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'Tis never to be bought, but always free,

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And fled from Monarchs, St. John! dwells with thee.
Afk of the Learn'd the way? The Learn'd are blind.;
This bids to ferve, and that to fhun mankind;
Some place the blifs in action, fonie in cafe,
Thofe call it pleafure, and contentment thefe;
Some funk to Beafts, find pleasure end in pain;
Some fwell'd to Gods, confefs ev'n Virtue vain;
Or indolent, to each extreme they fall,
To truft in ev'ry thing, or doubt of all.
Who thus define it, fay they more or less
Than this, that Happinefs is Happiness ?

Take Nature's path, and mad Opinion's leave;
All ftates can reach it, and all heads conceive;
Obvious her goods, in no extreme they dwell;
There needs but thinking right and meaning well;
And mourn our various portions as we pleafe,
Equal is Common Senfe, and Common Ease.

Remember, Man," the Universal Caufe
"Acts not by partial, but by gen'ral laws;"
And makes, what Happinefs we juftly call,
Subfift, not in the good of one, but all.

There's not a bleffing Individuals find,
But fome way leans and hearkens to the kind,
No Bandit fierce, no Tyrant mad with pride,
No cavern'd Hermit refts felf-fatisfy'd:
Who moft to fhun or hate mankind pretend,
Seek an admirer, or would fix a friend :
Abstract what others feel, what others think,
All pleasures ficken, and all glories fink:

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Each has his fhare; and who would more obtain,
Shall find, the pleasure pays not half the pain.

ORDER is Heav'n's firft law; and this confeft,
Some are, and muft be, greater than the reft,
More rich, more wife; but who infers from hence
That fuch are happier, fhocks all common fenfe.
Heav'n to Mankind impartial we confefs,
If all are equal in their Happiness:

But mutual wants this Happiness increafe;
All Nature's diff'rence keeps all Nature's peace."

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ESSAY ON MAN.

EP. IV.

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Condition, circumftance, is not the thing;
Blifs is the fame in fubject or in king,
In who obtain defence, or who defend,
In him who is, or him who finds a friend:
Heav'n breathes thro' ev'ry member of the whole
One common bleffing, as one common foul.
But fortune's gifts if each alike poffeft,
And each were equal, must not all contest?
If then to all Men Happinefs was meant,
God in externals could not place Content.
Fortune her gifts may varioufly difpofe,
And these be happy call'd, unhappy thofe
But Heav'n's juft balance equal will appear,
While thofe are plac'd in Hope, and thefe in Fear: 70
Not prefent good or ill, the joy or curfe,
But future views of better or of worfe.

Oh fons of earth! attempt ye. fill to rife,
By mountains pil'd on mountains, to the fkies?
Heav'n ftill with laughter the vain toil furveys,
And buries madmen in the heaps they raife.

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Know, all the good that individuals find,
Or God and Nature meant to mere Mankind,
Reafon's whole pleafure, all the joys of Senfe,
Lie in three words, Health, Peace, and Competence., 80
But Health confifts with Temperance alone;"
And Peace, oh Virtue! Peace is all thy own.
The good or bad the gifts of Fortune gain;
But these lefs taste them, as they worfe obtain.
Say, in purfuit of profit or delight,

Who risk the moft, that take wrong means or right?
Of Vice or Virtue, whether bleft or curst,
Which meets contempt, or which compaflion first?
Count all th' advantage profp'rous Vice attains,
Tis but what Virtue fies from and difdains:
And grant the bad what happinefs they wou'd,
One they must want, which is, to pafs for good.

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Oh blind to truth, and God's whole fcheme below,

Who fancy Blifs to Vice, to Virtue Woe!

Who fees and follows that great fcheme the beft, 95
Beft knows the bleffing, and will most be bleft.

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But fools the Good alone, unhappy call,

For ills or accidents that chance to all.

See FALKLAND dies, the virtuous and the juft!
See god-like TURENNE proftrate on the duit!
See SIDNEY bleeds amid the martial ftrife!
Was this their Virtue, or Contempt of Life?"
Say, was it Virtue, more tho' Heav'n ne'er gave,
Lamented DIGBY! funk thee to the
grave?
Tell me, if Virtue' made the Son expire,
Why, full of days and honour, lives the Sire?
Why drew Marfeilles' good Bifhop purer breath,
When Nature ficken'd, and each gale was death?
Or why fo long (in life if long can be)
Lent Heav'n a parent to the poor and me?
What makes all phyfical or moral ill?

