O 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 fairest 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 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 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 topmaft bough,
Rockt at each breeze, and menacing a fall?.
Granting grim DEATH at equal distance THERE;
Yet PEACE begins juft where Ambition ends.
What makes man wretched? happiness DENY'D?
Lorenzo! no: 'tis happiness Difdain'd.
She comes to meanly drefs'd to win our fimile;
And calls herfelf Content, a homely name!
Our flame is Tranfport, and Content our scorn.
Ambition turns, and fhuts the door against her,
And weds a TOIL, a Tempest, in her ftead;
A Tempeft to warm Transport near of kin.
Unknowing what our mortal ftate admits,
Life's modeft joys we ruin, while we raise;
And all our ecftafies are wounds to peace.
Peace, the full portion of mankind below.
And fince thy peace is dear, ambitious youth!
Of fortuue fond! as thoughtless of thy fate!
As late I drew DEATH's picture, to stir up
Thy wholefome fears; now drawn in contraft, fe
H
Gay Fortune's, thy vain hopes to reprimand.
See, high in air, the fportive goddess bangs,
Unlocks her casket, 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,
Priefts o'er their gods, and lovers o'er the fair,
(Still MORE ador'd) to fnatch the golden fhow'r.
Gold glitters moft, where virtue thines no more
As ftars from ab fent funs have leave to shine.
O what a precious pack of votaries
Unkennell'd from the prifons, and the ftews,
Pour in, all open'ing in their idol's praise ?
All, ardent, eye each wafture of her hand,
And, wide-expanded their voracious jaws,
Morfel on morfel fwallow down unchew'd.
Untafted, through mad appetite for more ;
Gorg'd to the throat, yet lean and rav'nous ftin.
Sagacious all, to trace the smallest game,
And bold to feize the greateft. (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 pow'r.
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 mif meafur'd, and impetuous speed,
Some darting, ftrike their ardent with far off,
'Through fury to poffes it: SOME fucceed,
But ftumble, and let fall the taken prize.
From SOME, by fudden blafts, 'tis whirl'd away,
And lodg'd in bofoms that ne'er dream'd of gain.
TO SOME it flicks so close, 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 SOME (unhappy rivals!) feize,
And rend abundance into poverty;
Loud croaks the raven of the law, and fmiles:
Smiles to the goddess; but fimiles moft at thofe,
(Just victims of exhorbitant defire!)
Who perish at their own request, and, whelm'd
Benea h her load of lavish grants, expire.
Fortune is famous for her numbers flain.
The number small, which happiness can bear.
Tho' Various for a while their fates; at laft
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 smiles.
And art thou fill a glutton of bright gold?
And art thou ftill rapacious of thy ruin ?
Death loves a fhining mark, a fignal blow ;-
A blow, which, while it executes, alarms;
And ftartles thoufands, with a fingie fall.
As when fome ftately growth of oak, or pine,
Which nods aloft, and proudly spreads her fhade,
The fun's defiance; and the flocks defence;
By the ftrong ftrokes of lab'ring hinds fubdu'd,
Loud groans her last, and rushing f.om her height
Incumb'rous ruin, thunders to the ground:
The confcious foreft trembles at the shock,
And hill, and ftream, 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 constellation awful, yet benign,
To guide the GAY thro' life's tempeftuous wave;
Nor fuffer them to ftrike the common fock,
From greater danger to grow more fecure,
And, wrapt in happiness, forget their fate.'
Lyfander, happy paft the common lot,
Was warn'd a danger, but too GAY to fear.
He woo'd the fair Afpafia: fhe was kind:
In youth, form, fortune, fame, they both were bleft.
All who knew, envy'd; yet in envy lov'd:
Can fancy form more finisht happiness?
Fixt was the nuptual hour. Her ftately dome
Rofe on the founding beach. The glit'ring fpires
Float on the wave, and break against the shore :
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 ring ftorm fobids. 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 temb.
Now, round the fumptuous, bridal monument,
The guilty billows innocently rear ;
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!
O ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace-
Narcia! Pity bleeds at thought of thee.
Yet thou waft only NEAR me; not Myfelf.
Survive Myfelf?—That cures all other Woe.
Narciffa lives; Philander is forgot.
O the foft.commerce! O the tender ties,
Close 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 sUCH friends part,
'Tis the furvivor diesMy heart! no more.
NIGHT the SIX TH.
The INFIDEL RECLAIM'D.
IN TWO PARTS. Containing the NATURE, PROOF, and IMPORTANCE, of IMMORTALITY, PART THE FIRST.
Where, among other Things, GLORY and
RICHES are particularly confider'd.
To the Right Honourable HENRY PELHAM,
First Lord Commiffioner of the Treasury,
and Chancellor of the Exchequer.
PREFACE.
EW ages have been deeper in dispute about re-
Fligion, than this. The difpute about relegion,
and the practice of it, feldom go together. The thorter, therefore, the difpute, the better. I think it may be reduced to this fingle queftion, 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, Reason, Religion, which give our difcourfes fuch pomp and folemnity, are (as will be fhewn) mere empty founds, without any meaning in them. But if man is. immortal. it will behove him to be very serious about eternal confequences; or, in other words, to be truly religious. And this great fundamental truth, uneftablish'd, or unawaken'd in the minds of men, is, I conceive, the real fource and fupport of all our infidility; how remote foever the particular objections advanced may feem to be from it.
|