Pleasures on Levity's fmooth Surface flow:
Thought brings the Weight, that finks the Soul to Woe. Now be this Maxim to the King convey'd,
And added to the Thousand He has made.
Sadly, O Reason, is thy Pow'r express'd, Thou gloomy Tyrant of the frighted Breast! And harsh the Rules, which We from Thee receive; If for our Wisdom We our Pleasure give; And more to think be only more to grieve. If JUDAH'S King at thy Tribunal try'd, Forfakes his Joy, to vindicate his Pride;
And changing Sorrows, I am only found
Loos'd from the Chains of Love, in Thine more strictly
But do I call Thee Tyrant, or complain,
How hard thy Laws, how abfolute thy Reign?
While Thou, alas! art but an empty Name,
To no Two Men, who e'er discours'd, the fame;
The idle Product of a troubled Thought,
In borrow'd Shapes, and airy Colors wrought;
A fancy'd Line, and a reflected Shade;
A Chain which Man to fetter Man has made,
By Artifice impos'd, by Fear obey'd.
Sis tamen invifum nomen feu vera poteftas,
Te quacunque libet deducere origine, vires
Agnofco, fævâ præcordia cufpide fixus.
Te fenfere intùs luctantia pectora, Fatis
Decretam dare jura, & debita fceptra tenentem.
Cedo equidem; fupplex edicta fuperba faceffam;
Unica erit merces Virtus fibi: Cedo, rebellis
Judæa! infelix à noftrâ mente Puella
Exulet æternùm: Hoc plebi turbæque remitto.
Corde ægro dulcis Furor extorquebitur; Abra
Vincula nec patiar, populo fervire paratus;
Seque anima imbellis forti fubmittet iniquæ:
Pro dolor! audebo mifer effe viriliter, ut Rex
Incedam, multâque in Majeftate gemifcam.
Hæc dixi, immodico certus me involvere luctu
Altiùs, ut foret una quies Spes nulla quietis.
Mandavi chartis, timui quæ dicere, amatæ,
Linquendæ tamen æternùm, portanda puellæ.
Expofuit multis verborum ambagibus atrox
Littera, Majeftas quantum pugnaret Amori:
Addidit, & Nymphæ memorem fore, dum memor effem
Ipfe mei; longumque Vale: compefceret ignes
Yet, wretched Name, or Arbitrary Thing, Whence ever I thy cruel Effence bring,
I own thy Influence; for I feel thy Sting.
Reluctant I perceive thee in my Soul,
Form'd to command, and destin'd to controul.
Yes; thy infulting Dictates fhall be heard:
Virtue for once fhall be Her own Reward:
Yes; Rebel ISRAEL, this unhappy Maid
Shall be difmifs'd: the Crowd fhall be obey'd:
The King his Paffion, and his Rule shall leave,
No longer ABRA's, but the People's Slave.
My Coward Soul shall bear it's wayward Fate:
I will, alas! be wretched, to be great;
And figh in Royalty, and grieve in State.
I faid: refolv'd to plunge into my Grief
At once fo far, as to expect Relief
From my Despair alone ----
I chose to write the Thing I durft not speak,
To Her I lov'd; to Her I muft forfake.
The harsh Epiftle labor'd much to prove,
How inconfiftent Majefty, and Love.
I always fhould, It faid, efteem Her well;
But never fee her more: It bid Her feel
Heu malè conceptos, juffi; connubia votis
Appeteret magis apta fuis, thalamofque minores:
Atque humili vitæ curfu, paribufque Hymenæis
Dedita, tranfigeret reliquos felicior annos.
Perlegit, extemplóque ad Me fe corripit amens,
Ad Me, præfentem curas lenire priores:
Sollicitans flexis genibus, luctata, minasque
Et lacrymas dedit alternis; jam languida jamque
Ardefcens: tandem ulteriùs data nulla dolendi
Copia; corripitur, noftroque miferrima Virgo
(Illa meos potuit quæ fola inflectere fenfus)
Fertur ab afpe&u; mox exfpes, fracta dolore,
Effudit miferam properato funere vitam,
Et vana imperia infauftofque reliquit Amores.
Fare age fi poteris, Mens confcia, quanta dolorum Agmina opes in Te fimul effudere coactas: Quas Furias & quos ignes, quæ fæva tulifti Spicula; Curarum quam multa oppreffit Imago! Me quoties regni à ftrepitu in fecreta removi, Nequicquam tacitum pafcens fub pectore vulnus? O quoties labente die, blanda ofcula, amores Præteritos reputans, in Nymphâ absente morabar
No future Pain for Me; but inftant wed
A Lover more proportion'd to her Bed;
And quiet dedicate her remnant Life
To the juft Duties of an humble Wife.
She read; and forth to Me She wildly ran,
To Me, the Ease of all her foriner Pain.
She kneel'd, intreated, ftruggl'd, threaten'd, cry'd,.
And with alternate Paffion liv'd, and dy'd:
'Till now deny'd the Liberty to mourn,
And by rude Fury from my Presence torn,
This only Object of my real Care,
Cut off from Hope, abandon'd to Despair,
In fome few posting fatal Hours is hurl'd
FromWealth,from Pow'r,from Love,& from theWorld.
Here tell Me, if Thou dar'ft, my conscious Soul, What diff'rent Sorrows did within Thee roll?
What Pangs, what Fires, what Racks didft Thou fuftain?
What fad Viciffitude of fmarting Pain?
How oft from Pomp and State did I remove,
To feed Despair, and cherish hopeless Love?
How oft, all Day, recall'd I ABRA's Charms,
Her Beauties prefs'd, and panting in my Arms?
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