When some idea, that excites desire,
Courts you in all its best and gay attire;
As when your fancy lays you on a bed
Of roses, and twines myrtle round your head,
Near am'rous shady groves, and purling springs,
While hov'ring Cupids fan you with their wings;
While you in the dear fetters are confin'd,
Of some soft beauty's arms, that's fair as kind;
Take heed lest here so far you do pursue
That fancy'd pleasure, as to wish it true:
You're just upon the precipice's brink,
Pause then a little, and take time to think;
Examine well the object, and compare
Th' unequal periods, which allotted are
To weeping penitence, and short-liv'd bliss,
How long the one, how short the other is;
Joy in a nimble moment ends its race
And rueful, pale repentance takes its place,
And moves with a sad, sullen, heavy pace,
Attended all the way with groans and cries,
Self-accusations, sighs, and warry eyes.
Think then what joy, and pleasure you will find;
That is, what peace, and quiet in your mind,
How you will praise yourself, and bless your care,
When you escape the dang'rous pleasing snare.
But if you think the pleasure may content;
So safe, agreeable, convenient,
As that you'll have no reason to repent;
Take heed you be not by its sweets subdu'd,
Dragg'd by its smiling force to servitude:
And think how much 'tis better to be free,
The conqu'ror of such pow'rful charms to be,
And triumph in so great a victory.