[ HUMAN HAPPINESS ; OR THE SCEPTIC . A POEM , IN SIX CANTOS . ]

CANTO II . QUOTH William , Sir , the question rests Concerning human happiness ; The which I think you would deny That it exists — I don't know why — Especially when I reflect On all the riches , and respect , The parks , the tenements , and manors , The titles , ancestry , and honours , With every other worldly blessing , All which I see you , Sir , possessing . Pshaw , William , you're a simple tony , Because you're poor , you think that money Will exorcise each human evil , And send it packing to the Devil ; That nothing could excite your cares , But want , or sickness , or grey hairs : You'll find , friend William , to your cost , You've reckon'd here without your host . You little know the freaks and fancies , The ups and downs , and pranks and prances Of Miss Imagination's mare , When frisking forth to take the air : Not troops of witches , or of fairies , Sailing to sup on dead man's gizzard , With Lapland or Norwegian wizard , On broom-sticks e'er had such vagaries ; Or winc'd and winnied , cut and caper'd , Half like this Lady , when she's vapor'd . This , William , as you may divine , Is no discovery of mine ; 'Tis known in every king's dominion , That happiness is but opinion ; But since the subject has been started , Somewhat , perhaps , may be imparted , Tho' we in whifflng squalls do sail , Of whim , or humour , wit , or tale , Of satire , argument , or pathos , Shall steer us clear of quicksand bathos . T' exemplify what I assert , Once more to Fancy we'll revert ; To Fancy , that capricious Goddess , Who plays such pranks with human bodies . You've read , no doubt , for who has not ? Who reads not Pope ? Or has forgot , She once suppos'd herself a pot ? ( In which a Lady made her tea , Or slily kept her ratafia ) This arm a kimbo , that stretch'd out , She call'd the handle and the spout ; And most devoutly begg'd and pray'd Not to be wash'd by careless maid , Lest she , in action of ablution , Should suffer total dissolution ; Deeming , full sure , a broken pate , Were mortal in that fragile state . Another time , as authors tell ye , She call'd herself a currant jelly ; And squatted , crouching , quivering , quaking , Imploring in most piteous taking , When haunch of ven'son chanc'd to meet her , No hungry Alderman might eat her . A third strange whimwham , pray Sir note , She once crept down a cobler's throat , And there the curst , fantastic vixen The simple fellow play'd her tricks on ; Swearing , in phrases most unhallow'd , Poor Crispin had his lapstone swallow'd ; And press'd so hard upon his liver , And took such oaths , good God forgive her , And told such lies , all to convince The brain of our distemper'd prince ; That , had he been or Turk or Jew , He must have thought the thing were true . Another time , as I've heard say , She swore she was a truss of hay , And told , in wailings and alasses , How she was prey'd upon by asses ; Tho' here , some add , this piece of fun , Was but contriv'd for sake o'th' pun . But I despair to think of half The tricks she acts to make you laugh . Sometimes she mounts into the head Of some poor wretch , before half mad ; There his weak intellect abuses , And swears , by G— , she's one o'th' Muses ; And , tho' before he did not know it , Himself is , out of doubt , a poet . Then you shall see him stamp and stare , And look as wise as Moss's mare , And beat his brow , and curse his fate , And rub his eyes , and scratch his pate , And beg and pray his Polyhymnia , To please to grant a rhyme to chimney ; Then strait unbuttons he his doublet , To hammer out unmeaning couplet ; About it and about it lingers , And counts his feet upon his fingers ; But tho' his thoughts run music-ally , He cannot somehow make 'em tally ; Tho' fifty Loves and Doves are there , Not any two of them will pair . He studies , dozes , twirls his thumbs , And when , at last , the butter comes , Enraptur'd at the lucky hit , And all amaz'd at his own wit , Without the help of toe or tarsus , He's at the top of Mount Parnassus . Thus , whilst this most insiduous jade The simple fellow would persuade That he's the only man i' th' moon , And all the world shall know it soon ; That she'll provide him better forage , And give him plumbs to put in's porridge ; Likewise , or else it shall be curst hard , Will send him mutton to his mustard ; That woodcock , ortolan , and chicken Are ready roasted for his picking ; Thus , while he waddles up Fame's ladder , As empty and as big as bladder , Inflated and possess'd by legion , And thinks he soon shall reach the region , Where he'll p-ss down , while they adore him , On all that ever went before him , Instead of finding he's more glorious Than Bantam King , of fame notorious ; The d — d , insidious , sly suborner Hath pill'ried him in poet's corner . Sometimes the wicked hussey steals Into the head , or rather heels , Of a dull cit , or weak patrician , And , lo ! behold a politician ! See how he runs about the town , Cries this man up , and that man down ; Gives tongue and toe eternal action , The busiest loudest tool of Faction ; Harangues at taverns , mounts the table , With piteous phiz , prognosticable , Foretels a fact — by way of fable ; ( He had it from a wise Phry-gian ) As how an ass may spurn a lion . Thus makes his senseless hearers stare , In hopes next night to fill the chair . Thus , having first pull'd up his breeches , Unloads most lamentable speeches From belly warehouse , where they lie Pack'd up and stow'd , all cut and dry ; Then wipes his eyes , and eke his nose , And weeps his bleeding country's woes ; For if so be , as how , because — He's one o'th' guardians of her laws ; And then the beetle-brain'd rebuker Abjures all filthy lust of lucre ; And swears so fervently he's honest , He almost thinks himself in earnest ; Then prophesies , like Jeremiah , Till he makes all his hearers cry ah ! Tells how the people are abus'd , What places , pensions , he refus'd ; Of trade declin'd , supplies mispent , How farmers cannot pay their rent ; How , what