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With the vain stir. I sum up half mankind,

And add two thirds of the remaining half,

And find the total of their hopes and fears
Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as gay
As if created only like the fly,
That spreads his motley wings in th' eye of noon,
To fport their feafon, and be seen no more.
The reft are sober dreamers, grave and wife,
And pregnant with discov'ries new and rare.
Some write a narrative of wars, and feats
Of heroes little known; and call the rant
An history: describe the man, of whom
His own coevals took but little note;
And paint his person, character, and views,
As they had known him from his mother's womb.
They disentangle from the puzzled skein,
In which obfcurity has wrapp'd them up,
The threads of politic and shrewd design,
That ran through all his purposes, and charge
His mind with meanings that he never had,

Or, having, kept conceal'd. Some drill and bore The folid earth, and from the strata there

Extract a register, by which we learn,

That he who made it, and reveal'd its date

To Mofes, was mistaken in its age.

Some, more acute, and more industrious still,
Contrive creation; travel nature up

To the sharp peak of her fublimeft height,
And tell us whence the stars; why some are fix'd,
And planetary some; what gave them first
Rotation, from what fountain flow'd their light.
Great conteft follows, and much learned duft
Involves the combatants; each claiming truth,
And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend
The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp,
In playing tricks with nature, giving laws
To distant worlds, and trifling in their own.
Is 't not a pity now, that tickling rheums
Should ever tease the lungs and blear the fight
Of oracles like these? Great pity too,

That, having wielded th' elements, and built
A thousand fystems, each in his own way,
They should go out in fume, and be forgot?
Ah! what is life thus fpent? and what are they
But frantic who thus fpend it? all for fmoke-
Eternity for bubbles, proves at last
A fenfeless bargain. When I fee fuch games
Play'd by the creatures of a pow'r who swears
That he will judge the earth, and call the fool
To a sharp reck'ning that has liv'd in vain;
And when I weigh this feeming wisdom well,
And prove it in th' infallible refult
So hollow and fo falfe-I feel my heart
Diffolve in pity, and account the learn'd,
If this be learning, most of all deceiv'd.
Great crimes alarm the confcience, but it sleeps
While thoughtful man is plausibly amus'd.
Defend me, therefore, common sense, say I,
From reveries so airy, from the toil

Of dropping buckets into empty wells,
And growing old in drawing nothing up!

'Twere well, says one fage erudite, profound, Terribly arch'd and aquiline his nofe, And overbuilt with most impending brows, 'Twere well, could you permit the world to live As the world pleases. What's the world to you?Much. I was born of woman, and drew milk, As sweet as charity, from human breafts. I think, articulate, I laugh and weep, And exercise all functions of a man. How then should I and any man that lives Be strangers to each other? Pierce my vein, Take of the crimson stream meand'ring there, And catechise it well; apply thy glass, Search it, and prove now if it be not blood Congenial with thine own: and, if it be, What edge of fubtlety canst thou suppose Keen enough, wife and skilful as thou art,

To cut the link of brotherhood, by which
One common Maker bound me to the kind?

True; I am no proficient, I confefs,

In arts like your's. I cannot call the swift

And perilous lightnings from the angry clouds,
And bid them hide themselves in earth beneath;
I cannot analyse the air, nor catch

The parallax of yonder luminous point,

That feems half quench'd in the immense abyss:
Such pow'rs I boast not-neither can I rest
A filent witness of the headlong rage
Or heedless folly by which thousands die,
Bone of my bone, and kindred fouls to mine.

God never meant that man should fcale the heav'ns By strides of human wisdom. In his works, Though wond'rous, he commands us in his word To feek him rather, where his mercy shines. The mind indeed, enlighten'd from above, Views him in all; ascribes to the grand cause

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