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Like gay Voltaire,* whose shafts of wit
Religion's sacred altars hit,

And oft would death defy;

Claud. Death is a fearful thing.

Isab. And shamed life a hateful.

Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;
To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot:
This sensible, warm motion, to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods; or to reside
In thrilling regions of thick ribbed ice,
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendent world; or, to be worse than worst
Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts
Imagine howling!-'tis too horrible!

The weariest and most loathed worldly life,
That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradise

To what we fear of death,

* This verse of the poet is not only applicable to the renowned and free thinking Voltaire, but may, with equal justice, be applied to the Rev. Dr. Dodd, who, in his writings, held up to derision all idea of terror at the contemplation of futurity; yet, when condemned himself, by the dread behest of justice, no individual ever evinced less firmness, on encountering his doom, than did that unfortunate de

Who, when he drew his dying breath,
Although he'd scoff'd at God and death,
An atheist dar'd not die.

Thus, many a modern wit gives birth
To blasphemy and wicked mirth,
While health and pleasure reign;
But, sick in body, weak in mind,
These proud philosophers* soon find
Their tenets all are vain.

linquent, to whom the following lines from Rowe's Fair Penitent may be well applied.

Sci. Hast thou e'er dar'd to meditate on death?
Cal. I have, as on the end of shame and sorrow.
Sci. 'Tis not the stoic's lessons got by rote,

The pomp of words, and pendent dissertations,
That can sustain thee in that hour of terror:

Books have taught cowards to talk nobly of it:
But, when the trial comes, they stand aghast.

*It is no very difficult matter to deride that which we have not experienced: but, in order to meet the blow of death with becoming calmness, we should ever keep the words of Persius in remembrace, who saith,

Vive memor lethi!

in which concentrates more sterling good, than all the boas

For pious hope alone bestows

The cordial drop which heals our woes;

To which this thought is giv'n,

That, when life's stormy voyage is o'er,
Death steers us to some peaceful shore,
To taste the joys of heav'n.

L'ENVOY OF THE POET.

That man, good sense with idiot name would brand,

Who, void of food and raiment, journey'd far: Do thou prepare for that same unknown land; Nor, by neglect, thy soul's bright prospects mar.

THE POET'S CHORUS TO FOOLS.

Come, trim the boat, let folly rear her whip,
For tho' but few, some fools will man my ship.

ted arguments of philosophers can inculcate; whose dying moments have, generally speaking, given the lie to their professions while living.

SECTION XXXIV.

OF DISCONTENTED FOOLS.

Diruit, ædificat, mutat quadrata rotundis.

HE* bears a fardel on his back,
And sets his mind upon the rack,

It is difficult to discriminate to what class of men this folly is most applicable, as they all partake of it in a certain degree; and are so thoroughly convinced of their weakness on this score, as to allow, that the more they have, the more they want travellers are peculiarly the slaves of this temperament of mind, as the globe itself is insufficient to gratify their thirst after inquiry: nor can a finer lesson be displayed than De Foe's Robinson Crusoe, which is a most finished picture of the instability of the human intellect. But navigators are not more unsettled than what are denominated men of science, whose labours have no termination, and whose brains are eternally conjuring up new speculations, which are too frequently hazarded without the warranty of

reason.

Toiling for that, which when attain'd,
He cares not if he'd never gain'd;
Finding what most deserv'd caressing,
Unworthy even the possessing.

Whose primitive tradition reaches
As far as Adam's first green breeches:
Deep sighted in intelligences,
Ideas, atomes, influences;

And much of Terra Incognita,

Th' intelligible world can say.

Much has been said of the female part of the creation, in speaking of this folly; nevertheless I must candidly affirm, that I do not perceive any feature so prominent in women, as to brand them more than their lords with this failing; and if we talk of affection, which is, perhaps, one of the noblest characteristics of the human mind, the feminine part of creation undoubtedly claims pre-eminence over the male. Where can we find more extraordinary instances of heroism, than have been displayed by women who have been actuated by love for men in misfortune: they generally give proofs of possessing a greater portion of equanimity: and, in the hour of success, the same fervor of passion animates their bosoms: while men, yielding to the fascinations of pleasure, as universally waver from the fixed principle which honour, · duty, and gratitude claim at their hands. In fine, the page of history displays one unvarying proof of the discontented

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