And now, LORENZOI bigot of this world!
Wont to disdain poor bigots caught by Heav'n!
Stand by thy scorn, and be reduc'd to nought:
For what art thou?-Thou boafter! while thy glare,
Thy gaudy grandeur, and mere worldly worth,
Like a broad mist, at distance strikes us most;
And, like a mist, is nothing when at hand;
His merit, like a mountain, on approach,
Swells more, and rises nearer to the skies,
By promife now, and by poffeflion foon
(Too Soon, too much, it cannot be) his own.
From this thy juft annihilation rife,
LORENZO! rife to something, by reply.
The world, thy client, listens and expects;
And longs to crown thee with immortal praise.
Canst thou be filent? No; for wit is thine's
And wit talks most, when least the has to say,
And reafon interrupts not her career.
She'll fay-That mifts above the mountains rises.
And, with a thousand pleasantries, amule;
She'll (parkle, puzzle, flutter, raise a duft,
And fly conviction, in the dust fee rais'd.
Wit, how delicious to man's dainty taste!
'Tis precious, as the vehicle of sense;
But, as its substitute, a dire disease.
Pernicious talent! flatter'd by the world,
By the blind world, which thinks the talent rare,
Wisdom is rare, LORENZO! wit abounds;
Paffion can give it; sometimes wine inspires
The lucky flash; and madness rarely fails.
Whatever cause the spirit strongly stirs,
Confers the bays, and rivals thy renown.
For thy renown, 'twere well, was this the worst;
Chance often hits it; and, to pique thee more,
See dulness, blund'ring on vivacities,
Shakes her fage head at the calamity
Which has expos'd, and let her down to thee.
But wisdom, awful wisdom! which inspects,
Difcerns, compares, weighs, separates, infers,
Seizes the right, and holds it to the last;
How rare! In senares, fynods, fought in vain;
Or if there found, 'tis facred to the few;
While a loud prostitute to multitudes,

a man.

Frequent, as fatal, wit: In civil life,
Wit makes an enterprizer, sense
Vis hates authority; commotion loves,
And thinks herself the light'ning of the storm.
In states, 'tis dangerous; in religion, death:
Shall wit turn Chrutian, when the dull believe!
Senfe is our helmet, wit is but the plume;
7 he plume exposes, 'tis our helmet laves.
Senfe is the di'mond, weighty, folid, found;
When cut by wit it casts a brighter beam;
Yet, wit apart, it is a di'mond still.
Wit, widow'd of good-fense, is worse than nought;
It hoifts more fail to run against a rock.
Thus, a half Chesterfield is quite a fool;
Whom dull fools icorn, and bless their want of wit.

How ruinous the rock I warn thee shun,
Where Syrens fit, to fing thee to thy fate!
A joy, in which our reason bears no part,
Is but a forrow tickling, ere it stings.
Let not the cooings of the world allure thee;
Which of her lovers ever found her true?
Happy! of this bad world who little know;--
And yet, we much must know her to be fafe.
To know the world, not love her, is thy point;
She gives but little, nor that little, long.
There is, I grant, a triumph of the pulle,
A dance of fpirits, a mere froth of joy,
Our thoughtless agitation's idle child,
That mantles high, that sparkles, and expires,
Leaving the foul more vapid than before.
An animal ovation! such as holds

No commerce with our reason, but fubfifts
On juices, thro' the well-toned tubes well strain'd;
A nice machine! scarce ever tun'd aright;
And when it jars-thy Syrens fing no more,
Thy dance is done; the demi-god is thrown
(Short apotheosis!) beneath the man,
In coward gloom immers'd, or fell defpair.
Art thou yet dull enough despair to dread,

And startle at destruction? if thou art,
Accept a buckler, take it to the field;
(A field of battle is this mortal life !)

NA

When danger threatens lay it on thy heart; A fingle sentence proof against the world: "Soul, body, fortune! ev'ry good pertains "To one of these; but prize not all alike, "The goods of fortune to thy body's health, " Body to foul, and foul submit to GOD. Wouldst thou build lasting happiness? do this; Th' inverted pyramid can never stand του

Is this truth doubtful? it outshines the fun Nay, the fun shines not, but to shew us this, The fingle lesson of mankind on earth. And yet-yet, what? no news! mankind is mad; Such mighty numbers list against the right, (And what can't numbers, when bewitch'd, atehieve?) They talk themselves to something like belief, That all earth's joys are theirs: as ATHENS' fool Grinn'd from the port on ev'ry fail his own.