is most to be lamented , Not one in fifty's represented ; How 'tis our duty to combine , T' eradicate or countermine Prerogative , since all may see Men who are govern'd can't be free ; How , 'mong a people wise and brave , The King should be the only slave ; How , might he carry on the farce , He'd strip him bare as a bird's a — se Of sceptres , crowns , and glories garish , And send him packing to his parish . Then vents he mouthfuls of big breath , Of traitors , Tower-hill and death ; So many necks has he to stretch , You'd think th' infatuated wretch Were Lord Chief Justice — or Jack Ketch . Not Welch itself , by Welchmen utter'd , Was e'er with more vehemence sputter'd ; His words so singe you as they sally , You'd swear he'd wildfire in his belly ; Or that the hissing , quacking gander Maintain'd , incog , a salamander . But should you from these fumes of reason Subtract hems , epithets , and treason ; Of all this wond'rous waste of brains You'd quickly find that nought remains . Friend William , didst thou e'er behold A flock of sheep , pent in a fold ? And didst thou see , when thou wert gazing , The shepherd turn them out a grazing ? If so , thou couldst not chuse but note How stupidly , within their cote , Like wond'ring clown with — oh la-a ! These sheep have stood and bleated Ba ! And how they wanted , ' mid their moping , The instinct to begin eloping ; How they'd not stir a single foot , 'Till crook or cur had set 'em to't . But , when the first had pass'd the hurdle , A man of Gotham might as soon Forth from a fish-pond rake the moon As keep them in their twiggen girdle . William , just so , your patriot sheep Will from their torpid stupor leap , And bound o'er every proper fence Of law , of loyalty , and sense , Soon as some knave , adroit and knowing , Has set the stupid flock agoing . This , William , give me leave to say , Of all the whims in Fancy's pate , Will most to wickedness betray Those whom it shall contaminate . And yet , methinks , I've heard you plead , Said Will , as tho' it were your creed , With wond'rous force of elocution , In favour of the constitution ; As tho' you would gain proselytes , To struggle for the people's rights ; Have heard you vow , with iteration , Indeed , with awful imprecation , To see them violated , rather , With your own hand , you'd stab your father ! Ay , quick return'd the impetuous Knight ▪ May plagues and perils infinite , May ev'ry pest Hell could supply O'erwhelm my house and me , if I , Tho' I detest the horrid fact , Would not this tragedy enact E'er see , — howe'er th' accursed crime were mourn'd , E'er see — the Constitution overturn'd ! But , when a Monarch fills the throne , Whom even Faction's self must own Is anxious still in Virtue's cause , And holds inviolate those laws , Which are the comments of his pow'r ; His guide , his sword , his shield , his tow'r ; A Monarch merciful and just , Who so reveres his sacred trust , That , rather than o'erstep the mound By which he's circumscrib'd and bound , He patient hears , audacious grown , The traitor's speech approach the throne ; Forgets , to gain his people's love , Revenge , which Pity would approve ; Feels the black hand of Malice press With tenfold weight , nor seeks redress ; But takes the noblest way to Fame , Abhorrent of the tyrant's name — When virtues such as these preside , Shall I with venom'd tongue deride ? Or labour , with unhallow'd hand , To sow dissension thro' the land ? Shall I become a nation's scourge , With frontless , damn'd ambition urge An ignorant and headstrong rage , And every knave and fool engage , To bawl for me , and spread sedition , Regardless of mankind's perdition , And , for some partial , private good , Plunge thus a weeping world in blood ; Tear the poor peasant from his home , And send the widow to the tomb ; Nations make waste and desolate , That once were happy , rich , and great ? Oh ! curst ! oh , doubly curst , be he , Who , thus , from human pity free , Disclaiming Nature's social ties , Deaf to a suffering people's cries , Sinks millions , that himself may rise ! Gives War and Devastation birth , And hurls Destruction o'er the earth . My heart's appall'd ! My blood runs cold ! Methinks , affrighted , I behold Insatiate Rage , by Discord led , Where Faction shakes her snaky head ! The yell of Death howls in my ear ! Lo ! brother's blood their hands besmear ! Their garments dy'd in matron's gore , By children slain whom once they bore ! Vain are the virgin's streaming eyes , The groans of age , and orphan's cries ; No help the mother's shrieks obtain , The kneeling wife implores in vain ; Where Rape defil'd her sacred bed , Her husband mangled lies , and dead ! No tears could stay th' impending blow , Fell Discord mocks at human woe ; Remorseless gives the fatal stab , And views the vital fountain ebb ; Beholds the writhing infant die , Hears Nature utter her last cry ; Reviews the havoc she has made , Her prowess , arm , and clotted blade ; Exults , recounts each mortal thrust , Each act of carnage and of lust ; With horrid pleasure sucks the parting breath , Then flies to seek new scenes of blood and death ! These are thy deeds , from thee they sprung ; — Thy ranc'rous heart and clam'rous tongue , Oh Faction ! most accursed siend ! War , Discord , Slaughter , Rage conven'd ; Bade them , their hellish flags unfurl'd , Proclaim thee Mistress of the World . Oh William , could a single hand But drive that Daemon from the land — Were it — but ah , the wish is vain , A tyrant's veins the steel may drain , A Demagogue is never slain ; For while the fire funereal flashes , A hundred rise from forth his ashes . But let us quit the dismal theme ; 'Tis painful William in th' extreme : This , only , I intreat you'll note , Not one example I can quote More firmly proves my first position — That is , the hapless inhibition Which Fancy lays , or more or less , On what's call'd human happiness . When Passions , violent as these , Once on the restless bosom seize , Labours , vexations , cares , and fears Increase , still , with encreasing years .

