He takes all fhapes that ferve his black defigns:
Though mafter of a wider empire far
Than that o'er which the Roman eagle flew,'
Like Nero, he's a fidler, charioteer,
Or drives his phaeton, in female guife;
Quite unfufpected, till, the wheel beneath,
His difarray'd oblation he devours.
Against them turns the key; and bids them fup
With their progenitors-He drops his mask;
Frowns out at full; they ftart, defpair, expire!
Scarce with more fudden terror and fur prize,
From his black mafque of nitre, touch'd by fire, 880
He burfts, expands, roars, blazes, and devours.
And is not this triumphant treachery,
And more than fimple conqueft, in the fiend?
He most affects the forms leaft like himself,
His flender felf. Hence burly corpulence
Is his familiar wear, and fleek difguife.
Behind the fofy bloom he loves to lurk,
Or ambush in a fmile; or wanton dive
In dimples deep; love's eddies, which draw in
Unwary hearts, and fink them in despair.
Such, on Narciffa's couch he loiter'd long
Unknown; and, when detected, fill was feen 835
To fmile; fuch peace has innocence in death!,
Moft happy they! whom leaft his arts de-
ceive.
One eye on death, and oné full fix'd on beaven,
Becomes a mortal, and immortal man.
Long on his wiles a piqu'd and jealous fpy,
I've feen, or dream't I faw, the tyrant drefs;
Lay by his horrors, and put on his fmiles.
Say, Mufe, for thou remember'ft, call it back,
And fhew Lorenzo the furprising scene;
If 'twas a dream his genius can explain.
'Twas in a circle of the gay I ftood.
Nor let life's period hidden (as from most)
Hide too from Thee the precious use of life.
Early, not fudden, was Narciffa's fate.
Soon, not furprising, death his vifit paid.
Her thought went forth to meet him on his way, 900
Nor gaiety forgot it was to die :
Though fortune too (our third and final theme),
As an accomplice, play'd her gaudy plumes,
And every glittering gewgaw, on her fight,
To dazzle, and debauch it from its mark.
Death's dreadful advent is the mark of man;
Death would have enter'd; Nature pufh'd him And every thought that miffes it, is blind.
Supported by a doctor of renown,
His point he gain'd. Then artfully dismist
The fage; for death defign'd to be conceal'd.
He gave an old vivacious ufurer
His meagre afpect, and his naked bones;
In gratitude for plumping up his prey,
A pamper'd spendthrift; whofe fantastic air,
Well-fafhion'd figure, and cockaded brow,
He took in change, and underneath the pride
Of coftly linen, tuck'd his filthy fhroud.
His crooked bow he ftraiten'd to a cane;
Fortune, with youth and gaiety, conspir'd
To weave a triple wreath of happiness
(If happiness on earth) to crown her brow.
850 And could death charge through fuch a fhining
And fheath his shafts in all the pride of life.
When flooded with abundance, purpled o'er
With recent honours, bloom'd with every blifs,
Set up in oftentation, made the gaze,
The gaudy centre, of the public eye,
When fortune thus has tofs'd her child in air,
Snatcht from the covert of an humble ftate,
How often have 1 feen him dropt at once,
Our morning's envy! and our evening's figh!
As if her bounties were the fignal given,
The flowery wreath to mark the facrifice,
And call death's arrows on the deftin'd prey.
High fortune feems in cruel league with fate,
Afk you for what? To give his war on man
The deeper dread, and more illustrious spoil;
Thus to keep daring mortals more in awe.
And burns Lorenzo ftill for the fublime
Of life? To hang his airy neft on high,
On the flight timber of the topmost bough,
Rockt at each breeze, and menacing a fall?
Granting grim death at equal diftance there;
Yet peace begins juft where ambition ends.
What makes mau wretched? Happiness deny'd?
Lorenzo! no: "Tis happiness difdain'd
She comes too meanly dreft to win our fmile;
And calls herfelf Content, a homely name!
Our flame is tranfport, and content our scorn.
Ambition turns, and shuts the door against her,
And weds a toil, a tempeft, in her stead;
A tempeft to warm tranfport near of kin.
