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Ev’n 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.

Virtuous and vicious ev'ry man must be,

Few in th’extreme, but all in the degree:

The

rogue and fool, by fits, is fair and wise;

And ev’n 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 sev'ral goal;
But heav'n's great view is one, and that the whole.
That counterworks each folly and caprice;
That disappoints th' effects of ev'ry vice;
That, happy frailties to all ranks apply'd---
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 int’rest, no reward but praise;
And builds on wants, and on defects of mind,
The joy, the peace, the glory of mankind.

Heav'n forming each on other to depend,
A master, or a seryant, or a friend,

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 int'rest, 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 int'rests to resign;

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Taught half by reason, half by mere decay,
To welcome death, and calmly pass away.

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 giv'n,

The poor

contents him with the care of heav'n.

See the blind beggar dance, the cripple sing,
The sot a hero, lunatic a king;
The starving chemist in his golden views
Supremely blest, the poet in his muse.

See some strange comfort ev'ry state attend,
And pride bestow'd on all, a common friend :
See some fit passion ev'ry age supply,
Hope travels thro', nor quits us when we die.

Behold the child, by nature's kindly law,

Pleas'd 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 pray’r-books are the toys of age:
Pleas’d with this bauble still, as that before;
”Till tir'd he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.
Mean-while opinion gilds with varying rays
Those painted clouds that beautify our days;
Each want of happiness by hope supply'd,
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:

Ev'n 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, tho' man's a fool, yet God is wise.

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