Weak, foolish Man! will Heav'n reward us there With the fame trash mad mortals with for here? The boy and man an individual makes, Yet figh'st thou now for apples and for cakes? Go, like the Indian, in another life Expect thy dog, thy bottle, and thy wife! As well as dream fuch trifles are affign'd, As toys and empires for a godlike mind; Rewards, that either would to Virtue bring No joy, or be deftructive of the thing: How oft by these at fixty are undone The virtues of a Saint at twenty-one! To whom can riches give repute, or truft, Content, or pleasure, but the good or just? Judges and Senates have been bought for gold; Efteem and love were never to be fold.
Oh fool! to think God hates the worthy mind, The lover, and the love of human kind,
Whofe life is healthful, and whofe confcience clear, Because he wants a thousand pounds a year.
THE FATHER AND JUPITE
THE man to Jove his fuit preferr'd : He begg'd a wife; his pray'r was heard. Jove wonder'd at his bold addreffing; For how precaricus is the bleffing! A wife he takes. And now for heirs Again he worries Heaven with prayers. Jove nods affent. Two hopeful boys And a fine girl reward his joys. Now more folicitous he grew, And fet their future lives in view;
He faw that all refpect and duty Were paid to wealth, to pow'r and beauty. Once more he cries, Accept my pray'r; Make my lov'd progeny thy care; Let my first hope, my fav'rite boy, All fortune's richest gifts enjoy. My next with ftrong ambition fire: May favour teach him to afpire, Till he the step of pow'r afcend, And courtiers to their idol bend! With ev'ry grace, with ev'ry charm, My daughter's perfect features arm. If Heaven approve, a father's bleft. Jove fimiles and grants his full request.
The firft, -a mifer at his heart, Studious of every griping art,
Heaps hoards on hoards with anxious pain, And all his life devotes to gain. He feels no joy, his cares increase, He neither wakes or fleeps in peace; In fancied want (a wretch complete!) He ftarves, and yet he dares not eat. The next to fudden honours grew : The thriving arts of courts he knew; He reach'd the height of pow'r and place, Then fell, the victim of difgrace.
Beauty with early bloom fupplies His daughter's cheek, and points her eyes. The vain coquette his fuit disdains, And glories in her lover's pains. With age the fades, each lover flies, Contemn'd, forlorn, the pines and dies. When Jove the Father's grief furvey'd, And heard him heaven and fate upbraid, Thus fpoke the God: By outward show Men judge of happiness and woe: Shall ignorance of good and ill Dare to direct th' Eternal Will? Seek Virtue: and, of that poffeft, To Providence refign the reft.
VERSES WRITTEN ON THE SANDS AT CROMER, IN NORFOLK.
THOU emblem of the youthful breast! Thoughts, fair or foul, may be imprefs'd On thy smooth face; but not like thee, Can youth's once tainted mind be free, Nor foul be fair with the next tide, The mind's pollution must abide: Alas! if that pure fhrine you ftain, Seas cannot wash it white again: Guardians of youth, then, O take care! Th' impreffions that ye give be fair.
THE conftant drop will wear the ftone:- The flow but fure in time get on.
One morning when the vernal flowers Open'd their cups to drink the fhowers, Ere fluggard man had left his bed, Or 'danger'd reptiles by his tread, A brifk young frog, intent to ftray, Along a garden took his way,
And as he bounded, full of glee, A creeping finail he chanc'd to fee: "You lazy animal," he cried, "Emblem of bloated ftately pride, That fcarce can crawl or move along, For fear of jostling in the throng, When do you fancy, at this pace, You'll reach the object of your chafe? No doubt yon lettuce tempts your view, Or yon ripe plumn of gloffy blue; But ere you come within their sphere, The keen-ey'd gard'ner will be here; While I upon yon flowery bank, With early dew fo fresh and dank, Shall foon be lodg'd, and find my prey Sufficient for the longest day:"- "Softly but flowly," faid the fnail, "Not fpeed but diligence prevail."
The frog leap'd on--bade snail good morrow, And deem'd its life a fcene of forrow.
Diverted from th' intended route,
Now here, now there, he hopp'd in doubt. "That bed will copious ftores fupply, This bank I find too hard, too dry; Again I'll shift; for, free to change, O'er all the garden soon I'll range;
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