Which not the conflagration fhall destroy,

'Tis printed in the mind of gods for ever,

In nature's ruins not one letter loft.

In proud difdain of what ev'n gods adore,

1365

Doft fmile?-Poor wretch! thy guardian angel weeps. Angels, and men, affent to what I fing;

Wits fimile, and thank me for my midnight dream.

How vicious hearts fume phrenzy to the brain!

1370

Parts push us on to pride, and pride to shame;
Pert infidelity is wit's cockade,

Το grace the brazen brow that braves the skies,
By lofs of being, dreadfully fecure.

Lorenzo! if thy doctrine wins the day,

1375

And drives my dreams, defeated, from the field;
If This is All, if earth a final scene,

Take heed; ftand faft; be fure to be a knave,
A knave in grain! ne'er deviate to the right:
Should't thou be good-how infinite thy lofs!

1380

Guilt only makes annihilation gain.

Bleft scheme! which life deprives of comfort, death
Of hope; and which vice only recommends.

If fo, where, infidels! your bait thrown out

To catch weak converts? where your lofty boast 1385 Of zeal for virtue, and of love to man?

Annihilation! I confefs, in these.

What can reclaim you? Dare I hope profound

Philofophers the converts of a song?
Yet know, its title flatters you, not me;

Yours be the praise to make my title good;

VOL. II.

P

*The Infidel Reclaimed.

1390

Mine,

Mine, to blefs heaven, and triumph in your praise.
But fince fo peftilential your disease,

1395

Though fovereign is the medicine I prescribe,
As yet, I'll neither triumph, nor despair:
But hope, ere long, my midnight dream will wake
Your hearts, and teach your wisdom-to be wise :
For why fhould fouls immortal, made for blifs,
E'er with (and wish in vain!) that fouls could die?
What ne'er can die, oh! grant to live; and crown 1400
The wish, and aim, and labour of the skies;
Increase, and enter on the joys of heaven:
Thus fhall my title pafs a facred seal,

Receive an imprimatur from Above,

While angels fhout-An Infidel Reclaim'd!
To clofe, Lorenzo! fpite of all my pains,

1405

Still feems it ftrange, that thou should't live for ever?
Is it lefs ftrange, that thou should'ft live at all?
This is a miracle; and That no more.

Who gave beginning, can exclude an end.
Deny thou art: Then, doubt if thou shalt be.
A miracle with miracles inclos'd,

1410

Is man and starts his faith at what is frange?
What lefs than wonders, from the wonderful;
What lefs than miracles, from God, can flow?
Admit a God-that mytery fupreme!

1415

That cause uncaus'd! all other wonders ceafe;
Nothing is marvellous for Him to do:

Dery Him-all is myftery befides;

Millions of myfteries! Each darker far,

1420

Than that thy wifdom would, unwifely, fhun.

If weak thy faith, why chufe the harder fide?
We nothing know, but what is marvellous;
Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe.
So weak our reason, and fo great our God,
What moft furprizes in the facred page,
Or full as strange, or tranger, must be true.
Faith is not reafon's labour, but repose.

1425

To faith, and virtue, why fo backward, man? From hence:The present strongly strikes us all; 1430 The future, faintly; can we, then, be men? If men, Lorenzo! the reverfe is right. Reafon is man's peculiar: Senfe, the brute's. The prefent is the scanty realm of sense; The future, reafon's empire unconfin'd: On that expending all her godlike power,

She plans, provides, expatiates, triumphs, there;

1435

There, builds her bleffings! There, expects her praife; And nothing afks of fortune, or of men.

And what is reafon? Be fhe, thus, defin'd;

1440

Reafon is upright ftature in the foul.

Oh! be a man; and ftrive to be a god.

"For what? (thou fay'ft) To damp the joys of life?"

No; to give heart and substance to thy joys.

1445

That tyrant, hope; mark how the domineers;
She bids us quit realities, for dreams;
Safety and peace for hazard, and alarm;
That tyrant o'er the tyrants of the foul,

She bids ambition quit its taken prize,

Spurn the luxuriant branch on which it fits,

14-50

Though bearing crowns, to fpring at diftant game;

And plunge in toils and dangers-for repofe.
If hope precarious, and of things, when gain'd,
Of little moment, and as little stay,

1455

Can fweeten toils, and dangers into joys;
What then, that hope, which nothing can defeat,
Our leave unask'd? Rich hope of boundless bliss !
Blifs, paft man's power to paint it; time's to clofe!
This hope is earth's most eftimable prize :
This is man's portion, while no more than man:
Hope, of all paffions, moft befriends us here;
Paffions of prouder name befriend us lefs.
Joy has her tears; and transport has her death;
Hope, like a cordial, innocent, though strong,
Man's heart, at once, infpirits, and ferenes;

1460

1465

Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys;

'Tis all our present state can safely bear,

Health to the frame! and vigour to the mind!

A joy attemper'd! a chaftis'd delight!

Like the fair fummer evening, mild, and sweet! 1470 'Tis man's full cup; his paradise below!

A bleft hereafter, then, or hop'd, or gain'd,

Is All; our whole of happiness: full proof,

I chofe no trivial or inglorious theme.

And know, ye foes to fong! (well-meaning men, 1475
Though quite forgotten * half your Bible's praife!)
Important truths, in spite of verse, may please:
Grave minds you praise; nor can you praise too much :
If there is weight in an Eternity,

Let the grave liften ;-and be graver still.

*The poetical parts of it.

1480

NIGHT THE EIGHTH.

VIRTUE's

APOLOGY;

OR,

THE MAN OF THE WORLD ANSWERED.

IN WHICH ARE CONSIDERED,

The Love of this Life; the Ambition and Pleasure, with the Wit and Wisdom of the World.

A

ND has all nature, then, efpous'd my part?

Have I brib'd heaven and earth to plead against thee?
And is thy foul immortal?-What remains?
All, All, Lorenzo !-Make immortal, bleft.
Unbleft immortals !-What can fhock us more?
And yet Lorenzo ftill affects the world;

There, ftows his treafure; thence, his title draws,
Man of the world (for fuch wouldst thou be call'd)
And art thou proud of that inglorious style?
Proud of reproach? for a reproach it was,

In antient days; and CHRISTIAN-in an age,
When men were men, and not asham'd of heaven-
Fir'd their ambition, as it crown'd their joy.
Sprinkled with dews from the Caftalian font,
Fain would I re-baptize thee, and confer
purer fpirit, and a nobler name.

A

P 3

10

15

Thy