The Grand Mistake Or, All Men Happy if they Please. Shewing, I. How Beggars may be as Happy as Kings. II. The Sick as Easie as the Sound. III. The Barren Woman as Contented as the Fruitful [by Edward Ward] |
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 | The Grand Mistake |  |
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[Vain restless Man, Insatiate in Desire]
Vain restless Man, Insatiate in Desire,
Why this Poor State dispise, that Rich admire,
Since Heav'ns regard, in spight of Fortunes Frowns,
Extends alike to Cottages and Crowns?
What Real Comforts are by KINGS ingrost,
But still the meanest Slave as Great may boast?
If Pow'r and Plenty are the Joys assign'd,
Each BEGGAR an Equivolent may find,
And ballance both with a Contented Mind.
A Peaceful Soul can bless the lowest State,
And turn the very sharpest edge of Fate.
The Highest Bliss the greatest Prince can know
Is free to ev'ry Clown that Toiles below.
Content's the Supream Blessing of the Mind,
And that, alike, is free to all Mankind.
Why this Poor State dispise, that Rich admire,
Since Heav'ns regard, in spight of Fortunes Frowns,
Extends alike to Cottages and Crowns?
What Real Comforts are by KINGS ingrost,
But still the meanest Slave as Great may boast?
If Pow'r and Plenty are the Joys assign'd,
Each BEGGAR an Equivolent may find,
And ballance both with a Contented Mind.
A Peaceful Soul can bless the lowest State,
And turn the very sharpest edge of Fate.
The Highest Bliss the greatest Prince can know
Is free to ev'ry Clown that Toiles below.
Content's the Supream Blessing of the Mind,
And that, alike, is free to all Mankind.
The Gaudy-Pomp that does on Monarchs wait,
And makes them seem as Happy as they're Great,
Is nothing but a Vain External shew,
Projected to deceive the common view:
They Rule in Fear, their Slaves with Joy Obey,
And in their turns are Bless'd as well as they.
And makes them seem as Happy as they're Great,
Is nothing but a Vain External shew,
Projected to deceive the common view:
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And in their turns are Bless'd as well as they.
Masters, by Servants Magnifie their Pow'r,
And in their Numbers think themselves secure;
Believe the Useless Grandeur they Possess,
Makes Life more easie and their Cares the less:
But by the Wise no Servile Trains desir'd,
They think themselves most Safe when most Retir'd.
Shun Noisy Pomp, Abhorring to be Gay,
And place their Happiness a diff'rent way.
But the Proud Man does in his Slaves delight,
And by his Fawning Crowds attracts our Sight;
But all his Joys are Dreams, and when awake
He by Experience finds his Grand Mistake.
Alas! The pleasing End is quite destroy'd,
He does but Hire those Plagues he would Avoid;
And what in Vulgar Eyes denotes him Great,
Is but a Curse Intail'd on his Estate,
To disappoint those Hopes, those Joys molest,
With which the Rich would fain Alone be Blest.
But PROVIDENCE, that Universal Friend,
That to All Stations does its Care extend.
By Inward Peace can sooth the meanest State,
Turn to our Comfort the severest Fate,
And make the Poor as Happy as the Great.
Content! The Labour of the Ploughman Crowns,
The Rich are more expos'd to Fortunes Frowns;
And do a Thousand Plagues and Torments find
That cannot reach the Peasants Humble Mind.
The Pomp that does on Men of Title wait,
Is not so much their Choice as 'tis their Fate.
The things in which we think they Happy are,
Is not the Great Man's Comfort but his Care.
For he, who Cressus like, can Riches boast
Sufficient to maintain a Warlike Host,
Would soon be Injur'd and Oppress'd by Stealth
Without an Army to defend his Wealth;
And when thus safe, his Legions but devour
What their Proud Master hires them to secure;
Who finds his Income Small, tho' his Bounds Great,
His Troops and Servants eat up his Estate,
They're all Contracted Part'ners in his Store,
For Pay they Cringe, Fight, Flatter and Adore;
And if their Ruler fails to use 'em well,
What makes them Serve, will tempt them to Rebel;
Thus the Great Man is mis'rably Misled,
Who thinks by Servants to be Happy made,
Num'rous Attendance but Invade our Peace,
Vex us with Faults, and Triumph o'er our Ease:
Content depends not upon Humane Aid,
But is from Heav'n, by secret means, Convey'd.
