But if a fweeter voice, and one defign'd A bleffing to my country and mankind, Then place it once again between my knees, Shall be my chofen theme, my glory to the last. HOPE. O P E. HO A doceas iter et facra oftia pandas. VIRG. EN. 6. SK what is human life-the fage replies With disappointment low'ring in his eyes, A painful paffage o'er a restlefs flood, A vain pursuit of fugitive falfe good, A scene of fancied blifs and heart-felt care, The The poor, inur'd to drudgery and distress, A&t without aim, think little and feel lefs, And no where but in feign'd Arcadian fcenes, As in a dance the pair that take the lead- By which Heav'n rules the mixt affairs of man, The rich grow poor, the poor become purse-proud : Bus'nefs is labour, and man's weakness such, Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much, The very fenfe of it foregoes its ufe, By repetition pall'd, by age obtufe. Youth loft in diffipation, we deplore Through life's fad remnant, what no fighs reftore, Our years, a fruitlefs race without a prize, Too many, yet too few to make us wife. Dangling Dangling his cane about, and taking fnuff, Oh querulous and weak! whose useless brain To fling his glories o'er the robe she wears, The yellow tilth, green meads, rocks, rifing grounds, Streams edg'd with ofiers, fatt'ning ev'ry field Ten thousand charms that only fools defpife, All fpeak one language, all with one sweet voice Man feels the fpur of paffions and defires, And fhe gives largely more than he requires, Not that his hours devoted all to care, Hollow-ey'd abftinence and lean despair, The wretch may pine, while to his fmell, tafte, fight, She holds a Paradife of rich delight, But gently to rebuke his aukward fear, To prove that what the gives, the gives fincere, To banish hesitation, and proclaim His happiness, her dear, her only aim. Tis grave philofophy's abfurdeft dream, That Heav'n's intentions are not what they feem, That |