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Said it was hers to point his dart,
And fpced its paffage to the heart;
While on the god's inferior hand
Fancy and Wealth obtain'd their stand.
And now the hallow'd rites proceed,
And now a thousand heart-ftrings bleed.
I law a blooming, trembling bride,
A toothlets lover join'd her fide;
Averie the turn'd her weeping face,
And fhudder'd at the cold embrace.
But various baits their force impart;
Thus titles lie at Celia's heart.
A paífion much too foul to name,
Cats fupercilious prudes their fame:
Prodes wed to publicans and finners;
The hungry poet weds for dinners.
The god with frown indignant view'd
The rabble covetous or lewd;
By every vice his altar ftain'd,
Bev'ry fool his rites prophan'd:
When Love complain'd of Wealth aloud,
Affirming Wealth debauch'd the crowd;
Drew up in form his heavy charge,
Defiring to be heard at large.

The god contents, the throng divide,
The
young efpous'd the plaintiff's fide;
The old declar'd for the defendant,
For age is money's fworn attendant.
Love faid, that wedlock was defign'd
By gracious Heaven to match the mind;
To pair the tender and the juft,
And his the delegated trust :
That Wealth had play'd a knavifh part,
And taught the tongue to wrong the heart.
But what avails the faithlefs voice?
The injur'd heart difdains the choice.

Wealth ftraight replied, that Love was blind,
And talk'd at random of the mind:
That killing eyes, and bleeding hearts,
And all thrtillery of darts,
Were long ago exploded fancies,
And laugh'd at even in romances.
Pets indeed ftyle love a treat,
Perhaps for want of better meat:
And love might be delicious fare,
Could we, like pocts, live on air.
But grant that angels feaft on love
(Thofe purer effences above),
Yet Albion's fons, he understood,
Preferr'd a more fubftantial food.
Thus while with gibes he drefs'd his caufe,
His
grey adınirers hemm'd applause.
With feeming conqueft pert and proud,
Wealth fhook his fides, and chuckled loud;
When Fortune, to restrain his pride,
And fond to favour Love befide,
Op'ning the mifer's tape-tied veft,
Difclos d the cares which stung his breast:
Wealth food abafh'd at his difgrace,
And a deep crimfon fluth'd his face.

Love fwectly fimper'd at the fight;
His gay adherents laugh'd outright.
The god, tho' grave his temper, fmil'd;
1or Hymen dearly priz'd the child.

But he who triumphs o'er his brother,
In turn is laugh'd at by another.
Such cruel fcores we often find
Repaid the criminal in kind:
For Poverty, that famith'd fiend!
Ambitious of a wealthy friend,
Advanc'd into the mifer's place,
And ftar'd the stripling in the face;
Whofe lips grew pale, and cold as clay:
I thought the chit would fwoon away.
The god was ftudious to employ
His cares to aid the vanquifh'd boy;
And therefore iffued his decree,
That the two parties ftraight agree:
When both obey'd the god's commands,
And Love and Riches join'd their hands.
What wondrous change in each was wrought,
Believe me, fair, furpafles thought.

If Love had many charms before,
He now had charms ten thousand more:
If Wealth had ferpents in his breast,
They now were dead, or lull'd to rest.
Beauty, that vain, affected thing,
Who join'd the hymeneal ring,
Approach'd, with round unthinking face;
And thus the trifler ftates her cafe:

She faid that Love's complaints, 'twas known,
Exactly tallied with her own;

That Wealth had learn'd the felon's arts,
And robb'd her of a thousand hearts;
Defiring judgment againft Wealth,
For falichood, perjury, and stealth:
All which the could on oath depose;
And hop'd the court would flit his nofe.

But Hymen, when he heard her name,
Call'd her an interloping dame;
Look'd through the crowd with angry state,
And blam'd the porter at the gate
For giving entrance to the fair,
When he was no effential there.