Unknowing what our mortal ftate admits,
Life's modeft joys we ruin, while we raife;
And all our ecftafies are wounds to peace;
Peace, the full portion of mankind below.
O'er juft, o'er facred, all-forbidden ground, [980
Drunk with the burning fcent of place or power,
Staunch to the foot of lucre, till they die.
Or, if for men you take them, as I mark
Their manners, thou their various fates furvey.
With aim mif-meafur'd, and in petuous speed,
Sume darting, ftrike their ardent with far off, 985
Through fury to poffefs it: Some fucceed,
But ftumble, and let fall the taken prize.
From fome, by fudden blafts, 'tis whirl'd away,
And lodg'd in bofoms that ne'er dreamt of gain.
To fome it fticks fo clofe, that, when torn off, 990
Torn is the man, and mortal is the wound.
Some, o'er-enamour'd of their bags, run mad,
Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread,
Together fome (unhappy rivals !) feize,
And rend abundance into poverty;
Loud croaks the raven of the law, and fmiles:
Smiles too the goddefs; but fmiles moft at thofe,
(Juft victims of exorbitant defire!)
Who perish at their own request, and whelm'd
Beneath her load of lavish grants, expire.
Fortune is famous for her numbers flain,
The number fmall, which happiness can bear.
Though various for a while their fates; at laft
One curfe involves them all: at death's approach,
All read their riches backward into lofs,
1005
And mourn, in just proportion to their store.
And death's approach (if orthodox my fong)
Is haften'd by the lure of fortune's fmiles.
And art thou ftill a glutton of bright gold?
950 And art thou ftill rapacious of thy ruin?
Death loves a fhining mark, a signal blow;
A blow, which, while it executes, alarms;
And startles thoufands with a fingle fall.
As when fome ftately growth of oak, or pine,
Which nods aloft, and proudly fpreads her flade,
The fun's defiance, and the flock's defence; 1016
By the ftrong ftrokes of labouring hinds fubdued,
Loud groans her laft, and, rufhing from her
height,
And fince thy peace is dear, ambitious youth!
Of fortune fond! as thoughtless of thy fate!
As late I drew death's picture, to ftir up 955
Thy wholfome fears; now, drawn in contraft,
Gay fortune's, thy vain hopes to reprimand.
See, high in air, the fportive goddess hangs,
Unlocks her cafker, fpreads her glittering ware,
And calls the giddy winds to puff abroad
Her random bounties o'er the gaping throng.
All rufh rapacious; friends o'er trodden friends;
Sons o'er their fathers, fubjects o'er their kings,
Priests o'er their gods, and lovers o'er the fair,
(Still more ador'd) to fuatch the golden fhower. 965
Gold glitters moft, where virtue fhines no
As ftars from abfent funs have leave to fhine.
O what a precious pack of votaries
Unkennel'd from the prifons, and the stews,
Pour in, all opening in their idol's praife;
All, ardent, eye each wafture of her hand,
And, wide-expanding their voracious jaws,
Morfel on morfel fwallow down unchew'd,
Untasted, through mad appetite for more;
Gorg'd to the throat, yet lean and ravenous itill.
Sagacious All, to trace the ímallest game,
And bold to feize the greateft. If (bleft chance!)
Court-zephyrs fweetly breathe, they launch, they
fly,
VOL. VIIL
In cumbrous ruin, thunders to the ground:
The confcious foreft trembles at the fhock, 1020
And hill, and ftream, and diftant dale, refound.
Thefe high-aim'd darts of death, and thefe
Should I collect, my quiver would be full.
A quiver, which, fufpended in mid air,
Or near heaven's archer, in the zodiack, hung,
(So could it be) fhould draw the public eye,
The gaze and contemplation of mankind!
A conftellation awful, yet benign,
To guide the gay through life's tempestuous wave;
Nor fuffer them to ftrike the common rock, 1030
"From greater danger, to grow more fecure,
"And, wrapt in happiness, forget their fate."
Lyfander, happy paft the common lot,
Was warn'd of danger, but too gay to fear.
