Chapter VI: Part 6

Now those who are thus devoutly affected (though few there are so), undergo somewhat of strange alteration, which very nearly approaches to madness; they speak many things at an abrupt and incoherent rate, as if they were actuated by some possessing demon; they make an inarticulate noise, without any distinguishable sense or meaning; they sometimes screw and distort their faces to uncouth and antic looks; at one time beyond measure cheerful, then as immoderately sullen; now sobbing, then laughing, and soon after sighing, as if they were perfectly distracted, and out of their senses. If they have any sober intervals of coming to themselves again, like St. Paul they then confess, that _they were caught up they know not where, whether in the body, or out of the body, they cannot tell_; as if they had been in a dead sleep or trance, they remember nothing of what they have heard, seen, said, or done: this they only know, that their past delusion was a most desirable happiness; that therefore they bewail nothing more than the loss of it, nor wish for any greater joy than the quick return of it, and more durable abode for ever. And this (as I have said) is the foretaste or anticipation of future blessedness.

But I doubt I have forgot myself, and have already transgressed the bounds of modesty. However, if I have said anything too confidently or impertinently, be pleased to consider that it was spoke by Folly, and that under the person of a woman; yet at the same time remember the applicableness of that Greek proverb:--

A fool oft speaks a seasonable truth.

Unless you will be so witty as to object that this makes no apology for me, because the word _aunp_ signifies a man, not a woman, and consequently my sex debars me from the benefit of that observation.

I perceive now, that, for a concluding treat, you expect a formal epilogue, and the summing up of all in a brief recitation; but I will assure you, you are grossly mistaken if you suppose that after such a hodge-podge medley of speech I should be able to recollect anything I have delivered. Beside, as it is an old proverb, _I hate a pot-companion with a good memory_; so indeed I may as truly say, _I hate a hearer that will carry any thing away with him_. Wherefore, in short:--

Farewell! live long, drink deep, be jolly,
Ye most illustrious votaries of folly!

A POEM ON THE FOREGOING WORK.

THERE'S ne'er a blade of honour in the town,
But if you chance to term him _fool_ and _clown_,
Straight _satisfaction_ cries, and then with speed
The time, the place, and rapier's length's decreed.
Prodigious fops, I'll swear, which can't agree
To be call'd what's their happiness to be:
Blest _Idiots!_
That in an humble sphere securely move,
And there the sweets of a safe _dulness_ prove,
Nor envy the proud heights of those who range above.
_Folly_, sure friend of a misguided will,
Affords a kind excuse for doing ill;
And _Socrates_, that prudent, thinking tool,
Had the gods lik'd him would have prov'd a _fool_.
Methinks our author, when without a flaw,
The graces of his mistress he does draw,
Wishes (if _Metempsychosis_ be true,
And souls do change their case, and act anew),
In his next life he only might aspire
To the few brains of some soft country squire,
Whose head with such like rudiments is fraught,
As in his youth his careful grannum taught.

And now (dear friend) how shall we to thy brow
Pay all those laurels which we justly owe?
For thou fresh honours to the work dost bring,
And to the theme: nor seems that pleasing thing,
Which he so well in _Latin_ has express'd,
Less comical in _English_ garments dress'd;
Thy sentences are all so clearly wrought,
And so exactly plac'd in every thought,
That, which is more oblig'd we scarce can see
The subject by thine author, or himself by thee.

FINIS

End of Project Gutenberg's In Praise of Folly, by Desiderius Erasmus