Had he so long his evil passions check’d,
And yet at last had nothing to expect?
While they their lives in joy and pleasure led,
And then had nothing at the end to dread?
Was all his priest with so much zeal convey’d
A part! a speech! for which the man was paid!
And were his pious books, his solemn prayers,
Not worth one tale of the admir’d Voltaire’s?
Then was it time, while yet some years remain’d,
To drink untroubled and to think unchain’d,