Why start? the Case is yours, or will be soon;

Some Years perhaps, perhaps another Moon:

Life in its utmost Span, is still a Breath;

And those who longest dream must wake in Death.

Like you, I once thought ev'ry Bliss secure,

And Gold of ev'ry Ill the certain Cure:

'Till steep'd in Sorrows, and besieg'd with Pain,

Too late I found all earthly Riches vain:

Disease, with Scorn threw back the sordid Fee,

And Death still answer'd, What is Gold to me?

Fame, Titles, Honours, Glory next I sought,

And Fools obsequious nurs'd the childish Thought:

Circled with brib'd Applause and purchas'd Praise,

I built on endless Pleasure, endless Days:

Till Death awak'd me from a Dream of Pride,

And laid a prouder Beggar by my Side.

Pleasure I courted, and obey'd my Taste;

The Banquet smil'd, and smil'd the gay Repast:

A loathsome Carcase was my constant Care,

And Worlds were ransack'd but for me to share:

Go on, poor Wretch! to Luxury be firm;

But, know, I feasted, but—to feast a Worm.

Already, sure, less terrible I seem;

And you, like me, will own that Life's a Dream:

Farewell, remember, nor my Words despise!

The only happy, are the early wise.