Three random poems from PoetryDB
EPISTLE I. OF THE NATURE AND STATE OF MAN WITH RESPECT TO THE UNIVERSE. AWAKE, my St John! leave all meaner things To low ambition, and the pride of kings. Let us (since life can little more supply Than just to look about us and to die) Expatiate free o'er all this scene of Man; A mighty maze! but not without a plan; A wild, where weeds and flowers promiscuous shoot; Or garden, tempting with forbidden fruit. Together let us beat this ample field, Try what the open, what the covert yield; The latent tracts, the giddy heights, explore Of all who blindly creep, or sightless soar; Eye Nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies, And catch the manners living as they rise; Laugh where we must, be candid where we can; But vindicate the ways of God to Man. I. Say first, of God above, or Man below, What can we reason, but from what we know? Of Man, what see we but his station here, From which to reason, or to which refer? Through worlds unnumber'd, though the God be known, 'Tis ours to trace him only in our own. He who through vast immensity can pierce, See worlds on worlds compose one universe, Observe how system into system runs, What other planets circle other suns, What varied being peoples every star, May tell why Heaven has made us as we are. But of this frame the bearings, and the ties, The strong connexions, nice dependencies, Gradations just, has thy pervading soul Look'd through? or can a part contain the whole? Is the great chain, that draws all to agree, And drawn, supports, upheld by God, or thee? II. Presumptuous Man! the reason wouldst thou find, Why form'd so weak, so little, and so blind? First, if thou canst, the harder reason guess, Why form'd no weaker, blinder, and no less? Ask of thy mother earth, why oaks are made Taller or stronger than the weeds they shade? Or ask of yonder argent fields above, Why Jove's satellites are less than Jove? Of systems possible, if 'tis confess'd That Wisdom infinite must form the best, Where all must full or not coherent be, And all that rises, rise in due degree; Then, in the scale of reasoning life, 'tis plain, There must be, somewhere, such a rank as Man: And all the question (wrangle e'er so long) Is only this, if God has placed him wrong? Respecting Man, whatever wrong we call, May, must be right, as relative to all. In human works, though labour'd on with pain, A thousand movements scarce one purpose gain; In God's, one single can its end produce; Yet serves to second, too, some other use. So Man, who here seems principal alone, Perhaps acts second to some sphere unknown, Touches some wheel, or verges to some goal; 'Tis but a part we see, and not a whole. When the proud steed shall know why Man restrains His fiery course, or drives him o'er the plains; When the dull ox, why now he breaks the clod, Is now a victim, and now Egypt's god: Then shall man's pride and dulness comprehend His actions', passions', being's use and end; Why doing, suffering, check'd, impell'd; and why This hour a slave, the next a deity. Then say not Man's imperfect, Heaven in fault; Say rather, Man's as perfect as he ought: His knowledge measured to his state and place; His time a moment, and a point his space. If to be perfect in a certain sphere, What matter, soon or late, or here or there? The blest to-day is as completely so, As who began a thousand years ago. III. Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate, All but the page prescribed, their present state: From brutes what men, from men what spirits know: Or who could suffer being here below? The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood. Oh blindness to the future! kindly given, That each may fill the circle mark'd by Heaven: Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish, or a sparrow fall, Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd, And now a bubble burst, and now a world. Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar; Wait the great teacher, Death; and God adore. What future bliss, He gives not thee to know, But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never Is, but always To be blest: The soul, uneasy and confined from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come. Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutor'd mind Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind; His soul, proud science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk, or milky-way; Yet simple nature to his hope has given, Behind the cloud-topp'd hill, an humbler heaven; Some safer world in depth of woods embraced, Some happier island in the watery waste, Where slaves once more their native land behold, No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold. To be, contents his natural desire, He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire; But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company. IV. Go, wiser thou! and in thy scale of sense, Weigh thy opinion against Providence; Call imperfection what thou fanciest such, Say, here he gives too little, there too much: Destroy all creatures for thy sport or gust, Yet cry, If Man's unhappy, God's unjust: If Man alone engross not Heaven's high care, Alone made perfect here, immortal there: Snatch from his hand the balance and the rod, Re-judge his justice, be the God of God. In pride, in reasoning pride, our error lies; All quit their sphere, and rush into the skies. Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes, Men would be angels, angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell, Aspiring to be angels, men rebel: And who but wishes to invert the laws Of ORDER, sins against the Eternal Cause. V. Ask for what end the heavenly bodies shine, Earth for whose use? Pride answers, ''Tis for mine: For me kind Nature wakes her genial power, Suckles each herb, and spreads out every flower; Annual for me the grape, the rose renew, The juice nectareous, and the balmy dew; For me, the mine a thousand treasures brings; For me, health gushes from a thousand springs; Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise; My footstool earth, my canopy the skies.' But errs not Nature from this gracious end, From burning suns when livid deaths descend, When earthquakes swallow, or when tempests sweep Towns to one grave, whole nations to the deep? 'No' 'tis replied, 'the first Almighty Cause Acts not by partial, but by general laws; Th' exceptions few; some change, since all began: And what created perfect?'--Why then Man? If the great end be human happiness, Then Nature deviates; and can Man do less? As much that end a constant course requires Of showers and sunshine, as of Man's desires; As much eternal springs and cloudless skies, As men for ever temperate, calm, and wise. If plagues or earthquakes break not Heaven's design, Why then a Borgia, or a Catiline? Who knows but He, whose hand the lightning forms, Who heaves old Ocean, and who wings the storms, Pours fierce ambition in a Caesar's mind, Or turns young Ammon loose to scourge mankind? From pride, from pride, our very reasoning springs; Account for moral, as for natural things: Why charge we Heaven in those, in these acquit? In both, to reason right, is to submit. Better for us, perhaps, it might appear, Were there all harmony, all virtue here; That never air or ocean felt the wind, That never passion discomposed the mind. But all subsists by elemental strife; And passions are the elements of life. The general order, since the whole began, Is kept in Nature, and is kept in Man. VI. What would this Man? Now upward will he soar, And, little less than angel, would be more; Now looking downwards, just as grieved appears To want the strength of bulls, the fur of bears. Made for his use all creatures if he call, Say, what their use, had he the powers of all? Nature to these, without profusion, kind, The proper organs, proper powers assign'd; Each seeming want compensated, of course, Here with degrees of swiftness, there of force; All in exact proportion to the state; Nothing to add, and nothing to abate. Each beast, each insect, happy in its own: Is Heaven unkind to Man, and Man alone? Shall he alone, whom rational we call, Be pleased with nothing, if not bless'd with all? The bliss of Man (could pride that blessing find) Is not to act or think beyond mankind; No powers of body or of soul to share, But what his nature and his state can bear. Why has not Man a microscopic eye? For this plain reason, Man is not a fly. Say, what the use, were finer optics given, T'inspect a mite, not comprehend the heaven? Or touch, if tremblingly alive all o'er, To smart and agonise at every pore? Or, quick effluvia darting through the brain, Die of a rose in aromatic pain? If nature thunder'd in his opening ears, And stunn'd him with the music of the spheres, How would he wish that Heaven had left him still The whispering zephyr, and the purling rill? Who finds not Providence all good and wise, Alike in what it gives, and what denies? VII. Far as Creation's ample range extends, The scale of sensual, mental powers ascends: Mark how it mounts, to Man's imperial race, From the green myriads in the peopled grass: What modes of sight betwixt each wide extreme, The mole's dim curtain, and the lynx's beam! Of smell, the headlong lioness between, And hound sagacious on the tainted green: Of hearing, from the life that fills the flood, To that which warbles through the vernal wood: The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line: In the nice bee, what sense so subtly true From poisonous herbs extracts the healing dew! How instinct varies in the grovelling swine, Compared, half-reasoning elephant, with thine! 'Twixt that and reason, what a nice barrier: For ever separate, yet for ever near! Remembrance and reflection how allied; What thin partitions sense from thought divide: And middle natures, how they long to join, Yet never pass th' insuperable line! Without this just gradation, could they be Subjected, these to those, or all to thee? The powers of all subdued by thee alone, Is not thy reason all these powers in one? VIII. See, through this air, this ocean, and this earth, All matter quick, and bursting into birth: Above, how high progressive life may go! Around, how wide! how deep extend below! Vast chain of being! which from God began, Natures ethereal, human, angel, man, Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can see, No glass can reach; from Infinite to Thee, From Thee to Nothing.--On superior powers Were we to press, inferior might on ours: Or in the full creation leave a void, Where, one step broken, the great scale's destroy'd: From Nature's chain whatever link you strike, Tenth, or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike. And, if each system in gradation roll Alike essential to th' amazing whole, The least confusion but in one, not all That system only, but the whole must fall. Let earth, unbalanced, from her orbit fly, Planets and suns run lawless through the sky; Let ruling angels from their spheres be hurl'd, Being on being wreck'd, and world on world; Heaven's whole foundations to their centre nod, And Nature trembles to the throne of God. All this dread order break--for whom? for thee? Vile worm!