A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes

God then thro' all creation gives, we find,
Sufficient marks of an indulgent mind,
Excepting in ourselves; ourselves of all
His works the chief on this terrestrial ball,
His own bright image, who alone unblest
Feel ills perpetual, happy all the rest.
But hold, presumptuous? charge not heav'n's decree
With such injustice, such partiality.

Yet true it is, survey we life around,
Whole hosts of ills on ev'ry side are found;
Who wound not here and there by chance a foe,
But at the species meditate the blow.

What millions perish by each others hands
In war's fierce rage? or by the dread commands
Of tyrants languish out their lives in chains,
Or lose them in variety of pains?
What numbers pinch'd by want and hunger die,
In spite of Nature's liberality?
(Those, still more numerous, I to name disdain,
By lewdness, and intemperance justly slain;)
What numbers, guiltless of their own disease,
Are snatch'd by sudden death, or waste by slow degrees?

Where then is Virtue's well deserv'd reward!—
Let's pay to Virtue ev'ry due regard:
That she enables man, let us confess,
To bear those evils, which she can't redress;
Gives hope, and conscious peace, and can assuage
Th'impetuous tempests both of lust, and rage;
Yet she's a guard so far from being sure,
That oft her friends peculiar ills endure:
Where Vice prevails severest is their fate,
Tyrants pursue them with a three-fold hate.
How many struggling in their country's cause,
And from their country meriting applause,
Have fall'n by wretches fond to be inslav'd,
And perish'd by the hands themselves had sav'd?

Soon as superior worth appears in view,
See knaves, and fools united to pursue!
The man so form'd they all conspire to blame,
And Envy's pois'nous tooth attacks his fame;

Shou'd he at length, so truly good and great,
Prevail, and rule with honest views the state,
Then must he toil for an ungrateful race,
Submit to clamor, libels, and disgrace;
Threaten'd, oppos'd, defeated in his ends,
By foes seditious, and aspiring friends.
Hear this and tremble! all who wou'd be great,
Yet know not what attends that dang'rous wretched state.

Is private life from all these evils free?
Vice of all kinds, rage, envy there we see,
Deceit, that Friendship's mask insidious wears,
Quarrels, and feuds, and law's intangling snares.

But there are pleasures still in human life,
Domestic ease, a tender loving wife,
Children, whose dawning smiles your heart engage,
The grace, and comfort of soft-stealing age.
If happiness exists, 'tis surely here—
But are these joys exempt from care and fear?
Need I the miseries of that state declare,
When diff'rent passions draw the wedded pair?
Or say how hard those passions to discern,
Ere the die's cast, and 'tis too late to learn?
Who can insure, that what is right, and good,
These children shall pursue? or if they shou'd,
Death comes, when least you fear so black a day,
And all your blooming hopes are snatch'd away.

We say not, that these ills from Virtue flow:
Did her wise precepts rule the world, we know

The golden ages wou'd again begin,
But 'tis our lot in this to suffer, and to sin.

Observing this, some sages have decreed
That all things from two causes must proceed;
Two principles with equal pow'r endu'd,
This wholly evil, that supremely good.
From this arise the miseries we endure,
Whilst that administers a friendly cure;
Hence life is chequer'd still with bliss, and woe,
Hence tares with golden crops promiscuous grow,
And poisonous serpents make their dread repose
Beneath the covert of the fragrant rose.

Can such a system satisfy the mind,
Are both these Gods in equal pow'r conjoin'd,
Or one superior? Equal if you say,
Chaos returns, since neither will obey.
Is one superior? good, or ill must reign,
Eternal joy, or everlasting pain.
Whiche'er is conquer'd must entirely yield,
And the victorious God enjoy the field.
Hence with these fictions of the Magi's brain!
Hence ouzy Nile, with all her monstrous train!

