Who must my weakness and my ignorance confefs, That I believe in much I ne'er can hope to fee; Methinks I'm fatisfy'd to guess,

That this new, noble, and delightful fcene, Is wonderfully mov'd by fome exalted men, Who have well ftudied in the world's disease, (That epidemic error and depravity,

Or in our judgment or our eye)

That what furprizes us can only pleafe. We often fearch contentedly the whole world round, To make fome great difcovery;

And fcorn it when 'tis found.

Juft fo the mighty Nile has fuffer'd in its fame,
Because 'tis faid (and perhaps only faid)
We've found a little inconfiderable head,

That feeds the huge unequal ftream.
Confider human folly, and you'll quickly own,
That all the praises it can give,

By which fome fondly boaft they fhall for ever live, Won't pay th' impertinence of being known: Elfe why should the fam'd Lydian king,

(Whom all the charms of an ufurped wife and ftate, With all that power unfelt, courts mankind to be great,

Did with new unexperienc'd glories wait) Still wear, ftill doat, on his invisible ring?

VII. Were

VII.

Were I to form a regular thought of Fame,
Which is perhaps as hard t' imagine right,
As to paint Echo to the fight;

I would not draw th' idea from an empty name;
Becaufe, alas! when we all die,
Careless and ignorant pofterity,

Although they praife the learning and the wit,
And though the title feems to fhow

The name and man by whom the book was writ, Yet how fhall they be brought to know, Whether that very name was he, or you, or I? Lefs fhould I daub it o'er with tranfitory praife, And water-colours of thefe days:

These days! where e'en th' extravagance of poetry, Is at a lofs for figures to exprefs

Men's folly, whimfies, and inconftancy,

And by a faint defcription makes them lefs. Then tell us what is Fame, where fhall we fearch for it?

Look where exalted Virtue and Religion fit,
Enthron'd with heavenly Wit!

Look where you fee

The greateft fcorn of learned vanity!

(And then how much a nothing is mankind! Whose reason is weigh'd down by popular air, Who, by that, vainly talks of baffling death; And hopes to lengthen life by a transfusion of breath,

Which yet whoe'er examines right will find To be an art as vain as bottling up of wind!) And when you find out thefe, believe true Fame

is there, VOL. VII.

C

Far

Far above all reward, yet to which all is due:

And this, ye great unknown! is only known

in you.

VIII.

The juggling fea-god, when by chance trepan'd By fome inftructed querift fleeping on the fand, Impatient of all anfwers, ftrait became

A ftealing brook, and strove to creep away
Into his native sea,

Vext at their follies, murmur'd in his stream;
But difappointed of his fond defire,

Would vanish in a pyramid of fire.

This furly flippery God, when he design'd
To furnish his escapes,

Ne'er borrow'd more variety of fhapes "Than you to please and fatisfy mankind, And feem (almoft) transform'd to water, flame, and air,

So well you answer all phænomena there: Though madmen and the wits, philofophers and fools,

With all that factious or enthufiaftic dotards dream, And all the incoherent jargon of the fchools;

Though all the fumes of fear, hope, love, and fhame,

Contrive to fhock your minds with many a fenfelefs doubt;

Doubts where the Delphic God would grope in ignorance and night,

The God of learning and of light

Would want a God himself to help him out.

IX.

IX.

Philofophy, as it before us lies,

Seems to have borrow'd fome ungrateful tafte
Of doubts, impertinence, and niceties,

From every age through which it pafs'd,
But always with a stronger relifh of the last.
This beauteous queen, by Heaven defign'd
To be the great original

For man to dress and polish his uncourtly mind,
In what mock habits have they put her fince the fall!
More oft' in fools and madmens hands than sages
She feems a medley of all ages,

With a huge fardingale to fwell her fuftian ftuff,
A new commode, a top-knot, and a ruff,
Her face patch'd o'er with modern pedantry,
With a long sweeping train

Of comments and difputes, ridiculous and vain,
All of old cut with a new dye:

How foon have you reftor'd her charms
And rid her of her lumber and her books,
Dreft her again genteel and neat,

And rather tight than great!

How fond we are to court her to our arms!

How much of Heaven is in her naked looks!

X.

Thus the deluding Mufe oft' blinds me to her ways,
And ev'n my very thoughts transfers

And changes all to beauty, and the praise
Of that proud tyrant fex of hers.
The rebel Mufe, alas! takes part
But with my own rebellious heart,

And you with fatal and immortal wit confpire
To fan th' unhappy fire.

Cruel unknown! what is it you intend?

Ah! could you, could you hope a poet for your

friend!

Rather forgive what my

firft tranfport faid:

May all the blood, which shall by woman's fcorn be shed,

Lie upon you and on your childrens' head? For you (ah! did I think I e'er should live to fee The fatal time when that could be!)

Have ev'n increas'd their pride and cruelty. Woman feems now above all vanity grown, Still boafting of her great unknown Platonic champions, gain'd without one female wile, Or the vast charges of a fmile;

Which 'tis a fhame to see how much of late You've taught the covetous wretches to o'er-rate, And which they've now the confciences to weigh In the fame balance with our tears,

And with such scanty wages pay

The bondage and the flavery of years.

Letthe vain sex dream on; the empire comes from
And had they common generofity,

us,

They would not ufe us thus. Well-though you've rais'd her to this high degree, Ourselves are rais'd as well as fhe;

And, fpite of all that they or you can do, "Tis pride and happiness enough to me, Still to be of the fame exalted lex with you.

XL