« PreviousContinue »
But mutual wants this happiness increase ; As that the virtuous fon is still at ease Alnature's difl'rcnce keeps ail nature's peace. When his lewd father gave the dire disease. Cordition, circumstance, is not the thing; Think we,like fome neak prince, th’EternalCause Blijs is the same 'in subject or in king.
Prone for his fav'rites to reverse his laws. Io wio obtain defence, or who defend,
Shall burning Ætna, if a lage requires, In himn who is, or him who finds a friend : Forget to thunder, and recal her fires ? Heav'n breathes thro' ev'ry member of the whole On air or fea new motions be imprest, One common blefling, as one common soul. Oh blamelets Bethel ! to relieve thy breaft? But fortune's gifts, if each alike possuft,
When the loose mountain trembles from on high, And each were cqual, inust not all contest? Shall gravitation cease, if you go by? If then to all men happiness was meant,
Or some old temple, nodding to its fall, God in externals could not place content.
For Chartres' head reserve the hanging wall ? Fortune her gifts may variously dispose, But still this world (so fitted for the knave) And these be happy callid, unhappy those ;
Contents us not. A better shall we have ?
But who, but God, can tell us who they are ?
Know, all the good that individuals find, What shocks one part will edify the rest, Or God and nature meant to mere mankind, Nor with one system can they all be blest. Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of fense, The very best wil variously incline, Licin threcwords, Health, Peace, and Competence; And what rewards your virtue, punish mine. But health consists with temperance alone;
Whatever is, is right. This world, iris true, And peace, oh virtue ! pcace is all thy own.
Was made for Cæsar-but for Titus too; The good or bad the gifts of fortune gain ;
And which imore bleft: v ho chain'd his country, But these less taste them as they worse obtain, Or he whose virtue figh'd to lose a day? (say, Sav, in pursuit of profit or delight,
“But sometimes virtuetarves, whilevice isted." Whorisk the inost,ihat take wrong ineans or right? What then? Is the reward of virtue bread ? Of vice or virtuc, whether bleft or curst, That, viie mav merit, 'uis the price of toil; Which meets contempt, or which compassion first? The knave defcrves it when he'rills the foil. Crunr all th'advantage prosp'rous vice atrains,
The knave deserves it when he tempts the main, Tis but what virtue files froin and disdains : Where folly fighes for kings, or dives for gain. And grant the bad what happineis they wou'd,
The god man may be weak, be indolent; 0:e they inust want, which is, to pafs' for good. Nor is his claim to plenty, but content. Oh blind to truth, and God's whole scheme bclow, But grant him riches, your demand is o'er! Who fancy blits to vice, to virtue woe!
“ No shall the good want health, the good want Who fees and follows that great scheme the best,
“ pow'r?” Best knows the blessing, and will most be blert. Add health and pow'r, and ev'ry earthly thing, But fools, the good alone, unhappy call,
Why bounded pow'r ? why private ? why no For ills or accidents that chance to all,
"king?" Sce Falkland dies, the virtuous and the just! Nay, why external for internal giv'n? Sce godlike Turenne proftra:c on the dust! Why is not man a god, and earth a heav'n? See Sydney bleeds amid the martial ftrife! Who ask and reason thus, will scarce conceive Was this their virtue, or contempt of life? God gives enough, while he has more to give; Sav, was it virtue, more tho: Heav'n ne'er gave, Immense the poiv'r, immense were the demand; Lamented Digby! sunk thee to the grave ? Sav,'at what part of nature will they stand ? Tell ine, if virtue made the fon expire,
What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, Why, full of days and honour, lives the fire? Thc soul's calm sunshine and the heart-felt joy Why drew Marseilles' good bishop purer breath, Is virtue's prize: A better would you fix? When Nature ficken'd, and each gale was death? Then give humility a coach and fix, Or why so lony (in life if long can bc)
Justice a congu'ror's fiord, or truch a gown, Lent Heav'n a parent to the poor and me Or public spirit its great cure, a crown.
