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
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.
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 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 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,
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