Moft true, a wife man never will be fad;
But neither will fonorous, bubbling mirth,
A fhallow ftream of happinefs betray.
Too happy to be fportive, he's ferene.
Yet wouldft thou laugh (but at thy own
expence)

This counfel ftrange fhould I prefume to give-
"Retire, and read thy Lille, to be gay."
There truths abound of fovereign aid to peace;
Ah! do not prize them lefs, because infpir'd,
As thou, and thine, are apt and proud to do.
If infpir'd, that pregnant page had ftood, 775
Time's treasure? and the wonder of the wife!
Thou think'ft, perhaps, thy feul alone at stake;
Alas!--Should men miftake thee for a fool -
What man of tafte for genius, wifdoin, truth,
Though tender of thy fame, could interpofe? 780
Believe me, fenfe, here, acts a double part,
And the true critic is a Chripian too.

But theje, thou think'ft, are gloomy paths to
joy.-

True joy in funfhine ne'er was found at first; They, firft, the mfelves offend, who greatly pleafe;

And travel only gives us found repofe.
Heaven jells all pleafure; effort is the price;
The joys of conqueft are the joys of man;
And glory the victorious laurel spreads

785

O'er pleasure's pure, perpetual, placid fiream. 700
There is a time, when toil must be preferr'd,
Or joy, by mif-tim'd fordnefs, is undone.
A man of pleasure is a man of pains.
Thou wilt not take the trouble to be bleft.
Falfe joys, indeed, are born from want of
thought:
795

800

From thoughts full bent, and energy, the true;
And that demands a mind in equal poize,
Remote from gloomy grief, and glaring joy.
Much joy not only fpeaks finall happiness,
But happinels that fi ortly muft expire.
Can joy, unbottom'd in reflection, ftand?
And, in a tempeft, can reflection live?
Can joy, like thine, fecure itself an hour?
Can joy, like thine, meet accident unfhock'd?
Cr ope the door to honelt poverty?

805

Or talk with threatening death, and not turn pale?

In fuch a world, and fuch a nature, these
Are needful fundamentals of delight:

Thefe fundamentals give delight indeed;
Delight, pure, delicate, and durable;
Telight, unfhaken, mafculine, divine;
A conftant, and a found, but fericus joy.
Is joy the daughter of feverity?
It is yet for my doctrine from fevere.

Rejoice for ever:" It becomes a man;
Exalts, and fets him nearer to the gods.

Nought that is right, think little; well aware, What reafon bids, God bids: by His command How aggrandiz'd, the smallest thing we do! Thus, nothing is infipid to the wife; 835 To thee, infipid all, but what is mad; Joys feafon'd high, and tafting ftrong of guilt. "Mad! (thou reply'ft, with indignation fir'd)

"Of ancient fages proud to tread the steps, "I follow nature."--Follow nature ftill, But look it be thine own: Is confcience, then, No part of nature? Is the not fupreme? Thou regicide! O raise her from the dead! Then, follow nature; and resemble God.

840

846

When, fpite of confcience, pleasure is pursued,
Man's nature is unnaturally pleas'd;
And what's unnatural is painful too
At intervals, and must disgust ev n Thee!
The fact thou know'ft; but not, perhaps, the
cause.

Virtue's foundations with the world's were laid;
Heaven mixt her with our make, and twisted close
Her facred interefts with the strings of life.
Who breaks her awful mandate, fhocks himself,
His better felf; and is it greater pain,
Our soul should murmur, or our dust repine? 855
And one, in their eternal war, must bleed.

If one must fuffer, which thould leaft be fpar'd?

860

The pains of mind furpass the pains of fenfe:
Aik, then, the gout, what torment is in guilt.
The joys of fenfe to mental joys are mean:
Senfe on the prefent only feeds; the foul
On paft, and future, foragers for joy.
'Tis hers, by retrofpect, through time to range;
And forward time's great fequel to survey.
Could human courts take vengeance on the mind,
Axes might ruft, and racks and gibbets fall:
Guard, then, thy mind, and leave the reft to
fate.

