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 MISCELLANEOUS 
 
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 u <b m & 
 
 BY JOHN BYROM, M. A. F. R. S. 
 
 SOME TIME FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, AND INVENTOR 
 OF THE UNIVERSAL ENGLISH SHORT-HAND. 
 
 TO WHICH ARE ADDED HIS LIFE AND NOTES BY THE EDITOR. 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LEEDS: 
 
 Printed by and for James Nichols, 
 
 AND SOLD IN LONDON, BY CRADOCK AND JOY, GALE, CURTIS AND FENNER, 
 
 AND BAYNES; BY WILSON AND SON, YORK; J. CUMMING, DUBLIN; J. 
 
 AND J. ROBERTSON, EDINBURGH; FORD, MANCHESTER; WAVE, 
 
 LIVERPOOL; HARTLEY, ROCHDALE; TURNER, HULL; 
 
 BLACKBURN, DARLINGTON; STANFIELD, 
 
 BRADFORD; NICHOLSON, CAMBRIDGE; 
 
 SUGDEN, HALIFAX; AND OTHER 
 
 BOOKSELLERS. 
 
 1814.
 
 ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 THE publication of the following sheets is in compliance 
 with the request of many of Mr. Byrorrfs friends, who were 
 much pleased with some of his poetical compositions, which 
 had casually circulated in his life- time. Much might here be 
 said of the author's learned and poetical talents; but it does 
 not seem to be the business of an editor to endeavour to an- 
 ticipate the reader's judgment. By its own intrinsic worth, 
 and the candid opinion of the public, the following work is 
 left to stand or fall. 
 
 A deference due to the public may, however, make it neces- 
 sary to assure them, that the poems here presented, are the 
 genuine production of Mr. Byrom. They are carefully tran- 
 scribed from his own manuscripts; but as many of them were 
 written rather for private than for public perusal, it is hoped 
 that all favourable allowance will be made for small inac- 
 curacies. 
 
 The reader may be surprized perhaps to find in these vo- 
 lumes so many learned and critical questions discussed in 
 verse. This is indeed a singularity almost peculiar to our au- 
 thor ; but he had so accustomed himself to the language of 
 poetry, that he always found it the easiest way of expressing 
 his sentiments upon all occasions. He himself used to give 
 this reason to his friends for treating such subjects in so un- 
 common a method; and it is presumed, that, if they are not 
 found deficient in other respects, the novelty of the manner 
 will be rather a recommendation than otherwise. 
 
 789090
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 At a time when party disputes are so happily subsided, it 
 may seem to want an apology, that in the following collection, 
 some few pieces are inserted, which appear to be tinctured 
 with a party spirit. A small attention however will convince 
 the warmest partizan, that what Mr. Byrom has written of 
 this cast was intended to soften the asperity, and prevent the 
 mischiefs of an over-heated zeal. Since this was the author's 
 chief motive for writing, it is imagined no other apology will 
 be necessary for the publication of such pieces. 
 
 The great truths of Christianity had made, from his earliest 
 years, a deep impression upon the author's mind; and as it 
 was his manner to commit his sentiments, of every kind, to 
 verse, so he had a peculiar pleasure in employing his pen 
 upon serious subjects. To the purposes of instruction, and 
 the interests of virtue, all his abilities were ever made subser- 
 vient. This will appear, more particularly, from the second 
 volume of the following sheets, in which it was thought pro- 
 per to select such pieces as treat on subjects of a deeper and 
 more important nature. The reader, it is not doubted, will 
 be pleased to find that the author's natural talent for wit and 
 humour, has so often given place to something more solid 
 and substantial.
 
 ADVERTISEMENT TO THIS EDITION. 
 
 THE " Miscellaneous Poems" of the late Mr. Byrom had be- 
 come exceedingly scarce, and were in great request, when the editor 
 of these volumes was induced to undertake a republication of them. 
 Several of the authors humourous verses, by being inserted in 
 different collections of poetry, are very popular and generally 
 admired. But others of his productions, especially those on seri- 
 ous subjects, have never yet received the general attention which 
 their excellence demands. Various have been the causes of this 
 neglect. The impression of the first edition in 1773, was but 
 small; and its circidation was principally confined to the counties 
 of Lancashire and Yorkshire. Very few of the poems were in- 
 tended for publication ; they do not, therefore, possess that high 
 and attractive polish which, under other circumstances,- they might 
 have been expected to exhibit. But the chief reason why his seri- 
 ous pieces have not obtained the notice and publicity to which 
 they are entitled, is the character of Mysticism, which, being 
 with many persons another term for Heresy, has operated to the 
 prejudice of the author. He breathed too much piety for the age 
 in which he lived; and received the honourable appellation of 
 Mystic, which was then bestowed on all who excelled nominal 
 christians in spirittuility of doctrine and purity of practice. 
 This reproach teas first taken up against him by lukewarm profess- 
 ors and infidel philosophers ; and has been propagated to this day 
 from one writer to another, each of whom has known very little 
 about that which they undertook to condemn. It cannot be denied 
 that in an inconsiderable number of places, most of which are 
 pointed out in this edition, may be discovered a leaning in him 
 towards the opinions of Mystic authors; but these instances are so 
 slight and infrequent, as scarcely to expose him to the charge of 
 being one of their disciples. There is a manly and nervous style 
 employed in all his serious writings, which distinguishes them at 
 the works of one who was capable of executing high designs. A 
 great critic has said, that ** the beautiful pastoral of Colin and 
 " Phebe is sufficient to procure Mr. Byrom a reputation in poe- 
 " try." Another has made an equally strong assertion respecting 
 the Verses on buying the picture of Father Malebranche at a sale. 
 And every pious man will feel no hesitation in using a like ex- 
 pression concerning the beautiful Hymn to Jesus. 
 
 b
 
 Tl ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The editor has endeavoured, by adding notes in elucidation of 
 obscure allusions, to render some facts more generally interesting 
 or better understood. The translation of the several Latin, Greek, 
 and Hebrew phrases which the poems contain, will, it is hoped, 
 prove an acceptable service to persons who are ignorant of those 
 languages. In some portions of the work, these phrases, besides 
 having a place in fye notes, occur in the poetical text ; and unless 
 one knows their quantity and the right method of reading them, the 
 harmony of the line is destroyed. For this reason, the pronunci- 
 ation, in English characters, of every Hebrew and Greek word is 
 inserted in the notes; and neither sound nor sense suffers any in- 
 terruption. The critical observations on Homer, Horace, <Sfc. 
 have a translation; and are likewise so explained as to be intelli- 
 gible to the English reader. 
 
 Respecting the former collection, and the pieces now added ta 
 it, the editor adopts the assurance of his predecessor, " that the 
 " poems here presented are the genuine production of Mr. Byrom." 
 Jn this edition are admitted a few verbal variations from the 
 former one, which are so trifling as scarcely to cause a shade of 
 difference in the meaning. Many of the verses which thus disagree,* 
 were circulated while the author was living; it is therefore difficult 
 in many cases to discern between his alterations and the emenda- 
 tions of othey people. Thus Colin and Phebe, as it stands in the 
 Spectator, varies in four or Jive places from the. copy of it inserted 
 in the first edition of this work. In the midst of such difference, 
 only a small number, and they are those which appeared to be 
 the most natural readings, have been adopted. 
 
 The portrait of Mr. Byrom which is prefixed to this volume y 
 was procured through the kindness of that accomplished bibliogra- 
 pher, Mr. Ford, of Manchester. It is copied from the only like- 
 ness extant, which was taken by stealth and painted by the author's 
 friend, the late D. Rasbotham, Esq* 
 
 The editor has felt dubious about one anthority which has been very sparingly followed ; 
 because some of the variations observable in it, seem to have been made for the purpose ot' 
 avoiding curious and trite expressions. The principal of them are here subjoined: 
 
 Page 5. The Derbyshire Peak, instead of The De'eFs Arse o' Peak. 
 
 9. Thought I, Thinks 1. 
 
 .... 12. Break it, Swash it. 
 
 ....66. A turn, Event. 
 
 , . . . 10. I can't maintain except by lowly cringing, instead of I doubt, I must 
 Tttign, there's no defending.
 
 THE 
 
 H.IFJE 
 
 OF 
 
 JOHN BYROM, M. X F. R. S. 
 
 IT is a trite observation in the literary world, that the bio- 
 graphy of a mere scholar, from its not being a register of 
 amazing exploits, is devoid of interest; and, because its inci- 
 dents are few, and seldom beyond the common course of hu- 
 man affairs, that " it affords little amusement or instruction." 
 These conclusions, like many others, are too extensive to be 
 true. To the multitude itself the opening buds, as well as the 
 mature proofs of genius, are generally pleasing. The events of 
 a lettered man's years may indeed appear tame and meagre to 
 superficial readers who find most entertainment in what is 
 marvellous; but the contemplative perusal of them will always be 
 attended with profit and delight. The objects of his eager pur- 
 suit in childhood, the developement of his youthful genius, the 
 difficulties which bestrewed his path in life, the method which 
 he adopted to overcome them and to effect his purposes, and 
 the merited applause which he obtained by his talents, are so 
 many points in his history with which the intelligent and in- 
 quiring mind wishes to be gratified. 
 
