AN APOLOGY FOR LUXURY.
AT DINNER, ‘twas one day my case
By a rank bigot to have place,
Who said, I on it might depend
That hell would have me in the end;
And he an angel heaven’s host in
Would loudly laugh to see me roasting.
Roasting for what? “Why for your crimes;
You’ve told us in some impious rhymes
That Adam, ere the days of sin,
Was oft with rain wet to the skin;
That he his time most dully spent,
Ate fruit, and drank the element;
That he his nails could never pare;
And that he was not over fair.
You Epicurus’ doctrine teach,
And for luxurious pleasures preach.”
Having these words in passion said.
He swallowed wine like amber red;
Wine, which by its taste confessed
The grape from whence the juice was pressed.
And I, while crimson stained his face,
Addressed the saint brimful of grace:
“Religious sir, whence comes this wine?
I own its gusto is divine.”
“This wine is from Canary brought,”
Said he, “and should be nectar thought;
It is in every respect
A liquor fit for the elect.”
“That coffee which when full refection
The feast has given, so helps digestion,
Whence comes it?” “It from heaven descended,
A gift by God for me intended.”
“But sure ‘twas in Arabia sought
By men, and thence with trouble brought.
Both porcelain and chinaware
For you men labor to prepare;
‘Twas baked, and with a thousand dyes
Diversified, to please your eyes;
That silver, where such art’s displayed,
Of which cups, salvers, plates are made,
Which with mild lustre faintly shines,
Was dug from Potosi’s rich mines.
For thee the world at work has been,
That thou at ease might vent thy spleen
Against that world, which for thy pleasure
Has quite exhausted all its treasure.
Thou real worldling, learn to know
Thyself, and some indulgence show
To others, whom so much you blame
For vices, whilst you have the same.
Know luxury, which destroys a state
That’s poor, enriches one that’s great;
That pomp and splendor deemed so vain,
Are proofs still of a prosperous reign.
The rich can spend his ample store;
The poor is grasping still at more.
On yon cascades now fix your sight,
In them the Naiads take delight;
See how those floods of water roam
Covering the marble with a foam.
These waves give moisture to the fields,
Earth beautified more rich crops yields.
But should this source be once decayed,
The grass would wither, flowers would fade.
Thus wealth, in France and Britain’s states,
Through various channels circulates.
Excess prevails, the great are vain,
Their follies oft the poor maintain;
And Industry, whom opulence hires,
To riches by slow steps aspires.
I hear a staunch, pedantic train
Of pleasure’s ill effects complain,
Who Dionysius, Dion cite,
Plutarch and Horace the polite,
And cry that Curius, and a score
Of consuls ending in “us” more,
Tilled the earth during war’s alarms,
And managed both the plow and arms;
That corn which flourished in the land,
Was sown by a victorious hand.
‘Tis well, sirs, and I am content
To such relations to assent.
But tell me, should the gods incite
Auteuil against Vaugirard to fight,
Must not the victor from the field
Returning home his land have tilled?
Rome the august was heretofore
A hole like Auteuil, nothing more.
When those chiefs, from god Mars descended,
Attacked a meadow or defended,
When to the field they took their way,
Their standard was a truss of hay.
Jove’s image wooden under Tullus
Was beaten gold when lived Lucullus.
Then don’t bestow fair virtue’s prize
On what from poverty had rise.
France flourished by wise Colbert’s care,
When once a dunce, intent to spare,
Presumed the progress to oppose
Of arts, by which famed Lyons rose,
And by cursed avarice possessed
Had industry and arts suppressed;
That minister, as wise as great,
By luxury enriched the state.
He the great source of arts increased,
From north to south, from west to east.
Our neighbors all with envy fired
Paid dear for genius they admired.
A monarch’s portrait here I’ll draw,
Rome, Paris, Pekin, such ne’er saw;
‘Tis Solomon, that king who shone
A Plato, while he filled a throne;
Who all things was to know allowed,
From hyssop to the cedar proud;
In luxury he surpassed mankind,
With glittering gold his palace shined.
All various pleasures he could taste,
A thousand beauties he embraced.
With beauties he was well supplied;
Give me but one, I’m satisfied.
One’s full enough for me; but I
Cannot with sage or monarch vie.”
Thus speaking, I perceived each guest
To approve of my discourse professed.
Sir Piety no more replied,
But, laughing, still the bottle plied,
While all, who well knew what I meant,
Seemed to my reasons to assent.