Unhappy still our poets will rehearse
To Goths, that stare astonish'd at their verse,
To the rank tribes submit their virgin lays;
So gross so bestial is the lust of praise!
I to sound judges from the mob appeal,
And write to those who most my subject feel. 25
Eumenes, these dry moral lines I trust
With you,
whom nought that's moral can disgust:
With you I venture in plain homespun sense
What I imagine of Benevolence.
Of all the monsters of the human-kind What strikes you most is the low selfish mind. You wonder how without one lib'ral joy The steady miser can his years employ, Without one friend, howe'er his fortunes thrive, 35 Despis'd and hated how he bears to live. With honest warmth of heart, with some degree Of pity that such wretched things should be, You scorn the sordid knave.-He grins at you, And deems himself the wiser of the two.'Tis all but taste howe'er we sift the case; He has his joy, as ev'ry creature has. 'Tis true he cannot boast an angel's share, Yet has what happiness his organs bear. Thou likewise mad'st the high seraphic șoul Maker Omnipotent! and thou the owl: Heav'n form'd him too, and doubtless for some use, But Cranecourt knows not yet all Nature's views.
"Tis chiefly taste, or blunt, or gross, or fine, Makes life insipid, bestial, or divine.
Better be born with taste to little rent
Than the dull monarch of a continent.
Without this bounty, which the gods bestow,
Can Fortune make one fav'rite happy?—No:
As well might Fortune in her frolic vein
Proclaim an oyster sov'reign of the main.
Without fine nerves, and bosom justly warm'd,
An eye, an ear, a fancy to be charm'd,
In vain majestic Wren expands the dome,
Blank as pale stucco Rubens lines the room,
Lost are the raptures of bold Handel's strain,
Great Tully storms, sweet Virgil sings in vain;
The beauteous forms of Nature are effac`d,
Tempe's soft charms, the raging wat’ry waste,
Each greatly wild each sweet romantic scene
Unheeded rises, and almost unseen.
Yet these are joys with some of better clay To sooth the toils of life's embarrass'd way; These the fine frame with charming horrors chill, And give the nerves delightfully to thrill. But of all taste the noblest and the best, The first enjoyment of the gen'rous breast, Is to behold in man's obnoxious state Scenes of content and happy turns of fate: Fair views of Nature, shining works of art, Amuse the fancy, but those touch the heart.
Chiefly for this proud epic song delights,
For this some riot on th' Arabian Nights.
Each case is ours; and for the human mind
'Tis monstrous not to feel for all mankind.
Were all mankind unhappy who could taste
Elysium, or be solitar❜ly blest?
Shock'd with surrounding shapes of human wo
All that or sense or fancy could bestow
You would reject with sick and coy disdain,
And pant to see one cheerful face again.
But if life's better prospects to behold
So much delight the man of gen'rous mould,
How happy they, the great the godlike few,
Who daily cultivate this pleasing view!
This is a joy possess'd by few indeed!
Dame Fortune has so many fools to feed
She cannot oft afford, with all her store,
To yield her smiles where Nature smil'd before.
To sinking worth a cordial hand to lend,
With better fortune to surprise a friend,
To cheer the modest stranger's lonely state,
Or snatch an orphan family from fate,
To do, possess'd with virtue's noblest fire,
Such gen'rous deeds as we with tears admire,
Deeds that above ambition's vulgar aim
Secure an amiable a solid fame;
These are such joys as Heaven's first fav'rites seize;
These please you now, and will for ever please.
Too seldom we great moral deeds admire;
The will, the pow'r, th' occasion, must conspire: 105
Yet few there are so impotent and low
But can some small good offices bestow :
Small as they are, however cheap they come,
They add still something to the gen❜ral sum;
And him who gives the little in his pow'r
The world acquits, and Heav'n demands no more.
Unhappy he who feels each neighbour's wo,
Yet no relief no comfort can bestow !
Unhappy too who feels each kind essay,
And for great favours has but words to pay,
Who scornful of the flatt'rer's fawning art
Dreads ev'n to pour his gratitude of heart,
And with a distant lover's silent pain
Must the best movements of his soul restrain !
But men sagacious to explore mankind
Trace ev'n the coyest passions of the mind.
Not only to the good we owe good will;
In good and bad distress demands it still :
'This with the gen'rous lays distinction low,
Endears a friend and recommends a foe.
Not that resentment never ought to rise,
For ev'n excess of virtue ranks with vice;
And there are villanies no bench can awe,
That sport without the limits of the law.
No laws th' ungen'rous crime would reprehend 130
Could I forget Eumenes was my friend:
In vain the gibbet or the pill'ry claim
The wretch who blasts a helpless virgin's fame.
Where laws are dup'd it's nor unjust nor mean
To seize the proper time for honest spleen.
An open candid foe I could not hate,
Nor evʼn insult the base in humble state;
But thriving Malice tamely to forgive-
'Tis somewhat late to be so primitive.
But I detain you with these tedious lays, Which few perhaps would read and fewer praise. No matter, could I please the polish'd few Who taste the serious or the gay like you. The squeamish mob may find my verses bare Of ev'ry grace-but curse me if I care. Besides, I little court Parnassian fame; There's yet a better than a poet's name. 'Twould more indulge my pride to hear it said That I with you the paths of honour tread Than that amongst the proud poetic train No Modern boasted a more classic vein, Or that in numbers I let loose my song Smooth as the Tweed and as the Severn strong. 153
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