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PARSON, these things in thy poffefling
Are better than the bishop's blessing.
A wife that makes conserves ; a steed
That carries double when there's need:
October ftore, and beft Virginia,
Tythe-pig, and mortuary guinea :
Gazettes fent gratis down, and frank’d,
For which thy patron's weekly thank'd;
A large concordance, bound long since;
Sermons to Charles the First, when prince:
A chronicle of ancient standing ;
A Chryfoftom to smooth thy band in.
The Polyglott-three parts, --my text,
Howbeit-- likewife now to my next.
Lo here the Septuagint and Paul,
To sum the whole,-the close of all.

He that has these, may pass his life,
Drink with the 'squire, and kiss his wife,
On Sundays preach, and eat his fill;
And fast on Fridays if he will ;
Toast church and queen, explain the news,
Talk with church-wardens about pews,
Pray heartily for some new gift,
And Thake his head at Doctor S. -t.

IBID. p. 13

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M A N. AWAKE, my St. John! Ieave all meaner things To low ambition, and the pride of Kings. Let us (since life can little more supply Than just to look about us, and to die) Expatiate free o’er all this scene of Man; A mighty maze! but not without a plan; A wild, where weeds and flow'rs promiscuous

fhoot; Or garden, tempting with forbidden fruit. Together let us beat this ample field, Try what the open, what the covert yield ! The latent tracts, the giddy Heights, explore Of all who blindly creep, or fightless foar; Eye Nature's walks, fhoot Folly as it flies, And catch the Manners living as they rise ; Laugh where we must, be candid where we can ; But vindicate the ways of God to Man.

Say first, of God above, or Man below, What can we reason, but from what we know? Of Man, what fee we but his station here, From which to reason, or to which refer? Thro' worlds unnumber'd tho' the God be known, 'Tis ours to trace him only in our own. He, who thro' vast immenfity can pierce, See worlds on worlds compofe one universe,


Obferve how fyftem into system runs,
What other planets circle other suns,
What vary'd Being peoples ev'ry star,
May tell why Heav'n has made us as we are.
But of this frame the bearings and the ties,
The strong connections, nice dependencies,
Gradations juft, has thy pervading soul
Look'd thro’? or can a part contain the whole ;

Is the great chain, that draws all to agree, And drawn supports, upheld by God, or thee?

Presumptuous Man! the reason wouldt thou find, Why form'd so weak, fo little, and so blind? First, if thou canst, the harder reason guess, Why form'd no weaker, blinder, and no less. Ak of thy mother Earth, why oaks are made Taller and stronger than the weeds they shade; Or ask of yonder argent fields above, Why Yove's Satellites are lefs than Jove ?

Of Systems poflible, if 'tis confeft, That Wisdom infinite must form the best, Where all must full, or not coherent be, And all that rises, rise in due degree; Then, in the scale of reas'ning life, 'tis plain, There must be, fomewhere, such a rank as Man: And all the question (wrangle e'er so long) Is only this, if God has plac'd him wrong?

Respecting Respecting Man, whatever wrong we call May, must be right, as relative to all. In human works, though labour'd on with pain, A thousand movements scarce one purpose gain : In God's, one single can its end produce ; Yet serves to second too some other use. So Man, who here seems principal alone, Perhaps acts fecond to some sphere unknown, Touches some wheel, or verges to some goal ; 'Tis but a part we fee, and not a whole.

When the proud fteed shall know why man

restrains His fiery course, or drives him o'er the plains ; When the dull Ox, why now he breaks the clod, Is now a victim, and now Ægypt's God; Then shall Man's pride and dullness comprehend His actions', paffions', being's, usę and end; Why doing, suff'ring, check’d, impell’d; and why This hour a slave, the next a deity.

Then say not Man's imperfect, Heav'n in fault: Say rather, Man's as perfect as he ought ; His knowledge measur'd to his state and place; His time a moment, and a point his space. If to be perfect in a certain sphere, What matter, foon or late, or here or there? The blest to-day is as completely so, As who began a thousand years ago.


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Heav'n from all creatures hides the book of Fate,
All but the page prescrib’d, their present state ;
From brutes what men, from men what fpirits know:
Or who could suffer Being here below?
The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day,
Had he thy reason, would he skip and play?
Pleas'd to the last, he crops the flow'ry food,
And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood.
Oh blindness to the future! kindly giv’n,
That each may fill the circle mark”d by Heav'n:
Who sees with equal eye, as God of all,
A hero perish, or a sparrow fall,
Atoms or fyftems into ruin hurld,
And now a bubble burst, and now a world.

Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions foar;
Wait the great teacher Death ; and God adore.
What future bliss, he gives not thee to know,
But gives that Hope to be thy blessing now.
Hope springs eternal in the human breaft:
Man never Is, but always To be bleft:
The foul, uneasy, and confin'd from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

Lo, the poor Indian; whose untutor'd mind
Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind ;
His soul, proud Science never taught to stray
far as the solar walk, or milky way;
Yet fimple Nature to his hope has giv'n,
Behind the cloud-topt hill, an humbler heav'n;


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