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What if thy Rental I reform ? and draw
An Inventory new to set thee right ?
Where, thy true Treasure? Gold says,
not in me," And, “ not in me,
the Diamond. Gold is poor;
India's insolvent: Seek it in Thyself;
Seek in thy naked Self, and find it There.
In Being so Descended, Form'd, Endow'd;
Sky-born, sky-guided, sky-returning Race!
Erect, Immortal, Rational, Divine !
In Senses, which inherit Earth, and Heav'ns;
Enjoy the various riches Nature yields ;
Far nobler ! give the riches they enjoy ;
Give taft to Fruits ; and harmony to Groves ;
Their radiant beams to Gold, and Gold's bright Sire;
Take in, at once, the Landscape of the world,
At a small Inlet, which a Grain might close,
And half. create the wond'rous World, they see.
Our Senses, and our Reafon, are Divine.
But for the magic Organ's pow'rful charm,
Earth were a rude, uncolour'd Chaos still.
Objets are but th’Occafion ; Ours th' Exploit ;
Ours is the Cloth, the Pencil, and the Paint,
Which Nature's admirable Pictures draws ;
And beautifies Creation's ample Dome.
Like Milton's Eve, when gazing on the Lake,
Man makes the matchless Image, man admires.
Say then, shall man, his Thoughts all sent abroad,
Superior wonders in Himself forgot,
His Admiration wast on objects round,
When Heav'n makes Him the soul of all he fees
Absurd ! not Rare ! so Great, so Mean, is man.
What Wealth in Senses such as These? what Wealth
In Fancy, fir'd to form a fairer scene
Than Senfe furveys ? In Mem'rg's firm Record,
Which, should it perish, could this world recall,
From the dark shadows of o'erwhelming Years?
In colours fresh, originally bright
Preserve its Portrait, and report its Fate ?
What Wealth in Intellect, that fov'reign Pow'r !
Which Sense, and Fancy, fummons to the bar;
Interrogates, approves, or reprehends ;
And from the Mass those Underlings import,
From their Materials fifted, and refind,
And in Truth's ballance accurately weigh'd,
Forms Art, and Science, Government, and Law;
The solid Bafis, and the beauteous Frame,
The Vitals, and the Grace of Civil life?
And Manners (sad Exception !) fet aside,
Strikes out, with master-hand, a Copy fair
Of His Idea, whose indulgent Thought
Long, long, e'er Chaos teem'd, pland human Bliss,
What Wealth in fouls that foar, dive, range around,
Disdaining limit, or from Place, or Time,
And hear at once, in thought extensive, hear
Th' Almighty Fiat, and the Trumpet's found ?
Bold, on Creation's Outside walk, and view
What was, and is, and more than e'er shall be ;
Commanding, with omnipotence of Thought,
Creations new, in Fancy's field to rise ?
Souls, that can grasp whate'er th' Almighty made,
And wander wild, through Things impossible !
What Wealth, in: Faculties of endlefs growth,
In quenchless Paffions violent to crave,
In Liberty to chufe, in Pow'r to reach,
And in Duration (how thy Riches rise !)
Daration to perpetuate--boundlefs Bliss?
Ak you, what Pow'r refides in feeble Man
That Bliss to gain ? Is Virtue's, then, unknown?
Virtue, our present Peace, our future Prize.
Man's unprecarious, natural Estate,
Improveable at will, in Virtue, lies;
Its Tenure sure ; its Income is Divine.
High-built Abundance, heap on heap! for what!
To breed new wants, and beggar us the more ;
Then, make a richer Scramble for the Throng ;
Soon as this feeble Pulse, which leaps so long
Almost by Miracle, is tir'd with play,
Like Rubbish, from disploding Engines thrown,
Our Magazines of hoarded Trifles fly;
Fly diverse; fly to Foreigners, to Foes;
New masters court, and call the former Fool ;
(How juftly ?) for dependence on their Stay.
Wide scatter, first, our Play-things, then, our Duft.
Doft court Abundance for the sake of Peace?
Learn, and lament, thy self-defeated Scheme:
Riches enable to be richer still ;
And, Richer fill, what Mortal can resist!