CANTO III . NOW let us once again proceed , With Madam Fancy , and her breed Of airy visions in the brain : But this much let me first explain ; I can't perhaps at all times stay The application to convey , If with the subject I should wax warm . — Take this , then , as a general axiom : There's not an instance I shall cite , Of Miss Imagination's flight , But tends to prove how , more or less , She cheats us of our happiness . Remember this , and be aware on't , For tho' it often seem apparent , That she on some delight is feeding , Or is with joy and pleasure breeding , She swells , as presently you'll find , Either with water , or with wind ; Or else , with many a strange contortion , Brings forth an embrio in abortion . The only comfort she is skill'd in Is that fine art call'd Castle-building : Pursuing which , sometimes , she'll rise Ten thousand leagues above the skies ; And , ere you'd empty Mah'met's pitcher , Find fifty thousand whims bewitch her ; There will the busy brain-sick fool Among th' immortals place her stool : But , on so ticklish a foundation , The slightest jog of pain , or passion , Strait tumbles down my anti-mentor , Ten thousand leagues below the center . Should you demand the reason why She sinks so low , and soars so high , Is strong yet feeble , quick yet slow , I'll tell you , William — when I know . Anon , invited by the weather , She'll perch upon an ostrich feather ; Whence she'll persuade , with wheedling air , Some maid to pin it in her hair : And there , to pay her thanks and duty , She sits and forms the line of beauty ; Waves , curtsies , nods , and bows , to please Each well-dress'd passenger she sees ; Hoping to find that man in dis-tress Who does not long to kiss her mistress . And , should the dear bewitching maid But take her to a Masquerade , Or jig her tail down at a Court dance , She swells to see her own importance ! The posture which you put your lip in Tells me you think you've caught me tripping : That , vice versa to my plan , I'm proving now my goose a swan . But , though you think you're Signior Sly-boots , I'm coming with a pair of dry puts . And , first , friend William , pray declare , Had Fancy coax'd the gentle fair Some social duty to sustain , Instead of bidding her be vain And ogle ev'ry petit maitre , Had not her pleasure been much greater ? Again — pray did you never find , From observations on your mind , When you've been dup'd into applause , By crowns and sceptres made of straws , Have ran to seize , hot and impetuous , Some whiz-gig of an ignis-fatuus — Have call'd a council on your cloaths , And plac'd a patch beside your nose , That you might rival certain beaus — To prove yourself the drunkard's match , Have clapt and chorus'd ev'ry catch — And roar'd , and been damnation jolly , Lest you had been outdone in folly — When back conducted , by reflection , To reason , and to recollection ; I say , with most abundant gall , Abjur'd you not the midnight brawl ? Deplor'd you not your time thus fled , At ev'ry throbbing of your head ? And curst , in ev'ry various shape , The fops and fools you strove to ape ? While strenuous , thus , Sir Thomas pleads , Will smiles assent — the Knight proceeds . Sometimes our minx , of grandeur vain , Is seated in a lady's train , While fops behind , and fops before , Surround , attend her , and adore ; And , with a civet cat's assistance , The rabble keep at awful distance . There , like our Monarch , heav'n bless him , When Common-council-men address him , She hears with dignity their speeches , With mildness answers each demand , Then strait presents her lady's hand , And bids them kiss , and grow like leeches . Or , rather , like , with cannon's rouse , The King proceeding to the House : For thus , with mien majestical , She spreads the flowing garment round , And , as it slowly sweeps the ground , Is drawn in state along the Mall . But if , her reason to recall , A little rain should chance to fall , Asham'd of her fantastic feats , She shrinks , and hides her in the plaits : Most cursedly chagrin'd to hear , Miss Daggletail hiss in her ear . Oft , with ad inquirendum big , She squats down on a Judge's wig , And hears , with most affected patience , Rejoinders bully replications ; Thinks it behoveth her to stay , Tho' 'twere 'till resurrection day , Most solemnly to hear 'em argu ' on — But , tir'd at last of law and jargon , She tells my Lord its very late , Or , tickling , makes him scratch his pate , And shake his well-fill'd wig about her ; Then skulks off in a shower of powder . In graceful shape , you'll sometimes see her , Pendant at Miss or Madam's ear , Sit bragging how she has the art To deck that unimportant part ; To prove which farther still she goes , And bobs about a Banyan's nose : But , if a cold should seize her vassal , And rheum should run down sewer nasal , No dog more simple phyz e'er put on , When he was bid beware of mutton . Of this see more , if you desire , Cantus Secundus , Matthew Prior , Who , to his most harmonious lyre , Sang something like the present song , And sang so various , sweet , and long , I'm troubled , with my notes jejune , To keep from strumming Matthew's tune . Observe , my