Hence, frequent forms 550
Of woe; the merchant, with his wealthy bark,
Buried by dashing waves; the traveller,
Pierced by the pointed lightning in his haste;
And the poor husbandman, with folded arms,
Surveying his lost labours, and a heap
Of blasted chaff the product of the field
Whence he expected bread. But worse than these,
I deem far worse, that other race of ills
Which human kind rear up among themselves;
That horrid offspring which misgovern'd Will 560
Bears to fantastic Error; vices, crimes,
Furies that curse the earth, and make the blows,
The heaviest blows, of Nature's innocent hand
Seem sport: which are indeed but as the care
Of a wise parent, who solicits good
To all her house, though haply at the price
Of tears and froward wailing and reproach
From some unthinking child, whom not the less
Its mother destines to be happy still.
These sources then of pain, this double lot 570
Of evil in the inheritance of man,
Required for his protection no slight force,
No careless watch; and therefore was his breast
Fenced round with passions quick to be alarm'd,
Or stubborn to oppose; with Fear, more swift
Than beacons catching flame from hill to hill,
Where armies land: with Anger, uncontroll'd
As the young lion bounding on his prey;
With Sorrow, that locks up the struggling heart;
And Shame, that overcasts the drooping eye 580
As with a cloud of lightning.
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