The COLLAR. From the same

No more, I cry'd, shall Grief be mine, I will throw off the Load; No longer weep, and sigh, and pine To find an Absent GOD.

Free as the Muse, my Wishes move, Thro' Nature's Wilds they roam: Loose as the Wind, ye Wand'rers rove, And bring me Pleasure home!

Still shall I urge with endless Toil, Yet not obtain my Suit? Still shall I plant th' ungrateful Soil, Yet never taste the Fruit?

Not so, my Heart!—for Fruit there is, Seize it with eager Haste; Riot in Joys, dissolve in Bliss, And pamper ev'ry Taste.

On Right and Wrong thy Thoughts no more In cold Dispute employ; Forsake thy Cell, the Bounds pass o'er, And give a Loose to Joy.

Conscience and Reason's Pow'r deride, Let stronger Nature draw, Self be thy End, and Sense thy Guide, And Appetite thy Law.

Away, ye Shades, while light I rise, I tread you all beneath! Grasp the dear Hours my Youth supplies, Nor idly dream of Death.

Whoe'er enslav'd to Grief and Pain, Yet starts from Pleasure's Road, Still let him weep, and still complain, And sink beneath his Load—

But as I rav'd, and grew more wild And fierce at ev'ry Word, Methought I heard One calling "Child!" And I reply'd—"My Lord!"