To whom can riches give repute, or trust, Judges and senates have been bought for gold; 185 O fool! to think God hates the worthy mind, The lover and the love of human kind, 190 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 diff'rence made, One flaunt in rags, one flutters in brocade; The cobbler apron'd, and the parson gown'd, The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd. 195 "What differ more (you cry) than crown and cowl? I'll tell you, friend! a wise man and a fool. 200 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 prunello. Stuck o'er with titles and hung round with strings, 205 That thou may'st be by kings, or whores of kings, In quiet flow from Lucrece to Lucrece : But by your fathers' worth if your's you rate, Count me those only who were good and great. 210 Go! if your ancient, but ignoble blood Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood. Nor own your fathers have been fools so long. 215 Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards. Look next on greatness; say where greatness lies? The whole strange purpose of their lives, to find Not one looks backward, onward still he goes, All sly-slow things, with circumspective eyes: 'Tis phrase absurd to call a villain great : Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave, Is but the more a fool, the more a knave. 220 225 230 235 Like Socrates, that man is great indeed. What's fame? a fancy'd life in others' breath, A thing beyond us, e'en before our death. Just what you hear, you have, and what's unknown The same (my Lord) if Tully's or your own. 240 All that we feel of it begins and ends In the small circle of our foes or friends; To all beside as much an empty shade An Eugene living, as a Cæsar dead; Alike or when, or where they shone or shine. 245 A wit's a feather, and a chief's a rod; An honest man's the noblest work of God. Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart: And more true joy Marcellus exil'd feels, In parts superior what advantage lies? Bring then these blessings to a strict account; Make fair deductions; see to what they 'mount: 27 How much of other each is sure to cost; How each for other oft is wholly lost; How inconsistent greater goods with these; 27 Say would'st thou be the man to whom they fall? Mark how they grace Lord Umbra, or Sir Billy. If parts allure thee, think how Bacon shin'd, From ancient story, learn to scorn them all. There, in the rich, the honour'd, fam'd, and great, E'er taught to shine, or sanctify'd from shame : And haunt their slumbers in the pompous shade. 280 285 290 295 300 305 A tale, that blends their glory with their shame! Know then this truth (enough for man to know) "Virtue alone is happiness below." 31 The only point where human bliss stands still, 31 And but more relish'd as the more distress'd: Less pleasing far than Virtue's very tears: 320 Good, from each object, from each place acquir'd, For ever exercis'd, yet never tir'd; Never elated, while one man's oppress'd; Never dejected, while another's bless'd, And where no wants, no wishes can remain, 325 Since but to wish more virtue is to gain. See the sole bliss Heav'n could on all bestow! 330 Slave to no sect, who takes no private road, But looks through nature up to nature's God: Bares that chain which links th' immense design, 335 |