He woo'd the fair Afpafia: fhe was kind:
In youth, form, fortune, fame, they both were
All who knew, envy'd; yet in envy lov'd
Can fancy form more finisht happiness?
Fixt was the nuptial hour. Her stately dome
Rofe on the founding beach. The glittering fpires
1040
Float in the wave, and break against the fhere:
So break thofe glittering fhadows, human joys.
The faithlefs morning fmil'd: he takes his leave,
To re-embrace, in eeftafies, at eve.
The rifing ftorm forbids. The news arrives: 1045
Untold, fhe faw it in her fervant's eye.
She felt it feen (her heart was apt to feel);
And, drown'd, without the furious ocean's aid,
In fuffocating forrows, fhares his tomb.
Now, round the fumptuous, bridal monument,
The guilty billows innocently roar;
And the rough failor paffing, drops a tear.
A tear? Can tears fuffice?-But not for me.
How vain our efforts! and our arts how vain!
The diftant train of thought I took to fhun, 1055
Has thrown me on my fate-These died together;
Happy in ruin! undivorc'd by death!
Or ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace-
Narciffa! Pity bleeds at thought of thee.
Yet thou waft only near me; not myself.
Survive myself?-That cures all other woe.
Narciffa lives;. Philander is forgot.
O the foft commerce! O the tender tyes,
Clofe-twisted with the fibres of the heart!
Which, broken, break them; and drain
Of human joy, and make it pain to live-
And is it then to live? When fuch friends part,
"Tis the furvivor dies-My heart, no more.
therefore, the difpute the better. I think it may be reduced to this fingle queftion, Is man inmortal, or is he not? If be is not, all our difputes are mere amusements, or trials of skill. In this cafe, truth, reason, religion, which give our discourses such pomp and Jolemnity, are (as will be feron) mere empty found, ruithout any meaning in them. But if a man is immortal, it will behove him to be very serious about eternal consequences 3 or, in other words, to be truly religious. And this great fundamental truth, unestablished, or unawakened in the minds of men, is, I conceive, the real fource and support of all our infidelity; bow remote foever the particular objections advanced may feem to be from it.
Senfible appearances affect moft mex much more than abftract reafonings; and we daily fee bodies drop around us, but the foul is invifible. The power which inclination has over the judgment, is greater than can be well conceived by thofe that have not an expe rience of it; and of what numbers is it the fad interest that fouls should not furvive! The beathen world confeed, that they rather boped, than firmly believed immortality! And how many beathens bave ze fill amongst us! The facred page affures us, that life and immortality is brought to light by the Gospel: but by bow many is the Gospel rejected, or overlooked! From befe confiderations, and from my being, accidentally, privy to the fentiments of fome particular perfons, I bave been long perfuaded that maft, if not all, our infidels (whatever name they take, and whatever scheme, for argument's fake, and to keep themselves in countenance, they patronize) are supported in their deplor able error, by fome doubt of their immortality, at the bottom. And I am fatisfied, that men once thoroughly convinced of their immortality, are not far from being Chriftians. For it is hard to conceive, that a men fully confcious eternal pain or happiness will certainly be bis lot, bould not earnefily, and impartially, enquire after the fureft weans of efcaping one, and fecuring the other. And of fuch an earnest and impartial inquiry, I well know the confequence.
Here, therefore, in proof of this moft fundamental truth, fome plain arguments are offered; arguments Containing the Nature, Proof, and Importance, derived from principles which Infidels admit in commDA
with Believers; arguments, which appear to me altogether irrefiftible; and fuch as, I am fatisfied, will have great weight with all, who give themfelves the Small trouble of looking feriously into their own bosoms, and
Where, among other Things, Glory and Riches of obferving, with any tolerable degree of attention, are particularly confidered.
THE RIGHT HON. HENRY PELHAM, FIRST LORD COMMISSIONER OF THE TREASURY,
AND CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER.
