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he Project Gutenberg eBook, Essay on Man, by Alexander Pope, Edited by

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itle: Essay on Man

Moral Essays and Satires

uthor: Alexander Pope

ditor: Henry Morley

elease Date: August 20, 2007 [eBook #2428]

anguage: English

haracter set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)

**START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ESSAY ON MAN***

ranscribed from the 1891 Cassell & Company edition by Les Bowler.

N ESSAY ON MAN.

ORAL ESSAYS AND SATIRES

Y

ttp://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/2/2428/2428.txt (1 of 143) [5/7/2008 10:55:14 AM]




LEXANDER POPE.

ASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED:

LONDON_, _PARIS & MELBOURNE_.

891.

NTRODUCTION.

ope's life as a writer falls into three periods, answering fairly enou

o the three reigns in which he worked. Under Queen Anne he was an

riginal poet, but made little money by his verses; under George I. he

as chiefly a translator, and made much money by satisfying the French-

lassical taste with versions of the "Iliad" and "Odyssey." Under Geor

he also edited Shakespeare, but with little profit to himself; forhakespeare was but a Philistine in the eyes of the French-classical

ritics. But as the eighteenth century grew slowly to its work, signs

deepening interest in the real issues of life distracted men's

ttention from the culture of the snuff-box and the fan. As Pope's

enius ripened, the best part of the world in which he worked was

ressing forward, as a mariner who will no longer hug the coast but

rowds all sail to cross the storms of a wide unknown sea. Pope's poet

hus deepened with the course of time, and the third period of his life

hich fell within the reign of George II., was that in which he produce

he "Essay on Man," the "Moral Essays," and the "Satires." These deal

holly with aspects of human life and the great questions they raise,

ccording throughout with the doctrine of the poet, and of the reasonin

orld about him in his latter day, that "the proper study of mankind is

an."

rongs in high places, and the private infamy of many who enforced the

octrines of the Church, had produced in earnest men a vigorous

ntagonism. Tyranny and unreason of low-minded advocates had brought

eligion itself into question; and profligacy of courtiers, eachorshipping the golden calf seen in his mirror, had spread another form

f scepticism. The intellectual scepticism, based upon an honest searc

or truth, could end only in making truth the surer by its questionings

he other form of scepticism, which might be traced in England from the

ow-minded frivolities of the court of Charles the Second, was widely

pread among the weak, whose minds flinched from all earnest thought.

hey swelled the number of the army of bold questioners upon the ways o

od to Man, but they were an idle rout of camp-followers, not combatant





hey simply ate, and drank, and died.

n 1697, Pierre Bayle published at Rotterdam, his "Historical and

ritical Dictionary," in which the lives of men were associated with a

omment that suggested, from the ills of life, the absence of divine ca

n the shaping of the world. Doubt was born of the corruption of

ociety; Nature and Man were said to be against faith in the rule of a

od, wise, just, and merciful. In 1710, after Bayle's death, Leibnitz,

erman philosopher then resident in Paris, wrote in French a book, with

itle formed from Greek words meaning Justice of God, Theodicee, in whi

e met Bayle's argument by reasoning that what we cannot understand

onfuses us, because we see only the parts of a great whole. Bayle, he

aid, is now in Heaven, and from his place by the throne of God, he see

he harmony of the great Universe, and doubts no more. We see only a

ittle part in which are many details that have purposes beyond our ken

he argument of Leibnitz's Theodicee was widely used; and although Pope

aid that he had never read the Theodicee, his "Essay on Man" has a lik

rgument. When any book has a wide influence upon opinion, its generaldeas pass into the minds of many people who have never read it. Many

ow talk about evolution and natural selection, who have never read a

ine of Darwin.

n the reign of George the Second, questionings did spread that went to

he roots of all religious faith, and many earnest minds were busying

hemselves with problems of the state of Man, and of the evidence of Go

n the life of man, and in the course of Nature. Out of this came,

early at the same time, two works wholly different in method and in

one--so different, that at first sight it may seem absurd to speak of

hem together. They were Pope's "Essay on Man," and Butler's "Analogy

eligion, Natural and Revealed, to the Constitution and Course of

ature."

utler's "Analogy" was published in 1736; of the "Essay on Man," the

irst two Epistles appeared in 1732, the Third Epistle in 1733, the

ourth in 1734, and the closing Universal Hymn in 1738. It may seem ev

ore absurd to name Pope's "Essay on Man" in the same breath with

ilton's "Paradise Lost;" but to the best of his knowledge and power, iis smaller way, according to his nature and the questions of his time,

ope was, like Milton, endeavouring "to justify the ways of God to Man

e even borrowed Milton's line for his own poem, only weakening the ver

nd said that he sought to "vindicate the ways of God to Man." In

ilton's day the questioning all centred in the doctrine of the "Fall o

an," and questions of God's Justice were associated with debate on fat

ore-knowledge, and free will. In Pope's day the question was not

heological, but went to the root of all faith in existence of a God, b





eclaring that the state of Man and of the world about him met such fai

ith an absolute denial. Pope's argument, good or bad, had nothing to

ith questions of theology. Like Butler's, it sought for grounds of

aith in the conditions on which doubt was rested. Milton sought to se

orth the story of the Fall in such way as to show that God was love.

ope dealt with the question of God in Nature, and the world of Man.

ope's argument was attacked with violence my M. de Crousaz, Professor

hilosophy and Mathematics in the University of Lausanne, and defended

arburton, then chaplain to the Prince of Wales, in six letters publish

n 1739, and a seventh in 1740, for which Pope (who died in 1744) was

eeply grateful. His offence in the eyes of de Crousaz was that he had

eft out of account all doctrines of orthodox theology. But if he had

een orthodox of the orthodox, his argument obviously could have been

irected only to the form of doubt it sought to overcome. And when his

losing hymn was condemned as the freethinker's hymn, its censurers

urely forgot that their arguments against it would equally apply to th

ord's Prayer, of which it is, in some degree, a paraphrase.

he first design of the Essay on Man arranged it into four books, each

onsisting of a distinct group of Epistles. The First Book, in four

pistles, was to treat of man in the abstract, and of his relation to t

niverse. That is the whole work as we have it now. The Second Book w

o treat of Man Intellectual; the Third Book, of Man Social, including

ies to Church and State; the Fourth Book, of Man Moral, was to

llustrate abstract truth by sketches of character. This part of the

esign is represented by the Moral Essays, of which four were written,

hich was added, as a fifth, the Epistle to Addison which had been

ritten much earlier, in 1715, and first published in 1720. The four

oral essays are two pairs. One pair is upon the Characters of Men and

n the Characters of Women, which would have formed the opening of the

ubject of the Fourth Book of the Essay: the other pair shows character

xpressed through a right or a wrong use of Riches: in fact, Money and

orals. The four Epistles were published separately. The fourth (to t

arl of Burlington) was first published in 1731, its title then being "

aste;" the third (to Lord Bathurst) followed in 1732, the year of the

ublication of the first two Epistles on the "Essay on Man." In 1733,he year of publication of the Third Epistle of the "Essay on Man," Pop

ublished his Moral Essay of the "Characters of Men." In 1734 followed

he Fourth Epistle of the "Essay on Man;" and in 1735 the "Characters o

omen," addressed to Martha Blount, the woman whom Pope loved, though h

as withheld by a frail body from marriage. Thus the two works were, i

act, produced together, parts of one design.

ope's Satires, which still deal with characters of men, followed





mmediately, some appearing in a folio in January, 1735. That part of

he epistle to Arbuthnot forming the Prologue, which gives a character

ddison, as Atticus, had been sketched more than twelve years before, a

arlier sketches of some smaller critics were introduced; but the

eginning and the end, the parts in which Pope spoke of himself and of

is father and mother, and his friend Dr. Arbuthnot, were written in 17

nd 1734. Then follows an imitation of the first Epistle of the Second

ook of the Satires of Horace, concerning which Pope told a friend, "Wh

had a fever one winter in town that confined me to my room for five o

ix days, Lord Bolingbroke, who came to see me, happened to take up a

orace that lay on the table, and, turning it over, dropped on the firs

atire in the Second Book, which begins, 'Sunt, quibus in satira.' He

bserved how well that would suit my case if I were to imitate it in

nglish. After he was gone, I read it over, translated it in a morning

r two, and sent it to press in a week or a fortnight after" (February,

733). "And this was the occasion of my imitating some others of the

atires and Epistles." The two dialogues finally used as the Epilogue

he Satires were first published in the year 1738, with the name of theear, "Seventeen Hundred and Thirty-eight." Samuel Johnson's "London,"

is first bid for recognition, appeared in the same week, and excited i

ope not admiration only, but some active endeavour to be useful to its

uthor.

he reader of Pope, as of every author, is advised to begin by letting

im say what he has to say, in his own manner to an open mind that seek

nly to receive the impressions which the writer wishes to convey. Fir

et the mind and spirit of the writer come into free, full contact with

he mind and spirit of the reader, whose attitude at the first reading

hould be simply receptive. Such reading is the condition precedent to

ll true judgment of a writer's work. All criticism that is not so

rounded spreads as fog over a poet's page. Read, reader, for yourself

ithout once pausing to remember what you have been told to think.

M.

OPE'S POEMS.

N ESSAY ON MAN.

O H. ST. JOHN LORD BOLINGBROKE.





HE DESIGN.

aving proposed to write some pieces of Human Life and Manners, such as

to use my Lord Bacon's expression) come home to Men's Business and

osoms, I thought it more satisfactory to begin with considering Man in

he abstract, his Nature and his State; since, to prove any moral duty,

o enforce any moral precept, or to examine the perfection or

mperfection of any creature whatsoever, it is necessary first to know

hat condition and relation it is placed in, and what is the proper end

nd purpose of its being.

he science of Human Nature is, like all other sciences, reduced to a f

lear points: there are not many certain truths in this world. It is

herefore in the anatomy of the Mind as in that of the Body; more good

ill accrue to mankind by attending to the large, open, and perceptible

arts, than by studying too much such finer nerves and vessels, the

onformations and uses of which will for ever escape our observation. isputes are all upon these last, and, I will venture to say, they have

ess sharpened the wits than the hearts of men against each other, and

ave diminished the practice more than advanced the theory of Morality

f I could flatter myself that this Essay has any merit, it is in

teering betwixt the extremes of doctrines seemingly opposite, in passi

ver terms utterly unintelligible, and in forming a temperate yet not

nconsistent, and a short yet not imperfect system of Ethics.

his I might have done in prose, but I chose verse, and even rhyme, for

wo reasons. The one will appear obvious; that principles, maxims, or

recepts so written, both strike the reader more strongly at first, and

re more easily retained by him afterwards: the other may seem odd, but

s true, I found I could express them more shortly this way than in pro

tself; and nothing is more certain, than that much of the force as wel

s grace of arguments or instructions depends on their conciseness. I

as unable to treat this part of my subject more in detail, without

ecoming dry and tedious; or more poetically, without sacrificing

erspicuity to ornament, without wandering from the precision, or

reaking the chain of reasoning: if any man can unite all these withoutiminution of any of them I freely confess he will compass a thing abov

y capacity.

hat is now published is only to be considered as a general Map of Man,

arking out no more than the greater parts, their extent, their limits,

nd their connection, and leaving the particular to be more fully

elineated in the charts which are to follow. Consequently, these

pistles in their progress (if I have health and leisure to make any





rogress) will be less dry, and more susceptible of poetical ornament.

m here only opening the fountains, and clearing the passage. To deduc

he rivers, to follow them in their course, and to observe their effect

ay be a task more agreeable. P.

RGUMENT OF EPISTLE I.

f the Nature and State of Man, with respect to the Universe.

f Man in the abstract. I. That we can judge only with regard to our o

ystem, being ignorant of the relations of systems and things, v.17, et

I. That Man is not to be deemed imperfect, but a being suited to his

lace and rank in the Creation, agreeable to the general Order of Thing

nd conformable to Ends and Relations to him unknown, v.35, etc. III.

hat it is partly upon his ignorance of future events, and partly upon

he hope of future state, that all his happiness in the present depends77, etc. IV. The pride of aiming at more knowledge, and pretending t

ore Perfection, the cause of Man's error and misery. The impiety of

utting himself in the place of God, and judging of the fitness or

nfitness, perfection or imperfection, justice or injustice of His

ispensations, v.109, etc. V. The absurdity of conceiting himself the

inal cause of the Creation, or expecting that perfection in the moral

orld, which is not in the natural, v.131, etc. VI. The unreasonablene

f his complaints against Providence, while on the one hand he demands

he Perfections of the Angels, and on the other the bodily qualificatio

f the Brutes; though to possess any of the sensitive faculties in a

igher degree would render him miserable, v.173, etc. VII. That

hroughout the whole visible world, an universal order and gradation in

he sensual and mental faculties is observed, which cause is a

ubordination of creature to creature, and of all creatures to Man. Th

radations of sense, instinct, thought, reflection, reason; that Reason

lone countervails all the other faculties, v.207. VIII. How much

urther this order and subordination of living creatures may extend,

bove and below us; were any part of which broken, not that part only,

ut the whole connected creation, must be destroyed, v.233. IX. Thextravagance, madness, and pride of such a desire, v.250. X. The

onsequence of all, the absolute submission due to Providence, both as

ur present and future state, v.281, etc., to the end.

PISTLE I.





wake, my St. John! leave all meaner things

o low ambition, and the pride of kings.

et us (since life can little more supply

han just to look about us and to die)

xpatiate free o'er all this scene of man;

mighty maze! but not without a plan;

wild, where weeds and flowers promiscuous shoot;

r garden tempting with forbidden fruit.

ogether let us beat this ample field,

ry what the open, what the covert yield;

he latent tracts, the giddy heights, explore

f all who blindly creep, or sightless soar;

ye Nature's walks, shoot Folly as it flies,

nd catch the manners living as they rise;

augh where we must, be candid where we can;

ut vindicate the ways of God to man.

Say first, of God above, or man belowhat can we reason, but from what we know?

f man, what see we but his station here,

rom which to reason, or to which refer?

hrough worlds unnumbered though the God be known,

Tis ours to trace Him only in our own.

e, who through vast immensity can pierce,

ee worlds on worlds compose one universe,

bserve how system into system runs,

hat other planets circle other suns,

hat varied being peoples every star,

ay tell why Heaven has made us as we are.

ut of this frame, the bearings, and the ties,

he strong connections, nice dependencies,

radations just, has thy pervading soul

ooked through? or can a part contain the whole?

Is the great chain, that draws all to agree,

nd drawn supports, upheld by God, or thee?

I. Presumptuous man! the reason wouldst thou find,hy formed so weak, so little, and so blind?

irst, if thou canst, the harder reason guess,

hy formed no weaker, blinder, and no less;

sk of thy mother earth, why oaks are made

aller or stronger than the weeds they shade?

r ask of yonder argent fields above,

hy Jove's satellites are less than Jove?

Of systems possible, if 'tis confest





hat wisdom infinite must form the best,

here all must full or not coherent be,

nd all that rises, rise in due degree;

hen in the scale of reasoning life, 'tis plain,

here must be, somewhere, such a rank as man:

nd all the question (wrangle e'er so long)

s only this, if God has placed him wrong?

Respecting man, whatever wrong we call,

ay, must be right, as relative to all.

n human works, though laboured on with pain,

thousand movements scarce one purpose gain;

n God's one single can its end produce;

et serves to second too some other use.

o man, who here seems principal alone,

erhaps acts second to some sphere unknown,

ouches some wheel, or verges to some goal;

Tis but a part we see, and not a whole.

When the proud steed shall know why man restrainsis fiery course, or drives him o'er the plains:

hen the dull ox, why now he breaks the clod,

s now a victim, and now Egypt's god:

hen shall man's pride and dulness comprehend

is actions', passions', being's, use and end;

hy doing, suffering, checked, impelled; and why

his hour a slave, the next a deity.

Then say not man's imperfect, Heaven in fault;

ay rather man's as perfect as he ought:

is knowledge measured to his state and place;

is time a moment, and a point his space.

f to be perfect in a certain sphere,

hat matter, soon or late, or here or there?

he blest to-day is as completely so,

s who began a thousand years ago.

II. Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate,

ll but the page prescribed, their present state:

rom brutes what men, from men what spirits know:r who could suffer being here below?

he lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day,

ad he thy reason, would he skip and play?

leased to the last, he crops the flowery food,

nd licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.

h, blindness to the future! kindly given,

hat each may fill the circle, marked by Heaven:

ho sees with equal eye, as God of all,





hero perish, or a sparrow fall,

toms or systems into ruin hurled,

nd now a bubble burst, and now a world.

Hope humbly, then; with trembling pinions soar;

ait the great teacher Death; and God adore.

hat future bliss, He gives not thee to know,

ut gives that hope to be thy blessing now.

ope springs eternal in the human breast:

an never is, but always to be blest:

he soul, uneasy and confined from home,

ests and expatiates in a life to come.

Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutored mind

ees God in clouds, or hears Him in the wind;

is soul, proud science never taught to stray

ar as the solar walk, or milky way;

et simple Nature to his hope has given,

ehind the cloud-topped hill, an humbler heaven;

ome safer world in depth of woods embraced,ome happier island in the watery waste,

here slaves once more their native land behold,

o fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold.

o be, contents his natural desire,

e asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire;

ut thinks, admitted to that equal sky,

is faithful dog shall bear him company.

V. Go, wiser thou! and, in thy scale of sense,

eigh thy opinion against providence;

all imperfection what thou fanciest such,

ay, here He gives too little, there too much;

estroy all creatures for thy sport or gust,

et cry, if man's unhappy, God's unjust;

f man alone engross not Heaven's high care,

lone made perfect here, immortal there:

natch from His hand the balance and the rod,

e-judge His justice, be the God of God.

n pride, in reasoning pride, our error lies;ll quit their sphere, and rush into the skies.

ride still is aiming at the blest abodes,

en would be angels, angels would be gods.

spiring to be gods, if angels fell,

spiring to be angels, men rebel:

nd who but wishes to invert the laws

f order, sins against the Eternal Cause.





Ask for what end the heavenly bodies shine,

arth for whose use? Pride answers, "'Tis for mine:

or me kind Nature wakes her genial power,

uckles each herb, and spreads out every flower;

nnual for me, the grape, the rose renew

he juice nectareous, and the balmy dew;

or me, the mine a thousand treasures brings;

or me, health gushes from a thousand springs;

eas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise;

y footstool earth, my canopy the skies."

But errs not Nature from this gracious end,

rom burning suns when livid deaths descend,

hen earthquakes swallow, or when tempests sweep

owns to one grave, whole nations to the deep?

No, ('tis replied) the first Almighty Cause

cts not by partial, but by general laws;

he exceptions few; some change since all began;

nd what created perfect?"--Why then man?f the great end be human happiness,

hen Nature deviates; and can man do less?

s much that end a constant course requires

f showers and sunshine, as of man's desires;

s much eternal springs and cloudless skies,

s men for ever temperate, calm, and wise.

f plagues or earthquakes break not Heaven's design,

hy then a Borgia, or a Catiline?

ho knows but He, whose hand the lightning forms,

ho heaves old ocean, and who wings the storms;

ours fierce ambition in a Caesar's mind,

r turns young Ammon loose to scourge mankind?

rom pride, from pride, our very reasoning springs;

ccount for moral, as for natural things:

hy charge we heaven in those, in these acquit?

n both, to reason right is to submit.

Better for us, perhaps, it might appear,

ere there all harmony, all virtue here;

hat never air or ocean felt the wind;hat never passion discomposed the mind.

ut all subsists by elemental strife;

nd passions are the elements of life.

he general order, since the whole began,

s kept in nature, and is kept in man.

I. What would this man? Now upward will he soar,

nd little less than angel, would be more;





ow looking downwards, just as grieved appears

o want the strength of bulls, the fur of bears

ade for his use all creatures if he call,

ay what their use, had he the powers of all?

ature to these, without profusion, kind,

he proper organs, proper powers assigned;

ach seeming want compensated of course,

ere with degrees of swiftness, there of force;

ll in exact proportion to the state;

othing to add, and nothing to abate.

ach beast, each insect, happy in its own:

s Heaven unkind to man, and man alone?

hall he alone, whom rational we call,

e pleased with nothing, if not blessed with all?

The bliss of man (could pride that blessing find)

s not to act or think beyond mankind;

o powers of body or of soul to share,

ut what his nature and his state can bear.hy has not man a microscopic eye?

or this plain reason, man is not a fly.

ay what the use, were finer optics given,

o inspect a mite, not comprehend the heaven?

r touch, if tremblingly alive all o'er,

o smart and agonize at every pore?

r quick effluvia darting through the brain,

ie of a rose in aromatic pain?

f Nature thundered in his opening ears,

nd stunned him with the music of the spheres,

ow would he wish that Heaven had left him still

he whispering zephyr, and the purling rill?

ho finds not Providence all good and wise,

like in what it gives, and what denies?

II. Far as Creation's ample range extends,

he scale of sensual, mental powers ascends:

ark how it mounts, to man's imperial race,

rom the green myriads in the peopled grass:hat modes of sight betwixt each wide extreme,

he mole's dim curtain, and the lynx's beam:

f smell, the headlong lioness between,

nd hound sagacious on the tainted green:

f hearing, from the life that fills the flood,

o that which warbles through the vernal wood:

he spider's touch, how exquisitely fine!

eels at each thread, and lives along the line:





n the nice bee, what sense so subtly true

rom poisonous herbs extracts the healing dew?

ow instinct varies in the grovelling swine,

ompared, half-reasoning elephant, with thine!

Twixt that, and reason, what a nice barrier,

or ever separate, yet for ever near!

emembrance and reflection how allayed;

hat thin partitions sense from thought divide:

nd middle natures, how they long to join,

et never passed the insuperable line!

ithout this just gradation, could they be

ubjected, these to those, or all to thee?

he powers of all subdued by thee alone,

s not thy reason all these powers in one?

III. See, through this air, this ocean, and this earth,

ll matter quick, and bursting into birth.

bove, how high, progressive life may go!round, how wide! how deep extend below?

ast chain of being! which from God began,

atures ethereal, human, angel, man,

east, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can see,

o glass can reach; from Infinite to thee,

rom thee to nothing. On superior powers

ere we to press, inferior might on ours:

r in the full creation leave a void,

here, one step broken, the great scale's destroyed:

rom Nature's chain whatever link you strike,

enth or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike.

And, if each system in gradation roll

like essential to the amazing whole,

he least confusion but in one, not all

hat system only, but the whole must fall.

et earth unbalanced from her orbit fly,

lanets and suns run lawless through the sky;

et ruling angels from their spheres be hurled,

eing on being wrecked, and world on world;eaven's whole foundations to their centre nod,

nd nature tremble to the throne of God.

ll this dread order break--for whom? for thee?

ile worm!--Oh, madness! pride! impiety!

X. What if the foot, ordained the dust to tread,

r hand, to toil, aspired to be the head?

hat if the head, the eye, or ear repined





o serve mere engines to the ruling mind?

ust as absurd for any part to claim

o be another, in this general frame:

ust as absurd, to mourn the tasks or pains,

he great directing Mind of All ordains.

All are but parts of one stupendous whole,

hose body Nature is, and God the soul;

hat, changed through all, and yet in all the same;

reat in the earth, as in the ethereal frame;

arms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,

lows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees,

ives through all life, extends through all extent,

preads undivided, operates unspent;

reathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,

s full, as perfect, in a hair as heart:

s full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,

s the rapt seraph that adores and burns:

o him no high, no low, no great, no small;e fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.

Cease, then, nor order imperfection name:

ur proper bliss depends on what we blame.

now thy own point: this kind, this due degree

f blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee.

ubmit. In this, or any other sphere,

ecure to be as blest as thou canst bear:

afe in the hand of one disposing Power,

r in the natal, or the mortal hour.

ll nature is but art, unknown to thee;

ll chance, direction, which thou canst not see;

ll discord, harmony not understood;

ll partial evil, universal good:

nd, spite of pride in erring reason's spite,

ne truth is clear, whatever is, is right.

RGUMENT OF EPISTLE II.

f the Nature and State of Man with respect to Himself, as an Individua

The business of Man not to pry into God, but to study himself. His

iddle Nature; his Powers and Frailties, v.1 to 19. The Limits of his

apacity, v.19, etc. II. The two Principles of Man, Self-love and

eason, both necessary, v.53, etc. Self-love the stronger, and why, v.6





tc. Their end the same, v.81, etc. III. The Passions, and their use,

93 to 130. The predominant Passion, and its force, v.132 to 160. It

ecessity, in directing Men to different purposes, v.165, etc. Its

rovidential Use, in fixing our Principle, and ascertaining our Virtue,

177. IV. Virtue and Vice joined in our mixed Nature; the limits near

et the things separate and evident: What is the Office of Reason, v.20

o 216. V. How odious Vice in itself, and how we deceive ourselves int

t, v.217. VI. That, however, the Ends of Providence and general Good

re answered in our Passions and Imperfections, v.238, etc. How useful

hese are distributed to all Orders of Men, v.241. How useful they are

o Society, v.251. And to the Individuals, v.263. In every state, and

very age of life, v.273, etc.

PISTLE II.

Know, then, thyself, presume not God to scan;he proper study of mankind is man.

laced on this isthmus of a middle state,

being darkly wise, and rudely great:

ith too much knowledge for the sceptic side,

ith too much weakness for the stoic's pride,

e hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest;

n doubt to deem himself a god, or beast;

n doubt his mind or body to prefer;

orn but to die, and reasoning but to err;

like in ignorance, his reason such,

hether he thinks too little, or too much:

haos of thought and passion, all confused;

till by himself abused, or disabused;

reated half to rise, and half to fall;

reat lord of all things, yet a prey to all;

ole judge of truth, in endless error hurled:

he glory, jest, and riddle of the world!

Go, wondrous creature! mount where science guides,

o, measure earth, weigh air, and state the tides;nstruct the planets in what orbs to run,

orrect old time, and regulate the sun;

o, soar with Plato to th' empyreal sphere,

o the first good, first perfect, and first fair;

r tread the mazy round his followers trod,

nd quitting sense call imitating God;

s Eastern priests in giddy circles run,

nd turn their heads to imitate the sun.





o, teach Eternal Wisdom how to rule--

hen drop into thyself, and be a fool!

