EPICTETUS lived at Rome in a little house, which had not so much as a door; All the Attendants he had was an old Servant maid, and all his household stuff an earthen Lamp.  Vincent Obsop: l: 3 Anth: ad Epig: Epictet:  

EPICTETI ENCHIRIDION Made ENGLISH, IN A Poetical Paraphrase.  
BY ELLIS WALKER Of Londonderry.  
LONDON, Printed, by Ben. Griffin, for Sam Keble, and are to be Sold at the Great Turks-Head in Fleetstreet over against Fetter-Lane-End. 1692.   


Now what Misfortunes Vulturelike attend  
The poor defeated Wretch, that fails of's end?  
And, ah! What real grief doth him surprise,  
Who suffers that, from which with care he flies?  
If then you only do such things decline,  
As are within thy power, by Nature thine,  
Nothing shall ever frustrate your design.  
But if from Sickness, Want, or Death, you fly,  
In Sorrow you shall live, with Terrors die.   

VII.  
Therefore be sure, that your aversions fall  
Only on things which you your own may call,  
But for the present all desires suspend,  
For if to things not in your power they tend,  
Folly and Grief you'll find, but lose your end.  
And as for things, even in your power, what's fit,  
It may be well presumed, you know not yet.  
What's most to be esteemed, what most admired,  
What with most fervency and zeal desired.  
Be wary then, as cautious Generals are,  
When they for entrance at some breach prepare,  
Where Ambuseade, or bursting Mines they fear.  
Do not engage so soon, till Reason scout,  
And first survey the object round about;  
Think that dark Snares thick in your way are laid,  
Think that each step may on some danger tread,  
Approach with prudent leisure, that with ease  
You may withdraw your Forces when you please.   

VIII.  
In things that charm the Soul, which love incite,  
By Nature's force, use, profit, or delight,  
Beginning from the meanest things, that share  
Your tender thoughts, consider what they are.  
As thus: Suppose some modish new Device,  
Of Potter's skill in Earthen Ware you prise,  
Consider 'tis but varnished Clay, that's broke  
By every light and accidental stroke;  
This when the pleasing Toy you broken find,  
The puny loss shall not disturb your mind.  
Thus if a kind soft Wife, or prattling Boy,  
With Beauty charm, and a Paternal Joy,  
Consider these dear objects of your Love,  
Which round your heart with so much pleasure move  
Are but mere Mortal Pots of finer Clay,  
Wrought with more Art, more subject to decay;  
Poor, feeble, sickly things, of humane kind,  
To the long cares of a short life confined,  
The riotous sport of Death, whose Beauties must  
Crumble to their first principles of Dust.  
Armed with these thoughts, you never shall bewail  
The loss of things so ruinous and frail.   

IX  
In every thing you undertake, 'tis fit  
You in true Judgements Scales examine it;  
Weigh every circumstance, each consequence,  
And usual accident arising thence.  
As thus: Suppose you for the Bath prepare,  
Consider the disorders frequent there,  
One throwing Water in another's face,  
Some railing, others justled from their place,  
This Bully giving, that receiving blows,  
Some picking Pockets, others stealing Clothes.  
With safety thus you the wished Port may make,  
If thus you Preface what you undertake:  
I'll instantly go wash, resolved to do  
What Nature and my Will incline me to.  
And thus, in all things else, prepare your mind,  
And though, perhaps, you some disturbance find,  
When you prepare to wash unshockt you'll say,  
This hindrance we expected in our way  
This we considered, when resolved to do,  
What nature, and our will inclined us to.  
This we resolved on, for we needs must miss  
Our purposed end, when vexed at things like this.   

X.  
Unjustly Men of nature's laws complain,  
As cause of all their misery and pain.  
Nothing in Nature can afflict them, no  
'Tis their opinion only breeds their woe;  
If wretched, that alone hath made them so.  
They their own Bridewell in their breasts do bear▪  
And their own Judge, and Executioner.  
Not death itself (how grim so ere it seem,)  
Is truly Terrible, or it had been  
As dreadful to great Socrates as thee,  
Even his strong Soul had shrunk with fear, but he  
Outstaid the prejudice, and showed 'twas mean,  
A Notion void of sense, a waking dream,  
Such as from ill digested thoughts doth steam.  
A Monster, which you paint with hollow eyes,  
Attended with sad looks, and mournful cries.  
A Scarecrow, which thine own opinion made,  
From this you fly, of this you are afraid.  

* Here I join two Chapters together, because in some Books▪ find them so, and the sense requires it.  When then we meet some check in some design,  
When at each little hindrance we repine,  
Let's lay the fault at our own doors, and blame  
The giddy whimsies which our fancies frame,  
Those ill-shapt Centaurs of a cloudy brain.  
To blame another; for things managed ill,  
Things subject to thy power, and Sovereign will,  
Shows want of thought, Philosophy, and skill.  
To blame thyself, shows thou hast but begun  
The glorious Race nor haste it throughly run;  
He that blames neither, only wins the prize,  
Is justly Crowned by all, is only wise.   

XI.  
Be not transported with too great a sense  
Of any outward objects excellence.  
For should the pampered Courser which you feed  
Of swiftest heels, and of the noblest breed,  
Through sense of vigour, strength of Oats & Hay,  
From his full Manger turn his head, and say,  
Am I not beautiful, and sleek, and gay:  
'Twere to be born in him, the speech might suit  
The Parts and Education of the Brute:  
But when with too much pleasure you admire  
Your Horse's worth, and vainly boasts his sire,  
And tyre us out with endless idle prate  
About his crest, his colour, or his gate.  
'Tis plain, you think his owner fortunate.  
You're proud he's yours, and vainly claim as due  
What to the Beast belongs, and not to you.  
Too plainly is your selfish folly shown,  
Adding your Horse's virtues to your own.  
Well then perhaps you'll ask what's yours of these  
Dear outward things; that seem so much to please?  
Why nothing but the use: if then go choose  
What's truly good, what is not so refuse,  
If the well chosen good you rightly use,  
As Nature's light informs you, then alone  
You may rejoice in something of your own.   

XII.  
As in a Voyage, when you at Anchor ride,  
You go on shore fresh water to provide;  
And perhaps gather what you chance to find,  
Shelfish or Roots of palatable kind;  
Yet still you ought to fix your greatest care  
Upon your Ship, upon your business there:  
Still thoughtful, lest perhaps the Master call,  
Which if he do, than you must part with all  
Those darling trifles, that retard your haste,  
Lest bound like Sheep you by constraint are cast  
Into the hold. Thus in your course of Life,  
Suppose you a lovely Son, or beauteous Wife,  
Instead of those forementioned trinkets find,  
And bless your Stars, and think your fortune kind;  
Yet, still be ready, if the Master call,  
To cast your burden down, and part with all,  
Forsake the beauteous Wife, and lovely Son,  
Run to your Ship; without reluctance run;  
Nor look behind, but if grown old and grey,  
Keep always near your Ship, and never stay  
To stoop for worthless lumber on the way.  
Short is the time allowed, to make your coast,  
Which must not for such ' tasteless joy be lost.  
Your reverend play▪ things will but ill appear,  
Besides you'll find they'll cost you very dear:  
'Tis well if Age can its own weakness bear.  
Unmanned with dotage; when you're called upon  
How will you drag the tiresome luggage on?  
With Tears and Sighs, much folly you'll betray,  
And crawl with pain undecently away.   

XIII.  
Wish not that things not in your power may run '  
As you would have them; wish them as they're done '  
Wish them just as they are, just as you see;  
Thus shall you never disappointed be.  
You seem some sharp disease to undergo,  
Alas 'tis vain to wish it were not so:  
'Tis but the Body's pain, a surly ill;  
Which may impede the body, not the will:  
For all the Actions of th' obsequious mind,  
Are in your power, to your own choice confined  
Thus strength and vigour may your nerves forsake  
And lameness from your Feet all motion take,  
But can in thee not the least hindrance make.  
'Tis in thy power to resolve not to go,  
Judge if it be an hindrance or no.  
You on your Feet may an embargo lay,  
As well as chance or natural decay.  
Consider thus, in all things else you'll find  
Nothing can hinder, or confine the mind;  
In spite of every accident you're free,  
Those hinder something else but cannot thee.   

XIV.  
In every thing that happens search your mind,  
And try what force, what faculties you find  
For the encounter of the object fit,  
In the same moment when you meet with it:  
As if some Beauteous Female you espy,  
Whose powerful air detains your wand'ring eye,  
Strait Ransacking the Treasures of your Soul;  
You'll find strong Temperance will that power control,  
Whose cool directions presently assuage  
The keenest Fires, the Dog-star Beauty's rage.  
These (if you mean to conquer) soon disarm  
Each softening Smile, and each obliging Charm.  
Are any Hardships of laborious weight  
Imposed, by Fortitude they're conquered strait▪  
Nor rolling Seas, nor an impetuous Wind  
Can overset this ballast of the Mind;  
Secure of Storms you on the Billows ride,  
And stem the furious current of the tide.  
Are you abused? Hath any done you wrong  
By the base Venom of a railing Tongue?  
Soft patience gives an easy remedy,  
Deadens the force of the Artillery;  
The Poison spreads into the yielding Air,  
Unhurt you find it pass and vanish there.  
In your own Breast you'll always find supply  
Of aid: provide you make this scrutiny,  
No entrance of the Foe you need to fear,  
You'll find th' Avenues guarded every where.   

