But, lo! the fatal victor of mankind,
Swoln Luxury!-pale Ruin ftalks behind!
As countlefs infects from the north-east pour,
To blaft the fpring and ravage ev'ry flow'r,
So barb'rous millions fpread contagious death,
The fick ning laurel wither'd at their breath:
Deep Superftition's night the fkies o'erhung,
Beneath whofe baleful dews the poppy fprung:
No longer Genius woo'd the Nine to love,
But Dulnefs nodded in the Mufe's grove;
Wit, fpirit, freedom, were the fole offence,
Nor aught was held fo dangerous as fenfe.

At length again fair Science shot her ray,
Dawn'd in the fkies, and spoke returning day.
Now, Satire! triumph o'er thy flying foe,
Now load thy quiver, ftring thy flacken'd bow.
'Tis done-See! great Erafmus breaks the spell,
And wounds triumphant Folly in her cell.

(In vain the folemn coul furrounds her face,
Vain all her bigot cant, her four grimace ;)
With thame compell'd her leaden throne to quit,
And own the force of reafon urg'd by wit.

395

400

4.05

410

'Twas then plain Donne in honeft vengeance rose; His wit harmonious, tho' his rhyme was profe: 416 He, 'midft an age of puns and pedants, wrote With genuine fenfe and Roman ftrength of thought.

Yet fcarce had Satire well relum'd her flame (With grief the Mufe records her country's fhame) Ere Britain faw the foul revolt commence, And treach'rous Wit began her war with Senfe. Then rofe a fhameless mercenary train,

421

Whom latest time shall view with just difdain:

A race fantastic, in whofe gaudy line

425

Untutor'd thought and tinfel beauty shine;
Wit's fhatter'd mirror lies in fragments bright,
Reflects not nature, but confounds the fight.
Dry morals the court poet blush'd to fing;
'Twas all his praife to fay " the oddest thing:"430
Proud for a jest obscene, a patron's nod,

To martyr Virtue, or blafpheme his God.

Ill-fated

Ill-fated Dryden! who unmov'd can fee

Th' extremes of wit and meanneis join'd in thee! Flames that could mount, and gain their kindred skies, Low creeping in the putrid fink of Vice;

436

A Mufe whom Wisdom woo'd, but woo'd in vain;
The pimp of Pow'r, the prostitute to Gain:
Wreaths that fhould deck fair Virtue's form alone,
To ftrumpets, traitors, tyrants, vilely thrown:
Unrivall'd parts, the fcorn of honest fame,
And genius rife a monument of shame!

More happy France: immortal Boileau there
Supported Genius with a fage's care;
Him with a love propitious Satire bleft,
And breath'd her airs divine into his breaft:
Fancy and fenfe to form his line conspire,
And faultlefs judgment guides the pureft fire.

But fee, at length the British Genius fimile,
And fhow'r her bounties o'er her favour'd itle:
Behold, for Pope fhe twines the laurel crown,
And centres ev'ry poet's pow'r in one!
Each Roman force adorns his various page,
Gay fmiles, collected itrength, and manly rage.
Defpairing Guilt and Dulnefs loath the fight,
As fpectres vanish at approaching light:
In this clear mirror with delight we view
Each image justly fine and boldly true:

440

445

450

455

460

shall I find

465

Here Vice, dragg'd forth by Truth's fupreme decree,
Beholds and hates her own deformity:
While felf-feen Virtue in the faithful line
With modeft joy furveys her form divine.
But, oh! what thoughts, what numbers,
But faintly to exprefs the poet's mind ?
Who yonder ftar's effulgence can display,
Unless he dip his pencil in the ray?
Who paint a god unless the god inspire?
What catch the lightning but the ipeed of fire?
So, mighty Pope! to make thy genius known,
All pow'r is weak, all numbers but thy own,
Each Mufe for thee with kind contention ftrove,
For thee the Graces left th' Idalian grove,

470

With watchful fondnefs o'er thy cradle hung,
Attun'd thy voice, and form'd thy infant tongue.
Next to her bard majeftic Wisdom came;
The bard enraptur'd caught the heav'nly flame;
With tafte fuperior fcorn'd the venal tribe,
Whom fear can fway, or guilty greatness bribe;
At Fancy's call who rear the wanton fail,
Sport with the stream, and trifle in the gale:
Sublimer views thy daring spirit bound;
Thy mighty voyage was creation's round;
Intent new worlds of wisdom to explore,

475

480

And bless mankind with Virtue's facred ftore;