 It is a public loss when a man eminent in the endowments of 
 the mind, is unwilling to give memoirs of himself to his co- 
 temporaries or posterity. Yet a plan might be devised of doing 
 this, equally removed from the flippancy of egotism and the 
 obscurity thrown by diffidence over many laudable actions. A 
 few men may be found in a century, who are impartial when 
 relating their own affairs, and righteous in ascribing motives to 
 the actions of others.But it too frequently happens that persons of 
 shallow understandings and confined intellects are the first to 
 consider themselves of great importance; and the inflated nar- 
 rative of their trifling actions, sufferings, and thoughts as of 
 prime consequence to society. Imagining that they are born for 
 the edification of the age in which they live, they contribute 
 a portion, incalculably small, towards its improvement, by 
 publishing relations of what little they know of themselves and 
 the exaggerated praise they have received from their friends. 
 The public voice, when raised in displeasure against the mean 
 insignificancy of such performances, has often been so loud and
 
 iii THE LITE OF 
 
 severe as to discourage the attempts of meritorious individuals 
 who are known to be capable of imparting valuable information. 
 
 The writer of this sketch laments, and the reader will par- 
 ticipate with him in the regret, that with all the requisite qua- 
 lifications for being his own historian, Mr. Byrom has not fav- 
 oured posterity with any biographical notice respecting himself. 
 Had his own pen been employed in relating some detached 
 portions of his chequered life, which extended through the 
 greater part of an eventful century, his biography would have 
 derived a degree of interest from that circumstance, which it 
 cannot be expected to obtain when given, from spare materials, 
 by another person. 
 
 Mr. John Byrom was born at Manchester, in the year 169L 
 being a younger son of Mr. Edward Byrom, Linen Draper, of 
 Kersall, in Lancashire. His father was a branch of an ancient 
 and genteel family in that county. The subject of this memoir 
 received the rudiments of his education at his native town, and 
 completed his preparatory studies at Merchant Taylors' School 
 in London, where he obtained a high reputation for classical 
 erudition. Indeed his proficiency in literature must have been 
 very respectable, since at the early age of sixteen he was deem- 
 ed competent to enter upon University studies. He was ac- 
 cordingly sent to Cambridge; and admitted, on the 6th of July, 
 1708, a pensioner of Trinity College, under the tuition of the 
 famous Doctor Baker. He applied himself very closely to the 
 acquisition of Mathematical knowledge, without which no 
 candidate for University honours at Cambridge can hope to 
 succeed. He took his first degree of Bachelor of Arts with 
 great credit; and, in the year 1714, was elected Fellow of his 
 . College through the interest of Doctor Richard Bentley, the 
 master, who admired his genius and was an encourager of his 
 merit. To be a fellow of Trinity was accounted then, as it is 
 now, an extraordinary reward of talent. The high character 
 of that College, second to none in the University, confers cele- 
 brity on every student in it whose well-tried abilities procure 
 for him any public mark of respect. 
 
 The same year, while in these sacred groves, he made his 
 first literary attempt, as an author, by writing two excellent 
 essays on dreaming. They were inserted in the Spectator, 
 (Numbers 586 and 5Q3,) and have obtained great approba- 
 tion from the learned. He lays it down as an axiom, that 
 " dreams are certainly the result of our waking thoughts, 
 and our daily hopes and fears are what give the mind such nim- 
 ble relishes of pleasure and severe touches of pain, its mid-
 
 MR. JOHN BYROM. UC 
 
 riight rambles. To go to bed with a mind entirely free from 
 passions, and a body clear of the least intemperance," is the 
 way which he proposes for inducing pleasant and refreshing 
 dreams. He would have every one, in a morning before he 
 arose, " to consider what he had been about that night, and 
 with the same strictness as if the condition he has believed him- 
 self to be in, was real. Such a scrutiny into the actions of his 
 fancy must be of considerable advantage, for this reason, be- 
 cause the circumstances which a man imagines himself in, du- 
 ring sleep, are generally such as entirely favour his inclinations 
 good or bad, and give him imaginary opportunities of pursuing 
 them to the utmost; so that his temper will be fairly open to 
 his view, while he considers how it is moved, when free from 
 those constraints which the accidents of real life put it under." 
 In one of his poems, (vol. 1, page 59,) he has adverted to the 
 benefit to be derived from this practice, 
 
 Of midnight thoughts to take no heed 
 Betrays a sleepy soul indeed ; 
 It is but dreaming in the day 
 To throw our nightly hours away. 
 
 Though the productions of a young man, they discover such 
 ft liveliness of imagination, and powers of conception and exe- 
 cution, with such just aptitude of style to the subject, as would 
 be no disgrace to a veteran in literature. 
 
 Two other papers (Numbers 587 and 597) in the same Mis- 
 cellany, are ascribed to him, but on doubtful authority. 
 
 From his earliest years he had indulged himself in the com- 
 position of poetry. 
 
 Well I remember that my younger breast 
 The same desire, that reigns in yours, possess'd. 
 Me, numbers flowing to a measur'd time, 
 Me, sweetest grace of English verse, the Rhyme, 
 Choice epithet, and smooth descriptive line, 
 Conspiring all to finish one design, 
 Smit with delight. Vol. 1, page 126. 
 
 The good success which had attended his early acquaintance 
 with the Muses, was apparent on the publication of his first 
 poetical production. It is entitled, " Colin and Phehe, a Pas- 
 toral;" and was sent to the Spectator, in which it appeared as 
 No. 603. For a century it has preserved the popularity which 
 it then gained ; and to this day it is accounted one of the most 
 agreeable and natural specimens of that kind of composition. 
 Some of the actions described in it have been blamed for their 
 ludicrous vulgarity; but not one of them is incongruous with 
 the manners of a rustic, from whose unrepressed feelings and 
 
 b 2
 
 X THE LIFE OF 
 
 low ideas it is nothing uncommon for such expressions as these to 
 flow : My heart was as light as a feather all day. My heart, I am 
 sure, neighs more than a pound. Peace there with your bubbling. 
 I fling at their fleeces a handful of grass. It makes me quite mad to 
 sec you so merry while I am so sad.Yet what swain is so silly to 
 live without love? Nor will budge one foot faster for all thou 
 canst say. 
 
 In other expressions, the lover evinces just as much know- 
 ledge of heathen mythology as we may suppose a countryman 
 to possess; and the clumsy manner in which he employs it, shews 
 it to be not the most profound. When he exclaims, How slowly 
 time creeps! he adds, in all the keen impatience of present disap- 
 pointment, If I knew whereabouts he would tread, I could breathe on 
 his wings; it would melt down the lead, and would consequently 
 quicken the leaden, lingering pace of time, and hasten the pe- 
 riod of the fair one's arri >ral. The minutes are afterwards charg- 
 ed more swiftly to fly; and, as a special inducement to their 
 rapid advance, they are invited to rest longer when she shall be 
 here; a reward congenial with a shepherd's ideas. All this is 
 exquisitely characteristic. Had Colin been made to utter pretty 
 things in a fine style, he would have appeared, indeed, in gar- 
 ments more splendid than this his holiday suit; yet they would 
 have been borrowed robes, and under their guise still a clown, 
 he Would but occasionally have proved himself to be a polite gen- 
 tleman. But he is now a plain countryman throughout; and, 
 except in those parts where the descriptions apply, as they were 
 intended by the author, exclusively to the views and habits of a 
 shepherd,* he speaks the impassioned language of human nature. 
 This is universally understood, especially by those who have been 
 in similar circumstances. Such persons will acknowledge that the 
 feverish petulance of the solitary rustic, whom nothing pleases, 
 bears a very strong resemblance to the ill-humoured effervescence 
 of their own feelings on the absence of some beloved object. 
 
 Joanna, the youngest daughter of Doctor Bentley, is usually 
 mentioned as the lady in whose praise these pastoral verses were 
 composed. That a copy of them might be presented to her, out 
 of respect to her accomplishments and virtues, may be readily 
 believed. But it will be credited by no one, who only partially 
 knew Mr. Byrom, that he made any advances towards a place in 
 the young lady's affections, with the sinister design of succeeding 
 the more effectually in his application for a fellowship. Yet it 
 has been hinted, that his college promotion was owing rather 
 to his feigning an attachment to the daughter, than to any ad- 
 ii in i n - . 1 1 . i i 
 
 Sw vol- 1, page 1.
 
 MB. JOHN BYROM. Xi 
 
 miration of his talents by the father. This is staled by none of 
 his biographers as a fact, but is raised only in the convenient 
 form of a surmise; and scarcely merits any attempts at refutation. 
 Two considerations, however, will tend to shew the fallacy of 
 this conjecture.: the remarkably frank and generous disposition 
 of Mr.Byrom, is itself a sufficient contradiction to the calumny. 
 His conduct, from childhood to old age, in every affair of life, 
 was the opposite to double-dealing. Besides, there exists in the 
 poem no allusion that can apply to Miss Bentley as the absent 
 shepherdess. Although it was composed prior to his sitting for 
 a. fellowship, yet it is not said 
 
 My time, O ye Muses, was happily spent 
 When Joanna went with me wherever I went. 
 