XV.  
With men 'tis usual, when deprived of aught▪  
Which with much pleasure entertained the thought  
To say, that such a thing they've lost. In you,  
Who the great search of Wisdom do pursue,  
To say you've lost is mean; say you've restored  
What bounteous God did for a while afford.  
Your only Son, your dearest Hope is dead;  
Why do you beat your Breast, and shake your Head?  
Why Man? he's but restored, returned again,  
To the kind owner's hand from whence he came.  
You've lost your Land by Fraud, a vain mistake,  
How is that lost that is but given back?  
But he that thus deceived me, was not he  
A Villain; and a Knave, What's that to thee.  
What is't to thee? is he a Knave or no  
By whom he takes, who did the gift bestow?  
Was't not his own? you'll grant me, I suppose,  
To whom he would, he might of's own dispose.  
While he allows use what belongs to him,  
Not as your own, as Travellers their Inn,  
Who as at home are treated while they pay,  
But claim no title longer than they stay▪   

XVI.  
You would be wise, I'll teach you if you please,  
Withdraw your mind from such wild thoughts as these;  
If I my wont diligence forget,  
My gainful drudgery; how shall I eat?  
I certainly shall starve for want of meat.  
If I indulge, and not Chastise my Boy,  
My Lenity his Morals may destroy;  
He still will steer the course he hath begun,  
And to the very height of Lewdness run.  
I tell thee Mortal, that 'tis better far,  
To die with thirst and hunger, free from care,  
With a serene and an undaunted mind,  
Than live in Wealth, to its dire cares confined.  
As for the Boy, 'tis better far that he  
Become a Proverb for Debauchery;  
'Tis better he were hanged 
* 'Tis desired that the Wise will not be offended at this Word, for if it be no matter, and of no concern, whether the Boy be lewd or no, it is no matter, and of no concern, whether the Boy be hanged, for this likewise, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. , than you should share  
A moment's grief by your reforming care:  
But this is more than difficult you'll say;  
Too hard a Rule for flesh and blood t' obey;  
Yet by a former rule 'tis easy made;  
Begin by smallest things, as I have said;  
Suppose your Wine be stolen, your Oil be shed;  
And thus take comfort, where's the loss? if I  
At such a rate Tranquillity can buy?  
If Constancy at such a rate be bought?  
And there's not any thing that's got for naught.  
Suppose you call your Servant, he's at play;  
Or when he's present, minds not what you say:  
And is the quiet of your Soul perplexed  
At this? he gets the better if you're vexed;  
He grows your Master, while he can torment▪  
Give not such power to the vile negligent.   

XVII.  
Would you be wise? ne'er take it ill you're thought  
A Fool, because you tamely set at naught  
Things not within your power, but pass 'em by  
Without a wish, with a regardless eye;  
A senseless Stock, because no loss or pain  
Makes you lament, or childishly complain.  
Never pretend to skill, nor wish to seem  
Deep Learned, nor court a Popular esteem:  
But if, admired by men, you pass for wise,  
And draw their listening Ears, and following Eyes,  
Rather mistrust, and doubt yourself from thence,  
They're oftener fond of Folly than of Sense.  
While they admire, while you their praises hear,  
You're nearer to the Fool than e'er you were;  
'Tis very likely some gross Vanity,  
They fancy in themselves, and love to see  
Ripened in you to full maturity:  
As lust of Glory, or a strong desire  
Of Wealth, or Power, or Splendour in attire.  
'tis altogether vain, to think to adhere  
To the strict principles agreed on here,  
While you the course quite contrary do steer,  
To things not in your power; which if you reach,  
You needs must quit the Discipline we teach.   

XVIII.  
If you desire your Children, Friends, or Wife  
Should never die, but share Immortal Life  
With the blessed Gods, 'tis perfect Lunacy;  
Bedlam hath many a wiser man than thee:  
A Doctor and dark Room may do thee good;  
Take Physic, I advise thee, and let Blood.  
Will nothing but Impossibles go down?  
You wish that what's not in your power may own  
Subjection to your Will; and would confine  
What's in another's power to be in thine.  
Thus if you wish your Son may blameless be,  
Though he hath raked the sink of Infamy,  
'Tis a return of your Infirmity;  
A spice of madness still: As well you might  
Wish Vice were Virtue, wish that Black were White.  
Is wishing then denied? And must our mind  
To the dull present only be confined?  
No, doubtless you may wish; nor need you fear  
Defeat, provide you wish within your Sphere.   

XIX.  
Him, and him only, we may justly call  
The powerful Lord, the Sovereign of all;  
Whose power's such, that as he please he may  
Keep what he will, or give, or take away.  
If then thou wouldst be free, a Monarch still;  
Nor wish, nor shun, what's in another's will.  
Thus what you would you shun, or wish you have;  
Thus are you free; if otherwise, a Slave.   

XX.  
With the same manners, which when you're a Guest  
You use at some rich Neighbours sumptuous Feast,  
Manage the rest of your affairs of life  
With easy Conversation, void of strife;  
Void of rude noise: As when some Novelty  
Is handed round the Table; if 'tis nigh  
Stretch forth yourhand, take share with modesty.  
If it pass by, do not detain by force,  
Nor snatch at it, 'twill show your breeding course:  
Is it not near you yet, at distance placed,  
Show not your greediness by too much haste;  
Nor, like a hungry Waiter standing by,  
Devour it at a distance with your Eye.  
Abstain a while, 'tis but a minutes fast,  
Take patience, Man, 'twill surely come at last.  
Now if the same Behaviour be your guide,  
In all the actions of your life beside,  
As in respect of Children, Wife, Estate,  
Of being rich, or made a Magistrate;  
If modestly you take, and thank kind Heaven  
For any of these Blessings to you given;  
Or if deprived of aught, you strait resign  
All to its will; nor peevishly repine.  
Or if as yet unblessed, you meekly wait  
With humble patience, the Decrees of Fate;  
Not desperate, nor yet importunate.  
Some time or other, when the Gods think fit,  
Blest with Eternal Banquets you shall sit  
Among th' immortal Powers, and free from care,  
Perpetual Joys and Happiness shall share.  
But if so great your Soul, as to abstain,  
And bravely with a noble scorn disdain  
These outward proffers, which Mankind do bless,  
You're sure a God, you cannot sure be less.  
For what's a God, but a blessed Being freed  
From Cares, that never dies, or stands in need?  
You shall not only be the Guest of Heaven,  
But with the foremost rank of Gods be even;  
Equal in power. By methods such as these  
Great Heraclitus, great Diogenes,  
And some like them, to deathless honours rise;  
Who, with the Immortal, in due Glory shine;  
Who, as they well deserved, were called Divine.   

XXI.  
When you see any one with tears bemoan  
The loss of Goods, or absence of a Son,  
Whom he perhaps thinks drowned at Sea; beware  
You be not biased here, and fond share  
His foolish weakness, and commiserate  
His ruin'd and deplorable estate,  
While vainly he in earnest doth bemoan  
Things in another's power, not in his own.  
T` avoid this Error therefore keep in mind  
This reas'ning, 'tis of mighty use you'll find.  
What hath befallen this man doth not molest  
His mind, nor plays the Tyrant in his breast;  
He by his own opinion is distressed.  
For could the thing itself afflict him, than  
'T would work the same effect in other men.  
But this we see disproven, since some men bear  
The like Disasters, without sigh or tear.  
You may indeed condole as far as words,  
This pity mere Civility affords;  
To tell him he's mistaken will enrage  
His grief; to call him Fool will not assuage.  
Beside 'tis rudeness, barbarous cruelty,  
T' insult even over fancied misery.  
Nay, we'll allow that you may sigh with him,  
But then beware, lest you perhaps begin  
To be too sensibly concerned within.   

XXII.  
While on this busy Stage, the World, you stay,  
You're, as it were, the Actor of a Play;  
Of such a part therein, as he thinks fit  
To whom belongs the power of giving it.  
Longer, or shorter, is your part, as he  
The Master of the Revels shall decree.  
If he command you act the Beggar's part,  
Do it with all your skill, with all your art,  
Though mean the Character, yet ne'er complain,  
Perform it well; as just applause you'll gain,  
As he, whose Princely grandeur fills the Stage,  
And frights all near him in Heroic rage.  
Say you a Cit., or Cripple represent,  
Let each be done with the best management.  
'Tis in your power to perform with Art,  
Though not within your power to choose the part.   

XXIII.  
The direful Ravens, or the Night Owls voice,  
Frightens the Neighbourhood with boding noise;  
While each believes the knowing Bird portends  
Sure death, or to himself, or to his Friends;  
Though all that the Nocturnal Prophet knows,  
Is want of Food, which he by whooting shows.  
But say this Oracle, with Wings and Beak,  
As certain Truths as Delphic Priestess speak,  
And that through prejudice you should suppose  
This boder could futurity disclose,  
Yet be not moved; distinguish thus, you're free,  
These Omens threaten something else, not me:  
Some danger to my Body, Goods, or Name,  
My Children, or my Wife, they may proclaim;  
But these are but the Appendices of me,  
To me these tokens all auspicious be,  
Since I from outward accidents like these,  
May reap much real profit, if I please.   

XXIV.  
If you would be Invincible, you may;  
I'll show ye a certain and a ready way.  
You can't be conquered, if you never try  
In any kind to get the Mastery.  
'Tis not within your power to bear away  
The Prize, 'tis in your choice not to essay.   

XXV.  
When any man of greater power you see  
Invested with the Robes of Dignity,  
In Honour's gaudiest, gayest Livery,  
Dreaded by all; whose arbitrary will,  
Whose very breath, whose every look can kill;  
Whose power, and whose wealth know no restraint,  
Whose greatness hardly flattery can paint:  
Take care you be not here entangled by  
The too great lustre, that beguiles your eye;  
Beware you do not envy his estate,  
Nor think him happier because he's great.  
For if true quiet and tranquillity,  
Consist in things which in our power be,  
What residence can Emulation find?  
What room hath restless Envy in the mind?  
Envy and Happiness can ne'er reside  
In the same place, nor in one Breast abide;  
Nor do you wish yourself (if we may guests  
Your real thoughts by what you do profess)  
To be a Senator or General,  
But to be free, (that's greater than them all.)  
This freedom you would gladly learn, you say,  
To which there is but one, one only way;  
Which is to scorn, with brave and decent pride,  
All things, that in another's power reside.   

XXVI.  
Not he that beats thee, or with slanderous tongue  
Gives thee ill Language, doth thee any wrong,  
Thine own false Notions give the injury:  
These slander, give the affront, and cudgel thee.  
When words traduce, or blows the limbs torment▪  
Which 'tis not in your power to prevent;  
This presently you term an injury,  
But give no tolerable reason why.  
You plead your Carcase, and good Name are dear;  
The wound goes to your Soul, that wounds you there;  
'Tis false, 'tis but a scratch; nor can it find  
An entrance thither, or disturb your mind;  
Without your own consent; an injury  
To something else without, 'tis none to thee.  
Thus when provoked, your own opinion blame,  
'Tis that provokes, and causeth all the pain:  
Wherefore beware, lest objects such as these  
Gain your assent too soon, with too much ease,  
Lest fancied harms your mind with grief affect,  
Lest fancied bliss should gain too much respect.  
Thus you'll gain leisure, and a thinking time;  
Your Notions with due measures to confine;  
To add, to prune, to polish, and refine.   

