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, 5 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, Some unmark'd fibre, or fome varying vein : Grant but as inany forts of Mind as Mofs. That each from other differs, first confefs; Our depths who fathoms, or our fhallows finds, 10 15 20 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: 25 His Principle of action once explore, That inftant 'tis his Principle no more. Like following life thro' creatures you dissect, 30 Yet more; the diff'rence is as great between Nor will Life's stream for oblervation stay, 35 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, 41 Our fpring of action to ourselves is loft: Is thus, perhaps, the caufe of most we do. True, fome are open, and to all men known; 45 50 And ev'ry child hates Shylock, tho' his foul All fee 'tis Vice, and itch of vulgar praise. When Flatt'ry glares, all hate it in a Queen, Tho' ftrong the bent, yet quick the turns of mind: See the fame man, in vigor, in the gout; Catius is ever moral, ever grave, Thinks who endures a knave, is next a knave, Who would not praise Patricio's high defert. 55 60 65 70 75 80 |