412 ANNUAL REGISTER, 1758.
And yet this flrange, this fudden flight. From gloomy cares to gay delight.
This ficklenefs. To light and vain. In life's delufive tranfient dream. When men nor things are what they feera.
Is all the real good we gain.
"Eft file from the King o/" Prussia, to Monjieur Voltaire. Iratijlated by J. G. Cooper, E/q,
VOLTAIRE, believe me, were I now In private life's calm ftation plac'd. Let heav'n for nature's wants allow. With cold indifF'rence would I view Departing Fortune's winged hafte. And at the Goddefs laugh like you. Th' infipid farce of tedious Hate, Imperial duty's real weight. The faithlefs courtier's fupple bow. The fickle multitude's carefs. And flatt'rers v/ordy emptinefs. By long experience well I know ; And, tho' a Prince and Poet born. Vain blandifhments of glory fcorn. For when the ruthlefs fheers of fate Have cut my life's precarious thread. And rank me with th' unconfcious dead. What will't avail that I was great. Or that th' uncertain tongue of Fame In Mem'ry's temple chants my name? One blifsful moment whilft we live Weighs more than ages of renown ; What then do Potentates receive Of good peculiarly their own ? Sweet eafe, and unafred^ed joy, Domeftic peace and fportive pleafure. The regal throne and palace fly. And, born for liberty, prefer Soft filent fcenes of lovely leifure To, what we Monarchs buy fo dear. The thorny pomp of fcepter'd care. My pain or blifs (hall ne'er depend On fickle Fortune's cafual flight, For, whether flie's my foe or friend. In calm repofe I'll pafs the night: And ne'er by watchful homage own I couit her fmile, or fear her frowo. But from our ftations we derive Unerring precepts how to live ;
And
