Hence diff'rent Paflions more or lefs inflame,
As strong, or weak, the Organs of the Frame;
And hence one Mafter Paffion, in the Breaft,
Like Aaron's Serpent, fwallows up the rest.
As Man perhaps, the moment of his Breath,
Receives the lurking Principle of Death, loli
The young Disease that must fubdue at length,
Grows with his growth and ftrengthens with his
So, caft and mingled with his very Frame, [Arength;
The Mind's Disease, its ruling Paffion came i
Each vital Humour which fhould feed the whole,
Soon flows to this, in Body and in Soul; nchi
Whatever warms the heart, or fills the head.
As the Mind' opens, and its Functions fpread, I.
Imagination plies her dang 'rous Art, an
And pours it all upon the peccant Part
Nature its Mother, Habit is its Nurfe; Wit, Spirit, Faculties, but make it worfes Reason itself but gives Edge and Powr, As Heav'ns bleft Beam turns Vinegar more fow'r; We, wretched Subjects, tho' to lawful Sway,
In this weak Queeit, fome Fav'rite ftill obey., A
Ah! if the lend not Arms, as well as Rules,
What can the more than tell us we are Fools?.
Teach us to mourn our Nature, not to mend,
A fharp Accufer, but a helplefs Friend!
Or from a Judge turn Pleader, to perfuade
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 'em out.
Yes: Nature's Road muft ever be prefer'd;
Reafon is here no Guide, but still a Guard;
'Tis her's to rectify, not overthrow,
And treat this Paffion more as Friend than Foe:"
Like varying Winds, by other Paflions toft,
This drives them conftant to a certain Coast.
Let Pow'r or Knowledge, Gold, or Glory, please,
Or (oft more strong than all) the Love of Eafe:
Thro' Life 'tis follow'd, ev'n at Life's Expence;
The Merchant's Toil, the Sage's Indolence,
The Monk's Humility, the Hero's Pride,
And all alike, find Reafon on their fide.
Th' Eternal Art, educing Good from Ill, it Grafts on this Paffion our beft Principle: MAN :i 'Tis thus, the Mercury of Man is fix'd,
Strong grows the Virtue with his Nature mix'd;
The Drofs cements what elfe were too refin'd,
And in one Int'reft Body acts with Mind.
As Fruits ungrateful to the Planter's care
On Savage flocks inferted, learn to bear; A
The fureft Virtues thus from Paffions fhoot,
Wild Nature's Vigour working at the Root.
What Crops of Wit and Honefty appear,
From Spleen, from Obftinacy, Hate or Fear! r
See Anger, Zeal and Fortitude fupply
Ev'n Av'rice, Prudence; Sloth, Philofophy;
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 or grows on Pride, or grows on Shame.
Thus Nature gives us (let it check our Pride)
The Virtue nearest to our Vice ally'd ;
Reason the Byas turns to Good from Ill,
And Nero reigns a Titus, if he will.
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The fiery Soul abhorr'd in Cataline,
In Decius charms, in Curtius is divine.
The fame Ambition can destroy 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.
Tho' each by turns the other's bound invade,
As in fome well-wrought Picture Light and Shade,
And oft fo mix, the diff'rence is too, nice
Where ends the Virtue, or begins the Vice:
Fools! who from hence into the Notion fall,
That Vice or Virtue there is none at all.
If white and black, blend, foften, and unite
A thoufand ways, is there no black or white?
Ask your own Heart, and nothing is fo plain;
'Tis to mistake them, costs the Time and Pain.
Vice is a Monster of fo frightful mien, As, to be hated, needs but to be feen; But feen too oft, familiar with her Face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
A Cheat! a Whore! who ftarts not at the Name,
In all the Inns of Court, or Drury Lane?
But where the Point of Vice, was ne'er agreed:
Ask where's the North? at Tork '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 farther gone than he.
Ev'n those who dwell beneath her very Zone,
Or never feel the Rage, or never own;
What happier Natures fhrink 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 wife,
And ev❜n the best by fits what they defpife.
'Tis but by Parts we follow Good or Ill,
For, Vice or Virtue, Self directs it ftill;
Each Individual feeks a fev'ral Goal:
But HEAV'N's great View is One, and that the WHOLE:
That counter-works each Folly and Caprice;
That difapoints th' Effect of ev'ry Vice.
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