To fink this haughty tyrant's pride,
He order'd Fancy to prefide,
Hence, when debates on beauty rise,
And each bright fair difputes the prize,
To Fancy's court we ftraight apply,
And wait the fentence of her eye;
In Beauty's realms the holds the feals,
And her awards preclude appeals.

§ 120. Vifion VIII. Life.
LET not the young my precepts fhun;
Who flight good counfels are undone.
Your poet fung of love's delights,
Of halcyon days and joyous nights;
To the gay fancy lovely themes;

And fain I'd hope they're more than dreams.
But, if you pleafe, before we part,
I'd fpeak a language to your heart.
We'll talk of Life, tho' much I fear
Th'ungrateful tale will wound your car.
You raife your fanguine thoughts too high,
And hardly know the reafon why:
But fay, Life's tree bears golden fruit,
Some canker thall correde the root;

Some

Some unexpected form shall rife, Or fcorching funs, or chilling skies; And (if experienc'd truths avail)

All

your autumnal hopes shall fail.

But, poet, whence fuch wide extremes? Well may you ftyle your labours dreams. A fon of forrow thou, I ween,

• Whose Visions are the brats of Spleen.
Is blifs a vague, unmeaning name?
Speak then the paffions ufe or aim:
Why rage defires without controul,
And roufe fuch whirlwinds in the foul?
Why Hope erects her tow'ring crest,
And laughs and riots in the breast?
Think not my weaker brain turns round;
Think not I tread on fairy ground;
Think not your pulfe alone beats true-
Mine makes as healthful mufic too.
Our joys, when Life's foft fpring we trace,
• Put forth their early buds apace.

See the bloom loads the tender shoot;
· The bloom conceals the future fruit.
Yes, manhood's warm meridian fun
• Shall ripen what in fpring begun.
Thus infant rofes, ere they blow,
In germinating clusters grow;
And only wait the fummer's ray,
To burft, and bloffom to the day.'
What faid the gay unthinking boy?
Methought Hilario talk'd of joy!
Tell, if thou canft, whence joys arise,
Or what thofe mighty joys you prize.
You'll find (and truft fuperior years)
The vale of life a vale of tears.
Could wisdom teach where joys abound,
Or riches purchafe them when found,
Would fcepter'd Solomon complain
That all was fleeting, falfe, and vain ?
Yet fccpter'd Solomon could fay,
Returning clouds obfcur'd his day.
Thofe maxims, which the preacher drew,
The royal fage experienc'd true.
He knew the various ills that wait
Our infant and meridian state;
That toys our earlieft thoughts engage,
And diffrent toys maturer age;
That grief at ev'ry stage appears,
But diffrent griefs at diffrent years;
That vanity is feen, in part,
Infcrib'd on ev'ry human heart;
In the child's breast the spark began,
Grows with his growth, and glares in man.
But when in life we journey late,
If follies die, do griefs abate?
Ah! what is life at fourfcore years?

[tears!

One dark, rough road, of fighs, groans, pains, and
Perhaps you'll think I act the fame
As a fly fharper plays his game:
You triumph ev'ry deal that's paft,
He's fure to triumph at the last !

Who often wins fome thousands more
Than twice the fums you won before,
But I'm a lofer with the reft;
For life is all a deal at best,

Where not the prize of wealth or fame
Repays the trouble of the game-
(A truth no winner e'er denied,
An hour before that winner died).
Not that with me thefe prizes fhine;
For neither fame nor wealth are mine.
My cards, a weak plebeian band,
With scarce an honour in my hand!
And, fince my trumps are very few,
What have I more to boast than you?
Nor am I gainer by your fall;
That harlot, Fortune, bubbles all!
'Tis truth (receive it ill or well),
'Tis melancholy truth I tell.
Why should the preacher take your pence,
And fmother truth to flatter fenfe?
I'm fure phyficians have no merit,
Who kill thro' lenity of spirit.

That life's a game, divines confefs;
This fays at cards, and that at chefs:
But, if our views be center'd here,
'Tis all a lofing game, I fear.

