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And what in me feems wanting, but that I

May alfo in this poverty as foon

Accomplish what they did, perhaps and more?
Extol not riches then, the toyl of fools,
The wife man's cumbrance, if not faare, more apt
To flaken virtue, and abate her edge,

Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise.
What if with like averfion I reject

Riches and realms? yet not, for that a crown,
Golden in fhew, 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 publick all this weight he bears.
Yet he who reigns within himself, and rules
Paffions, defires, and fears, is more a king:
Which ev'ry wife 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 paffions in him, which he serves.,
But to guide nations in the way of truth
By faving doctrine, and from error lead
To know, and knowing worship God aright,
Is yet more kingly; this attracts the foul,
Governs the inner man, the nobler part:
That other o'er the body only reigns;
And oft by force, which to a gen'rous mind
So reigning, can be no fincere delight.

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Besides, to give a kingdom hath been thought
Greater and nobler done, and to lay down
Far more magnanimous, than to affume.
Riches are needlefs, then, both for them felves,
And for thy reason why they should be fought,
To gain a fceptre, oftest better miss'd.


So fpake the Son of God; and Satan stood

A while as mute, confounded what to say, What to reply, confuted and convinc'd Of his weak arguing, and fallacious drift: At length collecting all his serpent wiles, With foothing words renew'd, him thus accosts, I fee thou know'st what is of use to know, What best to say canft say, to do canst do: Thy actions to thy words accord, thy words To thy large heart give utterance due; thy heart Contains of good, wife, juft, the perfect shape. Should kings and nations, from thy mouth confult, Thy counfel would be as the oracle Urim and Thummim, thofe oraculous gems On Aaron's breast, or tongue of feers old Infallible; or wert thou fought to deeds That might require th' array of war, thy skill Of conduct would be fuch, that all the world Could not sustain thy prowess, or fubfift In battle, though against thy few in arms. These god-like virtues wherefore doft thou hide,

Affecting private life, or more obfcure
In favage wilderness? wherefore deprive
All earth her wonder at thy acts, thy felf
The fame and glory; glory, the reward
That fole excites to high attempts, the flame
Of most erected fpirits, moft temper'd pure
Aetherial, who all pleasures else despise,
All treasures and all gain esteem as dross,
And dignities and pow'rs all but the highest?
Thy years are ripe, and over ripe; the fon
Of Macedonian Philip had ere these
Won Afia, and the throne of Cyrus held
At his difpofe; young Scipio had brought down
The Carthaginian pride, young Pompey quell'd
The Pontic king, and in triumph had rode.
Yet years, and to ripe years judgment mature,
Quench not the thirst of glory, but augment.
Great Julius, whom now all the world admires,
The more he grew in years, the more inflam'd
With glory, wept that he had liv'd fo long
Inglorious: but thou yet art not too late.

To whom our Saviour calmly thus reply'd.
Thou neither doft perfuade me to feek wealth
For empire's fake, nor empire to affect
For glory's fake, by all thy argument.
For what is glory but the blaze of fame,
The people's praise, if always praise unmixt?
And what the people but a herd confus'd,
A miscellaneous rabble, who extol

Things vulgar, and well weigh'd scarce worth the praise? They praise and they admire they know not what;

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And know not whom, but as one leads the other;
And what delight to be by fuch extoll'd,
To live upon their tongues and be their talk,
Of whom to be defpis'd were no small praise?
His lot who dares be fingularly good.
Th' intelligent among them and the wife
Are few, and glory fearce of few is rais'd.
This is true glory and renown, when God
Looking on th' earth, with approbation marks
The juft man, and divulges him through heav'n
To all his angels, who with true applause
Recount his praises; thus he did to Job,
When to extend his fame through heav'n and earth
(As thou to thy reproach may'st well remember)
He ask'd thee, haft thou feen my fervant Job?
Famous he was in heav'n, on earth lefs known;
Where glory is false glory, attributed

To things not glorious, men not worthy of fame. They err, who count it glorious to fubdue By conqueft far and wide, to over-run Large countries, and in field great battles win, Great cities by affault. What do thefe worthies, But rob and spoil, burn, flaughter, and enslave Peaceable nations, neighbouring, or remote, Made captive, yet deferving freedom more Than those their conquerors, who leave behind Nothing but ruin wherefoe'er they rove, And all the flourishing works of peace destroy; Then fwell with pride, and must be titled gods, Great benefactors of mankind, deliverers, Worshipp'd with temple, prieft and facrifice;

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One is the fon of Jove, of Mars the other,
Till conqu'ror Death discover them scarce men,
Rolling in brutish vices, and deform'd,
Violent or fhameful death their due reward.
But if there be in glory aught of good,
It may by means far different be attain'd
Without ambition, war, or violence;

By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent,
By patience, temperance. I mention still
Him whom thy wrongs, with faintly patience born,
Made famous in a land and times obfcure;
Who names not now with honour patient Job?
Poor Socrates, (who next more memorable?)
By what he taught and suffer'd for fo doing,
For truth's fake fuffering death unjust, lives now
Equal in fame to proudest conquerors.

Yet if for fame and glory aught be done,
Aught fuffer'd; if young African for fame
His wafted country freed from Punic rage,
The deed becomes unprais'd, the man at least,
And lofes, though but verbal, his reward.
Shall I feck glory then, as vain men seek
Oft not deferv'd? I feck not mine, but his
Who fent me, and thereby witness whence I am.

To whom the tempter murm'ring thus reply'd.
Think not fo flight of glory, therein least
Refembling thy great father: he feeks glory,
And for his glory all things made, all things
Orders and governs, not content in heav'n
By all his angels glorify'd, requires
Glory from men, from all men, good or bad,

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