'Tis a kind Ray of the Eternal Love,
That has its Object no where but Above.
God is the only Fountain Good Men find,
Of all the Joys that truly Bless the Mind.
And in their Numbers think themselves secure;
Believe the Useless Grandeur they Possess,
Makes Life more easie and their Cares the less:
But by the Wise no Servile Trains desir'd,
They think themselves most Safe when most Retir'd.
Shun Noisy Pomp, Abhorring to be Gay,
And place their Happiness a diff'rent way.
But the Proud Man does in his Slaves delight,
And by his Fawning Crowds attracts our Sight;
But all his Joys are Dreams, and when awake
He by Experience finds his Grand Mistake.
Alas! The pleasing End is quite destroy'd,
He does but Hire those Plagues he would Avoid;
And what in Vulgar Eyes denotes him Great,
Is but a Curse Intail'd on his Estate,
To disappoint those Hopes, those Joys molest,
With which the Rich would fain Alone be Blest.
But PROVIDENCE, that Universal Friend,
That to All Stations does its Care extend.
By Inward Peace can sooth the meanest State,
Turn to our Comfort the severest Fate,
And make the Poor as Happy as the Great.
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The Rich are more expos'd to Fortunes Frowns;
And do a Thousand Plagues and Torments find
That cannot reach the Peasants Humble Mind.
The Pomp that does on Men of Title wait,
Is not so much their Choice as 'tis their Fate.
The things in which we think they Happy are,
Is not the Great Man's Comfort but his Care.
For he, who Cressus like, can Riches boast
Sufficient to maintain a Warlike Host,
Would soon be Injur'd and Oppress'd by Stealth
Without an Army to defend his Wealth;
And when thus safe, his Legions but devour
What their Proud Master hires them to secure;
Who finds his Income Small, tho' his Bounds Great,
His Troops and Servants eat up his Estate,
They're all Contracted Part'ners in his Store,
For Pay they Cringe, Fight, Flatter and Adore;
And if their Ruler fails to use 'em well,
What makes them Serve, will tempt them to Rebel;
Thus the Great Man is mis'rably Misled,
Who thinks by Servants to be Happy made,
Num'rous Attendance but Invade our Peace,
Vex us with Faults, and Triumph o'er our Ease:
Content depends not upon Humane Aid,
But is from Heav'n, by secret means, Convey'd.
'Tis a kind Ray of the Eternal Love,
That has its Object no where but Above.
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Of all the Joys that truly Bless the Mind.
But still, perhaps, you may Object and say,
The Mighty Prince that does an Army Sway,
Is Blest above those Legions that Obey.
The Mighty Prince that does an Army Sway,
Is Blest above those Legions that Obey.
The Figure that he makes, Proclaims him so,
He Rides Aloft, the other Cringe Below.
He Rides Aloft, the other Cringe Below.
These would be Powerful Arguments, 'tis true,
Did Happiness consist in outward shew;
But since we all, by Just Experience, find
Content is only seated in the Mind,
We must not Judge from his External State,
That therefore he's more Happy, but more Great:
Tho' he Commands, Rewards, Dislikes, Approves,
And Glitt'ring Pomp surrounds him as he moves,
Fears, Cares, and Sorrows may his Mind Depress,
Beneath the Standard of Tærrestial Happiness.
The Ambitious Eagle often takes Delight,
To Soar beyond the reach of Humane Sight;
Yet Providence the like regard does show,
To each small Bird that Chirping sits below;
So Mercenary Slaves that Fight for Pay,
Conquer for Plunder, and for Bread Obey.
Possess those Blessings to the Great unknown,
That make their Painful'st Lives go smoothly down:
Kings are but Joyful when their Arms Succeed,
So also are the Servile Troops they lead;
Fortune to both doth equal Comfort give,
And both alike at their Misfortunes grieve.
Thus Providence keeps all things in a poise,
All Stations have their Fears, their Cares and Joys.
But then say you much happier are the Host,
That Won the Field, than those the Battle Lost.
Did Happiness consist in outward shew;
But since we all, by Just Experience, find
Content is only seated in the Mind,
We must not Judge from his External State,
That therefore he's more Happy, but more Great:
Tho' he Commands, Rewards, Dislikes, Approves,
And Glitt'ring Pomp surrounds him as he moves,
Fears, Cares, and Sorrows may his Mind Depress,
Beneath the Standard of Tærrestial Happiness.