870

815

Rejoice for ever!" Nature cries, "Rejoice;"
And drinks to man, in her ned areous cup,
Mixt up of delicates for every fenfe;

To the great Founder of the bounteous feaft, 820
Drinks glory, gratitude, eternal praife;
And he that will not fledge her, is a churl.
I firmly to fupport, good fully tafte,
Is the whole fcience of felicity:

875

Bleft bounty beggars it, fair truth betrays,
And god-like magnanimity deftroys.
This felf, when rival to the former, fcorn; 880
When not in competition, kindly treat,
Defend it, feed it -But when virtue bids,
Tofs it, or to the fowls, or to the flames.
And why? 'Tis love of pleasure bids thee bleed ;

885

Comply, or own felf-love extinct, or blind.
For what is vice? Self-love in a mistake:
A poor blind merchant buying joys too dear.
And virtue, what? 'Tis felf-love in her wits,
Quite fkilful in the market of delight.
Self-love's good fenfe is love of that dread Power,
From whom herself, and all the can enjoy. 891
Other felf-love is but difguis'd felf-hate;
More mortal than the malice of our foes;
A felf-hate, new, fcarce felt; then felt full-fore,
When being, curft; extin&tion, loud implor'd;
And every thing preferr'd to what we are.

891

Yet this felf-love Lorenzo makes his choice: And, in this choice triumphant, boafts of joy. How is his want of happiness betray'd, By difaffection to the prefent hour! Imagination wanders far afield:

900

The tuture pleafes. why? The prefent pains "But that's a fecret." Yes, which all men

Sick of herfelf, is felly's character;

920

As wifdom's is, a modeft felf-applause.
A change of evils is hy good fupreme;
Nor, but in motion, cant thou find thy reft.
Man's greateft ftrength is fhewn in ftanding
ftill.

The firft fure fymptom of a mind in health,
Is reft of heart, and pleafure felt at home.
Falfe pleafure from abroad her joys imports ; 925
Rich from within, and felf-fuftain'd, the true.
The true is fix'd, and folid as a rock;
Slippery the fulfe, and toffing, as the wave.
This, a wild wanderer on earth, like Cain;
That, like the fabled, felf-enamour'd boy,
Home-contemplation her fupreme delight;
She dreads an interruption from without,
Smit with her own condition; and the more
Intense the gazes, ftill it charms the more.

930

No man is happy, till he thinks, on earth 935 There breathes not a more happy than himfelf; Then envy dies, and love o'erflows on All; And love o'erflowing makes an angel Here. Such angels, All, intitled to repofe

On Him who governs fate: though tempeft frowns, Though nature shakes, how foft to lean on heaven ?

To lean on Him, on whom archangels lean!
With inward eyes, and filent as the grave,
They ftand collecting every beam of thought,
Till their hearts kindle with divine delight; 945
For all their thoughts, like angels, feen of

old

In Ifrael's dream, come from, and go to, hea

ven :

151

955

960

Hence, are they ftudious of fequefter'd fcenes;
While noife, and diffipation, comfort thee.
Were all men happy, revelings would ceafe,
That opiate for inquietude within.
Lorenzo! never man was truly bleft,
But it compos'd, and gave him fuch a caft,
As felly might mistake for want of joy,
A caft, unlike the triumph of the proud;
A modeft afpect, and a fmile at heart,
O for a joy from thy Philander's fpring!
A fpring perennial, rifing in the breaft,
And permanent, as pure! no turbid stream
Of rapturous exultation, fwelling high;
Which, like land-floods, impetuous pour a while,
Then fink at once, and leave us in the mire.
What does the man, who tranfient joy preters?
What, but prefer the bubbles to the ftream?
Vain are all fudden fallies of delight;
Convulfions of a weak, diftemper'd joy.
Joy's a fixt ftate; a tenure, not a start.
Blifs there is none, but unprecarious blifs:
That is the gem: fell All, and purchase That.
Why go a-begging to contingencies,
Not gain'd with cafe, nor fafely lov'd, if gain'd?
At good fortuitous, draw back, and pause;
Sufpect it; what thou canft enfure, enjoy;
And nought but what thou giv'ft thyfelf, is fure.
Reafon perpetuates joy that reafon gives,
And makes it as immortal as herself :