friend , before my next Remark , I chuse to change my text ; I chuse to call our old parole , IMAGINATION , now , THE SOUL . The dictionary search , you'll find SOUL is synonimous to MIND ; And MIND is with IMAGINATION The same thing held , throughout the nation . And seeing , Will , I speak in rhyme Of subjects vulgar and sublime , I'll wrest the word , or phrase , to my sense , That is — I'll take poetic licence . I tergiverse , as you shall see , But let that rest 'tween you and me , To introduce a similie . The body's an ingenious house ; The soul — a sort of little mouse , That through some chink , or cranny , enters , And seldom into day-light ventures ; But duly takes her midnight ramble , In zig-zag motions — skimble skamble : Is found nocturnally eloping , Whene'er the door ( the mouth ) is open ; And scuds and gibbers in the glades , To fright your clownish men and maids ; And frisks and glides about the bed , And often makes my Lady dread She hears a thief — or sees a sprite , And ring her bell , and strike a light ; When strait the cause of all her fears Jumps down her throat , and disappears . This mouse herself , both day and night , Is also often in a fright ; For , not to mention mynheer rat , She swoons if you should name a cat . By rat and cat , no doubt , you ween ; I Hope and Fear , friend William , mean : Who keep such watch , o'er madam's diet , She scarce can mump a crust in quiet ; But goes with divers fears and pains to't , Although she's hid behind the wainscot . And though the foe's not under arms , She's always subject to alarms . For why ? she oft has felt their claws , When farthest , as she deem'd , from paws ; And when she thought to lick her chaps , Has many times been caught in traps When least she dreamt of such mishaps .

CANTO IV . MY similie is at an end ; To Fancy we'll return , my friend . Sometimes she'll take it in her head , To sit and muse among the dead ; And then , before your eye could twinkle , She'll hop to th' charnel-house , and sprinkle Some favorite friend's unconscious bones , And hear again his dying groans ; And kiss his lips , and catch his sighs , And cleanse his brow , and close his eyes ; And wring her hands , and rend her hair , In all the horrors of despair : As when she caught his parting breath , In the last agonies of death . Nor are such griefs to her ideal ; With Fancy every thing is real : Which gives occasion to your sceptic , Or , rather , to herself , to deem , From these emotions epileptic , That she exists but in a dream . That soul and body , matter and spirit , With all which men think they inherit , To which they give such fond reception , Is nothing but a meer deception . I can't , said William , I protest , Conceive such things , except in jest , Have ever enter'd mortal head ; Have ever , yet , been sung , or said . Then , pray inform me , by what token , Sir , I shall gain certainty , fair spoken , Sir , Replied Sir Thomas : or what sign Shall bring conviction , friend of mine , That I am now with you debating , And 'gainst the post exonerating : Or , though I think I make it shake , I shall not shortly start and wake . Why , Sir , last night , in my first sleep , I , at my spigot end , did weep ; ( Observe , when stomach too replete is , I'm subject to your diabetes ; Which , though the bed it will besmear , Is sweeter than your diarrhoea . ) I say , I stood against the wall , And saw and heard the water fall ; It could not be behind the curtain , So well convinc'd was I , and certain : But more to prove it to the million , I wrangled with my own postillion , Dar'd the best man that e'er wore head To prove that I then p — t the bed . And yet , for all my fending feats , Molly was forc'd to change the sheets ; At least , so did I after deem , For so depos'd my waking dream . But which was right , or which was wrong , To your Logicians doth belong , From Mr. Minor and Mr. Major , By consequent , or else by wager , These doubts and darkness to dispel ; For I'll be d — d if I can tell . Again — I dreamt one night before , As I was standing at my door , A woman came — a frightful figure — And of a pistol held the trigger ; Her hands were bloody — she would enter , And , as I follow'd , to prevent her From strangling my beloved Nancy , She striding forward , to my fancy , Just then , as I with fear was fainting , I look'd and found her head was wanting . And now my courage had forsook me , Another terror overtook me . Instead of Nancy's massacre , I found that I had murder'd her ; For , being headless , it was plain She had by somebody been slain ; So dreading to be left i' th' lurch , I made a skip to top o' th' Church , And on the steeple sat me down , And laugh'd , and look'd about the town . Here I was seiz'd a-new with fright ; For , meditating on the height , And seeing nothing on the wall That I could catch to save my fall , I found , by calculation true , As I look'd down , and took a view , E'er I could light in streets or lanes , 'Twas odds that I dash'd out my brains . Now for a moment I forgot If I had being , or had not ; Then found myself upon my feet , And walking up a spacious street : But , ere I could proceed much further , Was taken up , and hung for murder ; To Sweeps and Sandmen did exhibit A body dangling to a gibbet . And now , I was not only vex'd , But , somehow , damnably perplex'd , To think , on finding I was dead , What I should do to get my bread ; But in the midst of all this thrall , I jump'd from thence to Surgeon's Hall : Where I beheld a row of fellows , That just were taken from the gallows ; Ill-looking , ragged , vile companions , And strung all round like ropes of onions ; By wires hung pendant , as their wont is , 'Tween os occipitis et frontis . And here , instead of being dissected , I see those operations acted . My perinaeum shrinks to note 'em ; I clap my hand upon my scrotum , And view , the while my flesh doth quiver , Now this man's heart , then that man's liver . No mortal yet , by day or night , Ever beheld more shocking sight . Yet they're alive , nor are they screaming , But wrangling , singing , and blaspheming , From mouths that with most ghastly grin , Tobacco take , and beg for gin . And here , amidst this scene of terrors , I feel insufferable horrors ; I fly , oppress'd with dreadful gloom , To every corner of the room : From this man start , and jerk from t'other , Then bob my back against another Swifter than ball in Tennis-court , 'Till Nature can no more support , But shrieks with violent agitation , And , waking , says — its suffocation : Or swears some fiend her rest was troubling , Some Night-mare , Witch , or glum Hobgoblin . One other vision give me leave , Among my arguments , to weave . I went one night , about eleven , To bed — or , rather — went to Heaven . 'Twas in the latter end of spring , My heart was light as Wood-lark's wing ; My health was good , my spirits better , My mind without a single fetter ; By cares nor crosses was I teaz'd , Nor spleen , nor passion , on me seiz'd : I mean to say , I felt , just then , What happiness is call'd , by men . I cannot give sufficient cause , I only know that so it was ; And that such feelings , as it seems , Do gen'rate most delightful dreams . I went to bed , then , thus dispos'd , And , as I guess , not long had doz'd Before I fell , by some blest chance , Into a kind of heav'nly trance ; Unconscious I of sleep or bed , No pillow now supports my head , Nor bolts , nor bars , nor walls restrain , Nor heavy limbs my soul detain ; But , gliding on , by swift degrees , I seem to be where'er I please : I lightly leap o'er brook , or briar , And step — as far as I desire . Anon , on lofty hill I stand , View the green corn , and furrow'd land ; See mountain , valley , wood and mead , And shepherd stray , and cattle feed ; And distant hills , and waters spy , That glitter pleasure to the eye ; While the sweet landscape doth unite Innumerous objects of delight . Then , quick as thought , they instant take The form of an extensive lake , In amphitheatre capacious , A flat of waters , bright and spacious , Which Fancy quickly scatters o'er With islands , towns , and many a shore , Where verdure smiles , and men are seen , And happy Nature plays serene . Here , while I view the water's gleam , I find myself amid the stream ; And , as the gentle current glides , My active thought my body guides To ship or shore , now there , now here , Sportive and undisturb'd by fear ; And , as the waters me embrace , I vagrant roam from place to place : And , as I lave each happy limb , And strike , and dart , and lightly skim , I think , good God ! how well I swim ! While thus supine I lie , anon , I twinkle , and the whole is gone ; The scene is chang'd , no more appear Or ships , or towns , or islands , near . No more the chrystal waves are seen , Two tow'ring mountains I'm between ; Prodigious in their height and size , Their summits lie beyond the skies ; Their magnitude new wonder brings , From which a pleasing grandeur springs ; Such vast immensity before The face of Nature never wore : Nor e'er in me , till now did blend , Such happy pow'rs to comprehend . While down the winding vale I stray , Upon an ivory pipe I play A various and delightful lay . My fingers touch as though they flew , Each note's so sweet , and yet so new , I play and listen to the sound , From rock to rock I lightly bound ; Sweet echos ev'ry cavern fill , While my agility and skill A mixture breed of strange surmize , Of doubt , of pleasure , and surprize ! Encourag'd by the past , I try If it be possible to fly : When , strange to think , with utmost ease I sail adown the pleasant breeze . Amazement new , and new demur , Again , and yet again , recur . Have I my former self forgot ? Or is it me — or is it not ? Again I try , again I find , My body lighter than the wind ; Till , wanton grown , with joy and mirth , I spurn the bosom of the earth ; Into the middle region mount , And cities , seas , and kingdoms count : Strait recollect , and now behold , Whate'er I'ad read , or had been told . My mind , my sight , my soul , expand ; I view the near and distant land , Each object see , examine all , And understand both great and small ! The freedom , too , with which I range Is more extatic , than 'tis strange . When , as I high , and higher , fly , Sudden appear , throughout the sky , Horses and men in