Who first taught souls enslaved, and realms undone, The enormous faith of many made for one; That proud exception to all Nature's laws, To invert the world, and counter-work its cause?

Force first made conquest, and that conquest, law; Till superst.i.tion taught the tyrant awe, Then shared the tyranny, then lent it aid, And G.o.ds of conquerors, slaves of subjects made: She, 'midst the lightning's blaze, and thunder's sound, When rocked the mountains, and when groaned the ground, She taught the weak to bend, the proud to pray, To power unseen, and mightier far than they: She, from the rending earth and bursting skies, Saw G.o.ds descend, and fiends infernal rise: Here fixed the dreadful, there the blest abodes; Fear made her devils, and weak hope her G.o.ds; G.o.ds partial, changeful, pa.s.sionate, unjust, Whose attributes were rage, revenge, or l.u.s.t; Such as the souls of cowards might conceive, And, formed like tyrants, tyrants would believe.

Zeal then, not charity, became the guide; And h.e.l.l was built on spite, and heaven on pride, Then sacred seemed the ethereal vault no more; Altars grew marble then, and reeked with gore; Then first the flamen tasted living food; Next his grim idol smeared with human blood; With heaven's own thunders shook the world below, And played the G.o.d an engine on his foe.

So drives self-love, through just and through unjust, To one man's power, ambition, lucre, l.u.s.t: The same self-love, in all, becomes the cause Of what restrains him, government and laws.

For, what one likes if others like as well, What serves one will when many wills rebel?

How shall he keep, what, sleeping or awake, A weaker may surprise, a stronger take?

His safety must his liberty restrain: All join to guard what each desires to gain.

Forced into virtue thus by self-defence, Even kings learned justice and benevolence: Self-love forsook the path it first pursued, And found the private in the public good.

'Twas then, the studious head or generous mind, Follower of G.o.d, or friend of human-kind, Poet or patriot, rose but to restore The faith and moral Nature gave before; Re-lumed her ancient light, not kindled new; If not G.o.d's image, yet His shadow drew: Taught power's due use to people and to kings, Taught nor to slack, nor strain its tender strings, The less, or greater, set so justly true, That touching one must strike the other too; Till jarring interests, of themselves create The according music of a well-mixed state.

Such is the world's great harmony, that springs From order, union, full consent of things: Where small and great, where weak and mighty, made To serve, not suffer, strengthen, not invade; More powerful each as needful to the rest, And, in proportion as it blesses, blest; Draw to one point, and to one centre bring Beast, man, or angel, servant, lord, or king.

For forms of government let fools contest; Whate'er is best administered is best: For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight; His can't be wrong whose life is in the right: In faith and hope the world will disagree, But all mankind's concern is charity: All must be false that thwart this one great end; And all of G.o.d, that bless mankind or mend.

Man, like the generous vine, supported lives; The strength he gains is from the embrace he gives.

On their own axis as the planets run, Yet make at once their circle round the sun; So two consistent motions act the soul; And one regards itself, and one the whole.

Thus G.o.d and Nature linked the general frame, And bade self-love and social be the same.

ARGUMENT OF EPISTLE IV.

Of the Nature and State of Man with respect to Happiness.

I. False Notions of Happiness, Philosophical and Popular, answered from v.19 to 77. II. It is the End of all Men, and attainable by all, v.30. G.o.d intends Happiness to be equal; and to be so, it must be social, since all particular Happiness depends on general, and since He governs by general, not particular Laws, v.37. As it is necessary for Order, and the peace and welfare of Society, that external goods should be unequal, Happiness is not made to consist in these, v.51. But, notwithstanding that inequality, the balance of Happiness among Mankind is kept even by Providence, by the two Pa.s.sions of Hope and Fear, v.70. III. What the Happiness of Individuals is, as far as is consistent with the const.i.tution of this world; and that the good Man has here the advantage, V.77. The error of imputing to Virtue what are only the calamities of Nature or of Fortune, v.94. IV. The folly of expecting that G.o.d should alter His general Laws in favour of particulars, v.121. V. That we are not judges who are good; but that, whoever they are, they must be happiest, v.133, etc. VI. That external goods are not the proper rewards, but often inconsistent with, or destructive of Virtue, v.165. That even these can make no Man happy without Virtue: Instanced in Riches, v.183. Honours, v.191. n.o.bility, v.203. Greatness, v.215. Fame, v.235. Superior Talents, v.257, etc. With pictures of human Infelicity in Men possessed of them all, v.267, etc. VII. That Virtue only const.i.tutes a Happiness, whose object is universal, and whose prospect eternal, v.307, etc. That the perfection of Virtue and Happiness consists in a conformity to the Order of Providence here, and a Resignation to it here and hereafter, v.326, etc.

