Let not the cooings of the world allure thee; Which of her lovers ever found her true? Happy! of this bad world who little know?-- And yet, we much must know her, to be safe; To know the world, not love her, is thy point; She gives but little, nor that little, long. There is, I grant, a triumph of the pulse; A dance of spirits, a mere froth of joy, Our thoughtless agitation's idle child, 1280 That mantles high, that sparkles, and expires, Leaving the soul more vapid than before. An animal ovation! such as holds No commerce with our reason, but subsists On juices, through the well-toned tubes, well strain'd; A nice machine! scarce ever tuned aright; And when it jars--thy syrens sing no more, Thy dance is done; the demi-god is thrown (Short apotheosis!) beneath the man, In coward gloom immersed, or fell despair. 1290 Art thou yet dull enough despair to dread, And startle at destruction? If thou art, Accept a buckler, take it to the field; (A field of battle is this mortal life!) When danger threatens, lay it on thy heart; A single sentence, proof against the world: "Soul, body, fortune!--every good pertains To one of these; but prize not all alike; The goods of fortune to thy body's health, Body to soul, and soul submit to God." 1300 Would'st thou build lasting happiness? do this; Th' inverted pyramid can never stand. Is this truth doubtful? It outshines the sun; Nay, the sun shines not, but to show us this, 1304 The single lesson of mankind on earth. And yet--yet, what? No news! Mankind is mad; Such mighty numbers list against the right, (And what can't numbers, when bewitch'd, achieve!) They talk themselves to something like belief, That all earth's joys are theirs: as Athens' fool Grinn'd from the port, on every sail his own. They grin; but wherefore? and how long the laugh? Half ignorance, their mirth; and half, a lie; 1313 To cheat the world, and cheat themselves, they smile. Hard either task! The most abandon'd own, That others, if abandon'd, are undone: Then, for themselves, the moment Reason wakes (And Providence denies it long repose), O how laborious is their gaiety! They scarce can swallow their ebullient spleen, 1320 Scarce muster patience to support the farce, And pump sad laughter till the curtain falls. Scarce, did I say? Some cannot sit it out; Oft their own daring hands the curtain draw, And show us what their joy, by their despair. The clotted hair! gored breast! blaspheming eye! Its impious fury still alive in death! Shut, shut the shocking scene.--But Heaven denies A cover to such guilt; and so should man. Look round, Lorenzo! see the reeking blade, 1330 Th' envenom'd phial, and the fatal ball; The strangling cord, and suffocating stream;