Obey'd the fummons with a chearful face; Made hafte to welcome death, and met him
That ftroke ev'n Epicurus could not bar, Though he in wit surpass'd mankind, as far 260 As does the mid-day fun the mid-night star. And thou, doft thou difdain to yield thy breath, Whofe very life is little more than death? More than one half by lazy fleep poffeft; And when awake, thy foul but nods at best, Day-dreams and fickly thoughts revolving in thy breaft.
Eternal troubles haunt thy anxious mind, Whofe caufe and cure thou never hop'ft to find; But ftill uncertain, with thyfelf at ftrife, Thou wandereft in the labyrinth of life. O, if the foolish race of man, who find A weight of cares ftill preffing on their mind, Could find as well the caufe of this unreft, And all this burden lodg'd within the breast; Sure they would change their course, nor live
Uncertain what to wifh, or what to vow. Uneafy both in country and in town, They fearch a place to lay their burden down. One, restless in his palace, walks abroad, And vainly thinks to leave behind the load: 280 But ftraight returns; for he's as refilefs there; And finds there's no relief in open air.
Another to his villa would retire, And fpurs as hard as if it were on fire; No fooner enter'd at his country door, But he begins to ftretch, and yawn, and fnore;
Or feeks the city which he left before. Thus every man o'erworks his weary will, To fhun himself, and to shake off his ill;
The shaking fit returns, and hangs upon him
No profpect of repofe, nor hope of ease ; The wretch is ignorant of his disease ; Which known would all his fruitlefs trouble
For he would know the world not worth his
Then would he fearch more deeply for the
And ftudy Nature well, and Nature's laws : For in this moment lies not the debate,
But on our future, fix'd, eternal state; That never-changing ftate, which all muft keep,
Whom death has doom'd to everlasting fleep. 300 Why are we then fo fond of mortal life, Befet with dangers, and maintain'd with ftrife? A life, which all our care can never fave; One fate attends us, and one common grave.
Besides, we tread but a perpetual round; 305 We ne'er ftrike out, but beat the former
And the fame maukish joys in the fame track are found.
For ftill we think an absent bleffing beft, Which cloys, and is no bleffing when poffeft; A new arifing with expels it from the breast. 310 The feverish thirft of life increases ftill; We call for more and more, and never have our fill;
Yet know not what to-morrow we fhall try, What dregs of life in the last draught may lie: Nor, by the longeft life we can attain, 315 One moment from the length of death we gain;
For all behind belongs to his eternal reign. When once the fates have cut the mortal thread, The man as much to all intents is dead, Who dies to-day, and will as long be fo, As he who dy'd a thousand years ago.
THUS, like a failor by a tempeft hurl'd Afhore, the babe is fhipwreck'd on the world: Naked he lies, and ready to expire;
Helpless of all that human wants require ;
Expos'd upon unhospitable earth,
From the first moment of his hapless birth. Straight with foreboding cries he fills the room; Too true prefages of his future doom. But flocks and herds, and every favage beast, By more indulgent nature are increas'd. They want no rattles for their froward mood, Nor nurse to reconcile them to their food, With broken words; nor winter blafts they fear,
Nor change their habits with the changing year:
Nor, for their fafety, citadels prepare,
Nor forge the wicked inftruments of war: Unlabour'd Earth her bounteous treasure
And Nature's lavish hand fupplies their common
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