Better are ye, the youthful and the gay,
Who jocund rove thro' pleasure's flow'ry way!
Yet seek not there for bliss! your toil were vain,
(And disappointed toil is double pain)
Tho' from the living fount your nectar-bowls
Pour the soft balm upon your thirsty souls;
Tho' pure the spring, tho' every draught sincere,
By pain unbitter'd, and unpall'd by fear;
Tho' all were full as high as thought can soar,
Till fancy fires, and wishes crave no more:
Let lovely woman artless charms display,
Where truth and goodness bask in beauty's ray;
Let heavn'ly melody luxuriant float
In swelling sounds, and breathe the melting note;
Let gen'rous wines enliv'ning thoughts inspire,
While social converse sooths the genial fire:
If aught can yet more potent charms dispense,
Some stronger rapture, some sublimer sense;
Be these enjoy'd. — Then from the crowd arise
Some chief, in life's full pride maturely wise.
Ev'n you, my Lord, with titles, honours grac'd,
And higher still by native merit plac'd;
By stinted talents to no sphere confin'd,
Free ranging every province of the mind:
Equally fit, a nation's weight to bear,
Or shine in circles of the young and fair;
In grave debates instructed senates move,
Or melt the glowing dame to mutual love.
To heighten these, let conscious worth infuse
Sweet ease, and smiling mirth th' inspiring Muse.
Then answer, thou of ev'ry gift possess'd,
Say, from thy soul, art thou sincerely blest!
To various subjects wherefore dost thou range?
Pleasure must cease, ere man can wish to change.
Hast thou not quitted Flaccus' sacred lay,
To talk with Bavius, or with Flavia play;
When wasted nature shuns the large expence
Of deep attention to exalted sense!
Precarious bliss! which soon, which oft must cloy,
And which how few, how very few enjoy!