_SOLILOQUY, September 29th, 1746._ [Sidenote: 29 Sept. 1746] This prop and that successively decays. [Sidenote: _fol._ 400.] Strokes thicken; each alarm my heart dismays, Widow'd of ev'ry earthly flatt'ring joy. Sorrows on sorrows roll without alloy. My country bleeds, and in its ruines lie Thousands. My all's perhaps condemned to die. Amaz'd, o'erwhelmed, without one cheering ray, From those dread scenes, when shall I wing my way? To Thee, great God, I lift my fainting soul, Who fierce, devouring passions canst controul. Nature, convulsive, wrapt in furious forms, Calms at thy word. Contend shall mortal worms? If partial ill promotes the gen'ral good, Tho' nature shrinks, I kiss the angry rod. This, this alone, my spirits can sustain, That thou supreme o'er all the world dost reign. When I or mine, howe'er decreed to fall, Shall turn to dust, be our eternal all. Meanwhile, inspire with fortitude divine; In prisons and in death, thy face make shine. Thy smiles, O God! each trial can unsting, And out of gall itself can sweetness bring. O Liberty! O Virtue! O my Country! Tell me, ye wise, now sunk in deep despair, Where grows the med'cine for oppressive care? Where grows it not? th' ingenious Pope replies; 'To make the happy, friend, be good, be wise; Add only competence to health and peace, You need no more to perfect happiness.' [Sidenote: _fol._ 401.] O strangers to the sorrows of the mind, The load of ills that oft afflicts mankind! One chain of woes another still succeeds. Our friends are martyr'd, and our country bleeds. Humanity's too weak these ills to bear; Too plain a proof no happiness is here. Must we, content, slavery's curse endure, Nor bravely wish, nor once attempt a cure? Will rebel-murderers from blood refrain? Will corrupt statesmen liberty maintain? Will Britain clear her long-contracted scores On armies, fleets, for Hanover and whores? Will justice flourish, will our trade increase, Our fame grow greater, or our taxes less? Bid things impossible in our natures rise! Bid knaves turn honest, nay, bid fools turn wise! Bid France keep faith! Bid England show her zeal, And fight as well as wish to turn the scale! Bid sympathy forsake my joyless breast, Or miracles revive to give me rest!