WYNDHAM, with diligence awhile attend,

Nor fcorn th' inftructions of an older friend;

Who when the world's great commerce shall have join'd
The deep reflection, and the strength of mind,
To the bright talents of thy youthful ftate,
In turn fhall on thy better leffons wait.

Whence comes it, that in every art we fee
Many can rife to a fupreme degree;
Yet in this art, for which all feem defign'd
By nature, fcarcely one compleat we find?

You'll fay, perhaps, we think, we speak, we move,
By the strong springs alone of selfish love:

Yet among all the species, is there one,

Whom with more caution than ourselves, we shun?
What is it fills a puppet-show or court?

Go none but for the profit or the sport?
If so, why comes each foul fatigu'd away,
And curfes the dull puppets fame dull play;
Yet unconvinc'd, is tempted still to go?
'Tis that we find at home our greatest foe.
And reafon good why folitude we flee;
Can wants with felf-fufficiency agree?

Yet, fuch our inconfistency of mind,
We court fociety, and hate mankind,

With fome we quarrel, for they're too fincere :
With others, for they're close, referv'd and queer:
This is too learn'd, too prudent, or too wise;
And that we for his ignorance despise:

A voice perhaps our ear shall harshly strike,
Then strait ev'n wit itself fhall raife diflike;
Our eye may by fome feature be annoy'd,
Behold at once a character deftroy'd:
One's fo good-natur'd, he's beyond all bearing,
He'll ridicule no friend, though out of hearing:
Another warm'd with zeal, offends our eyes,
Because he holds the mirror up to vice.

No wonder then, fince fancies wild as these
Can move our spleen, that real faults displease.
When Mævius, fpite of dullness, will be bright,
And teach ARGYLL to speak, and SWIFT to write;
When Flavia entertains us with her dreams,
And Macer with his no lefs airy schemes;
When peevishness, and jealousy and pride,
And int'reft that can brother hearts divide,
In their imagin'd forms our eyefight hit,
Of an old maid, a poet, peer or cit;
Can then, you'll fay, philosophy refrain,
And check the torrent of each boiling vein?

Yes.

Yes. She can still do more; view paffion's flave
With mind ferene, indulge him, and yet fave.
But felf-conceit steps in, and with strict eye
Scans every man, and every man awry ;

That reigning paffion, which through every stage
Of life, ftill haunts us with unceasing rage.
No quality fo mean, but what can raise
Some drudging driveling candidate for praise;
Ev'n in the wretch, who wretches can defpife,
Still felf-conceit will find a time to rife.
Quintus falutes you with forbidding face,
And thinks he carries his excufe in lace:
You afk, why Clodius bullies all he can?
Clodius will tell you, he's a gentleman :
Myrtilla struts and fhudders half the year,
With a round cap, that fhews a fine-turn'd ear:
The lowest jeft makes Delia laugh to death;
Yet fhe's no fool, she has only handsome teeth.
Ventofo lolls, and scorns all human kind

From the gilt coach with four lac'd slaves behind;
Does all this pomp and state proceed from merit?
Mean thought! he deems it nobler to inherit:
While Fopling from fome title draws his pride,
Meanless, or infamous, or misapply'd;

Free-mason, rake, or wit, 'tis just the fame,
The charm is hence, he has gain'd himself a name.

Yet, fpite of all the fools that pride has made,

'Tis not on man an useless burthen laid;

;

Pride has ennobled fome, and some disgrac'd;

It hurts not in itself, but as 'tis plac'd;

When right, its view knows none but virtue's bound;

When wrong, it scarcely looks one inch around.

Mark! with what care the fair one's critic eye
Scans o'er her drefs, nor let's a fault flip by;
Each rebel hair muft be reduc'd to place
With tedious skill, and tortur'd into grace;
Betty must o'er and o'er the pins difpofe,
'Till into modish folds the drapery flows,
And the whole frame is fitted to express
The charms of decency and nakedness.
Why all this art, this labour'd ornament?
To captivate, you'll cry, no doubt, 'tis meant.
True. But let's wait upon this fair machine
From the lone closet to the social scene;
There view her loud, affected, fcornful, four,
Paining all others, and herself still more.
What means fhe, at one inftant to disgrace,
The labour of ten hours, her much-lov'd face?

Why,

Why, 'tis the self-fame paffion gratify'd;
The work is ruin'd, that was rais'd by pride.
Yet of all tempers, it requires least pain,
Could we but rule ourselves, to rule the vain.
The prudent is by reason only sway'd,

chafte;

With him each sentence and each word is weigh'd;
The gay and giddy can alone be caught
By the quick luftre of a happy thought;
The mifer hates, unless he fteals your pelf;
The prodigal, unless you rob yourself;
The lewd will fhun you, if your wife prove
The jealous, if a smile on his be caft;
The steady or the whimsical will blame,
Either, because you're not, or are the fame;
The peevish, fullen, fhrewd, luxurious, rafh,
Will with your virtue, peace, or intereft, clash;
But mark the proud man's price, how very low!
'Tis but a civil speech, a smile, or bow.

Ye who push'd on by noble ardour, aim

In focial life to gain immortal fame,
Observe the various paffions of mankind,
General, peculiar, fingle or combin❜d:
How youth from manhood differs in its views,
And how old age still other paths pursues

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