Fools feel, and which e'en wise men can't explain, Planted in man to bind him to that earth, In dearest ties, from whence he drew his birth. If Honour calls, where'er she points the way The sons of Honour follow, and obey; If need compels, wherever we are sent 'Tis want of courage not to be content; 70 But, if we have the liberty of choice, And all depends on our own single voice, To deem of every country as the same Is rank rebellion 'gainst the lawful claim Of Nature, and such dull indifference May be philosophy, but can't be sense. _F_. Weak and unjust distinction, strange design, Most peevish, most perverse, to undermine Philosophy, and throw her empire down By means of Sense, from whom she holds her crown, 80 Divine Philosophy! to thee we owe All that is worth possessing here below; Virtue and wisdom consecrate thy reign, Doubled each joy, and pain no longer pain. When, like a garden, where, for want of toil And wholesome discipline, the rich, rank soil Teems with incumbrances; where all around, Herbs, noxious in their nature, make the ground, Like the good mother of a thankless son, Curse her own womb, by fruitfulness undone; 90 Like such a garden, when the human soul, Uncultured, wild, impatient of control, Brings forth those passions of luxuriant race, Which spread, and stifle every herb of grace; Whilst Virtue, check'd by the cold hand of Scorn, Seems withering on the bed where she was born, Philosophy steps in; with steady hand, She brings her aid, she clears the encumber'd land; Too virtuous to spare Vice one stroke, too wise One moment to attend to Pity's cries-- 100 See with what godlike, what relentless power She roots up every weed! _P_. And every flower. Philosophy, a name of meek degree, Embraced, in token of humility, By the proud sage, who, whilst he strove to hide, In that vain artifice reveal'd his pride; Philosophy, whom Nature had design'd To purge all errors from the human mind, Herself misled by the philosopher, At once her priest and master, made us err: 110 Pride, pride, like leaven in a mass of flour, Tainted her laws, and made e'en Virtue sour. Had she, content within her proper sphere, Taught lessons suited to the human ear, Which might fair Virtue's genuine fruits produce, Made not for ornament, but real use, The heart of man, unrivall'd, she had sway'd, Praised by the good, and by the bad obey'd; But when she, overturning Reason's throne, Strove proudly in its place to plant her own; 120 When she with apathy the breast would steel, And teach us, deeply feeling, not to feel; When she would wildly all her force employ, Not to correct our passions, but destroy; When, not content our nature to restore, As made by God, she made it all new o'er; When, with a strange and criminal excess, To make us more than men, she made us less;