A precept which, unpractis’, renders vain
Thy flowing hopes, and pleaſure turns to pain.
Shou’d hope and fear thy heart alternate tear,
Or love, or hate, or rage, or anxious care,
Whatever paſſions may thy mind infeſt,
(Where is that mind which paſſions ne’er moleſt?)
Amidſt the pangs of ſuch inteſtine ſtrife,
Still think the preſent day the laſt of life;
Defer not ’till to-morrow to be wiſe,
To-morrow’s fun to thee may never riſe;
Or ſhou’d to-morrow chance to chear thy ſight,
With her enliv’ning, and unlook’d-for light.
How grateful will appear her dawning rays!
Its favours unexpected doubly pleaſe.
Who thus can think, and who ſuch thoughts purſues,
Content may keep his life, or calmly loſe.
All proofs of this, thou may’ſt thyſelf receive,
When leiſure from affairs will give thee leave.
Come, ſee thy friend retir’d, without regret,
Forgetting care, or ſtriving to forget,
In eaſy contemplation, ſoothing time
With morals much, and now and then with rhyme;
Not ſo robuſt in body as in mind,
And always undejected, tho’ declin’d;
Not wond’ring at the world’s new wicked ways,
Compar’d with thoſe of our fore-father’s days;
For virtue now is neither more or leſs,
And vice is only vary’d in the dreſs:
Believe it, men have ever been the ſame,
And Ovid’s Golden Age is but a dream.
We ſhall conclude the life of this eminent wit, with the teſtimony of Mr. Pope in his favour, from the cloſe of his poſtſcript to the tranſlation of Homer: It is in every reſpect ſo honourable, that it would be injurious to Mr. Congreve
