EPISTLE I.

TO SIR RICHARD TEMPLE, LORD COBHAM.

Of the Knowledg⋅ and Characters of Men.

THE ARGUMENT.

I. THAT it is not fufficient for this knowledge to confider man in the abftract: books will not

ferve the purpose, nor yet our own experience fingly, ver. 1. General maxims, unless they be formed upon both, will but be notional, ver. 10. Some peculiarity in every man, characteristic to himself, yet varying from himself, ver. 15. Difficulties arifing from our own paffions, fancies, faculties, &c. ver. 31. The fhortnefs of life to obferve in, and the uncertainty of the principles of action in men to obferve by, ver. 37, &c. Our own principle of action often hid from ourfelves, ver. 41. Some few characters plain, but in general confounded, diffembled, or inconfiftent, ver. 51. The fame man utterly different in different places and feafons, ver. 71. Unimaginat le weakneffes in the greatest, ver. 70. &c. Nothing conftant and certain but God and nature, ver. 95. No judging of the motives from the actions; the fame actions proceeding from contrary motives, and the fame motives influencing contrary actions, ver. 100. II Yet, to form characters, we can only take the strongest actions of a man's life, and try to make them agree: the utter uncertainty of this, from nature itself and from policy, ver. 120. Characters given according to the rank of men of the world, ver. 135. And fome reafon for it, ver. 140. Education alters the nature, or at leaft character, of many, ver. 149. Actions, passions, opinions, manners, humours, or principles, all fubject to change. No judging by nature, from ver. 158. to ver. 178. Ill. It only remains to find (if we 'can) his ruling paffion: that will certainly influence all the reft, and can reconcile the feeming or real inconfiftency of all his actions, ver. 175. Inftanced in the extraordinary character of Clodio, ver. 179 A caution against mifaking fecond qualities for first, which will deftroy all poffibility of the knowledge of mankind, ver 210. Examples of the strength of the ruling paffion, and its continuation to the laft breath, ver. 222, &c.

Yes, you defpife the man to books confin'd,
Who from his ftudy rails at human kind;
Though what he learns he fpeaks, and may ad-

vance

Some general maxims, or be right by chance.
The coxcomb bird, fo talkative and grave,
That from his cage criescuckold, whore, and knave,
Though many a paffenger he rightly call,
You hold him no philofopher at all.

And yet the fate of all extremes is fuch,
Men may be read, as well as books, too much. ΙΟ
To obfervations which ourselves we make,
We grow more partial for th' obferver's fake;
To written wisdom, as another's, lefs :
Maxims are drawn from notions, thefe from guess.

Yet more; the difference is as great between The optics feeing, as the objects feen. All manners take a tincture from our own; Or come difcolour'd through our paffions shown. Or fancy's beam enlarges, multiplies, Contracts, inverts, and gives ten thousand dyes.

41

Nor will life's ftream for obfervation stay, It hurries all too faft to mark their way: In vain fedate reflections we would make, [take. When half our knowledge we must snatch, not Oft, in the paffion's wild rotation toft, Our fpring of action to ourselves is loft: Fir'd, not determin'd, to the last we yield, And what comes then is master of the field. As the laft image of that troubled heap, When fenfe fublides and fancy fports in fleep, (Though paft the recollection of the thought), Becomes the ftuff of which our dream is wrought: Something as dim to our internal view, Is thus, perhaps, the cause of most we do.

50

True, fome are open, and to all men known; Others, fo very clofe, they're hid from none; (So darkness ftrikes the fenfe no less than light), Thus gracious Chandos is belov'd at fight; And every chi d hates Shylock, though his foul Still fits at fquat, and peeps not from its hole. At half mankind when generous Manly raves, All know 'tis virtue, for he thinks them knaves: When univerfal homage Umbra pays, All fee 'tis vice, and itch of vulgar praife. When flattery glares, all hate it in a queen, While one there is who charms us with his spleen. But these plain characters we rarely find: Though ftrong the bent, yet quick the turns of

mind:

Or puzzling contraries confound the whole;
Or affectations quite reverse the foul.
The dull, flat falfchood ferves, for policy;
And in the cunning, truth itself's a lie:
Unthought-of frailties cheat us in the wife;
The fool lies hid in inconfiftencies.

