APPENDIX I.

[Reprinted from Dodsley and Cooper's edition of 1743.]

THAT for this knowledge it is not sufficient to consider man in the abstract: books will not serve the purpose, nor yet our own observation, singly, V. 1. General maxims, unles they be formed upon both, will be but notional, 10. Some peculiarity in every man, characteristic to himself, yet varying from himself, 15; the further difficulty of separating and fixing this, arising from our own passions, fancies, faculties, &c., 23. The shortness of life, to observe in, and the uncertainty of the principles of action in men, to observe by, 29. Our own principle of action often hid from ourselves, 41. No judging of the motives from the actions; the same actions proceeding from contrary motives, and the same motives influencing contrary actions, 51 to 70. 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, 71. Characters given according to the rank of men in the world, and some reason for it, 87. Education alters the nature, or at least character of many, 101. Some few characters plain, but in general confounded, dissembled, or inconsistent, 122. The same man utterly different in different places and seasons. 130. Unimaginable weakness in the greatest, 140. Nothing constant and certain but God and Nature. Of men we cannot judge, by his nature, his actions, his passions, his opinions, his manners, humours, or principles, all subject to change, 160, &c. It only remains to find (if we can) his ruling passion: that will certainly influence all the rest, and only can reconcile the seeming or real inconsistency of his actions, 176. Instanced in the extraordinary character of Clodio, 181. A caution against mistaking second qualities for first, which will destroy all possibility of the knowledge of mankind, 212. Examples of the strength of the ruling passion, and its continuation to the last breath, 224, &c.

EPISTLE I.

ΤΟ

SIR RICHARD TEMPLE, LORD VISCOUNT COBHAM.

YES, you despise the man to books confin'd,

Who from his study rails at human kind.;

Tho' what he learns, he speaks, and may advance
Some gen'ral maxims, or be right by chance.

The coxcomb bird, so talkative and grave,

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That from his cage cries cuckold, whore, and knave,
Tho' many a passenger he rightly call,

You hold him no philosopher at all.

And yet the fate of all extremes is such,
Men may be read, as well as books, too much.
To observations which ourselves we make,
We grow more partial for th' observer's sake;
To written wisdom, as another's, less :

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Maxims are drawn from notions, these from guess.

The optics seeing, as the objects seen.

All manners take a tincture from our own,
Or come discolour'd thro' our passions shown,
Or fancy's beam inlarges, multiplies,
Contracts, inverts, and gives ten thousand dyes.

Our depths who fathoms, or our shallows finds?
Quick whirls, and shifting eddies, of our minds?
Life's stream for observation will not stay,

It hurries all too fast to mark their way:

In vain sedate reflections we would make,

When half our knowledge we must snatch, not take.
On human actions reason tho' you can,

It may be reason, but it is not man;

As the last image of that troubled heap,

When sense subsides, and fancy sports in sleep,
(Tho' past the recollection of the thought)
Becomes the stuff of which our dream is wrought;
Something, as dim to our internal view,

Is thus perhaps the cause of all we do.

In vain the grave, with retrospective eye,
Would from th' apparent what conclude the why,
Infer the motive from the deed, and show
That what we chanc'd, was what we meant to do.
Behold! if fortune, or a mistress frowns,
Some plunge in bus'ness, other shave their crowns :
To ease the soul of one oppressive weight,
This quits an empire, that embroils a state :
The same adust complexion has impell'd
Charles to the convent, Philip to the field.

Not always actions show the man; we find,
Who does a kindness is not therefore kind;
Perhaps prosperity becalm'd his breast;
Perhaps the wind just shifted from the east.
Not therefore humble, he who seeks retreat,

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Pride guides his steps, and bids him shun the great.

You balance not the many in the dark.
What will you do with such as disagree?
Suppress them, or miscall them policy?
Must then at once (the character to save)
The plain, rough hero turn a crafty knave?
Alas! in truth the man but chang'd his mind,
Perhaps was sick, in love, or had not din'd.

Ask why from Britain, Cæsar made retreat?
Cæsar perhaps had told you, he was beat.
The mighty Czar what mov'd to wed a punk?
The mighty Czar might answer, he was drunk.
But, sage historians! 'tis your task to prove
One action, conduct, one, heroic love.

