If weak thy faith, why chufe the harder fide?
We nothing know, but what is marvellous;
Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe.
So weak our reason, and fo great our God,
What moft furprizes in the facred page,

Or full as ftrange, or ftranger, must be true.
Faith is not reafon's labour, but repose.

1425

To faith, and virtue, why so backward, man? From hence:The prefent ftrongly strikes us all; 1430 The future, faintly; can we, then, be men? If men, Lorenzo! the reverfe is right. Reason is man's peculiar: Senfe, the brute's. The prefent is the fcanty realm of fenfe; The future, reafon's empire unconfin'd: On that expending all her godlike power,

She plans, provides, expatiates, triumphs, there;

1435

There, builds her blefings! There, expects her praise; And nothing asks of fortune, or of men.

1440

And what is reafon? Be fhe, thus, defin'd;

Reafon is upright ftature in the foul.

Oh! be a man; and strive to be a god.

"For what? (thou fay'ft) To damp the joys of life?" No; to give heart and substance to thy joys.

That tyrant, hope; mark how the domineers ;

1445

She bids us quit realities, for dreams;

Safety and peace for hazard, and alarm;

That tyrant o'er the tyrants of the soul,

She bids ambition quit its taken prize,

Spurn the luxuriant branch on which it fits,

Though bearing crowns, to fpring at difant game;

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1450

And

And plunge in toils and dangers-for repofe.
If hope precarious, and of things, when gain'd,
Of little moment, and as little stay,

1455

Can fweeten toils, and dangers into joys;
What then, that hope, which nothing can defeat,
Our leave unask'd? Rich hope of boundless blifs!
Blifs, paft man's power to paint it; time's to close !
This hope is earth's most estimable prize :

This is man's portion, while no more than man: 1460
Hope, of all paffions, most befriends us here;
Paffions of prouder name befriend us less.
Joy has her tears; and transport has her death;
Hope, like a cordial, innocent, though ftrong,
Man's heart, at once, infpirits, and ferenes;
Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys;
'Tis all our present state can safely bear,

Health to the frame! and vigour to the mind!
A joy attemper'd! a chaftis'd delight!

1465

Like the fair fummer evening, mild, and sweet! 1470 'Tis man's full cup; his paradife below!

A bleft hereafter, then, or hop'd, or gain'd,

Is All; our whole of happiness: full proof,

I chose no trivial or inglorious theme.

And know, ye foes to fong! (well-meaning men, 1475

**

Though quite forgotten half your Bible's praise !)

Important truths, in fpite of verfe, may please:

Grave minds you praise; nor can you praife too much : If there is weight in an Eternity,

Let the grave liften ;-and be graver still.

* The poetical parts of it.

1480

NIGHT THE EIGHTH.

VIRTUE's

APOLOGY;

OR,

THE MAN OF THE WORLD ANSWERED.

IN WHICH ARE CONSIDERED,

The Love of this Life; the Ambition and Pleasure, with the Wit and Wisdom of the World.

A

ND has all nature, then, efpous'd my part?

Have I brib'd heaven and earth to plead against thee? And is thy foul immortal?-What remains?

All, All, Lorenzo !-Make immortal, bleft.
Unbleft immortals !-What can shock us more? 5
And yet Lorenzo still affects the world;

There, ftows his treasure; thence, his title draws,
Man of the world (for such wouldst thou be call'd)
And art thou proud of that inglorious ftyle?
Proud of reproach? for a reproach it was,

In antient days; and CHRISTIAN-in an age,
When men were men, and not asham'd of heaven--
Fir'd their ambition, as it crown'd their joy,
Sprinkled with dews from the Caftalian font,
Fain would I re-baptize thee, and confer
A purer spirit, and a nobler name.

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10

15

Thy

Thy fond attachments fatal, and inflam'd,

Point out my path, and dictate to my fong:
To Thee, the world how fair! How strongly strikes
Ambition! and gay pleasure stronger ftill!
Thy triple bane! the triple bolt that lays
Thy virtue dead! Be thefe my triple theme;
Nor shall thy wit, or wisdom, be forgot.

Common the theme; not fo the fong; if she
My fong invokes, Urania, deigns to smile.
The charm that chains us to the world, her foe,
If the diffolves, the man of earth, at once,
Starts from his trance, and fighs for other scenes;

20

25

30

Scenes, where these sparks of night, thefeftars, fhall shine
Unnumber'd funs (for all things, as they are,
The bleft behold;) and, in one glory, pour
Their blended blaze on man's aftonish'd fight;
A blaze-the leaft illuftrious object there.

Lorenzo! fince eternal is at hand,
To fwallow time's ambitions; as the vast
Leviathan, the bubbles vain, that ride
High on the foaming billow; what avail

35

High titles, high defcent, attainments high,
If unattain'd our higheft? O Lorenzo !

What lofty thoughts, thefe elements above,

40

What towering hopes, what fallies from the fun,
What grand furveys of deftiny divine,

And pompous prefage of unfathom'd fate,
Should roll in bofoms, where a fpirit burns,
Bound for eternity! In bofoms read

45

By Him, who foibles in archangels fees!

On

On human hearts He bends a jealous eye,
And marks, and in heaven's register inrolls,
The rife, and progress, of each option there;
Sacred to doomsday! That the page unfolds,
And fpreads us to the gaze of gods and men.
And what an option, O Lorenzo! thine?
This world! and This, unrival'd by the skies!
A world, where luft of pleasure, grandeur, gold,
Three demons that divide its realms between them, 55
With ftrokes alternate buffet to and fro

Man's restless heart, their sport, their flying ball;
Till, with the giddy circle fick, and tird,
It pants for peace, and drops into despair.
Such is the world Lorenzo fets above

That glorious promife angels were esteem'd
Too mean to bring; a promife, their Ador'd
Defcended to communicate, and press,
By counfel, miracle, life, death, on man.
Such is the world Lorenzo's wisdom wooes,
And on its thorny pillow feeks repofe;
A pillow, which, like opiates ill-prepar'd,
Intoxicates, but not compofes; fills
The vifionary mind with gay chimeras,
All the wild trash of fleep, without the reft;
What unfeign'd travel, and what dreams of joy!

How frail, men, things! how momentary, both! Fantastic chace of fhadows hunting shades!

The gay, the bufy, equal, though unlike;
Equal in wifdom, differently wife!

65

70

75

Through flowery meadows, and through dreary waftes,

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