178

In den

Die

to Lord Mulgrave, the satire against man und the verses upon Nothing. Der gröfste Theil der Gedichte ist kurz. leicht geschriebenen Songs herrscht wenig Empfindung. schmutzigen sind in der Johnsonschen Dichtersammlung, worin Rochester einen Theil des 10teu Bandes einnimmt, (In der Andersonschen Sammlung weggelassen worden. Der Gedan

findet man seine select poems im 6ten Bande.) ke über Nichts zu singen, ist nicht neu. Johnson führt (Liyes Th. I.) ein Lateinisches Gedicht eines Jean Passerat aus dem 16ten Jahrhundert an, das über eben diesen Gegenstand geschrieben ist. Die Satyre against man gehört zum Theil Boileau, ist aber mit weit mehr Stärke und Kühnheit geschrieben, als die Französische. Dafs der Dichter mit unter zu weit geht, und den Menschen zu tief erniedrigt, bedarf keiner Bemerkung. Überall zeigt sich in Rochester's Werken ein Genie, welches durch Studium zur Vollkommenheit gebracht seyn würde. Man vergleiche bei der hier aufgenommenen Satyre: Duschen's Briefe zur Bildung des Geschmacks, Theil 6, S. 98.

A SATYR AGAINST MANKIND

Were I, who to my cost already am

One of those strange prodigious creatures man,
A spirit free, to choose, for my own share,
What sort of flesh and blood I pleas'd to wear,
I'd be a dog, a monkey, or a bear,
Or any thing, but that vain animal,
Who is so proud of being rational.

His senses are too gross, and he'll contrive

A sixth, to contradict the other five;

And, before certain instinct, will prefer
Reason, which fifty times for one does err.
Reason, an ignis fatuus of the mind,
Which leaving light *) of nature, sense, behind,
Pathless and dangerous wandering ways it takes,
Through error's fenny bogs, and thorny brakes;
Whilst the misguided follower climbs with pain
Mountains of whimsies heap'd in his own brain;

*) Anderson liest: leaves the light.

Stumbling from thought to thouglit, falls headlong down.

Into Doubt's boundless sea, where like to drown,

Books bear him up a while, and make him try
To swim with bladders of philosophy;

In hopes still to o'ertake the skipping light,
The vapour dances in his dazzled sight,
Till, spent, it leaves him to eternal night.
Then Old Age and Experience, hand in hand,
Lead him to death, and make him understand,
After a search so painful and so long,
That all his life he has been in the wrong.
Huddled in dirt, this reasoning engine lies,
Who was so proud, so witty, and so wise:
Pride drew him in, as cheats their bubbles catch,
And made him venture to be made a wretch:
His wisdom did his happiness' destroy,
Aiming to know the world he should enjoy:
And wit was his vain frivolous pretence,
Of pleasing others at his own expedice: '
For wits are treated just like common whores,
First they're enjoy'd, and then kick'd out of doors.
The pleasure past, a threatening doubt remains,
That frights th' enjoyer with succeeding pains.
Women and men of wit are dangerous tools,"
And ever fatal to admiring fools.

Pleasure allures; and when the fops escape,
'Tis not that they are lov'd, but fortunate;
And therefore what they fear, at heart they hate.

But now, methinks, some formal band and beard

Takes me to task: come on, Sir, I'm 'prepar'd.

Then, by your favour, any thing that's writer
Against this gibing, gingling knack, call'd Wit,
Likes me abundantly; but you'll take care,
Upon this point, not to be too severe.
Perhaps my Muse were fitter for this part;
For, I profess, I can be' very smart
On wit, which I abhor with all my heart.
I long to-lash it in some sharp essay;
But your grand indiscretion bids me stay,
And turus. my tide of ink, another way.
What rage ferments in your degenerate mind,
To make you rail at reason and mankia

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1

Blest, glorious man, to whom alone kind heaven
An everlasting soul has freely given;

Whom his great Maker took such care to make,
That from himself he did the image take,
And this fair frame in shining reason drest,
To dignify his nature above beast:
Reason, by whose aspiring influence,

We take a flight beyond material sense;
Dive into mysteries, then soaring pierce
The flaming limits of the universe;

Search heaven and hell, find out what's acted there,
And give the world true grounds of hope and fear.
Hold, mighty man', I cry, all this we know
From the pathetic pen of Ingelo *),

From Patrick's **) Pilgrim, Stillingfleet's Replies ***);
And 'tis this very reason I despise

This supernatural gift, that makes a mite
Think he's the image of the Infinite;
Comparing his short life, void of all rest,
To the Eternal, and the Ever-blest.
This busy puzzling stirrer up of doubt,

That frames deep mysteries, then finds them out;
Filling with frantic crowds of thinking fools,
Those reverend bedlams, colleges and schools;
Borne on whose wings, each heavy sot can pierce
The limits of the boundless universe.

