Methinks I fee, as thrown from her high sphere,
The glorious fragments of a foul immortal,
With rubbish mix'd, and glittering in the duft.
Struck at the fplendid, melancholy fight,
At once compassion soft, and envy, rife-
But wherefore envy? Talents angel-bright,
If wanting worth, are fhining inftruments
In falfe ambition's hand, to finish faults
Illuftrious, and give infamy renown.
Great ill is an atchievement of great powers.
Plain fenfe but rarely leads us far aftray.
Reafon the means, affections chule our end;
Means have no merit, if our end amifs.
If wrong our hearts, our heads are right in vain;
What is a Pelham's head, to Pelham's heart?
Hearts are proprietors of all applaufe.
Right ends, and means, make wifdom: Worldly-wife
Is but half-witted, at its higheft praife.
Let genius then despair to make thee great;
Nor flatter fation: What is ftation high?
'Tis a proud mendicant; it boasts, and begs;
It begs an alms of homage from the throng,
And oft the throng denies its charity.
Monarchs and minifters are awful names;
Whoever wear them, challenge our devoir.
Religion, public order, both exact
External homage, and a fupple knee,
To beings pompously fet up, to ferve
The meanest flave; all more is merit's due,
Her facred and inviolable right;
Nor ever paid the monarch, but the man.
Our hearts ne'er bow but to fuperior worth;
Nor ever fail of their allegiance there.
Fools, indeed, drop the man in their account,
And vote the mantle into majefty.
Let the fmall favage boaft his filver fur;
His royal robe unborrow'd, and unbought,
His own, defcending fairly from his fires.
Shall man be proud to wear his livery,
And fouls in ermin fcorn a foul without?
Can place or leffen us, or aggrandize?
Pygmies are pygmies ftill, though perch'd on Alps;
And pyramids are pyramids in vales.
Each man makes his own ftature, builds himself:
Virtue alone outbuilds the pyramids :
Her monuments fhall last, when Egypt's fall.
Of thefe fure truths doft thou demand the cause?
The caufe is lodg'd in immortality.
Hear, and affent. Thy bofom burns for power;
What ftation charms thee? I'll inftall thee there;
'Tis thine. And art thou greater than before?
Then thou before waft fomething less than man.
Has thy new poft betray'd thee into pride?
That treacherous pride betrays thy dignity;
That pride defames humanity, and calls
The being mean, which faffs or firings can raife.
That pride, like hooded hawks, in darkness foars,
From blindness bold, and towering to the skies.
"Tis born of ignorance, which knows not man;
An angel's fecond; nor his fecond, long.
A Nero quitting his imperial throne,
And courting glory from the tinkling string,
But faintly shadows an immortal soul,
With empire's self, to pride, or rapture, fir'd.
If nobler motives minister no cure,
Ev'n vanity forbids thee to be vain.
High worth is elevated place: 'tis more; It makes the post stand candidate for Thee; Makes more than monarchs, makes an honest man; Though no exchequer it commands, 'tis wealth; And though it wears no ribband, 'tis renown;
Renown, that would not quit thee, though difgrac'd,
Nor leave thee pendent on a master's smile.
Other ambition nature interdicts;
Nature proclaims it most absurd in man,
By pointing at his origin, and end;
Milk, and a swathe, at firft, his whole demand;
His whole domain, at laft, a turf, or stone;
To whom, between, a world may feem too fmall.
Souls truly great dart forward on the wing
Of just ambition, to the grand refult,
The curtain's fall; there, fee the buskin'd chief
Unfhod behind this momentary scene;
Reduc'd to his own ftature, low or high,
As vice, or virtue, finks him, or fublimes;
And laugh at this fantastic mummery,
This antic prelude of grotesque events,
Where dwarfs are often ftilted, and betray,
A littleness of foul by worlds o'er-run,
And nations laid in blood. Dread facrifice
To Chriftian pride! which had with horror shock'd
The darkest pagans offer'd to their gods.
O thou moft Chriftian enemy to peace!
Again in arms? Again provoking fate?
That prince, and That alone, is truly great,
Who draws the fword reluctant, gladly fheathes;
On empire builds what empire far outweighs,
And makes his throne a scaffold to the fkies.
Why this fo rare? Because forgot of all
The day of death; that venerable day,
Which fits as judge; that day," which fhall pronounce
On all our days, abfolve them, or condemn.
Lorenzo, never shut thy thought against it;
Be levees ne'er fo full, afford it room,
And give it audience in the cabinet.
That friend confulted, flatteries apart,
Will tell the fair, if thou art great, or mean.
To doat on aught may leave us, or be left,
Is That ambition? Then let flames defcend,
Point to the centre their inverted fpires,
And learn humiliation from a foul,
Which boasts her lineage from celestial fire.
Yet these are they the world pronounces wife;
The world, which cancels nature's right and wrong,
And cafts new wisdom: ev'n the grave man lends
His folemn face, to countenance the coin.
Wisdom for parts is madness for the whole.
This ftamps the paradox, and gives us leave
To call the wifeft weak, the richest poor,
The most ambitious, unambitious, mean;
In triumph, mean; and abject, on a throne.
Nothing can make it less than mad in man,
To put forth all his ardour, all his art,
And give his foul her full unbounded flight,
But reaching Him, who gave her wings to fly.
When blind ambition quite mistakes her road,
And downward pores, for that which shines above,
Subftantial happiness, and true renown;
Then, like an idiot, gazing on the brook,
We leap at stars, and fasten in the mud;
At glory grafp, and fink in infamy.
Ambition! powerful source of good and ill!
Thy ftrength in man, like length of wing in birds, 400
When difengag'd from earth, with greater ease
And swifter flight transports us to the skies;
By toys entangled, or in guilt bemir'd,
It turns a curfe; it is our chain, and scourge,
In this dark dungeon, where confin'd we lie,
Close-grated by the fordid bars of sense;
All profpect of eternity shut out;
And, but for execution, ne'er fet free.
With error in ambition justly charg'd,
Find we Lorenzo wifer in his wealth?
What if thy rental I reform? and draw
Where thy true treafure? Gold fays, "Not in me :"
An inventory new to fet thee right?
And, "Not in me," the diamond. Gold is poor;
India 's infolvent: feek it in thyself,
Seek in thy naked self, and find it there;
In being fo defcended, form'd, endow'd;
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