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Subject, compound them, follow her aud God. Love, hope, aud joy, fair pleasure's smiling train,

Hate, fear, and grief, the family of paiii, These, mixed with art, and to due bounds confined, 119 Make aud maintain the balance of the mind: The lights and shades, whose well-accorded strife

Gives all the strength and colour of our life.

Pleasures arc ever in our hands or eyes; And when in act they cease, in prospect rise: Present to grasp, and future still to find, The whole employ of body and of mind. All spread their charms, but charm not all alike;

Ou different senses different objects strike; Hence different passions more or less inflame. As strong or weak the organs of the frame; 130 And hence one master-passion in the breast, Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest.

As man, perhaps, the moment of his breath, Receives the lurking principle of death; The young disease, that must subdue at length, (irons with his growth, and strengthens with

his strength: Ho, cast and mingled with his very frame, The mind's disease, its riding passion, came; Each vital humour which should feed the

whole,

Soon flows to this, in body and in soul: HO
Whatever warms the heart, or fills the head,
As the mind opens, and its functions spread,
Imagination plies her dangerous art,
And pours it all upon the peccant part.
Nature its mother, habit is its nurse;
Wit, spirit, faculties, but make it worse;
Reason itself but gives it edge and pow'r;
As Heaven's blest beam turns vinegar more
sour.

We, wretched subjects, though to lawful
Bway,

lu this weak queen some favorite still obey;
Ah! if she lend not arms as well as rules, 1">1
What can she nunc than tell us we are fools?
Teach us to mourn our nature, not to mend;
A sharp accuser, but a helpless friend!
Or from a judge turn pleader, to persuade
'Die choice we make, or justify it made;
Proud of an easy conquest all along.
She but removes weak passions for the strong.
So, when small humours gather to a gout.
The doctor fancies he has driven them out. 160
Yes, nature's road must ever be preferred;
Reason is here no guide, but still a guard;
'T is hers to rectify, not overthrow,

And treat this passion more us friend than foe:
A mightier power the strong direction sends,
And several men impels to several ends:
Like varying winds by other passions tossed,
This drives them constant to a certain coast.
Let power or knowledge, gold or glory, please.
Or (oft more strong than all) the love of
ease; 170
Through life 't is followed, even at life's ex-
pense;

The merchant's toil, the sage's indolence,
The monk's humility, the hero's pride,
All, all alike find reason on their side.

Th' Eternal Art, educing good from ill,
drafts on this passion our best principle:
'T is thus the mercury of man is fixed,
Strong grows the virtue with his nature mixed;
The dross cements what else were too reliued.
And in one interest body acts with mind. l!>"

As fruits, ungrateful to the planter's care,
On savage stocks inserted, learn to bear.
The surest virtues thus from passious shoot,
Wild nature's vigour working at the root.
What crops of wit and honesty appear
From spleen, from obstinacy, hate, or fear!
See anger, zeal and fortitude supply;
Kven avarice, prudence; sloth, philosophy;
Lust, through some certain strainers well re-
fined,

Is gentle love, and charms all womankind; l!<i>
Knvy, to which th' ignoble mind's a slave.
Is emulation in the learned or brave;
Nor virtue, male or female, can we name,
But what will grow on pride, or grow on shame.

Thus nature gives us (let it check our pride)
The virtue nearest to our vice allied;
Reason the bias turns to good from ill,
And Nero reigns a Titus, if he will.'
The fiery soul abhorred in Catiline,
In Decius charms, in Curtius is divine:* -•'<>
The same ambition can destroy or save,
And makes a patriot as it makes a kua\e.

1V. This light and darkness in our chaos joined,

What shall divide? The God within the mind.

Kxtrcmes in nature equal ends produce, In man they join to some mysterious use; Though each by turns Hie other's bound invade,

As, in some well-wrought picture, light and shade,

7 1. P.. the tyrant turns benefactor.

I • PecitiH voluntarily rushed Into death because of a vision assuring victory to tbe side whose general should fall. Curtius Is alleged to havr made a simllnr self-sacrifice, leaping Into a

I chasm in the Roman forum.

Anil oft so mix, the difference is too nice
Where ends the virtue, or begins the vice. 2in
Fools! who from hence into the notion fall.
That vice or virtue there is none at all.
If white and black blend, soften, and unite
A thousand ways, is there no black or whitef
Ask your own heart, and nothing is so plain:
T is to mistake them costs the time and
pain.

V. Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, At to be hated needs but to be seen;

Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace. 220
But where th' extreme of vice, was ne'er
agreed:

Ask where 's the north f at York, 't is on the
Tweed;

In Scotland, at the Orcades; and there, At Greenland, Zembla, or the Lord knows where.

