Too wretched to endure one lonely day," Too proud one friendly vifit to repay,
Too indolent to read, too criminal to pray.
At length half dead, half mad, and quite confin'd, Shunning, and fhunn'd by all of human kind, Ev'n robb'd of the last comfort of her life,
Insulting the poor curate's callous wife,
Pride, disappointed pride, now ftops her breath,
And with true fcorpion rage fhe flings herself to death,
To the Honourable PHILIP YORKE, Efq;
Atque ipfa utilitas jufti prope mater et æqui.
'HOU, whom nor honours, wealth, nor youth can fpoil With the leaft vice of each luxuriant foil,
Say, YORKE, (for fure, if any, you can tell) What Virtue is, who practise it so well; Say, where inhabits this Sultana queen; Prais'd and ador'd by all, but rarely feen : By what fure marks her effence can we trace, When each religion, faction, age, and place
fome fancy'd idol of its own, A vain pretender to her facred throne ? In man, too oft a well-diffembled part, A felf-denying pride in woman's heart, In fynods faith, and in the fields of fame Valour ufurps her honours, and her name. Whoe'er their sense of Virtue cou'd express, 'Tis ftill by fomething they themselves poffefs. Hence youth good-humour, frugal craft old age, Warm politicians term it party-rage;
True churchmen zeal right orthodox; and hence Fools think it gravity, and wits pretence;
To conftancy alone fond lovers join it, And maids unafk'd to chastity confine it.
But have we then no law befides our will?
No juft criterion fix'd to good and ill ? As well at noon we may obstruct our fight, Then doubt if fuch a thing exifts as light; For no lefs plain wou'd nature's law appear, As the meridian fun unchang'd, and clear, Wou'd we but search for what we were defign'd, And for what end th' Almighty form'd mankind, A rule of life we then should plainly fee, For to purfue that end must Virtue be.
Then what is that? not want of power, or fame, Or worlds unnumber'd to applaud his name, But a defire his bleffings to diffuse,
And fear left millions should existence lofe;
His goodness only could his pow'r employ, And an eternal warmth to propagate his joy. Hence foul, and fenfe diffus'd thro' ev'ry place, Make happiness ás infinite as space;
Thousands of funs beyond each other blaze,
Orbs roll o'er orbs, and glow with mutual rays; Each is a world, where form'd with wond'rous art, Unnumber'd species live thro' every part : In ev'ry tract of ocean, earth, and skies Myriads of creatures ftill fucceffive rife; Scarce buds a leaf, or springs the vilest weed, But little flocks upon its verdure feed ;
No fruit our palate courts, or flow'r our smell, But on its fragrant bosom nations dwell, All form'd with proper faculties to share The daily bounties of their Maker's care; The great Creator from his heav'nly throne, Pleas'd, on the wide-expanded joy looks down, And his eternal law is only this,
That all contribute to the general blifs.
Nature fo plain this primal law displays,
Each living creature fees it, and obeys;
Each, form'd for all, promotes thro' private care The publick good, and juftly tastes its share. All understand their great Creator's will, Strive to be happy, and in that fulfill; Mankind excepted; lord of all befide, But only flave to folly, vice, and pride; *. VOL. III.
"Tis he that's deaf to this command alone, Deilghts in others' woe, and courts his own; Racks and deftroys with tort'ring steel and flame, For lux'ry brutes, and man himself for fame: Sets Superftition high on Virtue's throne, Then thinks his Maker's temper like his own: Hence are his altars ftain'd with reeking gore, As if he could atone for crimes by more :
Hence whilft offended heav'n he ftrives in vain T'appease by fasts, and voluntary pain, Ev'n in repenting he provokes again.
How easy is our yoke! how light our load! Did we not ftrive to mend the laws of God: For his own fake no duty he can ask,
The common welfare is our only task; For this fole end his precepts, kind as juft, Forbid intemp❜rance, murder, theft, and luft, With ev'ry act injurious to our own
Or others' good, for fuch are crimès alone: For this are peace, love, charity, enjoin'd, With all that can fecure and blefs mankind. Thus is the publick fafety Virtue's caufe, And happiness the end of all her laws; For fuch by nature is the human frame, Our duty and our int'reft are the fame.
But hold, cries out fome Puritan divine,
Whose well-ftuff'd cheeks with ease and plenty fhine,
Is this to faft, to mortify, refrain, And work falvation out with fear and pain? We own, the rigid leffons of their schools Are widely diff'rent from these easy rules; Virtue, with them, is only to abstain From all that nature asks, and covet pain ; Pleasure and vice are ever near a-kin, And, if we thirft, cold water is a fin:
Heav'n's path is rough and intricate, they fay, Yet all are damn'd that trip, or miss their way; God is a being cruel and fevere,
And man a wretch, by his command plac'd here, In fun-fhine for awhile to take a turn, Only to dry and make him fit to burn. Mistaken men, too pioufly fevere! Thro' craft mifleading, or mifled by fear; How little they God's counfels comprehend, Our univerfal parent, guardian, friend! Who, forming by degrees to blifs mankind, This globe our fportive nursery affign'd, Where for awhile his fond paternal care Feafts us with ev'ry joy our state can bear: Each sense, touch, taste, and smell difpenfe delight, Müfick our hearing, beauty charms our fight; Trees, herbs, and flow'rs to us their spoils refign, Its pearl the rock prefents, its gold the mine; Beafts, fowl, and fish their daily tribute give Of food and cloaths, and die that we may live : M 2
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