Virtu?, not rolling funs, the mind matures.
That life is long, which anfwers life's great end.
The time that bears no fruit, deferves no name;
The man of wisdom, is the man of years.
In hoary youth Methufalems may die;
O how mifdated on their flatt ring tombs !

NARCISSA's youth has lectur'd me thus far.
And can her gaiety give counfel too?
That, like the Jews fam'd oracle of gems,
Sparkles inftruction; fuch as throws new light,
And opens more the character of Death,

Ill known to thee, LORENZO! This thy vaunt :

Give Death his due, the wretched and the old : "Ev n let him fweep his rubbish to the grave;

Let him not violate kind Nature's laws,

"But own man born to live, as well as die."
Wretched and old thou giv'ft him; young and gay
He takes; and plunder is a tyrant's joy.
What if I prove, "The fartheft from the fear.
"Are often nearest to the stroke of fate?"

All, more than common, menaces an end.
A blaze betokens brevity of life.

As if bright embers fhould emit a flame,
Glad fpirits fparkled from NARCISSA's eye,
And made youth younger, and taught life to live.
As Nature's oppofites wage endless war,
For this offence, as treafon to the deep
Inviolable ftupor of his reign,

Where Luft, and turbulent Ambition fleep,

Death took swift vengeance. As he life detefts,
More life is ftill more odious! and reduc'd
By conqueft, aggrandizes more his pow'r.
But wherefore aggrandiz'd? By Heav'ns decree ;
To plant the foul on her eternal guard,
In awful expectation of our end,
Thus runs Death's dread commiffion

Strike, but fo, As moft alarms the living by the dead." Hence fratagem delights him, and furprise, And cruel fport with man's fecurities.

Not fimple conqueft, triumph is his aim;

93

And, where leaft fear'd, there conquefts triumphs molt.
This proves my bold affertion not too bold.
What are his arts to lay our fears afleep?
Tiberian arts his purpofes wrap up

In deep Diflimulation's darkelt night.
Like princes unconfefs'd in foreign courts,
Who travel under cover, Death affumes

The name and lock of Life, and dwells among us.
He takes all shapes that ferve his black defigns.
Tho' master of a wider empire far

Than that, o'er which the Roman eagle flew ;
Like Nero, he's a fiddler, charioteer,
Or drives his phaeton, in female guife;
Quite unfufpected, till the wheel beneath,
His difarray'd oblation he devours.

He most affects the forms leaft like himself,
His flender felf. Hence burly corpulence
Is his familiar wear, and fleek difguife.
Behind the rofy 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 NARCISSA's couch, he loiter'd long
Unknown; and, when detected, ftill was feen
Tofmile: Such peace has innocence in death!
Moft happy they! whom leaft his arts deceive.
eye on Death, and one full fix'd on Heav'n,
Becomes a mortal, and immortal man.
Long on his wiles a piqu'd and jealous spy,
I've feen, or dream'd I faw, the tyrant drefs;
Lay by his horrors, and put on his fmiles.
Say, Mufe, for thou remember'ft; call it back,
And fhow LORENZO the furprifing fcene;
If 'twas a dream, his genius can explain
'Twas in a circle of the gay I food.

One

Death would have enter'd: Nature push'd him back ; Supported by a Doctor of renown,

His point he gain'd. Then artfully dismiss'd &

:

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; whole fantastic air,
Well-fashion'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 ftraighten'd to a cane ;;
And hid his deadly fhafts in Myra's eye.

The dreadful mafquerader, thus equipp'd,
Out fallies or adventures. Afk you where ? ?
Where is he not? For his peculiar haunts,
Let this fuffice; Sure as night follows day,
Death treads in Pleafure's footfteps round the world,
When Pleafure treads the paths which Reason fhuns.
When against Reafon, Riot fhuts the door,

And Gaiety fupplies the place of Sense,

Then, foremoft at the banquet and the ball,

Death leads the dance, or ftamps the deadly dye;; Nor ever fails the midnight bowl to crown.

Gaily caroufing to his gay compeers,

Inly he laughs, to fee them laugh at him,
As abfent far: And when the revel burns,
When Fear is banish'd, and triumphant Thought,
Calling for all the joys beneath the moon,
Against him turns the key, and bids him fup
With their progenitors he drops his mask ;
Frowns out at full: They ftart, despair, expire.

Scarce with more fudden terror and surprise,
From his black mask of nitre, touch'd by fire,
He burfts, expands, roars, blazes, and devours.
And is not this triumphant treachery,
And more than fimple conqueft, in the fiend?

And now, LORENZO, doft thou wrap thy foul
In foft fecurity, becaufe unknown

Which moment is commiffion'd to destroy?
In Death's uncertainty thy danger lies
Is Death uncertain? Therefore thou be fix'd;

Fix'd as a centinel, all- eye, all ear,
All expectation of the coming foc.

Rouse, ftand in arms, nor lean against thy fpear ;-
Left flumber fteal one moment o'er thy foul,
And Fate furprise thee nodding. Watch, be ftrong..
Thus give each day the merit, and renown,
Of dying well; though doom'd but once to die.
Nor let life's period hidden (as from most)
Hide too from thee the precious ufe of life.

way,

Early, not fudden, was NARCISSA's fate. Soon, not surprising, Death his vifit paid.. Her thought went forth to meet him on his Nor Gaiety forgot it was to die; Though Fortune too, (our third and final theme), As an accomplice, play'd her gaudy plumes, And ev'ry glitt'ring gewgaw, on her fight, To dazzle, and debauch it from its mark. Death's dreadful advent is the mark of man ; And ev'ry thought that miffes it, is blind.. Fortune, with Youth and Gaiety, confpir'd To weave a triple wreath of happiness,. (If happiness on earth), to crown her brow. And could Death charge through fuch a fhining fhield?

That fhining fhield invites the tyrant's fpear;

As if to damp our elevated aims,

And ftrongly preach humility to man.

Oh how portentous is profperity!

How, comet-like, it threatens, while it fhines!
Few years but yield us proof of Death's ambition
To call his victims from the faireft fold,

And fheath his fhafts in all the pride of life.
When flooded with abundance, purpled o'er
With recent honours, bloom'd with ev'ry 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,
Snatch'd from the covert of an humble state,
How often have I feen him dropt at once,

Our morning's envy! and our ev'ning's figh!
As if her bounties were the fignal giv'n,
The flow'ry wreath to mark the facrifice,
And call'd 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 illuftrious 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 topmoft bough,
Rock'd at each breeze, and menacing a fall?
Granting grim Death at equal diftance there;
Yet Peace begins just where Ambition ends.
What makes men wretched? Happinefs deny'd
LORENZO! no; "Tis happinefs difdain'd.
She comes too meanly drefs'd, to win our fmile;
And calls herfelf Content, a homely name!
Our flame is Transport, and Content our fcorn.
Ambition turns, and fhuts the door against her,
And weds a toil, a tempeft, in her ftead;
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.

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
Thy wholesome fears; now, drawn in contraft, fee
Gay Fortune's, thy vain hopes to reprimand.
See, high in air, the fportive goddefs hangs,
Unlocks her cafket, fpreads her glitt'ring 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,
Priefts o'er their gods, and lovers o'er the fair,
(Still more ador'd) to snatch the golden show'r.