Page:The Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell (1833).djvu/248

120 Dar'st thou provoke, when rebel souls aspire, Thy Maker's vengeance, and thy monarch's ire; Or live entomb'd in ships, thy leader's prey, Spoil of the war, the famine, or the sea; In search of pearl, in depth of ocean breathe, Or live, exil'd the sun, in mines beneath, Or, where in tempests icy mountains roll, Attempt a passage by the northern pole? Or dar'st thou parch within the fires of Spain, Or burn beneath the line, for Indian gain? Or for some idol of thy fancy draw Some loose-gown'd dame? O courage made of straw! Thus, desperate coward, wouldst thou bold appear, Yet when thy God has plac'd thee sentry here, To thy own foes, to his, ignoble yield, And leave, for wars forbid, th' appointed field?

Know thy own foes; th' apostate angel; he You strive to please, the foremost of the three; He makes the pleasures of his realm the bait, But can he give for love that acts in hate? The world's thy second love, thy second foe, The world, whose beauties perish as they blow, They fly, she fades herself, and at the best, You grasp a wither'd strumpet to your breast; The flesh is next, which in fruition wastes, High flush'd with all the sensual joys it tastes. While men the fair, the goodly soul destroy, From whence the flesh has power to taste a joy,