That threw in this Bethesda your disease;
If unrestored by this, despair your cure.
For here, resistless demonstration dwells;
A death-bed’s a detector of the heart.
Here tired Dissimulation drops her mask, 640
Through life’s grimace, that mistress of the scene!
Here real and apparent are the same.
You see the man; you see his hold on heaven;
If sound his virtue; as Philander’s, sound.
Heaven waits not the last moment; owns her friends