The Ambitious Eagle often takes Delight,
To Soar beyond the reach of Humane Sight;
Yet Providence the like regard does show,
To each small Bird that Chirping sits below;
So Mercenary Slaves that Fight for Pay,
Conquer for Plunder, and for Bread Obey.
Possess those Blessings to the Great unknown,
That make their Painful'st Lives go smoothly down:
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So also are the Servile Troops they lead;
Fortune to both doth equal Comfort give,
And both alike at their Misfortunes grieve.
Thus Providence keeps all things in a poise,
All Stations have their Fears, their Cares and Joys.
But then say you much happier are the Host,
That Won the Field, than those the Battle Lost.
A Gross Mistake; the Slain to rest are fled,
No Perturbations can afflict the Dead.
The Wounded boast the Honour of their Scars,
Pleas'd they've surviv'd the dangers of the Wars,
And make their Joy for their Escape as great
As their glad Foes who gave them a Defeat;
Whilst those Unhurt, rejoyce as well as they,
That they have sav'd their Limbs, tho' lost the Day.
No Perturbations can afflict the Dead.
The Wounded boast the Honour of their Scars,
Pleas'd they've surviv'd the dangers of the Wars,
And make their Joy for their Escape as great
As their glad Foes who gave them a Defeat;
Whilst those Unhurt, rejoyce as well as they,
That they have sav'd their Limbs, tho' lost the Day.
The Greedy Victors, when the Battle's done,
Disdain what they with so much hazard won,
And are as much concern'd as those they beat,
Because their Vict'ry was not more compleat.
Thus Miser-like, that pines amidst his Store,
Th'enjoy not what they have, for craving more;
Tho' Prosp'rous, yet they make their Blessings less,
By their Pride, Av'rice, and Unthankfulness.
Whilst those beneath an Adverse Fortune find,
Some Heav'nly Impulse that delights the Mind;
And yields their Abject State that Peaceful Joy,
Which Pow'r cannot Command, or Riches Buy.
Much Care attends where e'er much Wealth is sent,
But in the Rural Cell dwells sweet Content;
Many possess too much to be at Rest,
But no Man has too little to be Blest.
The Grecian Gen'ral, who the World subdu'd,
With Greedy Eyes its narrow Confines view'd,
Thought the whole Universe a Prize too small,
And wept he could not Conquer more than All:
Whilst the poor Cinick, from the World exempt,
Gaz'd on the Monarchs Greatness with Contempt;
Scoff'd at his Pride, tho' to a Tub confin'd,
And with Content Enrich'd his Nobler Mind.
Nero upon the Throne found little Rest,
Whilst Epictetus in his Hut was Blest.
Pleas'd with his Lamp, he Coveted no more,
But was in Mind (tho' in Condition Poor)
Rich without Wealth, and Safe without a Door.
Thus Laz'rus may in Abraham's Bosom dwell,
When the Rich Glutton feels the Pangs of Hell.
Disdain what they with so much hazard won,
And are as much concern'd as those they beat,
Because their Vict'ry was not more compleat.
Thus Miser-like, that pines amidst his Store,
Th'enjoy not what they have, for craving more;
Tho' Prosp'rous, yet they make their Blessings less,
By their Pride, Av'rice, and Unthankfulness.
Whilst those beneath an Adverse Fortune find,
Some Heav'nly Impulse that delights the Mind;
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Which Pow'r cannot Command, or Riches Buy.
Much Care attends where e'er much Wealth is sent,
But in the Rural Cell dwells sweet Content;
Many possess too much to be at Rest,
But no Man has too little to be Blest.
The Grecian Gen'ral, who the World subdu'd,
With Greedy Eyes its narrow Confines view'd,
Thought the whole Universe a Prize too small,
And wept he could not Conquer more than All:
Whilst the poor Cinick, from the World exempt,
Gaz'd on the Monarchs Greatness with Contempt;
Scoff'd at his Pride, tho' to a Tub confin'd,
And with Content Enrich'd his Nobler Mind.
Nero upon the Throne found little Rest,
Whilst Epictetus in his Hut was Blest.
Pleas'd with his Lamp, he Coveted no more,
But was in Mind (tho' in Condition Poor)
Rich without Wealth, and Safe without a Door.
Thus Laz'rus may in Abraham's Bosom dwell,
When the Rich Glutton feels the Pangs of Hell.