Sailors, you know, when wars obtain,
And hoftile veffels crowd the main,
If they difcover from afar

A bark as diftant as a star,
Hold the perspective to their eyes,
To learn its colours, strength, and fize;
And, when this fecret once they know,
Make ready to receive the foe.
Let you and I from failors learn
Important truths of like concern.

I clos'd the day, as custom led,
With reading, till the time of bed;
Where Fancy, at the midnight hour,
Again difplay'd her magic pow'r-
(For know that Fancy, like a fprite,
Prefers the filent fcenes of night).
She lodg'd me in a neighb'ring wood,
No matter where the thicket food;
The Genius of the place was nigh,
And held two pictures to my eye.
The curious painter had portray'd
Life in each just and genuine shade.
They, who have only known its dawn,
May think thefe lines too deeply drawn;
But riper years, I fear, will thew
The wifer artifts paint too true.

One piece presents a rueful wild,
Where not a fummer's fun had fmil'd:
The road with thorns is cover'd wide,
And grief fits weeping by the fide;
Her tears with conftant tenor flow,
And form a mournful lake below;
Whofe filent waters, dark and deep,
Thro' all the gloomy valley creep.

Paffions that flatter, or that flay,
Are beafts that fawn, or birds that prey.
Here Vice affumes the ferpent's fhape;
There Folly perfonates the ape:
Here Av'rice gripes with harpy's claws;
There Malice grins with tiger's jaws :
While fons of Mifchief, Art and Guile
Arc alligators of the Nile.

E'en

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E'en Pleasure acts a treach'rous part;
She charms the fenfe, but ftings the heart:
And when the gulls us of our wealth,
Or that fuperior pearl, our health,
Reftores us nought but pains and woe,
And drowns us in the lake below.

There a commiffion'd angel ftands,
With defolation in his hands!
He fends the all-devouring flame,
And cities hardly boaft a name :
Or wings the peftilential blast,

And, lo! ten thousands breathe their laft.
He fpeaks-obedient tempests roar,
And guilty nations are no more:
He speaks the fury Discord raves,
And fweeps whole armies to their graves :
Or Famine lifts her mildew'd hand,
And Hunger howls thro' all the land.

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Oh what a wretch is man!' I cried; 'Expos'd to death on ev'ry side! 'And fure as born to be undone

By evils which he cannot fhun!

Befides a thoufand baits to fin,

A thousand traitors lodg'd within!
For foon as Vice affaults the heart,
The rebels take the demon's part.'
I figh, my aching bofom bleeds;
When ftraight the milder plan fucceeds.
The lake of tears, the dreary fhore,
The fame as in the piece before:
But gleams of light are here difplay'd
To cheer the eye, and gild the fhade;
Affliction fpeaks a fofter ftyle,
And Difappointment wears a smile:
A group of virtues bloffom near;
Their roots improve by ev'ry tear.
Here Patience, gentle maid is nigh,
To calm the ftorm, and wipe the eye:
Hope acts the kind phyfician's part,
And warms the folitary heart:
Religion nobler comfort brings,
Difarms our griefs, or blunts their stings;
Points out the balance on the whole,
And Heaven rewards the ftruggling foul.
But while these raptures I pursue,
The Genius fuddenly withdrew.

§ 121. Vifion the laft. Death.
'TIS thought my vifions are too grave*;
A proof I'm no defigning knave.
Perhaps, if int'reft held the fcales,
I had devis'd quite diff'rent tales;
Had join'd the laughing, low buffoon,
And fcribbled fatire and lampoon;
Or stirr'd each fource of soft desire,
And fann'd the coals of wanton fire:
Then had my paltry Vifions fold;
Yes, all my dreams had turn'd to gold;
Had prov'd the darlings of the town,
And I-a poet of renown!

Let not my awful theme furprise;
Let no unmanly fears arise.

