For one who knows to taste this godlike bliss,
What countless swarms of vain pretenders miss!
Though each dull plodding thing, to ape the wise,
Ridiculously grave, for leisure sighs
(His boasted wish from busy scenes to run),
Grant him that leisure, and the fool's undone.
The gods, to curse poor Demea, heard his vow,
And business now no more contracts his brow:
Nor real cares, 'tis true, perplex his breast,
But thousand fancied ills his peace molest:
The slightest trifles solid sorrows prove, [move.
And the long lingering wheel of life scarce seems to
Useless in business, yet unfit for ease,
Nor skill'd to mend mankind, nor form'd to please,
Such spurious animals of worthless race
Live but the public burthen and disgrace:
Like mean attendants of life's stage are seen,
Drawn forth to fill but not conduct the scene.
The mind not taught to think, no useful store
To fix reflection, dreads the vacant hour.
Turn'd on itself, its numerous wants are seen,
And all the mighty void that lies within:
Yet cannot wisdom stamp our joys complete;
'Tis conscious virtue crowns the bless'd retreat.
Who feels not that the private path must shun,
And fly to public view to' escape his own;
In life's gay scenes uneasy thoughts suppress,
And lull each anxious care in dreams of peace.
Midst foreign objects not employ'd to roam,
Thought, sadly active, still corrodes at home:
A serious moment breaks the false repose,
And guilt in all its naked horror shows.
He who would know retirement's joys refined The fair recess must seek with cheerful mind:
No cynic's pride, no bigot's heated brain,
No frustrate hope, nor love's fantastic pain
With him must enter the sequester'd cell,
Who means with pleasing solitude to dwell;
But equal passions let his bosom rule,
A judgment candid, and a temper cool,
Enlarged with knowledge, and in conscience clear,
Above life's empty hopes and death's vain fear.
Such he must be who greatly lives alone;
Such Portio is, in crowded scenes unknown.
For public life with every talent born,
Portio far off retires with decent scorn;
Though without business, never unemploy'd,
And life, as more at leisure, more enjoy'd:
For who like him can various science taste,
His mind shall never want an endless feast.
In his bless'd evening walk mayst thou, may I,
Oft friendly join in sweet society;
Our lives like his in one smooth current flow,
Nor swell'd with tempest, nor too calmly slow,
Whilst he, like some great sage of Rome or Greece,
Shall calm each rising doubt and speak us peace,
Correct each thought, each wayward wish control,
And stamp with every virtue all the soul.
Ah! how unlike is Umbrio's gloomy scene, Estranged from all the cheerful ways of men! There superstition works her baneful power, And darkens all the melancholy hour.
Unnumber'd fears corrode and haunt his breast With all that whim or ignorance can suggest. In vain for him kind nature pours her sweets; The visionary saint no joy admits,
But seeks with pious spleen fantastic woes, [goes. And for Heaven's sake Heaven's offer'd good fore
Whate'er's our choice, we still with pride prefer, And all who deviate vainly think must err: Clodio, in books and abstract notions lost, Sees none but knaves and fools in honour's post; Whilst Syphax, fond on fortune's sea to sail, And boldly drive before the flattering gale (Forward her dangerous ocean to explore), Condemns as cowards those who make the shore. Not so my friend impartial,-man he views Useful in what he shuns as what pursues; Sees different turns to general good conspire, The hero's passion and the poet's fire; Each figure placed in nature's wise design, With true proportion and exactest line: Sees lights and shades unite in due degree, And form the whole with fairest symmetry.
AN ESSAY ON CONVERSATION.
THE art of converse, how to soothe the soul
Of haughty man, his passions to control,
His pride at once to humble and to please,
And join the dignity of life with ease,
Be now my theme. O thou, whom Nature's hand
Framed for this best this delicate command,
And taught when lisping, without reason's aid,
At the same time to speak and to persuade,
WYNDHAM, with diligence awhile attend,
Nor scorn the instructions of an older friend;
Who when the world's great commerce shall have
join'd
The deep reflection and the strength of mind
To the bright talents of thy youthful state,
In turn shall on thy better lessons wait.
Whence comes it, that in every art we see
Many can rise to a supreme degree;
Yet in this art, for which all seem design'd
By nature, scarcely one complete we find?
You'll say, perhaps, we think, we speak, we move
By the strong springs alone of selfish love:
Yet among all the species is there one
Whom with more caution than ourselves we shun?
What is it fills a puppet show or court?
Go none but for the profit or the sport?
If so, why comes each soul fatigued away,
And curses the dull puppets' same dull play;
Yet, unconvinced, is tempted still to go?
"Tis that we find at home our greatest foe.
And reason good why solitude we flee,
Can wants with self sufficiency agree?
Yet, such our inconsistency of mind,
We court society and hate mankind.
With some we quarrel, for they're too sincere:
With others, for they're close, reserved, and queer:
This is too learn'd, too prudent, or too wise;
And that we for his ignorance despise :
A voice, perhaps, our ear shall harshly strike,
Then straight even wit itself shall raise dislike;
Our eye may by some feature be annoy'd,
Behold at once a character destroy'd:
One's so good-natured, he's beyond all bearing,
He'll ridicule no friend, though out of hearing:
Another, warm'd with zeal, offends our eyes,
Because he holds the mirror up to vice.
No wonder then, since fancies wild as these
Can move our spleen, that real faults displease.
When Mævius, spite of dulness, will be bright,
And teach Argyle to speak and Swift to write;
When Flavia entertains us with her dreams,
And Macer with his no less airy schemes;
When peevishness and jealousy and pride
And interest, that can brother hearts divide,
In their imagined forms our eyesight hit,
Of an old maid, a poet, peer, or cit;
Can then, you'll say, philosophy refrain
And check the torrent of each boiling vein?
Yes, she can still do more; view passion's slave
With mind serene, indulge him, and yet save.
But self-conceit steps in, and with strict eye
Scans every man, and every man awry;
That reigning passion, which through every stage
Of life still haunts us with unceasing rage.
No quality so mean but what can raise
Some drudging, driveling candidate for praise;
Even in the wretch, whom wretches can despise,
Still self-conceit will find a time to rise.
Quintus salutes you with forbidding face,
And thinks he carries his excuse in lace:
You ask, why Clodius bullies all he can?
Clodius will tell you, he's a gentleman:
Myrtylla struts and shudders half the year
With a round cap that shows a fine turn'd ear:
The lowest jest makes Delia laugh to death;
Yet she's no fool, she has only handsome teeth.
Ventoso lolls, and scorns all humankind
From the gilt coach with four laced slaves behind;
Does all this pomp and state proceed from merit?
Mean thought! he deems it nobler to inherit :
While Fopling from some title draws his pride,
Meanless or infamous or misapplied;
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