Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A58474
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Religion, the only happiness a poem : in a letter to a friend.
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Dawes, William, Sir, 1671-1724.
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1694
(1694)
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Wing R903; ESTC R12713
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9,798
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38
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RELIGION THE Only Happiness A POEM In a Letter to a Friend Quid prius dicam solitis parentis Laudibus qui res hominum Deorum Qui mare terras variisque mundum Temperat Horis Horace Licensed February 23th 1693-94 LONDON Printed by J. R. for Thomas Speed at the Three Crowns near the Royal Exchange in Cornhil MDCXCIV The PREFACE THIS Poem when it was written first was far from being design'd for the Press and only sent me by my Friend as a Private Letter But on the perusal of it I found somewhat in it that affected me extremely which made me thinking it might be beneficial to the Public perswade him to let me have it Printed This I say only to free the Authour from the imputation of Vanity which perhaps some would be too apt to lay on him had he publisht it himself at a time when we have many Good Poets and most men are or at least think themselves tolerable Judges It may be easily objected against such a Poem in general that it is of no use seeing there has been already so many Excellent Treatises in Prose upon the same Subject But the Answer is as obvious for there are many who have not the Patience to read them over yet nevertheless will be drawn to a thing of this Nature under the Notion of Diverting themselves But I needed not to say this in its Defence having before me so Excellent an Example set by the Ingenious Authour of a late Poem Entitled An Anatomy of Atheisme As to this Essay in particular if I may be allow'd to give my Thoughts of it I take it to be as Poetical as the Subject will bear and much more Solid than the Poetry of our Age the more 's the Pity is generally found to be and I am very much deceiv'd if the Reader doth not find in it the two main Ends of Poetry Diversion and Information I shall say no more to its Advantage but submit it to the Public wishing that every one who reads it may find as much Benefit by it as I did for my own particular ADVERTISEMENT IN the Press and will be speedily Published a Book Entituled Conversation in Heaven Part 2d being Sacramental Devotions consisting of Meditations and Prayers Preparatory to a Worthy Receiving of the Holy Communion as also Meditations and Prayers suited to the several Parts both of Administring and Receiving it By Lawrence Smith LLD. Author of the First Part. Printed for Thomas Speed RELIGION THE Only Happiness In a Letter to a Friend ENough my Friend of Love and all its Cares False wandring hopes and true perplexing fears I 'le leave the Barren Soil and try to gain A happier Isle far distant in the main In which alone though Storms around it beat My wearied Soul can find a safe retreat She 's quite fatigu'd by her rough treatment here And by your help a fairer course wou'd steer Religion now be her ambitious Aim A worthy Object of her growing Flame And which alone deserves the Love I paid To a mistaken Goddess I my self had made Tell me by what strange pow'r I was deceiv'd How the false Story was by me believ'd That Happyness cou'd flow from Earthly Love And those weak Flames not kindled from above Which when they shou'd beyond the Clouds aspire And in our Souls produce a Sacred Fire Grow flat and languid with a meaner Joy In Childish Trifles Noble Souls employ Which ne'r can Satisfie and often Cloy Yet this I 'le grant no Crimes our Passions are While bounded in our Souls by a due Care And 't is at least a part of Happyness When bounteous Heav'n our just desires doth bless But when th' Impetuous Torrent bears away Our Anxious Souls into the Stormy Sea And no fair Banks can tempt us to the Coast But that one point from whence our Bark is tost If whilst just Heav'ns but one request deny We crosly slight what ever else w' enjoy Then sure 't is Sin and we 're ingrateful Fools Base to our God and false to our own Souls Religion shews a happier path if we Not vainly slight our own Felicity Than all the false Delights of Sin produce Those treach'rous pleasures which so oft abuse Our easie Sences and thus steal their way Thro' those false Guards which our