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“I said in my own heart, Go to now, I will prove thee "with mirth; therefore enjoy pleasure." Eccl. ii. 1. "I made me great works, I builded me houses, I "planted me vineyards." Ver. 4.

"I made me gardens and orchards; and I planted trees "in them of all kind of fruits." Ver. 5.

"I made me pools of water, to water therewith the "wood that bringeth forth trees.” Ver. 6.

"Then I looked on all the works that my hands had "wrought, and on the labour that I had laboured to do: "And behold all was vanity, and vexation of fpirit; " and there was no profit under the fun.” Ver. 11. "I gat me men-fingers and women-fingers, and the de"lights of the fons of men, as musical instruments, "and that of all forts." Ver. 8.

"I fought in mine heart to give myself unto wine (yet "acquainting mine heart with wisdom) and to lay "hold on folly, till I might fee what was that good "for the fons of men, which they should do under "Heaven, all the days of their life.” Ver. 3. "Then I faid in my heart, As it happeneth unto the "fool, fo it happeneth even unto me; and why was "I then more wife? Then I said in my heart, that "this alfo is vanity." Ver. 15.

"Therefore I hated life, because the work that is wrought

"under the fun is grievous unto me." Ch. ii. ver. 27. "Dead flies cause the ointment to fend forth a stinking "favour: fo doth the little folly him that is in repu"tation for wisdom and honour." Chap. x. ver. 1. "The memory of the just is blessed, but the memory of "the wicked fhall rot." Proverbs, ch. x. ver. 7.




Solomon, again feeking happinefs, enquires if wealth and greatnefs can produce it: begins with the magnificence of gardens and buildings, the luxury of mufick and feafting; and proceeds to the hopes and de fires of Love. In two epifodes are fhewn the follics and troubles of that paffion. Solomon, ftill difappointed, falls under the temptations of Libertinifin and Idolatry; recovers his thought; reafons aright; and concludes, that, as to the purfuit of pleafure and fenfuaf delight, All is Vanity and Vexation of Spirit.

RY then, O man, the moments to deceive,


That from the womb attend thee to the grave:

For weary'd-nature find some apter scheme :
Health be thy hope; and Pleasure be thy theme.
From the perplexing and unequal ways,

Where study brings thee; from the endless maze,
Which doubt perfuades to run; forewarn'd, recede
To the gay field and flowery path, that lead

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To jocund mirth, foft joy, and careless ease:
Forfake what may instruct, for what may please ;
Effay amusing art, and proud expence ;

And make thy reafon subject to thy sense.

I commun'd thus: the power of wealth I try'd,
And all the various luxe of coftly pride;
Artists and plans reliev'd my folemn hours;
I founded palaces, and planted bowers ;
Birds, fishes, beafts, of each exotic kind,
I to the limits of my court confin'd;
To trees transferr'd I gave a second birth;
And bad a foreign fhade grace Judah's earth;
Fish-ponds were made, where former forefts grew;
And hills were level'd, to extend the view;
Rivers diverted from their native course,
And bound with chains of artificial force,
From large cafcades in pleafing tumult roll'd,

Or rofe through figur'd ftone, or breathing gold;
From furtheft Africa's tormented womb

The marble brought, erects the fpacious dome,
Or forms the pillars long-extended rows,




On which the planted grove, the penfile garden, grows.
The workmen here obey the mafter's call,

To gild the turret, and to paint the wall;
To mark the pavement there with various ftone;
And on the jafper fteps to rear the throne :
The fpreading cedar, that an age had ftood,
Supreme of trees, and mistress of the wood,
Cut down and carv'd, my shining roof adorns,
And Lebanon his ruin'd honour mourns.


A thou.

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A thousand artists fhew their cunning power,
To raise the wonders of the ivory tower.
A thousand maidens ply the purple loom,
To weave the bed, and deck the regal room;
Till Tyre confeffes her exhausted store,

That on her coaft the Murex

is no more;

Till from the Parian ifle, and Libya's coaft,

The mountains grieve their hopes of marble lost;
And India's woods return their juft complaint,
Their brood decay'd, and want of Elephant.
My full defign with vaft expence atchiev'd,
I came, beheld, admir'd, reflected, griev'd;
Ichid the folly of my thoughtless haste,
For, the work perfected, the joy was past.

To my new courts fad thought did still repair;
And round my gilded roofs hung hovering care.
In vain on filken beds I fought repofe;
And reftlefs oft' from purple couches rofe;
Vexatious thought ftill found my flying mind
Nor bound by limits, nor to place confia'd;
Haunted my nights, and terrify'd my days;

Stalk'd through my gardens, and pursued my ways,
Nor shut from artful bower, nor loft in winding maze..

Yet take thy bent, my foul; another sense
Indulge; add Mufic to magnificence:
Effay if harmony may grief control;


power of found prevail upon the foul.




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* The Murex is a fhell-fish; of the liquor whereof a purple colour is made.

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Often our feers and poets have confest,

That Mufic's force can tame the furious beaft;
Can make the Wolf, or foaming Boar, restrain
His rage;
the Lion drop his crested main,
Attentive to the fong; the Lynx forget

His wrath to Man, and lick the Minstrel's feet.
Are we, alas! lefs favage yet than these ?
Elfe mufic fure may human cares appeafe.

I fpake my purpose; and the chearful choir
Parted their shares of harmony the Lyre
Soften'd the Timbrel's noise; the Trumpet's found
Provok'd the Dorian Flute (both fweeter found
When mix'd); the Fife the Viol's notes refin'd,
And every ftrength with every grace was join'd.
Each morn they wak'd me with a sprightly lay;
Of opening Heaven they fung, and gladfome day.
Each evening their repeated skill exprefs'd

Scenes of repofe, and images of rest:

Yet ftill in vain; for mulic gather'd thought:
But how unequal the effects it brought !
The foft ideas of the chearful note,

Lightly receiv'd, were eafily forgot;

The folemn violence of the graver found

Knew to ftrike deep, and leave a lafting wound.
And now reflecting, I with grief descry

The fickly luft of the fantastic eye;

Ilow the weak organ is with feeing cloy'd,
Flying ere night what it at noon enjoy'd.

And now (unhappy fearch of thought!) I found
The fickle ear foon glutted with the found,








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