Your very Fear of Death shall make Ye try
To catch the Shade of Immortality;
Wishing on Earth to linger, and to fave
Part of it's Prey from the devouring Grave;
To those who may furvive Ye, to bequeath
Something entire, in spight of Time, and Death;
A fancy'd Kind of Being to retrieve,
And in a Book, or from a Building live. ⠀
False Hope! vain Labor! let some Ages fly,
The Dome shall moulder, and the Volume dye:
Wretches, ftill taught, ftill will Ye think it ftrange
That all the Parts of this great Fabric change;
Quit their old Station, and Primæval Frame;
And lose their Shape, their Effence, and their Name?
Reduce the Song: our Hopes, our Joys are vain : Our Lot is Sorrow; and Our Portion Pain.
What Pause 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 Eafe:
Agmen adulantum primis comitatur ab annis,
Et tenera infinuat fallax in corda venenum:
Ufque domi cingit, domino blandita potenti,
Serva cohors, maculafque aliis afpergere prona.
Egrediturne foras? numerofo milite cinctus
Incedit, magnaque latus ftipante caterva,
Innumeras fraudes fe formidare fatetur;
Ipfaque follicitos teftatur pompa timores.
Sit quanquam illuftris bello, fit pectore fortis,
Arte valens; dubiis fortunæ cafibus anceps
Volvitur, ambiguo illufus certaminis æstu,
Afperaque incertam fequitur per tædia palmam.
Sed redit infigni redimitus tempora lauro, Vota foluturus cœlo folennia; curru Sublimi fedet excelfus, vinctique sequuntur Pone Duces; fremitus effufaque gaudia miscent Turba falutantum, plaufuque ad fydera tollunt. Quæ tamen hæ pompa ! quæ gloria! nempe tumultum Plebs agitat confufa, fremitque ignobile vulgus. It captiva Cohors, miferâ fub imagine Martem Ancipitem oftendens, & quæ fors craftina belli Alea victori meditatur fata fuperbo.
From the first blooming of his ill-taught Youth,
Nourish'd in Flattr'y, and estrang'd from Truth:
At Home furrounded by a fervile Crowd,
Prompt to abuse, and in Detraction loud:
Abroad begirt with Men, and Swords, 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 Generals to his Carr are ty❜d:
The Joyful Citizens tumultuous Tyde
Echoing his Glory, gratify his Pride.
What is this Triumph? Madness, Shouts, and Noife,
One great Collection of the People's Voice.
The Wretched he brings back, in Chains relate,
What may To-morrow be the Victor's Fate.
Ipfa etiam fpolia & ductæ longo ordine prædæ
Oftentant laceras Gentes, & publica damna,
Damna olim fortaffe in fe ruitura, fuofque.
Nonne dolet, recolens tot merfos funere acerbo
Heroas, magni quos pectoris ardor honeftam
Impulit in mortem; qui nuper gloria campi
Infignes fulfere, feris nunc præda relicti
Alitibufque jacent? Heu fplendet flebile laurus,
Tot Matrum lacrymis, tot fanguine sparsa Virorum.
En ubi quadrijugos elatus Marte fecundo Victor agit, densâ mirantum inhiante catervâ! Si tantos inter fremitus feftique triumphi Lætitiam undantem, fecum fi pauca volutet, Ipfi fucceffus auditaque Vota docebunt,
Quam levis inftabilifq; hominum, quam lubrica vita eft.
Axe tonans rapido multoque in pulvere fervens,
An curas fupra evehitur? nulline timores,
Nullane fufpicio turbat, levitafque popelli
Cognita; num ftridor lituûm clangorque tubarum
Exfuperat mifero luctantes corde dolores?
Intus Naturæ vox importuna fatigat,
The Spoils and Trophies born before Him, fhow
National Lofs, and Epidemic Woe,
Various Distress, which He and His may know.
Does He not mourn the valiant Thousands flain;
The Heroes, once the Glory of the Plain,
Left in the Conflict of the Fatal Day,
Or the Wolve's Portion, or the Vulture's Prey?
Does He not weep the Lawrel, which he wears,
Wet with the Soldier's Blood, and Widow's Tears?
See, where He comes, the Darling of the War!
See Millions crowding round the gilded Car!
In the vaft Joys of this Ecftatic 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 a-mid the Duft,
That rises from the Victor's rapid Wheel?
Can the loud Clarion, or shrill Fife repel
The inward Cries of Care? can Nature's Voice
Plaintive be drown'd, or leffen'd in the Noife;
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