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And every child hates Shylock, though his soul
Still sits at squat, and peeps not from its hole.
At half mankind when generous Manly raves,
All know 'tis Virtue, for he thinks them knaves :
When universal homage Umbra pays,
All see 'tis Vice, and itch of vulgar praise.
When Flattery glares, all hate it in a Queen,
While one there is who charms us with his Spleen.
But these plain Characters we rarely find :
Though strong the bent, yet quick the turns of mind :
Or puzzling Contraries confound the whole; 65
Or Affectations quite reverse the soul.
The Dull, flat Falsehood serves, for policy:
And in the Cunning, Truth itself 's a lie:
Unthought-of Frailties cheat us in the Wise;
The Fool lies hid in inconsistencies.
See the same man, in vigour, in the gout;
Alone, in company; in place, or out ;
Early at Business, and at Hazard late ;
Mad at a Fox-chase, wise at a Debate ;
Drunk at a Borough, civil at a Ball;
75 Friendly at Hackney, faithless at Whitehall.
Catius is ever moral, ever grave,
Thinks who endures a knave, is next a knave,
Save just at dinner-then prefers, no doubt,
A Rogue with Venison to a Saint without.
Who would not praise Patricio's high desert,
His hand unftain'd, his uncorrupted heart,
His comprehensive head ! all Interests weigh’d,
All Europe sav’d, yet Britain not betray'd.
He thanks you not, his Pride is in Picquette,
Newmarket-fame, and judgment at a Bett.
What made (fay, Montagne, or more fage Charron!)
Otho a warrior, Cromwell a buffoon ?
A perjur'd Prince a leaden faint revere,
A godless Regent tremble at a Star?
The throne a Bigot keep, a Genius quit,
Faithless through Piety, and dup'd through Wit?
Europe a Woman, Child, or Dotard rule,
And just her wiseft monarch made a fool ?
Know, God and Nature only are the same:
In Man, the judgment shoots at flying game ;
A bird of paffage! gone as soon as found,
Now in the Moon perhaps, now under ground.
In vain the sage, with retrospective eye,
Would from th' apparent What conclude the Why,
Infer the Motive from the Deed, and shew,
That what we chanc'd was what we meant to do,
Behold if Fortune or a Mistress frowns,
Some plunge in business, others save their crowns :
To ease the Soul of one oppressive weight, 105
This quits an Empire, that embroils a State ;
The fame aduft complexion has impellid
Charles to the Convent, Philip to the Field.
After ver. 86. in the former Editions,
Triumphant leaders at an army's head,
Hemm d round with glories, pilfer cloth or bread ;
As meanly plunder as they bravely fought,
Now save a people, and now lave a groat.
Not always Actions shew the man : we find
Who does a kindness, is not therefore kind:
Perhaps Prosperity becalm’d his breast,
Perhaps the Wind just shifted from the East :
Not therefore humble he who seeks retreat,
Pride guides his steps, and bids him fhun the great :
Who combats bravely is not therefore brave, 115
He dreads a death-bed like the meanest flave:
Who reasons wisely is not therefore wise,
His pride in Reasoning; not in Acting, lies.
But grant that actions beft 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?
Suppress them, or miscall them policy?
Must then at once (the character to save)
The plain rough Hero turn a crafty Knave ?
Alas! in truth the man but chang'd his mind,
Perhaps was sick, in love, or had not din'd.
Ask why from Britain Cæsar would retreat ?
Cæfar himself might whisper, he was beat.
Ver. 129. in the former Editions :
Ask why from Britain Cæsar made retreat ?
Cæsar himself would tell you he was beat.
The mighty Czar what mov'd to wed a Punk?
The mighty Czar would tell you he was drunk. Altered as above, because Cæfar wrote his Commentaries of this war, and does not tell you he was beät. Aš Cæfar too afforded an instance of both cases, it was thought better to make him the single example.
Why risk the World's great empire for a Punk?
Cæfar perhaps might answer, he was drunk.
But, sage historians! 'tis your task to prove
One action Conduct; one, heroic Love.
'Tis from high Life high characters are drawn ; 135
A Saint in Crape is twice a Saint in Lawn ;
A Judge is just, a Chancellor juster still ;
A Gownman, learn’d; a Bishop, what you will;
Wise, if a Minister; but, if a King,
More wise, more learn’d, more just, more every thing.
Court-Virtues bear, like Gems, the highest rate,
Born where Heaven's influence scarce can penetrate :
In life's low vale, the soil the Virtues like,
They please as beauties, here as wonders strike.
Though the same sun with all-diffusive rays
145 Blush in the Rose, and in the Diamond blaze, We prize the stronger effort of his power, And juftly set the Gem above the Flower.
'Tis Education forms the common mind, Just as the twig is bent, the tree 's inclin'd.
1g Boastful and rough, your first son is a 'Squire ; The next a Tradesman, meek, and much a lyar; Tom struts a Soldier, open, bold and brave; Will sneaks a Scrivener, an exceeding knave : Is he a Churchman? then he's fond of power : 155 A Quaker? fly: A Presbyterian? fower : A smart Free-thinker? all things in an hour.
Ask mens Opinions : Scoto now shall tell How Trade increases, and the world goes well;
Strike off his Pension, by the setting sun,
160 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 Spirit, he has lately found;
Or chanc'd to meet a Minister that frown'd.
Judge we by Nature ? Habit can efface,
Interest o'ercome, or policy take place :
By Actions ? those Uncertainty divides :
By Passions ? these Dissimulation hides :
Opinions ? they still take a wider
170 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 conkant, and the Cunning known; 175
The Fool confiftent, and the False sincere ;
Priests, Princes, Women, no diffemblers here.
This clue once found, unravels all the rest,
The prospect clears, and Wharton stands confeft.
Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days, 180
Whose ruling Passion was the Luft of Praise :
Born with whate'er could win it from the Wise,
Women and Fools must like him, or he dies :
Though wondering Senates hung on all he fpoke,
The Club must hail him master of the joke.
Shall parts so various aim at nothing new?
He'll shine a Tully and a Wilmot too.
Then turns repentant, and his God adores
With the same spirit that he drinks and whores;