Senseless to pains of death, from pangs of guilt! By guilt's last audit! By yon moon in blood, The rocking firmament, the falling stars, 2140 And thunder's last discharge, great nature's knell! By second chaos; and eternal night"-- Be wise--nor let Philander blame my charm; But own not ill discharged my double debt, Love to the living; duty to the dead. For know I'm but executor; he left 2146 This moral legacy; I make it o'er By his command; Philander hear in me; And Heaven in both.--If deaf to these, oh! hear Florello's tender voice; his weal depends On thy resolve; it trembles at thy choice; For his sake--love thyself. Example strikes All human hearts; a bad example more; 2153 More still a father's; that ensures his ruin. As parent of his being, would'st thou prove Th' unnatural parent of his miseries, And make him curse the being which thou gavest? Is this the blessing of so fond a father? If careless of Lorenzo! spare, oh! spare Florello's father, and Philander's friend! 2160 Florello's father ruin'd, ruins him; And from Philander's friend the world expects A conduct, no dishonour to the dead. Let passion do, what nobler motive should; Let love, and emulation, rise in aid To reason; and persuade thee to be--blest. This seems not a request to be denied; Yet (such th' infatuation of mankind!) 'Tis the most hopeless, man can make to man. Shall I then rise, in argument, and warmth? 2170 And urge Philander's posthumous advice, From topics yet unbroach'd?---- But, oh! I faint! my spirits fail!--Nor strange! So long on wing, and in no middle clime! To which my great Creator's glory call'd: And calls--but, now, in vain. Sleep's dewy wand Has stroked my drooping lips, and promises My long arrear of rest; the downy god (Wont to return with our returning peace) Will pay, ere long, and bless me with repose. 2180 Haste, haste, sweet stranger! from the peasant's cot, The shipboy's hammock, or the soldier's straw, Whence sorrow never chased thee; with thee bring, Not hideous visions, as of late; but draughts Delicious of well-tasted, cordial, rest; Man's rich restorative; his balmy bath, That supples, lubricates, and keeps in play The various movements of this nice machine, Which asks such frequent periods of repair. When tired with vain rotations of the day, 2190 Sleep winds us up for the succeeding dawn; Fresh we spin on, till sickness clogs our wheels, Or death quite breaks the spring, and motion ends. When will it end with me? ----"Thou only know'st, Thou, whose broad eye the future, and the past, Joins to the present; making one of three To moral thought! Thou know'st, and Thou alone, All-knowing!--all unknown!--and yet well known!