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CIANS have but ill defin'd
As rational the human mind;
Reason, they say, belongs to man,
But let them prove it if they can.
Wife Aristotle and Smiglesius,
By Ratiocinations specious,
Have strove to prove with great precision,
With definition and division,
Homo eft ratione preditum ;
But for my soul I cannot credit 'em.
And must in spite of them maintain,
That man and all his ways are vain ;
And that this boasted lord of nature,
Is both a weak and erring creature.
That instinct is a surer guide,
Than reason boasting mortals pride ;
And that brute beasts are far before 'em,
Deus eft anima brutorum.
Whoever knew an honest brute,
At law his neighbour profecute,
Bring action for affault and battery,
• Or friend beguile with lies and flattery.
O'er plains they ramble unconfin'd,
No politics disturb their mind;
They eat their meals, and take their sport,
Nor know who's in or out at court,
They never to the levee go
To treat as dearest friend, a foe :
They never importune his grace,
Nor ever cringe to men in place;
Nor undertake a dirty job,
Nor draw the quill to write for Bob,
Fraught with invective, they ne'er go,
To folks at Pater-nofter Row:
No judges, fidlers, dancing masters,
No pickpockets, or poetasters,
Are known to honest quadrupeeds,
No single brute his fellows leads.
Brutes never meet in bloody fray,
Nor cut each others throats for pay.
Of beasts, it is confess'd, the ape
Comes nearest us in human shape,
Like man he imitates each fashion,
And malice is his ruling passion :
But both in malice and grimaces,
A courtier any ape surpasses.,
Behold him humbly cringing wait,
Upon the minister of state :
View him soon after to inferiors
Aping the conduct of superiors :
He promises with equal air,
And to perform takes equal care.
He in his turn finds imitators,
At court, the porters, lacques, waiters,
Their master's manners still contract,
And footmen, lords and dukes can act.
Thus at the court, both great and small,
Behave alike, for all ape all.
MIDST the clamour of exulting joys, Which triumph forces from the patriot heart; Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleasures ftart.
O, Wolfe, to thee a streaming flood of woe,
Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear ; Quebec in vain shall teach our breast to glow,
Whilft thy fad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.
Alive the foe thy dreadful vigour filed,
And saw the fall with joy-pronouncing eyes : Yet they shall know thou conquereft, though dead!
Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.
SURE 'twas by Providence design'd,
Rather in pity, than in hate,
That he shou'd be, like cupid, blind,
To save him from Narcissus' fate.