965

970

375

And other joys afk leave for their approach;
Nor, unexamin'd, ever leave obtain.
Thou art all anarchy; a mob of joys
Wage war, and perifh in inteftine broils;
Not the leaft promife of internal peace!
No bofom-comfort! or unborrow'd blifs!
Thy thoughts are vagabonds; All outward-
bound,
285

'Mid fands, and rocks, and forms, to cruise for pleasure ;

If gain'd, dear-bought; and better mife'd than

gain'd.

Much pain muft expiate what much pain pro

cur'd.

Fancy, and ferfe, from an infected fhore,
Thy cargo bring; and peftilence the prize. 99
Then, fuch thy thirft (infatiable thirfi!
By fond indulgence but inflam'd the more!)
Fancy ftill cruifes, when poor ferfe is tir'd,

Imagination is the Paphian fhop,

Where feeble happinefs, like Vulcan, lame, 995
Eids foul ideas, in their dark recefs,
And hot as hell (which kindled the black fires),
With wanton art, thofe fatal arrows form,
Which murder all thy time, health, wealth, and

That perfecuting prieft, the Turk of Rome, Whofe foot (ye gods !) though cloven, muft be kife'd,

1015

1020

Detain'd thy dinner on the Latian fhore;
(Such is the fate of honeft Proteftants!)
And poor magnificence is ftarv'd to death.
Hence juft refentment, indignation, ire !—
Be pacify'd, if outward things are great,
'Tis magnanimity great things to fcorn;
Pompous expences, and parades auguft,
And courts, that infalubrious foil to pease.
True happiness ne'er enter'd at an eye;
True happinefs refides in things unfeen.
No fimiles of fortune ever bleft the bad,
Nor can her frowns rob innocence of joys;
That jewel wanting, triple crowns are poor: 1025
So tell his Holiness, and be reveng'd.
Pleasure, we both agree, is man's chief good;
Or only conteft, what deferves the name.
Give pleasure's name to nought, but what has
pafs'd

Th' authentic feal of reafon (which, like Yorke,
Demurrs on what it paffes), and defies

The tooth of time; when paft, a pleasure still;
Dearer on trial, lovelier for its age,
And doubly to be priz'd, as it promotes
Our future, while it forms our prefent, joy. 1035
Some joys the future overcaft; and fome
Throw all their beams that way, and gild the
tomb.

1040

Some joys endear eternity; fome give
Abhor'd annihilation dreadful charms.
Are rival joys contending for thy choice?
Confult thy whole exilence, and be fafe;
That oracle will put all doubt to flight.
Short is the leffon, though my lecture long,
Be good and let heaven anfwer for the reft.
Yet, with a figh o'er all mankind, I grant 1045
In this our day of proof, our land of hope,
The good man has his clouds that intervene;
Clouds, that obfcure his fublunary day,
But never conquer: ev'n the best muft own,
Patience, and refignatin, are the pillars
Of human peace on earth. The pillars, Thefe :
But thofe of Seth not more remote from Thee,
Till this heroic leffon thou haft learnt ;
To frown at ple fure, and to fmile in pain.
Fir'd at the profpect of unclouded blifs,
Heaven in reversion, like the fun, as yet
Beneath th' horizon, chears us in this world;
It fheds, on fouls fufceptible of light,
The glorious dawn of our eternal day.
"This (fays Lorenzo) is a fair harangue : 1060
“But can harangues blow back strong nature's

fiream;

1050

1055

Or item the tide heaven pushes through our veins,

"Which sweeps away man's impotent refolves,
"And lays his labour level with the world?
Themfelves men make their comment on man-
kind;

And think nought is, but what they find at home:
Thus, weakness to chimera turns the truth,
Nothing romantic has Mufe the prefcrib'd.
*Above, Lorenzo faw the man of earth,
The mortal man; and wretched was the fight. 1070
To balance that, to comfort, and exalt,
Now fee the man immortal: him, I mean,
Who lives as fuch; whofe heart, full-bent on
heaven,

Leans all that way, his bias to the ftars.
The world's dark fhades, in contralt fet, fhall
raise
1073

His luftre more; though bright, without a foil:
Obferve his awful portrait, and admire;
Nor ftop at wonder; imitate, and live.

