EPISTLE IV.
OH happiness! our being's end and aim;
Good, pleasure, ease, content! whate'er thy name;
That something still which prompts th' eternal sigh,
For which we bear to live, or dare to die,
Which still so near us, yet beyond us lies, 5
O'er-look'd, seen double, by the fool, and wise.
Plant of celestial feed! if dropt below,
Say, in what mortal soil thou deign'st to grow?
Fair op'ning to some court's propitious shine,
Or deep with di'monds in the flaming mine? 10
Twin'd with the wreaths Parnassian laurels yield,
Or reap'd in iron harvests of the field?
Where grows?—Where grows it not?—If vain our toil,
We ought to blame the culture, not the soil:
Fix'd to no spot is happiness sincere, 15
'Tis no where to be found, or ev'ry where;
'Tis never to be bought, but always free,
And, fled from monarchs, St. John! dwells with thee.
Ask of the learn'd the way, the learn'd are blind,
This bids to serve, and that to shun mankind; 20
Some place the bliss in action, some in ease,
Those call it pleasure, and contentment these;
Some, sunk to beasts, find pleasure end in pain;
Some, swell'd to gods, confess ev'n virtue vain;
Or, indolent, to each extreme they fall, 25
To trust in every thing, or doubt of all.
Who thus define it, say they more or less
Than this, That happiness is happiness?
Take nature's path, and mad opinion's leave,
All states can reach it, and all heads conceive; 30
Obvious her goods, in no extream they dwell,
There needs but thinking right, and meaning well;
And, mourn our various portions as we please,
Equal is common sense and common ease.
Remember, man, the universal cause 35
'Acts not by partial, but by gen'ral laws;'
And makes what happiness we justly call,
Subsist not in the good of one, but all.
There's not a blessing individuals find,
But some way leans and hearkens to the kind. 40
No bandit fierce, no tyrant mad with pride,
No cavern'd hermit, rests self-satisfy'd.
Who most to shun or hate mankind pretend,
Seek an admirer, or would fix a friend.
Abstract what others feel, what others think, 45
All pleasures sicken, and all glories sink;
Each has his share; and who would more obtain,
Shall find the pleasure pays not half the pain.
Order is heav'n's first law; and, this confess'd,
Some are, and must be, greater than the rest, 50
More rich, more wise; but who infers from hence
That such are happier, shocks all common sense.
Heav'n to mankind impartial we confess,
If all are equal in their happiness:
But mutual wants this happiness increase, 55
All nature's diff'rence keeps all nature's peace.
Condition, circumstance is not the thing;
Bliss is the same in subject or in king,
In who obtain defence, or who defend,
In him who is, or him who finds a friend: 60
Heav'n breathes thro' ev'ry member of the whole
One common blessing, as one common soul.
But fortune's gifts if each alike possess'd,
And each were equal, must not all contest?
If then to all men happiness was meant, 65
God in externals could not place content.
Fortune her gifts may variously dispose,
And these be happy call'd, unhappy those;
But heav'n's just balance equal will appear,
While those are plac'd in hope, and these in fear: 70
Not present good or ill, the joy or curse,
But future views of better, or of worse.
Oh sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise,
By mountains pil'd on mountains, to the skies?
Heav'n still with laughter the vain toil surveys, 75
And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.
Know, all the good that individuals find,
Or God and nature meant to mere mankind;
Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense,
Ly in three words, health, peace, and competence. 80
But health consists with temperance alone,
And peace, oh virtue! peace is all thy own.
The good or bad the gifts of fortune gain,
But these less taste them, as they worse obtain.
Say, in pursuit of profit or delight, 85
Who risk the most, that take wrong means or right?
Of vice, or virtue, whether bless'd, or curs'd,
Which meets contempt, or which compassion first?
Count all th' advantage prosp'rous vice attains,
'Tis but what virtue flies from and disdains: 90
And grant the bad what happiness they wou'd,
One they must want, which is, to pass for good.
Oh blind to truth, and God's whole scheme below,
Who fancy bliss to vice, to virtue woe!
Who sees and follows that great scheme the best, 95
Best knows the blessing, and will most be bless'd.
