And taught th' unblemis❜d to preserve with care That purity, whose loss was loss of all.
Men too were nice in honour in those days,
And judg d offenders well. Then he that sharp'd, And pocketted a prize by fraud obtain❜d, Was mark'd and shunn'd as odious
He that sold His country, or was slack when she requir'd His ev'ry nerve in action and at stretch, Paid with the blood, that he had basely spar'd, The price of his default But now-yes, now We are become so candid and so fair, So lib'ral in construction, and so rich In Christian charity, (good-natur'd age!) That they are safe, sinners of either sex, Transgress what laws they may. Well dress'd, well bred,
Well equipag'd, is ticket good enough
To pass as readily through ev'ry door. Hypocrisy, detest her as we may,
(And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet) May claim this merit still-that she admits The worth of what she mimicks with such care, And thus gives virtue indirect applause ; But she has burnt her mask, not needed here, Where vice has such allowance, that her shifts And specious semblances have lost their use.
I was a stricken deer, that left the herd Long since. With many an arrow deep infix'd My panting side was charg'd, when I withdrew To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. There was I found by one who had himself Been hurt by th' archers. In his side he bore,
And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars. With gentle force soliciting the darts,
He drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade me live: Since then, with few associates, in remote And silent woods I wander, far from those My former partners of the peopled scene; With few associates, and not wishing more. Here much I ruminate, as much I may, With other views of men and manners now Than once, and others of a life to come. I see that all are wand'rers, gone astray Each in his own delusions; they are lost In chase of fancied happiness, still woo'd And never won. Dream after dream ensues; And still they dream that they shall still succeed, And still are disappointed. Rings the world With the vain stir. I sum up half mankind, And add two thirds of the remaining half, And find the total of their hopes and fears Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as gay As if created only like the fly,
That spreads his motley wings in th' eye of noon, To sport sheir season, and be seen no more. The rest are sober dreamers, grave and wise, And pregnant with discov'ries new and rare. Some write a narrative of wars, and feats Of heroes little known; and call the rant
A history describe the man, of whom
His own coevals took but little note,
And paint his person, character, and views,
As they had known him from his mother's womb. They disentangle from the puzzled skein,
In which obscurity has wrapp'd them up, The threads of politick and shrewd design, That ran through all his purposes, and charge His mind with meanings that he never had, Or, having, kept conceal'd. Some drill and bore The solid earth, and from the strata there Extract a register, by which we learn, That he who made it, and reveal'd its date To Moses, was mistaken in its age.
Some, more acute, and more industrious still, Contrive creation; travel nature up
To the sharp peak of her sublimest height, And tell us whence the stars; why some are fix'd, And planetary some; what gave them first Rotation, from what fountain flow'd their light. Great contest follows, and much learned dust Involves the combatants; each claiming truth, And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spent The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp In playing tricks with nature, giving laws To distant worlds, and trifling in their own. Is't not a pity now that tickling rheums Should ever tease the lungs, and blear the sight, Of oracles like these? Great pity too, That having wielded th' elements, and built A thousand systems, each in his own way, They should go out in fume, and be forgot? Ah! what is life thus spent? and what are they Bet frantick, who thus spend it? all for smoke- Eternity for bubbles proves at last
A senseless bargain. When I see such games Play'd by the creatures of a Pow'r, who swears
That he will judge the earth, and call the fool To a sharp reck'ning, that has liv'd in vain; And when I weigh this seeming wisdom well, And prove it in the infallible result
So hollow and so false-1 feel my heart Dissolve in pity, and account the learn'd, If this be learning, most of all deceiv'd. Great crimes alarm the conscience, but it sleeps, While thoughtful man is plausibly amus'd. Defend me therefore, common sense, say I, From reveries so airy, from the toil Of dropping buckets into empty wells, And growing old in drawing nothing up!
'Twere well, says one sage erudite, profound, Terribly arch d, and aqueline his nose, And overbuilt with most impending brows, Twere well, could you permit the world to live As the world pleases: what's the world to you? Much. I was born of woman, and drew milk As sweet as charity from human breasts. I think, articulate, I laugh and weep, And exercise all functions of a man.
How then should I and any man that lives Be strangers to each other? Pierce my vein, Take of the crimson stream meand'ring there, And catechise it well; apply the glass, Search it, and prove now if it be not blood Congenial with thine own: and, if it be, What edge of subtlety canst thou suppose Keen enough, wise and skilful as thou art, To cut the link of brotherhood, by which One common Maker bound me to the kind?
True; I am no proficient, I confess,
In arts like yours. I cannot call the swift And perilous lightnings from the angry clouds, And bid them hide themselves in earth beneath; I cannot analyse the air, nor catch
The parallax of yonder lum'nous point,
That seems half quench'd in the immense abyss: Such pow'rs I boast not-neither can I rest A silent witness of the headlong rage,
Or heedless folly, by which thousands die, Bone of my bone, and kindred souls to mine. God never meant that man should scale the heav'ns
By stride of human wisdom, in his works, Though wondrous: he commands us in his word To seek him rather where his mercy shines. The mind, indeed, enlighten'd from above, Views him in all; ascribes to the grand cause The grand effect; acknowledges with joy His manner, and with rapture tastes his style: But never yet did philosophick tube, That brings the plannets home into the eye Of observation, and discovers, else Not visible, his family of worlds,
Discover him that rules them; such a veil Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth, And dark in things divine. Full often too Our wayward intellect, the more we learn Of nature, overlooks her author more; From instrumental causes proud to draw Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake. But if his Word once teach us, shoot a ray
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