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But Heaven's juft balance equal will appear,

While those are plac'd in Hope, and these in Fear: 70 Not prefent good or ill,' the joy or curse,

But future views of better, or of worse.

Oh, fons of earth! attempt ye ftill to rise,
By mountains pil'd on mountains, to the fkies?
Heaven still with laughter the vain toil furveys,
And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.

75

Know, all the good that individuals find,
Or God and Nature meant to mere Mankind,
Reafon's whole pleasure, all the joys of Senfe,
Lie in three words, Health, Peace, and Competence. Sa
But Health confifts with Temperance alone;
And Peace, oh Virtue! Peace is all thy own.
The good or bad the gifts of Fortune gain;
But these less taste them, as they worse obtain.
Say, in pursuit of profit or delight,

Who risk the moft, that take wrong means, or right?
Of Vice or Virtue, whether bleft or curft,
Which meets contempt, or which compassion first?
Count all th' advantage profperous Vice attains,
'Tis but what Virtue flies from and difdains:
And grant the bad what happiness they would,
One they must want, which is, to pass for good.
Oh blind to truth, and God's whole fcheme below,
Who fancy Blifs to Vice, to Virtue Woe!

85

90

Who fees and follows that great scheme the best,
Best knows the bleffing, and will most be bleft.

95

VARIATION.

After ver. 92, in the MS.

Let fober Moralifts correct their speech,

No bad man's happy; he is great, or rich.

But

100

But fools, the Good alone, unhappy call,
For ills or accidents that chance to all.
See Falkland dies, the virtuous and the juft!
See godlike Turenne proftrate on the duft!
See Sidney bleeds amid the martial ftrife!
Was this their Virtue, or contempt of Life?
Say, was it Virtue, more though Heaven ne'er gave,
Lamented Digby! funk thee to the grave?
Tell me, if Virtue made the Son expire,
Why, full of days and honour, lives the Sire?
Why drew Marseilles' good bishop purer breath,
When Nature ficken'd, and each gale was death?
Or why fo long (in life if long can be)

Lent Heaven a parent to the poor and me?
What makes all physical or moral ill?
There deviates Nature, and here wanders will.
God fends not ill; if rightly understood,

Or partial Ill is universal Good,

Or Change admits, or Nature lets it fall,
Short, and but rare, till Man improv'd it all.
We just as wifely might of Heaven complain
That righteous Abel was destroy'd by Cain,
As that the virtuous fon is ill at ease

105

110

115

120

When his lewd father gave the dire disease.
Think we, like fome weak Prince, th' Eternal Cause
Prone for his favourites to reverse his laws?

VARIATION.

After ver. 116, in the MS.

Of every evil, fince the world began,
The real fource is not in God, but man.

Shall

Shall burning Etna, if a fage requires, Forget to thunder, and recall her fires?

On air or fea new motions be imprest,
Oh blameless Bethel! to relieve thy breast?

When the loose mountain trembles from on high,
Shall gravitation ceafe, if you go by?

Or fome old temple, nodding to its fall,

For Chartres' head referve the hanging wall?
But ftill this world (fo fitted for the knave)
Contents us not. A better fhall we have?
A kingdom of the Juft then let it be :
But first confider how thofe Juft agree.
The good muft merit God's peculiar care;
But who, but God, can tell us who they are?

125

130

135

One thinks on Calvin Heaven's own Spirit fell;
Another deems him inftrument of hell;

If Calvin feel Heaven's bleffing, or its rod,

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

140

What shocks one part, will edify the rest,

Nor with one fyftem can they all be blest.
The very beft will variously incline,

And what rewards your Virtue, punish mine.
WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT. This world, 'tis true,
Was made for Cæfar-but for Titus too;

VARIATION.

After ver. 142, in fome Editions,

Give each a Syftem, all must be at ftrife;

What different Syftems for a man and wife!

The joke, though lively, was ill placed, and therefore ftruck

out of the text.

And

And which more bleft? who chain'd his country, fay, Or he whofe Virtue figh'd to lose a day?

150

"But fometimes Virtue ftarves, while Vice is fed." What then? Is the reward of Virtue bread? That, Vice may merit, 'tis the price of toil; The knave deferves it, when he tills the foil; The knave deserves it, when he tempts the main, Where folly fights for kings, or dives for gain. The good man may be weak, be indolent; Nor is his claim to plenty, but content. But grant him riches, your demand is o'er? "No-fhall the good want Health, the good want "Power?"

155

Add Health and Power, and every earthly thing,
"Why bounded Power? why private? why no king?"
Nay, why external for internal given?

Why is not Man a God, and Earth a Heaven?
Who ask and reason thus, will scarce conceive
God gives enough, while he has more to give;
Immense the power, immense were the demand; 165
Say, at what part of nature will they stand?
What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy,
The foul's calm fun-fhine, and the heart-felt joy,
Is Virtue's prize: A better would you fix?
Then give Humility a coach and fix,
Juftice a Conqueror's fword, or Truth a gown,
Or Public Spirit its great cure, a Crown.

VARIATION.

After ver. 172, in the MS.

170

Say, what rewards this idle world imparts,
Or fit for fearching heads or honest hearts,

Weak,

Weak, foolish man! will Heaven reward us there
With the fame trash mad mortals with for here?
The Boy and Man an individual makes,
Yet figh'st thou now for apples and for cakes ?
Go, like the Indian, in another life

Expect thy dog, thy bottle, and thy wife;
As well as dream fuch trifles are affign'd,
As toys and empires, for a godlike mind.
Rewards, that either would to Virtue bring
No joy, or be destructive of the thing;
How oft by these at fixty are undone
The virtues of a faint at twenty-one!
To whom can Riches give Repute, or Trust,
Content, or Pleasure, but the Good and Juft?
Judges and Senates have been bought for gold;
Efteem and Love were never to be fold.

Oh fool! to think God hates the worthy mind,
The lover and the love of human-kind,

Whofe life is healthful, and whofe confcience clear,
Because he wants a thousand pounds a-year.

175

180

185

190

Honour and fhame from no Condition rife;
A&t well your part, there all the honour lies.
Fortune in Men has fome fmall difference made, 195
One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade;
The cobler apron'd, and the parfon gown'd,

The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd.
"What differ more (you cry) than crown and cowl!"
I'll tell you, friend! a wife man and a fool.
You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk,
Or, cobler-like, the parfon will be drunk,

200

Worth

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