Glory, and Wealth! have They this blinding Power?
What if to Them I prove LORENZO blind?
Would it surprise Thee? Be thou then furpris'd;
Thou neither know'ft: Their Nature learn from me.
Mark well, as foreign as Thefe Subjects feem,
What clofe Connexion ties them to my Theme.
Firft, what is True Ambition? The Pursuit
Of Glory, nothing less than Man can fhare.
Were they as vain, as gaudy-minded Man,
As flatulent with Fumes of Self-applaufe,
Their Arts and Conquefts Animals might boast,
And claim their Laurel Crowns as well as We;
But not Celestial. Here we ftand alone;
As in our Form, diftinct, pre-eminent;
in Thought, our Stature is our Shame, And Man fhould blush, his Forehead meets the Skies. The Visible and Prefent are for Brutes,
A flender Portion! and a narrow Bound!
Thefe Reason, with an Energy divine,
O'erleaps; and claims the Future and Unseen ;
The vast Unseen! the Future fathomless!
When the great Soul buoys up to this high Point,
Leaving grofs Nature's Sediments below,
Then, and then only, Adam's Offspring quits
The Sage and Hero of the Fields and Woods,
Afferts his Rank, and rifes into Man.
This is Ambition: This is Human Fire.
Can Parts or Place (two bold Pretenders!) make LORENZO great, and pluck him from the Throng?
Genius and Art, Ambition's boafted Wings,
Our Boaft but ill deferve. A feeble Aid!
Dedalian Engin'ry! If Thefe alone
Affift our Flight, Fame's Flight is Glory's Fall.
Heart-merit wanting, mount we ne'er fo high,
Our Height is but the Gibbet of our Name.
A celebrated Wretch when I behold,
When I behold a Genius bright, and base,
Of tow'ring Talents, and terreftrial Aims;
Methinks I fee, as thrown from her high Sphere,
The glorious Fragment of a Soul immortal,
With Rubbish mixt, and glitt'ring in the Duft.
Struck at the fplendid, melancholy Sight,
At once Compaffion foft, and Envy, rife
But wherefore Envy? Talents Angel-bright,
If wanting Worth, are fhining Inftruments
In falfe Ambition's Hand, to finish Faults
Illustrious, and give Infamy Renown.
Great Ill is an Atchievement of great Powers. Plain Senfe but rarely leads us far aftray. Reason the Means, Affections chufe our End; Means have no Merit, if our End amifs.
If wrong our Hearts, our Heads are right in vain; What is a PELHAM's Head, to PELHAM's Heart ? Hearts are Proprietors of all Applaufe.
Right Ends, and Means, make Wifdom: Worldly wife Is but half-witted, at its highest Praise.
Let Genius then despair to make thee great;
Nor flatter Station: What is Station high?
'Tis a proud Mendicant; it boafts, and begs;
It begs an Alms of Homage from the Throng,
And oft the Throng denies its Charity.
Monarchs, and Minifters, are awful Names;
Whoever wear them, challenge our Devoir.
Religion, public Order, Both exact
External Homage, and a fupple Knee,
To Beings pompously fet up, to ferve
The meaneft Slave; all more is Merit's Due,
Her facred and inviolable Right;
Nor ever paid the Monarch, but the Man.
Our Hearts ne'er bow but to fuperior Worth;
Nor ever fail of their Allegiance there.
Fools, indeed, drop the Man in their Account,
And vote the Mantle into Majesty.
Let the small Savage boaft his Silver Fur;
His royal Robe unborrow'd, and unbought,
His own, defcending fairly from his Sires.
Shall Man be proud to wear his Livery,
And Souls in Ermin fcorn a Soul without?
Can Place or leffen us, or aggrandize?
Fygmies are Pygmies ftill, tho' percht on Alps;
And Pyramids are Pyramids in Vales.
Each Man makes his own Stature, builds himself:
Virtue alone out-builds the Pyramids;
Her Monuments fhall laft, when Egypt's fall.
Of thefe fure Truths doft Thou demand the Caufe? The Caufe is lodg'd in Immortality.
Hear, and affent. Thy Bofom burns for Power;
What Station charms thee? I'll inftall thee there;
'Tis thine. And art thou greater than before?
Then thou before waft something less than Man.
Has thy new Poft betray'd thee into Pride?
That treach'rous Pride betrays thy Dignity;
That Pride defames Humanity, and calls
The Being mean, which Staffs or Strings can raife.
That Pride, like hooded Hawks, in Darkness foars,
From Blindness bold, and tow'ring to the Skies.
'Tis born of Ignorance, which knows not Man
An Angel's Second; nor his Second long.
A NERO quitting his Imperial Throne,
And coufting Glory from the tinkling String,
But faintly shadows an immortal Soul,
With Empire's Self, to Pride, or Rapture, fir'd.
If nobler Motives minister no Cure,
Ev'n Vanity forbids thee to be vain.
High Worth is elevated Place: "Tis more;
It makes the Poft ftand Candidate for Thee;
Makes more than Monarchs, makes an honest Man ;
Tho' no Exchequer it commands, 'tis Wealth;
And tho' it wears no Ribbon, 'tis Renown;
Renown, that would not quit thee, tho' difgrac'd,
Nor leave thee pendent on a Master's Smile.
Other Ambition Nature interdicts;
Nature proclaims it most abfurd in Man,
By pointing at his Origin, and End;
Milk, and a Swathe, at first, his whole Demand;
His whole Domain, at last, a Turf, or Stone;
To whom, between, a World may feem too finall.
Souls truly great dart forward on the Wing
Of just Ambition, to the grand Result,
The Curtain's Fall; there, fee the bufkin'd Chief
Unfhod behind this momentary Scene;
Reduc'd to his own Stature, low or high,
As Vice, or Virtue, finks him, or fublimes;
And laugh at this fantastic Mummery,
This antic Prelude of grotefque Events,
Where Dwarfs are often ftilted, and betray
A Littleness of Soul by Worlds o'er-run,
And Nations laid in Blood. Dread Sacrifice
To Chriftian Pride! which had with Horror fhockt
The darkest Pagans, offer'd to their Gods.
O Thou moft Chriftian Enemy to Peace!
Again in Arms? Again provoking Fate ?
That Prince, and That alone, is truly Great,
Who draws the Sword reluctant, gladly fheaths;
On Empire builds what Empire far outweighs,
And makes his Throne a Scaffold to the Skies.
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