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The melancholy man fuch dreams,
As brightest evidence, esteems;

Fain would he fee fome distant 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 ills with thofe of fate,
I many a notion take to task,
Made dreadful by its vifor-mafk.
Thus fcruple, fpafm of the mind,
Is cur'd, and certainty I find,
Since optic reafon fhews 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 fenfe,

And neither fuit nor fervice do,

Nor homage to pretenders fhew,
Who boast themselves by fpurious roll
Lords of the manor of the foul;
Preferring fenfe, from chin that's bare,
To nonsense thron'd in whisker'd hair.
To thee, Creator uncreate,

O Entium Ens! divinely great!-
Hold, Mufe, nor melting pinions try,
Nor near the blazing glory fly,

Nor ftraining 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 forbear to paint.
Who features veil'd by light can hit ?
Where can, what has no outline, fit?
My foul, the vain attempt forego,
Thyself, the fitter fubject, know.
He wifely fhuns the bold extreme,
Who foon lays by th' unequal theme,

Nor runs, with wisdom's Sirens caught,

On quickfands fwall'wing fhipwreck'd thought;

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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 refign'd, I fix my truft;
To him my past and present state
I owe, and muft my future fate.
A stranger into life I'm 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 pafs'd,

He'll grant a fettlement at last,

And with sweet ease the wearied crown, T

By leave to lay his being down.

If doom'd to dance th' eternal round

Of life no fooner loft but found,

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Like fpunge, wipes out life's present sum,
But can't our state of pow'r bereave

An endless feries to receive

Then,

Then, if hard dealt with here by fate,
We ballance in another state,

And consciousness must go along,

And fign th' acquittance for the wrong.

He for his creatures muft decree

More happiness than mifery,

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,
Philofophy 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 ftore fufficient for relief,
And wifely ftill prepar'd to reef,
Nor wanting the dispersive bowl
Of cloudy weather in the foul,
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.

****

******

An EPIGRAM,

On the Reverend Mr. LAURENCE ECHARD's, and

Bishop GILBERT BURNET'S Hiftories.

G

By the Same.

IL's history appears to me

Political anatomy,

A cafe of skeletons well done,

And malefactors every one.

His fharp and strong incifion pen
Historically cuts up men,

And

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