Nor yet, if rightly understood, Does Grandeur carry more of Good; To be o'th' Number of the Great enroll'd, A Scepter o're a Mighty Realm to hold. For what is this? If I not judge amiss. But all th'Afflicted of a Land to take, And of one single Family to make? The Wrong'd, the Poor, th'Opprest, the Sad, The Ruin'd, Malecontent, and Mad? Which a great Part of ev'ry Empire frame, And Interest in the common Father claime. Again what is't, but always to abide A Gazing Crowd? upon a Stage to spend A Life that's vain, or Evil without End? And which is yet nor safely held, nor laid aside? And then, if lesser Titles carry less of Care, Yet none but Fools ambitious are to share Such a Mock-Good, of which 'tis said, 'tis Best, When of the least of it Men are possest. IV. But, O, the Laurel'd Fool! that doats on Fame, Whose Hope's Applause, whose Fear's to want a Name; Who can accept for Pay Of what he does, what others say; Exposes now to hostile Arms his Breast, To toylsome Study then betrays his Rest; Now to his Soul denies a just Content, Then forces on it what it does resent; And all for Praise of Fools: for such are those, Which most of the Admiring Crowd compose. O famisht Soul, which such Thin Food can feed! O Wretched Labour crown'd with such a Meed! Too loud, O Fame! thy Trumpet is, too shrill, To lull a Mind to Rest, Or calme a stormy Breast, Which asks a Musick soft and still. 'Twas not _Amaleck_'s vanquisht Cry, Nor _Israels_ shout of Victory, That could in _Saul_ the rising Passion lay, 'Twas the soft strains of _David_'s Lyre the Evil Spirit chace't away. V. But Friendship fain would yet itself defend, And Mighty Things it does pretend, To be of this Sad Journey, Life, the Baite, The sweet Refection of our toylsome State. But though True Friendship a Rich Cordial be, Alas, by most 'tis so alay'd, Its Good so mixt with Ill we see, That Dross for Gold is often paid. And for one Grain of Friendship that is found, } Falshood and Interest do the Mass compound, } Or coldness, worse than Steel, the Loyal heart doth wound. } Love in no Two was ever yet the same, No Happy Two ere felt an Equal Flame. VI.