J

What if thy Rental I reform ? and draw

An Inventory new to fet thee right?

Where, thy true Treasure? Gold says, "not in me,”
And, "not in me, the Diamond. Gold is poor;
India's infolvent: Seek it in Thyself;

Seek in thy naked Self, and find it There.
In Being fo Defcended, Form'd, Endow'd;
Sky-born, fky-guided, sky-returning Race!
Erect, Immortal, Rational, Divine !

In Senfes, 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 fmall Inlet, which a Grain might close,

And half. create the wond'rous World, they fee.
Our Senfes, and our Reafon, are Divine.
But for the magic Organ's pow'rful charm,
Earth were a rude, uncolour'd Chaos ftill.
Objects 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 fent abroad,
Superior wonders in Himself forgot,

His Admiration waft on objects round,

When Heav'n makes Him the foul of all he fees?
Abfurd! not Rare! fo Great, fo Mean, is man.
What Wealth in Senfes fuch as These? what Wealth
In Fancy, fir'd to form a fairer scene

Than Sense surveys? In Mem'ry's firm Record,
Which, should it perish, could this world recall,
From the dark shadows of o'erwhelming Years?

In colours fresh, originally bright

Preferve its Portrait, and report its Fate?

What Wealth in Intellect, that fov'reign Pow'r!
Which Senfe, and Fancy, fummons to the bar;
Interrogates, approves, or reprehends;
And from the Mafs thofe Underlings import,
From their Materials fifted, and refin'd,
And in Truth's ballance accurately weigh'd,
Forms Art, and Science, Government, and Law;
The folid Bafis, and the beauteous Frame,
The Vitals, and the Grace of Civil life?
And Manners (fad Exception!) fet afide,
Strikes out, with mafter-hand, a Copy fair
Of His Idea, whofe indulgent Thought

Long, long, e'er Chaos teem'd, plan'd human Bliss,
What Wealth in fouls that foar, dive, range around,
Difdaining limit, or from Place, or Time,
And hear at once, in thought extenfive, hear
Th' Almighty Fiat, and the Trumpet's found?
Bold, on Creation's Outfide walk, and view
What was, and is, and more than e'er fhall be;
Commanding, with omnipotence of Thought,
Creations new, in Fancy's field to rise?

Souls, that can grafp whate'er th' Almighty made,
And wander wild, through Things impoffible!
What Wealth, in Faculties of endless growth,
In quenchlefs Paffions violent to crave,
In Liberty to chufe, in Pow'r to reach,
And in Duration (how thy Riches rife!)
Duration to perpetuate-boundless Blifs?

Afk you, what Pow'r refides in feeble Man
That Blifs to gain? Is Virtue's, then, unknown?
Virtue, our present Peace, our future Prize.
Man's unprecarious, natural Eftate,
Improveable at will, in Virtue, lies;
Its Tenure fure; 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 Pulfe, which leaps fo long
Almoft by Miracle, is tir'd with play,
Like Rubbish, from difploding Engines thrown,
Our Magazines of hoarded Trifles fly;
Fly diverfe; 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 fake of Peace?
Learn, and lament, thy felf-defeated Scheme:
Riches enable to be richer ftill;

And, Richer fill, what Mortal can resist ?
Thus Wealth, (a cruel Tafk-master!) enjoins
New toils, fucceeding toils, an endless Train!
And murders Peace, which taught it firft to fhine.
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 ftings 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 spirit's movement for an Hour,
But foon its force is fpent, nor rife our Joys,
Above our native Temper's common stream.
Hence Disappointment lurks in ev'ry prize,
As Bees in flow'rs; and ftings us with Success.
The Rich man, who denies it, proudly feigns;
Nor knows the Wife are privy to the Lie.

G 2

Much

Much Learning fhews how Little mortals know ;
Much Wealth, how little worldlings can enjoy:
At beft, 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 fhining 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 abfent ftill.

How Few can refcue 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 fmiles at Her, and Death.
O what a Patrimony, This! A Being
Of fuch inherent Strength and Majesty,

Not Worlds poffeft can raise it; Worlds destroy'd
Can't injure; which holds on its glorious course,
When thine, O Nature! ends; Too bleft to mourn
Creation's Obfequies. 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!
Unfhorten'd by progreffion Infinite!

Futurity for ever future! Life

Beginning ftill, where Computation ends!
Tis the Description of a Deity!

'Tis the Description of the meaneft Slave :
The meaneft Slave, dares then, Lorenzo, fcorn?
The meaneft Slave thy fou'reign Glory fhares.
Proud Youth! faftidious of the lower world!
Man's lawful Pride includes Humility.
Stoops to the loweft; is too great to find
Inferiors; all Immortal! Brothers all!

Proprietors

Proprietors Eternal of thy Love.

Immortal! What can strike the sense so 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 afcends,
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 bofom caught the Flame?
Immortal! Was but One Immortal, how

Would Others envy? How would Thrones adore?
Because 'tis common, is the Bleffing loft ?
How this ties up the bounteous hand of Heav'n!
O vain, vain, vain! all elfe: Eternity!
A glorious, and a needful Refuge, that
From vile Imprisonment in abject views.
'Tis Immortality, 'tis that alone,

Amid life's pains, abafements, 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 lofe;
Eternity depending covers all;

Eternity depending all atchieves ;

Sets Earth at distance, cafts her into fhades
es;
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 infpires.
Nothing Terreftrial touches his high Thought;
Suns fhine unfeen, and Thunders roll unheard,
By minds quite confcious of their high Defcent,