"Tis harmony from yon sequester'd bow'r, 65 Sweet harmony, that soothes the midnight hour! His morning course, th' enchantment was begun And he shall gild yon mountain's height again, 70 Is this the rugged path, the steep ascent, That Virtue points to? Can a life thus spent Lead to the bliss she promises the wise, Detach the soul from earth, and speed her to the skie◄ ' Ye devotees to your ador'd employ, 75 Enthusiasts, drunk with an unreal joy, Love makes the musick of the blest above, Heav'n's harmony is universal love; And earthly sounds, tho' sweet and well combin'd, And lenient as soft opiates to the mind, 80 Leave Vice and Folly unsubdu'd behind. Gray dawn appears; the sportsman and his train Speckle the bosom of the distant plain; 'Tis he, the Nimrod of the neighb'ring lairs; 85 90 Leaps ev'ry fence, but one, there falls and dies; 95 100 Will Av'rice and Concupiscence give place, Charm'd by the sounds-Your Rev'rence, or Your Grace? No. But his own engagement binds him fast; Set Paul to musick, he shall quote him too. 105 110 Cries-Well done, saint! and claps him on the back. 115 Is this the path of sanctity? Is this To stand a way-mark in the road to bliss? 120 Sad sacrilege! no function, but a trade! Occiduus is a pastor of renown; When he has pray'd and preach'd the sabbath down, With wire and catgut he concludes the day, 126 Quav'ring and semiquav'ring care away. The full concerto swells upon your ear; All elbows shake. Look in, and you would swear The Babylonian tyrant with a nod, 130 Had summon'd them to serve his golden god, So well that thought th' employment seems to suit, Psalt'ry and sackbut, dulcimer, and flute. O fie! 'tis evangelical and pure : Observe each face, how sober and demure 135 Ecstasy sets her stamp on every mien ; Still I insist, though musick heretofore Has charm'd me much, (not e'n Occiduus more,) Love, joy, and peace, make harmony more meet 110 For Sabbath ev'nings, and perhaps as sweet. Will not the sickliest sheep of ev'ry flock Resort to this example as a rock; There stand, and justify the foul abuse To play the fool on Sundays, why not we? 14E If he the tinkling harpsichord regards 150 Preaching and pranks will share the motley scene, 155 Pastime and business both it should exclude, 100 Nobly distinguish'd above all the six. By deeds, in which the world must never mix. Hear him again. He calls it a delight, A day of luxury observ'd aright, When the glad soul is made Heav'ns welcome guest, 166 O the dear pleasures of the velvet plain, 170 175 'Tis innocent, and harmiess, and refin'd, "The balm of care, Elysium of the mind. Innocent! Oh, if venerable Time 180 Slain at the foot of pleasure be no crime, Let him your rubrick and your feasts prescribe, Of manners rough, and coarse athletick cast, The rank debauch suits Clodio's filthy taste. Rusillus, exquisitely form'd by rule, Not of the moral, but the dancing school, 190 Wonders at Clodio's follies, in a tone As tragical, as others at his own. He cannot drink five bottles, bilk the score, Then kill a constable, and drink five more: But he can draw a pattern, make a tart, 193 And has the ladies' etiquette by heart. Go, fool; and, arm in arm with Clodio, plead Your cause before a bar you little dread: But know, the law, that bids the drunkard die, Is far too just to pass the trifler by. 200 Both baby featur'd, and of infant size, View'd from a distance, and with heedless eyes The diff'rence, though essential, fails to strike, But if he play the glutton, and exceed, 215 Made nothing but a brute the slave of sense. Gorgonius sits, abdominous and wan, 220 That pleasures, therefore, or what such we call, 225 Are hurtful, is a truth confess'd by all. And some, 230 235 Whose fruit, though fair, tempts only to destroy. 240 Hatch'd by the beams of truth, denies him rest, 244 [farne ? Are all the nameless sweets of friendship fled? 250 |