There are, I believe, few people in London, of those that are at any time forced to go a-foot, but what could wish the streets of it much cleaner than generally they are; while they regard nothing but their own clothes and private conveniency; but when once they come to consider, that what offends them, is the result of the plenty, great traffic, and opulency of that mighty city, if they have any concern in its welfare, they will hardly ever wish to see the streets of it less dirty. For if we mind the materials of all sorts that must supply such an infinite number of trades and handicrafts, as are always going forward; the vast quantity of victuals, drink, and fuel, that are daily consumed in it; the waste and superfluities that must be produced from them; the multitudes of horses, and other cattle, that are always dawbing the streets; the carts, coaches, and more heavy carriages that are perpetually wearing and breaking the pavement of them; and, above all, the numberless swarms of people that are continually harassing and trampling through every part of them: If, I say, we mind all these, we shall find, that every moment must produce new filth; and, considering how far distant the great streets are from the river side, what cost and care soever be bestowed to remove the nastiness almost as fast as it is made, it is impossible London should be more cleanly before it is less flourishing. Now would I ask, if a good citizen, in consideration of what has been said, might not assert, that dirty streets are a necessary evil, inseparable from the felicity of London, without being the least hinderance to the cleaning of shoes, or sweeping of streets, and consequently without any prejudice either to the blackguard or the scavingers.

But if, without any regard to the interest or happiness of the city, the question was put, What place I thought most pleasant to walk in? Nobody can doubt, but before the stinking streets of London, I would esteem a fragrant garden, or a shady grove in the country. In the same manner, if laying aside all worldly greatness and vain glory, I should be asked where I thought it was most probable that men might enjoy true happiness, I would prefer a small peaceable society, in which men, neither envied nor esteemed by neighbours, should be contented to live upon the natural product of the spot they inhabit, to a vast multitude abounding in wealth and power, that should always be conquering others by their arms abroad, and debauching themselves by foreign luxury at home.

Thus much I had said to the reader in the first edition; and have added nothing by way of preface in the second. But since that, a violent outcry has been made against the book, exactly answering the expectation I always had of the justice, the wisdom, the charity, and fair-dealing of those whose good will I despaired of. It has been presented by the Grand Jury, and condemned by thousands who never saw a word of it. It has been preached against before my Lord Mayor; and an utter refutation of it is daily expected from a reverend divine, who has called me names in the advertisements, and threatened to answer me in two months time for above five months together. What I have to say for myself, the reader will see in my Vindication at the end of the book, where he will likewise find the Grand Jury's Presentment, and a letter to the Right Honourable Lord C. which is very rhetorical beyond argument or connection. The author shows a fine talent for invectives, and great sagacity in discovering atheism, where others can find none. He is zealous against wicked books, points at the Fable of the Bees, and is very angry with the author: He bestows four strong epithets on the enormity of his guilt, and by several elegant innuendos to the multitude, as the danger there is in suffering such authors to live, and the vengeance of Heaven upon a whole nation, very charitably recommends him to their care.

Considering the length of this epistle, and that it is not wholly levelled at me only, I thought at first to have made some extracts from it of what related to myself; but finding, on a nearer inquiry, that what concerned me was so blended and interwoven with what did not, I was obliged to trouble the reader with it entire, not without hopes that, prolix as it is, the extravagancy of it will be entertaining to those who have perused the treatise it condemns with so much horror.

THE GRUMBLING HIVE: OR, KNAVES TURN'D HONEST.

