Some Moral Reflections concerning Vanity

THO vanity in all we do not see,
Yet a Vice 'tis from which no mortal's free.
For Heaven with soveraign Wisdom did ordain,
The thing it made so wretched, should be vain.
The happiest has of misery such a share,
As without Vanity he could not bear.
But that into content our minds can cheat,
Pleas'd to be wretched, whilst they dream they're great.
Virtue to that, and Learning too we owe,
For from our Pride our goodliest actions flow,
And all that curious searching minds can know.
For when we watch the live-long night to pore,
And tedious Volumes are content t' explore:
'Tis not to know our duty and do well,
Tis with aspiring thoughts and hope to excell.
By Vanity we know our selves; who'd dare
To look within, if Vanity were not there?
For all the rest so gloomy is and sad,
The ghastly sight would make the wisest mad.
But Vanity makes gay the ghastly sight,
(As Cynthia guilds the dusky face of Night,)
By its false light, a man his faults o'resees,
Or it such Colours gives them that they please.
Since we're oblig'd to't then, and to't ally'd,
Why do we hate it still, and still deride?
Indeed we hate it, when 'tis seen abroad;
At home 'tis constantly caress'd and claw'd.
The Vanity which is by others shown,
We therefore hate, because it shocks our own.
We would be upper-most, which they who boast,
Seem not t' allow; themselves esteeming most.
To Sift them then, we're angrily inclin'd
To weigh their Virtues, and their faults to find:
Whilst all our Pride grows furious in our mind,
Which till their faults are shown, is ne're appeas'd;
But fancying we're above them then, we're eas'd.
Therefore the Wise, who would their Faults conceal,
Never themselves their Merit will reveal.
Praise, tho their due, they never care to claim,
But by their Modesty advance their Fame.
Praise claim'd our vanity will not pay, they know,
Which of it self profusely 'twill bestow.
For when we celebrate anothers praise,
'Tis not his Glory, but our own to raise,
Provok'd and push'd t't by an itching lust,
To show how Sensible and Just.
Great Wits extreamly vain are sometimes found;
They with fermenting Choler much abound:
Thransported by whose rage they can't controul
Th' impetous saillies of th' aspiring Soul.
For they must own, who most admire great Wits,
Tho still ingenious, they're but wise by fits.
Ev'n them when vain, as Fools, we must despise;
As we count Fools, as far as modest, wise.
But Fools ne're modest are but by Complexion,
They're vain and noisie Rogues still by Election;
For modesty by choice implie profound reflection.
Nature, who acts by admirable rules;
Wisdom with vanity supplies in Fools.
As she the Wise, (who mad with pride would grow,
Could they know others and themselves not know.)
By self-reflection humble keeps and low.
So she those Fools who nothing know, and Bliss
Owe only to their ignorance of this.
Those Fools, who if they could their inside spy,
At the sad view, would strait despair and dye;
Those she to make them drag dull Life can cheat,
By monstrous vanity into self-conceit.
As empty Bodies most are puff'd with wind;
So vanity most swells an empty Mind.
From a Fools inside breaks with filthy sound,
And does their Senses who are near him wound.
Vain Rogues are pleas'd with vile noise they make
As Brutal Sots brag of the wind they break.
Fools like the Ass, first frightfully are loud,
Then of that very noise the Beasts are proud.
He sat at Council boasts himself most able,
Who loudest blasts discharges at the Table.