Nature its mother, habit is its nurse; Wit, spirit, faculties, but make it worse; Reason itself but gives it edge and power; As Heaven's blest beam turns vinegar more sour.

We, wretched subjects, though to lawful sway, In this weak queen, some favourite still obey: 150 Ah! if she lend not arms, as well as rules, What can she more than tell us we are fools?

Teach us to mourn our nature, not to mend, A sharp accuser, but a helpless friend!

Or from a judge turn pleader, to persuade The choice we make, or justify it made; Proud of an easy conquest all along, She but removes weak passions for the strong: So, when small humours gather to a gout, The doctor fancies he has driven them out. 160

Yes, Nature's road must ever be preferr'd; Reason is here no guide, but still a guard: 'Tis hers to rectify, not overthrow, And treat this passion more as friend than foe: A mightier power the strong direction sends, And several men impels to several ends: Like varying winds, by other passions tost, This drives them constant to a certain coast.

Let power or knowledge, gold or glory, please, Or (oft more strong than all) the love of ease; 170 Through life 'tis follow'd, even at life's expense; The merchant's toil, the sage's indolence, The monk's humility, the hero's pride, All, all alike, find reason on their side.

Th' eternal Art educing good from ill, Grafts on this passion our best principle: 'Tis thus the mercury of Man is fix'd, Strong grows the virtue with his nature mix'd; The dross cements what else were too refined And in one interest body acts with mind. 180

As fruits, ungrateful to the planter's care, On savage stocks inserted, learn to bear; The surest virtues thus from passions shoot, Wild nature's vigour working at the root.

What crops of wit and honesty appear From spleen, from obstinacy, hate, or fear!

See anger, zeal and fortitude supply; Even avarice, prudence; sloth, philosophy; Lust, through some certain strainers well refined, Is gentle love, and charms all womankind; 190 Envy, to which th' ignoble mind's a slave, Is emulation in the learn'd or brave; Nor virtue, male or female, can we name,

But what will grow on pride, or grow on shame.

Thus Nature gives us (let it check our pride) The virtue nearest to our vice allied: Reason the bias turns to good from ill, And Nero reigns a Titus, if he will.

The fiery soul abhorr'd in Catiline, In Decius charms, in Curtius is divine: 200 The same ambition can destroy or save, And makes a patriot, as it makes a knave.

IV. This light and darkness in our chaos join'd What shall divide? the God within the mind.

Extremes in Nature equal ends produce, In man they join to some mysterious use; Though each by turns the other's bound invade, As, in some well-wrought picture, light and shade, And oft so mix, the difference is too nice Where ends the virtue, or begins the vice. 210

Fools! who from hence into the notion fall, That vice or virtue there is none at all.

If white and black blend, soften, and unite A thousand ways, is there no black or white?

Ask your own heart, and nothing is so plain; 'Tis to mistake them, costs the time and pain.

V. Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As, to be hated, needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace. 220 But where th' extreme of vice, was ne'er agreed: Ask where's the north? at York, 'tis on the Tweed; In Scotland, at the Orcades; and there, At Greenland, Zembla, or the Lord knows where.

No creature owns it in the first degree, But thinks his neighbour further gone than he; Even those who dwell beneath its very zone, Or never feel the rage, or never own; What happier natures shrink at with affright, The hard inhabitant contends is right. 230

Virtuous and vicious every man must be, Few in th' extreme, but all in the degree; The rogue and fool by fits is fair and wise; And even the best, by fits, what they despise.

'Tis but by parts we follow good or ill; For, vice or virtue, self directs it still; Each individual seeks a several goal; But Heaven's great view is one, and that the whole.

That counterworks each folly and caprice; That disappoints th' effect of every vice; 240 That, happy frailties to all ranks applied; Shame to the virgin, to the matron pride, Fear to the statesman, rashness to the chief, To kings presumption, and to crowds belief: That, virtue's ends from vanity can raise, Which seeks no interest, no reward but praise; And build on wants, and on defects of mind, The joy, the peace, the glory of mankind.

