The Praise of Folly | Page 7

of children, until like them they
pass from life to death, without any weariness of the one, or sense of
the other.
And now, let him that will compare the benefits they receive by me, the
metamorphoses of the gods, of whom I shall not mention what they
have done in their pettish humors but where they have been most
favorable: turning one into a tree, another into a bird, a third into a
grasshopper, serpent, or the like. As if there were any difference
between perishing and being another thing! But I restore the same man
to the best and happiest part of his life. And if men would but refrain

from all commerce with wisdom and give up themselves to be
governed by me, they should never know what it were to be old, but
solace themselves with a perpetual youth. Do but observe our grim
philosophers that are perpetually beating their brains on knotty subjects,
and for the most part you'll find them grown old before they are
scarcely young. And whence is it, but that their continual and restless
thoughts insensibly prey upon their spirits and dry up their radical
moisture? Whereas, on the contrary, my fat fools are as plump and
round as a Westphalian hog, and never sensible of old age, unless
perhaps, as sometimes it rarely happens, they come to be infected with
wisdom, so hard a thing it is for a man to be happy in all things. And to
this purpose is that no small testimony of the proverb, that says, "Folly
is the only thing that keeps youth at a stay and old age afar off;" as it is
verified in the Brabanders, of whom there goes this common saying,
"That age, which is wont to render other men wiser, makes them the
greater fools." And yet there is scarce any nation of a more jocund
converse, or that is less sensible of the misery of old age, than they are.
And to these, as in situation, so for manner of living, come nearest my
friends the Hollanders. And why should I not call them mine, since
they are so diligent observers of me that they are commonly called by
my name?--of which they are so far from being ashamed, they rather
pride themselves in it. Let the foolish world then be packing and seek
out Medeas, Circes, Venuses, Auroras, and I know not what other
fountains of restoring youth. I am sure I am the only person that both
can, and have, made it good. 'Tis I alone that have that wonderful juice
with which Memnon's daughter prolonged the youth of her grandfather
Tithon. I am that Venus by whose favor Phaon became so young again
that Sappho fell in love with him. Mine are those herbs, if yet there be
any such, mine those charms, and mine that fountain that not only
restores departed youth but, which is more desirable, preserves it
perpetual. And if you all subscribe to this opinion, that nothing is better
than youth or more execrable than age, I conceive you cannot but see
how much you are indebted to me, that have retained so great a good
and shut out so great an evil.
But why do I altogether spend my breath in speaking of mortals? View
heaven round, and let him that will reproach me with my name if he

find any one of the gods that were not stinking and contemptible were
he not made acceptable by my deity. Why is it that Bacchus is always a
stripling, and bushy-haired? but because he is mad, and drunk, and
spends his life in drinking, dancing, revels, and May games, not having
so much as the least society with Pallas. And lastly, he is so far from
desiring to be accounted wise that he delights to be worshiped with
sports and gambols; nor is he displeased with the proverb that gave him
the surname of fool, "A greater fool than Bacchus;" which name of his
was changed to Morychus, for that sitting before the gates of his temple,
the wanton country people were wont to bedaub him with new wine
and figs. And of scoffs, what not, have not the ancient comedies thrown
on him? O foolish god, say they, and worthy to be born as you were of
your father's thigh! And yet, who had not rather be your fool and sot,
always merry, ever young, and making sport for other people, than
either Homer's Jupiter with his crooked counsels, terrible to everyone;
or old Pan with his hubbubs; or smutty Vulcan half covered with
cinders; or even Pallas herself, so dreadful with her Gorgon's head and
spear and a countenance like bullbeef? Why is Cupid always portrayed
like a boy, but because he