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Or if thy Genius e'er forget his Chain,
And reach impatient at a nobler Strain,
Soon the sad Bodings of contemptuous Mirth
Shoot thro' thy Breast and stab the generous Birth,260
Till blind with Smart, from Truth to Frenzy tost,
And all the Tenour of thy Reason lost,
Perhaps thy Anguish drains a real Tear;
While some with Pity, some with Laughter hear.
Can Art, alas! or Genius guide the Head,265
Where Truth and Freedom from the Heart are fled?
Can lesser Wheels repeat their native Stroke,
When the prime Function of the Soul is broke?
But come, unhappy Man! thy Fates impend;
Come, quit thy Friends, if yet thou hast a Friend;270
Turn from the poor Rewards of Guilt like thine,
Renounce thy Titles and thy Robes resign;
For see the Hand of Destiny display'd
To shut thee from the Joys thou hast betray'd!