See the fame man, in vigour, in the gout;
Alone, in company; in place, or out;
Early at business, and at hazard late;
Mad at a fox chase, wife at a debate;
Drunk at a borough, civil at a ball;
Friendly at Hackney, faithlefs at Whitehall.

Catius is ever m ral, ever grave, Thinks who endures a knave, is next a knave,

60

70

Who would not praise Patricio's high defert, His hand unftain'd, his uncorrupted heart, His comprehensive head! all interests weigh'd, All Europe fav'd, yet Britain not betray'd. He thanks you not, his pride is in picquette, Newmarket fame, and judgment at a bett. What inade (fay, Montagne, or more fage Charron !)

Otho a warrior, Cromwell a buffoon?
A perjur'd prince a leaden faint revere,
A godlefs regent tremble at a star?
The throne a bigot keep, a genius quit,
Faithlefs through piety, and dup'd through wit?
Europe a woman, child, or dotard rule,
And juft her wifeft monarch made a fool?

Know, God and nature only are the fame :
In man, the judgment shoots at flying game;
A bird of paffage! gone as foon as found,
New in the moon perhaps, now under ground.
In vain the fage, with retrospective eye,
Would from th' apparent What conclude the Why,
Infer the motive from the deed, and show,

ΙΘΙ

110

That what we chanc'd was what we meant to do.
Behold if fortune or a mistress frowns,
Some plunge in bufinefs, others fhave their crowns:
To cafe the foul of one oppreffive weight,
This quits an empire, that embroils a ftate:
The fame aduft complexion has impell d
Charles to the convent, Philip to the field.
Not always actions fhow the man: we find
Who does a kindness is not therefore kind :
Perhaps profperity becalm'd his breast,
Perhaps the wind just shifted from the eaft:
Not therefore humble he who feeks retreat,
Pride guides his fteps, and bids him shun the great:
Who combats bravely is not therefore brave,
He dreads a death-bed like the meanest slave:
Who reafons wifely is not therefore wife,
His pride in reasoning, not in acting, lies.

119

But grant that actions best discover man; Take the moft ftrong, and fort them as you can. The few that glare, each character must mark, You balance not the many in the dark. What will you do with fuch as difagree? Suppress them, or miscall them policy? Muft then at once (the character to fave) The plain rough hero turn a crafty knave? Alas! in truth the man but chang'd his mind, Perhaps was fick, in love, or had not din'd. Af why from Britain Cæfar would retreat? Cæfar himself might whisper, he was beat.

130

Why risk the world's great empire for a punk? Cæfar perhaps might anfwer, he was drunk. But, fage hiftorians! 'tis your task to prove One action, conduct; one, heroic love.

'Tis from high life high characters are drawn: A faint in crape is twice a faint in lawn; A judge is just a chancellor juster still; A gownman, learn'd; a bishop, what you will; Wife, if a minister; but, if a king,

More wife, more learn'd, more juft, more every thing. 140

Court-virtues bear, like gems, the highest rate,
Born where heaven's influence fcarce can penetrate:
In life's low vale, the foil the virtues like,
They please as beauties, here as wonder strike.
Though the fame fun with all-diffufive rays
Blush in the rofe, and in the diamond blaze,
We prize the ftronger effort of his power,
And justly fet the gem above the flower.

'Tis education forms the common mind; Juft as the twig is bent, the tree's inclin'd. Boaftful and rough, your first son is a 'fquire;

he next a tradefman, meek, and much a liar;
Tom ftruts a foldier, open, bold, and brave;
Will fneaks a fcrivener, an exceeding knave:
Is he a churchman? then he's fond of power:
A Quaker? fly: A Prefbyterian? four:
A fmart Free-thinker? all things in an hour.

Afk men's opinions: Scoto now shall tell
How trade increases, and the world goes well;
Strike off his penfion, by the fetting fun,
And Britain, if not Europe, is undone.

