Page:Poetical Works of John Oldham.djvu/252

242 Cursed mineral! near neighbouring hell begot, Which all the infection of thy damned neighbourhood hast brought; Thou bawd to murders, rapes, and treachery, And every greater name of villany; From thee they all derive their stock and pedigree; Thou the lewd world with all its crying crimes dost store, And hardly wilt allow the devil the cause of more. And what is pleasure, which does most beguile, That syren which betrays us with a flattering smile? We listen to the treacherous harmony, Which sings but our own obsequy, The danger unperceived till death draws nigh; Till, drowning, we want power to 'scape the fatal enemy. How frantic is the wanton epicure, Who a perpetual surfeit will endure, Who places all his chiefest happiness In the extravagancies of excess, Which wise sobriety esteems but a disease! O mighty envied happiness to eat! Which fond mistaken sots call great! Poor frailty of our flesh! which we each day Must thus repair for fear of ruinous decay! Degrading of our nature, where vile brutes are fain To make and keep up man! Which, when the paradise above we gain, Heaven thinks too great an imperfection to retain! By each disease the sickly joy's destroyed; At every meal it's nauseous, and is cloyed, Empty at best, as when in dream enjoyed; When, cheated by a slumbering imposture, we Fancy a feast, and great regalios by; And think we taste, and think we see, And riot on imaginary luxury.