Ah! do not prize them less, because inspir'd,
As thou, and thine, are apt and proud to do.

p. 250.

They, first, themselves offend, who greatly please; And travel only gives us sound repose.

False joys, indeed, are born for want of thought!
From thoughts full bent, and energy, the true;
And that demands a mind in equal poize,
Remote from gloomy grief, and glaring joy.
Much joy not only speaks small happiness,
But happiness that shortly must expire.

P. 251.

Nought that is right, think little; well aware,
What reason bids, God bids; by his command
How aggrandiz'd the smallest thing we do!
Thus, nothing is insipid to the wise;

And is it greater pain,

Our soul should murmur, or our dust repine?
And one in their eternal war must bleed.

p. 252.

If one must suffer, which should least be spar'd?
The pains of mind surpass the pains of sense.
Ask, then, the gout, what torment is in guilt:

The joys of sense to mental joys are mean.

Could human courts take vengeance on the mind,
Axes might rust, and racks, and gibbets fall:
Guard, then, thy mind, and leave the rest to fate.

p. 153.

The man is dead, who for the body lives,
Lur'd by the beating of his pulse, to list
With ev'ry lust, that wars against his peace;
And sets him quite at variance with himself.

*

A poor blind merchant buying joys too dear. p.254.

The weak have remedies; the wise have joys.
Man's greatest strength is shown in standing still.
The first sure symptoms of a mind in health,
Are rest of heart, and pleasure felt at home.
False pleasure from abroad her joys imports;
Rich from within, and self-sustain'd, the true.
The true is fix'd, and solid as a rock;

Slipp'ry the false, and tossing as the wave. p. 255.

No man is happy, till he thinks, on earth
There breathes not a more happy than himself:
Then envy dies, and love o'erflows on all ;
And love e'erflowing makes an angel here.

Were all men happy, revellings would cease,
That opiate for inquietude within.

Never man was truly bless'd,

But it compos'd, and gave him such a cast,
As folly might mistake for want of joy ;
A cast, unlike the triumph of the proud;
A modest aspect, and a smile at heart.

p. 256.

What does the man, who transient joy prefers ?

What, but prefer the bubbles to the stream?
Bliss there is none, but unprecarious bliss:

That is the gem: Sell all, and purchase that. p. 257.

True happiness resides in things unseen.
No smiles of this world ever blest the bad,
Nor can its frowns rob innocence of joys;
That jewel wanting, triple crowns are poor.

*

Pleasure we all agree, is man's chief good;
Our only contest, what deserves the name.

Are rival joys contending for thy choice?
Consult thy whole existence, and be safe;
That oracle will put all doubt to flight.
Short is the lesson, though my lecture long,

Be good-and let heav'n answer for the rest. p. 259.

E'en the best must own,

Patience, and resignation, are the pillars

Of human peace on earth.

p. 260.

They most the world enjoy, who least admire. : Who think earth all, or (what weighs just the same) Who care no farther, must prize what it yields; Fond of its fancies; proud of its parades.

Who thinks earth nothing; can't its charms admire ; He can't a foe the most malignant hate,

Because that hate would prove his greater foe.

VOL. I.

p. 264.

The godlike man has nothing to conceal.
His virtue, constitutionally deep,

Has habits firmness, and affection's flame.

p. 265.

Wit talks most, when least she has to say,

She'll sparkle, puzzle, flutter, raise a dust,
And fly conviction, in the dust she rais'd.

Wit makes an enterprizer; sense, a man.

p. 266.

In states, wit's dang'rous; in religion, death.

Wit, widow'd of good sense, is worse than nought;

It hoists more sails to run against a rock.

A joy in which our reason bears no part,
Is but a sorrow tickling ere it stings.

Let not the cooings of the world allure thee;
Which of her lovers ever found her true ?
Happy! of this bad world who little know!-
And yet, we much must know her, to be safe.

To know the world, not love her, is thy point;
She gives but little, nor that little, long.

p. 267.

(A field of battle is this mortal life!)

Th' inverted pyramid can never stand.

p. 268.

Haste, haste! A man, by nature, is in haste;

For who shall answer for another hour?

"Tis highly prudent, to make one sure friend;

And that thou canst not do, this side the skies. p. 271.

World-wisdom much has done, and more may do,
In arts and sciences, in wars, and peace;

But arts and science, like thy wealth, will leave thee,
And make thee twice a beggar at thy death. p. 272. :

The sick in body call for aid; the sick

In mind are covetous of more disease;

And when at worst, they dream themselves quite well.
To know ourselves diseas'd, is half our cure.
When nature's blush by custom is wip'd off,
And conscience, deaden'd by repeated strokes,
Has into manners natʼraliz'd our crimes;
The curse of curses is, our curse to love;
To triumph in the blackness of our guilt
(As Indian's glory in the deepest jet ;)
And throw aside our senses with our peace.

Where the prime actors of the last year's scene ;
Their port so proud, their buskin, and their plume?
How many sleep, who kept the world awake

With lustre and with noise!

Where, where, for shelter, shall the guilty fly,

p. 275.

When consternation turns the good man pale? p. 280.

Who, without pain's advice, would e'er be good?