EPISTLE IV.

Oh, happiness, our being's end and aim!

Good, pleasure, ease, content! whate'er thy name: That something still which prompts the eternal sigh, For which we bear to live, or dare to die, Which still so near us, yet beyond us lies, O'erlooked, seen double, by the fool, and wise.

Plant of celestial seed! if dropped below, Say, in what mortal soil thou deign'st to grow?

Fair opening to some Court's propitious shine, Or deep with diamonds in the flaming mine?

Twined with the wreaths Parna.s.sian laurels yield, Or reaped in iron harvests of the field?

Where grows?-where grows it not? If vain our toil, We ought to blame the culture, not the soil: Fixed to no spot is happiness sincere, 'Tis nowhere to be found, or everywhere; 'Tis never to be bought, but always free, And fled from monarchs, St. John! dwells with thee.

Ask of the learned the way? The learned are blind; This bids to serve, and that to shun mankind; Some place the bliss in action, some in ease, Those call it pleasure, and contentment these; Some, sunk to beasts, find pleasure end in pain; Some, swelled to G.o.ds, confess even virtue vain; Or indolent, to each extreme they fall, To trust in everything, or doubt of all.

Who thus define it, say they more or less Than this, that happiness is happiness?

Take Nature's path, and mad opinions leave; All states 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 please, Equal is common sense, and common ease.

Remember, man, "the Universal Cause Acts not by partial, but by general laws;"

And makes what happiness we justly call Subsist not in the good of one, but all.

There's not a blessing individuals find, But some way leans and hearkens to the kind: No bandit fierce, no tyrant mad with pride, No caverned hermit, rests self-satisfied: Who most to shun or hate mankind pretend, Seek an admirer, or would fix a friend: Abstract what others feel, what others think, All pleasures sicken, and all glories sink: Each has his share; and who would more obtain, Shall find, the pleasure pays not half the pain.

Order is Heaven's first law; and this confest, Some are, and must be, greater than the rest, More rich, more wise; but who infers from hence That such are happier, shocks all common sense.

Heaven to mankind impartial we confess, If all are equal in their happiness: But mutual wants this happiness increase; All Nature's difference keeps all Nature's peace.

Condition, circ.u.mstance is not the thing; Bliss is the same in subject or in king, In who obtain defence, or who defend, In him who is, or him who finds a friend: Heaven breathes through every member of the whole One common blessing, as one common soul.

But fortune's gifts if each alike possessed, And each were equal, must not all contest?

If then to all men happiness was meant, G.o.d in externals could not place content.

Fortune her gifts may variously dispose, And these be happy called, unhappy those; But Heaven's just balance equal will appear, While those are placed in hope, and these in fear: Nor present good or ill, the joy or curse, But future views of better or of worse, Oh, sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise, By mountains piled on mountains, to the skies, Heaven still with laughter the vain toil surveys, And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.

Know, all the good that individuals find, Or G.o.d and Nature meant to mere mankind, Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense, Lie in three words, health, peace, and competence.

But health consists with temperance alone; And peace, oh, virtue! peace is all thy own.

The good or bad the gifts of fortune gain; But these less taste them, as they worse obtain.

Say, in pursuit of profit or delight, Who risk the most, that take wrong means, or right; Of vice or virtue, whether blessed or cursed, Which meets contempt, or which compa.s.sion first?

Count all the advantage prosperous vice attains, 'Tis but what virtue flies from and disdains: And grant the bad what happiness they would, One they must want, which is, to pa.s.s for good.

Oh, blind to truth, and G.o.d's whole scheme below, Who fancy bliss to vice, to virtue woe!

Who sees and follows that great scheme the best, Best knows the blessing, and will most be blest.

But fools the good alone unhappy call, For ills or accidents that chance to all.

See Falkland dies, the virtuous and the just!

See G.o.d-like Turenne prostrate on the dust!

See Sidney bleeds amid the martial strife!

