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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=448959" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Satyr</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Were I (who to my cost already am <br>One of those strange prodigious Creatures Man) <br>A Spirit free, to choose for my own share, <br>What Case of Flesh, and Blood, I pleas'd to weare, <br>I'd be a Dog, a Monkey, or a Bear, <br>Or any thing but that vain Animal, <br>Who is so proud of being rational. <br>The senses are too gross, and he'll contrive <br>A Sixth, to contradict the other Five; <br>And before certain instinct, will preferr <br>Reason, which Fifty times for one does err. <br>Reason, an Ignis fatuus, in the Mind, <br>Which leaving light of Nature, sense behind; <br>Pathless and dang'rous wandring ways it takes, <br>Through errors Fenny -- Boggs, and Thorny Brakes; <br>Whilst the misguided follower, climbs with pain, <br>Mountains of Whimseys, heap'd in his own Brain: <br>Stumbling from thought to thought, falls headlong down, <br>Into doubts boundless Sea, where like to drown, <br>Books bear him up awhile, and make him try, <br>To swim with Bladders of Philosophy; <br>In hopes still t'oretake th'escaping light, <br>The Vapour dances in his dazling sight, <br>Till spent, it leaves him to eternal Night. <br>Then Old Age, and experience, hand in hand, <br>Lead him to death, and make him understand, <br>After a search so painful, and so long, <br>That all his Life he has been in the wrong; <br>Hudled in dirt, the reas'ning Engine lyes, <br>Who was so proud, so witty, and so wise. <br>Pride drew him in, as Cheats, their Bubbles catch, <br>And makes him venture, to be made a Wretch. <br>His wisdom did his happiness destroy, <br>Aiming to know that World he shou'd enjoy; <br>And Wit, was his vain frivolous pretence, <br>Of pleasing others, at his own expence. <br>For Witts are treated just like common Whores, <br>First they're enjoy'd, and then kickt out of Doores: <br>The pleasure past, a threatning doubt remains, <br>That frights th'enjoyer, with succeeding pains: <br>Women and Men of Wit, are dang'rous Tools, <br>And ever fatal to admiring Fools. <br>Pleasure allures, and when the Fopps escape, <br>'Tis not that they're belov'd, but fortunate, <br>And therefore what they fear, at heart they hate. <br>But now methinks some formal Band, and Beard, <br>Takes me to task, come on Sir I'm prepar'd. <br>Then by your favour, any thing that's writ <br>Against this gibeing jingling knack call'd Wit, <br>Likes me abundantly, but you take care, <br>Upon this point, not to be too severe. <br>Perhaps my Muse, were fitter for this part, <br>For I profess, I can be very smart <br>On Wit, which I abhor with all my heart: <br>I long to lash it in some sharp Essay, <br>But your grand indiscretion bids me stay, <br>And turns my Tide of Ink another way. <br>What rage ferments in your degen'rate mind, <br>To make you rail at Reason, and Mankind? <br>Blest glorious Man! to whom alone kind Heav'n, <br>An everlasting Soul has freely giv'n; <br>Whom his great Maker took such care to make, <br>That from himself he did the Image take; <br>And this fair frame, in shining Reason drest, <br>To dignifie his Nature, above Beast. <br>Reason, by whose aspiring influence, <br>We take a flight beyond material sense, <br>Dive into Mysteries, then soaring pierce, <br>The flaming limits of the Universe, <br>Search Heav'n and Hell, find out what's acted there, <br>And give the World true grounds of hope and fear. <br>Hold mighty Man, I cry, all this we know, <br>From the Pathetique Pen of Ingello; <br>From Patricks Pilgrim, Stilling fleets replyes, <br>And 'tis this very reason I despise. <br>This supernatural gift, that makes