Scarce now possess'd, so suddenly 'tis gone;
And each swift moment fled, is death advanc'd
By strides as swift: Eternity is All;

And whose Eternity? Who triumphs there?
Bathing forever in the font of bliss!
Forever basking in the Deity!

LORENZO who?-Thy conscience shall reply.

O give it leave to speak; 'twill speak ere long,
Thy leave unaskt: LORENZO! hear it now,
While useful its advice, its accent mild.
By the great edict, the divine decree,
Truth is deposited with man's last hour;
An honest hour, and faithful to her trust;
Truth, eldest daughter of the Deity;

Truth, of his council, when he made the worlds;
Nor less, when he shall judge the worlds he made;
Though silent long, and sleeping ne'er so sound,
Smother'd with errors, and opprest with toys,
That heav'n commission'd hour no sooner calls,
But from her cavern in the soul's abyss,
Like him they fable under Ætna whelin'd,
The goddess bursts in thunder, and in flame;
Loudly convinces, and severely pains.
Dark demons I discharge, and Hydra-stings;
The keen vibration of bright truth is Hell:
Just definition! though by schools untaught.
Ye deaf to truth! Peruse this Parson'd page,
And trust, for once, a prophet, and a priest;
"Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.»

NIGHT THE FIFT H.

THE

RELAPSE.

LORENZO! to recriminate is just.
Fondness for fame is avarice of air.

I grant the man is vain who writes for praise.
Praise no man e'er deserv'd, who sought no more.
As just thy second charge. I grant the muse
Has often blusht at her degen'rate sons,
Retain'd by sense to plead her filthy cause;
To raise the low, to magnify the mean,
And subtilize the gross into refin'd:
As if to magic numbers' powerful charm
'Twas given, to make a civet of their song
Obscene, and sweeten ordure to perfume.
Wit, a true pagan, deifies the brute,
And lifts our swine-enjoyments from the mire.
The fact notorious, nor obscure the cause.
We wear the chains of pleasure, and of pride.
These share the man; and these distract him too;
Draw diff'rent ways, and clash in their commands.
Pride, like an eagle, builds among the stars;
But pleasure, lark-like, nests upon the ground.
Joys shar'd by brute-creation, pride resents;
Pleasure embraces: Man would both enjoy,
And both at once: A point so hard how gain!
But, what can't wit, when stung by strong desire ?