Tho' fomewhat difconcerted, steady still
To the World's Caufe, with half a Face of Joy',
LORENZO cries" Be, then, Ambition caft;
“Ambition's Dearer far stands unimpeach'd,
Gay Pleasure! Proud Ambition is her Slave; "For Her, he foars at Great, and hazards Ill; "For Her, he fights, and bleeds, or overcomes; "And paves his Way, with Crowns, to reach Her Smile; "Who can refift Her Charms?"-Or, fhould? LORENZO! What Mortal fhall refift, where Angels yield? Pleafure's the Mistress of Ethereal Powers;
For Her contend the Rival Gods above;
Pleafure's the Mistress of the World below
And well it is for Man, that Pleasure charms;
How would All ftagnate, but for Pleafure's Ray!
How would the frozen Stream of Action ceafe!
What is the Pulfe of this fo bufy World?
The Love of Pleasure: That, thro' ev'ry Vein,
Throws Motion, Warmth; and fhuts out Death from Life.
Tho' various are the Tempers of Mankind,
Pleafure's gay Family holds all in Chains :
Some most affect the Black; and fome, the Fair;
Some honeft Pleafure court; and fome, obscene.
Pleasures obscene are various, as the Throng
Of Paffions, that can err in human Hearts;
Mistake their Objects, or tranfgrefs their Bounds.
Think you there's but One Whoredom? Whoredom, All,
But when our Reafon licenfes Delight.
Doft doubt, LORENZO? Thou shalt doubt no more.
Thy Father chides thy Gallantries; yet hugs
An ugly, common Harlot, in the Dark.
A rank Adulterer with others Gold;
And that Hag, Vengeance, in a Corner, charms.
Hatred her Brothel has, as well as Love,
Where horrid Epicures debauch in Blood.
Whate'er the Motive, Fleafure is the Mark;
For Her, the black Affaffin draws his Sword;
For Her, dark Statesmen trim their Midnight Lamp,
To which no fingle Sacrifice may fall;
For Her, the Saint abftains; the Mifer ftarves;
The Stoic proud, for Pleasure, Pleasure scorn'd;
For Her, Affliction's Daughters Grief indulge,
And find, or hope, a Luxury in Tears;
For Her, Guilt, Shame, Toil, Danger, we defy;
And, with an Aim voluptuous, rush on Death.
Thus univerfal her defpotic Power.
And as her Empire wide, her Praise is just.
Patron of Pleasure! Doater on Delight!
I am thy Rival; Pleafure I profefs;
Pleasure, the Purpose of my gloomy Song.
Pleasure is nought but Virtue's gayer Name:
I wrong her still, I rate her Worth too low;
Virtue the Root, and Pleasure is the Flower;
And honeft EPICURUS' Foes were Fools.
But this founds harsh, and gives the Wife Offence;
If o'erftrain'd Wisdom still retains the Name,
How knits Austerity her cloudy Brow,
And blames, as bold, and hazardous, the Praise
Of Pleasure, to Mankind, unprais'd, too dear!
Ye modern Stoics! hear my foft Reply;
Their Senfes Men will truft: We can't impofe;
Or, if we could, is Impofition right?
Own Honey fweet; but, owning, add this Sting;
"When mixt with Poifon, it is deadly too."
Truth never was indebted to a Lye.
Is nought but Virtue to be prais'd, as Good?
Why then is Health preferr'd before Disease?
What Nature loves is Good, without our Leave.
And where no future Drawback cries, "Beware;'
Pleasure, though not from Virtue, fhould prevail.
'Tis Balm to Life, and Gratitude to Heaven
How cold our Thanks for Bounties unenjoy'd!
The Love of Pleasure is Man's Eldest-born,
Born in his Cradle, living to his Tomb;
Wisdom, her younger Sifter, tho' more grave,
Was meant to minifter, and not to mar,
Imperial Pleasure, Queen of human Hearts,
LORENZO! Thou, her Majefty's renown'd, Tho' uncoift, Counsel, learned in the World! Who think'st thyself a MURRAY, with Disdain Mayft look on me. Yet, my DEMOSTHENES!
Canft thou plead Pleafure's Caufe as well as I?
Know'st thou her Nature, Purpofe, Parentage?
Attend my Song, and thou fhalt know them all;
And know Thyfelf, and know thyself to be
(Strange Truth!) the most abftemious Man alive.
Tell not CALISTA; fhe will laugh thee dead;
Or fend thee to her Hermitage with L.
Abfurd Prefumption! Thou, who never knew'ft
A ferious Thought! fhalt thou dare dream of Joy?
No Man e'er found a happy Life by Chance,
Or yawn'd it into Being, with a Wish;
Or, with the Snout of grov'ling Appetite,
E'er finelt it out, and grubb'd it from the Dirt.
An Art it is, and must be learnt; and learnt
With unremitting Effort, or be loft;
And leave us perfect Blockheads, in our Bliss.
The Clouds may drop down Titles and Estates;
Wealth may feek Us; but Wisdom must be Sought;
Sought before All; but (how unlike All elfe
We feek on Earth!) 'tis never fought in vain.
First, Pleafure's Birth, Rife, Strength, and Grandeur fee:
Brought forth by Wisdom, nurft by Difcipline,
By Patience taught, by Perfeverance crown'd,
She rears her Head majeftic; round her Throne
Erected in the Bofom of the Just,
Each Virtue, lifted, forms her manly Guard.
For what are Virtues? (Formidable Name!)
What, but the Fountain, or Defence, of Joy?
Why, then, commanded? Need Mankind Commands,
At once to merit, and to make, their Blits?
Great Legislator Scarce fo Great, as Kind!
If Men are rational, and love Delight,
Thy gracious Law but flatters human Choice i
In the Tranfgreffion lies the Penalty;
And they the most indulge, who most obey.
Of Pleafure, next, the final Cause explore;
Its mighty Purpofe, its important End.
Not to turn Human brutal, but to build
Divine on Human, Pleasure came from Heaven.
In Aid to Reason was the Goddess fent;
To call up all its Strength by fuch a Charm.
Pleafure, firft, fuccours Virtue; in Return,
Virtue gives Pleasure an eternal Reign.
What, but the Pleasure of Food, Friendship, Faith,.
Supports Life Nat'ral, Civil, and Divine?
'I'is from the Pleasure of Repaft, we live ;
"Tis from the Pleasure of Applaufe, we please;
'Tis from the Pleasure of Belief, we pray
(All Pray'r would cease, if unbeliev'd the Prize):
It ferves ourselves, our Species, and our God;
And to ferve more, is past the Sphere of Man.
Glide, then, for ever, Pleafure's facred Stream!
Through Eden, as Euphrates ran, It runs,.
And fosters ev'ry Growth of Happy Life;
Makes a new Eden where it flows;but fuch
As must be Loft, LORENZO! by thy Fall.
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