Thus Wealth, (a cruel Talk-master!) enjoins
New toils, fucceeding toils, an endless Train!
And murders Peace, which taught it first to shine.
The Poor are half as wretched, as the Rich;
Whofe proud, and painful Privilege it is,
At once, to bear a double load of Woe;
To feel the stings of envy, and of want,
Outrageous want ! both Indies cannot cure.
A Competence is vital to Content.
Much wealth is Corpulence, if not Disease;
Sick, or encumber'd, is our Happiness.
A Competence is all we can enjoy.
O be content, where Heav'n can give no more!
More, like a Flash of water from a Lock,
Quickens our fpirit's movement for an Hour,
But soon its force is spent, nor rise our Joys,
Above our native Temper's common stream.
Hence Disappointment lurks in ev'ry prize,
As Bees in flow'rs; and stings us with Success.
The Rich man, who denies it, proudly feigns ;
Nor knows the Wife are privy to the Lie.
Much Learning shews how Little mortals know ;
Much Wealth, how little worldlings can enjoy:
At belt, it babys us with endlefs Toys,
And keeps us Children till we drop to Duft.
As Monkies at a mirror stand amaz’d,
They fail to find, what they so plainly see ;
Thus Men, in shining Riches, see the Face
Of Happiness, nor know it is a Shade;
But gaze, and touch, and peep, and peep again,
And with, and wonder it is absent still.
How Few can rescue Opulence from want?
Who lives to Nature, rarely can be Poor!
Who lives to Fancy, never can be Rich.
Poor is the man in Debt; the man of Gold
In debt to Fortune, trembles at her Pow'r.
The man of Reafon smiles at Her, and Death.
O what a Patrimony, This ! A Being
Of such inherent Strength and Majesty,
Not Worlds pofseft can raise it; Worlds destroy'd
Can't injure; which holds on its glorious course,
When thine, O Nature! ends; Too blest to mourn
Creation's Obsequies. What Treasure, This!
The Monarch is a Beggar to the Man,
Immortal! Ages pait, yet nothing gone !
Morn without Eve! A Race without a Goal /
Unhorten'd by progreffion Infinite !
Futurity for ever future! Life
Beginning still, where Computation ends !
Tis the Description of a Deity!
"Tis the Description of the meanest Slave:
The meanest Slave, dares then, Lorenzo, scorn?
The meaneft Slave thy fou'reign Glory shares.
Proud Youth ! fastidious of the lower world!
Man's lawful Pride includes Humility,
Stoops to the lowest ; is too great to find
Inferiors; all Immortal! Brothers all !
Proprietors Eternal of thy Love.
Immortal! What can strike the sense fo strong,
As this the foul? it Thunders to the Thought;
Reafon amazes; Gratitude o'erwhelms;
No more we flumber on the Brink of Fate ;
Rous'd, at the found, th' exulting Soul ascends,
And breaths her native Air ; an Air that feeds
Ambitions high, and fans Ethereal fires ;
Quick-kindles All that is Divine within us;
Nor leaves one loit'ring thought beneath the Stars.
Has not Lorenzo's bosom caught the Flame ?
Immortal! Was but One Immortal, how
Would Others envy? How would Thrones adore ?
Because 'tis common, is the Blessing loft!'
How this ties up the bounteous hand of Heav'n!
vain, vain, vain! all else: Eternity!
A glorious, and a needful Refuge, that
From vile Imprisonment in abject views.
'Tis Immortality, 'tis that alone,
Amid life's pains, abasements, emptiness,
The foul can comfort, elevate, and fill.
That only, and that amply, This performs ;
Lifts us above life's Pains, her Joys above;
Their Terror those ; and these their Luftre lose;
Eternity depending covers all;
Eternity depending all atchieves;
Sets Earth at distance, casts her into shades;
Blends her Distinctions; abrogates her Pow'rs;
The Low, the Lofty, Joyous, and Severe,
Fortune's dread Frowns, and fascinating Smiles,
Make one promiscuous, and neglected Heap,
The man beneath; if I may call him Man,
Whom Immortality's full Force inspires.
Nothing Terrestrial touches his high Thought;
Suns shine unseen, and Thunders roll unheard,
By minds quite conscious of their high Defcent,