You laugh, half-beau, half-sloven if I stand; My wig all powder, and all snuff my band; You laugh, if coat and breeches strangely vary, White gloves, and linen worthy Lady Mary![134] But, when no prelate's lawn with hair-shirt lined Is half so incoherent as my mind, When (each opinion with the next at strife, One ebb and flow of follies all my life) I plant, root up; I build, and then confound; Turn round to square, and square again to round; 170 You never change one muscle of your face, You think this madness but a common case, Nor once to Chancery, nor to Hale apply; Yet hang your lip, to see a seam awry! Careless how ill I with myself agree, Kind to my dress, my figure, not to me. Is this my guide, philosopher, and friend? This, he who loves me, and who ought to mend? Who ought to make me (what he can, or none), That man divine whom Wisdom calls her own; 180 Great without title, without fortune bless'd; Rich even when plunder'd, honour'd while oppress'd; Loved without youth, and follow'd without power; At home, though exiled; free, though in the Tower; In short, that reasoning, high, immortal thing, Just less than Jove, and much above a king, Nay, half in heaven--except (what's mighty odd) A fit of vapours clouds this demi-god. * * * * * THE SIXTH EPISTLE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE. TO MR MURRAY.[135] 'Not to admire, is all the art I know, To make men happy, and to keep them so.' (Plain truth, dear Murray, needs no flowers of speech, So take it in the very words of Creech.)[136] This vault of air, this congregated ball, Self-centred sun, and stars that rise and fall, There are, my friend! whose philosophic eyes Look through and trust the Ruler with his skies, To Him commit the hour, the day, the year, And view this dreadful All without a fear. 10 Admire we then what earth's low entrails hold, Arabian shores, or Indian seas infold; All the mad trade of fools and slaves for gold? Or popularity? or stars and strings? The mob's applauses, or the gifts of kings? Say with what eyes we ought at courts to gaze, And pay the great our homage of amaze? If weak the pleasure that from these can spring, The fear to want them is as weak a thing: Whether we dread, or whether we desire, 20 In either case, believe me, we admire; Whether we joy or grieve, the same the curse, Surprised at better, or surprised at worse. Thus good or bad, to one extreme betray The unbalanced mind, and snatch the man away: For virtue's self may too much zeal be had; The worst of madmen is a saint run mad.