Superior beings, when of late they saw

mortal man unfold all Nature's law,

dmired such wisdom in an earthly shape

nd showed a Newton as we show an ape.

Could he, whose rules the rapid comet bind,

escribe or fix one movement of his mind?

ho saw its fires here rise, and there descend,

xplain his own beginning, or his end?

las, what wonder! man's superior part

nchecked may rise, and climb from art to art;

ut when his own great work is but begun,

hat reason weaves, by passion is undone.

Trace Science, then, with Modesty thy guide;

irst strip off all her equipage of pride;

educt what is but vanity or dress,

r learning's luxury, or idleness;r tricks to show the stretch of human brain,

ere curious pleasure, or ingenious pain;

xpunge the whole, or lop th' excrescent parts

f all our vices have created arts;

hen see how little the remaining sum,

hich served the past, and must the times to come!

I. Two principles in human nature reign;

elf-love to urge, and reason, to restrain;

or this a good, nor that a bad we call,

ach works its end, to move or govern all

nd to their proper operation still,

scribe all good; to their improper, ill.

Self-love, the spring of motion, acts the soul;

eason's comparing balance rules the whole.

an, but for that, no action could attend,

nd but for this, were active to no end:

ixed like a plant on his peculiar spot,

o draw nutrition, propagate, and rot;r, meteor-like, flame lawless through the void,

estroying others, by himself destroyed.

Most strength the moving principle requires;

ctive its task, it prompts, impels, inspires.

edate and quiet the comparing lies,

ormed but to check, deliberate, and advise.

elf-love still stronger, as its objects nigh;

eason's at distance, and in prospect lie:





hat sees immediate good by present sense;

eason, the future and the consequence.

hicker than arguments, temptations throng.

t best more watchful this, but that more strong.

he action of the stronger to suspend,

eason still use, to reason still attend.

ttention, habit and experience gains;

ach strengthens reason, and self-love restrains.

Let subtle schoolmen teach these friends to fight,

ore studious to divide than to unite;

nd grace and virtue, sense and reason split,

ith all the rash dexterity of wit.

its, just like fools, at war about a name,

ave full as oft no meaning, or the same.

elf-love and reason to one end aspire,

ain their aversion, pleasure their desire;

ut greedy that, its object would devour,

his taste the honey, and not wound the flower:leasure, or wrong or rightly understood,

ur greatest evil, or our greatest good.

II. Modes of self-love the passions we may call;

Tis real good, or seeming, moves them all:

ut since not every good we can divide,

nd reason bids us for our own provide;

assions, though selfish, if their means be fair,

ist under Reason, and deserve her care;

hose, that imparted, court a nobler aim,

xalt their kind, and take some virtue's name.

In lazy apathy let stoics boast

heir virtue fixed; 'tis fixed as in a frost;

ontracted all, retiring to the breast;

ut strength of mind is exercise, not rest:

he rising tempest puts in act the soul,

arts it may ravage, but preserves the whole.

n life's vast ocean diversely we sail,

eason the card, but passion is the gale;or God alone in the still calm we find,

e mounts the storm, and walks upon the wind.

Passions, like elements, though born to fight,

et, mixed and softened, in his work unite:

hese, 'tis enough to temper and employ;

ut what composes man, can man destroy?

uffice that Reason keep to Nature's road,

ubject, compound them, follow her and God.





ove, hope, and joy, fair pleasure's smiling train,

ate, fear, and grief, the family of pain,

hese mixed with art, and to due bounds confined,

ake and maintain the balance of the mind;

he lights and shades, whose well-accorded strife

ives all the strength and colour of our life.

Pleasures are ever in our hands or eyes;

nd when in act they cease, in prospect rise:

resent to grasp, and future still to find,

he whole employ of body and of mind.

ll spread their charms, but charm not all alike;

n different senses different objects strike;

ence different passions more or less inflame,

s strong or weak, the organs of the frame;

nd hence once master passion in the breast,

ike Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest.

As man, perhaps, the moment of his breath

eceives the lurking principle of death;he young disease that must subdue at length,

rows with his growth, and strengthens with his strength:

o, cast and mingled with his very frame,

he mind's disease, its ruling passion came;

ach vital humour which should feed the whole,

oon flows to this, in body and in soul:

hatever warms the heart, or fills the head,

s the mind opens, and its functions spread,

magination plies her dangerous art,

nd pours it all upon the peccant part.

Nature its mother, habit is its nurse;

it, spirit, faculties, but make it worse;

eason itself but gives it edge and power;

s Heaven's blest beam turns vinegar more sour.

We, wretched subjects, though to lawful sway,

n this weak queen some favourite still obey:

h! if she lend not arms, as well as rules,

hat can she more than tell us we are fools?

each us to mourn our nature, not to mend,sharp accuser, but a helpless friend!

r from a judge turn pleader, to persuade

he choice we make, or justify it made;

roud of an easy conquest all along,

he but removes weak passions for the strong;

o, when small humours gather to a gout,

he doctor fancies he has driven them out.

Yes, Nature's road must ever be preferred;





eason is here no guide, but still a guard:

Tis hers to rectify, not overthrow,

nd treat this passion more as friend than foe:

mightier power the strong direction sends,

nd several men impels to several ends:

ike varying winds, by other passions tossed,

his drives them constant to a certain coast.

et power or knowledge, gold or glory, please,

r (oft more strong than all) the love of ease;

hrough life 'tis followed, even at life's expense;

he merchant's toil, the sage's indolence,

he monk's humility, the hero's pride,

ll, all alike, find reason on their side.

The eternal art, educing good from ill,

rafts on this passion our best principle:

Tis thus the mercury of man is fixed,

trong grows the virtue with his nature mixed;

he dross cements what else were too refined,nd in one interest body acts with mind.

As fruits, ungrateful to the planter's care,

n savage stocks inserted, learn to bear;

he surest virtues thus from passions shoot,

ild nature's vigour working at the root.

hat crops of wit and honesty appear

rom spleen, from obstinacy, hate, or fear!

ee anger, zeal and fortitude supply;

ven avarice, prudence; sloth, philosophy;

ust, through some certain strainers well refined,

s gentle love, and charms all womankind;

nvy, to which th' ignoble mind's a slave,

s emulation in the learned or brave;

or virtue, male or female, can we name,

ut what will grow on pride, or grow on shame.

Thus Nature gives us (let it check our pride)

he virtue nearest to our vice allied:

eason the bias turns to good from ill

nd Nero reigns a Titus, if he will.he fiery soul abhorred in Catiline,

n Decius charms, in Curtius is divine:

he same ambition can destroy or save,

nd makes a patriot as it makes a knave.

This light and darkness in our chaos joined,

hat shall divide? The God within the mind.

Extremes in nature equal ends produce,

n man they join to some mysterious use;





hough each by turns the other's bound invade,

s, in some well-wrought picture, light and shade,

nd oft so mix, the difference is too nice

here ends the virtue or begins the vice.

Fools! who from hence into the notion fall,

hat vice or virtue there is none at all.

f white and black blend, soften, and unite

thousand ways, is there no black or white?

sk your own heart, and nothing is so plain;

Tis to mistake them, costs the time and pain.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,

s, to be hated, needs but to be seen;

et seen too oft, familiar with her face,

e first endure, then pity, then embrace.

ut where th' extreme of vice, was ne'er agreed:

sk where's the north? at York, 'tis on the Tweed;

n Scotland, at the Orcades; and there,

t Greenland, Zembla, or the Lord knows where.o creature owns it in the first degree,

ut thinks his neighbour farther gone than he;

ven those who dwell beneath its very zone,

r never feel the rage, or never own;

hat happier nations shrink at with affright,

he hard inhabitant contends is right.

Virtuous and vicious every man must be,

ew in th' extreme, but all in the degree,

he rogue and fool by fits is fair and wise;

nd even the best, by fits, what they despise.

Tis but by parts we follow good or ill;

or, vice or virtue, self directs it still;

ach individual seeks a several goal;

ut Heaven's great view is one, and that the whole.

hat counter-works each folly and caprice;

hat disappoints th' effect of every vice;

hat, happy frailties to all ranks applied,

hame to the virgin, to the matron pride,

ear to the statesman, rashness to the chief,o kings presumption, and to crowds belief:

hat, virtue's ends from vanity can raise,

hich seeks no interest, no reward but praise;

nd build on wants, and on defects of mind,

he joy, the peace, the glory of mankind.

Heaven forming each on other to depend,

master, or a servant, or a friend,

ids each on other for assistance call,





ill one man's weakness grows the strength of all.

ants, frailties, passions, closer still ally

he common interest, or endear the tie.

o these we owe true friendship, love sincere,

ach home-felt joy that life inherits here;

et from the same we learn, in its decline,

hose joys, those loves, those interests to resign;

aught half by reason, half by mere decay,

o welcome death, and calmly pass away.

Whate'er the passion, knowledge, fame, or pelf,

ot one will change his neighbour with himself.

he learned is happy nature to explore,

he fool is happy that he knows no more;

he rich is happy in the plenty given,

he poor contents him with the care of Heaven.

ee the blind beggar dance, the cripple sing,

he sot a hero, lunatic a king;

he starving chemist in his golden viewsupremely blest, the poet in his muse.

See some strange comfort every state attend,

nd pride bestowed on all, a common friend;

ee some fit passion every age supply,

ope travels through, nor quits us when we die.

Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law,

leased with a rattle, tickled with a straw:

ome livelier plaything gives his youth delight,

little louder, but as empty quite:

carves, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage,

nd beads and prayer-books are the toys of age:

leased with this bauble still, as that before;

ill tired he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.

Meanwhile opinion gilds with varying rays

hose painted clouds that beautify our days;

ach want of happiness by hope supplied,

nd each vacuity of sense by pride:

hese build as fast as knowledge can destroy;

n folly's cup still laughs the bubble, joy;ne prospect lost, another still we gain;

nd not a vanity is given in vain;

ven mean self-love becomes, by force divine,

he scale to measure others' wants by thine.

ee! and confess, one comfort still must rise,

Tis this, though man's a fool, yet God is wise.





hey rise, they break, and to that sea return.

othing is foreign: parts relate to whole;

ne all-extending, all-preserving soul

onnects each being, greatest with the least;

ade beast in aid of man, and man of beast;

ll served, all serving: nothing stands alone;

he chain holds on, and where it ends, unknown.

Has God, thou fool! worked solely for thy Thy good,

hy joy, thy pastime, thy attire, thy food?

ho for thy table feeds the wanton fawn,

or him as kindly spread the flowery lawn:

s it for thee the lark ascends and sings?

oy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wings.

s it for thee the linnet pours his throat?

oves of his own and raptures swell the note.

he bounding steed you pompously bestride,

hares with his lord the pleasure and the pride.

s thine alone the seed that strews the plain?he birds of heaven shall vindicate their grain.

hine the full harvest of the golden year?

art pays, and justly, the deserving steer:

he hog, that ploughs not nor obeys thy call,

ives on the labours of this lord of all.

Know, Nature's children all divide her care;

he fur that warms a monarch, warmed a bear.

hile man exclaims, "See all things for my use!"

See man for mine!" replies a pampered goose:

nd just as short of reason he must fall,

ho thinks all made for one, not one for all.

Grant that the powerful still the weak control;

e man the wit and tyrant of the whole:

ature that tyrant checks; he only knows,

nd helps, another creature's wants and woes.

ay, will the falcon, stooping from above,

mit with her varying plumage, spare the dove?

dmires the jay the insect's gilded wings?

r hears the hawk when Philomela sings?an cares for all: to birds he gives his woods,

o beasts his pastures, and to fish his floods;

or some his interest prompts him to provide,

or more his pleasure, yet for more his pride:

ll feed on one vain patron, and enjoy

he extensive blessing of his luxury.

hat very life his learned hunger craves,

e saves from famine, from the savage saves;





ay, feasts the animal he dooms his feast,

nd, till he ends the being, makes it blest;

hich sees no more the stroke, or feels the pain,

han favoured man by touch ethereal slain.

he creature had his feast of life before;

hou too must perish when thy feast is o'er!

To each unthinking being, Heaven, a friend,

ives not the useless knowledge of its end:

o man imparts it; but with such a view

s, while he dreads it, makes him hope it too;

he hour concealed, and so remote the fear,

eath still draws nearer, never seeming near.

reat standing miracle! that Heaven assigned

ts only thinking thing this turn of mind.

I. Whether with reason, or with instinct blest,

now, all enjoy that power which suits them best;

o bliss alike by that direction tend,nd find the means proportioned to their end.

ay, where full instinct is the unerring guide,

hat pope or council can they need beside?

eason, however able, cool at best,

ares not for service, or but serves when pressed,

tays till we call, and then not often near;

ut honest instinct comes a volunteer,

ure never to o'er-shoot, but just to hit;

hile still too wide or short is human wit;

ure by quick nature happiness to gain,

hich heavier reason labours at in vain,

his too serves always, reason never long;

ne must go right, the other may go wrong.

ee then the acting and comparing powers

ne in their nature, which are two in ours;

nd reason raise o'er instinct as you can,

n this 'tis God directs, in that 'tis man.

Who taught the nations of the field and wood

o shun their poison, and to choose their food?rescient, the tides or tempests to withstand,

uild on the wave, or arch beneath the sand?

ho made the spider parallels design,

ure as Demoivre, without rule or line?

ho did the stork, Columbus-like, explore

eavens not his own, and worlds unknown before?

ho calls the council, states the certain day,

ho forms the phalanx, and who points the way?





II. God in the nature of each being founds

ts proper bliss, and sets its proper bounds:

ut as He framed a whole, the whole to bless,

n mutual wants built mutual happiness:

o from the first, eternal order ran,

nd creature linked to creature, man to man.

hate'er of life all-quickening ether keeps,

r breathes through air, or shoots beneath the deeps,

r pours profuse on earth, one nature feeds

he vital flame, and swells the genial seeds.

ot man alone, but all that roam the wood,

r wing the sky, or roll along the flood,

ach loves itself, but not itself alone,

ach sex desires alike, till two are one.

or ends the pleasure with the fierce embrace;

hey love themselves, a third time, in their race.

hus beast and bird their common charge attend,he mothers nurse it, and the sires defend;

he young dismissed to wander earth or air,

here stops the instinct, and there ends the care;

he link dissolves, each seeks a fresh embrace,

nother love succeeds, another race.

longer care man's helpless kind demands;

hat longer care contracts more lasting bands:

eflection, reason, still the ties improve,

t once extend the interest and the love;

ith choice we fix, with sympathy we burn;

ach virtue in each passion takes its turn;

nd still new needs, new helps, new habits rise.

hat graft benevolence on charities.

till as one brood, and as another rose,

hese natural love maintained, habitual those.

he last, scarce ripened into perfect man,

aw helpless him from whom their life began:

emory and forecast just returns engage,

hat pointed back to youth, this on to age;hile pleasure, gratitude, and hope combined,

till spread the interest, and preserved the kind.

V. Nor think, in Nature's state they blindly trod;

he state of nature was the reign of God:

elf-love and social at her birth began,

nion the bond of all things, and of man.

ride then was not; nor arts, that pride to aid;





an walked with beast, joint tenant of the shade;

he same his table, and the same his bed;

o murder clothed him, and no murder fed.

n the same temple, the resounding wood,

ll vocal beings hymned their equal God:

he shrine with gore unstained, with gold undressed,

nbribed, unbloody, stood the blameless priest:

eaven's attribute was universal care,

nd man's prerogative to rule, but spare.

h! how unlike the man of times to come!

f half that live the butcher and the tomb;

ho, foe to nature, hears the general groan,

urders their species, and betrays his own.

ut just disease to luxury succeeds,

nd every death its own avenger breeds;

he fury-passions from that blood began,

nd turned on man a fiercer savage, man.

See him from Nature rising slow to art!o copy instinct then was reason's part;

hus then to man the voice of Nature spake--

Go, from the creatures thy instructions take:

earn from the birds what food the thickets yield;

earn from the beasts the physic of the field;

hy arts of building from the bee receive;

earn of the mole to plough, the worm to weave;

earn of the little nautilus to sail,

pread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale.

ere too all forms of social union find,

nd hence let reason, late, instruct mankind:

ere subterranean works and cities see;

here towns aerial on the waving tree.

earn each small people's genius, policies,

he ant's republic, and the realm of bees;

ow those in common all their wealth bestow,

nd anarchy without confusion know;

nd these for ever, though a monarch reign,

heir separate cells and properties maintain.ark what unvaried laws preserve each state,

aws wise as nature, and as fixed as fate.

n vain thy reason finer webs shall draw,

ntangle justice in her net of law,

nd right, too rigid, harden into wrong;

till for the strong too weak, the weak too strong.

et go! and thus o'er all the creatures sway,

hus let the wiser make the rest obey;





nd, for those arts mere instinct could afford,

e crowned as monarchs, or as gods adored."

Great Nature spoke; observant men obeyed;

ities were built, societies were made:

ere rose one little state: another near

rew by like means, and joined, through love or fear.

id here the trees with ruddier burdens bend,

nd there the streams in purer rills descend?

hat war could ravish, commerce could bestow,

nd he returned a friend, who came a foe.

onverse and love mankind might strongly draw,

hen love was liberty, and Nature law.

hus States were formed; the name of king unknown,

Till common interest placed the sway in one.

Twas virtue only (or in arts or arms,

iffusing blessings, or averting harms)

he same which in a sire the sons obeyed,prince the father of a people made.

I. Till then, by Nature crowned, each patriarch sate,

ing, priest, and parent of his growing state;

n him, their second providence, they hung,

heir law his eye, their oracle his tongue.

e from the wondering furrow called the food,

aught to command the fire, control the flood,

raw forth the monsters of the abyss profound,

r fetch the aerial eagle to the ground.

ill drooping, sickening, dying they began

hom they revered as God to mourn as man:

hen, looking up, from sire to sire, explored

ne great first Father, and that first adored.

r plain tradition that this all begun,

onveyed unbroken faith from sire to son;

he worker from the work distinct was known,

nd simple reason never sought but one:

re wit oblique had broke that steady light,an, like his Maker, saw that all was right;

o virtue, in the paths of pleasure, trod,

nd owned a Father when he owned a God.

ove all the faith, and all the allegiance then;

or Nature knew no right divine in men,

o ill could fear in God; and understood

sovereign being but a sovereign good.

rue faith, true policy, united ran,





his was but love of God, and this of man.

Who first taught souls enslaved, and realms undone,

he enormous faith of many made for one;

hat proud exception to all Nature's laws,

o invert the world, and counter-work its cause?

orce first made conquest, and that conquest, law;

ill superstition taught the tyrant awe,

hen shared the tyranny, then lent it aid,

nd gods of conquerors, slaves of subjects made:

he, 'midst the lightning's blaze, and thunder's sound,

hen rocked the mountains, and when groaned the ground,

he taught the weak to bend, the proud to pray,

o power unseen, and mightier far than they:

he, from the rending earth and bursting skies,

aw gods descend, and fiends infernal rise:

ere fixed the dreadful, there the blest abodes;

ear made her devils, and weak hope her gods;

ods partial, changeful, passionate, unjust,hose attributes were rage, revenge, or lust;

uch as the souls of cowards might conceive,

nd, formed like tyrants, tyrants would believe.

eal then, not charity, became the guide;

nd hell was built on spite, and heaven on pride,

hen sacred seemed the ethereal vault no more;

ltars grew marble then, and reeked with gore;

hen first the flamen tasted living food;

ext his grim idol smeared with human blood;

ith heaven's own thunders shook the world below,

nd played the god an engine on his foe.

So drives self-love, through just and through unjust,

o one man's power, ambition, lucre, lust:

he same self-love, in all, becomes the cause

f what restrains him, government and laws.

or, what one likes if others like as well,

hat serves one will when many wills rebel?

ow shall he keep, what, sleeping or awake,

weaker may surprise, a stronger take?is safety must his liberty restrain:

ll join to guard what each desires to gain.

orced into virtue thus by self-defence,

ven kings learned justice and benevolence:

elf-love forsook the path it first pursued,

nd found the private in the public good.

'Twas then, the studious head or generous mind,

ollower of God, or friend of human-kind,





oet or patriot, rose but to restore

he faith and moral Nature gave before;

e-lumed her ancient light, not kindled new;

f not God's image, yet His shadow drew:

aught power's due use to people and to kings,

aught nor to slack, nor strain its tender strings,

he less, or greater, set so justly true,

hat touching one must strike the other too;

ill jarring interests, of themselves create

he according music of a well-mixed state.

uch is the world's great harmony, that springs

rom order, union, full consent of things:

here small and great, where weak and mighty, made

o serve, not suffer, strengthen, not invade;

ore powerful each as needful to the rest,

nd, in proportion as it blesses, blest;

raw to one point, and to one centre bring

east, man, or angel, servant, lord, or king.For forms of government let fools contest;

hate'er is best administered is best:

or modes of faith let graceless zealots fight;

is can't be wrong whose life is in the right:

n faith and hope the world will disagree,

ut all mankind's concern is charity:

ll must be false that thwart this one great end;

nd all of God, that bless mankind or mend.

Man, like the generous vine, supported lives;

he strength he gains is from the embrace he gives.

n their own axis as the planets run,

et make at once their circle round the sun;

o two consistent motions act the soul;

nd one regards itself, and one the whole.

Thus God and Nature linked the general frame,

nd bade self-love and social be the same.

RGUMENT OF EPISTLE IV.

f the Nature and State of Man with respect to Happiness.

False Notions of Happiness, Philosophical and Popular, answered from

19 to 77. II. It is the End of all Men, and attainable by all, v.30

od intends Happiness to be equal; and to be so, it must be social, sin

ll particular Happiness depends on general, and since He governs by





eneral, not particular Laws, v.37. As it is necessary for Order, and

he peace and welfare of Society, that external goods should be unequal

appiness is not made to consist in these, v.51. But, notwithstanding

hat inequality, the balance of Happiness among Mankind is kept even by

rovidence, by the two Passions of Hope and Fear, v.70. III. What the

appiness of Individuals is, as far as is consistent with the

onstitution of this world; and that the good Man has here the advantag

77. The error of imputing to Virtue what are only the calamities of

ature or of Fortune, v.94. IV. The folly of expecting that God should

lter His general Laws in favour of particulars, v.121. V. That we are

ot judges who are good; but that, whoever they are, they must be

appiest, v.133, etc. VI. That external goods are not the proper

ewards, but often inconsistent with, or destructive of Virtue, v.165.

hat even these can make no Man happy without Virtue: Instanced in

iches, v.183. Honours, v.191. Nobility, v.203. Greatness, v.215.

ame, v.235. Superior Talents, v.257, etc. With pictures of human

nfelicity in Men possessed of them all, v.267, etc. VII. That Virtue

nly constitutes a Happiness, whose object is universal, and whoserospect eternal, v.307, etc. That the perfection of Virtue and

appiness consists in a conformity to the Order of Providence here, and

esignation to it here and hereafter, v.326, etc.

PISTLE IV.

h, happiness, our being's end and aim!

ood, pleasure, ease, content! whate'er thy name:

hat something still which prompts the eternal sigh,

or which we bear to live, or dare to die,

hich still so near us, yet beyond us lies,

erlooked, seen double, by the fool, and wise.

lant of celestial seed! if dropped below,

ay, in what mortal soil thou deign'st to grow?

air opening to some Court's propitious shine,

r deep with diamonds in the flaming mine?

wined with the wreaths Parnassian laurels yield,r reaped in iron harvests of the field?

here grows?--where grows it not? If vain our toil,

e ought to blame the culture, not the soil:

ixed to no spot is happiness sincere,

Tis nowhere to be found, or everywhere;

Tis never to be bought, but always free,

nd fled from monarchs, St. John! dwells with thee.

Ask of the learned the way? The learned are blind;





his bids to serve, and that to shun mankind;

ome place the bliss in action, some in ease,

hose call it pleasure, and contentment these;

ome, sunk to beasts, find pleasure end in pain;

ome, swelled to gods, confess even virtue vain;

r indolent, to each extreme they fall,

o trust in everything, or doubt of all.

Who thus define it, say they more or less

han this, that happiness is happiness?

Take Nature's path, and mad opinions leave;

ll states can reach it, and all heads conceive;

bvious her goods, in no extreme they dwell;

here needs but thinking right, and meaning well;

nd mourn our various portions as we please,

qual is common sense, and common ease.

Remember, man, "the Universal Cause

cts not by partial, but by general laws;"

nd makes what happiness we justly callubsist not in the good of one, but all.

here's not a blessing individuals find,

ut some way leans and hearkens to the kind:

o bandit fierce, no tyrant mad with pride,

o caverned hermit, rests self-satisfied:

ho most to shun or hate mankind pretend,

eek an admirer, or would fix a friend:

bstract what others feel, what others think,

ll pleasures sicken, and all glories sink:

ach has his share; and who would more obtain,

hall find, the pleasure pays not half the pain.

Order is Heaven's first law; and this confest,

ome are, and must be, greater than the rest,

ore rich, more wise; but who infers from hence

hat such are happier, shocks all common sense.

eaven to mankind impartial we confess,

f all are equal in their happiness:

ut mutual wants this happiness increase;

ll Nature's difference keeps all Nature's peace.ondition, circumstance is not the thing;

liss is the same in subject or in king,

n who obtain defence, or who defend,

n him who is, or him who finds a friend:

eaven breathes through every member of the whole

ne common blessing, as one common soul.

ut fortune's gifts if each alike possessed,

nd each were equal, must not all contest?





f then to all men happiness was meant,

od in externals could not place content.

Fortune her gifts may variously dispose,

nd these be happy called, unhappy those;

ut Heaven's just balance equal will appear,

hile those are placed in hope, and these in fear:

or present good or ill, the joy or curse,

ut future views of better or of worse,

Oh, sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise,

y mountains piled on mountains, to the skies,

eaven still with laughter the vain toil surveys,

nd buries madmen in the heaps they raise.

