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The proper Study of Mankind is MAN.

Essay on Man

EPISTLE I.

"ES, you despise the man to Books confin'd,

YES

Who from his study rails at human kind; Tho' what he learns he speaks, and may advance Some gen'ral maxims, or be right by chance. The coxcomb bird, fo talkative and grave,

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That from his cage cries Cuckold, Whore, and Knave, Tho' many a paffenger he rightly call,

You hold him no Philofopher at all.

And yet the fate of all extremes is fuch,
Men may be read, as well as Books, too much.
To obfervations which ourfelves we make,
We grow more partial for th' Obferver's fake;
To written Wisdom as another's, lefs:
Maxims are drawn from Notions, thofe from Guefs.
There's fome Peculiar in each leaf and grain,

Some unmark'd fibre, or fome varying vein :
Shall only Man be taken in the grofs?

Grant but as inany forts of Mind as Mofs.

That each from other differs, first confefs;
Next, that he varies from himself no lefs:
Add Nature's, Cuftom's, Reafon's, Paffion's ftrife,
And all Opinion's colours caft on life.

Our depths who fathoms, or our fhallows finds,
Quick whirls, and fhifting eddies, of our minds ?

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VER. 18. There are above 300 forts of Mofs obferved by Naturalifts.

On human actions reafon tho' you can,

It may be reason, but it is not Man:

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His Principle of action once explore,

That inftant 'tis his Principle no more.

Like following life thro' creatures you dissect,
You lose it in the moment you detect.

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Yet more; the diff'rence is as great between
The optics feeing, as the objects feen.
All Manners take a tincture from our own;
Or come difcolour'd thro' our Paffions fhown.
Or Fancy's beam enlarges, multiplies,
Contracts, inverts, and gives ten thousand dyes.

Nor will Life's stream for oblervation stay,

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It hurries all too fast to mark their way:

In vain fedate reflections we would make,

When half our knowledge we must snatch, not take. Oft in the Paffion's wild rotation toft,

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Our fpring of action to ourselves is loft:
Tir'd, not determin'd, to the last we yield,
And what comes then is master of the field:
As the laft image of the troubled heap,
When fenfe fubfides, and Fancy fports in fleep,
(Tho' paft the recollection of the thought)
Becomes the ftuff of which our dream is wrought:
Something as dim to our internal view,

Is thus, perhaps, the caufe of most we do.

True, fome are open, and to all men known;
Others fo very close they're hid from none;
(So darkness strikes the fenfe no lefs than Light)
Thus gracious CHANDOS is belov'd at fight;

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And ev'ry child hates Shylock, tho' his foul
Still fits at fquat, and peeps not from its hole.
At half mankind when gen'rous Manly raves,
All know 'tis Virtue, for he thinks them knaves :
When univerfal homage Umbra pays,

All fee 'tis Vice, and itch of vulgar praise.

When Flatt'ry glares, all hate it in a Queen,
While one there is who charms us with his Spleen.
But these plain Characters we rarely find;

Tho' ftrong the bent, yet quick the turns of mind:
Or puzzling Contraries confound the Whole;
Or Affectations quite reverse the foul;
The dull, flat Falfhood ferves, for policy:
And in the Cunning, Truth itself's a lye :
Unthought of Frailties cheat us in the Wife;
The Fool lies hid in inconfiftencies.

See the fame man, in vigor, in the gout;
Alone, in company; in place, or out;
Early at Bus'nefs, and at Hazard late;
Mad at a Fox-chase, wise at a Debate;
Drunk at a Borough, civil at a Ball;
Friendly at Hackney, faithlefs at Whitehall.

Catius is ever moral, ever grave,

Thinks who endures a knave, is next a knave,
Save juft at dinner-then prefers, no doubt,
A Rogue with Ven'fon to a Saint without.

Who would not praise Patricio's high defert.
His hand unftain'd, his uncorrupted heart,
His comprehenfive head! all int'refts weigh'd,
All Europe fav'd, yet Britain not betray'd.

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