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LORENZO! thou, her majefty's renown'd,
Tho' uncoift, counsel, learned in the world!
Who think'ft thyfelf a MURRAY, with difdain
May'ft look on me. Yet, my DEMOSTHENES!
Canft thou plead Pleafure's caufe as well as I?
Know'st thou her nature, purpose, parentage?
Attend my fong, and thou shalt know them all;
And know thyfelf! and know thyself to be
(Strange truth!) the moft abftemious man alive.
Tell not CALISTA; fhe will laugh thee dead;
Or fend thee to her hermitage with L-
Abfurd prefumption! thou who never knew❜ft
A ferious thought! fhalt thou dare dream of joy?
No man e'er found a happy life by chance,
Or yawn'd it into being with a wish;
Or, with the fnout of grov'ling Appetite,
E'er fielt it out, and grubb'd it from the dirt.
An art it is, and muft be learnt; and learnt
With unremitting effort, or be loft;

And leave us perfect blockheads, in our blifs.
The clouds may drop down titles and estates;
Wealth may feek us; but wifilom must be fought;
Sought before all: But (how unlike all elfe
We feek on earth!) 'tis never fought in vain.

First, Pleafure's birth, rife, strength, and grandeur,
Brought forth by Wisdom, nurs'd by Difcipline, [fee.
By Patience taught, by Perfeverance crown'd,
She rears her head majeftic; round her throne,
Erected in the bofom of the juft,

Each virtue, lifted, forms her manly guard.
For what are virtues! (formidable name!)
What, but the fountain, or defence, of joy?
Why, then, commanded? Need mankind commands,
At once to merit, and to make, their blifs?-
Great Legislator! fcarce fo great, as kind!
If men are rational, and love delight,
Thy gracious law but flatters human choice;
In the tranfgreffion lies the penalty;
And they the most indulge, who most obey.

Of pleasure next, the final cause explore :
Its mighty purpose, its important end.
Not to turn human brutal, but to build
Divine on human, Pleasure came from heav'n.
In aid to Reason was the goddess fent;
To call up all its strength by such a charm.
Pleasure, firft, fuccours Virtue; in return,
Virtue gives Pleasure an eternal reign.
What but the pleasure of food, friendship, faith,
Supports life nat'ral, civil, and divine?
'Tis from the pleasure of repaft, we live ;
'Tis from the pleasure of applaufe, we please;
'Tis from the pleasure of belief, we pray;
(All pray'r would cease, if unbeliev'd the prize);
It ferves ourselves, our fpecies, and our GOD;
And, to ferve more, is past the sphere of man.
Glide, then, for ever, pleasure's facred stream!
Through Eden as Euphrates ran, it runs,
And fofters every growth of happy life;
Makes a new Eden where it flows;
As must be loft, LORENZO! by thy fall.

-but fuch

"What mean I by thy fall ?"-Thou'lt shortly fee, While Pleafure's nature is at large display'd;

Already fung her origin and ends.

Thofe glorious ends, by kind or by degree,
When pleasure violates, 'tis then a vice,
And vengeance too; it haftens into pain.
From due refreshment, life, health, reafon, joy;
From wild excefs, pain, grief, distraction, death:
Heav'n's juftice this proclaims, and that her love.
What greater evil can I wish my foe,

Than his full draught of pleafure from a cask
Unbroach'd by just authority, ungaug'd
By temperance, by reason unrefin'd?

A thousand dæmons lurk within the lee,
Heav'n, others, and ourselves! uninjur'd these,
Drink deep; the deeper, then, the more divine;
Angels are angels from indulgence there;
'Tis unrepenting pleafure makes a god.
R

Doft think thyself a god from other joys?" A victim rather! fhortly fure to bleed.

The wrong must mourn. Can Heav'n's appointments fail?
Can man outwit Omnipotence? ftrike out

A felf-wrought happinefs unmeant by Him
Who made us, and the world we would enjoy?
Who forms an inftrument, ordains from whence
Its diffonance, or harmony, fhall rife.
Heav'n bid the foul this mortal frame inspire ;
By Virtue's ray divine infpire the foul
With unprecarious flows of vital joy:
And, without breathing, man as well might hope
For life, as without piety, for peace.

"Is virtue, then, and piety the fame ?"
No; piety is more; 'tis virtue's fource;
Mother of every worth, as that of joy.
Men of the world this doctrine ill digeft;
They fmile at piety; yet boaft aloud
Good-will to men; nor know they strive to part
What nature joins; and thus confute themselves.
With piety begins all good on earth;
'Tis the firft-born of rationality.