XXVII.  
Let Death, let Banishment, and every ill,  
Which Mortals thought with apprehension fill;  
Which most they dread, and with aversion fly,  
Be always present to your thoughts, and eye  
But chiefly Death, thus no mean thought shall find  
Harbour, or entertainment in your mind.  
Thus no base fear shall ever force you from  
Your noble principles resolved upon.  
Not Tyrant's frowns, nor tortures shall enslave  
Your fearless Soul, but generously brave,  
You all their little malice may defy;  
Armed only with the thought you once must die.  
Nor can Death truly formidable seem  
To you, who with it have familiar been,  
Who every day have the pale bugbear seen.  
Yet Death's the worst that you can undergo,  
The utmost limit, the last Scene of Woe,  
The greatest spite your enemy can show,  
And yet no more, than what the Gout, or Stone,  
With more malicious leisure might have done.  
Armed with the thoughts of Death, no fond desire  
Of Wealth, nor the deluding foolish fire  
Of power, shall lead you on with hopes to gain,  
What Death hath sworn you shall not long retain.   

XXVIII.  
Wisdom, you say, is what you most desire,  
The only charming blessing you admire,  
Therefore be bold, and fit yourself to bear  
Many a taunt, and patiently to hear  
The grinning foolish Rabble laugh aloud,  
At you the sport and pastime of the crowd,  
While in like jeers they vent their filthy spleen,  
Whence all this gravity, this careless mien?  
And whence, of late, is this pretender come,  
This new proficient, this Musheroom,  
This young Philosopher with half a Beard?  
Of him, till now, we have no mention heard.  
Whence all this Supercilious pride of late?  
This stiff behaviour, this affected gate?  
This will perhaps be said, but be not you  
Sullen, nor bend a supercilious brow,  
Lest thus you prove their vile reproaches true,  
Which are but words of course, the excrement,  
The usual malice which alike they vent  
Upon the guilty, and the innocent.  
But firmly still to what seems best adhere,  
As if by Heavens commands you ordered were  
To keep that Post, not to be driven from thence  
By force, much less a scurrilous offence.  
Which if you still maintain you shall become,  
Even your Revilers admiration,  
Forced to confess their faults, they'll court you more  
Than they reproached, or laughed at you before.  
But if through mockery you tamely yield,  
And quit your noble Station in the Field,  
You're to be laughed at, on a double score,  
First for attempting, then for giving o'er.   

XXIX.  
If to please others, studying to be dear  
●n their kind thoughts, you move beyond your Sphere  
And look abroad, respect, and praise to gain,  
And the poor outward trifle, called a Name:  
You lose the Character you wish to bear,  
You lose your Station of Philosopher.  
Let it suffice that such yourself you know,  
No matter whether other men think so.  
Let it be to yourself, if wise you'd seem;  
And 'tis enough, you gain your own esteem.   

XXX.  
Let not these thoughts torment you; I, alas!  
In low ignoble Poverty shall pass  
My wretched days, and unregarded lie  
Buried alive, in dark obscurity;  
No honour, no preferment, shall I have,  
But Schoch'onless descend into the Grave:  
This as a wondrous hardship you bemoan,  
A grievous ill, when really 'tis none;  
The outward want of power, preferment, place,  
Is no more misery, than 'tis disgrace:  
And that 'tis no disgrace I shall evince;  
Where's the disgrace you are not made a Prince,  
Or that you're not invited to a Feast,  
'Tis none, by every man of Sense confessed,  
For where's the man in's Wits that can expect  
That things not in your power you should effect?  
And why of want of power should you complain?  
Who can no place, or honour, justly claim,  
Except in things in your own power; in these  
You may be great, and powerful as you please.  
But than you plead, I thus shall useless grow  
To those I love, nor shall I kindness show,  
Nor wealth, nor power, on my best friends bestow,  
Nor by my interest cause them to become,  
Free of each gainful Privilege in Rome,  
Nor when I please an Officer create,  
Nor raise them to be Utensils of State.  
And who e'er told you yet, that these things lie  
Within your power or capacity?  
Or where's the man, that can to others grant  
That Place, or Honour, he himself doth want?  
But they're importunate, alas, and cry,  
Get it, that we your friends may gain thereby:  
Answer them thus, I'll do it if I can,  
So I may keep myself a modest man,  
Just to myself, still innocent and free,  
A man of Honour and Integrity,  
I'll use my best endeavours; if I may  
Gain it on these conditions, show the way;  
But if you think I'll this true Wealth forgo,  
That you may something gain, that is not so:  
See how unjust this Self-partiality,  
And to be plain, you are no friends for me,  
If you prefer a base penurious end,  
Before an honest, and a modest friend;  
Suppose your choice were such, then show me how  
What you so earnestly desire, to do,  
And keep my Principles of freedom too.  
But think not I will part with happiness,  
That you some worthless pleasure may possess.  
But thus your Country nothing by you gains▪  
What's this advantage that your Country claims?  
Is it that Baths you make, with cost and charge?  
Or Porches build unimitably large?  
Where late Posterity may read your Name,  
Which there you Consecrate to lasting Fame;  
These gifts from you your Country can expect  
No more, than Physic from an Architect.  
Or that a Shoemaker should Armour make,  
Or of your Foot, a Smith the measure take.  
For 'tis enough, if each perform in's Trade  
The Work for which he seems by Nature made▪  
If each man mind the way, in which he's placed,  
The Smith his Anvil, Shoemaker his Last.  
And thus if you the height of Wisdom reach,  
And what so well you know, as well can teach,  
If by these noble methods you profess,  
You with another honest man can bless  
The City where you dwell, you give no less  
Than he, who on his Country doth confer  
Porches, or Baths, or Amphitheatre.  
Well then i'th' City, where I useful am,  
What Office shall I have? Such as you can,  
Keeping your Honour, and your Conscience free,  
With spotless Innocence, and Modesty.  
But if while fond you desire to please  
Your fellow Citizens, you part with these;  
You labour but in vain, for where's the use  
Of one grown Impudent, and Scandalous?   

XXXI.  
Is any one saluted, or embraced  
With more respect than you, or higher placed  
At Table, is he thought more grave and wise,  
Of better parts, and abler to advise,  
Grudge not: but if these things be good, rejoice  
They're placed so well, and meet so good a choice.  
And if they're bad, why should you take offence,  
That you in these have not the preference?  
But how can you, that neither cringe nor bow,  
Nor other Antic Spaniel tricks do show,  
Nor flatter, fawn, forswear, assent, or lie,  
Nor use that servile Knavish industry,  
By which base supple Slaves their ends obtain,  
The same respect, or the same favour gain?  
And how should you, who scorn to condescend,  
With early morning Visits to attend  
Th' awaking of a rich, proud, powerful friend,  
Expect to share th' advantages that fall  
To him, that helps to fill his crowded Hall?  
Or, like a Centinel, still walks before  
His Patron's House, and almost courts his Door;  
Who, after long attendance, thinks he's blest,  
As much as Persian bowing to the East,  
When the Sun rises from his watery Nest,  
And swears the Eastern God doth not dispense  
A kinder, or a gentler influence,  
And that each look, each smile of his, doth bring  
Warmth to the Summer, beauty to the Spring.  
Who, when his Lordship frowns, admires the grace  
And manly fierceness, that adorns his face.  
Applauds the thunder, of his well mouthed Oaths,  
And then the modish fashion of his Clothes,  
And vows the Tailor, who the Garments made,  
Happy in making them, though never paid.  
These are the means by which he stands possessed  
Of favours, by each Flyblown Fool caressed,  
At every Feast an acceptable Guest.  
These if you'd purchase, and not give the price,  
Unjust, unsatiable's your avarice:  
As for familiar instance, What's the rate,  
The Gardener holds, and sells his Lettuce at?  
Let us suppose a farthing, he that buys  
Bears off the purchase, but lays down the price,  
Your Salad wants these Lettuce, you withhold  
The small equivalent, for which they're sold.  
Nor is your case a jot the worse for this,  
For as the Lettuce which he bought are his,  
So yours, who did not buy, the farthing is.  
Thus if you're not invited out to Dine,  
You pay not for his Meat, nor for his Wine,  
For he (be not deceived) who entertains,  
Doth it not Gratis, he too looks for gains.  
Right bounteous he seems, but sells his Meat,  
And praise expects for every bit you eat,  
Each luscious draught, each pleasing delicate,  
Is but a specious Snare, a tempting Bait;  
You the rich entertainment dearly buy,  
By mean obsequious servile flattery.  
If then these things, that must be purchased thus,  
Seem useful to you, and commodious,▪  
Lay down the value, do not think to get▪  
Unless you give the rate at which they're set.  
These if on easier terms you would provide,  
And without paying for them be supplied,  
How can your foolish wish be satisfied?  
Well then, but shall I nothing have instead  
Of this dear Feast, that still runs in my head?  
Yes, if you're not insatiable, you have  
Enough in lieu thereof, you're not a Slave,  
You have not praised him, who's below your hate,  
You've not admired his Dinner, nor his Plate,  
Nor past a Compliment against your will,  
Nor in low cringes shown your awkward skill,  
Nor fed his Dogs, to show the vast respect  
The Master of the Favourites may expect,  
Nor did ye admire his sumpt'ous Furniture,  
Nor all that civil Insolence endure,  
With which at meeting he informs you how,  
When you depart his presence you must bow.  
Nor have you born his arrogance and pride,  
While he surveys his board on every side,  
And fancies that he's bountiful and great,  
And thinks he makes you happy by his meat.   

XXXII.  
Nature's design, decrees, and will, we read,  
In things concerning which we're all agreed,  
Which no dispute, or controversy need,  
As, say your Neighbour's Boy hath broke a Glass,  
You're apt to cry, these things must come to pass.  
So if your own be broke, you ought from thence  
To learn to bear it with like patience,  
As if 'twere his, thence by degrees ascend,  
As thus, suppose your neighbour lose a Friend,  
Bury his Wife, or Son, I know you'll cry,  
'Tis not so strange a thing that Mortals die.  
But say the case be yours, the loss your own,  
Then what a howling's there, what piteous moan,  
What tears you shed? Ah me! forlorn! undone!  
I've lost, you cry, I've lost my only Son!  
The innocent, sweet, beauteous Youth is dead,  
He's gone, and all my Joys are with him fled.  
When all this while you should remember how  
Your Neighbour's case, like yours, affected you.  
Without a sigh, without a tear, or grown,  
You bore his loss, and so should bear your own.   

