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Impatient, when the pow'rful band demands
Its unremember'd cov'nant from their hands.
Unlike to fuch, without a figh restore

What Fortune lends: anon fhe'll lavish more:

Repenting of her bounty fnatch away

Yea feize your patrimonial fund for prey.

Embrace her proffer'd boon, but instant rise,

Spring upward, and secure a lasting prize,

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The gift which Wisdom to her fons divides;

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Knowledge, whose beam the doubting judgment guides,
Scatters the fenfual fog, and clear to view
Diftinguishes false int'reft from the true.
Flee, flee to this, with unabating pace,
Nor parly for a moment at the place

Where Pleasure and her Harlots tempt, nor rest
But at Falfe Wisdom's inn, a tranfient guest:
For fhort refection, at her table fit,

And taste what science may your palate hit:
Then wing your journey forward, 'till you reach
True Wisdom, and imbibe the truths fhe'll teach.
Such is th' advice the friendly Genius gives,
He perishes who fcorns, who follows lives.
And thus this moral piece inftructs; if aught
Is mystic still, reveal your doubting thought.

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Thanks,

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Thanks, generous Sire; tell, then, the tranfient bait,
The Genius grants us at Falfe Wifdom's gate.
1 Whate'er in arts or sciences is found
Of folid use, in their capacious round,
Thefe, Plato reafons, like a curbing rein,
Unruly youth from devious starts restrain.
Muft we, folicitous our fouls to fave,
Affiftance from thefe previous studies crave?
Neceffity there's none. We'll not deny
Their merit in fome lefs utility;

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But they contribute, we aver, no part

To heal the manners and amend the heart.
An author's meaning, in a tongue unknown,
May glimmer through translation in our own:
Yet mafters of his language, we might gain.
Some trivial purposes by tedious pain.
So in the sciences, though, rudely taught,
may attain the little that we ought;
Yet, accurately known, they might convey
More light, not wholly useless in its way.

We

But Virtue may be reach'd, through all her rules,
Without the curious fubtleties of fchools.

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1 Natural knowledge, how far useful, and when unprofitable

and hurtful.

VOL. VI.

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How!

How! not the learn'd excel the common fhoal,
In pow'rful aids to meliorate the foul?
Blind as the crowd, alas! to good and ill,
Intangled by the like corrupted will,

What boafts the man of letters o'er the reft?

Skill'd in all tongues, of all the arts poffeft,
What hinders but he fink into a fot,
A libertine, or villain in a plot,

Mifer, or knave, or whatsoe'er you'll name
Of moral lunacy and reafon's fhame?
Scandals too rife!

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How, then, for living right

Avail those studies, and their vaunted light

Beyond the vulgar?

Nothing. But difclofe

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The caufe from whence this ftrange appearance grows.

Held by a potent charm in this retreat

They dwell, content with nearness to the feat

Of Virtuous Wifdom.

Near, methinks, in vain:

Since numbers, oft, from out the nether plain,

'Scap'd from the fnares of Lewdness and Excefs,

Undevious to her lofty ftation prefs,

Yet pass these letter'd clans.

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What,

What, then, are thefe

In moral things, advantag'd o'er the lees
Of human race? in moral things, we find
These duller, or lefs tractable of mind.
Decypher that.

Pride, pride averts their eyes

From offer'd light, in felf-fufficience wife,
Although unknowing, they prefume to know:
Clogg'd with that vain conceit they creep below,
Nor can mount up to yon exalted bound,

True Wisdom's manfion, by the humble found.
Not found by thefe, 'till the vain visions spread,
By Falfe Opinion, in the learned head,
Repentance fcatter; and deceiv'd no more,
They own th' illufion which deceiv'd before,
That for True Wisdom they embrac'd her shade,
And hence the healing of their fouls delay'd.
Strangers, these leffons, oft revolving, hold
Fast to your hearts, and into habit mould:
To this high scope life's whole attention bend,
Despise aught elfe as erring from your end.
Do thus, or unavailing is my care,
And all th' inftruction dies away in air.

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By Mr. W. TAYLOR.

JOLLY, brave toper, who could not forbear

Though his life was in danger, old port and stale beer, Gave the doctors the hearing-but still would drink on, 'Till the dropfy had fwell'd him as big as a ton. The more he took phyfic the worse still he grew, And tapping was now the last thing he could do. Affairs at this crifis, and doctors come down, He began to confider -fo fent for his fon. Tom, fee by what courses I've shorten'd my life, I'm leaving the world ere I'm forty and five; More than probable 'tis, that in twenty-four hours, This manor, this house, and eftate will be yours; My early exceffes may teach you this truth,

That'tis working for death to drink hard in one's youth. Says Tom, (who's a lad of a generous fpirit,

And not like young rakes who 're in hafte to inherit,)

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