University of Virginia Library

An Answer to the Earl of Rochester's Satyr against Man.

Were I to choose what sort of Corps I'd wear,
I'd not be Dog, Lord Monkey, nor Earl Bear;
But I'd be Man, not as I am, the worst;
But Man refin'd, such as he was at first.
The speechless State of Brutes I would refuse,
For the same Cause another does it chuse,
For then the Reputation I should lose
Of Wit, Extravagance, and Mode, from whence
Reason is made to truckle under Sense.
Or if to Sense I did so much incline,
I'd rather be a Satyr, Goat or Swine;
To help to break the Court-Physicians, who
Besides compounding Lusts have nought to do.
Nature (exceeding Broths) would then excite
Supplys to make a full-meal'd Appetite,
Nor bugbear Conscience dulling the Delight.
But what need such a Metamorphosis?
Man being Man, can e'en do more than this;
Granting the Principle, that Reason's use
Is not to curb, but make Sense more profuse.
For tho Man's Life more vigorous is than Brutes,
His Pander Reason can contrive Recruits
For its Defects; what Sins the sensual Man
Can't do alone, the Reasonable can.
With useful Wit for Sensuality,
An half unfashion'd Sinner does descry;
He's modishly debauch'd who can't tell why:
That stirs up slow-pac'd Lust by Argument,
Who to hir'd Sense gives no Divertisement,
But calls for more when all its Force is spent.
And tho the bragging Wretch would be content,
Disabled from more Vice, now to repent,
Upbraided Reason scorns the puny Motion,
Bids it cheer up, and gives it t'other Potion;
Till after all when Nature has giv'n o'er,
And Art can buoy up aged Sense no more,
Reason reserves this Remedy at last,
To think those Pleasures which it cannot tast.
In this a thinking Fool may become wise,
And yet think on so, that his Thinking lies
In Notions of Venereal Mysteries.
Hence sprung the reasoning Arts in former Days,
Of Spinstrix, Oscis, and the Modern ways,
By Baths, Lascivious Pictures, Jigs and Plays.
If this be Reason's use, no more we'll call
Clodius Incontinent, but Rational,
And boast the Reason of Sardanapal.
Reason nicknam'd, like Quakers newfound Light,
One while call'd Spirit, alias Appetite:
A Stupid Reason, which none will defend,
But he who has with Brutes one common end;
Debasing Reason, coupling every Ass,
E'en with my Lord in the same reasoning Class.
I'll be no Student in this reasoning School;
I'd rather be that Humane thinking Fool,
A Cloyster'd Coxcomb able to converse,
Altho alone, with the whole Universe;
And reasoning, into Heaven mount from thence,
Post Gazets of Divine Intelligence,
And sacred Knowledge most remote from Sense.
Might I be plac'd in this exploded Sphere,
I'd not alone forgive that Witty Jeer,
But boast the name of reasoning Engineer.
But as for Man made perfect and upright,
Why not the Image of the Infinite?
Were this a Scandal to his Glory, must
We for his Honour sake his Word distrust?
Or is an Image such a very same
With what it represents, that it must claim
Its full Perfections? sure, my Picture might
Be painted like me, and yet void of Sight.
Must the first Draught of Man be vilify'd,
Scorn'd and contemn'd, 'cause Man himself has stray'd?
Or did not Eve sufficiently transgress,
And bastardize Posterity, unless
Man, little as he is, be made much less?
Tho he does not his higher End pursue
So well as does that more Ignoble Crew
Of Birds and Beasts, that little have to do;
The difficulty of his lofty End
Above the others, does his Cause defend,
And in the Means a disproportion pleads;
Choice sways the one Instinct, the other leads.
'Tis not 'cause Jowler cries, he kills the Hare,
But 'tis because Jowler cannot forbear.
Tho in the Chair of State some lolling sit,
That therefore none can sit upright in it,
Is a false Consequence, and void of Wit.
But you your self have taught Man such a way
Unto his happiness, that he must stray:
For if his Sense must usher in his Rest,
And never be abridg'd of its request,
He may be drunk and pockey, but ne'er blest.
As for Pride gendring Philosophy,
A Captious word, 'tis what you'l have it be:
Your nice Distinctions have an Art to show
'Tis good or bad, or neither, as please you.
Some Sects love Wrangling, others Pedantry;
But in the Love of Wisdom all agree;
Wisdom, which all acknowledg to be good,
But has the Fate to be misunderstood.
But tho Fools croud among Philosophers,
The fault is not the Sciences but theirs;
With all their Flaws our Bedlam School I'd choose
Before the madder Taverns leuder Shews.
Tho both are Slaves, I rather do respect
The Stoick than the Epicurean Sect.
If Sense or Reason once must be deny'd,
Reason would tell me, Reason must abide,
The less obnoxious and the surest Guide.
But since kind Nature has design'd them both
For Humane Complement, I should be loth
To give up Humane Sense to its own Will,
Or grant a Tyrant Reason leave to kill
Such useless Faculties; my Reason shall
Govern my Subject Sense, but not enthral.
Nor shall officious Sense presume to act,
Till Justice Reason authorize the Fact.
That Humane Nature is corrupt I grant;
But was't the use of Reason or the want
That put out the warm Breath of Love? From whence
Sprung Murder first, but from malicious Sense?
Which having once usurp'd Queen Reason's Throne,
'Twas not contented with one Sin alone,
But falling headlong, plainly shows, alas,
By too too fatal Proofs, that that which was
The best, corrupted, to the worst doth pass.
Hence the acutest Wits, when they're defil'd,
Turn most Extravagant, Profane and Wild,
Defend Debaucheries, and Sense advance
To Reason, Reason out of Countenance,
Making their Knowledg worse than Ignorance.
But must Humanity be quite eras'd,
Because it is from what it was defac'd?
Or must the little Reason Men yet hold
For their Improvement, be for Dogs Flesh sold?
Sometimes the Gamester, when ill Fortune crosses,
With his last Stake recovers all his Losses.
He's but a weak Physician who gives o'er
His weaker Patient, whom he might restore.
But may he suffer an Eternal Curse,
That dares prescribe a Remedy that's worse
Than the Disease it self: when Jowler's lame,
No one expects that he should kill the Game;
But that he may hereafter, I am sure
'Tis best not to cut off his Legs but cure.
He that feels Qualms of Conscience in his Breast,
Let him not barter Reason with a Beast,
But purge the Guilt with which he is opprest.
That Honesty's against all Common Sense,
Is a good Argument for my defence.
If Sense with that which has so good a Name
Is inconsistent, Sense is much to blame;
And Reason will, spite of your Rhyme and Tide
Of Ink, Wit and Contempt, more firm abide,
For having such a Vertue on its side.
And Valour to take part with her for Sense,
As you contrive it, puts no difference
Between the Valiant that are so for fear,
And Cowards who would be so, but don't dare.
Reason could never frame so witty a thing,
That Man should fight for fear of Quarrelling.
All men, you say, for Fools or Knaves must go,
And he's a Man himself who calls them so:
And being Man, is at his own Choice free,
Or in the Rank of Fools or Knaves to be;
Let him be either, or else both for me.
But let me, Sir, request, before you slip
Into your Dog, or Bear, or Monkey's Shape,
Whether you think their Brutish Form procures
Any Advantages exceeding yours.
Both Dog and Bear, as well as Man will fight,
And (to no purpose too) each other bite.
And as for Puggy, all his Virtues lie
In aping Man, the only thing you fly.
The wisest way the Evil to redress,
Is to be what you are not more or less,
That is not Man, Dog, Bear, nor Monkey neither,
But a Rare something of 'em altogether.