 He would not have framed his eulogy in so general and loose 
 a manner as to be equally appropriate to any other of the sex, 
 if he had been the designing and selfish youth which this repre- 
 sentation would make him. What lady would acknowledge 
 such lines, unless they were inscribed with her name, or con- 
 tained some specific reference to her person, mind, or circum- 
 stances, which could neither be mistaken nor applied with 
 propriety to another? But in all the accounts which are given 
 of our author's motives, it is never once intimated that the 
 young lady entertained an idea of the secret meaning of any 
 courtly expressions in it which were applicable to herself. 
 How any one else could assert that they were a covert and mean 
 treat to her vanity, it is not easy to divine. 
 
 Regarded merely as a youthful exercise of poetic skill, why 
 may not this eclogue be allowed that free range of imagination 
 which is claimed for similar compositions? Colin and Phebe, 
 it is true, may, by a warm fancy, be supposed to mean Mr. 
 Byrom and Miss Bentley, with the same degree of probability 
 as the Palemon and Galatea of another poet may be imagined 
 to pourtray two particular individuals whom be had not in his 
 contemplation while writing, and whom he never intended \m 
 fictitious characters to personate. But there is internal evidence 
 in the poem, which, taken in conjunction with the testimony of 
 his own family, makes it certain that if any compliment was 
 implied in it beyond the mere playfulness of imagination, it 
 was intended for another person. To his favourite sinter, Miss 
 Phebe Byrom, this pastoral was addressed, as well as several 
 other copies of verses. The mention of her name in it was al- 
 ways accounted, by his connections, as tender a mark of per- 
 sonal respect as a brother could confer on such a near relative. 
 Exalting her, by an allowable poetic licence, into the imaginary
 
 XU THE LIPE OF 
 
 object of his fondest .affections, in glowing language he depicts 
 the charming effect which her presence gave to all the appear- 
 ances of nature; and the clouded aspect which every thing bore 
 when she was absent. 
 
 On the whole, it is very probable that this story had its ori- 
 gin either in vanity, or in the colloquial slander of some rival 
 candidate who was at that time disappointed in his prospects of 
 collegiate honours. For it is a fact which admits of no doubt, 
 that, long before the publication of these verses, the preposses- 
 sing manners, accurate classical knowledge, and amiable dispo- 
 sition of Mr. Byrom, had recommended him to the friendship 
 of Dr. Bentley. Whoever reads his poetical criticisms on Ho- 
 race, Homer, &c. in the latter part of this volume, will be 
 astonished at the profundity of his genius and the extent of his 
 attainments; and will be further convinced that it was something 
 beyond a pretended partiality for his daughter that induced the 
 discerning Master of Trinity College to favour Mr. Byrom's 
 election to a fellowship. 
 
 He proceeded, at the usual period, to his degree of Master of 
 Arts; and in the year 1716" resigned his college preferment. As 
 it was not a lay fellowship, by the statutes of the house he could 
 retain it no longer without entering into holy orders. His rea- 
 sons for declining to minister in holy things, according to the 
 forms of the Established Church, have never been satisfactorily 
 stated. From this omission several persons have ventured to 
 class him with the conscientious among Dissenters, and have 
 imputed his Nonconformity in this instance to his political opi- 
 nions, or to his refined ideas of church-government. His poli- 
 tical sentiments were indeed the same as were held by a num- 
 ber of most worthy characters in that age; and they were not 
 the most friendly to all the principles and measures of Govern- 
 ment. Yet had there not been another more powerful cause, 
 these would have had very little influence on his determination 
 with respect to the Church, because many of her dignitaries 
 were the abettors of the same political principles. Nor was he 
 hindered by any want of attachment to her doctrines and cere- 
 monies; for she had not a more dutiful son; and however libe- 
 ral he was towards contrary attachments in other people, it was 
 his delight and high satisfaction through life to attend on the 
 ministration of all her ordinances. Yet he appears to have been 
 influenced at this critical period by religious motives of a pecu- 
 liar nature. 
 
 Soon after the resignation of his fellowship, being in an infirm 
 state of health, he went to Montpellier, where he began to
 
 MR. JOHN 6YROM. xiii 
 
 study physic, having an intention of exercising it as a profession. 
 It is generally believed, that, during his residence in France, he 
 imbibed the mystical opinions of Father Malebranche in Philoso- 
 phy and of Fenelon and Madame Bourignon in Divinity. But 
 these notions, however they might be increased by his remaining 
 a short time in the region of their growth, had been embraced 
 by him before he left Cambridge; and to his reasons for court- 
 ing privacy they had communicated a powerful bias. 
 
 The latter part of the Seventeenth Century was particularly 
 marked by the violent concussions which took place between two 
 opposite parties in religion. One of them may, not unaptly be 
 called the party of the Moralists, and the other that of the Spiri- 
 tualists. Their struggle was not confined to one church or coun- 
 try: It extended through Christendom. 
 
 Ever since the passing of the act of Uniformity, by which 
 nearly two thousand of her best pastors reluctantly became 
 Nonconformists, the Established Church of England had been 
 suffering a decay in her vitals from the want of "able ministers 
 of the New Testament." The successors of these worthies did 
 not press on the consciences of their hearers those grand truths 
 of Christianity, which distinguish it from every religious sys- 
 tem of merely human origin. They were themselves ignorant 
 of that inward kingdom of God, whicli is " righteousness* peace 
 and joy in the Holy Ghost;" and could not therefore be expect- 
 ed rightly to divide the woifl of truth, or to teach others the 
 method of salvation. It became a fashionable practice among 
 Clergymen to expatiate largely on the sublime morality of the 
 Gospel. Great acuteness and precision were also expended in 
 proving that the Christian Religion was in several respects su- 
 perior to the systems of heathen sages. If a preacher could 
 moreover, evince his dexterity in the pulpit by confuting the 
 arguments of the Papists, he was immediately pronounced a 
 good christian and an astute theologian. From this slight but 
 true sketch, the fact is not at all extraordinary that no writer of 
 eminence can be found in the Established Cnurch, from those 
 days till nearly the middle of the eighteenth century, whose 
 productions clearly exhibit the doctrines of Christ in their happy 
 influence on the conduct, and their saving efficacy in the soul 
 Repentance, Faith, and Holiness sometimes occur in the theolo- 
 gical writings of that period; but they are only in the lowest ac- 
 ceptations of those sacred terms. Repentance is generally set 
 lorth as such a contrition for sin as secures the favour of Jeho- 
 vah, without much, if any, need of the intervention of the Sa- 
 viour. Faith ib represented, in all the pomp of words, as " the
 
 Xiv THE LIFE OF 
 
 substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen j" 
 but when examined, it is found to be, not the vital and opera- 
 tive principle obviously intended by that word in the records of 
 truth, but a cold assent of the understanding to this proposition, 
 " Christianity is a revelation from God." And Holiness, accord- 
 ing to them, is principally an abstinence from gross vices, and 
 
 . a tranquility of mind which may comport with, what they call, 
 <e the proper dignity of a human being." The discourses on 
 
 - these topics are adorned with many excellent precepts, of which 
 Seneca and Epictetus furnish as large a share as the writers of 
 the New Testament. 
 
 Such was the deplorable state of Evangelical Religion in one 
 of the best constituted churches of Christ in Europe. But this 
 representation does not apply to her alone: The Seceders from 
 the Establishment were in a little time enveloped in thick mists 
 of eiTor, and had gone far from the doctrines of the Reformers 
 and from the piety of their predecessors, the Puritans. The 
 Nonconforming ministers about this time seemed divinely com- 
 missioned to impart much of the savour of godliness to the peo- 
 ple with whom they united, and to revive its drooping interests 
 among Dissenters. But when those holy men died, and their 
 race was soon finished, spiritual fervour suddenly departed, 
 and divine influence was lightly esteemed. No longer did their 
 coadjutors occupy themselves regularly and earnestly in enfor- 
 cing the humbling doctrines of the cross; the fall of man; his 
 restoration by Christ; the efficacy of the divine atonement; and the 
 necessity of faith and of a heavenly conversation. Hypothetical 
 disquisitions on the narrow limits of divine mercy, and on the 
 supposed secret and revealed will of God, became favourite sub- 
 jects with preachers. The scriptural doctrines of the pardon of 
 sins, a knowledge of individual forgiveness, and the witness and 
 
 fruits of the Spirit, were casually mentioned by a few of them as 
 privileges and almost attainable. At length they were com- 
 mented away, becoming themes of controversy and furnishing 
 matter for cavil. Nothing so distinctly marks the decay of a 
 church as the low ideas entertained by its members of the per- 
 son of Christ Jesus. If a minister professed a belief in Christ's 
 divinity, he was branded for illiberality, and judged unworthy 
 of the refiued society of Arians. With regard to purity of doc- 
 trine, the established church had a decided advantage. For, 
 whatever unscriptural dogmas might be promulgated from the 
 pulpit, the liturgy, winch made an integral and important part 
 of every public service, was heard from the reading desk ; and 
 in it were recognised all the essential and consolatory truths of
 
 MR. JOHN BTUDM. X 
 
 Christianity. But when nearly "all the light that was in dissent- 
 ing churches, became darkness, how great must that darkness 
 have been! 
 
