FIRST PRIEST.
While these a constant revel keep,
Shall Reason only teach to weep?
Hence, intruder! we’ll pursue
Nature—a better guide than you.
SECOND PRIEST.
Air.
Every moment, as it flows,
Some peculiar pleasure owes;
Come, then, providently wise,
Seize the debtor ere it flies.
Think not to-morrow can repay
The debt of pleasure lost to-day.
Alas! to-morrow’s richest store
Can but pay its proper score.
FIRST PRIEST.
Recitative.
But, hush! see foremost of the captive choir,
The master-prophet grasps his full-ton’d lyre;
Mark where he sits, with executing art,
Feels for each tone, and speeds it to the heart.
See, how prophetic rapture fills his form,
Awful as clouds that nurse the growing storm!
And now his voice, accordant to the string,
Prepares our monarch’s victories to sing.
FIRST PROPHET.