sweep

146

Towns to one grave, whole nations to the deep?
"No," 'tis replied, "the first Almighty Cause
Acts not by partial but by general laws:
The exceptions few; some change since all
began;

And what created perfect?"-Why then man?
If the great end be human happiness,
Then Nature deviates; and can man do less? 150
As much that end a constant course requires
Of showers and sunshine, as of man's desires:
As much eternal springs and cloudless skies,
As men forever temperate, calm, and wise.
If plagues or earthquakes break not Heaven's
design,

155

Why then a Borgia or a Catiline?'
Who knows but He, whose hand the lightning

forms,

Who heaves old ocean, and who wings the storms,

Pours fierce ambition in a Cæsar's mind,

Or turns young Ammon1 loose to scourge mankind?

160

From pride, from pride our very reasoning. springs;

Account for moral, as for natural things: Why charge we Heaven in those, in these acquit?

In both to reason right is to submit.

Better for us, perhaps, it might appear,
Were there all harmony, all virtue here;
That never air or ocean felt the wind;
That never passion discomposed the mind.
But all subsists by elemental strife;
And passions are the elements of life.
The general order, since the whole began,
Is kept in nature, and is kept in man.

165

170

pears

175

'To want the strength of bulls, the fur of bears.
Made for his use, all creatures if he call,
Say what their use, had he the powers of all:
Nature to these without profusion kind,
The proper organs, proper powers assigned; 180
Each seeming want compensated of course,
Here with degrees of swiftness, there of force:
All in exact proportion to the state;
Nothing to add, and nothing to abate:
Each beast, each insect happy in its own: 185
Is Heaven unkind to man, and man alone?

Shall he alone, whom rational we call,

Be pleased with nothing, if not blessed with all? The bliss of man (could pride that blessing find),

190

Is not to act or think beyond mankind;
No powers of body or of soul to share,
But what his nature and his state can bear.
Why has not man a microscopic eye?
For this plain reason, man is not a fly.
Say what the use, were finer optics given,
To inspect a mite, not comprehend the heaven?
Or touch, if tremblingly alive all o'er,
To smart and agonize at every pore?

Or quick effluvia darting through the brain,
Die of a rose in aromatic pain?

195

200

If Nature thundered in his opening ears,
And stunned him with the music of the spheres,
How would he wish that Heaven had left him
still

The whispering zephyr and the purling rill!
Who finds not Providence all good and wise, 205
Alike in what it gives, and what denies?

213

Far as creation's ample range extends,
The scale of sensual, mental powers ascends.
Mark how it mounts to man's imperial race,
From the green myriads in the peopled grass;
What modes of sight betwixt each wide extreme,
The mole's dim curtain, and the lynx's beam:
Of smell, the headlong lioness between,
And hound sagacious on the tainted green:
Of hearing, from the life that fills the flood, 215
To that which warbles through the vernal wood!
The spider's touch how exquisitely fine!
Feels at each thread, and lives along the line:
In the nice bee, what sense so subtly true
From poisonous herbs extracts the healing dew?
How instinct varies in the groveling swine, 221
Compared, half-reasoning elephant, with thine!
'Twixt that and reason, what a nice barrier!
Forever separate, yet for ever near!

Remembrance and reflection, how allied; 225
What thin partitions sense from thought divide;
And middle natures, how they long to join,
Yet never pass the insuperable line!
Without this just gradation, could they be
Subjected, these to those, or all to thee?
The powers of all subdued by thee alone,
Is not thy reason all these powers in one?

230

235

See, through this air, this ocean, ard this earth, All matter quick, and bursting into birth. Above, how high progressive life may go! Around, how wide! how deep extend below! Vast chain of being! which from God began, Natures ethereal, human, angel, man, Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can see, No glass can reach; from infinite to thee, From thee to nothing. On superior powers Were we to press, inferior might on ours: Or in the full creation leave a void, Where, one step broken, the great scale's destroyed:

240

From Nature's chain whatever link you strike, Tenth or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike.