Power and Wealth Charm the mistaken Breast,
VVho thinks those two can Lull the Mind to rest;
Tow'rds these we look with an Ambitious Eye,
At these Deceitful Lures the Vulgar fly;
Believing, if so Blest, they cannot Chuse,
But find that Happy Peace the Soul persues;
Yet when alas! they're painfully aspir'd,
To th'Lofty Station they so much desir'd,
They find their Pleasures still perplex'd with Pain,
And by Experience prove their hopes but vain;
Wanting the Heav'nly Guide they loose their way,
And from the Happy Path they look for stray:
Thus move dissatisfi'd from Sphere to Sphere,
Still wandring on in search the Lord knows where;
Missing the Blessing Here, they hope to find it There.
These Disappointments make Mankind aspire,
When their Aim's lost they think the Mark still higher;
But yet as we to lofty Stations soar,
We find our selves as distant as before.
So the Ambitious Eagle mounts at Noon,
On her strong Pinions to o'ertake the Sun;
But at length finding she no Ground can gain,
And that her painful Flight is but in vain,
She perches on some lofty Rock or Beech,
And views with wonder what she could not reach.
VVho thinks those two can Lull the Mind to rest;
Tow'rds these we look with an Ambitious Eye,
At these Deceitful Lures the Vulgar fly;
Believing, if so Blest, they cannot Chuse,
But find that Happy Peace the Soul persues;
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To th'Lofty Station they so much desir'd,
They find their Pleasures still perplex'd with Pain,
And by Experience prove their hopes but vain;
Wanting the Heav'nly Guide they loose their way,
And from the Happy Path they look for stray:
Thus move dissatisfi'd from Sphere to Sphere,
Still wandring on in search the Lord knows where;
Missing the Blessing Here, they hope to find it There.
These Disappointments make Mankind aspire,
When their Aim's lost they think the Mark still higher;
But yet as we to lofty Stations soar,
We find our selves as distant as before.
So the Ambitious Eagle mounts at Noon,
On her strong Pinions to o'ertake the Sun;
But at length finding she no Ground can gain,
And that her painful Flight is but in vain,
She perches on some lofty Rock or Beech,
And views with wonder what she could not reach.
Ambition doth the Eye of Reason Blind,
And is the Grand Disturber of the Mind;
It spurs us forward to be still more Great,
But with fresh views disquiets ev'ry State;
All Men are born upon her Restless Wings,
Beggars would fain be Lords, and Lords be Kings.
Kings not Contented with the Pow'r they've got,
Still struggle to be Greater than they ought:
Hazard their Crowns to compass what they crave,
And by Successful Force the World Enslave;
Yet when they've waded thro' whole Seas of Blood,
To gain the Vicious End they long pursu'd;
Fatigu'd and tir'd they give their Conquests o'er,
And find themselves less Happy than before.
For what we stile their Glory's but their Guilt,
And Conscience blushes at the Blood they've spilt;
Thus all the Fading Lawrels they have won,
Are Stain'd and Mottl'd with the Ills they've done.
Besides, ------
Tho' their Power's great, and their Dominions large,
The greater is their Care, the more their Charge;
For none such Arbitrary Sway can boast,
But still has Plagues proportion'd to his Post;
The Highest Monarch that supports a Crown,
Teas'd with the Troubles that attends a Throne,
Must think his Subjects Ease Superiour to his own.
Thus he that Governs will confess, and say,
'Tis harder much to Rule, than to Obey.
The Servile Crowd submit with equal pain,
And think their Rulers are the Happy Men;
Thus for each other they the Cause decide,
Both are Deceiv'd, and both Dissatisfi'd.
But would they think their Stations Heav'ns Decree,
And make their Fortunes and their Choice agree,
Both by Content might Charm their Minds to Rest,
And in their several Spheres alike be Blest;
But if both covet more than they enjoy,
Both do alike their Happiness destroy.
What tho' we're Destin'd to an Humble State,
Must we be Curs'd, because we can't be Great?
Must we lament for want of Riches? No,
From Folly, not from Fate, we Wretched grow;
'Tis nothing but our Pride that makes us low.
Why do we then at our mean Fortunes pine,
Content is not Terrestial, but Divine.
Kings to their Sorrow, may their Wealth employ,
Whilst Beggars may receive an Alms with Joy:
Comforts from Earth our Bodies only find,
But Heav'nly Thoughts sustain the Peaceful Mind;
Sweet Contemplation is the Fare it needs,
And true Content the Offspring that it breeds.
