And worth, fo recompens'd, new-points their ftings.
Or man furmounts the grave, or gain is lofs,
And worth exalted bumbles us the more.
Thou wilt not patronize a scheme that makes
Weakness, and vice, the refuge of mankind.
"Has virtue, then, no joys?"-Yes, joys dear bought. Talk ne'er fo long, in this imperfect state,
Virtue, and vice, are at eternal war.
Virtue's a combat; and who fights for nought?
Or for precarious, or for fmall reward ?
Who virtue's felf-reward fo loud refound,
Would take degrees angelic here below,
And virtue, while they compliment, betray,
By feeble motives, and unfaithful guards.
The crown, th' unfading crown, her foul infpires:
"Tis That, and That alone, can countervail
The body's treach'ries, and the world's affaults:
On earth's poor pay our famifht virtue dies.
Truth inconteftable! In spite of all
A BAYLE has preach'd, or a V-E believ'd.
In man the more we dive, the more we fee
Heav'n's fignet ftamping an immortal make.
Dive to the bottom of his foul, the base
Suftaining all; what find we? Knowlege, Love.
As light and heat, effential to the fun,
These to the foul. And why, if fouls expire?
How little lovely here? How little known?
Small knowlege we dig up with endless toil;
And love unfeign'd may purchase perfect hate.
Why ftarv'd, on earth, our angel-appetites;
While brutal are indulg'd their fulfome fill?
Were then capacities divine conferr'd,
As a mock-diadem, in favage fport,
Rank infult of our pompous poverty,
Which reaps but pain, from feeming claims fo fair?
In future age lies no redrefs? And thats
Eternity the door on our complaint ?
If so, for what strange ends were mortals made!
The worst to wallow, and the best to weep;
The man who merits moft, must most complain:
Can we conceive a difregard in heav'n,
What the worst perpetrate, or best endure?
This cannot be. To love, and know, in man
Is boundless appetite, and boundless pow'r;
And thefe demonftrate boundlefs objects too.
Objects, pow'rs, appetites, heav'n fuits in All;
Nor, nature thro', e'er violates this sweet,
Eternal concord, on her tuneful ftring.
Is man the fole exception from her laws?
Eternity truck off from human hope,
(I fpeak with truth, but veneration too)
Man is a monster, the reproach of heav'n,
A ftain, a dark impenetrable cloud
On nature's beauteous afpect; and deforms,
(Amazing blot!) deforms her with her lord.
If fuch is man's allotment, what is heav'n ?
Or own the foul immortal, or blafpheme.
Or own the foul immortal, or invert
All order. Go, mock-majefty! go, man!
And bow to thy fuperiors of the stall;
Thro' ev'ry scene of fenfe fuperior far:
They graze the turf untill'd; they drink the ftream
Unbrew'd, and ever full, and un-embitter'd
With doubts, fears, fruitlefs hopes, regrets, defpairs ;
Mankind's peculiar! reafon's precious dower!
No foreign clime they ranfack for their robes
Nor brothers cite to the litigious bar;
Their good is good intire, unmixt, unmarr'd;
They find a paradife in ev'ry field,
On boughs forbidden where no curfes hang:
Their ill no more than ftrikes the fenfe; unftretcht
By previous dread, or murmur in the rear:
When the worst comes, it comes unfear'd; one ftroke Begins, and ends, their woe: They die but once ; Bleft, incommunicable privilege! for which
Proud man, who rules the globe, and reads the flars,
Philofopher, or hero, fighs in vain.
Account for this prerogative in brutes.
No day, no glimpfe of day to folve the knot,
But what beams on it from eternity.
O fole, and fweet folution! That unties
The difficult, and foftens the fevere;
The cloud on nature's beauteous face difpels;
Reftores bright order; cafts the brute beneath;
And re inthrones us in fupremacy
Of joy, ev'n here: Admit immortal life,
And virtue is knight-errantry no more;
Each virtue brings in hand a golden dower,
Far richer in reverfion: Hope exults;
And tho' much bitter in our cup is thrown,
Predominates, and gives the tafte of heaven.
O wherefore is the DEITY fo kind?
Aftonishing beyond anonishment!
Heav'n our reward-for heav'n enjoy'd beloru.
Still unfabdu'd thy ftubborn heart ?For there
The traitor lurks who doubts the truth I fing.
Reafon is guiltlefs; will alone rebels.
"What, in that stubborn heart, if I fhould find
New, unexpected witnesses against thee?
Ambition, pleafure, and the love of gain!
Canft thou fufpect, that thefe, which make the foul
The flave of earth, should own her heir of heav'n ?
Canft thou fufpect what makes us difbelieve
Our immortality, fhould prove it fure?
First, then, ambition summon to the bar.
Ambition's fhame, extravagance, difguft,
And inextinguishable nature, fpeak.
Each much depofes; hear them in their turn.
Thy foul, how paffionately fond of fame!
How anxious, that fond paffion to conceal !
We blush, detected in defigns on praise,
Tho' for beft deeds, and from the best of men
And why? Because immortal. Art divine
Has made the body tutor to the foul;
Heav'n kindly gives our blood a moral flow;
Bids it afcend the glowing cheek, and there
Upbraid that little heart's inglorious aim,
Which stoops to court a character from man;
While o'er us, in tremendous judgment fit
Far more than man, with endless praife, and blame.
Ambition's boundless appetite out-speaks
The verdict of its fame. When fouls take fire
At high prefumptions of their own defert,
One age is poor applaufe; the mighty fhout,
The thunder by the living few begun,
Late time muft echo; worlds unborn, refound,
We wish our names eternally to live :
Wild dream, which ne'er had haunted human thought, Had not our natures been eternal too.
Inftinct points out an int'reft in hereafter;
But our blind reason fees not where it lies;
Or, feeing, gives the fubftance for the fhade.
Fame is the fhade of immortality,
And in itself a fhadow. Soon as caught,
Contemn'd; it fhrinks to nothing in the grafp.
Confult th' ambitious, 'tis ambition's cure.
"And is This all?" cry'd CÆSAR at his height,
Difgufted. This third proof ambition brings
Of immortality. The firft in fame,
Obferve him near, your envy will abate:
Sham'd at the difproportion vaft, between
The paffion, and the purchase, he will figh
At fuch fuccefs, and blufh at his renown.
And why? Because far richer prize invites
His heart; far more illuftrious glory calls;
It calls in whifpers, yet the deafest hear.
And can ambition a fourth proof fupply?
It can, and stronger than the former three;
Yet quite o'er-look'd by fome reputed wife.
Tho' difappointments in ambition pain,
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