The fingle Leffon of Mankind on Earth.

And yet Yet, what? No News! Mankind is mad;
Such mighty Numbers lift against the Right,
(And what can't Numbers, when bewitch'd atchieve!)
They talk themselves to Something like Belief,
That all Earth's Joys are Theirs: As Athens' Fool
Grinn'd from the Port, on ev'ry Sail his Own.

They grin; but wherefore? And how long the Laugh?
Half Ignorance, their Mirth; and Half, a Lye;
To cheat the World, and cheat Themselves, they smile.
Hard either Tafk! The most Abandon'd own,
That Others, if Abandon'd, are undone :
Then, for Themfelves, the Moment Reason wakes,
(And Providence denies it long Repose)

O how laborious is their Gaiety!

They scarce can fwallow their ebullient Spleen,
Scarce mufter Patience to fupport the Farce,
And pump fad Laughter, till the Curtain falls.
Scarce, did I fay? Some cannot fit it out;
Oft their own daring Hands the Curtain draw,
And fhew us what their Joy, by their Despair.

The clotted Hair! gor'd Breaft! blafpheming Eye! Its impious Fury itill alive in Death!

Shut, fhut the fhocking Scene.-But Heav'n denies
A Cover to fuch Guilt; and fo fhould Man.
Look round, LORENZO! fee the reeking Blade,

Th' invenom'd Phial, and the fatal Ball;

The ftrangling Cord, and fuffocating Stream,
The loathfome Rottennefs, and foul Decays
From raging Riot (flower Suicides!);

And Pride in thefe, more execrable still!-
How horrid All to Thought!-But Horrors, these,
That vouch the Truth; and aid my feeble Song.
From Vice, Senfe, Fancy, no Man can be bleft:
Bliss is too great, to lodge within an Hour:
When an Immortal Being aims at Bliss,
Duration is effential to the Name.

O for a Joy from Reafon! Joy from That,
Which makes Man Man; and, exercis'd aright,
Will makes him more: A Bounteous Joy! that gives,
And promises; that weaves, with Art divine,
The richest Prospect into prefent Peace:

A Joy Ambitious! Joy in common held
With Thrones ethereal, and their Greater far:
A Joy high-privileg'd from Chance, Time, Death!
A Joy, which Death shall double! Judgment crown!
Crown'd higher, and ftill higher, at each Stage,
Thro' bleft Eternity's long Day; yet ftill,

Not more remote from Sorrow, than from Him,
Whofe lavish Hand, whofe Love ftupendous, pours
So much of Deity on guilty Duft.

There

There, O my LuCIA; may I meet thee There,
Where not Thy Prefence can improve my Blifs!
Affects not This the Sages of the World?

Can nought affect them, but what fools them too?
Eternity, depending on an Hour,

Makes ferious Thought Man's Wisdom, Joy, and Praise.
Nor need you blush (tho' fometimes your Designs
May fhun the Light) at your Designs on Heaven.
Sole Point! where over-bashful is your Blame.
Are you not Wife?-You know you are: Yet hear
One Truth, amid your num'rous Schemes, mislaid,
Or overlook'd, or thrown afide, if Seen;

"Our Schemes to plan by This World, or the Next,
"Is the fole Diff'rence between Wife, and Fool."
All worthy Men will weigh you in this Scale;
What Wonder, then, if They pronounce you light?
Is their Esteem alone not worth your Care?
Accept my fimple Scheme of Common Sense:

Thus,fave your Fame, and make Two Worlds your Own.
The World replies not ;-but the World perfifts;
And puts the Cause off to the longest Day,
Planning Evasions for the Day of Doom.
So far at that Re-bearing, from Redress,
They then turn Witnesses against Themselves,
Hear That, LORENZO! Nor be wife To morrow,
Hafte, Hafte.! A Man, by Nature, is in Hafte;

For

For who fhall answer for another Hour?

'Tis highly prudent to make One fure Friend,
And That thou canst not do, this Side the Skies.
Ye Sons of Earth! (nor willing to be more!)
Since Verfe you think from Prieftcraft fomewhat free,
Thus, in an Age fo gay, the Mufe plain Truths
(Truths, which, at Church, you might have heard in Profe)
Has ventur❜d into Light; well-pleas'd the Verfe
Should be forgot, if you the Truths retain ;
And crown her with your Welfare, not your Praise.
But Praise the need not fear: I fee my Fate;

And headlong leap, like CURTIUS, down the Gulph,
Since many an ample Volume, mighty Tome,
Muft die; and die Unwept; O Thou minute,
Devoted Page! go forth among thy Foes;
Go, nobly proud of Martyrdom for Truth,
And die a double Death: Mankind, incens'd,
Denies thee long to live: Nor fhalt thou rest,
When thou art dead; in Stygian Shades arraign'd
By LUCIFER, as Traitor to his Throne;
And bold Blafphemer of his Friend,-THE WORLD;
The WORLD, whofe Legions coft him flender Pay,
And Volunteers, around his Banner swarm ;

Prudent as PRUSSIA, in her Zeal for GAUL.
"Are all, then, Fools ?" LORENZO cries.-Yes, All,
But fuch as hold this Doctrine (new to Thee);

"The

"The Mother of true Wisdom is the Will;"
The nobleft Intellect, a Fool without it.

World-Wifdom much has done, and more may do,
In Arts and Sciences, in Wars, and Peace;

But Art and Science, like thy Wealth, will leave thee,
And make thee twice a Beggar at thy Death.

This is this moft Indulgence can afford ;

Thy Wisdom All can do, but-make thee Wife."

Nor think this Cenfure is fevere on Thee;

Satan, thy Mafter, I dare call a Dunce.

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