ODE XLII

1

Goe; make a Rape on Fancie; and bring downe
All formes, dispersed in that Region,
Unto our Common Light;
Then with a cunning Hand, collect the Parts,
And make a Bodie, to astonish Arts.
Draw your owne Face aright;
Give common man his Symmetrie, in all
Dimensions of the mind;
This were a worke, to bind
The indebted world, a Slave perpetuall.

2

But what thin Shadowes flitt, within the Braine?
What obscure notions move to entertaine
Men, in their owne Conceite?
Wee looke at Passions through the Subtill glasse
Of Selfe-conceit; and follow them in chase,
With the loud noise of witt;
Wee run our Selves aground, upon that Shelfe,
Our Reason bids us Shun.
How soone is Man undone?
Who carries his owne Ruine, in Himselfe?

3

I cannot reach, nor Span my Selfe within
My owne Dimensions; I have often bin
Busie, to draw my owne
To my owne Power; and with all Diligence
The dispers'd Fragments of Intelligence
I gladlie would have knowne;
And us'd as in my Power, the Facultie
Of everie Sence. The Reach
Of Reason, I would fetch
Into the Circle of Capacitie.

4

I would have seen my Selfe, as in a Sheath
Within my Selfe; and as my owne, bequeath
Each part to proper use;
My conquer'd Reason, to submit her Power.
My Sence, corrected in Exterior
Objects, alone to chuse
What I propose; then doe not aske, what part
I would have guide the rest;
I would have everie brest
Capable of the rule of his owne Heart.

5

Thus, could wee Draw our Selves, the worke were done;
Knowledge were perfected; and truth were won.
Then all our toyle had End,
Our Parts reduc'd; Each to his Station;
And wee might live, in re-Creation.
But who shall yet ascend
That great Scientiall orbe? and bring away
The wreath, of victorie?
What humane Industrie,
Knowes how to Doe? what witt knowes what to Say?