Know, all the good that individuals find,

r God and Nature meant to mere mankind,

eason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense,

ie in three words, health, peace, and competence.

ut health consists with temperance alone;

nd peace, oh, virtue! peace is all thy own.he good or bad the gifts of fortune gain;

ut these less taste them, as they worse obtain.

ay, in pursuit of profit or delight,

ho risk the most, that take wrong means, or right;

f vice or virtue, whether blessed or cursed,

hich meets contempt, or which compassion first?

ount all the advantage prosperous vice attains,

Tis but what virtue flies from and disdains:

nd grant the bad what happiness they would,

ne they must want, which is, to pass for good.

Oh, blind to truth, and God's whole scheme below,

ho fancy bliss to vice, to virtue woe!

ho sees and follows that great scheme the best,

est knows the blessing, and will most be blest.

ut fools the good alone unhappy call,

or ills or accidents that chance to all.

ee Falkland dies, the virtuous and the just!

ee god-like Turenne prostrate on the dust!

ee Sidney bleeds amid the martial strife!as this their virtue, or contempt of life?

ay, was it virtue, more though Heaven ne'er gave,

amented Digby! sunk thee to the grave?

ell me, if virtue made the son expire,

hy, full of days and honour, lives the sire?

hy drew Marseilles' good bishop purer breath,

hen Nature sickened, and each gale was death?

r why so long (in life if long can be)





ent Heaven a parent to the poor and me?

What makes all physical or moral ill?

here deviates Nature, and here wanders will.

od sends not ill; if rightly understood,

r partial ill is universal good,

r change admits, or Nature lets it fall;

hort, and but rare, till man improved it all.

e just as wisely might of Heaven complain

hat righteous Abel was destroyed by Cain,

s that the virtuous son is ill at ease

hen his lewd father gave the dire disease.

hink we, like some weak prince, the Eternal Cause

rone for His favourites to reverse His laws?

Shall burning Etna, if a sage requires,

orget to thunder, and recall her fires?

n air or sea new motions be imprest,

h, blameless Bethel! to relieve thy breast?

hen the loose mountain trembles from on high,hall gravitation cease, if you go by?

r some old temple, nodding to its fall,

or Chartres' head reserve the hanging wall?

But still this world (so fitted for the knave)

ontents us not. A better shall we have?

kingdom of the just then let it be:

ut first consider how those just agree.

he good must merit God's peculiar care:

ut who, but God, can tell us who they are?

ne thinks on Calvin Heaven's own spirit fell;

nother deems him instrument of hell;

f Calvin feel Heaven's blessing, or its rod.

his cries there is, and that, there is no God.

hat shocks one part will edify the rest,

or with one system can they all be blest.

he very best will variously incline,

nd what rewards your virtue, punish mine.

hatever is, is right. This world, 'tis true,

as made for Caesar--but for Titus too:nd which more blest? who chained his country, say,

r he whose virtue sighed to lose a day?

"But sometimes virtue starves, while vice is fed."

hat then? Is the reward of virtue bread?

hat, vice may merit, 'tis the price of toil;

he knave deserves it, when he tills the soil,

he knave deserves it, when he tempts the main,

here folly fights for kings, or dives for gain.





he good man may be weak, be indolent;

or is his claim to plenty, but content.

ut grant him riches, your demand is o'er?

No--shall the good want health, the good want power?"

dd health, and power, and every earthly thing,

Why bounded power? why private? why no king?"

ay, why external for internal given?

hy is not man a god, and earth a heaven?

ho ask and reason thus, will scarce conceive

od gives enough, while He has more to give:

mmense the power, immense were the demand;

ay, at what part of nature will they stand?

What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy,

he soul's calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy,

s virtue's prize: A better would you fix?

hen give humility a coach and six,

ustice a conqueror's sword, or truth a gown,

r public spirit its great cure, a crown.eak, foolish man! will heaven reward us there

ith the same trash mad mortals wish for here?

he boy and man an individual makes,

et sighest thou now for apples and for cakes?

o, like the Indian, in another life

xpect thy dog, thy bottle, and thy wife:

s well as dream such trifles are assigned,

s toys and empires, for a God-like mind.

ewards, that either would to virtue bring

o joy, or be destructive of the thing:

ow oft by these at sixty are undone

he virtues of a saint at twenty-one!

o whom can riches give repute or trust,

ontent, or pleasure, but the good and just?

udges and senates have been bought for gold,

steem and love were never to be sold.

h, fool! to think God hates the worthy mind,

he lover and the love of human kind,

hose life is healthful, and whose conscience clear,ecause he wants a thousand pounds a year.

Honour and shame from no condition rise;

ct well your part, there all the honour lies.

ortune in men has some small difference made,

ne flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade;

he cobbler aproned, and the parson gowned,

he friar hooded, and the monarch crowned,

What differ more (you cry) than crown and cowl?"





like or when, or where, they shone, or shine,

r on the Rubicon, or on the Rhine.

wit's a feather, and a chief a rod;

n honest man's the noblest work of God.

ame but from death a villain's name can save,

s justice tears his body from the grave;

hen what the oblivion better were resigned,

s hung on high, to poison half mankind.

ll fame is foreign, but of true desert;

lays round the head, but comes not to the heart:

ne self-approving hour whole years outweighs

f stupid starers, and of loud huzzas;

nd more true joy Marcellus exiled feels,

han Caesar with a senate at his heels.

In parts superior what advantage lies?

ell (for you can) what is it to be wise?

Tis but to know how little can be known;

o see all others' faults, and feel our own;ondemned in business or in arts to drudge,

ithout a second or without a judge;

ruths would you teach or save a sinking land,

ll fear, none aid you, and few understand.

ainful pre-eminence! yourself to view

bove life's weakness, and its comforts too.

Bring, then, these blessings to a strict account;

ake fair deductions; see to what they mount;

ow much of other each is sure to cost;

ow each for other oft is wholly lost;

ow inconsistent greater goods with these;

ow sometimes life is risked, and always ease;

hink, and if still the things thy envy call,

ay, would'st thou be the man to whom they fall?

o sigh for ribands if thou art so silly,

ark how they grace Lord Umbra, or Sir Billy:

s yellow dirt the passion of thy life?

ook but on Gripus, or on Gripus' wife;

f parts allure thee, think how Bacon shined,he wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind:

r ravished with the whistling of a name,

ee Cromwell; damned to everlasting fame!

f all, united, thy ambition call,

rom ancient story learn to scorn them all.

here, in the rich, the honoured, famed, and great,

ee the false scale of happiness complete!

n hearts of kings, or arms of queens who lay,





ow happy! those to ruin, these betray.

ark by what wretched steps their glory grows,

rom dirt and seaweed as proud Venice rose;

n each how guilt and greatness equal ran,

nd all that raised the hero, sunk the man:

ow Europe's laurels on their brows behold,

ut stained with blood, or ill exchanged for gold;

hen see them broke with toils or sunk with ease,

r infamous for plundered provinces.

h, wealth ill-fated! which no act of fame

er taught to shine, or sanctified from shame;

hat greater bliss attends their close of life?

ome greedy minion, or imperious wife.

he trophied arches, storeyed halls invade

nd haunt their slumbers in the pompous shade.

las! not dazzled with their noontide ray,

ompute the morn and evening to the day;

he whole amount of that enormous fame,tale, that blends their glory with their shame;

Know, then, this truth (enough for man to know)

Virtue alone is happiness below."

he only point where human bliss stands still,

nd tastes the good without the fall to ill;

here only merit constant pay receives,

s blest in what it takes, and what it gives;

he joy unequalled, if its end it gain,

nd if it lose, attended with no pain;

ithout satiety, though e'er so blessed,

nd but more relished as the more distressed:

he broadest mirth unfeeling folly wears,

ess pleasing far than virtue's very tears:

ood, from each object, from each place acquired

or ever exercised, yet never tired;

ever elated, while one man's oppressed;

ever dejected while another's blessed;

nd where no wants, no wishes can remain,

ince but to wish more virtue, is to gain.See the sole bliss Heaven could on all bestow!

hich who but feels can taste, but thinks can know:

et poor with fortune, and with learning blind,

he bad must miss; the good, untaught, will find;

lave to no sect, who takes no private road,

ut looks through Nature up to Nature's God;

ursues that chain which links the immense design,

oins heaven and earth, and mortal and divine;





ees, that no being any bliss can know,

ut touches some above, and some below;

earns, from this union of the rising whole,

he first, last purpose of the human soul;

nd knows, where faith, law, morals, all began,

ll end, in love of God, and love of man.

For Him alone, hope leads from goal to goal,

nd opens still, and opens on his soul!

ill lengthened on to faith, and unconfined,

t pours the bliss that fills up all the mind

e sees, why Nature plants in man alone

ope of known bliss, and faith in bliss unknown:

Nature, whose dictates to no other kind

re given in vain, but what they seek they find)

ise is her present; she connects in this

is greatest virtue with his greatest bliss;

t once his own bright prospect to be blest,

nd strongest motive to assist the rest.Self-love thus pushed to social, to divine,

ives thee to make thy neighbour's blessing thine.

s this too little for the boundless heart?

xtend it, let thy enemies have part:

rasp the whole worlds of reason, life, and sense,

n one close system of benevolence:

appier as kinder, in whate'er degree,

nd height of bliss but height of charity.

God loves from whole to parts: but human soul

ust rise from individual to the whole.

elf-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake,

s the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake!

he centre moved, a circle straight succeeds,

nother still, and still another spreads;

riend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace;

is country next; and next all human race;

ide and more wide, the o'erflowings of the mind

ake every creature in, of every kind;

arth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest,nd Heaven beholds its image in his breast.

Come, then, my friend! my genius! come along;

h, master of the poet, and the song!

nd while the muse now stoops, or now ascends,

o man's low passions, or their glorious ends,

each me, like thee, in various nature wise,

o fall with dignity, with temper rise;

ormed by thy converse, happily to steer





rom grave to gay, from lively to severe;

orrect with spirit, eloquent with ease,

ntent to reason, or polite to please.

h! while along the stream of time thy name

xpanded flies, and gathers all its fame,

ay, shall my little bark attendant sail,

ursue the triumph, and partake the gale?

hen statesmen, heroes, kings, in dust repose,

hose sons shall blush their fathers were thy foes,

hall then this verse to future age pretend

hou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend?

hat urged by thee, I turned the tuneful art

rom sounds to things, from fancy to the heart;

rom wit's false mirror held up Nature's light;

howed erring pride, whatever is, is right;

hat reason, passion, answer one great aim;

hat true self-love and social are the same;

hat virtue only makes our bliss below;nd all our knowledge is, ourselves to know.

HE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.

EO OPT. MAX.

ather of all! in every age,

In every clime adored,

y saint, by savage, and by sage,

Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!

hou Great First Cause, least understood,

Who all my sense confined

o know but this, that Thou art good,

And that myself am blind;

et gave me, in this dark estate,To see the good from ill;

nd binding Nature fast in fate,

Left free the human will.

hat conscience dictates to be done,

Or warns me not to do,

his, teach me more than Hell to shun,

That, more than Heaven pursue.





hat blessings Thy free bounty gives,

Let me not cast away;

or God is paid when man receives,

To enjoy is to obey.

et not to earth's contracted span

Thy goodness let me bound,

r think Thee Lord alone of man,

When thousand worlds are round:

et not this weak, unknowing hand

Presume Thy bolts to throw,

nd deal damnation round the land,

On each I judge Thy foe.

f I am right, Thy grace impart,

Still in the right to stay;f I am wrong, oh, teach my heart

To find that better way.

ave me alike from foolish pride,

Or impious discontent,

t aught Thy wisdom has denied,

Or aught Thy goodness lent.

each me to feel another's woe,

To hide the fault I see;

hat mercy I to others show,

That mercy show to me.

ean though I am, not wholly so,

Since quickened by Thy breath;

h, lead me wheresoe'er I go,

Through this day's life or death.

his day, be bread and peace my lot:All else beneath the sun,

hou know'st if best bestowed or not;

And let Thy will be done.

o Thee, whose temple is all space,

Whose altar earth, sea, skies,

ne chorus let all being raise,

All Nature's incense rise!





ORAL ESSAYS,

N FOUR EPISTLES TO SEVERAL PERSONS.

Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia, neu se

Impediat verbis lassas onerantibus aures:

Et sermone opus est modo tristi, saepe jocoso,

Defendente vicem modo Rhetoris atque Poetae,

Interdum urbani, parcentis viribus, atque

Extenuantis eas consulto.--HOR. (Sat. I. X. 9-14.)

PISTLE I. TO SIR RICHARD TEMPLE, LORD COBHAM.

RGUMENT.

f the Knowledge and Characters of Men.

That it is not sufficient for this knowledge to consider Man in the

bstract: Books will not serve the purpose, nor yet our own Experience

ingly, v.1. General maxims, unless they be formed upon both, will be

ut notional, v.10. Some Peculiarity in every man, characteristic to

imself, yet varying from himself, v.15. Difficulties arising from our

wn Passions, Fancies, Faculties, etc., v.31. The shortness of Life, t

bserve in, and the uncertainty of the Principles of action in men, to

bserve by, v.37, etc. Our own Principle of action often hid from

urselves, v.41. Some few Characters plain, but in general confounded

issembled, or inconsistent, v.51. The same man utterly different in

ifferent places and seasons, v.71. Unimaginable weaknesses in the

reatest, v.70, etc. Nothing constant and certain but God and Nature,

95. No judging of the Motives from the actions; the same actions

roceeding from contrary Motives, and the same Motives influencingontrary actions v.100. II. Yet to form Characters, we can only take t

trongest actions of a man's life, and try to make them agree: The utte

ncertainty of this, from Nature itself, and from Policy, v.120.

haracters given according to the rank of men of the world, v.135. And

ome reason for it, v.140. Education alters the Nature, or at least

haracter of many, v.149. Actions, Passions, Opinions, Manners, Humour

r Principles all subject to change. No judging by Nature, from v.158

78. III. It only remains to find (if we can) his Ruling Passion: That





ill certainly influence all the rest, and can reconcile the seeming or

eal inconsistency of all his actions, v.175. Instanced in the

xtraordinary character of Clodio, v.179. A caution against mistaking

econd qualities for first, which will destroy all possibility of the

nowledge of mankind, v.210. Examples of the strength of the Ruling

assion, and its continuation to the last breath, v.222, etc.

es, you despise the man to books confined,

ho from his study rails at human kind;

hough what he learns he speaks, and may advance

ome general maxims, or be right by chance.

he coxcomb bird, so talkative and grave,

hat from his cage cries c**d, w**e, and knave,

hough many a passenger he rightly call,

ou hold him no philosopher at all.

And yet the fate of all extremes is such,

en may be read as well as books, too much.

o observations which ourselves we make,e grow more partial for the observer's sake;

o written wisdom, as another's, less:

axims are drawn from notions, those from guess.

here's some peculiar in each leaf and grain,

ome unmarked fibre, or some varying vein:

hall only man be taken in the gross?

rant but as many sorts of mind as moss.

That each from other differs, first confess;

ext, that he varies from himself no less:

dd Nature's, custom's reason's passion's strife,

nd all opinion's colours cast on life.

Our depths who fathoms, or our shallows finds,

uick whirls, and shifting eddies, of our minds?

n human actions reason though you can,

t may be reason, but it is not man:

is principle of action once explore,

hat instant 'tis his principle no more.

ike following life through creatures you dissect,

ou lose it in the moment you detect.Yet more; the difference is as great between

he optics seeing, as the object seen.

ll manners take a tincture from our own;

r come discoloured through our passions shown.

r fancy's beam enlarges, multiplies,

ontracts, inverts, and gives ten thousand dyes.

Nor will life's stream for observation stay,

t hurries all too fast to mark their way:





n vain sedate reflections we would make,

hen half our knowledge we must snatch, not take.

ft, in the passion's wild rotation tost,

ur spring of action to ourselves is lost:

ired, not determined, to the last we yield,

nd what comes then is master of the field.

s the last image of that troubled heap,

hen sense subsides, and fancy sports in sleep

Though past the recollection of the thought),

ecomes the stuff of which our dream is wrought:

omething as dim to our internal view,

s thus, perhaps, the cause of most we do.

True, some are open, and to all men known;

thers so very close, they're hid from none

So darkness strikes the sense no less than light),

hus gracious Chandos is beloved at sight;

nd every child hates Shylock, though his soul

till sits at squat, and peeps not from its hole.t half mankind when generous Manly raves,

ll know 'tis virtue, for he thinks them knaves:

hen universal homage Umbra pays,

ll see 'tis vice, and itch of vulgar praise.

hen flattery glares, all hate it in a queen,

hile one there is who charms us with his spleen.

But these plain characters we rarely find;

hough strong the bent, yet quick the turns of mind:

r puzzling contraries confound the whole;

r affectations quite reverse the soul.

he dull, flat falsehood serves for policy;

nd in the cunning, truth itself's a lie:

nthought-of frailties cheat us in the wise;

he fool lies hid in inconsistencies.

See the same man, in vigour, in the gout;

lone, in company; in place, or out;

arly at business, and at hazard late;

ad at a fox-chase, wise at a debate;

runk at a borough, civil at a ball;riendly at Hackney, faithless at Whitehall.

atius is ever moral, ever grave,

hinks who endures a knave is next a knave,

ave just at dinner--then prefers, no doubt,

rogue with venison to a saint without.

Who would not praise Patritio's high desert,

is hand unstained, his uncorrupted heart,

is comprehensive head! all interests weighed,





ll Europe saved, yet Britain not betrayed.

e thanks you not, his pride is in piquet,

ewmarket-fame, and judgment at a bet.

What made (say Montagne, or more sage Charron)

tho a warrior, Cromwell a buffoon?

perjured prince a leaden saint revere,

godless regent tremble at a star?

he throne a bigot keep, a genius quit,

aithless through piety, and duped through wit?

urope a woman, child, or dotard rule,

nd just her wisest monarch made a fool?

Know, God and Nature only are the same:

n man, the judgment shoots at flying game,

bird of passage! gone as soon as found,

ow in the moon, perhaps, now under ground.

In vain the sage, with retrospective eye,

ould from the apparent what conclude the why,

nfer the motive from the deed, and show,hat what we chanced was what we meant to do.

ehold! if fortune or a mistress frowns,

ome plunge in business, others shave their crowns:

o ease the soul of one oppressive weight,

his quits an empire, that embroils a state:

he same adust complexion has impelled

harles to the convent, Philip to the field.

Not always actions show the man: we find

ho does a kindness, is not therefore kind;

erhaps prosperity becalmed his breast,

erhaps the wind just shifted from the east:

ot therefore humble he who seeks retreat,

ride guides his steps, and bids him shun the great:

ho combats bravely is not therefore brave,

e dreads a death-bed like the meanest slave:

ho reasons wisely is not therefore wise,

is pride in reasoning, not in acting lies.

But grant that actions best discover man;

ake the most strong, and sort them as you can.he few that glare each character must mark;

ou balance not the many in the dark.

hat will you do with such as disagree?

uppress them, or miscall them policy?

ust then at once (the character to save)

he plain rough hero turn a crafty knave?

las! in truth the man but changed his mind,

erhaps was sick, in love, or had not dined.





Search then the ruling passion: there, alone,

he wild are constant, and the cunning known;

he fool consistent, and the false sincere;

riests, princes, women, no dissemblers here.

his clue once found, unravels all the rest,

he prospect clears, and Wharton stands confest.

harton, the scorn and wonder of our days,

hose ruling passion was the lust of praise:

orn with whate'er could win it from the wise,

omen and fools must like him or he dies;

hough wondering senates hung on all he spoke,

he club must hail him master of the joke.

hall parts so various aim at nothing new!

e'll shine a Tully and a Wilmot too.

hen turns repentant, and his God adores

ith the same spirit that he drinks and wh***s;

nough if all around him but admire,nd now the punk applaud, and now the friar.

hus with each gift of nature and of art,

nd wanting nothing but an honest heart;

rown all to all, from no one vice exempt;

nd most contemptible, to shun contempt:

is passion still, to covet general praise,

is life, to forfeit it a thousand ways;

constant bounty which no friend has made;

n angel tongue, which no man can persuade;

fool, with more of wit than half mankind,

oo rash for thought, for action too refined:

tyrant to the wife his heart approves;

rebel to the very king he loves;

e dies, sad outcast of each church and state,

nd, harder still! flagitious, yet not great.

sk you why Wharton broke through every rule?

Twas all for fear the knaves should call him fool.

Nature well known, no prodigies remain,

omets are regular, and Wharton plain.Yet, in this search, the wisest may mistake,

f second qualities for first they take.

hen Catiline by rapine swelled his store;

hen Caesar made a noble dame a wh***;

n this the lust, in that the avarice

ere means, not ends; ambition was the vice.

hat very Caesar, born in Scipio's days,

ad aimed, like him, by chastity at praise.





hall feel your ruling passion strong in death:

uch in those moments as in all the past,

Oh, save my country, Heaven!" shall be your last.

PISTLE II. TO A LADY.

f the Characters of Women.

othing so true as what you once let fall,

Most women have no characters at all."

atter too soft a lasting mark to bear,

nd best distinguished by black, brown, or fair.

How many pictures of one nymph we view,

ll how unlike each other, all how true!

rcadia's countess, here, in ermined pride,

s, there, Pastora by a fountain side.ere Fannia, leering on her own good man,

nd there, a naked Leda with a swan.

et then the fair one beautifully cry,

n Magdalen's loose hair, and lifted eye,

r dressed in smiles of sweet Cecilia shine,

ith simpering angels, palms, and harps divine;

hether the charmer sinner it, or saint it,

f folly grow romantic, I must paint it.

Come then, the colours and the ground prepare!

ip in the rainbow, trick her off in air;

hoose a firm cloud, before it fall, and in it

atch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute.

Rufa, whose eye, quick-glancing o'er the park

ttracts each light gay meteor of a spark,

grees as ill with Rufa studying Locke,

s Sappho's diamonds with her dirty smock;

r Sappho at her toilet's greasy task,ith Sappho fragrant at an evening masque:

o morning insects that in muck begun,

hine, buzz, and fly-blow in the setting sun.

How soft is Silia! fearful to offend;

he frail one's advocate, the weak one's friend:

o her, Calista proved her conduct nice;

nd good Simplicius asks of her advice.





udden, she storms! she raves! You tip the wink,

ut spare your censure; Silia does not drink.

ll eyes may see from what the change arose,

ll eyes may see--a pimple on her nose.

Papillia, wedded to her am'rous spark,

ighs for the shades--"How charming is a park!"

park is purchased, but the fair he sees

ll bathed in tears--"Oh, odious, odious trees!"

Ladies, like variegated tulips show;

Tis to their changes half their charms we owe;

ine by defect, and delicately weak,

heir happy spots the nice admirer take,

Twas thus Calypso once each heart alarmed,

wed without virtue, without beauty charmed;

er tongue bewitched as oddly as her eyes,

ess wit than mimic, more a wit than wise;trange graces still, and stranger flights she had,

as just not ugly, and was just not mad;

et ne'er so sure our passion to create,

s when she touched the brink of all we hate.

Narcissa's nature, tolerably mild,

o make a wash, would hardly stew a child;

as even been proved to grant a lover's prayer,

nd paid a tradesman once to make him stare;

ave alms at Easter, in a Christian trim,

nd made a widow happy, for a whim.

hy then declare good-nature is her scorn,

hen 'tis by that alone she can be borne?

hy pique all mortals, yet affect a name?

fool to pleasure, yet a slave to fame:

ow deep in Taylor and the Book of Martyrs,

ow drinking citron with his grace and Chartres:

ow Conscience chills her, and now Passion burns;

nd Atheism and Religion take their turns;very heathen in the carnal part,

et still a sad, good Christian at her heart.

What then? let blood and body bear the fault,

er head's untouched, that noble seat of thought:

uch this day's doctrine--in another fit

he sins with poets through pure love of wit.

hat has not fired her bosom or her brain?





aesar and Tall-boy, Charles and Charlemagne.

s Helluo, late dictator of the feast,

he nose of Hautgout, and the tip of taste,

ritic'd your wine, and analysed your meat,

et on plain pudding deigned at home to eat;

o Philomede, lecturing all mankind

n the soft passion, and the taste refined,

he address, the delicacy--stoops at once,

nd makes her hearty meal upon a dunce.

Flavia's a wit, has too much sense to pray;

o toast our wants and wishes, is her way;

or asks of God, but of her stars, to give

he mighty blessing, "while we live, to live."

hen all for death, that opiate of the soul!

ucretia's dagger, Rosamonda's bowl.

ay, what can cause such impotence of mind?

spark too fickle, or a spouse too kind.

ise wretch! with pleasures too refined to please;ith too much spirit to be e'er at ease;

ith too much quickness ever to be taught;

ith too much thinking to have common thought:

ou purchase pain with all that joy can give,

nd die of nothing but a rage to live.

Turn then from wits; and look on Simo's mate,

o ass so meek, no ass so obstinate.

r her, that owns her faults, but never mends,

ecause she's honest, and the best of friends.

r her, whose life the Church and scandal share,

or ever in a passion, or a prayer.

r her, who laughs at hell, but (like her Grace)

ries, "Ah! how charming, if there's no such place!"

r who in sweet vicissitude appears

f mirth and opium, ratafie and tears,

he daily anodyne, and nightly draught,

o kill those foes to fair ones, time and thought.

oman and fool are two hard things to hit;

or true no-meaning puzzles more than wit.But what are these to great Atossa's mind?

carce once herself, by turns all womankind!

ho, with herself, or others, from her birth

inds all her life one warfare upon earth:

hines in exposing knaves, and painting fools,

et is, whate'er she hates and ridicules.

o thought advances, but her eddy brain

hisks it about, and down it goes again.





ull sixty years the world has been her trade,

he wisest fool much time has ever made

rom loveless youth to unrespected age,

o passion gratified except her rage.

o much the fury still outran the wit,

he pleasure missed her, and the scandal hit.

ho breaks with her, provokes revenge from hell,

ut he's a bolder man who dares be well.

er every turn with violence pursued,

or more a storm her hate than gratitude:

o that each passion turns, or soon or late;

ove, if it makes her yield, must make her hate:

uperiors? death! and equals? what a curse!

ut an inferior not dependent? worse.

ffend her, and she knows not to forgive;

blige her, and she'll hate you while you live:

ut die, and she'll adore you--then the bust

nd temple rise--then fall again to dust.ast night, her lord was all that's good and great;

knave this morning, and his will a cheat.

trange! by the means defeated of the ends,

y spirit robbed of power, by warmth of friend

y wealth of followers! without one distress

ick of herself through very selfishness!

tossa, cursed with every granted prayer,

hildless with all her children, wants an heir.

o heirs unknown descends the unguarded store,

r wanders, Heaven-directed, to the poor.

