ODE XXVIII

1

What a Strange Thing is Man?
How weake, in his Designe,
His Wisedome? for I can
See others now in mine;
How Dull? how lost
To what he Studied most?

2

Wee cannot looke upon
Our inwarde selves, but find
Man generall; for one
Is all, and everie Mind;
In some Degree
Seeing our Selves, wee others see.

3

The same, our Common Cares,
Our Passions, are alike;
Our causles Hopes, and Fears
At the same objects strike;
And all our Store
Of Follies, less or more.

4

Our Frailties, our desires,
Our Policies, our Plots,
Are fed from Common Fires;
Not wisedome, in her knots,
But cunning hands
May by his owne, loose others bands.

5

This Image, which wee reare
Unto our Selves, is not
Soe radiant, and Clear
As wee suppose; the lot
Is free to All;
And diverse things, by the same name, we call.