Oh, wealth ill-fated! Some greedy minion, or imperious wife. The trophied arches, storeyed halls invade And haunt their slumbers in the pompous shade. See the sole bliss Heaven could on all bestow! For Him alone, hope leads from goal to goal, And opens still, and opens on his soul! Till lengthened on to faith, and unconfined, It pours the bliss that fills up all the mind He sees, why Nature plants in man alone Hope of known bliss, and faith in bliss unknown: Nature, whose dictates to no other kind Are given in vain, but what they seek they find Wise is her present; she connects in this His greatest virtue with his greatest bliss; At once his own bright prospect to be blest, And strongest motive to assist the rest.
Is this too little for the boundless heart? God loves from whole to parts: but human soul Must rise from individual to the whole. Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake! Come, then, my friend! When statesmen, heroes, kings, in dust repose, Whose sons shall blush their fathers were thy foes, Shall then this verse to future age pretend Thou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend? Father of all! 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.
General maxims, unless they be formed upon both, will be but notional, v. Some Peculiarity in every man, characteristic to himself, yet varying from himself, v.
شرح قصيدة Alexander Pope, Essay on man
Difficulties arising from our own Passions, Fancies, Faculties, etc. The shortness of Life, to observe in, and the uncertainty of the Principles of action in men, to observe by, v. Our own Principle of action often hid from ourselves, v. Some few Characters plain, but in general confounded, dissembled, or inconsistent, v. The same man utterly different in different places and seasons, v. Unimaginable weaknesses in the greatest, v. Nothing constant and certain but God and Nature, v.
No judging of the Motives from the actions; the same actions proceeding from contrary Motives, and the same Motives influencing contrary actions v. Characters given according to the rank of men of the world, v. And some reason for it, v. Education alters the Nature, or at least Character of many, v. No judging by Nature, from v. 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.
Instanced in the extraordinary character of Clodio, v. A caution against mistaking second qualities for first, which will destroy all possibility of the knowledge of mankind, v. Examples of the strength of the Ruling Passion, and its continuation to the last breath, v. 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.
And yet the fate of all extremes is such, Men may be read as well as books, too much. Grant but as many sorts of mind as moss. Our depths who fathoms, or our shallows finds, Quick whirls, and shifting eddies, of our minds? 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.
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. When flattery glares, all hate it in a queen, While one there is who charms us with his spleen. But these plain characters we rarely find; Though strong the bent, yet quick the turns of mind: Or puzzling contraries confound the whole; Or affectations quite reverse the soul.
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See the same man, in vigour, in the gout; Alone, in company; in place, or out; Early at business, and at hazard late; Mad at a fox-chase, wise at a debate; Drunk at a borough, civil at a ball; Friendly at Hackney, faithless at Whitehall. Catius is ever moral, ever grave, Thinks who endures a knave is next a knave, Save just at dinner—then prefers, no doubt, A rogue with venison to a saint without. He thanks you not, his pride is in piquet, Newmarket-fame, and judgment at a bet. What made say Montagne, or more sage Charron Otho a warrior, Cromwell a buffoon?
A perjured prince a leaden saint revere, A godless regent tremble at a star? The throne a bigot keep, a genius quit, Faithless through piety, and duped through wit? Europe a woman, child, or dotard rule, And just her wisest monarch made a fool? Know, God and Nature only are the same: In man, the judgment shoots at flying game, A bird of passage!
In vain the sage, with retrospective eye, Would from the apparent what conclude the why, Infer the motive from the deed, and show, That what we chanced was what we meant to do. Not always actions show the man: we find Who does a kindness, is not therefore kind; Perhaps prosperity becalmed his breast, Perhaps the wind just shifted from the east: Not therefore humble he who seeks retreat, Pride guides his steps, and bids him shun the great: Who combats bravely is not therefore brave, He dreads a death-bed like the meanest slave: Who reasons wisely is not therefore wise, His pride in reasoning, not in acting lies.
But grant that actions best discover man; Take the most strong, and sort them as you can. The few that glare each character must mark; You balance not the many in the dark. What will you do with such as disagree?
Essay on Man by Pope
Suppress them, or miscall them policy? Must then at once the character to save The plain rough hero turn a crafty knave? But, sage historians!
Though the same sun with all-diffusive rays Blush in the rose, and in the diamond blaze, We prize the stronger effort of his power, And justly set the gem above the flower. Boastful and rough, your first son is a squire; The next a tradesman, meek, and much a liar; Tom struts a soldier, open, bold, and brave; Will sneaks a scrivener, an exceeding knave: Is he a Churchman?
That gay Freethinker, a fine talker once, What turns him now a stupid silent dunce? Some god, or spirit he has lately found: Or chanced to meet a minister that frowned. Judge we by Nature? Manners with fortunes, humours turn with climes, Tenets with books, and principles with times. Search then the ruling passion: there, alone, The wild are constant, and the cunning known; The fool consistent, and the false sincere; Priests, princes, women, no dissemblers here.
Candide flees after landing in Buenos Aires because
This clue once found, unravels all the rest, The prospect clears, and Wharton stands confest. Shall parts so various aim at nothing new! Thus with each gift of nature and of art, And wanting nothing but an honest heart; Grown all to all, from no one vice exempt; And most contemptible, to shun contempt: His passion still, to covet general praise, His life, to forfeit it a thousand ways; A constant bounty which no friend has made; An angel tongue, which no man can persuade; A fool, with more of wit than half mankind, Too rash for thought, for action too refined: A tyrant to the wife his heart approves; A rebel to the very king he loves; He dies, sad outcast of each church and state, And, harder still!
Ask you why Wharton broke through every rule? Nature well known, no prodigies remain, Comets are regular, and Wharton plain. Yet, in this search, the wisest may mistake, If second qualities for first they take.
Lucullus, when frugality could charm, Had roasted turnips in the Sabine farm. In this one passion man can strength enjoy, As fits give vigour, just when they destroy. Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand, Yet tames not this; it sticks to our last sand. Consistent in our follies and our sins, Here honest Nature ends as she begins.
Behold a reverend sire, whom want of grace Has made the father of a nameless race, Shoved from the wall perhaps, or rudely pressed By his own son, that passes by unblessed: Still to his haunt he crawls on knocking knees, And envies every sparrow that he sees. Is there no hope! And you! How many pictures of one nymph we view, All how unlike each other, all how true! Here Fannia, leering on her own good man, And there, a naked Leda with a swan. Come then, the colours and the ground prepare!
Dip in the rainbow, trick her off in air; Choose a firm cloud, before it fall, and in it Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute. How soft is Silia! Sudden, she storms! You tip the wink, But spare your censure; Silia does not drink. All eyes may see from what the change arose, All eyes may see—a pimple on her nose. Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name? A fool to pleasure, yet a slave to fame: Now deep in Taylor and the Book of Martyrs, Now drinking citron with his grace and Chartres: Now Conscience chills her, and now Passion burns; And Atheism and Religion take their turns; A very heathen in the carnal part, Yet still a sad, good Christian at her heart.
Online Library of Liberty
What has not fired her bosom or her brain? Say, what can cause such impotence of mind? A spark too fickle, or a spouse too kind. Wise wretch! Or her, whose life the Church and scandal share, For ever in a passion, or a prayer. Woman and fool are two hard things to hit; For true no-meaning puzzles more than wit. Scarce once herself, by turns all womankind!
No thought advances, but her eddy brain Whisks it about, and down it goes again. Full sixty years the world has been her trade, The wisest fool much time has ever made From loveless youth to unrespected age, No passion gratified except her rage.