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"What mean I by thy Fall?"-Thou'lt fhortly fee, While Pleafure's Nature is at large difplay'd; Already fung her Origin, and Ends.

Thofe glorious Ends, by Kind, or by Degree,
When Pleasure viclates, 'tis then a Vice,
And Vengeance too; it haftens into Pain.

From due Refreshment, Life, Health, Reason, Joy;
From wild Excess, Pain, Grief, Distraction, Death;
Heav'n's Juftice this proclaims, and that her Love.
What greater Evil can I wish
Evil can I wish my Foe,

Than his full Draught of Pleasure, from a Cask
Unbroach'd by juft Authority, ungaug'd
By Temperance, by Reafon unrefin'd?

A thousand Demons lurk within the Lee.
Heav'n, Others, and Ourselves! Uninjur'd Thefe,
Drink deep; the deeper, then, the more Divine;
Angels are Angels from Indulgence there;
'Tis Unrepenting Pleasure makes a God.

Doft think thyfelf a God from other Joys?
A Victim rather! fhortly fure to bleed.
The Wrong must mourn: Can Heav'n's Appointment fail?
Can Man outwit Omnipotence? strike out

A Self-wrought Happiness unmeant by Him
Who made Us, and the World we would enjoy?
Who forms an Inftrument, ordains from whence
Its Diffonance, or Harmony, fhall rise.
Heav'n bid the Soul this mortal Frame infpire;

Bid

Bid Virtue's Ray divine infpire the Soul
With unprecarious Flows of vital Joy;
And, without Breathing, Man as well might hope
For Life, as, without Piety, for Peace.

"Is Virtue, then, and Piety the fame ?"
No; Piety is more; 'tis Virtue's Source;
Mother of ev'ry Worth, as That of Joy.
Men of the World this Doctrine ill digeft;
They smile at Piety; yet boast aloud

Good-Will to Men; nor know, they strive to part
What Nature joins; and thus confute Themselves.
With Piety begins all Good on Earth;
'Tis the First-born of Rationality.

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Confcience, her firft Law broken, wounded lies
Enfeebled, Lifelefs, Impotent to Good;
A feign'd Affection bounds her utmost Power.
Some we can't love, but for th' Almighty's Sake;
A Foe to GOD was ne'er true Friend to Man;
Some finifter Intent taints all he does,

And, in his Kindest Actions, he's Unkind.

On Piety, Humanity is built;

And, on Humanity, much Happiness;

And

yet

ftill more on Piety itself.

A Soul in Commerce with her GOD, is Heaven;
Feels not the Tumults and the Shocks of Life;

The Whirls of Paffions, and the Strokes of Heart.
A Deity believ'd, is Joy begun;

A Deity

A Deity ador'd, is Joy advanc'd;

A Deity belov'd, is Joy matur'd.

Each Branch of Piety Delight infpires;

Faith builds a Bridge from This World to the Next,
O'er Death's dark Gulph, and all its Horror hides;
Praife, the fweet Exhalation of our Joy,

That Joy exalts, and makes it fweeter ftill;
Pray'r ardent opens Heav'n, lets down a Stream
Of Glory on the confecrated Hour

Of Man, in Audience with the Deity.
Who worships the Great God, that Inftant joins
The First in Heav'n, and fets his Foot on Hell,

LORENZO! when waft Thou at Church before? Thou think'ft the Service Long: But is it Juft? Tho' Juft, Unwelcome: Thou hadfl rather tread Unhallow'd Ground; the Mufe, to win thine Ear, Muft take an Air lefs Solemn : She complies. Good Confcience! at the Sound the World retires; Verfe difaffects it, and LORENZO fmiles; Yet has the her Seraglio full of Charms; And fuch as Age fhall Heighten, not Impair. Art thou dejected? Is thy Mind o'ercaft? Amid her Fair Ones, thou the Fairest chufe, To chafe thy Gloom.-" Go, fix fome weighty Truth; "Chain down fome Paffion; do fome gen'rous Good; "Teach Ignorance to fee, or Grief to smile "Correct thy Friend, befriend thy greatest Foe; "Or, with warm Heart, and Confidence divine,

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"Spring up,and lay ftrong hold on Him who made Thee."-Thy Gloom is fcatter'd, fprightly Spirits flow;

Tho' wither'd is thy Vine, and Harp unftrung.

Doft call the Bowl, the Viol, and the Dance,
Loud Mirth, mad Laughter? Wretched Comforters!
Physicians! more than Half of thy Disease.
Laughter, tho' never cenfur'd yet as Sin
(Pardon a Thought that only seems severe),
Is half-immoral: Is it much indulg'd?
By venting Spleen, or diffipating Thought,
It fhews a Scorner, or it makes a Fool;
And fins, as hurting Others, or Ourselves.
'Tis Pride, or Emptiness, applies the Straw,
That tickles Little Minds to Mirth effufe;
Of Grief as impotent, portentous Sign!
The House of Laughter makes a Houfe of Woe.
A Man triumphant is a Monftrous Sight;
A Man dejected is a Sight as Mean.

What Cause for Triumph, where fuch Ills abound?
What for Dejection, where prefides a Power,
Who call'd us into Being to be Bleft?

So grieve, as conscious Grief may rise to Joy;
So joy, as confcious Joy to Grief may fall.
Most true, a wife Man never will be fad ;
But neither will fonorous, bubbling Mirth,
A fhallow Stream of Happiness betray:
Too Happy to be Sportive, He's Serene.

Yet

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Yet wouldst thou laugh (but at thy own Expence), This Counsel strange fhould I presume to give"Retire, and read thy Bible, to be Gay.' There Truths abound of fov'reign Aid to Peace; Ah! do not prize them lefs, because Inspir'd, As Thou, and Thine, are apt and proud to do. If not infpir'd, that pregnant Page had stood, Time's Treasure! and the Wonder of the Wife! Thou think'ft, perhaps, Thy Soul alone at Stake; Alas!-Should Men miftake thee for a Fool;What Man of Tafte for Genius, Wifdom, Truth, Tho' tender of thy Fame, could interpofe? Believe me, Senfe, here, acts a double Part, And the true Critic is a Chriftian too.

But Thefe, thou think'st, are gloomy Paths to Joy.True Joy in Sunshine ne'er was found at first; They, first, Themselves offend, who greatly please; And Travel only gives us found Repose. Heav'n fells all Pleafure; Effort is the Price; The Joys of Conqueft, are the Joys of Man; And Glory the victorious Laurel spreads O'er Pleafure's pure, perpetual, placid Stream.

There is a Time, when Toil must be preferr❜d,
Or Joy, by mif-tim'd Fondness, is undone.
A Man of Pleafure is a Man of Pains.
Thou wilt not take the Trouble to be Bleft.

Falfe

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