No creature owns it in the first degree,

Rut thinks his neighbour further gone than he;

Even those who dwell beneath its very zone,

Or never feel the rage, or never own;

What happier natures shrink at with affright

The hard inhabitant contends is right. 230

VI. Virtuous and vicious every man must be;

Few in th' extreme, but all in the degree:
The rogue and fool by fits is fair and wise;
And even the best, by fits, what they despise.
T is but by parts we follow good or ill;
For, vice or virtue, self directs it still;
Each individual seeks a several goal;
But Heaven's great view is one, and that the
whole.

That counterworks each folly and caprice;
That disappoints th' effect of every vice; 240
That, happy frailties to all ranks applied,
Shame to the virgin, to the matron pride,
Fear to the statesman, rashness to the chief.
To kings presumption, and to crowds belief:
That, virtue's ends from vanity can raise,
Which seeks no interest, no reward but praise;
And build on wants, and on defects of mind,
The joy, the peace, the glory of mankind.

Heaven, forming each on other to depend.
A master, or a servant, or a friend, 250
Bids each on other for assistance call.
Till one man's weakness grows the strength of
all.

Wants, frailties, passions, closer still ally
The common interest, or endear the tie.
To these we owe true friendship, love sincere,
Each home-felt joy that life inherits here;
Yet from the same we learn, in its decline,

Those joys, those loves, those interests to resign:

Taught half by reason, half by mere decay,
To welcome death, and calmly pass away. 260
Whate'er the passion, — knowledge, fame, or
pelf,-

Not one will change his neighbour with himself.

The learned is happy nature to explore,

The fool is happy that he knowB no more;

The rich is happy in the plenty given,

The poor contents him with the care of Heaven.

See the blind beggar dance, the cripple sing,

The sot a hero, lunatic a king;

The starving chemist" in his golden views

Supremely blest, the poet in his Muse. 270

See some strange comfort every state attend, And pride bestowed on all, a common friend: See some fit passion every age supply, Hope travels through, nor quits us when we die.

Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law, Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw; Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, A little louder, but as empty quite; Scarfs, garters," gold, amuse hiB riper stage, 279 And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age:

Pleased with this bauble still, as that before; Till tired he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.

Meanwhile Opinion gilds, with varying rays, Those painted clouds that beautify our days; Each want of happiness by hope supplied, And each vacuity of sense by pride: These build as fast as knowledge can destroy; In Folly's cup Btill laughs the bubble joy; One prospect lost, another still we gain; And not a vanity is given in vain; 290 Even mean self-love becomes, by force divine, The scale to measure others' wants by thine. See, and confess, one comfort still must rise; 'T is this. Though man's a fool, yet God is wise!

THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.

Father of all! in every age,

In every clime adored.
By saint, by savage, and by sago,

Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!

Thou Great First Cause, least understood:

Who all my sense confined
To know but this, that Thou art good,

And that myself am blind; 8 » alchemist

n The badge of the highest order of English knighthood.

Yet gave me, in this dark estate,

To see the good from ill;
And binding nature fast in fate,

Left free the human will.

What conscience dictates to be done,

Or warns me not to do,
This, teach me more than hell to shun,

That, more than heaven pursue. 18

What blessings Thy free bounty gives,

Let me not cast away;
For God is paid when man receives:

T' enjoy is to obey.

Yet not to earth's contracted span

Thy goodness let me bound,
Or think Thee Lord alone of man,

When thousand worlds are round. 24

Let not this weak, unknowing hand

Presume Thy bolts to throw,
And deal damnation round the laud,

On each I judgo Thy foe.

If I am right, Thy grace impart,

Still in the right to stay;
If I am wrong, oh! teach my heart

To find that better way. 32

Save me alike from foolish pride.

Or impious discontent,
At aught Thy wisdom has denied,

Or aught Thy goodness lent.

Teach me to feel another's woe,

To hide the fault I see; That mercy I to others show,

That mercy show to me. 40

Mean though I am, not wholly so,
Since quickened by Thy breath;

Oh, lead me wheresoe'er I go,

Through this day's life or death.

This day, be bread and peace my lot:

All else beneath the sun,
Thou know'st if best bestowed or not,

And let Thy will be done. 48

To Thee, whose temple is all space,

Whose altar earth, sea, skies, One chorus let all being raise,

All nature's incense rise!

