No Niggard, Nature; Men are Prodigals.
We wafte (not use) our Time; we breathe, not live.
Time wafted is Existence, us'd is Life.

150

And bare Existence, Man, to live ordain'd,
Wrings, and oppreffes with enormous Weight.
And why? fince Time was giv'n for Ufe, not Waste.
Injoin'd to fly; with Tempeft, Tide, and Stars,
To keep his Speed, nor ever wait for Man; 155
Time's Use was doom'd a Pleasure; Waste, a Pain;
That Man might feel his Error, if unseen:
And, feeling, fly to Labour for his cure;
Not, blund'ring, fplit on Idleness for Ease.
Life's Cares are Comforts; fuch by Heav'n defign'd;

[160

'He that has none, must make them, or be wretched.
Cares are Employments; and without Employ
The Soul is on the Rack; the Rack of Reft,
To Souls most adverfe; Action all their Joy.

170

Here, then, the Riddle, mark'd above, unfolds; 165 Then Time turns Torment, when Man turns a Fool. We rave, we wrestle with Great Nature's Plan ; We thwart the Deity; and 'tis decreed, Who thwart His Will fhall contradict their own. Hence our unnatʼral Quarrel with ourselves; Our Thoughts at Enmity; our Bofom-broil; We push Time from us, and we with Him back; Lavish of Luftrums, and yet fond of Life; Life we think long, and short; Death seek, and shun; Body and Soul, like peevish Man and Wife, United jar, and yet are loath to part.

/ 175

Oh the dark Days of Vanity! while Here, How tastelefs! and how terrible when gone! Gone? they ne'er go; when paft, they haunt us ftill; The Spirit walks of ev'ry Day deceas'd; And fmiles an Angel, or a Fury frowns.

180

Nor Death, nor Life delight us. If Time paft, And Time poffeft, both pain us, what can please? That which the Deity to please ordain'd,

Time us'd. The Man who confecrates his Hours 185
By vig'rous Effort, and an honest Aim,

At once he draws the Sting of Life and Death;
He walks with Nature; and her Paths are Peace.

Our Error's Caufe and Cure are feen: See next Time's Nature, Origin, Importance, Speed ;

C 3

1.90 And

And thy great Gain from urging his Careeer.
All-fenfual Man, because untouch'd, unfeen,
He looks on Time as nothing. Nothing else
Is truly Man's; 'tis Fortune's.---Time's a God.
Haft Thou ne'er heard of Time's Omnipotence? 195
For, or against, what Wonders can he do!
And will: To ftand blank Neuter he difdains.
Not on thofe Terms was Time (Heav'ns Stranger!) fent
On this important Embaffy to Man,

LORENZO no: On the long destin'd Hour,
From everlafting Ages growing ripe,

'That memorable Hour of wondrous Birth,

When the Dread Sire, on Emanation bent,

And big with Nature, rifing in his Might,

200

Call'd forth Creation (for then Time was born,) 205
By Godhead ftreaming thro' a thoufand Worlds;
Not on those Terms, from the great Days of Heav'n,
From old Eternity's myfterious Orb,

Was Time cut off, and cast beneath the Skies ;
The Skies, which watch him in his new Abode, 210
Measuring his Motions by revolving Spheres ;
That Horologe Machinery Divine.

215

Hours, Days, and Months, and Years, his Children
Like num'rous Wings, around him, as he flies: [play,
Or, rather, as unequal Plumes they shape
His ample Pinions, fwift as darted Flame,
To gain his Goal, to reach his ancient Reft,
And join anew Eternity his Sire;

In his Immutability to nest,

When Worlds, that count his Circles now, unhing'd (Fate the loud Signal founding) headlong rush [220 To timeless Night and Chaos, whence they rofe.

Why fpur the Speedy? Why with Levities
New-wing thy fhort, fhort Day's too rapid Flight ?
Know'ft thou, or what thou doft, or what is done? 225
Man flies from Time, and Time from Man, too foon
In fad Divorce this double Flight must end;
And then, where are we? where, LORENZO! then
Thy Sports? thy Pomps ?---I grant thee, in a State
Not unambitious; in the ruffled Shroud,

Thy Parian Tomb's triumphant Arch beneath.
Has Death his Fopperies? Then well may Life
Put on her Plume, and in her Rainbow fhine.

230

Ye

235

Ye well-array'd! Ye Lilies of our Land!
Ye Lilies Male! who neither toil, nor fpin,
(As Sifter Lilies might) if not fo wife
As Solomon, more fumpt'ous to the Sight!
Ye Delicate! who nothing can fupport,
Yourselves most infupportable; for whom

The Winter Rose must blow, the Sun put on 240
A brighter Beam in Leo, filky-foft

Favonius breathe still fofter, or be chid,

And other Worlds fend Odours, Sauce, and Song,

And Robes, and Notions, fram'd in foreign Looms!
O ye LORENZOs of our Age! who deem
One Moment unamus'd,, a Mifery

Not made for feeble Man! who call aloud
For ev'ry Bawble, drivell'd o'er by Sense,
For Rattles, and Conceits of ev'ry Cast,
For Change of Follies, and Relays of Joy,
To drag your Patient through the tedious Length
Of a fhort Winter's Day---fay, Sages fay!
Wit's Oracles; fay, Dreamers of gay Dreams;
How will you weather an eternal Night,
Where fuch Expedients fail?