XXXIII.  
As no Man sets up marks that he may miss,  
So no such real thing as ill there is;  
For should we grant that ought in Nature's ill,  
'Twould argue cruelty, and want of skill  
In the great Artist, who all wise and kind,  
Nothing that is not for thy good designed,  
Nothing to grieve, or to torment thy mind.  
This you think wisely answered, when you say,  
Suppose a Ruffian beat me on the way,  
Or force me publicly in open Street,  
To take a kick from every Slave I meet,  
Unjust the violence, nor can I bear  
Such an affront; I must be angry here;  
Even you'll acknowledge this to be an ill;  
Thus you remain in your old Error still.  
I thought that we had cleared that point before,  
With such plain proof, that it required no more;  
I showed you 'twas no ill, and bid you blame  
False Notions, the base issue of your Brain.  
You're angry at the Man who did expose  
Your Body to the injury of blows,  
And yet expose your mind to grief and pain,  
As oft as any Railer's pleased to slain,  
With vile Reproach, the beauty of your Name.  
Judge then yourself, but judge Impartially,  
Who's guilty of the greater injury,  
Since you expose your Mind, your Body he.  
To grieve, be angry, even or to hate,  
Are ills indeed, but such as you create,  
For these let not kind Nature be arraigned,  
You, only you, are to be justly blamed▪  
Wherefore in every thing you undertake,  
Let Judgement sit, and Just enquiry make,  
Of all preliminaries leading to  
The action, which you have designed to do;  
Of every consequence and accident,  
That probably may wait on the event,  
Be sure that you can bear it, though it be  
Reproach, or Blows, or Death, with bravery;  
Which if you carelessly neglect to weigh,  
Though brisk and vigorous, at the first essay,  
You'll meet some shameful hindrance by the way:   

XXXIV.  
You say you'd win the Olive Crown, and lust  
To reap the Harvest of th' Olympic Dust;  
That History may reckon by your Name,  
From the great Year, when such a one o'ercome:  
'Tis brave, and by the Gods I wish the same.  
But then consider first what's to be done,  
Through what a course of Hardships you must run  
ere you proceed, and what may be th' event,  
And consequence of such a great attempt.  
With a strict course of life you must begin,  
Confined by Methods and sharp Discipline,  
According to direction; you must eat  
Nothing that's Boiled, and such a kind of Meat  
As is allowed, than you must drink no Wine,  
Nor yet cold Water, and observe your time  
For Exercise, you must yourself inure,  
The Summer's heat, and Winter's cold t'indure.  
These preparations made, you then must try,  
If possible to gain the Victory,  
And that not without labour, danger, harm,  
Or loss of Ribs, perhaps a Leg or Arm;  
And when whole pecks of Dust you've swallowed down,  
Been lashed, & all things requisite have done,  
'Tis possible that you may lose the Crown.  
These hazards when you've thoroughly surveyed,  
You still may venture on; nor be dismayed,  
You'll find the burden lighter which you've weighed,  
Else you'll desist, and jade, like wanton Boys,  
Who tired, and pleased, with novelty of Toys,  
Scarce warm in one, begin another play,  
And scorn the tedious sport of yesterday.  
Who sometimes Pipers, Wrestlers, represent,  
Or with tough Cudgel try their hardiment;  
Sometimes the Horn, or the shrill Trumpet sound,  
Act Tragedies, and kill without a Wound.  
Thoughtless as they, one while your hand you'll try  
In Wrestling, Fencing next, than Poetry,  
In empiric; nay, perhaps Philosophy:  
But fail in each, and all these pains bestow,  
Ridiculous as possible to grow,  
And make a wondrous bustle to express  
A reverend, and more serious Childishness,  
Like a grave Ape, whom Nature did create  
A Type of you, who can but imitate;  
Who one thing now, another strait admire,  
Who hurried on with violent desire,  
Plunge over head and ears, before you know  
How deep the silent smooth faced Waters flow,  
Or weigh the Hardships you must undergo.  
Thus some, when any much famed man they spy  
Admired for Wisdom, and for Modesty,  
Much listened to, and courted every where,  
And then, perhaps, some grave Quotation hear,  
How true speaks Socrates, nor can it be  
That any should discourse as well as he,  
Are taken with an Itch of being Wise;  
They too, forsooth, must needs Philosophise.   

XXXV.  
Having considered thus what's to be done,  
The hazards, hardships, and the risk you run,  
Consider with what strength you are endowed,  
What Nature for th' encounter hath allowed;  
As if ye affect th' Olympic Exercise,  
Examine well your Back, your Shoulders, Thighs,  
What Brawn, what Sinews for the Enterprise.  
Nor will each sort of strength suit each exploit,  
This runs, that leaps, this wrestles, throws the Coit;  
So if the Combat with yourself you try,  
And by strict methods of Philosophy,  
Your own rebellious passions strive to tame,  
And thus a more illustrious Conquest gain,  
You can't expect t' indulge and gratify  
Your Genius with accustomed Luxury.  
Nay, 'tis a Contradiction, 'tis t' obey  
Those very Lusts you mean to drive away.  
You should consider whether you can bear  
The want of far-fetched Dainties, travelled Cheer;  
You should consider whether you can Dine,  
Without a Catalogue of costly Wine,  
Whether that squeamishness you can forget  
That makes you keep an Almanac for Meat,  
That makes you sweat, and faint, when you behold  
A novelty that's more than one day old;  
And to be short, and serious, what you think  
Of Roots for Food, and the cold Stream for Drink.  
Philosophy, like some brave Hero bred,  
With Labours hardened, and with Hardships fed,  
Awake, she cries, and let the early Sun  
Blush that he sees his vigilance outdone;  
Arise, pursue, press forward, drive away  
With cheerful toil, the tedious lingering day,  
Business thy sport, and Labour be thy play.  
You should consider how you can dispense  
With leaving home to gain experience;  
How you can part with Friends, and Native Air;  
How the Fatigues of Travel you can bear;  
How in a thread bare Garment, old and torn,  
You can endure the slights, and saucy scorn  
Of Pages, Grooms, who in proud Liv'ries dressed,  
Fancy a tattered Coat a mighty Jest;  
How it will relish with you to be used  
Worse than the basest Slaves, to be refused  
All Honour, Power, Trust, Preferment, Place,  
Not to be called your Worship, styled your Grace.  
In these examine well yourself, and try  
Whether you're willing, at such rates to buy  
Freedom, a quiet mind, and constancy:  
Lest like the Boys I told you of, you prove  
Now a Philosopher, then fall in love  
With frothy trash of Orators, and thence  
Strait a Collector of th' Excise commence;  
Then tired with this, your fond desires dilate,  
And wish to be a Minister of State.  
These are wide contraries, as opposite  
As Virtue is to Vice, as Black to White.  
You can but make one single Man, and he  
A Wise good Man, or Foolish Knave must be:  
He the full sway over himself must have,  
Or be to things, not in his power, a Slave;  
Skilled in these inward Arts, or those without,  
Be Wise, or herd amongst the common rout;  
Or a Philosopher, or Idiot.   

XXXVI.  
Let your respects and services agree,  
And be proportioned to the Quality  
Of him, to whom these Services you pay;  
Is he your Father? Know you must obey,  
And cherish him, considering all his care  
For you, when weak and helpless yet you were,  
And bear with him in all things, knowing how  
Nature obliged him to be kind to you;  
All this to Gratitude itself is due.  
He heard your peevish brawling, strove t' allay  
Your Childish wrath, and wiped your tears away,  
And can't you bear an angry word, or blow,  
From one s'indulgent, one that loved you so,  
Who gave you Being? Who may well be said  
Twice to have given you life, in that he fed,  
In that with so much tenderness he bred  
Your younger years▪ Oh! but perhaps you'll say,  
He's wicked and severe, I can't obey.  
A lame excuse, let him be what he will,  
Morose, or wicked, he's your Father still;  
What e'er his Morals are, he may expect  
From you at least, a filial respect;  
You can't believe that Nature's bound to find  
A Parent for you, suited to your mind.  
Well, but you think your Brother injures you,  
You ask me here what Nature bids you do?  
Nature obligeth you to pass it by,  
Bids you neglect the fancied injury,  
Nor mind what's done by him, but bids you show  
The hearty love you to your Brother owe,  
Which can't be shown by more commodious light,  
Than when ye oppose your goodness to his spite;  
And what long since I told you think on still,  
No one can injure you against your will,  
The wrong you suffer doth from fancy grow;  
You than are hurt, when you imagine so.  
If by this steady balance then, you try  
The mutual Duties of Society,  
Which Men to Men, Neighbours to Neighbours owe,  
Which Soldiers to their General should show,  
Which Citizens should pay their Magistrate;  
You'll grant they're to be paid, without debate,  
Offence, or envy, prejudice, or hate.   