 To this religious condition were the Moralists of England re- 
 duced; yet lower in the scale of depression was the same party 
 in every other European country. The circumstance has not 
 been unusual, as far as mortals may judge of the economy of 
 Divine Providence, for the Great Governor of the world occasi- 
 oiially to permit one evil to counteract another that is of greater 
 magnitude. When men have raged their hour, it is seen that 
 " God sitteth on the water-floods;" and at a fit time "hestil- 
 leth the voice of the people." Men wonder at divine control, 
 when in the end they are permitted to view the great good pro- 
 duced by unlikely and imbecile instruments. This remark 
 was, perhaps, never more particularly exemplified than at 
 the period now under consideration. Nearly at the same time 
 arose, in several of the nations of Europe, a party of men 
 generally styled Mystics, but who may with equal propriety be 
 called Spiritualists. These individuals, unconnected with each 
 other, and having no prospect before them but that of opposition 
 and contumely, nobly stood forth to plead the cause of vital 
 godliness. Whatever other matters they grafted on it, this was 
 the principle generally assumed by them, " In the Bible, the 
 " word of God, there is a Spirit beyond the letter; and if we 
 '* be denied this spiritual religion, which consists in the enjoy- 
 " ment or love of God on earth and in heaven, or if it be ex- 
 " plained away, in what respects, by this code of mercy, are we 
 " more benefited than Pagans, Jews, or Mahommedans?" 
 This, it will be seen, was but a revival of the leading principle 
 of Prostestantism. For this very reason, in Popish countries 
 where it was industriously propagated by the Mystics, the civil 
 and ecclesiastical powers endeavoured to stifle its growth and to 
 punish its authors. But even in those unfriendly climes, it flou- 
 rished not the less from opposition; and it was undoubtedly the 
 possession in spirit of a large portion of its fundamental principle, 
 that enabled those who professed it to glory in tribulation, and 
 patiently to endure punishment, disgrace, and death itself. Ma* 
 king allowances for certain peculiarities in their views, the mys- 
 tical authors we re persons of great powers of mind. The under- 
 standings of many of them were darkened. Yet they were all 
 celebrated for the depth of their piety ; and several were men 
 of great erudition. The names of Malebranche, Fenelon, Law, 
 Poiret, and others, will not be repeated, even by a general 
 scholar, without veneration and respect. They were perfectly
 
 Xvi THE LIFE Of 
 
 independent of each other, and acted without concert; yet their 
 devotional productions found a way into places where dry trea- 
 tises would not have been allowed an entrance. The fine gold 
 of their doctrine was mixed with alloy.* It was applied by dif- 
 ferent persons, as suited their various fancies, to the philosophi- 
 cal investigation of the appearances of nature; to the conjectu- 
 ral divine affinity and relative etymology of the Hebrew alpha- 
 betical characters; to the science of profound mental abstraction, 
 and to many other vagaries of weak or ardent imaginations. 
 These additions, which they considered ornamental, were so 
 embodied with better subjects in their works, and clothed in 
 such glowing language, as to prove very attractive to curious 
 persons and youthful minds. The good principles contained 
 in them, often excited strong convictions in the mind, when 
 the meretricious ornaments with which they were surrounded, 
 produced no effect. Considering the lax state of public morals 
 and of religious feeling, it is amazing what progress these opi- 
 nions made, and with what avidity they were received. It is a 
 circumstance, not the least worthy of being recorded in this 
 place, that, by the perusal of two excellent devotional treatises 
 written by a celebrated English Mystic, a young clergyman 
 while at Oxford was induced to follow the directions contained in 
 them; and became an eminently pious character, and the founder 
 of the most flourishing religious denomination of modern times. 
 The maxim is found to be generally correct, that when two 
 contrary propositions, consisting partly of truth and error, are put 
 into a train of discussion, the greater attention they obtain the more 
 likely they will be to elicit truth and to be useful to mankind. Thus 
 were the combatants, the Moralists and the Spiritualists, mar- 
 shalled against each other; and the issue of the contest has been 
 most favourable to society. To the violent agitation of the 
 questions in dispute the present age is indebted, under. God, for 
 
 The Mystics, as a body, have been egregiously misrepresented. Mr. ByromVill not, perhaps, 
 by fastidious persons be allowed to appear as a competent witness in these matters. Vet the 
 observations, in the following extract from one of his letters to a friend, are just and pertinent : 
 
 " By your second letter, I perceive that you are not only emancipated from Mr. Lesley's autho- 
 rity, with regard to Monsieur Poiret, but to the Mystics in general, whom, with all his great and 
 good abilities, he misapprehended. Afraid of one extreme, he ran too inconsiderately 'into ano- 
 ther. The contempt of outward ordinances and of established systems, which he had observed in 
 some, made him too rashly to determine concerning others. And succeeding well in his attack 
 upon adversaries, he injured his talents by falling upon the most impregnable body of friends to 
 piety that life and letters can unite and exhibit. If, with juster apprehensions than he had, you 
 can relish the mystical writers, you may do justice to his merits, without yielding to his mistakes. 
 The true mystics for in diamonds there are flaws and counterfeits appear to set religion in its 
 most amiable and convincing light ; to give the substance of it, still the same through every change 
 of circumstance and ceremony, whether of God's appointment or permission. Instead of endless 
 controversies about customs and phiases, they inculcate a hearty and holy use of all that innocent- 
 ly, or indifferently, present themselves to our observance. As you observe, (and it is saying all) 
 *j they place religion in the soundness of the heart." Their main and plain principles, in which it 
 n wonderful to see the concurrence of different ages, places, and professions, may doubtless be pro- 
 faned, as well as mystic Paul's," unto the pure all things are pure." But nothing but the truth. 
 ilsejf could create that harmony in essentials which characterizes the mystics." 
 
 Gentleman's Magazine for 1780, page 424.
 
 MR. JOHN BVROM. XVli 
 
 the wide diffusion of scriptural principles, the increasing popu- 
 larity of sound Theology, clear views of the spirituality of the 
 trospel, and for such purity of doctrine as has not been seen in 
 the Church Universal since the days of the apostles. 
 
 Religious impressions had been early made on the mind of Mr 
 tfyrom; and notwithstanding the native sprightliness of his dis- 
 position, he did not in his youth entirely forget the end for 
 which he was created. It might be expected from a mind con- 
 stituted as his was, after he had become acquainted with the re- 
 lative merits of the conflicting religious interests now enumera- 
 ted, that he would not long remain in a state of neutrality or 
 inaction. The force of timely pious instruction had prepared 
 his mind for acknowledging the justness of the fundamental prin- 
 ciple of Mysticism; and he did not hesitate at length to join 
 himself to that party. The choice had cost him much thought 
 as it was proper that it should, for by his adherence to it all his 
 prospects of collegiate and clerical promotion were blasted. With 
 his present views and feelings he could not comfortably enter 
 into holy orders; and he prudently refrained from making the 
 hazardous experiment. His health was affected by this contem- 
 plation of a change in his prospects; and he executed his resolu- 
 tion of retiring into France: Yet it is very probable that, in 
 his retreat to Montpellier, he was actuated more by a spirit 
 of religious chivalry, than by any solicitude for the restoration 
 of his health, or an opportunity of studying medicine. The 
 sacrifice of interest to principle, is on all occasions highly plea- 
 sing ; though, as an act, it merits no applause. For it is but the 
 bare performance of a duty incumbent on every honest man, 
 who values his own peace of mind, and avoids the appearance of 
 mercenary intentions towards his fellow-creatures. Yet it be- 
 came his biographer thus to notice at large the motives of Ins re- 
 signation, as a striking contrast to those which on slight ground* 
 were alleged against him when he obtained his fellowship 
 
 After being some time absent from England, he returned, and 
 came to London with a design of settling there as a Physician! 
 *rom a knowledge of this circumstance, and the object of his 
 studies on the continent, his acquaintance gave him by courtesy 
 the appellation of Doctor, by which he was universally known 
 though he never took a degree in medicine. While he was de- 
 liberating about the commencement of his medical career, his 
 purpose was frustrated by the arrival in London of two female 
 cousins Ihese ladies were the daughters of his uncle, Mr. 
 Joseph Byrom, a very rich mercer at Manchester. They had 
 eome to town on their father's business. Though still greatly
 
 Xviti THE LIFE OF 
 
 attached to the tenets of the Mystics, he did not posset a suffi- 
 ciency of their angelic fervour to counteract the attractions of an 
 earthly passion, or to parry its irresistible assaults. He soon 
 found that 
 
 Love rnles the camp, the court, the grove, 
 
 And men below, and saints above. Scott. 
 
