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The young difeafe, that muft fubdue at length, 135 Grows with his growth, and ftrengthens with his ftrength:

So, caft and mingled with his very frame,

The Mind's difeafe, its RULING PASSION Came;
Each vital humour which fhould feed the whole,
Soon flows to this, in body and in foul:
Whatever warms the heart, or fills the head,
As the mind opens, and its functions spread,
Imagination plies her dang'rous art,
And pours it all upon the peccant part.

Nature its mother, Habit is its nurse;
Wit, Spirit, Faculties, but make it worfe;
Reafon itself but gives it edge and pow'r;

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As Heav'n's bleft beam turns vinegar more fow'r.
We, wretched fubjects tho' to lawful fway,
In this weak queen, fome fav'rite still obey :
Ah! if the lend not arms, as well as rules,
What can fhe more than tell us we are fools?
Teach us to mourn our Nature, not to mend,
A fharp accufer, but a helpless friend!
Or from a judge turn pleader, to perfuade
The choice we make, or justify it made;
Proud of an eafy conqueft all along,

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She but removes weak paffions for the strong:

So, when small humours gather to a gout,

The doctor fancies he has driv'n them out.

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Yes, Nature's road must ever be prefer'd;
Reafon is here no guide, but still a guard;
'Tis hers to rectify, not overthrow,

And treat this paffion more as friend than foe:
A mightier Pow'r the ftrong direction fends,
And fev'ral Men impels to fev'ral ends:
Like varying winds, by other paffions toft,
This drives them conftant to a certain coaft.
Let pow'r or knowledge, gold or glory, please,
Or (oft more frong than all) the love of ease;
Thro' life 'tis follow'd, ev'n at life's expence;
The merchant's toil, the fage's indolence,
The monk's humility, the hero's pride,
All, all alike, find Reafon on their fide.

Th' Eternal Art educing good from ill,
Grafts on this Paffion our beft principle:
'Tis thus the Mercury of Man is fix'd,
Strong grows the Virtue with his nature mix'd;
The drofs cements what elfe were too refin'd,
And in one int'reft body acts with mind.

As fruits, ungrateful to the planter's care,

On favage ftocks inferted, learn to bear;
The surest Virtues thus from Passions shoot,
Wild Nature's vigor working at the root.
What crops of wit and honefty appear
From fpleen, from obftinacy, hate, or fear!
See anger, zeal and fortitude fupply;
Ev'n av'rice, prudence; floth, philofophy;

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170.

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Luft, thro' fome certain ftrainers well refin'd,
Is gentle love, and charms all womankind;
Envy, to which th' ignoble mind's a flave,
Is emulation in the learn'd or brave;
Nor Virtue, male or female, can we name,
But what will grow on Pride, or grow on Shame.
Thus Nature gives us (let it check our pride) 195
The virtue nearest to our vice ally'd:

Reason the byas turns to good from ill,
And Nero reigns a Titus, if he will.

VARIATIONS.

After 194. in the MS.

How oft, with Paffion, Virtue points her Charms!.

Then shines the Hero, then the Patriot warms.
Peleus' great Son, or Brutus, who had known,
Had Lucrece been a Whore, or Helen none?
But Virtues oppofite to make agree,
That, Reason is thy tafk; and worthy Thee.
Hard talk, cries Bibulus, and reason weak.
-Make it a point, dear Marquefs! or a pique.
Once, for a whim, perfuade yourself to pay
A debt to reafon, like a debt at play.
For right or wrong have mortals fuffer'd more?
B- for his Prince, or ** for his Whore?
Whofe felf-denials nature most controul?
His, who would fave a Sixpence or his Soul?
Web for his health, a Chartreux for his Sin,
Contend they not which fooneft fhall grow thin?
What we refelve, we can: but here's the fault,
We ne'er refolve to do the thing we ought.

The fiery foul abhor'd in Catiline,
In Decius charms, in Curtius is divine:
The fame ambition can destroy or fave,
And makes a patriot as it makes a knave.

This light and darkness in our chaos join'd,
What shall divide? The God within the mind.

Extremes in Nature equal ends produce,

In Man they join to fome mysterious ufe;
Tho' each by turns the other's bound invade,

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As, in fome well-wrought picture, light and shade,
And oft fo mix, the diff'rence is too nice
Where ends the Virtue, or begins the Vice.

Fools! who from hence into the notion fall,
That Vice or Virtue there is none at all.
If white and black blend, soften, and unite
A thousand ways, is there no black or white?
Afk your own heart, and nothing is so plain;
Tis to mistake them, cofts the time and pain.
Vice is a monster of fo frightful mien,
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen ;

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VER. 204. The God within the mind.] A Platonic phrafe for Confcience; and here employed with great judgment and propriety. For Confcience either fignifies, fpeculatively, the judgment we pass of things upon whatever principles we chance to have; and then it is only Opinion, a very unable judge and divider. Or else it fignifies, practically, the application of the eternal rule of right (received by us as the law of God) to the regulation of our actions; and then it is properly Confcience, the God (or the law of God) within the mind, of power to divide the light from the darkness in this chaos of the paffions,

Yet feen too oft, familiar with her face,

We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

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But where th' Extreme of Vice, was ne'er agreed: Afk where's the North? at York, 'tis on the Tweed; In Scotland, at the Orcades; and there,

than he;

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At Greenland, Zembla, or the Lord knows where.
No creature owns it in the firft degree,
But thinks his neighbour further gone
Ev'n those who dwell beneath its very zone,
Or never feel the rage, or never own ;
What happier natures fhrink at with affright,
The hard inhabitant contends is right.

Virtuous and vicious ev'ry Man must be,
Few in th' extreme, but all in the degree;
The rogue and fool by fits is fair and wife;

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And ev'n the best, by fits, what they despise.

'Tis but by parts we follow good or ill;

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For, Vice or Virtue, Self directs it still;

After

VARIATIONS.

220. in the 1ft. Edition, followed these,

A Cheat! a Whore! who ftarts not at the name,
In all the Inns of Court or Drury-lane?

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The Col'nel fwears the Agent is a dog,
The Scriv'ner vows th' Attorney is a rogue.
Against the Thief the Attorney loud inveighs,
For whofe ten pound the County twenty pays,
The Thief damns Judges, and the Knaves of State;
And dying, mourns fmall Villains hang'd by great,

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