me most affect the black; and some, the fair;
Some honest pleasure court; and some, obscene.
Pleasures obscene are various, as the throng
Of passions, that can err in human hearts;
Mistake their objects, or transgress their bounds.
Think you there's but one whoredom? Whoredom, all,
But when our reason licenses delight. 550
Dost doubt, Lorenzo? thou shalt doubt no more.
Thy father chides thy gallantries; yet hugs
An ugly, common harlot, in the dark;
A rank adulterer with others' gold!
And that hag, Vengeance, in a corner, charms.
Hatred her brothel has, as well as Love,
Where horrid epicures debauch in blood.
Whate'er the motive, pleasure is the mark:
For her, the black assassin draws his sword;
For her, dark statesmen trim their midnight lamp, 560
To which no single sacrifice may fall;
For her, the saint abstains; the miser starves;
The Stoic proud, for Pleasure, pleasure scorn'd;
For her, Affliction's daughters grief indulge,
And find, or hope, a luxury in tears;
For her, guilt, shame, toil, danger, we defy;
And, with an aim voluptuous, rush on death.
Thus universal her despotic power!
And as her empire wide, her praise is just.
Patron of pleasure! doater on delight! 570
I am thy rival; pleasure I profess;
Pleasure the purpose of my gloomy song.
Pleasure is nought but virtue's gayer name;
I wrong her still, I rate her worth too low;
Virtue the root, and pleasure is the flower;
And honest Epicurus' foes were fools.
But this sounds harsh, and gives the wise offence;
If o'erstrain'd wisdom still retains the name.
How knits Austerity her cloudy brow,
And blames, as bold, and hazardous, the praise 580
Of Pleasure, to mankind, unpraised, too dear!
Ye modern Stoics! hear my soft reply;
Their senses men will trust: we can't impose;
Or, if we could, is imposition right?
Own honey sweet; but, owning, add this sting;
"When mix'd with poison, it is deadly too."
Truth never was indebted to a lie.
Is nought but virtue to be praised, as good?
Why then is health preferr'd before disease?
What nature loves is good, without our leave. 590
And where no future drawback cries, "Beware!"
Pleasure, though not from virtue, should prevail.
'Tis balm to life, and gratitude to Heaven;
How cold our thanks for bounties