weak Souls betray They never dare attack the Nobler part With open Force but slily gain the Heart For soon before our unbrib'd Reason all Their baffled Arguments with ease wou'd fall Reason wou'd teach us 't is not Happiness To have a short-liv'd and uncertain Bliss A Joy so mean without Variety It wont so much as bare Diversion be And oh how short are all the Joys of Vice For which we pay such a Prodigious Price Our Souls Eternal Torments must endure For those false Pleasures which our Sins procure In a few hours the Gay Delusion 's fled By which poor Man is to Destruction led Had we the brittle Thread of Destiny In our own hands and cou'd prolong our Day To reach the Space which our Fore-Fathers knew Ere Luxury and thence Diseases grew Nay cou'd we spin it out to make it stretch To the last Limits Time it self shall reach Come to its end it there must cease to be Quite swallowed up in an Eternity And what proportion has one grain of Sand To the unnumber'd Myriads on the Strand Times longest Date will not so much appear If with Eternity you it compare For Finites ne'r so much increas't will be But Finites still and not Eternity But how far short of this must we descend If we to th' common rate of Life attend Yet there has no Millennian State been tri'd 'T is rare one does a Century abide How few to what we call Old Age arrive How small a part of scanty time They live Ask one whose Crutches keep him from the Grave If yet enough of Toilsome Life he have If he 'd resign th' Expiring Snuff unforc'd Consent his parting Soul shou'd be Divorc'd Not yet he cries he hopes a while to live That he may now his Mispent Time retrieve He has not done his Work and feign wou'd stay In all his Pray'rs he adds another Day That Life is short which none can satisfie And none we find are willing yet to die For that Poor Wretch who hasts Untimely Death And who unaskt throws back his hated Breath 'T is not that length of Life 's a Burthen Grown Some mean Despair does urge him to be gone He falsly say's he 's weary of his Life He 'l not quit that if you 'l remove his Grief And hence my Friend the Sinner must deduce Not a small part unfit for his abuse Childhood and Age he must of force resign In one he knows not t'other cannot sin Childhood a Thousand soft Amusements has Diverting Pleasures Recreating Plays With harmless Converse they their time beguile Their Art 's a moving Tear and pleasing Smile With these Endearments they their wishes gain Whose Art
is Innocence need never sin Soft are their Souls and fitted to receive Any Impressions their Wise Tutors give Here they 're prepar'd for Vertue or for Vice Which Rules can first their tender Souls possess But till their Judgments with their Years are grown And Good from Evil be distinctly known They scarce are Subjects of a Law which they Not know or knowing hardly cou'd obey Old Men have different Reasons to prevent Their sinning on or sinning their Content Disease and Pains in various Shapes attend Cough rack's the Lungs a Palsie shakes the Hand Salt Watry Rheums do from their Eyes distill And trickling down their Cheeks the Furrows fill Coldness contracts the Organs of the Ear No longer they delightful Musick hear Their Smell and Tast are lost their Feeling gone And that they live by their Complaints is known The Stone and Cholick on their Years attend Memento's of their near approaching End Yet these preposterous Crime when Pleasing Vice Forsakes them hug their Nauseous Avarice And make their Bags the Idol of their Age Worship their Gold and so go off the Stage Thus Youth and Manhood only can enjoy Those Fatal Pleasures which their Souls destroy Youth the Gay Spring of Pleasure and of Wit The Sences lay their Tribute at her Feet Th' Officious Mind too seeks out other Charms In Conversation and in Arts and Arms. But in our looser times my friend we see Though Honour calls yet from the Field they fly And all their Study and their boasted Arts Are to betray unpractis'd Virgins Hearts Their Conversation's no less vicious grown Female and Scandal are its chief Renown Pleasure alone they make their Deity Their Rules are Epicures Philosophy And their dear Study is Variety In Wine 's and Women's Orbs by turns they move They first are Drunk and then they practice Love Wine the kind Comfort of our Grief and Cares Allays our Sorrow and dispells our Fears And moderately us'd it fills our Veins With gen'rous Blood and works to Manly Strams But when abus'd and taken to excess It urges to the height of wickedness Our Reason's lost and we are hurried on To the last