And is the Grand Disturber of the Mind;
It spurs us forward to be still more Great,
But with fresh views disquiets ev'ry State;
All Men are born upon her Restless Wings,
Beggars would fain be Lords, and Lords be Kings.
Kings not Contented with the Pow'r they've got,
Still struggle to be Greater than they ought:
Hazard their Crowns to compass what they crave,
And by Successful Force the World Enslave;
Yet when they've waded thro' whole Seas of Blood,
To gain the Vicious End they long pursu'd;
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And find themselves less Happy than before.
For what we stile their Glory's but their Guilt,
And Conscience blushes at the Blood they've spilt;
Thus all the Fading Lawrels they have won,
Are Stain'd and Mottl'd with the Ills they've done.
Besides, ------
Tho' their Power's great, and their Dominions large,
The greater is their Care, the more their Charge;
For none such Arbitrary Sway can boast,
But still has Plagues proportion'd to his Post;
The Highest Monarch that supports a Crown,
Teas'd with the Troubles that attends a Throne,
Must think his Subjects Ease Superiour to his own.
Thus he that Governs will confess, and say,
'Tis harder much to Rule, than to Obey.
The Servile Crowd submit with equal pain,
And think their Rulers are the Happy Men;
Thus for each other they the Cause decide,
Both are Deceiv'd, and both Dissatisfi'd.
But would they think their Stations Heav'ns Decree,
And make their Fortunes and their Choice agree,
Both by Content might Charm their Minds to Rest,
And in their several Spheres alike be Blest;
But if both covet more than they enjoy,
Both do alike their Happiness destroy.
What tho' we're Destin'd to an Humble State,
Must we be Curs'd, because we can't be Great?
Must we lament for want of Riches? No,
From Folly, not from Fate, we Wretched grow;
'Tis nothing but our Pride that makes us low.
Why do we then at our mean Fortunes pine,
Content is not Terrestial, but Divine.
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Whilst Beggars may receive an Alms with Joy:
Comforts from Earth our Bodies only find,
But Heav'nly Thoughts sustain the Peaceful Mind;
Sweet Contemplation is the Fare it needs,
And true Content the Offspring that it breeds.
From outward Objects that deceive the Eyes,
Mistakes of our Felicities arise,
Who thinks anothers Happiness is shown
In Vain External Pomp, confounds his own.
Suppose the Slave compares his Humble State,
To his who is Profusely Rich and Great;
He finds the External Difference is large,
But is quite thoughtless of his Care and Charge.
Harbours from thence, this Notion in his Breast,
That t'other's Happy, and himself Unblest.
Mistaken Fool! His very Care to keep
His large Possessions, oft disturbs his Sleep:
His Labours to Improve, Repair, to Let,
And Arms himself against the Worlds Deceit;
Sign Leases, Dun, Sue, Cavil and Receive,
Are equal to the Pains thou tak'st to Live;
Neglects of Servants does his Peace molest,
And Dreams of Robbing interrupt his Rest:
Whilst Rural Clowns by Providence are freed
From all the Fears and Cares that Riches breed;
Few Dangers do they dread, few Sorrows know,
But Reap with Joy, the Fertile Lands they Sow,
When Hungry, to some Neighbouring Hedge Repair,
And from their Bags Refresh with Wholesome Fare;
When their Works o'er, Feed heartily at Night,
And hug their Leathern Bottles with Delight.
VVhen Drowsie, to their Cock-Lofts they ascend,
Between Course Hemp, their Weary Limbs extend:
With Peaceful Minds their Sleeply Eyes they close,
Have nothing to disturb their Sweet Repose,
But truly relish all kind Providence bestows.
Thus may poor Slaves be happy if they please,
Tho' the Limbs Toil, the Mind may be at ease.
Mistakes of our Felicities arise,
Who thinks anothers Happiness is shown
In Vain External Pomp, confounds his own.
Suppose the Slave compares his Humble State,
To his who is Profusely Rich and Great;
He finds the External Difference is large,
But is quite thoughtless of his Care and Charge.
Harbours from thence, this Notion in his Breast,
That t'other's Happy, and himself Unblest.
