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But can't our state of pow'r bereave
An endless series to receive ;
Then, if hard dealt with here by fate,
We ballance in another state,
And consciousness must go along,
And sign th' acquittance for the wrong.
He for his creatures muft decree
More happiness than misery,
Or be supposed to create,
Curious to try, what 'tis to hate:
And do an act, which rage infers,
'Cause lameness halts, or blindness errs.

Thus, thus I steer my bark, and fail
On even keel with gentle gale ;
At helm I make my reason fit,
My crew of paffions all submit.
If dark and bluft'ring prove fome nights,
Philosophy puts forth her lights ;
Experience holds the cautious glass,
To thun the breakers, as I pass,
And frequent throws the wary lead,
To see what dangers may be hid :
And once in seven years I'm feen
At Bath or Tunbridge, to careen.
Tho' pleas'd to see the dolphins play,
I mind my compafs and my way,
With store sufficient for relief,

And wisely still prepar'd to reef,



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On the Reverend Mr. LAURENCE ECHARD's, and

Bishop GILBERT BURNET's Histories.

By the Same,

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I L's history appears to me

Political anatomy,
A case of skeletons well done,
And malefactors every one.
His sharp and strong incision pen
Historically cuts up men,
And does with lucid kill impart
Their inward ails of head and heart,
LAURENCE proceeds another way,
And well-dress'd figures doth difplay :
His characters are all in flesh,
Their hands are fair, their faces fresh ;


And from his sweet'ning art derive
A better fcent than when alive.
He wax-work made to please the fons,
Whose fathers were GIL's lkeletons.

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Fair Lucia's hand display'd :
This finger grac'd a diamond ring,
On that a sparrow play'd.

The feather'd play-thing she caress’d,

She Atroak’d its head and wings ;
And while it neftled on her breast,
She lisp'd the dearest things,

With chizzled bill a spark ill fet

He loosen'd from the rest,
And swallow'd down to grind his meat,

The easier to digeft.

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She seiz'd his bill with wild affright,

Her diamond to descry :
'Twas gone! she ficken'd at the fight,
Moaning her bird would die.

The tongue-ty'd knocker none might use,

The curtains none undraw,
The footmen went without their shoes,
The street was laid with straw.

The doctor us'd his oily art

Of strong emetick kind,
The apothecary play'd his part,
And engineerd behind.

When phyfic ceas'd to spend its store

To bring away the stone,
Dicky, like people given o'er,
Picks up, when let alone.

His eyes dispell’d their fickly dews,

He peck'd behind his wing ;
Lucia recovering at the news,

Relapses for the ring,

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Mean-while within her beauteous breaft

Two different passions ftrove;
When av'rice ended the contest,
And triumph'd over love.

Poor little, pretty, fluttering thing,

Thy pains the sex display,
Who only to repair a ring
Could take thy life away;

Drive av'rice from your breasts, ye fair,

Monster of foulest mien :
Ye would not let it harbour there,
Could but its form be seen.

It made á virgin put on guile,

Truth's image break her word,
A Lucia's face forbear to smile,

A Venus kill her bird.

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