a Myte -- , <br>Think he's the Image of the Infinite: <br>Comparing his short life, void of all rest, <br>To the Eternal, and the ever blest. <br>This busie, puzling, stirrer up of doubt, <br>That frames deep Mysteries, then finds 'em out; <br>Filling with Frantick Crowds of thinking Fools, <br>Those Reverend Bedlams, Colledges, and Schools; <br>Borne on whose Wings, each heavy Sot can pierce, <br>The limits of the boundless Universe. <br>So charming Oyntments, make an Old Witch flie, <br>And bear a Crippled Carcass through the Skie. <br>'Tis this exalted Pow'r, whose bus'ness lies, <br>In Nonsense, and impossibilities. <br>This made a Whimsical Philosopher, <br>Before the spacious World, his Tub prefer, <br>And we have modern Cloysterd Coxcombs, who <br>Retire to think, cause they have naught to do. <br>But thoughts, are giv'n, for Actions government, <br>Where Action ceases, thoughts impertinent: <br>Our Sphere of Action, is lifes happiness, <br>And he who thinks Beyond, thinks like an Ass. <br>Thus, whilst against false reas'ning I inveigh, <br>I own right Reason, which I wou'd obey: <br>That Reason that distinguishes by sense, <br>And gives us Rules, of good, and ill from thence: <br>That bounds desires, with a reforming Will, <br>To keep 'em more in vigour, not to kill. <br>Your Reason hinders, mine helps t'enjoy, <br>Renewing Appetites, yours wou'd destroy. <br>My Reason is my Friend, yours is a Cheat, <br>Hunger call's out, my Reason bids me eat; <br>Perversly yours, your Appetite does mock, <br>This asks for Food, that answers what's a Clock? <br>This plain distinction Sir your doubt secures, <br>'Tis not true Reason I despise but yours. <br>Thus I think Reason righted, but for Man, <br>I'le nere recant defend him if you can. <br>For all his Pride, and his Philosophy, <br>'Tis evident, Beasts are in their degree, <br>As wise at least, and better far than he. <br>Those Creatures, are the wisest who attain, <br>By surest means, the ends at which they aim. <br>If therefore Jowler, finds, and Kills his Hares, <br>Better than Meres, supplyes Committee Chairs; <br>Though one's a States-man, th'other but a Hound, <br>Jowler, in Justice, wou'd be wiser found. <br>You see how far Mans wisedom here extends, <br>Look next, if humane Nature makes amends; <br>Whose Principles, most gen'rous are, and just, <br>And to whose Moralls, you wou'd sooner trust. <br>Be judge your self, I'le bring it to the test, <br>Which is the basest Creature Man, or Beast? <br>Birds, feed on Birds, Beasts, on each other prey, <br>But Savage Man alone, does Man, betray: <br>Prest by necessity, they Kill for Food, <br>Man, undoes Man, to do himself no good. <br>With Teeth, and Claws, by Nature arm'd they hunt, <br>Natures allowance, to supply their want. <br>But Man, with smiles, embraces, Friendships, praise, <br>Unhumanely his Fellows life betrays; <br>With voluntary pains, works his distress, <br>Not through necessity, but wantonness. <br>For hunger, or for Love, they fight, or tear, <br>Whilst wretched Man, is still in Arms for fear; <br>For fear he armes, and is of Armes afraid, <br>By fear, to fear, successively betray'd. <br>Base fear, the source whence his best passion came, <br>His boasted Honor, and his dear bought Fame. <br>That lust of Pow'r, to which he's such a Slave, <br>And for the which alone he dares be brave: <br>To which his various Projects are design'd, <br>Which makes him gen'rous, affable, and kind. <br>For which he takes such pains to be thought wise, <br>And screws his actions, in a forc'd disguise: <br>Leading a tedious life in Misery, <br>Under laborious, mean Hypocrisie. <br>Look to the bottom, of his vast design, <br>Wherein Mans Wisdom, Pow'r, and Glory joyn; <br>The good he acts, the ill he does endure, <br>'Tis