A spacious hive well stock'd with bees, That liv'd in luxury and ease; And yet as fam'd for laws and arms, As yielding large and early swarms; Was counted the great nursery 5 Of sciences and industry. No bees had better government, More fickleness, or less content: They were not slaves to tyranny. Nor rul'd by wild democracy; 10 But kings, that could not wrong, because Their power was circumscrib'd by laws. These insects liv'd like men, and all Our actions they performed in small: They did whatever's done in town, 15 And what belongs to sword or gown: Though th' artful works, by nimble slight Of minute limbs, 'scap'd human sight; Yet we've no engines, labourers, Ships, castles, arms, artificers, 20 Craft, science, shop, or instrument, But they had an equivalent: Which, since their language is unknown, Must be call'd, as we do our own. As grant, that among other things, 25 They wanted dice, yet they had kings; And those had guards; from whence we may Justly conclude, they had some play; Unless a regiment be shown Of soldiers, that make use of none. 30 Vast numbers throng'd the fruitful hive; Yet those vast numbers made 'em thrive; Millions endeavouring to supply Each other's lust and vanity; While other millions were employ'd, 35 To see their handy-works destroy'd; They furnish'd half the universe; Yet had more work than labourers. Some with vast flocks, and little pains, Jump'd into business of great gains; 40 And some were damn'd to scythes and spades, And all those hard laborious trades; Where willing wretches daily sweat, And wear out strength and limbs to eat: While others follow'd mysteries, 45 To which few folks binds 'prentices; That want no stock, but that of brass, And may set up without a cross; As sharpers, parasites, pimps, players, Pickpockets, coiners, quacks, soothsayers, 50 And all those, that in enmity, With downright working, cunningly Convert to their own use the labour Of their good-natur'd heedless neighbour. These were call'd Knaves, but bar the name, 55 The grave industrious were the same: All trades and places knew some cheat, No calling was without deceit. The lawyers, of whose art the basis Was raising feuds and splitting cases, 60 Oppos'd all registers, that cheats Might make more work with dipt estates; As were't unlawful, that one's own, Without a law-suit, should be known. They kept off hearings wilfully, 65 To finger the refreshing fee; And to defend a wicked cause, Examin'd and survey'd the laws, As burglar's shops and houses do, To find out where they'd best break through. 70 Physicians valu'd fame and wealth Above the drooping patient's health, Or their own skill: the greatest part Study'd, instead of rules of art, Grave pensive looks and dull behaviour, 75 To gain th' apothecary's favour; The praise of midwives, priests, and all That serv'd at birth or funeral. To bear with th' ever-talking tribe, And hear my lady's aunt prescribe; 80 With formal smile, and kind how d'ye, To fawn on all the family; And, which of all the greatest curse is, T' endure th' impertinence of nurses. Among the many priests of Jove, 85 Hir'd to draw blessings from above, Some few were learn'd and eloquent, But thousands hot and ignorant: Yet all pass'd muster that could hide Their sloth, lust, avarice and pride; 90 For which they were as fam'd as tailors For cabbage, or for brandy sailors, Some, meagre-look'd, and meanly clad, Would mystically pray for bread, Meaning by that an ample store, 95 Yet lit'rally received no more; And, while these holy drudges starv'd, The lazy ones, for which they serv'd, Indulg'd their ease, with all the graces Of health and plenty in their faces. 100 The soldiers, that were forc'd to fight, If they surviv'd, got honour by't; Though some, that shunn'd the bloody fray, Had limbs shot off, that ran away: Some valiant gen'rals fought the foe; 105 Others took bribes to let them go: Some ventur'd always where 'twas warm, 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 } 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 now the willing debtors pay, Ev'n what's by creditors forgot; Who quitted them that had it not. Those that were in the wrong, stood mute, And dropt the patch'd vexatious suit: 255 On which since nothing else can thrive, Than lawyers in an honest hive, All, except those that got enough, With inkhorns by their sides troop'd off. Justice hang'd some, set others free; 260 And after gaol delivery, Her presence being no more requir'd, With all her train and pomp retir'd. First march'd some smiths with locks and grates, Fetters, and doors with iron plates: 265 Next gaolers, turnkeys and assistants: Before the goddess, at some distance, Her chief and faithful minister, 'Squire Catch, the law's great finisher, Bore not th' imaginary sword, 270 But his own tools, an ax and cord: Then on a cloud the hood-wink'd fair, Justice herself was push'd by air: About