As Happiness must ever be our Aim,
By various Paths, we still pursue the same
We long for Pleasure & for Ease we sigh
And strain the Cords that draw the Object nigh.
Tho' Taste & Whim do oft, too oft prevail
And Arts refin'd pervert not trim the Scale,
Where Heav'n & Nature kindly meant to weigh,
With moral Rectitude each well spent Day,
While mild Humility that soft-ey'd Maid,
Views virtuous Actions, as if half afraid,
The very Thought, her Pupils could excell
Might stain the Lustre of their doing well
Internal Peace from different Causes flow,
Too deep the Subject to attempt to shew,
Howe'er Mankind thro' different Mediums see,
In this one Point I think they all agree,
To draw, sweet Health, a pleasing Stream from thee.
As Soul & Body's for a Time confin'd,
'Till Heav'n permits the Knot to be disjoin'd;
Its but vain boasting, then, to talk of Bliss,
While this fine Frame feels—there is aught amiss.
The Stoics Tongue won't own the Force of Pain,
Too proud to yield, too Stubborn to complain,
From his first Maxims won't in Word depart,
And Doubly suffers for his Pride of Heart,
Tho' this great Evil can't be quite redrest,
It's vastly soften'd in a Patient Breast,
Who prays of Heav'n to calm their gloomy Fears
And trust their Pray'rs will reach th'Almightys Ears.
In certain Herbs & Plants there lays a Power
To lull the Anguish of the painful Hour,
In Gums & Fossils was this Pow'r conceal'd,
'Till Chance, & Skill, & Time, this Pow'r reveal'd.
Deep Secrets yet may Nature have in Store,
But bless the present—humbly hope for more.
Most true her Bounties have been oft abus'd
And oft thro' Ignorance her Aid's misus'd.
For venal Gold, her Poisons dealt around,
And added Anguish to the aching Wound.
In ev'ry Age, in every Clime this wrong
Has damp'd th' Eulogy of Friendships Song,
Yet low Pretenders to each nobler Art
Serve but as Steps to mount the better Part.
Who rais'd, exalted, to a higher Sphere,
Not only heal, but drop the gen'rous Tear,
Their Heads may dictate, but their Hearts will feel
And mourn those Woes beyond their Pow'r to heal,
The Good & Modest, all unite in this
The bold Assumer thinks he ne'er can miss.
O Britain bless'd, for many Favours sent
Allow'd in Fame, by Europes in joint Consent,
To boast the Knowledge of the healing Tribe,
Where Skill with Virtue has been closely tied,
In Painting, Sculpture, & poetic Fire,
Your neighb'ring Nations may with Truth aspire
To struggle for the Laurel or the Palm;
Yet ev'n here you're far from proving Calm,
Let Naples boast the Pow'r of forming Stone,
Like Life born Features—this be all her own;
Let art drawn Pencils every Beauty trace,
And glowing Colours animate the Face
But Englands Sons more useful in their Skill
Can stop the Progress of destructive Ill,
The fine Anatomist can point the Way;
And find the Source where every Evil lay.
As some nice Florist marks the falling Show'r
That gives fresh Vigour to the drooping Flow'r,
Thro' ev'ry Tube or Channel views the Course
Where gently moving, or with active Force,
Thus Harvey trac'd the Bloods meand'ring Stream
And saw thro' Natures fine wrought complex Scheme:
Untwin'd the Clue that veil'd the purple Tide
Explor'd those Views, no longer doom'd to hide,
Nor dy'd with him this Science so profound,
While Hunter lives it falls not to the Ground;
The nice Contexture of the human Frame
But adds fresh Honour to his growing Fame.
Impartial Justice only waits the dead,
Then selfish Envy bends her drooping Head,
And all Mankind unite to praise those gone
Which living is with such reluctance done.
May Months & Years, in gentle Peace roll round,
Before that Justice to a Name is found;
Which to his Merit & his Skill they owe
My heart can dictate my Pen cant shew,
The first among Physicians may he shine.
As Friend as Brother I have shar'd his Time
Alone & Pensive & opprest with Pain
The starting Tear sometimes could scarce refrain.
Tho' England's Pleasures open to me lay
Pain barr'd my Entrance & forbad the Way.—
But Joy unmix'd is not our Fate below,
Still dash'd & sully'd from the Cup of Woe,
Lest I should cry from here, I can't depart
And Dissipation had usurp'd my Heart.
But let not here my Obligations end
But add to Favours of your grateful Friend;
Let me intreat Advice in distant Climes
Where Boreas blusters, & where Phoebus shines,
I wish to lead a calm & tranquil Life
Distant from Bustle & a noisy Strife
Action & Exercise the World admire,
And call that best their Souls do most desire
No rich dress'd Viands shall my Health confound
Nor in strain'd Passions be my Senses drown'd
Nor very early would I meet the Dawn
While Dew drops glitter on the verdant Lawn;
A moon light Walk indulge me on the Green,
Or when the Sun makes ev'ry Shadow seen
In Forms gigantick, let me stroll along,
To hear the Mock-bird chaunt his rural Song
But when rough Winter with his Iron Hand,
Collects round crackling Fires a social Band;
I sit by that dear Pair unknown to you
Whose Souls can feel for Virtue all thats due
Let me remain nor rove abroad nor stray
Where Snows & Frosts point out the slipp'ry way.
The Book, the Work, the Pen can all employ
The vacant Moment to some peaceful Joy.
My Mentor too, shall join our little round,
And much we'll talk & think of british Ground,
More temp'rate Climes you & your Friends enjoy
No suns that scorch, nor Cold your Frames destroy,
May ev'ry Pleasure to your Lot be join'd
You know the greatest of a virtuous Mind,
“As those we love, decay, we dye in Part
String after String is sever'd from the Heart,
'Till loosen'd Life at last but breathing Clay,
Without one Pang is glad to fall away.
Unhappy he who latest feels the Blow,
Whose Eyes have wept o'er ev'ry Friend laid low,
Dragg'd ling'ring on from partial Death to Death,
Still dying all he can resigns his Breath.”