What makes all phyfical or moral ill? Weak, foolith man! will Heav'n reward us there There deviates nature, and here wanders will. With the fame trash mad mortals with for here? God sends not ill; if rightly understood, The boy and man an individual makes, Or partial ill is univerfàl good,
Yet figni'lt thou now for apples and for cakes? Or change admits, or nature lets it fall,
Go, like the Indian, in another life Short, and bur rare, till man improv'd it all. Expect thy dog, thy bottle, and thy wife; We just as wisely. might of Heav'n complain, As well as reain such trifes are allignd, hat righteous Abel was deftroy'd by Cain, As roys and empires for a godlike mind.
Rewards, that either would to virtuc bring Alike or when, or where, they shone or shine, No joy, or be destructive of the thing;
Or on the Rubicon, or on the Rhine. How oft by these at fixty are undone
A wit's a feather, and a chief a rod; The virtues of a saint at twenty-one !
An honest man's the noblest work of God. To whom can riches give repute, or trust,
Fame but from death a villain's naine can save, Content, or pleasure, but the good and just ? As justice tears his body froin the grave ; Judges and fenates have been bought for gold;
When what t'oblivion better were resign'd, Efteem and love were never to be fold.
Is hung on high, to poison half mankind. Oh fool! to think God hates the worthy mind, All fame is foreign, but of true desert ; The lover and the love of human kind, [clear, Plays round the head, but comes not to the Whole life is healthful, and whose conicience
heart : Because he wants a thousand pounds a year!
One self-approving hour whole years outweighs Honour and shame from no condition rise; Of ftupid ftarers, and of loud huzzas ; Act well your part, there all the honour lies. And more truc joy Marcellus exil'd feels, Fortune in men has fome small diff'rence made; | Than Cælar with a fenate at his heels. One flaunts in rays, one flutters in brocade : In parts superior what advantage lies ? The cobler apron'd, and the parson gown'd, Tell (for you can) what is it to be wise ? The friar hooded, and the monarch crown d.
'Tis but to know how little can be known; “ What differ more (you cry) than crown and To fee all others faults, and feel our own : " cowl ?"
Condemn’d in bus'nels or in arts to drudge, I'll tell you, friend! a wise man and a fool. Without a fecond, or without a judge. You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk, Truths would you teach, or save a linking land? Or, cobler-like, the parson will be drunk, All fear, none aid you, and few understand. Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow: Painful pre-eminence ! yourself to view The rest is all but leather or prunella. [ftrings, Above life's weakness, and its comforts too.
Stuck o'er with titles, and hung round with Bring then these blessings to a strict account That thou may'st be by kings, or whores of kings, Make fair deductions ; fee to what they mount: Boaft the pure blood of an illustrious race, How much of other each is sure to cott; In quiet flow from Lucrece to Lucrece : How each for other oft is wholly lost; But by your fathers worth if your's you rate,
How inconsistent greater goods with these; Count me those only who were good and great. How sometimes life is risqu’d, and always ease : Go! if your ancient, but ignoble blood
Think, and if still the things thy envy call, Has crept thro' scoundrels cver since the flood, Say, wouldst thou be the man to whom they fall ? Go! and pretend your family is youngi
To figh for ribbands, if thou art fo filly, Nor own your fathers have been fools To long. Mark how they grace Lord Umbra, or Sir Billy! What can ennoblc fots, or slaves, or cowards? Is yellow dirt the paflion of thy life? Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards. [lies? | Look but on Gripus, or on Gripus' wife!
Look next on greatness; say where greatness If parts allure thce, think how Bacon thin'd, " Where, but among the heroes and the wife?” The wiseft, brightest, meaneft of mankind : Heroes are much the same, the point's agreed,
Or ravish'd with the whistling of a name, From Macedonia's madman to the Swede ; See Cromwell; dann'd to everlasting faine ! The whole strange purpose of their lives, to find If all, united, thy ambition call, Or make an enemy of all mankind !