But fools the good alone unhappy call,
For ills or accidents that chance to all.
See Falkland dies, the virtuous and the just!
See god-like Turrenne prostrate on the dust! 100
See Sidney bleeds amid the martial strife!
Was this their virtue, or contempt of life?
Say, was it virtue, more tho' heav'n ne'er gave,
Lamented Digby! sunk thee to the grave?
Tell me, if virtue made the son expire, 105
Why, full of days and honour, lives the fire?
Why drew Marseilles' good bishop purer breath,
When nature sicken'd, and each gale was death?
Or why so long (in life if long can be)
Lent heav'n a parent to the poor and me? 110
What makes all physical or moral ill?
There deviates nature, and here wanders will.
God sends not ill; if rightly understood,
Or partial ill is universal good,
Or change admits, or nature lets it fall, 115
Short, and but rare, till man improv'd it all.
We just as wisely might of heav'n complain,
That righteous Abel was destroy'd by Cain;
As that the virt'ous son is ill at ease,
When his lewd father gave the dire disease. 120
Think we, like some weak prince, th' eternal cause
Prone for his fav'rites to reverse his laws?
Shall burning Ætna, if a sage requires,
Forget to thunder, and recal her fires?
On air or sea new motions be impress'd, 125
Oh blameless Bethel! to relieve thy breast?
When the loose mountain trembles from on high,
Shall gravitation cease if you go by?
Or some old temple, nodding to its fall,
For Chart'ris' head reserve the hanging wall? 130
But still this world (so fitted for the knave)
Contents us not. A better shall we have?
A kingdom of the just then let it be:
But first consider how those just agree.
The good must merit God's peculiar care; 135
But who, but God, can tell us who they are?
One thinks on Calvin heav'n's own spirit fell,
Another deems him instrument of hell;
If Calvin feel heav'n's blessing or its rod,
This cries, There is, and that, There is no God.140
What shocks one part, will edify the rest,
Nor with one system can they all be bless'd.
The very best will variously incline,
And what rewards your virtue, punish mine.
'Whatever is, is right.'This world, 'tis true,145
Was made for Cæsarbut for Titus too:
And which more bless'd? who chain'd his country, say,
Or he whose virtue sigh'd to lose a day?
'But sometimes virtue starves, while vice is fed.'
What then? Is the reward of virtue bread? 150
That vice may merit; 'tis the price of toil;
The knave deserves it when he tills the soil;
The knave deserves it when he tempts the main,
Where folly fights for kings, or dives for gain.
The good man may be weak, be indolent,155
Nor is his claim to plenty, but content.
But grant him riches, your demand is o'er.
'No—shall the good want health, the good want pow'r?'
Add health, and pow'r, and ev'ry earthly thing;
'Why bounded pow'r? why private? why no king?'
Nay, why external for internal giv'n? 161
Why is not man a god, and earth a heav'n?
Who ask and reason thus will scarce conceive
God gives enough, while he has more to give:
Immense the pow'r, immense were the demand,165
Say, At what part of nature will they stand?
What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy,
The soul's calm sun-shine, and the heart-felt joy,
Is virtue's prize: A better would you fix?
Then give humility a coach and six,170
Justice a conq'ror's sword, or truth a gown,
Or public spirit, its great cure, a crown.
Weak, foolish man! will heav'n reward us there
With the same trash mad mortals wish for here?
The boy and man an individual makes,175
Yet sigh'st thou now for apples and for cakes?
Go, like the Indian, in another life
Expect thy dog, thy bottle, and thy wife,
As well as dream such trifles are assign'd,
As toys and empires, for a god-like mind.180
Rewards, that either would to virtue bring
No joy, or be destructive of the thing:
How oft by these at sixty are undone
The virtues of a saint at twenty one!
To whom can riches give repute or trust, 185
Content or pleasure, but the good and just?
Judges and senates have been bought for gold,
Esteem and love were never to be sold.
Oh fool! to think God hates the worthy mind,
The lover and the love of human-kind,190
Whose life is healthful, and whose conscience clear,
Because he wants a thousand pounds a year.