DANIEL DEFOE (1659-1731)

From ROBINSON CRUSOE
The Castaway*

Had I continued in the station I was now in, I had room for all the happy things to have yet befallen me for which my father so earnestly recommended a quiet, retired life, and of which he had so sensibly described the middle station of life to be full. But other things attended1 me, and I was still to be the wilful agent of all my own miseries, and particularly to increase my fault and double the reflections upon myself, which in my future sorrows I should have leisure to make. All these miscarriages were procured by my apparent obstinate adherence to my foolish inclinations of wandering abroad, and pursuing that inclination in contradiction to the clearest views of doing myself good in a fair and plain pursuit of those prospects and those measures of life which Nature and Providence concurred to present me with and to make my duty.

As I had once done thus in my breaking away from my parents, so I could not be content now, but I must go and leave the happy view2 I had of being a rich and thriving man in my new plantation, only to pursue a rash and immoderate desire of rising faster than the nature of the thing admitted; and thus I cast myself down again into the deepest gulf of human misery that ever man fell into, or perhaps could be consistent with life and a state of health in the world.

To come, then, by the just degrees to the particulars of this part of my story. You may suppose that having now lived almost four years in the Brazils, and beginning to thrive and prosper very well upon my plantation, 1 had not only learned the language, but had contracted acquaintance and friendship among my fellow-planters, as well as among the merchants at St. Salvador, which was our port, and that in my discourses among them I had frequently given them an account of my two voyages to the coast of Guinea, the manner of

i awaited 2 prospect

• Crusoe, having run away to sea at the age of nineteen and bc-en wrecked on the English coast, had next embarked on a trading vessel to the coast of Guinea. Upon a second voyage he was captured by the Moors. Escaping after two years of slavery, he was picked up by a Portuguese vessel and taken to the Brazils. There be set up as a planter and sent back to England tor half of the two hundred pounds he had saved from his first venture.

trading with the negroes there, and how easy it was to purchase upon the coast for trifles— such as beads, toys, knives, scissors, hatchets, bits of glass, and the like—not only gold-dust, Guinea grains.a elephants' teeth, etc., but negroes, for the service of the Brazils, in great numbers.

They listened always very attentively to my discourses on these heads, but especially to that part which related to the buying negroes; which was a trade, at that time, not only not far entered into, but, as far as it was, had been carried on by the assiento, or permission, of the kings of Spain and Portugal, and engrossed in the public,1 so that few negroes were brought, and those excessive dear.

It happened, being in company with some merchants and planters of my acquaintance, and talking of those things very earnestly, three of them came to me the next morning, and told mc they had been musing very much upon what I had discoursed with them of, the last night, and they came to make a secret proposal to me. And after enjoining me secrecy, they told me that they had a mind to fit out a ship to go to Guinea; that they had all plantations as well as I, and were straitened for nothing so much as servants; that as it was a trade that could not be carried on because they could not publicly sell the negroes when they came home, so they desired to make but one voyage, to bring the negroes on shore privately, and divide them among their own plantations; and, in a word, the question was, whether I would go their supercargo in the ship, to manage the trading part upon the coast of Guinea. And they offered me that I should have my equal share of the negroes without providing any part of the stock.

This was a fair proposal, it must be confessed, had it been made to any one that had not had a settlement and plantation of his own to look after, which was in a fair way of coming to be very considerable, and with a good stock upon it. But for me, that was thus entered and established, and had nothing to do but go on as I had begun, for three or four years more, and to have sent for the other hundred pounds from England; and who, in that time, and with that little addition, could scarce have failed of being worth three or four thousand pounds sterling, and that increasing too—for me to think of such a voyage,

> aromatic seeds (used for splclne liquor) » held as a state monopoly I Possibly some word like "stock" lias been omitted.)

was the most preposterous thing that ever man, in such circumstances, could be guilty of.

But I, that was born to be my own destroyer, could no more resist the offer than I could restrain my first rambling designs, when my father's good counsel was lost upon me. In a word, I told them I would go with all my heart, if they would undertake to look after my plantation in my absence, and would dispose of it to such as I should direct if I miscarried. This they all engaged to do, and entered into writings or covenants to do so; and I made a formal will, disposing of my plantation and effects, in case of my death; making the captain of the ship that had saved my life, as before, my universal heir, but obliging him to dispose of my effects as I had directed in my will, one half of the produce being to himself, and the other to be shipped to England.

In short, I took all possible caution to preserve my effects, and keep up my plantation. Had I used half as much prudence to have looked into my own interest, and have made a judgment of what I ought to have done and not to have done, I had certainly never gone away from so prosperous an undertaking, leaving all the probable views of a thriving circumstance, and gone upon a voyage to sea, attended with all its common hazards, to say nothing of the reasons I had to expect particular misfortune to myself.

