Rue
Man is my Theme – but where shall I begin,
Where enter the vast Circle of his Sin?
Or how get out of it, when once I’m in?
Man! who was made to govern all things, yet
No other Brute is govern’d with so little wit:
So oddly temper’d and so apt to stray,
There’s not a Dog but’s wiser in his way:
Thinks he sees all things, but so dim his Eye,
He’s furthest off, when he believes he’s nigh.
Pretends to Heav’n your Footsteps to convey,
Then raises Mists, and makes you lose your way.
Slave to his Passions, every several lust
Whisks him about, as Whirlwinds do the dust:
And dust he is indeed, a senceless Clod,
That swells and struts, and wou’d be thought a
So selfish, insolent and vain, whene’r
In his gilt Coach the Pageant does appear,
He must be thought just, gen’rous, wise and brave,
Though a known Coxcomb, and a fearful Slave.
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