« AnteriorContinuar »
Man? and for ever? wretch! what wouldst thou have?
Gold, silver, iv'ry vases sculptur'd high,
Talk what you will of taste, my friend! you'll find Two of a face as soon as of a mind, Why of two brothers, rich and restless, one 270 Ploughs, burns, manures, and toils from sun to sun; The other slights for women, sports and wines, All Townshend's turnips, and all Grosvenor's mines: Why one, like B—, with pay and scorn content, Bows and votes on in Court and Parliament;
275 One, driv'n by strong benevolence of soul, Shall fly, like Oglethrope from pole to pole;
Is known alone to that directing Pow'r
Yes, Sir, how small soever be my heap,
What is’t to me (a passenger, God wot]
“ But why all this of avarice? I have none." I wish you joy, Sir, of a tyrant gone :
305 But does no other lord it at this hour As wild and mad ? the avarice of pow'r ? Does neither rage inflame nor fear appal ? Not the black fear of death, that saddens all? With terrors round, can reason hold her throne, 310 Despise the known, nor tremble at th’ unknown? Survey both worlds, intrepid and entire, In spite of witches, devils, dreams, and fire? Pleas’d to look forward, pleas'd to look behind, And count each birthday with a grateful mind? 315 Has life no sourness drawn so near its end? Canst thou endure a foe, forgive a friend? Has age but melted the rough parts away, As winter-fruits grow mild ere they decay? 319 Or will you think, my friend ! your bus'ness done, When of a hundred thorns you pull out one?
Learn to live well, or fairly make your will: You've play'd, and lov'd, and ate, and drank your fill. Walk sober off, before a sprightlier age Comes titt'ring on, and shoves you from the stage: 325 Leave such to trifle with more grace and ease, Whom folly pleases, and whose follies please. 327
AGAIN? new tumults in my breast ?
11 With ev'ry sprightly, ev'ry decent part; Equal the injur’d to defend, To charm the mistress, or to fix the friend : He with an hundred arts refin'd
15 Shall stretch thy conquests over half the kind : To him each rival shall submit, Make but his riches equal to his wit. Then shall thy form the marble grace, [Thy Grecian form] and Chloe lend the face: 20 His house, embosom'd in the grove, Sacred to social life and social love,