What pain to quit the world, just made their own,
Their nest so deeply down'd, and built so high!
Too low they build who build beneath the stars.
Woe then apart (if woe apart can be
From mortal man,) and Fortune at our nod,
The gay! rich! great! triumphant! and august!
What are they?—The most happy (strange to say)
Convince me most of human misery.
What are they? smiling wretches of to-morrow!
More wretched, then, than e'er their slave can be,
Their treacherous blessings, at the day of need,
Like other faithless friends, unmask and sting:
Then what provoking indigence in wealth!
What aggravated impotence in power!
High titles, then, what insult of their pain!
If that sole anchor, equal to the waves,
Immortal Hope! defies not the rude storm,
Takes comfort from the foaming billow's rage,
And makes a welcome harbour of the tomb.
Is this a sketch of what thy soul admires ?-
'But here (thou sayest) the miseries of life
Are huddled in a group: a more distinct
Survey, perhaps, might bring thee better news.'
Look on life's stages; they speak plainer still;
The plainer they, the deeper wilt thou sigh.
Look on thy lovely boy; in him behold
The best that can befal the best on earth;
The boy has virtue by his mother's side:
Yes, on Florello look: a father's heart
Is tender, though the man's is made of stone;
The truth, through such a medium seen, may make Impression deep, and fondness prove thy frier.d.
Florello! lately cast on this rude coast
A helpless infant, now a heedless child.
1o poor Clarissa's throes thy care succeeds;
Care full of love, and yet severe as hate!
O'er thy soul's joy how oft thy fondness frowns'
Needful austerities his will restrain,
As thorus fence in the tender plant from harm.
As yet, his Reason cannot go alone,
But asks a sterner nurse to lead it on.
His little heart is often terrified;
The blush of morning, in his cheek, turns pale,
Its pearly dew-drop trembles in his eye,
His harmless eye! and drowns an angel there.
Ah! what avails his innocence? the task
Enjoin'd must discipline his early powers!
He learns to sigh, ere he is known to sin;
Guiltless, and sad! a wretch before the fall!
How cruel this! more cruel to forbear.
Our nature such, with necessary pains
We purchase prospects of precarious peace :
Though not a father, this might steal a sigh.
Suppose him disciplined aright (if not,
"Twill sink our poor account to poorer still,)
Ripe from the tutor, proud of liberty,
He leaps enclosure, bounds into the world;
The world is taken, after ten years' toil,
Like ancient Troy, and all its joys his own.
Alas! the world's a tutor more severc,
Its lessons hard, and ill deserve his pains;
Unteaching all his virtuous Nature taught,
Or books (fair Virtue's advocates) inspired
For who receives him into public life?
Men of the world, the terræ-filial breed,
Welcome the modest stranger to their sphere
(Which glitter'd long, at distance, in his sight,)
And in their hospitable arms enclose;
Men who think nought so strong as the romance,
So rank knight-errant, as a real friend;
Men that act up to Reason's golden ¡ule,
All weakness of affection quite subdued;
Men that would blush at being thought sincere,
And feign, for glory, the few faults they want;
That love a lie, where truth would pay as well,
As if, to them. Vice shown her own reward.
Lorenzo! canst thou bear a shocking sight? Such, for Florello's sake, 'twill now appear. See the steel'd files of season'd veterans,
Train'd to the world, in burnish'd falsehood bright;
Deep in the fatal stratagems of
All soft sensation, in the throng, rubb'd off;
All their keen purpose in politeness sheath'd;
His friends eternal-during interest;
His foes implacable-when worth their while';
At war with every welfare but their own;
As wise as Lucifer, and half as good;
And by whom none, but Lucifer, can gain—
Naked through these, (so common Fate ordains)
Naked of heart, his cruel course he runs,
Stung out of all most amiable in life,
Prompt truth, and open thought, and smiles unfeign'd; Affection, as his species wide diffused,
Noble presumptions to mankind's renown,
Ingenious trust, and confidence of love.