Pictures like these, dear madam, to design,

sks no firm hand, and no unerring line;

ome wandering touches, some reflected light,

ome flying stroke alone can hit 'em right:

or how should equal colours do the knack?

hameleons who can paint in white and black?

"Yet Chloe sure was formed without a spot"--

ature in her then erred not, but forgot.

With every pleasing, every prudent part,ay, what can Chloe want?"--She wants a heart.

he speaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought;

ut never, never, reached one generous thought.

irtue she finds too painful an endeavour,

ontent to dwell in decencies for ever.

o very reasonable, so unmoved,

s never yet to love, or to be loved.

he, while her lover pants upon her breast,





an mark the figures on an Indian chest;

nd when she sees her friend in deep despair,

bserves how much a chintz exceeds mohair.

orbid it, Heaven, a favour or a debt

he e'er should cancel--but she may forget.

afe is your secret still in Chloe's ear;

ut none of Chloe's shall you ever hear.

f all her dears she never slandered one,

ut cares not if a thousand are undone.

ould Chloe know if you're alive or dead?

he bids her footman put it in her head.

hloe is prudent--would you too be wise?

hen never break your heart when Chloe dies.

One certain portrait may (I grant) be seen,

hich Heaven has varnished out, and made a _Queen_.

he same for ever! and described by all

ith truth and goodness, as with crown and ball.

oets heap virtues, painters gems at will,nd show their zeal, and hide their want of skill.

Tis well--but, artists! who can paint or write,

o draw the naked is your true delight.

hat robe of quality so struts and swells,

one see what parts of nature it conceals:

he exactest traits of body or of mind,

e owe to models of an humble kind.

f Queensbury to strip there's no compelling,

Tis from a handmaid we must take a Helen,

rom peer or bishop 'tis no easy thing

o draw the man who loves his God or king:

las! I copy (or my draught would fail)

rom honest Mah'met, or plain Parson Hale.

But grant in public men sometimes are shown,

woman's seen in private life alone:

ur bolder talents in full light displayed;

our virtues open fairest in the shade.

red to disguise, in public 'tis you hide;

here, none distinguish 'twixt your shame or pride,eakness or delicacy; all so nice,

hat each may seem a virtue or a vice.

In men, we various ruling passions find;

n women, two almost divide the kind:

hose, only fixed they first or last obey--

he love of pleasure, and the love of sway.

That, Nature gives; and where the lesson taught

s but to please, can pleasure seem a fault?





xperience, this; by man's oppression curst,

hey seek the second not to lose the first.

Men, some to business, some to pleasure take;

ut every woman is at heart a rake:

en, some to quiet, some to public strife;

ut every lady would be queen for life.

Yet mark the fate of a whole sex of queens!

ower all their end, but beauty all the means:

n youth they conquer, with so wild a rage,

s leaves them scarce a subject in their age:

or foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam;

o thought of peace or happiness at home.

ut wisdom's triumph is well-timed retreat,

s hard a science to the fair as great!

eauties, like tyrants, old and friendless grown,

et hate repose, and dread to be alone,

orn out in public, weary every eye,

or leave one sigh behind them when they die.Pleasures the sex, as children birds, pursue,

till out of reach, yet never out of view;

ure, if they catch, to spoil the toy at most,

o covet flying, and regret when lost:

t last, to follies youth could scarce defend,

t grows their age's prudence to pretend;

shamed to own they gave delight before,

educed to feign it, when they give no more:

s hags hold Sabbaths, less for joy than spite,

o these their merry, miserable night;

till round and round the ghosts of beauty glide,

nd haunt the places where their honour died.

See how the world its veterans rewards!

youth of frolics, an old age of cards;

air to no purpose, artful to no end;

oung without lovers, old without a friend;

fop their passion, but their prize a sot;

live, ridiculous; and dead, forgot!

Ah! friend! to dazzle let the vain design;o raise the thought and touch the heart be thine!

hat charm shall grow, while what fatigues the ring,

launts and goes down, an unregarded thing:

o when the sun's broad beam has tired the sight,

ll mild ascends the moon's more sober light;

erene in virgin modesty she shines,

nd unobserved the glaring orb declines.

Oh! blest with temper whose unclouded ray





an make to-morrow cheerful as to-day,

he, who can love a sister's charms, or hear

ighs for a daughter with unwounded ear;

he, who ne'er answers till a husband cools,

r, if she rules him, never shows she rules;

harms by accepting, by submitting sways,

et has her humour most, when she obeys;

et fops or fortune fly which way they will;

isdains all loss of tickets, or Codille:

pleen, vapours, or small-pox, above them all,

nd mistress of herself, though China fall.

And yet, believe me, good as well as ill,

oman's at best a contradiction still.

eaven, when it strives to polish all it can

ts last best work, but forms a softer man;

icks from each sex, to make the fav'rite blest,

our love of pleasure, or desire of rest:

lends, in exception to all general rules,our taste of follies, with our scorn of fools:

eserve with frankness, art with truth allied,

ourage with softness, modesty with pride;

ixed principles, with fancy ever new;

hakes all together, and produces--You.

Be this a woman's fame: with this unblest,

oasts live a scorn, and queens may die a jest.

his Phoebus promised (I forget the year)

hen those blue eyes first opened on the sphere;

scendant Phoebus watched that hour with care,

verted half your parents' simple prayer,

nd gave you beauty, but denied the pelf

hat buys your sex a tyrant o'er itself.

he gen'rous god, who wit and gold refines,

nd ripens spirits as he ripens mines,

ept dross for duchesses--the world shall know it--

o you gave sense, good-humour, and a poet.

PISTLE III. TO ALLEN LORD BATHURST.

RGUMENT.

f the use of Riches.

hat it is known to few, most falling into one of the extremes, Avarice





B. It raises armies in a nation's aid.

P. But bribes a senate, and the land's betrayed.

n vain may heroes fight, and patriots rave;

f secret gold sap on from knave to knave.

nce, we confess, beneath the patriot's cloak,

rom the cracked bag the dropping guinea spoke,

nd jingling down the back-stairs, told the crew,

Old Cato is as great a rogue as you."

lest paper-credit! last and best supply!

hat lends corruption lighter wings to fly!

old imped by thee can compass hardest things,

an pocket states, can fetch or carry kings;

single leaf shall waft an army o'er,

r ship off senates to a distant shore;

leaf, like Sibyl's, scatter to and fro

ur fates and fortunes, as the winds shall blow:

regnant with thousands flits the scrap unseen,

nd silent sells a king, or buys a queen.Oh! that such bulky bribes as all might see,

till, as of old, encumbered villainy!

ould France or Rome divert our brave designs,

ith all their brandies or with all their wines?

hat could they more than knights and squires confound,

r water all the Quorum ten miles round?

statesman's slumbers how this speech would spoil!

Sir, Spain has sent a thousand jars of oil;

uge bales of British cloth blockade the door;

hundred oxen at your levee roar."

Poor Avarice one torment more would find;

or could Profusion squander all in kind.

stride his cheese Sir Morgan might we meet;

nd Worldly crying coals from street to street,

hom with a wig so wild, and mien so mazed,

ity mistakes for some poor tradesman crazed.

ad Colepepper's whole wealth been hops and hogs,

ould he himself have sent it to the dogs?

is Grace will game: to White's a bull be led,ith spurning heels and with a butting head.

o White's be carried, as to ancient games,

air coursers, vases, and alluring dames.

hall then Uxorio, if the stakes he sweep,

ear home six w****s, and make his lady weep?

r soft Adonis, so perfumed and fine,

rive to St. James's a whole herd of swine?

h, filthy cheek on all industrious skill,





o spoil the nation's last great trade, Quadrille!

ince then, my lord, on such a world we fall,

hat say you? B. Say? Why, take it, gold and all.

P. What Riches give us let us then inquire:

eat, fire, and clothes. B. What more? P. Meat, clothes, and fire.

s this too little? would you more than live?

las! 'tis more than Turner finds they give.

las! 'tis more than (all his visions past)

nhappy Wharton, waking, found at last!

hat can they give? to dying Hopkins, heirs;

o Chartres, vigour; Japhet, nose and ears?

an they in gems bid pallid Hippia glow,

n Fulvia's buckle ease the throbs below;

r heal, old Narses, thy obscener ail,

ith all th' embroid'ry plastered at thy tail?

hey might (were Harpax not too wise to spend)

ive Harpax' self the blessing of a friend;

r find some doctor that would save the lifef wretched Shylock, spite of Shylock's wife:

ut thousands die, without or this or that,

ie, and endow a college, or a cat.

o some, indeed, Heaven grants the happier fate,

enrich a bastard, or a son they hate.

Perhaps you think the poor might have their part?

ond damns the poor, and hates them from his heart:

he grave Sir Gilbert holds it for a rule,

hat "every man in want is knave or fool:"

God cannot love," says Blunt, with tearless eyes,

The wretch He starves"--and piously denies:

ut the good bishop, with a meeker air,

dmits, and leaves them--Providence's care.

Yet, to be just to these poor men of pelf,

ach does but hate his neighbour as himself:

amned to the mines, an equal fate betides

he slave that digs it, and the slave that hides.

B. Who suffer thus, mere charity should own,

ust act on motives powerful, though unknown.P. Some war, some plague, or famine they foresee,

ome revelation hid from you and me.

hy Shylock wants a meal, the cause is found--

e thinks a loaf will rise to fifty pound.

hat made directors cheat in South-Sea year?

o live on venison when it sold so dear.

sk you why Phryne the whole auction buys?

hryne foresees a general excise.





hy she and Sappho raise that monstrous sum?

las! they fear a man will cost a plum.

Wise Peter sees the world's respect for gold,

nd therefore hopes this nation may be sold:

lorious ambition! Peter, swell thy store,

nd be what Rome's great Didius was before.

The crown of Poland, venal twice an age,

o just three millions stinted modest Gage.

ut nobler scenes Maria's dreams unfold,

ereditary realms, and worlds of gold.

ongenial souls! whose life one av'rice joins,

nd one fate buries in th' Asturian mines.

Much injured Blunt! why bears he Britain's hate?

wizard told him in these words our fate:

At length corruption, like a gen'ral flood

So long by watchful Ministers withstood),

hall deluge all; and av'rice, creeping on,

pread like a low-born mist, and blot the sun;tatesman and patriot ply alike the stocks,

eeress and butler share alike the box,

nd judges job, and bishops bite the town,

nd mighty dukes pack cards for half-a-crown.

ee Britain sunk in Lucre's sordid charms,

nd France revenged of Anne's and Edward's arms!"

Twas no Court-badge, great Scriv'ner! fired thy brain,

or lordly luxury, nor City gain:

o, 'twas thy righteous end, ashamed to see

enates degen'rate, patriots disagree,

nd, nobly wishing party-rage to cease,

o buy both sides, and give thy country peace.

"All this is madness," cries a sober sage:

ut who, my friend, has reason in his rage?

The ruling passion, be it what it will,

he ruling passion conquers reason still."

ess mad the wildest whimsey we can frame,

han even that passion, if it has no aim;

or though such motives folly you may call,he folly's greater to have none at all.

Hear then the truth: "'Tis Heaven each passion sends,

nd different men directs to different ends.

xtremes in nature equal good produce,

xtremes in man concur to gen'ral use."

sk we what makes one keep, and one bestow?

hat POWER who bids the ocean ebb and flow,

ids seed-time, harvest, equal course maintain,





hrough reconciled extremes of drought and rain,

uilds life on death, on change duration founds,

nd gives th' eternal wheels to know their rounds.

Riches, like insects, when concealed they lie,

ait but for wings, and in their season fly.

ho sees pale Mammon pine amidst his store,

ees but a backward steward for the poor;

his year a reservoir, to keep and spare;

he next, a fountain, spouting through his heir,

n lavish streams to quench a country's thirst,

nd men and dogs shall drink him till they burst.

Old Cotta shamed his fortune and his birth,

et was not Cotta void of wit or worth:

hat though (the use of barbarous spits forgot)

is kitchen vied in coolness with his grot?

is court with nettles, moats with cresses stored,

ith soups unbought and salads blessed his board?

f Cotta lived on pulse, it was no morehan Brahmins, saints, and sages did before;

o cram the rich was prodigal expense,

nd who would take the poor from Providence?

ike some lone Chartreux stands the good old hall,

ilence without, and fasts within the wall;

o raftered roofs with dance and tabor sound,

o noontide bell invites the country round;

enants with sighs the smokeless towers survey,

nd turn th' unwilling steeds another way;

enighted wanderers, the forest o'er,

urse the saved candle and unopening door;

hile the gaunt mastiff growling at the gate,

ffrights the beggar whom he longs to eat.

Not so his son; he marked this oversight,

nd then mistook reverse of wrong for right.

For what to shun will no great knowledge need;

ut what to follow is a task indeed.)

et sure, of qualities deserving praise,

ore go to ruin fortunes, than to raise.hat slaughtered hecatombs, what floods of wine,

ill the capacious squire, and deep divine!

et no mean motive this profusion draws;

is oxen perish in his country's cause;

Tis George and Liberty that crowns the cup,

nd zeal for that great house which eats him up.

he woods recede around the naked seat;

he sylvans groan--no matter--for the fleet;





ext goes his wool--to clothe our valiant bands;

ast, for his country's love, he sells his lands.

o town he comes, completes the nation's hope,

nd heads the bold train-bands, and burns a Pope.

nd shall not Britain now reward his toils,

ritain, that pays her patriots with her spoils?

n vain at Court the bankrupt pleads his cause,

is thankless country leaves him to her laws.

The sense to value riches, with the art

enjoy them, and the virtue to impart,

ot meanly, nor ambitiously pursued,

ot sunk by sloth, nor raised by servitude;

o balance fortune by a just expense,

oin with economy, magnificence;

ith splendour, charity; with plenty, health;

teach us, Bathurst! yet unspoiled by wealth!

hat secret rare, between the extremes to move

f mad good-nature, and of mean self-love.B. To worth or want well weighed, be bounty given,

nd ease, or emulate, the care of Heaven

Whose measure full o'erflows on human race);

end Fortune's fault, and justify her grace.

ealth in the gross is death, but life diffused;

s poison heals, in just proportion used:

n heaps, like ambergrise, a stink it lies,

ut well dispersed, is incense to the skies.

P. Who starves by nobles, or with nobles eats?

he wretch that trusts them, and the rogue that cheats.

s there a lord who knows a cheerful noon

ithout a fiddler, flatterer, or buffoon?

hose table, wit or modest merit share,

nelbowed by a gamester, pimp, or play'r?

ho copies yours or Oxford's better part,

o ease the oppressed, and raise the sinking heart?

here'er he shines, O Fortune, gild the scene,

nd angels guard him in the golden mean!

here, English bounty yet awhile may stand,nd Honour linger ere it leaves the land.

But all our praises why should lords engross?

ise, honest Muse! and sing the Man of Ross:

leased Vaga echoes through her winding bounds,

nd rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds.

ho hung with woods you mountain's sultry brow?

rom the dry rock who bade the waters flow?

ot to the skies in useless columns tost,





r in proud falls magnificently lost,

ut clear and artless, pouring through the plain

ealth to the sick, and solace to the swain.

hose causeway parts the vale with shady rows?

hose seats the weary traveller repose?

ho taught that heaven-directed spire to rise?

The Man of Ross," each lisping babe replies.

ehold the market-place with poor o'erspread!

he Man of Ross divides the weekly bread;

e feeds yon almshouse, neat, but void of state,

here age and want sit smiling at the gate;

im portioned maids, apprenticed orphans blest,

he young who labour, and the old who rest.

s any sick? the Man of Ross relieves,

rescribes, attends, the medicine makes, and gives.

s there a variance? enter but his door,

aulked are the courts, and contest is no more.

espairing quacks with curses fled the place,nd vile attorneys, now a useless race.

B. Thrice happy man! enabled to pursue

hat all so wish, but want the power to do!

h say, what sums that generous hand supply?

hat mines, to swell that boundless charity?

P. Of debts, and taxes, wife and children clear,

his man possest--five hundred pounds a year.

lush, grandeur, blush! proud courts, withdraw your blaze!

e little stars, hide your diminished rays!

B. And what? no monument, inscription, stone?

is race, his form, his name almost unknown?

P. Who builds a church to God, and not to Fame,

ill never mark the marble with his name;

o, search it there, where to be born and die,

f rich and poor makes all the history;

nough, that virtue filled the space between;

roved, by the ends of being, to have been.

hen Hopkins dies, a thousand lights attend

he wretch, who living saved a candle's end:houldering God's altar a vile image stands,

elies his features, nay, extends his hands;

hat livelong wig, which Gorgon's self might own,

ternal buckle takes in Parian stone.

ehold what blessings wealth to life can lend!

nd see what comfort it affords our end.

In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half-hung,

he floors of plaster, and the walls of dung,





n once a flock-bed, but repaired with straw,

ith tape-tied curtains, never meant to draw,

he George and Garter dangling from that bed

here tawdry yellow strove with dirty red,

reat Villiers lies--alas! how changed from him,

hat life of pleasure, and that soul of whim!--

allant and gay, in Cliveden's proud alcove,

he bower of wanton Shrewsbury and love;

r just as gay, at council, in a ring

f mimic'd statesmen and their merry king.

o wit to flatter left of all his store!

o fool to laugh at, which he valued more.

here, victor of his health, of fortune, friends,

nd fame, this lord of useless thousands ends.

His grace's fate sage Cutler could foresee,

nd well (he thought) advised him, "Live like me."

s well his grace replied, "Like you, Sir John?

hat I can do, when all I have is gone."esolve me, Reason, which of these is worse,

ant with a full, or with an empty purse?

hy life more wretched, Cutler, was confessed,

rise, and tell me, was thy death more blessed?

utler saw tenants break, and houses fall,

or very want; he could not build a wall.

is only daughter in a stranger's power,

or very want; he could not pay a dower.

few grey hairs his reverend temples crowned,

Twas very want that sold them for two pound.

hat even denied a cordial at his end,

anished the doctor, and expelled the friend?

hat but a want, which you perhaps think mad,

et numbers feel the want of what he had!

utler and Brutus, dying, both exclaim,

Virtue! and wealth! what are ye but a name!"

Say, for such worth are other worlds prepared?

r are they both in this their own reward?

knotty point! to which we now proceed.ut you are tired--I'll tell a tale. B. Agreed.

P. Where London's column, pointing at the skies,

ike a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies;

here dwelt a citizen of sober fame,

plain good man, and Balaam was his name;

eligious, punctual, frugal, and so forth;

is word would pass for more than he was worth.

ne solid dish his week-day meal affords,





n added pudding solemnised the Lord's;

onstant at church, and Change; his gains were sure,

is givings rare, save farthings to the poor.

he devil was piqued such saintship to behold,

nd longed to tempt him like good Job of old:

ut Satan now is wiser than of yore,

nd tempts by making rich, not making poor.

Roused by the prince of Air, the whirlwinds sweep

he surge, and plunge his father in the deep;

hen full against his Cornish lands they roar,

nd two rich shipwrecks bless the lucky shore.

Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks,

e takes his chirping pint, and cracks his jokes;

Live like yourself," was soon my lady's word;

nd lo! two puddings smoked upon the board.

Asleep and naked as an Indian lay,

n honest factor stole a gem away:

e pledged it to the knight; the knight had wit,o kept the diamond, and the rogue was bit.

ome scruple rose, but thus he eased his thought,

I'll now give sixpence where I gave a groat;

here once I went to church, I'll now go twice--

nd am so clear, too, of all other vice."

The Tempter saw his time; the work he plied;

tocks and subscriptions pour on every side,

Till all the demon makes his full descent

n one abundant shower of cent. per cent.,

inks deep within him, and possesses whole,

hen dubs director, and secures his soul.

Behold Sir Balaam, now a man of spirit,

scribes his gettings to his parts and merit;

hat late he called a blessing, now was wit,

nd God's good Providence, a lucky hit.

hings change their titles, as our manners turn;

is counting-house employed the Sunday morn;

eldom at church ('twas such a busy life),

ut duly sent his family and wife.here (so the devil ordained) one Christmas tide

y good old lady catched a cold and died.

A nymph of quality admires our knight;

e marries, bows at court, and grows polite:

eaves the dull cits, and joins (to please the fair)

he well bred c*ck**ds in St. James's air;

irst, for his son a gay commission buys,

ho drinks and fights, and in a duel dies;





Tis strange, the miser should his cares employ

o gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy:

s it less strange, the prodigal should waste

is wealth, to purchase what he ne'er can taste?

ot for himself he sees, or hears, or eats;

rtists must choose his pictures, music, meats:

e buys for Topham, drawings and designs,

or Pembroke, statues, dirty gods, and coins;

are monkish manuscripts for Hearne alone,

nd books for Mead, and butterflies for Sloane.

hink we all these are for himself? no more

han his fine wife, alas! or finer w***e.

For what has Virro painted, built, and planted?

nly to show, how many tastes he wanted.

hat brought Sir Visto's ill-got wealth to waste?

ome demon whispered, "Visto! have a taste."

eaven visits with a taste the wealthy fool,nd needs no rod but Ripley with a rule.

ee! sportive Fate, to punish awkward pride,

ids Bubo build, and sends him such a guide.

standing sermon, at each year's expense,

hat never coxcomb reached magnificence!

You show us, Rome was glorious, not profuse,

nd pompous buildings once were things of use.

et shall, my lord, your just, your noble rules

ill half the land with imitating fools;

ho random drawings from your sheets shall take,

nd of one beauty many blunders make;

oad some vain church with old theatric state,

urn arcs of triumph to a garden-gate;

everse your ornaments, and hang them all

n some patched dog-hole eked with ends of wall;

hen clap four slices of pilaster on 't,

hat, laced with bits of rustic, makes a front

hall call the winds through long arcades to roar,

roud to catch cold at a Venetian door;onscious they act a true Palladian part,

nd, if they starve, they starve by rules of art.

Oft have you hinted to your brother peer

certain truth, which many buy too dear:

omething there is more needful than expense,

nd something previous even to taste--'tis sense.

ood sense, which only is the gift of Heaven,

nd though no science, fairly worth the seven:





light, which in yourself you must perceive:

ones and Le Notre have it not to give.

To build, to plant, whatever you intend,

o rear the column, or the arch to bend,

o swell the terrace, or to sink the grot;

n all, let Nature never be forgot.

ut treat the goddess like a modest fair,

or over-dress, nor leave her wholly bare;

et not each beauty everywhere be spied,

here half the skill is decently to hide.

e gains all points, who pleasingly confounds,

urprises, varies, and conceals the bounds.

Consult the genius of the place in all;

hat tells the waters or to rise or fall,

r helps the ambitious hill the heavens to scale,

r scoops in circling theatres the vale;

alls in the country, catches opening glades,

oins willing woods, and varies shades from shades;ow breaks, or now directs, the intending lines;

aints as you plant, and, as you work, designs.

Still follow sense, of every art the soul,

arts answering parts shall slide into a whole,

pontaneous beauties all around advance,

tart even from difficulty, strike from chance;

ature shall join you; Time shall make it grow

work to wonder at--perhaps a Stowe.

Without it, proud Versailles, thy glory falls;

nd Nero's terraces desert their walls:

he vast parterres a thousand hands shall make;

o! Cobham comes, and floats them with a lake:

r cut wide views through mountains to the plain,

ou'll wish your hill or sheltered seat again.

ven in an ornament its place remark,

or in a hermitage set Dr. Clarke.

Behold Villario's ten years' toil complete:

is quincunx darkens, his espaliers meet;

he wood supports the plain, the parts unite,nd strength of shade contends with strength of light;

waving glow the bloomy beds display,

lushing in bright diversities of day,

ith silver-quivering rills meandered o'er--

njoy them, you! Villario can no more;

ired of the scene parterres and fountains yield,

e finds at last he better likes a field.

Through his young woods how pleased Sabinus strayed,





r sat delighted in the thickening shade,

ith annual joy the reddening shoots to greet,

r see the stretching branches long to meet!

is son's fine taste an opener vista loves,

oe to the Dryads of his father's groves;

ne boundless green, or flourished carpet views,

ith all the mournful family of yews;

he thriving plants, ignoble broomsticks made,

ow sweep those alleys they were born to shade.

At Timon's villa let us pass a day,

here all cry out, "What sums are thrown away!"

o proud, so grand; of that stupendous air,

oft and agreeable come never there.

reatness, with Timon, dwells in such a draught

s brings all Brobdingnag before your thought.

o compass this, his building is a town,

is pond an ocean, his parterre a down:

ho but must laugh, the master when he sees,puny insect, shivering at a breeze!

o, what huge heaps of littleness around!

he whole, a laboured quarry above ground;

wo Cupids squirt before; a lake behind

mproves the keenness of the northern wind.

is gardens next your admiration call,

n every side you look, behold the wall!

o pleasing intricacies intervene,

o artful wildness to perplex the scene;

rove nods at grove, each alley has a brother,

nd half the platform just reflects the other.

he suffering eye inverted Nature sees,

rees cut to statues, statues thick as trees

ith here a fountain, never to be played;

nd there a summer-house, that knows no shade;

ere Amphitrite sails through myrtle bowers;

here gladiators fight or die in flowers;

nwatered see the drooping sea-horse mourn,

nd swallows roost in Nilus' dusty urn.My lord advances with majestic mien,

mit with the mighty pleasure to be seen:

ut soft--by regular approach--not yet--

irst through the length of yon hot terrace sweat;

nd when up ten steep slopes you've dragged your thighs,

ust at his study door he'll bless your eyes.

His study! with what authors is it stored?

n books, not authors, curious is my lord;





o all their dated backs he turns you round:

hese Aldus printed, those Du Sueil has bound,

o, some are vellum, and the rest as good

or all his lordship knows, but they are wood.

or Locke or Milton 'tis in vain to look;

hese shelves admit not any modern book.