XXXVII.  
In this the main point of Religion lies,  
To have right Notions of the Deities;  
As that such Being's really are, that they  
Govern the World with just and prudent sway,  
That cheerfully you are obliged t' obey  
All their commands, well satisfied to rest  
On what they do, as ordered for the best;  
That whatsoever is by them decreed,  
From an All-knowing Wisdom doth proceed.  
Thus their wise Government you'll fear to blame,  
Or, as neglected, peevishly complain▪  
But 'tis not likely you should have this sense,  
These reverend Notions of their Providence,  
Nor can you without murmuring resent,  
Their partial, and unequal management,  
If you distinguish into Good and Ill,  
Things not depending on your power and will.  
Now if these attributes of Bad and Good,  
Of things within your power, be understood,  
You lay the fault at your own Door, and clear  
The Gods of being partial and severe.  
But if you think that outward things can be  
Some good, some bad; with this absurdity  
You wound the goodness of the Deity;  
Your God a vile malicious Fiend you make,  
Cruel, or weakly, given to mistake.  
Whom, when you foolishly averse would fly  
Death, or like natural necessity,  
Or any thing, which you have wished for, miss,  
You needs must hate, and say the fault is his,  
To whom, though he hath kindly given you will  
To wish, or not to wish, ye impute the ill;  
And, as 'tis natural, with like hate reflect  
On him, the cruel cause, as on th' effect.  
Infects, and Brutes themselves, have thus much sense▪  
Alike t' abhor th' offender and th' offence;  
Thus a fierce Cur follows and bites the Stone,  
And then pursues the Man by whom 'twas thrown:  
As on the contrary, they love, th' admire,  
What serves their wants, and answers their desire,  
And none, sure, but a Madman can rejoice  
In that which plagues him, ruins, and destroys.  
Hence 'tis the Father's hated by the Son,  
Hence 'tis the Grave Old man grows troublesome;  
The dry Bones keeps him from a large Estate,  
To which he fears he shall succeed too late:  
He therefore daily wishes he were dead,  
That his kind Heir might flourish in his stead.  
Hence that pernicious fatal War arose,  
Which Thebes to Blood and Ruin did expose,  
For proud Eteocles resolved to Reign,  
And Polynices would his Right maintain,  
For both would rule, and both would be obeyed,  
Each thought his Brother did his Right invade;  
Each thought Dominion was a Sovereign good;  
Each would assert his Interest with his Blood.  
Hence 'tis the Ploughman, when tempestuous Rain▪  
Or Draught, have rendered all his Labour vain,  
Rails on the Gods: Hence 'tis the Sailer raves,  
When tossed with furious Winds, & threatening Waves:  
Hence 'tis the Merchant curses, if he fail  
Of a quick Market, or a gainful Sale.  
Hence they who lose Children, or Wife, complain▪  
That they, alas! have Sacrificed in vain;  
What e'er they suffer, vainly wish, or fear,  
The Gods, for certain, all▪ the blame must bear.  
Nor are they pious longer than they find  
The Gods are grateful, in remembrance kind:  
Only devout while favours they obtain▪  
They make Religion but a kind of gain.  
Now he that only wisheth, things may be  
Just as they are, as the blessed God's decree,  
Whose wise aversion only doth decline  
Things he hath power to shun, can ne'er repine,  
Nor be provoked to murmur or blaspheme,  
Nor through false Notions lay the fault on them▪  
He's the true pious Man. But here you'll say,  
If we may only wish for what we may  
Bestow upon ourselves, pray where's the need  
That we raise Temples, or that Victims Bleed?  
Why should we Presents on their Altars lay?  
And why with Incense Court them every day?  
Where's the Reward for this? What's the return  
Of all this Smoke, and the Perfumes we burn?  
Will you not worship them, unless you have  
All that your Lust and Avarice can crave?  
Methinks they've given enough, in that you live  
Under their prudent care, who know to give  
Better than you to ask; who that bestow,  
Which most for your convenience they know.  
Let's add to this, (if this will not suffice,)  
They've made you capable of being Wise.  
Are these mean reasons why you Sacrifice?  
Wherefore your Offerings and Oblations pay  
With usual Rites, after your Country's way;  
Let them be given, as what you really owe,  
Without th' allay of vanity or show,  
Not niggardly, nor with too great expense,  
With all devotion, care, and diligence.   

XXXVIII.  
When you consult the Oracle, or those  
Who the deep secrets of the Gods disclose,  
Who filled with a Divine▪ Prophetic Page,  
The Will of Heaven, and its Decrees presage,  
'Tis plain, the dark event you cannot tell,  
Else why do you consult the Oracle?  
But if you're a Philosopher, you know▪  
Thus much at least of it, before you go;  
That if of things not in our power, th' event  
Must be infallibly indifferent,  
Nor good, nor bad▪ when therefore you draw nigh  
The hallowed Cavern of the Deity,  
The Will, and the Decrees of Fate t' inquire,  
Approach without aversion, or desire,  
Else to the Sacred Vault you'll trembling come,  
Like men who are arraigned, to hear their Doom.  
And know, that whatsoever the Fates ordain,  
From thence, at least, this benefit you gain,  
That rightly using this, or that Decree,  
You make a Virtue of Necessity;  
And what this benefit doth most enhance,  
'Tis such as will admit no hindrance:  
Therefore with Courage to the Gods repair,  
To whom you freely may your doubts declare,  
As to your Friends, in whom you most confide,  
Whose Prudence and Integrity you've tried;  
And what they bid you do, let it be done  
With the most prudent care, remembering whom:  
You chose for Counsellors, whom you neglect,  
If their advice you slight or disrespect.  
Nor must you every little doubt propose  
To their Divinities, but such as those,  
Which as Wise Socrates was wont to say,  
Are very dark, abstruse, and out o'th' way;  
Such as are cleared by their events alone,  
Which by no humane methods can be shown▪  
You must not such light Queries here propound,  
Which every man of common sense may sound:  
As whether Medicines can restore the Dead,  
Or Hellebore can purge a Mad-man's Head.  
No Riddles here, in which old Wives delight,  
With which those aged Sphinxes pass the Night,  
Nor such a knot as easily's untied,  
Nor questions which by Sieve and Shears are tried,  
But something difficult, and much involved,  
Fit only by a God to be resolved.  
Therefore when Reason says you're bound t' oppose,  
Though hazarding your Life, your Country's Foes,  
And with Heroic danger to defend  
Him you think worthy to be called your Friend,  
What need of Heavenly information here,  
Of Prophet, Augur, or ginger?  
Nothing but Falshood, or base Cowardice,  
Can make a scruple of a case like this,  
Since Reason hath determined long ago,  
Whether you ought t' exppose yourself or no.  
Nay, let's suppose that you're resolved to try  
This dubious weighty point by Augury,  
And that by some unlucky Omens meant,  
Death, or the loss of Limbs, or Banishment;  
Yet should these mischiefs really ensue,  
Which by foreboding signs do threaten you,  
In spite of Exile, Wounds, nay Death, you must  
Be to your Friend, and to your Country, Just;  
And Reason still commands you to redress,  
The one in danger, th' other in distress.  
Remember how that Miscreant was used,  
Who this kind office to his friend refused,  
By the Just Oracle, who drove away  
Th' ingrateful Wretch, and thus was heard to say▪  
Be gone, thou base Deserter of thy Friend▪  
Thy presence doth our Deity offend,  
Thou saw'st the Murderer give the fatal wound;  
Thou saw'st thy Friend lie weltering on the ground  
Without concern; thou didst behold him bleed,  
And not relieving didst approve the deed.  
Depart, for thou, even thou, thy Friend hast slain;  
Hence, thou abandoned Wretch, thou dost our shrine profane.   

XXXIX.  
Frame to yourself some forms, some rules, whereby  
To guide your life, on which to keep your eye,  
Which whether to yourself you live recluse,  
Or which in Conversation you may use;  
For there are dangers, which the wise would fly  
Both in Retirement and Society.  
For neither can a Ship with safety ride  
Within her Port, if not with Cables tied;  
Nor can she be secure, when under Sail,  
Though in fair Wether with a prosperous Gale,  
Unless known Rules, by long Experience tried,  
Her well-spread Canvas, and her Rudder guide.  
Nor only in the Main do Tempests roar,  
They strike the Flats, and riot on the shore;  
And skilful Sailors, with Just reason doubt  
Dangers within, as well as those without.   

XL.  
Let modest silence be your greatest care  
In humane Conversation, and beware  
Of being over talkative, and shun  
That lewd perpetual motion of the Tongue,  
That itch of speaking much, and be content  
That your discourse (though short) be pertinent;  
And when occasion serves, then speak your sense,  
Without an overweening confidence.  
Nor catch at every Bait, nor open at  
The common opportunities of Chat:  
As, such a Fencer played his part with skill,  
That, like a Wrestler, breaks what Rib he will:  
That such a Horse is of the fleetest kind,  
And that his Dam engendered with the Wind.  
That a full cry of deepmouthed, long eared Hounds,  
Is the most sweet, and ravishing of sounds.  
That such a Lord with the best Wines doth treat,  
Has the best Cook, is the best read in Meat.  
These are the threadbare Themes that please the crowd,  
The ignorant, the thoughtless, and the proud.  
But chiefly shun discourse concerning men,  
Nor fond this man praise, and that condemn,  
For all immoderate, and too lavish praise,  
Too great an expectation's apt to raise:  
And by reviling others you express  
Your little Wisdom, but much bitterness.  
Nor with absurd comparisons defame  
One man, by adding to another's Name:  
For thus, by way of foil, the ones disgrace  
Sets off the Character you mean to raise;  
With Hemlock this you Crown, & that with Bays.   

XLI.  
Among your friends, with whom you may be free  
If vain, or frivolous their converse be,  
Or seem to savour of Indecency,  
Alter the subject, sure you may invent  
Some profitable, pleasing Argument,  
Which like a gentle Tide, with easy force  
May stop the current of the first discourse;  
But among strangers learn to hold your Tongue,  
Your good intentions may be construed wrong,  
You may be termed impertinent or rude,  
Wise out of season, and be said t' intrude.   

XLII.  
Laughter, if rightly used, may be confessed  
In some sort to distinguish Man from Beast,  
While by due management it is allayed,  
While the strict Rules of Reason are obeyed;  
But shows, if over loud, or over long,  
Your Head but weak, altho' your Lungs be strong.  
For even a smile, not in its proper place,  
Too Just a blemish on your Judgement lays;  
But causeless laughter at each thing you see:  
That grinning of the thoughtless Mobile;  
That senseless gaping mirth, that is expressed  
Without the provocation of a Jest;  
That wild Convulsive writhing of the face,  
That quite disfigures it from what it was,  
Doth with humanity so little suit,  
It makes you but a different sort of Brute.   

XLIII.  
Avoid th' engagement of an Oath, or swear  
As seldom as you can, at least forbear  
To bind yourself to what you cannot do,  
And only swear to that which lies in you;  
For 'tis a wicked, blasphemous offence,  
To call the Gods to each Impertinence:  
To make them Knights o'th' Post, to testify  
That to be truth you know to be a lie.   