--oh madness! pride! impiety! IX. What if the foot, ordain'd the dust to tread, Or hand, to toil, aspired to be the head What if the head, the eye, or ear repined To serve mere engines to the ruling mind? Just as absurd for any part to claim To be another, in this general frame; Just as absurd, to mourn the tasks or pains, The great directing Mind of All ordains. All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and God the soul; That, changed through all, and yet in all the same; Great in the earth, as in th' ethereal frame: Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, Lives through all life, extends through all extent. Spreads undivided, operates unspent; Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; As full, as perfect, in vile Man that mourns, As the rapt Seraph that adores and burns: To Him no high, no low, no great, no small; He fills, He bounds, connects, and equals all. X. Cease then, nor Order imperfection name: Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. Know thy own point: this kind, this due degree Of blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee. Submit--in this, or any other sphere, Secure to be as bless'd as thou canst bear: Safe in the hand of one disposing Power, Or in the natal, or the mortal hour. All Nature is but Art, unknown to thee; All chance, direction, which thou canst not see; All discord, harmony not understood; All partial evil, universal good: And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, One truth is clear, WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT. EPISTLE II. OF THE NATURE AND STATE OF MAN WITH RESPECT TO HIMSELF AS AN INDIVIDUAL. I. KNOW then thyself, presume not God to scan; The proper study of mankind is Man. Placed on this isthmus of a middle state, A being darkly wise, and rudely great: With too much knowledge for the sceptic side, With too much weakness for the stoic's pride, He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest; In doubt to deem himself a god, or beast; In doubt his mind or body to prefer; Born but to die, and reasoning but to err; Alike in ignorance, his reason such, Whether he thinks too little, or too much: Chaos of thought and passion, all confused; Still by himself abused, or disabused; Created half to rise, and half to fall; Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all; Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl'd: The glory, jest, and riddle of the world! Go, wondrous creature! mount where science guides, Go, measure earth, weigh air, and state the tides; Instruct the planets in what orbs to run, Correct old Time, and regulate the sun; Go, soar with Plato to the empyreal sphere, To the first Good, first Perfect, and first Fair; Or tread the mazy round his followers trod, And quitting sense call imitating God; As eastern priests in giddy circles run, And turn their heads to imitate the sun. Go, teach Eternal Wisdom how to rule-- Then drop into thyself, and be a fool! Superior beings, when of late they saw A mortal man unfold all Nature's law, Admired such wisdom in an earthly shape, And show'd a Newton as we show an ape. Could he, whose rules the rapid comet bind, Describe or fix one movement of his mind? Who saw its fires here rise, and there descend, Explain his own beginning, or his end? Alas, what wonder! Man's superior part Uncheck'd may rise, and climb from art to art; But when his own great work is but begun, What reason weaves, by passion is undone. Trace Science, then, with modesty thy guide; First strip off all her equipage of pride; Deduct what is but vanity, or dress, Or learning's luxury, or idleness; Or tricks to show the stretch of human brain. Mere curious pleasure, or ingenious pain; Expunge the whole, or lop th' excrescent parts Of all our vices have created arts; Then see how little the remaining sum, Which served the past, and must the times to come! II. Two principles in human nature reign-- Self-love, to urge, and reason, to restrain; Nor this a good, nor that a bad we call, Each works its end, to move or govern all: And to their proper operation still, Ascribe all good; to their improper, ill. Self-love, the spring of motion, acts the soul; Reason's comparing balance rules the whole. Man, but for that, no action could attend, And, but for this, were active to no end: Fix'd like a plant on his peculiar spot, To draw nutrition, propagate, and rot; Or, meteor-like, flame lawless through the void, Destroying others, by himself destroy'd. Most strength the moving principle requires; Active its task, it prompts, impels, inspires. Sedate and quiet the comparing lies, Form'd but to check, deliberate, and advise. Self-love, still stronger, as its objects nigh; Reason's at distance, and in prospect lie: That sees immediate good by present sense; Reason, the future and the consequence. Thicker than arguments, temptations throng, At best more watchful this, but that more strong. The action of the stronger to suspend Reason still use, to reason still attend. Attention, habit and experience gains; Each strengthens reason, and self-love restrains. Let subtle schoolmen teach these friends to fight, More studious to divide than to unite; And grace and virtue, sense and reason split, With all the rash dexterity of wit. Wits, just like fools, at war about a name, Have full as oft no meaning, or the same. Self-love and reason to one end aspire, Pain their aversion, pleasure their desire; But greedy that its object would devour, This taste the honey, and not wound the flower: Pleasure, or wrong or rightly understood, Our greatest evil, or our greatest good. III. Modes of self-love the passions we may call: 'Tis real good, or seeming, moves them all: But since not every good we can divide, And reason bids us for our own provide; Passions, though selfish, if their means be fair, List under reason, and deserve her care; Those, that imparted, court a nobler aim, Exalt their kind, and take some virtue's name. In lazy apathy let Stoics boast Their virtue fix'd; 'tis fix'd as in a frost; Contracted all, retiring to the breast; But strength of mind is exercise, not rest: The rising tempest puts in act the soul, Parts it may ravage, but preserves the whole. On life's vast ocean diversely we sail, Reason the card, but passion is the gale; Nor God alone in the still calm we find, He mounts the storm, and walks upon the wind. Passions, like elements, though born to fight, Yet, mix'd and soften'd, in his work unite: These 'tis enough to temper and employ; But what composes Man, can Man destroy? Suffice that reason keep to Nature's road; Subject, compound them, follow her and God. Love, Hope, and Joy, fair Pleasure's smiling train, Hate, Fear, and Grief, the family of Pain, These mix'd with art, and to due bounds confined, Make and maintain the balance of the mind: The lights and shades, whose well-accorded strife Gives all the strength and colour of our life. Pleasures are ever in our hands or eyes; And when, in act, they cease, in prospect, rise: Present to grasp, and future still to find, The whole employ of body and of mind. All spread their charms, but charm not all alike; On different senses different objects strike; Hence different passions more or less inflame, As strong or weak, the organs of the frame; And hence one master passion in the breast, Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest. As Man, perhaps, the moment of his breath, Receives the lurking principle of death; The young disease, that must subdue at length, Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his strength: So, cast and mingled with his very frame, The mind's disease, its ruling passion came; Each vital humour which should feed the whole, Soon flows to this, in body and in soul: Whatever warms the heart, or fills the head, As the mind opens, and its functions spread, Imagination plies her dangerous art, And pours it all upon the peccant part. Nature its mother, habit is its nurse; Wit, spirit, faculties, but make it worse; Reason itself but gives it edge and power; As Heaven's blest beam turns vinegar more sour. We, wretched subjects, though to lawful sway, In this weak queen, some favourite still obey: Ah! if she lend not arms, as well as rules, What can she more than tell us we are fools? Teach us to mourn our nature, not to mend, A sharp accuser, but a helpless friend! Or from a judge turn pleader, to persuade The choice we make, or justify it made; Proud of an easy conquest all along, She but removes weak passions for the strong: So, when small humours gather to a gout, The doctor fancies he has driven them out. Yes, Nature's road must ever be preferr'd; Reason is here no guide, but still a guard: 'Tis hers to rectify, not overthrow, And treat this passion more as friend than foe: A mightier power the strong direction sends, And several men impels to several ends: Like varying winds, by other passions tost, This drives them constant to a certain coast. Let power or knowledge, gold or glory, please, Or (oft more strong than all) the love of ease; Through life 'tis follow'd, even at life's expense; The merchant's toil, the sage's indolence, The monk's humility, the hero's pride, All, all alike, find reason on their side. Th' eternal Art educing good from ill, Grafts on this passion our best principle: 'Tis thus the mercury of Man is fix'd, Strong grows the virtue with his nature mix'd; The dross cements what else were too refined And in one interest body acts with mind. As fruits, ungrateful to the planter's care, On savage stocks inserted, learn to bear; The surest virtues thus from passions shoot, Wild nature's vigour working at the root. What crops of wit and honesty appear From spleen, from obstinacy, hate, or fear! See anger, zeal and fortitude supply; Even avarice, prudence; sloth, philosophy; Lust, through some certain strainers well refined, Is gentle love, and charms all womankind; Envy, to which th' ignoble mind's a slave, Is emulation in the learn'd or brave; Nor virtue, male or female, can we name, But what will grow on pride, or grow on shame. Thus Nature gives us (let it check our pride) The virtue nearest to our vice allied: Reason the bias turns to good from ill, And Nero reigns a Titus, if he will. The fiery soul abhorr'd in Catiline, In Decius charms, in Curtius is divine: The same ambition can destroy or save, And makes a patriot, as it makes a knave. IV. This light and darkness in our chaos join'd What shall divide? the God within the mind. Extremes in Nature equal ends produce, In man they join to some mysterious use; Though each by turns the other's bound invade, As, in some well-wrought picture, light and shade, And oft so mix, the difference is too nice Where ends the virtue, or begins the vice. Fools! who from hence into the notion fall, That vice or virtue there is none at all. If white and black blend, soften, and unite A thousand ways, is there no black or white? Ask your own heart, and nothing is so plain; 'Tis to mistake them, costs the time and pain. V. Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As, to be hated, needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace. But where th' extreme of vice, was ne'er agreed: Ask where's the north? at York, 'tis on the Tweed; In Scotland, at the Orcades; and there, At Greenland, Zembla, or the Lord knows where. No creature owns it in the first degree, But thinks his neighbour further gone than he; Even those who dwell beneath its very zone, Or never feel the rage, or never own; What happier natures shrink at with affright, The hard inhabitant contends is right. Virtuous and vicious every man must be, Few in th' extreme, but all in the degree; The rogue and fool by fits is fair and wise; And even the best, by fits, what they despise. 'Tis but by parts we follow good or ill; For, vice or virtue, self directs it still; Each individual seeks a several goal; But Heaven's great view is one, and that the whole. That counterworks each folly and caprice; That disappoints th' effect of every vice; That, happy frailties to all ranks applied; Shame to the virgin, to the matron pride, Fear to the statesman, rashness to the chief, To kings presumption, and to crowds belief: That, virtue's ends from vanity can raise, Which seeks no interest, no reward but praise; And build on wants, and on defects of mind, The joy, the peace, the glory of mankind. Heaven forming each on other to depend, A master, or a servant, or a friend, Bids each on other for assistance call, Till one man's weakness grows the strength of all. Wants, frailties, passions, closer still ally The common interest, or endear the tie. To these we owe true friendship, love sincere, Each home-felt joy that life inherits here; Yet from the same we learn, in its decline, Those joys, those loves, those interests to resign; Taught half by reason, half by mere decay, To welcome death, and calmly pass away. Whate'er the passion, knowledge, fame, or pelf, Not one will change his neighbour with himself. The learn'd is happy Nature to explore; The fool is happy that he knows no more; The rich is happy in the plenty given, The poor contents him with the care of Heaven. See the blind beggar dance, the cripple sing, The sot a hero, lunatic a king; The starving chemist in his golden views Supremely bless'd, the poet in his Muse. See some strange comfort every state attend, And pride bestow'd on all, a common friend; See some fit passion every age supply, Hope travels through, nor quits us when we die. Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law, Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw: Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, A little louder, but as empty quite: Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage, And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age: Pleased with this bauble still, as that before; Till, tired, he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er. Meanwhile opinion gilds with varying rays Those painted clouds that beautify our days; Each want of happiness by hope supplied, And each vacuity of sense by pride: These build as fast as knowledge can destroy; In Folly's cup still laughs the bubble, joy; One prospect lost, another still we gain; And not a vanity is given in vain; Even mean self-love becomes, by force divine, The scale to measure others' wants by thine. See! and confess, one comfort still must rise, 'Tis this, Though Man's a fool, yet God is wise. EPISTLE III. OF THE NATURE AND STATE OF MAN WITH RESPECT TO SOCIETY. Here then we rest: 'The Universal Cause Acts to one end, but acts by various laws.' In all the madness of superfluous health, The trim of pride, the impudence of wealth, Let this great truth be present night and day; But most be present, if we preach or pray. I. Look round our world; behold the chain of love Combining all below and all above. See plastic Nature working to this end, The single atoms each to other tend, Attract, attracted to, the next in place Form'd and impell'd its neighbour to embrace. See matter next, with various life endued, Press to one centre still, the general Good. See dying vegetables life sustain, See life dissolving vegetate again: All forms that perish other forms supply, (By turns we catch the vital breath, and die) Like bubbles on the sea of Matter born, They rise, they break, and to that sea return. Nothing is foreign: parts relate to whole; One all-extending, all-preserving Soul Connects each being, greatest with the least; Made beast in aid of man, and man of beast; All served, all serving: nothing stands alone; The chain holds on, and where it ends, unknown. Has God, thou fool! work'd solely for thy good, Thy joy, thy pastime, thy attire, thy food? Who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn, For him as kindly spread the flowery lawn: Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings? Joy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wings. Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat? Loves of his own, and raptures swell the note. The bounding steed you pompously bestride, Shares with his lord the pleasure and the pride. Is thine alone the seed that strews the plain? The birds of heaven shall vindicate their grain. Thine the full harvest of the golden year? Part pays, and justly, the deserving steer: The hog, that ploughs not, nor obeys thy call, Lives on the labours of this lord of all. Know, Nature's children all divide her care; The fur that warms a monarch, warm'd a bear. While Man exclaims, 'See all things for my use!' 'See man for mine!' replies a pamper'd goose: And just as short of reason he must fall, Who thinks all made for one, not one for all. Grant that the powerful still the weak control; Be Man the wit and tyrant of the whole: Nature that tyrant checks; he only knows, And helps, another creature's wants and woes. Say, will the falcon, stooping from above, Smit with her varying plumage, spare the dove? Admires the jay the insect's gilded wings? Or hears the hawk when Philomela sings? Man cares for all: to birds he gives his woods, To beasts his pastures, and to fish his floods; For some his interest prompts him to provide, For more his pleasure, yet for more his pride: All feed on one vain patron, and enjoy Th' extensive blessing of his luxury. That very life his learned hunger craves, He saves from famine, from the savage saves; Nay, feasts the animal he dooms his feast. And, till he ends the being, makes it blest; Which sees no more the stroke, or feels the pain, Than favour'd Man by touch ethereal slain. The creature had his feast of life before; Thou too must perish, when thy feast is o'er! To each unthinking being, Heaven, a friend, Gives not the useless knowledge of its end: To Man imparts it; but with such a view As, while he dreads it, makes him hope it too: The hour conceal'd, and so remote the fear, Death still draws nearer, never seeming near. Great standing miracle! that Heaven assign'd Its only thinking thing this turn of mind. II. Whether with reason or with instinct blest, Know, all enjoy that power which suits them best; To bliss alike by that direction tend, And find the means proportion'd to their end. Say, where full instinct is th' unerring guide, What pope or council can they need beside? Reason, however able, cool at best, Cares not for service, or but serves when press'd, Stays till we call, and then not often near; But honest instinct comes a volunteer, Sure never to o'ershoot, but just to hit; While still too wide or short is human wit; Sure by quick nature happiness to gain, Which heavier reason labours at in vain. This, too serves always, reason never long; One must go right, the other may go wrong. See then the acting and comparing powers One in their nature, which are two in ours; And reason raise o'er instinct as you can, In this 'tis God directs, in that 'tis Man. Who taught the nations of the field and wood To shun their poison, and to choose their food? Prescient, the tides or tempests to withstand, Build on the wave, or arch beneath the sand? Who made the spider parallels design, Sure as De Moivre, without rule or line? Who bid the stork, Columbus-like, explore Heavens not his own, and worlds unknown before? Who calls the council, states the certain day, Who forms the phalanx, and who points the way? III. God, in the nature of each being, founds Its proper bliss, and sets its proper bounds: But as he framed a whole, the whole to bless, On mutual wants built mutual happiness: So from the first, eternal Order ran, And creature link'd to creature, man to man. Whate'er of life all-quickening ether keeps, Or breathes through air, or shoots beneath the deeps, Or pours profuse on earth, one nature feeds The vital flame, and swells the genial seeds. Not Man alone, but all that roam the wood, Or wing the sky, or roll along the flood, Each loves itself, but not itself alone, Each sex desires alike, till two are one. Nor ends the pleasure with the fierce embrace; They love themselves, a third time, in their race. Thus beast and bird their common charge attend, The mothers nurse it, and the sires defend; The young dismiss'd to wander earth or air, There stops the instinct, and there ends the care; The link dissolves, each seeks a fresh embrace, Another love succeeds, another race. A longer care Man's helpless kind demands; That longer care contracts more lasting bands: Reflection, reason, still the ties improve, At once extend the interest, and the love; With choice we fix, with sympathy we burn; Each virtue in each passion takes its turn; And still new needs, new helps, new habits rise, That graft benevolence on charities. Still as one brood, and as another rose, These natural love maintain'd, habitual those: The last, scarce ripen'd into perfect man, Saw helpless him from whom their life began: Memory and forecast just returns engage, That pointed back to youth, this on to age; While pleasure, gratitude, and hope, combined, Still spread the interest, and preserved the kind. IV. Nor think, in Nature's state they blindly trod; The state of Nature was the reign of God: Self-love and social at her birth began, Union the bond of all things, and of Man. Pride then was not; nor arts, that pride to aid; Man walk'd with beast, joint tenant of the shade; The same his table, and the same his bed; No murder clothed him, and no murder fed. In the same temple, the resounding wood, All vocal beings hymn'd their equal God: The shrine with gore unstain'd, with gold undress'd, Unbribed, unbloody, stood the blameless priest: Heaven's attribute was universal care, And Man's prerogative to rule, but spare. Ah! how unlike the Man of times to come! Of half that live the butcher and the tomb; Who, foe to Nature, hears the general groan, Murders their species, and betrays his own. But just disease to luxury succeeds, And every death its own avenger breeds; The fury-passions from that blood began, And turn'd on Man, a fiercer savage, Man. See him from Nature rising slow to Art! To copy instinct then was reason's part; Thus then to Man the voice of Nature spake-- 'Go, from the creatures thy instructions take: Learn from the birds what food the thickets yield; Learn from the beasts the physic of the field; Thy arts of building from the bee receive; Learn of the mole to plough, the worm to weave; Learn of the little nautilus to sail, Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale. Here, too, all forms of social union find, And hence let reason, late, instruct mankind: Here subterranean works and cities see; There towns aërial on the waving tree. Learn each small people's genius, policies, The ants' republic, and the realm of bees; How those in common all their wealth bestow, And anarchy without confusion know; And these for ever, though a monarch reign, Their separate cells and properties maintain. Mark what unvaried laws preserve each state, Laws wise as Nature, and as fix'd as Fate. In vain thy reason finer webs shall draw, Entangle Justice in her net of lay, And right, too rigid, harden into wrong; Still for the strong too weak, the weak too strong. Yet go! and thus o'er all the creatures sway, Thus let the wiser make the rest obey; And for those arts mere instinct could afford, Be crown'd as monarchs, or as gods adored.' V. Great Nature spoke; observant men obey'd; Cities were built, societies were made: Here rose one little state; another near Grew by like means, and join'd, through love or fear. Did here the trees with ruddier burdens bend, And there the streams in purer rills descend? What war could ravish, commerce could bestow; And he return'd a friend, who came a foe. Converse and love mankind might strongly draw, When love was liberty, and Nature law. Thus states were form'd, the name of king unknown, Till common interest placed the sway in one. 'Twas virtue only (or in arts or arms, Diffusing blessings or averting harms), The same which in a sire the sons obey'd, A prince the father of a people made. VI. Till then, by Nature crown'd, each patriarch sat, King, priest, and parent of his growing state; On him, their second Providence, they hung, Their law his eye, their oracle his tongue. He from the wondering furrow call'd the food, Taught to command the fire, control the flood, Draw forth the monsters of the abyss profound, Or fetch the aërial eagle to the ground. Till drooping, sickening, dying they began Whom they revered as god to mourn as man: Then, looking up from sire to sire, explored One great first Father, and that first adored. Or plain tradition that this All begun, Convey'd unbroken faith from sire to son; The worker from the work distinct was known, And simple reason never sought but one: Ere wit oblique had broke that steady light, Man, like his Maker, saw that all was right; To virtue, in the paths of pleasure, trod, And own'd a Father when he own'd a God. Love all the faith, and all the allegiance then; For nature knew no right divine in men, No ill could fear in God; and understood A sovereign Being, but a sovereign good. True faith, true policy, united ran, That was but love of God, and this of Man. Who first taught souls enslaved, and realms undone, The enormous faith of many made for one; That proud exception to all Nature's laws, To invert the world, and counterwork its cause? Force first made conquest, and that conquest, law; 'Till Superstition taught the tyrant awe, Then shared the tyranny, then lent it aid, And gods of conquerors, slaves of subjects made: She, midst the lightning's blaze, and thunder's sound, When rock'd the mountains, and when groan'd the ground, 250 She taught the weak to bend, the proud to pray, To Power unseen, and mightier far than they: She, from the rending earth and bursting skies, Saw gods descend, and fiends infernal rise: Here fix'd the dreadful, there the blest abodes; Fear made her devils, and weak hope her gods; Gods partial, changeful, passionate, unjust, Whose attributes were rage, revenge, or lust; Such as the souls of cowards might conceive, And, form'd like tyrants, tyrants would believe. Zeal then, not charity, became the guide; And hell was built on spite, and heaven on pride. Then sacred seem'd the ethereal vault no more; Altars grew marble then, and reek'd with gore: Then first the Flamen tasted living food; Next his grim idol smear'd with human blood; With Heaven's own thunders shook the world below, And play'd the god an engine on his foe. So drives self-love, through just and through unjust, To one man's power, ambition, lucre, lust: The same self-love, in all, becomes the cause Of what restrains him, government and laws. For, what one likes, if others like as well, What serves one will, when many wills rebel? How shall he keep what, sleeping or awake, A weaker may surprise, a stronger take? His safety must his liberty restrain: All join to guard what each desires to gain. Forced into virtue thus by self-defence, Even kings learn'd justice and benevolence; Self-love forsook the path it first pursued, And found the private in the public good. 