 The younger sister, Miss Elizabeth Byrom, was the lady 
 whose charms had won his heart; and to whom without delay he 
 disclosed his ardent feelings of affection. She did not discourage 
 him in his addresses; for they appear to have been mutually 
 enamoured. Unwilling te entrust the success of his suit to the 
 tardy course of an epistolary correspondence, he followed her on 
 her return ; and renewed his application to her at her father's 
 house in Manchester. After spending a considerable time in 
 solicitation, he succeeded in obtaining her consent to their im- 
 mediate union. Blessed with the object of his affectionate re- 
 gard, he began to look around him for some adequate mode of 
 maintenance for her and himself On his own small fortune he 
 had entirely subsisted after quitting Cambridge; and it was now 
 reduced to a pittance. His wife's opulent relatives had been 
 violently opposed to his marriage; from them he could form 
 no hopes of support. His uncle seems to have been a person of 
 a contracted disposition, and unconscious of the excellences of 
 his son-in-law. He disapproved of his daughter's choice; though, 
 in objecting to Mr. Byrom, the only expressed ground of dis- 
 like was his poverty and want of a profession. The resentment 
 which he conceived, was unnaturally implacable; and he per- 
 sisted in his refusal to render his daughter's husband any pecu- 
 niary assistance. 
 
 The lowering appearances, under which our author had to 
 begin to make provision for all that was dear to him, were of no 
 ordinary description. From conscientious motives he had 
 abandoned the idea of officiating as a Clergyman; he had pre- 
 pared himself for the practice of physic, but had injured his pros- 
 pects by sedulous and almost exclusive attention to his amiable 
 cousin; and on being united to her, whatever exceptions had 
 been taken against himself, he had reason to expect that the pre- 
 valence of natural affection in her relatives would have raised her 
 above indigence. The energy of a man's spirit is seldom known 
 till it has encountered difficulties. With the dignity of an inde- 
 pendent character, Mr. Byrom immediately applied himself to the 
 resources of his active mind, and prospered in that which he re- 
 solved to attempt. While at Cambridge he had met with some 
 sermons written in short-hand, the theory of which he did not
 
 MR. JOHN, BYBOK. XIX 
 
 understand. By repeated attempts he had decyphered its cha- 
 racters, and discovered its contractions. But judging it to be 
 immethodical, arbitrary, and inelegant in its construction, he had 
 projected another most admirable system, which after numer- 
 ous emendations he had brought to a high degree of perfec- 
 tion. This, the product of ingenuity, he had accommodated to 
 his own practice, and had proved its utility. Like an honour- 
 able man, he now considered it no degradation to derive emolu- 
 ment from his own discovery. He accordingly assumed the of- 
 fice of preceptor; and initiated several respectable persons in 
 Manchester in the principles of stenography. The patronage 
 which he received in his native town, encouraged him to make an 
 experiment in London. On visiting the Metropolis, his connec- 
 tions at the University, and his early literary productions, were 
 serviceable in introducing him to the notice of many eminent 
 persons, whose favour he further secured by his engaging man- 
 ners and irreproachable character. Pupils flocked to him in 
 abundance; among whom he had the honour of numbering seve- 
 ral of high rank and great influence. This auspicious beginning 
 induced him to proceed; and for many years it was his practice 
 to visit London in the winter months, while there was the great- 
 est resort of company in town, and to spend his summers at Man- 
 chester, where his wife continued to reside. His industry pro- 
 cured him a handsome income; and his changeful mode of life 
 was not so disagreeable to him and Mrs. Byrom, as if he had been 
 separated from her during the greater part of every year. Thus 
 proceeded his life in a tranquil course. He was contented ; and 
 his happiness was augmented by the company and epistolary 
 correspondence of an amiable wife, and the endearments of an 
 increasing family. 
 
 At this comfortable condition he did not arrive without endu- 
 ring a struggle. Opposition had arisen from other professors of 
 stenography, when he first undertook the office of teacher. In 
 elucidating the principles and superiority of his own method, he 
 occasionally adverted to the obscurity and defects of other sys- 
 tems. This irritated the persons who felt themselve aggrieved, 
 especially one Mr. Weston, who had published a short-hand book 
 of Common Prayer of diminutive size. This gentleman, wh 
 had till then been reckoned at the head of his profession, insert- 
 ed an advertisement in the public papers in which he declared 
 the greater expedition of his own plan of writing, and challenged 
 Mr. Byrom, or any of his scholars, to a trial of skill in the art, 
 for winch he appointed time and place. (Vol. 1st, page 11 and 
 137.) Mr. Byrom attended; by actual trial with his competi-
 
 3X THE LIFE OF 
 
 tor he demonstrated, to the satisfaction of all the spectators, the 
 superior quickness and legibility of his short-hand; and was ac- 
 knowledged to be the victor. In allusion to this affair, he was 
 ever afterwards styled by his pupils Grand Master. 
 
 In March, 1724, he was chosen Fellow of the Royal Society. 
 During the Presidency of Sir Isaac Newton, and for some time 
 afterwards, the majority of the members of that learned body 
 were mathematicians. The studies of Cambridge are known to 
 be principally mathematical. While engaged in the prosecution 
 of them, Mr. Byrom applied the most obvious principles and 
 easy figures in Geometry to his invention of Stenography. Who- 
 ever examines his system will find that the proportions in the 
 characters are adjusted with great nicety, and that each of its 
 elements is geometrically exact. Many of the Fellows had 
 been inhabits of intimacy with him at Cambridge; and his parti- 
 cular friend, Martin Folkes, Esq., was at that time in the Vice*- 
 presidency, and afterwards succeeded Sir Hans Sloane as Pre- 
 sident of the Society. These gentlemen considered Mr. Byrom, 
 from his general literary character, as an intelligent associate, 
 and a valuable addition to their body. But for the honour of his 
 election he was chiefly indebted to his attainments in the diffe- 
 rent fascinating branches of mathematical science. 
 
 He continued for some years with laudable industry to exert 
 himself in providing for his family, when at length his eldest 
 brother, Mr. Edward Byrom, died without issue. By this event 
 he came into possession of the family estate at Kersall; and, hav- 
 ing a comfortable independence, was relieved from the necessity 
 of being any longer a teacher. He now gave himself up to the 
 enjoyment of domestic and social felicity, for which he had by 
 nature an exquisite relish. 
 
 His hours of leisure were often employed in rhyming on any 
 subject which suited his fancy. The facility with which he 
 communicated his ideas in verse, prompted him to choose topics 
 for his Muse which have seldom been attempted by other poets. 
 (Page iii, vol. 1.) "Yet to the purposes of instruction, and the in- 
 terests of virtue, all his abilities were ever made subservient." 
 If the public mind began to be filled with violent prejudices and 
 false views, his philanthropy inclined him to shew his moderate 
 opinion. Had religion by some of its insidious defenders, been 
 made to mean any thing except the experience recommended 
 in the Bible, the love of God in the soul, he was always ready 
 with his pen to convince them of error, and to shew unto them 
 " a more excellent way." These two volumes of his poetry con- 
 tain many able defences of inward religion. His " Remarks on
 
 MR. JOHN BYROM. XXI 
 
 Doctor Middleton's examination of Bishop Sherlock's Use and 
 Intent of Prophecy," (vol. 1, page 157,) is an elaborate perform- 
 ance, consisting of one thousand lines. It is unanswerable in 
 its argumentation, and interesting in its matter; and will richly 
 repay for the time employed in its perusal. The general read- 
 er will notice one peculiarity in this piece, which is his versify- 
 ing the quotations in fewer words than they occupy in the notes, 
 without diminishing their signification or energy. The works 
 of Doctors Brown, Akenside, Rogers, and Watts, and those of 
 the Rev. Mr. Hervey, furnished him with different subjects of 
 animadversion. But his severest censures are directed against 
 many of the bold and unscriptural tenets of that famous contro- 
 versialist, Bishop Warburton, who was much galled by his re- 
 marks, and affected great disdain for him by calling him a 
 Bekmenist. (Vol 1, page 62.) 
 
 He has been so styled by many authors. It becomes neces- 
 sary, therefore, to state in what sense he is entitled to the ap- 
 pellation. That in early life he ranked himself on the side of 
 the Mystics has been already shewn; (page xvii;) and he appears 
 throughout life to have retained a fondness for their writings. The 
 enigmatical manner of propounding their sentiments attracted 
 his fancy; but he never paid any attention to their works, unless 
 he discovered in them judicious statements of scripture facts, or 
 able illustrations of evangelical truth. When he found these, 
 (vol. 1, page 180,) it is no impeachment of the soundness of his 
 understanding to say, that he gave the authors credit for a mul- 
 titude of other matters which were beyond his Comprehension. 
 In other words, he regarded the rubbish in the mine only for the 
 sake of the precious metals which it served to cover. He says, 
 when speaking of Behmen, (vol. 2, pages 82, and 89,) 
 
 Reason may see that something more divine 
 Lies hid in what the hooks of Behmen teach, 
 Tho' it surpass its apprehensive reach; 
 May see from what it really apprehends, 
 That all mere reas'ners Behmen far transcends. 
 
