An
ALLEGORY
on
MAN
.
A
Thoughtful
Being
,
long
and
spare
,
Our
Race
of
Mortals
call
him
Care
:
(
Were
Homer
living
,
well
he
knew
What
Name
the
Gods
have
call'd
him
too
)
With
fine
Mechanick
Genius
wrought
,
And
lov'd
to
work
,
tho'
no
one
bought
.
This
Being
,
by
a
Model
bred
In
Jove's
eternal
sable
Head
,
Contriv'd
a
Shape
impow'rd
to
breathe
,
And
be
the
Worldling
here
beneath
.
The
Man
rose
staring
,
like
a
Stake
;
Wond'ring
to
see
himself
awake
!
Then
look'd
so
wise
,
before
he
knew
The
Bus'ness
he
was
made
to
do
;
That
pleas'd
to
see
with
what
a
Grace
He
gravely
shew'd
his
forward
Face
,
Jove
talk'd
of
breeding
him
on
high
,
An
Under-something
of
the
Sky
.
But
e'er
he
gave
the
mighty
Nod
,
Which
ever
binds
a
Poet's
God
:
(
For
which
his
Curls
Ambrosial
shake
,
And
Mother
Earth's
oblig'd
to
quake
:
)
He
saw
old
Mother
Earth
arise
,
She
stood
confess'd
before
his
Eyes
;
But
not
with
what
we
read
she
wore
,
A
Castle
for
a
Crown
before
,
Nor
with
long
Streets
and
longer
Roads
Dangling
behind
her
,
like
Commodes
:
As
yet
with
Wreaths
alone
she
drest
,
And
trail'd
a
Landskip-painted
Vest
.
Then
thrice
she
rais'd
,
(
as
Ovid
said
)
And
thrice
she
bow'd
,
her
weighty
Head
.
Her
Honours
made
,
Great
Jove
,
she
cry'd
,
This
Thing
was
fashion'd
from
my
Side
;
His
Hands
,
his
Heart
,
his
Head
are
mine
;
Then
what
hast
thou
to
call
him
thine
?
Nay
rather
ask
,
the
Monarch
said
,
What
boots
his
Hand
,
his
Heart
,
his
Head
,
Were
what
I
gave
remov'd
away
?
Thy
Part's
an
idle
Shape
of
Clay
.
Halves
,
more
than
Halves
!
cry'd
honest
Care
,
Your
Pleas
wou'd
make
your
Titles
fair
,
You
claim
the
Body
,
you
the
Soul
,
But
I
who
join'd
them
,
claim
the
whole
.
Thus
with
the
Gods
Debate
began
,
On
such
a
trivial
Cause
,
as
Man
.
And
can
Celestial
Tempers
rage
?
(
Quoth
Virgil
in
a
later
Age
.
)
As
thus
they
wrangled
,
Time
came
by
;
(
There's
none
that
paint
him
such
as
I
,
For
what
the
Fabling
Antients
sung
Makes
Saturn
old
,
when
Time
was
young
.
)
As
yet
his
Winters
had
not
shed
Their
silver
Honours
on
his
Head
;
He
just
had
got
his
Pinions
free
From
his
old
Sire
Eternity
.
A
Serpent
girdled
round
he
wore
,
The
Tail
within
the
Mouth
before
;
By
which
our
Almanacks
are
clear
That
learned
Aegypt
meant
the
Year
.
A
Staff
he
carry'd
,
where
on
high
A
Glass
was
fix'd
to
measure
by
,
As
Amber
Boxes
made
a
Show
For
Heads
of
Canes
an
Age
ago
.
His
Vest
,
for
Day
,
and
Night
,
was
py'd
;
A
bending
Sickle
arm'd
his
Side
;
And
Spring's
new
Months
his
Train
adorn
;
The
other
Seasons
were
unborn
.
Known
by
the
Gods
,
as
near
he
draws
,
They
make
him
Umpire
of
the
Cause
.
O'er
a
low
Trunk
his
Arm
he
laid
,
(
Where
since
his
Hours
a
Dial
made
;
)
Then
leaning
heard
the
nice
Debate
,
And
thus
pronounc'd
the
Words
of
Fate
.
Since
Body
from
the
Parent
Earth
,
And
Soul
from
Jove
receiv'd
a
Birth
,
Return
they
where
they
first
began
;
But
since
their
Union
makes
the
Man
,
'Till
Jove
and
Earth
shall
part
these
two
,
To
Care
who
join'd
them
,
Man
is
due
.
He
said
,
and
sprung
with
swift
Career
To
trace
a
Circle
for
the
Year
;
Where
ever
since
the
Seasons
wheel
,
And
tread
on
one
another's
Heel
.
'Tis
well
,
said
Jove
,
and
for
consent
,
Thund'ring
he
shook
the
Firmament
.
Our
Umpire
Time
shall
have
his
Way
,
With
Care
I
let
the
Creature
stay
:
Let
Bus'ness
vex
him
,
Av'rice
blind
,
Let
Doubt
and
knowledge
rack
his
Mind
,
Let
Error
act
,
Opinion
speak
,
And
Want
afflict
,
and
Sickness
break
,
And
Anger
burn
,
Dejection
chill
,
And
Joy
distract
,
and
Sorrow
kill
.
'Till
arm'd
by
Care
and
taught
to
Mow
,
Time
draws
the
long
destructive
Blow
;
And
wasted
Man
,
whose
quick
decay
Comes
hurrying
on
before
his
Day
,
Shall
only
find
,
by
this
Decree
,
The
Soul
flies
sooner
back
to
Me
.