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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 Scrivener, an exceeding Knave

Char of Men.

EPISTLE I

7ES, you defpife the man to Books confin'd,

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Who from his ftudy 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, fo talkative and grave,

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That from his cage cries Cuckold, Whore, and Knave, Tho' many a paffenger he rightly call,

You hold him no Philofopher at all.

And yet the fate of all extremes is fuch,

Men may be read, as well as Books, too much. 10 To obfervations which ourselves we make,

We

grow more partial for th' Obferver's fake; To written Wisdom, as another's, lefs:

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Maxims are drawn from Notions, those from Guefs.
There's fome Peculiar in each leaf and grain,
Some unmark'd fibre, or fome varying vein :
Shall only Man be taken in the grofs?
Grant but as many forts of Mind as Mofs.
That each from other differs, first confefs;
Next, that he varies from himself no less;
Add Nature's, Cuftom's, Reason's, Paffion's ftrife,
And all Opinion's colours caft on life.

Our depths who fathoms, or our shallows finds,
Quick whirls, and shifting eddies, of our minds?

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On human actions reason tho' you can,

It

may be reason, but it is not Man:

His Principle of action once explore,

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'That instant 'tis his Principle no more.

Like following life thro' creatures you diffect,
You lose it in the moment you detect.

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Yet more; the diff'rence is as great between
The optics feeing, as the objects feen.
All Manners take a tincture from our own;
Or come difcolour'd thro' our Paffions shown.
Or Fancy's beam enlarges, multiplies,

Contracts, inverts, and gives ten thousand dyes.
Nor, will Life's ftream for observation stay,

It hurries all too fast to mark their way :
In vain fedate reflections we would make,

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When half our knowledge we must snatch, not take. Oft in the Paffions' wild rotation toft,

Our spring of action to ourselves is loft:

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VER. 26. It may be Reafon but it is not Man:] i. e. The Philofopher may invent a rational hypothesis that shall account for the appearances he would investigate; and yet that hypothefis be all the while very wide of truth and the nature of things.

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VER. 33. All Manners take a tincture from our own; come difcolour'd thro' our Passions shown.] These two lines are remarkable for the exactnefs and propriety of expression. The word tincture, which implies a weak colour given by degrees, well defcribes the influence of the Manners; and the word difcolour, which implies a quicker change and by a deeper dye, denotes as well the operation of the Paffions.

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Tir'd, not determin'd, to the last we yield,

And what comes then is mafter of the field.
As the last image of that troubled heap,
When fenfe fubfides, and Fancy fports in fleep,
(Tho' paft 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 most we do.

True, fome are open, and to all men known;
Others fo very clofe, they're hid from none;
(So darkness strikes the fense no less than Light)
Thus gracious CHANDOS is belov'd at fight;
And ev'ry child hates Shylock, tho' his foul
Still fits at fquat, and peeps not from its hole.
At half mankind when gen'rous Manly raves,
All know 'tis Virtue, for he thinks them knaves:
When univerfal homage Umbra

pays,

All fee 'tis Vice, and itch of vulgar praise.

When Flatt'ry glares, all hate it in a Queen,

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While one there is who charms us with his Spleen. But thefe plain Characters we rarely find;

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Tho' ftrong the bent, yet quick the turns of mind:
Or puzzling Contraries confound the whole;
Or Affectations quite reverse the foul.
The Dull, flat Falfhood ferves, for policy:
And in the Cunning, Truth itself's a lye :
Unthought-of Frailties cheat us in the Wife;
The Fool lies hid in inconfiftencies.

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