These claims to joy (if mortals joy might claim)
Will cost him many a sigh, till time and pains,
From the slow mistress of this school, Experience, 310
And her assistant, pausing, pale Distrust,
Purchase a dear-bought clew to lead his youth
Through serpentine obliquities of life,
And the dark labyrinth of human hearts.
And happy! if the clew shall come so cheap.
For while we learn to fence with public guilt,
Full oft we feel its foul contagion too,
If less than heavenly virtue is our guard.
Thus a strange kind of cursed necessity
Brings down the sterling temper of his soul,
By base alloy, to bear the current stamp,
Below call'd Wisdom; sinks him into safety,
And brands him into credit with the world,
Where specious titles dignify disgrace,
And Nature's injuries are arts of life;
Where brighter Reason prompts to bolder crimes,
And heavenly talents make infernal hearts,
That unsurmountable extreme of guilt!
Poor Machiavel! who labour'd hard his plan,
Forgot that Genius need not go to school;
Forgot that man, without a tutor wise,
His plan had practised long before 'twas writ.
The world's all title page; there's no contents.
The world's all face: the man who shows his heart
Is hooted for his nudities, and scorn'd.
A man I knew, who lived upon a smile,
And well it fed him; he lock'd plump and fair,
While rankest venom foam'd through every vein.
(Lorenzo! what I tell thee take not ill;)
Living, he fawn'd on every fool alive;
And, dying, cursed the friend on whom he lived.
To such proficients thou art half a saint!
In foreign realms (for thou hast travel'd far)
How curious to contemplate two state rooks,
Studious their nests to feather in a trice,
With all the necromantics of their art,
Playing the game of faces on each other,
Making court sweetmeats of their latent gall,
In foolish hope to steal each other's trust;
Both cheating, both exulting, both deceived,
And, sometimes, both (let earth rejoice) undone !
Their parts we doubt not, but be that their shame.
Shall men of talents, fit to rule mankind,
Stoop to mean wiles that would disgrace a fool;
And lose the thanks of those few friends they serve? 355
For who can thank the man he cannot see?
Why so much cover? it defeats itself.
Ye that know all things! know ye not men's hearts Are therefore known, because they are conceal'd?
For why conceal'd?-the cause they need not tell. 360
I give him joy that's awkward at a lie ;
Whose feeble nature Truth keeps still in awe;
His incapacity is his renown.
'T'is great, 'tis manly, to disdain disguise.
It shows our spirit, or it proves our strength.
Thou say'st 'tis needful! is it therefore right ?-
Howe'er, I grant it some small sign of grace
To strain at an excuse: and wouldst thou, then,
Escape that cruel need? thou mayst with ease;
Think no post needful that demands a knave.
When late our civil helm was shifting hands,
So Pelham thought: think better if you can.
But this how rare the public path of life
Is dirty-yet allow that dirt its due,
It makes the noble mind more noble still.
The world 's no neuter; it will wound or save;
Our virtue quench, or indignation fire.
You say the world, well known, will make a man.— The world, well known, will give our hearts to Heaven, Or make us demons, long before we die.
To show how fair the world, thy mistress, shines,
Take either part; sure ills attend the choice;
Sure, though not equal, detriment ensues.
Not Virtue's self is deified on earth;
Virtue has her relapses, conflicts, foes;
Foes that ne'er fail to make her feel their hate.
Virtue has her peculiar set of pains.
True friends to virtue, last and least complain;
But if they sigh, can others hope to smile?
If Wisdom has her miseries to mourn,
How can poor Folly lead a happy life ?
And if both suffer, what has earth to boast,
Where he most happy who the least laments?
Where much, much patience, the most envied state, And some forgiveness, needs, the best of friends? 395 For friend or happy life, who looks not higher,
Of neither shall he find the shadow here.
The world's sworn advocate, without a fee,
Lorenzo smartly, with a smile, replies:
Thus far thy song is right, and all inust own
Virtue has her peculiar set of pains :---
And joys peculiar who to Vice denies ?
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