All like the Purchase; few the Price will pay;
And this makes Friends fuch Miracles below.
What if (fince Daring on so nice a Theme)
I fhew thee Friendship Delicate, as Dear,
Of tender Violations apt to die?
Referve will wound it; and Diftrust, destroy.
Deliberate on all things with thy Friend:
But fince Friends grow not thick on ev'ry Bough,
Nor ev'ry Friend unrotten at the Core;
First, on thy Friend, delib'rate with Thyself;
Pause, ponder, fift; not Eager in the Choice,
Nor Jealous of the Chofen; Fixing, Fix;
Judge before Friendship, then confide till Death.
Well, for thy Friend; but Nobler far for Thee;
How Gallant Danger for Earth's Highest Prize!
A Friend is worth all Hazard we can run.
"Poor is the Friendless Master of a World:
"A World in Purchase for a Friend is Gain."
So fung He (Angels hear that Angel fing! Angels from Friendship gather Half their Joy) So fung PHILANDER, as his Friend went round In the rich Ichor, in the gen'rous Blood Of BACCHUS, purple God of joyous Wit, A Brow folute, and ever-laughing Eye. He drank long Health, and Virtue, to his Friend; His Friend, who warm'd him more, who more infpir'd. Friendship's the Wine of Life; but Friendship new
(Not fuch was his) is neither Strong, nor Pure.
O! for the bright Complexion, cordial Warmth,
And elevating Spirit, of a Friend,
For twenty Summers ripening by my Side;
All Feculence of Falfhood long thrown down;
All focial Virtues rifing in his Soul;
As Crystal clear; and smiling, as they rise!
Here Nectar flows; it sparkles in our Sight;
Rich to the Tafte, and genuine from the Heart.
High-flavour'd Bliss for Gods! on Earth how rare!
On Earth how loft !-PHILANDER is no more.
Think'st thou the Theme intoxicates my Song?
Am I too warm?-Too warm I cannot be.
I lov'd him much; but now I love him more.
Like Birds, whofe Beauties languifh, half conceal'd,
Till, mounted on the Wing, their gloffy Plumes
Expanded shine with Azure, Green, and Gold;
How Bleffings brighten as they take their Flight!
His Flight PHILANDER took; his Upward Flight,
If ever Soul afcended. Had he dropt,
(That Eagle Genius!) O had he let fall
One Feather as he flew; I, then, had wrote,
What Friends might flatter; prudent Foes forbear;
Rivals fcarce damn; and ZOILUS reprieve.
Yet what I can, I muft: It were profane
To quench a Glory lighted at the Skies,
And caft in Shadows his illuftrious Clofe.
Strange! the Theme most affecting, most sublime,
Momentous most to Man, fhould fleep unfung!
And yet it fleeps, by Genius unawak'd,
Painim or Chriftian; to the Blush of Wit.
Man's highest Triumph! Man's profoundest Fall!
The Death-bed of the Juft! is yet undrawn
By mortal Hand: It merits a Divine :
Angels fhould paint it, Angels ever There;
There, on a Poft of Honour, and of Joy.
Dare I prefume, then? But PHILANDER bids;
And Glory tempts, and Inclination calls
Yet am I ftruck; as ftruck the Soul, beneath
Aëreal Groves impenetrable Gloom;
Or, in fome mighty Ruin's folemn Shade;
Or, gazing by pale Lamps on high-born Dust,
In Vaults; thin Courts of poor Unflatter'd Kings!
Or, at the Midnight Altar's hallow'd Flame.
It is Religion to proceed: I paufe
And, enter, aw'd the Temple of my Theme.
Is it his Death-bed? No; It is his Shrine;
Behold him, there, juft rifing to a God.
The Chamber where the Good Man meets his Fate,
Is privileg'd beyond the common Walk
Of virtuous Life, quite in the Verge of Heav'n.
Fly, ye Profane! If not, draw near with Awe,
Receive the Bleffing, and adore the Chance,
That threw in this Bethesda your Disease;
If unrestor❜d by This, defpair your Cure.
For, Here, refiftlefs Demonstration dwells;
A Death-bed's a Detector of the Heart.
Here tir'd Diffimulation drops her Masque,
Thro' Life's Grimace, that Miftrefs of the Scene!
Here Real, and Apparent, are the Same.
You fee the Man; you fee his Hold on Heav'n;
If found his Virtue; as PHILANDER'S, found.
Heav'n waits not the laft Moment; owns her Friends
On this Side Death; and points them out to Men,
A Lecture, filent, but of fov'reign Pow'r!
To Vice, Confufion; and to Virtue, Peace,
Whatever Farce the boaftful Hero plays,
Virtue alone has Majesty in Death;
And greater ftill, the more the Tyrant frowns. PHILANDER! he feverely frown'd on Thee. "No Warning giv'n! Unceremonious Fate! "A fudden Rufh from Life's meridian Joys! "A Wrench from all we love! from all we are! "A reftlefs Bed of Pain! a Plunge opaque "Beyond Conjecture! Feeble Nature's Dread! "Strong Reafon's Shudder at the dark Unknown! "A Sun extinguifht! a juft opening Grave! "And Oh! the last, last; what? (can Words express? "Thought reach ?) the last, laft-Silence of a Friend!" Where are thofe Horrors, that Amazement, where, This hideous Group of Ills, which fingly fhock, Demand from Man ?-I thought him Man till now.
Thro' Nature's Wreck, thro' vanquisht Agonies, (Like the Stars ftruggling thro' this Midnight Gloom)
What Gleams of Joy? what more than Human Peace?
Where, the frail Mortal? the poor abject Worm?
No, not in Death, the Mortal to be found.
His Conduct is a Legacy for All.
Richer than Mammon's for his fingle Heir.
His Comforters He Comforts; Great in Ruin,
With unreluctant Grandeur, gives, not yields
His Soul Sublime; and clofes with his Fate.
How our Hearts burnt within us at the Scene! Whence, This brave Bound o'er Limits fixt to Man? His God fuftains him in his final Hour!
His final Hour brings Glory to his God!
Man's Glory Heav'n vouchfafes to call her own.
We gaze; we weep; mixt Tears of Grief and Joy!
Amazement ftrikes! Devotion burfts to Flame!
Chriftians Adore! and Infidels Believe.
As fome tall Tow'r, or lofty Mountain's Brow, Detains the Sun, Illuftrious from its Height; While rifing Vapours, and defcending Shades, With Damps, and Darkness, drown the fpacious Vale: Undampt by Doubt, Undarken'd by Despair,
PHILANDER, thus, auguftly rears his Head,
At that black Hour, which gen'ral Horror sheds
On the low Level of th' Inglorious Throng:
Sweet Peace, and Heav'nly Hope, and humble Joy,
Divinely beam on his exalted Soul;
Destruction gild, and crown him for the Skies,
With incommunicable Luftre, Bright.
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