SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784)

The Vanity of Human Wishes

LET observation with extensive view, Survey mankind, from China to Peru; Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife,

And watch the busy scenes of crowded life:

Then say how hope and fear, desire and hate,

O'erspread with snares the clouded maze

of fate,

Where wav'ring man, betray'd by vent'rous pride,

To tread the dreary paths without a guide;

As treach'rous phantoms in the mist delude,

Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good. How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice,

Rules the bold hand, or prompts the sup

pliant voice;

How nations sink, by darling schemes oppress'd,

When vengeance listens to the fool's re

quest.

Fate wings with ev'ry wish th' afflictive dart,

Each gift of nature, and each grace of

art;

With fatal heat impetuous courage glows,

With fatal sweetness elocution flows; Impeachment stops the speaker's pow'rful breath,

And restless fire precipitates on death. But scarce observ'd, the knowing and the bold

Fall in the gen'ral massacre of gold; Wide-wasting pest; that rages unconfin'd, And crowds with crimes the records of mankind;

For gold his sword the hireling ruffian draws,

For gold the hireling judge distorts the

laws;

Wealth heap'd on wealth, nor truth nor safety buys,

The dangers gather as the treasures rise. Let hist'ry tell where rival kings com

mand,

And dubious title shakes the madded land,

When statutes glean the refuse of the sword,

How much more safe the vassal than the lord,

Low skulks the hind beneath the rage of pow'r,

And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tow'r,

Untouch'd his cottage, and his slumbers

sound,

Tho' confiscation's vultures hover round. The needy traveller, serene and gay, Walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away.

Does envy seize thee? crush th' upbraiding joy,

Increase his riches, and his peace destroy;
New fears in dire vicissitude invade,
The rustling brake alarms, and quiv'ring
shade;

Nor light nor darkness bring his pain relief,

One shews the plunder, and one hides the thief.

Yet still one gen'ral cry the skies assails,

And gain and grandeur load the tainted gales;

Few know the toiling statesman's fear or

care,

Th' insidious rival and the gaping heir. Once more, Democritus, arise on earth, With cheerful wisdom and instructive mirth,

See motley life in modern trappings dress'd,

And feed with varied fools th' eternal jest:

Thou who couldst laugh where want enchain'd caprice,

Toil crush'd conceit, and man was of a

piece;

Where wealth unlov'd without a mourner dy'd;

And scarce a sycophant was fed by pride; Where ne'er was known the form of

mock debate,

Or seen a new-made mayor's unwieldy

state;

Where change of fav'rites made no change of laws,

And senates heard before they judg'd a

cause;

How wouldst thou shake at Britain's

modish tribe,

Dart the quick taunt, and edge the piercing gibe?

Attentive truth and nature to decry, And pierce each scene with philosophic eye,

To thee were solemn toys or empty show, The robes of pleasure and the veils of

woe:

All aid the farce, and all thy mirth maintain,

Whose joys are causeless, or whose griefs are vain.

Such was the scorn that fill'd the sage's mind,

Renew'd at ev'ry glance on human kind; How just that scorn ere yet thy voice declare,

Search every state, and canvass ev'ry pray'r.

Unnumber'd suppliants crowd Prefer

ment's gate,

Athirst for wealth, and burning to be

great;

Delusive Fortune hears th' incessant call, They mount, they shine, evaporate, and fall.

On ev'ry stage the foes of peace attend, Hate dogs their flight, and insult mocks their end.

Love ends with hope, the sinking statesman's door

Pours in the morning worshipper no

more;

For growing names the weekly scribbler lies,

To growing wealth the dedicator flies;

From ev'ry room descends the painted face,

That hung the bright Palladium of the place,

And smok'd in kitchens, or in auctions sold,

To better features yields the frame of gold;

For now no more we trace in ev'ry line
Heroic worth, benevolence divine:
The form distorted justifies the fall,
And detestation rids th' indignant wall.
But will not Britain hear the last
appeal,

Sign her foes' doom, or guard her fav'rites' zeal?

