Self-love and Reason to one end aspire,

Pain their averfion, Pleasure their defire;
But greedy That, its object would devour,

This tafte the honey, and not wound the flower;
Pleasure, or wrong or rightly understood,

Our greatest evil, or our greatest good.

95

III. Modes of Self-love the Paffions we may call : 'Tis real good, or seeming, moves them all : But fince not every good we can divide, And Reafon bids us for our own provide: Paffions, though selfish, if their means be fair, Lift under Reason, and deferve her care; Thofe, that imparted, court a nobler aim, Exalt their kind, and take fome Virtue's name. In lazy Apathy let Stoics boaft Their Virtue fix'd; 'tis fix'd as in a frost; Contracted all, retiring to the breast; But ftrength of mind is Exercise, not Rest: The rifing tempeft puts in act the foul, Parts it may ravage, but preferves the whole. On life's vaft ocean diverfely we fail, Reason the card, but Paffion is the gale; Nor God alone in the ftill calm we find, He mounts the storm, and walks upon the wind.

105

Paffions,

VARIATION.

After ver. 108. in the MS.

A tedious Voyage! where how useless lies
The compafs, if no powerful gufts arife!

Paffions, like elements, though born to fight,
Yet, mix'd and foften'd, in his work unite:
Thefe 'tis enough to temper and employ;
But what composes Man, can Man destroy?
Suffice that Reafon keep to Nature's road,
Subject, compound them, follow her and God.
Love, Hope, and Joy, fair Pleasure's smiling train
Hate, Fear, and Grief, the family of Pain,
These mixt with art, and to due bounds confin'd,
Make and maintain the balance of the mind:
The lights and shades, whose well-accorded ftrife
Gives all the strength and colour of our life.

Pleasures are ever in our hands or eyes;
And, when in act they ceafe, in profpect rife:
Prefent to grafp, and future ftill to find,

The whole employ of body and of mind.
All spread their charms, but charm not all alike;
On different fenfes, different objects strike;
Hence different Paffions more or lefs inflame,

115

120

125

As ftrong or weak, the organs of the frame;

130

And hence one mafter Paffion in the breast,
Like Aaron's ferpent, fwallows up the rest.

Receives the lurking principle of death;

As Man, perhaps, the moment of his breath,

The young disease, that must subdue at length,

135

Grows with his growth, and ftrengthens with his ftrength:

VARIATION.

After ver. 112. in the MS.

The foft reward the virtuous, or invite;
The fierce, the vicious punish or affright.

So,

So, caft and mingled with his very frame,

The Mind's disease, its ruling Paffion came;
Each vital humour, which fhould feed the whole,
Soon flows to this, in body and in foul:
Whatever warms the heart, or fills the head,
As the mind opens, and its functions spread,
Imagination plies her dangerous art,
And pours it all upon the peccant part.

Nature its mother, Habit is its nurse;
Wit, Spirit, Faculties, but make it worse;
Reason itself but gives it edge and power;
As Heaven's bleft beam turns vinegar more four.
We, wretched fubjects though to lawful fway,
In this weak queen, fome favourite still obey:
Ah! if the lend not arms, as well as rules,
What can fhe more than tell us we are fools?
Teach us to mourn our Nature, not to mend;
A fharp accufer, but a helpless friend!

140

145

150

Or from a judge turn pleader, to perfuade
The choice we make, or justify it made;

155

Proud of an easy conquest all along,

She but removes weak paffions for the strong:
So, when small humours gather to a gout,

160

The doctor fancies he has driv'n them out.
Yes, Nature's road muft ever be preferr'd;
Reason is here no guide, but ftill a guard;
'Tis hers to rectify, not overthrow,

And treat this paffion more as friend than foe;
A mightier Power the strong direction sends,
And feveral Men impels to several ends :

165

Like varying winds, by other paffions toft,
This drives them conftant to a certain coaft.
Let power or knowledge, gold or glory, please,
Or (oft more frong than all) the love of eafe;
Through life 'tis follow'd, ev'n at life's expence ;
The merchant's toil, the fage's indolence,
The monk's humility, the hero's pride,
All, all alike, find Reason on their fide.

Th' Eternal Art, educing good from ill,
Grafts on this Paffion our best principle:
'Tis thus the Mercury of Man is fix'd,

Strong grows the Virtue with his nature mix'd;
The drofs cements what else were too refin'd,
And in one interest body acts with mind.

As fruits, ungrateful to the planter's care,
On favage ftocks inferted learn to bear;
The fureft Virtues thus from Paffions shoot,
Wild Nature's vigour working at the root.
What crops of wit and honefty appear
From fpleen, from obftinacy, hate, or fear!
See anger, zeal and fortitude fupply;
Ev'n avarice, prudence; floth, philosophy;
Luft, through fome certain ftrainers well refin'd,
Is gentle love, and charms all womankind;
Envy, to which th' ignoble mind's a slave,
Is emulation in the learn'd or brave;
Nor Virtue, male or female, can we name,
But what will grow on Pride, or grow on Shame.

VARIATION.

After ver. 194. in the MS.

170

175

180

385

190

Thus

How oft, with Paffion, Virtue points her Charms!
Then fhines the Hero, then the Patriot warms.

Thus Nature gives us (let it check our pride) The virtue nearest to our vice ally'd:

195

Reafon the byas turns to good from ill,
And Nero reigns a Titus, if he will.
The fiery foul abhor'd in Catiline,

In Decius charms, in Curtius is divine:
The fame ambition can deftroy or fave,
And makes a patriot as it makes a knave.

This light and darkness in our chaos join'd,
What fhall divide? The God within the mind.
Extremes in Nature equal ends produce,

In man they join to fome myfterious ufe;
Though each by turns the other's bound invade,
As, in fome well-wrought picture, light and fhade,
And oft fo mix, the difference is too nice

Where ends the Virtue, or begins the Vice.

VARIATIONS.

Peleus' great Son, or Brutus, who had known,
Had Lucrece been a Whore, or Helen none?
But Virtues oppofite to make agree,

That, Reafon! is thy task, and worthy Thee.
Hard task, cries Bibulus, and Reason weak.

Make it a point, dear Marquefs, or a pique.
Once, for a whim, perfuade yourself to pay
A debt to reafon, like a debt at play.

200

205

210

Fools!

For right or wrong, have mortals fuffer'd more?
B- for his Prince, or ** for his Whore ?
Whofe felf-denials nature most control?

His, who would fave a Sixpence, or his Soul?
Web for his health, a Chartreux for his Sin,
Contend they not which soonest shall grow thin?
What we refolve, we can: but here's the fault,
We ne'er refolve to do the thing we ought.