, which I
can vary and combine at pleasure. I can amuse my solitude by the renovation of
the knowledge which begins to fade from my memory, and by recollection of the
accidents of my past life. Yet all this ends in the sorrowful consideration,
that my acquirements are now useless, and that none of my pleasures can be again
enjoyed. The rest, whose minds have no impression but of the present moment, are
either corroded by malignant passions, or sit stupid in the gloom of perpetual
vacancy.«
    »What passions can infest those, said the prince, who have no rivals? We are
in a place where impotence precludes malice, and where all envy is repressed by
community of enjoyments.«
    »There may be community, said Imlac, of material possessions, but there can
never be community of love or of esteem. It must happen that one will please
more than another; he that knows himself despised will always be envious; and
still more envious and malevolent, if he is condemned to live in the presence of
those who despise him. The invitations, by which they allure others to a state
which they feel to be wretched, proceed from the natural malignity of hopeless
misery. They are weary of themselves, and of each other, and expect to find
relief in new companions. They envy the liberty which their folly has forfeited,
and would gladly see all mankind imprisoned like themselves.
    From this crime, however, I am wholly free. No man can say that he is
wretched by my persuasion. I look with pity on the crowds who are annually
soliciting admission to captivity, and wish that it were lawful for me to warn
them of their danger.«
    »My dear Imlac, said the prince, I will open to thee my whole heart. I have
long meditated an escape from the happy valley. I have examined the mountains on
every side, but find myself insuperably barred: teach me the way to break my
prison; thou shalt be the companion of my flight, the guide of my rambles, the
partner of my fortune, and my sole director in the choice of life.«
    »Sir, answered the poet, your escape will be difficult, and, perhaps, you
may soon repent your curiosity. The world, which you figure to yourself smooth
and quiet as the lake in the valley, you will find a sea foaming with tempests,
and boiling with whirlpools: you will be sometimes overwhelmed by the waves of
violence, and sometimes dashed against the rocks of treachery. Amidst wrongs and
frauds, competitions and anxieties, you will wish a
