Impatient, when the pow'rful band demands What Fortune lends: anon fhe'll lavish more: Repenting of her bounty fnatch away Yea feize your patrimonial fund for prey. Embrace her proffer'd boon, but instant rise, Spring upward, and secure a lasting prize, 545 550 The gift which Wisdom to her fons divides; 555 Knowledge, whose beam the doubting judgment guides, Where Pleasure and her Harlots tempt, nor rest And taste what science may your palate hit: 560 565 Thanks, 570 Thanks, generous Sire; tell, then, the tranfient bait, 575 But they contribute, we aver, no part To heal the manners and amend the heart. We But Virtue may be reach'd, through all her rules, 580 585 599 1 Natural knowledge, how far useful, and when unprofitable and hurtful. VOL. VI. K How! How! not the learn'd excel the common fhoal, What boafts the man of letters o'er the reft? Skill'd in all tongues, of all the arts poffeft, Mifer, or knave, or whatsoe'er you'll name How, then, for living right Avail those studies, and their vaunted light Beyond the vulgar? Nothing. But difclofe 595 600 The caufe from whence this ftrange appearance grows. Held by a potent charm in this retreat They dwell, content with nearness to the feat Of Virtuous Wifdom. Near, methinks, in vain: Since numbers, oft, from out the nether plain, 'Scap'd from the fnares of Lewdness and Excefs, Undevious to her lofty ftation prefs, Yet pass these letter'd clans. 605 610 What, What, then, are thefe In moral things, advantag'd o'er the lees Pride, pride averts their eyes From offer'd light, in felf-fufficience wife, True Wisdom's manfion, by the humble found. 615 620 625 630 1 A By Mr. W. TAYLOR. JOLLY, brave toper, who could not forbear Though his life was in danger, old port and stale beer, Gave the doctors the hearing-but still would drink on, 'Till the dropfy had fwell'd him as big as a ton. The more he took phyfic the worse still he grew, And tapping was now the last thing he could do. Affairs at this crifis, and doctors come down, He began to confider -fo fent for his fon. Tom, fee by what courses I've shorten'd my life, I'm leaving the world ere I'm forty and five; More than probable 'tis, that in twenty-four hours, This manor, this house, and eftate will be yours; My early exceffes may teach you this truth, That'tis working for death to drink hard in one's youth. Says Tom, (who's a lad of a generous fpirit, And not like young rakes who 're in hafte to inherit,) |