He, whofe fublime purfuit is God and truth,
Burns, like fome absent and impatient youth,
To join the object of his warm defires,
Thence to fequefter'd shades, and streams retires,
And there delights his paffion to rehearse

In wifdon's facred voice, or in harmonious verse.
To me most happy therefore he appears,
Who having once, unmov'd by hopes or fears,
Survey'd this fun, earth, ocean, clouds, and flame,
Well fatisfy'd returns from whence he came.
Is life a hundred years, or e'er fo few,

'Tis repetition all, and nothing new:

A fair, where thousands meet, but none can stay,
An inn, where travellers bait, then post away;
A fea, where man perpetually is toft,

Now plung'd in bus'nefs, now in trifles loft;
Who leave it firft, the peaceful port firft gain;
Hold then! no farther launch into the main:
Contract your fails; life nothing can bestow
By long continuance, but continu'd woe:
The wretched privilege daily to deplore
The funerals of our friends, who go before:
Difeafes, pains, anxieties, and cares,
And age furrounded with a thousand fnares.

But

But whither hurry'd by a generous fcorn
Of this vain world, ah! whither am I borne?
Let's not unbid th' Almighty's ftandard quit,
Howe'er fevere our poft, we muft fubmit.

Could I a firm perfuafion once attain
That after death no being would remain;
To thofe dark fhades I'd willingly defcend,
Where all muft fleep, this drama at an end:
Nor life accept, although renew'd by Fate
Ev'n from its earlieft, and its happieft ftate.

Might I from Fortune's bounteous hand receive Each boon, each bleffing in her pow'r to give, Genius, and science, morals, and good-fense, Unenvy'd honors, wit and eloquence,

A numerous offspring to the world well known
Both for paternal virtues and their own;
Ev'n at this mighty price I'd not be bound
To tread the fame dull circle round, and round;
The foul requires enjoyments more sublimé,
By space unbounded, undestroy'd by time.

BOOK

BOOK II.

Op then through all creation gives, we find,

Go

Sufficient marks of an indulgent mind,
Excepting in ourselves; ourselves of all

His works the chief on this terrestrial ball,
His own bright image, who alone unbleft
Feels ills perpetual, happy all the rest.

But hold, prefumptuous! charge not heav'n's decree
With fuch injuftice, fuch partiality.

Yet true it is, furvey we life around,

Whole hosts of ills on every fide are found;

Who wound not here and there by chance a foe,

But at the species meditate the blow.

What millions perifh by each others hands

In war's fierce rage? or by the dread commands
Of tyrants languish out their lives in chains,
Or lose them in variety of pains?

What numbers pinch'd by want and hunger die,
In fpite of Nature's liberality?

(Thofe, ftill more numerous, I to name disdain,
By lewdness, and intemperance justly flain :)
What numbers, guiltless of their own disease,
Are fnatch'd by fudden death, or wafte by flow degrees?

Where

Where then is Virtue's well-deferv'd reward!

Let's pay to Virtue every due regard :

That she enables man, let us confess,

To bear those evils, which she can't redress;

Gives hope, and confcious peace, and can affuage
Th' impetuous tempefts both of luft, and rage;
Yet fhe's a guard fo far from being fure,
That oft her friends peculiar ills endure:
Where Vice prevails fevereft is their fate,
Tyrants pursue them with a three-fold hate.
How many struggling in their country's cause,
And from their country meriting applause,
Have fall'n by wretches fond to be inslav'd,
And perish'd by the hands themselves had fav'd!
Soon as fuperior worth appears in view,
See knaves, and fools united to pursue !
The man fo form'd they all conspire to blame,
And Envy's pois'nous tooth attacks his fame
Should he at length, fo truly good and great,
Prevail, and rule with honest views the state,
Then must he toil for an ungrateful race,
Submit to clamor, libels, and difgrace;
Threaten'd, oppos'd, defeated in his ends,
By foes feditious and afpiring friends.

Hear

Hear this and tremble! all who would be great,
Yet know not what attends that dang'rous wretched state.
Is private life from all these evils free?
Vice of all kinds, rage, envy there we fee,
Deceit, that Friendship's mask infidious wears,
Quarrels, and feuds, and law's intangling fnares.
But there are pleasures still in human life,
Domestic ease, a tender loving wife,

Children, whofe dawning fmiles your heart engage,
The grace and comfort of foft-ftealing age.
If happiness exifts, 'tis furely here-

But are these joys exempt from care and fear?
Need I the miseries of that ftate declare,
When different paffions draw the wedded pair?
Or fay how hard those paffions to difcern,
Ere the die's caft, and 'tis too late to learn?
Who can infure, that what is right, and good,
These children fhall purfue? or if they shou❜d,
Death comes, when least you fear fo black a day,
And all your blooming hopes are snatch'd away.

We fay not, that thefe ills from Virtue flow:
Did her wife precepts rule the world, we know
The golden ages would again begin,

But 'tis our lot in this to fuffer, and to fin.