ON EQUALITY OF CONDITIONS.
Friend, o'er whose mind fair virtue still presides,
Whom reason still to nature's instinct guides,
Who mak'st thy wishes with thy station meet,
Blessed without wealth, in pleasures still discreet:
Happy are those who thus their genius scan,
Whom prudence teaches to elect life's plan:
His heart ne'er grieves repentance' voice to hear,
He lives concentred in his proper sphere.
Men differ; one's condition's like the rest,
Folly miscarries where good sense is blessed.
Bliss is the port to which each mortal's bound,
The wind's uncertain, rocks of life abound:
Heaven to enable man the port to find
A bark to every mortal has assigned.
Various resources, equal dangers rise,
What boots it when the storm roars through the skies
That thy poop's painted; that the changeful gales
Blow through thy silken shrouds and purple sails:
The pilot's art alone the storm allays,
And not the ornaments our bark displays.
What doctrine strange, you'll say, is here professed,
Is no state then beyond another blessed?
Whom reason still to nature's instinct guides,
Who mak'st thy wishes with thy station meet,
Blessed without wealth, in pleasures still discreet:
Happy are those who thus their genius scan,
Whom prudence teaches to elect life's plan:
His heart ne'er grieves repentance' voice to hear,
He lives concentred in his proper sphere.
Men differ; one's condition's like the rest,
Folly miscarries where good sense is blessed.
Bliss is the port to which each mortal's bound,
The wind's uncertain, rocks of life abound:
Heaven to enable man the port to find
A bark to every mortal has assigned.
Various resources, equal dangers rise,
What boots it when the storm roars through the skies
That thy poop's painted; that the changeful gales
Blow through thy silken shrouds and purple sails:
The pilot's art alone the storm allays,
And not the ornaments our bark displays.
What doctrine strange, you'll say, is here professed,
Is no state then beyond another blessed?
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