XLIV.  
If with Civility you can, decline  
All public Feasts, and learn at home to Dine  
With sober Food, at your own charge content;  
But if obliged, in point of Compliment,  
To eat abroad, be it your care to shun  
The vulgar Dregs of Conversation:  
As common vile Discourse, and dirty Jests,  
The nauseous merriment of greasy Feasts,  
For if your Company be Lewd, you may  
Soon grow as Dissolute and Lewd as they,  
For there's Contagion in each Word they speak,  
Each Simile they make, each Jest they break;  
Their very breath invenoms all the Cheer,  
As if the Harpy-Sisters had been there.  
Thus hurtful Vapours, rising from the ground,  
Poison what e'er they meet, leave nothing sound.  
Thus a bleared weeping Eye is apt to make  
Th' infected Eyes of the beholders ache.  
Thus Sheep diseased, palled Wine, corrupted Fruit,  
If mixed, the healthful, sprightly, sound, pollute.   

XLV.  
For Meat, Drink, clothes, House, Servants, and the rest,  
Which chiefly are the Body's interest,  
Take this prescription, you may safely use  
Such a proportion as will most conduce,  
To the internal welfare of your mind,  
And that's as much as Nature hath designed.  
Take just as much of each, as may suffice  
For health, and strengthening of your faculties▪  
What your necessities require, but fly  
Whatever tends to Pride, or Luxury.  
The frugal Belly's easily supplied,  
With wholesome, homely fare well satisfied;  
Nor hungry, doth abstain from Meat, because  
Not dressed with Art, with some peculiar Sauce:  
Nor thirsty, do you stay for choice of Wine,  
Nor do rich delicates your parts refine:  
Nay, the Mind surfeits as the Body doth,  
Intemperance hath the same effect on both.  
Our Ancestors on Roots and Acorns fed,  
Drank the cool Brook, nor felt an aching Head:  
Without Disease, or Pain, they lived to see  
A numerous, and a well▪ grown Progeny,  
And were, no doubt, as Witty and as Wise,  
Without the helps of studied Rarities.  
An Homespun Suit, tho' course, will keep you warm,  
And the keen Winter's rigour will Disarm  
Better than costly Robes of Tyrian Dye,  
Beset with Pearl, or rich Embroidery.  
Nor need you such a stately House, as may  
Afford a different Room for every day  
Through the whole year, with a large spacious Hall,  
Since one small Room may serve instead of all;  
Since you in one may Eat, Drink, Walk, and Sleep.  
And why so many Servants will you keep?  
Where's the necessity of all this State?  
Is it below you on yourself to wait?  
Have you not Limbs, and Health, and Strength, to do  
Those Offices, which they perform for you?  
But you, perhaps, believe 'tis base, and mean,  
On your own Strength, on your own Legs to lean,  
And vainly think 'tis granted and allowed,  
That to be generous is to be proud,  
And therefore when you're pleased to take the air,  
By Brawny Slaves you're carried in a Chair;  
Therefore you hire a Cook to dress your Meat;  
'Tis much you do not think 'tis mean to Eat.   

XLVI.  
Before you're Married, strive to live as free  
As possibly you can from Venery;  
Though 'tis a Lust of a Rebellious kind,  
That owns the least subjection to the mind,  
Th' effort of Flesh and Blood, the furious Horse,  
That bears against the Bit with headstrong force:  
Yet you're obliged in Justice to refrain,  
And to preserve your Body without stain.  
For as you think 'twould lessen your repute  
To Marry with a common Prostitute,  
So you're obliged to give yourself entire  
To the chaste arms of her whom you admire;  
But if you're borne so forcibly away,  
As not for Hymen and her Rites to stay,  
Yet still your Country's Laws claim Just respect,  
Though you the Rules of Chastity neglect.  
Though ne'er so Rampant, sure you may abstain  
From what's forbidden, from unlawful gain;  
As from Adultery; nor need you wrong  
Another, though your Lusts be ne'er so strong;  
Since there are other Liberties allowed,  
T' assuage this scorching Fever of the Blood.  
But if you're throughly mortified, and find  
No Inclination left for Womankind,  
Yet grow not proud upon't, nor those accuse,  
Who court those Sensual Pleasures you refuse;  
Nor boast your Virtue such, that you defy  
The weak attractions of a pleasing Eye:  
That you, forsooth, are cold as Scythian Ice,  
For boasting is a most intemperate Vice,  
Not worse the wanton sport that you despise.  
No, 'tis the Letch'ry of the Mind, for which  
There's no excuse of Flesh and Blood, an itch  
Of being praised, which rather than you'll want,  
Even you yourself are your own Sycophant.   

XLVII.  
When you're informed that any one through spite,  
Or an ill natured, scurrilous delight  
Of railing, slanders you, or doth accuse  
Of doing something base, or scandalous,  
Disquiet not yourself for an excuse,  
Nor blustering swear he wrongs you with a lie,  
But slight th' abuse, and make this calm reply:  
Alas! he's Ignorant! For had he known  
My other faults and follies, he had shown  
Those too, nor had he spoke of this alone.   

XLVIII.  
There's no great need that you should oft appear  
At Shows, or help to crowd the Theatre:  
But if it be expected you should be  
Amongst the rest, at the Solemnity  
Of Sacred Sports, when 'tis required that all  
Should join to Celebrate the Festival,  
See with Indifference, and lay aside  
Partiality, and wish on neither side;  
And be not more concerned for what you see,  
Than your own Quiet and Tranquillity:  
Be these your main concern, your greatest care,  
And wish that things may be just as they are,  
And that the Victory may fall to him,  
Who gains the Day, who doth the Garland win:  
For while to neither, to yourself you're kind,  
Nor can you any disappointment find.  
Be not transported, do not laugh aloud,  
Nor roar in Consort with the bellowing crowd.  
When the Shows over, when from thence you come,  
Dispute not much concerning what was done,  
As, who's the tallest Fellow of his Hands,  
Who best the Lance, who best the Sword commands;  
Or whether such an one was fairly slain,  
This is to act th' Encounter o'er again.  
But say ye out-talk the other, win the prize,  
Are you a jot the better, or more wise?  
You only show that you admire the Sport,  
When there's no tolerable reason for't,  
And why so great a wonder is it made,  
That a Man's quick, or dexterous at his Trade?  
That one of greater strength, or greater skill,  
Should get the better; that a Sword will kill?   

XLIX.  
Avoid, if possible, th' Impertinence  
Of those who prostitute their Eloquence,  
Who with a long Harangue, from Desk, or Stage,  
Both the rich Mobile, and poor engage:  
For what advantage are you like to gain,  
By hearing some one a whole hour Declaim,  
While Alexander's Justice he commends  
For murdering all's best and trustiest Friends?  
How are you bettered by a tuned discourse  
Of Phaleris his Bull, or Sinon's Horse?  
Or a description that's designed to show  
The various colours of the Heavenly Bow,  
In a discourse almost as long as it,  
Which the vile trifling Scribbler takes for Wit?  
What wisdom can you learn from Circe's Hogs?  
From Hecuba turned Bitch, or Scylla's Dogs?  
From weeping Niobe transformed to Stone,  
Or Bloody Tereus feeding on his Son?  
But if in Manners you're obliged to attend,  
Because perhaps the Author is your Friend;  
Or if that Tyrant, Custom, bring you there,  
Be Grave, but not Morose, nor too severe,  
Nor play the Critic, nor be apt to Jeer;  
Nor by detraction seek Inglorious praise;  
Nor seem to weep, when he your Joy would raise;  
Nor grin, nor swear, when some sad passion tries  
To draw the brinish humour from your Eyes,  
Nor to the Company disturbance cause,  
By finding fault, or clamorous applause;  
Be sober and sedate, nor give offence,  
Or to yourself, or to the Audience.   

L.  
When you have aught to do, or are to treat  
With Persons whose Authority is great,  
Let Socrates and Zeno show you how,  
And what their prudence would think fit to do,  
Were they to manage this affair for you.  
With what a temper; how serene and brave,  
In such a case, would they themselves behave?  
For neither would they crouch, nor yield through fear;  
Nor would they rude, or insolent appear;  
Nor would they any thing unseemly say,  
Nor yet through flattery give the cause away.  
By these great Patterns act, you cannot fail,  
Wisdom and Courage joined must needs prevail.   

LI.  
These things beforehand to yourself propose,  
When you're about to visit one of those  
Who are called great; perhaps he's not within,  
Or likely he's retir d, nor to be seen:  
Perhaps his Porter, some rough sturdy Boar,  
Amongst the Beggars thrusts you from the Door,  
Or when, at length, you have admittance got,  
His Honour's busy, or he minds you not.  
But if in spite of each Impediment,  
In spite of Slights, Affronts, you still are bend  
To make this Visit, know you must dispense  
With such small accidents, nor take offence  
When you're despised, nor with the vulgar cry  
'tis not so great a matter, what care I;  
In whom you through the Wizard may discern  
(Howe'er they strive to hide it) a concern,  
Who like the Fox in Aesop, seem to set  
Those Grapes at naught, as sour, they cannot get.   

LII.  
Boast not in Company of what you've done,  
What Battles you have fought, what hazards run,  
How first at such a Siege of such a Town,  
You Scaled the Walls, and won the Mural Crown;  
And how your Skill and Conduct gained the day,  
While Hosts of slaughtered Foes about you lay:  
For while your actions you yourself relate,  
You from your real merits derogate,  
With your own breath you blow away your praise,  
And overthrow those Trophies you would raise;  
You talk away those Honours you have got,  
While some despise you, some believe you not;  
Nor is't as pleasant, or agreeable  
To them to hear as 'tis to you to tell  
What is't to them what Laurels you have gained?  
What Dangers you've escaped, what Wounds sustained?  
Perhaps they fancy all that you have said  
Doth but their Sloth▪ or Cowardice upbraid,  
And vexed, or tired, they wish you all the same  
Dangers and Wounds, and Hardships o'er again.   

LIII.  
'Tis but a sorry sort of praise to be  
A droll, the Jester of each company,  
A raiser of loud laughter, a Buffoon,  
The sport, and the diversion of the Town.  
For he that strains to please, and humour all  
Into the common shore of talk must fall.  
He that would make each merry, must of force  
With every folly, temper his discourse;  
Sometimes talk down right bawdry, then defy  
The Gods, and laughed at dull Morality.  
From such behaviour, what can you expect  
But to be laughed at, and to lose respect,  
You think you're much admired, tho' much deceived,  
You're neither loved, respected, nor believed.  
For who would trust, love, honour, or commend  
The wretch, who for a jest betrays his friend:  
To whom there's naught so dear in heaven or earth,  
He would not make the subject of his mirth.   

