If pensive made by Love you thus retire,
Awake your Muse, and string your Lyre;
Your tender Song and your melodious Strain
Can never be addrest in vain,
She needs must love, and we shall have you back again.
Occasion'd by the foregoing.
WHoe'er thou art, who tempt'st in such a Strain,
Sweet is thy Syren Song, but sung in vain:
When the Winds rage, and loud the Billows roar,
What Fool will trust the Sea, and quit the Shoar?
Early and Vain into the World I came,
Big with false Hopes, and eager after Fame,
Till looking round me ere the Race began,
Madmen, and giddy Fools, were all that ran:
Reclaim'd betimes, I from the List retire,
And thank the Gods who my Retreat inspire.
Survey the World, and with impartial Eyes
Consider, and examine, all who rise,
Weigh well their Actions, and their treacherous Ends,
How Greatness grows, and by what Steps ascends,
What Murders, Treasons, Perjuries, Deceit,
How many fall, to make one Monster great.
Wou'd you command? Have Fortune in you'r Pow'r?
Hug whom you stab, and smile when you devour:
