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Woulds thou engage the gods peculiar care ?
O Hercules, th' immortal pow’rs adore !
Attend their altars, and their aid implore.
Lov'd as her father, as her god ador’d?
Her voice in council, in the fight her sword :
Wouldst thou, to quell the proud and lift the opprefty
In arts of war and matchless strength excel? Firft conquer thou thyself: to ease, to reft,
To each foft thought of pleasure, bid farewela The night alternate, due to sweet repose,
In watches wale : in painful march, the day: Congcald amidst the rigorous winter's snows,
Scorch'd by the summer's thirst-inflaming raya Thy hardeu'd limbs shall boaft fuperior might : Vigour fhall brace thine arm, resistless in the fight."
« Hear'it thou what monsters then thou must engage ?
What dangers, gentle youth, fhe bids thee prove ?" (Abrupt fans Sloth)— Ill fit thy tender age
Tumult and wars, fit age for joy and love. .
Turn, gentle youth, to me, to love, and joy !
To these I lead'? no monsters here shall stay Thine easy courfe ; no cares thy péace 'annoy ;
I lead to bliss a nearer, smoother way : Short is my way, fair, easy, smooth, and plain : Turn, gentle youth-- with me eternal pleasures reign."
“ What pleasures, vain mislaken wretch, are thine ?
(Virtue with scorn replied) “ who fleep'lt in eafe Insensate į whose soft limbs the toil decline
That seasons bliss, and makes enjoyment please : Draining the copious bowl ere thirst require :
Feasting ere hunger to the feaft invite; Whose taltelefs joyś anticipate desire,
Whom luxury supplies wirh appetite' ; Yet nature loaths, and you employ in vain Variety and art to conquer
The sparkling neftar, coold with summer snows..
The dainty board with choicest viands spread. To thee are taseless all! sincere repose
Flies froin thy flow'ry couch and downy bed. For thou art only tir’d with indolence :
Nor is thy fleep with toil and labour bought, Th’imperfect sleep, that lulls thy languid sense
In dull oblivious interval of thought ; That kindly steals th' inactive hours away From the long ling’ring space, that lengthens out the day.
From bounteous nature's unexhausted stores.
Flows the pure fountain of fincere delights : Averse to her, you walte the joyless hours ;
Sleep drowns thy days, and riot rules thy nightsé Immortal tho' thou art, indignant Jove
Hurl'd thee from heaven, th' immortals blissful place.. For ever banish'd from the realms above,
To dwell on earth with man's degenrate race :
Fond wretch, that vainly weeneit all delight
To gratify the fense, reserv'd for thee ! Yet the most pleasing object to the fight,
Thine own fair action, never didft thou see..
Soft music, warbling voices, melting lays ;
Charming the foul, thou ne'er didst hear thy praise !
Vaft happinefs enjoy thy gay allies !
A youth of follies, an old age of cares;
Vain, idle, delicate, in thoughtless ease.
Reserving woes for age, their prime they spend ; All wretched, hopeless, in the evil days,
With sorrow to the verge of life they tend. Griev'd with the present, of the pall afham'd, They live and are despis'd; they die, nor more are nam'd.
But with the gods, and godlike men, I dwell ;
Me, his supreme delight, th'Almighty Sire
All, or divine or human, I inspire,
In union meet conjoin'd, with me reside :
The furelt policy, the wiselt guide. With me true friend hip dwells : fhe deigns to bind Those generous fouls alone, wha:n I before have join'd.
Nor need my friends the various colly feait ;
Hunger to them th' effects of art supplies ; Labour prepares their weary limbs to res;
Sweet is their fisep; light, chearful, strong they rise. Thro' health, thro’joy, thro' pleasure, and renown
They tread my paths; and by a soft descent,
Look back with transport on a life well spent;
And when, the destin'd term at lengths complete,
Their ashes rest in peace, eternal fame
In sacred song for ever lives their name.
My voice, and live: let thy celestial birth
That leads to fame, and raises thee from earth
Her words breathe fire celelal, and impart,
New vigour to his soul, that sudden caught The generous flame : with great intent his heart
Swells full, and labours with exalted thought. The mift of error from his eyes difpellid,
Thro' all her fraud ful arts, in clearest light,
Unveil'd lhe flood confess’d before his fight :
No more the rosy bloom in sweet disguise
grace Leaves her wan cheek; pale fickness clouds her eyes Livid and sunk, and pallions dim her face.