From ancient story learn to scorn them all. Not one looks backward, onward still he goes; There, in the rich, the honour'd, fam'd, and great, Yet ne'er looks forward further than his nose. Sec the false scale of happinefs complete ! No less alike the politic and wise ;
In hearts of kings, or arms of queens who lay, All Ny flow things, with circumspective eyes : How happy those to ruin, these betray. Men in their loose unguarded hours they take, Mark by what wretched steps their glory grows, Not that themselves are wise, but others wcak. From dirt and sea-weed as proud Venice rose; Bur grant that those can conquer, these can cheat, In each how guilt and greatness equal ran, 'Tis phrafe absurd to call a villain great :
And all that rais'd the hero funk the man : Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave, Now Europe's laurels on their brows behold, Is but the more a fool, the more a knave. But stain'd with blood, or ill exchang'd for gold: Who noble ends by noble means obtains,
Then see them broke with toils, or funk in ease, Or failing, smiles in exile or in chains, Or infamous for plunder'd provinces. Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed Oh wealth ill-fated! which no act of fame Like Socrates, that man is great indeed. E’er taught to thine, or sanctify'd from shame!
What's fainc? A fancy'd life in others breath; What greater bliss attends their close of life? A thing beyond us, ev'n before our death. Some greedy minion, or imperious wife, Just what you hear, you have and what's unknown The trophy'd arches, story'd halls invade, The fame (my Lord) if Tully's, or your own.
And haunt their slumbers in the
shade, All that we feel of it begins and ends
Alas i not dazzled with their noon-tide ray, In the small circle of our foes or fricnds; Compute the morn and ev'ning to the day; To all befide, as much an empty shade
The whole amount of that enormous fame, An Eugene living, as a Cæsar dead;
A tale, that blends their glory with their thame!
Kno:y then this truih-(enough for man to Come then, my friend ! my genius! come along; « Virtue alone is happiness below.”. Lknow)Oh matter of the poet, and the fong! The only point where human blits.stands itill, And while the Mufe now stoops, or now ascends, And tastes the good without the fall to ill; To man's low pallions, or their glorious ends, Where only merit conftant pay receives, Teach me, like thee, in various nature wife, Is blest in what it takes, and what it gives; To fall with dignity, with temper rise ; The joy uncqualld, if its end it gain ;
Form’d by thy converse, happily to steer And if i lose, attended with no pain :
From grave to gay, from lively to levere; Without satiety, tho' e'er so bless'd,
Correct with spirit, eloquent with ease, And but more relith'd as the more diftrefs'd : Intent to reafon, or polite to please. The broadut mirth unfeeling folly wears, Oh! while along the stream of time thy name Less plealing far than virtuc's very tears : Expanded fies, and gathers all its fame, Good, from cach object, from each place acquir'd, Say, thall my little bark attendant fail, For ever exercis’d, yet never tir'd;
Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale? Never elated while one man's oppress’d; When statesmen, heroes, kings, in duit repose, Never dejected while another's blcss'd;
Whofe fons shall blush their fathers were thy focs, And where no wants, no wishes can remain, Shall then this verse to future age pretend Since but to wish more virtuc, is to gain. Thou wert my guide, pliilosopher, and friend !
See the fole bliss Heay'n could on all bestow! | That, nrg 'd by thec, I turn’d the tuneful art, Which who but fuls can tatte, but thinks can From sounds to things, from fancy to the heart; know :
For wit’s false mirror held up nature's light ; Y ct poor with fortune, and with Icarning blind, Show'd erring pride, whatever is, is right ; The bad mult mils, the good, untaught, will find; That rcalon, pallion, anfiver one great aim ; Slave to no fect, who takes no private road, That true felf-love and social are the same; But looks thro' nature, up to nature's God: That virtue only makes our bliss below; Purfues that chain which linksth'immense design, And all our knowledge is, ourselves to know. Joins heav'n and earth, and inortal and divine; Sces that no being any bliss can know, But couches fome above, and fome below; § 14. Moral Esays. In Four Epistles. POPE, Learns, from this union of the rifing whole, The first, lalt purpose of the liuman foul;
To Sir Richard Temple, L. Cobham. And knows where faith, law, morals, ali began,
EPISTLE I. All end, in love of God and love of inn. For him alone hope leads from goal to goal, YES, you defpise the man to books confin’d, And opeos frill, and opens on luis foul;
Who from his study rails at human kind; Till lengthen'd on to faith, and unconfin’d, Tho'what he learns he speaks, and may advance It pours the blits that fills up all the mind. Some gen’ral maxims, or be right by chance. He fees why nature plants in man alone
The coxcomb bird, so talkative and grave, Hop of known blits, and faith in bliss unknown: That from his cage cries Cuckold, Whore, and (Nature, whole dictatcs to no other kind Tho'many a paflenger he rightly call, [Knave, Are gir'n in vain, but what they fick tlicy find) You hold him no philosopher at all. Wife is her prefent ; she connccis in this
And yet the fate of all extremes is such, His greatest virtue with his greatert blits; Men may be read, as well as books, tvo much, At once his own bright profpcct to be blest, To oblervations which ourselves we makc, And ftrongest motive to ailifi the rift.
