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Were I - who
to my cost already am
One of those strange,
prodigious creatures, man -
A spirit free to choose
for my own share
What sort of flesh and blood I
pleased to wear,
I'd be a dog, a monkey, or a bear,
Or anything but that vain animal,
Who is so proud of
being rational.
His senses are too gross; and
he'll contrive
A sixth, to contradict the other five;
And before certain instinct will prefer
Reason, which
fifty times for one does err.
Reason, an ignis fatuus
of the mind,
Which leaving light of nature, sense,
behind,
Pathless and dangerous wand'ring ways it
takes,
Through Error's fenny bogs and thorny brakes;
Whilst the misguided follower climbs with pain
Mountains of whimsey's, heaped in his own brain;
Stumbling from thought to thought, falls headlong down,
Into Doubt's boundless sea where, like to drown,
Books bear him up awhile, and make him try
To swim
with bladders of Philosophy;
In hopes still to
o'ertake the escaping light;
The vapour dances, in
his dancing sight,
Till spent, it leaves him to
eternal night.
Then old age and experience, hand in
hand,
Lead him to death, make him to understand,
After a search so painful, and so long,
That all his
life he has been in the wrong:
Huddled In dirt
the reasoning engine lies,
Who was so proud, so
witty, and so wise.
Pride drew him in, as cheats
their bubbles catch,
And made him venture; to be made
a wretch.
His wisdom did has happiness destroy,
Aiming to know that world he should enjoy;
And Wit
was his vain, frivolous pretence
Of pleasing others,
at his own expense.
For wits are treated just like
common whores,
First they're enjoyed, and then kicked
out of doors;
The pleasure past, a threatening doubt
remains,
That frights th' enjoyer with succeeding
pains:
Women and men of wit are dangerous tools,
And ever fatal to admiring fools.
Pleasure allures,
and when the fops escape,
'Tis not that they're
beloved, but fortunate,
And therefore what they fear,
at heart they hate:
But now, methinks some formal
band and beard
Takes me to task; come on sir, I'm
prepared:
"Then by your Favour, anything that's
writ
Against this jibing, jingling knack called Wit
Likes me abundantly: but you take care
Upon this
point not to be too severe.
Perhaps my Muse were
fitter for this part,
For I profess I can be very
smart
On Wit, which I abhor with all my heart;
I
long to lash it in some sharp essay,
But your grand
indiscretion bids me stay,
And turns my tide of ink
another way.
What rage Torments in your degenerate
mind,
To make you rail at reason, and mankind
Blessed glorious man! To whom alone kind heaven
An
everlasting soul hath freely given;
Whom his great
maker took such care to make,
That from himself he
did the image take;
And this fair frame in shining
reason dressed,
To dignify his nature above beast.
Reason, by whose aspiring influence
We take a flight
beyond material sense,
Dive into mysteries, then
soaring pierce
The flaming limits of the universe,
Search heaven and hell, Find out what's acted there,
And give the world true grounds of hope and fear."
Hold mighty man, I cry, all this we know,
From
the pathetic pen of Ingelo;
From Patrlck's Pilgrim,
Sibbes' Soliloquies,
And 'tis this very reason I
despise,
This supernatural gift that makes a mite
Think he's an image of the infinite;
Comparing his
short life, void of all rest,
To the eternal, and the
ever-blessed.
This busy, pushing stirrer-up of doubt,
That frames deep mysteries, then finds them out;
Filling with frantic crowds of thinking fools
The
reverend bedlam's, colleges and schools;
Borne on
whose wings each heavy sot can pierce
The limits of
the boundless universe;
So charming ointments make an
old witch fly,
And bear a crippled carcass through
the sky.
'Tis the exalted power whose business lies
In nonsense and impossibilities.
This made a
whimsical philosopher
Before the spacious world his
tub prefer,
And we have modern cloistered coxcombs,
who
Retire to think 'cause they have nought to do.
But thoughts are given for action's government;
Where
action ceases, thought's impertinent:
Our sphere of
action is life's happiness,
And he that thinks beyond
thinks like an ass.
Thus, whilst against false
reasoning I inveigh.
I own right reason, which I
would obey:
That reason which distinguishes by sense,
And gives us rules of good and ill from thence;
That
bounds desires. with a reforming will
To keep 'em
more in vigour, not to kill. -
Your reason hinders,
mine helps to enjoy,
Renewing appetites yours would
destroy.
My reason is my friend, yours is a cheat,
Hunger calls out, my reason bids me eat;
Perversely.
yours your appetite does mock:
This asks for food,
that answers, 'what's o'clock'
This plain
distinction, sir, your doubt secures,
'Tis not true
reason I despise, but yours.
