Thou Great First Cause, least understood, Who all my sense confined To know but this, that Thou art good, And that myself am blind;Yet gave me, in this dark estate, To see the good from ill;And binding Nature fast in fate, Left free the human will.
What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do, This, teach me more than Hell to shun, That, more than Heaven pursue.
What blessings Thy free bounty gives, Let me not cast away;For God is paid when man receives, To enjoy is to obey.
Yet not to earth's contracted span Thy goodness let me bound, Or think Thee Lord alone of man, When thousand worlds are round:
Let not this weak, unknowing hand Presume Thy bolts to throw, And deal damnation round the land, On each I judge Thy foe.
If I am right, Thy grace impart, Still in the right to stay;If I am wrong, oh, teach my heart To find that better way.
Save me alike from foolish pride, Or impious discontent, At aught Thy wisdom has denied, Or aught Thy goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe, To hide the fault I see;That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me.
Mean though I am, not wholly so, Since quickened by Thy breath;Oh, lead me wheresoe'er I go, Through this day's life or death.
This day, be bread and peace my lot:
All else beneath the sun, Thou know'st if best bestowed or not;And let Thy will be done.
To Thee, whose temple is all space, Whose altar earth, sea, skies, One chorus let all being raise, All Nature's incense rise!
1
Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia, neu se Impediat verbis lassas onerantibus aures:
Et sermone opus est modo tristi, saepe jocoso, Defendente vicem modo Rhetoris atque Poetae, Interdum urbani, parcentis viribus, atque Extenuantis eas consulto.--HOR. (Sat. I. X. 9-14.)EPISTLE I.
TO SIR RICHARD TEMPLE, LORD COBHAM.
ARGUMENT.
OF THE KNOWLEDGE AND CHARACTERS OF MEN.
I. That it is not sufficient for this knowledge to consider Man in the Abstract: Books will not serve the purpose, nor yet our own Experience singly, v.1. General maxims, unless they be formed upon both, will be but notional, v.10. Some Peculiarity in every man, characteristic to himself, yet varying from himself, v.15. Difficulties arising from our own Passions, Fancies, Faculties, etc., v.31. The shortness of Life, to observe in, and the uncertainty of the Principles of action in men, to observe by, v.37, etc. Our own Principle of action often hid from ourselves, v.41. Some few Characters plain, but in general confounded, dissembled, or inconsistent, v.51. The same man utterly different in different places and seasons, v.71. Unimaginable weaknesses in the greatest, v.70, etc. Nothing constant and certain but God and Nature, v.95. No judging of the Motives from the actions; the same actions proceeding from contrary Motives, and the same Motives influencing contrary actions v.100.
II. Yet to form Characters, we can only take the strongest actions of a man's life, and try to make them agree: The utter uncertainty of this, from Nature itself, and from Policy, v.120. Characters given according to the rank of men of the world, v.135. And some reason for it, v.140.
Education alters the Nature, or at least Character of many, v.149.
Actions, Passions, Opinions, Manners, Humours, or Principles all subject to change. No judging by Nature, from v.158 to 178.
III. It only remains to find (if we can) his Ruling Passion: That will certainly influence all the rest, and can reconcile the seeming or real inconsistency of all his actions, v.175. Instanced in the extraordinary character of Clodio, v.179. A caution against mistaking second qualities for first, which will destroy all possibility of the knowledge of mankind, v.210. Examples of the strength of the Ruling Passion, and its continuation to the last breath, v.222, etc.
Yes, you despise the man to books confined, Who from his study rails at human kind;Though what he learns he speaks, and may advance Some general maxims, or be right by chance.
The coxcomb bird, so talkative and grave, That from his cage cries c**d, w**e, and knave, Though many a passenger he rightly call, You hold him no philosopher at all.
And yet the fate of all extremes is such, Men may be read as well as books, too much.
To observations which ourselves we make, We grow more partial for the observer's sake;To written wisdom, as another's, less:
Maxims are drawn from notions, those from guess.
There's some peculiar in each leaf and grain, Some unmarked fibre, or some varying vein:
Shall only man be taken in the gross?
Grant but as many sorts of mind as moss.
That each from other differs, first confess;Next, that he varies from himself no less:
Add Nature's, custom's reason's passion's strife, And all opinion's colours cast on life.
Our depths who fathoms, or our shallows finds, Quick whirls, and shifting eddies, of our minds?
On human actions reason though you can, It may be reason, but it is not man:
His principle of action once explore, That instant 'tis his principle no more.
Like following life through creatures you dissect, You lose it in the moment you detect.
Yet more; the difference is as great between The optics seeing, as the object seen.
All manners take a tincture from our own;Or come discoloured through our passions shown.
Or fancy's beam enlarges, multiplies, Contracts, inverts, and gives ten thousand dyes.
Nor will life's stream for observation stay, It hurries all too fast to mark their way:
In vain sedate reflections we would make, When half our knowledge we must snatch, not take.
Oft, in the passion's wild rotation tost, Our spring of action to ourselves is lost:
Tired, not determined, to the last we yield, And what comes then is master of the field.
As the last image of that troubled heap, When sense subsides, and fancy sports in sleep (Though past the recollection of the thought), Becomes the stuff of which our dream is wrought:
Something as dim to our internal view, Is thus, perhaps, the cause of most we do.
