More hot and furiously enrag'd by far,

Than both the hosts that in the Moon made war, To find so rare and admirable a hint,

And had engag'd themselves to make it out,
Obstructed with a wretched paltry doubt.
When one, whose only task was to determine
And solve the worst appearances of vermin,
Who oft had made profound discoveries
In frogs and toads, as well as rats and mice,
(Though not so curious and exact, 'tis true,
As many an exquisite rat-catcher knew)
After he had a while with signs made way
For something pertinent he had to say,
At last prevail'd-Quoth he, “This disquisition
Is, the one half of it, in my discission;
For though 'tis true the elephant, as beast,
Belongs, of natural right, to all the rest,
The mouse, that 's but a paltry vermin, none
Can claim a title to but I alone;
And therefore humbly hope I may be heard,
In my own province, freely, with regard.

"It is no wonder that we are cry'd down,
And made the table-talk of all the town,
That rants and vapours still, for all our great
Designs and projects, we 've done nothing yet,
If every one have liberty to doubt,

When some great secret's more than half made out,
Because, perhaps, it will not hold out true,
And put a stop to all w' attempt to do.
As no great action ever has been done,
Nor ever 's like to be, by truth alone,
If nothing else but only truth w' allow,
'Tis no great matter what w' intend to do:
[For Truth is always too reserv'd and chaste,
T' endure to be, by all the town embrac'd;
A solitary anchorite, that dwells,
Retir'd from all the world, in obscure cells,]
Disdains all great assemblies, and defies
The press and crowd of mix'd societies,
That use to deal in novelty and change,

Not of things true, but great, and rare, and strange,
To entertain the world with what is fit
And proper for its genius and its wit;
The world, that 's never found to set esteem

On what things are, but what they appear and seem;
And, if they are not wonderful and new,
They 're ne'er the better for their being true;
[For what is truth, or knowledge, but a kind
Of wantonness and luxury o' th' mind,
A greediness and gluttony o' th' brain,
That longs to eat forbidden fruit again,

And grows more desperate, like the worst diseases,
Upon the nobler part (the mind) it seizes?]
And what has mankind ever gain'd by knowing
His little truth, unless his own undoing,
That prudently by Nature had been hidden,
And, only for his greater good, forbidden?
And therefore with as great discretion does
The world endeavour still to keep it close;
For if the secrets of all truths were known,
Who would not, once more, be as much undone?
For truth is never without danger in 't,
As here it has depriv'd us of a hint
The whole assembly had agreed upon,
And utterly defeated all we 'ad done,
[By giving footboys leave to interpose,
And disappoint whatever we propose; ]
For nothing but to cut out work for Stubs,
And all the busy academic clubs,

Nor take upon him t' understand, henceforth,
More than his weekly contribution 's worth?
That all those that have purchas'd of the college
A half, or but a quarter share, of knowledge,
And brought none in themselves, but spent repute,
Should never be admitted to dispute,
Nor any member undertake tɔ know
More than his equal dividend comes to?
For partners have perpetually been known
T'impose upon their public interest prone;
And, if we have not greater care of ours,
It will be sure to run the self-same course."
This said, the whole society allow'd
The doctrine to be orthodox and good,
And, from the apparent truth of what they 'ad heard,
Resolv'd, henceforth, to give truth no regard,
But what was for their interests to vouch,
And either find it out, or make it such:
That 'twas more admirable to create
Inventions, like truth, out of strong conceit,
Than with vexatious study, pains, and doubt,
To find, or but suppose t' have found, it out.

This being resolv'd, th' assembly, one by one,
Review'd the tube, the elephant, and Moon;
But still the more and curiouser they pry'd,
They but became the more unsatisfy'd;
In no one thing they gaz'd upon agreeing,
As if they 'ad different principles of seeing.
Some boldly swore, upon a second view,
That all they 'ad beheld before was true,
And damn'd themselves they never would recant
One syllable they 'ad seen of th' elephant;
Avow'd his shape and snout could be no mouse's,
But a true natural elephant's proboscis.
Others began to doubt as much and waver,
Uncertain which to disallow or favour;
[Until they had as many cross resolves,

As Irishmen that have been turn'd to wolves,]
And grew distracted, whether to espouse
The party of the elephant or mouse.
Some held there was no way so orthodox,
As to refer it to the ballot-box,
And, like some other nation's patriots,
To find it out, or make the truth, by votes:
Others were of opinion 'twas more fit
Tunmount the telescope, and open it,
And, for their own and all men's satisfaction,
To search and re-examine the transaction.
And afterward to explicate the rest,
As they should see occasion, for the best.

To this, at length, as th' only expedient,
The whole assembly freely gave consent;
But, ere the optic tube was half let down,
Their own eyes clear'd the first phenomenon:
For at the upper end, prodigious swarms
Of busy flies and gnats, like men in arms,
Had all past muster in the glass by chance,
For both the Peri- and the Subvolvans.