I wear no melancholy hue;
No wreaths of cyprets, or of yew.
The fhroud, the coffin, pall, or hearfe,
Shall ne'er deform my fofter versc.
Let me confign the fun'ral plume,
The herald's paint, the sculptur'd tomb,
And all the folemn farce of graves,
To undertakers and their flaves.

You know that moral writers fay,
The world's a stage, and life a play;
That in this drama to fucceed,
Requires much thought and toil indeed!
There ftill remains one labour more,
Perhaps a greater than before.
Indulge the fearch, and you shall find
The harder task is ftill behind:
That harder task, to quit the ftage
In early youth, or riper age;
To leave the company and place
With firmnefs, dignity, and grace.

Come, then, the clofing fcenes furveys
'Tis the last act which crowns the play. -
Do well this grand decifive part,
And gain the plaudit of your heart.
Few greatly live in Wifdom's eye--
But, oh! how few who greatly die!
Who, when their days approach an end,
Can meet the foe as friend meets friend.
Inftructive heroes! tell us whence
Your noble fcorn of flesh and fenfe!
You part from all we prize fo dear,
Nor drop one foft, reluctant tear :
Part from those tender joys of life,
The friend, the parent, child, and wife.
Death's black and stormy gulph you brave,
And ride exulting on the wave;
Deem thrones but trifles all !-no more-
Nor fend one withful look to fhore.

For foreign ports, and lands unknown,
Thus the firm failor leaves his own;
Obedient to the rifing gale,

Unmoors his bark, and spreads his fail;
Defies the ocean and the wind,
Nor mourns the joys he left behind.

Is Death a pow'rful monarch? True:
Perhaps you dread the tyrant too!
Fear, like a fog, precludes the light,
Or fwells the object to the fight.
Attend my vifionary page,
And I'll difarm the tyrant's rage.
Come, let this ghaftly form appear;
He's not fo terrible when near.
Diftance deludes th' unwary eye;
So clouds feem monfters in the sky
Hold frequent converfe with him now,
He'll daily wear a milder brow.
Why is my theme with terror fraught!
Because you fhun the frequent thought.
Say, when the captive pard is nigh,
Whence thy pale cheek and frighted eye?
Say, why difinay'd thy manly breast,
When the grim lion thakes his creft ?

See the Monthly Review of New Books, for February, 1751.

Becaufe

Because these favage fights are new;
No keeper fhudders at the view:
Keepers, accuftom'd to the fcene,
Approach the dens with look fercne!
Fearless their grisly charge explore,
And fmile to hear the tyrants roar.
Aye-but to die! to bid adicu!
An everlasting farewel too!
Farewel to ev'ry joy around!

Oh, the heart fickens at the found!'
Stay, ftripling-thou art poorly taught:
Joy, didft thou fay difcard the thought.
Joys are a rich celestial fruit,
And fcorn a fublunary root:
What wears the face of joy below,
Is often found but fplendid woe.
Joys here, like unsubstantial fame,
Are nothings with a pompous name;
Or elfe, like comets in the fphere,
Shine with deftruction in their rear.
Paffions, like clouds, obfcure the fight,
Hence mortals feldom judge aright.
The world's a harth unfruitful foil,
Yet ftill we hope, and ftill we toil;
Deceive ourfelves with wondrous art,
And difappointment wrings the heart.

Thus when a mist collects around,
And hovers o'er a barren ground,
The poor deluded trav'ller fpies
Imagin'd trees and structures rife ;
But, when the fhrouded fun is clear,
The defart and the rocks appear.

• Ah-but when youthful blood runs high,
Sure 'tis a dreadful thing to die!
To die! and what exalts the gloom,
I'm told that man furvives the tomb!
O! can the learned prelate find

• What future fcenes await the mind?
Where wings the foul, diflodg'd from clay?
Some courteous angel point the way!
• That unknown fomewhere in the kies,
Say, where that unknown fomewhere lies;
And kindly prove, when life is o'er,
That pains and forrows are no more:
For, doubtlefs, dying is a curse,
If prefent ills be chang'd for worse.'
Huth, my young friend, forego the theme,
And liften to your poet's dream.

