Epistles.
59
Tho' no rich labours of the Persian loom,
Nor the nice sculptor's art, adorn his room, 95
Sleep unprovok'd will softly seal his eyes,
And innocence the want of down supplies;
Health tempers all his cups, and at his board
Reigns the cheap luxury the fields afford:
Like the great Trojan, mantled in a cloud, 100
Himself unseen, he sees the lab'ring crowd,
Where all industrious to their ruin run,
Swift to pursue what most they ought to shun.
Some, by the sordid thirst of gain controll'd,
Starve in their stores, and cheat themselves for gold,
Preserve the precious bane with anxious care, 106
In vagrant lusts to feed a lavish heir:
Others devour Ambition's glitt'ring bait,
To sweat in purple, and repine in state;
Devote their pow'rs to ev'ry wild extreme 110
For the short pageant of a pompous dream;
Nor can the mind to full perfection bring
The fruits it early promis'd in the spring,
But in a public sphere those virtues fade,
Which open'd fair and flourish'd in the shade: 115
So while the Night her ebon sceptre sways,
Her fragrant blooms the Indian plant[1] displays;
But the full day the short-liv'd beauties shun,
Elude our hopes, and sicken at the sun.
Nor the nice sculptor's art, adorn his room, 95
Sleep unprovok'd will softly seal his eyes,
And innocence the want of down supplies;
Health tempers all his cups, and at his board
Reigns the cheap luxury the fields afford:
Like the great Trojan, mantled in a cloud, 100
Himself unseen, he sees the lab'ring crowd,
Where all industrious to their ruin run,
Swift to pursue what most they ought to shun.
Some, by the sordid thirst of gain controll'd,
Starve in their stores, and cheat themselves for gold,
Preserve the precious bane with anxious care, 106
In vagrant lusts to feed a lavish heir:
Others devour Ambition's glitt'ring bait,
To sweat in purple, and repine in state;
Devote their pow'rs to ev'ry wild extreme 110
For the short pageant of a pompous dream;
Nor can the mind to full perfection bring
The fruits it early promis'd in the spring,
But in a public sphere those virtues fade,
Which open'd fair and flourish'd in the shade: 115
So while the Night her ebon sceptre sways,
Her fragrant blooms the Indian plant[1] displays;
But the full day the short-liv'd beauties shun,
Elude our hopes, and sicken at the sun.
- ↑ The nure-tree.