This being discover'd, once more put them all
Into a worse and desperater brawl;
Surpris'd with shame, that men so grave and wisa
Should be trepann'd by paltry gnats and flies,
And to mistake the feeble insects' swarms

For squadrons and reserves of men in arms;

As politic as those who, when the Moon

As bright and glorious in a river shone,

Threw casting-nets with equal cunning at her,
To catch her with, and pull her out o' th' water.
But when, at last, they had unscrew'd the
glass,

To find out where the sly impostor was,

And saw 'twas but a mouse 2, that by mishap
Had catch'd himself, and them, in th' optic trap,
Amaz'd, with shame confounded, and afflicted
To find themselves so openly convicted,
Immediately made haste to get them gone,
With none but this discovery alone:
That learned men, who greedily pursue
Things, that are rather wonderful than true,
And, in their nicest speculations, choose

To make their own discoveries strange news,
And natural history rather a Gazette
Of rarities stupendous and far-fet;
Believe no truths are worthy to be known,
That are not strongly vast and overgrown,
And strive to explicate appearances,
Not as they 're probable, but as they please;
In vain endeavour Nature to suborn,

And, for their pains, are justly paid with scorn.

A SATIRE ON THE ROYAL SOCIETY.
A FRAGMENT 3.

A LEARNED man, whom once a week
A hundred virtuosi seek,

And like an oracle apply to,

Task questions, and admire, and lie to;
Who entertain'd them all of course,
(As men take wives for better or worse)
And past them all for men of parts,
Tough some but sceptics in their hearts;
For, when they 're cast into a lump,
Their talents equally must jump:
As metals mixt, the rich and base
Do both at equal values pass.

With these the ordinary debate
Was after news, and things of state,
Which way the dreadful comet went
la sixty-four, and what it meant ?
What nations yet are to bewail
The operation of its tail?

A mouse, whose martial value has so long
Azo been try'd, and by old Homer sung,
And purchas'd him more everlasting glory
Than all his Grecian and his Trojan story,
Though he appears unequal matcht, I grant,
In bulk and stature by the elephant,
Yet frequently has been observ'd in battle
To have reduc'd the proud and haughty cattle,
When, having boldly enter'd the redoubt,
And storm'd the dreadful outwork of his snout,
The little vermin, like an errant-knight,
Has slain the huge gigantic beast in fight.
Butler formed a design of writing another
upon the Royal Society, part of which I find
ngst his papers, fairly and correctly transcribed.

Or whether France or Holland yet,
Or Germany, be in its debt?
What wars and plagues in Christendom
Have happen'd since, and what to come?
What kings are dead, how many queens
And princesses are poison'd since?
And who shall next of all by turn

Make courts wear black, and tradesmen mourn?
What parties next of foot or horse,
Will rout, or routed be, of course?
What German marches, and retreats,
Will furnish the next month's Gazettes ?
What pestilent contagion next,

And what part of the world, infects?
What dreadful meteor, and where,
Shall in the heavens next appear?
And when again shall lay embargo
Upon the admiral, the good ship Argo?
Why currents turn in seas of ice

Some thrice a day, and some but twice?
And why the tides, at night and noon,
Court, like Caligula, the Moon?
What is the natural cause why fish,
That always drink, do never piss?
Or whether in their home, the deep,
By night or day they ever sleep?
If grass be green, or snow be white,
But only as they take the light?
Whether possessions of the Devil,
Or mere temptations, do most evil?
What is 't that makes all fountains still
Within the Earth to run up hill,
But on the outside down again,
As if th' attempt had been in vain?

Or what's the strange magnetic cause
The steel or loadstone 's drawn, or draws?
The star the needle, which the stone
Has only been but touch'd upon?
Whether the north-star's influence
With both does hold intelligence?
(For red-hot ir'n, held tow`rds the pole,
Turns of itself to 't when 'tis cool:
Or whether male and female screws
In th' iron and stone th' effect produce?
What makes the body of the Sun,
That such a rapid course does run,
To draw no tail behind through th' air,
As comets do, when they appear;
Which other planets cannot do,
Because they do not burn, but glow?
Whether the Moon be sea or land,
Or charcoal, or a quench'd firebrand?
Or if the dark holes that appear,
Are only pores, not cities there?
Whether the atmosphere turn round,
And keep a just pace with the ground,
Or loiter lazily behind,

And clog the air with gusts of wind?
Or whether crescents in the wane
(For so an author has it plain)

Whether he ever finished it, or the remainder of it be lost, is uncertain: the fragment, however, that is preserved, may not improperly be added in this place, as in some sort explanatory of the preceding poem: and, I am persuaded, that those who have a taste for Butler's turn and humour will think this too curious a fragment to be lost, though perhaps too imperfect to be formally published.

