EPISTLE XIII.

ΤΟ

MR. POPE.

By the Same.

HEAVEN in the human breast implants
Fit appetites for all our wants;

With hunger prompts to strength'ning food,
With love of praise to public good;

These to their objects strait convey,
While reason winds her tardy way.

Yet in one centre should unite,
Faith, instinct, reason, appetite;
One perfect plan ordain'd to trace,
And nature dignify with grace;
In one great system meant to roll,
To move, support, and guide the whole.

But some there are who rigid blame The mind that thirsts for righteous fame

And with weak lights presumptuous scan
The springs which move predestin'd man.
And some there are, (accurs'd their art!)
Though all the Nine their charms impart,
Who in false forms of great and just,
Clothe av❜rice, treachery, rage and lust :
As if superior beings suit

Those attributes which sink the brute.
But vainly chime the partial lays,
Chaste Fame rejects all spurious praise.
She, fairest offspring of the skies,
The goddess of the brave and wise,
Whose sacred impulse prompts the best
To succour and preserve the rest,
Is deaf to every private call,
And wakes but at the voice of all.

From heaps of ill-collected gain,
From hecatombs by heroes slain,
From courts, where guilty greatness dwells,
She flies to penury and cells;

With Erskine, pious exile, goes,
To sooth a drooping father's woes;
Or mingling with the orphan-train,
She sings the bounties of Germain.
Nor pow'r, nor policy of state,
Can ever give intrinsic weight:
And should fallacious art display
O'er titled dross a golden ray,

Still baser through detecting years,

The speckled counterfeit appears.

But when from proof, fair issuing forth, The ore asserts its native worth; Then, sov'reign Bard, 'tis justly thine To stamp the well-attested coin; And consecrated with thy name, To treasure in the stores of Fame.

EPISTLE XIV.

TO A LADY.

By the Same.

CLARINDA, dearly lov'd, attend
The counsels of a faithful friend;
Who with the warmest wishes fraught,
Feels all, at least, that friendship ought.
But since by ruling Heav'n's design,
Another's fate shall influence thine;
O! may these lines for him prepare
A bliss, which I would die to share !

Man may for wealth or glory roam, But woman must be blest at home; To this should all her studies tend, This her great object and her end. Distaste unmingled pleasures bring, And use can blunt affliction's sting; Hence perfect bliss no mortals know, And few are plung'd in utter woe; While nature arm'd against despair, Gives pow'r to mend, or strength to bear;

And half the thought content may gain,
Which spleen employs to purchase pain.

Trace not the fair domestic plan, From what you would, but what you can! Nor, peevish, spurn the scanty store, Because you think you merit more! Bliss ever differs in degree,

Thy share alone is meant for thee;

And thou should'st think, however small,
That share enough, for 'tis thy all:
Vain scorn will aggravate distress,
And only make that little less.

Admit whatever trifles come, Units compose the largest sum: O! tell them o'er, and say how vain Are those which form ambition's train : Which swell the monarch's gorgeous state, And bribe to ill the guilty Great!

But thou more blest, more wise than these, Shalt build up happiness on ease,

Hail sweet Content! where joy serene Gilds the mild soul's unruffled scene; And with blith fancy's pencil wrought, Spreads the white web of flowing thought; Shines lovely in the cheerful face,

And clothes each charm with native grace;