'Twas then the studious head or generous mind, Follower of God, or friend of human kind, Poet or patriot, rose but to restore The faith and moral Nature gave before; Relumed her ancient light, not kindled new; If not God's image, yet his shadow drew; Taught power's due use to people and to kings, Taught not to slack, nor strain its tender strings, The less, or greater, set so justly true, That touching one must strike the other too; Till jarring interests of themselves create The according music of a well-mix'd state. Such is the world's great harmony, that springs From order, union, full consent of things: Where small and great, where weak and mighty, made To serve, not suffer; strengthen, not invade; More powerful each as needful to the rest, And in proportion as it blesses, bless'd; Draw to one point, and to one centre bring Beast, man, or angel, servant, lord, or king. For forms of government let fools contest; Whate'er is best administer'd is best: For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight; His can't be wrong whose life is in the right: In faith and hope the world will disagree, But all mankind's concern is charity: All must be false that thwart this one great end; And all of God that bless mankind, or mend. Man, like the generous vine, supported lives; The strength he gains is from the embrace he gives. On their own axis as the planets run, Yet make at once their circle round the sun; So two consistent motions act the soul, And one regards itself, and one the whole. Thus God and Nature link'd the general frame, And bade self-love and social be the same. EPISTLE IV. OF THE NATURE AND STATE OF MAN WITH RESPECT TO HAPPINESS. O 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, O'erlook'd, seen double, by the fool, and wise. Plant of celestial seed! if dropp'd below, Say, in what mortal soil thou deign'st to grow? Fair opening to some court's propitious shine, Or deep with diamonds in the flaming mine? Twined 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, Tis nowhere to be found, or everywhere; 'Tis never to be bought, but always free, And, fled from monarchs, St John! dwells with thee. I. Ask of the learn'd the way? the learn'd are blind; This bids to serve, and that to shun mankind; 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 even virtue vain; Or, indolent, to each extreme they fall, To trust in every thing, or doubt of all. Who thus define it, say they more or less Than this, that happiness is happiness? II. Take Nature's path, and mad Opinion's leave; All states can reach it, and all heads conceive; Obvious her goods, in no extreme 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 Acts not by partial, but by general 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: No bandit fierce, no tyrant mad with pride, No cavern'd hermit, rests self-satisfied: Who most to shun or hate mankind pretend, Seek an admirer, or would fix a friend: Abstract what others feel, what others think, 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 Heaven's first law; and, this confess'd, Some are, and must be, greater than the rest, More rich, more wise; but who infers from hence That such are happier, shocks all common sense. Heaven to mankind impartial we confess, If all are equal in their happiness: But mutual wants this happiness increase; All Nature's difference 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: Heaven breathes through every 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, God in externals could not place content. Fortune her gifts may variously dispose, And these be happy call'd, unhappy those; But Heaven's just balance equal will appear, While those are placed in hope, and these in fear: Not present good or ill, the joy or curse, But future views of better, or of worse. O sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise, By mountains piled on mountains, to the skies? Heaven still with laughter the vain toil surveys, And buries madmen in the heaps they raise. III. Know, all the good that individuals find, Or God and Nature meant to mere mankind, Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense, Lie in three words--Health, Peace, and Competence, But health consists with temperance alone; And peace, O 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, Who risk the most, that take wrong means, or right? Of vice or virtue, whether bless'd or cursed, Which meets contempt, or which compassion first? Count all th' advantage prosperous vice attains, 'Tis but what virtue flies from and disdains: And grant the bad what happiness they would, 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, 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 godlike Turenne prostrate on the dust! See Sidney bleeds amid the martial strife! Was this their virtue, or contempt of life? Say, was it virtue, more though Heaven ne'er gave, Lamented Digby! sunk thee to the grave? Tell me, if virtue made the son expire, Why, full of days and honour, lives the sire? 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 Heaven a parent to the poor and me? 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; Short, and but rare, till Man improved it all. We just as wisely might of Heaven complain That righteous Abel was destroy'd by Cain, As that the virtuous son is ill at ease When his lewd father gave the dire disease. IV. Think we, like some weak prince, th' Eternal Cause, Prone for his favourites to reverse his laws? Shall burning Ætna, if a sage requires, Forget to thunder, and recall her fires? On air or sea new motions be impress'd, O 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 Chartres' head reserve the hanging wall? V. 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; But who but God can tell us who they are? One thinks on Calvin Heaven's own spirit fell; Another deems him instrument of hell; If Calvin feel Heaven's blessing, or its rod, This cries there is, and that, there is no God. 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, Was made for Caesar--but 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? 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; 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 power?' Add health, and power, and every earthly thing, 'Why bounded power? why private? why no king?' Nay, why external for internal given? Why is not man a god, and earth a heaven? Who ask and reason thus, will scarce conceive God gives enough, while he has more to give: Immense the power, immense were the demand; Say, at what part of nature will they stand? VI. What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, The soul's calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy, Is virtue's prize: a better would you fix? Then give humility a coach and six, Justice a conqueror's sword, or truth a gown, Or public spirit its great cure, a crown. Weak, foolish man! will Heaven reward us there With the same trash mad mortals wish for here? The boy and man an individual makes, 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 godlike mind. 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, Content, or pleasure, but the good and just? Judges and senates have been bought for gold, Esteem and love were never to be sold. O fool! to think God hates the worthy mind, The lover and the love of human kind, 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 lies. Fortune in men has some small difference made-- One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade; The cobbler apron'd, and the parson gown'd, The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd. 'What differ more' (you cry) 'than crown and cowl?' I'll tell you, friend!--a wise man and a fool. You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk, Or, cobbler-like, the parson will be drunk, Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow; The rest is all but leather or prunella. 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 yours you rate, Count me those only who were good and great. Go! if your ancient but ignoble blood Has crept through 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? Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards. Look next on greatness; say where greatness lies? 'Where, but among the heroes and the wise?' Heroes are much the same, the point's agreed, From Macedonia's madman to the Swede; 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 forward further than his nose. No less alike the politic and wise; 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: 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 failing, smiles in exile or in chains, Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed Like Socrates, that man is great indeed. What's fame? A fancied life in others' breath, A thing beyond us, even before our death. Just what you hear, you have; and what's unknown The same (my Lord) if Tully's, or your own. 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 Cæsar dead; Alike or when, or where, they shone, or shine, 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, 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 Of stupid starers, and of loud huzzas; And more true joy Marcellus exiled feels, Than Cæsar with a senate at his heels. In parts superior what advantage lies? Tell (for you can) what is it to be wise? 'Tis but to know how little can be known; To see all others' faults, and feel our own: Condemn'd in business or in arts to drudge, Without a second, or without a judge. Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land? 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: 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, Say, wouldst thou be the man to whom they fall? To sigh for ribands 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: If parts allure thee, think how Bacon shined, 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, From ancient story learn to scorn them all. There, in the rich, the honour'd, famed, 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. 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 raised the hero, sunk the man: Now Europe's laurels on their brows behold, But stain'd with blood, or ill exchanged 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 sanctified from shame! What greater bliss attends their close of life? Some greedy minion, or imperious wife. The trophied arches, storied halls invade, And haunt their slumbers in the pompous shade. Alas! not dazzled with their noontide ray, Compute the morn and evening to the day; The whole amount of that enormous fame, A tale that blends their glory with their shame! VII. Know then this truth (enough for man to know) 'Virtue alone is happiness below.' 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 unequall'd, if its end it gain, And if it lose, attended with no pain: Without satiety, though 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: Good, from each object, from each place acquired, For ever exercised, yet never tired; Never elated, while one man's oppress'd; Never dejected, while another's bless'd; And where no wants, no wishes can remain, Since but to wish more virtue, is to gain. See the sole bliss Heaven 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, But looks through Nature up to Nature's God; Pursues that chain which links th' immense design, Joins Heaven and Earth, and mortal and divine; Sees, that no being any bliss can know, 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. For him alone Hope leads from goal to goal, And opens still, and opens on his soul; Till lengthen'd on to Faith, and unconfined, It pours the bliss that fills up all the mind. He sees why Nature plants in Man alone 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; 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? 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. God loves from whole to parts: but human soul Must rise from individual to the whole. Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake; The centre moved, a circle straight succeeds, 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 every creature in, of every kind; Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty bless'd, And Heaven beholds its image in his breast. Come then, my friend, my genius! come along; O master of the poet, and the song! And while the Muse now stoops, or now ascends, 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; 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, 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? That, urged by thee, I turn'd the tuneful art. From sounds to things, from fancy to the heart; For Wit's false mirror held up Nature's light; Show'd erring pride, Whatever is, is right; That Reason, Passion, answer one great aim; That true Self-love and Social are the same; That Virtue only makes our bliss below; And all our knowledge is, Ourselves to know.
