Tell not CALISTA; fhe will laugh thee dead;
Or fend thee to her hermitage with L-.
Abfurd prefumption! Thou who never knew'ft
A ferious thought! fhalt thou dare dream of joy?
No man e'er found a happy life by chance;
Or yawn'd it into being, with a wish;
Or, with the fnout of grov'ling appetite,
E'er fmelt it out, and grubb'd it from the dirt.
An art it is, and must be learnt; and learnt
With unremitting effort, or be loft;
And leaves us perfect blockheads, in our blifs.
The clouds may drop down titles and estates;
Wealth may feek Us; but wisdom must be sought;
Sought before all; but (how unlike all else
We seek on earth!) 'tis never fought in vain.
First, pleasure's birth, rise, strength, and grandeur, fee
Brought forth by wisdom, nurft by discipline,
By patience taught, by perfeverance crown'd,'
She rears her head majestic; round her throne
Erected in the bofom of the just,
Each virtue, lifted, forms her manly guard.
For what are virtues? (Formidable name !)
What, but the fountain, or defence, of joy?
Why, then, commanded? Need mankind commands,
At once to merit, and to make, their blifs ?-
Great Legislator! fcarce fo great, as kind!
If men are rational, and love delight,
Thy gracious law but flatters human choice;
In the tranfgreffion lies the penalty;
And they the most indulge, who most obey.
Of pleasure, next, the final cause explore;
Its mighty purpofe, its important end.
Not to turn human brutal, but to build
Divine on human, pleasure came from heaven.
In aid to reason was the goddess fent;
To call up all its ftrength by fuch a charm.
Pleafure, firft, fuccours virtue; in return,
Virtue gives pleasure an eternal reign.
What, but the pleasure of food, friendship, faith,
Supports life nat`ral, civil, and divine?
"Tis from the pleasure of repaft, we live;
'Tis from the pleasure of applaufe, we please;
'Tis from the pleasure of belief, we pray
(All pray'r would cease, if unbeliev'd the prize) :
It ferves ourselves, our fpecies, and our God;
And to ferve more, is paft the fphere of man.
Glide, then, for ever, pleasure's facred ftream!
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.
Those 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 excefs, pain, grief, distraction, death;
Heav'n's justice this proclaims, and that her love.
M 6
What greater evil can I wish my foe,
Than his full draught of pleasure, from a cask
Unbroach'd by juft authority, ungaug'd
By temperance, by reason unrefin'd?
A thousand dæmons lurk within the fee.
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.
Doft think thyself a god from other joys?
A victim rather! fhortly fure to bleed.
The wrong must mourn: Can heav'n's appointments fail
Can man outwit Omnipotence? ftrike out
A felf-wrought happinefs unmeant by Him
Who made us, and the world we would enjoy ?
Who forms an inftrument, ordains from whence
Its diffonance, or harmony, fhall rise.
Heav'n bid the foul this mortal frame inspire;
Bid virtue's ray divine infpire the foul
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 fource;
Mother of ev'ry worth, as that of joy.
Men of the world this doctrine ill digest;
They Imile at piety; yet boat 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, lifeless, impotent to good;
A feign'd affection bounds her utmost power.
Some we can't love, but for th' Almighty's fake;
A foe to GOD was ne'er true friend to man ;
Some finifter intent taints all he does;
And, in his kindest actions, he's unkind..
On piety, humanity is built;
And, on humanity, much happiness ;:
And yet still more on piety itself.
A foul in commerce with her Gop, is heaven
Feels not the tumults and the shocks of life;
The whirls of paffions, and the ftrokes 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
Praife, the fweet 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 inftant joins
The first in heav'n, and fets his foot on hell.
LORENZO! when waft Thou, at church before?
Thou think'ft the fervice long: But is it juft?
Tho' juft, unwelcome: Thou hadst rather tread.
Unhallow'd ground; the muse, to win thine ear,
Must take an air lefs folemn. She complies.
Good confcience! at the found the world retires;
Verfe difaffects it, and LORENZO fmiles;
Yet has the her feraglio full of charms;
And fuch as age fhall heighten, not impair.
Art thou dejected? Is thy mind o'ercaft?
Amid her fair ones, thou the fairest chuse,
To chase thy gloom." 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 for ;
"Or, with warm heart, and confidence divine,
"Spring up, and lay ftrong hold on Him who made thee."
Thy gloom is fcatter'd, sprightly spirits flow;
Tho' wither'd is thy vine, and harp unftrung.
Doft call the bowl, the viol, and the dance,
Loud mirth, mad laughter? Wretched comforters!
Phyficians! more than half of thy difeafe.
Laughter, tho' never cenfur'd yet as fin,
(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 approaching, the portentous fign!
The house of laughter makes a house of woe.
A man triumphant is a monstrous fight;
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