And now the chapel's silver bell you hear,

hat summons you to all the pride of prayer;

ight quirks of music, broken and uneven,

ake the soul dance upon a jig to heaven.

n painted ceilings you devoutly stare,

here sprawl the saints of Verrio or Laguerre,

n gilded clouds in fair expansion lie,

nd bring all Paradise before your eye.

o rest, the cushion and soft Dean invite,

ho never mentions hell to ears polite.

But hark! the chiming clocks to dinner call;

hundred footsteps scrape the marble hall:he rich buffet well-coloured serpents grace,

nd gaping Tritons spew to wash your face.

s this a dinner? this a genial room?

o, 'tis a temple, and a hecatomb.

solemn sacrifice, performed in state,

ou drink by measure, and to minutes eat.

o quick retires each flying course, you'd swear

ancho's dread doctor and his wand were there.

etween each act the trembling salvers ring,

rom soup to sweet-wine, and God bless the King.

n plenty starving, tantalised in state,

nd complaisantly helped to all I hate,

reated, caressed, and tired, I take my leave,

ick of his civil pride from morn to eve;

curse such lavish cost and little skill,

nd swear no day was ever past so ill.

Yet hence the poor are clothed, the hungry fed;

ealth to himself, and to his infants bread

he labourer bears; what his hard heart deniesis charitable vanity supplies.

Another age shall see the golden ear

mbrown the slope, and nod on the parterre,

eep harvests bury all his pride has planned,

nd laughing Ceres re-assume the land.

Who then shall grace, or who improve the soil?

ho plants like Bathurst, or who builds like Boyle.

Tis use alone that sanctifies expense,





nd splendour borrows all her rays from sense.

His father's acres who enjoys in peace,

r makes his neighbours glad, if he increase:

hose cheerful tenants bless their yearly toil,

et to their lord owe more than to the soil;

hose ample lawns are not ashamed to feed

he milky heifer and deserving steed;

hose rising forests, not for pride or show,

ut future buildings, future navies, grow:

et his plantations stretch from down to down,

irst shade a country, and then raise a town.

You too proceed! make falling arts your care,

rect new wonders, and the old repair;

ones and Palladio to themselves restore,

nd be whate'er Vitruvius was before:

Till kings call forth the ideas of your mind

Proud to accomplish what such hands denied)

id harbours open, public ways extend,id temples, worthier of the god, ascend;

id the broad arch the dangerous flood contain,

he mole projected break the roaring main;

ack to his bounds their subject sea command,

nd roll obedient rivers through the land:

hese honours peace to happy Britain brings,

hese are imperial works, and worthy kings.

PISTLE V. TO MR. ADDISON.

ccasioned by his Dialogues on Medals.

ee the wild waste of all-devouring years!

ow Rome her own sad sepulchre appears,

ith nodding arches, broken temples spread!

he very tombs now vanished like their dead!

mperial wonders raised on nations spoiled,here mixed with slaves the groaning martyr toiled:

uge theatres, that now unpeopled woods,

ow drained a distant country of her floods:

anes, which admiring gods with pride survey,

tatues of men, scarce less alive than they!

ome felt the silent stroke of mouldering age,

ome hostile fury, some religious rage.

arbarian blindness, Christian zeal conspire,





nd Papal piety, and Gothic fire.

erhaps, by its own ruins saved from flame,

ome buried marble half preserves a name;

hat name the learned with fierce disputes pursue,

nd give to Titus old Vespasian's due.

Ambition sighed: she found it vain to trust

he faithless column and the crumbling bust:

uge moles, whose shadow stretched from shore to shore,

heir ruins perished, and their place no more;

onvinced, she now contracts her vast design,

nd all her triumphs shrink into a coin.

narrow orb each crowded conquest keeps;

eneath her palm here sad Judea weeps;

ow scantier limits the proud arch confine,

nd scarce are seen the prostrate Nile or Rhine;

small Euphrates through the piece is rolled,

nd little eagles wave their wings in gold.

he medal, faithful to its charge of fame,hrough climes and ages bears each form and name:

n one short view subjected to our eye

ods, emperors, heroes, sages, beauties, lie.

ith sharpened sight pale antiquaries pore,

he inscription value, but the rust adore.

his the blue varnish, that the green endears,

he sacred rust of twice ten hundred years!

o gain Pescennius one employs his schemes,

ne grasps a Cecrops in ecstatic dreams.

oor Vadius, long with learned spleen devoured,

an taste no pleasure since his shield was scoured;

nd Curio, restless by the fair one's side,

ighs for an Otho, and neglects his bride.

Theirs is the vanity, the learning thine:

ouched by thy hand, again Rome's glories shine;

er gods and god-like heroes rise to view,

nd all her faded garlands bloom anew.

or blush, these studies thy regard engage;

hese pleased the fathers of poetic rage;he verse and sculpture bore an equal part,

nd art reflected images to art.

Oh, when shall Britain, conscious of her claim,

tand emulous of Greek and Roman fame?

n living medals see her wars enrolled,

nd vanquished realms supply recording gold?

ere, rising bold, the patriot's honest face;

here warriors frowning in historic brass?





hen future ages with delight shall see

ow Plato's, Bacon's, Newton's looks agree;

r in fair series laurelled bards be shown,

Virgil there, and here an Addison.

hen shall thy Craggs (and let me call him mine)

n the cast ore, another Pollio shine;

ith aspect open, shall erect his head,

nd round the orb in lasting notes be read,

Statesmen, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere,

n action faithful, and in honour clear;

ho broke no promise, served no private end,

ho gained no title and who lost no friend;

nnobled by himself, by all approved,

nd praised, unenvied, by the muse he loved."

ATIRES.

PISTLE TO DR. ARBUTHNOT.

DVERTISEMENT

o the first publication of this Epistle.

his Paper is a sort of bill of complaint, begun many years since, and

rawn up by snatches, as the several occasions offered. I had no

houghts of publishing it, till it pleased some persons of rank and

ortune (the authors of "Verses to the Imitator of Horace," and of an

Epistle to a Doctor of Divinity from a Nobleman at Hampton Court") to

ttack, in a very extraordinary manner, not only my writings (of which,

eing public, the public is judge), but my person, morals, and family,

hereof, to those who know me not, a truer information may be requisite

eing divided between the necessity to say something of myself, and mywn laziness to undertake so awkward a task, I thought it the shortest

ay to put the last hand to this Epistle. If it have anything pleasing

t will be that by which I am most desirous to please, the truth and th

entiment; and if anything offensive, it will be only to those I am lea

orry to offend, the vicious or the ungenerous.

any will know their own pictures in it, there being not a circumstance

ut what is true; but I have, for the most part, spared their names, an





hey may escape being laughed at if they please.

would have some of them know, it was owing to the request of the

earned and candid friend to whom it is inscribed, that I make not as

ree use of theirs as they have done of mine. However, I shall have th

dvantage and honour on my side, that whereas, by their proceeding, any

buse may be directed at any man, no injury can possibly be done by min

ince a nameless character can never be found out but by its truth and

ikeness.--P.

PISTLE TO DR. ARBUTHNOT,

EING THE

ROLOGUE TO THE SATIRES.

Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigued, I said,

ie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead.he dog-star rages! nay 'tis past a doubt,

ll Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out:

ire in each eye, and papers in each hand,

hey rave, recite, and madden round the land.

What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide?

hey pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide;

y land, by water, they renew the charge;

hey stop the chariot, and they board the barge.

o place is sacred, not the Church is free;

ven Sunday shines no Sabbath Day to me;

hen from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme,

appy to catch me just at dinner-time.

Is there a parson, much bemused in beer,

maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer,

clerk, foredoomed his father's soul to cross,

ho pens a stanza when he should engross?

s there, who, locked from ink and paper, scrawls

ith desperate charcoal round his darkened walls?

ll fly to Twitenham, and in humble strainpply to me, to keep them mad or vain.

rthur, whose giddy son neglects the laws,

mputes to me and my damned works the cause:

oor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope,

nd curses wit, and poetry, and Pope.

Friend to my life! (which did not you prolong,

he world had wanted many an idle song)

hat drop or nostrum can this plague remove?





r which must end me, a fool's wrath or love?

dire dilemma! either way I'm sped,

f foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead.

eized and tied down to judge, how wretched I!

ho can't be silent, and who will not lie.

o laugh, were want of goodness and of grace,

nd to be grave, exceeds all power of face.

sit with sad civility, I read

ith honest anguish, and an aching head;

nd drop at last, but in unwilling ears,

his saving counsel, "Keep your piece nine years."

"Nine years!" cries he, who high in Drury Lane,

ulled by soft zephyrs through the broken pane,

hymes ere he wakes, and prints before term ends,

bliged by hunger, and request of friends:

The piece, you think, is incorrect? why, take it,

m all submission, what you'd have it, make it."

Three things another's modest wishes bound,y friendship, and a prologue, and ten pound.

Pitholeon sends to me: "You know his Grace,

want a patron; ask him for a place."

Pitholeon libelled me'--"but here's a letter

nforms you, sir, 'twas when he knew no better.

are you refuse him? Curll invites to dine,

e'll write a journal, or he'll turn divine."

Bless me! a packet.--"'Tis a stranger sues,

virgin tragedy, an orphan muse."

f I dislike it, "Furies, death and rage!"

f I approve, "Commend it to the stage."

here (thank my stars) my whole commission ends,

he players and I are, luckily, no friends,

ired that the house reject him, "'Sdeath I'll print it,

nd shame the fools--Your interest, sir, with Lintot!"

Lintot, dull rogue! will think your price too much:'

Not, sir, if you revise it, and retouch."

ll my demurs but double his attacks;

t last he whispers, "Do; and we go snacks."lad of a quarrel, straight I clap the door,

ir, let me see your works and you no more.

'Tis sung, when Midas' ears began to spring

Midas, a sacred person and a king),

is very minister who spied them first

Some say his queen) was forced to speak, or burst.

nd is not mine, my friend, a sorer case,

hen every coxcomb perks them in my face?





Good friend, forbear! you deal in dangerous things.

d never name queens, ministers, or kings;

eep close to ears, and those let asses prick;

Tis nothing-- P. Nothing? if they bite and kick?

ut with it, Dunciad! let the secret pass,

hat secret to each fool, that he's an ass:

he truth once told (and wherefore should we lie?)

he Queen of Midas slept, and so may I.

You think this cruel? take it for a rule,

o creature smarts so little as a fool.

et peals of laughter, Codrus! round thee break,

hou unconcerned canst hear the mighty crack:

it, box, and gallery in convulsions hurled,

hou stand'st unshook amidst a bursting world.

ho shames a scribbler? break one cobweb through,

e spins the slight, self-pleasing thread anew:

estroy his fib or sophistry, in vain,

he creature's at his dirty work again,hroned in the centre of his thin designs,

roud of a vast extent of flimsy lines!

hom have I hurt? has poet yet, or peer,

ost the arched eyebrow, or Parnassian sneer?

nd has not Colley still his lord, and w***e?

is butchers Henley, his free-masons Moore?

oes not one table Bavius still admit?

till to one bishop Philips seem a wit?

till Sappho-- A. Hold! for God's sake--you'll offend,

o names!--be calm!--learn prudence of a friend!

too could write, and I am twice as tall;

ut foes like these-- P. One flatterer's worse than all.

f all mad creatures, if the learned are right,

t is the slaver kills, and not the bite.

fool quite angry is quite innocent:

las! 'tis ten times worse when they repent.

One dedicates in high heroic prose,

nd ridicules beyond a hundred foes:

ne from all Grubstreet will my fame defend,nd more abusive, calls himself my friend.

his prints my letters, that expects a bribe,

nd others roar aloud, "Subscribe, subscribe."

There are, who to my person pay their court:

cough like Horace, and, though lean, am short,

mmon's great son one shoulder had too high,

uch Ovid's nose, and "Sir! you have an eye"--

o on, obliging creatures, make me see





ll that disgraced my betters, met in me.

ay for my comfort, languishing in bed,

Just so immortal Maro held his head:"

nd when I die, be sure you let me know

reat Homer died three thousand years ago.

Why did I write? what sin to me unknown

ipped me in ink, my parents', or my own?

s yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame,

lisped in numbers, for the numbers came.

left no calling for this idle trade,

o duty broke, no father disobeyed.

he Muse but served to ease some friend, not wife,

o help me through this long disease, my life,

o second, Arbuthnot! thy art and care,

nd teach the being you preserved, to bear.

But why then publish? Granville the polite,

nd knowing Walsh, would tell me I could write;

ell-natured Garth, inflamed with early praise;nd Congreve loved, and Swift endured my lays;

he courtly Talbot, Somers, Sheffield, read;

ven mitred Rochester would nod the head,

nd St. John's self (great Dryden's friends before)

ith open arms received one poet more.

appy my studies, when by these approved!

appier their author, when by these beloved!

rom these the world will judge of men and books,

ot from the Burnets, Oldmixons, and Cookes.

Soft were my numbers; who could take offence,

hile pure description held the place of sense?

ike gentle Fanny's was my flowery theme,

painted mistress, or a purling stream.

et then did Gildon draw his venal quill;--

wished the man a dinner, and sat still.

et then did Dennis rave in furious fret;

never answered--I was not in debt.

f want provoked, or madness made them print,

waged no war with Bedlam or the Mint.Did some more sober critic come abroad;

f wrong, I smiled; if right, I kissed the rod.

ains, reading, study, are their just pretence,

nd all they want is spirit, taste, and sense.

ommas and points they set exactly right,

nd 'twere a sin to rob them of their mite.

et ne'er one sprig of laurel graced these ribalds,

rom slashing Bentley down to p---g Tibalds:





ach wight, who reads not, and but scans and spells,

ach word-catcher, that lives on syllables,

ven such small critics some regard may claim,

reserved in Milton's or in Shakespeare's name.

retty! in amber to observe the forms

f hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms!

he things, we know, are neither rich nor rare,

ut wonder how the devil they got there.

Were others angry: I excused them too;

ell might they rage, I gave them but their due.

man's true merit 'tis not hard to find;

ut each man's secret standard in his mind,

hat casting-weight pride adds to emptiness,

his, who can gratify? for who can guess?

he bard whom pilfered pastorals renown,

ho turns a Persian tale for half a crown,

ust writes to make his barrenness appear,

nd strains, from hard-bound brains, eight lines a year;e, who still wanting, though he lives on theft,

teals much, spends little, yet has nothing left:

nd he, who now to sense, now nonsense leaning,

eans not, but blunders round about a meaning:

nd he, whose fustian's so sublimely bad,

t is not poetry, but prose run mad:

ll these, my modest satire bade translate,

nd owned that nine such poets made a Tate.

ow did they fume, and stamp, and roar, and chafe

nd swear not Addison himself was safe.

Peace to all such! but were there one whose fires

rue genius kindles, and fair fame inspires;

lessed with each talent and each art to please,

nd born to write, converse, and live with ease:

hould such a man, too fond to rule alone,

ear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne.

iew him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes,

nd hate for arts that caused himself to rise;

amn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,nd without sneering, teach the rest to sneer;

illing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,

ust hint a fault, and hesitate dislike;

like reserved to blame, or to commend,

timorous foe, and a suspicious friend;

reading even fools, by flatterers besieged,

nd so obliging, that he ne'er obliged;

ike Cato, give his little senate laws,





nd sit attentive to his own applause;

hile wits and templars every sentence raise,

nd wonder with a foolish face of praise:--

ho but must laugh, if such a man there be?

ho would not weep, if Atticus were he?

What though my name stood rubric on the walls,

r plaistered posts, with claps, in capitals?

r smoking forth, a hundred hawkers' load,

n wings of winds came flying all abroad?

sought no homage from the race that write;

kept, like Asian monarchs, from their sight:

oems I heeded (now be-rhymed so long)

o more than thou, great George! a birthday song.

ne'er with wits or witlings passed my days,

o spread about the itch of verse and praise;

or like a puppy, daggled through the town,

o fetch and carry sing-song up and down;

or at rehearsals sweat, and mouthed, and cried,ith handkerchief and orange at my side;

ut sick of fops, and poetry, and prate,

o Bufo left the whole Castalian state.

Proud as Apollo on his forked hill,

at full-blown Bufo puffed by every quill;

ed with soft dedication all day long,

orace and he went hand in hand in song.

is library (where busts of poets dead

nd a true Pindar stood without a head)

eceived of wits an undistinguished race,

ho first his judgment asked, and then a place:

uch they extolled his pictures, much his seat,

nd flattered every day, and some days eat:

ill grown more frugal in his riper days,

e paid some bards with port, and some with praise;

o some a dry rehearsal was assigned,

nd others (harder still) he paid in kind.

ryden alone (what wonder?) came not nigh,

ryden alone escaped this judging eye:ut still the great have kindness in reserve,

e helped to bury whom he helped to starve.

May some choice patron bless each grey goose quill!

ay every Bavius have his Bufo still!

o, when a statesman wants a day's defence,

r envy holds a whole week's war with sense,

r simple pride for flattery makes demands,

ay dunce by dunce be whistled off my hands!





lessed be the great! for those they take away,

nd those they left me; for they left me gay;

eft me to see neglected genius bloom,

eglected die, and tell it on his tomb:

f all thy blameless life the soul return

y verse, and Queensbury weeping o'er thy urn!

Oh let me live my own, and die so too!

To live and die is all I have to do:)

aintain a poet's dignity and ease,

nd see what friends, and read what books I please;

bove a patron, though I condescend

ometimes to call a minister my friend.

was not born for courts or great affairs;

pay my debts, believe, and say my prayers;

an sleep without a poem in my head;

or know, if Dennis be alive or dead.

Why am I asked what next shall see the light?

eavens! was I born for nothing but to write?as life no joys for me! or (to be grave)

ave I no friend to serve, no soul to save?

I found him close with Swift."--'Indeed? no doubt,'

Cries prating Balbus) 'something will come out.'

Tis all in vain, deny it as I will.

No, such a genius never can lie still;'

nd then for mine obligingly mistakes

he first lampoon Sir Will. or Bubo makes.

oor guiltless I! and can I choose but smile

hen every coxcomb knows me by my style?

Cursed be the verse, how well soe'er it flow

hat tends to make one worthy man my foe,

ive virtue scandal, innocence a fear,

r from the soft-eyed virgin steal a tear!

ut he who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace,

nsults fallen worth, or beauty in distress,

ho loves a lie, lame slander helps about,

ho writes a libel, or who copies out:

hat fop, whose pride affects a patron's name,et absent, wounds an author's honest fame:

ho can your merit selfishly approve,

nd show the sense of it without the love;

ho has the vanity to call you friend,

et wants the honour, injured, to defend;

ho tells whate'er you think, whate'er you say,

nd, if he lie not, must at least betray:

ho to the Dean, and silver bell can swear,





nd sees at Canons what was never there;

ho reads, but with a lust to misapply,

ake satire a lampoon, and fiction, lie.

lash like mine no honest man shall dread,

ut all such babbling blockheads in his stead.

Let Sporus tremble-- A. What? that thing of silk,

porus, that mere white curd of ass's milk,

atire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel?

ho breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?

P. Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings,

his painted child of dirt, that stinks and stings;

hose buzz the witty and the fair annoys,

et wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys:

o well-bred spaniels civilly delight

n mumbling of the game they dare not bite:

ternal smiles his emptiness betray,

s shallow streams run dimpling all the way.

hether in florid impotence he speaksnd, as the prompter breathes, the puppet squeaks;

r at the ear of Eve, familiar toad,

alf froth, half venom, spits himself abroad,

n puns, or politics, or tales, or lies,

r spite, or smut, or rhymes, or blasphemies.

is wit all see-saw, between that and this, }

ow high, now low, now master up, now miss, }

nd he himself one vile antithesis. }

mphibious thing! that acting either part,

he trifling head or the corrupted heart,

op at the toilet, flatterer at the board,

ow trips a lady, and now struts a lord.

ve's tempter thus the rabbins have expressed,

cherub's face, a reptile all the rest;

eauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust;

it that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.

Not fortunes worshipper, nor fashion's fool,

ot lucre's madman, nor ambition's tool,

ot proud, nor servile;--be one poet's praise,hat, if he pleased, he pleased by manly ways:

hat flattery, even to kings, he held a shame,

nd thought a lie in verse or prose the same.

hat not in fancy's maze he wandered long:

ut stooped to truth, and moralised his song:

hat not for fame, but virtue's better end,

e stood the furious foe, the timid friend,

he damning critic, half approving wit,





he coxcomb hit, or fearing to be hit;

aughed at the loss of friends he never had,

he dull, the proud, the wicked, and the mad;

he distant threats of vengeance on his head,

he blow unfelt, the tear he never shed;

he tale revived, the lie so oft o'erthrown,

he imputed trash, and dulness not his own;

he morals blackened when the writings scape,

he libelled person, and the pictured shape;

buse, on all he loved, or loved him, spread,

friend in exile, or a father, dead;

he whisper, that to greatness still too near,

erhaps, yet vibrates, on his sovereign's ear:--

elcome for thee, fair virtue! all the past;

or thee, fair virtue! welcome even the last!

A. But why insult the poor, affront the great?

P. A knave's a knave, to me in every state:

like my scorn, if he succeed or fail,porus at Court, or Japhet in a jail,

hireling scribbler, or a hireling peer,

night of the post corrupt, or of the shire;

f on a pillory, or near a throne,

e gain his prince's ear, or lose his own.

Yet soft by nature, more a dupe than wit,

appho can tell you how this man was bit;

his dreaded satirist Dennis will confess

oe to his pride, but friend to his distress:

o humble, he has knocked at Tibbald's door,

as drunk with Cibber, nay has rhymed for Moore.

ull ten years slandered, did he once reply?

hree thousand sons went down on Welsted's lie.

o please a mistress one aspersed his life;

e lashed him not, but let her be his wife.

et Budgel charge low Grubstreet on his quill,

nd write whate'er he pleased, except his will;

et the two Curlls of town and court abuse

is father, mother, body, soul, and muse.et why? that father held it for a rule,

t was a sin to call our neighbour fool:

hat harmless mother thought no wife a w***e:

ear this, and spare his family, James Moore!

nspotted names, and memorable long!

f there be force in virtue, or in song.

Of gentle blood (part shed in honour's cause

hile yet in Britain honour had applause)





ach parent sprung-- A. What fortune, pray?-- P. Their own,

nd better got, than Bestia's from the throne.

orn to no pride, inheriting no strife,

or marrying discord in a noble wife,

tranger to civil and religious rage,

he good man walked innoxious through his age.

or courts he saw, no suits would ever try,

or dared an oath, nor hazarded a lie.

nlearned he knew no schoolman's subtle art,

o language, but the language of the heart.

y nature honest, by experience wise,

ealthy by temperance, and by exercise;

is life, though long, to sickness past unknown,

is death was instant, and without a groan.

grant me thus to live, and thus to die!

ho sprung from kings shall know less joy than I.

O friend! may each domestic bliss be thine!

e no unpleasing melancholy mine:e, let the tender office long engage,

o rock the cradle of reposing age,

ith lenient arts extend a mother's breath,

ake languor smile, and smooth the bed of death,

xplore the thought, explain the asking eye,

nd keep a while one parent from the sky!

n cares like these if length of days attend,

ay Heaven, to bless those days, preserve my friend,

reserve him social, cheerful, and serene,

nd just as rich as when he served a queen.

A. Whether that blessing be denied or given,

hus far was right, the rest belongs to Heaven.

ATIRES AND EPISTLES OF HORACE IMITATED.

DVERTISEMENT.

he occasion of publishing these Imitations was the clamour raised on

ome of my Epistles. An answer from Horace was both more full, and of

ore dignity, than any I could have made in my own person; and the

xample of much greater freedom in so eminent a divine as Dr. Donne,

eemed a proof with what indignation and contempt a Christian may treat

ice or folly, in ever so low, or ever so high a station. Both these





uthors were acceptable to the princes and ministers under whom they

ived. The Satires of Dr. Donne I versified, at the desire of the Earl

f Oxford while he was Lord Treasurer, and of the Duke of Shrewsbury wh

ad been Secretary of State, neither of whom looked upon a satire on

icious courts as any reflection on those they served in. And indeed

here is not in the world a greater error, than that which fools are so

pt to fall into, and knaves with good reason to encourage, the mistaki

satirist for a libeller; whereas to a true satirist nothing is so

dious as a libeller, for the same reason as to a man truly virtuous

othing is so hateful as a hypocrite.

Uni aequus Virtuti atque ejus Amicis. P.

HE FIRST SATIRE OF THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE.

ATIRE I. TO MR. FORTESCUE.

P. There are (I scarce can think it, but am told),

here are, to whom my satire seems too bold:

carce to wise Peter complaisant enough,

nd something said of Chartres much too rough.

he lines are weak another's pleased to say,

ord Fanny spins a thousand such a day.

imorous by nature, of the rich in awe,

come to counsel learned in the law:

ou'll give me, like a friend both sage and free,

dvice; and (as you use) without a fee.

F. I'd write no more. P. Not write? but then I think,

nd for my soul I cannot sleep a wink.

nod in company, I wake at night,

ools rush into my head, and so I write.

F. You could not do a worse thing for your life.

hy, if the nights seem tedious--take a wife:r rather truly, if your point be rest,

ettuce and cowslip wine: Probatum est.

ut talk with Celsus, Celsus will advise

artshorn, or something that shall close your eyes.

r, if you needs must write, write Caesar's praise,

ou'll gain at least a knighthood, or the bays.

P. What? like Sir Richard, rumbling, rough, and fierce,

ith arms, and George, and Brunswick crowd the verse,





o run a muck, and tilt at all I meet;

only wear it in a land of Hectors,

hieves, supercargoes, sharpers, and directors.

ave but our army! and let Jove encrust

words, pikes, and guns, with everlasting rust!

eace is my dear delight--not Fleury's more:

ut touch me, and no minister so sore.

hoe'er offends, at some unlucky time

lides into verse, and hitches in a rhyme,

acred to ridicule his whole life long,

nd the sad burthen of some merry song.

Slander or poison dread from Delia's rage

ard words or hanging, if your judge be Page.

rom furious Sappho scarce a milder fate,

lagued by her love, or libelled by her hate.

ts proper power to hurt, each creature feels;

ulls aim their horns, and asses lift their heels;

Tis a bear's talent not to kick, but hug;nd no man wonders he's not stung by pug.

o drink with Walters, or with Chartres eat,

hey'll never poison you, they'll only cheat.