THE PROLOGUE. OUR Hoste gan to swear as he were wood; "Harow!" quoth he, "by nailes and by blood, This was a cursed thief, a false justice. As shameful death as hearte can devise Come to these judges and their advoca's. Algate this sely maid is slain, alas! Alas! too deare bought she her beauty. Wherefore I say, that all day man may see That giftes of fortune and of nature Be cause of death to many a creature. Her beauty was her death, I dare well sayn; Alas! so piteously as she was slain. [Of bothe giftes, that I speak of now Men have full often more harm than prow,] But truely, mine owen master dear, This was a piteous tale for to hear; But natheless, pass over; 'tis no force. I pray to God to save thy gentle corse, And eke thine urinals, and thy jordans, Thine Hippocras, and eke thy Galliens, And every boist full of thy lectuary, God bless them, and our lady Sainte Mary. So may I the', thou art a proper man, And like a prelate, by Saint Ronian; Said I not well? Can I not speak in term? But well I wot thou dost mine heart to erme, That I have almost caught a cardiacle: By corpus Domini , but I have triacle, Or else a draught of moist and corny ale, Or but I hear anon a merry tale, Mine heart is brost for pity of this maid. Thou bel ami, thou Pardoner," he said, "Tell us some mirth of japes right anon." "It shall be done," quoth he, "by Saint Ronion. But first," quoth he, "here at this ale-stake I will both drink, and biten on a cake." But right anon the gentles gan to cry, "Nay, let him tell us of no ribaldry. Tell us some moral thing, that we may lear Some wit, and thenne will we gladly hear." "I grant y-wis," quoth he; "but I must think Upon some honest thing while that I drink." THE TALE Lordings (quoth he), in churche when I preach, I paine me to have an hautein speech, And ring it out, as round as doth a bell, For I know all by rote that I tell. My theme is always one, and ever was; Radix malorum est cupiditas. First I pronounce whence that I come, And then my bulles shew I all and some; Our liege lorde's seal on my patent, That shew I first, my body to warrent, That no man be so hardy, priest nor clerk, Me to disturb of Christe's holy werk. And after that then tell I forth my tales. Bulles of popes, and of cardinales, Of patriarchs, and of bishops I shew, And in Latin I speak a wordes few, To savour with my predication, And for to stir men to devotion Then show I forth my longe crystal stones, Y-crammed fall of cloutes and of bones; Relics they be, as weene they each one. Then have I in latoun a shoulder-bone Which that was of a holy Jewe's sheep. "Good men," say I, "take of my wordes keep; If that this bone be wash'd in any well, If cow, or calf, or sheep, or oxe swell, That any worm hath eat, or worm y-stung, Take water of that well, and wash his tongue, And it is whole anon; and farthermore Of pockes, and of scab, and every sore Shall every sheep be whole, that of this well Drinketh a draught; take keep of that I tell. "If that the goodman, that the beastes oweth, Will every week, ere that the cock him croweth, Fasting, y-drinken of this well a draught, As thilke holy Jew our elders taught, His beastes and his store shall multiply. And, Sirs, also it healeth jealousy; For though a man be fall'n in jealous rage, Let make with this water his pottage, And never shall he more his wife mistrist, Though he the sooth of her defaulte wist; All had she taken priestes two or three. Here is a mittain eke, that ye may see; He that his hand will put in this mittain, He shall have multiplying of his grain, When he hath sowen, be it wheat or oats, So that he offer pence, or elles groats. And, men and women, one thing warn I you; If any wight be in this churche now That hath done sin horrible, so that he Dare not for shame of it y-shriven be; Or any woman, be she young or old, That hath y-made her husband cokewold, Such folk shall have no power nor no grace To offer to my relics in this place. And whoso findeth him out of such blame, He will come up and offer in God's name; And I assoil him by the authority Which that by bull y-granted was to me." By this gaud have I wonne year by year A hundred marks, since I was pardonere. I stande like a clerk in my pulpit, And when the lewed people down is set, I preache so as ye have heard before, And telle them a hundred japes more. Then pain I me to stretche forth my neck, And east and west upon the people I beck, As doth a dove, sitting on a bern; My handes and my tongue go so yern, That it is joy to see my business. Of avarice and of such cursedness Is all my preaching, for to make them free To give their pence, and namely unto me. For mine intent is not but for to win, And nothing for correction of sin. I recke never, when that they be buried, Though that their soules go a blackburied. For certes many a predication Cometh oft-time of evil intention; Some for pleasance of folk, and flattery, To be advanced by hypocrisy; And some for vainglory, and some for hate. For, when I dare not otherwise debate, Then will I sting him with my tongue smart In preaching, so that he shall not astart To be defamed falsely, if that he Hath trespass'd to my brethren or to me. For, though I telle not his proper name, Men shall well knowe that it is the same By signes, and by other circumstances. Thus quite I folk that do us displeasances: Thus spit I out my venom, under hue Of holiness, to seem holy and true. But, shortly mine intent I will devise, I preach of nothing but of covetise. Therefore my theme is yet, and ever was, -- Radix malorum est cupiditas. Thus can I preach against the same vice Which that I use, and that is avarice. But though myself be guilty in that sin, Yet can I maken other folk to twin From avarice, and sore them repent. But that is not my principal intent; I preache nothing but for covetise. Of this mattere it ought enough suffice. Then tell I them examples many a one, Of olde stories longe time gone; For lewed people love tales old; Such thinges can they well report and hold. What? trowe ye, that whiles I may preach And winne gold and silver for I teach, That I will live in povert' wilfully? Nay, nay, I thought it never truely. For I will preach and beg in sundry lands; I will not do no labour with mine hands, Nor make baskets for to live thereby, Because I will not beggen idlely. I will none of the apostles counterfeit; I will have money, wool, and cheese, and wheat, All were it given of the poorest page, Or of the pooreste widow in a village: All should her children sterve for famine. Nay, I will drink the liquor of the vine, And have a jolly wench in every town. But hearken, lordings, in conclusioun; Your liking is, that I shall tell a tale Now I have drunk a draught of corny ale, By God, I hope I shall you tell a thing That shall by reason be to your liking; For though myself be a full vicious man, A moral tale yet I you telle can, Which I am wont to preache, for to win. Now hold your peace, my tale I will begin. In Flanders whilom was a company Of younge folkes, that haunted folly, As riot, hazard, stewes, and taverns; Where as with lutes, harpes, and giterns, They dance and play at dice both day and night, And eat also, and drink over their might; Through which they do the devil sacrifice Within the devil's temple, in cursed wise, By superfluity abominable. Their oathes be so great and so damnable, That it is grisly for to hear them swear. Our blissful Lorde's body they to-tear; Them thought the Jewes rent him not enough, And each of them at other's sinne lough. And right anon in come tombesteres Fetis and small, and younge fruitesteres. Singers with harpes, baudes, waferers, Which be the very devil's officers, To kindle and blow the fire of lechery, That is annexed unto gluttony. The Holy Writ take I to my witness, That luxury is in wine and drunkenness. Lo, how that drunken Lot unkindely Lay by his daughters two unwittingly, So drunk he was he knew not what he wrought. Herodes, who so well the stories sought, When he of wine replete was at his feast, Right at his owen table gave his hest To slay the Baptist John full guilteless. Seneca saith a good word, doubteless: He saith he can no difference find Betwixt a man that is out of his mind, And a man whiche that is drunkelew: But that woodness, y-fallen in a shrew, Persevereth longer than drunkenness. O gluttony, full of all cursedness; O cause first of our confusion, Original of our damnation, Till Christ had bought us with his blood again! Looke, how deare, shortly for to sayn, Abought was first this cursed villainy: Corrupt was all this world for gluttony. Adam our father, and his wife also, From Paradise, to labour and to woe, Were driven for that vice, it is no dread. For while that Adam fasted, as I read, He was in Paradise; and when that he Ate of the fruit defended of the tree, Anon he was cast out to woe and pain. O gluttony! well ought us on thee plain. Oh! wist a man how many maladies Follow of excess and of gluttonies, He woulde be the more measurable Of his diete, sitting at his table. Alas! the shorte throat, the tender mouth, Maketh that east and west, and north and south, In earth, in air, in water, men do swink To get a glutton dainty meat and drink. Of this mattere, O Paul! well canst thou treat Meat unto womb, and womb eke unto meat, Shall God destroye both, as Paulus saith. Alas! a foul thing is it, by my faith, To say this word, and fouler is the deed, When man so drinketh of the white and red, That of his throat he maketh his privy Through thilke cursed superfluity The apostle saith, weeping full piteously, There walk many, of which you told have I, -- I say it now weeping with piteous voice, -- That they be enemies of Christe's crois; Of which the end is death; womb is their God. O womb, O belly, stinking is thy cod, Full fill'd of dung and of corruptioun; At either end of thee foul is the soun. How great labour and cost is thee to find! These cookes how they stamp, and strain, and grind, And turne substance into accident, To fulfill all thy likerous talent! Out of the harde bones knocke they The marrow, for they caste naught away That may go through the gullet soft and swoot Of spicery and leaves, of bark and root, Shall be his sauce y-maked by delight, To make him have a newer appetite. But, certes, he that haunteth such delices Is dead while that he liveth in those vices. A lecherous thing is wine, and drunkenness Is full of striving and of wretchedness. O drunken man! disfgur'd is thy face, Sour is thy breath, foul art thou to embrace: And through thy drunken nose sowneth the soun', As though thous saidest aye, Samsoun! Samsoun! And yet, God wot, Samson drank never wine. Thou fallest as it were a sticked swine; Thy tongue is lost, and all thine honest cure; For drunkenness is very sepulture Of manne's wit and his discretion. In whom that drink hath domination, He can no counsel keep, it