Stuck o'er with titles, aud hung round with firings,
That thou may'ft be by kings, or whores of kings.
Boaft the pure blood of an illuftrious race,

In quiet flow from Lucrece to Lucrece :
But by your father's worth if your's you rate,
Count me tho fe only who were good and great.
Go! if your ancient, but ignoble blood
Has crept thro' fcoundrels ever fince the flood,
Go! and pretend your family is young;
Nor own, your fathers have been fools fo long.
What can ennoble fots, or flaves, or cowards?
Alas! not all the blood of all the HOWARDS.

Look next on greatnefs; fay where greatness lies,
Where, but among the heroes and the wife!
Heroes are much the fame, the poin'ts agreed,
From Madedonia's madman ́to the Swede;
The whole flrange purpose of their lives, to find
Or make an enemy of all mankind!

Not one looks backward, onward still he
goes,
Yet ne'er looks forward further than his nose.
No lefs alike the politic and wife;

All fly flow things, with circumfpective eyes :
Men in their loofe unguarded hours they take,
Not that themselves are wife, but others weak.
But grant that thofe can conquer, these can cheat;
Tis phrafe abfurd to call a villain great :

Who wickedly is wife, or madly brave,

Is but the more a fool, the more a knave.

Who

Who noble ends by noble means obtains,
Or failing, fmiles in exile or in chains,
Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed
Like Socrates, that man is great indeed.

What's fame? a fancy'd life in others breath,
A thing beyond us, even before our death.
Juft what you hear, you have, and what's unknown
The fame (my lord) if Tully's, or your own.
All what we feel of it begins and ends

In the finall circle of our foes or friends:
To all befide as much an empty fhade
An Eugene living, as a Cæfar dead;
Alike or when, or where, they fhone or fhine,
Or on the Rubicon, or on the Rhine.

A wit's a feather, and a chief a rod;

An honeft man's the nobleft work of God.
Fame but from death a villain's name can fave,
As juftice tears his body from the grave;
When what th' oblivion better were refign'd,
Is hung on high, to poison half mankind.
All fame is foreign, but of true desert ;

Plays round the head, but romes not to the heart:
One felf-approving hour whole years outweighs
Of ftupid ftarers, and of loud huzzas;

And more true joy Marcellus exil'd feels,
Than Cæfar with a fenate at his heels.
In parts fuperior what advantage lies ?
Tell (for you can) what is it to be wise ?

'Tis

'Tis but to know how little can be known;
To see all others faults, and feel our own;
Condemn'd in bus'nefs or in arts to drudge,
Without a fecond, or without a judge;
Truths would you teach, or fave a sinking lan
All fear, none aid you, and few understand.
Painful preheminence! yourself to view
Above life's weakness, and its comforts too.

Bring then these bleffings to a ftrict account;
Make fair deductions; fee to what they mount:
How much of other each is fure to coft;
How each for other oft is wholly loft;
How inconfiftent greater goods with these ;
How fometimes life is rifqu'd, and always cafe :
Think, and if fill the things thy envy call,
Say, wouldst thou be the man to whom they fall ?
To figh for ribbands if thou art so filly,
Mark how they grace Lord Umbra, or Sir Billy.
Is yellow dirt the paffion of thy life?

Look but on Gripus, or on Gripus' wife.
If parts allure thee, think how Bacon fhin'd,
The wifeft, brighteft, meaneft of mankind:
Or ravish'd with the whistling of a name,
See Cromwell damn'd to everlafting fame!
If all, united, thy ambition call,

From ancient story learn to fcorn them all.
There, in the rich, the honour'd, fam'd, and great,
See the falfe fcale of happiness complete!

In

In hearts of Kings, or arms of Queens who lay,
How happy thofe to ruin, thefe betray!
Mark by fome wretched fteps their glory grows,
From dirt and fea-weed as proud Venice rose.
In each how guilt and greatness equal ran,
And all that rais'd the hero funk the man:
Now Europe's laurels on their brows behold,
But ftain'd with blood, or ill exchang'd for gold:
Then fee them broke with toils, or funk in cafe,
Or infamous for plunder'd provinces.

Oh wealth ill-fated! which no act of fame
E'er taught to fhine, or sanctified from shame!
What greater blifs attends their clofe of life?
Some greedy minion, or imperious wife;
The trophy'd arches, flory'd halls invade,
And haunt their flumbers in the pompous fhade.
Alas! not dazzled with their neon-tide ray,
Compute the morn and ev'ning to the day;
The whole amount of that enormous fame,
A Tale, that blends their glory with their shame!
Know then this truth (enough for man to know)
Virtue alone is happiness below.'

The only point where human blifs ftands fill,
And tastes the good without the fall to ill;
Where only merit conftant pay receives,
Is bleft in what it takes, and what it gives;
The joy unequal'd, ifits end it gain,
And if it lofe, attended with no pain:
Vol. II. 5.

E

Without

Without fatiety, tho'e'er fo blefs'd,

And but more relish'd as the more diftrefs'd:
The broadeft mirth unfeeling folly wears,

Lefs pleafing far than virtue's very tears:

Good, from each object, from each place acquir'd,
For ever exercis'd, yet never tir'd ;

Never elated, while one man's opprefs'd;
Never dejected, while another's blefs'd;

And where no wants, no wishes can remain,
Since but to wish more virtue, is to gain.

See the fole blifs heav'n could on all beflow!
Which who but feels can tafte, but thinks can know ;
Yet poor with fortune, and with learning blind,
The bad muft mifs; the good, untaught, will find;
Slave to no fect, who takes no private road,
But looks thro' nature up to nature's God;
Purfues that chain, which links th' immenfe defign,
Joins heav'n and earth, and mortal and divine;
Sees, that no Being any bliss can know,
But touches fome above and fome below;
Learns from this union of the rifing Whole,
The first, laft purpofe of the human foul;
And knows where faith, law, morals, all began,
All end, in LOVE OF GOD, and LOVE OF MAN.
For him alone, hope leads from goal to goal,

And opens ftill, and opens on his foul;

Till lengthen'd on to FAITH, and unconfin'd, pours the blifs that fills up all the mind.

It

He