Wise, if a minister; but if a king,

More wise, more learn'd, more just, more ev'ry thing.
Court-virtues bear, like gems, the highest rate,

Born where heav'n's influence scarce can penetrate.

In life's low vale, (the soil the virtues like)
They please as beauties, here as wonders strike.
Tho' the same sun with all diffusive rays

Blush in the rose, and in the diamond blaze,

We prize the stronger effort of his pow'r,
And always set the gem above the flow'r.

'Tis education forms the vulgar mind;
Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclin'd,
Boastful and rough, your first son is a squire;
The next a tradesman, meek, and much a liar :
Tom struts a soldier, open, bold, and brave;
Will sneaks a scriv'ner, an exceeding knave:
Is he a churchman? then he's fond of pow'r ;
A quaker? sly; a Presbyterian? sour;
A smart Free-thinker? all things in an hour.
True, some are open and to all men known;
Others so very close they're hid from none :
(So darkness fills the eye no less than light)
Thus gracious Chandos is belov'd at sight;
And ev'ry child hates Shylock, tho' his soul
Still sits at squat, and peeps not from its hole.
At half mankind when gen'rous Manly raves,
All know 'tis virtue, for he thinks them knaves.
When universal homage Umbra pays,
All see 'tis vice, and itch of vulgar praise.
Who but detests th' endearments of Courtine?
While one there is, who charms us with his spleen.
But these plain characters we rarely find,
Tho' strong the bent, yet quick the turns of mind.
Or puzzling contraries confound the whole,

Or affectations quite reverse the soul.
The dull, flat falsehood serves for policy,
And in the cunning, truth itself's a lie.
Unthought of frailties cheat us in the wise,
The fool lies hid in inconsistencies.

See the same man, in vigour, in the gout;

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A rogue with ven'son to a saint without.

Who would not praise Patritio's high desert?
His hand unstain'd, his uncorrupted heart,
His comprehensive head; all int'rests weigh'd,
All Europe sav'd, yet Britain not betray'd.
He thanks you not; his pride was in piquette,
Newmarket-fame, and judgment at a bett.

Triumphant leaders, at an army's head,
Hemm'd round with glories, pilfer cloth or bread,
As meanly plunder, as they bravely fought,
Now save a people, and now save a groat.

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What made (say Montagne, or more sage Charron !

Otho a warrior, Cromwell a buffoon?

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A perjur'd Prince a leaden saint revere ?

A godless Regent tremble at a star?

The throne a bigot keep, a genius quit.
Faithless thro' piety, and dup'd thro' wit?
Europe, a woman, child, or dotard rule;
And just her ablest monarch made a fool?
Know, God and Nature only are the same :
In man, the judgment shoots at flying game ;
A bird of passage! lost, as soon as found;
Now in the moon perhaps, now under ground!
Ask men's opinions: Scoto now shall tell
How trade increases, and the world goes well;
Strike off his pension by the setting sun,

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And Britain, if not Europe, is undone.

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Manners with fortunes, humour change with climes,

Tenets with books, and principles with times.

:

Judge we by nature? Habit can efface,
Int'rest o'ercome, or policy take place :
By actions those uncertainty divides:
By passions these dissimulation hides:
Affections they still take a wider range :
Find, if you can, in what you cannot change?
"Tis in the ruling passion there alone,
The wild are constant, and the cunning known,
The fool consistent, and the false sincere ;
Priests, princes, women, no dissemblers here.
This clue once found, unravels all the rest;
The prospect clears, and Clodio stands confest.
Clodio, the scorn and wonder of our days,
Whose ruling passion was the lust of praise;
Born with whate'er could win it from the wise,
Women and fools must like him, or he dies.
Tho' wond'ring senates hung on all he spoke,
The club must hail him, master of the joke.
Shall parts so various aim at nothing new?
He'll shine a Tully, and a Wilmot too :
Then turns repentant, and his God adores
With the same spirit that he drinks and whores :
Enough, if all around him but admire,

And now the punk applaud, and now the fry'r.
Thus, with each gift of nature, and of art,
And wanting nothing but an honest heart;
Grown all to all, from no one vice exempt,
And most contemptible to shun contempt:
His passion, still to covet gen'ral praise,
His life, to forfeit it a thousand ways;

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