The Christian Triumph.
53
These are the Bugbears of a Winter's Eve,
The Terrors of the Living, not the Dead.
Imagination's Fool, and Error's Wretch,
Man makes a Death, which Nature never made;
Then on the Point of his own Fancy falls;
And feels a thousand Deaths, in fearing one.
But were Death frightful, what has Age to fear?
If prudent, Age should meet the friendly Foe,
And shelter in his hospitable Gloom.
I scarce can meet a Monument, but holds
My Younger; ev'ry Date cries-"Come away."
And what recalls me? Look the World around,
And tell me what: The Wisest cannot tell.
Should any born of Woman give his Thought
Full Range, on just Dislike's unbounded Field;
Of Things, the Vanity; of Men, the Flaws;
Flaws in the Best; the Many, Flaw all o'er;
As Leopards, spotted, or, as Ethiops, dark;
Vivacious Ill; Good dying immature;
(How immature, Narcissa's Marble tells)
And at its Death bequeathing endless Pain;
His Heart, tho' bold, would sicken at the Sight,
And spend itself in Sighs, for future Scenes.
But grant to Life (and just it is to grant
To lucky Life, some Perquisites of Joy:
A Time there is, when, like a thrice-told Tale,
Long-rifled Life of Sweet can yield no more,
But from our Comment on the Comedy,
Pleasing Reflections on Parts well-sustain'd,
Or purpos'd Emendations where we fail'd,
Or Hopes of Plaudits from our candid Judge,
When, on their Exit, Souls are bid unrobe,
Toss Fortune back her Tinsel, and her Plume,
And drop this Mask of Flesh behind the Scene.
The Terrors of the Living, not the Dead.
Imagination's Fool, and Error's Wretch,
Man makes a Death, which Nature never made;
Then on the Point of his own Fancy falls;
And feels a thousand Deaths, in fearing one.
But were Death frightful, what has Age to fear?
If prudent, Age should meet the friendly Foe,
And shelter in his hospitable Gloom.
I scarce can meet a Monument, but holds
My Younger; ev'ry Date cries-"Come away."
And what recalls me? Look the World around,
And tell me what: The Wisest cannot tell.
Should any born of Woman give his Thought
Full Range, on just Dislike's unbounded Field;
Of Things, the Vanity; of Men, the Flaws;
Flaws in the Best; the Many, Flaw all o'er;
As Leopards, spotted, or, as Ethiops, dark;
Vivacious Ill; Good dying immature;
(How immature, Narcissa's Marble tells)
And at its Death bequeathing endless Pain;
His Heart, tho' bold, would sicken at the Sight,
And spend itself in Sighs, for future Scenes.
But grant to Life (and just it is to grant
To lucky Life, some Perquisites of Joy:
A Time there is, when, like a thrice-told Tale,
Long-rifled Life of Sweet can yield no more,
But from our Comment on the Comedy,
Pleasing Reflections on Parts well-sustain'd,
Or purpos'd Emendations where we fail'd,
Or Hopes of Plaudits from our candid Judge,
When, on their Exit, Souls are bid unrobe,
Toss Fortune back her Tinsel, and her Plume,
And drop this Mask of Flesh behind the Scene.
With
