Cards with what rapture, and the polish'd die,
The yawning chasm of indolence supply!
Then to the dance, and make the fober moon
Witness of joys that fhun the fight of noon.
Blame, cynic, if you can, quadrille or ball,
The fnug clofe party, or the fplendid hall,
Where night, down-ftooping from her ebon throne,
Views conftellations brighter than her own.
'Tis innocent, and harmless, and refin❜d,
The balm of care, elyfium of the mind.
Innocent! Oh if venerable time
Slain at the foot of pleafure, be no crime,
Then with his filver beard and magic wand,
Let Comus rife Archbishop of the land,
Let him your rubric and your
Grand metropolitan of all the tribe.
Of manners rough, and course athletic caft, The rank debauch fuits Clodio's filthy tafte. Rufillus, exquifitely form'd by rule,
Not of the moral, but the dancing fchool,"
Wonders at Clodio's follies, in a tone
As tragical, as others at his own.
He cannot drink five bottles, bilk the score,
Then kill a conftable, and drink five more;
But he can draw a pattern, make a tart,
And has the ladies etiquette by heart.
Go, fool, and arm in arm with Clodio, plead
Your cause, before a bar you little dread;
But know, the law that bids the drunkard die,
Is far too juft to pafs the trifler by.
Both baby-featur'd and of infant fize,
View'd from a diftance, and with heedlefs eyes,
Folly and innocence are so alike,
The diff'rence, though effential, fails to ftrike.
Yet folly ever has a vacant ftare,
A fimp'ring count'nance, and a trifling air;
But innocence, fedate, ferene, erect,
Delights us, by engaging our respect.
Man, nature's gueft by invitation sweet,
Receives from her both appetite and treat,
But if he play the glutton and exceed,
His benefactrefs blushes at the deed.
For nature, nice, as lib'ral to difpenfe,
Made nothing but a brute the slave of sense.
Daniel ate pulfe by choice, example rare!
Heav'n bless'd the youth, and made him fresh and fair.
Gorgonius fits, abdominous and wan,
Like a fat fquab upon a Chinese fan:
He fnuffs far off th' anticipated joy,
Turtle and ven'fon all his thoughts employ,
Prepares for meals, as jockies take a sweat,
Oh nauseous! an emetic for a whet-
Will Providence o'erlook the wafted good?
Temperance were no virtue if he could.
That pleafures, therefore, or what fuch we call,
Are hurtful, is a truth confefs'd by all.
And fome, that feem to threaten virtue less,
Still hurtful, in th' abufe, or by th' excess.
Is man then only for his torment plac'd,
The centre of delights he may not tafte?
Like fabled Tantalus condemn'd to hear
The precious ftream ftill purling in his ear,
Lip-deep in what he longs for, and yet curft
With prohibition and perpetual thirst?
No, wrangler-deftitute of fhame and sense,
The precept that enjoins him abftinence,
Forbids him none but the licentious joy,
Whose fruit, though fair, tempts only to destroy.
Remorfe, the fatal egg by pleasure laid
In every bofom where her neft is made,
Hatch'd by the beams of truth denies him reft,
And proves a raging fcorpion in his breast.
No pleasure? Are domeftic comforts dead?
Are all the namelefs fweets of friendship fled?
Has time worn out, or fashion put to fhame
Good fenfe, good health, good confcience, and good fame ? All these belong to virtue, and all prove
That virtue has a title to your love.
Have you no touch of pity, that the poor
Stand starv'd at your inhofpitable door?
Or if yourself too fcantily fupplied
Need help, let honest industry provide.
Earn, if you want; if you abound, impart,
These both are pleasures to the feeling heart.
No pleasure? Has fome fickly eastern waste
Sent us a wind to parch us at a blast?
Can British paradise no scenes afford
To please her fated and indiff 'rent lord?
Are fweet philofophy's enjoyments run
Quite to the lees? And has religion none?
Brutes capable, would tell you 'tis a lie,
And judge you from the kennel and the ftye.
Delights like thefe, ye fenfual and profane,
Ye are bid, beg'd, befought to entertain;
Call'd to these chryftal ftreams, do ye turn off Obfcene, to fwill and fwallow at a trough? Envy the beaft then, on whom heav'n bestows Your pleafures, with no curfes in the close.
Pleasure admitted in undue degree,
Enflaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.
|