So, caft and mingled with his very frame,
The mind's difeafe, its RULING PASSION came;
Each vital humour which should 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,
Imaginatiou plies her dang'rous art,
And pours it all upon the peccant part.
Nature its mother, habit is its nurse;
Wit, fpirit, faculties but make it worse;
Reafon itself but gives it edge and pow'r;
As Heaven's bleft beam turns vinegar more four.
We, wretched fubjects though to lawful fway.
In this weak queen, fome fav'rite ftill 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!
Or from a judge turn pleader, to perfuade
The choice we make, or juflify it made;
Proud of an eafy conqueft all along,
She but removes weak pallions for the strong.
So, when fmall humours gather to a gout,
The doctor fancies he has driv'n them out.
Yes, nature's road must ever be preferr'd;
Reafon is here no guide, but ftill a guard;
Tis hers to rectify, not overthrow,
And treat this paffion more as friend than fọc :
A mightier Pow'r the flrong direction fends,
And fev'ral men impels to fev'ral ends:
Like varying winds, by other paffions toft,
This drives them conftant to a certain coaft.
Let pow'r or knowledge, gold or glory, please,
Or (oft more strong than all) the love of cafe;
Thro' 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 reafon on their fide.
Th' eternal art educing good from ill,
Grafts on this paffion our beft 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 int'reft body acts with mind.
As fruits, ungrateful to the planter's care, On favage flocks inferted learn to bear; The fureft virtues thus from pallions shoot, Wild nature's vigor working at the root. What of wit and honefly appear
From spleen, from obftinacy, hate, or fear!
See anger, zeal and fortitude fupply;
Ev'n av'rice, prudence; floth, philofophy;
Luft, thro' fome certain ftrainers well refin'd,
Is gentle love, and charms all womankind;
Envy, to which th' ignoble mind's a flave,
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 fhame.
Thus nature gives us (let it check our pride)
The virtue nearest to our vice ally'd :
Reafon the bias turns from good to ill,
And Nero reigns a Titus if he will.
The fiery foul abhorr'd in Catiline,
In Decius charms, in Curtius is divine:
The fame ambition can deftroy or save,
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 ;
Tho' each by turns the other's bounds invade,
As, in fome well-wrought picture light and fhade,
And oft fo mix, the diffrence is too nice
Where ends the virtue, or begins the vice.
Fools! who from hence into the notion fall,
That vice or virtue there is none at all.
If white and black blend, foften, and unite
A thousand ways, is there no black or white?
Ask your own heart, and nothing is so plain;
'Tis to mistake them, cofts the time and pains
Vice is a monfler of fo frightful mien,
As to be hated, needs but to be feen;
Yet feen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, them embrace.
But where th' extreme of vice, was ne'er agreed:
Afk where's the North ? at York, 'tis on the Tweed;
In Scotland, at the Orcades; and there,
At Greenland, Zembla, or the Lord knows where.
No creature owns it in the firft degree,
But thinks his neighbour farther gone than he;
Ev'n thofe who dwell beneath its very zone,
Or never feel the rage, or never own;
What happier natures fhrink at with affright,
The hard inhabitant contends is right.
Virtuous and vicious ev'ry man must be,
Few in th' extreme, but all in the degree:
The rogue and fool, by fits is fair and wife;
And ev'n the beft, by fits, what they defpife.
'Tis but by parts we follow good or ill;
For, vice or virtue, felf directs it fill ;
Each individual seeks a fev'ral goal;
But HEAV'N's great view is One, and that the Whole,
That counterworks each folly and caprice;
That disappoints th' effects of ev'ry vice;
That, happy frailties to all ranks apply'd;
Shame to the virgin, to the matron pride.
Fear to the flatesman, rafhnefs to the chief,
To kings prefumption, and to crowds belief :
That virtue's ends from vanity can raise,
Which feeks no int'reft, no reward but praise;
And build on wants, and on defects of mind,
The joy, the peace, the glory of mankind.
Heav'n forming each on other to depend,
A mafter, or a fervant, or a friend,
Bids each on other for affiftance call,
'Till one man's weakness grows the strength of all.
Wants, frailties, paffions, clofer ftill ally
The common int'reft, or endear the tie.
To these we owe true friendship, love fincere,
Each home-felt joy that life inherits here;
Yet from the fame we learn, in its decline,
Thofe joys, thofe loves, thofe int'refts to refign;
Taught half by reason, half by mere decay,
To welcome death, and calmly pafs away.
Whate'er the paffion, knowledge, fame, or pelf,
Not one will change his neighbour with himself.
The learn'd is happy nature to explore,
The fool is happy that he knows no more :
The rich is happy in the plenty giv'n,
The poor contents him with the care of heav'n.
See the blind beggar dance, the cripple fing,
The fot a hero, lunatic a king;
The ftarving chymift in his golden views.
Supremely bleft, the poet in his muse.
See fome ftrange comfort ev'ry ftate attend,
And pride bestow'd on all, a common friend:
See fome fit paffion ev'ry age fupply,
Hope travels thro', nor quits us when we die,
Vol. II. 5.
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