Honour and shame from no condition rise;
Act well your part, there all the honour lyes.
Fortune in men has some small diff'rence made,195
One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade,
The cobler apron'd, and the parson gown'd,
The frier hooded, and the monarch crown'd.
'What differ more (you cry) the crown and cowl?'
I'll tell you, friend! a wise man and a fool.200
You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk,
Or, cobler-like, the parson will be drunk,
Worth makes the man, the want of it the fellow,
The rest is all but leather or prunella.204
Stuck o'er with titles and hung round with strings,
That thou may'st be by kings, or whores of kings.
Boast the pure blood of an illustrious race,
In quiet flow from Lucrece to Lucrece;
But by your fathers' worth if your's you rate,
Count me those only who were good and great.210
Go! if your ancient, but ignoble blood
Has crept thro' scoundrels ever since the flood,
Go! and pretend your family is young,
Nor own your fathers have been fools so long.
What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards?215
Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.
Look next on greatness; say where greatness lyes.
'Where, but among the heroes and the wise?'
Heroes are much the same, the point's agreed,
From Macedonia's madman to the Swede;220
The whole strange purpose of their lives to find,
Or make an enemy of all mankind!
Not one looks backward, onward still he goes,
Yet ne'er looks foreward farther than his nose.
No less alike the politic and wise,225
All sly slow things, with circumspective eyes:
Men in their loose unguarded hours they take,
Not that themselves are wise, but others weak.
But grant that those can conquer, these can cheat,
'Tis phrase absurd to call a villain great:230
Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave,
Is but the more a fool, the more a knave,
Who noble ends by noble means obtains,
Or falling smiles in exile or in chains,
Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed235
Like Socrates, that man is great indeed.
What's fame? A fancy'd life in others' breath,
A thing beyond us, ev'n before our death,
Just what you hear, you have, and what's unknown
The same (my lord) if Tully's, or your own.240
All that we feel of it begins and ends
In the small circle of our foes or friends;
To all beside as much an empty shade,
An Eugene living, as a Cesar dead,
Alike or when or where they shone or shine,245
Or on the Rubicon, or on the Rhine.
A wit's a feather, and a chief a rod;
An honest man's the noblest work of God.
Fame but from death a villain's name can save,
As justice tears his body from the grave,250
When what t'oblivion better were resign'd,
Is hung on high to poison half mankind.
All fame is foreign but of true desert,
Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart:
One self-approving hour whole years out-weighs 255
Of stupid starers, and of loud huzzas;
And more true joy Marcellus exil'd feels,
Than Cesar with a senate at his heels.
In parts superior what advantage lyes?
Tell (for you can) what is it to be wise?260
'Tis but to know how little can be known;
To see all others faults, and feel our own;
Condemn'd in bus'ness, or in arts to drudge,
Without a second or without a judge:
Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land?265
All fear, none aid you, and few understand.
Painful pre-eminence! yourself to view
Above life's weakness, and its comforts too.
Bring then these blessings to a strict account,
Make fair deductions, see to what they mount:270
How much of other each is sure to cost;
How each for other oft is wholly lost;
How inconsistent greater goods with these;
How sometimes life is risk'd, and always ease:
Think, and if still the things thy envy call,275
Say, Would'st thou be the man to whom they fall?
To sigh for ribbands if thou art so silly,
Mark how they grace Lord Umbra, or Sir Billy:
Is yellow dirt the passion of thy life?
Look but on Gripus, or on Gripus' wife:280
If parts allure thee, think how Bacon shin'd,
The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind:
Or, ravish'd with the whistling of a name,
See Cromwell damn'd to everlasting fame!
If all, united, thy ambition call,285
From ancient story learn to scorn them all.
There, in the rich, the honour'd, fam'd, and great,
See the false scale of happiness complete!
In hearts of kings, or arms of queens who lay,
How happy! those to ruin, these betray,290
Mark by what wretched steps their glory grows,
From dirt and sea-weed as proud Venice rose;
In each how guilt and greatness equal ran,
And all that rais'd the hero, sunk the man.
Now Europe's laurels on their brows behold, 295
But stain'd with blood, or ill exchang'd for gold,
Then see them broke with toils, or sunk in ease,
Or infamous for plunder'd provinces.