Then, learned sir! (to cut the matter short)

hate'er my fate, or well or ill at Court,

hether old age, with faint but cheerful ray,

ttends to gild the evening of my day,

r death's black wing already be displayed,

o wrap me in the universal shade;

hether the darkened room to muse invite,

r whitened wall provoke the skewer to write:

n durance, exile, Bedlam or the Mint--

ike Lee or Budgel, I will rhyme and print.

F. Alas, young man! your days can ne'er be long,

n flower of age you perish for a song!

lums and directors, Shylock and his wife,

ill club their testers, now, to take your life!

P. What? armed for virtue when I point the pen,

rand the bold front of shameless guilty men;ash the proud gamester in his gilded car;

are the mean heart that lurks beneath a star;

an there be wanting, to defend her cause,

ights of the Church, or guardians of the laws?

ould pensioned Boileau lash in honest strain

latterers and bigots even in Louis' reign?

ould Laureate Dryden pimp and friar engage,

et neither Charles nor James be in a rage?





nd I not strip the gilding off a knave,

nplaced, unpensioned, no man's heir, or slave?

will, or perish in the generous cause:

ear this, and tremble! you, who 'scape the laws.

es, while I live, no rich or noble knave

hall walk the world, in credit, to his grave.

o Virtue only and her friends a friend,

he world beside may murmur, or commend.

now, all the distant din that world can keep

olls o'er my grotto, and but soothes my sleep.

here, my retreat the best companions grace,

hiefs out of war, and statesmen out of place.

here St. John mingles with my friendly bowl

he feast of reason and the flow of soul:

nd he, whose lightning pierced the Iberian lines,

ow forms my quincunx, and now ranks my vines

r tames the genius of the stubborn plain,

lmost as quickly as he conquered Spain.Envy must own, I live among the great,

o pimp of pleasure, and no spy of state.

ith eyes that pry not, tongue that ne'er repeats,

ond to spread friendships, but to cover heats;

o help who want, to forward who excel;

his, all who know me, know; who love me, tell;

nd who unknown defame me, let them be

cribblers or peers, alike are mob to me.

his is my plea, on this I rest my cause--

hat saith my counsel, learned in the laws?

F. Your plea is good; but still I say, beware!

aws are explained by men--so have a care.

t stands on record, that in Richard's times

man was hanged for very honest rhymes.

onsult the Statute: quart. I think it is,

dwardi sext. or prim. et quint. Eliz.

ee libels, satires--here you have it--read.

P. Libels and satires! lawless things indeed!

ut grave epistles, bringing vice to light,uch as a king might read, a bishop write;

uch as Sir Robert would approve-- F. Indeed?

he case is altered--you may then proceed;

n such a cause the plaintiff would be hissed;

y lords the judges laugh, and you're dismissed.





HE SECOND SATIRE OF THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE.

ATIRE II. TO MR. BETHEL.

hat, and how great, the virtue and the art

o live on little with a cheerful heart

A doctrine sage, but truly none of mine),

et's talk, my friends, but talk before we dine.

ot when a gilt buffet's reflected pride

urns you from sound philosophy aside;

ot when from plate to plate your eyeballs roll,

nd the brain dances to the mantling bowl.

Hear Bethel's sermon, one not versed in schools,

ut strong in sense, and wise without the rules.

Go work, hunt, exercise! (he thus began)

hen scorn a homely dinner, if you can.our wine locked up, your butler strolled abroad,

r fish denied (the river yet unthawed),

f then plain bread and milk will do the feat,

he pleasure lies in you, and not the meat.

Preach as I please, I doubt our curious men

ill choose a pheasant still before a hen;

et hens of Guinea full as good I hold,

xcept you eat the feathers green and gold.

f carps and mullets why prefer the great

Though cut in pieces ere my lord can eat),

et for small turbots such esteem profess?

ecause God made these large, the other less.

Oldfield with more than harpy throat endued,

ries "Send me, gods! a whole hog barbecued!

h, b---- it, south-winds! till a stench exhale

ank as the ripeness of a rabbit's tail.

y what criterion do ye eat, d'ye think,

f this is prized for sweetness, that for stink?"

hen the tired glutton labours through a treat,e finds no relish in the sweetest meat,

e calls for something bitter, something sour,

nd the rich feast concludes extremely poor:

heap eggs, and herbs, and olives still we see;

hus much is left of old simplicity!

he robin-redbreast till of late had rest,

nd children sacred held a martin's nest,

ill becca-ficos sold so devilish dear





o one that was, or would have been a peer.

et me extol a cat, on oysters fed,

ll have a party at the Bedford-head;

r even to crack live crawfish recommend;

d never doubt at Court to make a friend.

'Tis yet in vain, I own, to keep a pother

bout one vice, and fall into the other:

etween excess and famine lies a mean;

lain, but not sordid; though not splendid, clean.

Avidien, or his wife (no matter which,

or him you'll call a dog, and her a bitch)

ell their presented partridges, and fruits,

nd humbly live on rabbits and on roots:

ne half-pint bottle serves them both to dine,

nd is at once their vinegar and wine.

ut on some lucky day (as when they found

lost bank-bill, or heard their son was drowned)

t such a feast, old vinegar to spare,s what two souls so generous cannot bear:

il, though it stink, they drop by drop impart,

ut souse the cabbage with a bounteous heart.

He knows to live, who keeps the middle state,

nd neither leans on this side, nor on that;

or stops, for one bad cork, his butler's pay,

wears, like Albutius, a good cook away;

or lets, like Naevius, every error pass,

he musty wine, foul cloth, or greasy glass.

Now hear what blessings temperance can bring:

Thus said our friend, and what he said I sing,)

irst health: The stomach (crammed from every dish,

tomb of boiled and roast, and flesh and fish,

here bile, and wind, and phlegm, and acid jar,

nd all the man is one intestine war)

emembers oft the schoolboy's simple fare,

he temperate sleeps, and spirits light as air.

How pale, each worshipful and reverend guest

ise from a clergy, or a city feast!hat life in all that ample body, say?

hat heavenly particle inspires the clay?

he soul subsides, and wickedly inclines

o seem but mortal, even in sound divines.

On morning wings how active springs the mind

hat leaves the load of yesterday behind!

ow easy every labour it pursues!

ow coming to the poet every muse!





ot but we may exceed, some holy time,

r tired in search of truth, or search of rhyme;

ll health some just indulgence may engage,

nd more the sickness of long life, old age;

or fainting age what cordial drop remains,

f our intemperate youth the vessel drains?

Our fathers praised rank venison. You suppose,

erhaps, young men! our fathers had no nose.

ot so: a buck was then a week's repast,

nd 'twas their point, I ween, to make it last;

ore pleased to keep it till their friends could come,

han eat the sweetest by themselves at home.

hy had not I in those good times my birth,

re coxcomb pies or coxcombs were on earth?

Unworthy he, the voice of fame to hear,

hat sweetest music to an honest ear;

For 'faith, Lord Fanny! you are in the wrong

he world's good word is better than a song)ho has not learned fresh sturgeon and ham-pie

re no rewards for want, and infamy?

hen luxury has licked up all thy pelf,

ursed by thy neighbours, thy trustees, thyself,

o friends, to fortune, to mankind a shame,

hink how posterity will treat thy name;

nd buy a rope, that future times may tell,

hou hast at least bestowed one penny well.

"Right," cries his lordship, "for a rogue in need

o have a taste is insolence indeed:

n me 'tis noble, suits my birth and state,

y wealth unwieldy, and my heap too great."

hen, like the sun, let bounty spread her ray,

nd shine that superfluity away.

h, impudence of wealth! with all thy store,

ow dar'st thou let one worthy man be poor?

hall half the new-built churches round thee fall?

ake quays, build bridges, or repair Whitehall:

r to thy country let that heap be lent,s M**o's was, but not at five per cent.

Who thinks that Fortune cannot change her mind,

repares a dreadful jest for all mankind.

nd who stands safest? tell me, is it he

hat spreads and swells in puffed posterity,

r blest with little, whose preventing care

n peace provides fit arms against a war?

Thus Bethel spoke, who always speaks his thought,





nd always thinks the very thing he ought:

is equal mind I copy what I can,

nd, as I love, would imitate the man.

n South-Sea days not happier, when surmised

he lord of thousands, than if now excised;

n forest planted by a father's hand,

han in five acres now of rented land.

ontent with little, I can p----e here

n broccoli and mutton, round the year;

ut ancient friends (though poor, or out of play)

hat touch my bell, I cannot turn away.

Tis true, no turbots dignify my boards,

ut gudgeons, flounders, what my Thames affords:

o Hounslow Heath I point and Banstead Down,

hence comes your mutton, and these chicks my own:

rom yon old walnut-tree a shower shall fall;

nd grapes, long lingering on my only wall,

nd figs from standard and espalier join;he devil is in you if you cannot dine:

hen cheerful healths (your mistress shall have place),

nd, what's more rare, a poet shall say grace.

Fortune not much of humbling me can boast;

hough double taxed, how little have I lost?

y life's amusements have been just the same,

efore, and after, standing armies came.

y lands are sold, my father's house is gone;

ll hire another's; is not that my own,

nd yours, my friends? through whose free-opening gate

one comes too early, none departs too late;

For I, who hold sage Homer's rule the best,

elcome the coming, speed the going guest).

Pray Heaven it last!" (cries Swift!) "as you go on;

wish to God this house had been your own:

ity! to build without a son or wife:

hy, you'll enjoy it only all your life."

ell, if the use be mine, can it concern one,

hether the name belong to Pope or Vernon?hat's property? dear Swift! you see it alter

rom you to me, from me to Peter Walter;

r, in a mortgage, prove a lawyer's share;

r, in a jointure, vanish from the heir;

r in pure equity (the case not clear)

he Chancery takes your rents for twenty year:

t best, it falls to some ungracious son,

ho cries, "My father's damned, and all's my own."





hades, that to Bacon could retreat afford,

ecome the portion of a booby lord;

nd Hemsley, once proud Buckingham's delight,

lides to a scrivener or a city knight.

et lands and houses have what lords they will,

et us be fixed, and our own masters still.

HE FIRST EPISTLE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE.

PISTLE I. TO LORD BOLINGBROKE.

St. John, whose love indulged my labours past,

atures my present, and shall bound my last!

hy will you break the Sabbath of my days?ow sick alike of envy and of praise.

ublic too long, ah let me hide my age!

ee, modest Cibber now has left the stage:

ur generals now, retired to their estates,

ang their old trophies o'er the garden gates,

n life's cool evening satiate of applause,

or fond of bleeding, even in Brunswick's cause.

A voice there is, that whispers in my ear,

Tis Reason's voice, which sometimes one can hear)

Friend Pope, be prudent, let your muse take breath,

nd never gallop Pegasus to death;

est stiff and stately, void of fire or force,

ou limp, like Blackmore, on a lord mayor's horse."

Farewell then verse, and love, and every toy,

he rhymes and rattles of the man or boy;

hat right, what true, what fit we justly call,

et this be all my care--for this is all.

o lay this harvest up, and hoard with haste

hat every day will want, and most, the last.But ask not, to what doctors I apply?

worn to no master, of no sect am I:

s drives the storm, at any door I knock:

nd house with Montaigne now, or now with Locke.

ometimes a patriot, active in debate,

ix with the world, and battle for the State,

ree as young Lyttelton, her cause pursue,

till true to virtue, and as warm as true:





nd ease thy heart of all that it admires?

Here, wisdom calls: "Seek virtue first, be bold!

s gold to silver, virtue is to gold."

here, London's voice: "Get money, money still!

nd then let virtue follow, if she will."

his, this the saving doctrine, preached to all,

rom low St. James's up to high St. Paul;

rom him whose quills stand quivered at his ear,

o him who notches sticks at Westminster.

Barnard in spirit, sense, and truth abounds;

Pray then, what wants he?" fourscore thousand pounds;

pension, or such harness for a slave

s Bug now has, and Dorimant would have.

arnard, thou art a Cit, with all thy worth;

ut Bug and D * l, their honours, and so forth.

Yet every child another song will sing:

Virtue, brave boys! 'tis virtue makes a king."

rue, conscious honour is to feel no sin,e's armed without that's innocent within;

e this thy screen, and this thy wall of brass;

ompared to this, a minister's an ass.

And say, to which shall our applause belong,

his new Court jargon, or the good old song?

he modern language of corrupted peers,

r what was spoke at Cressy and Poitiers?

ho counsels best? who whispers, "Be but great,

ith praise or infamy leave that to fate;

et place and wealth, if possible, with grace;

f not, by any means get wealth and place--"

or what? to have a box where eunuchs sing,

nd foremost in the circle eye a king.

r he, who bids thee face with steady view }

roud fortune, and look shallow greatness through: }

nd, while he bids thee, sets th' example too? }

f such a doctrine, in St. James's air,

hould chance to make the well-dressed rabble stare;

f honest S * z take scandal at a spark,hat less admires the palace than the park:

aith I shall give the answer Reynard gave:

I cannot like, dread sir, your royal cave:

ecause I see, by all the tracks about,

ull many a beast goes in, but none come out."

dieu to virtue, if you're once a slave:

end her to Court, you send her to her grave.

Well, if a king's a lion, at the least,





he people are a many-headed beast:

an they direct what measures to pursue,

ho know themselves so little what to do?

like in nothing but one lust of gold,

ust half the land would buy, and half be sold:

heir country's wealth our mightier misers drain,

r cross, to plunder provinces, the main;

he rest, some farm the poor-box, some the pews;

ome keep assemblies, and would keep the stews;

ome with fat bucks on childless dotards fawn;

ome win rich widows by their chine and brawn;

hile with the silent growth of ten per cent.

n dirt and darkness, hundreds stink content.

Of all these ways, if each pursues his own,

atire be kind, and let the wretch alone:

ut show me one who has it in his power

o act consistent with himself an hour.

ir Job sailed forth, the evening bright and still,No place on earth," he cried, "like Greenwich Hill!"

p starts a palace; lo, th' obedient base }

lopes at its foot, the woods its sides embrace, }

he silver Thames reflects its marble face. }

ow let some whimsy, or that devil within }

hich guides all those who know not what they mean, }

ut give the knight (or give his lady) spleen; }

Away, away! take all your scaffolds down,

or snug's the word: my dear! we'll live in town."

At amorous Flavio is the stocking thrown?

hat very night he longs to lie alone.

he fool, whose wife elopes some thrice a quarter,

or matrimonial solace dies a martyr.

id ever Proteus, Merlin, any witch, }

ransform themselves so strangely as the rich? }

ell, but the poor--the poor have the same itch; }

hey change their weekly barber, weekly news,

refer a new japanner to their shoes,

ischarge their garrets, move their beds, and runThey know not whither) in a chaise and one;

hey hire their sculler, and when once aboard,

row sick, and damn the climate--like a lord.

You laugh, half beau, half sloven if I stand,

y wig all powder, and all snuff my band;

ou laugh, if coat and breeches strangely vary,

hite gloves, and linen worthy Lady Mary!

ut when no prelate's lawn with hair-shirt lined,





s half so incoherent as my mind,

hen (each opinion with the next at strife,

ne ebb and flow of follies all my life)

plant, root up; I build, and then confound;

urn round to square, and square again to round;

ou never change one muscle of your face,

ou think this madness but a common case,

or once to Chancery, nor to Hale apply;

et hang your lip, to see a seam awry!

areless how ill I with myself agree,

ind to my dress, my figure, not to me.

s this my guide, philosopher, and Friend?

his, he who loves me, and who ought to mend?

ho ought to make me (what he can, or none),

hat man divine whom wisdom calls her own;

reat without title, without fortune blessed;

ich even when plundered, honoured while oppressed;

oved without youth, and followed without power;t home, though exiled; free, though in the Tower;

n short, that reasoning, high, immortal thing,

ust less than Jove, and much above a king,

ay, half in heaven--except (what's mighty odd)

fit of vapours clouds this demi-god.

HE SIXTH EPISTLE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE.

PISTLE VI. TO MR. MURRAY.

"Not to admire, is all the art I know,

o make men happy, and to keep them so."

Plain truth, dear Murray, needs no flowers of speech,

o take it in the very words of Creech.)

his vault of air, this congregated ball,elf-centred sun, and stars that rise and fall,

here are, my friend! whose philosophic eyes

ook through, and trust the ruler with his skies,

o him commit the hour, the day, the year,

nd view this dreadful all without a fear.

dmire we, then, what earth's low entrails hold, }

rabian shores, or Indian seas infold. }

ll the mad trade of fools and slaves for gold? }





r popularity? or stars and strings?

he mob's applauses, or the gifts of kings?

ay with what eyes we ought at courts to gaze,

nd pay the great our homage of amaze?

If weak the pleasure that from these can spring,

he fear to want them is as weak a thing:

hether we dread, or whether we desire,

n either case, believe me, we admire;

hether we joy or grieve, the same the curse,

urprised at better, or surprised at worse.

hus good or bad, to one extreme betray

h' unbalanced mind, and snatch the man away;

or virtue's self may too much zeal be had;

he worst of madmen is a saint run mad.

Go then, and if you can, admire the state

f beaming diamonds, and reflected plate;

rocure a taste to double the surprise,

nd gaze on Parian charms with learned eyes:e struck with bright brocade, or Tyrian dye,

ur birthday nobles' splendid livery.

f not so pleased, at council-board rejoice,

o see their judgments hang upon thy voice;

rom morn to night, at senate, rolls, and hall,

lead much, read more, dine late, or not at all.

ut wherefore all this labour, all this strife?

or fame, for riches, for a noble wife?

hall one whom nature, learning, birth, conspired

o form not to admire but be admired,

igh, while his Chloe blind to wit and worth

eds the rich dulness of some son of earth?

et time ennobles, or degrades each line;

t brightened Craggs's, and may darken thine:

nd what is fame? the meanest have their day,

he greatest can but blaze and pass away.

raced as thou art, with all the power of words,

o known, so honoured, at the House of Lords:

onspicuous scene! another yet is nigh,More silent far) where kings and poets lie;

here Murray (long enough his country's pride)

hall be no more than Tully, or than Hyde!

Racked with sciatics, martyred with the stone,

ill any mortal let himself alone?

ee Ward by battered beaux invited over,

nd desperate misery lays hold on Dover.

he case is easier in the mind's disease;





here all men may be cured, whene'er they please,

ould ye be blest? despise low joys, low gains; }

isdain whatever Cornbury disdains; }

e virtuous and be happy for your pains. }

But art thou one, whom new opinions sway,

ne who believes as Tindal leads the way,

ho virtue and a church alike disowns,

hinks that but words, and this but brick and stones?

ly then on all the wings of wild desire,

dmire whate'er the maddest can admire.

s wealth thy passion? Hence! from pole to pole,

here winds can carry, or where waves can roll,

or Indian spices, for Peruvian gold,

revent the greedy, and out-bid the bold:

dvance thy golden mountain to the skies;

n the broad base of fifty thousand rise,

dd one round hundred, and (if that's not fair)

dd fifty more, and bring it to a square.or, mark th' advantage; just so many score

ill gain a wife with half as many more,

rocure her beauty, make that beauty chaste,

nd then such friends--as cannot fail to last.

man of wealth is dubbed a man of worth,

enus shall give him form, and Antis birth.

Believe me, many a German Prince is worse,

ho proud of pedigree, is poor of purse.)

is wealth brave Timon gloriously confounds;

sked for a groat, he gives a hundred pounds;

r if three ladies like a luckless play,

akes the whole house upon the poet's day.

ow, in such exigencies not to need,

pon my word, you must be rich indeed;

noble superfluity it craves,

ot for yourself, but for your fools and knaves:

omething, which for your honour they may cheat,

nd which it much becomes you to forget.

f wealth alone then make and keep us blest,till, still be getting, never, never rest.

But if to power and place your passion lie,

f in the pomp of life consist the joy;

hen hire a slave, or (if you will) a lord

o do the honours, and to give the word;

ell at your levee, as the crowds approach,

o whom to nod, whom take into your coach,

hom honour with your hand: to make remarks,





ho rules in Cornwall, or who rules in Berks:

This may be troublesome, is near the chair;

hat makes three members, this can choose a mayor."

nstructed thus, you bow, embrace, protest, }

dopt him son, or cousin at the least, }

hen turn about, and laugh at your own jest. }

Or if your life be one continued treat,

f to live well means nothing but to eat;

p, up! cries gluttony, 'tis break of day,

o drive the deer, and drag the finny prey;

ith hounds and horns go hunt an appetite--

o Russel did, but could not eat at night,

alled happy dog! the beggar at his door,

nd envied thirst and hunger to the poor.

Or shall we every decency confound,

hrough taverns, stews, and bagnios take our round,

o dine with Chartres, in each vice out-do

---l's lewd cargo, or Ty---y's crew,rom Latian Syrens, French Circean feasts,

eturn well travelled, and transformed to beasts.

If, after all, we must with Wilmot own,

he cordial drop of life is love alone,

nd Swift cry wisely, "Vive la Bagatelle!"

he man that loves and laughs, must sure do well.

dieu--if this advice appear the worst,

en take the counsel which I gave you first:

r better precepts if you can impart,

hy do, I'll follow them with all my heart.

HE FIRST EPISTLE OF THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE.

DVERTISEMENT.

he Reflections of Horace, and the Judgments past in his Epistle to

ugustus, seemed so seasonable to the present Times, that I could not

elp applying them to the use of my own Country. The Author thought th

onsiderable enough to address them to his Prince; whom he paints with

ll the great and good qualities of a Monarch, upon whom the Romans

epended for the Increase of an Absolute Empire. But to make the Poem

ntirely English, I was willing to add one or two of those which

ontribute to the Happiness of a Free People, and are more consistent





ith the Welfare of our Neighbours.

his Epistle will show the learned World to have fallen into Two

istakes: one, that Augustus was a Patron of Poets in general; whereas

ot only prohibited all but the Best Writers to name him, but recommend

hat Care even to the Civil Magistrate: Admonebat Praetores, ne

aterentur Nomen suum obsolefieri, etc. The other, that this Piece was

nly a general Discourse of Poetry; whereas it was an Apology for the

oets, in order to render Augustus more their Patron. Horace here plea

he Cause of his Contemporaries, first against the Taste of the Town,

hose humour it was to magnify the Authors of the preceding Age; second

gainst the Court and Nobility, who encouraged only the Writers for the

heatre; and lastly against the Emperor himself, who had conceived them

f little Use to the Government. He shows (by a View of the Progress o

earning, and the Change of Taste among the Romans) that the Introducti

f the Polite Arts of Greece had given the Writers of his Time great

dvantages over their Predecessors; that their Morals were much improve

nd the Licence of those ancient Poets restrained: that Satire and Comeere become more just and useful; that, whatever extravagances were lef

n the Stage, were owing to the Ill Taste of the Nobility; that Poets,

nder due Regulations, were in many respects useful to the State, and

oncludes, that it was upon them the Emperor himself must depend for hi

ame with Posterity.

e may farther learn from this Epistle, that Horace made his Court to

his great Prince by writing with a decent Freedom toward him, with a

ust Contempt of his low Flatterers, and with a manly Regard to his own

haracter. P.

PISTLE I. TO AUGUSTUS.

hile you, great patron of mankind! sustain

he balanced world, and open all the main;

our country, chief, in arms abroad defend,

t home, with morals, arts, and laws amend;ow shall the muse from such a monarch, steal

n hour, and not defraud the public weal?

Edward and Henry, now the boast of fame,

nd virtuous Alfred, a more sacred name,

fter a life of generous toils endured,

he Gaul subdued, or property secured,

mbition humbled, mighty cities stormed,

ur laws established, and the world reformed;





losed their long glories with a sigh, to find

h' unwilling gratitude of base mankind!

ll human virtue, to its latest breath,

inds envy never conquered but by death.

he great Alcides, every labour past,

ad still this monster to subdue at last.

ure fate of all, beneath whose rising ray

ach star of meaner merit fades away!

ppressed we feel the beam directly beat,

hose suns of glory please not till they set.

To thee, the world its present homage pays,

he harvest early, but mature the praise:

reat friend of liberty! in kings a name

bove all Greek, above all Roman fame:

hose word is truth, as sacred and revered,

s heaven's own oracles from altars heard.

onder of kings! like whom, to mortal eyes

one e'er has risen, and none e'er shall rise.Just in one instance be it yet confest

our people, sir, are partial in the rest:

oes to all living worth except your own,

nd advocates for folly dead and gone.

uthors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old;

t is the rust we value, not the gold.

haucer's worst ribaldry is learned by rote,

nd beastly Skelton heads of houses quote:

ne likes no language but the Faery Queen;

Scot will fight for Christ's Kirk o' the Green:

nd each true Briton is to Ben so civil,

e swears the Muses met him at the devil.

Though justly Greece her eldest sons admires,

hy should not we be wiser than our sires?

n every public virtue we excel;

e build, we paint, we sing, we dance as well,

nd learned Athens to our art must stoop,

ould she behold us tumbling through a hoop.

If time improve our wit as well as wine,ay at what age a poet grows divine?

hall we or shall we not account him so,

ho died, perhaps, a hundred years ago?

nd all dispute; and fix the year precise

hen British bards begin t' immortalise?

"Who lasts a century can have no flaw,

hold that wit a classic, good in law."

Suppose he wants a year, will you compound;





nd shall we deem him ancient, right and sound,

r damn to all eternity at once,

t ninety-nine, a modern and a dunce?

"We shall not quarrel for a year or two;

y courtesy of England, he may do."

hen by the rule that made the horse-tail bear,

pluck out year by year, as hair by hair,

nd melt down ancients like a heap of snow:

hile you to measure merits, look in Stowe,

nd estimating authors by the year

estow a garland only on a bier.

Shakespeare (whom you and every play-house bill

tyle the divine, the matchless, what you will)

or gain, not glory, winged his roving flight,

nd grew immortal in his own despite.

en, old and poor, as little seemed to heed

he life to come, in every poet's creed.

ho now reads Cowley? if he pleases yet,is moral pleases, not his pointed wit;

orget his epic, nay Pindaric art;

ut still I love the language of his heart.

