Torn is the man, and morta! is the wound.
Some, o'er-enamour'd of their bags, run mad,
Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread.
Together some (unhappy rivals!) seize,
And rend abundance into poverty;

Loud croaks the raven of the law, and smiles; Smiles too the goddess; but smiles most at those (Just victims of exorbitant desire!)

Who perish at their own request, and whelm'd
Beneath her load of lavish grants, expire.
Fortune is famous for her numbers slain;
The number small which happiness can bear.
Tho' various for awhile their fates, at last
One curse involves them all; at death's approach
All read their riches backward into loss,
And mourn, in just proportion to their store.
And Death's approach (if orthodox my song)
Is hasten'd by the lure of Fortune's smiles.
And art thou still a glutton of bright gold?
And art thou still rapacious of thy ruin?
Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow;
A blow which, while it executes, alarms,
And startles thousands with a single fall.
As when some stately growth of oak, or pine,
Which nods aloft, and proudly spreads her shade,
The sun's defiance, and the flock's defence,
By the strong strokes of lab'ring hinds subdu'd,
Lound groans her last, and, rushing from her height
In cumb'rous ruin thunders to the ground;
The conscious forest trembles at the shock,
And hill, and stream, and distant dale resound.
These high-aim'd darts of death, and these alone,
Should I collect, my quiver would be full;
A quiver which, suspended in mid air,

Or near heaven's archer, in the zodiac, hung,
(So could it be) should draw the public eye,
The gaze and contemplation of mankind;
A constellation awful, yet benign,

To guide the gay thro' life's tempestuous wave,
Norsuffer them to strike the common rock;
"From greater danger to grow more secure,
And, wrapt in happiness, forget their fate."

Lysander, happy past the common lot,
Was warn'd of danger, but too gay to fear.
He woo'd the fair Aspasia: she was kind:
In youth, form, fortune, fame, they both were bless'd
All who knew envy'd; yet in envy lov'd;
Can Fancy form more finish'd happiness?
Fix'd was the nuptial hour. Her stately dome
Rose on the sounding beach. The glitt❜ring spires
Float in the wave, and break against the shore:
So break those glitt'ring shadows, human joys.
The faithless morning smil'd: he takes his leave
To re-embrace, in ecstasies, at eve.

The rising storm forbids. The news arrives;
Untold she saw it in her servant's eye.
She felt it seen (her heart was apt to feel)
And drown'd, without the furious ocean's aid,
In suffocating sorrows shares his tomb.
Now round the sumptuous bridal monument
The guilty billows innocently roar,

And the rough sailor passing, drops a tear.
A tear?-can tears suffice?-but not for me.
How vain our efforts! and our arts how vain!
The distant train of thought I took, to shun,
Has thrown me on my fate.-These dy'd together;
Happy in ruin! undivorc'd by death!
Or ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace-
Narcissa, Pity bleeds at thought of thee;
Yet thou wast only near me, not myself.
Survive myself?-that cures all other woe,
Narcissa lives; Philander is forgot.

O the soft commerce! O the tender ties,
Close twisted with the fibres of the heart!
Which broken, break them, and drain off the soul
Of human joy, and make it pain to live.—"
And is it then to live! when such friends part,
Tis the survivor dies.-My heart! no more.

PREFACE

TO

THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED.

FEW ages have been deeper in dispute about religion, than this. The dispute about religion, and the practice of it, seldom go together. The shorter therefore the dispute the better. I think it may be reduced to this single question, Is Man Immortal, or, Is he not? If he is not, all our disputes are mere amusements, or trials of skill. In this case, truth, reason, religion, which gave our discourses such pomp and solemnity, are, (as will be shewn) mere empty sounds without any meaning in them. But if man is immortal, it will behove him to be very serious about eternal consequences; or, in other words, to be truly religious. And this great fundamental truth, unestablished, or unawakened in the minds of men, is, I conceive, the real source and support of all our infidelity; how remote soever the particular objections advanced may seem to be from it.

Sensible appearances affect most men much more than abstract reasonings; and we daily see bodies drop around us, but the soul is invisible. The power which inclination has over the judgment, is greater than can be well conceived by those who have not had an experience of it; and of what numbers is it the sad interest, that souls should not survive! The Hea then world confessed, that they rather hoped, than firmly believed Immortality! and how many Heathens have we still among us! The sacred page assures us, that life and immortality are brought to light by the gospel: But by how many is the gospel rejected, or overlooked? From these considerations, and from my being, accidentally, privy to the sentiments of some particular persons, I have been long persuaded,

E

that most, if not all, our infidels (whatever name they take, and whatever scheme for argument's sake, and to keep themselves in countenance they patronise), are supported in their deplorable error, by some doubt of their immortality, at the bottom. And I am satisfied, that men once thoroughly convinced of their immortality, are not far from being Christians. For it is hard to conceive, that a man fully conscious eternal pain or happiness will certainly be his lot, should not earnestly, and impartially, inquire after the surest means of escaping one, and securing the other. And of such an earnest and impartial inquiry, I well know the con

sequence.

Here, therefore, in proof of this most fundmental truth, some plain arguments are offered; arguments | derived from principles which Infidels admit in comnon with Believers; arguments which appear to me altogether irresistible; and such as, I am satisfied, will have great weight with all who give themselves the small trouble of looking seriously into their own bosoms, and of observing, with any tolerable degree of attention, what daily passes round about them in the world. If some arguments shall here occur, which others have declined, they are submitted with all deference, to better judgments in this, of all points, the most important. For as to the being of a GOD, that is no longer disputed; but it is undisputed for this reason only, viz. Because, where the least pretence to reason is admitted, it must for ever be indisputable. And of consequence no man can be betrayed into a dispute of that nature by vanity, which has a principal share in animating our modern combatants against other articles of our belief.

THE

COMPLAINT.

NIGHT VI.

THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED.

IN TWO PARTS.

Containing

The Nature, Proof, and Importance of Immortality.

PART I.

Where, among other things, Glory and Riches are particularly considered.

Inscribed to the Rt. Hon. HENRY PELHAM.

SHE* (for I know not yet her name in heav'n)
Not early, like Narcissa, left the scene,
Nor sudden, like Philander. What avail?
This seeming mitigation but inflames:
This fancy'd med'cine heightens the disease.
The longer known, the closer still she grew,
And gradual parting is a gradual death.
'Tis the grim tyrant's engine which extorts,
By tardy pressure's still-increasing weight,
From hardest hearts confession of distress.
O the long dark approach, thro' years of pain,
Death's gallery! (might I dare to call it so)
With dismal doubt and sable terror hung,

* Referring to Night the Fifth