University of Virginia Library

SCENE VI.

Felix
Solus.
How sudden do our Prospects vary here!
And how uncertain ev'ry Good we boast!—
Hope oft deceives us; and our very Joys
Shrink with Fruition;—pall, and rust away.
How wise are we in Thought!—how weak in Practice!
Our very Virtue, like our Will, is—nothing.
Frail Nature, take thy course! 'tis almost vain
To struggle and oppose thee:—What is Life?
What all its Comforts, but delusive Dreams,
That play on Fancy with a Meteor Flame
Of empty, airy Good!—I could almost
Resolve to lose myself in stupid Ease,
And dull Insensibility to Thought:
Give up this Reason, ev'ry wretched Good,
And to its Merits treat a loathsom Being!—
Hah!—whence this impious Turn?—rouze, Virtue, up;
And let me, like a Man, resolve to bear
Misfortune, Disappointment, Change and Chance.
Is Edmund dead?—I'll look yet farther on:
Yes, Castor shall fill up Succession's Gap,
And heir my Wealth and Honours:—Dullness, off;—
Life's Burthen hitherto I've patient borne;
And now, so near my Journey's end, to flinch!—
I will, with Patience, bear this dim Decline,
And spread, tho' faint, a Glory to the last!
I'll set in Honour! have no vulgar Grave.