Since faint is Praise, which living Merit draws,
And always posthumous is true Applause;
Deny not Worth, far from your Eyes remov'd,
Its late Reward to be rever'd and lov'd.
To Poetry devoted be this Night,
And kill not, with your paltry Cares, Delight;
See how great Dryden could your Sires surprize,
E're Funds were giv'n, or Stocks could fall or rise,
E're Avarice had banish'd Love and Truth,
And with its vile Contagion seiz'd ev'n Youth;
When Vice had yet no other Fools to show,
But the well-natured Cully and the Beau:
'Twas All for Love the World well lost of old,
But now for Money better bought and sold.
For Shame, that's only yours, which well you give;
Neglect not Life, only for means to live;
Look on yourselves, ye gaming Race, with Scorn,
And see what Images these Scenes adorn;
While Love and Fame alternately prevail,
As the great Master works the charming Tale.
Compare the generous Passions he excites,
To the fell Anguish of your gaming Nights,
When round pale Boards you sit with Feindlike pain,
For base Vicissitudes of Loss and Gain;
When Robbers, Beggars, Peers, with silent Hate,
And throbbing Breasts, to be each other, wait.
When thus our Bard (resist him if you can)
Has fairly from the Gamester won the Man;
Raise thyself still — and the past Times survey,
Since first the Age receiv'd this towring Play,
Since careless Luxury its Force could prove
In one Consent the World well lost for Love.
Reflect how Care pursues her thoughtless Hours,
And Fear the Adder lurking in the Flowers;
Think on great W IILLIAM , England's , Shame and Pride,
And how unthank'd, the toiling Hero dy'd,
On baffled Virtue, Fortune vainly kind,
Think on your Conquests to your Foes consign'd;
But think, though in tempestuous Seasons tost,
While Liberty is safe, the World not lost.