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"Lie ftill my Plutarch then and sleep, "And my good Seneca may keep "Your volumes clos'd for ever too, "I have no further ufe for you;

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"For when I feel my virtue fail,
"And my ambitious thoughts prevail,
"I'll take a turn among the tombs


"And fee whereto all glory comes;
"There the vile foot of ev'ry clown
"Tramples the fons of Honour down,
Beggars with awful ashes sport


"And tread the Cæfars in the dirt.

Freedom, 1697.



TEMPT me no more; my foul can ne'er comport
With the gay flav'ries of a court;

l'ave an averfion to those charms,

And hug dear Liberty in both mine arms.
Go, vaffal fouls, go cringe and wait

And dance attendance at Honorio's gate,


Then run in troops before him to compose his state; Move as he moves, and when he loiters ftand;

You 're but the shadows of a man:

Bend when he speaks and kifs the ground;
Go catch th' impertinence of found,

Adore the follies of the great,

Wait till he fmiles; but lo! the idol frown'd,
And drove them to their fate.

Volume VI.


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Thus bafeborn minds; but as for me

I can and will be free:

Like a strong mountain or some stately tree
My foul grows firm upright,

And as I ftand and as I go

It keeps my body fo:

No, I can never part with my creation right.
Let flaves and affes ftoop and bow,

I cannot make this iron knee




Bend to a meaner pow'r than that which form'd it

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Thus my bold harp profufely play'd

Tindarical, then on a branchy fhade

I hung my harp aloft, myself beneath it laid;

Nature that liften'd

to my


Refum'd the theme and acted it again.


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And as the tempeft fell th' obedient vapours funk:

Again it roars with bellowing found,

The meaner plants that grew around,


The willow and the afp, trembled and kifs'd the Hard by there ftood the iron trunk


Of an old oak, and all the ftorm defy'd;
In vain the winds their forces try'd,

In vain they roar'd; the iron oak

Bow'd only to the heav'nly thunder's stroke.


On Mr. Locke's Annotations upon feveral parts of The New Teftament, left behind him at his death.


Thus reafon learns by flow degrees

What faith reveals, but ftill complains

Of intellectual pains,

And darkness from the too exuberant light:
The blaze of those bright mysteries

Pour'd all at once on Nature's eycs

Offend and cloud her feeble fight.


Reafon could scarce fuftain to fee
Th'Almighty One, th' Eternal Three,
Or bear the infant Deity;

Scarce could her pride defcend to own
Her Maker stooping from his throne,
And drefs'd in glories fo unknown :
A ranfom'd world, a bleeding God,
And Heav'n appeas'd with flowing blood,
Were themes too painful to be understood.

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Faith, thou bright cherub, speak and say,

Did ever mind of mortal race

Coft thee more toil or larger grace

To melt and bend it to obey?

'Twas hard to make fo rich a foul fubmit

And lay her fhining honours at thy fov'reign feet.


Sifter of Faith, fair Charity,


Shew me the wondrous man on high,

Tell how he fees the Godhead Three in One;


The bright conviction fills his eye,

His nobleft pow'rs in deep proftration lie
At the mysterious throne:

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Forgive," he cries, "ye faints below,

"The wav'ring and the cold affent

66 T I gave to themes divinely true;

"Can you admit the blessed to repent?

"Eternal darkness vail the lines

"Of that unhappy book



"Where glimm'ring reason with falfe luftre fhines,

"Where the mere mortal pen miftcok

"What the celeftial meant *.


See Mr. Locke's Annotations on Rom. iii. 25. and Paraphrafe on Rom. ix. 5. which has inclined fome readers to doubt whether he believed the Deity and fatisfaction of Chrift; therefore in the fourth ftanza I invoke Charity, that by her help I may find him out in heaven, fince his notes on a Cor. v. ult. and fome other places, give me reason to believe he was no

True riches.

I Am not concern'd to know
What to-morrow Fate will do,
'Tis enough that I can say
I'ave poffefs'd myself to-day:
Then if haply midnight death
Seize my flesh and ftop my breath,
Yet to-morrow I fhall be

Heir to the best part of me.

Glitt'ring ftones and golden things,
Wealth and honours, that have wings,
Ever flutt'ring to be gone,
I could never call my own:
Riches that the world beftows
She can take and I can lofe,
But the treasures that are mine

Lie afar beyond her line.
When I view my fpacious foul,
And survey myself a-whole,
And enjoy myself alone,

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I'm a kingdom of my own.

I'ave a mighty part within

That the world hath never feen,


Socinian, though he has darkened the glory of the gospel and debased Christianity in the book which be calls The Reasonableness of it, and in fome of his other works.

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