III. Pardon, ye great unknown, and far-exalted men, Is in her sex a crime needs no excuse) Has forced to grope her uncouth way, And all we fools, who are the greater part of it, Yet whereso'er you look, you'll always find And our good brethren of the surly sect, Must e'en all herd us with their kindred fools: For though, possess'd of present vogue, they've made IV. But censure's to be understood Th' authentic mark of the elect, The public stamp Heaven sets on all that's great and good, Our wit and learning narrow as our trade; We fondly stay at home, in fear Forcing a wretched trade by beating down the sale, The wits, I mean the atheists of the age, Of morals and divinity, By the new modish system of reducing all to sense, Do own th' effects of Providence, V. This hopeful sect, now it begins to see Their first and chiefest force To censure, to cry down, and rail, And, by their never-failing ways Of solving all appearances they please, We soon shall see them to their ancient methods fall, And by a fond mistake Perhaps imagine to be wondrous wit, Which, from eternal seeds begun, Justling some thousand years, till ripen'd by the sun, VI. But as for poor contented me, Who must my weakness and my ignorance confess, That this new, noble, and delightful scene, Or in our judgment or our eye,) That what surprises us can only please. We often search contentedly the whole world round, And scorn it when 'tis found. Just so the mighty Nile has suffer'd in its fame, That feeds the huge unequal stream. Consider human folly, and you'll quickly own Bv which some fondly boast they shall for ever live, Else why should the famed Lydian king (Whom all the charms of an usurped wife and state, With all that power unfelt, courts mankind to be great, Did with new unexperienced glories wait) VII. Were I to form a regular thought of Fame, I would not draw the idea from an empty name; Although they praise the learning and the wit, The name and man by whom the book was writ, These days! where e'en th' extravagance of poetry And by a faint description makes them less. Then tell us what is Fame, where shall we search for it? Look where you see The greatest scorn of learned vanity! (And then how much a nothing is mankind! Whose reason is weigh'd down by popular air, Who, by that vainly talks of baffling death; And hopes to lengthen life by a transfusion of breath, Which yet whoe'er examines right will find To be an art as vain as bottling up of wind!) And when you find out these, believe true Fame is there, Far above all reward, yet to which all is due: And this, ye great unknown! is only known in you. VIII. The juggling sea-god, when by chance trepann'd A stealing brook, and strove to creep away Vex'd at their follies, murmur'd in his stream; But disappointed of his fond desire, Would vanish in a pyramid of fire. This surly, slippery god, when he design'd To furnish his escapes, Ne'er borrowed more variety of shapes Than you, to please and satisfy mankind, And seem (almost) transform'd to water, flame, and air, Contrive to shock your minds with many a senseless doubt; Doubts where the Delphic god would grope in ignorance and night, The god of learning and of light Would want a god himself to help him out. IX. Philosophy, as it before us lies, Seems to have borrow'd some ungrateful taste From every age through which it pass'd, For man to dress and polish his uncourtly mind, In what mock habits have they put her since the fall! With a huge farthingale to swell her fustian stuff, Of comments and disputes, ridiculous and vain, How soon have you restored her charms, And rather tight than great! How fond we are to court her to our arms! X. Thus the deluding Muse oft blinds me to her ways, And you with fatal and immortal wit conspire Cruel unknown! what is it you intend? Ah! could you, could you hope a poet for your friend! May all the blood, which shall by woman's scorn be shed, For you (ah! did I think I e'er should live to see The fatal time when that could be)! Have even increased their pride and cruelty Woman seems now above all vanity grown, Still boasting of her great unknown Platonic champions, gain'd without one female wile, Which 'tis a shame to see how much of late And which they've now the consciences to weigh The bondage and the slavery of years. Let the vain sex dream on; the empire comes from us; And had they common generosity, They would not use us thus. Well-though you've raised her to this high degree, Ourselves are raised as well as she; And, spite of all that they or you can do, 'Tis pride and happiness enough to me, XI. Alas, how fleeting and how vain Is even the nobler man, our learning and our wit! As at the closing an unhappy scene Of some great king and conqueror's death, Stays but to catch his utmost breath. I grieve this nobler work, most happily begun, Which still the sooner it arrives, Although we boast our winter sun looks bright, And by one mighty hero carried to its height, It lost some mighty pieces through all hands it pass'd, For, when the animating mind is fled, (Which nature never can retain, Nor e'er call back again,) The body, though gigantic, lies all cold and dead. XII. And thus undoubtedly 'twill fare Shall (I foresee it) soon with Gothic swarms come forth; And with blind rage break all this peaceful government; Yet shall the traces of your wit remain, Like a just map, to tell the vast extent |