But I was hurried on, and obeyed blindly the dictates of my fancy rather than my reason. And accordingly, the ship being fitted out, and the cargo furnished, and all things done at by agreement by my partners in the voyage, I went on board in an evil hour, the [first] of [September 1639], being the same day eight year that I went from my father and mother at Hull, in order to act the rebel to their authority, and the fool to my own interest.

Our ship was about 120 tons burthen; carried six guns and fourteen men, besides the master, his boy, and myself. We had on board no large cargo of goods, except of such toys as were lit for our trade with the negroes—such as beads, bits of glass, shells, and odd trifles, especially little looking-glasses, knives, scissors, hatchets, and the like.

The same day I went on board we set sail, standing away to the northward upon our own coast, with design to stretch over for the African coast, when they* came about ten or

• This chance of subject need not surprise. Defoe's syntax Is often very loose.

twelve degrees of northern latitude; which, it seems, was the manner of their course in those days. We had very good weather, only excessive hot, all the way upon our own coast, till we came the height of5 Cape St. Augustine;0 from whence, keeping farther off at sea, we lost sight of land, and steered as if we were bound for the isle Fernando de Norouha, holding our course N.E. by N., and leaving those isles on the east. In this course we passed the line in about twelve days' time, and w ere, by our last observation, in 7° 22' northern latitude, when a violent tornado, or hurricane, took us quite out of our knowledge. It began from the south-east, came about to the north-west, and then settled into the north-east, from whence it blew in such a terrible manner, that for twelve days together we could do nothing but drive, and, scudding away before it, let it carry us wherever fate and the fury of the winds directed; and during these twelve days, 1 need not say that I expected every day to be swallowed up; nor, indeed, did any in the ship expect to savo their lives.

In this distress we had, besides the terror of the storm, one of our men died of the calenture,7 and one man and the boy washed overboard. About the twelfth day, the weather abating a little, the master made an observation as well as he could, and found that he was in about 11 degrees north latitude, but that he was 22 degrees of longitude difference west from Cape St. Augustino; so that he found he was gotten upon the coast of Guiana, or the north part of Brazil, beyond the river Amazon, toward that of the river Orinoco, commonly called the Great River, and began to consult with me what course he should take, for the ship was leaky and very much disabled, and he was going directly back to the coast of Brazil.

I was positively against that; and looking over the charts of the sea-coast of America with him, we concluded there was no inhabited country for us to have recourse to till we came within the circle of the Caribbee Islands, and therefore resolved to stand away for Barbadocs; which by keeping off at sea, to avoid the indraft of the Bay or Gulf of Mexico, we might easily perform, as we hoped, in about fifteen days' sail; whereas we could not possibly make our voyage to the coast of Africa without some assistance, both to our ship and to ourselves.

i refu-hed the latitude of Cape Sao Ajrostlnhos. about four degrees north of Sho Salvador (Ituliiui. i A delirious fever.

I With this design we changed our course, and 'steered away N.\\. by W. in order to reach some of our Euglisli islands, where I hoped for relief; but our voyage was otherwise determined; for being in the latitude of 12 degrees 18 minutes a second storm came upon us, which carried us away with the same impetuosity westward, and drove us so out of the very way of all human commerce, that had all our lives been saved, as to the sea, we were rather in danger of being devoured by savages than ever returning to our own country.

In this distress, the wind still blowing very hard, one of our men early in the morning cried out, "Land!" and we had no sooner ran out of the cabin to look out, in hopes of seeing whereabouts in the world we were, but the ship struck upon a sand, and in a moment, her motion beiug so stopped, the sea broke over her in such a manner, that we expected we should all have perished immediately; and we were immediately driven into our close quarters, to shelter us from the very foam aud spray of the sea.

It is not easy for any one, who has nut been in the like condition, to describe or conceive the consternation of men in such circumstances. We knew nothing where we were, or upon what land it was we were driven, whether an island or the main, whether inhabited or not inhabited; and as the rage of the wind was still great, though rather less than at first, we could not so much as hope to have the ship hold many minutes without breaking in pieces, unless the winds, by a kind of miracle, should turn immediately about. In a word, we sat looking one upon another, and expecting death every moment, and every man acting accordingly, as preparing for another world; for there was little or nothing more for us to do in this. That which was our present comfort, aud all the comfort we had, was that, contrary to our expectation, the ship did not break yet, and that the master said the wind began to abate.

Now, though we thought that the wind did a little abate, yet the ship having thus struck upon the sand, and sticking too fast for us to expect her getting off. we were in a dreadful condition indeed, and had nothing to do but to think of saving our lives as well as we could. We had a boat at our stern just before the storm, but she was first staved by dashing against the ship's rudder, and in the next place, she broke away, ami either sunk, or was driven off to sea, so there was no hope from her. We had another boat on board, but how

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