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SE C T. XVIII.

ON PROCRASTINATION.

BE wife to day; 'tis madness to defer;
Next day the fatal precedent will plead ;
Thus on till wisdom is pufh'd out of life.
Procraftination is the thief of time;

Year after

year

it fteals till all are fled,

And to the mercies of a moment leaves
The vaft concerns of an eternal fcene.
Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears
The palm, That all men are about to live,
For ever on the brink of being born.
All pay themselves the compliment to think
They one day shall not drivel; and their pride
On this reversion takes up ready praise.

DR. YOUNG.

SECT. XIX.

ON IRRESOLUTION.

AT thirty man fufpects himself a fool;

Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan;

At fifty chides his infamous delay,
Pushes his prudent purpose to refolve;
In all the magnanimity of thought
Refolves and re-refolves, then dies the fame.
And why? Because he thinks himself immortal.
All men think all men mortal but themselves;
Themselves, when fome alarming shock of fate

Strikes

Strikes thro' their wounded hearts the fudden dread;
But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air,
Soon close; where past the shaft, no trace is found.
As from the wing no fcar the fky retains,
The parted wave no furrow from the keel,
So dies in human hearts the thought of death.
Ev'n with the tender tear, which nature fheds
O'er thofe we love, we drop it in their

grave.

DR. YOUNG.

SECT.

XX,

ON TIME.

TIME is eternity; pregnant with all

Eternity can give; pregnant with all That makes archangels fmile. Who murders time, He crushes in the birth a pow'r ethereal,

Only not ador'd!

Moments feize;

Heav'n's on their wing: A moment we may wish,

When worlds want wealth to buy. Bid day ftand still; Bid him drive back his car, and reimport

The period past, regive the given hour.

DR. YOUNG.

SECT XXI.

ON LIFE'S STAGE.

LIFE's little stage is a small eminence,

above; that home of man,

Inch-high the grave

C 4

Where

Where dwells the multitude: We

gaze around; We read their monuments; we figh, and while We figh, we fink; and are what we deplor'd; Lamenting or lamented, all our lot!

DR. YOUNG.

SE C T. XXII.

ON FRIENDSHIP.

JUDGE before friendship, then confide till death a

A friend is worth all hazards we can run.
Poor is the friendless mafter of a world:
A world in purchase for a friend is gain.
Friendship's the wine of life; but friendship new
Is neither strong nor pure.

Know'st thou what a friend contains?
As bees mixt nectar draw from fragrant flowers,
So men from friendship, wisdom and delight.

Haft thou a friend to fet thy mind abroach? Good fenfe will ftagnate. Thoughts fhut up want air, And fpoil, like bales unopen'd to the fun.

Had thought been all, fweet speech had been deny'd; Speech, thought's canal! speech, thought's criterion. DR. YOUNG⚫

SECT. XXIII.

ON COVETOUSNESS.

MAN wants but little; nor that little, long;

How foon muft he refign his very duft,

Which frugal nature lent him for an hour!

O my

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coevals! remnants of yourselves! Poor human ruins, tott'ring o'er the grave! Shall we, fhall aged men, like aged trees, Strike deeper their vile root, and closer cling, Still more enamour'd of this wretched foil? Shall our pale, wither'd hands, be still stretch'd out, Trembling at once with eagerness and age? With av'rice and convulfions grafping hard? Grafping at air! for what has earth befide?

DR. YOUNG.

SECT. XXIV.

ON THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY.

MY proftrate foul adores the present God:

Praife I a distant Deity? He tunes my voice,

The nerve that writes fuftains.

Wrap'd in his being, I refound his praise.

The nameless He, whofe nod is Nature's birth,
And Nature's fhield the fhadow of his hand;
Her diffolution his fufpended fmile!

The great first, laft! Pavilion'd high he fits;
Looks down on all that foars, and fpans immenfity!
Though night unnumber'd worlds unfolds to view,
Boundless creation! what art thou? A beam,
A mere effluvium of his majesty.

Down to earth's centre fhould I fend my thought,
Thro' beds of glittering ore, and glowing gems,
Their beggar'd blaze wants luftre for my lay;
Goes out in darknefs! If on tow'ring wing,
I fend it thro' the boundlefs vault of itars!

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The stars, tho' rich, what dross their gold to thee!
Great! good! wife! wonderful! eternal king!

DR. YOUNG.

SECT. XXV.

TO A LADY PLAYING UPON A LUTE.

'HE trembling ftrings about her fingers crowd,
And tell their joy for every kiss aloud :

Small force there needs to make them tremble fo,
Touch'd by that hand, who would not tremble too?
Here Love takes ftand, and while fhe charms the ear,
Empties his quiver on the liftening deer:
Mufic fo foftens and difarms the mind,
That not one arrow does refistance find:
Thus the fair tyrant celebrates the prize,
And aids herself the triumph of her eyes.
So Nero once, with harp in hand, furvey'd
His flaming Rome, and as that burn'd he play'd.

WALLER.

SECT.

XXVI.

ON LIBERTY.

Liberty! thou Goddess heavenly bright!

Profufe of blifs and pregnant with delight!

Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign,
And fmiling plenty leads thy wanton train.
Eas'd of her load, fubjection grows more light,
And poverty looks cheerful in thy fight:

Thou

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