ORDER is Heaven's first law; and this confeft, Some are, and muft be, greater than the rest. More rich, more wife; but who infers from hence That fuch are happier, fhocks all common fenfe. Heaven to mankind impartial we confess, If all are equal in their happiness : But mutual wants this happiness increase; All nature's difference keeps all nature's peace. Condition, circumstance is not the thing; Blifs is the fame in fubject or in king, In whom obtain defence, or who defend, In him who is, or him who finds a friend: Heaven breathes thro' every member of the whole One common bleffing, as one common foul. But fortune's gifts if each alike possest, And each were equal, muft not all contest? If then to all men happiness was meant, God in externals could not place content.

Bu

Fortune her gifts may variously dispose, And these be happy call'd, unhappy thofe ; But Heaven's just balance equal will appear, While thofe are plac'd in hope, and thefe in fear: 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 rife, By mountains pil'd on mountains, to the skies? Heaven ftill with laughter the vain toil furveys, And buries madmen in the heaps they raife.

Know, all the good that individuals find, Or God and Nature meant to mere mankind,

Reafon's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense,
Lie in three words, Health, Peace, and Competence.
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 wore obtain.

Say, in pursuit of profit or delight,

Who risk the most, that take wrong means, or right?
Of vice or virtue, whether bleft or cust,
Which meets contempt, or which compaffion first?
Count all th' advantage prosp'rous vice attains,
"Tis but what virtue flies from and difdains:
And grant the bad what happiness they wou'd,
One they must want, which is, to pals for good.

Oh blind to truth, and God's whole scheme below,
Who fancy blifs to vice, to virtue woe;
Who fees and follows that great scheme the best,
Best knows the bleffing and will most be bleft.
But fools, the good alone, unhappy call,
For ills or accidents that chance to all.
See FALKLAND dies, the virtuous aud the just!
See godlike TURENNE proftrate on the dust !
See SIDNEY bleeds amid the martial ftrife!
Was this their virtue, or contempt of life?
Say, was it virtue, more tho' heaven ne'er gave,
Lamented DIGBY! funk thee to the grave?
Tell me, if virtue made the fon expire,
Why, full of days and honour, lives the fire?
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 Heav'n a parent to the poor and me?
What makes all phyfical or moral ill?
There deviates Nature, and here wanders Will.
GOD fends not ill; if rightly understood,
Or partial Ill is univerfal 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 Heav'n complain
That righteous Abel was destroy'd by Cain,
As that the virtuous fon is ill at eafe
When his lewd father gave the dire disease.
Think we,
like fome weak Prince, th' Eternal Cause
Prone for his fav'rites to reverfe his laws?

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,
Shad gravitation ceafe, if you go by?
Or fome old temple, nodding to its fall,
For Chartres' head reserve the hanging wall!

But ftill this world (fo fitted for the knave)
Contents us not. A better fhall we have?
-A kingdom of the just then let it be:

G

But first confider how thofe Juft agree.
The good muft me it God's peculiar care;
But who, but GOD, can tell us who they are?
One thinks on Calvin Heav'n's own Spirit fell;
Another deems him inftrument of hell:

VOL. III.

E

If Calvin feel heav'n's bleffing, or its rod,
This cries there is, and that, there is no God.
What shocks one part will edify the rest,
Nor with one fyftem can they all be blest.
The very best will variously incline,

And what rewards your virtue, punish mine.
WHATEVER 15, IS RIGHT.-This world, 'tis true,
Was made for Caefar- but for Titus too;
And which more bleft? who chain'd his country, fay
Or he whofe Virtue figh'd to lose a day?

"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 deferves it, when he tempts the main,
Where folly fights for kings, or dives for gain.
The goodman may be weak, be indolent :
Nor in his claim to plenty, but content.

But grant him riches, your demand is o'er? [Pow'r?"
No-
fhall the good want Health, the good want
Add Health and Pow'r, and ev'ry earthly thing,
Why bounded Pow'r? why private ? why no king!
Nay, why external for internal giv'n?
Why is not Man a God, and Earth a Heaven?
Who alk and reafon thus, will fcarce conceive
GOD gives enough, while he has more to give:
Immenfe the pow'r, immenfe were the demand;
Say, at what part of nature will they stand?

What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy,
The foul's calm iun-fhine, and the heart-felt joy,

Is virtue's prize: A better would you fix?
Then give Humility a coach and fix,
Justice a Conqu'ror's fword, or Truth a gown,
Or Public Spirit its great cure, a Crown.
Weak, foolish man! will Heav'n 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 god-like mind.
Rewards, that either would to Virtue bring
No joy, or be deftructive 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 Tr ft,
Content. or pleasure, but the Good and Jult?
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.

Honour and thame from no Condition rife;
Act well your part, there all the honour lies.
Fortune in Men has fome fmall diff'rence made,
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.