We call him cruel; years to moments shrink,
Ages to years. The telescope is turn'd.
To man's falfe optics (from his folly falfe)
Time, in advance, behind him hides his wings,
And feems to creep, decrepit with his age;
Behold him, when past by; what then is seen,
But his broad pinions swifter than the winds?
And all mankind, in contradiction strong,
Rueful, aghast! cry out on his career.

Leave to thy foes thefe errors, and thefe ills;
To nature just, their Caufe and Cure explore.
Not short heaven's bounty, boundless our expence;
No niggard, nature; men are prodigals.

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We waste, not use our time; we breathe, not live. Time wafted is exiftence, us'd is life.

And bare existence, man, to live ordain'd,

Wrings, and oppreffes with enormous weight.
And why? fince Time was given for use, not waste,
Injoin'd to fly; with tempeft, tide, and stars,

To keep his fpeed, nor ever wait for man;
Time's ufe was doom'd a pleasure waste, a pain;
That man might feel his error, if unfeen:
And, feeling, fly to labour for his cure;
Not, blundering, fplit on idleness for ease.

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155

Life's cares are comforts; fuch by heaven defign'd; 160
He that has none, must make them, or be wretched.
Cares are employments, and without employ

The foul is on a rack; the rack of rest,
To fouls most adverfe; action all their joy.

Here

Here then, the riddle, mark'd above, unfolds; 165 Then time turns torment, when man turns a fool. We rave, we wrestle, with Great Nature's Plan; We thwart the Deity; and 'tis decreed, Who thwart his will, fhall contradi& their own. Hence our unnatural quarrels with ourselves; Our thoughts at enmity; our bosom-broil; We push Time from us, and we wish him back; Lavish of luftrums, and yet fond of life;

170

Life we think long, and fhort; Death feek, and fhun: Body and foul, like peevish man and wife,

United jar, and yet are loth to part.

Oh the dark days of vanity! while here,

175

How tattelefs! and how terrible, when gone!
Gone! they ne'er go; when paft, they haunt us ftill;
The fpirit walks of every day deceas'd;

If time paft,

And fimiles an angel, or a fury frowns.
Nor death, nor life delight us.
And time poffeft, both pain us,

what can please?

That which the Deity to please ordain'd,

189

Time us'd. The man who confecrates his hours 185
By vigorous effort, and an honest aim,

At once he draws the sting of life and death;
He walks with Nature; and her paths are peace.

Our error's caufe and cure are feen: See next
Time's Nature, Origin, Importance, Speed;
And thy great Gain from urging his career.—
All-fenfual man, becaufe untouch'd, unfeen,
He looks on Time as nothing. Nothing else
Is truly man's; 'tis fortune's-Time 's a god.

190

Haft

195

Haft thou ne'er heard of Time's omnipotence?

For, or araif, what wonders he can do!

And will: To ftand blank neuter he difdains.

Not on those terms was Time (heaven's ftranger!) fent On his important embafly to man.

Lorenzo! no: On the long-deftin'd hour,

From everlasting ages growing ripe,

That memorable hour of wondrous birth,
When the Dread Sire, on emanation bent,
And big with nature, rifing in his might,
Call'd forth creation (for then Time was born),
By Godhead ftreaming through a thousand worlds;
Not on ti ofe terms, from the great days of heaven,
From old eternity's myfterious orb,

Was Time cut off, and caft beneath the fkies;
The fkies, which watch him in his new abode,
Meaturing his motions by revolving spheres ;
That horologe machinery divine.

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205

210

Hours, days, and months, and years, his children, play, Like numerous wings around him, as he flies:

Or, rather, as unequal plumes, they fhape

His ample pinions, fwift as darted flame,
To gain his goal, to reach his antient reft,
And join anew Eternity his fire;

In his immutability to neft,

215

When worlds, that count his circles now, unhing'd 220
(Fate the loud fignal founding) headlong rufh
To timeless night and chaos, whence they rofe.
Why fpur the fpeedy? Why with levities
New wing thy fhort, fhort day's too id fight?

Know't

230

Know ft thou, or what thou doft, or what is done? 225
Man flies from Time, and Time from man; too foon
In fad divorce this double flight must end:
And then, where are we? where, Lorenzo! then
Thy fports? thy pomps ?-I grant thee, in a state
Not unambitious; in the ruffled throud,
Thy Parian tomb's triumphant arch beneath.
Has Death his fopperies? Then well may Life
Put on her plume, and in her rainbow shine.
Ye well-array'd! ye lilies of our land!
Ye lilies male! who neither toil, nor fpin,
(As fifter lilies might) if not fo wife

As Solomon, more sumptuous to the fight!
Ye delicate! who nothing can fupport,
Yourselves moft infupportable! for whom
The winter rofe muft blow, the fun put on
A brighter beam in Leo; filky-foft

Favonius breathe ftill fofter, or be chid;

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24.0

And other worlds fend odours, fauce, and fong,

And robes, and notions, fram'd in foreign looms!

O ye Lorenzos of our age! who deem
One moment unamus'd, a mifery

245

Not made for feeble man! who call aloud
For every bawble drivel'd o'er by sense;
For rattles, and conceits of every caft,

For change of follies, and relays of joy,

250

To drag your patient through the tedious length
Of a fhort winter's day-fay, fages! fay,

Wit's oracles! fay, dreamers of gay dreams!

How

How will you weather an eternal night,

Where fuch expedients fail?

255

O treacherous Confcience! while fhe feems to fleep On rofe and myrtle, lull'd with fyren fong;

While the feems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop
On headlong Appetite the flacken'd rein,

And give us up to licence, unrecall'd,

260

Unmark'd ;-fee, from behind her fecret ftand,
The fly informer minutes every fault,

And her dread diary with horror fills.

Not the grofs A alone employs her pen;

She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band,

265

A watchful foe! the formidable spy,

Liftening, o'erhears the whifpers of our camp:
Our dawning purposes of heart explores,
And steals our embryos of iniquity.

As all-rapacious ufurers conceal

Their doomfday-book from all-confuming heirs ;
Thus, with indulgence moft fevere, she treats
Us fpendthrifts of ineftimable Time;

Unnoted, notes each moment mifapply'd;

270

In leaves more durable than leaves of brafs
Writes our whole hiftory; which Death fhall read
In every pale delinquent's private ear;
And Judgement publifh; publish to more worlds
Than this; and endless age in groans refound.
Lorenzo, fuch that Sleeper in thy breaft!

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280

Such is her flumber; and her vengeance fuch

For flighted counfel; fuch thy future peace!
And think'st thou kill thou can't be wife too soon?

But