A nobler joy than wit can give, impart,

485

And pour a moral transport o'er the heart.
Fantastic wit fhoots momentary fires,
And, like a meteor, while we gaze, expires:
Wit kindled by the fulphu'rous breath of Vice,
Like the blue lightning, while it shines destroys;
But Genius, fir'd by Truth's eternal ray,
Burns clear and conftant, like the fource of day:
Like this its beam prolific and refin'd,
Feeds, warms, inspirits, and exalts the mind;
Mildly difpels each wintry paffion's gloom,
And opens all the virtues into bloom.
This praife, immortal Pope! to thee be giv❜n:
Thy genius was indeed a gift from Heav'n.
Hail, Bard unequall'd! in whofe deathless line
Reason and wit with strength collected shine ;
Where matchlefs wit but wins the second praise,
Loft, nobly loft, in truth's fuperior blaze.
Did friend hip e'er mislead thy wand'ring Muse?
That friendship fure may plead the great excufe;
That facred friendship which infpir'd the song,
Fair in defect, and amiably wrong.
Error like this e'en truth can fcarce reprove;
'Tis almoft virtue when it flows from love.

Ye deathlefs names! ye fons of endless praife!
By Virtue crown'd with never-fading bays!
Say, fhall an artlefs Mufe, if you inspire,
Light her pale lamp at your immortal fire?

491

495

500

505

510

Or,

Or if, O Warburton! infpir'd by you,
The daring Mufe a nobler path puriue,
By you infpir'd on trembling pinions foar,
The facred founts of focial blifs explore,
In her bold numbers chain the tyrants rage,
And bid her country's glory fire her page:

If fuch her fate, do thou, fair Truth! defcend,
And watchful guard her in an honeft end:
Kindly fevere, inftru&t her equal line

520

To court no friend, nor own a foe, but thine.

But if her giddy eye should vainly quit

Thy facred paths, to run the maze of wit;
If her apoftate heart should e'er incline
To offer incenfe at Corruption's fhrine;

525

Urge, urge thy pow'r, the black attempt confound,
And dafh the fmoking cenfer to the ground.
Thus aw'd to fear, inftructed bards may fee
That guilt is doom'd to fink in infamy.

530

IN FOUR EPISTLES.

TO H. ST. JOHN. L. BOLINGBROKE.

THE DESIGN.

AVING proposed to write fome pieces on Human Life and Manners,

bufinefs and bofoms,' I thought it more fatisfactory to begin with confidering Man in the abstract--his Nature and his State; fince, to prove any moral duty, to enforce any moral precept, or to examine the perfec tion or imperfection of any creature whatfoever, it is neceffary first to know what condition and relation it is placed in, and what is the proper end and purpofe of its being.

The fcience of human nature is, like all other sciences, reduced to a few clear points: there are not many certain truths in this world. It is therefore in the anatomy of the mind, as in that of the body; more good will accrue to mankind by attending to the large, open, and perceptible parts, than by studying too much fuch finer nerves and veffcis, the conformations and ufes of which will for ever efcape our obfervation. The difputes are all upon thefe lat; and, I will venture to fay, they have lefs fharpened the wits than the hearts of men against each other, and have diminished the practice more than advanced the theory of morality. If I could flatter myself that this Effay has any merit, it is in Ateering betwixt the extremes of doctrines feemingly oppofile, in paffing over terms utterly unintelligible, and in forming a temperate, yet not inconfitent, and a thort, yet not imperfect, System of Ethics.

This I might have done in profe; but I chofe verfe, and even rhyme, for two reafons. The one will appear obvious; that principles, maxims, or precepts, fo written, both ftrike the reader more itrongly at first, and are more easily retained by him afterwards: the other may feem odd, but it is true; I found I could exprefs them more fhortly this way than in profe itself; and nothing is more certain than that much of the force as well as grace of arguments or inftructions depends on their concifenefs. I was unable to treat this part of my fubject more in detail without becoming dry and tedious, or more poetically, without facrificing peripicuity to ornament, without wandering from the precision, or breaking the chain of reafoning. If any man can unite all thefe without diminution of any of them, I freely confefs he will compafs a thing above my capacity.

What is now published is only to be confidered as a general Map of Man, marking out no more than the greater parts, their extent, their limits, and their connection, but leaving the particular to be more fully delineated in the charts which are to follow; confequently thefe Epistles in their progrefs (if I have health and leifure to make any progreis) will be lefs diy, and more fufceptible of poetical ornament. I am here only opening the fountains, and clearing the paffage: to deduce the rivers, to follow them in their courfe, and to obferve their effects, may be a talk more agreeable.