is no dread. Now keep you from the white and from the red, And namely from the white wine of Lepe, That is to sell in Fish Street and in Cheap. This wine of Spaine creepeth subtilly -- In other wines growing faste by, Of which there riseth such fumosity, That when a man hath drunken draughtes three, And weeneth that he be at home in Cheap, He is in Spain, right at the town of Lepe, Not at the Rochelle, nor at Bourdeaux town; And thenne will he say, Samsoun! Samsoun! But hearken, lordings, one word, I you pray, That all the sovreign actes, dare I say, Of victories in the Old Testament, Through very God that is omnipotent, Were done in abstinence and in prayere: Look in the Bible, and there ye may it lear. Look, Attila, the greate conqueror, Died in his sleep, with shame and dishonour, Bleeding aye at his nose in drunkenness: A captain should aye live in soberness And o'er all this, advise you right well What was commanded unto Lemuel; Not Samuel, but Lemuel, say I. Reade the Bible, and find it expressly Of wine giving to them that have justice. No more of this, for it may well suffice. And, now that I have spoke of gluttony, Now will I you defende hazardry. Hazard is very mother of leasings, And of deceit, and cursed forswearings: Blasphem' of Christ, manslaughter, and waste also Of chattel and of time; and furthermo' It is repreve, and contrar' of honour, For to be held a common hazardour. And ever the higher he is of estate, The more he is holden desolate. If that a prince use hazardry, In alle governance and policy He is, as by common opinion, Y-hold the less in reputation. Chilon, that was a wise ambassador, Was sent to Corinth with full great honor From Lacedemon, to make alliance; And when he came, it happen'd him, by chance, That all the greatest that were of that land, Y-playing atte hazard he them fand. For which, as soon as that it mighte be, He stole him home again to his country And saide there, "I will not lose my name, Nor will I take on me so great diffame, You to ally unto no hazardors. Sende some other wise ambassadors, For, by my troth, me were lever die, Than I should you to hazardors ally. For ye, that be so glorious in honours, Shall not ally you to no hazardours, As by my will, nor as by my treaty." This wise philosopher thus said he. Look eke how to the King Demetrius The King of Parthes, as the book saith us, Sent him a pair of dice of gold in scorn, For he had used hazard therebeforn: For which he held his glory and renown At no value or reputatioun. Lordes may finden other manner play Honest enough to drive the day away. Now will I speak of oathes false and great A word or two, as olde bookes treat. Great swearing is a thing abominable, And false swearing is more reprovable. The highe God forbade swearing at all; Witness on Matthew: but in special Of swearing saith the holy Jeremie, Thou thalt swear sooth thine oathes, and not lie: And swear in doom and eke in righteousness; But idle swearing is a cursedness. Behold and see, there in the firste table Of highe Godde's hestes honourable, How that the second best of him is this, Take not my name in idle or amiss. Lo, rather he forbiddeth such swearing, Than homicide, or many a cursed thing; I say that as by order thus it standeth; This knoweth he that his hests understandeth, How that the second hest of God is that. And farthermore, I will thee tell all plat, That vengeance shall not parte from his house, That of his oathes is outrageous. "By Godde's precious heart, and by his nails, And by the blood of Christ, that is in Hailes, Seven is my chance, and thine is cinque and trey: By Godde's armes, if thou falsely play, This dagger shall throughout thine hearte go." This fruit comes of the bicched bones two, Forswearing, ire, falseness, and homicide. Now, for the love of Christ that for us died, Leave your oathes, bothe great and smale. But, Sirs, now will I ell you forth my tale. These riotoures three, of which I tell, Long erst than prime rang of any bell, Were set them in a tavern for to drink; And as they sat, they heard a belle clink Before a corpse, was carried to the grave. That one of them gan calle to his knave, "Go bet," quoth he, "and aske readily What corpse is this, that passeth here forth by; And look that thou report his name well." "Sir," quoth the boy, "it needeth never a deal; It was me told ere ye came here two hours; He was, pardie, an old fellow of yours, And suddenly he was y-slain to-night; Fordrunk as he sat on his bench upright, There came a privy thief, men clepe Death, That in this country all the people slay'th, And with his spear he smote his heart in two, And went his way withoute wordes mo'. He hath a thousand slain this pestilence; And, master, ere you come in his presence, Me thinketh that it were full necessary For to beware of such an adversary; Be ready for to meet him evermore. Thus taughte me my dame; I say no more." "By Sainte Mary," said the tavernere, "The child saith sooth, for he hath slain this year, Hence ov'r a mile, within a great village, Both man and woman, child, and hind, and page; I trow his habitation be there; To be advised great wisdom it were, Ere that he did a man a dishonour." "Yea, Godde's armes," quoth this riotour, "Is it such peril with him for to meet? I shall him seek, by stile and eke by street. I make a vow, by Godde's digne bones." Hearken, fellows, we three be alle ones: Let each of us hold up his hand to other, And each of us become the other's brother, And we will slay this false traitor Death; He shall be slain, he that so many slay'th, By Godde's dignity, ere it be night." Together have these three their trothe plight To live and die each one of them for other As though he were his owen sworen brother. And up they start, all drunken, in this rage, And forth they go towardes that village Of which the taverner had spoke beforn, And many a grisly oathe have they sworn, And Christe's blessed body they to-rent; "Death shall be dead, if that we may him hent." When they had gone not fully half a mile, Right as they would have trodden o'er a stile, An old man and a poore with them met. This olde man full meekely them gret, And saide thus; "Now, lordes, God you see!" The proudest of these riotoures three Answer'd again; "What? churl, with sorry grace, Why art thou all forwrapped save thy face? Why livest thou so long in so great age?" This olde man gan look on his visage, And saide thus; "For that I cannot find A man, though that I walked unto Ind, Neither in city, nor in no village go, That woulde change his youthe for mine age; And therefore must I have mine age still As longe time as it is Godde's will. And Death, alas! he will not have my life. Thus walk I like a resteless caitife, And on the ground, which is my mother's gate, I knocke with my staff, early and late, And say to her, 'Leve mother, let me in. Lo, how I wane, flesh, and blood, and skin; Alas! when shall my bones be at rest? Mother, with you I woulde change my chest, That in my chamber longe time hath be, Yea, for an hairy clout to wrap in me.' But yet to me she will not do that grace, For which fall pale and welked is my face. But, Sirs, to you it is no courtesy To speak unto an old man villainy, But he trespass in word or else in deed. In Holy Writ ye may yourselves read; 'Against an old man, hoar upon his head, Ye should arise:' therefore I you rede, Ne do unto an old man no harm now, No more than ye would a man did you In age, if that ye may so long abide. And God be with you, whether ye go or ride I must go thither as I have to go." "Nay, olde churl, by God thou shalt not so," Saide this other hazardor anon; "Thou partest not so lightly, by Saint John. Thou spakest right now of that traitor Death, That in this country all our friendes slay'th; Have here my troth, as thou art his espy; Tell where he is, or thou shalt it abie, By God and by the holy sacrament; For soothly thou art one of his assent To slay us younge folk, thou false thief." "Now, Sirs," quoth he, "if it be you so lief To finde Death, turn up this crooked way, For in that grove I left him, by my fay, Under a tree, and there he will abide; Nor for your boast he will him nothing hide. See ye that oak? right there ye shall him find. God save you, that bought again mankind, And you amend!" Thus said this olde man; And evereach of these riotoures ran, Till they came to the tree, and there they found Of florins fine, of gold y-coined round, Well nigh a seven bushels, as them thought. No longer as then after Death they sought; But each of them so glad was of the sight, For that the florins were so fair and bright, That down they sat them by the precious hoard. The youngest of them spake the firste word: "Brethren," quoth he, "take keep what I shall say; My wit is great, though that I bourde and play This treasure hath Fortune unto us given In mirth and jollity our life to liven; And lightly as it comes, so will we spend. Hey! Godde's precious dignity! who wend Today that we should have so fair a grace? But might this gold he carried from this place Home to my house, or elles unto yours (For well I wot that all this gold is ours), Then were we in high felicity. But truely by day it may not be; Men woulde say that we were thieves strong, And for our owen treasure do us hong. This treasure muste carried be by night, As wisely and as slily as it might. Wherefore I rede, that cut among us all We draw, and let see where the cut will fall: And he that hath the cut, with hearte blithe Shall run unto the town, and that full swithe, And bring us bread and wine full privily: And two of us shall keepe subtilly This treasure well: and if he will not tarry, When it is night, we will this treasure carry, By one assent, where as us thinketh best." Then one of them the cut brought in his fist, And bade them draw, and look where it would fall; And it fell on the youngest of them all; And forth toward the town he went anon. And all so soon as that he was y-gone, The one of them spake thus unto the other; "Thou knowest well that thou art my sworn brother, Thy profit will I tell thee right anon. Thou knowest well that our fellow is gone, And here is gold, and that full great plenty, That shall departed he among us three. But natheless, if I could shape it so That it departed were among us two, Had I not done a friende's turn to thee?" Th' other answer'd, "I n'ot how that may be; He knows well that the gold is with us tway. What shall we do? what shall we to him say?" "Shall it be counsel?" said the firste shrew; "And I shall tell to thee in wordes few What we shall do, and bring it well about." "I grante," quoth the other, "out of doubt, That by my truth I will thee not bewray." "Now," quoth the first, "thou know'st well we be tway, And two of us shall stronger be than one. Look; when that he is set, thou right anon Arise, as though thou wouldest with him play; And I shall rive him through the sides tway, While that thou strugglest with him as in game; And with thy dagger look thou do the same. And then shall all this gold departed be, My deare friend, betwixte thee and me: Then may we both our lustes all fulfil, And play at dice right at our owen will." And thus accorded be these shrewes tway To slay the third, as ye have heard me say. The youngest, which that wente to the town, Full oft in heart he rolled up and down The beauty of these florins new and bright. "O Lord!" quoth he, "if so were that I might Have all this treasure to myself alone, There is no man that lives under the throne Of God, that shoulde have so merry as I." And at the last the fiend our enemy Put in his thought, that he should poison buy, With which he mighte slay his fellows twy. For why, the fiend found him in such living, That he had leave to sorrow him to bring. For this was utterly his full intent To slay them both, and never to repent. And forth he went, no longer would he tarry, Into the town to an apothecary, And prayed him that he him woulde sell Some poison, that he might his rattes quell, And eke there was a polecat in his haw, That, as he said, his eapons had y-slaw: And fain he would him wreak, if that he might, Of vermin that destroyed him by night. Th'apothecary answer'd, "Thou shalt have A thing, as wisly God my soule save, In all this world there is no creature That eat or drank hath of this confecture, Not but the mountance of a corn of wheat, That he shall not his life