Who ever could have thought, but you alone,
A sign and an ascendant were all one?
Or how 'tis possible the Moon should shrowd
Her face, to peep at Mars behind a cloud,
Since clouds below are so far distant plac'd,
They cannot hinder her from being barefac'd?
Who ever did a language so enrich,
To scorn all little particles of speech?
For though they make the sense clear, yet they're
To be a scurvy hindrance to the sound;
Therefore you wisely scorn your style to humble,
Or for the sense's sake to wave the rumble.
Had Homer known this art, he 'ad ne'er been fain
To use so many particles in vain,

That to no purpose serve, but (as he haps
To want a syllable) to fill up gaps.
You justly coin new verbs, to pay for those
Which in construction you o'ersee and lose;
And by this art do Priscian no wrong

[found

When you break 's head, for 'tis as broad as long.
These are your own discoveries, which none
But such a Muse as your's could hit upon,
That can, in spite of laws of art, or rules,
Make things more intricate than all the schools:
For what have laws of art to do with you,
More than the laws with honest men and true?
He that's a prince in poetry should strive
To cry them down by his prerogative,
And not submit to that which has no force
But o'er delinquents and inferiors.
Your poems will endure to be try'd

I' th' fire, like gold, and come forth purify'd;
Can only to eternity pretend,

For they were never writ to any end.
All other books bear an uncertain rate,
But those you write are always sold by weight;
Each word and syllable brought to the scale,
And valued to a scruple in the sale:

For when the paper 's charg'd with your rich wit, 'Tis for all purposes and uses fit,

Has an abstersive virtue to make clean
Whatever Nature made in man obscene.
Boys find, b' experiment, no paper-kite,
Without your verse, can make a noble flight.
It keeps our spice and aromatics sweet;
In Paris they perfume their rooms with it:
For burning but one leaf of your's, they say,
Drives all their stinks and nastiness away.
Cooks keep their pies from burning with you wit,
Their pigs and geese from scorching on the spit;
And vintners find their wines are ne'er the worse,
When arsenic's only wrapt up in the verse.
These are the great performances that raise
Your mighty parts above all reach of praise,
And give us only leave t' admire your worth,
For no man, but yourself, can set it forth,
Whose wondrous power 's so generally known,
Fame is the echo, and her voice your own.

A

PANEGYRIC UPON SIR JOHN DENHAM'S
RECOVERY FROM HIS MADNESS'.

SIR, you 've outliv'd so desperate a fit
As none could do but an immortal wit;

'It must surprise the reader to find a writer of Butler's judgment attacking, in so severe and con

Had your's been less, all helps had been in vain,
And thrown away, though on a less sick brain;
But you were so far from receiving hurt,
You grew improv'd, and much the better for 't.
As when th' Arabian bird does sacrifice,
And burn himself in his own country's spice,
A maggot first breeds in h's pregnant urn,
Which after does to a young phoenix turn:
So your hot brain, burnt in its native fire,
Did life renew'd and vigorous youth acquire;
And with so much advantage, some have guest,
Your after-wit is like to be your best,
And now expect far greater matters of ye
Than the bought Cooper's Hill, or borrow'd Sophy;
Such as your Tully lately dress'd in verse,
Like those he made himself, or not much worse;
And Seneca's dry sand unmix'd with lime,
Such as you cheat the king with, botch'd in rhyme.
Nor were your morals less improv'd, all pride
And native insolence quite laid aside;
And that ungovern'd outrage, that was wont
All, that you durst with safety, to affront.
No China cupboard rudely overthrown,
Nor lady tipp'd, by being accosted, down;
No poet jeer'd, for scribbleing amiss,
With verses forty times more lewd than his :
Nor did your crutch give battle to your duns,
And hold it out, where you had built a ɛconce;
Nor furiously laid orange-wench aboard,
For asking what in fruit and love you 'ad scor'd;
But all civility and complacence,

More than you ever us'd before or since.
Beside, you never over-reach'd the king
One farthing, all the while, in reckoning,
Nor brought in false account, with little tricks,
Of passing broken rubbish for whole bricks;
False mustering of workmen by the day,
Deduction out of wages, and dead pay
For those that never liv'd; all which did come,
By thrifty management, to no small sum.
You pull'd no lodgings down, to build them worse,
Nor repair'd others, to repair your purse,
As you were wont, till all you built appear'd
Like that Amphion with his fiddle rear'd:
For had the stones, like his, charm'd by your verse,
Built up themselves, they could not have done worse:
And sure, when first you ventur'd to survey,
You did design to do 't no other way.

All, this was done before those days began
In which you were a wise and happy man:
For who e'er liv'd in such a paradise,
Until fresh straw and darkness op'd your eyes?
Who ever greater treasure could command,
Had nobler palaces, and richer land,
Than you had then, who could raise sums as vast,
As all the cheats of a Dutch war could waste,
Or all those practis'd upon public money?
For nothing, but your cure, could have undone ye

temptuous a manner, the character of a poet s much esteemed as sir John Denham was. If what he charges him with be true, there is, indeed, some room for satire; but still there is such a spirit bitterness runs through the whole, besides the cruelty of ridiculing an infirmity of this nature, as can be accounted for by nothing but some personal quarrel or disgust. How far this weakness may carry the greatest geniuses, we have a proof in wha Pope has written of Addison.