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THE EIGHTH SATIRE OF MONSIEUR BOILEAU, IMITATED.[1]
OF all the creatures in the world that be,
Beast, fish, or fowl, that go, or swim, or fly
Throughout the globe from London to Japan,
The arrantest fool in my opinion's man.
’What?’ straight I'm taken up, ’an ant, a fly,
A tiny mite, which we can hardly see
Without a perspective, a silly ass,
Or freakish ape? Dare you affirm, that these
Have greater sense than man?'Ay, questionless;
Doctor, I find you're shocked at this discourse.
’Man is,' you cry, ’Lord of the Universe;
For him was this fair frame of nature made,
And all the creatures for his use and aid;
To him alone, of all the living kind,
Has bounteous Heaven the reasoning gift assigned.’
True, sir, that reason ever was his lot,
But thence I argue man the greater sot.
'This idle talk,' you say, ’and rambling stuff
May pass in satire, and take well enough
With sceptic fools, who are disposed to jeer
At serious things; but you must make't appear
By solid proof.' Believe me, sir, I'll do't:
Take you the desk, and let's dispute it out.
Then by your favour, tell me first of all,
What 'tis which you grave doctors wisdom call?
You answer: 'Tis an evenness of soul,
A steady temper, which no cares control,
No passions ruflSe, nor desires inflame,
Still constant to itself, and still the same;
- ↑ Written in October, 1682.
