"More, more!" the glutton cries: for something new So rages appetite, if man can't mount, He will descend. He starves on the possess'd. Hence, the world's master, from ambition's spire, In Caprea plunged; and dived beneath the brute. In that rank sty why wallow'd empire's son Supreme? Because he could no higher fly; His riot was ambition in despair. 130 Old Rome consulted birds; Lorenzo! thou With more success, the flight of Hope survey; Of restless Hope, for ever on the wing. High perch'd o'er every thought that falcon sits, To fly at all that rises in her sight; And never stooping, but to mount again 136 Next moment, she betrays her aim's mistake, And owns her quarry lodged beyond the grave. There should it fail us (it must fail us there, If being fails), more mournful riddles rise, And Virtue vies with Hope in mystery. Why Virtue? where its praise, its being, fled? Virtue is true self-interest pursued: 143 What true self-interest of quite-mortal man? To close with all that makes him happy here. If vice (as sometimes) is our friend on earth, Then vice is virtue; 'tis our sovereign good. In self-applause is virtue's golden prize; No self-applause attends it on thy scheme: Whence self-applause? From conscience of the right. And what is right, but means of happiness? 151 No means of happiness when virtue yields; That basis failing, falls the building too, And lays in ruin every virtuous joy. The rigid guardian of a blameless heart, So long revered, so long reputed wise, Is weak; with rank knight-errantries o'errun. Why beats thy bosom with illustrious dreams Of self-exposure, laudable, and great? Of gallant enterprise, and glorious death? 160 Die for thy country!--Thou romantic fool! Seize, seize the plank thyself, and let her sink: Thy country! what to thee?--the Godhead, what? (I speak with awe!) though He should bid thee bleed? If, with thy blood, thy final hope is spilt, Nor can Omnipotence reward the blow, Be deaf; preserve thy being; disobey. Nor is it disobedience: know, Lorenzo! Whate'er th' Almighty's subsequent command, His first command is this:--"Man, love thyself." 170 In this alone, free agents are not free. Existence is the basis, bliss the prize; If virtue costs existence, 'tis a crime; Bold violation of our law supreme, Black suicide; though nations, which consult Their gain, at thy expence, resound applause. Since Virtue's recompence is doubtful, here, If man dies wholly, well may we demand, Why is man suffer'd to be good in vain? Why to be good in vain, is man enjoin'd? 180 Why to be good in vain, is man betray'd? Betray'd by traitors lodged in his own breast, By sweet complacencies from virtue felt?