, a brow austere, Abstracted pride, and mind severe; Contempt by looks, and language shown, For all opinions but its own; Cloaths made to contradict the fashion Of any age, and ev'ry nation; With conversation most sublime, Which calls amusement, waste of time; Have often seem'd, yet ne'er could be, Nature's best guide, Philosophy.

A wight of this sequester'd stamp, Who long had o'er the midnight lamp, With less of profit than of pains, Begloom'd his mind and rack'd his brains; Defrauding Nature of her due, In constant search of something new; 'Till overloaded with the weight Of knowledge, Reason left her seat: For as the body, so the head May possibly be overfed; And haply wanting proper vent, May turn to poison, nourishment: A wight like this, relates our tale, Who weigh'd each thought in Logic's scale; Once met, perchance, a sprightly child, With youth and pleasure almost wild; Who shaking his new rattle ran, And thus address'd this learned man; As children free from selfish care, Like those enjoyments best they share.

See here, good Sir, the pretty thing, Mama has bought her little king; Come, take it in your hand, and play As I do—look you—here's the way.

So freely spoke the prattling boy, And thought to give our Stoic joy! Who took his bauble with a frown, Then—From the cottage to the crown 'Tis folly all alike, he cries; How few endeavour to be wise? Nor is it strange: since youth are taught An idle vacancy of thought; By parents giving approbation To implements of dissipation Like this; on ev'ry slight pretence; Which, flatt'ring Fancy, murder Sense.

He said; and with contempt profound, His hand discharg'd it to the ground.

The boy in simple wonder gaz'd, His little heart shrunk back amaz'd; A doubtful cloud o'er-hung each eye, He knew not which, to laugh, or cry; But soon the RATTLE found a tongue, To answer such indignant wrong, For be it known, that injur'd wood Can scold, as well as flesh and blood.

Why, how now, whence such surly looks, Thou overbearing man of books? I dare assert, and speak with reason, That all things have their proper season; And toys, like me, are well design'd To entertain a childish mind:

My name perhaps begets disdain, In one like you of knowledge vain; But pause a while—like PROTEUS—I The force of various shapes can try; And play my parts on Nature's stage, To please all ranks, and ev'ry age.

Sometimes like Glory's brightest gem, To kings I come a diadem; Before the Curate's eyes I'm drawn In form of most attractive lawn; The Lawyer, with ambition big, Admires me in a Judge's wig; The Soldier I can vanquish soon, In pleasing shape of a battoon; The Merchant, having bought and sold, Retiring finds me in his gold; To Turtle turn'd—I still secure Each gormandizing Epicure; I hit the Bacchanalian's vein, In sparkling flasks of brisk champaign; The Beau I catch, as well as brute, When chang'd into a birth-day suit; A GIMCRACK to the racing crew, I skim the plain, and they pursue; The ALLEY knaves I catch in flocks, Transform'd to precious rising stocks: Convey'd in fair CORINNA'S smiles, My shade her lover's care beguiles.

The ladies too, in ev'ry state, By diff'rent forms I captivate; Sometimes I catch the fair one's view, With plunder of enchanting loo; Now chang'd to di'mond solitaire, VANINA gives me all her care; A coronet and equipage, In me another's heart engage; A fourth admits me through her eyes, In form of oaths, and vows, and sighs; Both young and old, both high and low, Alike to me attachment show.

Ev'n you, with all your learning, sense, Against my pow'r have no defence; For howsoe'er in words you battle, Your summum bonum's but a RATTLE.