We grow more partial for th’observer's fake; Self-love thus puih'd to focial, to divine, To written Wition, as another's, lefs: (Guess. Gives thee to make thy neighbxur's bletting tline. Maxims are drawn from Notions, thele frein Is this too little for the boundless heart? There's foune peculiar in each leat and grain, Extend it, let thy enemies have part:
Some unmark'd fibre, or some varying vein ; Grasp the whole worlds of reafon, life, and senfe, Shall only Man be taken in the grofs? In one close fvficin of benevolence:
Grant but as many forts of mind as moss: Happier as kinder, in whate or degrec,
That cach from other differs, first confess: And height of bliss but hcight of charity. Next, that he varies from himself no less;
God loves froin whole to parts: but human soul Add Nature's,Cufiom's, Reason's, l'allion's strife, Muít rise from individual to the whole. And all Opinion's colours cast on life. Self-love but ferves the virtuous mind to wake, Our depths whofathoms, or our shallows sinds, As the finall pebble stirs the peaceful lake; Quick whirls, and thifting eddies of our minds ? The centre mov'd, a circle fiait fucceeds; On human actious reaton tho' you can, Another still, and still another sprcads ; It may be Reason, but it is not Man: Friend, parent, neighbour, firat it will conbrace; His Principle of action once explore, His country next; and next all human race; That infant 'tis his Principle no more. Wide and wore wide, ih’o'erfcwings of the inind Like following life, thro' creatures you diffect, Take ev'ry crcature in, of ev'ry kind;
You lose it in the moment you detect. Earth fimiles around, with boundles bounty bleít, Yet more; the diff'rence is as great between And Hcav'n bebolus its image in his brcali. The optics during, as the objects fuen.
All Manners take a tincture from our own; A bird of passage! gone as soon as found;
In vain the rage, with retrospective eye, Contracts, inverts, and gives ten thousand dyes. Would from th'apparent What conclude the Why,
Nor will Life's stream for observation fay; Infer the motive from the deed, and thew, It hurries all too fast to mark their way : Thai what we chanc'd was what we meant to do. In vain fedate reflections we would make, Behold! if Fortune or a mistress frowns, When half our knowledge we must snatch, not Some plunge in business, others have their crowns: Oft in the Pation's wild rotation tost, (take. To cale the soul of one oppretlive weight, Our spring of action to ourfelves is loft: This quits an empire, that embroils a state; Tir'd, not deterinin'd, to the last we yield; The fame adust complexion has impellid And what comes then is master of the field. Charles to the convent, Philip to the field. As the last image of that troubled heap, Not always actions shew the man ; we find When Senfe fublides, and Fancy fports in Neep Who does a kindness is not therefore kind: (Tho' past the recollection of the thought) Perhaps prosperity becalm'd his breast; Becomes the stuff of which our dream is wrought, Perhaps the wind just shifted from the east: Something as diin to our internal view, Not therefore humble he who seeks retrtat, Is thus, perhaps, the cause of most we do. Pride guides his steps, and bids him fhun the great.
True, some are open, and to all men known; Who combats bravely is not therefore brave; Others fo very close, they're hid from none: He dreads a death-bed like the icanest Nave: (So darknets strikes the sense no less than light) Who realons wisely is not therefore wise; Thus gracious Chandos is belov'd at light: His pride in reas’ning, not in acting, lies, And ev'ry child hates Shylock, tho’his foul But grant that actions best discover man; Still sits at squat, and peeps not from its holc. Take the most strong, and sort them as you can. Ac half mankind when gen'rous Manly raves, The few that glare, each character must mark; All know 'tis virtue, for he thinks thinı knaves. You balance not the many in the dark. When universal homage Umbra pays,
What will you do with such as disagree? All fce 'tis vice, and itch of vulgar praise. Suppress them, or miscall them policy? When flatt'ry glares, all hate it in a queen, Must then at once (the character to save) While one there is whocharins us with his fpleen. The plain rough hero turn a crafty knave?