PREFACE. FEW ages have been deeper in difpute about religion than this. The difpute about religion, and the practice of its feldom go together. The fhorter,
what daily paffes round about them in the world, if fome arguments fall, here, occur, which others bavi declined, they are fubmitted, with all deference, to better judgments in this, of all points the most im portant. For, as to the Being of a God, that is no longer difputed; but it is undisputed for this reafon only, viz. becaufe, where the least pretence to reafon is admitted; it must for ever be indifputable. And of confequence no man can be betrayed into a difpute of that nature, but by vanity; which has a principal fare in animating our modern combatants against other articles of our Belief.
Bear faint resemblance; never are alike;
Fear fhakes the pencil; Fancy loves excefs :
Dark Ignorance is lavifh of her shades:
HE (for I know not yet her name in heaven) And these the formidable picture draw.
S Not early, like Narciffa, left the scene;
Nor fudden, like Philander. What avail?
This feeming mitigation but inflames;
This fancy'd medicine heightens the disease.
The longer known, the clofer still she grew;
And gradual parting is a gradual death.
"Tis the grim tyrant's engine, which extorts,
By tardy preffure's still encreafing weight,
From hardest hearts, confession of distress.
But grant the worft; 'tis paft; new prospects rife;
And drop a veil eternal o'er her tomb.
5 Far other views our contemplation claim,
Views that o'erpay the rigours of our life;
Views that fufpend our agonies in death.
Wrapt in the thought of immortality,
Wrapt in the fingle, the triumphant thought!
Long life might lapfe, age unperceiv'd come on;
And find the foul unfated with her theme.
Its nature, proof, importance, fire my fong.
O that may fong could emulate my foul!
Like her, immortal. No!-the foul difdains
A mark fo mean;' far nobler hope inflames;
If endless ages can outweigh an hour,
Let not the laurel, but the palm, inspire.
O the long, dark approach through years of
pain,
Death's gallery! (might I dare call it fo)
With difmal doubt, and fable terror, hung:
Sick bope's pale lamp its only glimmering ray :
There fate my melancholy walk ordain'd,
Forbid felf-love itfelf to flatter, there,
How oft I gaz'd, prophetically fad!
"How oft I faw her dead, while yet in fmiles!
In fmiles fhe funk her grief to leffen mine.
She fpoke me comfort, and increas'd my pain.
Like powerful armies trenching at a town,
By flow and filent, but refiftless fap,
In his pale progrefs gently gaining ground,
Death urg'd his deadly fiege; in spite of art,
Of all the balmy bleflings nature lends
To fuccour frail humanity. Ye ftars!
(Not now firft made familiar to my fight)
And thou, O moon! bear witnefs; many
night
He tore the pillow from beneath my head,
Ty'd down by fore attention to the shock,
By ceafelefs depredations on a life
Dearer than that he left me. Dreadful post
Of observation! darker every hour!
Lefs dread the day that drove me to the brink,
And pointed at eternity below;
When my fout shudder'd at futurity;
Thy nature, immortality! who knows?
And yet who knows it not? It is but life
In stronger thread of brighter colour spun,
And fpun for ever; dipt by cruel fate
In Stygian dye, how black, how brittle here!
How fhort our correfpondence with the fun!
And while it lafts, inglorious! Our beft deeds,
How wanting in their weight! Our highest joys
25 Small cordials to fupport us in our pain,
And give us ftrength to fuffer. But how great 85
To mingle interests, converse amities,
a With all the fons of reafon, fcatter'd wide
Through habitable space, wherever born,
Howe'er endow'd! To live free citizens
.30 Of univerfal nature! To lay hold
By more than feeble faith on the Supreme!
To call heaven's rich unfathomable mines
(Mines, which fupport archangels in their state)
Our own to rife in fcience as in blifs,
Initiate in the fecrets of the skies!
When, on a moment's point, th' important dye,
Of life and death fpun doubtful, ere it fell,
And turn'd up life; my title to more woe.
To read creation; read its mighty plan
In the bare bofom of the Deity!
But why more woe? More comfort let be. 40 Nothing is dead, but that which wish'd to die; Nothing is dead, but wretchednefs and pain; Nothing is dead, but what incumber'd, gall'd, Block'd up the país, and barr'd from real life. Where dwells that with most ardent of wife?
Ourselves th' aftonifh'd talkers, and the tale! 125
Lorenzo, fwells thy bofom at the thought ?
