The Fable of the Bees; Or, Private Vices, Public Benefits. Bernard Mandeville

to mutter.

      Who sold the other salt for butter.

      Justice herself, fam’d for fair dealing,

      By blindness had not lost her feeling; 140

      Her left hand, which the scales should hold,

      Had often dropt ’em, brib’d with gold;

      And, though she seem’d impartial,

      Where punishment was corporal,

      Pretended to a reg’lar course, 145

      In murder, and all crimes of force;

      Though some first pillory’d for cheating,

      Were hang’d in hemp of their own beating;

      Yet, it was thought, the sword she bore

      Check’d but the desp’rate and the poor; 150

      That, urg’d by mere necessity,

      Were ty’d up to the wretched tree

      For crimes, which not deserv’d that fate,

      But to secure the rich and great.

      Thus every part was full of vice, 155

      Yet the whole mass a paradise;

      Flatter’d in peace, and fear’d in wars

      They were th’ esteem of foreigners,

      And lavish of their wealth and lives,

      The balance of all other hives. 160

      Such were the blessings of that state;

      Their crimes conspir’d to make them great:

      And virtue, who from politics

      Has learn’d a thousand cunning tricks,

      Was, by their happy influence, 165

      Made friends with vice: And ever since,

      The worst of all the multitude

      Did something for the common good.

      This was the state’s craft, that maintain’d

      The whole of which each part complain’d: 170

      This, as in music harmony

      Made jarrings in the main agree,

      Parties directly opposite,

      Assist each other, as ’twere for spite;

      And temp’rance with sobriety, 175

      Serve drunkenness and gluttony.

      The root of evil, avarice,

      That damn’d ill-natur’d baneful vice,

      Was slave to prodigality,

      That noble sin; whilst luxury 180

      Employ’d a million of the poor,

      And odious pride a million more:

      Envy itself, and vanity,

      Were ministers of industry;

      Their darling folly, fickleness, 185

      In diet, furniture, and dress,

      That strange ridic’lous vice, was made

      The very wheel that turn’d the trade.

      Their laws and clothes were equally

      Objects of mutability! 190

      For, what was well done for a time,

      In half a year became a crime;

      Yet while they altered thus their laws,

      Still finding and correcting flaws,

      They mended by inconstancy 195

      Faults, which no prudence could foresee.

      Thus vice nurs’d ingenuity,

      Which join’d the time and industry,

      Had carry’d life’s conveniences,

      Its real pleasures, comforts, ease, 200

      To such a height, the very poor

      Liv’d better than the rich before.

      And nothing could be added more.

      How vain is mortal happiness!

      Had they but known the bounds of bliss; 205

      And that perfection here below

      Is more than gods can well bestow;

      The grumbling brutes had been content

      With ministers and government.

      But they, at every ill success, 210

      Like creatures lost without redress,

      Curs’d politicians, armies, fleets;

      While every one cry’d, damn the cheats,

      And would, though conscious of his own,

      In others barb’rously bear none. 215

      One, that had got a princely store,

      By cheating master, king, and poor,

      Dar’d cry aloud, the land must sink

      For all its fraud; and whom d’ye think

      The sermonizing rascal chid? 220

      A glover that sold lamb for kid.

      The least thing was not done amiss,

      Or cross’d the public business;

      But all the rogues cry’d brazenly,

      Good gods, had we but honesty! 225

      Merc’ry smil’d at th’ impudence,

      And others call’d it want of sense,

      Always to rail at what they lov’d:

      But Jove with indignation mov’d,

      At last in anger swore, he’d rid 230

      The bawling hive of fraud; and did.

      The very moment it departs,

      And honesty fills all their hearts;

      There shows ’em, like th’ instructive tree,

      Those crimes which they’re asham’d to see; 235

      Which now in silence they confess,

      By blushing at their ugliness:

      Like children, that would hide their faults,

      And by their colour own their thoughts:

      Imag’ning, when they’re look’d upon, 240

      That others see what they have done.

      But, O ye gods! what consternation,

      How vast and sudden was th’ alteration!

      In half an hour, the nation round,

      Meat fell a penny in the pound. 245

      The mask hypocrisy’s sitting down,

      From the great statesman to the clown:

      And in some borrow’d looks well known,

      Appear’d like strangers in their own.

      The bar was silent from that day; 250

      For