Confcience, her firft law broken, wounded lies
Enfeebled, lifelefs, impotent to good;

A feign'd affection bounds her utmoft pow'r.
Some we can't love, but for th' Almighty's fake:
A foe to GOD, was ne'er true friend to man;
Some finister intent taints all he does,
And in his kindeft actions he's unkind.
On piety, humanity is built:
And, on humanity, much happinefs;
And yet ftill more on piety itself.

A foul in commerce with her GoD, is heav'n;
Feels not the tumults and the fhocks of life.
The whirls of paffion, and the ftrokes of heart.
A Deity believ'd, is joy begun;
A Deity ador'd, is joy advanc'd;
A Deity belov'd, is joy matur'd.

Each branch of piety delight infpires:

Faith builds a bridge from this world to the next,
O'er death's dark gulph, and all its horror hides:
Praise, the sweet exaltation of our joy,
That joy exalts, and makes it fweeter still:
Pray'r ardent opens Heav'n, lets down a stream
Of glory on the confecrated hour

Of man in audience with the DEITY!!

Who worships the Great GoD, that instant joins
The first in Heav'n, and fet his foot on hell.

LORENZO when was thou at church before?
Thou think'ft the fervice long: But is it juft?
Tho' juft, unwelcome: Thou hadst rather tread
Unhallow'd ground: The Muse, to win thine ear,
Muft take an air lefs folemn. She complies.
Good confcience! at the found the world retires:
Verfe difaffects it, and LORENZO fmiles:
Yet has the her feraglio full of charms;
And fuch as age fhall heighten, not impair.
Art thou dejected; is thy mind o'ercaft?
Amid her fair ones, thou the fairest choose,

To chafe thy gloom." Go, fix fome weighty truth, "Chain down fome paffion; do fome gen'rous good. "Teach ignorance to fee, or grief to fimile; "Correct thy friend; befriend thy greatest foe; "Or with warm heart, and confidence divine,

(6 Spring up, and lay ftrong hold on him who made thee."

Thy gloom is fcatter'd, sprightly spirits flow;
Tho' wither'd is thy vine, and harp unftrung.
Doft call the bowl, the viol, and the dance,
Loud mirth, mad laughter? wretched comforters!
Phyficians! more than half of thy disease.
Laughter, though never cenfur'd yet as fin,
(Pardon a thought that only feems fevere),
Is half immortal. Is it much indulg'd?
By venting fpleen, or diffipating thought,
It fhews a fcorner, or it makes a fool;
And fins, as hurting others, as curselves. ·

'Tis pride, or emptinefs, applies the straw
That tickles little minds to mirth effufe;
Of grief approaching, the portentous fign!
The houfe of laughter makes a house of woe.
A man triumphant is a monftrous fight:
A man dejected is a fight as mean.

What caufe for triumph, where fuch ills abound?
What for dejection, where prefides a Pow'r,.
Who call'd us into being to be bleft?

So grieve, as confcious grief may rife to joy;
So joy, as confcious, joy to grief may fall.
Moft true, a wife man never will be fad;
But neither will fonorous, bubbling mirth,
A fhallow ftream of happiness betray:
Too happy to be fportive, he's ferene.

Yet would't thou laugh, (but at thy own expence),
This counfel ftrange fhould I prefume to give-
“Retire, and read thy Bible to be gay?"
There truths abound of fov'reign aid to peace;
Ah! do not prize them lefs, because infpir'd,
As thou, and thine, are apt and proud to do.
If not infpir'd, that pregnant page had stood
Time's treafure, and the wonder of the wife!
Thou think'ft, perhaps thy foul alone at stake;
Alas!-Should men mistake thee for a fool;
What man of tafte for genius, wisdom, truth,
Tho' tender of thy fame, could interpofe?
Believe me, fenfe here acts a double part:
And the true critic is a Chriftian too.

But thefe, thou think'ft, are gloomy paths to joy.True joy in funfhine ne'er was found at firft; They, firft, themselves offend, who greatly please; And travel only gives us found repofe. Heav'n fells all pleafure; effort is the price; The joys of conqueft, are the joys of man; And glory the victorious laurels spreads O'er pleafure's pure, perpetual, placid ftream. There is a time, when toil must be prefer'd; Or joy, by miftim'd fondnefs, is undone. A man of pleasure, is a man of pains,

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