"And is this all?" cried Caesar at his height, Disgusted. This third proof Ambition brings 370 Of immortality. The first in fame. Observe him near, your envy will abate: 372 Shamed at the disproportion vast, between The passion and the purchase, he will sigh At such success, and blush at his renown. And why? Because far richer prize invites His heart; far more illustrious glory calls: It calls in whispers, yet the deafest hear. And can Ambition a fourth proof supply? It can, and stronger than the former three; 380 Yet quite o'erlook'd by some reputed wise. Though disappointments in ambition pain, And though success disgusts; yet still, Lorenzo! In vain we strive to pluck it from our hearts; By Nature planted for the noblest ends. Absurd the famed advice to Pyrrhus[34] given, More praised, than ponder'd; specious, but unsound; Sooner that hero's sword the world had quell'd, Than Reason, his ambition. Man must soar. An obstinate activity within, 390 An insuppressive spring, will toss him up In spite of Fortune's load. Not kings alone, Each villager has his ambition too; No Sultan prouder than his fetter'd slave: Slaves build their little Babylons of straw, Echo the proud Assyrian, in their hearts, And cry,--"Behold the wonders of my might!" And why? Because immortal as their lord; And souls immortal must for ever heave At something great; the glitter, or the gold; 400 The praise of mortals, or the praise of Heaven. Nor absolutely vain is human praise, When human is supported by divine. I'll introduce Lorenzo to himself; 404 Pleasure and Pride (bad masters!) share our hearts. As love of pleasure is ordain'd to guard And feed our bodies, and extend our race; The love of praise is planted to protect, And propagate the glories of the mind. What is it, but the love of praise, inspires, Matures, refines, embellishes, exalts, Earth's happiness? From that, the delicate, 412 The grand, the marvellous, of civil life, Want and convenience, underworkers, lay The basis, on which love of glory builds. Nor is thy life, O Virtue! less in debt To praise, thy secret stimulating friend. Were men not proud, what merit should we miss! Pride made the virtues of the Pagan world. Praise is the salt that seasons right to man, 420 And whets his appetite for moral good. Thirst of applause is Virtue's second guard; Reason, her first; but reason wants an aid; Our private reason is a flatterer; Thirst of applause calls public judgment in, To poise our own, to keep an even scale, And give endanger'd Virtue fairer play. Here a fifth proof arises, stronger still: Why this so nice construction of our hearts?