And come to see each other damn'd;
(So some folk told you, but they knew
No more of Jove's designs than you.)
The world’s mad business now is o’er,
And I resent your freaks no more;
I to such blockheads set my wit,
I damn such fools—go, go, you're bit!’”
Addison, speaking on the very same theme, but with how different a voice, says, in his famous paper on Westminster Abbey ("Spectator," No. 26):—"For my own part, though I am always serious, I do not know what it is to be melancholy, and can therefore take a view of nature in her deep and solemn scenes with the same pleasure as in her most gay and delightful ones. When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies within me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents on a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion; when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those we must quickly follow." (I have owned that I do not think Addison's heart melted very much, or that he indulged very inordinately in the "vanity of grieving.") "When," he goes on, "when I see kings lying by those who deposed them: when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and disputes,—I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, factions, and debates of
