more affecting view, than is (I think) to be met with elfewhere.

The gentlemen, for whofe fake this attempt was chiefly made, profefs great admiration for the wisdom of heathen antiquity: What pity 'tis they are not fincere! If they were fincere, how would it mortify them to confider, with what contempt, and abhorrence, their notions would have been received by thofe whom they fo much admire? What degree of contempt, and abhorrence, would fall to their share, may be conjectured by the following matter of fact (in my opinion) extremely memorable. Of all their heathen worthies, Socrates, ('tis well known) was the most guarded, difpaffionate, and compofed: Yet this great mafter of temper was angry; and angry at his last hour; and angry with his friend; and angry for what deferv'd acknowlegement; angry for a right and tender inftance of true friendship towards him. Is not this furprising? What could be the cause? The caufe was for his honour; it was a truly noble, tho', perhaps, a too punctiliors, regard for immortality: For his friend asking him, with fuch an affectionate concern as became a friend, “Where he should "depofit his remains ?" it was refented by Socrates, as implying a dishonourable fuppofition, that he could be fo mean, as to have regard for any thing, even in himself, that was not

IMMORTAL.

This fact well confidered, would make our infidels withdraw their admiration from Socrates; or make them endeavour, by their imitation of this illuflrious example, to share bis glory: And, confequently, it would incline them to peruse the following pages with candor and impartiality: Which is all I defire; and that, for their fakes: For I am perfuaded, that an unprejudiced infidel muft, neceffarily, receive fome advantageous impreffions from them.

July 7, 1744.

I 4

CON

CONTENTS of the Seventh Night. IN the fixth Night arguments were drawn, from NATURE,

in proof of immortality: Here, others are drawn from MAN: From his Discontent, p. 178; from his Paffions and Powers, 179; from the gradual growth of Reason, ibid.; from his fear of Death, 180; from the nature of Hope, ibid. and of Virtue, 181, &c. from Knowlege, and Løve, as being the moft effential properties of the foul, 185; from the Order of Creation, 186, &c. ; from the nature of Ambition, 188, &c. Avarice, 192.; Pleafure, 193. A digreffion on the grandeur of the Paflions, 194, 195. Immortality alone. renders our prefent ftate intelligible, 195. An objection from the Stoics disbelief of immortality answered, 196, 197. Endlefs queftions unrefolvable, but on fuppofition of our immorta“ lity, 197, 198. The natural, moft melancholy, and pathetic complaint of a worthy man, under the perfuafion of no futurity, 199, &c. The grofs abfurdities and horrors of annihilation urg'd home on LORENZO, 204, &c. The foul's vaft importance, 210, &c. from whence it arifes, 213, 214. The Difficulty of being an infidel, 215. the Infamy, ibid. the Caufe, 217, and the Character, ibid. of an infidel ftate. What true free-thinking is, 218. The neceffary punishment of the falfe, 219, 220. Man's ruin is from himfelf, 221. An infidel accuses himself of guilt, and hypocrify ; and that of the werft fort, ibid. His obligation to Christians, 222. What danger be incurs by Virtue, ibid. Vice recommended to him, 223. His high pretences to Virtue, and Benevolence, exploded, ibid. The conclufion, on the nature of Faith, 225. Reafon, ibid; and Hope, ibid.; with an apology for this attempt, 226,

HE AV'N

H

EAV'N gives the needful, but neglected, call.. What day, what hour, but knocks at human hearts, To wake the foul to fenfe of future scenes? Deaths ftand, like Mercurys, in ev'ry way, And kindly point us to our journey's end. POPE, who couldft make immortals! art thou dead ? I give thee joy: Nor will I take my leave; So foon to follow. Man but dives in death; Dives from the fun, in fairer day to rife; The grave, his fubterranean road to blifs. Yes, infinite indulgence plann'd it fo;

T'hro' various parts our glorious story runs;

Time gives the preface, endless age unrolls
The volume (ne'er unroll'd!) of human fate:
This, earth and fkies already have proclaim'd.
The world's a prophecy of worlds to come;
And who, what God foretels (who speaks in things,
Still louder than in words) fhall dare deny ?
If nature's arguments appear too weak,
Turn a new leaf, and stronger read in man.
If man fleeps on, untaught by what fees,
Car he prove infidel to what he feels?
He, whole blind thought futurity denies,

Unconscious bears, BELLEROPHON! like thee,
His own indictmment; he condemns himself;
Who reads his bofom, reads immortal life;
Or, nature, there, impofing on her fons,
Has written fables; man was made a lye.
Why difcontent for ever harbour'd there?
Incurable confumption of our peace!
Refolve me, why, the cottager, and king,
He, whom fea-fever'd realms obey, and he
Who fteals his whole dominion from the waste,
Repelling winter blafts with mud and straw,
Difquieted alike, draw figh for figh,
In fate fo diftant, in complaint fo near?

Is it, that things terreftrial can't content?
Deep in rich pasture will thy flocks complain?
Not fo; but to their mafter is deny'd
To fhare their fweet ferene. Man, ill at eafe,
In this, not his own place, this foreign field,
Where nature fodders him with other food,
Than was ordain'd his cravings to fuffice,
Poor in abundance, famish'd at a feast,
Sighs on for fomething more, when most enjoy'd,
Is heav'n then kinder to thy flocks than thee?
Not fo; thy pafture richer, but remote ;

In part, remote; for that remoter part

Man bleats from inftinct, tho', perhaps, debauch'd
By fenfe, his reafon fleeps, nor dreams the cause.
The cause how obvious, when his reason wakes!
His grief is but his grandeur in disguise;
And difcontent is immortality.

Shall

Shall fons of æther, fhall the blood of heav'n,
Set up their hopes on earth, and stable here,
With brutal acquiefcence in the mire ?
LORENZO! no! they fhall be nobly pain'd;
The glorious foreigners, diftreft, shall figh
On thrones; and thou congratulate the figh:
Man's mifery declares him born for blifs;
His anxious heart afferts the truth I fing,
And gives the Sceptic in his head the lye.

Our heads, our hearts, our paffions, and our powers, Speak the fame language; call us to the skies: Unripen'd thefe in this inclement clime, Scarce rife above conjecture, and mistake; And for this land of trifles thofe too strong Tumultuous rife, and tempeft human life: What prize on earth can pay us for the storm? Meet objects for our pasions heav'n ordain'd, Objects that challenge all their fire, and leave No fault, but in defect: Bleft Heav'n! avert A bounded ardor for unbounded blifs! O for a blifs unbounded! Far beneath A foul immortal, is a mortal joy. Nor are our pow'rs to perish immature; But, after feeble effort here, beneath A brighter fun, and in a nobler foil, Transplanted from this fublunary bed, Shall flourish fair, and put forth all their bloom. Reafon progreffive, inftinct is complete; Swift inftina leaps; flow reafon feebly climbs. Brutes foon their zenith reach; their little all

J 6

1

Flows