Or comes the Stoic nearer to the right?
He holds, that whatsoever yields delight,
Wealth, fame, externals all, are useless things;
Himself half starving happier far than kings.
'Tis fine indeed to be so wond'rous wise!
By the same reas'ning too he pain denies;

Roast him, or flea him, break him on the wheel,
Retract he will not, tho' he can't but feel:
Pain's not an ill, he utters with a groan;
What then? an inconvenience 'tis, he'll own.
What? vigour, health, and beauty? are these good?
No: they may be accepted, not pursued:
Absurd to squabble thus about a name,
Quibbling with diff'rent words, that mean the same.
Stoic, were you not fram'd of flesh and blood,
You might be blest without external good;
But know, be self-sufficient as you can,
You are not spirit quite, but frail, and mortal man.

But since these sages, so absurdly wise,
Vainly pretend enjoyments to despise,
Because externals, and in Fortune's pow'r,
Now mine, now thine, the blessings of an hour;
Why value then, that strength of mind, they boast,
As often varying, and as quickly lost?
A head-ach hurts it, or a rainy day,
And a slow fever wipes it quite away.

See one whose councils, one whose conqu'ring hand
Once sav'd Britannia's almost sinking land:
Examples of the mind's extensive pow'r,
Examples too how quickly fades that flow'r.
Him let me add, whom late we saw excel
In each politer kind of writing well;

Whether he strove our follies to expose
In easy verse, or droll and hum'rous prose;
Few years, alas! compel his throne to quit
This mighty monarch o'er the realms of wit,
See self-surviving he's an ideot grown!
A melancholy proof our parts are not our own.

Thy tenets, Stoic, yet we may forgive,
If in a future state we cease to live.
For here the virtuous suffer much, 'tis plain;
If pain is evil, this must God arraign;
And on this principle confess we must,
Pain can no evil be, or God must be unjust.

Blind man! whose reason such strait bounds confine,
That ere it touches truth's extremest line,
It stops amaz'd, and quits the great design.
Own you not, Stoic, God is just and true?
Dare to proceed; secure this path pursue:
'Twill soon conduct you far beyond the tomb,
To future justice, and a life to come.
This path you say is hid in endless night,
'Tis self-conceit alone obstructs your sight,
You stop, ere half your destin'd course is run,
And triumph, when the conquest is not won;
By this the Sophists were of old misled:
See what a monstrous race from one mistake is bred!

Hear then my argument:—confess we must,
A God there is, supremely wise and just:

If so, however things affect our sight,
As sings our bard, whatever is, is right.
But is it right, what here so oft appears,
That vice shou'd triumph, virtue sink in tears?
The inference then, that closes this debate,
Is, that there must exist a future state.
The wise extending their enquiries wide
See how both states are by connection ty'd;
Fools view but part, and not the whole survey,
So crowd existence all into a day.
Hence are they led to hope, but hope in vain,
That Justice never will resume her reign;
On this vain hope adulterers, thieves rely,
And to this altar vile assassins fly.
“But rules not God by general laws divine?
“Man's vice, or virtues change not the design.”
What laws are these? instruct us if you can:—
There's one design'd for brutes, and one for man:
Another guides inactive matter's course,
Attracting, and attracted by its force:
Hence mutual gravity subsists between
Far distant worlds, and ties the vast machine.

The laws of life why need I call to mind,
Obey'd by birds, and beasts of ev'ry kind;
By all the sandy desart's savage brood,
And all the num'rous offspring of the flood;
Of these none uncontroul'd, and lawless rove,
But to some destin'd end spontaneous move.

Led by that instinct, heav'n itself inspires,
Or so much reason, as their state requires;
See all with skill acquire their daily food,
All use those arms, which Nature has bestow'd;
Produce their tender progeny, and feed
With care parental, whilst that care they need;
In these lov'd offices compleatly blest,
No hopes beyond them, nor vain fears molest.

Man o'er a wider field extends his views;
God thro' the wonders of his works pursues,
Exploring thence his attributes, and laws,
Adores, loves, imitates th'Eternal Cause;
For sure in nothing we approach so nigh
The great example of divinity,
As in benevolence: the patriot's soul
Knows not self-center'd for itself to roll,
But warms, enlightens, animates the whole:
Its mighty orb embraces first his friends,
His country next, then man; nor here it ends,
But to the meanest animal descends.

