rtunes, place, and powers,
Raised in enjoyment, as in worth they rise,
Arrive at length (if worthy such approach)
At that bless'd fountain-head, from which they stream;
Where conflict past redoubles present joy;
And present joy looks forward on increase;
And that, on more; no period! every step
A double boon! a promise, and a bliss."
How easy sits this scheme on human hearts!
It suits their make; it soothes their vast desires; 2040
Passion is pleased; and Reason asks no more;
'Tis rational! 'tis great!--But what is thine?
It darkens! shocks! excruciates! and confounds!
Leaves us quite naked, both of help, and hope, 2044
Sinking from bad to worse; few years, the sport
Of Fortune; then the morsel of Despair.
Say, then, Lorenzo! (for thou know'st it well)
What's vice?--Mere want of compass in our thought.
Religion, what?--The proof of common sense.
How art thou hooted, where the least prevails!
Is it my fault, if these truths call thee fool?
And thou shalt never be miscall'd by me. 2052
Can neither shame, nor terror, stand thy friend;
And art thou still an insect in the mire?
How, like thy guardian angel, have I flown;
Snatch'd thee from earth; escorted thee through all
Th' ethereal armies; walk'd thee, like a god,
Through splendours of first magnitude, arranged
On either hand; clouds thrown beneath thy feet;
Close cruised on the bright paradise of God; 2060
And almost introduced thee to the Throne!
And art thou still carousing, for delight,
Rank poison; first, fermenting to mere froth,
And then subsiding into final gall?
To beings of sublime, immortal make,
How shocking is all joy, whose end is sure!
Such joy, more shocking still, the more it charms!
And dost thou choose what ends ere well begun;
And infamous, as short? And dost thou choose
(Thou, to whose palate glory is so sweet) 2070
To wade into perdition, through contempt,
Not of poor bigots only, but thy own?
For I have peep'd into thy cover'd heart,
And seen it blush beneath a boastful brow;
For, by strong guilt's most violent assault,
Conscience is but disabled, not destroy'd.
O thou most awful being, and most vain!
Thy will, how frail! how glorious is thy power! 2078
Though dread eternity has sown her seeds
Of bliss, and woe, in thy