Wits, juft like Fools, at war about a name,
Have full as oft no meaning, or the fame.
Self-love and Reafon to one end afpire,
Pain their averfion, Pleasure their defire;
But greedy That, its object would devour,
This tafte the honey, and not wound the flow'r :
Pleasure, or wrong or rightly understood,
Our greatest evil, or our greatest good.
III. Modes of Self-love the Paffions we may call : 'Tis real good, or feeming, moves them all : But fince not ev'ry good we can divide, And reafon bids us for our own provide : Paffions, tho' felfish, if their means be fair, Lift under Reason, and deserve 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 froft ; Contracted all, retiring to the breast; But strength of mind is Exercife, not Reft: The rifing tempest 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;
After ver. 86. in the MS.
Of good and evil Gods what frighted Fools,
Of good and evil Reafon puzzl'd Schools.
Deceiv'd, deceiving, taught
Nor God alone in the ftill calm we find,
He mounts the storm, and walks upon the wind.. aro
Paffions, like elements, tho' born to fight,
Yet, mix'd and foft'ned, 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 fmiling 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 fhades, whofe well accorded ftrife
Gives all the ftrength and colour of our life.
Pleasures are ever in our hands or eyes;
And when, in act, they cease, in prospect, rise:
Prefent to grafp, and future ftill to find,
The whole employ of body and of inind.
All spread their charms, but charm not all alike;
On diff'rent senses, diff'rent objects strike;
Hence diff'rent Paffions more or less inflame,
As ftrong or weak, the organs of the frame;
After ver. 108. in the MS.
A tedious Voyage! where how ufcles lies
The compafs, if no pow'rful gusts arise?
After ver. 112. in the MS.
The foft reward the virtuous, or invite;
The fierce, the vicious fuifh or afflight.
And hence one MASTER PASSION in the breaft,
Like Aaron's ferpent, fwallows up the reft.
As Man, perhaps, the moment of his breath,
Receives the lurking principle of death;
The young disease, that must subdue at length,
Grows with his growth, and ftrengthens with his ftrength:
So, caft and mingled with his very frame,
The Mind's difeafe, its RULING PASSION 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 dang'rous art,
And pours it all upon the peccant part.
Nature its mother, Habit is its nurfe;
Wit, Spirit, Faculties, but make it worfe;
Reafon itself but gives it edge and pow'r;
As Heav'n's bleft beam turns vinegar more four.
We, wretched fubjects, tho' to lawful fway,
In this weak queen, fome fav'rite 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!
Or from a judge turn pleader, to perfuade
The choice we make, or justify it made;
Proud of an eafy conqueft all along,
She but removes weak paffions for the ftrong:
So, when finall humours gather to a gout,
The doctor fancies he has driven them out.
Yes, Nature's road must ever be prefer'd;
Reason is here no guide, but still a guard;.
'Tis hers to rectify, not overthrow,
And treat this paffion more as friend than foe:
A mightier Pow'r the strong direction sends,
And fev'ral Men impells to fev'ral ends :
Like varying winds, by other paffions toft,
This drives them constant to a certain coaft.
Let pow'r or knowledge, gold or glory, please,
Or (oft more strong than all) the love of eafe;
Thro' life 'tis follow'd ev'n at life's expence;
The merchants 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 beft principle:
"Tis thus the Mercury of Man is fix'd,
Strong grows the Virtue with his Nature mix'd;
The dress 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 stocks inferted, learn to bear;
The fureft virtues thus from Paffions fhoot,
Wild Nature's vigor working at the root.
What crops 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' fone certain strainers 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 Shame.
Thus Nature gives us (let it check our pride) 195
The virtue neareft to our vice ally'd :
Reason the byas turns to good from ill,
And Nero reigns a Titus, if he will.
The fiery foul abhor'd in Cataline,
In Decius charms, in Curtius is divine :
The fame ambition can destroy or fave,
And makes a patriot as it makes a knave.
After ver. 194. in the MS.
How oft with Paffion, Virtue points her Charms!
Then fhines the Hero, then the Patriot warms.
Peleus' great Son, or Brutus, who had known,
Had Lucrece been a Whore, or Helen none?
But Virtues oppofite to make agree,
That, Reason! is thy task, and worthy Thee.
Hard talk, cries Bibulus, and reason weak.
-Make it a point, dear Marquis, or a pique.
Once, for a whim, perfuade yourself to pay
A debt to reason, like a debt at play.
For right or wrong, have mortals suffer'd more?
B- for his Prince, or ** for his Whore?
Whofe felf-denials nature must controul?
His, who would fave a Sixpence or his Soul?
Web for his health, a Chartreux for his Sin,
Contend they not which fooneft fhall grow thin?
What we refolve, we can; but here's the fault,
We ne'er refolve to do the thing we ought.
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