>

160

170

That gay Free-thinker, a fine talker once, What turns him now a stupid, filent dunce ? Some god, or fpirit, he ha- lately found; Or chanc'd to meet a minifter that frown'd. Judge we by nature? Habit can efface, Intereft o'ercome, or policy take place: By action? thofe uncertainty divides! By paflions thefe diffimulation hides: Opinions? they ftill take a wider range : Find, if you can, in what you cannot change. Manners with fortunes, humours turn with climes, Tenets with books, and principles with times. Search then the ruling paffion: There, alone, The wild are conftant, and the cunning known; The fool confiftent, and the falfe fincere; Priefts, princes, women, no diffemblers here. I his clue once found, unravels all the rest, The profpect clears, and Wharton ftands confeft. Wharton, the fcorn and wonder of our days, 18 Whose ruling paffion was the luft of praise : Born with whate'er could win it from the wife, Women and fools muft like him, or he dies:

VARIATIONS.

After ver. 86. in the former editions. Triumphant leaders at an army's head, Hemn'd round with glories, pilfer cloth or bread; As meanly plunder as they bravely fought, Now fave a people, and now fave a groat.

Ver. 129, in the former editions:

Afk why from Britain Cæfar made retreat?
Cafar himself would tell you he was beat.

VARIATIONS.

The mighty Czar what mov'd to wed a punk? The aughty Czar would tell you he was drunk

Altered as above, because Cæfar wrote his Commentaries of this war, and does not tell you he was beat. As Cæfar too afforded an inftance of both cafes, it was thought better to make him the single example.

Though wondering fenates hung on all he spoke,
The club must hail him master of the joke.
Shall parts fo various aim at nothing new?
He'll thine a Tully and a Wilmot too.
Then turns repentant, and his God adores
With the fame fpirit that he drinks and whores :
Enough if all around him but admire,
190
And now the punk applaud, and now the friar.
Thus with each gift of nature and of art,
And wanting nothing but an honeft heart;
Grown all to all, from no one vice exempt;
And most contemptible, to fhun contempt;
His paffion still, to covet general praise;
His life, to forfeit it a thousand ways;

A conftant bounty, which no friend has made;
An angel tongue, which no man can perfuade;
A fool, with more of wit than half mankind, 200
Too rafh for thought, for action too refin'd:
A tyrant to the wife his heart approves ;
A rebel to the very king he loves;
He dies, fad outcast of each church and state,
And, harder still! flagitious, yet not great.
Afk you why Wharton broke through every rule?
'Twas all for fear the knaves fhould call him fool.
Nature well known, no prodigies remain,
Comets are regular, and Wharton plain.

Yet, in this fearch, the wisest may mistake, aro
If fecond qualities for first they take.
When Catiline by rapine fwell'd his store;
When Cæfar made a noble dame a whore;
In this the luft, in that the avarice,
Were means, not ends; ambition was the vice.
That very Cæfar, born in Scipio's days,
Had aim'd like him, by chastity, at praise.
Lucullus, when frugality could charm,
Had roafted turnips in the Sabine farm.
In vain th' obferver eyes the builder's toil,
But quite mistakes the fcaffold for the pile.

In this one paffion man can ftrength enjoy,
As fits give vigour, just when they destroy.
Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand,
Yet tames not this; it sticks to our laft fand.
Confiftent in our follies and our fins,
Here honeft nature ends as the begins.

Old politicians chew on wifdom paft,
And totter on in bufinefs to the laft;
As weak, as earneft; and as gravely out,
As fober Lanesborow dancing in the gout.

220

230

Behold a reverend fire, whom want of grace Has made the father of a nameless race, Shov'd from the wall perhaps, or rudley prefs'd By his own fon, that passes by unbless'd : Still to his wench he crawls on knocking knees, And envies every fparrow that he fees.

A falmon's belly, Helluo, was thy fate; The doctor call'd, declares all help too late: "Mercy! cries Helluo, mercy on my foul! 240 "Is there no hope?-Alas!-then bring the jowl."