Thus I think reason
righted, but for man,
I'll ne'er recant, defend him
if you can:
For all his pride, and his philosophy,
'Tis evident: beasts are in their own degree
As wise
at least, and better far than he.
Those creatures
are the wisest who attain. -
By surest means. the
ends at which they aim.
If therefore Jowler finds and
kills the hares,
Better than Meres supplies committee
chairs;
Though one's a statesman, th' other but a
hound,
Jowler in justice would be wiser found.
You
see how far man's wisdom here extends.
Look next if
human nature makes amends;
Whose principles are most
generous and just,
- And to whose morals you would
sooner trust:
Be judge yourself, I'll bring it to
the test,
Which is the basest creature, man or beast
Birds feed on birds, beasts on each other prey,
But
savage man alone does man betray:
Pressed by
necessity; they kill for food,
Man undoes man, to do
himself no good.
With teeth and claws, by nature
armed, they hunt
Nature's allowance, to supply their
want.
But man, with smiles, embraces. friendships.
Praise,
Inhumanely his fellow's life betrays;
With
voluntary pains works his distress,
Not through
necessity, but wantonness.
For hunger or for love
they bite, or tear,
Whilst wretched man is still in
arms for fear.
For fear he arms, and is of arms
afraid:
From fear, to fear, successively betrayed.
Base fear, the source whence his best passions came.
His boasted honour, and his dear-bought fame.
The
lust of power, to whom he's such a slave,
And for the
which alone he dares be brave;
To which his various
projects are designed,
Which makes him generous,
affable, and kind.
For which he takes such pains to
be thought wise,
And screws his actions, in a forced
disguise;
Leads a most tedious life in misery,
Under laborious, mean hypocrisy.
Look to the bottom
of his vast design,
Wherein man's wisdom, power, and
glory join:
The good he acts. the ill he does endure.
'Tis all from fear, to make himself secure.
Merely
for safety after fame they thirst,
For all men would
be cowards if they durst.
And honesty's against all
common sense,
Men must be knaves, 'tis in their own
defence.
Mankind's dishonest: if you think it fair
Among known cheats to play upon the square,
You'll be
undone.
Nor can weak truth your reputation save,
The knaves will all agree to call you knave.
Wronged
shall he live, insulted o'er, oppressed,
Who dares be
less a villain than the rest.
Thus sir, you see
what human nature craves,
Most men are cowards, all
men should be knaves;
The difference lies, as far as
I can see.
Not in the thing itself, but the degree;
And all the subject matter of debate
Is only, who's a
knave of the first rate
All this with indignation
have I hurled
At the pretending part of the proud
world,
Who, swollen with selfish vanity, devise,
False freedoms, holy cheats, and formal lies,
Over
their fellow slaves to tyrannise.
But if in Court
so just a man there be,
(In Court, a just man - yet
unknown to me)
Who does his needful flattery direct
Not to oppress and ruin, but protect:
Since flattery,
which way soever laid,
Is still a tax: on that
unhappy trade.
If so upright a statesman you can
find,
Whose passions bend to his unbiased mind,
Who does his arts and policies apply
To raise his
country, not his family;
Nor while his pride owned
avarice withstands,
Receives close bribes, from
friends corrupted hands.
Is there a churchman who
on God relies
Whose life, his faith and doctrine
justifies
Not one blown up, with vain prelatic pride,
Who for reproofs of sins does man deride;
Whose
envious heart makes preaching a pretence
With his
obstreperous, saucy eloquence,
To chide at kings, and
rail at men of sense;
Who from his pulpit vents more
peevlsh lies,
More bitter railings, scandals,
calumnies,
Than at a gossiping are thrown about
When the good wives get drunk, and then fall out.
None of that sensual tribe, whose talents lie
In
avarice, pride, sloth, and gluttony.
Who hunt good
livings; but abhor good lives,
Whose lust exalted, to
that height arrives,
They act adultery with their own
wives.
And ere a score of years completed be,
Can
from the loftiest pulpit proudly see,
Half a large
parish their own progeny.
Nor doting bishop, who
would be adored
For domineering at the Council board;
A greater fop, in business at fourscore,
Fonder
of serious toys, affected more,
Than the gay,
glittering fool at twenty proves,
With all his noise,
his tawdry clothes and loves.
But a meek, humble man,
of honest sense,
Who preaching peace does practise
continence;
Whose pious life's a proof he does
believe
Mysterious truths which no man can conceive.
If upon Earth there dwell such god-like men,
I'll
here recant my paradox to them,
Adores those shrines
of virtue, homage pay,
And with the rabble world
their laws obey.
If such there are, yet grant me
this at least,
Man differs more from man than man
from beast.
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