Yet with thy folemn prieftly air,
By book and bell, and candle fwear,
That God has made his own elect
But from your stem and favorite sect;
That He who made the world, has bleft
One part alone, to damn the reft,
As if th' Allmerciful and Juft,
Who form'd us of one common duft,
Had rendered up his own decree,
And lent his attributes to thee.
Thus his own eyes the Bigot blinds,
To shut out light from human minds,
And the clear truth (an emanation
From the great Author of creation,
A beam tranfmitted from on high,
To bring us nearer to the sky,
While ev'ry path by fcience trod,•
Leads us with wonder up to God)
Is doom'd by Ignorance to make
Atonement at the Martyr's stake;
Tho', like pure gold, th' illuftrious dame,
Comes forth the brighter from the flame.
No perfecution will avail,
No inquifition racks, nor gaol;
When Learning's more enlight'ned ray
Shall drive these fickly fogs away;
A thankful age fhall pay her more,
Than all her troubles hurt before.
See Shame and Scorn await on those
Who poorly dar'd to be her foes,
But will the grateful voice of fame
Sink Truth, and GALILEO's name?
How wilful, obftinate and blind,
Are the main herd of human kind!
Well faid the Wit, who well had tried
That malice which his Parts defied ;
When merit's fun begins to break,
The Dunces ftretch, and strive to wake,
And amity of Dunce with Dunce,
Fingers out Genius all at once.
As you may find the honey out,
By feeing all the flies about.
All ugly Women hate a toast;
The goodlieft fruit is pick'd the most;
The ivy winds about the oak,
And to the faireft comes the smoke.
Stretch'd on the Lilliputian ftrand, A Giant in a pigmy Land; Watchful against impending harms, All Lilliput cried out, To arms; The trumpets echoed all around, The Captain slept exceeding found, Tho' crowds of undistinguish'd fize Affail'd his body, legs and thighs, While clouds of arrows flew apace, And fell like feathers on his face.
A N EPISTLE TO M R. W.
THE praife of Genius will offend
A foe no doubt, fometimes a friend;
But curfe on genius, wit and parts,
The thirst of science, love of arts,
If inconfiftent with the plan
Of focial good from man to man.
For me, who will, may wear the bays,
I value not fuch idle praise :
Let wrangling wits abufe, defame,
And quarrel for an empty name,
What's in this fhuffling pace of rhyme,
Or grand pas ftride of stiff fublime,
That vanity her trump should blow,
And look with fcorn on folks below?
Are wit and folly close ally'd,
And match'd, like poverty, with pride?
When rival bards for fame contend,
The poet often spoils the friend;
Genius felf-center'd feels alone
That merit he esteems his own,
And cold, o'er jealous, and severe,
Hates, like a Turk, a brother near;
Malice fteps in, good nature flies,
Folly prevails, and friendship dies.
Peace to all fuch, if peace can dwell
With those who bear about a hell,
Who blaft all worth with envy's breath,
By their own feelings ftung to death.
None but a weak and brainlefs fool,
Undifciplin'd in fortune's fchool,
Can hope for favours from the wit;
He pleads prefcription to forget,
Unnotic'd let him live or rot,
And, as forgetful, be forgot.
Moft wags, whofe pleasure is to fmoke,
Wou'd rather lofe their friend, than joke;
A man in rags looks fomething queer,
And there's vaft humour in a fneer;
That jeft, alike all witlings fuits,
Which lies no further than the boots.
Give me the man whofe open mind
Means facial good to all mankind;
Who when his friend, from fortune's round,
Is toppled headlong to the ground,
Can meet him with a warm embrace,
And wipe the tear from forrow's face.
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