1080

Some angel guide my pencil, while I draw, What nothing less than angel can exceed! A man on earth devoted to the fkies; Like frips in feas, while in, above the world. With afpect mild, and elevated eye, Behold him feated on a mount ferene, Above the fogs of fenfe, and paffion's form: 1085 All the black cares, and tumults, of this life, Like harmless thunders, breaking at his feet, Excite his pity, not impair his peace. Earth's genuine fons, the fceptred, and the flave, A mingled mob! a wandering herd! he fees, Bewilder'd in the vale; in all unlike ! His full reverfe in all! what higher praife? What ftronger demonftration of the right?

1091

1100

The prefent all their care; the future, Ais When public welfare calls, or private want, 1095 They give to fame; his bounty he conceals, Their virtues varnish nature; his exalt Mankind's efteem they court; and he, his own, Their's, the wild chafe of falle felicities; His, the compos'd poffeffion of the true. Alike throughout is his confiftent peace, All of one colour, and an even thread; While party-colour'd fhreds of happinefs, With hideous gaps between, patch up for them A madman's robe; each puff of frtune blows The tatters by, and fhews their nakeduefs, 11c6

He fees with other eyes than theirs where they

Behold a fun, he spies a Deity;

What makes them only fmile, makes him adore.
Where they fee mountains, ke but atoms fees; 1110
An empire, in his balance, weighs a grein.
They things terreftrial worship, as divine:
His hopes immortal blow them by, as duft,
That dims his fight, and fhortens his furvey,
Which longs, in Infinite, to lofe all bound. 1115
Titles and honours (if they prove his fate)
He lays af de to find his dignity;
No dignity they find in aught befdes.
They triumph in externals (which conceal
Man's real glory), proud of an eclipfe.
Himfelf too much he prizes to be proud,
And nothing thinks fo great in man, as man,

In a former Night.

1120

Too dear he holds his intereft, to neglect
Another's welfare, or his right invade;
Their intereft, like a lion, lives on prey.
They kindle at the fhadow of a wrong;
Wrong he luftains with temper, looks on heaven,
Nor floups to think his injuter his foe';

Nought, but what wounds his virtue, wounds his

peace.

1130

A cover'd heart their character defends;
A cover'd heart denies him half his praife.
With nakednels his innocence agrees;
While their broad foliage tettifies their fall.
Their no joys end where his full feait begins:
His joys create, Theirs murder, future bits.
To triumph in exiftence, his alone;
And his alone triumphantly to think
His true existence is not yet begun.
His glorious curce was yefterday complete
Death, then, was welcome; yet life ft llisweet. 1140
But nothing charms Lorenzo, like the firm
Undaunted breast---And whole is that high praife
They wield to pleasure, though they danger brave,
And fhew no fortitude, but in the field;
If there they fhew it, 'tis for glory fhewn;
Nor will that cordial always man their hearts.
A cordial hi fuftains, that cannot fail;
By pleature unfub:lued, unbroke by pain,
He shares in that Omnipotence he trufts.
All-bearing, all-attempting, till he falls;
And when he falls, writes VICI on his fhield.
From magnanimity, all fear above;
From n bler recompence, above applaufe;
Which owes tu man's short out-look
charms.

1150

all its

Backward to credit what he never felt, Lorenzo cries,-- Where fhines this miracle? "From what root riles this immort. mn ?" A root that grows not in Lorenzo's ground; The root diffect, nor wonder at the flower.

