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Is to behold in man's obnoxious state
Scenes of content, and happy turns of fate.
Fair views of nature, shining works of art,
Amuse the fancy: but those touch the heart.
Chiefly for this proud epic song delights,
For this some riot on th' Arabian Nights.
Each case is ours: and for the human mind
'Tis monstrous not to feel for all mankind.
Were all mankind unhappy, who could taste
Elysium? or be solitarily blest?

Shock'd with surrounding shapes of human


All that or sense or fancy could bestow,
You would reject with sick and coy disdain,
And pant to see one cheerful face again.

But if Life's better prospects to behold So much delight the man of generous mould; How happy they, the great, the godlike few, Who daily cultivate this pleasing view! This is a joy possess'd by few indeed! Dame Fortune has so many fools to feed,

She cannot oft afford, with all her store,

To yield her smiles where Nature smil'd before.
To sinking worth a cordial hand to lend;
With better fortune to surprise a friend;
To cheer the modest Stranger's lonely state;
Or snatch an orphan family from fate;
To do, possess'd with virtue's noblest fire,
Such generous deeds as we with tears admire;
Deeds that, above Ambition's vulgar aim,

Secure an amiable, a solid fame : [seize; These are such joys as Heaven's first favourites These please you now, and will for ever please.

Too seldom we great moral deeds admire; The will, the power, th' occasion must conspire. Yet few there are so impotent and low, But can some small good offices bestow. Small as they are, however cheap they come, They add still something to the genʼral sum: And him who gives the little in his power, The world acquits; and heaven demands no


Unhappy he who feels each neighbour's


Yet no relief, no comfort can bestow.
Unhappy too, who feels each kind essay,
And for great favours has but words to pay;
Who, scornful of the flatterer's fawning art,
Dreads ev'n to pour his gratitude of heart;
And with a distant lover's silent pain

Must the best movements of his soul restrain.
But men sagacious to explore mankind
Trace ev'n the coyest passions of the mind.

Not only to the good we owe good-will; In good and bad, Distress demands it still. This, with the generous, lays distinction low, Endears a friend, and recommends a foe. Not that resentment never ought to rise; For even excess of virtue ranks with vice: And there are villanies no bench can awe, That sport without the limits of the law. No laws th' ungenerous crime would reprehend, Could I forgot Eumenes was my friend.

In vain the gibbet or the pillory claim

The wretch who blasts a helpless virgin's fame.
Where laws are dup'd, 'tis nor unjust nor mean
To seize the proper time for honest spleen.
An open candid foe I could not hate,


Nor even insult the base in humbled state
But thriving malice tamely to forgive-
'Tis somewhat late to be so primitive.

But I detain you with these tedious lays, Which few perhaps would read, and fewer praise. No matter: could I please the polish'd few Who taste the serious or the gay like you, The squeamish mob may find my verses bare Of every grace-but curse me if I care. Besides, I little court Parnassian fame; There's yet a better than a poet's name. 'Twould more indulge my pride to hear it said That I with you the paths of honour tread, Than that amongst the proud poetic train No modern boasted a more classic vein, Or that in numbers I let loose my song, Smooth as the Thames, and as the Severn strong.





VICE once with Virtue did engage,
To win Jove's conqu❜ring son;

So, for th' Alcides of our age,
As strange a fray begun.


His wife and ancient nurse between, Arose this wond'rous strife:

The froward Hag, his heart to win,
Contended with his wife.


His wife, an island-nymph most fair,
Bore plenty in her hand;

A crown adorns her regal hair,
Her graces love command.

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