Sat. V. The Universal Passion . 89

If fate forbears us, fancy strikes the blow,

We make misfortune, Suicides in woe.

Superfluous aid! unnecessary skill!

Is nature backward to torment, or kill ?

How oft the noon, how oft the midnight bell,(That iron tongue of death!) with solemn knell,On folly's errands, as we vainly roam, ^ ^

Knocks at our hearts, and finds our thoughts fromMen drop so fast, ere life’s mid stage we tread,Few know so many friends alive, as dead.

Yet, as immortal, in our uphill chaceWe press coy fortune with unflacken’d pace;

Our ardent labours for the toys we seek,

Joyn night to day, and funday to the week.

Our very joys are anxious, and expireBetween satiety and fierce desire.

Now what reward for all this grief, and toil ?

But one ; a female friend’s endearing smile;

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