Thro' Freedom's sons no more remonstrance rings,

Degrading nobles and controlling kings; Our supple tribes repress their patriot throats,

And ask no questions but the price of votes;

With weekly libels and septennial ale,
Their wish is full to riot and to rail.
In full-blown dignity, see Wolsey
stand,

Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand: To him the church, the realm, their pow'rs consign,

Thro' him the rays of regal bounty shine, Still to new heights his restless wishes

tow'r.

Claim leads to claim, and pow'r advances pow'r;

Till conquest unresisted ceas'd to please, And rights submitted, left him none to

seize.

At length his sovereign frowns-the train of state

Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate.

Where'er he turns he meets a stranger's eye,

His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly;

At once is lost the pride of awful state, The golden canopy, the glitt'ring plate, The regal palace, the luxurious board,

But hear his death, ye blockheads, hear and sleep.

The festal blazes, the triumphal show, The ravish'd standard, and the captive foe,

The senate's thanks, the gazette's pompous tale,

With force resistless o'er the brave prevail.

Such bribes the rapid Greek o'er Asia whirl'd,

For such the steady Romans shook the world;

For such in distant lands the Britons shine,

And stain with blood the Danube or the Rhine;

This pow'r has praise, that virtue scarce

can warm,

Till fame supplies the universal charm. Yet Reason frowns on War's unequal

game,

Where wasted nations raise a single

name,

And mortgag'd states their grandsires'

wreaths regret,

From age to age in everlasting debt; Wreaths which at last the dear-bought

right convey

To rust on medals, or on stones decay. On what foundation stands the warrior's pride,

How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide;

A frame of adamant, a soul of fire,

No dangers fright him, and no labours tire;

O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain,

Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain;

No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, War sounds the trump, he rushes to the

field;

Behold surrounding kings their pow'rs

combine,

And one capitulate, and one resign; Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain;

"Think nothing gain'd," he cries, "till nought remain,

On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly,

And all be mine beneath the polar sky."
The march begins in military state,
And nations on his eye suspended wait;
Stern Famine guards the solitary coast,
And Winter barricades the realms of
Frost;

He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay;

Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's day:

The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands,

And shews his miseries in distant lands; Condemn'd a needy supplicant to wait, While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. But did not Chance at length her error mend?

Did no subverted empire mark his end?
Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound?
Or hostile millions press him to the
ground?

His fall was destin'd to a barren strand,
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand;
He left the name, at which the world

grew pale,

To point a moral, or adorn a tale.

All times their scenes of pompous woes afford,

From Persia's tyrant, to Bavaria's lord. In gay hostility, and barb'rous pride, With half mankind embattled at his side, Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain

prey,

And starves exhausted regions in his way;

Attendant Flatt'ry counts his myriads

o'er,

Till counted myriads soothe his pride no

more;

Fresh praise is try'd till madness fires his mind,

The waves he lashes, and enchains the wind;

New pow'rs are claim'd, new pow'rs are still bestow'd,

With listless eyes the dotard views the store,

He views, and wonders that they please

no more:

Now pall the tasteless meats, and joyless wines,

And Luxury with sighs her slave resigns. Approach, ye minstrels, try the soothing strain,

And yield the tuneful lenitives of pain: No sounds, alas, would touch th' impervious ear

Though dancing mountains witness'd Orpheus near,

Nor lute nor lyre his feeble pow'r attend, Nor sweeter musick of a virtuous friend, But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue, Perversely grave or positively wrong. The still returning tale, and ling'ring

jest,

Perplex the fawning niece and pamper'd

guest,

While growing hopes scarce awe the gath'ring sneer,

And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear; The watchful guests still hint the last offence,

The daughter's petulance, the son's expence,

Improve his heady rage with treach'rous skill,

And mould his passions till they make his will.

Unnumber'd maladies his joints invade, Lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade;

But unextinguish'd Av'rice still remains, And dreaded losses aggravate his pains; He turns, with anxious heart and crippled hands,

His bonds of debt, and mortgages of lands;

Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes, Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies.

But grant, the virtues of a temp'rate prime

Bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime: