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In the thick darkness round it. Now, he tries
With all his might to raise fome weighty thought,
Of me, of fate, or of th' eternal round,

Which but recoils to crush the labouring mind.
High are his reafonings, but the feeble clue
Of fleeting images he draws in vain

To wond'rous length; (for ftill the turning maze
Eludes his art) its end flies far away,

And leaves him tracing round the toilfome path,
Returning oft on the fame beaten thought.
For much of good he talks, and life serene,
Of happiness deny'd, the dismal waste

Of wisdom's privilege, and th' obdurate breast,
Stubborn in anguifh; idle wifdom all,
Weak forcery to charm a real pain;

Diftafting crowds and bufinefs, thus he feeks
Diversion in himself, but with deep thoughts

He kindles doubt; and while he ftrives to blow
The ashes off, revives the brand of care.
Hence far remov'd, a diff'rent noify race
In cities full and frequent take their feat,'
Where honour's crufh'd, and gratitude opprefs'd
With fwelling hopes of gain, that raise within
A tempeft, and, driv'n onward by success,

Can find no bounds. For creatures of a day
Stretch their wide cares to ages; full increase
Starves the penurious foul, while empty found
Fills the ambitious; that fhall ever shrink,
Pining with endless cares, whilst this shall swell
To tympany enormous. Bright in arms
Here fhines the hero, out he fiercely leads
A martial throng, his inftruments of rage,
To fill the world with death, and thin mankind.
Ambition drives, and round the world he roams,
Marking his way with blood; the dreadful noife
Begets a fame; and all the breath he leaves
Is spent in his falfe praife, and vainly bloats
The tyrant's foul; while high his kingdoms rife
In fleeting pomp, hov'ring their gaudy wings
Around the fervile globe, that tamely bends
Beneath his haughty reign; and all his flaves
Under his yoke fhall groan, and scarce fhall groan
Without a crime. Here torturing engines roar
With human voice difguis'd; earth, water, fire,
Are made (dire elements of cruelty !)
Subfervient to his luft, and power to kill;
Yet fhall the herd endure, nor dare to break
United their imaginary chain;

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While their great monarch chills with equal fears,
No less a slave than they. Each rumour shakes
The haughty purple, dark and cloudy cares
Involve the aweful throne, that stands erect,
Balanc'd on the wild people's temper'd rage,
And fortify'd with dangerous arts of power.
But death fhall fhift thofe fcenes of mifery;
Then doubtful titles kindle up new wars,

And urge on ling'ring fate; the enfigns blaze
About the camp, and drums and trumpets found,
Prepare a folemn way to griezly war;

Javelins and bearded spears in ghaftly ranks
Erect their fhining heads, and round the filed
A harvest's scene of formidable death;

Then joins the horrid fhock, whofe bellowing burst
Torments the shatter'd air, and drowns the groans.
Of men below that roll in certain death.

These are the mortal fports, the tragic plays

By man himself embroil'd; the dire debate
Makes the waste defart feem ferene and mild,
Where favage nature in one common lies,
By homely cots poffefs'd; all fqualid, wild,
And defpicably poor, they range the field,
And feel their share of hunger, care, and pain,

Cheated

Cheated by flying prey; and now they tear
Their panting flesh; and now with nails unclean
They tug their fhaggy beards; and deeply quaff
Of human woe, eyen when they rudely fip
The flowing stream, or chew the savory pulp
Of nature's fresheft viands; fragrant fruits
Enjoy'd with trembling, and in danger fought.
But where th' appointed limits of a law
Fences the general fafety of the world,
No greater quiet reigns; for wanton man,
In giddy frolic, eafily leaps o'er

His own invented bounds; hence rapine, fraud,
Revenge, and luft, and all the hideous train
Of nameless ills, diftort the meagre mind
To endless shapes of woe. Here mifers mourn
Departed gold, and their defrauded heirs
Dire perjuries complain; the blended loads
Of punishment and crime deform the world,
And give no reft to man; with pangs and throes
He enters on the ftage; prophetic tears
And infant cries prelude his future woes;
And all is one continu'd fcene of grief,
'Till the fad fable curtain falls in death.

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But that laft act fhall in one moment close

Of doubt and darkness; pain fhall crack the strings
Of life decay'd; no lefs the foul convuls'd,
Trembles in anxious cares, and fhuddering stands,
Afraid to leap into the opening gulph

Of future fate, 'till all the banks of clay
Fall from beneath his feet: in vain he grafps
The shatter'd reeds that cheat his eafy with.
Reason is now no more; that narrow lamp
(Which with its fickly fires would fhoot its beams
To distances unknown, and ftretch its rays
Afkance my paths, in deepest darkness veil'd)
Is funk into his focket; inly there

It burns a dismal light; th' expiring flame
Is choak'd in fumes, and parts in various doubt.
Then the gay glories of the living world
Shall caft their empty varnish, and retire
Out of his feeble view; and rifing fhade
Sit hov'ring o'er all nature's various face.
Music shall cease, and inftruments of joy
Shall fail that fullen hour; nor can the mind

Attend their founds, when fancies fwim in death,
Confus'd and crush'd with cares: for long fhall feem
The dreary road, and melancholy dark,

That

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