 Let any one write an apparently insignificant sentence, and 
 afterwards develope its various intended yet hidden meanings, 
 and the mysteries contained in every letter, like the celebrated 
 sermon on the word Malt; and he is certain of being hailed as 
 a wonderful man, and of gaining credit for what cannot be un- 
 derstood. In the multitude of his curious inventions, Jacob 
 Behmen had accommodated a species of Rabbinical lore to his 
 explanation of spiritual mysteries; and Mr. Byrom thought that 
 he understood a great part of "the palpable obscure" of Jacob's 
 system, of which a specimen may be seen in vol. 2, pages 6-8. 
 
 c
 
 Xxii THE UFE OF 
 
 Yet, for this peculiarity, the term " Behmenist" can be applied 
 to him with no more justice than to Bishop Home, the Rev. 
 Messrs. Bates, Jones, Parkhurst, Romaine, and other learned and 
 pious men, who imbibed Hutchinson's* refinements on Behmen's 
 Rabbinical method, and interpreted the Mosaic account of the 
 creation on the same principles. This is the qualified sense in 
 which Mr. Byrom ought to be considered a Behmenist or Mystic. 
 He was a man of unaffected piety, His religion was with- 
 out gloom: It did not hinder the exercise of habitual cheerful- 
 ness. That a person so conversant with the polite world as he 
 was, should be consistently serious, and should command re- 
 spect from the thoughtless and profane, are circumstances 
 rather uncommon in their occurrence. His " rejoicing was 
 this, the testimony of his conscience, that in simplicity and god- 
 ly sincerity, he had his conversation in the world." The nega*. 
 tive virtue of harmlessness was not applicable to his character. 
 Good nature will prevent a man from injuring his neighbour: 
 To say that Mr. Byrom possessed this passive quality, would be 
 small commendation of his active benevolence, which was ever 
 prompting him to devise or perform some good for his fellow- 
 creatures. His native town was benefited by his gratuitous 
 exertions and advice, on several public occasions when good- 
 nature and harmlessness would have been sorry substitutes for 
 firmness and address. 
 
 Truth was the great object of his search. The God of 
 truth, whom it was his sincere and constant desire to serve, 
 gave him to " know the doctrine" of Christ Jesus, and to feel 
 its saving influence. In his experience was verified that re- 
 markable expression of the Apostle, " And if in any thing ye 
 be otherwise minded, God shall reveal even this to you." (Philip, 
 iii. 15.) He entertained peculiar notions and whimsical opini- 
 ons about many things; but they were not without variation. 
 Not being in him principles of action, they never affected his 
 practice. It was enough for him if one of them was discovered 
 to be not according to the oracles of truth; it was instantly dis- 
 carded, and no longer allowed to constitute one of the articles 
 of his belief. The writings of our great English Mystic, Mr. 
 Wm. Law, had gained his most profound admiration. They are 
 not equalled, by any author of that class, in purity and gene- 
 ral utility. His intimacy with this good man served to counter- 
 act the unfavourable impressions, which he had received from 
 his early acquaintance with the Mystics of the Roman Catholic 
 persuasion, some of whose doctrinal errors he had partially em- 
 braced. Towards the close of life he seems to have regarded 
 
 With this Gentleman Mr. Byrom-was well acquainted. See vol. 1, page 189.
 
 MR. JOHN BYROM. XXlil 
 
 all these little things with comparative indifference. In the 
 prevalence of " pure religion and undefiled" he took the most 
 lively concern. His thankfulness was excited when it flourish- 
 ed among any body of people; and the happy change which 
 he lived to behold in the religious world, was to him a source of 
 exquisite satisfaction. At a time when much obloquy was at- 
 tached to the name of a Methodist, he was not ashamed of being 
 known as the particular friend of that great and useful mail, 
 the late ReV. John Wesley. 
 
 He attained to the advanced age of seventy-two years, enjoy- 
 ing good health and outliving most of the friends of his youth. 
 His placidity and cheerfulness never forsook him; and his com- 
 pany was particularly agreeable to young people. As long as 
 he was able to walk abroad, they courted his society, and were 
 instructed by his conversation. His carriage towards them was 
 not that of an aged buffoon; and their familiarity with him was 
 ever tempered with attention and respect. At length he was 
 visited with a severe illness, which called into action his chris- 
 tian resignation. Though it tried his virtues, it was to him a 
 season of holy triumph. From his first experience of the power 
 of religion, which was at an early age, he had always derived 
 his chief pleasure from a knowledge of his interest in the mer- 
 cies of God, through the merits of his Saviour. But now, en*- 
 gaged more immediately in a preparation for heaven, he viewed 
 his departure from this world, at any time, as an event not to 
 be dreaded. In favoured moments, when he considered death as 
 the gate of life, he eagerly desired to pass at once the bounds, and 
 to realize those sublime delights, which, while seeing " through 
 a glass darkly," he had often contemplated " with exultation and 
 amaze." Had the worldlings known this, they might again 
 have branded him as an enthusiast. But tins was the legitimate 
 enthusiasm of a christian: He saw something desirable in 
 heaven; something congenial to the taste and correspondent to 
 the feelings formed in his soul, without which paradise itself 
 would be barren of enjoyments. With these views, he was 
 enabled to " rejoice in hope of the glory of God;" and was 
 admitted to the fruition of it on the 28th Sep. 1763. 
 
 Something has been already said of Mr. Byrom's qualifica- 
 tions as an author. It is much to be regretted that he did not 
 leave more specimens of his poetical abilities, winch were of 
 no mean order. Of these he had abundance : But possessing 
 .all the modesty of real merit, he judged most of them unfit for 
 the inspection of the public; and destroyed them, it is said, 
 some time before his last, illness. Had he lived to see the pub- 
 lication of his " Miscellaneous Poems," and had the selection 
 of them rested with himself, it cannot be doubted that not one
 
 XXIV THE LIFE OF, &C. 
 
 in twenty of the verses which are inserted in these volumes, 
 would have seen the light. But these are his chief remains; 
 and are offered only as the gleanings of a great man's produc- 
 tions. Notwithstanding their occasional want of harmony and 
 deficiency in smoothness, the most insignificant piece among 
 them contains such a point and terseness, such ingenuity and 
 good sense, as none but the performance of a master in numbers 
 can exhibit. 
 
 His invention was fertile, his allusions happy, his imagery 
 just; and in no part of his poetry does there appear a defect, 
 except in the finishing. Each of them may be considered as a 
 kind of rapid impromptu, that never afterwards had one mo- 
 ment of polishing bestowed on it. From this observation must be 
 excepted Colin and Pkebe, Careless Content, The Centaur Fabulous, 
 The Three Lancashire Dialogues, Verses on purchasing the head 
 of Malebranche, On preaching slowly and extempore, Essay on 
 Enthusiasm, A penitential Soliloquy, The Divine Omnipresence, 
 and A Hymn to Jesus. These and some others display to advan- 
 tage his capabilities as a poet. 
 
 Mr. Byrom's poetry has commonly recerVed a false designation 
 of its character from a curious circumstance: In a poetical let- 
 ter (vol. 1st, page 65,) to Lord Willoughby, President of the 
 Antiquarian Society, he informed his lordship that " it touches 
 all England to have it defin'd, 
 
 With a little more fact, by what sort of a right 
 Her patron, her saint, is a Cappadox knight." 
 
 He begged that "the learn'd and laborious would please to search 
 this one question, Was old England's old patron a knight or a pope?" 
 The Antiquarians made a mighty affair of his modest statement 
 and reasoning, and magnified them into a challenge. The late 
 Dr. Pegge entered the lists after our author's decease; and in his 
 answer depreciated his antagonist's poetical powers, by saying, 
 " My late worthy friend, Mr. Byrom, whose memory I shall al- 
 ways revere, was undoubtedly a man of parts and learning, but 
 rather too fond sometimes of a paradox. Amongst his other 
 qualifications, he had a particular knack at versification, and 
 has accordingly delivered his sentiments on this subject in a 
 metrical garb; for I presume, we can scarcely call it a poetical 
 one." This character, of being but a versifier, has been repeated 
 by different writers. The readiest mode of ascertaining its 
 truth, would be for one of them to clothe in a metrical garb the 
 same facts and proofs as Mr. Byrom has produced, in as small 
 a compass, and in as easy and flowing a style. If this can be 
 done, he will have obtained the mastery, and Dr. Pegge's stric- 
 tures will appear impartial and correct.
 
 COLIN AND PHEBE, 
 
 A PASTORAL. 
 Written by the Author, while a Student at Trinity College, Cambridge, 
 
 IT WAS FIRST PRINTED IN THE YEAR 1714, 
 
 As No. 603, in the Spectator. 
 