glittering arms , And nought is heard but war's alarms : The warm bright sun , in splendant glances , Plays quivering on their burnish'd lances . Yet as I view the shining steel , No sense of danger do I feel ; To win renown I now aspire , And glow with all the hero's fire ; My arm bears vict'ry , I presage , But , ere the armies can engage I look again , when , lo ! the host Is all in dancing meteors lost ! Still Night appears , and Luna's beams , And light shoots o'er the sky in gleams . But how shall I find words to tell , What , William , after this befel ? Conceive me sailing still on high , That , swifter than the winds , I fly ; That , now , I feel a tempest rise , In which I'm tost about the skies , Which are with clouds and gloom o'ercast , A trumpet blows a solemn blast ; Then , in the murky hemisphere , Myriads of seraphim appear , That all the heav'ns illuminate , And joys , unfelt before , create . They cry aloud — " THE GENERAL DOOM , THE DAY OF RESURRECTION'S COME ! " And lo ! as down my sight I bend , Th' inhabitants of earth ascend ! In swarms they rise , from latest time , From ev'ry nation , ev'ry clime ! The quick and dead of ev'ry coast , Now , smiling , meet the angelic host ! All upward , now , their course pursue , 'Till heav'n itself appears in view ! 'Till the fam'd music of the spheres , Salutes our ravish'd wond'ring ears ! But , William , just as I believe , No pow'r can me of bliss bereave — Just as th' eternal gates unfold , And , past conceiving , I behold The glories I must soon partake — William — just then — alas — I wake . Suddenly , thus , my hopes were gone , In less time than St. Paul's strikes one ! And all , because , such was my lot , Before I went to sleep , god-wot , A certain duty I forgot . Thus , while I had my heavenly trances , My Lady had her earthly fancies . Thus , while I floated in the air , She , restless , tumbling here and there , With her sharp elbow spoil'd my mirth , And cast me down from heav'n to earth . Oh could I but , my friend , have tarried In this blest place — but I was married — And women , Will , are very loath Men should feel joys not felt by both . Just so Eurydice , I've read , Brought down her spouse among the dead , On earth she would not let him dwell , While she was forc'd to live in Hell .

CANTO V. CUZ ' , I've related all these visions , To help our logical decisions ; From which I can't but draw conclusion , That all is chaos and confusion : That I'm as well convinc'd each night As the next day , that I am right : In walking can no more confide Than when on " wings of winds I ride . " The consequence of which I take , is , That , whether man asleep or ' wake is , His happiness , whate'er it seem , Is full as false as any dream . How often , pray , are we mistaken , When we conclude we're really waking ? How often does each simple bustard Firmly believe rice-pudding custard ? And is not ev'ry term that's us'd , Still , liable to be abus'd ? A relative that has no standard , That may mean rear , when it says van-guard ? What you intend by sweet and sour , By short and long , by day and hour , Are but significant , and true , When felt by me as felt by you . You may affirm the ven'son sweet , I swear it is not fit to eat . Some liquorice love , and others lacker Their grinders with quid of tobacco . Your birds of passage fly , with ease , From land to land , across the seas ; From Dover Cliff to th' church at Dieppe , Your swallows say is but a step ; But ask a snail , or slow-worm , either , How long they'd be in crawling thither . In Lapland , if I'm told aright , Summer is day , and Winter night : Then how can you in terms be clear , If half a day be half a year ? Whatever may be said at college , SENSATION is the source of knowledge ; Our tongue , eyes , nose , and ears perceptive , Taste , colour , smell , and sound make captive : These bring the various wares they deal in , And stock their great emporium FEELING ; But then they're all so curst conceited , They everlastingly are cheated : Are so deceiving , and deceiv'd , They ne'er deserve to be believ'd ; So simple are , and void of art , They'll take the veriest juggler's part ; Wou'd Breslaw help , them to trepan , Sir , Then hang him for a necromancer . William , whose tongue began to itch , Thought he , who such attention paid To ev'ry thing Sir Thomas said , Might be allow'd to make a speech ; Then , with a look a little sly , Return'd the Knight this answer dry . Men , Sir , may play you very odd tricks , Who have but small skill in dioptrics ; Ev'n I , here , simple as I stand , Can make the shadow of my hand Spread over many a rood of land ; For , place a candle out , at night , Your trav'ler , oft , its twinkling light Will fix his distant , longing eyes on , While it illumes the whole horizon . But let me curve my hand around it , The light's all lost , and who hath found it ? Why , Sir , my hollow palm , 'tis plain , Doth miles and miles of light contain ; And , most ungenerous too , doth hide The weary wand'rer's hope and guide . By which you mean to hint , no doubt , I've put your farthing candle out ; Or at the best , my cousin comrade , What light you have I would obumbrate . But