limits of Temptation Women 't is true at first were formed fair Gentle and good almost as Angels are And no mean part of that compleated bliss We mutually enjoy'd in Paradice But soon alas she to destroy began Now ev'ry Woman is an Eve to Man With gaudy Pleasures they our Paths do strow And scatter tempting charms where e're we go And we too freely yeild our selves to Vice When charming Woman the sly Tempter is But oh how short and fleeting are the joys In which vain Youth his time and strength employs How few the years if on the whole we look How great a part must from these few be took T is no small part that Nature's self requires Unless she 's serv'd our Pleasure quickly tires And what 's design'd to give us happiness Too long enjoy'd affords us nothing less The glutted sense is pall'd and we despise What now we sought with so much eagerness Our Palats Vitiated we refuse The Wine which we so lately did abuse And loath the Woman was but now enjoy'd The sense is sated th' appetite is cloyd And we at least must for a time abstain If only to return to sin again These intervals allow'd tho' we sin on Till to a riper age and sence we 're grown Yet then quite sated with joys of sense A new degree of sinning we commence Pride and Ambition now our Souls do sway And sense that Rul'd before learns to obey We grasp at Honour with a sounding Fame Vain Titles and a celebrated Name In Courts by bribes and flattery they raise Themselves to Dear bought Honour and Applause Purchasing Grandeur at the vast expence Of Nobler Honesty and Innocence If higher Titles do a Blockhead grace They 'le cringe and bow before the Solemn Ass Unaskt his Pandars and his Pimps they 'l be Buffoons or Jesters to his company Nay more if he 'l befriend them to the King For a new place or some fresh Honour bring Their Wive's or Sisters Modesty shall be O base exchange their lustful Patrons Fee For that alone by them 's accounted Vice Which curbs Ambition checks their growing Rise Cit rolling in a lower Sphere does move As he were influenc'd from those above His Verture and his Soul he prostitutes For sordid Gain which ends all his disputes And that of all Religions he will chuse Which crams his coffers leav's his conscience Loose He seeks all methods to be popular Perhaps he gets the Scarlet gown or Chair But he 'l strive hard and hopes at least to gain Good-morrow Mr. Common-Council-Man If at a shop the Sparks and Beaux appear A handsome Wife shall sell her Husbands Ware And these beside the Ready gain is got Will always for their civil C old Vote But oh how vainly these poor Fools mispend Their Toilsome days to gain a Vainer end All that they Purchase at the mighty rate Is but the empty Name of being Great Great Fools indeed whose Juster Infamy Shall last when all their other Titles dye And all their Dear bought wealth and envied Lands Shall fall into some younger spend-thrift's hands Who lavishly shall waste what they to get Run out their Souls in the Almighty's debt And his profuseness spend on Wine and Whores What turn'd so many Widows out of Doors His tears that at the funeral are shed Are fumes of Wine that discompose his head Wine that was drank for joy the wretch is Dead Thus in a small circumference we see Sins Fatal pleasures brought to their Catastrophe Their certain Shortness rende'rs them but mean And their incertainty still much more Vain Our Opportunity doth swiftly fly And oft e're that is gone they glide away Death often comes and e're the play is seen With his dark curtain shuts the Gilded Scene Hurrys away the Actors e're they had done The pleasing parts they ' expected as their own And from Deaths hand there 's no security The Young and Old do undistinguisht Lye The difference is one May to'ther Must dye Some but just enter'd on the Stage of life Ere they to Manly age and strength arrive Whose innocence we are apt to think might save From that cold bed the too impartial Grave Unheeding fall and falling there they Lye Making a part in this dire Tragedy T is not Youths pleasant Gallantry or Wit Can save them sinking in the dreaded Pit But in the midst of their most Luscious joys Death slyly comes and those and them destroys Nor can the Manly force of riper age Resist the pow'r of Death's impetuous rage But they too must submit they too must yeild As Deaths sad Trophies in his sable field All fall alike no age nor no degree Is safe from Deaths insulting Tyranny Where then are all our charming Pleasures gone When We our selves are lost and quite Undone The Sparkling Wines no more our Palats please Beauty