Sat. V. The Universal Fajsion. ioiBut slie dares never boast the present hour,

So gross that cheat, it is beyond her power.

For such is or our weakness, or our curse,

Or rather such our crime, which still is worse,The present moment like a Wife we stiun,

And ne’er enjoy, because it is our own.

Pleasures are few, and fewer we enjoy;Pleasure, like Quicksilver, is bright , and coy ;

We strive to grasp it with our utmost skill,

Still it eludes us, and it glitters still:

If sciz’d at last, compute your mighty gains,

What is it, but rank poyson in your veins?

As Flavin in her glass an Angel spies,

Tride whispers in her ear pernicious lies;

Tells her, while she surveys a face so fine,

There's no satiety of charms divine;

H 3

Hence,