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A bird of paffage' gone as foon as found,
Now in the moon perhaps, now under ground.
In vain the fage, with retrofpective eye.
Would from th' apparent What conclude the Why,
Infer the motive from the deed, and fhew,

That what we chanc'd was what we meant to do.
Behold! if fortune or a mistress frowns,

Some plunge in bufinefs, others fhave their crowns :
To ease the foul of one oppreffive weight,
This quits an empire, that embroils a state:
The fame aduft complexion has impell'd
Charles to the convent, Philip to the field.

Not always Actions fhew the man: we find
Who does a kindness, is not therefore kind:
Perhaps profperity becalm'd his breast,

Perhaps the wind juft fhifted from the caft:
Not therefore humble he who seeks retreat,
Pride guides his steps and bids him fhun the great;
Who combats bravely is not therefore brave,
He dreads a death-bed like the meanest flave:
Who reasons wifely is not therefore wise,
His pride in reas'ning, not in acting lies.

But grant that actions best discover man;
Take the most strong, and fort them as you can.
The few that glare, each character must mark,
You balance not the many in the dark.
What will you do with such as disagree?
Supprefs them, or mifcall them policy?
Must then at once (the character to fave)
The plain rough hero turn a crafty knave ?

Alas! in truth the man but chang'd his mind,
Perhaps was fick, in love, or had not din'd.
Ask why from Britain Caefar would retreat?
Caefar himself might whisper he was beat.
Why risk the world's great empire for a punk?
Caefar perhaps might answer he was drunk.
But, fage hiftorians! 'tis your task to prove
One action conduct, one heroic love.

'Tis from high life high characters are drawn;
A faint in crape is twice a faint in lawn;
A judge is just, a chance'lor jufter still;

A gownman, learn'd; a bishop, what you will;
Wife, if a minifter; but, if a king,

More wife, more learn'd, more juft, more every thing.
Court-virtues bear, like gems, the highest rate,
Born where heaven's influence fcarce can penetrate;
In life's low vale, the foil the virtues like,
They please as beauties, here as wonders ftrike.
Tho' the fame fun with all diffusive rays
Blush in the rose, and in the di'mond blaze,
We prize the stronger effort of his power,
And justly fet the gem above the flower.
'Tis education forms the common mind,
Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclin'd.
Boastful and rough, your first fon is a 'fquire;
The next a tradefman, meek and much a lyar;
Tom ftruts a foldier, open, bold, and brave;
Will fneaks a fcrivener an exceeding knave:
Is he a churchman? then he's fond of power:
A Quaker? fly: A Prefbyterian four :
A fmart Free-thinker? all things in an hour.

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Afk men's opinions: Scoto now shall tell
How trade increases, and the world goes well;
Strike off his pension, by the setting fun,
And Britain, if not Europe, is undone.

That gay Free-thinker, a fine talker once,
What turns him now a stupid silent dunce ?
Some God, or fpirit, he has lately found;
Or chanc'd to meet a minifter that frown'd.
Judge we by nature? habit can efface,
Intereft o'ercome, or policy take place :
By actions those uncertainty divides:
By paffions thefe diffimulation hides :
Opinions? they still take a wider range :
Find, if you can, in what you cannot change.

Manners with fortunes, humours turn with climes, Tenets with books, and principles with times.

Search then the RULING PASSION: There, alone, The wild are constant, and the cunning known; The fool confiftent, and the false fincere; Priefts, princes, women, no diffemblers here. This clue once found, unravels all the reft, The prospect clears, and Whartou stands confest. Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days, Whofe ruling paffion was the lust of praise : Born with whate'er could win it from the wife, Women and fools muft like him or he dies: Tho' wondring senates hung on all he spoke, The club muft hail him master of the joke. Shall parts fo various aim at nothing new ? He'll hine a Tully and a Wilmot too.

Then turns repentant, and his God adores
With the same spirit that he drinks and whores;
Enough if all around him but admire,

And now the Punk applaud, and now the Friar.
Thus with each gift of nature and of art,
And wanting nothing but an honest heart;
Grown all to all, from no one vice exempt;
And most contemptible, to fhun contempt;
His paffion ftill, to covet general praise,
His Life, to forfeit it a thousand ways;
A constant Bounty which no friend has made;
An angel Tongue, which no man can perfuade;
A Fool, with more of Wit than half mankind,
Too rash for thought, for action too refin'd:
A Tyrant to the wife his heart approves;
A Rebel to the very king he loves;

He dies, fad out-caft of each church and state,
And, harder ftill! flagitious, yet not great.
Ask you why Wharton broke thro' every rule?
"Twas all for fear the Knaves fhould call him Fool,
Nature well known, no prodigies remain,
Comets are regular, and Wharton plain.
Yet, in this fearch, the wifeft may mistake,

If fecond qualities for first they take.
When Catiline by rapine fwell'd his store;
When Caefar made a noble dame a whore;
In this the Luft, in that the Avarice

Were means, not ends; Ambition was the vice.
That very Caefar born in Scipio's days,
Had aim'd, like him, by chastity, at praise.
VOL. III.

Lucullus, when Frugality could charm,
Had roasted turnips in the Sabin farm.
In vain th' obferver eyes the builder's toil,
But quite mistakes the fcaffold for the pile.

In this one paffion man can strength enjoy,
As fits give vigour, juft when they destroy.
Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand,
Yet tames not this; it fticks to our laft fand.
Confiftent in our follies and our fins,
Here honeft Nature ends as fhe begins.

Old Politicians chew on wisdom past,
And totter on in business to the last;
As weak, as earnest; and as gravely out,
As fober Lanefb'row dancing in the gout.

Behold a reverend fire, whom want of grace
Has made the father of a nameless race,
Shov'd from the wall perhaps, or rudely prefs'd
By his own fon, that paffes by unblefs'd:
Still to his wench he crawls on knocking knees,
And envies every sparrow that he fees.

A falmon's belly, Helluo, was thy fate; The doctor call'd, declares all help too late : "Mercy! cries Helluo, mercy on my foul! "Is there no hope?-Alas!-then bring the jowl." The frugal Crone, whom praying priests attend, Still ftrives to fave the hallow'd taper's end, Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires, For one puff more, and in that puff expires. "Odious! in woollen! 'twould a faint provoke, (Were the last words that poor Narciffa spoke)

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