To a Young Gentleman

Prevailing Vice still fetters sordid Souls;
And yielding Virtue at her Will controuls;
An Over-match, alas! too frequent found,
When foil'd Religion must herself give Ground.
Rebellious Nature with unbounded Sway,
Perverts the Will and leads the Mind astray,
Inflames the Soul, excites deprav'd Desires,
Kindles to Lust, and lights up fatal Fires;
Unruly Passions in the Heart arise,
And all that's rational before them flies;
Like restive Coursers we still headlong run,
Our Speed increasing, as the Goal we shun,
Whilst hot and hasty in th' erroneous Track,
Our Strength we weary, and our Nerves we slack:
When boiling Blood fermenting in our Veins,
The raging Fever of the Soul sustains,
Wild and delirious in the frantick Stretch,
We drive at Happiness beyond our Reach;
'Till cooling Age affords us Time to think,
And pausing checks us on the utmost Brink.
When grey Experience makes us anxious mourn,
And points the Way by which we'd fain return:
But O! too steep the backward Brow appears;
And who can clamber with a Load of Years?
Our mis-spent Youth is then beyond our Pow'r,
No Morning Ray can gild our Ev'ning Hour;
Fearful and faint our Wand'rings we regret,
In Clouds decline, in total Darkness set.

Thrice happy he, who goes not young astray,
By Wisdom guided in his early Way:
Her radiant Lamp shall light his Footsteps on,
Where all the Good and Great are safely gone.
Tho' Wisdom's Summit we ascend with Pain,
The Labour ceases when the Point we gain;
Revolving Doubts no longer then retard,
When Hope is swallow'd in the vast Reward.
Go on, my Friend, th' exalted Palm secure;
Who seeks a Crown must gen'rous Toils endure.