Here mystified Spinoza’s dizzy wing O’erweighted by his strange “imperium;” Hobbes, with his new intrinsic liberty; And Belsham’s quaint reduction too absurd; “Sufficient reason,” reared in Leibnitz’s strength; Reid, Collins, Edwards, Tappan, Priestley, Clarke, All push each other from the door of Truth. None ever have, nor ever will, on earth, Reach truth of theory concerning Fate. It stands as whole from every touch of man As ocean’s broad blue scroll, whose rubber waves Erase the furrows of the plowing keels. Then, careless whether man be king or slave, I’ll take his actions, whether free or not, And trace them to their sources. Deep the dive, But, throwing off the buoys of Charity And Faith, and all the prejudice of life, I grasp the lead of Doubt, and downward sink Into the cesspool of the human heart, To find the fount, that to the surface casts A thousand bubbles of such varied hues: The pale white bubble of hypocrisy, The murky bubble of revenge and hate, The frail gilt bubble of ambition’s hope, The rainbow bubble of sweet love in youth, The dull slime bubble of a sensual lust, The crystal bubble of true charity! Instead of analyzing every fact Of moral nature, searching for its source, I’ll name a source most probable, and try The facts upon it; if they fit, confirm, If not, reject. With Hobbes and Paley then I join; and here avow that all mankind Have but one source of action--Love of self-- Yet not self-love as understands the world, For that’s a name for error shown by few; But natural instinct that impels all men To give self pleasure, and to save it pain; For pain and pleasure are Life’s only modes-- No neutral state--we suffer, or enjoy; And every action’s linked with one of these. We cannot act without a consciousness, A consciousness of pleasure or of pain, The very automatic workings of our frames Are pleasures, unmarked from their constancy; But if impeded, they produce a pain. This instinct, teaching us to pleasure seek, And pain avoid, none ever disobey; For be their conduct what it may, a crime Or virtue, greed or pure benevolence, To find the greatest pleasure is their aim. Nay, start not, critic, but attend the proofs. A man exists within himself alone, Himself, or he would lose identity. To him the world exists but by effects Upon himself. His actions toward it then Bear reference to himself. He cannot act Without affecting self. His nature’s law Demands that self be dealt with pleasantly.