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 given,
The flow'ry wreath, to mark the facrifice.
And call 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 illustrious 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 topmost bough,
Rock'd at each breeze, and menacing a fall?
Granting grim Death at equal distance there,
Yet peace begins just where ambition ends.
What makes man wretched? happine's deny'd?
Lorenzo! no; 'tis happiness difdain'd :
She comes too meanly drefs'd to win our smile,
And calls herfelf Content, a homely name!
Our flame is tranfport, and content our fcorn.
Ambition turns, and fhuts the door against her,
And weds a toil, a tempeft, in her stead;
A tempeft to warm transport near of kin.
Unknowing what our mortal state 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 wholefome fears, now, drawn in contrast, fee
Gay Fortune's, thy vain hopes to reprimand,
See, high in air the fportive goddess 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 rush rapacious; friends o'er trodden friends,
Sons o'er their fathers, fubjects o'er their kings,
Priests o'er their gods, and lovers o'er the fair,
(Still more ador'd) to fnatch the golden fhow'r.
Japins ventis agitatur ingens
Pinus, et celsa graviore easi
Decidint turres, farients sunomed
Gold glitters molt where virtue fhines no more,
As ftars from abfent funs have leave to fhine.
O what a precious pack of votaries,
Unkennell'd from the prifons and the stews,
Pour in, all op'ning in their idol's praise !
All, ardent, eye each wafture of her hand,
And, wide expanding their voracious jaws,
Morfel on morfel fwallow down unchew'd,
Untafted, thro' mad appetite for more;
Gorg'd to the throat, yet lean and rav'nous ftill: 975
Sagacious all to trace the smallest game,
And bold to feize the greatest. If (bleft chance!)
Court-zephyrs fweetly breathe, they launch, they fly,
O'er juft, o'er facred, all forbidden ground.
Drunk with the burning fcent of place or power, 980
Staunch to the foot of Lucre till they die.
Or if for men you take them, as I mark
Their manners, thou their various fates furvey.
With aim milineafur'd, and impetuous fpeed,
Some, darting, ftrike their ardent with far off,
Through fury to poffefs it: fome fucceed,
But ftumble and let fall the taken prize.
From fome, by fudden blafts, 'tis whirl'd away,
And lodg'd in bofoms that ne'er dream'd of gain.
To fome it fticks fo clofe, that, when torn off,
Torn is the man, and mortal is the wound.
Some, o'er-enamour'd of their bags, run mad,
Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread.
Together fome (unhappy rivals) feize,
And rend abundance into poverty;
Loud croaks the raven of the law, and fmiles;
Smiles, too, the goddefs; but fimiles moft at thofe
(Juft victims of exorbitant defire!)
Who perish at their own requests, and, whelm'd
Beneath her load of lavish grants, expire.
Fortune is famous for her numbers flain;
The number fmall which happiness can bear.
Tho' various for awhile their fates, at last
One curfe involves them all: at Death's approach
All read their riches backward into lofs,
And mourn in juft proportion to their store.
And Death's approach (if orthodox my fong)
Is haften'd by the lure of Fortune's fmiles.
And art thou ftill a glutton of bright gold?
And art thou still rapacious of thy ruin?
Death loves a shining mark, a fignal blow;
A blow which, while it executes, alarms,
And startles thousands with a fingle fall.
As when fome stately growth of oak, or pine,
Which nods aloft, and proudly fpreads her fhade,
The fun's defiance, and the flock's defence,
By the strong ftrokes of lab'ring hinds fubdu'd,
Loud groans her last, and, rufhing from her height.
In cumbrous ruin thunders to the ground;
The confcious foreft trembles at the shock,
And hill, and stream, and diftant dale, refound.
Thefe high aim'd darts of Death, and thefe alone,
Should I collect, my quiver would be full;
A quiver which, fufpended in mid air,
Or near heav'n's archer in the zodiac hung,
(So could it be) fhould draw the public eye,
The gaze and contemplation of mankind!
A conftellation awful, yet benign,
To guide the gay thro' life's tempetuous wave,
Nor fuffer them to ftrike the common rock;
"From greater danger to grow more fecure,
"And, wrapt in happiness, forget their fate."
Lyfander, happy past the common lot,
Was warn'd of danger, but too gay to fear.
He woo'd the fair Afpafia; fhe was kind.
In youth, form, fortune, fame, they both were blefs'd:
All who knew envy'd yet in envy lov'd:
Can Fancy forin more finish'd happiness ?
Fix'd was the nuptial hour. Her stately dome
Rofe on the founding beach. The glitt'ring fpires
Float in the wave, and break against the fhore:
So break thofe glitt'ring fhadows, human joys.
The faithlefs morning fmil'd: he takes his leave
To re-embrace in ecftafies at eve:
The rifing ftorm forbids: the news arrives;
Untold the faw it in her fervant's eye.
She felt it feen (her heart was apt to feel)
And drown'd, without the furious ocean's aid,
In fuffocating forrows fhares his tomb.
Now round the fumptuous bridal monument
The guilty billows innocently roar,
And the rough failor paffing, drops a tear.
A tear-can tears fuffice ?-but not for me,
How vain our efforts! and our arts how vain!
The diftant train of thought I took, to fhun,
Has thrown me on my fate.-Thefe dy'd together;
Happy in ruin! undivorc'd by death!
Or ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace.-
Narciffa! Pity bleeds at thought of thee;
Yet thou waft only near me, not myself.
Survive myfelf?-that cures all other woe.
Narciffa lives; Philander is forgot.
O the foft commerce! O the tender ties,
Clofe twifted with the fibres of the heart!
Which, broken, break them, and drain off the foul
Of human joy, and make it pain to live.-
And is it then to live? When fuch friends part
Tis the furvivor dies.-My heart! no more.
IN TWO PARTS.
Containing the
NATURE, PROOF, AND IMPORTANCE OF IMMORTALITY,
Where, among other Things, Glory and Riches are particularly
Humbly infcribed to the
RIGHT HON. HENRY PELHAM,
First Lord Commiffioner of the Treafury, and Chancellor of the Exchequer,
NEW ages have been deeper in dispute about religion than this. The difpute about religion, and the practice of it, seldom go together. The fhorter, therefore, the difpute, the better. I think it may be reduced to this fingle question, Is man immortal, or is he not? If he is not, all our difputes are mere amufements, or trials of fkill. In this cafe, truth, reafon, religion, which give our difcourfes fuch pomp and folemnity, are (as will be fhewn) mere empty found, without any meaning in them: but if man is immortal, it will behove him to be very ferious about eternal confequences; or, in other words, to be truly religious.And this great fundamental truth, uneftablifhed, or unawakened in the minds of men, is, I conceive, the real fource and fupport of all our infidelity, how remote foever the particular objeЯtions advanced may feem to be from it.
Senfible appearances affect moft men much more than abstract reafonings; and we daily fee bodies drop around us, but the foul is invisible. The power which inclination has over the judgment, is greater than can be well conceived by those that have not had an experience of it; and of what numbers is it the fad intereft that fouls fhould not furvive! The heathen world confeffed that they rather hoped, than firmly
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