"Yet surely, surely, these were famous men!

hat boy but hears the sayings of old Ben?

n all debates where Critics bears a part,

ot one but nods, and talks of Jonson's art,

f Shakespeare's nature, and of Cowley's wit;

ow Beaumont's judgment checked what Fletcher writ;

ow Shadwell hasty, Wycherley was slow;

ut for the passions, Southern sure and Rowe.

hese, only these, support the crowded stage,

rom eldest Heywood down to Cibber's age."

All this may be; the people's voice is odd,

t is, and it is not, the voice of God.

o Gammer Gurton if it give the bays,

nd yet deny the careless husband praise.

r say our fathers never broke a rule;

hy then, I say, the public is a fool.ut let them own, that greater faults than we

hey had, and greater virtues, I'll agree.

penser himself affects the obsolete,

nd Sidney's verse halts ill on Roman feet:

ilton's strong pinion now not Heaven can bound,

ow serpent-like, in prose he sweeps the ground,

n quibbles angel and archangel join,

nd God the Father turns a school divine.





nd yielding metal flowed to human form:

ely on animated canvas stole

he sleepy eye, that spoke the melting soul.

o wonder then, when all was love and sport,

he willing Muses were debauched at court:

n each enervate string they taught the note

o pant, or tremble through an eunuch's throat.

But Britain, changeful as a child at play,

ow calls in princes, and now turns away.

ow Whig, now Tory, what we loved we hate;

ow all for pleasure, now for Church and State;

ow for prerogative, and now for laws;

ffects unhappy from a noble cause.

Time was, a sober Englishman would knock

is servants up, and rise by five o'clock,

nstruct his family in every rule,

nd send his wife to church, his son to school.

o worship like his fathers, was his care;o teach their frugal virtues to his heir;

o prove, that luxury could never hold;

nd place, on good security, his gold.

ow times are changed, and one poetic itch

as seized the court and city, poor and rich:

ons, sires, and grandsires, all will wear the bays,

ur wives read Milton, and our daughters plays,

o theatres, and to rehearsals throng,

nd all our grace at table is a song.

who so oft renounce the Muses, lie,

ot ----'s self e'er tells more fibs than I;

hen sick of Muse, our follies we deplore,

nd promise our best friends to rhyme no more;

e wake next morning in a raging fit,

nd call for pen and ink to show our wit.

He served a 'prenticeship, who sets up shop;

ard tried on puppies, and the poor, his drop;

ven Radcliff's doctors travel first to France,

or dare to practise till they've learned to dance.ho builds a bridge that never drove a pile?

Should Ripley venture, all the world would smile)

ut those who cannot write, and those who can,

ll rhyme, and scrawl, and scribble, to a man.

Yet, sir, reflect, the mischief is not great;

hese madmen never hurt the Church or State;

ometimes the folly benefits mankind;

nd rarely av'rice taints the tuneful mind.





llow him but his plaything of a pen,

e ne'er rebels, or plots, like other men:

light of cashiers, or mobs, he'll never mind;

nd knows no losses while the Muse is kind.

o cheat a friend, or ward, he leaves to Peter;

he good man heaps up nothing but mere metre,

njoys his garden and his book in quiet;

nd then--a perfect hermit in his diet.

Of little use the man you may suppose,

ho says in verse what others say in prose;

et let me show, a poet's of some weight,

nd (though no soldier) useful to the State.

hat will a child learn sooner than a song?

hat better teach a foreigner the tongue?

hat's long or short, each accent where to place,

nd speak in public with some sort of grace?

scarce can think him such a worthless thing,

nless he praise some monster of a king;r virtue, or religion turn to sport,

o please a lewd or unbelieving court.

nhappy Dryden!--In all Charles's days,

oscommon only boasts unspotted bays;

nd in our own (excuse some courtly stains)

o whiter page than Addison remains.

e, from the taste obscene reclaims our youth,

nd sets the passions on the side of truth,

orms the soft bosom with the gentlest art,

nd pours each human virtue in the heart.

et Ireland tell, how wit upheld her cause,

er trade supported, and supplied her laws;

nd leave on Swift this grateful verse engraved:

The rights a court attacked, a poet saved.'

ehold the hand that wrought a nation's cure,

tretched to relieve the idiot and the poor,

roud vice to brand, or injured worth adorn,

nd stretch the ray to ages yet unborn.

ot but there are, who merit other palms;opkins and Sternhold glad the heart with psalms:

he boys and girls whom charity maintains,

mplore your help in these pathetic strains:

ow could devotion touch the country pews,

nless the gods bestowed a proper Muse?

erse cheers their leisure, verse assists their work,

erse prays for peace, or sings down Pope and Turk.

he silenced preacher yields to potent strain,





nd feels that grace his prayer besought in vain;

he blessing thrills through all the lab'ring throng,

nd Heaven is won by violence of song.

Our rural ancestors, with little blest,

atient of labour when the end was rest,

ndulged the day that housed their annual grain,

ith feasts, and off'rings, and a thankful strain:

he joy their wives, their sons, and servants share,

ase of their toil, and partners of their care:

he laugh, the jest, attendants on the bowl,

moothed every brow, and opened every soul:

ith growing years the pleasing licence grew,

nd taunts alternate innocently flew.

ut times corrupt, and Nature, ill-inclined,

roduced the point that left a sting behind;

ill friend with friend, and families at strife,

riumphant malice raged through private life.

ho felt the wrong, or feared it, took th' alarm,ppealed to law, and justice lent her arm.

t length, by wholesome dread of statutes bound,

he poets learned to please, and not to wound:

ost warped to flatt'ry's side; but some more nice,

reserved the freedom, and forebore the vice.

ence satire rose, that just the medium hit,

nd heals with morals what it hurts with wit.

We conquered France, but felt our captive's charms;

er arts victorious triumphed o'er our arms;

ritain to soft refinements less a foe,

it grew polite, and numbers learned to flow.

aller was smooth; but Dryden taught to join }

he varying verse, the full-resounding line, }

he long majestic march, and energy divine. }

hough still some traces of our rustic vein

nd splay-foot verse, remained, and will remain.

ate, very late, correctness grew our care,

hen the tired nation breathed from civil war.

xact Racine, and Corneille's noble fire,howed us that France had something to admire.

ot but the tragic spirit was our own,

nd full in Shakespeare, fair in Otway shone:

ut Otway failed to polish or refine,

nd fluent Shakespeare scarce effaced a line.

en copious Dryden wanted, or forgot

he last and greatest art, the art to blot.

ome doubt, if equal pains, or equal fire





he humbler Muse of comedy require.

ut in known images of life, I guess

he labour greater, as th' indulgence less.

bserve how seldom even the best succeed:

ell me if Congreve's fools are fools indeed?

hat pert, low dialogue has Farquhar writ!

ow Van wants grace, who never wanted wit!

he stage how loosely does Astraea tread,

ho fairly puts all characters to bed!

nd idle Cibber, how he breaks the laws,

o make poor Pinky eat with vast applause!

ut fill their purse, our poet's work is done,

like to them, by pathos or by pun.

O you! whom vanity's light bark conveys

n fame's mad voyage by the wind of praise,

ith what a shifting gale your course you ply,

or ever sunk too low, or borne too high!

ho pants for glory finds but short repose,breath revives him, or a breath o'erthrows.

arewell the stage! if just as thrives the play,

he silly bard grows fat, or falls away.

There still remains, to mortify a wit,

he many-headed monster of the pit;

senseless, worthless, and unhonoured crowd;

ho, to disturb their betters mighty proud,

latt'ring their sticks before ten lines are spoke,

all for the farce, the bear, or the black-joke.

hat dear delight to Britons farce affords!

ver the taste of mobs, but now of lords;

Taste, that eternal wanderer, which flies

rom heads to ears, and now from ears to eyes).

he play stands still; damn action and discourse,

ack fly the scenes, and enter foot and horse;

ageants on pageants, in long order drawn,

eers, Heralds, Bishops, ermine, gold, and lawn;

he champion too! and, to complete the jest,

ld Edward's armour beams on Cibber's breast,ith laughter sure Democritus had died,

ad he beheld an audience gape so wide.

et bear or elephant be e'er so white,

he people, sure, the people are the sight!

h luckless poet! stretch thy lungs and roar,

hat bear or elephant shall heed thee more;

hile all its throats the gallery extends,

nd all the thunder of the pit ascends!





enrol your triumphs o'er the seas and land,

e called to Court to plan some work divine,

s once for Louis, Boileau and Racine.

Yet think, great sir! (so many virtues shown)

h think, what poet best may make them known?

r choose at least some minister of grace,

it to bestow the laureate's weighty place.

Charles, to late times to be transmitted fair,

ssigned his figure to Bernini's care;

nd great Nassau to Kneller's hand decreed

o fix him graceful on the bounding steed;

o well in paint and stone they judged of merit:

ut kings in wit may want discerning spirit.

he hero William and the martyr Charles,

ne knighted Blackmore, and one pensioned Quarles;

hich made old Ben, and surly Dennis swear,

No Lord's anointed, but a Russian bear."

Not with such majesty, such bold relief,he forms august, of king, or conquering chief,

er swelled on marble; as in verse have shined

In polished verse) the manners and the mind.

h! could I mount on the Maeonian wing,

our arms, your actions, your repose to sing!

hat seas you traversed, and what fields you fought!

our country's peace, how oft, how dearly bought!

ow barb'rous rage subsided at your word,

nd nations wondered while they dropped the sword!

ow, when you nodded, o'er the land and deep,

eace stole her wing, and wrapped the world in sleep;

ill earth's extremes your mediation own,

nd Asia's tyrants tremble at your throne--

ut verse, alas! your majesty disdains;

nd I'm not used to panegyric strains:

he zeal of fools offends at any time,

ut most of all, the zeal of fools in rhyme.

esides, a fate attends on all I write,

hat when I aim at praise, they say I bite.vile encomium doubly ridicules:

here's nothing blackens like the ink of fools.

f true, a woeful likeness; and if lies,

Praise undeserved is scandal in disguise:"

ell may he blush, who gives it, or receives;

nd when I flatter, let my dirty leaves

Like journals, odes, and such forgotten things

s Eusden, Philips, Settle, writ of kings)





lothe spice, line trunks, or, flutt'ring in a row,

efringe the rails of Bedlam and Soho.

HE SECOND EPISTLE OF THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE.

"Ludentis speciem dabit, et torquebitur." HOR. (v.124.)

ear Colonel, Cobham's and your country's friend!

ou love a verse, take such as I can send.

Frenchman comes, presents you with his boy,

ows and begins--"This lad, sir, is of Blois:

bserve his shape how clean! his locks how curled!

y only son, I'd have him see the world:

is French is pure; his voice too--you shall hear.

ir, he's your slave for twenty pound a year.ere wax as yet, you fashion him with ease,

our barber, cook, upholsterer, what you please:

perfect genius at an opera song--

o say too much might do my honour wrong.

ake him with all his virtues, on my word;

is whole ambition was to serve a lord:

ut, sir, to you, with what would I not part?

hough faith, I fear 'twill break his mother's heart.

nce (and but once) I caught him in a lie,

nd then, unwhipped, he had the grace to cry:

he fault he has I fairly shall reveal,

Could you o'erlook but that) it is to steal."

If, after this, you took the graceless lad,

ould you complain, my friend, he proved so bad?

aith, in such case, if you should prosecute,

think Sir Godfrey should decide the suit:

ho sent the thief that stole the cash away,

nd punished him that put it in his way.

Consider then, and judge me in this light;told you when I went, I could not write;

ou said the same; and are you discontent

ith laws to which you gave your own assent?

ay worse, to ask for verse at such a time!

ye think me good for nothing but to rhyme?

In Anna's wars, a soldier poor and old

ad dearly earned a little purse of gold;

ired with a tedious march, one luckless night,





e slept, poor dog! and lost it to a doit.

his put the man in such a desperate mind, }

etween revenge, and grief, and hunger joined }

gainst the foe, himself, and all mankind, }

e leaped the trenches, scaled a castle wall,

ore down a standard, took the fort and all.

Prodigious well," his great commander cried,

ave him much praise and some reward beside.

ext pleased his excellence a town to batter:

Its name I know not, and it's no great matter).

Go on, my friend," he cried, "see yonder walls,

dvance and conquer! go where glory calls!

ore honours, more rewards attend the brave."

on't you remember what reply he gave?

D'ye think me, noble general, such a sot?

et him take castles who has ne'er a groat."

Bred up at home, full early I begun

o read in Greek the wrath of Peleus' son.esides, my father taught me from a lad,

he better art to know the good from bad:

And little sure imported to remove,

o hunt for truth in Maudlin's learned grove).

ut knottier points we knew not half so well,

eprived us soon of our paternal cell;

nd certain laws, by sufferers thought unjust,

enied all posts of profit or of trust:

opes after hopes of pious Papists failed,

hile mighty William's thundering arm prevailed,

or right hereditary taxed and fined,

e stuck to poverty with peace of mind;

nd me, the Muses helped to undergo it;

onvict a Papist he, and I a poet.

ut (thanks to Homer) since I live and thrive,

ndebted to no prince or peer alive,

ure I should want the care of ten Monroes,

f I would scribble rather than repose.

ears following years, steal something every day,t last they steal us from ourselves away;

n one our frolics, one amusements end,

n one a mistress drops, in one a friend:

his subtle thief of life, this paltry time,

hat will it leave me, if it snatch my rhyme?

f every wheel of that unwearied mill,

hat turned ten thousand verses, now stands still?

But after all, what would you have me do?





hen out of twenty I can please not two;

hen this heroics only deigns to praise,

harp satire that, and that Pindaric lays?

ne likes the pheasant's wing, and one the leg;

he vulgar boil, the learned roast an egg;

ard task! to hit the palate of such guests,

hen Oldfield loves what Dartineuf detests.

But grant I may relapse, for want of grace,

gain to rhyme, can London be the place?

ho there his Muse, or self, or soul attends,

n crowds, and courts, law, business, feasts, and friends?

y counsel sends to execute a deed;

poet begs me I will hear him read;

In Palace Yard at nine you'll find me there--'

At ten for certain, sir, in Bloomsbury Square--'

Before the Lords at twelve my cause comes on--'

There's a rehearsal, sir, exact at one.--'

Oh, but a wit can study in the streets,nd raise his mind above the mob he meets."

ot quite so well, however, as one ought;

hackney coach may chance to spoil a thought;

nd then a nodding beam or pig of lead,

od knows, may hurt the very ablest head.

ave you not seen, at Guildhall's narrow pass,

wo aldermen dispute it with an ass?

nd peers give way, exalted as they are,

ven to their own s-r-v-ance in a car?

Go, lofty poet! and in such a crowd,

ing thy sonorous verse--but not aloud.

las! to grottoes and to groves we run,

o ease and silence, every Muse's son:

lackmore himself, for any grand effort,

ould drink and doze at Tooting or Earl's Court.

ow shall I rhyme in this eternal roar?

ow match the bards whom none e'er matched before?

he man, who, stretched in Isis' calm retreat,

o books and study gives seven years complete,ee! strewed with learned dust, his night-cap on,

e walks, an object new beneath the sun!

he boys flock round him, and the people stare: }

o stiff, so mute! some statue you would swear, }

tepped from its pedestal to take the air! }

nd here, while town, and court, and city roars,

ith mobs, and duns, and soldiers at their doors;

hall I, in London, act this idle part?





omposing songs for fools to get by heart?

he Temple late two brother sergeants saw,

ho deemed each other oracles of law;

ith equal talents these congenial souls,

ne lulled th' Exchequer, and one stunned the Rolls;

ach had a gravity would make you split,

nd shook his head at Murray as a wit.

Twas, sir, your law"--and "Sir, your eloquence--"

Yours, Cowper's manner"--and "yours, Talbot's sense."

hus we dispose of all poetic merit,

ours Milton's genius, and mine Homer's spirit.

all Tibbald Shakespeare, and he'll swear the nine,

ear Cibber! never matched one ode of thine.

ord! how we strut through Merlin's cave, to see

o poets there, but Stephen, you, and me.

alk with respect behind, while we at ease

eave laurel crowns, and take what names we please.

My dear Tibullus!" if that will not do,Let me be Horace, and be Ovid you:

r, I'm content, allow me Dryden's strains,

nd you shall rise up Otway for your pains."

uch do I suffer, much, to keep in peace

his jealous, waspish, wrong-head, rhyming race;

nd much must flatter, if the whim should bite

o court applause by printing what I write:

ut let the fit pass o'er, I'm wise enough,

o stop my ears to their confounded stuff.

In vain bad rhymers all mankind reject,

hey treat themselves with most profound respect;

Tis to small purpose that you hold your tongue:

ach praised within, is happy all day long;

ut how severely with themselves proceed

he men, who write such verse as we can read?

heir own strict judges, not a word they spare

hat wants, or force, or light, or weight, or care,

owe'er unwillingly it quits its place,

ay though at Court, perhaps, it may find grace:uch they'll degrade; and sometimes, in its stead,

n downright charity revive the dead;

ark where a bold expressive phrase appears,

right through the rubbish of some hundred years;

ommand old words that long have slept, to wake,

ords that wise Bacon or brave Raleigh spake;

r bid the new be English, ages hence,

For use will farther what's begot by sense)





our the full tide of eloquence along, }

erenely pure, and yet divinely strong, }

ich with the treasures of each foreign tongue; }

rune the luxuriant, the uncouth refine,

ut show no mercy to an empty line:

hen polish all, with so much life and ease,

ou think 'tis nature, and a knack to please:

But ease in writing flows from art, not chance;

s those move easiest who have learned to dance."

If such the plague and pains to write by rule,

etter, say I, be pleased and play the fool;

all, if you will, bad rhyming a disease,

t gives men happiness, or leaves them ease.

here lived in primo Georgii, they record,

worthy member, no small fool, a lord;

ho, though the House was up, delighted sate,

eard, noted, answered, as in full debate:

n all but this, a man of sober life,ond of his friend, and civil to his wife;

ot quite a madman, though a pasty fell,

nd much too wise to walk into a well.

im, the damned doctors and his friends immured,

hey bled, they cupped, they purged; in short, they cured.

hereat the gentleman began to stare--

My friends!" he cried, "plague take you for your care!

hat from a patriot of distinguished note,

ave bled and purged me to a simple vote."

ell, on the whole, plain prose must be my fate:

isdom (curse on it) will come soon or late.

here is a time when poets will grow dull:

ll e'en leave verses to the boys at school:

o rules of poetry no more confined,

learn to smooth and harmonise my mind,

each every thought within its bounds to roll,

nd keep the equal measure of the soul.

Soon as I enter at my country door

y mind resumes the thread it dropt before;houghts, which at Hyde Park Corner I forgot,

eet and rejoin me, in the pensive grot.

here all alone, and compliments apart,

ask these sober questions of my heart.

If, when the more you drink, the more you crave,

ou tell the doctor; when the more you have,

he more you want; why not with equal ease

onfess as well your folly, as disease?





nclose whole downs in walls, 'tis all a joke!

nexorable death shall level all,

nd trees, and stones, and farms, and farmer fall.

Gold, silver, ivory, vases sculptured high,

aint, marble, gems, and robes of Persian dye,

here are who have not--and thank heaven there are,

ho, if they have not, think not worth their care,

alk what you will of taste, my friend, you'll find,

wo of a face, as soon as of a mind.

hy, of two brothers, rich and restless one

loughs, burns, manures, and toils from sun to sun;

he other slights, for women, sports, and wines,

ll Townshend's turnips, and all Grosvenor's mines;

hy one like Bu--with pay and scorn content,

ows and votes on, in Court and Parliament;

ne, driven by strong benevolence of soul,

hall fly, like Oglethorpe, from pole to pole;

s known alone to that directing power,ho forms the genius in the natal hour;

hat God of Nature, who, within us still,

nclines our action, not constrains our will:

arious of temper, as of face or frame.

ach individual: His great end the same.

Yes, sir, how small soever be my heap,

part I will enjoy, as well as keep.

y heir may sigh, and think it want of grace

man so poor would live without a place;

ut sure no statute in his favour says

ow free, or frugal, I shall pass my days:

who at some times spend, at others spare,

ivided between carelessness and care.

Tis one thing madly to disperse my store;

nother, not to heed to treasure more!

lad, like a boy, to snatch the first good day,

nd pleased, if sordid want be far away.

What is't to me (a passenger, God wot)

hether my vessel be first-rate or not?he ship itself may make a better figure,

ut I that sail, am neither less nor bigger,

neither strut with every favouring breath,

or strive with all the tempest in my teeth.

n power, wit, figure, virtue, fortune, placed

ehind the foremost and before the last.

"But why all this of avarice? I have none."

wish you joy, sir, of a tyrant gone;





ut does no other lord it at this hour,

s wild and mad: the avarice of power?

oes neither rage inflame, nor fear appal?

ot the black fear of death, that saddens all?

ith terrors round, can Reason hold her throne,

espise the known, nor tremble at the unknown?

urvey both worlds, intrepid and entire,

n spite of witches, devils, dreams, and fire?

leased to look forward, pleased to look behind,

nd count each birthday with a grateful mind?

as life no sourness, drawn so near its end?

anst thou endure a foe, forgive a friend?

as age but melted the rough parts away,

s winter fruits grow mild ere they decay?

r will you think, my friend, your business done,

hen, of a hundred thorns, you pull out one?

Learn to live well, or fairly make your will;

ou've played, and loved, and ate, and drank your fill:alk sober off; before a sprightlier age

omes tittering on, and shoves you from the stage;

eave such to trifle with more grace and ease,

here folly pleases, and whose follies please.

HE SATIRES OF DR. JOHN DONNE, DEAN OF ST. PAUL'S.

ERSIFIED.

"Quid vetat et nosmet _Lucili_ scripta legentes

Quaerere, num illius, num rerum dura negarit

Versiculos natura magis factos, et euntes

Mollius?"

HOR. (Sat. LX. 56-9).

ATIRE II.

es; thank my stars! as early as I knew

his town, I had the sense to hate it too;

et here; as even in hell, there must be still

ne giant-vice, so excellently ill,





hat all beside, one pities, not abhors;

s who knows Sappho, smiles at other whores.

I grant that poetry's a crying sin;

t brought (no doubt) the excise and army in:

atched like the plague, or love, the Lord knows how,

ut that the cure is starving, all allow.

et like the Papist's, is the poet's state,

oor and disarmed, and hardly worth your hate!

ere a lean bard, whose wit could never give

imself a dinner, makes an actor live:

he thief condemned, in law already dead,

o prompts, and saves a rogue who cannot read.

hus, as the pipes of some carved organ move,

he gilded puppets dance and mount above.

eaved by the breath the inspiring bellows blow:

he inspiring bellows lie and pant below.

One sings the fair; but songs no longer move;

o rat is rhymed to death, nor maid to love:n love's, in nature's spite, the siege they hold,

nd scorn the flesh, the devil, and all but gold.

These write to lords, some mean reward to get,

s needy beggars sing at doors for meat.

hose write because all write, and so have still

xcuse for writing, and for writing ill.

Wretched, indeed! but far more wretched yet

s he who makes his meal on others' wit:

Tis changed, no doubt, from what it was before;

is rank digestion makes it wit no more:

ense, past through him, no longer is the same;

or food digested takes another name.

I pass o'er all those confessors and martyrs

ho live like S-tt-n, or who die like Chartres,

ut-cant old Esdras, or out-drink his heir,

ut-usure Jews, or Irishmen out-swear;

icked as pages, who in early years

ct sins which Prisca's confessor scarce hears.

ven those I pardon, for whose sinful sakechoolmen new tenements in hell must make;

f whose strange crimes no canonist can tell

n what Commandment's large contents they dwell.

One, one man only breeds my just offence;

hom crimes gave wealth, and wealth gave impudence:

ime brings all natural events to pass,

nd made him an attorney of an ass.

o young divine, new beneficed, can be





ore pert, more proud, more positive than he.

hat further could I wish the fop to do,

ut turn a wit, and scribble verses too;

ierce the soft labyrinth of a lady's ear

ith rhymes of this per cent. and that per year?

r court a wife, spread out his wily parts,

ike nets or lime-twigs, for rich widows' hearts;

all himself barrister to every wench,

nd woo in language of the pleas and bench?

anguage, which Boreas might to Auster hold

ore rough than forty Germans when they scold.

Cursed be the wretch, so venal and so vain:

altry and proud, as drabs in Drury Lane.

Tis such a bounty as was never known,

f Peter deigns to help you to your own:

hat thanks, what praise, if Peter but supplies,

nd what a solemn face if he denies!

rave, as when prisoners shake the head and swearTwas only suretyship that brought 'em there.

is office keeps your parchment fates entire,

e starves with cold to save them from the fire;

or you he walks the streets through rain or dust,

or not in chariots Peter puts his trust;

or you he sweats and labours at the laws,

akes God to witness he affects your cause,

nd lies to every lord in every thing,

ike a king's favourite--or like a king.

hese are the talents that adorn them all,

rom wicked waters even to godly * *

ot more of simony beneath black gowns,

or more of bastardy in heirs to crowns.

n shillings and in pence at first they deal;

nd steal so little, few perceive they steal;

ill, like the sea, they compass all the land,

rom Scots to Wight, from mount to Dover strand:

nd when rank widows purchase luscious nights,

r when a duke to Jansen punts at White's,r City-heir in mortgage melts away;

atan himself feels far less joy than they.

iecemeal they win this acre first, then that,

lean on, and gather up the whole estate.

hen strongly fencing ill-got wealth by law,

ndentures, covenants, articles thy draw,

arge as the fields themselves, and larger far

han civil codes, with all their glosses, are;





o vast, our new divines, we must confess,

re fathers of the Church for writing less.

ut let them write for you, each rogue impairs

he deeds, and dexterously omits, ses heires;

o commentator can more slily pass

er a learned, unintelligible place;

r, in quotation, shrewd divines leave out

hose words, that would against them clear the doubt.

So Luther thought the Paternoster long,

hen doomed to say his beads and even-song;

ut having cast his cowl, and left those laws,

dds to Christ's prayer, the Power and Glory clause.