247

And if each system in gradation roll Alike essential to the amazing whole, The least confusion but in one, not all That system only, but the whole must fall. 250 Let earth unbalanced from her orbit fly, Planets and suns run lawless through the sky; Let ruling angels from their spheres be hurled, Being on being wrecked, and world on world; Heaven's whole foundations to their center nod, And Nature tremble to the throne of God! 256 All this dread order break-for whom? for thee? Vile worm!-Oh! madness! pride! impiety!

260

What if the foot, ordained the dust to tread, Or hand, to toil, aspired to be the head? What if the head, the eye, or ear repined To serve mere engines to the ruling mind? Just as absurd for any part to claim To be another in this general frame;

Just as absurd to mourn the tasks or pains 265 The great directing Mind of all ordains.

All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and God the soul; That, changed through all, and yet in all the

same,

Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame, 270
Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,
Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees,
Lives through all life, extends through all extent,
Spreads undivided, operates unspent;
Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,
As full, as perfect in a hair as heart;
As full, as perfect in vile man that mourns,
As the rapt seraph that adores and burns:
To Him no high, no low, no great, no small;
He fills, He bounds, connects, and equals all. 280

276

Who with his tongue hath armies routed, 5
Makes ev'n his real courage doubted.
But flattery never seems absurd;
The flatter'd always take your word:
Impossibilities seem just:

They take the strongest praise on trust. 10
Hyperboles, though ne'er so great,
Will still come short of self-conceit.

So very like a Painter drew,
That every eye the picture knew;
He hit complexion, feature, air,
So just, the life itself was there.
No flattery with his colours laid,
To bloom restor'd the faded maid;
He gave each muscle all its strength;
The mouth, the chin, the nose's length;
His honest pencil touch'd with truth,
And mark'd the date of age and youth.

He lost his friends, his practice fail'd;
Truth should not always be reveal'd;
In dusty piles his pictures lay,
For no one sent the second pay.
Two bustos, fraught with every grace,
A Venus' and Apollo's face,
He plac'd in view; resolv'd to please,
Who ever sat he drew from these,
From these corrected every feature,
And spirited each awkward creature.

All things were set; the hour was come,
His palette ready o'er his thumb;
My Lord appear'd; and, seated right,
In proper attitude and light,

The Painter look'd, he sketch'd the piece,
Then dipt his pencil, talk'd of Greece,
Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air;
"Those eyes, my Lord, the spirit there,
Might well a Raphael's hand require,
To give them all the native fire;
The features, fraught with sense and wit,
You'll grant are very hard to hit:
But yet with patience you shall view,
As much as paint and art can do."

Observe the work. My Lord replied,
"Till now I thought my mouth was wide;
Besides, my nose is somewhat long;
Dear, sir, for me, 'tis far too young!"

15

20

20

25

30

35

40

45

Or in the natal, or the mortal hour.
All nature is but art unknown to thee;

50

All chance, direction which thou cast not see; All discord, harmony not understood;

"Oh! pardon me, (the artist cried)

In this we Painters must decide.

291

All partial evil, universal good;

And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,

The piece ev'n common eyes must strike, I warrant it extremely like."

55

One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.

John Eay

1688-1732

FABLE XVIII

THE PAINTER WHO PLEASED NOBODY AND

EVERYBODY

(From Fables, 1727)

Lest men suspect your tale untrue,
Keep probability in view.

The traveller leaping o'er those bounds,
The credit of his book confounds.

60

My Lord examin'd it a-new; No looking-glass seem'd half so true. A lady came, with borrow'd grace, He from his Venus form'd her face. Her lover prais'd the Painter's art; So like the picture in his heart! To every age some charm he lent; Ev'n beauties were almost content. Through all the town his art they prais'd; His custom grew, his price was rais'd. Had he the real likeness shown, Would any man the picture own? But when thus happily he wrought, Each found the likeness in his thought.

1 Busts.

65

ON A LAP DOG

Shock's fate I mourn; poor Shock is now no more!