1155

He follows nature (not like thee) and fhews

1160

And why ?---Becaule, affection, more than meet,
His wildom leaves not dilengag'd from heaven.

Thofe fecondary goods that smile on earth,
He, loving in proportion, loves in peace.
The moft the world en oy, who least admire.
His understanding 'fcapes the common cloud
Of fumes, arifing from a boiling breaft.
His head is clear, becaufe his heart is cool,
By worldly competitions uninflam’d.

1170

1175

Thus, in a double fenfe, the good are wife;
On its own dunghili, wifer than the world.
What, then, the world? It must be doubly weak ;
Strange truth! as foon would they believe their
Creed.

Yet thus it is; nor otherwife can be;
S far from aught romantic, what I fing.
Blits has no being, virtue has no ftrength,
But from the pro pect of immortal life.
Who think earth, all, or (what weighs juft the
fame)

Who care no farther, must prize what it yields;
Fond of its fancies, proud of its parades.
Who thinks earth nothing, can't its charms ad-
mire;

He can't a foe, though moft malignant, hate,
Becaule that hate would prove his greater foe. 1195
'Tis hard for them (yet who fo loudly boast
Good-will to men ?) to love their dearest friend;
For may not he invade their good fupreme,
Where the leaft jealoufy turns love to gall!
All fhines to them, that for a feafon fhines.
Each act, each thought, he queftions,

weight,

1205

66 What its

"Its colour what, a thousand ages hence ?"
And what it there appears, he deems it now.
Hence, pure are the receffes of his foul.
The god-like man has nothing to conceal.
His virtue, conftitutionally deep,

Has habit's firmness, and affection's flame;
Angels, ally'd, defcend to feed the fire;
And death, which others flays, makes him a god.
And now, Lorenzo bigot of this world! 1210
Wont to dildain poorigots caught by heaven!
Stand by thy forr, and be reduc'd to nought:
For what art thou ---Thou boafter! while thy
glare,

Thy gaudy grandeur, and mere worldly worth,
Like a broad mist, at diftance, ftrikes us moft;
And like a mift, is nothing when at hand;
His merit, like a mountain, on approach,
Swelis more, and rifes nearer to the skies,
By promile now, and by poffeffion Jeon,

(Too fion, too much, it cannot be) his own. 1220
From this thy juft annihilation rise,
Lorenzo! rife to fomething, by reply.

The world, thy client, liftens, and expects;
And longs to crown thee with immortal praife.
Can't thou be filent? No; for wit is thine; 1225
And wit talks most, when leaf the has to fay,
And reafon interrupts not her career.
She'll fay---That mists above the mountains rife ;
And, with a thousand pleasantries, amuse;
She'll fparkle, puzzle, flutter, raise a duft,
And fly conviction, in the duft she rais'd.

1230

1235

The moderate movements of his foul admit
Diftinct ideas, and matur'd debate,
An eye impartial, and an even scale;
Whence judgraent found and unrepenting choice,

* See page $50. ver. 838. VOL. VIII.

1245

For thy renown, 't were well, was this the worft;
Chance often hits it; and, to pique the more,
See dullness, blundering en vivacities,
Shakes her fage head at the calamity,
Which has expo'd, and let her down to thee.
But wifiom, aweful wifdom! which infpects,
Difcerns, compares, weighs, feparate, infers,
Seizes the right, and holds it to the last;
How rare in fenates, fynods, fought in vain; 1250
Or, if there found, 'tis facred to the few;
While a lewd prostitute to multitudes,
Frequent, as fatal, suit: in civil life,
Wit makes an enterprifer; ferfe a man.
Wit hates authority; commotion loves,
And thinks herfelf the lightning of the ftorm..
In fates, 'tis dangerous; in religion, death:
Shall suit turn Chriftian, when the dull believe?
Senfe is our helmet, vir is but the plume;
The plume expofes, 'tis our helmet faves..
Sexfs is the diamond, weighty, folid, found;
When cut by wit, it cafts a brighter beam;
Yet, seit apart, it is a diamond till.