The lands are bought; but where are to be found

hose ancient woods, that shaded all the ground?

e see no new-built palaces aspire,

o kitchens emulate the vestal fire.

here are those troops of poor, that thronged of yore

he good old landlord's hospitable door?ell, I could wish, that still in lordly domes

ome beasts were killed, though not whole hecatombs;

hat both extremes were banished from their walls,

arthusian fasts, and fulsome bacchanals;

nd all mankind might that just mean observe,

n which none e'er could surfeit, none could starve.

hese as good works, 'tis true, we all allow;

ut oh! these works are not in fashion now:

ike rich old wardrobes, things extremely rare,

xtremely fine, but what no man will wear.

Thus much I've said, I trust, without offence;

et no Court sycophant pervert my sense,

or sly informer watch these words to draw

ithin the reach of treason, or the law.

ATIRE IV.

ell, if it be my time to quit the stage,

dieu to all the follies of the age!

die in charity with fool and knave,

ecure of peace at least beyond the grave.

ve had my purgatory here betimes,

nd paid for all my satires, all my rhymes.

he poet's hell, its tortures, fiends, and flames,

o this were trifles, toys, and empty names.





With foolish pride my heart was never fired,

or the vain itch to admire, or be admired;

hoped for no commission from his Grace;

bought no benefice, I begged no place;

ad no new verses, nor new suit to show;

et went to Court!--the Devil would have it so.

ut, as the fool that in reforming days

ould go to Mass in jest (as story says)

ould not but think, to pay his fine was odd,

ince 'twas no formed design of serving God;

o was I punished, as if full as proud

s prone to ill, as negligent of good,

s deep in debt, without a thought to pay, }

s vain, as idle, and as false, as they }

ho live at Court, for going once that way! }

carce was I entered, when, behold! there came

thing which Adam had been posed to name;

oah had refused it lodging in his Ark,here all the race of reptiles might embark:

verier monster, that on Afric's shore

he sun e'er got, or slimy Nilus bore,

r Sloane or Woodward's wondrous shelves contain,

ay, all that lying travellers can feign.

he watch would hardly let him pass at noon,

t night, would swear him dropped out of the moon.

ne whom the mob, when next we find or make

Popish plot, shall for a Jesuit take,

nd the wise Justice starting from his chair

ry: "By your priesthood tell me what you are?"

Such was the wight; the apparel on his back

hough coarse, was reverend, and though bare, was black:

he suit, if by the fashion one might guess,

as velvet in the youth of good Queen Bess,

ut mere tuff-taffety what now remained;

o time, that changes all things, had ordained!

ur sons shall see it leisurely decay,

irst turn plain rash, then vanish quite away.This thing has travelled, speaks each language too,

nd know what's fit for very state to do;

f whose best phrase and courtly accent joined,

e forms one tongue, exotic and refined,

alkers I've learned to bear; Motteux I knew,

enley himself I've heard, and Budgel too.

he doctor's wormwood style, the hash of tongues

pedant makes, the storm of Gonson's lungs,





queaks like a high-stretched lutestring, and replies:

Oh, 'tis the sweetest of all earthly things

o gaze on princes, and to talk of kings!"

Then, happy man who shows the tombs!" said I,

He dwells amidst the Royal Family;

e every day, from king to king can walk,

f all our Harries, all our Edwards talk,

nd get by speaking truth of monarchs dead,

hat few can of the living, ease and bread."

Lord, sir, a mere mechanic! strangely low,

nd coarse of phrase--your English all are so.

ow elegant your Frenchmen?" "Mine, d'ye mean?

have but one, I hope the fellow's clean."

Oh! sir, politely so! nay, let me die,

our only wearing is your Paduasoy."

Not, sir, my only, I have better still,

nd this you see is but my dishabille--."

ild to get loose, his patience I provoke,istake, confound, object at all he spoke.

ut as coarse iron, sharpened, mangles more,

nd itch most hurts when angered to a sore;

o when you plague a fool, 'tis still the curse,

ou only make the matter worse and worse.

He past it o'er; affects an easy smile

t all my peevishness, and turns his style.

e asks, "What news?" I tell him of new plays,

ew eunuchs, harlequins, and operas.

e hears, and as a still with simples in it

etween each drop it gives, stays half a minute,

oth to enrich me with too quick replies,

y little and by little drops his lies.

ere household trash! of birth-nights, balls, and shows,

ore than ten Holinsheds, or Halls, or Stowes.

hen the Queen frowned, or smiled, he knows; and what

subtle minister may make of that;

ho sins with whom: who got his pension rug,

r quickened a reversion by a drug;hose place is quartered out, three parts in four,

nd whether to a bishop, or a w***e;

ho having lost his credit, pawned his rent,

s therefore fit to have a Government;

ho in the secret, deals in stocks secure,

nd cheats the unknowing widow and the poor;

ho makes a trust or charity a job,

nd gets an Act of Parliament to rob;





ill fancy coloured it, and formed a dream.

vision hermits can to hell transport,

nd forced even me to see the damned at Court.

ot Dante dreaming all the infernal state,

eheld such scenes of envy, sin, and hate.

ase fear becomes the guilty, not the free;

uits tyrants, plunderers, but suits not me:

hall I, the terror of this sinful town,

are, if a liveried lord or smile or frown?

ho cannot flatter, and detest who can,

remble before a noble serving-man?

my fair mistress, Truth! shall I quit thee

or huffing, braggart, puffed nobility?

hou, who since yesterday hast rolled o'er all

he busy, idle blockheads of the ball,

ast thou, oh, sun! beheld an emptier fort,

han such who swell this bladder of a Court?

ow plague on those who show a Court in wax!t ought to bring all courtiers on their backs:

uch painted puppets! such a varnished race

f hollow gewgaws, only dress and face!

uch waxen noses, stately staring things--

o wonder some folks bow, and think them kings.

See! where the British youth, engaged no more

t Fig's, at White's, with felons, or a bore,

ay their last duty to the Court and come

ll fresh and fragrant, to the drawing-room;

n hues as gay, and odours as divine,

s the fair fields they sold to look so fine.

That's velvet for a king!" the flatterer swears

Tis true, for ten days hence 'twill be King Lear's.

ur Court may justly to our stage give rules,

hat helps it both to fools-coats and to fools.

nd why not players strut in courtiers' clothes?

or these are actors too, as well as those:

ants reach all states; they beg but better drest,

nd all is splended poverty at best.ainted for sight, and essenced for the smell,

ike frigates fraught with spice and cochinel,

ail in the ladies: how each pirate eyes

o weak a vessel, and so rich a prize!

op-gallant he, and she in all her trim,

e boarding her, she striking sail to him:

Dear Countess! you have charms all hearts to hit!"

nd "Sweet Sir Fopling! you have so much wit!"





uch wits and beauties are not praised for nought,

or both the beauty and the wit are bought.

Twould burst even Heraclitus with the spleen

o see those antics, Fopling and Courtin:

he presence seems, with things so richly odd,

he mosque of Mahound, or some queer Pagod.

ee them survey their limbs by Durer's rules,

f all beau-kind the best proportioned fools!

djust their clothes, and to confession draw

hose venial sins, an atom, or a straw;

ut oh! what terrors must distract the soul

onvicted of that mortal crime, a hole;

r should one pound of powder less bespread

hose monkey tails that wag behind their head.

hus finished, and corrected to a hair,

hey march, to prate their hour before the fair.

o first to preach a white-gloved chaplain goes,

ith band of lily, and with cheek of rose,weeter than Sharon, in immaculate trim,

eatness itself impertinent in him.

et but the ladies smile, and they are blest:

rodigious! how the things protest, protest:

eace, fools, or Gonson will for Papists seize you,

f once he catch you at your Jesu! Jesu!

Nature made every fop to plague his brother,

ust as one beauty mortifies another.

ut here's the captain that will plague them both,

hose air cries Arm! whose very look's an oath:

he captain's honest, Sirs, and that's enough,

hough his soul's bullet, and his body buff.

e spits fore-right; his haughty chest before,

ike battering rams, beats open every door:

nd with a face as red, and as awry,

s Herod's hangdogs in old tapestry,

carecrow to boys, the breeding woman's curse,

as yet a strange ambition to look worse;

onfounds the civil, keeps the rude in awe,ests like a licensed fool, commands like law.

Frighted, I quit the room, but leave it so

s men from jails to execution go;

or hung with deadly sins I see the wall,

nd lined with giants deadlier than 'em all:

ach man an Askapart, of strength to toss

or quoits, both Temple Bar and Charing Cross.

cared at the grizzly forms, I sweat, I fly,





nd shake all o'er, like a discovered spy.

Courts are too much for wits so weak as mine:

harge them with Heaven's artillery, bold divine!

rom such alone the great rebukes endure

hose satire's sacred, and whose rage secure:

'Tis mine to wash a few light stains, but theirs

o deluge sin, and drown a Court in tears.

owever, what's now Apocrypha, my wit,

n time to come, may pass for holy writ.

PILOGUE TO THE SATIRES.

N TWO DIALOGUES.

RITTEN IN MDCCXXXVIII.

IALOGUE I.

Fr. Not twice a twelvemonth you appear in print,

nd when it comes, the Court see nothing in't.

ou grow correct, that once with rapture writ,

nd are, besides, too moral for a wit.

ecay of parts, alas! we all must feel--

hy now, this moment, don't I see you steal?

Tis all from Horace; Horace long before ye

aid, "Tories called him Whig, and Whigs a Tory;"

nd taught his Romans, in much better metre,

To laugh at fools who put their trust in Peter."

But Horace, sir, was delicate, was nice;

ubo observes, he lashed no sort of vice;

orace would say, Sir Billy served the crown,

lunt could do business, H-ggins knew the town;

n Sappho touch the failings of the sex,

n reverend bishops note some small neglects,

nd own, the Spaniard did a waggish thing,ho cropped our ears, and sent them to the king.

is sly, polite, insinuating style

ould please at Court, and make Augustus smile:

n artful manager, that crept between

is friend and shame, and was a kind of screen.

ut 'faith, your friends will soon be sore;

atriots there are, who wish you'd jest no more--

nd where's the glory? 'twill be only thought





he Great Man never offered you a groat.

o, see Sir Robert--P. See Sir Robert!--hum--

nd never laugh--for all my life to come?

een him I have, but in his happier hour

f social pleasure, ill-exchanged for power;

een him, unencumbered with the venal tribe,

mile without art, and win without a bribe.

ould he oblige me? let me only find

e does not think me what he thinks mankind.

ome, come, at all I laugh he laughs, no doubt;

he only difference is I dare laugh out.

F. Why, yes: with Scripture still you may be free;

horse-laugh, if you please, at honesty:

joke on Jekyl, or some odd old Whig

ho never changed his principle, or wig:

patriot is a fool in every age,

hom all Lord Chamberlains allow the stage:

hese nothing hurts; they keep their fashion still,nd wear their strange old virtue, as they will.

f any ask you, "Who's the man, so near

is prince, that writes in verse, and has his ear?"

hy, answer, Lyttelton, and I'll engage

he worthy youth shall ne'er be in a rage;

ut were his verses vile, his whisper base,

ou'd quickly find him in Lord Fanny's case.

ejanus, Wolsey, hurt not honest Fleury,

ut well may put some statesmen in a fury.

Laugh, then, at any, but at fools or foes;

hese you but anger, and you mend not those.

augh at your friends, and, if your friends are sore,

o much the better, you may laugh the more.

o vice and folly to confine the jest,

ets half the world, God knows, against the rest;

id not the sneer of more impartial men

t sense and virtue, balance all again.

udicious wits spread wide the ridicule,

nd charitably comfort knave and fool.P. Dear sir, forgive the prejudice of youth;

dieu distinction, satire, warmth, and truth!

ome, harmless characters, that no one hit;

ome, Henley's oratory, Osborne's wit!

he honey dropping from Favonio's tongue,

he flowers of Bubo, and the flow of Y--ng!

he gracious dew of pulpit eloquence,

nd all the well-whipped cream of courtly sense,





hat first was H--vy's, F---'s next, and then

he S--te's, and then H--vy's once again.

come, that easy Ciceronian style,

o Latin, yet so English all the while,

s, though the pride of Middleton and Bland,

ll boys may read, and girls may understand!

hen might I sing, without the least offence,

nd all I sung should be the nation's sense;

r teach the melancholy muse to mourn,

ang the sad verse on Carolina's urn,

nd hail her passage to the realms of rest,

ll parts performed, and all her children blessed!

o--satire is no more--I feel it die--

o Gazetteer more innocent than I--

nd let, a' God's name, every fool and knave

e graced through life, and flattered in his grave.

F. Why so? if satire knows its time and place

ou still may lash the greatest--in disgrace:or merit will by turns forsake them all;

ould you know when? exactly when they fall.

ut let all satire in all changes spare

mmortal S--k, and grave De--re.

ilent and soft, as saints remove to heaven,

ll ties dissolved and every sin forgiven,

hese may some gentle ministerial wing

eceive, and place for ever near a king!

here, where no passion, pride, or shame transport,

ulled with the sweet nepenthe of a Court;

here, where no father's, brother's, friend's disgrace

nce break their rest, or stir them from their place:

ut past the sense of human miseries,

ll tears are wiped for ever from all eyes;

o cheek is known to blush, no heart to throb,

ave when they lose a question, or a job.

P. Good Heaven forbid, that I should blast their glory,

ho know how like Whig ministers to Tory,

nd, when three sovereigns died, could scarce be vexed,onsidering what a gracious prince was next.

ave I, in silent wonder, seen such things

s pride in slaves, and avarice in kings;

nd at a peer, or peeress, shall I fret,

ho starves a sister, or forswears a debt?

irtue, I grant you, is an empty boast;

ut shall the dignity of vice be lost?

e gods! shall Cibber's son, without rebuke,





wear like a lord, or rich out-rake a duke?

favourite's porter with his master vie,

e bribed as often, and as often lie?

hall Ward draw contracts with a statesman's skill?

r Japhet pocket, like his grace, a will?

s it for Bond or Peter (paltry things)

o pay their debts, or keep their faith, like kings?

f Blount despatched himself, he played the man,

nd so may'st thou, illustrious Passeran!

ut shall a printer, weary of his life,

earn, from their books, to hang himself and wife?

his, this, my friend, I cannot, must not bear;

ice thus abused, demands a nation's care;

his calls the Church to deprecate our sin,

nd hurls the thunder of the laws on gin.

Let modest Foster, if he will, excel

en Metropolitans in preaching well;

simple Quaker, or a Quaker's wife,utdo Llandaff in doctrine--yea in life:

et humble Allen, with an awkward shame,

o good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.

irtue may choose the high or low degree,

Tis just alike to virtue, and to me;

well in a monk, or light upon a king,

he's still the same, beloved, contented thing.

ice is undone, if she forgets her birth,

nd stoops from angels to the dregs of earth:

ut 'tis the Fall degrades her to a w***e;

et greatness own her, and she's mean no more;

er birth, her beauty, crowds and courts confess;

haste matrons praise her, and grave bishops bless;

n golden chains the willing world she draws,

nd hers the Gospel is, and hers the laws,

ounts the tribunal, lifts her scarlet head,

nd sees pale Virtue carted in her stead.

o! at the wheels of her triumphal car

ld England's genius, rough with many a scar,ragged in the dust! his arms hang idly round,

is flag inverted trails along the ground!

ur youth, all liveried o'er with foreign gold,

efore her dance: behind her crawl the old!

ee thronging millions to the Pagod run,

nd offer country, parent, wife, or son;

ear her black trumpet through the land proclaim

hat not to be corrupted is the shame.





n soldier, Churchman, patriot, man in power,

Tis avarice all, ambition is no more!

ee, all our nobles begging to be slaves!

ee, all our fools aspiring to be knaves!

he wit of cheats, the courage of a w***e,

re what ten thousand envy and adore;

ll, all look up, with reverential awe,

t crimes that 'scape, or triumph o'er the law;

hile truth, worth, wisdom, daily they decry--

Nothing is sacred now but villainy."

Yet may this verse (if such a verse remain)

how there was one who held it in disdain.

IALOGUE II.

Fr. 'Tis all a libel--Paxton (sir) will say. }P. Not yet, my friend! to-morrow 'faith it may }

nd for that very cause I print to-day. }

ow should I fret to mangle every line,

n reverence to the sins of thirty-nine!

ice with such giant strides comes on amain,

nvention strives to be before in vain;

eign what I will, and paint it e'er so strong,

ome rising genius sins up to my song.

F. Yet none but you by name the guilty lash;

ven Guthry saves half Newgate by a dash.

pare, then, the person, and expose the vice.

P. How, sir? not damn the sharper, but the dice?

ome on, then, satire! general, unconfined,

pread thy broad wing, and souse on all the kind.

e statesmen, priests, of one religion all!

e tradesmen vile, in army, court, or hall,

e reverend atheists--

F. Scandal! name them! who?

P. Why that's the thing you bid me not to do.ho starved a sister, who forswore a debt,

never named; the town's inquiring yet.

he poisoning dame--

F. You mean--

P. I don't.

F. You do!

P. See, now I keep the secret, and not you!

he bribing statesman--





F. Hold, too high you go.

P. The bribed elector--

F. There you stoop too low.

P. I fain would please you, if I knew with what;

ell me, which knave is lawful game, which not?

ust great offenders, once escaped the Crown,

ike royal harts, be never more run down?

dmit your law to spare the knight requires,

s beasts of nature may we hunt the squires?

uppose I censure--you know what I mean--

o save a bishop, may I name a dean?

F. A dean, sir? no: his fortune is not made;

ou hurt a man that's rising in the trade.

P. If not the tradesman who set up to-day,

uch less the 'prentice who to-morrow may.

own, down, proud satire! though a realm be spoiled,

rraign no mightier thief than wretched Wild;

r, if a court or country's made a job,o drench a pickpocket, and join the mob.

But, sir, I beg you (for the love of vice!)

he matter's weighty, pray consider twice;

ave you less pity for the needy cheat,

he poor and friendless villain, than the great?

las! the small discredit of a bribe

carce hurts the lawyer, but undoes the scribe.

hen better, sure, it charity becomes

o tax directors, who (thank God!) have plums;

till better, ministers; or, if the thing

ay pinch even there--why lay it on a king.

F. Stop! stop!

P. Must satire, then, nor rise nor fall?

peak out, and bid me blame no rogues at all.

F. Yes, strike that Wild, I'll justify the blow.

P. Strike? why the man was hanged ten year ago:

ho now that obsolete example fears?

ven Peter trembles only for his ears.

F. What? always Peter? Peter thinks you mad;ou make men desperate if they once are bad:

lse might he take to virtue some years hence--

P. As S---k, if he lives, will love the prince.

F. Strange spleen to S---k!

P. Do I wrong the man?

od knows, I praise a courtier where I can.

hen I confess, there is who feels for fame,

nd melts to goodness, need I Scarb'row name?





lease let me own, in Esher's peaceful grove

Where Kent and Nature vie for Pelham's love),

he scene, the master, opening to my view,

sit and dream I see my Craggs anew!

Even in a bishop I can spy desert;

ecker is decent, Rundel has a heart,

anners with candour are to Benson given,

o Berkeley, every virtue under Heaven.

But does the Court a worthy man remove?

hat instant, I declare, he has my love:

shun his zenith, court his mild decline;

hus Somers once, and Halifax, were mine.

ft, in the clear, still mirror of retreat,

studied Shrewsbury, the wise and great:

arleton's calm sense, and Stanhope's noble flame,

ompared, and knew their generous end the same;

ow pleasing Atterbury's softer hour!

ow shined the soul, unconquered in the tower!ow can I Pulteney, Chesterfield forget,

hile Roman spirit charms, and attic wit:

rgyll, the state's whole thunder born to wield,

nd shake alike the senate and the field:

r Wyndham, just to freedom and the throne,

he master of our passions, and his own?

ames, which I long have loved, nor loved in vain,

anked with their friends, not numbered with their train;

nd if yet higher the proud list should end,

till let me say: No follower, but a friend.

Yet think not, friendship only prompts my lays;

follow Virtue: where she shines, I praise:

oint she to priest or elder, Whig or Tory,

r round a Quaker's beaver cast a glory.

never (to my sorrow, I declare)

ined with the Man of Ross, or my Lord Mayor.

ome in their choice of friends (nay, look not grave)

ave still a secret bias to a knave:

o find an honest man I beat about,nd love him, court him, praise him, in or out.

F. Then why so few commended?

P. Not so fierce!

ind you the virtue, and I'll find the verse.

ut random praise--the task can ne'er be done;

ach mother asks it for her booby son,

ach widow asks it for the best of men,

or him she weeps, and him she weds again.





raise cannot stoop, like satire, to the ground;

he number may be hanged, but not be crowned.

nough for half the greatest of these days

o 'scape my censure, not expect my praise.

nd they not rich? what more can they pretend?

are they to hope a poet for their friend?

hat Richelieu wanted, Louis scarce could gain,

nd what young Ammon wished, but wished in vain.

o power the muse's friendship can command;

o power when virtue claims it, can withstand:

o Cato, Virgil paid one honest line;

let my country's friends illumine mine!

hat are you thinking?

F. 'Faith, the thought's no sin:

think your friends are out, and would be in.

P. If merely to come in, sir, they go out,

he way they take is strangely round about.

F. They too may be corrupted, you'll allow?P. I only call those knaves who are so now.

s that too little? Come, then, I'll comply--

pirit of Arnall! aid me while I lie.

obham's a coward, Polwarth is a slave,

nd Littelton a dark, designing knave,

t. John has ever been a wealthy fool--

ut let me add, Sir Robert's mighty dull,

as never made a friend in private life,

nd was, besides, a tyrant to his wife.

But pray, when others praise him, do I blame?

all Verres, Wolsey, any odious name?

hy rail they, then, if but a wreath of mine,

h, all-accomplished St. John! deck thy shrine?

What? shall each spur-galled hackney of the day,

hen Paxton gives him double pots and pay,

r each new-pensioned sycophant, pretend

o break my windows, if I treat a friend?

hen wisely plead, to me they meant no hurt,

ut 'twas my guest at whom they threw the dirt?ure, if I spare the minister, no rules

f honour bind me, not to maul his tools;

ome, if they cannot cut, it may be said

is saws are toothless, and his hatchet's lead.

If angered Turenne, once upon a day,

o see a footman kicked that took his pay:

ut when he heard the affront the fellow gave,

new one a man of honour, one a knave;





he prudent general turned it to a jest,

nd begged, he'd take the pains to kick the rest:

hich not at present having time to do--

F. Hold, sir! for God's sake where's the affront to you?

gainst your worship when had S---k writ?

r P--ge poured forth the torrent of his wit?

r grant the bard whose distich all commend

In power a servant, out of power a friend)

o W---le guilty of some venial sin;

hat's that to you who ne'er was out nor in?

The priest whose flattery be-dropt the Crown,

ow hurt he you? he only stained the gown.

nd how did, pray, the florid youth offend,

hose speech you took, and gave it to a friend?

P. 'Faith, it imports not much from whom it came; }

hoever borrowed, could not be to blame, }

ince the whole house did afterwards the same. }

et courtly wits to wits afford supply,s hog to hog in huts of Westphaly;

f one, through Nature's bounty, or his Lord's,

as what the frugal, dirty soil affords,

rom him the next receives it, thick or thin,

s pure a mess almost as it came in;

he blessed benefit, not there confined,

rops to the third, who nuzzles close behind;

rom tail to mouth, they feed and they carouse:

he last full fairly gives it to the House.

F. This filthy simile, this beastly line,

uite turns my stomach--

P. So does flattery mine;

nd all your courtly civet-cats can vent,

erfume to you, to me is excrement.

ut hear me further--Japhet, 'tis agreed,

rit not, and Chartres scarce could write or read,

n all the courts of Pindus guiltless quite;

ut pens can forge, my friend, that cannot write;

nd must no egg in Japhet's face be thrownecause the deed he forged was not my own?

ust never patriot, then, declaim at gin,

nless, good man! he has been fairly in?

o zealous pastor blame a failing spouse

ithout a staring reason on his brows?

nd each blasphemer quite escape the rod

ecause the insult's not on man, but God?

Ask you what provocation I have had?





he strong antipathy of good to bad.

hen truth or virtue an affront endures,

he affront is mine, my friend, and should be yours.

ine, as a foe professed to false pretence,

ho think a coxcomb's honour like his sense;

ine, as a friend to every worthy mind

nd mine as man, who feel for all mankind.

F. You're strangely proud.

P. So proud, I am no slave: }

o impudent I own myself no knave: }

o odd, my country's ruin makes me grave. }

es, I am proud; I must be proud to see

en not afraid of God afraid of me:

afe from the Bar, the Pulpit, and the Throne,

et touched and shamed by ridicule alone.

O, sacred weapon left for truth's defence,

ole dread of folly, vice, and insolence!

o all but heaven-directed hands deniedhe muse may give thee, but the gods must guide:

everent I touch thee! but with honest zeal,

o rouse the watchmen of the public weal;

o virtue's work provoke the tardy hall,

nd goad the prelate slumbering in his stall.

e tinsel insects whom a Court maintains

hat counts your beauties only by your stains,

pin all your cobwebs o'er the eye of day!

he muse's wing shall brush you all away;

ll his Grace preaches, all his Lordship sings,

ll that makes saints of queens, and gods of kings.

ll, all but truth, drops dead-born from the press,

ike the last gazette or the last address.

When black ambition stains a public cause,

monarch's sword when mad vain-glory draws,

ot Waller's wreath can hide the nation's scar

or Boileau turn the feather to a star.

Not so, when diademed with rays divine,

ouched with the flame that breaks from Virtue's shrine,er priestless muse forbids the good to die,

nd opes the temple of Eternity.

here other trophies deck the truly brave,

han such as Anstis casts into the grave;

ar other stars than * and * * wear,

nd may descend to Mordington from Stair:

Such as on Hough's unsullied mitre shine,

r beam, good Digby, from a heart like thine).





et envy howl, while heaven's whole chorus sings,

nd bark at honour not conferred by kings:

et flattery sickening see the incense rise

weet to the world, and grateful to the skies:

ruth guards the poet, sanctifies the line,

nd makes immortal, verse as mean as mine.

Yes, the last pen for freedom let me draw,

hen truth stands trembling on the edge of law;

ere, last of Britons! let your names be read;

re none, none living? let me praise the dead,

nd for that cause which made your fathers shine

all by the votes of their degenerate line.

Fr. Alas! alas! pray end what you began,

nd write next winter more essays on man.

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