I can prove , by reading Clerkly , From Leibnitz , Malbranche , Bayle , and Berkley , Things far more strange , friend Will , than these ; Can prove , whenever you shall please , The mite is larger than the cheese . That , howsoever you suppose , You do not walk behind your nose ; That there's not water , in the sea , Enough to make a dish of tea ; That , when he drinks , your guzzling sot Don't touch the handle , or the pot ; Nay , more , can prove , without your candle , There's neither drink , sot , pot , or handle . Your Philomath , with philology , Quoth Will , I grant , doth often dodge ye At hide and seek , Sir , intellectual , To make your errors more effectual ; 'Mong A's and B's so snug will hide him , Tho' you look near him , and beside him , Tho' fifty times you've round him gallop'd , So close , in mystery , he's invellop'd , That , tho' by hearing him , you wind him , The devil a bit , Sir , can you find him . My understanding so obtuse is , I own , I cannot find the uses Of all these arguments , to shew We nothing are , and nothing know . Were oracles by Wisdom utter'd , Still we must think our bread is butter'd , Whatever Sceptics may imagine us , When tongue and fingers are ol'aginous ; And , for this part o'th' argument , I quote from you , Sir , precedent ; " These things , to us , are not ideal , With Fancy every thing is real . " For , what to me , Sir , would it matter , Altho' my wine were really water , If , as it trickled down my gullet , It gave me mirth , and pleas'd my palate ? Nay , sure , Sir , 'twould be very rude , Or worse , 'twould be ingratitude , If , while I drink it , at your table , I should affirm 'twere nought but fable . Your learned folks are , oft , such fools , And know so little of their tools , When they chop logic , silly elves , They're apt to hack and hew themselves . Whence some deduce , from proofs like these , That ign'rance is a blest disease ; That he who after knowledge lingers But grasps a flame , and burns his fingers ; And his ambitious folly shews , Like whelps that yelp , and run at crows . Hark you , friend Will , you're last suggestion Is quite on my side of the question . Since ignorance is despicable , And makes , who has it , one o'th' rabble : And learning is , still , something worse ; You've form'd one comprehensive curse , More vast , and certain to engulph us , Than that erst utter'd by Ernulphus . The more we search , the more we find , We're feeble , foolish , vain , and blind ; This only certain seems to be , We're all absurd uncertainty . Our joys are false , and false our tears , False are our hopes , and false our fears . Our pleasure , like the rainbow , shews Then only beauteous when not close ; Tho' , glorious in its shining birth , It seems to reach from heav'n to earth , Approach to touch it , and you'll see 'Twill vanish in nonentity ! I own , said Will , I'm at a loss , You press the point so very close ; You scarely can be contradicted , Yet I don't wish to be convicted ; For , tho' with you I cannot cope , So much my int'rest 'tis to hope The joys my young imagination Foretold should follow , in rotation , Each after each , as life advances , Were truths , — I'm loth to think them trances . But , granting all as false and vain As meteors , caus'd by sun and rain , Tho' active pleasures should beguile 'em , Men may in passive find asylum . YOU , Sir , whose well-provided boat , Blest Independence keeps afloat , While she thus condescends to steer , What tempests have YOU , Sir , to fear ? She , with expert and jocund crew , Weathers all winds that ever blew . Should tow'ring Pride contemptuous think her , And make her strike , It could not sink her ; Malice may shoot , but cannot shake her ; Lame Poverty can ne'er o'ertake her ; While Labour , Learning , Genius , all Are ever ready at her call ; Happy , by her , to be employ'd , Thrice happy if , by her , enjoy'd . From whence you argue , Cousin Will , At least , we're easy , when we're still . That , when kind heav'n has sent us meat , We've only to sit down and eat . But , when the passions are in chace , It , then , may prove a silly race . Like as the hind-legs of a hound May run o'er many a league of ground To catch the fore — but they're mistaken — When they lie down they're overtaken . Whence , I conjecture , you profess That apathy is happiness ; That he , whose wishes breed no riot , Is comfortable , good , and quiet . To such a one I'd grant , at most , He's just as happy as a post . His goodness , likewise , be it said , Is like a wife's without her head ; Who , tho' her humours never teize you , Her kisses are not like to please you : For she , 'tis held , who has no mouth , Will neither kiss , nor quench her drowth . For this , friend William , I contend , Better had man his being end , And die at once , since die he must , Than , with inanity , to rust . Better , than thus to mope and doze , Feel pangs from fingers down to toes . Better , than thus to sit hum drum , Like country schoolmaster become , Who hammers at each stupid cub , To teach him ab , eb , ib , ob , ub — And , midst a squawling , wrangling crew , Doth everlastingly pursue His d — d dull ba , be , bi , bo , bu .

