Surrounded thus, and giddy with the shew,
'Tis hard for great men rightly to bestow
Hence then so few are skill'd in either case,
To ask with dignity, or give with grace.
Sometimes the great, seduc'd by love of parts,
Consult our genius, but neglect our hearts;
Pleas'd with the glittering sparks that genius flings,
They lift us tow'ring on the eagle's wings;
Mark out the flights by which themselves begun,
And teach our dazzled eyes to bear the sun,
Till we forget the hand that made us great,
And grow to envy, not to emulate.
To emulate a generous warmth, implies
To reach the virtues that make great men rise;
But envy wears a mean malignant face,
And aims not at their virtues, but their place.
Such to oblige, how vain is the pretence!
When every favor is a fresh offence,
By which superior power is still imply'd,
And while it helps the fortune, hurts the pride.
Slight is the hate neglect or hardships breed ;
But those who hate from envy, hate indeed.
Since so perplex'd the choice, whom shall we trust ?
Methinks, I hear thee cry, the brave, the just;
The man by no mean fears or hopes control'd,
Who serves thee from affection, not for gold!
We love the honest, and esteem the brave,
Despise the coxcomb, but detest the knave.
No shew of parts the truly wise seduce,
To think that knaves can be of real use.
The man who contradicts the public voice,
And strives to dignify a worthless choice,
Attempts a task that on the choice reflects,
And lends us light to point out new defects.
One worthless man that gains what he pretends,
Disgusts a thousand unpretending friends;
And since no art can make a counter pass,
Or add the weight of gold to mimic brass,
When princes to bad ore their image join,
They more debase the stamp than raise the coin.
Be thine that care, true merit to reward,
And gain that good; nor will the task be hard.
Souls found alike so quick by nature blend,
An honest man is more than half thy friend :
Him no mere views, no haste to rise, shall sway,
Thy choice to sully, or thy trust betray.
Ambition here shall at due distance stand,
Nor is wit dangerous in an honest hand;
Besides, if failings at the bottom lie,
He views those failings with a lover's eye.
Though small his genius, let him do his best,
Our wishes and belief supply the rest:
Let others barter servile faith for gold,
His friendship is not to be bought or sold.
Fierce opposition he unmov'd shall face,
Modest in favor, daring in disgrace:
To share thy adverse fate alone pretend,
In power a servant, out of power a friend.
Here pour thy favors in an ample flood,
Indulge thy boundless thirst of doing good.
Nor think that good alone to him confin'd;
Such to oblige is to oblige mankind.
If thus thy mighty master's steps thou trace,
The brave to cherish, and the good to grace,
Long shalt thou stand from rage and faction free,
And teach us long to love the king and thee;
Or fall a victim dangerous to the foe,
And make him tremble when he strikes the blow;
While honor, gratitude, affection join,
To deck thy close, and brighten thy decline.
Illustrious doom! the great when thus displac'd,
With friendship guarded, and with virtue grac'd,
In awful ruin, like Rome's senate, fall
The prey and worship of the wond'ring Gaul,
No doubt to genius some reward is due (Excluding that were satirising you): But yet believe thy undesigning friend; When truth and genius for thy choice contend, Though both have weight, when in the balance
Let probity be first, and parts be last.
On these foundations if thou dar'st be great, And check the growth of folly and deceit,
When party rage shall drop through length of days,
And calumny be ripen'd into praise,
Then future times shall to thy worth allow
That fame, which envy would call flattery now.
Thus far my zeal, though for the task unfit, Has pointed out the rocks where others split: By that inspir'd, though stranger to the Nine, And negligent of any fame but thine,
I take that friendly, but superfluous part, That acts from nature what I teach from art.
Worthy, Humane, Generous, Reverend, and Noble,
FREDERICK CORNWALLIS,
[Late Archbishop of Canterbury.]
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR M DCC LXIII.
In frolick's hour, ere serious thought had birth,
There was a time, my dear Cornwallis, when
Fancy would take me on her airy wing
And waft to views romantic; there display
Some motley vision, shade and sun: the cliff,
O'erhanging sparkling brooks and ruins grey,
Bade me meanders trace, and catch the form
Of varying clouds, and rainbows learn to paint.
Sometimes ambition, brushing by, would twitch My spirits, and with winning look sublime Allure to follow. What though steep the track, Her mountain's top would overpay, when climb'd, The scaler's toil; her temple there was fine, And lovely thence the prospects. She could tell
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