But since it is impossible to be
Human, and not expos'd to misery,
Bear it, my Friend! as bravely as you can;
You are not more, and be not less than man!
Afflictions past can no existence find
But in the wild ideas of the mind;
And why should we for those misfortunes mourn,
Which have been suffer'd, and can ne'er return?
Those that have weather'd a tempestuous night,
And find a calm approaching with the light,
Will not, unless their reason they disown,
Still make those dangers present that are gone. 90
What is behind the curtain none can see;
It may be joy; suppose it misery:
'Tis future still; and that which is not here
May never come, or we may never bear :
Therefore, the present ill alone we ought
To view, in reason, with a troubled thought;
But if we may the sacred pages trust,
He's always happy that is always just.
I WOULD not have you, Strephon, chuse a mate
From too exalted or too mean a state,
For in both these we may expect to find
A creeping spirit, or a haughty mind.
Who moves within the middle region shares
'The least disquiets and the smallest cares.
Let her extraction with true lustre shine;
If something brighter, not too bright for thine:
Her education liberal, not great;
Neither inferior nor above her state.
Let her have wit, but let that wit be free
From affectation, pride, and pedantry;
For the effect of woman's wit is such,
Too little is as dang'rous as too much.
But, chiefly, let her humour close with thine, 15
Unless where your's does to a fault incline:
The least desparity in this destroys,
Like sulph'rous blasts, the very buds of joys.
Her person amiable, straight, and free
From natural, or chance deformity.
Let not her years exceed, if equal thine,
For women past their vigour soon decline.
Her fortune competent; and if thy sight
Can reach so far, take care 'tis gather'd right.
If thine's enough, then her's may be the less:
Do not aspire to riches in excess;
For that which makes our lives delightful prove,
Is a genteel sufficiency and love.
DRAWING DORINDA'S PICTURE.
PAINTER! the utmost of thy judgment show;
Exceed ev'n Titian and great Angelo;
With all the liveliness of thought express
The moving features of Dorinda's face :
Thou canst not flatter where such beauty dwells; 5
Her charms thy colours and thy art excels.
Others, less fair, may from thy pencil have
Graces which sparing Nature never gave;
But in Dorinda's aspect thou wilt see
Such as will pose thy famous art and thee:
So great, so many, in her face unite,
So well-proportion'd, and so wond'rous bright,
No human skill can e'er express 'em all,
But must do wrong to th' fair original.
An angel's hand alone the pencil fits
To mix the colours, when an angel sits.
Thy picture may as like Dorinda be
As art of man can paint a deity,
And justly may, perhaps, when she withdraws,
Excite our wonder, and deserve applause;
But when compar'd, you'll be oblig'd to own,
No art can equal what's by Nature done.
Great Lely's noble hand, excell'd by few,
The picture fairer than the person drew:
He took the best that Nature could impart,
And made it better by his pow'rful art
But had he seen that bright surprising grace
Which spreads itself o'er all Dorinda's face,
Vain had been all the essays of his skill;
She must have been confess'd the fairest still.
Heav'n in a landscape may be wond'rous fine, And look as bright as painted light can shine, But still the real glories of that place All art by infinite degrees surpass.
AFTER HE HAD FINISHED DORINDA'S PICTURE.
PAINTER! thou hast perform'd what man can do;
Only Dorinda's self more charms can show.
Bold are thy strokes, and delicate each touch;
But still the beauties of her face are such
As cannot justly be describ'd, tho' all
Confess 'tis like the bright original.
In her, and in thy picture, we may view
The utmost Nature or that Art can do ;
Each is a masterpiece, design'd so well,
That future times may strive to parallel,
But neither Art nor Nature's able to excel.
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