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"Yet in thy turn, thou frowning preacher, hear "Are not thefe general maxims too fevere ? "Say cannot pow'r fecure its owner blifs? "And is not wealth the potent fire of peace? "Are victors bleft with fame, or kings with eafe?

I tell thee life is but one common care :: And man was born to fuffer and to fear.

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"But is no rank, no ftation, no degree "From this contagious taint of forrow free?"

None, mortal, none: yet in a bolder strain Let me this melancholy truth maintain : But hence, ye wordly, and prophane, retire : For I adapt my voice, and raise my lyre To notions, not by vulgar ear receiv'd: Ye ftill must covet life, and be deceiv'd :Your very fear of death should make ye try To catch the shade of immortality; Wishing on earth to linger, and to fave Part of its prey from the devouring grave; To those who may furvive ye, to bequeath Something entire, in spite of time and death; A fancy'd kind of being to retrieve, And in a book, or from a building live. Falfe hope! vain labour ! let fome ages fly: The dome fhall moulder, and the volume die : Wretches, ftill taught, ftill will ye think it strange, That all the parts of this great fabric change; Quit their old station, and primaeval frame; And lose their shape, their effence, and their name ►

Reduce the fong: our hopes, our joys are vain: Our lot is forrow; and our portion pain.

What paufe from woe, what hopes of comfort bring
The name of wife or great, of judge or king?
What is a king, a man condemn'd to bear
The public burden of the nation's care;
Now crown'd fome angry faction to appease ;-
Now falls a victim to the people's cafe :
From the first blooming of his ill-taught youth,
Nourish'd in flatt'ry, and estrang❜d from truth:
At home furrounded by a fervile croud,
Prompt to abuse, and in detraction loud:
Abroad begirt with men, and fwords, and spears;
His very state acknowledging his fears:
Marching amidst a thousand-guards, he shows
His fecret terror of a thousand foes:
In war however prudent, great, or brave,
To blind events, and fickle chance a slave ::
Seeking to fettle what for ever flies;
Sure of the toil, uncertain of the prize.

But he returns with conqueft on his brow;
Brings up the triumph, and absolves the vow :
The captive gen'rals to his car are ty'd:
The joyful citizens tumultuous tide
Echoing his glory, gratify his pride.

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What is this triumph? madnefs, fhouts and noifes
One great collection of the people's voice.
The wretches he brings back, in chains relate,
What may to-morrow be the victor's fate.
The spoils and trophies barn before him, fhow
National. lofs, and epidemic woe,
Various diftrefs, which he and his may know.

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Does he not mourn the valiant thousands slain;
The heroes, once the glory of the plain,
Left in the conflict of the fatal day,
Or the wolf's portion, or the vulture's prey?
Does he not weep the lawrel, which he wears,
Wet with the foldier's blood, and widow's, tears?
See, where he comes, the darling of the war !
See millions crouding round the gilded car:
In the vast joys of this exstatic hour,
And full fruition of fuccefsful pow'r,

One moment and one thought might let him fcan
The various turns of life, and fickle state of man.
Are the dire images of fad diftruft,
And popular change, obfcur'd amid the dust,
That rifes from the victor's rapid wheel?
Can the loud clarion, or fhrill fife repel
The inward cries of care? can nature's voice-
Plaintive be drown'd, or leffen'd in the noise;
Though fhouts as thunder loud afflict the air,
Stun the birds now releas'd, and shake the iv'ry chair ?

Yon' croud (he might reflect) yon' joyful crowd,
Pleas'd with my honours, in my praifes loud
(Should fleeting victory to the vanquish'd go;
Should the deprefs my arms, and raise the foe)
Would for that foe with equal ardour wait
At the high palace, or the crouded gate;
With restless rage would pull.my.statues down;.
And caft the brafs a-new. to his renown.

O impotent defire of worldly fway!
That I, who make the triumph of to-day...
May of to-morrow's pomp one part, appear,...
Ghaftly with wounds, and lifeless on the bier!

Then (vilenefs of mankind!) then of all thefe,
Whom my dilated eye with labour fees,
Would one, alas! repeat me good, or great,
Wash my pale body, or bewail my fate?
Or, march'd I chain'd behind the hoftile car,
The victor's paltime, and the sport of war;
Would one, would one his pitying forrow lend,
Or be fo poor, to own he was my friend?
Avails it then, O Reason, to be wife?
To fee this cruel fcene with quicker eyes?
To know with more diftinction to complain,
And have fuperior fenfe in feeling pain?

Let us revolve that roll with ftricteft eye,
Where fafe from time diftinguish'd actions lie;.
And judge if greatness be exempt from pain,
Or pleasure ever may with pow'r remain.

Adam, great type, for whom the world was made, The fairest bleffing to his arms convey'd, A charming wife; and air, and fea, and landy. And all that move therein to his command Render'd obedient: fay, my penfive muse, What did these golden promifes produce? Scarce tafting life, he was of joy bereav'd : One day, I think, in Paradife he liv'd: Defin'd the next his jonrney to purfue, Where wounding thorns, and curfed thiftles grew. L'er yet he earns his bread, adown his brow, Inclin❜d to earth, his lab'ring fweat must flow: His limbs muft ake, with daily toils oppreft; E'er long-wifh'd night brings neceffary rest: Still viewing with regret his darling Eve," He for her follies, and his own must grieve.

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Bewailing ftill a-fresh their hapless choice;
His ear oft frighted with the imag'd voice
"Of Heav'n, when firft it thunder'd; oft his view
Aghaft, as when the infant light'ning flew;
And the ftern Cherubs stop'd the fatal road,
Arm'd with the flames of an avenging GOD.
His younger fon on the polluted ground,
First fruit of death, lies plaintiff of a wound
Giv'n by a brother's hand his eldest birth
Flies, mark'd by Heav'n, a fugitive o'er earth.
Yet why these forrows heap'd upon the fire,
Becomes not man, nor angels to enquire.
Each age finn'd on; and guilt advanc'd with time:
The fon ftill added to the father's crime;
Till GoD arofe, and great in anger faid:
Lo! it repenteth me, that man was made.
Withdraw the light, thou fun! be dark, ye skies!
And from your deep abyss, ye waters, rife!

The frighted angels heard the Almighty Lord;
And o'er the earth from wrathful viols pour'd
Tempeft and ftorm, obedient to his word.
Mean time, his providence to Noah gave.
The guard of all, that he defign'd to fave.
Exempt from gen'ral doom the patriarch stood;
Contemn'd the waves, and triumph'd o'er the flood.
The winds fall filent; and the waves decrease:
The dove brings quiet, and the olive peace:
Yet ftill his heart does inward forrow feel,
Which faith alone forbids him to reveal.
If on the backward world his views are caft;
Lis death diffus'd, and univerfal waste.

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