CANTO VI . YET sure , said Will , Sir , some of those Whom Fame , as Nature's wonders , shews ; Who , high in honours , high in birth , Rever'd for sacred virtue's worth ; Whose deeds , descent , and merits are Held equally renown'd and rare ; Or those whose fortunes some blest chance Conspir'd with Genius to advance ; And gave , what Genius deems his due , A seat among th' immortal few ; Sure those brave spirits , who , when fled , Were ever call'd the mighty dead ; Whose actions grace the scroll of Fame , Sure those to happiness had claim . And , 'tis an axiom , long in use , Like causes like effects produce . From whence , friend Will , you would infer , Some men are blest , because some were . But this wont pass , my cunning stager , Imprimis , I deny your major . These mighty dead , of whom you puff , And think you ne'er can brag enough ; Nor your trull Fame ( whose cheeks are bloated Like bladders , on which boys have floated ) Stuft out and cramm'd with lies enormous , About her slashing , swashing Hectors , Her grim Mandragons — Plusquamperfectors , Of suffering man the curst dissectors , But who's more silent than a dormouse Concerning private worth and action ; Or , if she speak , speaks in detraction ; These bull-fac'd , brazen-headed Messieurs , Wholesale and retail human graziers , These man-flesh butchers , with their fly-flops , These Anthropophaginian Cyclops , That tap who never had the Hydrops , These Caco-daemons , I maintain , Sir , Of whom both she and you are vain , Sir , As subject were to flux , or cancer , As you , or I , or any man , Sir : As liable to puke , and be sick , When they were order'd to take physic ; As much would scratch and writhe and groan , At itch , gripes , gravel , gout , or stone ; With screw'd-up phiz would grunt and twist — Oh la ! When they were cutting for a fistula ; Would faint as soon if , for a scotomy , The Doctor should prescribe phlebotomy ; As much would caper , curse , and kick , When needle under nail did stick ; As much were tortur'd by brain-tumours , I mean as captious in their humours , Would fret and fume , and be as fractious , As drunken chymney-sweeps or blackshoes ; Would break the crockery , spill the grey peas , And cuff their wives , and whip their babies , Burn tables , stools , and chairs to cinders , And toss the house out at the windows ; Would pinch , bite , scratch , snarl , scold or squabble , Like Billinsgate or Ragfair rabble . Methinks I hear one of these heroes , Who little better were than Neros , Wrangling with Ma'am , and domineering , Bullying at this , at that thing sneering , Cry — " D — n your pudding — d — n your beef , " And d — n your sobbing , sniveling grief ; " Damme I'd rather munch a dry crust " Alone , than live with you on pie-crust ; " For neither you , your soup , or sallad , " Are made at all to please my palate . " If Ma'am replies , he lays the lash on , And , with his hair erect , with passion , Out issues he , brimful of ire , Snorts swords , breathes brimstone , and spits fire , Snuffs gunpowder , rips up red coats , Cuts you some fifty thousand throats , Leaves not a rat , cat , hog , or dog an eye , But cleaves them as you'd cleave mahogany ; Vineyards and fields devours in malice , And quaffs hot blood in scull-scoop'd chalice : Then vaunts his most pernicious pranks , And looks dead who don't give him thanks : Annihilates Tuum and Meum , Commands the priest to chant Te Deum , And , like Drawcansir , bluffly swears , " All this he does , because he dares . " Good Sir , said Will , I ne'er suppos'd Content , by such folks , was engross'd . Far other men were in my guess , Whom every age and people bless ; Who useful arts the nations taught , Or who for Freedom bravely fought ; Who , first , with ploughshare , broke the glebe , Or pass'd the shuttle thro' the web ; He who conducted lovely Truth And Science to the haunts of Youth , Aptly their pleasing lore convey'd , And all their wond'rous gifts display'd . Of such I spoke — or he whose song Charm'd and reform'd the listening throng . Who , as the ringing harp he swung , Rais'd his sweet voice and rapid tongue In phrase most fit , and lofty verse , The deeds of heroes to rehearse ! ( Of heroes , who , by Virtue claim'd , Among th' immortal Gods are nam'd ) Who , as along the numbers roll'd , The laws of Nature could unfold ! Or with a sad and piteous tale The man of iron could assail ; Or , when Oppression durst provoke , In thunder to the passions spoke ! Their headlong rage would strait controul , " And freeze and harrow up the soul ! " How oft , friend Will , reply'd the Knight , Am I oblig'd to set you right ; Again repeating , and again , Men ever were , and will be men ? Why must I tell you , no man , yet , That Eve and Adam could beget , ( This to your memory pray recall , Adam and Eve begat us all ; For , in their primary endeavour , World without end , for ever and ever , The blacks and whites , and those of copper , Were ground out of our