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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,
Then whirl the wretch from high,

To bitter Scorn a Sacrifice,

And grinning Infamy.

The ftings of Falfhood those shall try,
And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye,

That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow;
And keen Remorfe with blood defil'd,

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,
That every labouring finew strains,

Those in the deeper vitals rage:

Lo, Poverty, to fill the band,

That numbs the foul with icy hand,
And flow-confuming Age.

To each his fuff'rings: all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan,

The tender for another's pain;
Th' unfeeling for his own.

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

A

LONG STORY.

C

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