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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 scene.
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 fhall not drivel; and their pride
On this reverfion takes up ready praife.

SE C T. XIX.

ON IRRESOLUTION.

DR. YOUNG.

A

T thirty man suspects 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

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Strikes thro' their wounded hearts the fudden dread;
But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air,
Soon clofe; where paft the fhaft, no trace is found.

no fear the sky retains,

As from the wing
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 sheds
O'er thofe we love, we drop it in their grave.

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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!

SECT

DR. YOUNG.

Moments feize

;

Heav'n's on their wing: A moment we may wish,
When worlds want wealth to buy. Bid day stand still;
Bid him drive back his car, and reimport

The period past, regive the given hour.

XXI.

DR. YOUNG.

ON LIFE'S STAGE.

LIFE's little stage is a small eminence,
Inch-high the grave above; that home of man,

Where

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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!

SECT. XXII.

DR. YOUNG.

ON FRIENDSHIP.

JUDGE before friendship, then confide till death

A friend is worth all hazards we can run.
Poor is the friendless master 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 spoil, like bales unopen'd to the fun. Had thought been all, sweet speech had been deny'd ; Speech, thought's canal! fpeech, thought's criterion. DR. YOUNG

SE C T. 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

O my 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 eagernefs and age? With av'rice and convulfions grasping hard? Grasping at air! for what has earth befide?

DR. YOUNG,

SE C T. XXIV.

ON THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY.

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Y proftrate foul adores the prefent God: Praise 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 spans immensity! 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 darkness! If on tow'ring wing, I fend it thro' the boundlefs vault of ftars!

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

DR. YOUNG.

SECT. XXV.

TO A LADY PLAYING UPON A LUTE.

THE

HE trembling ftrings about her fingers crowd, And tell their joy for every kifs aloud: Small force there needs to make them tremble so, 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 disarms 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 prefence 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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