ESSAY
on
HAPPINESS
.
NOTHING
,
dear
Madam
,
nothing
is
more
true
,
Than
a
short
Maxim
much
approv'd
by
you
;
The
Lines
are
these
:
"
We
by
Experience
know
"
Within
ourselves
exists
our
Bliss
or
Woe
.
"
Tho'
round
our
Heads
the
Goods
of
Fortune
roll
,
Dazzle
they
may
,
but
cannot
chear
the
Soul
.
Content
,
the
Fountain
of
eternal
Joy
,
Can
Riches
purchase
,
or
can
Want
destroy
?
No
.
Born
of
Heav'n
,
its
Birth
it
will
maintain
,
No
Slave
to
Power
nor
the
Prize
of
Gain
:
Say
,
who
can
buy
what
never
yet
was
sold
?
No
Wealth
can
bribe
her
,
nor
no
Bonds
can
hold
:
Sometimes
she
deigns
to
shine
in
lofty
Halls
,
But
found
more
frequent
in
a
Cottage
Walls
;
Her
Flight
from
thence
too
often
is
decreed
,
Then
Poverty
is
doubly
curs'd
indeed
.
Content
and
Bliss
,
which
differ
but
in
Name
,
Alike
their
Natures
and
their
End
the
same
,
Fast
bound
together
in
eternal
Chains
.
This
as
the
End
—
The
other
,
as
the
Means
,
Will
ne'er
divide
.
But
who
enjoys
the
one
,
Must
find
the
other
ere
the
setting
Sun
.
Then
where
?
Ah
where
do
these
fair
Sisters
fly
?
Beneath
the
northern
or
the
southern
Sky
.
Courts
do
they
love
?
The
Senate
or
the
Town
,
Or
the
still
Village
and
the
healthful
Down
.
Say
,
do
they
like
Humilo's
humble
Vest
,
Or
the
gay
Diamonds
on
Belinda's
Breast
.
To
none
of
these
,
alas
,
are
they
confin'd
,
But
the
still
Bosom
and
the
virtuous
Mind
.
See
Glaro
feated
on
his
gilded
Car
,
Whose
stubborn
Passions
wage
continual
War
.
Who
cannot
call
that
ravag'd
Heart
his
own
,
Where
Vice
and
Virtue
struggle
for
the
Throne
.
See
Rage
appearing
in
that
hostile
Frown
:
Now
Fears
distract
him
and
now
Pleasures
drown
,
Now
turns
to
Heav'n
with
repentant
Tears
:
But
the
next
Hour
at
his
Chaplain
sneers
:
This
day
a
Beast
,
the
next
a
reas'ning
Man
:
Behold
him
right
,
then
envy
,
if
you
can
,
Pale
Livia
too
—
Who
pants
beneath
the
weight
Of
irksom
Jewels
and
afflicting
State
;
Whose
Glass
and
Pillow
do
her
Time
divide
,
At
once
oppress'd
with
Sickness
and
with
Pride
.
The
shapely
Stays
her
aking
Ribs
confine
,
And
in
her
Ears
the
sparkling
Pendents
shine
.
Yet
not
a
Joy
the
tortur'd
Wretch
can
feel
,
Beyond
Ixion
on
his
rolling
Wheel
.
See
restless
Cloe
,
fond
to
be
admir'd
,
Of
Joy
impatient
and
as
quickly
tir'd
,
When
first
her
Eye-lids
open
on
the
Day
,
With
eager
haste
she
gobbles
down
her
Tea
,
And
to
the
Park
commands
her
rolling
Wheels
,
Yet
sighs
and
wishes
for
the
rural
Fields
:
Then
back
to
Cards
and
Company
she
flies
,
Then
for
the
Charms
of
melting
Musick
dies
.
At
Eve
the
Play
,
Assembly
,
or
the
Ball
:
She
hates
them
singly
,
yet
wou'd
grasp
'em
all
:
With
languid
Spirits
and
appal'd
Desires
,
She
to
her
Closet
and
her
Book
retires
.
But
Solitude
offends
the
sprightly
Fair
;
Reading
she
loaths
,
and
Thought
she
cannot
bear
.
Then
to
her
Chamber
and
her
Couch
she
flies
,
Where
gilded
Chariots
swim
before
her
Eyes
.
In
vain
for
Sleep
she
folds
her
weary
Arms
,
Who
wou'd
be
Cloe
to
enjoy
her
Charms
?
In
yonder
Path
Sir
Thrifty
we
behold
,
With
Beaver
drooping
and
with
Garments
old
;
Whose
dirty
Linen
shews
no
Mark
of
Pride
,
Nor
sparkling
Laces
deck
his
slender
Side
;
Whose
heavy
Soul
a
saucy
Wit
wou'd
swear
,
Was
made
exactly
to
his
easy
Chair
.
Whose
tasteless
Senses
ask
for
nothing
new
,
Whose
Meals
are
temp'rate
and
whose
pleasures
few
:
"
Is
this
Man
blest
?
—
He
may
be
so
.
—
But
when
?
"
Why
,
when
his
Thousands
rise
to
number
ten
,
"
From
ten
to
twenty
,
and
from
twenty
—
Hold
,
"
To
one
round
Million
of
bright
Sterling
Gold
;
"
Not
there
we
stop
,
for
Avarice
will
crave
Till
it
shall
meet
with
its
grand
Cure
,
the
Grave
.
Lavinia's
blest
with
all
that
Man
desires
,
With
Eyes
that
charm
and
Reason
that
inspires
;
Youth
,
Wealth
,
and
Friends
,
to
gild
her
shining
Days
,
The
poor
Man's
Blessing
and
the
rich
Man's
Praise
.
With
Judgment
sound
and
touch'd
by
no
extreme
,
Speech
gently
flowing
and
a
Soul
serene
,
For
ever
pleasing
and
for
ever
true
,
By
all
admir'd
,
envy'd
by
a
few
:
Then
she
is
happy
,
tho'
beneath
the
Sky
,
Hold
,
not
so
hasty
:
—
Let
her
Husband
die
.
Then
who
are
happy
,
'twill
be
hard
to
say
,
Since
undisturb'd
it
seldom
lasts
a
Day
:
For
who
in
Smiles
beholds
the
Morning
Sun
,
May
weed
before
his
short-liv'd
Journey's
done
.
All
Pleasures
satiate
and
all
Objects
cloy
;
We
crave
,
we
grasp
,
but
loath
the
tasted
Joy
:
Nor
Wealth
nor
Beauty
,
Friend's
nor
Fortune's
Smile
,
Can
bless
our
Moments
,
tho'
they
may
beguile
:
Nor
Wit
with
Happiness
can
often
grow
,
A
helpless
Friend
,
if
not
an
arrant
Foe
.
Where
then
?
O
where
shall
Happiness
be
found
?
Say
,
shall
we
search
the
rolling
World
around
,
On
borrow'd
Pinions
travel
through
the
Sky
,
Or
to
the
Centre
drive
our
piercing
Eye
?
Cease
,
busy
Fool
:
Is
Happiness
thy
Care
?
Pierce
thy
own
Breast
,
and
thou
wilt
find
it
there
:
Drive
thence
the
Passions
,
and
the
Guilt
expel
,
And
call
fair
Virtue
to
the
polish'd
Cell
.
Call
soft
Content
with
all
her
smiling
Train
;
Peace
for
thy
Health
,
and
Patience
for
thy
Pain
:
Then
not
till
then
,
O
Man
,
thy
Heart
shall
know
Bliss
so
ador'd
,
but
seldom
found
below
.