Their wit far brightest will be prov'd, O! may'st thou never, never lofe Whate'er may seem too rough excufe, Shall you, and J, in love with life, What have we left? How mean in man When life, fo vain! is vainer ftill, So falling man, immortal heir Of an eternal prize; Undaunted at the gloomy grave, Defcends into the fkies. Alluding to Prussia. 0! O! how diforder'd our machine, When contradictions mix! When nature strikes no less than twelve, And folly points at fix ! To mend the moments of your heart, How great is my delight Gently to wind your morals up, And fet your hand aright! That hand, which spread your wisdom wide To Satan dreadfully refign'd, Men's praise your vanity pursues; And how fuperior they to those How very far fuperior they In number, and in name! i POST POST SCRIPT. THUS have I written, when to write No mortal fhould prefume; Or only write, what none can blame, The public frowns, and cenfures loud Though just the cenfure, if you smile, But fing no more—no more I fing, Unless vouchfaf'd an humble part What myriads fwell the concert loud! Hell (horrid contrast!) chord and song But drowns them not to me; I hear (In language low of men to speak) While this grand chorus shakes the skies "Above, beneath the fun, "Through boundless age, by men, by gods, Jehovah's will be done." 'Tis done in heaven; whence headlong hurl'd And muft from earth be banish'd too, Madam! felf-will inflicts your pains : Which deepens all the difmal fhades, Your debt to nature fully paid, You know, that virtue's bafis lies We are ftill toffing out at fea, Our admiral in port. Was death deny'd, this world, a scene How difmal and forlorn! To death we owe, that 'tis to man A bleffing to be born; When When every other bleffing fails, Or, ftorm'd by sudden blasts of fate, How happy! that no storm, or time, Well-pleas'd to bear heaven's darkest frown, 'Tis noble chemistry to turn Neceffity to joy. Whate'er the colour of my fate, My fate shall be my choice: Determin'd am I, whilst I breathe, To praife and to rejoice; What ample caufe! triumphant hope! O rich eternity! I ftart not at a world in flames, Charm'd with one glimpfe of thee: And thou! its great inhabitant! How glorious dost thou shine ! The void of joy (with fome concern The truth fevere I tell) Is an impenitent in guilt, 3 Weigh |