LIV.  
You make yourself contemptible and mean,  
A member of the Rabble, if obscene  
In conversation, wherefore when you find  
Some one to lewd discourse too much inclined,  
Lecture him sound for it, if there be  
A fit, convenient opportunity.  
Tell him he vents much filth, but little wit,  
And only gains th' applause of Fools by it.  
Tell him 'tis such as some must needs resent,  
Besides 'tis needless and impertinent.  
But if by Wine, or Company engaged,  
He by your good advice may be enraged,  
By silence, frowns, or blushes, show that you  
That nauseous conversation disallow.   

LV.  
When some Idea, that excites desire,  
Courts you in all its best and gay attire,  
As when your fancy lays you on a Bed  
Of Roses, and twines myrtle round your head,  
Near amorous shady groves, and purling springs,  
While hover Cupid's fan you with their wings,  
While you in the dear Fetters are confined,  
Of some soft Beauty's arms, that's fair as kind,  
Take heed lest here so far you do pursue  
That fancied pleasure, as to wish it true:  
You're just upon the precipices brink,  
Pause then a little, and take time to think;  
Examine well the object, and compare  
Th' unequal periods, which allotted are  
To weeping penitence, and short lived bliss,  
How long the one, how short the other is:  
Joy in a nimble moment ends its race,  
And rueful, pale Repentance takes its place,  
And moves with a sad sullen heavy pace,  
Attended all the way with groans and cries,  
Self accusations, sighs, and watery eyes.  
Think then what joy, and pleasure you will find;  
That is, what peace, and quiet in your mind,  
How you will praise yourself, and bless your care  
When you escape the dangerous pleasing snare.  
But if you think the pleasure may content;  
So safe, agreeable, convenient,  
As that you'll have no reason to repent;  
Take heed you be not by its sweets subdued,  
Dragged by its smiling force to servitude:  
And think how much 'tis better to be free,  
The Conqueror of such powerful charms to be,  
And triumph in so great a victory.   

LVI.  
When you resolve to do what's right, and fit,  
Why should you shun being seen in doing it:  
Why should you sneak, or why avoid the light,  
Like conscious Bats, that only fly by night.  
What though the vulgar, who all sense disclaim,  
That many headed Monster without brain,  
Your actions through gross ignorance condemn,  
You're likely in the right, when blamed by them.  
But if the action's bad, you ought to shun  
Th' attempting it, for 'tis not to be done.  
If good; what cause have you to dread, or fly,  
Their false reproaches, and rude calumny.   

LVII.  
As we speak sense, and cannot but be right,  
When we affirm 'tis either day, or night,  
But rave, and talk rank nonsense, when we say,  
At the same instant, 'tis both night and day;  
So 'tis a contradiction at a Feast,  
To take the largest share, to cut the best,  
And be a fair and sociable Guest.  
You may 'tis true your appetite appease,  
But not your Company, nor Treater please,  
Wherefore of this absurdity beware,  
And take a modest, and an equal share,  
Nor think each sav'y bit that's there your due,  
Nor let your Entertainer blush for you.  
You may as well say 'tis both day, and night,  
As strive, at once, t' indulge your appetite  
And please the rest, and him that doth invite.   

LVIII.  
If you assume too great a character,  
Such as your feeble shoulders cannot bear,  
You must at best, ridiculous appear.  
Clad in a Lion's skin, you only bray,  
The ears stick out, and the dull Ass betray.  
Besides you foolishly neglect the part,  
In which you might have shown much skill, & art.   

LIX  
As walking you tread warily, for fear  
You strain your Leg, or lest some nail should tear  
Your feet, let the like caution be your guide,  
In all the actions of your life beside.  
Fear to offend your Judgement, fear to slight  
Reason, th' unbyast Rule of wrong and right,  
Under whose conduct we more safely may  
Fellow, where her discretion leads the way.   

LX.  
As the shoe's made to serve and fit the foot,  
As the Leg gives the measure to the Boot,  
So our possessions should be measured by  
The body's use, and its necessity.  
If here you stop, content with what you need,  
With what will keep you warm, your body feed;  
Within the bounds of temperance you live.  
But if the reins you to your wishes give;  
If Nature's limits you but once transgress,  
You tumble down a headlong precipice  
Into a boundless Gulf: This we may see  
If we pursue our former simile:  
For lets suppose, your Shoe made tied and fit,  
Strong, warm, and easy, as 'tis requisite,  
What more can be desired from a Shoe,  
'tis all that Hide, and Thread, and Wax can do;  
But if you look for more, you're hurried on  
Beyond your bounds, and then 'tis ten to one,  
That it must be more modish, pinked, and wrought,  
Then set with Pearls, from farthest Indieses brought,  
Then with Embroidery, and Purple shine,  
No matter if 'tis useless, so 'tis fine.  
So there's no farther stay, no farther bound,  
By those wh' exceed just measures, to be found.   

LXI.  
Women, when once arrived at dear fourteen,  
Begin to be admired, and gain esteem,  
They are called Mistresses, and now they find,  
That they for Man's diversion are designed,  
To which they're not averse, perceiving then  
That their preferment lies in pleasing Men,  
In being made Companions of their beds,  
They strait begin to curl, t' adorn their heads,  
To Comb, Perfume, and to consult the glass,  
To study what attire commends a face,  
To practise smiles, and a beguiling air;  
Each thinks she is as happy as she's fair,  
As she can please, as she can Conquer hearts,  
In these, and thousand other such like arts,  
They place their only hopes, on these depend,  
And earnestly ex'pect the wished for end.  
Wheresore 'tis fit that they be taught to know,  
That these respects, and honours, that we show  
To them on this account are only due,  
That as they're fair, so they are modest too;  
That they are spotless, grave, reserved, and wise,  
That these engaging virtues are the ties,  
That more oblige, than arts, or amorousies.   

LXII.  
In outward Actions, to spend too much time,  
Is of stupidity too sure a sign,  
As long to exercise, and long to eat,  
To spend whole days, at least, to cram down meat  
To try what drink your belly will contain,  
To be disgorged, to be pissed out again,  
Than half an hour, like a dull grinning Fool,  
To make wry faces, over a Closs-stool;  
Or like a brutish Swine, in sensual strife,  
To wallow out whole hours with your dull wife,  
When all this precious time should be assigned,  
For brave endeavours to improve your mind.   

LXIII.  
Doth any strive to wrong you, or design  
To slain your reputation with a crime?  
Consider he believes this wrong your due,  
That he doth only what he ought to do,  
For 'tis a thing impossible, that he  
Should so in sentinents with you agree,  
As not to follow his own bent of mind  
And that to which his Judgement is inclined,  
Now if through carelessness he judge amiss,  
He suffers most, and all the harm is his.  
He truly suffers most, whose reasons light,  
Is Clouded o'er, whom error doth benight,  
He the affront to his own reason gives,  
Who thinks wrong right, who falsehoods truths believes.  
Then why should his mistakes your Soul torment?  
His own mistakes, are his own punishment,  
He wrongs his Judgement, not the truth, or you;  
You still are guiltless, still what's truth is true,  
still 'tis a certain truth (what ere he say)  
That whensoe'er the Sun appears 'tis day.  
And thus prepared, you patiently may bear  
His rudeness, and unmoved his slanders hear,  
●nd calmly answer, that such things to him  
●it to be done, fit to be said, may seem.   

LXIV.  
If you a strict enquiry make, you'll find  
●hat to each thing, two handles are assigned.  
●he not to be endured, that will admit  
●o touch, there's none alas can manage it.  
●he other tractable, which every hand  
●ith moderate skill, and prudence may command.  
If then your Brother injur'es you, through Pride,  
Or Fraud, lay hold upon the safer side;  
And do not strait examine his offence,  
Touched, with too deep, and too grev'ous a sense  
Of the wrong offered, lest you discompose  
Your mind, and wrath to injury oppose,  
Lest in a Tempest you yourself engage,  
Which only serves to blow, t'inflame his rage.  
But rather think how near you are allied,  
That such offences ought not to divide,  
And break the knot, which Nature's hand hath tied;  
Remember all the happy years you spent  
Under one Roof, and the same managment;  
Remembering this, you'll soon forget the ill  
Your Brother did you, he's your Brother still.   

LXV.  
If I should boast I wealthier am, than you,  
It follows not that I am better too,  
If I should say, I'm the more florid Man,  
It follows not, I therefore better am.  
It rather follows, I am Richer far,  
Therefore my well filled Bags the better are.  
My tongue is better hung, my Phrase more neat,  
Therefore my Language is the more complete,  
Your Bags & Fluent speech, have some pretence  
To being better, to more excellence,  
But you are neither wealth, nor eloquence.   

LXVI.  
Doth any one bath earlier than the time  
That's usually observed, or drink much wine,  
Censure him not, nor say 'tis not well done,  
Say only, he drinks much, or washeth soon.  
For why should you, till you have understood  
His Reasons, judge his Actions bad or good?  
Perhaps he washeth early, with intent  
Thus to refresh himself with watching spent.  
What e'er your grave soberity may think,  
In him perhaps 'tis temperance to drink.  
Perhaps his Constitution may require  
More Wine, his Lamp more Oil to feed its fire.  
First know the Reasons, than you may proceed  
With safety to dispraise, or praise the deed,  
Thus will you never any Action blame,  
And then on second thought commend the same.   

LXVII.  
When you in every place, yourself profess  
A deep Philosopher, you but express  
Much vanity, much self conceit betray,  
And show you are not truly what you say.  
Amongst rude Ignorants, unthinking Tools,  
To talk of Precepts, Maxims, and of Rules.  
Is to be laughed at, thought a Banterer,  
For how can they approve beyond their Sphere.  
Your knowledge by your way of living show,  
What is't, alas! to them, how much you know?  
Act as your precepts teach, as at a Feast  
Eat as 'tis fit, 'tis vain to teach the rest  
How they should eat, who come but to enjoy  
The present Cheer, to swallow, and destroy,  
Who come to Gourmandise, and not to hear  
The sober precepts of a Lecturer.  
Let Socrates instruct you to despise  
The fond desire of being counted wise,  
Who being asked by some, (who had designed  
T' affront him with a Jest,) to be so kind,  
As to instruct them how to find, and where  
There dwelled some grave profound Philosopher,  
Although the impudent request employed  
That he was none, without concern, or pride,  
Or the least show of anger, led them thence  
To those who sold Philosophy for pence,  
Who publicly professed it as a Trade,  
And a good handsome income by it made.   

