It ferves ourselves, our Species, and our God;
And to ferve more, is past the Sphere of Man:
Glide, then, for ever, Pleasure's Sacred Stream!
Through Eden as Euphrates ran, It runs,
And fofters ev'ry Growth of Happy Life;
Makes a new Eden where it flows;-but fuch
As must be loft, LORENZO! by thy Fall.
"WHAT mean I by thy Fall?"-Thou'lt fhortly fee, While Pleasure's Nature is at large display'd; Already fung her Origin, and Ends:
Thofe glorious Ends, by Kind, or by Degree,
When Pleasure violates, 'tis then a Vice,
And Vengeance too; it haftens into Pain:
From due Refreshment, Life, Health, Reafon, Joy;
From wild Excess, Pain, Grief, Distraction, Death;
Heav'n's Juftice this proclaims, and that her Love?
What greater Evil can I wish my Foe,
Than his full Draught of Pleasure, from a Cask
Unbroach'd by just Authority, ungaug'd
By Temperance, by Reafon unrefin'd?
A thousand Dæmons 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.
DosT think thyfelf a God from other Joys?
A Victim rather! fhortly fure to bleed :
The Wrong muft mourn; Can Heav'n's Appointments
fail?
Can Man outwit Omnipotence? ftrike 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 rife.
Heav'n bid the Soul this mortal Frame inspire;
Bid Virtue's Ray divine inspire 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 digest;
They smile at Piety, yet boaft 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.
Confcience, her firft Law broken, wounded lies;
Enfeebled, Lifelefs, Impotent to Good:
A feign'd Affection bounds her utmost Pow'r :
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 Kindeft 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 Heav'n :
Feels not the Tumults and the Shocks of Life
The Whirls of Paffion, and the Strokes of Heart,
A Deity believ'd, is Joy begun ;
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:
Praise, the sweet 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 Instant 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 hadst 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 fhe her Seraglio, full of Charms; And fuch as Age shall Heighten, not Impair. Art thou dejected? Is thy Mind o'ercast ? Amid her Fair Ones, thou the Faireft chufe,
Thy Gloom to chace.-"Go, fix fome weighty Truth;
"Chain down fome Paffion; do fome gen'rous Good;
"Teach Ignorance to fee; or Grief to fmile;
"Correct thy Friend; befriend thy greatest Foe;
"Or, with warm Heart, and Confidence divine,
"Spring up, and lay ftrong Hold on Him who made
"Thee 29
Thy Gloom is scatter'd, sprightly Spirits flow;
Tho' wither'd is thy Vine, and Harp unftrung.
DOST 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 feems fevere),
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 effuse;
Of Grief as impotent, portentous Sign!
The House of Laughter makes a House of Woe:
A Man triumphant is a Monstrous Sight;
A Man dejected is a Sight as Mean;
What Cause for Triumph, where fuch Ills abound?
What for Dejection, where prefides a Pow'r,
Who call'd us into Being to be Bleft?
So grieve, as conscious Grief may rise to Joys
So joy, as confcious Joy to Grief may fall:
Most true, a wife Man never will be fad;
But neither will sonorous, bubbling Mirth,
A fhallow Stream of Happiness betray;
Too Happy to be Sportive, He's Serene.
YET wouldst thou laugh (but at thy own Expence),
This Counsel strange should I presume to give-
"Retire, and read thy Bible, to be Gay."
There Truths abound of sov'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 mistake thee for a Fool;-
What Man of Tafte for Genius, Wisdom, Truth,
Tho' tender of thy Fame, could interpose ?
Believe me, Sense, here, acts a double Part,
And the true Critic is a Chriftian too.
BUT These, thou think'ft, 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 Sells all Pleasure; Effort is the Price; The Joys of Conquest, are the Joys of Man; And Glory the victorious Laurel fpreads, O'er Pleasure's pure, perpetual, placid Stream. THERE is a Time, when Toil must be preferr'd, Or Joy, by mis-tim'd Fondness, is undone. A Man of Pleasure is a Man of Pains. Thou wilt not take the Trouble to be Bleft.
Falfe Joys, indeed, are born from Want of Thought
From Thought's full Bent, and Energy, the True;
And that demands a Mind in equal Poize,
Remote from gloomy Grief, and glaring Joy;
Much Joy not only speaks Small Happiness,
But Happiness, that shortly must expire:
Can Joy, unbottom'd in Reflection, stand?
And, in a Tempeft, can Reflection live?
Can Joy, like Thine, secure itself an Hour?
Can Joy, like Thine, meet Accident unshock'd!
the Door to honeft Poverty?
Or talk with threat'ning Death, and not turn pale?
In fuch a World, and fuch a Nature, Thefe
Are needful Fundamentals of Delight:
These Fundamentals give Delight indeed ;
Delight, pure, delicate, and durable ;
Delight, unshaken, mafculine, divine;
A conftant, and a found, but serious Joy.
Is Joy the Daughter of Severity ?
It is :-Yet far my Doctrine from Severe :
Rejoice for ever;" It becomes a Man;
Exalts, and fets him nearer to the Gods;
Rejoice for ever," Nature cries, Rejoice;"
And drinks to Man, in her nectareous Cup,
Mixt up of Delicates for ev'ry Sense;
To the great Founder of the bounteous Feaft,
Drinks Glory, Gratitude, eternal Praise;
And he that will not pledge her, is a Churl.
Ill firmly to fupport, Good fully tafte,
Is the whole Science of Felicity;
Yet Sparing pledge; Her Bowl is not the Beft
Mankind can boast:-" A rational Repast;
"Exertion, Vigilance, a Mind in Arms,
"A military Difcipline of Thought,
"To foil Temptation in the doubtful Field
"And ever-waking Ardor for the Right”—
L
|