But there plain characters we rarcly find : Alas! in truth the man but chang'd his mind; Tho'strong the bent, yet quick the turns of mind: Perhaps was fick, in love, or had not din'd. Or puzzling contraries confound the whole ; Ask why from Britain Cæsar would retreat ? Or affectations quite reverse the foul.
Cæfar hiinself might whisper he was beat. The Dull, flat Falsehood ferves for policy: Why risk the world's great empire for a punk? And in the Cunning, Truth itself's a lic. Cæsar perhaps might ansiver, he was drunk. Unthought-of frailties cheat us in the wise; But, sage hittorians ! 'tis your talk to prove The fool lies hid in inconfidencies.
One action conduct; one, heroic love. See the same man in vigour, in the gout; 'Tis from high life high characters are drawn; Alonc, in company; in place, or out ;
A saint in crape is twice a faint in lawn; Early at bus'ness, and at hazard late;
A judge is just, a chanc'llor jufter still; Mad at a fox-chace, wife at a debate;
A gownman learn'd; a bishop what you will; Drunk at a borough, ciril at a ball;
Wife, if a minister ; but, if a king, [thing! Friendly at Hackney, faithless at Whitchall. More wisc, more learn’d, more just, more ev'ry Cat:us is ever inoral, ever grave,
Court-Virtues bear, like geins, the highest rate, Thinks, who endures a knave is next a knave, Born where Heav'n's influence scarce can peneSave just at dinner-then prefors, no doubt,
In life's low valc, the foil the virtues like, (trate : A rogue with ven’son to a faint without. They please as beauties, here as wonders strike.
Who would not praise Patricio's high desert, Tho' the same fun, with all diffusive rays, His hand unftain’d, his uncorrupted hcart,
Blush in the rose, and in the di'inond blaze, His comprehensive head! all int'rests weigh'd, We prize the stronger effort of his pow'r, All Europe fav’d, yet Britain not betray'd. And justly set the goin above the flow'r. He thanks you not, his pride is in picquette,
'Tis education forms the common mind ; Newmarket-fame, and judgment at a bett. Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclin'de What made (lay Montagne, - or inore fage Boarful and rough, your first ton is a 'íquire; Charron!)
The next a tradesman, meck, and much a liar; Orho a warrior, Cromwell a buffoon?
Tom struts a soldier, open, bold, and brave; A perjur'd prince a leaden faint revere, Will Incaks a scriv'ner, an exceeding knave: A yorlicts regent tremble at a star?
Is he a churchman i then he's fond of pow'r; 7 The throne a bigot keep, a genius quit, A quaker fly; a prefbyterian? four; Faithlets thro' piety, and dup'd thro' wit? A finart frec-thinker: all things in an hour. Europe a woman, child, or dotard rule,
Alk mens opinions : Scoto now shall tell And just her wilčít monarch made a fool? How trade increases, and the world goes well;
Know, God and Nature only are the same: Strike off his pension, by the setting fun, la Man, the judgment shoots at flying game; And Britain, if not Europe, is undone.
