10
The Complaint.
Night I.
Loud Sorrows howl, invenom'd Passions bite,
Rav'nous Calamities our Vitals seize,
And threat'ning Fate wide opens to devour.
What then am I, who sorrow for myself?
In Age, in Infancy, from others Aid
Is all our Hope; to teach us to be kind.
That, Nature's first, last Lesson to Mankind;
The selfish Heart deserves the Pain it feels.
More gen'rous Sorrow, while it sinks, exalts;
And conscious Virtue mitigates the Pang.
Nor Virtue, more than Prudence, bids me give
Swoln Thought a second Chanel; who divide,
They weaken too, the Torrent of their Grief.
Take then, O world! thy much-indebted Tear:
How sad a Sight is human Happiness,
To those whose Thought can pierce beyond an Hour!
O thou, whate'er thou art, whose Heart exults!
Wouldst thou I should congratulate thy Fate?
I know thou wouldst; thy Pride demands it from me.
Let thy Pride pardon, what thy nature needs,
The salutary Censure of a Friend.
Thou happy Wretch! by Blindness thou art blest;
By Dotage dandled to perpetual Smiles.
Know, Smiler! at thy Peril art thou pleas'd;
Thy Pleasure is the Promise of thy Pain.
Misfortune, like a Creditor severe,
But rises, in Demand for her Delay;
She makes a Scourge of past Prosperity,
To sting thee more, and double thy Distress.
Lorenzo, Fortune makes her Court to thee.
Thy fond Heart dances, while the Syren sings.
Dear is thy Welfare; think me not unkind;
I would not damp, but to secure thy Joys.
Think not that Fear is sacred to the Storm.
Stand on thy Guard against the Smiles of Fate.
Rav'nous Calamities our Vitals seize,
And threat'ning Fate wide opens to devour.
What then am I, who sorrow for myself?
In Age, in Infancy, from others Aid
Is all our Hope; to teach us to be kind.
That, Nature's first, last Lesson to Mankind;
The selfish Heart deserves the Pain it feels.
More gen'rous Sorrow, while it sinks, exalts;
And conscious Virtue mitigates the Pang.
Nor Virtue, more than Prudence, bids me give
Swoln Thought a second Chanel; who divide,
They weaken too, the Torrent of their Grief.
Take then, O world! thy much-indebted Tear:
How sad a Sight is human Happiness,
To those whose Thought can pierce beyond an Hour!
O thou, whate'er thou art, whose Heart exults!
Wouldst thou I should congratulate thy Fate?
I know thou wouldst; thy Pride demands it from me.
Let thy Pride pardon, what thy nature needs,
The salutary Censure of a Friend.
Thou happy Wretch! by Blindness thou art blest;
By Dotage dandled to perpetual Smiles.
Know, Smiler! at thy Peril art thou pleas'd;
Thy Pleasure is the Promise of thy Pain.
Misfortune, like a Creditor severe,
But rises, in Demand for her Delay;
She makes a Scourge of past Prosperity,
To sting thee more, and double thy Distress.
Lorenzo, Fortune makes her Court to thee.
Thy fond Heart dances, while the Syren sings.
Dear is thy Welfare; think me not unkind;
I would not damp, but to secure thy Joys.
Think not that Fear is sacred to the Storm.
Stand on thy Guard against the Smiles of Fate.
Is
