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A N

ESSAY

ON

VIRTU U E.

To the Hon. PHILIP YORKE, Efq.

THOU

HOU, whom nor honours, wealth, nor youth can spoil

With the least vice of each luxuriant foil,

Say, YORKE, (for fure, if any, thou canft tell)
What Virtue is, who practise it so well;
Say, where inhabits this Sultana queen;
Prais'd and ador'd by all, but rarely seen :
By what fure mark her effence can we trace,
When each religion, faction, age, and place
Sets up fome fancy'd idol of its own,
A vain pretender to her facred throne?
In man too oft a well-diffembled part,
A felf-denying pride in woman's heart;

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In fynods faith, and in the fields of fame
Valour ufurps her honours, and her name;
Whoe'er their sense of virtue wou'd express,
'Tis ftill by something they themselves possess.
Hence youth good-humour, frugal craft old-age,
Warm politicians term it party-rage,

True churchmen zeal right orthodox ; and hence
Fools think it gravity, and wits pretence;
To conftancy alone fond lovers join it,
And maids unafk'd to chastity confine it.

But have we then no law befides our will ?
No juft criterion fix'd to good and ill?
As well at noon we may obftruct our fight,
Then doubt if fuch a thing exists as light;
For no less plain wou'd nature's law appear
As the meridian fun unchang'd, and clear,
Wou'd we but search for what we were defign'd,
And for what end th' Almighty form'd mankind;
A rule of life we then should plainly see,

For to pursue that end must virtue be.

Then what is that? not want of power, or fame, Or worlds unnumber'd to applaud his name,

But a defire his bleffings to diffuse,

And fear left millions fhou'd existence lofe
His goodness only cou'd his power employ,
And an eternal warmth to propagate his joy.
Hence foul and fenfe diffus'd thro' ev'ry place,
Make happiness as infinite as space;

Thousands of funs beyond each other blaze,

Orbs roll o'er orbs, and glow with mutual rays;
Each is a world, where form'd with wond'rous art,
Unnumber'd fpecies live thro' ev'ry part:

In ev'ry tract of ocean, earth, and skies,
Myriads of creatures ftill fucceffive rise:

Scarce buds a leaf, or fprings the vileft weed,
But little flocks upon its verdure feed;

No fruit our palate courts, or flow'r our fimell,
But on its fragrant bofom nations dwell,
All form'd with proper faculties to share

The daily bounties of their Maker's care:
The great Creator from his heav'nly throne,
Pleas'd on the wide-expanded joy looks down,
And his eternal law is only this,

That all contribute to the general bliss.

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Nature fo plain this primal law displays,
Each living creature fees it, and obeys;
Each, form'd for all, promotes thro' private care
The public good, and juftly taftes its share.
All understand their great Creator's will,
Strive to be happy, and in that fulfil;
Mankind excepted, lord of all befide,

But only flave to folly, vice, and pride;
"Tis he that's deaf to this command alone,
Delights in others woe, and courts his own;
Racks and destroys with tort'ring steel and flame,
For lux'ry brutes, and man himself for fame ;
Sets Superftition high on Virtue's throne,
Then thinks his Maker's temper like his own;
Hence are his altars ftain'd with reeking gore,
As if he cou'd atone for crimes by more :
Hence whilft offended Heav'n he ftrives in vain
T' appease by fafts and voluntary pain,
Ev'n in repenting he provokes again.

How easy is our yoke! how light our load!
Did we not strive to mend the laws of God:

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