So charming ointments make an old witch fly,
And bear a crippled carcase through the sky.
"Tis this exalted power, whose business lies
In nonsense and impossibilities:

This made a whimsical philosopher,

Before the spacious world his tub prefer ****);
And we have modern coxcombs, who

Retire to think, 'cause they have nought to do.
But thoughts are given for actions' government,
Where action ceases, thought's impertinent..
Our sphere of action is life's happiness,

*) D. Ingelo schrieb einen religiösen Roman: Bentivoglio und Urania. **) Bischof Patrick schrieb die Parabel des Pil grims. ***) Statt Stillingfleet's reply liest Anderson: Sibb's Soliloquies. ****) Diogenes von Sinope.

And he who thinks beyond, thinks like an ass.
Thus whilst against false reasoning I înveigh,
I own right reason, which I would obey;
That reason which distinguishes by sense,
And gives us rules of good and ill from thence;
That bounds desires with a reforming will,
To keep them more in vigour, not to kill.
Your reason hinders, mine helps to enjoy;
Renewing appetites yours would destroy.
My reason is my friend, yours is a cheat;
Hunger calls out, my reason bids mẹ eat;
Perversely yours your appetite does mock,
This asks for food, that answers, what's a clock?
This plain distinction, Sir, your doubt secures;
Tis not true reason I despise, but yours.
Thus I think reason righted: but for man,
I'll ne'er recant; defend him, if you can.
For all his pride, and his philosophy,
Tis evident, beasts are, in their degree,
As wise at least, and better far than he.
Those creatures are the wisest, who attain,
By surest means, the ends at which they aim,
If therefore Jowler finds and kills his hare,
Better than Meers *) supplies committee - chair;
Though one's a statesman, th' other but a hound,..
Jowler, in justice, will be wiser found.

You see how far man's wisdom here extends;
Look next, if human nature makes amends,
Whose principles are most generous and just,
And to whose morals you would sooner trust.
Be judge yourself, I'll bring it to the test,
Which is the basest creature, man or beast.
Birds feed on birds, beasts on each other prey;
But savage man alone does man betray.
Press'd by necessity, they kill for food;

Man undoes man, to do himself no good.
With teeth and claws by nature arm'd, they hunt
Nature's allowance, to supply their want:

But man with smiles, embraces, friendships, praise,

" Anderson liest: Meres.

Inhumanly his fellow's life betrays;
With voluntary pains works his distress,
Not through necessity, but wantonness..
For hunger or for love, they bite or tear,
Whilst wretched man is still in arms for fear;
For fear he arms, and is of arms afraid;
From fear to fear successively betray'd:

Base fear, the source whence his base passions came,
His boasted honour, and his dear-bought fame; `,
The lust of power, to which he's such a slave,
And for the which alone he dares be brave:
To which his various projects are design'd,
Which makes him generous, affable, and kind;
For which he takes such pains to be thought wise,
And screws his actions in a forc'd disguise,
Leading a tedious life in misery,
Under laborious, mean hypocrisy,

Look to the bottom of this vast design,

Wherein man's wisdom, pow'r, and glory, join;
The good he acts, the ill he does endure,
"Tis all from fear, to make himself secure.
Merely for safety after fame they thirst;
For all men would be cowards if they durst;
And honesty's against all common sense;
Men must be knaves; 'tis in their own defense.
Mankind's dishonest; if you think it fair
Amongst known cheats to play upon the squaré,
You'll be undone.

you

Nor can weak truth your reputation save,
The knaves will all agree to call knave:
Wrong'd shall he live, insulted o'er, opprest,
Who durst be less a villain than the rest,
Thus here you see what human nature craves;
Most men are cowards, all men should be knaves.
The difference lies (as far as I can see)
Not in the thing itself, but the degree;
And all the subject matter of debate,
Is only who's a knave of the first rate.

Postscript.

All this with indignation have I hurl'd

At the pretending part of the proud world,