Ere while I took an ev`ning walk,
Honorio join'd in focial talk.
Along the lawns the zephyrs fweep;
Each ruder wind was lull'd afleep.
The fky, all beauteous to behold,

Was ftreak'd with azure, green, and gold;
But, tho' ferenely foft and fair,
Fever hung brooding in the air;
Then fettled on Honorio's breaft,
Which thudder'd at the fatal gueft.
No drugs the kindly with fulfil;
Difcafe eludes the doctor's fkill:
The poifon, fpread thro' all the frame,
Ferments, and kindles into flame.
From fide to fide Honorio turns,
And now with thirft infatiate burns:

His eyes refign their wonted grace,
Thofe friendly lamps expire apace!
The brain's an ufclefs organ grown;
And reafon tumbled from his throne.
But, while the purple furges glow,
The currents thicken as they flow:
The blood in ev'ry diftant part
Stagnates, and difappoints the heart;
Defrauded of its crimson ftore,
The vital engine plays no more.

Honorio dead, the fun'ral bell
Call'd ev'ry friend to bid farewel.
I join'd the melancholy bier,

And dropp'd the unavailing tear.

The clock ftruck twelve-when nature fought
Repofe from all the pangs of thought;
And, while my limbs were funk to reft,
A Vifion footh'd my troubled breast.

I dream'd the spectre, Death, appear'd!
I dream'd his hollow voice I heard!
Methought th' imperial tyrant wore
A ftate no prince affum'd before;
All nature fetch'd a gen'ral groan,
And lay expiring round his throne.

I gaz'd-when ftraight arofe to fight
The most detefted fiend of night.
He fhuffled with unequal pace,
And confcious thame deform'd his face.
With jealous leer he fquinted round,
Or fix'd his eyes upon the ground.
From hell this frightful monfter came
Sin was his fire, and Guilt his name.

This fury, with officious care,
Waited around the fov'reign's chair;
In robes of terror drefs'd the king,
And arm'd him with a baneful fting;
Gave fiercenefs to the tyrant's eye,
And hung the fword upon his thigh.
Difcafes next, a hideous crowd!
Proclaim'd their mafter's empire loud;
And all, obedient to his will,
Flew in commiffion'd troops to kill.

A rifing whirlwind thakes the poles,
And lightning glares, and thunder rolls,
The monarch and his train prepare
To range the foul tempeftuous air.
Straight to his fhoulders he applies
Two pinions of enormous fize!
Methought I faw the ghaftly form
Stretch his black wings, and mount the ftorm:
When Fancy's airy horfe I ftrode,

And join'd the army on the road.

As the grim conqu'ror urg'd his way,

He fcatter'd terror and difmay.

Thousands a pentive afpect wore,
Thoufands who facer'd at death before.
Life's records rife on ev'ry fide,

And Confcience spreads thofe volumes wide;
Which faithful regifters were brought
By pale-eyed Fear and bufy Thought.
Thote faults which artful men conceal,
Stand here engrav'd with pen of steel,
By Confcience, that impartial scribe!
Whofe honeft palm difdains a bribe:

Their actions all like critics view,
And all like faithful critics 100.
As Guilt had ftain'd life's various stage,
What tears of blood bedew'd the page!
All fhudder'd at the black account,
And fearce believ'd the vast amount!
All vow'd a fudden change of heart,
Would death relent, and theath his da.
But, when the awful foe withdrew,
All to their follies filed anew.

So when a wolf, who fcours at large,
Springs on the thepherd's fleecy charge,
The dock in wild diforder fly,
And caft behind a frequent cyc;
But, when the victim's borne away,
They rush to pafture and to play.

