One's fo good-natur'd, he's beyond all bearing,
He'll ridicule no friend, tho' out of hearing:
Another warm'd with zeal, offends our eyes,
Because he holds the mirror up to vice.
No wonder then, fince fancies wild as these
Can move our fpleen, that real faults difplease.
When Mævius, fpite of dullness, will be bright,
And teach ARGYLL to fpeak, 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 int'reft that can brother hearts divide,
In their imagin'd forms our eyefight 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 paffion's flave
With mind ferene, indulge him, and yet fave.
But felf-conceit fteps in, and with strict eye
Scans
every man, and every man awry ;
That reigning paffion, which thro' every stage
Of life, ftill haunts us with unceafing rage.
No quality fo mean, but what can raise
Some drudging driveling candidate for praise ;
Ev'n in the wretch, who wretches can despise,
Still felf-conceit will find a time to rise.
Quintus falutes you with forbidden face,
And thinks he carries his excufe in lace :
You afk, why Clodius bullies all he can ?
Clodius will tell you, he's a gentleman :
Myrtylla ftruts and shudders half the year,
With a round cap, that fhews a fine turn'd ear:
The lowest jeft makes Delia langh to death;
Yet fhe's no fool, fhe has only handsome teeth.
Ventofo lolls, and fcorns all human kind
From the gilt coach with four lac'd slaves behind;
Does all this pomp and state proceed from merit,
Mean thought! he deems it nobler to inherit :
While Fopling from fome title draws his pride,
Meanless, or infamous, or mifapply'd ;
Free-mason, rake or wit, 'tis just the same,
The charm is hence, he has gain'd himself a name.
Yet, fpite of all the fools that pride has made,
"Tis not on man an useless burthen laid;
Pride has ennobled fome, and fome difgrac'd;
It hurts not in itself, but as 'tis plac'd ;
When right, its view knows none but virtue's bound;
When wrong, it scarcely looks one inch around.
Mark! with what care the fair one's critic eye
Scans o'er her drefs, nor let's a fault flip by ;
Each rebel hair must be reduc'd to place
With tedious skill, and tortur'd into grace;
Betty muft o'er and o'er the pins difpofe,
'Till into modifh folds the drapery flows,
And the whole frame is fitted to express
The charms of decency and nakedness.
Why all this art, this labour'd ornament?
To captivate, you'll cry no doubt, 'tis meant.
True. But let's wait upon this fair machine
From the lone closet to the focial scene;
There view her loud, affected, fcornful, four,
Paining all others, and herself still more.
What means fhe, at one instance to disgrace,
The labour of ten hours, her much-lov'd face?
Why, 'tis the felf-fame passion gratify'd;
The work is ruin'd, that was rais'd by pride.
Yet of all tempers, it requires least pain,
Could we but rule ourselves, to rule the vain.
The prudent is by reafon only fway'd,
With him each fentence and each word is weigh'd:
The gay and giddy can alone be caught
By the quick luftre of a happy thought;
The mifer hates, unless he fteals your pelf;
The prodigal, unless you rob yourself;
The lewd will shun you, if your wife prove chafte
The jealous, if a fmile on his be cast;
The steady or the whimsical will blame,
Either, because you're not, or are the fame ;
The peevish, fullen, fhrewd, luxurious, rafh,
Will with your virtue, peace, or intereft, clash;
But mark the proud man's price, how very low!
'Tis but a civil speech, a smile, or bow.
Ye who push'd on by noble ardour, aim
In focial life to gain immortal fame,
Obferve the various paffions of mankind,
General, peculiar, fingle or combin'd:
How youth from manhood differs in its views,
And how old age ftill other paths pursues ;
How zeal in Prifcus nothing more than heats,
In Codex burns, and ruins all it meets ;
How freedom now a lovely face fhall wear,
Now fhock us in the likeness of a bear;
How jealoufy in fome resembles hate,
In others, feems but love grown delicate;
How modefty is often pride refin'd,
And virtue but the canker of the mind;
How love of riches, grandeur, life, and fame,
Wear different fhapes, and yet are still the fame,
But not our paffions only difagree,
In tafte is found as great variety :
Sylvius is ravish'd when he hears a hound,
His lady hates to death the odious found:
Yet both love mufic, tho' in different ways;
He in a kennel, fhe at opera's.
A florift fhall, perhaps, not grudge fome hours,
To view the colours in a bed of flowers;
Yet, fhew him TITIAN'S workmanship divine,
He paffes on, and only cries, 'tis fine.
A rusty coin, an old worm-eaten post,
The mouldy fragment of an author loft,
A butterfly, an equipage, a star,
A globe, a fine lac'd hat, a china jar,
A mistress, or a fashion, that is new,
Have each their charms, tho' felt but by a few.
Then ftudy each man's paffion and his taste,
The first to soften, and indulge the laft:
Not like the wretch, who beats down virtue's fence,
And deviates from the paths of common sense;
Who daubs with fulfome flattery, blind and bold,
The very weakness we with grief behold..
Paffions are common to the fool and wise,
And all would hide them under art's disguise;
For fo avow'd, in others, is their shame,
None hates them more, than he who has the fame.
But tafte feems more peculiarly our own,
And every man is fond to make his known;
Proud of a mark he fancies is defign'd
By nature to advance him o'er his kind;
And where he fees that character imprefs'd,
With joy he hugs the favourite to his breast.
But the main ftrefs of all our cares muft lie,
To watch ourselves with strict and constant eye :
To mark the working mind, when paffion's courfe
Begins to fwell, and reason ftill has force;
Or, if she's conquer'd by the ftronger tide,
Obferve the moments when they first subfide;
For he who hopes a victory to win
O'er other men, must with himself begin ;
Elfe like a town by mutiny opprefs'd,
He's ruin'd by the foe within his breaft;
|