The fwell becomes thee: 'Tis an honeft pride.
Revere thyself and yet thyfelf defpife,
His nature no man can o'er-rate; and none
Can under-rate his merit. Take good heed,
Nor there be modeft, where thou fhould't be
proud;
That almost univerfal error fhun.
How just our pride, when we behold those heights!
Not thofe ambition paints in air, but thofe
Reafon points out, and ardent virtue gains;
And angels emulate; our pride how just!
When mount we? When these fhackles
When quit
This cell of the creation? This fmall neft,
Stuck in a corner of the universe,
If admiration is a fource of joy,
What tranfport hence! yet this the leaft in heaven.
What this to that illuftrious robe He wears,
Who toft this mass of wonders from his hand,
A fpecimen, an earnest of his power?
'Tis to that glory, whence all glory flows,
As the mead's meaneft floweret to the fun,
Which gave it birth. But what, this fun of
heaven?
This blifs fupreme of the fupremely bleft?
Death, only death, the question can refolve. 200
140 By death, cheap-bought th' ideas of our joy;
The bare ideas! folid happiness
Wrapt up in fleecy cloud, and fine-fpun air?
Fine-fpun to fenfe; but grofs and feculent
To fouls celeftial; fouls ordain'd to breathe
Ambrofial gales, and drink a purer sky;
Greatly triumphant on Time's farther fhore,
Where virtue reigns, enrich'd with full arrears;
145
While pomp imperial begs an alns of peace.
In empire high, or in proud fcience deep,
Ye born of earth ! on what can you confer,
With half the dignity, with half the gain,
The gut, the glow of rational delight,
As on this theme, which angels praife and share
Man's fates and favours are a theme in heaven.
So diftant from its fhadow chas'd below.
And chafe we ftill the phantom through the
fire,
O'er bog, and brake, and precipice, till death? 10s
And toil we fill for fublunary pay 2
Defy the dangers of the field and flood,
Or, fpider-like, fpio out our precious All,
Our more than vitals fpin (if no regard
To great futurity) in curious webs
Of fubtle thought, and exquisite defign;
(Fine net-work of the brain!) to catch a fly!
The momentary buz of vain renown!
A name; a mortal immortality!
What wretched repetition cloys us bere!
What periodic potions for the fick !
Diftemper'd bodies! and diftemper'd minds!
f an Eternity, what fcenes hall frike !
Adventures thicken! noveltics furprize!
What webs of wonder fhall unravel, there!
What full day pour on all the paths of heaven,
And light th' Almighty's footsteps in the deep!
How fhall the bleffed day of our discharge
Unwind, at once, the labyrinths of fate,
And ftraiten its inextricable maze!
if inextinguishable thirst in man
lore, not the moral world alone unfolds ;
The world material, lately feen in fhades,
And, in thofe fhades, by fragments only feen,
And feen thofe fragments by the labouring eye,
Unbroken, then, illuftrious and entire,
Its ample fphere its univerfal frame,
In full dimenfions, fwells to the furvey;
And enters, at one glance, the ravifht fight.
From fome fuperior point (where, who can tell?
Suffice it, 'tis a point where gods refide)
Blow fhall the franger man's illumin'd eye,
In the vast eccan of unbounded space,
For vile contaminating trash; throw up
Our hope in heaven, our dignity with man?
And deify the dirt, matur'd to gold?
Ambition, avarice; the two demons thefe,
Which goad through every flough our human herd,
Hard travel'd from the cradle to the grave.
How low the wretches ftoop! How steep they
These demons burn mankind; but moft poffefs 225
Lorenzo's bofom, and turn out the fkies.
Is it in time to hide eternity?
And why not in an atom on the shore
To cover ocean? or a mote, the fun?
Glory and wealth! have they this blinding power?
What if to them I prove Lorenzo blind?
Would it furprize thee? Be thou then furpriz'd;
Thou neither know'ft: their nature learn from me.
Mark well, as foreign as thefe fubjects seem,
What clofe connexion ties them to my theme. 25
First, what is true ambition? The purfuit
Of glory, nothing lefs than man can share,
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