Wise Nature has this social law confirm'd,
By forming man so helpless, and unarm'd;
His want of others' aid, and pow'r of speech
T'implore that aid, this lesson daily teach.
Mankind with other animals compare,
Single how weak, and impotent they are!
But view them in their complicated state,
Their pow'rs how wond'rous, and their strength how great,

When social virtue individuals joins,
And in one solid mass, like gravity combines!
This then's the first great law by Nature giv'n,
Stamp'd on our souls, and ratify'd by Heav'n;
All from utility this law approve,
As ev'ry private bliss must spring from social love.

Why deviate then so many from this law?
See passions, custom, vice, and folly draw!
Survey the rolling globe from East to West,
How few, alas! how very few are blest?
Beneath the frozen poles, and burning line,
What poverty, and indolence combine,
To cloud with Error's mists the human mind?
No trace of man, but in the form we find.

And are we free from error, and distress,
Whom Heav'n with clearer light has pleas'd to bless?
Whom true Religion leads? (for she but leads
By soft persuasion, not by force proceeds;)
Behold how we avoid this radiant sun!
This proffer'd guide how obstinately shun,
And after Sophistry's vain systems run!
For these as for essentials we engage
In wars, and massacres, with holy rage;
Brothers by brothers' impious hands are slain,
Mistaken Zeal, how savage is thy reign!

Unpunish'd vices here so much abound,
All right, and wrong, all order they confound;

These are the giants, who the gods defy,
And mountains heap on mountains to the sky.
Sees this th'Almighty Judge, or seeing spares,
And deems the crimes of man beneath his cares?
He sees; and will at last rewards bestow,
And punishments, not less assur'd for being slow.

Nor doubt I, tho' this state confus'd appears,
That ev'n in this God sometimes interferes:
Sometimes, lest man should quite his pow'r disown,
He makes that pow'r to trembling nations known:
But rarely this; not for each vulgar end,
As Superstition's idle tales pretend,
Who thinks all foes to God, who are her own,
Directs his thunder, and usurps his throne.

Nor know I not, how much a conscious mind
Avails to punish, or reward mankind;
Ev'n in this life thou, impious wretch, must feel
The Fury's scourges, and th'infernal wheel;
From man's tribunal, tho' thou hop'st to run,
Thyself thou can'st not, nor thy conscience shun:
That must thou suffer, when each dire disease,
The progeny of Vice, thy fabric seize?
Consumption, fever, and the racking pain
Of spasms, and gout, and stone, a frightful train!
Then life new tortures can alone supply,
Life thy sole hope thou'lt hate, yet dread to die.
Shou'd such a wretch to num'rous years arrive,
It can be little worth his while to live;

No honors, no regards his age attend,
Companions fly: he ne'er cou'd have a friend:
His flatterers leave him, and with wild affright
He looks within, and shudders at the sight:
When threatning Death uplifts his pointed dart,
With what impatience he applies to art,
Life to prolong amidst disease and pains!
Why this, if after it no sense remains?
Why shou'd he chuse these miseries to endure,
If Death cou'd grant an everlasting cure?
'Tis plain there's something whispers in his ear,
(Tho' fain he'd hide it) he has much to fear.

See the reverse! how happy those we find,
Who know by merit to engage mankind?
Prais'd by each tongue, by ev'ry heart belov'd,
For Virtues practis'd, and for Arts improv'd:
Their easy aspects shine with smiles serene,
And all is peace, and happiness within:
Their sleep is ne'er disturb'd by fears, or strife,
Nor lust, nor wine, impair the springs of life.

Him Fortune can not sink, nor much elate,
Whose views extend beyond this mortal state;
By age when summon'd to resign his breath,
Calm, and serene, he sees approaching death,
As the safe port, the peaceful silent shore,
Where he may rest, life's tedious voyage o'er:
He, and he only, is of death afraid,
Whom his own conscience has a coward made;

Whilst he, who Virtue's radiant course has run,
Descends like a serenely-setting sun:
His thoughts triumphant Heav'n alone employs,
And hope anticipates his future joys.

So good, so blest th'illustrious Hough we find,
Whose image dwells with pleasure on my mind;
The Mitre's glory, Freedom's constant friend,
In times which ask'd a champion to defend;
Who after near a hundred virtuous years,
His senses perfect, free from pains and fears,
Replete with life, with honors, and with age,
Like an applauded actor left the stage;
Or like some victor in th'Olympic games,
Who having run his course, the crown of Glory claims.