anon forlete; Yea, sterve he shall, and that in lesse while Than thou wilt go apace nought but a mile: This poison is so strong and violent." This cursed man hath in his hand y-hent This poison in a box, and swift he ran Into the nexte street, unto a man, And borrow'd of him large bottles three; And in the two the poison poured he; The third he kepte clean for his own drink, For all the night he shope him for to swink In carrying off the gold out of that place. And when this riotour, with sorry grace, Had fill'd with wine his greate bottles three, To his fellows again repaired he. What needeth it thereof to sermon more? For, right as they had cast his death before, Right so they have him slain, and that anon. And when that this was done, thus spake the one; "Now let us sit and drink, and make us merry, And afterward we will his body bury." And with that word it happen'd him par cas To take the bottle where the poison was, And drank, and gave his fellow drink also, For which anon they sterved both the two. But certes I suppose that Avicen Wrote never in no canon, nor no fen, More wondrous signes of empoisoning, Than had these wretches two ere their ending. Thus ended be these homicides two, And eke the false empoisoner also. O cursed sin, full of all cursedness! O trait'rous homicide! O wickedness! O glutt'ny, luxury, and hazardry! Thou blasphemer of Christ with villany, And oathes great, of usage and of pride! Alas! mankinde, how may it betide, That to thy Creator, which that thee wrought, And with his precious hearte-blood thee bought, Thou art so false and so unkind, alas! Now, good men, God forgive you your trespass, And ware you from the sin of avarice. Mine holy pardon may you all warice, So that ye offer nobles or sterlings, Or elles silver brooches, spoons, or rings. Bowe your head under this holy bull. Come up, ye wives, and offer of your will; Your names I enter in my roll anon; Into the bliss of heaven shall ye gon; I you assoil by mine high powere, You that will offer, as clean and eke as clear As ye were born. Lo, Sires, thus I preach; And Jesus Christ, that is our soules' leech, So grante you his pardon to receive; For that is best, I will not deceive. But, Sirs, one word forgot I in my tale; I have relics and pardon in my mail, As fair as any man in Engleland, Which were me given by the Pope's hand. If any of you will of devotion Offer, and have mine absolution, Come forth anon, and kneele here adown And meekely receive my pardoun. Or elles take pardon, as ye wend, All new and fresh at every towne's end, So that ye offer, always new and new, Nobles or pence which that be good and true. 'Tis an honour to evereach that is here, That ye have a suffisant pardonere T'assoile you in country as ye ride, For aventures which that may betide. Paraventure there may fall one or two Down of his horse, and break his neck in two. Look, what a surety is it to you all, That I am in your fellowship y-fall, That may assoil you bothe more and lass, When that the soul shall from the body pass. I rede that our Hoste shall begin, For he is most enveloped in sin. Come forth, Sir Host, and offer first anon, And thou shalt kiss; the relics every one, Yea, for a groat; unbuckle anon thy purse. "Nay, nay," quoth he, "then have I Christe's curse! Let be," quoth he, "it shall not be, so the'ch. Thou wouldest make me kiss thine olde breech, And swear it were a relic of a saint, Though it were with thy fundament depaint'. But, by the cross which that Saint Helen fand, I would I had thy coilons in mine hand, Instead of relics, or of sanctuary. Let cut them off, I will thee help them carry; They shall be shrined in a hogge's turd." The Pardoner answered not one word; So wroth he was, no worde would he say. "Now," quoth our Host, "I will no longer play With thee, nor with none other angry man." But right anon the worthy Knight began (When that he saw that all the people lough), "No more of this, for it is right enough. Sir Pardoner, be merry and glad of cheer; And ye, Sir Host, that be to me so dear, I pray you that ye kiss the Pardoner; And, Pardoner, I pray thee draw thee ner, And as we didde, let us laugh and play." Anon they kiss'd, and rode forth their way.
Meanwhile the new-baptized, who yet remained At Jordan with the Baptist, and had seen Him whom they heard so late expressly called Jesus Messiah, Son of God, declared, And on that high authority had believed, And with him talked, and with him lodged—I mean Andrew and Simon, famous after known, With others, though in Holy Writ not named— Now missing him, their joy so lately found, So lately found and so abruptly gone, Began to doubt, and doubted many days, And, as the days increased, increased their doubt. Sometimes they thought he might be only shewn, And for a time caught up to God, as once Moses was in the Mount and missing long, And the great Thisbite, who on fiery wheels Rode up to Heaven, yet once again to come. Therefore, as those young prophets then with care Sought lost Eliah, so in each place these Nigh to Bethabara—in Jericho The city of palms, AEnon, and Salem old, Machaerus, and each town or city walled On this side the broad lake Genezaret, Or in Peraea—but returned in vain. Then on the bank of Jordan, by a creek, Where winds with reeds and osiers whispering play, Plain fishermen (no greater men them call), Close in a cottage low together got, Their unexpected loss and plaints outbreathed:— "Alas, from what high hope to what relapse Unlooked for are we fallen! Our eyes beheld Messiah certainly now come, so long Expected of our fathers; we have heard His words, his wisdom full of grace and truth. 'Now, now, for sure, deliverance is at hand; The kingdom shall to Israel be restored:' Thus we rejoiced, but soon our joy is turned Into perplexity and new amaze. For whither is he gone? what accident Hath rapt him from us? will he now retire After appearance, and again prolong Our expectation? God of Israel, Send thy Messiah forth; the time is come. Behold the kings of the earth, how they oppress Thy Chosen, to what highth their power unjust They have exalted, and behind them cast All fear of Thee; arise, and vindicate Thy glory; free thy people from their yoke! But let us wait; thus far He hath performed— Sent his Anointed, and to us revealed him By his great Prophet pointed at and shown In public, and with him we have conversed. Let us be glad of this, and all our fears Lay on his providence; He will not fail, Nor will withdraw him now, nor will recall— Mock us with his blest sight, then snatch him hence: Soon we shall see our hope, our joy, return." Thus they out of their plaints new hope resume To find whom at the first they found unsought. But to his mother Mary, when she saw Others returned from baptism, not her Son, Nor left at Jordan tidings of him none, Within her breast though calm, her breast though pure, Motherly cares and fears got head, and raised Some troubled thoughts, which she in sighs thus clad:— "Oh, what avails me now that honour high, To have conceived of God, or that salute, 'Hail, highly favoured, among women blest!' While I to sorrows am no less advanced, And fears as eminent above the lot Of other women, by the birth I bore: In such a season born, when scarce a shed Could be obtained to shelter him or me From the bleak air? A stable was our warmth, A manger his; yet soon enforced to fly Thence into Egypt, till the murderous king Were dead, who sought his life, and, missing, filled With infant blood the streets of Bethlehem. From Egypt home returned, in Nazareth Hath been our dwelling many years; his life Private, unactive, calm, contemplative, Little suspicious to any king. But now, Full grown to man, acknowledged, as I hear, By John the Baptist, and in public shewn, Son owned from Heaven by his Father's voice, I looked for some great change. To honour? no; But trouble, as old Simeon plain foretold, That to the fall and rising he should be Of many in Israel, and to a sign Spoken against—that through my very soul A sword shall pierce. This is my favoured lot, My exaltation to afflictions high! Afflicted I may be, it seems, and blest! I will not argue that, nor will repine. But where delays he now? Some great intent Conceals him. When twelve years he scarce had seen, I lost him, but so found as well I saw He could not lose himself, but went about His Father's business. What he meant I mused— Since understand; much more his absence now Thus long to some great purpose he obscures. But I to wait with patience am inured; My heart hath been a storehouse long of things And sayings laid up, pretending strange events." Thus Mary, pondering oft, and oft to mind Recalling what remarkably had passed Since first her Salutation heard, with thoughts Meekly composed awaited the fulfilling: The while her Son, tracing the desert wild, Sole, but with holiest meditations fed, Into himself descended, and at once All his great work to come before him set— How to begin, how to accomplish best His end of being on Earth, and mission high. For Satan, with sly preface to return, Had left him vacant, and with speed was gone Up to the middle region of thick air, Where all his Potentates in council sate. There, without sign of boast, or sign of joy, Solicitous and blank, he thus began:— "Princes, Heaven's ancient Sons, AEthereal Thrones— Daemonian Spirits now, from the element Each of his reign allotted, rightlier called Powers of Fire, Air, Water, and Earth beneath (So may we hold our place and these mild seats Without new trouble!)—such an enemy Is risen to invade us, who no less Threatens than our expulsion down to Hell. I, as I undertook, and with the vote Consenting in full frequence was impowered, Have found him, viewed him, tasted him; but find Far other labour to be undergone Than when I dealt with Adam, first of men, Though Adam by his wife's allurement fell, However to this Man inferior far— If he be Man by mother's side, at least With more than human gifts from Heaven adorned, Perfections absolute, graces divine, And amplitude of mind to greatest deeds. Therefore I am returned, lest confidence Of my success with Eve in Paradise Deceive ye to persuasion over-sure Of like succeeding here. I summon all Rather to be in readiness with hand Or counsel to assist, lest I, who erst Thought none my equal, now be overmatched." So spake the old Serpent, doubting, and from all With clamour was assured their utmost aid At his command; when from amidst them rose Belial, the dissolutest Spirit that fell, The sensualest, and, after Asmodai, The fleshliest Incubus, and thus advised:— "Set women in his eye and in his walk, Among daughters of men the fairest found. Many are in each region passing fair As the noon sky, more like to goddesses Than mortal creatures, graceful and discreet, Expert in amorous arts, enchanting tongues Persuasive, virgin majesty with mild And sweet allayed, yet terrible to approach, Skilled to retire, and in retiring draw Hearts after them tangled in amorous nets. Such object hath the power to soften and tame Severest temper, smooth the rugged'st brow, Enerve, and with voluptuous hope dissolve, Draw out with credulous desire, and lead At will the manliest, resolutest breast, As the magnetic hardest iron draws. Women, when nothing else, beguiled the heart Of wisest Solomon, and made him build, And made him bow, to the gods of his wives." To whom quick answer Satan thus returned:— "Belial, in much uneven scale thou weigh'st All others by thyself. Because of old Thou thyself doat'st on womankind, admiring Their shape, their colour, and attractive grace, None are, thou think'st, but taken with such toys. Before the Flood, thou, with thy lusty crew, False titled Sons of God, roaming the Earth, Cast wanton eyes on the daughters of men, And coupled with them, and begot a race. Have we not seen, or by relation heard, In courts and regal chambers how thou lurk'st, In wood or grove, by mossy fountain-side, In valley or green meadow, to waylay Some beauty rare, Calisto, Clymene, Daphne, or Semele, Antiopa, Or Amymone, Syrinx, many more Too long—then lay'st thy scapes on names adored, Apollo, Neptune, Jupiter, or Pan, Satyr, or Faun, or Silvan? But these haunts Delight not all. Among the sons of men How many have with a smile made small account Of beauty and her lures, easily scorned All her assaults, on worthier things intent! Remember that Pellean conqueror, A