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We nothing know, but what is marvellous;
Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe.
So weak our reason, and fo great our GoD,
What moft furprises in the facred page,
Or full as ftrange, or ftranger, must be true.
Faith is not reafon's labour, but repose.

To faith, and virtue, why fo backward, man?
From hence: The prefent ftrongly ftrikes us all;
The future, faintly: Can we, then, be men?
If men, LORENZO ! the reverfe is right.
Reafon is man's peculiar: Senfe, the brute's.
The prefent is the scanty realm of sense;
The future, reason's empire unconfin'd:
On that expending all her godlike power,
She plans, provides, expatiates, triumphs, there;
There, builds her blessings! There, expects her praise;
And nothing afks of fortune, or of men.

And what is reafon ? Be fhe, thus, defin'd;
Reason is upright ftature in the foul.

Oh! be a man ;-and strive to be a god.

"For what? (thou fayft): To damp the joys of life?"

No; to give heart and fubftance to thy joys.

That tyrant, hope; mark, how the domineers;
She bids us quit realities, for dreams;

Safety, and peace, for hazard, and alarm;
That tyrant o'er the tyrants of the foul,
She bids ambition quit its taken prize,
Spurn the luxuriant branch on which it fits,
Tho' bearing crowns, to fpring at diftant game;
And plunge in toils and dangers-for repole.

If hope precarious, and of things, when gain'd,
Of little moment, and as little ftay,

Can fweeten toils and dangers into joys;

What then, that hope, which nothing can defeat,
Our leave unask'd? Rich hope of boundless blifs!
Blifs, paft man's pow'r to paint it; time's to close!
This hope is earth's most estimable prize :
This is man's portion, while no more than man:
Hope, of all paffions, moft befriends us here;
Paffions of prouder name befriend us lefs.
Joy has her tears; and transport has her death;
Hope, like a cordial, innocent, tho' strong,
Man's heart, at once, infpirits, and ferenes;
Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys;
Tis All, our prefent state can safely bear,
Health to the frame! and vigour to the mind!
A joy attemper'd! a chaftis'd delight!
Like the fair fummer ev'ning, mild, and fweet!
'Tis man's full cup; his paradife below!

A bleft hereafter, then, or hop'd, or gain'd,
Is All;-our whole of happiness: Full proof,
I chofe no trivial or inglorious theme.

*

And know, ye foes to fong! (well-meaning men,
Tho' quite forgotten half your Bible's praife!)
Important truths, in fpite of verfe, may please:
Grave minds you praise; nor can you praise too much:
If there is weight in an ETERNITY,

Let the grave listen ;—and be graver

*The poetical parts of it.

ftill.

NIGHT

NIHGT the EIGHTH.

VIRTUE's APOLOGY;

OR,

The MAN of the WORLD Anfwered.

88

NIGHT the EIGHTH.

VIRTUE's APOLOGY;

OR,

The MAN of the WORLD Anfwered.

In which are Confidered,

The LOVE of This LIFE;

The AMBITION and PLEASURE, with the WIT and WISDOM, of the WORLD.

A

ND has all nature, then, efpous'd my part? Have I brib'd heav'n, and earth, to plead against And is thy foul immortal?-What remains? [thee? All, All, LORENZO !-Make immortal, bleft. Unbleft immortals!-What can fhock us more? And yet LORENZO ftill affects the world; There, ftows his treasure; Thence, his title draws, Man of the world! (for fuch wouldst be call'd) And art thou proud of that inglorious style? Proud of reproach? For a reproach it was,

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