 The lady in whose praise these verses were written, was Jotmna, 
 the youngest daughter of the celebrated Dr. Richard Bentley, 
 Master of Trinity College, She was married to Dr. Dnnison 
 Cumberland, Bishop of Clonfert, in Ireland ; and was mother of 
 the lamented Richard Cumberland, Eso, lately deeeased, whose 
 excellencies as an elegant moral, and dramatic writer are generally 
 acknowledged. 
 
 Ducite *b urbe domnm, mea carmina, ducite Dirplmim. 
 
 Vjho. Eel. viii. 6. 
 
 My incantations! bring home, from the city bring ye home 
 my Daphnis. 
 
 JVlY time, O ye Muses, was happily spent, 
 When Phebe went with me wherever I went;* 
 Ten thousand sweet pleasures I felt in my breast: 
 Sure never fond shepherd like Colin was blest! 
 
 * It has been said by a distinguished living author, that ' There is a 
 
 * fault in this piece, which if it were ever intruded for a serious oompo- 
 ' sition, completely destroys the eftect. A ludicrous air pervades the 
 
 * whole, arising sometimes from the puerility of the expression, and some- 
 ' times from the inanity of the sentiment. Since the publication of the 
 
 * Hath Guide, by Austey, this association may have been rendered stronger 
 
 * by the parody, in that humorous work, of the first two lines of 
 
 * liyrom's poem; 
 
 ' IXear mother, rny time has been wretchedly spent, 
 ' With a gripe or a hiccup wherever I went.' 
 
 May not a similar observation be made on the language and sentiment 
 f any other, eclogue? This accusation belongs not exclusively to our 
 author's pastoral. It is the reigning fault of that species of composition, 
 as day lias rather j.oclarly shewn in his Skajdnu'd's Week. Whether we 
 peruse tle simple Idyls of Theocritus, Sj>en.ier, and Philips; or the more 
 refined pastorals of Virgil, Pope., and Skewtont, we shall discover in tbe 
 the same alternate "pnerilitv and inanjjlj." 
 
 U
 
 But, now she is gone and has left me behind, 
 What a marvellous change on a sudden I findf 
 When things seem'd as tineas could possibly be, 
 I thought 'twas the Spring ; but, alas ! it was she. 
 
 With such a companion to tend a few sheep, 
 To rise up and play, or to lie down and sleep, 
 So good humour 'd made me, so cheerful and gay. 
 My heart was as light as a feather all day. 
 But now I so cross and so peevish am grown, 
 So strangely uneasy as never was known. 
 My fair one is gone, and my joys are all drown'd; 
 And my heart, I am sure, weighs more than a pound. 
 
 "The fountain that wont to run sweetly along, 
 And dance to soft murmurs the pebbles among, 
 Thou know'st, little Cupid, if Phebe was there, 
 'Twas pleasure to look at, 'twas music to hear. 
 But, now she is absent, I walk by its side, 
 And still as it murmurs do nothing but chide ; 
 44 Must you be so cheerful while I go in pain? 
 " Peace there with your bubbling, and hear me complain Vt- 
 
 When round me my lambkins would oftentimes play, 
 And Phebe and I were as joyful as they, 
 How pleasant their sporting, how happy the time 
 When spring, love, and beauty were all in their prime ! 
 But now, in their frolics when by me they pass, 
 I fling at their fleeces a handful of grass: 
 " Be still !" then I cry, " for it makes me quite mad 
 " To see you so merry while I am so sad." 
 
 My dog I was ever well pleased to see 
 Come, wagging his tail, to my fair one and me; 
 Phebe likewise was pleas'd, and to my dog said, 
 " Come hither, poor fellow;" and patted his head- 
 But now, when he's fawning, I with a sour look 
 Cry " Sirrah !" and give him a blow with my crooks 
 And I'll give him another; for why should not Tray 
 Be as dull as his master, when Phebe's away ? 
 
 When walking with Phebe, what sights have I seen ! 
 How fair were the flowers, how fresh was the green 1 
 What a lovely appearance the trees and the shade, 
 The cornfields, the hedges, and cv'ry thing made !
 
 But, now she has left me, they all are in tears, 
 Not one of them half so delightful appears: 
 'Twas nought but the magic, I find, of her eyes 
 Which made all these beautiful prospects arise. 
 
 Swept music attended us all the wood thro*, 
 The lark, linnet, throstle, and nightingale too; 
 Winds over us whisper'd, floGks by us did bleat, 
 And " Chirp" went the grasshopper under our feet. 
 Now, since she is absent, though still they sing on, 
 The woods are but lonely, the melody's gone; 
 Her voice in the concert, as now I have found, 
 Gave ev'ry thing else its agreeable sound. 
 
 Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue? 
 And where is the violet's beautiful blue? 
 Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile? 
 That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile? 
 Ah ! rivals, I see what it was, that you drest 
 And made yourselves fine for, a place in her breast: 
 You put on your colours to please her fine eye, 
 To be pluck'd by her hand, on her bosom to die. 
 
 How slowly time creeps! till my Phebe return, 
 Amid the soft zephyr's cool breezes I burn ! 
 Methinks if I knew whereabout he would tread, 
 I could breathe on his wings; it would melt down the lead. 
 Fly swifter, ye minutes, bring hither my Dear, 
 And for it rest longer when she shall be here. 
 Ah ! Colin, old time is too full of delay, 
 Nor will budge one foot faster for all thou canst say. 
 
 Will no pitying pow'r that hears me complain, 
 Or cure my disquiet, or soften my pain? 
 To be cur'd, thou must, Colin, thy passion remove: 
 Yet what swain is so silly to live without love? 
 No, deity, bid the dear nymph to return; 
 For ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly forlorn. 
 Ah ! what shall J do ? I shall die with despair ! 
 Take heed, all ye swains, how ye part with your Fair!
 
 DESCRIPTION OF TUNBRIDCE, 
 
 In a Letter to P. M. Esq. 
 
 DEAR Peter, whose friendship I value much more 
 Than hards their own verses, or misers their store, 
 Your books, and your bus'ness, and ev'ry thing else 
 Lay aside for a while, and come to the Wells: 
 The country so pleasant ! the weather so fine ! 
 A world of fair ladies, and delicate wine ! 
 The proposal, I fancy, you'll hardly reject, 
 Then hear, if you come, what you first may expect. 
 
 Some eight or nine miles offwesendto you greeting 
 Barbers, dippers, and so forth to give you the meeting. 
 As soon as they spy you each pulls off his hat, 
 " Does your honour want this? Does your honour want that?"'* 
 Thus being a stranger, by this apparatus 
 You may see our good manners before you come at us. 
 Now this in your custom's to get the first footing, 
 A trick, please your honour, which here we call Tooting.* 
 
 Conducted by these civil gem'men to town, . 
 You put up your horse at for rhyme's sake, the Crown: 
 My landlord bids welcome, and gives you his word 
 For the best entertainment his house can afford. 
 You taste which is better, his white or his red, 
 Bespeak a good supper, good room, and good bed; 
 In short, just as travellers do when they light, 
 So, to fill up the stanza, I wish you " Good Night!" 
 
 But when ruddy Phoebus next morning appears, 
 And with his bright beams our glad hemisphere cheers, 
 You rise, dress, get shav'd, -then away to the walks, 
 The pride of the place, of which ev'ry one talks! 
 I"d imagine you there to be drinking the Waters, 
 Knew I not that you come not for such little matters, 
 But to see the fine Jadies in their dishabille, 
 Which dress is sometimes the most studied to kill. 
 
 * A provincial word which signifies prying, searching narrowly.
 
 $ 
 
 The ladies you see; they are ladies as fair, 
 As charming and bright as are seen any where: 
 You eye and examine the beautiful throng, 
 As o'er the clean walks they pass lovely along; 
 Should any one look a little demurer, 
 You fancy, like ev'ry young fop, you could cure her; 
 Till from some pretty nymph a deep wound you receive, 
 And yourself want the cure which you thought you could 
 give. 
 
 Not so wounded howe'er as to make you forget 
 That your honour this morn has not breakfasted yet; 
 So to Morley's you go, look about and sit down; 
 Then comes the young lass for your honour's half-crown j 
 She brings out the book, you look wisely upon her, 
 '* What's the meaning of this?" "To subscribe, please 
 
 your honour;" 
 So you write as your betters have all done before ye, 
 'Tis a custom, and here is an end of the story. 
 
 And now all this while, it is forty to one 
 But some friend or other you've stumbled upon ; 
 You all go to church upon hearing the bell, 
 Whether out of devotion yourselves best can tell: 
 From thence to the tavern, to toast pretty Nancy, 
 Th' aforesaid bright nymph that had smitten your fancy, 
 Where wine and good victuals attend your commands, 
 And wheatears, tar better than French ortolans. 
 
 Then after you've din'd, take a view of our ground, 
 Observe the grand mountains that compass us round; 
 And if you could walk a mile after eating, 
 Some comical rocks are worth contemplating; 
 You may, if you please, for their oddness and make, 
 Compare them let's see to the Derbyshire Peak. 
 They're one like the other, except that the wonder 
 Is seen here above ground, and there is seen under. 
 
