The sovereign spake, the gods agree,
And each began in his degree:
Behind the throne of Jove there stood
Two vessels of celestial wood,
Containing just two equal measures,
One fill'd with pain, and one with pleasures;
The gods drew out from both of these,
And mix'd 'em with their essences,
(Which essences are heav'nly still,
When undisturb'd by nat'ral ill,
And man to moral good is prone,
Let but the moral pow'rs alone,
And not pervert 'em by tuition,
Or conjure 'em by superstition)
Hence man partakes an equal share
Of pleasing thoughts and gloomy care,
And Plain and Pleasure e'er shall be,
As PLATO says, in company.
Receive the one, and soon the other
Will follow to rejoin his brother.
Those who with pious pain pursue
Calm Virtue, by her sacred clue,
Will surely find the mental treasure
Of Virtue, only real pleasure:
Follow the pleasurable road,
That fatal Siren reckons good,
'Twill lead thee to the gloomy cell,
Where Pain and Melancholy dwell.
Health is the child of Abstinence,
Disease, of a luxurious sense;
Despair, that hellish fiend, proceeds
From loosen'd thoughts, and impious deeds;
And the sweet offspring of Content,
Flows from the mind's calm government.
Thus, man, thy state is free from woe,
If thou would'st chuse to make it so.
Murmur not then at Heav'n's decree,
The gods have given thee liberty,
And plac'd within thy conscious breast,
Reason, as an unerring test,
And should'st thou fix on misery,
The fault is not in them, but thee.