VARIATIONS.

In the former editions, ver. 208. Nature well known, no miracles remain. Altered, as above, for very obvious reafons.

Of the Characters of Women.

THERE is nothing in Mr. Pope's works more highly finished than this epiftle: Yet its fuccefs was in no proportion to the pains he took in compofing it. Something he chanced to drop in a fhort advertisement prefixed to it, on its first publication, may perhaps account for the fmall attention given to it. He faid that no one character in it was drawn from the life. The public believed him on his word, and expreffed little curiofity about a fatire, in which there was nothing perfonal.

NOTHING fo true as what you once let fall,
"Moft women have no characters at all."
Matter too foft a lafting mark to bear,
And beft diftinguifh'd by black, brown, or fair.
How many pictures of one nymph we view,
All how unlike each other, all how true!
Arcadia's Countefs, here, in ermin'd pride,
Is there, Paftora by a fountain fide.
Here Fannia, leering on her own good man,
And there, a naked Leda with a fwan.
Let then the fair one beautifully cry,
In Magdalene's loofe hair, and lifted eye,
Or dreft in fmiles of fweet Cecilia fhine,
With fimpering angels, palms, and harps divine;
Whether the charmer finner it, or faint it.
If folly grow romantic, I must paint it.

10

Come then, the colours, and the ground prepare! Dip in the rainbow, trick her off in air;

19

Choose a firm cloud, before it fall, and in it Catch, ere the change, the Cynthia of this minute. Rufa, whofe eye, quick glancing o'er the Park, Attracts each light gay meteor of a spark, Agrees as ill with Rufa fudying Locke, As Sappho's diamonds with her dirty fmock; Or Sappho at her toilet's greafy task, With Sappho fragrant at an evening mask: So morning infects, that in muck begun, Shine, buzz, and fly-blow in the fetting fun. How foft is Silia! fearful to offend; The frail one's advocate, the weak one's friend. To her Caliita prov'd her conduct nice; And good Simplicius afks of her advice. Sudden, the ftorms fhe raves! You tip the wink, But fpare your cenfure; Silia does not drink.

29

eyes may fee from what the change arofe, All eyes may fee-a pimple on her nose. Papilla wedded to her amorous fpark, Sighs for the fhades" How charming is a park"" A park is purchas'd, but the fair. he fees

39

All bath'd in tears-" Oh odious, odious trees!"
Ladies, like variegated tulips, fhew,

'Tis to their changes half their charms we owe ;
Fine by defect, and delicately weak,
Their happy fpots the nice admirer take.
Tas thus Calypfo once each heart alarmı'd,
Aw'd without virtue, without beauty charm'd;
Her tongue bewitch'd as oddly as her eyes,
Lefs wit than mimic, more a wit than wife;
Strange graces ftill, and ftranger flights the had,
Was juft not ugly, and was just not mad;
Yet ne'er fo fure our paflion to create,
As when the touch'd the brink of all we hate.
Narciffa's nature, tolerably mild,

50

60

To make a wash, would hardly ftew a child;
Has ev'n been prov'd to grant a lover's prayer,
And paid a tradefman once to make him stare;
Gave alms at Eafter, in a Chriftian trim;
And made a widow happy, for a whim.
Why then declare good nature is her scorn,
When 'tis by that alone the can be borne?
Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name?
A fool to pleasure, yet a flave to fame:
Now deep in Taylor and the Book of Martyrs,
Now drinking citron with his Grace and Chartres;
Now confcience chills her, and now paffion burns;
And atheism and religion take their turns;
A very Heathen in the carnal part,
Yet ftill a fad good Chriftian at her heart.
See fin in ftate, majestically drunk,
Proud as a peerefs prouder as a punk;
Chafte to her husband, frank to all befide,
A teeming mistress, but a barren bride.
What then? let blood and body bear the fault,
Her head's untouch'd, that noble feat of thought:
Such this day's doctrine-in another fit
She fins with poets through pure love of wit.
What has not fir'd her bofom or her brain?
Cæfar and Tall-boy, Charles and Charlemagne.

