68
Epistles.
Few can, tho' wisdom should their health ensure,
Dispassionate and cool attend a cure.
In youth disus'd t' obey the needful rein,
Well pleas'd a savage liberty to gain,
We sate the keen desire of ev'ry sense, 345
And lull our age in thoughtless indolence:
Yet all are Solons in their own conceit,
Tho', to supply the vacancy of wit,
Folly and Pride, impatient of control,
The sister-twins of Sloth, possess the soul. 350
By Kneller were the gay Pumilio drawn,
Like great Alcides, with a back of brawn:
I scarcely think his picture would have pow'r
To make him fight the champions of the Tow'r,
Tho' lions there are tolerably tame, 355
And civil as the court from which they came:
But yet, without experience, sense, or arts,
Pumilio boasts sufficiency of parts;
Imagines he alone is amply fit
To guide the state, or give the stamp to wit: 360
Pride paints the mind with an heroic air,
Nor finds he a defect of vigour there.
When Philomel of old essay'd to sing,
And in his rosy progress hail'd the spring,
T'h' aëríal songsters, list'ning to the lays, 365
By silent ecstasy confess'd her praise.
At length, to rival her enchanting note,
The peacock strains the discord of his throat,
Dispassionate and cool attend a cure.
In youth disus'd t' obey the needful rein,
Well pleas'd a savage liberty to gain,
We sate the keen desire of ev'ry sense, 345
And lull our age in thoughtless indolence:
Yet all are Solons in their own conceit,
Tho', to supply the vacancy of wit,
Folly and Pride, impatient of control,
The sister-twins of Sloth, possess the soul. 350
By Kneller were the gay Pumilio drawn,
Like great Alcides, with a back of brawn:
I scarcely think his picture would have pow'r
To make him fight the champions of the Tow'r,
Tho' lions there are tolerably tame, 355
And civil as the court from which they came:
But yet, without experience, sense, or arts,
Pumilio boasts sufficiency of parts;
Imagines he alone is amply fit
To guide the state, or give the stamp to wit: 360
Pride paints the mind with an heroic air,
Nor finds he a defect of vigour there.
When Philomel of old essay'd to sing,
And in his rosy progress hail'd the spring,
T'h' aëríal songsters, list'ning to the lays, 365
By silent ecstasy confess'd her praise.
At length, to rival her enchanting note,
The peacock strains the discord of his throat,
