AN ANSWER TO THE satire AGAINST MANKIND.  

WERE I to choose what sort of Corpse I'd wear,  
Not Bear or Dog, Lord Monkey, or a Dear;  
But I'd be Man, not as I am the worst;  
But Man refin'd such as he was at first.  
The speechless state of Brutes I would refuse,  
For the same cause another doth it choose,  
For then the Reputation I should lose  
Of Wit, Extravigance, and Mode, from whence  
Reason is made to truckle under sense.   

Or if to sense I did so much incline,  
I'd rather be a satire, Goat, or Swine,  
To help to break the Court-Physicians, who  
Besides compounding Lusts have nought to do.  
Nature (exceeding Broths) would then excite  
Supplies to make a full-mealed appetite,  
No  Conscience dulling the delight.   

But what needs such a Metamorphosis?  
Man, being Man, can do even more than this,  
Granting the Principle, that Reason's use  
Is not to curb, but make Sense more profuse.  
For though Man's Sense less vigorous is than Brutes,  
His Pander-Reason can contrive Recruites  
For its defects: What Sins the Sensual Man  
Can't do alone, the Reasonable can  
With useful Wit; for sensuality  
An half-unfashioned Sinner doth descry:  
He's Modishly debauched, who can tell why?  
That spurs up slow-paced Lust by Argument,  
Which to tired sense gives no divertisement,  
But calls for more when all its sin is spent.  
And though the flagging wretch would be content  
(Dissabled for more Vice) now to Repent;  
Upbraiding Reason checks the puny motion,  
Bids it cheer up, and gives it t'other Potion:  
Till after all, when Nature hath given o'er,  
And Art can Buoy up Aged Sense no more.  
Reason reserves this Remedy at last,  
To think those Pleasures, which it cannot taste.  
In this the thinking Fool may become wise,  
And yet think on, so that his thinking lies  
In Notions of Venerial Mysteries.  
Hence sprang the Reasoning Art in former days  
Of Spintriae Oscis: and the Modern ways  
By Baths, Lascivious Pictures, Giggs and Plays.   

If this be Reason's use, no more we'll call  
Clodius incontinent, but Rational,  
And boast the Reason of Sardanopal.  
Reason Nicknamed like Quaker's newfound Light;  
One while called Spirit, alias Appetite.  
A stupid Reason which none will defend,  
But he that hath with Brutus' one common end.  
Debasing Reason! Coupling every Ass,  
Even with my Lord in the same reasoning class.   

I'll be no Stud'ent in this Learned School,  
I'd rather be the humane thinking Fool,  
The Cloister'd Coxcomb able to Converse,  
(Although alone) with the whole Universe,  
And reasoning into Heaven, mount from thence  
Post Gazettes of Divine Intelligence,  
And Sacred knowledge most remote from sense.  
Might I be placed in that exploded Sphere,  
I'd not alone forgive that witty Jeer,  
But boast the Name of Reasoning Engineer.   

But as for Man made perfect and upright,  
Why not the Image of the Infinite?  
Were this scandal to his Glory; must  
We for his Honour's sake his word distrust?  
Or is an Image such a very same  
With what it represents? that it must claim  
It's full Perfections? Sure my Picture might  
Be Painted like me, and yet void of sight.  
Must the first draught of Man be vilifyed,  
Scorned and contemned, 'cause Man himself hath strayed?  
Or did not Eve sufficiently transgress,  
And Bastardise Posterity? unless  
Man, little as he is, be made much less.  
Though he doth not his higher end pursue  
So well as doth the more Ignoble Crew  
Of Birds and Beasts (that little have to do.)  
The difficulty of his lofty end,  
Above the others doth his cause defend,  
And in the means a disproportion pleads,  
Choice sways the one, instinct the other leads.  
'Tis not 'cause Jowlers' wise he takes the Hare  
But 'tis because Jowler cannot forbear,  
Though in the Chair of State some lolling sit  
That therefore none can sit upright in it,  
Is an ill Consequence and void of wit.   

