These are the giants, who the gods defy,
And mountains heap on mountains to the sky.
Sees this th' Almighty Judge, or seeing spares,
And deems the crimes of man beneath his cares?
He fees; and will at last rewards bestow,
And punishments, not lefs affur'd for being flow.
Nor doubt I, tho' this ftate confus'd appears,
That ev'n in this God fometimes interferes :
Sometimes, left man should quite his pow'r disown,
He makes that pow'r to trembling nations known:
But rarely this; not for each vulgar end,
As Superftition's idle tales pretend,

Who thinks all foes to God, who are her own,
Directs his thunder, and ufurps his throne.

Nor know I not, how much a conscious mind
Avails to punish, or reward mankind;
Ev'n in this life thou, impious wretch, muft feel
The Fury's fcourges, and th' infernal wheel;
From man's tribunal, tho' thou hop'ft to run,
"Thyfelf thou can'ft not, nor thy confcience fhun:
What must thou fuffer, when each dire disease,
The progeny of Vice, thy fabric seize ?
Confumption, fever, and the racking pain

Of spasms, and gout, and stone, a frightful train! -
When life new tortures can alone fupply,

Life thy fole hope thou'lt hate, yet dread to die.

Shou'd fuch a wretch to num'rous years arrive,

It can be little worth his while to live;

No honors, no regards his age attend,
Companions fly: he ne'er cou'd have a friend:
His flatterers leave him, and with wild affright
He looks within, and fhudders at the fight:
When threatning Death uplifts his pointed dart,
With what impatience he applies to art,

Life to prolong amidst disease and pains!
Why this, if after it no fenfe remains ?
Why fhou'd he chufe these miseries to endure,
If Death cou'd grant an everlasting cure?
'Tis plain there's something whispers in his ear,
(Tho' fain he'd hide it) he has much to fear.

See the reverfe! how happy thofe we find,
Who know by merit to engage mankind?
Prais'd by each tongue, by ev'ry heart belov'd,
For Virtues practis'd, and for Arts improv❜d :
Their easy aspects fhine with fmiles ferene,
And all is peace, and happiness within:
Their fleep is ne'er disturb'd by fears, or strife,
Nor luft, nor wine, impair the springs of life.

Him Fortune can not fink, nor much elate,
Whose views extend beyond this mortal state;
By age when fummon'd to refign his breath,
Calm, and ferene, he fees approaching death,
As the fafe port, the peaceful filent shore,
Where he may reft, life's tedious voyage o'er :
He, and he only, is of death afraid,

Whom his own confcience has a coward made;

Whilft

Whilft he, who Virtue's radiant course has run,
Defcends like a ferenely-fetting fun :

His thoughts triumphant Heav'n alone employs,
And hope anticipates his future joys.

d

So good, fo bleft th' illuftrious Hough we find,
Whose image dwells with pleasure on my mind;
The Mitre's glory, Freedom's constant friend,
In times which afk'd a champion to defend;
Who after near a hundred virtuous years,
His fenfes perfect, free from pains and fears,
Replete with life, with honors, and with age,
Like an applauded actor left the ftage;

Or like fome victor in th' Olympic games,

Who having run his courfe, the crown of Glory claims.
From this just contraft plainly it appears,

How Confcience can inspire both hopes and fears;
But whence proceed thefe hopes, or whence this dread,
If nothing really can affect the dead`?

See all things join to promife, and prefage
The fure arrival of a future age!

Whate'er their lot is here, the good and wife,
Nor doat on life, nor peevishly despise.
An honeft man, when Fortune's starms begin,
Has Confolation always fure within,
And, if the fends a more propitious gale,
He's pleas'd, but not forgetful it may fail.

Nor fear that he, who fits fo loose to life,
Shou'd too much fhun its labors, and its ftrife;

d

Bishop of Worcester.

F4

And

And fcorning wealth, contented to be mean,
Shrink from the duties of this bustling scene;
Or, when his country's fafety claims his aid,
Avoid the fight inglorious, and afraid :

Who fcorns life moft muft furely be most brave,
And he, who pow'r contemns, be least a slave:
Virtue will lead him to Ambition's ends,

And prompt him to defend his country, and his friends.
But ftill his merit you can not regard,

Who thus pursues a pofthumous reward ;
His foul, you cry, is uncorrupt and great,
Who quite uninfluenc'd by a future ftate,
Embraces Virtue from a nobler fenfe
Of her abftracted, native excellence,
From the felf-confcious joy her effence brings,
The beauty, fitnefs, harmony of things.
It may be fo: yet he deferves applaufe,
Who follows where instructive Nature draws;
Aims at rewards by her indulgence giv'n,
And foars triumphant on her wings to heav'n.
Say what this venal virtuous man pursues,
No mean rewards, no mercenary views;
Not wealth ufurious, or a num'rous train,
Not fame by fraud acquir'd, or title vain!
He follows but where Nature points the road,
Rifing in Virtue's fchool, till he afcends to God.
But we th' inglorious common herd of man,
Sail without compafs, toil without a plan;

In Fortune's varying ftorms for ever toft,
Shadows pursue, that in purfuit are loft ;
Mere infants all, till life's extremeft day,
Scrambling for toys, then toffing them away.
Who refts of Immortality affur'd

Is fafe, whatever ills are here endur’d:
He hopes not vainly in a world like this,
To meet with pure uninterrupted bliss ;
For good and ill, in this imperfect state,
Are ever mix'd by the decrees of Fate.
With Wisdom's richest harveft Folly grows,
And baleful hemlock mingles with the rofe;
All things are blended, changeable, and vain,
No hope, no wish we perfectly obtain;

God may perhaps (might human Reason's line
Pretend to fathom infinite defign)

Have thus ordain'd things, that the restless mind
No happiness compleat on earth may find;
And, by this friendly chaftisement made wife,
To heav'n her fafeft, beft retreat may rife.

Come then, fince now in safety we have past
Thro' Error's rocks, and fee the port at last,
Let us review, and recollect the whole.
Thus ftands my argument. -The thinking foul
Cannot terrestrial, or material be,

But claims by Nature Immortality:
God, who created it, can make it end,

We question not, but cannot apprehend

He