That inly gnaws the fecret heart, And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim-vifag'd comfortless Despair, And Sorrow's piercing dart. Ambition this fhall tempt to rife, To bitter Scorn a Sacrifice, And grinning Infamy. The ftings of Falfhood those shall try, That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow; And moody Madness * laughing wild Amid fevereft woe. Madness laughing in his ireful mood. Lo, Dryden's Fable of Palamon and Arcite. Lo, in the vale of years beneath A grifly troop are seen. The painful family of Death, More hideous than their Queen: This racks the joints, this fires the veins, Those in the deeper vitals rage: Lo, Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the foul with icy hand, To each his fuff'rings: all are men, The tender for another's pain; Yet, Yet, ah! why fhould they know their fate? Since forrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies. Thought would deftroy their paradife. No more; where ignorance is blifs, 'Tis folly to be wife. LONG |