Ye Muses! mourn, ye Chambermaids! deplore.
Unhappy Shock! Yet more unhappy fair,
Doom'd to survive thy joy and only care.
Thy wretched fingers now no more shall deck, 5
And tie the favorite ribband round his neck;
No more thy hand shall smooth his glossy
hair,

10

And comb the wavings of his pendent ear.
Let cease thy flowing grief, forsaken maid!
All mortal pleasures in a moment fade:
Our surest hope is in an hour destroy'd,
And love, best gift of Heaven, not long enjoy'd.
Methinks I see her frantic with despair,
Her streaming eyes, wrung hands, and flowing
hair;

Her Mechlin pinners,' rent, the floor bestrow, 15
And her torn face gives real signs of woe.
Hence, Superstition! that tormenting guest,
That haunts with fancied fears the coward
breast;

21

No dread events upon this fate attend,
Stream eyes no more, no more thy tresses rend.
Though certain omens oft forwarn a state,
And dying lions show the monarch's fate,
Why should such fears bid Celia's sorrow rise?
For when a lap dog falls, no lover dies.

Cease, Celia, cease; restrain thy flowing tears,

Some warmer passion will dispel thy cares. In man you'll find a more substantial bliss, More grateful toying and a sweeter kiss.

25

He's dead. Oh! lay him gently in the ground! And may his tomb be by this verse renown'd. 30 Here Shock, the pride of all his kind, is laid, Who fawn'd like man, but ne'er like man betray'd.

TRIVIA, OR THE ART OF WALKING
THE STREETS OF LONDON
BOOK I. Selections. (1716)
Through winter streets to steer your course
aright,

How to walk clean by day, and safe by night,
How jostling crowds, with prudence to decline,
When to assert1 the wall, and when resign,
I sing: thou, Trivia!2 goddess, aid my song,
Through spacious streets conduct thy bard

along;

5

By thee transported, I securely stray
Where winding alleys lead the doubtful way,
The silent court and opening square explore,
And long perplexing lanes untrod before.
To pave thy realm, and smooth the broken

ways,

10

Earth from her womb a flinty tribute pays;
For thee the sturdy paver thumps the ground,
Whilst every stroke his labouring lungs resound;
For thee the scavenger bids kennels glide
Within their bounds, and heaps of dirt subside.
My youthful bosom burns with thirst of fame,
From the great theme to build a glorious name,

15

1 To lay claim to; i. e. to take the best part of the walk next to the houses and farthest from the gutter.

2 From the Latin trivium, crossroads. Gay addresses Trivia as the goddess either of the streets or of trivial things.

Nor do less certain signs the Town advise Of milder weather and serener skies. The ladies, gaily dress'd, the Mall3 adorn With various dyes, and paint the sunny morn; The wanton fawns with frisking pleasure range,

And chirping sparrows greet the welcome change;

Not that their minds with greater skill are fraught,

Endued by instinct, or by reason taught,
The seasons operate on every breast;

40

'Tis hence that fawns are brisk, and ladies drest.

When on his box the nodding coachman snores, And dreams of fancied fares; when taverndoors

'The chairmen idly crowd, then ne'er refuse 45 To trust thy busy steps in thinner shoes. But when the swinging signs your ears offend With creaking noise, then rainy floods impend;

Soon shall the kennels swell with rapid streams,

And rush in muddy torrents to the Thames. 50
The bookseller, whose shop's an open square,
Foresees the tempest, and with early care
Of learning strips the rails: the rowing crew,
To tempt a fare, clothe all their tilts in
blue.

And with their vellum thunder shake the pile,

To greet the new-made bride. Are sounds like these

The proper prelude to a state of peace?
Now industry awakes her busy sons;

85

Full charg'd with news the breathless hawker runs;

Shops open, coaches roll, carts shake the ground,

And all the streets with passing cries resound. If cloth'd in black you tread the busy

When small-coal murmurs in the hoarser throat, From smutty dangers guard thy threaten'd coat;

100

The dust-man's, cart offends thy clothes and eyes,

When through the street a cloud of ashes flies;

But whether black or lighter dyes are worn, The chandler's basket, on his shoulder borne, With tallow spots thy coat; resign the way, 105 To shun the surly butcher's greasy tray; Butchers! whose hands are dy'd with blood's foul stain,

And always foremost in the hangman's train. Let due civilities be strictly paid;

The wall surrender to the hooded maid;

110

A district in London along the Thames, which was the centre of the fish trade.

tury.

Asses' milk was in great demand in the early 18th cen