Thus those, who have used much voluntary exertion in their early years, and have continued to do so, till the decline of life commences, if they then lay aside their employment, whether that of a minister of state, a general of an army, or a merchant, or manufacturer; they cease to have their faculties excited into their usual activity, and become unhappy, I suppose from the too great accumulation of the sensorial power of volition; which wants the accustomed stimulus or motive to cause its expenditure.] "Here laughs Ebriety more fell than arms, And thins the nations with her fatal charms, With Gout, and Hydrops groaning in her train, And cold Debility, and grinning Pain, 80 With harlot's smiles deluded man salutes, Revenging all his cruelties to brutes! There the curst spells of Superstition blind, And fix her fetters on the tortured mind; She bids in dreams tormenting shapes appear, With shrieks that shock Imagination's ear, E'en o'er the grave a deeper shadow flings, And maddening Conscience darts a thousand stings. [Footnote: _Here laughs Ebriety_, l. 77. Saevior armis Luxuria incubuit, victumque ulciscitur orbem. HORAC.] [Footnote: _E'en o'er the grave_, l. 87. Many theatric preachers among the Methodists successfully inculcate the fear of death and of Hell, and live luxuriously on the folly of their hearers: those who suffer under this insanity, are generally most innocent and harmless people, who are then liable to accuse themselves of the greatest imaginary crimes; and have so much intellectual cowardice, that they dare not reason about those things, which they are directed by their priests to believe. Where this intellectual cowardice is great, the voice of reason is ineffectual; but that of ridicule may save many from these mad-making doctors, as the farces of Mr. Foot; though it is too weak to cure those who are already hallucinated.] "There writhing Mania sits on Reason's throne, Or Melancholy marks it for her own, 90 Sheds o'er the scene a voluntary gloom, Requests oblivion, and demands the tomb. And last Association's trains suggest Ideal ills, that harrow up the breast, Call for the dead from Time's o'erwhelming main, And bid departed Sorrow live again.