Mistaken Fool! His very Care to keep
His large Possessions, oft disturbs his Sleep:
His Labours to Improve, Repair, to Let,
And Arms himself against the Worlds Deceit;
Sign Leases, Dun, Sue, Cavil and Receive,
Are equal to the Pains thou tak'st to Live;
Neglects of Servants does his Peace molest,
And Dreams of Robbing interrupt his Rest:
Whilst Rural Clowns by Providence are freed
From all the Fears and Cares that Riches breed;
Few Dangers do they dread, few Sorrows know,
But Reap with Joy, the Fertile Lands they Sow,
When Hungry, to some Neighbouring Hedge Repair,
And from their Bags Refresh with Wholesome Fare;
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And hug their Leathern Bottles with Delight.
VVhen Drowsie, to their Cock-Lofts they ascend,
Between Course Hemp, their Weary Limbs extend:
With Peaceful Minds their Sleeply Eyes they close,
Have nothing to disturb their Sweet Repose,
But truly relish all kind Providence bestows.
Thus may poor Slaves be happy if they please,
Tho' the Limbs Toil, the Mind may be at ease.
But how (say you) can those that Sickness feel,
Pertake of Equal Comforts with the Well;
Pain must the Body Wrack, and Mind Confound,
And make the Sick less Happy than the Sound;
Pertake of Equal Comforts with the Well;
Pain must the Body Wrack, and Mind Confound,
And make the Sick less Happy than the Sound;
'Tis all Mistake; in this we grosly Err,
And Judge but as things outwardly appear.
Tho' the Weak Body Languid looks and Pale,
The Mind may still be Permanent and Hail;
And please the Body with a Transient View;
Of Blessings which in Health it never knew.
Sweet Contemplation does to Sickmen show,
The Vanity of all our Joys below;
Lifts up our Thoughts to that All-giving Pow'r,
That yields us Comfort in the Painful'st Hour;
Delights the busie Soul's Extensive Sight,
VVith pleasing Glances of Eternal Light;
VVeans us from VVorldly Pleasures by degrees,
And by Repentance sets the Mind at Ease;
Gives us assurance of a Happy State,
And makes us with a smile Embrace our Fate.
These are the Blessings which the Sick obtain,
From Heav'ns kind Hand t'extenuate their Pain;
Who when we're most Distress'd, does oft reveal
Those Comforts, that in Health we seldom feel:
From hence the Wise have to the World confest,
The State they've dreaded most, has prov'd the best;
And that the things they've pray'd for have appear'd
More hurtful, when obtain'd, than those they fear'd;
The Rich and Healthy by their Vices show,
They fix their Erring Minds on things below.
In Transitory Joys too much delight,
To be so truly Happy as they might.
With Honour, Pow'r and Wealth disturb their Rest,
And are too Great to be compleatly Blest;
But the Distrest look upwards for Relief,
And by Cælestial Transports ease their Grief;
Move Divine Mercy with an Humble Voice,
And make Good Heav'n the Center of their Joys:
External Blessings Kings have Pow'r to give,
But sweet Content we from Above receive.
A Blessing that the Prosp'rous least can boast,
Because the Sick and Needy seek it most;
And Heav'n has promis'd the Obsequious Mind,
That seeks with Diligence, shan't fail to find.
Thus does kind Providence, by means unseen,
Give to the Humble Wretch most Ease within;
Comfort the Righteous Soul in ev'ry State,
And arms his Breast against the sharpest Fate.
And Judge but as things outwardly appear.
Tho' the Weak Body Languid looks and Pale,
The Mind may still be Permanent and Hail;
And please the Body with a Transient View;
Of Blessings which in Health it never knew.
Sweet Contemplation does to Sickmen show,
The Vanity of all our Joys below;
Lifts up our Thoughts to that All-giving Pow'r,
That yields us Comfort in the Painful'st Hour;
Delights the busie Soul's Extensive Sight,
VVith pleasing Glances of Eternal Light;
VVeans us from VVorldly Pleasures by degrees,
And by Repentance sets the Mind at Ease;
Gives us assurance of a Happy State,
And makes us with a smile Embrace our Fate.
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From Heav'ns kind Hand t'extenuate their Pain;
Who when we're most Distress'd, does oft reveal
Those Comforts, that in Health we seldom feel:
From hence the Wise have to the World confest,
The State they've dreaded most, has prov'd the best;
And that the things they've pray'd for have appear'd
More hurtful, when obtain'd, than those they fear'd;
The Rich and Healthy by their Vices show,
They fix their Erring Minds on things below.
In Transitory Joys too much delight,
To be so truly Happy as they might.
