And fhall the foul be warp'd afide

By paffion, prejudice, and pride?
Deformity of heart I call

The worst deformity of all.
Your cares to body are confin'd;
Few fear obliquity of mind.
Why not adorn the better part!
This is a nobler theme for art.
For what is form, or what is face,
But the foul's index, or it's cafe ?
Now take a fimile at hand,
Compare the mental foil to land.
Shall fields be till'd with annual care,
And minds lie fallow ev'ry year?
O, fince the crop depends on you,
Give them the culture which is due:
Hoe ev'ry weed, and drefs the foil,
So harvest shall repay your toil.

If human minds refemble trees,

(As ev'ry moralist agrees)

Prune all the ftragglers of your vine,
Then fhall the purple clufters fhine.
The gard'ner knows, that fruitful life
Demands his falutary knife:

For ev'ry wild luxuriant fhoot,

Or robs the bloom, or ftarves the fruit.

A fatirift in Roman times,

When Rome, like Britain, groan'd with crimes,

Afferts it for a facred truth,

That pleasures are the bane of youth;

That forrows fuch purfuits attend,
Or fuch purfuits in forrows end:
That all the wild advent'rer gains
Are perils, penitence, and pains.

* Perfius.

Approve,

Approve, ye fair, the Roman page,
And bid your fons revere the sage;
In study spend their midnight oil,
And ftring their nerves by manly toil.
Thus fhall they grow like Temple wife,
Thus future Lockes and Newtons rife ;
Or hardy chiefs to wield the lance,

And fave us from the chains of France.
Yes, bid your fons betimes forego

Those treach'rous paths where pleasures growi
Where the young mind is Folly's flave,
Where ev'ry virtue finds a grave.

Let each bright character be nam'd,
For wisdom or for valour fam'd:
Are the dear youths to science prone,
Tell how th' immortal Bacon fhone!
Who, leaving meaner joys to kings,
Soar'd high on Contemplation's wings;
Rang'd the fair fields of Nature o'er,
Where never mortal trod before:
Bacon! whofe vaft, capacious plan,
Bespoke him angel, more than man!

Does love of martial fame inspire,
Cherish, ye fair, the gen'rous fire;
Teach them to fpurn inglorious reft,
And rouze the hero in their breast:
Paint Creffy's vanquish'd field anew,
Their fouls fhall kindle at the view
Refolv'd to conquer or to fall,

When liberty and Britain call.

Thus fhall they rule the crimson plain,
Or hurl their thunders thro' the main ;
Gain with their blood, nor grudge the cost,
What their degen'rate fires have loft:
The laurel thus fhall grace their brow,

As Churchill's once, or Warren's now.

One

One fummer's ev'ning, as I ftray'd
Along the filent moon-light glade;
With these reflections in my breast,
Beneath an oak I funk to reft;
A gentle flumber intervenes,
And fancy drefs'd inftructive scenes.
Methought a spacious road I fpy'd,
And ftately trees adorn'd it's fide;
Frequented by a giddy crowd

Of thoughtless mortals, vain and loud;
Who tripp'd with jocund heel along,
And bade me join their smiling throng.
I ftraight obey'd-Perfuafion hung
Like honey on the speaker's tongue:
A cloudless fun improv'd the day,
And pinks and roses ftrew'd our way.
Now as our journey we purfue,

A beauteous fabrick rose to view;
A ftately dome, and sweetly grac'd
With ev'ry ornament of taste.
This ftructure was a female's claim,
And Pleasure was the monarch's name.
The hall we enter'd uncontroul'd,
And faw the queen enthron'd on gold:
Arabian fweets perfum'd the ground,
And laughing Cupids flutter'd round;
A flowing veft adorn'd the fair,
And flow'ry chaplets wreath'd her hair.
Fraud taught the queen a thousand wiles,
A thousand foft infidious fmiles;
Love taught her lifping tongue to speak,
And form'd the dimple in her cheek;

The lily and the damask rose
The tincture of her face compofe ;
Nor did the god of wit difdain
To mingle with the shining train.
2 P

Her

Her vot'ries flock from various parts,
And chiefly youth refign'd their hearts;
The old in fparing numbers prefs'd,
But aukward devotees at best.

Now let us range at large,' we cry'd,
Thro' all the garden's boafted pride.'
Here jafmines fpread the filver flow'r,
To deck the wall, or weave the bow'r;
The woodbines mix in am'rous play,
And breathe their fragrant lives away.
Here rifing myrtles form a fhade,
There rofes blufh, and fcent the glade;
The orange, with a vernal face,
Wears ev'ry rich autumnal grace;

While the young bloffoms here unfold,
There shines the fruit, like pendant gold.
Citrons their balmy sweets exhale,

And triumph in the diftant gale.
Now fountains, murm'ring to the fong,
Roll their translucent ftreams along;
Thro' all the aromatick groves,
The faithful turtles coo their loves;
The lark afcending pours his notes,
And linnets fwell their rapt'rous throats.
Pleasure, imperial fair! how gay
Thy empire, and how wide thy fway!
Enchanting queen, how foft thy reign!
How man, fond man! implores thy chain!
Yet thine each meretricious art,
That weakens, and corrupts the heart:
The childish toys and wanton page,
Which fink and proftitute the ftage!

The masquerade, that just offence
To virtue, and reproach to fenfe!
The midnight dance, the mantling bowl,
And all that diffipate the foul;

All

All that to ruin man combine,
Yes, fpecious harlot, all are thine!

Whence fprung th' accurfed luft of play,
Which beggars thoufands in a day?
Speak, forc'refs, fpeak, (for thou canst tell)
Who call'd the treach'rous card from hell?
Now man profanes his reas'ning pow'rs,
Profanes sweet Friendship's facred hours;.
Abandon'd to inglorious ends,

And faithlefs to himself and friends;
A dupe to ev'ry artful knave,

To ev'ry abject with a slave:
But who against himself combines,
Abets his enemy's defigns.
When Rapine meditates a blow,
He shares the guilt who aids the foe.
Is man a thief who fteals my pelf-
How great his theft, who robs himself!
Is man, who gulls his friend, a cheat-
How henious, then, is felf-deceit !
Is murder juftly deem'd a crime-
How black his guilt, who murders time!
Should cuftom plead, as custom will,
Grand precedents to palliate ill,
Shall modes and forms avail with me,
When reafon difavows the plea?
Who games, is felon of his wealth,
His time, his liberty, his health:
Virtue forfakes his fordid mind,
And Honour fcorns to ftay behind.
From man when thefe bright cherubs part,
Ah, what's the poor deferted heart!
A favage wild that shocks the fight,

Or chaos, and impervious night!
Each gen'rous principle destroy'd,
And dæmons croud the frightful void!
2 P 2

Shall