Some livelier play-thing gives his youth delight,
A little louder, but as empty quite:
Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage;
And beads and pray'r-books are the toys of age: 280
Pleas'd with this bauble still, as that before,
'Till tir'd he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er!
Mean-while opinion gilds with varying rays
Those painted clouds that beautify our days;
Each want of happiness by hope supply'd, 285
And each vacuity of sense by pride:
These build as fast as knowledge can destroy;
In folly's cup still laughs the bubble, joy;
One prospect lost, another still we gain;
And not a vanity is giv'n in vain; 290
Ev'n mean self-love becomes, by force divine,
The scale to measure other's wants by thine,
See! and confess, one comfort still must rise,
'Tis this, tho' man's a fool, yet God is wise.
EPISTLE
