'But what truth prompts, my tongue shall not dis

guise;

The steep ascent must be with toil subdu'd : Watchings and cares must win the lofty prize Propos'd by Heav'n; true bliss, and real good. Honour rewards the brave and bold alone :

She spurns the timorous, indolent, and base : Danger and toil stand stern before her throne, And guard (so Jove commands) the sacred place: Who seeks her must the mighty cost sustain, And pay the price of fame-labour, and care, pain.

and

'Wouldst thou engage the gods' peculiar care?
O Hercules, th' immortal powers adore!
With a pure heart, with sacrifice and pray'r
Attend their altars, and their aid implore.
Or wouldst thou gain thy country's loud applause,
Lov'd as her father, as her god ador'd?

Be thou the bold asserter of her cause ;

In

Her voice, in council; in the fight, her sword. peace, in war, pursue thy country's good: For her, bare thy bold breast, and pour thy generous blood.

'Wouldst thou, to quell the proud, and lift th' oppress'd,

In arts of war and matchless strength excel? First conquer thou thyself. To ease, to rest, To each soft thought of pleasure, bid farewell. The night alternate, due to sweet repose,

In watches waste; in painful march, the day: Congeal'd, amidst the rigorous winter's snows; Scorch'd, by the summer's thirst-inflaming ray ;

Thy harden'd limbs shall boast superior might: Vigour shall brace thine arm, resistless in the fight.'

'Hear'st thou, what monsters then thou must engage;

What danger, gentle youth, she bids thee prove? (Abrupt says 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 course; no cares thy peace 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 mistaken wretch, are thine!'

(Virtue with scorn reply'd)' who sleep'st in ease Insensate; 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 feast invite: Whose tasteless joys anticipate desire; Whom luxury supplies with appetite : Yet nature loaths; and you employ in vain Variety and art to conquer her disdain.

'The sparkling nectar cool'd with summer snows; The dainty board, with choicest viands spread; To thee are tasteless all! sincere repose

Flies from thy flow'ry couch and downy bed.

For thou art only tir'd with indolence :

Nor is thy sleep 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 sincere delights; Averse to her, you waste the joyless hours; Sleep drowns thy days, and riot rules thy nights. Immortal though 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 degeneráte race: Fitter abode! on Earth alike disgrac'd; Rejected by the wise, and by the fool embrac'd.

'Fond wretch, that vainly weenest all delight
To gratify the sense reserv'd for thee!
Yet the most pleasing object to the sight,

Thine own fair action, never didst thou see. Though lull'd with softest sounds thou liest along;

Soft music, warbling voices, melting lays : Ne'er didst thou hear, more sweet than sweetest

song

Charming the soul, thou ne'er didst hear thy praise!

No-to thy revels let the fool repair:

To such, go smooth thy speech, and spread thy tempting snare.

'Vast happiness enjoy thy gay allies!

A youth, of follies; an old-age, of cares: Young, yet enervate; old, yet never wise;

Vice wastes their vigour, and their mind impairs. 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 past, asham'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
Regards well-pleas'd: whatever works excel,
All or divine, or human, I inspire.
Counsel with strength, and industry with art,
In union meet conjoin'd, with me reside :
My dictates arm, instruct, and mend the heart;
The surest policy, the wisest guide.
With me, true friendship dwells: she deigns to
[join'd.
Those generous souls alone whom I before have

bind

'Nor need my friends the various costly feast; Hunger to them th' effects of art supplies, Labour prepares their weary limbs to rest; Sweet is their sleep: light, cheerful, strong they rise.

Through health, through joy, through pleasure and renown,

They tread my paths; and by a soft descent, At length to age all gently sinking down,

Look back with transport on a life well-spent :

In which no hour flew unimprov'd away;

In which some generous deed distinguish'd every day.

"And when, the destin'd term at length complete,
Their ashes rest in peace; eternal fame
Sounds wide their praise: triumphant over fate,
In sacred song, for ever lives their name.
This, Hercules, is happiness! obey

My voice, and live. Let thy celestial birth
Lift, and enlarge, thy thoughts.

Behold the way That leads to fame; and raises thee from Earth Immortal! Lo, I guide thy steps. Arise,

Pursue the glorious path; and claim thy native skies.'

Her words breathe fire celestial, 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 mist of errour from his eyes dispell'd,

Through all her fraudful arts in clearest light Sloth in her native form he now beheld;

Unveil'd she stood, confess'd before his sight: False Siren!-All her vaunted charms, that shone So fresh erewhile, and fair; now wither'd, pale, and gone.

No more the rosy bloom in sweet disguise

Masks ber dissembled looks: each borrow'd

grace

Leaves her wan cheek; pale sickness clouds her

eyes

Livid and sunk, and passions dim her face.