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Self-love and Reason to one end aspire,

Pain their averfion, Pleasure their defire;
But greedy That, its object would devour,

This taste the honey, and not wound the flower:
Pleafure, or wrong or rightly understood,

Our greatest evil, or our greateft good.

III. Modes of Self-love the Paffions we may call :
'Tis real good, or feeming, moves them all :
But fince not every good we can divide,
And Reafon bids us for our own provide:
Paffions, though felfish, if their means be fair,
Lift under Reafon, and deferve her care;
Thofe, that imparted, court a nobler aim,

Exalt their kind, and take some Virtue's name.
In lazy Apathy let Stoics boast
Their Virtue fix'd; 'tis fix'd as in a froft;
Contracted all, retiring to the breast;
But ftrength of mind is Exercife, not Rest:
The rifing tempeft puts in act the foul,
Parts it may ravage, but preferves the whole.
On life's vaft ocean diverfely we fail,
Reafon the card, but Paffion is the gale;
Nor God alone in the ftill calm we find,

He mounts the ftorm, and walks upon the wind.

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Paffions,

VARIATION.

After ver. 108. in the MS.

A tedious Voyage! where how ufelefs lies
The compafs, if no powerful gufts arife!

Paffions, like elements, though born to fight,
Yet, mix'd and foften'd, in his work unite:
Thefe 'tis enough to temper and employ;
But what compofes Man, can Man destroy?
Suffice that Reafon keep to Nature's road,
Subject, compound them, follow her and God.
Love, Hope, and Joy, fair Pleafure's fmiling train;
Hate, Fear, and Grief, the family of Pain,
Thefe mixt with art, and to due bounds confin'd,
Make and maintain the balance of the mind:
The lights and shades, whofe well-accorded ftrife
Gives all the strength and colour of our life.

Pleasures are ever in our hands or eyes;
And, when in act they ceafe, in profpect rife:
Present to grafp, and future ftill to find,

The whole employ of body and of mind.

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All spread their charms, but charm not all alike;
On different fenfes, different objects ftrike;
Hence different Paffions more or lefs inflame,

As ftrong or weak, the organs of the frame;
And hence one mafter Paffion in the breast,
Like Aaron's ferpent, fwallows up the reft.

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As Man, perhaps, the moment of his breath, Receives the lurking principle of death;

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The young disease, that must fubdue at length,
Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his ftrength:

VARIATION.

After ver. 112. in the MS.

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

So,

So, caft and mingled with his very frame,

The Mind's disease, its ruling Paffion came;
Each vital humour, which should feed the whole,
Soon flows to this, in body and in foul:
Whatever warms the heart, or fills the head,
As the mind opens, and its functions spread,
Imagination plies her dangerous art,
And pours it all upon the peccant part.

Nature its mother, Habit is its nurfe;
Wit, Spirit, Faculties, but make it worfe;
Reafon itself but gives it edge and power;
As Heaven's bleft beam turns vinegar more four.
We, wretched fubjects though to lawful sway,
In this weak queen, fome favourite ftill obey:
Ah! if the lend not arms, as well as rules,
What can fhe more than tell us we are fools?
Teach us to mourn our Nature, not to mend;
A fharp accufer, but a helpless friend!

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Or from a judge turn pleader, to perfuade

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The choice we make, or justify it made;

Proud of an eafy conqueft all along,

She but removes weak paffions for the ftrong:

So, when small humours gather to a gout,

The doctor fancies he has driv'n them out.

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Yes, Nature's road must ever be preferr'd;
Reason is here no guide, but ftill a guard;
'Tis hers to rectify, not overthrow,

And treat this paffion more as friend than foe;
A mightier Power the ftrong direction fends,
And feveral Men impels to feveral ends :

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Like varying winds, by other paffions toft,
This drives them conftant to a certain coaft.
Let power or knowledge, gold or glory, please,
Or (oft more ftrong than all) the love of eafe;
Through life 'tis follow'd, ev'n at life's expence ;
The merchant's toil, the fage's indolence,
The monk's humility, the hero's pride,
All, all alike, find Reafon on their fide.

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Th' Eternal Art, educing good from ill, Grafts on this Paffion our best principle: 'Tis thus the Mercury of Man is fix'd,

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Strong grows the Virtue with his nature mix'd;
The drofs cements what else were too refin'd,
And in one interest body acts with mind.

As fruits, ungrateful to the planter's care,
On savage stocks inserted learn to bear;
The fureft Virtues thus from Paffions shoot,
Wild Nature's vigour working at the root.
What crops of wit and honefty appear
From fpleen, from obftinacy, hate, or fear!
See anger, zeal and fortitude fupply;
Ev'n avarice, prudence; floth, philosophy;
Luft, through some certain ftrainers well refin'd,
Is gentle love, and charms all womankind;
Envy, to which th' ignoble mind's a flave,
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.

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VARIATION.

After ver. 194. in the MS.

Thus

How oft, with Paffion, Virtue points her Charms! Then fhines the Hero, then the Patriot warms.

Thus Nature gives us (let it check our pride)

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The virtue nearest to our vice ally'd:

Reason the byas turns to good from ill,

And Neto reigns a Titus, if he will.
The fiery foul abhor'd in Catiline,

In Decius charms, in Curtius is divine:
The fame ambition can deftroy or fave,
And makes a patriot as it makes a knave.

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 fome well-wrought picture, light and shade,
And oft fo mix, the difference is too nice

Where ends the Virtue, or begins the Vice.

VARIATIONS.

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Fools!

Peleus' great Son, or Brutus, who had known,
Had Lucrece been a Whore, or Helen none?
But Virtues oppofite to make agree,

That, Reafon! is thy task, and worthy Thee.
Hard talk, cries Bibulus, and Reason weak.
-Make it a point, dear Marquefs, or a pique.
Once, for a whim, perfuade yourself to pay
A debt to reafon, like a debt at play.

For right or wrong, have mortals fuffer'd more?
B- for his Prince, or ** for his Whore?
Whofe felf-denials nature most control?

His, who would fave a Sixpence, or his Soul?
Web for his health, a Chartreux for his Sin,
Contend they not which soonest shall grow thin?
: What we refolve, we can: but here's the fault,
We ne'er refolve to do the thing we ought.

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