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 77 What has not fir'd, &c.] In the MS. In whofe mad brain the mix'd ideas roll, Of Tall-boy's breeches, and of Cæfar's foul.

70

As Helluo, late dictator of the feaft,
The nofe of Haut-gout, and the tip of tafte,
Critiqu'd your wine, and analyz'd your meat,
Yet on plain pudding deign'd at home to eat :
So Philomede, lecturing all mankind
On the foft paffion, and the taste refin'd,
Th' addrefs, the delicacy-ftoops at once,
And makes her hearty meal upon a dunce.

85

Flavia's a wit, has too much fense to pray; Totoaft our wants and wishes is her way; Nor afks of God, but of her ftars, to give The mighty bleffing," while we live, to live," go Then all for death, that opiate of the foul! Lucretia's dagger, Rofamonda's bowl. Say, what can caufe fuch impotence of mind? A fpark too fickle, or a spouse too kind. Wife wretch with pleasures too refin'd to please ; With too much spirit to be e'er at eafe; With too much quickness ever to be taught; With too much thinking to have common thought: You purchafe pain with all that joy can give, And die of nothing but a rage to live.

100

Turn then from wits; and look on Simo's mate, No afs fo meek, no ass so obftinate.

Or her, that owns her faults, but never mends,
Because fhe's honest, and the best of friends.
Or her, whofe life the church and scandal share,
For ever in a paffion, or a prayer,

Or her, who laughs at hell, (but like her Grace) Cries, "Ah! how charming, if there's no fuch place!"

Or who in fwcet viciffitude appears

Of mirth and opium, ratafie and tears,
The daily anodyne, and nightly draught,
To kill thofe foes to fair ones, time and thought.
Woman and fool are two hard things to hit ;
For true no-meaning puzzles more than wit.

I 20

But what are thele to great Atossa's mind? Scarce once herself, by turns all womankind! Who, with herself, or others, from her birth Finds all her life one warfare upon earth: Shines in expofing knaves, and painting fools, Yet is, whate'er the hates and ridicules. No thought advances, but her eddy brain Whisks it about, and down it goes again. Full fixty years the world has been her trade, The wifeft fool much time has ever made. From loveless youth to unrefpected age, No paffion gratify'd, except her rage, So much the fury ftill out-ran the wit, The pleasure mifs'd her, and the scandal hit. Who breaks with her, provokes revenge from hell, But he's a bolder man who dares be well. Her every turn with violence pursued, Nor more a storm her hate than gratitude: To that each paflion turns, or foon or late; Love, if it makes her yield, must make her hate : Superiors? death! and equals? what a curfe! But an inferior not dependant? worle.

VARIATIONS.

After ver. 122, in the MS.

130

Opprefs'd with wealth and wit, abundance fad! One makes her poor, the other makes her mad.

140

Offend her, and she knows not to forgive;
Oblige her, and fhe'll hate you while you live:
But die, and fhe'll adore you-then the buft
And temple rife-then fall again to duft.
Last night her lord was all that's good and great;
A knave this morning, and his will a cheat.
Strange! by the means defeated of the ends,
By fpirit robb'd of power, by warmth of friends,
By wealth of followers! without one distress
Sick of herself, through very selfishness!
Atoffa, curs'd with every granted prayer,
Childless with all her children, wants an heir.
To heirs unknown defcends th' unguarded ftore,
Or wanders, heaven-directed, to the poor. 150

Pictures, like thefe, dear madam, to design, Afks no firm hand, and no unerring line; Some wandering touches, fome reflected light, Some flying ftroke alone can hit them right: For how fhould equal colours do the knack? Chameleons who can paint in white and black? "Yet Chloe fure was form'd without a fpot."Nature in her then err'd not, but forgot. "With every pleasing, every prudent part, "Say, what can Chloe want?"-She wants a heart. 160

She freaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought;
But never, never, reach'd one generous thought.
Virtue fhe finds too painful an endeavour,
Content to dwell in decencies for ever.
So very reasonable, so unmov'd,
As never yet to love, or to be lov'd.
She, while her lover pants upon her breast,
Can mark the figures on an Indian cheft;
And when the fees her friend in deep defpair,
Obferves how much a chintz exceeds mohair. 170
Forbid it, heaven, a favour or a debt
She e'er fhould cancel-but the may forget.
Safe is your fecret fill in Chloe's ear;
But none of Chlee's fhall you ever hear.
Of all her dears fhe never flander'd one,
But cares not if a thousand are undone.
Would Chloe know if you're alive or dead?
She bids her footman put it in her head.
Chloe is prudent-would you too be wife?
Then nevet break your heart when Chloe dies. 180
One certain portrait may (I grant) be seen,
Which heaven has varnish'd out, and made a
queen :

The fame for ever! and defcrib'd by all
With truth and goodness, as with crown and ball.
Poets heap virtues, painters gems at will,
And fhow their zeal, and hide their want of fkill.
'Tis well-but, artists! who can paint or write,
To draw the naked is your true delight.
That robe of quality fo ftruts and fwells.
None fee what parts of nature it conceals:
Th' exacteft traits of body or of mind,
We owe to models of an humble kind.

VARIATIONS.

After ver. 148, in the MS.

190

This death decides; nor lets the bleffing fall
On any one she hates, but on them all.
Curs'd chance! this only could afflict her more,
If any part fhould wander to the poor.

If Queensberry to ftrip there's no compelling.
'Tis from a handmaid we must take a Helen.
From peer or bishop 'tis no easy thing
To draw the man who loves his God, or king:
Alas I copy (or my draught would fail),
From honeft Mah'met, or plain Parfon Hale.
But grant, in public men fometimes are shown,
A woman's feen in private life alone :
Our bolder talents in full light display'd;
Your virtues open faireft in the shade.
Bred to disguise, in public 'tis you hide;
There, none diflinguifh 'twixt your shame or pride,
Weakness or delicacy; all so nice,
That each may seem a virtue, or a vice.

200

210

In men we various ruling paffions find; In women, two almost divide the kind; Thofe, only fix'd, they first or laft obey, The love of pleafure, and the love of fway. That, nature gives; and where the lesson taught Is but to please, can pleasure seem a fault? Experience, this ;-by man's oppreffion curst, They feek the fecond not to lose the first.

Men, fome to business, fome to pleasure take; But every woman is at heart a rake : Men, fome to quiet, fome to public ftrife; But every lady would be queen for life.

Yet mark the fate of a whole fex of queens: Power all their end, but beauty all the means: 220 In youth they conquer with fo wild a rage, As leaves them fcarce a subject in their age: For foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam; No thought of peace or happiness at home. But wifdom's triumph is well-tim'd retreat, As hard a science to the fair as great! Beauties, like tyrants, old and friendless grown, Yet hate repofe, and dread to be alone, Worn-out in public, weary every eye, Nor leave one figh behind them when they die. Pleasures the fex, as children birds, pursue, 231 Still out of reach, yet never out of view; Sure, if they catch, to fpoil the toy at most, To covet flying, and regret when loft: At laft, to follies youth could fcarce defend, It grows their age's prudence to pretend;" Afham'd to own they gave delight before, Reduc'd to feign it, when they give no more: As hags hold Sabbaths, lefs for joy than spite, So these their merry, miferable night; Still round and round the ghofts of beauty glide, And haunt the places where their honour dy'd.

VARIATIONS.

After ver. 198. in the MS.

240

Fain I'd in Fulvia fpy the tender wife;
I cannot prove it on her for my life:
And, for a noble pride, I blush no lefs,
Inftead of Berenice to think on Befs.
Thus while immortal Cibber only fings
(As Clarke and Hoadly preach) for queens and
The nymph that ne'er read Milton's mighty line,
May, if the love and merit verfe, have mine.

Ver. 207, in the first edition:

In feveral men we feveral paffions find;
In women, two almost divide the kind.

[kings,