With Honour, Pow'r and Wealth disturb their Rest,
And are too Great to be compleatly Blest;
But the Distrest look upwards for Relief,
And by Cælestial Transports ease their Grief;
Move Divine Mercy with an Humble Voice,
And make Good Heav'n the Center of their Joys:
External Blessings Kings have Pow'r to give,
But sweet Content we from Above receive.
A Blessing that the Prosp'rous least can boast,
Because the Sick and Needy seek it most;
And Heav'n has promis'd the Obsequious Mind,
That seeks with Diligence, shan't fail to find.
Thus does kind Providence, by means unseen,
Give to the Humble Wretch most Ease within;
Comfort the Righteous Soul in ev'ry State,
And arms his Breast against the sharpest Fate.
Make Heav'n our Object, Piety our Care,
And Man unmov'd may all Conditions bear;
But if we fail to steer our Minds aright,
No Station can administer Delight;
Each Worldly Disappointment gives us Pain,
And Crosses make us Grumble and Complain.
And Man unmov'd may all Conditions bear;
But if we fail to steer our Minds aright,
No Station can administer Delight;
14
And Crosses make us Grumble and Complain.
If we by Nature's Compass steer our Course,
And put upon our Minds no Heav'nly Force,
The best Condition would afford small Joy,
Meer Chance would our Tranquility destroy;
The Fate of things would true Content exclude,
And make us change with each Vicissitude.
Then in no Station should we Happy be,
Or pass one Day from Grief and Anguish free;
But Toil for Wealth, yet find in all degrees,
Much greater Cares to Vex, than Joys to Please.
The Temp'ral Pleasures we so much admire,
Are quick of growth, and do so soon expire,
That ev'ry Man must by Experience find,
That as they Fade they leave Remorse behind;
All the Felicities of Humane State
Have Stings that do their Joyful Force abate.
As Sorrows, tho' Profuse, soon find Relief,
From Counter Passions that asswage our Grief.
Thus Joy and Sadness mutually succeed,
In Minds that are not from their Passions freed.
Who e'er the violence of the former feels,
Soon finds the latter pressing on its Heels;
Thus he that Laughs to Day, to Morrow Mourns,
And all alike are Happy in their Turns.
For Fortune's Smiles and Frowns reach all Degrees,
All have their Cares to Vex, and Joys to Please;
The common Crowd who do their Lusts Obey,
Whose Souls are stifled in their Lumpish Clay;
They're always in Extreams of Love or Hate,
And Plague themselves with Feuds themselves Create.
Their Peace with Brutish Enmity prevent,
And let their Ease depend on Accident.
One Party's pleas'd to see another Mad,
The sufferings of some make others glad;
Thus half the Fools are Merry for a while,
And when they're vex'd, 'tis t'others turn to Smile;
But he that is for Happiness design'd,
Must bear all Chances with a steddy Mind;
At no Terrestial Evils be deprest,
But strive to make Bad Fortunes prove the best,
And never change, except to be more Blest.
And put upon our Minds no Heav'nly Force,
The best Condition would afford small Joy,
Meer Chance would our Tranquility destroy;
The Fate of things would true Content exclude,
And make us change with each Vicissitude.
Then in no Station should we Happy be,
Or pass one Day from Grief and Anguish free;
But Toil for Wealth, yet find in all degrees,
Much greater Cares to Vex, than Joys to Please.
The Temp'ral Pleasures we so much admire,
Are quick of growth, and do so soon expire,
That ev'ry Man must by Experience find,
That as they Fade they leave Remorse behind;
All the Felicities of Humane State
Have Stings that do their Joyful Force abate.
As Sorrows, tho' Profuse, soon find Relief,
From Counter Passions that asswage our Grief.
Thus Joy and Sadness mutually succeed,
In Minds that are not from their Passions freed.
Who e'er the violence of the former feels,
Soon finds the latter pressing on its Heels;
Thus he that Laughs to Day, to Morrow Mourns,
And all alike are Happy in their Turns.
For Fortune's Smiles and Frowns reach all Degrees,
All have their Cares to Vex, and Joys to Please;
The common Crowd who do their Lusts Obey,
Whose Souls are stifled in their Lumpish Clay;
They're always in Extreams of Love or Hate,
And Plague themselves with Feuds themselves Create.
15
And let their Ease depend on Accident.
