Sollicit the cold hand of Charity?

To shock us more, follicit it in vain ? :

Ye filken Sons of Pleasure! fince in Pains.

You rue more modifh vifits, vifit here,

And breathe from your Debauch: Give, and reduce
Surfeit's Dominion o'er you: but fo great
Your Impudence, you blush at what is Right!

Happy! did Sorrow feize on fuch alone: Not Prudence can defend, or Virtue fave Disease invades the chafteft Temperance;

;

And Punishment the Guiltlefs; and Alarm
Thro' thickest shades pursues the fond of Peace;
Man's Caution often into Danger turns,

And his Guard falling, crushes him to death.

Not Happiness itself makes good her name;

Our

very. Wishes give us not our wifh;

How distant oft the Thing we doat on moft,
From that for which we doat, Felicity?

The

The Smootheft courfe of Nature has its Pains;

And trueft Friends, thro' error, wound our Reft; Without Misfortune, what Calamities?

And what Hoftilities, without a Foe?

Nor are Foes wanting to the best on earth:
But endless is the lift of human Ills,

And Sighs might fooner fail, than Cause to figh.

A Part how small of the terraqueous Globe Is tenanted by man? the reft a Waste,

Rocks, Defarts, frozen Seas, and burning Sands;

Wild haunts of Monsters, Poisons, Stings, and Death:
Such is Earth's melancholy Map! But far

More fad! this Earth is a true Map of Man:
So bounded are its haughty Lord's Delights

To Woe's wide empire; where deep Troubles tofs;
Loud Sorrows howl; envenom'd Paffions bite ;
Ravenous Calamities our vitals feize;

And threat'ning Fate wide-opens to devour.

What then am I, who forrow for myself?
In Age, in Infancy, from other's aid
Is all our Hope; to teach us to be kind.
That, Nature's firft, laft Leffon to mankind:
The selfish heart deferves the pain it feels :
More generous Sorrow, while it finks, exalts,
And conscious Virtue mitigates the Pang.

Nor Virtue, more than Prudence, bids me give.
Swoin thought a fecond channel; who divide,
They weaken too the Torrent of their grief.

Take then, O World! thy much-indebted Tear; How fad a Sight is human Happiness,

To those whofe Thought can pierce beyond an Hour? O thou! whate'er thou art, whofe Heart exults! Would'st thou I should congratulate thy Fate?

I know thou would'st; thy Pride demands it from

Let thy Pride pardon, what thy Nature needs,

The falutary Censure of a friend:

me.

A

Thou

Thou happy Wretch! by Blindness art thou blest
By Dotage dandled to perpetual Smiles :

Know, Smiler! at thy peril art thou pleas'd;
Thy Pleasure is the promise of thy Pain.

Misfortune, like a Creditor fevere,

But rises in demand for her Delay;
She makes a fcourge of paft Profperity,
To fting thee more, and double thy Distress.

Lorenzo, Fortune makes her Court to thee,
Thy fond. Heart dances, while the Syren fings.
Dear is thy Welfare; think me not unkind;
I would not damp, but to fecure thy joys:
Think not that Fear is facred to the Storm:
Stand on thy guard against the Smiles of Fate.
Is Heaven tremendous in its Frown? most fure;
And in its Favours formidable too;

Its favours here are Tryals, not Rewards;
A call to Duty, not discharge from Care;

And

And should alarm us, full as much as Woes;

Awake us to their Caufe, and Confequence;

O'er our fcan'd Conduct give a jealous Eye;
And make us tremble, weigh'd with our Desert;
Awe Nature's Tumult, and chaftife her Joys,
Left while we clafp, we kill them; nay invert
To worse than fimple mifery, their Charms:
Revolted Joys, like foes in civil war,

Like bofom friendships to refentment four'd,
With rage envenom'd rise against our Peace.
Beware what Earth calls Happiness; beware
All joys, but joys that never can expire:
Who builds on lefs than an immortal Base,
Fond as he feems, condemns his joys to Death.

Mine dy'd with thee, Philander! thy laft Sigh Diffolv'd the charm; the difenchanted Earth Loft all her Luftre: where, her glittering Towers? Her golden Mountains, where? all darken'd down

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