Heaven forming each on other to depend, A master, or a servant, or a friend, 250 Bids each on other for assistance call, Till one man's weakness grows the strength of all.

Wants, frailties, passions, closer still ally The common interest, or endear the tie.

To these we owe true friendship, love sincere, Each home-felt joy that life inherits here; Yet from the same we learn, in its decline, Those joys, those loves, those interests to resign; Taught half by reason, half by mere decay, To welcome death, and calmly pass away. 260 Whate'er the passion, knowledge, fame, or pelf, Not one will change his neighbour with himself.

The learn'd is happy Nature to explore; The fool is happy that he knows no more; The rich is happy in the plenty given, The poor contents him with the care of Heaven.

See the blind beggar dance, the cripple sing, The sot a hero, lunatic a king; The starving chemist in his golden views Supremely bless'd, the poet in his Muse. 270 See some strange comfort every state attend, And pride bestow'd on all, a common friend; See some fit passion every age supply, Hope travels through, nor quits us when we die.

Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law, Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw: Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, A little louder, but as empty quite: Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage, And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age: 280 Pleased with this bauble still, as that before; Till, tired, he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.

Meanwhile opinion gilds with varying rays Those painted clouds that beautify our days; Each want of happiness by hope supplied, And each vacuity of sense by pride: These build as fast as knowledge can destroy; In Folly's cup still laughs the bubble, joy; One prospect lost, another still we gain; And not a vanity is given in vain; 290 Even mean self-love becomes, by force divine, The scale to measure others' wants by thine.

See! and confess, one comfort still must rise, 'Tis this, Though Man's a fool, yet God is wise.

VARIATIONS.

VER. 2, first edition--

The only science of mankind is Man.

After VER. 18, in the MS.--

For more perfection than this state can bear, In vain we sigh, 'Heaven made us as we are.'

As wisely, sure, a modest ape might aim To be like Man, whose faculties and frame He sees, he feels, as you or I to be An angel thing we neither know nor see.

Observe how near he edges on our race; What human tricks! how risible of face!

'It must be so--why else have I the sense Of more than monkey charms and excellence?

Why else to walk on two so oft essay'd?

And why this ardent longing for a maid?'

So pug might plead, and call his gods unkind, Till set on end and married to his mind.

Go, reasoning thing! assume the doctor's chair, As Plato deep, as Seneca severe: Fix moral fitness, and to God give rule, Then drop into thyself, &c.

VER. 21, edition fourth and fifth--

Show by what rules the wandering planets stray, Correct old Time, and teach the sun his way.

VER. 35, first edition--

Could He, who taught each planet where to roll, Describe or fix one movement of the soul?

Who mark'd their points to rise or to descend, Explain his own beginning or his end?

After VER. 86, in the MS.--

Of good and evil gods what frighted fools, Of good and evil reason puzzled schools, Deceived, deceiving, taught, &c.

After VER. 108, in the MS.--

A tedious voyage! where how useless lies The compass, if no powerful gusts arise?

After VER. 112, in the MS.--

The soft reward the virtuous, or invite; The fierce, the vicious punish or affright.

After VER. 194, in the MS.--

How oft, with passion, Virtue points her charms!

Then shines the hero, then the patriot warms.

Peleus' great son, or Brutus, who had known, Had Lucrece been a whore, or Helen none!

But virtues opposite to make agree, That, Reason! is thy task; and worthy thee.

Hard task, cries Bibulus, and reason weak: Make it a point, dear Marquess! or a pique.

Once, for a whim, persuade yourself to pay A debt to reason, like a debt at play.

For right or wrong have mortals suffer'd more?

B---- for his prince, or ---- for his whore?

Whose self-denials nature most control?

His, who would save a sixpence, or his soul?

Web for his health, a Chartreux for his sin, Contend they not which soonest shall grow thin?

What we resolve, we can: but here's the fault, We ne'er resolve to do the thing we ought.