LIFE burthensome, because we know not how to use it. An EPISTLE. Edward Rolle Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T131163 K104099.003 Dodsley, Robert, 1703-1764. A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands. Vol. III. London printed by J. Hughs, for R. and J. Dodsley 1763 [1st ed. 1758] pp. 61-63. 6v.: music; 8⁰.

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LIFE burthensome , because we know not how to use it . An EPISTLE . WHAT , sir , a month , and not one line afford ? 'Tis well : — how finely some folk keep their word ! I own my promise . — But to steal an hour , ' Midst all this hurry — 'tis not in my pow'r , Where life each day does one fix'd order keep , Successive journies , weariness and sleep . Or if our scheme some interval allows , Some hours design'd for thought and for repose ; Soon as the scatter'd images begin In the mind to rally — company comes in : Reason , adieu ! there's no more room to think ; For all the day behind is noise and drink . Thus life rolls on , but not without regret ; Whene'er at morning , in some cool retreat , I walk alone : — 'tis then in thought I view Some sage of old ; 'tis then I think of you : Whose breast no tyrant passions ever seize , No pulse that riots , blood that disobeys ; Who follow but where judgment points the way , And whom too busy sense ne'er led astray . Not that you joys with moderation shun , You taste all pleasures , but indulge in none . Fir'd by this image , I resolve anew : 'Tis reason calls , and peace and joy's in view . How bless'd a change ! a long adieu to sense : O shield me , sapience ! virtue's reign commence ! Alas , how short a reign ? — the walk is o'er , The dinner waits , and friends some half a score : At first to virtue firm , the glass I fly ; 'Till some sly sot , — " Not drink the family ! " Thus gratitude is made to plead for sin ; My trait'rous breast a party forms within : And inclination brib'd , we never want Excuse — " 'Tis hot , and walking makes one faint . " Now sense gets strength ; my bright resolves decay , Like stars that melt at the approach of day : Thought dies , and ev'n , at last , your image fades away . My head grows warm ; all reason I despise : " To-day be happy , and to-morrow wise ! " Betray'd so oft , I'm half persuaded now , Surely to fail , the first step is to vow . The country lately , 'twas my wish : oh there ! Gardens , diversions , friends , relations , air : For London now , dear London , how I burn ! I must be happy , sure , when I return . Whoever hopes true happiness to see , Hopes for what never was , nor e'er will be : The nearest ease , since we must suffer still , Are they , who dare be patient under ill . Whilom a fool saw where a fiddle lay ; And after pouring round it , strove to play : Above , below , across , all ways he tries ; He tries in vain , 'tis discord all and noise : Fretting he threw it by : then thus the lout ; " There's musick in it , could I fetch it out . " If life does not its harmony impart , We want not instruments , but have not art . 'Tis endless to defer our hopes of ease , Till crosses end , and disappointments cease . The sage is happy , not that all goes right , His cattle feel no rot , his corn no blight ; The mind for ease is fitted to the wise , Not so the fool's ; — 'tis here the difference lies : Their prospect is the same , but various are their eyes .