XXVIII.  
When men of shallow heads themselves advance  
Above their usual pitch of ignorance,  
To talk of Maxims, and of Rules, forbear  
To interpose your sense, or meddle there;  
Why should you laugh at this, or that confute,  
For what are you concerned in the dispute?  
What reason, or what obligation lies  
On you, to hinder them from seeming wise?  
Besides to be too much inclined to speak  
Shows your mind's Constitution to be weak,  
Your very love of talking doth declare  
How ill your principles digested are,  
And that you do not practise what you know,  
As vomiting doth a weak stomach show.  
Oh! but perhaps you fancy, that they may  
Construe your silence, ignorance, and say  
That you know nothing; well suppose they do,  
If patiently you bear it, know that you  
Have the great work begun, you now begin  
To feel your precepts strengthen you within.  
'Tis your behaviour that can best express  
The well digested Maxims you profess,  
Thus well fed Sheep do not cast up their meat,  
To satisfy their Shepherd what they eat,  
But what they eat, and inwardly digest  
By Fatness, Fleece, and Milk they manifest.   

LXIX.  
If you have learned to live on homely food,  
To feed on Roots, and Lupins, be not proud,  
Since every Beggar may be praised for that,  
He eats as little, is as temperate:  
So if you drink cold water, and abstain  
From all such Liquors as effect the brain,  
Why should you seek occasions to declare  
How moderate, how abstenious you are.  
For what advantage by it can you gain,  
If in your sober Cups you still are vain.  
Would you inure yourself to undergo  
The wrath of Winter, play with Frost and Snow?  
Let it not be in public, nor embrace  
Cold Marble-Statues in the Marketplace,  
But would you to the very height aspire  
Of bearing much, first bridle your desire  
Of being praised? take Water in your mouth  
When your parched Vitals almost crack with drought,  
And in the very pangs of thirst restrain,  
And without boasting spit it out again.   

LXX.  
The hopes, and fears of a plebeians mind,  
To outward objects only are confined;  
Riches and Pleasures are his chief delight,  
The prizes which engage his appetite,  
These he thinks make him fortunate, if won,  
And if he fail, he's ruined and undone,  
Nor has the fordid, thoughtless thing, a sense  
Of a more noble inward excellence.  
But the Philosopher's exalted Soul  
No little outward trifles can control,  
No promised Joy, nor fear his mind affects,  
His good, and ill, he from himself expects,  
Secure within himself, he can despise  
The gaieties, that charm the vulgars' eyes,  
And accidents, which weaker minds surprise.   

LXXI.  
Such, and so differing is the Character  
Of the Plebeian and Philosopher,  
Now the Proficient, he that labours on  
Towards perfection, by these signs is known,  
He no Man blames, he no Man doth condemn,  
He praiseth not himself, nor other Men,  
Boasts not the greatness of his parts, nor shows  
On every light occasion all he knows,  
Or if some rub or hindrance he find  
In any enterprise, he had designed,  
He blames himself, if praised he can despise  
The fulsome dauber, and his flatteries,  
If blamed he doth not study a defence,  
Lest he be carried on with vehemence,  
As Men, who have been lately Sick, take care  
Lest they relapse, and venture not to far,  
Till they be perfectly restored, so he  
Declines the making an Apology,  
Lest he should be too eagerly concerned,  
Before his strength of mind be well confirmed.  
All his desires, and his aversions fall,  
Only on things, which he his own can call,  
And as to things in his own choice and will  
His appetite he rules, with caution still,  
What the World judgeth him, he values not,  
Whether Philosopher or Idiot,  
In short he o'er himself is as a spy.  
He o'er his Actions keeps a watchful eye,  
As he would watch a Knave, or Enemy.   

LXXII.  
Doth any Man look big, and boast that he  
Doth understand Chrysippus throughly,  
That he hath digged the Mine, and found the Gold,  
That he, his darkest precepts can unfold,  
Say thus within yourself, why what pretence  
Would this Man have to merit, if the sense  
Of what Chrysippus writ were plain, but I  
Would study Nature, and my thoughts apply  
To follow her, but who shall lead me on,  
And show the way, 'tis time that I were gone,  
Having made this inquiry, when I hear  
Chrysippus is the best Interpreter,  
I the dark Author straightway take in hand,  
But his hard Writings do not understand,  
I find him difficult, abstruse, profound,  
I some one seek, who his vast depth can sound,  
After much search I find him, but as yet,  
I have accomplished nothing, that is great,  
Till I begin to practise what I sought,  
What he explains, what great Chrysippus taught.  
Then, and then only, is the Garland won,  
For practice is the prize, for which we run.  
If knowledge be the bound of my desire,  
If learning him be all that I admire,  
If I applaud myself, because I can  
Explain Chrysippus, a Grammarian  
Instead of a Philosopher I grow,  
For what I should have done, I only know,  
Here's all the difference between him, and me,  
Chrysippus I expound, and Homer he,  
All that I have atcheiv'd is to explain  
What great Chrysippus writ, and blush for shame  
That knowing what he taught, I still am vain.   

LXXIII.  
To these great Rules with constancy adhere,  
With noble resolutions, pious fear,  
Fear to recede from these, as you would dread  
To tear the sacred Garland from the head  
Of awful Jove, or wickedly deny  
To pay your vows made to the Deity,  
And mind not what the thoughtless Vulgar say.  
Whose words the winds blow with rank Fogs away,  
Whose calumnies you can no more prevent,  
Than chain those Roarers of the Element,  
When with their airy Wings they beat the Plain,  
And buffet the green Surges of the Main.   

LXXIV.  
Awake, awake, how long will you decline  
The happiness proposed, and waste your time,  
How long through sloth will you persist to slight,  
What reason hath informed you to be right.  
You have received the Precepts, such as may  
Guide you the safest, and the surest way,  
To which you ought to have, and have agreed;  
What other Teacher seem you now to need?  
Do you expect that some descending God  
Should leave his blessed, and Heavenly abode  
To finish what your reason hath begun,  
To teach you what ere this you might have done?  
Your giddy years of frolic Youth are fled,  
Manhood, that should be wise, reigns in its stead;  
Your vigorous reason now hath reached its prime▪  
But from its full Meridian must decline,  
If lazily you sleep away your noon,  
The night steals on you, and finds nothing done:  
If still irresolute you love delay,  
And spend whole years in fixing on a day,  
And when 'tis come new resolutions make,  
Which your neglect resolves but to forsake,  
You strive to grow more foolish than you are,  
And for grey dotage by degrees prepare,  
A mere Plebeian to the Grave you go,  
Laden with Age, with Follies, and with Wo.  
Wherefore begin, let no delays defer  
The peaceful Life of a Philosopher,  
And let, what reason tells you to be best,  
Be as a Law, that may not be transgressed.  
Begin to live, let your behaviour show  
What an advantage 'tis to think, and know,  
For this alone we life may justly term,  
To live with ease of mind, without concern.  
An hundred years in grief and anguish spent,  
Are not long Life, but a long punishment,  
For sighs, complaints, and groans, and murmuring breath  
Are but the gasps of a more lingering death.  
Therefore when ere you any object meet,  
Whose force is powerful, and whose charms are sweet,  
When you encounter hardships, danger, pain,  
Immortal ignominy, deathless same,  
Remember that th' Olympics now are come,  
That you no longer may the combat shun,  
On this one Trial doth your doom depend,  
You in one moment fail, or gain your end,  
You either conquer, or are conquered soon,  
And lose, or wear, the honours of the Crown.   

Thus Socrates advanced his lasting name,  
Thus he the wondrous Socrates became.  
Him nothing but right reason ere could sway,  
Which he believed 'twas glorious to obey,  
He all delay, in what seemed best, thought base,  
Not only real loss, but vile disgrace.  
And you (though yet you have not the success  
To reach the Wisdom of great Socrates)  
Should strive to live, as if you meant to be  
As Wise, as Happy, and as Great as he.   

LXXV.  
Philosophy's most useful part is this,  
Which shows us what a wise man's duty is▪  
Which teacheth, what we should pursue or fly,  
As for example, that we should not LIE.  
The next is demonstration, that which shows  
By argument, which from right reason flows,  
Why we, who study Nature, aught to shun  
The baseness of a false, deceitful Tongue;  
The Third is what confirms, gives force, & light,  
And proves the demonstration to be right,  
Shows where the Contradiction lies in sense,  
What is, what is not a true Consequence,  
‛ Of Truth and Falsehood gives clear evidence.  
This last is useful for the second, that  
By reason puts an end to all debate  
Touching the first, but that's the part that claims▪  
(As being the most useful) the most pains  
On which we safely may rely, and rest  
Secure of happiness, entirely blest:  
But we, O base neglect! the means pursue  
Of doing well, but still forget to do,  
We dwell on the dispute, our time is spent  
Only in framing of the Argument,  
Hence 'tis we lie, and with much Art and Skill,  
Act, what we can demonstrate, to be ill.   

LXXVI.  
In every Action, which you undertake  
With great Cleanthes, this Petition make,  
Led me, O Jove, and thou, O powerful Fate,  
In every Enterprise, in every State,  
As ye determine, for I must obey  
The wise injunctions, which you on me lay,  
For should I at your dread decrees repine,  
And strive your sacred orders to decline;  
I should but labour wickedly in vain,  
And struggle with an everlasting chain,  
And after all, be dragged along with pain.   

LXXVII.  
Think on this saying of Euripides,  
He that submits to Destiny's decrees,  
Is justly counted wise by Men, and knows  
The due respects, which to the Gods he owes.   

LXXVIII.  
And this, O Socrates, till aged time  
Shall be no more, till Stars shall cease to shine,  
Shall never be forgotten; for 'tis thine.  
O Crito, if it please the Gods, that I,  
To please the rage of Enemies, must die,  
Let it be so, the false Anytus may,  
With false Melitus, take my Life away,  
But cannot hurt me, or my Soul dismay.   
FINIS