From this just contrast plainly it appears,
How Conscience can inspire both hopes and fears;
But whence proceed these hopes, or whence this dread,
If nothing really can affect the dead?
See all things join to promise, and presage
The sure arrival of a future age!
Whate'er their lot is here, the good and wise,
Nor doat on life, nor peevishly despise.
An honest man, when Fortune's storms begin,
Has Consolation always sure within,
And, if she sends a more propitious gale,
He's pleas'd, but not forgetful it may fail.

Nor fear that he, who sits so loose to life,
Shou'd too much shun its labors, and its strife;

And scorning wealth, contented to be mean,
Shrink from the duties of this bustling scene;
Or, when his country's safety claims his aid,
Avoid the fight inglorious, and afraid:
Who scorns life most must surely be most brave,
And he, who pow'r contemns, be least a slave:
Virtue will lead him to Ambition's ends,
And prompt him to defend his country, and his friends.

But still his merit you can not regard,
Who thus pursues a posthumous reward;
His soul, you cry, is uncorrupt and great,
Who quite uninfluenc'd by a future state,
Embraces Virtue from a nobler sense
Of her abstracted, native excellence,
From the self-conscious joy her essence brings,
The beauty, fitness, harmony of things.
It may be so: yet he deserves applause,
Who follows where instructive Nature draws;
Aims at rewards by her indulgence giv'n,
And soars triumphant on her wings to heav'n.

Say what this venal virtuous man pursues,
No mean rewards, no mercenary views;
Not wealth usurious, or a num'rous train,
Not fame by fraud acquir'd, or title vain!
He follows but where Nature points the road,
Rising in Virtue's school, till he ascends to God.

But we th'inglorious common herd of man,
Sail without compass, toil without a plan;

In Fortune's varying storms for ever tost,
Shadows pursue, that in pursuit are lost;
Mere infants all, till life's extremest day,
Scrambling for toys, then tossing them away.
Who rests of Immortality assur'd
Is safe, whatever ills are here endur'd:
He hopes not vainly in a world like this,
To meet with pure uninterrupted bliss;
For good and ill, in this imperfect state,
Are ever mix'd by the decrees of Fate.
With Wisdom's richest harvest Folly grows,
And baleful hemlock mingles with the rose;
All things are blended, changeable, and vain,
No hope, no wish we perfectly obtain;
God may perhaps (might human Reason's line
Pretend to fathom infinite design)
Have thus ordain'd things, that the restless mind
No happiness compleat on earth may find;
And, by this friendly chastisement made wise,
To heav'n her safest, best retreat may rise.

Come then, since now in safety we have past
Thro' Error's rocks, and see the port at last,
Let us review, and recollect the whole.—
Thus stands my argument.—The thinking soul
Cannot terrestrial, or material be,
But claims by Nature Immortality:
God, who created it, can make it end,
We question not, but cannot apprehend

He will; because it is by him endued
With strong ideas of all perfect Good:
With wond'rous pow'rs to know, and calculate
Things too remote from this our earthly state;
With sure presages of a life to come,
All false and useless; if beyond the tomb
Our beings cease: we therefore can't believe
God either acts in vain, or can deceive.

If ev'ry rule of equity demands,
That Vice and Virtue from the Almighty's hands,
Shou'd due rewards, and punishments receive,
And this by no means happens whilst we live,
It follows, that a time must surely come,
When each shall meet their well-adjusted doom:
Then shall this scene, which now to human sight
Seems so unworthy Wisdom infinite,
A system of consummate skill appear,
And ev'ry cloud dispers'd, be beautiful and clear.

Doubt we of this! what solid proof remains,
That o'er the world a wise Disposer reigns?
Whilst all Creation speaks a pow'r divine,
Is it deficient in the main design?
Not so: the day shall come, (pretend not now
Presumptuous to enquire or when, or how)
But after death shall come th'important day,
When God to all his justice shall display;
Each action with impartial eyes regard,
And in a just proportion punish and reward.

Lord Somers.

Duke of Marlborough.

Dean Swift.

Bishop of Worcester.

University of Virginia Library

BOOK II.