July 13, 1769. No. 237.

Life a Bubble

What a constant round of pain
Mortals here on earth sustain!
Real happiness requiring,
Ne’er obtaining, still desiring.
A fruitless search for future joys                                                               5
All our present bliss destroys.
Is there ought that’s worth this Trouble?
No! for life is but a Bubble.

   He whose vain ambitious mind
Fain would lord it o’er mankind,                                                            10
And to raise himself on high
Dares e’en sacred majesty,
Are crowns and sceptres worth his Trouble?
No! for life is but a Bubble.

   He who by thirst of gold opprest                                                         15
Wrongs mankind to fill his chest,
Robs the orphan, starves himself,
All to hoard up useless pelf,
Are earthly riches worth this Trouble?
No! for life is but a Bubble.                                                                   20

   He who o’er the noisy glass
Lets the precious minutes pass,
And in riotous delight
Blends the hours of day and night,
Sickness and remorse procuring,                                                           25
Sorrow worse than death enduring,
Are years of rev’ling worth his Trouble?
No! for life is but a Bubble.

   He whose humane and generous breast
Suffers for the soul distrest,                                                                    30
He whose meek and happy mind
Is to the will of Heaven resign’d,
Who from his justly earned store
With pitying heart relieves the poor,
He who with temperance receives                                                          35
The blessings bounteous Nature gives,
Eternal joys shall crown his Trouble,
And prove his life was not a Bubble.

July 20, 1769. No. 238.

On PEACE and RETIREMENT. 

Hail ye soft seats! ye limpid springs and floods!
Ye flow’ry meads, ye vales, and mazy woods!
Ye limpid floods, that ever murmuring flow!
Ye verdant meads, where flow’rs eternal grow!
Ye shady vales, where zephyrs ever play!                                                5
Ye woods, where little warblers tune their lay!
   Here grant me heaven, to end my peaceful days,
And steal myself from life by slow decays;
With Age unknown to pain or sorrow, bless’d,
To the dark grave retiring as to rest;                                                      10
While gently, with one sigh, this mortal frame,
Dissolving, turns to ashes whence it came;
While my freed soul departs without a groan,
And joyful wings her flight to worlds unknown.
   Ye gloomy groots, ye awful solemn cells,                                            15
Where holy, thoughtful, contemplation dwells,
Guard me from splendid cares, and tiresome state,
That pompous misery of being great.
Content with ease, ambitious to despise
Illustrious vanity, and glorious vice!                                                        20
Come, thou chaste maid, here ever let me stray,
While the calm hours steal unperceiv’d away;
Here court the muses, while the sun, on high,
Flames in the vault of heav’n, and fires the sky;
Or while the night’s dark wings this globe surround,                               25
And the pale moon begins her solemn round:
Bid my free soul to starry orbs repair,
Those radiant worlds which float in ambient air;
And with a regular confusion stray
Oblique, direct, along the aerial way.                                                     30
Or when Aurora, from her golden bowers,
Exhales the fragrance of the balmy flow’rs,
Reclin’d in silence in a mossy bed,
Consult the learned volumes of the dead,
Fall’n realms and empires in description view,                                        35
Live o’r past times, and antient days renew.
   Thus lonely, thoughtful may I run the race
Of transient life, in no unuseful ease!
And thou, fair peace, from the wild floods of war,
Come dove-like, and thy blooming olive bear;                                       40
Tell me, ye victors, what strange charms ye find
In conquest, that distruction of mankind!
Unenvy’d may your laurels ever grow,
That never flourish but in human woe,
If never earth the wreath triumphal bears,                                               45
Till drench’d in heroes blood, or orphans tears.

July 27, 1769. No. 239.

On some young Ladies expressing a Surprize what Pleasure there could be in Kisses.

Kisses, the Subject of Debate
What Extacy they may create.
As the Language of the Heart,
Lips contribute to impart,
Men may gain the Fair’s Affection                                                           5
While with these they have Connection;
Lips rever’d by gentle Touch,
Mayn’t avail the Passions much;
But with mutual Ardour press’d,
Warm Affections are confess’d.                                                             10
   Eyes proclaim the Hearts Compliance,
Lips confirm a sure Reliance,
Thus together, Lips, and Eyes,
Yield the happy Man the Prize.
   Ladies, disprove me, if you can,
   Proclaim the Battle, I’m your Man.
                                                                   A.Z.

July 27, 1769. No. 239.

Fidelity

Fidelity, though now no more,
Was highly prais’d in days of yore,
With tory, whig, or any one.
An upright, firm companion;
Whether dull mortals turned her out,                                                        5
Or whether she mistook her rout,
The nymph no curious search could find
Among the haunts of human kind,
But to the world’s disgrace and cost,
Th’ unhappy fugitive was lost;                                                                10
In vain, the papers advertise
Her name, apparel, shape and size;
In vain through ev’ry market town,
The cryer bawl’d it up and down.
Reward was offer’d all in vain,                                                               15
None bring the wanderer back again,
At length mere accident betray’d
The lurking of the banished maid:
—Where can you guess the nymph was found?
In kennel with the yelping hound.—                                                       20