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The melancholy man such dreams,
As brightest evidence, esteems;
Fain would he fee fome diftant scene
Suggested by his restless Spleen,
And Fancy's telescope applies
With tinctur'd glafs to cheat his eyes.
Such thoughts, as love the gloom of night,
I close examine by the light;
For who, though brib'd by gain to lie,
Dare fun-beam-written truths deny,
And execute plain common sense
On faith’s mere hearsay evidence ?
That fuperftition mayn't create,
And club its il's with those of fate,
I many a notion take to talk,
Made dreadful by its visor-mask,
Thus scruple, spasm of the mind,
Is curd, and certainty I find,
Since optic reafon shews me plain,
I dreaded spectres of the brain,
And legendary fears are gone,
Though in tenacious childhood fown.
Thus in opinions I commence
· Freeholder in the proper fense,
And neither fuit nor service do,
Nor homage to pretenders Thew,
Who boast themselves by spurious roll
Lords of the manor of the foul;
Preferring sense, from chin that's bare,
To nonsense thron'd in whisker'd hair.
To thee, Creator uncreate,
O Entium Ens ! divinely great!-
Hold, Muse, nor melting pinions try, .
Nor near the blazing glory fly,
Nor straining break thy feeble bow,
Unfeather'd arrows far to throw :
Through fields unknown nor madly stray,
Where no ideas mark the way,
With tender eyes, and colours faint,
And trembling hands forbeár to paint.
Who features veild by light can hit ?
Where can, what has no outline, fit?
My soul, the vain attempt forego,
Thyself, the fitter subject, know.
He wisely shuns the bold extreme,
Who foon lays by th’ unequal theme,
Nor runs, with wisdom's Sirens caught,
On quicksands swall'wing thipwreck'd thought ;
But, conscious of his distance, gives
Mute praise, and humble negatives.
In one, no object of our fight,
Immutable and infinite,
Who can't be cruel, or unjust,
Calm and resign'd, I fix my trust;
To him my past and present state
I owe, and must my future fate.
A stranger into life Įm come,
Dying may be our going home,
Transported here by angry Fate,
The convicts of a prior state.
Hence I no anxious thoughts bestow . .
On matters, I can never know;
Through life's foul way, like vagrant pass’d,
He'll grant a settlement at last,
And with sweet ease the wearied crown, [
By leave to lay his being down. "
If doom'd to dance th' eternal round
Of life no sooner loft but found,
And diffolution foon to come;
Like spunge, wipes out life's present fum,
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 must 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 passions all submit. If dark and bluftring prove fome nights, Philosophy puts forth her lights;... Experience holds the cautious glass, To fhun 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 seen At Bath or Tunbridge, to careen. Though pleas’d to see the dolphins play, I mind my compass and my way,
With store fufficient for relief,
And wisely still prepar'd to reef,
Nor wanting the dispersive bowl
Of cloudy weather in the soul,
I'make (may heav'n propitious fend
Such wind and weather to the end)
Neither becalm’d, nor over-blown,
Life's voyage to the world unknown.
On the Reverend Mr. LAURENCE Echard's, and
Bishop GILBERT Burnet's Histories.
N IL's history appears to me
U Political anatomy,
A case of skeletons well done,
And malefactors every one.
His sharp and strong incision pen
Historically cuts up men,