Was this their virtue, or contempt of life?

Say, was it virtue, more though Heaven ne'er gave, Lamented Digby! sunk thee to the grave?

Tell me, if virtue made the son expire, Why, full of days and honour, lives the sire?

Why drew Ma.r.s.eilles' good bishop purer breath, When Nature sickened, and each gale was death?

Or why so long (in life if long can be) Lent Heaven a parent to the poor and me?

What makes all physical or moral ill?

There deviates Nature, and here wanders will.

G.o.d sends not ill; if rightly understood, Or partial ill is universal good, Or change admits, or Nature lets it fall; Short, and but rare, till man improved it all.

We just as wisely might of Heaven complain That righteous Abel was destroyed by Cain, As that the virtuous son is ill at ease When his lewd father gave the dire disease.

Think we, like some weak prince, the Eternal Cause p.r.o.ne for His favourites to reverse His laws?

Shall burning Etna, if a sage requires, Forget to thunder, and recall her fires?

On air or sea new motions be imprest, Oh, blameless Bethel! to relieve thy breast?

When the loose mountain trembles from on high, Shall gravitation cease, if you go by?

Or some old temple, nodding to its fall, For Chartres' head reserve the hanging wall?

But still this world (so fitted for the knave) Contents us not. A better shall we have?

A kingdom of the just then let it be: But first consider how those just agree.

The good must merit G.o.d's peculiar care: But who, but G.o.d, can tell us who they are?

One thinks on Calvin Heaven's own spirit fell; Another deems him instrument of h.e.l.l; If Calvin feel Heaven's blessing, or its rod.

This cries there is, and that, there is no G.o.d.

What shocks one part will edify the rest, Nor with one system can they all be blest.

The very best will variously incline, And what rewards your virtue, punish mine.

Whatever is, is right. This world, 'tis true, Was made for Caesar-but for t.i.tus too: And which more blest? who chained his country, say, Or he whose virtue sighed to lose a day?

"But sometimes virtue starves, while vice is fed."

What then? Is the reward of virtue bread?

That, vice may merit, 'tis the price of toil; The knave deserves it, when he tills the soil, The knave deserves 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?

"No-shall the good want health, the good want power?"

Add health, and power, and every earthly thing, "Why bounded power? why private? why no king?"

Nay, why external for internal given?

Why is not man a G.o.d, and earth a heaven?

Who ask and reason thus, will scarce conceive G.o.d gives enough, while He has more to give: Immense the power, immense were the demand; Say, at what part of nature will they stand?

What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, The soul's calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy, Is virtue's prize: A better would you fix?

Then give humility a coach and six, Justice a conqueror's sword, or truth a gown, Or public spirit its great cure, a crown.

Weak, foolish man! will heaven reward us there With the same trash mad mortals wish for here?

The boy and man an individual makes, Yet sighest thou now for apples and for cakes?

Go, like the Indian, in another life Expect thy dog, thy bottle, and thy wife: As well as dream such trifles are a.s.signed, As toys and empires, for a G.o.d-like mind.

Rewards, that either would to virtue bring No joy, or be destructive of the thing: How oft by these at sixty are undone The virtues of a saint at twenty-one!

To whom can riches give repute or trust, Content, or pleasure, but the good and just?

Judges and senates have been bought for gold, Esteem and love were never to be sold.

Oh, fool! to think G.o.d hates the worthy mind, The lover and the love of human kind, Whose life is healthful, and whose conscience clear, Because he wants a thousand pounds a year.

Honour and shame from no condition rise; Act well your part, there all the honour lies.

Fortune in men has some small difference made, One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade; The cobbler ap.r.o.ned, and the parson gowned, The friar hooded, and the monarch crowned, "What differ more (you cry) than crown and cowl?"

I'll tell you, friend! a wise man and a fool.

You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk, Or, cobbler-like, the parson will be drunk, Worth makes the man, and want of it, the fellow; The rest is all but leather or prunella.

Stuck o'er with t.i.tles and hung round with strings, That thou mayest be by kings, or wh***s of kings.

Boast the pure blood of an ill.u.s.trious race, In quiet flow from Lucrece to Lucrece; But by your fathers' worth if yours you rate, Count me those only who were good and great.

Go! if your ancient, but ign.o.ble blood Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood, Go! and pretend your family is young; Nor own, your fathers have been fools so long.