The stalking-horse of vice, and folly's screen. 300 The sense perverted, we retain the name; Hypocrisy and Prudence are the same. A tutor once, more read in men than books, A kind of crafty knowledge in his looks, Demurely sly, with high preferment bless'd, His favourite pupil in these words address'd:-- Wouldst thou, my son, be wise and virtuous deem'd; By all mankind a prodigy esteem'd? Be this thy rule; be what men prudent call; Prudence, almighty Prudence, gives thee all. 310 Keep up appearances; there lies the test; The world will give thee credit for the rest. Outward be fair, however foul within; Sin if thou wilt, but then in secret sin. This maxim's into common favour grown, Vice is no longer vice, unless 'tis known. Virtue, indeed, may barefaced take the field; But vice is virtue when 'tis well conceal'd. Should raging passion drive thee to a whore, Let Prudence lead thee to a postern door; 320 Stay out all night, but take especial care That Prudence bring thee back to early prayer. As one with watching and with study faint, Reel in a drunkard, and reel out a saint. With joy the youth this useful lesson heard, And in his memory stored each precious word; Successfully pursued the plan, and now, Room for my Lord--Virtue, stand by and bow. And is this all--is this the worldling's art, To mask, but not amend a vicious heart 330 Shall lukewarm caution, and demeanour grave, For wise and good stamp every supple knave Shall wretches, whom no real virtue warms, Gild fair their names and states with empty forms; While Virtue seeks in vain the wish'd-for prize, Because, disdaining ill, she hates disguise; Because she frankly pours fourth all her store, Seems what she is, and scorns to pass for more Well--be it so--let vile dissemblers hold Unenvied power, and boast their dear-bought gold; 340 Me neither power shall tempt, nor thirst of pelf, To flatter others, or deny myself; Might the whole world be placed within my span, I would not be that thing, that prudent man. What! cries Sir Pliant, would you then oppose Yourself, alone, against a host of foes? Let not conceit, and peevish lust to rail, Above all sense of interest prevail. Throw off, for shame! this petulance of wit; Be wise, be modest, and for once submit: 350 Too hard the task 'gainst multitudes to fight; You must be wrong; the World is in the right. What is this World?--A term which men have got To signify, not one in ten knows what; A term, which with no more precision passes To point out herds of men than herds of asses; In common use no more it means, we find, Than many fools in same opinions join'd. Can numbers, then, change Nature's stated laws? Can numbers make the worse the better cause? 360 Vice must be vice, virtue be virtue still, Though thousands rail at good, and practise ill.