One Party's pleas'd to see another Mad,
The sufferings of some make others glad;
Thus half the Fools are Merry for a while,
And when they're vex'd, 'tis t'others turn to Smile;
But he that is for Happiness design'd,
Must bear all Chances with a steddy Mind;
At no Terrestial Evils be deprest,
But strive to make Bad Fortunes prove the best,
And never change, except to be more Blest.
The Barren Womb of her hard Fate complains,
And Blamless Nature of the Cause Arraigns;
Pines that her Nuptial Joys produce no Birth,
And thinks a Child the Heav'nly'st Gift on Earth;
Disturbs her Peace she Hourly might enjoy,
And will not be content without a Boy;
Would she but change her Mind, and think she's freed
From those Sick Qualms which Generation breed;
That her cold Womb does her weak Nerves defend,
From the sharp Pains that ev'ry Birth attend;
That she's exempt from the Maternal Care,
Which helpless Infants bring, and Parents bear.
That when she's Old, she still remains secure,
From their Ingrateful Slights, when grown Mature;
That no Wild Profligate, Unthankful Breed,
Can drown her Aged Eyes in Tears they shed;
Or with Base Usage turn her Love to Hate,
And make her Curse the Womb that bore the Brat.
Would she but muse on Cares from which she's free,
How Happy without Children might she be?
Think but of what sh' enjoys, not what she wants,
And she would find small Cause for her Complaints.
And Blamless Nature of the Cause Arraigns;
Pines that her Nuptial Joys produce no Birth,
And thinks a Child the Heav'nly'st Gift on Earth;
Disturbs her Peace she Hourly might enjoy,
And will not be content without a Boy;
Would she but change her Mind, and think she's freed
From those Sick Qualms which Generation breed;
That her cold Womb does her weak Nerves defend,
From the sharp Pains that ev'ry Birth attend;
That she's exempt from the Maternal Care,
Which helpless Infants bring, and Parents bear.
That when she's Old, she still remains secure,
From their Ingrateful Slights, when grown Mature;
That no Wild Profligate, Unthankful Breed,
Can drown her Aged Eyes in Tears they shed;
Or with Base Usage turn her Love to Hate,
And make her Curse the Womb that bore the Brat.
Would she but muse on Cares from which she's free,
How Happy without Children might she be?
16
And she would find small Cause for her Complaints.
Suppose our Nuptial Hopes and Joys are Crown'd,
And with a Numerous Issue we abound;
If they Unlucky prove, we Sigh and Moan,
And make each Childs Unhappiness our own;
Reprove in Passion, and in Rage Correct,
And think their Faults are from our own Neglect,
For all their Evil Deeds and Follies Mourn,
And grieve the Wicked Off-spring e'er was Born.
And with a Numerous Issue we abound;
If they Unlucky prove, we Sigh and Moan,
And make each Childs Unhappiness our own;
Reprove in Passion, and in Rage Correct,
And think their Faults are from our own Neglect,
For all their Evil Deeds and Follies Mourn,
And grieve the Wicked Off-spring e'er was Born.
If thro' Good Discipline they 'bedient prove,
And do within the Bounds of Vertue move;
Then over Care their Parents Ease betrays,
And does our Love to Painful Fondness raise;
That our own Quiet Daily we Impede,
Deny our selves the very things we need,
To scrape up Fortunes for our Hopeful Breed.
Resign Profusely when the Darling craves,
And when we're Old, become our Childrens Slaves.
Would Fruitless Wives but think of things like these,
Tho' Barren, still their Minds would be at Ease;
Right Meditations would their Grief prevent,
And Wisely teach them to no more Lament
Their Frigid Wombs, but Bless their Happy Fate,
That frees them from the Pains and Cares that wait
On those that Labour in a Fruitful State.
And do within the Bounds of Vertue move;
Then over Care their Parents Ease betrays,
And does our Love to Painful Fondness raise;
That our own Quiet Daily we Impede,
Deny our selves the very things we need,
To scrape up Fortunes for our Hopeful Breed.
Resign Profusely when the Darling craves,
And when we're Old, become our Childrens Slaves.
Would Fruitless Wives but think of things like these,
Tho' Barren, still their Minds would be at Ease;
Right Meditations would their Grief prevent,
And Wisely teach them to no more Lament
Their Frigid Wombs, but Bless their Happy Fate,
That frees them from the Pains and Cares that wait
On those that Labour in a Fruitful State.
FINIS.
| The Grand Mistake | |