her chariot, and behind, Were serjeants, bums of every kind, 275 Tip-staffs, and all those officers, That squeeze a living out of tears. Though physic liv'd, while folks were ill, None would prescribe, but bees of skill, Which through the hive dispers'd so wide, 280 That none of them had need to ride; Wav'd vain disputes, and strove to free The patients of their misery; Left drugs in cheating countries grown, And us'd the product of their own; 285 Knowing the gods sent no disease, To nations without remedies. Their clergy rous'd from laziness, Laid not their charge on journey-bees; But serv'd themselves, exempt from vice, 290 The gods with pray'r and sacrifice; All those, that were unfit, or knew, Their service might be spar'd, withdrew: Nor was their business for so many, (If th' honest stand in need of any,) 295 Few only with the high-priest staid, To whom the rest obedience paid: Himself employ'd in holy cares; Resign'd to others state-affairs. He chas'd no starv'ling from his door, 300 Nor pinch'd the wages of the poor: But at his house the hungry's fed, } The hireling finds unmeasur'd bread, } The needy trav'ller board and bed. } Among the king's great ministers, 305 And all th' inferior officers, The change was great; for frugally They now liv'd on their salary: That a poor bee should ten times come To ask his due, a trifling sum, 310 And by some well-hir'd clerk be made To give a crown, or ne'er be paid, Would now be call'd a downright cheat, Though formerly a perquisite. All places manag'd first by three, 315 Who watch'd each other's knavery And often for a fellow-feeling, Promoted one another's stealing, Are happily supply'd by one, By which some thousands more are gone. 320 No honour now could be content, To live and owe for what was spent; Liv'ries in brokers shops are hung, They part with coaches for a song; Sell stately horses by whole sets; 325 And country-houses, to pay debts. Vain cost is shunn'd as much as fraud; They have no forces kept abroad; Laugh at th' esteem of foreigners, And empty glory got by wars; 330 They fight but for their country's sake, When right or liberty's at stake. Now mind the glorious hive, and see How honesty and trade agree. The show is gone, it thins apace; 335 And looks with quite another face. For 'twas not only that they went, By whom vast sums were yearly spent; But multitudes that liv'd on them, Were daily forc'd to do the same. 340 In vain to other trades they'd fly; All were o'er-stock'd accordingly. The price of land and houses falls; Mirac'lous palaces, whose walls, Like those of Thebes, were rais'd by play, 345 Are to be let; while the once gay, Well-seated household gods would be More pleas'd to expire in flames, than see The mean inscription on the door Smile at the lofty ones they bore. 350 The building trade is quite destroy'd, Artificers are not employ'd; No limner for his art is fam'd, Stone-cutters, carvers are not nam'd. Those, that remain'd, grown temp'rate, strive, 355 Not how to spend, but how to live; And, when they paid their tavern score, Resolv'd to enter it no more: No vintner's jilt in all the hive Could wear now cloth of gold, and thrive; 360 Nor Torcol such vast sums advance, For Burgundy and Ortolans; The courtier's gone that with his miss Supp'd at his house on Christmas peas; Spending as much in two hours stay, 365 As keeps a troop of horse a day. The haughty Chloe, to live great, Had made her husband rob the state: But now she sells her furniture, Which th' Indies had been ransack'd for; 370 Contracts the expensive bill of fare, And wears her strong suit a whole year: The slight and fickle age is past; And clothes, as well as fashions, last. Weavers, that join'd rich silk with plate, 375 And all the trades subordinate, Are gone; still peace and plenty reign, And every thing is cheap, though plain: Kind nature, free from gard'ners force, Allows all fruits in her own course; 380 But rarities cannot be had, Where pains to get them are not paid. As pride and luxury decrease, So by degrees they leave the seas. Not merchants now, but companies 385 Remove whole manufactories. All arts and crafts neglected lie; Content, the bane of industry, Makes 'em admire their homely store, And neither seek nor covet more. 390 So few in the vast hive remain, The hundredth part they can't maintain Against th' insults of numerous foes; Whom yet they valiantly oppose: 'Till some well fenc'd retreat is found, 395 And here they die or stand their ground. No hireling in their army's known; But bravely fighting for their own, Their courage and integrity At last were crown'd with victory. 400 They triumph'd not without their cost, For many thousand bees were lost. Harden'd with toils and exercise, They counted ease itself a vice; Which so improv'd their temperance; 405 That, to avoid extravagance, They flew into a hollow tree, Blest with content and honesty.