BALLAD. (From prudence let my joys take birth)

From prudence let my joys take birth, Let me not be passion's slave, Approv'd by reason, sweet's the mirth, Vice of pleasure is the grave.

Then still to reason's dictates true, Select the sweets of life like bees; Thus your enjoyments will be few But such as on reflection please.

Wine exhilarates the soul, Inspires the mirth of every feast, But gluttons so may drain the bowl, Till man degenerates to beast;

Then mirth and wisdom keep in view, And freely on the bottle seize; What though your pleasures are but few, They're such as on reflection please.

Love the source of human joys, The mind with bliss that sweetly fills, Too often its own end destroys, And proves the source of human ills:

Here reason's dictates keep in view, Or, farewel freedom, farewel ease, The real joys of life are few But such as on reflection please.

Then while we meet, let's only own Joys that do honour to the heart, And ceasing to prize these alone, Deplore our frailty, sigh, and part;

Meanwhile to reason's dictates true, Select the sweets of life like bees, Thus your enjoyments will be few But such as on reflection please.