all for fear, to make himself secure. <br>Meerly for safety, after Fame we thirst, <br>For all Men, wou'd be Cowards if they durst. <br>And honesty's against all common sense, <br>Men must be Knaves, 'tis in their own defence. <br>Mankind's dishonest, if you think it fair, <br>Amongst known Cheats, to play upon the square, <br>You'le be undone -- <br>Nor can weak truth, your reputation save, <br>The Knaves, will all agree to call you Knave. <br>Wrong'd shall he live, insulted o're, opprest, <br>Who dares be less a Villain, than the rest. <br>Thus Sir you see what humane Nature craves, <br>Most Men are Cowards, all Men shou'd be Knaves: <br>The diff'rence lyes (as far as I can see) <br>Not in the thing it self, but the degree; <br>And all the subject matter of debate, <br>Is only who's a Knave, of the first Rate? <br>All this with indignation have I hurl'd, <br>At the pretending part of the proud World, <br>Who swolne with selfish vanity, devise, <br>False freedomes, holy Cheats, and formal Lyes <br>Over their fellow Slaves to tyrannize. <br>But if in Court, so just a Man there be, <br>(In Court, a just Man, yet unknown to me) <br>Who does his needful flattery direct, <br>Not to oppress, and ruine, but protect; <br>Since flattery, which way so ever laid, <br>Is still a Tax on that unhappy Trade. <br>If so upright a States-Man, you can find, <br>Whose passions bend to his unbyass'd Mind; <br>Who does his Arts, and Pollicies apply, <br>To raise his Country, not his Family; <br>Nor while his Pride own'd Avarice withstands, <br>Receives close Bribes, from Friends corrupted hands. <br>Is there a Church-Man who on God relyes? <br>Whose Life, his Faith, and Doctrine Justifies? <br>Not one blown up, with vain Prelatique Pride, <br>Who for reproof of Sins, does Man deride: <br>Whose envious heart makes preaching a pretence <br>With his obstrep'rous sawcy Eloquence, <br>To chide at Kings, and raile at Men of sense. <br>Who from his Pulpit, vents more peevish Lyes, <br>More bitter railings, scandals, Calumnies, <br>Than at a Gossipping, are thrown about, <br>When the good Wives, get drunk, and then fall out. <br>None of that sensual Tribe, whose Tallents lye, <br>In Avarice, Pride, Sloth, and Gluttony. <br>Who hunt good Livings, but abhor good Lives, <br>Whose Lust exalted, to that height arrives, <br>They act Adultery with their own Wives. <br>And e're a score of Years compleated be, <br>Can from the lofty Pulpit proudly see, <br>Half a large Parish, their own Progeny. <br>Nor doating Bishop who wou'd be ador'd, <br>For domineering at the Councel Board; <br>A greater Fop, in business at Fourscore, <br>Fonder of serious Toyes, affected more, <br>Than the gay glitt'ring Fool, at Twenty proves, <br>With all his noise, his tawdrey Cloths, and Loves. <br>But a meek humble Man, of honest sense, <br>Who Preaching peace, does practice continence; <br>Whose pious life's a proof he does believe, <br>Misterious truths, which no Man can conceive. <br>If upon Earth there dwell such God-like Men, <br>I'le here recant my Paradox to them, <br>Adore those Shrines of Virtue, Homage pay, <br>And with the Rabble World, their Laws obey. <br>If such there are, yet grant me this at least, <br>Man differs more from Man, than Man from Beast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Lord+John+Wilmot">Lord John Wilmot</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=448959" data-title="Satyr de Lord John Wilmot" data-description="Were I (who to my cost already am 
One of those strange prodigious Creatures Man) 
A Spirit free, to choose for my own share, 
What Case of Flesh, and Blood, I pleas'd to weare, 
I'd be a Dog, a Monkey, or a Bear, 
Or any thing but that vain Anima..."></div>
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