They grin; but wherefore? and how long the Half ignorance, their mirth; and half a lie; [laugh? To cheat the world, and cheat themselves, they smile. Hard either task! the most abandon'd own, That others, if abandon'd, are undone

Then, for themselves, the moment Reason wakes,
(And Providence denies it long repose),....
O how laborious is their gaiety!

They scacce can swallow their ebullient spleen,
Scarce muster patience to support the farce,
And pump fad laughter, till the curtain falls.
Scarce, did I say? some cannot fit it out;
Oft their own daring hands the curtain draw,
• And thew us what their joy, by their despair.vo

fee

The clotted hair! gor'd breast! blafpheming eye! Its impious fury still alive in death! Shut, thut the shocking scene. --But Heav'n denies A cover to such guilt; and so should man. Look round, LORENZO! the reeking blade; Th' invenom'd phial, and the fatal ball; The ftrangling cord, and fuffocating tream; The loathfome rottenness, and foul decays, From raging riot (flower suicides!) And pride in these, more execrable still! How horrid all to thought!-but horrors, these,

That vouch the truth, and aid my feeble fong.
From vice, fenfe, fancy, no man can be bleft:
Bliss is too great, to lodge within an hour:
When an immortal being aims at blifs,
Duration is effential to the name.

O for a joy from Reason! joy from that
Which makes man, man; and, exercis'd aright,
Will make him more: a bounteous joy! that gives,
And promises; and weaves, with art divine,
The richest prospect into present peace:
A joy ambitious! joy in common held
With thrones ethereal, and their greater far:
A joy high-privileg'd, from chance, time, death!
A joy, which death shall double! judgment crown!
Crown'd higher, and still higher, at each stage,
Thro' blest eternity's long day; yet still,
Not more remote from forrow, than from him,
Whose lavish hand, whose love stupendous pours
So much of Deity on guilty duft.

There, O my LUCIA! may I meet thee there,
Where not thy prefence can improve my bliss!
Affects not this the fages of the world?
Can nought affect them, but what fools them too?
Eternity depending on an hour,
Makes ferious thought man's wisdom, joy, and praise.
Nor need you blush (tho' sometimes your designs
May shun the light) at your defigns on Heav'n;
Sole point! where over-bashful is your blame.
Are you not wife?-you know you are: yet hear
One truth, amid your num'rous schemes, mislaid,
Or overlook'd, or thrown afide, if seen;

Our schemes to plan by this world, or the next,
"Is the fole diff'rence between wife, and fool."
All worthy men will weigh you in this fcale;
What wonder, then, if they pronounce you light?
Is their esteem alone not worth your care?
Accept my fimple scheme of common sense;

Thus fave your fame, and make two worlds your

own.

The world replies not; -but the world persists;

And puts the cause off to the longest day,
Planning evafions for the day of doom.

So far, at that re-hearing, from redress,
They then turn witnesses against themselves
Hear that, LORENZO! nor be wite to-morrow.
Haste, haste! a man by nature is in haste;
For who thail anfwer for another hour?
'Tis highly prudent, to make one fure friend;
And that thou canst not do, this fide the skies.

Ye fons of earth! (nor willing to be more!) Since verse you think from prieftcraft somewhat free,.. 'Thus, in an age so gay, the muse plain truths (Truths, which, at church, you might have heard in

profe)

Has ventur'd into light; well-pleas'd the verse
Should be forgot, if you the truths retain;
And crown her with your welfare, not your praise.
But praise the need not fear: I see my fate;
And headlong leap, like CURTIUS, down the gulph.
Since many an ample volume, mighty tome,
Must die, and die unwept; O thou minute,
Devoted page! go forth among thy foes;
Go, nobly proud of martyrdom for truth,
And die a double death: mankind, incens'd,
Denies thee long to live: nor shalt thou rest,
When thou art dead; in Stygian thades arragu'd
By LUCIFER, as traitor to his throne;

And bold blafphemer of his friend
the world;
The world, whose legions cost him flender pay,
And volunteers, around his banner fwarm;
Prudent, as Pruffia, in her zeal for Gaul.

"Are all, then, fools?" LORENZO cries.-Yes,
But fuch as hold this doctrine (new to thee;) [all,
"The mother of true wisdom is the will,"
The noblest intellect, a fool without it.
World-wisdom much has done, and more may do,
In arts and sciences, in wars and peace;
But art and science, like thy wealth, will leave thee,
And make thee twice a beggar at thy death.
This is the most indulgence can afford; -
"Thy wisdom all can do, but make thee wife."
Nor think this censure is severe on thee;
Satan, thy master, I dare call a dunce.