Oh wealth ill-fated! which no act of fame
E'er taught to shine, or sanctify'd from shame!300
What greater bliss attends their close of life?
Some greedy minion, or imperious wife,
The trophy'd arches, story'd halls invade,
And haunt their slumbers in the pompous shade.
Alas! not dazzl'd with their noon-tide ray,305
Compute the morn and ev'ning to the day;
The whole amount to that enormous fame,
A tale that blends their glory with their shame!
Know then this truth, (enough for man to know)
'Virtue alone is happiness below.'310
The only point where human bliss stands still,
And tastes the good without the fall to ill;
Where only merit constant pay receives,
Is bless'd in what it takes, and what it gives;
The joy unequal'd, if its end it gain;315
And if it lose, attended with no pain;
Without satiety, tho' e'er so bless'd,
And but more relish'd as the more distress'd:
The broadest mirth unfeeling folly wears,
Less pleasing far than virtue's very tears.320
Good from each object, from each place acquir'd,
For ever exercis'd, yet never tir'd;
Never elated while one man's oppress'd;
Never dejected while another's bless'd;
And where no wants, no wishes can remain,325
Since but to wish more virtue, is to gain.
See! the sole bliss heav'n could on all bestow;
Which who but feels can taste, but thinks can know;
Yet poor with fortune, and with learning blind,
The bad must miss; the good, untaught, will find:
Slave to no sect, who takes no private road,331
But looks thro' nature up to nature's God;
Pursues that chain which links th' immense design,
Joins heav'n and earth, and mortal and divine;
Sees that no being any bliss can know,335
But touches some above, and some below;
Learns, from this union of the rising whole,
The first, last purpose of the human soul;
And knows where faith, law, morals, all began,
All end, in love of God, and love of man.340
For him alone hope leads from goal to goal,
And opens still, and opens on his soul,
'Till lengthen'd on to faith, and unconfin'd,
It pours the bliss that fills up all the mind.
He sees why nature plants in man alone345
Hope of known bliss, and faith in bliss unknown:
(Nature, whose dictates to no other kind
Are given in vain, but what they seek they find)
Wise is her present; she connects in this
His greatest virtue with his greatest bliss,350
At once his own bright prospect to be bless'd,
And strongest motive to assist the rest.
Self-love thus push'd to social, to divine,
Gives thee to make thy neighbour's blessing thine.
Is this too little for the boundless heart?355
Extend it, let thy enemies have part:
Grasp the whole worlds of reason, life, and sense,
In one close system of benevolence:
Happier as kinder, in whate'er degree,
And height of bliss but height of charity,360
God loves from whole to parts; but human soul
Must rise from individual to the whole.
Self-love but serves the virt'ous mind to wake,
As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake;
The centre mov'd a circle strait succeeds,365
Another still, and still another spreads,
Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace,
His country next, and next all human race,
Wide and more wide, th' o'erflowings of the mind
Take ev'ry creature in of ev'ry kind;370
Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty bless'd,
And heav'n beholds its image in his breast.
Come then, my friend, my genius, come along,
Oh master of the poet, and the song!
And while the muse now stoops, or now ascends,375
To man's low passions, or their glorious ends,
Teach me, like thee, in various nature wise,
To fall with dignity, with temper rise;
Form'd by thy converse, happily to steer
From grave to gay, from lively to severe;380
Correct with spirit, eloquent with ease,
Intent to reason, or polite to please.
Oh! while along the stream of time thy name
Expanded flies, and gathers all its fame,
Say, Shall my little bark attendant sail,385
Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale?
When statesmen, heroes, kings, in dust repose,
Whose sons shall blush their fathers were thy foes,
Shall then this verse to future age pretend
Thou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend? 380
That, urg'd by thee, I turn'd the tuneful art
From sound to things, from fancy to the heart;
For wit's false mirror held up nature's light;
Shew'd erring pride, whatever is, is right;
That reason, passion, answer one great aim; 385
That true self-love and social are the same;
That virtue only makes our bliss below;
And all our knowledge is, ourselves to know.