The Works of Henry Fielding/To John Hayes, Esq.

by Henry Fielding

   THAT Varius huffs, and fights it out to-day,
Who ran last week so cowardly away,
In Codrus may surprise the little skill,
Who nothing knows of humankind, but ill:
Confining all his knowledge, and his art,
To this, that each man is corrupt at heart.

   But thou who Nature thro' each maze canst trace,
Who in her closet forcest her embrace;
Canst with thy Horace see the human elves
Not differ more from others than themselves:
Canst see one man at several times appear,
Now gay, now grave, now candid, now severe;
Now save his friends, now leave 'em in the lurch;
Now rant in brothels, and now cant in church.

   Yet farther with the muse pursue the theme,
And see how various men at once will seem;
How passions blended on each other fix,
How vice with virtues, faults with graces mix;
How passions opposite, as sour to sweet,
Shall in one bosom at one moment meet,
With various luck for victory contend,
And now shall carry, and now lose their end.
The rotten beau, while smell'd along the room,
Divides your nose 'twixt stenches and perfume:
So vice and virtue lay such equal claim,
Your judgment knows not when to praise or blame.
Had Nature actions to one source confin'd,
Ev'n blund'ring Codrus might have known mankind.
But as the diff'ring colours blended lie
When Titian variegates his clouded sky;
Where white and black, the yellow and the green,
Unite and undistinguish'd form the scene.
So the great artist diff'ring passions joins,
And love with hatred, fear with rage combines.

   Nor Nature this confusion makes alone,
She gives us often half, and half's our own.

   Men what they are not struggle to appear,
And Nature strives to shew them as they are;
While Art, repugnant thus to Nature, fights,
The various man appears in different lights.
The sage or hero on the stage may shew
Behind the scenes the blockhead or the beau.
For tho' with Quin's or Garrick's matchless art,
He acts; my friend, he only acts a part:
For Quin himself, in a few moments more,
Is Quin again, who Cato was before.
Thus while the courtier acts the patriot's part,
This guides his face and tongue, and that his heart.
Abroad the patriot shines with artful mien,
The naked courtier glares behind the scene.
What wonder then to-morrow if he grow
A courtier good, who is a patriot now.