Название: The Fable of the Bees
Автор: Bernard Mandeville
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Философия
isbn: 4064066058197
isbn:
Lost now a leg, and then an arm;
Till quite disabled, and put by,
They liv’d on half their salary; 110
While others never came in play,
And staid at home for double pay.
Their kings were serv’d, but knavishly,
Cheated by their own ministry;
Many, that for their welfare slaved, 115
Robbing the very crown they saved:
Pensions were small, and they liv’d high,
Yet boasted of their honesty.
Calling, whene’er they strain’d their right,
The slipp’ry trick a perquisite; 120
And when folks understood their cant,
They chang’d that for emolument;
Unwilling to be short or plain,
In any thing concerning gain;
For there was not a bee but would 125
Get more, I won’t say, than he should;
But than he dar’d to let them know,
That pay’d for’t; as your gamesters do,
That, though at fair play, ne’er will own
Before the losers that they’ve won. 130
But who can all their frauds repeat?
The very stuff which in the street
They sold for dirt t’ enrich the ground,
Was often by the buyers found
Sophisticated with a quarter 135
Of good-for-nothing stones and mortar;
Though Flail had little cause 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