1255

1260

Wit, widow'd of good fenfe, is worse than nought; it hoifts more fail to run against a rock. 1265 Thus, a half-Chesterfield is quite a foo!; Whom dull fools' icwin, anal blefs their want of wit.

1270

How ruinous the rock I warn thee fhun,
Where Sirens fit, to fing thee to thy fate!
A joy in which our rejon bears no part,
Is but a forrow tickling, ere it flings.
Let not the cooings of the world allure thee;
Which of her lovers ever found her true?
Happy! of this bad world wno little know?---
And yet, we much must know her, to be fafe. 1275
To know the world, not love her, is thy point;
She gives but little, nor that little, long.
There is, I grant, a triumph of the pulle;
A dance of iphits, a mere froth of joy,
Our thoughtless agitation's idle child,

That mandles high, that fparkles and expires,
Leaving the foul more vapid than before.
An animal ovation! fuch as holds

1280

No commerce with our refs, but fubfifts
On juices, through the well-ton'd tubes, well
ftrain'd;

A nice machine! fearce ever tun'd aright;
And when it jars---thy Sirens fing no more,
Thy dance is done; the demi-god is thrown
(Short apothenfis ) beneath the man,
In coward gloom immers 'd, or fell defpair.

1290

1295

Art thou yet dull enough, defpair to dread, And turtle at deftruction? If theu art, Accept a buckler. take it to the field; (A field of battle is this mertal lile!) When danger thrertens, lay it on thy heart; A fingle fenterce proof against the world; Soul, body, fortune! Every good pertain To one of thefe; but prize not all alike; The goods of fortune to the body's health, "Body to foul, and foul fabmit to God." Wouldst thou build latting happiness? Do this, Th' inverted pyramid can never ftand.

Is this truth doubtful? It outshines the fun; Nav the fun fhines not, but to fhew us this, The fingle leffon of mankind on earth.

1300

1305

And yet---yet, what? No news! mankind is mad; Such mighty numbers lift againft, the right, (And what can't numbers, when bewitch'd, atchieve!)

They talk themselves to something like belief, That all earth's joys are theirs: As Athens' fool 1310

Grinn'd from the port, on every fail his own.
They grin; but wherefore? and how long the
laugh!
Half ignorance, their mirth; and half, a lye;
To cheat the world, and cheat themfelves, they

fmile.

Hard either task! The most abandon'd own, 1315
That others, if abandon'd, are undone :
Then for themfelves, the moment reason wakes,
(And Providence denies it long repole)
O how laborious is their gaiety
They fearce can fwallow their ebullient (pleen, 1320
Scarce mufter patience to support the farce,
And pump fad laughter till the curtain falls.
Searce, did I fay? Some cannot fit it out;
Oft their own daring bands the curtain draw,
And fhew us what their joy, by their defpair. 1325
The clotted hair! gor'd breaft! blafpheming

A cover to fuch guilt; and fo should man.
Look round, Lorenzo! fee the reeking blade, 1930
Th' invenom'd phial, and the fatal ball;
The ftrangling cord and fuffocating ftream;
The loathome rottennels, and foul decays
From raging riot (flower fuicides !)
And pride in thefe, more execrable ftill!
How honid all to thought !---But horrors, the.e,
That vouch the truth; and aid my feeble fong.
Frein vice, ferfe, fancy, no man can be blett:
Plis is too great, to lodge within an hour:
When an immotal being aims at bli's,
Duration is effential to the name.

1335

1349

O for a joy from reafon! Joy from that,
Which makes man man, and, exercis'd aright,
Will make him more: A bounteous ioy! that gives,
And promiles; that weaves, with art divine, 1345
The richest profpect into prefent peace:

A joy ambitious! Joy in common held
With thrones ethereal, and their greater far;
A joy high-privileg'd from chance, time, death!
A joy, which death fhall double, judgment crown!

1350
Crown'd higher, and fill higher, at each stage,
Through bleft eternity's long day: yet ftill,
Not more remote from ferrew, than from Him,
Whole lavish hand, whofe love ftupendous,