And laughing could inftruct. Much had he read,
Much more had seen; he ftudied from the life,
And in th' original perus'd mankind.

Vers'd in the woes and vanities of life,
He pitied man: and much he pitied those
Whom falfely fmiling fate has curs'd with means
To diffipate their days in queft of joy.

Our aim is Happiness: 'tis yours, 'tis mine,
He said, 'tis the purfeit of all that live :
Yet few attain it, if 'twas e'er attain❜d.
But they the wildeft wander from the mark,
Who thro' the flow'ry paths of faunt'ring Joy,
Seek this coy Goddess; that from stage to stage
Invites us ftill, but fhifts as we purfue.
For, not to name the pains that pleafure brings
To counterpoise itself, relentless Fate

Forbids that we through gay voluptuous wilds
Should ever roam and were the Fates more kind
Our narrow luxuries would foon be stale.
Were those exhauftlefs, Nature would grow fick,
And cloy'd with pleasure, fqueamishly complain
That all was vanity, and life a dream.
Let nature reft: be bufy for yourself,
And for your friend; be bufy even in vain,
Rather than teafe her fated appetites:
Who never fafts, no banquet e'er enjoys ;
Who never toils or watches, never fleeps.
Let nature reft: and when the taste of joy
Grows keen, indulge: but fhun fatiety..

"Tis not for mortals always to be bleft.
But him the leaft the dull or painful hours
Of life opprefs, whom fober Senfe conducts,
And Virtue, through this labyrinth we tread.
Virtue and Senfe I mean not to disjoin;
Ve and Senfe are one; and, trust me, he

Whe

Who has not virtue is not truly wife,

Virtue (for mere good nature is a fool)
Is fenfe and fpirit, with humanity :

'Tis fometimes angry, and its frown confounds;
"Tis ev'n vindictive, but in vengeance juft.

Knaves fain would laugh at it; fome great ones dare;

But at his heart the most undaunted fon

Of fortune dreads its name and awful charms.

To nobleft ufes this determines wealth;
This is the folid pomp of profp'rous days;
The peace and fhelter of adverfity,

And if you pant for glory, build your fame
On this foundation, which the secret shock
Defies of Envy and all-fapping Time.
The gaudy glofs of fortune only ftrikes
The vulgar eye: the fuffrage of the wife,
The praise that's worth ambition, is attain'd
By sense alone, and dignity of mind.

Virtue, the ftrength and beauty of the soul,
Is the best gift of Heaven: a happinefs
That even above the fmiles and frowns of fate
Exalts great: Nature's favourites: a wealth
That ne'er encumbers, nor to baser hands
Can be transferr'd: it is the only good
Man justly boafts of, or can call his own.
Riches are oft by guilt and baseness earn'd;
Or dealt by chance to shield a lucky knave,
Or throw a cruel funfhine on a fool.
But for one end, one much-neglected ufe
Are riches worth your care (for Nature's wants
Are few, and without opulence fupplied).
This noble end is, to produce the Soul;
To fhow the virtues in their faireft light;

To make Humanity the minifter

Of bounteous Providence; and teach the breaft

That generous luxury the Gods enjoy.

Thus, in his graver vein, the friendly Sage

Sometimes declaim'd. Of Right and Wrong he taught Truths as refin'd as ever Athens heard;

And (ftrange to tell!) he practis'd what he preach'd.

CHAP. XIX.

ARMSTRONG,

AGAINST INDOLENCE.

AN EPISTLE.

IN Frolie's hour, ere ferious Thought had birth,
There was a time, my dear CORNWALLIS, when
The Mufe would take me on her airy wing
And waft to views romantic; there prefent
Some motley vifion, fhade and fun: the cliff
O'erhanging, fparkling brooks, and ruins gray:
Bade me meanders trace, and catch the form
Of various clouds, and rainbows learn to paint.
Sometimes Ambition, brufhing by, would twitch
My mantle, and with winning look fublime,
Allure to follow. What though steep the track,
Her mountain's top would overpay, when climb'd,
The fcaler's toil; her temple there was fine,
And lovely thence the profpects. She could tell
Where laurels grew, whence many a wreath antique;
But more advis'd to fhun the barren twig,
(What is immortal verdure without fruit?)

And woo fome thriving art; her numerous mines
Were open to the fearcher's fkill and pains.

Caught by th' harangue, heart beat, and flutt'ring pulle Sounded irreg'lar marches to be gone

What, paufe a moment when Ambition calls?
No, the blood gallops to the diftant goal,
And throbs to reach it. Let the lame fit fill.

When

When Fortune gentle, at th' hill's verge extreme,
Array'd in decent garb, but fonewhat thin,
Smiling approach'd; and what occafion, afk'd,
Of climbing: She, already provident,
Had cater'd well, if ftomach could digeft
Her viands, and a palate not too nice:
Unfit, fhe faid, for perilous attempt;
That manly limb requir'd, and finew tough:
She tock, and laid me in a vale remote,
Amid the gloomy scene of fir and yew,

On poppy beds, where Morpheus ftrew'd the ground:
Obfcurity her curtain round me drew,

And firen Sloth a dull quietus fung.

Sithence no fairy lights, no quick'ning ray,
No ftir of pulfe, nor objects to entice
Abroad the fpirits: but the cloyfter'd heart
Sits fquat at home, like pagod in a niche
Obfcure, or grandees with nod-watching eye,
And folded arms, in presence of the throne,
Turk, or Indoftan-Cities, forums, courts,
And prating fanhedrims, and drumming wars,
Affect no more than flories told to bed
Lethargic, which at intervals the fick

Hears and forgets, and wakes to doze again.
Instead of converse and variety,

The fame trite round, the fame ftale filent scene:
Such are thy comforts, bleffed Solitude! -

But Innocence is there, but Peace all kind,
And fimple Quiet with her downy couch,

Meads lowing, tune of birds, and lapse of streams,
And faunter with a book, and warbling Mufe
In praife of hawthorns-Life's whole business this !
Is it to bafk i' th' fun? if fo, a fnail

Were happy crawling on a fouthern wall.

Why fits Content upon a cottage fill

At

At eventide, and bleffeth the coarse meal

In footy corner? Why fweet Slumber wait

Th' hard pallet? Not because from haunt remote
Sequefter'd in a dingle's bufhy lap:

"Tis Labour fav'ry makes the peasant's fare,
And works out his repofe: for Ease must ask
The leave of Diligence to be enjoy'd.

O! liften not to that enchantress Ease
With feeming fmile; her palatable cup
By ftanding grows infipid; and beware
The bottom, for there's poifon in the lees.
What health impair'd, and crowds inactive maim'd!
What daily martyrs to her fluggish caufe!

Lefs ftrict devoir the Rufs and Perfian claim
Defpotic; and as fubjects long inur'd
To fervile burden grow fupine and tame,
So fares it with our fov'reign and her train.
What though with lure fallacious fhe pretend
From worldly bondage to fet free, what gain
Her vot'ries? What avails from iron chains
Exempt, if rofy fetters bind as faft!

Beftir, and answer your creation's end.
Think we that man, with vig'rous pow'r endow'd
And room to ftretch, was destin'd to fit ftill ?
Sluggards are Nature's rebels, flight her laws,
Nor live up to the terms on which they hold
Their vital leafe. Laborious terms and hard;
But fuch the tenure of our earthly state!
Riches and fame are Industry's reward;
The nimble runner courfes Fortune down,
And then he banquets, for the feeds the bold.

Think what you owe your country, what yourself.
If fplendour charm not, yet avoid the fcorn
That treads on lowly ftations. Think of fome
Affiduous booby mounting o'er your head,

And