Is not this torment in the mask of joy?

Why by reflection marr’d the joys of sense?

Why past, and future, preying on our hearts, 620

And putting all our present joys to death?

Why labours Reason? Instinct were as well;

Instinct far better; what can choose, can err:

O how infallible the thoughtless brute!

’Twere well his Holiness were half as sure.

Reason with inclination, why at war?

Why sense of guilt? why Conscience up in arms?”