That gay free-thinker, a fine talker once, Confiftent in our follies and our fins, What turns him now a stupid filent dunce? Here honcft Nature ends as the begins. Some God, or Spirit, he has lately found; Old politicians chew on wisom past, Or chanc'ů to meet a minifter that frown'd. And totter on in bus'ness to the last;
Judge we by nature? Habit can efface, As weak, as earnest; and as gravely out, Intrest o'ercoine, or policy take place :* As fober Lanesb’row dancing in the gout. By actions : thote uncertainty divides :
Behold a rev'rend fire, whom want of grace By passions ? these diflimulation hides : Has made the father of a namelefs race, Opinions, they still take a wider range: Shov'd from the wall perhaps, or rudely pressid Find, if you can, in what you cannot change. By his own son, that passes by unbless'd : Manners with fortunes, humours turn with Still to his wench he crawis on knocking knees, climes,
And envies ev'ry sparrow that he lees. Tenets with books, and principles with times. A salinon's belly, Helluo, was thy fare ;
Search then the ruling passion: There, alone, The doctor call'd, declares all help too late : The wild are constant, and the cunning known; “ Mercy! cries Helluo, mercy on my soul ! The fool confiftent, and the false fincere; “ Is there no hope ?-Alas! then bring the jowl." Priefts, princes, women, no dissemblers here. The frugal crone, whom praying priests attend, This clue once found, unravels all the rest, Still strives to save the hallow'd taper's end; The prospect clears, and Wharton stands confeft. Collects her breath as ebbing life retires, Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days, For one puff more, and in that puff expires. Whose ruling pallion was the luft of praise : "Odious! in woollen !'would a saint provoke! Born with whate'er could win it from the wise, (Were the last words that poor Narcisa spoke) Women and fools must like him, or he dies : • No, let a charming chintz and Brussels lace Tho' wond'ring senates hung on all he spoke, Wrap my cold limbs, and thade iny lifeless face: The Club must hail hiin, Matter of the Joke. • One would not sure be frightful when one's Shall parts so various aim at nothing new?
dead He'll shine a Tully and a Wilmot too.
· And— Betty-give this cheek a little red.' Then turns repentant, and his God adores The Courtier, smooth, who forty years had With the same spirit that he drinks and whores; An humble fervant to all human kind, [thin'd Enough if all around him but adınire,
Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue And now the Punk applaud, and now the Friar. could stir, Thus with each gift of nature and of art, "If--where I'm going--I could ferve you, Sir?' And wanting nothing but an honest heart; "I give and I devitc (old Euclio said, Grown all to all, from no one vice exempt; And sigh’d) my lands and tenements to Ned.' And molt contemptible to fhun contempt;
Sir?-- - My money, Sir! what all? His pallion ftill to covet gen’ral praise,
• Why,--if I must-(then wept) I give it Paul." His life, to forfeit ir a thousand wavs;
The manor, Sir?--The manor! hold,' he cry'd, A constant bounty which no friend has made ; • Not that I cannot part with that'-and dy'd. An angel tongue, which no man can persuade; And you, brave Cobham, to the latest breath, A fool, with more of wit than half mankind, Shall feel your ruling pallion strong in death : Too rash for thought, for action tov refin'd: Such in those moments as in all the rift, A tyrant to the wife his heart approves ; • O save my country, Heav'n!' Thall be your A rebel to the very king he loves;
last. He dies, sad outcast of cach church and state, And, harder ftill! Ragitious, yet not great.
II. Ask you why Wharton broke thro'ev'ry rule ? 'Twas all for fear the knaves should call hiin
To a Lady. Nature well known, no prodigics remain, [fool !
Of the Characters of Women. Comets are regular, and Wharton plain. Yet in this search the wisest may mistake, NOTHING so true as what you once let fall, If second qualities for first they take.
“ Most women have no characters at all." When Catiline by rapine fivell’d his store; Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear, When Cafar made a noble dame a whore; And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair. In this the luft, in that the avarice
How many pi&tures of one nymph we view, Were means, not ends; ambition was the vice; All how unlike each other, all how true! That very Casar, born in Scipio's days, Arcadia's Countels, hiere, in ermin'd pride, Had aim'd, like him, by chastity, at praise. Is there, Pastora, by a fountain side. Lucullus, when frugality could charm, Here Faunia, Icering on her own good man ; Had roasted turnips in the Sabin farm.
And there, a naked Leda with a livan. In vain th'observer eyes the builder's toil; Let then the fair one beautifully cry, But quite mistakes the scaffold for the pile. In Magdalene's loose hair and lifted
eye, In this one pailion man can strength enjoy, Or drest in smiles of fivcer Cecilia shine, As fits give vigour just when they destroy. With fimp’ring angels, palıns, and harps divine; Time, that on all things lays !is lenient hand, Whether the charmer finner it or faint it, Yet tamcs not this; it sticks to our last land. If folly grow romantic, I must paint it.