Indulge my dream, and let my pen
Paint thofe unmeaning creatures, men.
Carus, with pain and fick nefs worn,
Chides the flow night, and fighs for morn.
Soon as he views the eastern ray,
He meurns the quick return of day;
Hourly laments protracted breath,
And courts the healing hand of death.
Verres, opprefs'd with guilt and fhame,
Shipwreck'd in fortune, health, and fame,
Pines for his dark fepulchral bed,
To mingle with th' unheeded dead.
With fourfcore years grey Natho bends,
A burden to himself and friends!
And with impatience feems to wait
The friendly hand of ling'ring Fate.
So hirelings with their labour done,
And often eye the western fun.

The monarch hears their various grief;
Defcends, and brings the wifh'd relief.
On Death with wild furprife they star'd;
All feem'd averfe! all unprepar'd!

As torrents fweep with rapid force,

The grave's pale chief purfued his course.
No human pow'r can or withstand,
Or fhun, the conquefts of his hand.
Ch could the prince of upright mind,
And as a guardian angel kind,
With ev'ry heart-felt worth befide,
Turn the keen fhaft of Death afide,
When would the brave Auguftus join
The athes of his facred line?
But death maintains no partial war;
He mocks a fultan or a czar:
He lays his iron hand on all-

Yes, kings, and fons of kings, muft fall!
A truth Britannia lately felt,
And trembled to her centre-

Could ableft ftatefinen ward the blow,
Would Grenville own this common foe?
For

greater talents ne'er were known

To grace the fav'rite of a throne.

Could genius fave-wit, learning, fire

Tell me, would Chefterfield expire?

Say, would his glorious fun decline,
And fer like your pale ftar or mine?
Could ev'ry virtue of the fky-
Would Herring †, Butler, Secker, die ?
Why this addrefs to poerage all?
Untitled Allen's virtues cali!
If Allen's worth demands a place,
Lords, with your leave, 'tis no difgrace.
Though high your ranks in heralds rolls,
Know, Virtue too ennobles fouls.
Ey her that private man's renown'd
Who pous a thoufand bleflings round.
While Allen takes Affliction's part,
And draws out all hi, gea'rous heart,
Anxious to reize the ficcting day,
Left unimprov'd it steal away;
While thus he walks, with jealous ftrife,
Through goodness, as he walks through life;
Shall not I mark his radiant path-
Rife, Mufe, and fing the Man of Bath!
Publifh abroad, could goodnefs fave,
Allen would difappoint the grave;
Tranflated to the heavenly thore,
Like Enoch, when his walk was o'er.

Nor Beauty's pow'rful pleas reftrain:
Her pleas are trifling, weak, and vain;
For women pierce with thricks the air,
Smite their bare breafts, and rend their hair;
All have a doleful tale to tell,

How friends, fons, daughters, husbands fell 1
Alas! is life our fav'rite theme-
'Tis all a vain or painful dream;
A dream which fools or cowards prize,
But flighted by the brave or wife.
Who lives, for others ills muft groan,
Or bleed for forrows of his own;
Muft journey on with weeping eye,
Then pant, fink, agonize, and die.

6

And fhall a nian arraign the fkies,

Becaufe man lives, and mourns, and dies?"
Impatient reptile!' Reafon cried;

Arraign thy paflion and thy pride:

Retire, and commune with thy heart;

Afk whence thou cam'ft, and what thou art?
Explore thy body and thy mind,
Thy ftation too, why here affign'd.
The fearch fhall teach thee life to prize,
And make thee grateful, good, and wife.
Why do you roam to foreign climes,
To study nations, modes, and times;
A fcience often dearly bought,

• And often what avails you nought?
• Go, man, and act a wifer part,
Study the fcience of your heart:
This home philofophy, you know,
Was priz'd fome thousand years ago §.
Then why abroad a frequent guest?
Why fuch a stranger to your breaft?
Why turn so many volumes o'er,
Till Dodfley can fupply no more?

Referring to the death of his late Royal Highnefs Frederic Prince of Wales.

+ Archbishop of Canterbury.

Late Bishop of Durham.

Bishop of Oxford.

§ * Know thyfelf;' a celebrated faying of Chilo, one of the Seven Wife Men of Greece.

Not

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