Be not transported with too great a sense
Of any outward object's excellence;
For should the pamper'd courser which you feed,
Of swiftest heels, and of the noblest breed,
Though sense of vigour, strength of oats and hay
From his full manger turn his head, and say,
'Am I not beautiful, and sleek, and gay!'
'Twere to be borne in him, the speech might suit
The parts and education of the brute:
But when with too much pleasure you admire
Your horse's worth, and vainly boast his sire,
And tire us out with endless idle prate
About his crest, his colour, or his gait;
'Tis plain you think his owner fortunate.
You're proud he's yours, and vainly claim as due
What to the beast belongs, and not to you.
Too plainly is your selfish folly shewn,
Adding your horse's virtues to your own,
Well then; perhaps you'll ask, 'What's yours of these
Dear outward things, that seem so much to please?'
Why nothing but the use: if then you chuse
What's truly good, what is not so, refute:
If the well-chosen good you rightly use
As nature's light informs you, then alone
You may rejoice in something of your own.