But you yourself have taught Man such a way  
Unto his happiness, that he must stray,  
For if his sense must usher in his rest,  
And never be abridged of its request,  
He may be drunk and Pocky, but ne'er blest.   

As for Pride-gendering Philosophy  
(A captious word) 'tis what you'll have it be,  
It's own distinctions have an art to show  
'Tis good or bad, or neither as please you.  
Some Sects love Wrangling, others pedantry  
Yet in the love of Wisdom all agree,  
Wisdom which all acknowledge to be good,  
But hath the fate to be misunderstood;  
Yet though Fools crowd among Philosophers,  
The fault is not the Sciences but theirs.  
With all their flaws our ' Bedlam-schools I'd choose  
Before the madder Taverns, lewder Stews.   

Though both are Slaves, I rather do respect  
The Stoic than Epicurean Sect.  
If Sense or Reason, one must be denied,  
Reason would tell me, Reason must abide  
The less obnoxious and the surest guide—  
But since kind Nature hath designed them both,  
For humane compliment, I should be loath  
To give up blindfold sense to its own Will,  
Or grant a Tyrant Reason leave to kill  
Such useful Faculties: My Reason shall  
Govern my subject Sense, but not Enthrall.  
Nor shall Officious Sense presume to act,  
Till Justice Reason authorize the fact.   

That Humane Naure is corrupt I grant,  
But was't the use of Reason or the want,  
That puffed out the warm breath of love? from whence  
Sprang Murder first, but from malicious Sense?  
Which having once Usurped Queen Reasons Throne,  
Was not contented with one sin alone,  
But falling headlong, plainly shows (alas)  
By too too fatal proof, that that which was  
The best, corrupted, to the worst doth pass.   

Hence the acutest Wits when they're defiled  
Turn most extravagant, profane and wild,  
Defend Debaucheries, and Sense advance,  
To reason Reason out of countenance,  
Making their knowledge worse than ignorance.   

But must Humanity be quite eraseed,  
Because it is from what it was defaceed?  
Or must the little Reason men yet hold  
For their improvement, be for Dogs-flesh sold?  
Sometimes the Gamester whom ill Fortune crosses,  
With his last stake recovers all his losses.  
He's but a weak Physician that gives o'er  
His weaker Patient whom he might restore,  
But may he suffer an Eternal Curse,  
That dares prescribe a remedy that's worse  
Than the disease itself; when Jowlers lame,  
No one expects that he should kill the Game,  
But that he may hereafter, I am sure  
'Tis best not to cut off his leg, but cure.  
He that feels qualms of Conscience in his Breast,  
Let him not barter Reason with a Beast,  
But purge out Gild, with which he is oppress't  
That honesty's against all common sense,  
Is a good Argument for my defence,  
If sense with that which hath so great a fame  
Be inconsistent, sense is much to blame,  
And Reason will (spite of your rhyme and tide  
Of Ink, Wit and Contempt) more firm abide  
For having such a virtue on her side.   

And valour too takes part with her, for sense  
(As you contrive it) puts no difference  
Between the Valiant that are so for fear,  
And Cowards that would be, but do not dare;  
Reason could ne'er frame such a witty thing,  
That men should fight for fear of quarrelling.  
All men you say for Fools or Knaves must go  
And he's a man himself that calls them so,  
And being Man is at his own Choice free,  
Or in the rank of Fools or Knaves to be,  
Let him be either or else both for me.   

But let me, Sir, request before you slip  
Into your Dog, or Bear, or Monkyship,  
Whether you think their brutish form procures  
Any advantages exceeding yours?  
Both Dog and Bear as well as men will fight,  
And (to no purpose too) each other by't,  
And as for Puggy all his virtues lie  
In Aping Man, the only thing you fly.  
The wisest way these evils to redress,  
Is to be what you are, nor more, nor less  
(That is) not Man, Dog, Bear, nor Monkey neither,  
But a rare something of them all together.   
FINIS.