A Wise Book is much better then a Foolish Companion; and the Dead, in
such a case, are much better then the Living. It is one of the most
vexatious Mortifications perhaps, of a Sober, and Studious Man’s Life,
to have his Thoughts Disorder’d, and the very Chain of his Reason
Discompos’d, by the Importunity of a Tedious, and an Impertinent Visit;
Especially, if it be from a Fool of Quality, where the very Figure of
the Man Entitles him to All Returns of Good Manners and Respect. And
the Affliction is yet more Grievous, where that Prerogative of Quality,
is further Back’d and Corroborated, with a Real Kindness and Good Will:
For a Man must be Inhumane and Ungrateful, as well as Rude, if he does
but so much as Offer, at the Easing, or the Relieving of Himself. The
Drift of This Fable at last, is to tell us, that _Good Books_ and Good
Thoughts are the _Best Company_, and that they are Mistaken that think a
Wise Man can ever be Alone. It prepares us also to Expect Interruptions,
and Disappointments, and to Provide for ’em; but withal, to take the
Best Care we can to Prevent the Plague of Ill Company, by avoiding the
Occasions of it. The Linking of a Man of Brains and Honesty into a Lewd
Insipid Conversation, is Effectually but the Moral of That Tyrant, that
Bound the Living, and the Dead together, and yet This is it which the
Impertinent takes for the Relief of Solitude, and the Blessing of That
which he calls Company.