youth, how all the beauties of the East He slightly viewed, and slightly overpassed; How he surnamed of Africa dismissed, In his prime youth, the fair Iberian maid. For Solomon, he lived at ease, and, full Of honour, wealth, high fare, aimed not beyond Higher design than to enjoy his state; Thence to the bait of women lay exposed. But he whom we attempt is wiser far Than Solomon, of more exalted mind, Made and set wholly on the accomplishment Of greatest things. What woman will you find, Though of this age the wonder and the fame, On whom his leisure will voutsafe an eye Of fond desire? Or should she, confident, As sitting queen adored on Beauty's throne, Descend with all her winning charms begirt To enamour, as the zone of Venus once Wrought that effect on Jove (so fables tell), How would one look from his majestic brow, Seated as on the top of Virtue's hill, Discountenance her despised, and put to rout All her array, her female pride deject, Or turn to reverent awe! For Beauty stands In the admiration only of weak minds Led captive; cease to admire, and all her plumes Fall flat, and shrink into a trivial toy, At every sudden slighting quite abashed. Therefore with manlier objects we must try His constancy—with such as have more shew Of worth, of honour, glory, and popular praise (Rocks whereon greatest men have oftest wrecked); Or that which only seems to satisfy Lawful desires of nature, not beyond. And now I know he hungers, where no food Is to be found, in the wide Wilderness: The rest commit to me; I shall let pass No advantage, and his strength as oft assay." He ceased, and heard their grant in loud acclaim; Then forthwith to him takes a chosen band Of Spirits likest to himself in guile, To be at hand and at his beck appear, If cause were to unfold some active scene Of various persons, each to know his part; Then to the desert takes with these his flight, Where still, from shade to shade, the Son of God, After forty days' fasting, had remained, Now hungering first, and to himself thus said:— "Where will this end? Four times ten days I have passed Wandering this woody maze, and human food Nor tasted, nor had appetite. That fast To virtue I impute not, or count part Of what I suffer here. If nature need not, Or God support nature without repast, Though needing, what praise is it to endure? But now I feel I hunger; which declares Nature hath need of what she asks. Yet God Can satisfy that need some other way, Though hunger still remain. So it remain Without this body's wasting, I content me, And from the sting of famine fear no harm; Nor mind it, fed with better thoughts, that feed Me hungering more to do my Father's will." It was the hour of night, when thus the Son Communed in silent walk, then laid him down Under the hospitable covert nigh Of trees thick interwoven. There he slept, And dreamed, as appetite is wont to dream, Of meats and drinks, nature's refreshment sweet. Him thought he by the brook of Cherith stood, And saw the ravens with their horny beaks Food to Elijah bringing even and morn— Though ravenous, taught to abstain from what they brought; He saw the Prophet also, how he fled Into the desert, and how there he slept Under a juniper—then how, awaked, He found his supper on the coals prepared, And by the Angel was bid rise and eat, And eat the second time after repose, The strength whereof sufficed him forty days: Sometimes that with Elijah he partook, Or as a guest with Daniel at his pulse. Thus wore out night; and now the harald Lark Left his ground-nest, high towering to descry The Morn's approach, and greet her with his song. As lightly from his grassy couch up rose Our Saviour, and found all was but a dream; Fasting he went to sleep, and fasting waked. Up to a hill anon his steps he reared, From whose high top to ken the prospect round, If cottage were in view, sheep-cote, or herd; But cottage, herd, or sheep-cote, none he saw— Only in a bottom saw a pleasant grove, With chaunt of tuneful birds resounding loud. Thither he bent his way, determined there To rest at noon, and entered soon the shade High-roofed, and walks beneath, and alleys brown, That opened in the midst a woody scene; Nature's own work it seemed (Nature taught Art), And, to a superstitious eye, the haunt Of wood-gods and wood-nymphs. He viewed it round; When suddenly a man before him stood, Not rustic as before, but seemlier clad, As one in city or court or palace bred, And with fair speech these words to him addressed:— "With granted leave officious I return, But much more wonder that the Son of God In this wild solitude so long should bide, Of all things destitute, and, well I know, Not without hunger. Others of some note, As story tells, have trod this wilderness: The fugitive Bond-woman, with her son, Outcast Nebaioth, yet found here relief By a providing Angel; all the race Of Israel here had famished, had not God Rained from heaven manna; and that Prophet bold, Native of Thebez, wandering here, was fed Twice by a voice inviting him to eat. Of thee those forty days none hath regard, Forty and more deserted here indeed." To whom thus Jesus:—"What conclud'st thou hence? They all had need; I, as thou seest, have none." "How hast thou hunger then?" Satan replied. "Tell me, if food were now before thee set, Wouldst thou not eat?" "Thereafter as I like the giver," answered Jesus. "Why should that Cause thy refusal?" said the subtle Fiend. "Hast thou not right to all created things? Owe not all creatures, by just right, to thee Duty and service, nor to stay till bid, But tender all their power? Nor mention I Meats by the law unclean, or offered first To idols—those young Daniel could refuse; Nor proffered by an enemy—though who Would scruple that, with want oppressed? Behold, Nature ashamed, or, better to express, Troubled, that thou shouldst hunger, hath purveyed From all the elements her choicest store, To treat thee as beseems, and as her Lord With honour. Only deign to sit and eat." He spake no dream; for, as his words had end, Our Saviour, lifting up his eyes, beheld, In ample space under the broadest shade, A table richly spread in regal mode, With dishes piled and meats of noblest sort And savour—beasts of chase, or fowl of game, In pastry built, or from the spit, or boiled, Grisamber-steamed; all fish, from sea or shore, Freshet or purling brook, of shell or fin, And exquisitest name, for which was drained Pontus, and Lucrine bay, and Afric coast. Alas! how simple, to these cates compared, Was that crude Apple that diverted Eve! And at a stately sideboard, by the wine, That fragrant smell diffused, in order stood Tall stripling youths rich-clad, of fairer hue Than Ganymed or Hylas; distant more, Under the trees now tripped, now solemn stood, Nymphs of Diana's train, and Naiades With fruits and flowers from Amalthea's horn, And ladies of the Hesperides, that seemed Fairer than feigned of old, or fabled since Of faery damsels met in forest wide By knights of Logres, or of Lyones, Lancelot, or Pelleas, or Pellenore. And all the while harmonious airs were heard Of chiming strings or charming pipes; and winds Of gentlest gale Arabian odours fanned From their soft wings, and Flora's earliest smells. Such was the splendour; and the Tempter now His invitation earnestly renewed:— "What doubts the Son of God to sit and eat? These are not fruits forbidden; no interdict Defends the touching of these viands pure; Their taste no knowledge works, at least of evil, But life preserves, destroys life's enemy, Hunger, with sweet restorative delight. All these are Spirits of air, and woods, and springs, Thy gentle ministers, who come to pay Thee homage, and acknowledge thee their Lord. What doubt'st thou, Son of God? Sit down and eat." To whom thus Jesus temperately replied:— "Said'st thou not that to all things I had right? And who withholds my power that right to use? Shall I receive by gift what of my own, When and where likes me best, I can command? I can at will, doubt not, as soon as thou, Command a table in this wilderness, And call swift flights of Angels ministrant, Arrayed in glory, on my cup to attend: Why shouldst thou, then, obtrude this diligence In vain, where no acceptance it can find? And with my hunger what hast thou to do? Thy pompous delicacies I contemn, And count thy specious gifts no gifts, but guiles." To whom thus answered Satan, male-content:— "That I have also power to give thou seest; If of that power I bring thee voluntary What I might have bestowed on whom I pleased, And rather opportunely in this place Chose to impart to thy apparent need, Why shouldst thou not accept it? But I see What I can do or offer is suspect. Of these things others quickly will dispose, Whose pains have earned the far-fet spoil." With that Both table and provision vanished quite, With sound of harpies' wings and talons heard; Only the importune Tempter still remained, And with these words his temptation pursued:— "By hunger, that each other creature tames, Thou art not to be harmed, therefore not moved; Thy temperance, invincible besides, For no allurement yields to appetite; And all thy heart is set on high designs, High actions. But wherewith to be achieved? Great acts require great means of enterprise; Thou art unknown, unfriended, low of birth, A carpenter thy father known, thyself Bred up in poverty and straits at home, Lost in a desert here and hunger-bit. Which way, or from what hope, dost thou aspire To greatness? whence authority deriv'st? What followers, what retinue canst thou gain, Or at thy heels the dizzy multitude, Longer than thou canst feed them on thy cost? Money brings honour, friends, conquest, and realms. What raised Antipater the Edomite, And his son Herod placed on Juda's throne, Thy throne, but gold, that got him puissant friends? Therefore, if at great things thou wouldst arrive, Get riches first, get wealth, and treasure heap— Not difficult, if thou hearken to me. Riches are mine, fortune is in my hand; They whom I favour thrive in wealth amain, While virtue, valour, wisdom, sit in want." To whom thus Jesus patiently replied:— "Yet wealth without these three is impotent To gain dominion, or to keep it gained— Witness those ancient empires of the earth, In highth of all their flowing wealth dissolved; But men endued with these have oft attained, In lowest poverty, to highest deeds— Gideon, and Jephtha, and the shepherd lad Whose offspring on the throne of Juda sate So many ages, and shall yet regain That seat, and reign in Israel without end. Among the Heathen (for throughout the world To me is not unknown what hath been done Worthy of memorial) canst thou not remember Quintius, Fabricius, Curius, Regulus? For I esteem those names of men so poor, Who could do mighty things, and could contemn Riches, though offered from the hand of kings. And what in me seems wanting but that I May also in this poverty as soon Accomplish what they did, perhaps and more? Extol not riches, then, the toil of fools, The wise man's cumbrance, if not snare; more apt To slacken virtue and abate her edge Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise. What if with like aversion I reject Riches and realms! Yet not for that a crown, Golden in shew, is but a wreath of thorns, Brings dangers, troubles, cares, and sleepless nights, To him who wears the regal diadem, When on his shoulders each man's burden lies; For therein stands the office of a king, His honour, virtue, merit, and chief praise, That for the public all this weight he bears. Yet he who reigns within himself, and rules Passions, desires, and fears, is more a king— Which every wise and virtuous man attains; And who attains not, ill aspires to rule Cities of men, or headstrong multitudes, Subject himself to anarchy within, Or lawless passions in him, which he serves. But to guide nations in the way of truth By saving doctrine, and from error lead To know, and, knowing, worship God aright, Is yet more kingly. This attracts the soul, Governs the inner man, the nobler part; That other o'er the body only reigns, And oft by force—which to a generous mind So reigning can be no sincere delight. Besides, to give a kingdom hath been thought Greater and nobler done, and to lay down Far more magnanimous, than to assume. Riches are needless, then, both for themselves, And for thy reason why they should be sought— To gain a sceptre, oftest better missed."
Powered by NordAPI