Admir'd fuch wifdom in an earthly shape,
And fhew'd a NEWTON as we fhew an ape.
Could He, whofe rules the rapid comet, bind,
Defcribe, or fix, one movement of his mind?.
Who faw its fires here rife, and there defcend,
Explain his own beginning, or his end?
Alas what wonder! man's fuperior part
Uncheck'd may rife, and climb from art to art;
But when his own great work is but begun,
What reason weaves, by paffion is undone.
Trace fcience then, with modefty thy guide;
Firft ftrip off all her equipage of pride;
Deduct but what is vanity or drefs,
Or learning's luxury, or idlenefs;
Or tricks to fhew the ftretch of human brain,
Mere curious pleasure or ingenious pain;
Expunge the whole, or lop th' excrefcent patts
Which ferv'd the paft, and muft the times to come!
Two principles in human nature reign;
Self-love, to urge, and reafon, to restrain;
Nor this a good, nor that a bad we call,
Each works its end, to move, or govern all :
And to their proper operation ftill
Afcribe all good, to their improper ill.
Self-love, the fpring of motion, acts the foul;
Reafon's comparing balance rules the whole.
Man but for that, no action could attend,
And but for this, were active to no end.
Fix'd like a plant on his peculiar spot,
To draw nutrition, propagate, and rot;
Or meteor-like, flame lawlefs thro' the void,
Destroying others, by himself deftroy'd.
Moft ftrength the moving principle requires;
Active its talk, it prompts, impels, inspires:
Sedate and quiet the comparing lies,
Form'd but to check, delib'rate, and advise.
Self-love ftill ftronger, as its object's nigh;
Reafon's at diftance, and in profpe&t lie;
That fees immediate good, by present sense,
Reason, the future, and the confequence;
Thicker than arguments, temptations throng,
At beft more watchful this, but that more ftrong.
The action of the stronger to fufpend,
Reason ftill ufe, to reafon ftill attend:
Attention, habit and experience gains,
Each strengthens reafon, and felf-love refirains.
Let fubtile schoolmen teach these friends to fight,
More ftudious to divide, than to unite,
And grace and virtue, fenfe and reafon split,
With all the rash dexterity of wit.
Wits, just like fools, at war about a name,
Have full as oft, no meaning, ör the fame:
Self-love and reason to one end aspire,
Pain their averfion, pleafure 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:
Modes of felf-love the Paffions we may call ;
'Tis real good, or feeming, moves them all!
But fince not every good we can divide,
And reafon bids us for our own provide ;
Paffions tho' felfifh, if their means be fair,
Lift under reafon, and deferve her care :
Those 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 froft,
Contracted all, retiring to the breaft;
But ftrength of mind is exercife, 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,
Reafon the card, but paffion is the gale :
Self Love still stronger as iks Objects nigh.
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