245

250

255

O treach'rous Confcience! while fhe feems to fleep On Rofe and Myrtle, lull'd with Syren Song; While the feems, nodding o'er her Charge, to drop On headlong Appetite the flacken'd Rein, And give us up to Licence, unrecall'd,

260

Unmark'd ;---See, from behind her fecret Stand,
The fly Informer minutes ev'ry Fault,

And her dread Diary with Horror fills.

Not the grofs Act alone employs her Pen ::

She reconnoiters Fancy's airy Band,

265

A watchful Foe! The formidable Spy,

Lift'ning, o'erhears the Whispers of our Camp:
Our dawning Purposes of Heart explores,
And fteals our Embryos of Iniquity.

270

As all-rapacious Ufurers conceal

Their Doomsday-book from all confuming Heirs; Thus, with Indulgence, moit fevere, She treats Us Spendthrifts of inestimable Time;

Unnoted, notes each Moment mifapply'd;
In Leaves more durable than Leaves of Brafs,
Writes our whole Hiftory; which Death hall read

275

280

In ev'ry pale Delinquent's private Ear;
And Judgment publish: publish to more Worlds
Than this; and endless Age in Groans refound.
LORENZO, fuch that Sleeper in thy Breast!
Such is her Slumber; and her Vengeance fuch
For flighted Counsel; such thy future Peace!
And think'st thou still thou canft be wife too soon?
But why on Time fo lavish is my Song?
On this great Theme kind Nature keeps a School, 285
To teach her Sons herfelf. Each Night we die,
Each Morn are born anew: Each Day, a Life!
And fhall we kill each Day? If Trifling kills;
Sure Vice muft butcher. O what heaps of Slain
Cry out for Vengeance on us! Time deftroy'd 290
Is Suicide, where more than Blood is fpilt.

Time flies, Death urges, Knells call, Heav'n invites,
Hell threatens : All exerts; in effort, All;
More than Creation labours !—Labours more ?
And is there in Creation, what, amidst
This Tumult Univerfal, wing'd Dispatch,
And ardent Energy, fupinely yawns?

295

Man fleeps; and Man alone; and Man, whofe Fate,
Fate, irreverfible, intire, extreme,

Endlefs, hair-hung, breeze-fhaken, o'er the Gulph 300
A moment trembles; drops! and Man, for whom
All else is in Alarm! Man, the sole Cause
Of this furrounding Storm! And yet he fleeps,
As the Storm rock'd to Reft.- -Throw Years away?
Throw Empires, and be blamelefs. Moments seize; 305
Heav'n's on their Wing: A moment we may wish,
When Worlds want Wealth to buy. Bid Day stand still
Bid him drive back his Car, and reimport
The Period paft, regive the given Hour.
LORENZO, more than Miracles we want;
LORENZO-O for Yesterdays to come!

Such is the Language of the Man awake
His Ardour fuch, for what oppreffes Thee.
And is his Ardour vain, LORENZO? No;
That more than Miracle the Gods indulge;
To-day is Yesterday return'd; return'd

Full-pow'r'd to cancel, expiate, raise, adorn,
And reinftate us on the Rock of Peace.
Let it not share its Predeceffor's Fate ;

310

315

Nor2

320

Nor, like its elder Sifters, die a Fool.
Shall it evaporate in Fume? fly off
Fuliginous, and stain us deeper ftill?

Shall we be poorer for the Plenty pour'd?

330

More wretched for the Clemencies of Heav'n ?
Where fhall I find Him? Angels! tell me where."
You know him: He is near you: Point him out: [325
Shall I fee Glories beaming from his Brow?
Or trace his Footsteps by the rifing Flow'rs?
Your golden Wings, now hov'ring o'er him, fhed
Protection; now, are waving in Applaufe
To that bleft Son of Forefight! Lord of Fate!
That awful Independent on To-morrow!
Whofe Work is done; who triumphs in the Paft;
Whofe Yesterdays look backward with a Smile
Nor, like the Parthian, wound him as they fly; 335
That common, but opprobrious Lot! Paft Hours,
If not by Guilt, yet wound us by their Flight,
If Folly bounds our Profpect by the Grave,
All Feeling of Futurity benumb'd;

All God-like Paffion for Eternals quench'd;
All Relish of Realities expir'd;

;

340

Renounc'd all Correfpondence with the Skies
Our Freedom chain'd; quite winglefs our Defire;
In Senfe dark-prifon'd all that ought to foar;
Prone to the Centre; crawling in the Duft;
Difmounted ev'ry great and glorious Aim;
Embruted ev'ry Faculty divine;

Heart-bury'd in the Rubbish of the World.

345

The World, that Gulph of Souls, immortal Souls, Souls elevate, Angelic, wing'd with Fire

To reach the diftant Skies, and triumph there

350

On Thrones, which shall not mourn their Masters chang'd;

Tho' we from Earth; Ethereal, They that fell.
Such Veneration due, O Man! to Man.

Who venerate themselves, the World defpife. 355
For what, gay Friend! is this efcutcheon'd World,
Which hangs out DEATH in one eternal Night?
A Night that glooms us in the Noon-tide Ray,
And wraps our Thought, at Banquets, in the Shroud.
Life's little Stage is a fmall Eminence,
360
Inch-high the Grave above; that Home of Man,

Where