Classic Poem

For my next Subject here, I Folly took,
Since none, but for it, cou'd begin a Book;
But for it, or exposing Vanity ,
Wou'd show their little Wit in Poetry,
Or cou'd (at least,) be brought to publish it;
Thus often Folly proves the Cause of Wit.
Nay, since our Troubles, Cares are often brought
Upon us, but for having too much Thought,
Then Folly'S Sense, since 'tis our Happiness,
By which our Thought, or Care, is always less;
Thus Fools are here, as likewise thought elsewhere,
But for their want of Thought much happier.
Which is most Wisdom? Heav'nly Wisdom, whence
Men have their Faith, their Truth, and Innocence?
Whence Heav'n to Fools wise Turks in next Life give;
But Christian Fools are happy whilst they live.
Each Driv'ler, Ideot, Sot, or Natural,
Rest, Happiness, enjoys here above all,
Whom Reasonable, or Spiritual you call;
Is most exempted from all Care and Fear,
Which Slaves to Sense or Fame are forc'd to bear:
Fools fear no Braggers Threats, nor Wits Discourse,
No Stings of Conscience feel, or have Remorse
For past Crimes, or for future Torments Fear,
Or have for Life incertain, certain Care,
Nor, while they Life and Pleasure here enjoy,
Can Tales of Hell, their Souls Rest here, destroy;
Who from their Innocence, their Safety find,
Their Ease of Body, and their Peace of Mind;
For casual Life, or sure Death, may be said
Neither to have fond Love, or vainer Dread,
By Good nor Ill to Care or Fear are brought,
Are then Philosophers for want of Thought:
From Guilt, or Punishment, exempted so,
Since they, who can't think Right, no Wrong can do;
Who but their own Will justly may fulfil,
But by discerning neither Good from Ill,
Having no Sense, know no Law but their Will:
No Sense disturbs their sensual free Delight,
Who know no Ruler but their Appetite.
Of Pow'r, or Love, they cannot jealous be,
Whose Minds and Hearts from Fear or Love are free;
Ev'n Hope, which makes Fools of the Patient, Wise,
Can Fools with Disappointments least surprize:
No Flattery can e'er misguide their Will,
Reason their Heads with Contradictions fill;
The thoughtless Fool to his good Humour so,
Is but more constant, as he less does know,
Has less Doubts, less Fear, and less Trouble, as
He but less Care and Apprehension has;
Whilst Men of more Sense, have more Care, Fear, Doubt,
The Fool most wise is, but as most without;
Who, for want of his Distinguishing,
Is more than Wise Men for their Reasoning,
Indifferent in every Thought or Thing.
He neither knows in this Life, Sin or Shame;
So can't in t'other, Punishment or Blame:
No fond Ambition, Envy, Hatred, Love,
His quiet Mind to Perturbation move.
Thus, the Fool's wise, whose Thought will not destroy,
With dread of future Ills, his present Joy;
The more a Fool then, is but more a Wit,
His Friends more to divert, by want of it:
Since no true Wit can more to Mirth incite,
Or be, more innocently, Man's Delight.
The Fool's himself a stroling Comedy,
Still entertaining all, whom he comes nigh,
And suffers near him no sad Company:
He laughs, and laught at, is without Offence,
By having to no Meaning a Pretence,
Nor, like a Pedant, e'er sets up for Sense.
Whence 'tis, best Wits, who Contradiction hate,
And love to hear their own Selves only prate,
To laugh at others, not to be laugh'd at,
Your easy Fool, whom they may laugh at, love;
Whilst some their Sense, laughing at them, wou'd prove.
Whence still the Fool by Mankind is caress'd,
In this World happy, as in t'other bless'd;
Amongst the Wise, does least Opposers find,
To his weak Passion, or his headstrong Mind;
Lest they, by contradicting him, shou'd be
Esteem'd to have as little Sense as he.
Since Wise Men, much more the Fools Equals seem,
But as the more they set their Wits to them.
The Fool spoils not, but mends Society,
For want of Wit, is better Company;
Who can do, nor resent an Injury;
His Innocence secures him, ev'ry where:
Of whom, lest shy the most Wise Men appear,
Bid him speak, when they will no Wise Man hear;
Against him no Door's shut, in Town, or Court;
Welcome to Sex, or Kind, of ev'ry Sort,
The fittest to make Men and Women Sport:
Can Credit best with Man, or Woman gain;
Provided, best to please, or entertain
The Fair, who not by Talk, but Action, judge of Man.
For King's, as Women's company most fit,
Both which will to their Secrets most admit
A heedless Fool, before a prying Wit:
To whom, because he is a Talker too,
They will have less to say, more Wit to show;
Whom, either will before a Wise Man hear,
And from him more, than from a Wise Man bear,
Since either, who can suffer Earnest least
From the Wise Man, will from the Fool his Jest:
Whence he, who to be laugh'd at most procures,
Most patiently his Better's Scorn endures,
Their Friendship and his Safety best ensures,
At Court is thought no small Fool, there grows Great,
Where Wit by President's unfortunate,
The most old President the World can show,
Since Knowledge did the first Man's Ruin grow.
Whence Fools here, for their F OLLIES , as elsewhere,
Are, as most innocent, the happier:
Who, since they cannot of themselves take Care,
The juster Care of Heav'n most often are.
Whence, for themselves to care, the Men of Sense
Are always left (we see) by Providence.
So Kings, as here they Heaven's Vicegerents are,
Of Fools (call'd Innocents,) will take most care,
And raise them still most high in their Esteem,
For having least Sense, so most Faith in them.
Then, since we find from our Experience, that
Men, as they've more Sense, are less Fortunate,
And in the World, just Providence or Fate
Still with good Chance, Want of good Parts supplies,
Which to the Knowing, it but most denies,
The greatest Folly sure, is to be Wise.
Since Knowledge is Man's Curse, as worst Offence,
Folly proves Wisdom, as 'tis Innocence;
Since Folly has, for Want of Thought, no Care,
For Want of Sense, has all Hope and no Fear;
So has, to Happiness above, below,
But more pretence still, as it less does know:
Since Faith but only Want of Knowledge is,
By which Men here, elsewhere gain Rest or Bliss;
So Man is most Wise, as he less does know,
By which, more Safe and Happy does he grow.
Then Folly 's Prudence, as 'tis Happiness,
Since our Content's more, as our Thought is less;
So, too much Sense sure but too little is,
Which makes itself its End it seeks, to miss;
Which does our End of all our Care, Content,
The more we seek it, by Thought, Care, prevent;
Since but by more Thought, we must needs confess,
Our Cares grow more, our Joys and Pleasures less,
Then Folly 's Wisdom, from its Thoughtlessness.