There deviates Nature, and here wanders Will.
God fends not ill; if rightly understood,
Or partial Ill is univerfal Good,..

Or change admits, or Nature lets it fall:

Short, and but rare, till Man improv'd it all.
We juft as wifely might of Heav'n complain
That righteous Abel was deftroyed by Cain,
As that the virtuous fon is ill at eafe

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NO

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When his lewd father gave the dire disease.

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Think we, like fome weak Prince, th' Eternal Caufe,

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Shall gravitation ceafe, if you go by?

Or fome old temple, nodding to its fall,

For Chartres' head referve the hanging wall?

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But ftill this world (fo fitted for the knave)
Contents us not. A better fhall we have?
A kingdom of the Juit then let it be:
But firft confider how thofe Juft agree.

The good muft merit God's peculiar care;
But who, but God, can tell us who they are?

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ESSAY ON MAN.

One thinks on Calvin Heav'n's own Spirit fell;
Another deems him inftrument of hell;
If Calvin feel Heav'n's bleffing, or its rod,
This cries there is, and that, there is no God.
What fhocks one part will edify the reft,
Nor with one fyftem can they all be bleft.
The very beft will varioully incline,

EP. IV.

And what rewards your Virtue, punish mine.
WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT.-This world, 'tis true,
Was made for Cæfar-but for Titus too:

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146 And which more bleft? who chain'd his country, fay, Or he whofe Virtue figh'd to lofe a day?

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"But fometimes Virtue ftarves, while Vice is fed." What then? Is the reward of Virtue bread? That, Vice may merit, 'tis the price of toil; The knave deferves it, when he tills the foil, The knave deferve it, when he tempts the main, Where folly fights for kings, or dives for gain. The good man may be weak, be indolent; Nor is his claim to plenty, but content. But grant him Riches, your demand is o'er?

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No fhall the good want Health, the good wants

Pow'r?"

Add Health, and Pow'r, and ev'ry earthly thing, "Why bounded Pow'r? why private? why no king? Nay, why external for internal giv'n?

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Why is not Man a God, and Earth a Heav'n?”
Who afk and reafon thus, will fearce conceive
God gives enough, while he has more to give:
Immenfe the pow'r, immenfe were the demand;
Say, at what part of nature will they stand?

What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy,
The foul's calm. fun-fhine, and the lieart-felt, joy,
Is Virtue's prize: A better would you fix,
Then give Humility a coach and fix,

Juftice a Conqu'ror's fword, or Truth a gown,
Or public Spirit its great cure, a Crown.
Weak, foolish Man! will Heav'n reward us there.
With the fame trash mad mortals with for here?

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The Boy and Man an individual makes,

Yet fight thou now for apples and for cakes?

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Go, like the Indian, in another life
Expect thy dog, thy bottle, and thy wife.
As well as dream such trifles are affign'd,
As toys and empires, for a god-like mind.
Rewards, that either would to virtue bring
No joy, or be deftructive of the thing:
How oft by thefe at fixty are undone
The Virtues of a faint at twenty-one !^
To whom can Riches give Repute or Truft,
Content, or Pleafure, but the Good and Juft?*
Judges and Senates have been bought for gold,.
Efteem and Love were never to be fold.

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Oh fool to think God hates the worthy mind,
The lover and the love of human kind,
Whofe life is healthful, and whose conscience clear,

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Because he wants a thousand pounds a year..

Honour and fhame from no condition rife;
A&t well your part, there all the honour lies.
Fortune in Men has fome fmall diff'rence made,
One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade;
The cobler apron'd, and the parfon gown'd,.
The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd,
"What differ more (you cry) than crown and cowl ?”
T tell you, friend; a wife man and a fool..
You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk,,
Or, cobler-like, the parfon will be drunk,

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Worth makes the man, and want of it, the fellow;
The reft is all but leather or prunello.

Stuck o'er with titles, and hung round with ftrings 205
That thou may't 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 thofe 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.

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