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Who noble ends by noble means obtains,
hear you have, and what's unknown The same (my lord) if Tully's or your own. All that we feel of it begins and ends In the small circle of our foes or friends; To all beside as much an empty shade, An Eugene living, as a Cæsar dead; Alike or when, or where, they shone, or shine, Or on the Rubicon, or on the Rhine. A wit's a feather, and a chief's a rod; An honest man's the noblest work of God. Fame but from death a villain's name can save, As justice tears his body from the grave; When what t'oblivion better were resign'd, Is hung on high to poison half mankind. All fame is foreign, but of true desert; Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart: One self-approving hour whole years outweighs Of stupid starers, and of loud huzzas; And more true joy Marcellus exild feels, Than Cæsar with a senate at his heels.
In parts superior what advantage lies? Tell (for you can) what is it to be wise? 'Tis but to know how little can be known; To see all others faults, and feel our own. Condemn’d in business or in arts to drudge, Without a second, or without a judge: Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land? All fear, none aid you, and few understand. Painful pre-eminence! yourself to view Above life's weakness, and its comforts too.
Bring then these blessings to a strict account; Make fair deductions, see to what they 'mount: How much of other each is sure to cost; How each for other oft is wholly lost; How inconsistent greater goods with these; How sometimes life is risq'd, and always ease: Think, and if still these things thy envy call, Say, wouldst thou be the man to whom they fall? To sigh for ribbands if thou art so silly, . Mark how they grace Lord Umbra, or Sir Billy. Is yellow dirt the passion of thy life? Look but on Gripus, or on Gripus' wife. If parts allurė thee, think how Bacon shin'd, The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind; Or ravish'd with the whistling of a name, See Cromwell, damn'd to everlasting fame?
If all, united, thy ambition call,
Know then this truth (enough for man to know) “ Virtue alone is happiness below."
The only point where human bliss stands still,
See the sole bliss Heav'n could on all bestow!
Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or impious discontent,
Or aught thy goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the faults I see; That mercy I to others show, That mercy
show to me.
Mean though I am, not wholly so,
Since quicken'd by thy breath; O 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 bestow'd or not,
And let thy will be done.
To thee, whose temple is all
space, Whose altar, earth, sea, skies! One chorus let all being raise !
All nature's incense rise!