 To the walks about seven you trace back your way, 
 Where the Sun marches off, and the ladies make day; 
 What crowding of charms! what Gods! rather Goddesses! 
 What beauties are there! what bright looks, airs, and 
 dresses ! 
 
 B2
 
 In the room of the waters had Helicon sprung, 
 Had the nymphs of the place by old poets been sung, 
 To invite the Gods hither they would have had reason, 
 And Jove had descended each night in the season. 
 
 If with things here below we compare things on high, 
 The walks are like yonder bright path in the sky, 
 Where heavenly bodies in such clusters mingle 
 As makes it invidious their graces to single. 
 See the charms of her sex unite in Miss K-ll-y; 
 If ever you've seen her, permit me to tell ye, 
 Descriptions are needless; for, after to you 
 No beauty, no graces can ever be new. 
 
 But when to their gaming the ladies withdraw, 
 Those beauties are fled which when walking you saw : 
 Most ungrateful the scene which there is display'd, 
 Chance murd'ring the features which heaven had made. 
 If the Fair Ones their charms did sufficiently prize, 
 Their elbows they'd spare for the sake of their eyes; 
 And the men too what work ! 'tis enough, in good faith is'l. 
 Of the nonsense of chance to convince any Ath'ist. 
 
 But now it is proper to bid my friend " vale," 
 Lest we tire you too long with our Tunhridgial-e ; 
 Which should the sour critics pretend to unravel, 
 Or at these lame verses should stupidly cavil, 
 If this be our lot, tell those critics, I pray, 
 That I care not one farthing for all they can say. 
 And now I conclude with my service, good Peter, 
 To yourself and all friends; farewell muse! farewell 
 metre !
 
 A full and true Account of 
 
 A HORRID AND BARBAROUS ROBBERY, 
 
 Committed in Epping Forest, on the Body of the Cambridgt Coack: 
 In a letter to Martin Folkes, Esq. F. R. S. 
 
 Arma virumqtie cano. Virg. Ms. i. 1. 
 Arms and the man I sing. 
 
 DEAR Martin Folkes, dear scholar, brother, friend r 
 And words of like importance without end, 
 This comes to tell you, how in Epping Hundred 
 Last Wedn'sday morning I was robb dand plund'red. 
 Forgive the Muse who sings what, I suppose, 
 Fame has already trumpeted in prose. 
 But Fame's a lying jade, the turn of fate 
 Let poor Melpomene herself relate: 
 Spare the sad nymph a vacant hour's relief, 
 To rhyme away the remnants of her grief. 
 
 On Tuesday night, you know with how much sorrow 
 I briefly told the club-" I go to-morrow" 
 To-morrow came, when in due order I 
 Went to the starting place accordingly; 
 Bull Was the house, and Bishopgate the street; 
 The coach as full as it could cram; to wit, 
 Two fellow commoners, De auld Trin. 
 And eke an honest bricklayer of Lynn, 
 And eke two Norfolk dames, his wife and cousin, 
 And eke my worship's self made half a dozen. 
 
 Now then, as fortune had contriv'd, our way 
 Thro' the wild brakes of Epping Forest lay: 
 With travellers and trunks, a cumbrous load, 
 We crawl'd along the solitary road; 
 Where nought but thickets within thickets grew, 
 No house or barn to cheer the wand'ring view; 
 Nor lab'ring hind, nor shepherd did appear, 
 Nor sportsman with his dog or gun was there; 
 A dreary landscape, bushy and forlorn, 
 Where rogues start up like mushrooms in a morn.
 
 8 
 
 However since sach rognes we hail not yet 
 Except within a sessions-paper met, 
 We jok'd on fear; tho' As we past along, 
 Robbing was still the burden of the song. 
 Withuntry'd courage bravely we repelPd 
 The rude attacks of dogs not yet beheld. 
 With val'rous talk still battling, till at last 
 We thought all danger was as good as past. 
 Says one, (too soon alas!) " now let him come, 
 " I'll fell him w ith this bottle full of rum."" 
 
 Scarce had he spoken when the brickman's wife 
 Cry'd oat, "good Lord! he's here upon my lifer' 
 Forth from behind the wheels the villain came, 
 And swore such words as I dare bardly name ; 
 But you'll suppose them hot from me to drop, 
 But from the rogue, " G ^d d n ye, coachman, stop! 
 4i Your money, deliver me your money, 
 " Quick, d n ye, quick ! must I stay waiting on ye? 
 " Quick, or I'll send" {and nearer still he rode) 
 ** A brace of balls amongst ye all, by G d! M 
 
 1 leave you to conjecture in what plight 
 We all were put by this ferocious wight. 
 The trembling females into labour fell; 
 Big with the sudden fear, they pout, they swell; 
 And soon deliver'd by his horrid curses, 
 Brought forth two strange and praeternat'ral purses; 
 Which look'd indeed like purses made of leather, 
 But let the sweet-tongu'd *Maningham say whether 
 A common purse could possibly conceal 
 Shillings, half-crowns and half-pence by piece-meal. 
 
 The youth who threw the bottle at the knave 
 Before he came, now thought it best to wave 
 Such resolution, and preserve the liquor, 
 Since a round guinea might be thrown much quicker; 
 So witli impetuous haste he flung him that, 
 Which the sharp rascal parried with his hat. 
 His right-hand man, a brother of the quill, 
 Chose prudently to shew his own good will 
 
 * Dr.Maningham, who wrote a pamphlet in defence of the well-know* 
 sterj of the Rabbit-woman.
 
 9 
 
 By the same token, and without much scruple 
 Made the red-rugg'd collector's income duple. 
 
 My heart (for truth I always must confess) 
 Dropp'd down * an inch exactly, more or less. 
 With fixed eyes I view'd the thief's approach, 
 And read the case of Pistol versus Coach ; 
 A woful case, which I had oft heard quoted, 
 But ne'er before in all my practice noted. 
 So when the lawyers brought in their report, 
 " Guinea per Christian to be paid in Court," 
 " Well off," thought I, " from this son of a whore, 
 ' If he prefer his action for no more. 
 
 " No more ! why hang him ! is it not too much 
 * To pay a guinea for his vile High Dutch? 
 *' 'Tis true his arguments are short and frank, 
 *' His action strong, to which he swears point-blank; 
 " Yet why resign the yellow One Pound One? 
 ** No, tax his bill and give him silver, John !" 
 So said so done, when putting fist to fob 
 I flung, th' apparent value of the job, 
 An ounce of silver into his receiver, 
 And mark'd what fine respects he'd pay the giver. 
 
 He, like a thankless wretch that's overpaid, 
 Resents the insult offer'd to his trade, 
 And treats my kindness with " Oh ! this won't do ; 
 " Look here, good sir, I must have gold from you.'* 
 To this demand of the ungrateful cur 
 Defendant John thought proper to demur. 
 The bricklayer joining in the white opinion, 
 Tender'd five shillings to Diana's minion, 
 Who still kept threat'ning fto pervade his buff, 
 Because the payment was not prompt enough. 
 
 Before the women could within his reach 
 Place what contents were in their purses each, 
 One of his pieces falling downwards, drew 
 The rogue's attention hungrily thereto. 
 Straight he began to damn the charioteer, 
 " Come down, you dog, reach me that guinea there." 
 
 * Ail expression u*ed by a member of the Royal Society, wliicb ;ts 
 afterwards proverbially adopted ya. ridicule by the author and lusfrieud*. 
 t To run him through the skin.
 
 10 
 
 Down jumps the frighted coachman on the sand, 
 Picks up the gold and puts it in his hand; 
 Missing a rare occasion, tim'rous dastard! 
 To seize his pistol and dismount the bastard. 
 
 Now while in deep and serious ponderment 
 I watch' d the motions of his next intent, 
 He wheel'd about as fully bent to try 
 Which of the two was strongest, he or I, 
 And how my silver sentiments would hold 
 Against that hard dilemma, balls or gold. 
 M No help?" said I, " no tachygraphic pow'r . 
 M To interpose in this unequal hour? 
 u I can't maintain, except by lowly cringing, 
 *' My cause against that murderous tire-engine." 
 
 The goddess Short-hand, bright celestial maid! 
 Just then descended to her champion's aid; 
 Clad in a letter'dvest of silver hue,* 
 Wrought by her fav'rite Phebe's hand, she flew. 
 Th' unfolded surface fell exactly neat, 
 In just proportion o'er her shape complete; 
 Distinct with lines of purer naming white, 
 Transparent work, intelligibly bright; 
 Forin'd to delight the cultivated mind, 
 To puzzle and confound the stupid hind. 
 
 Soon as the wretch the sacred writing spy'd, 
 " What conjuration-sight is this?" he cry'd. 
 My eyes meanwhile the heav'nly vision clear'd, 
 And shew'd me how his hellish looks appear'd. 
 Heav'n shield all travellers from foul disgrace! 
 For I saw Tyburn in the ruffian's face; 
 And if aright I judge of human mein, 
 His face ere long in Tyburn will be seen. 
 The hostile blaze soon seiz'd his miscreant blood; 
 He star'd, turn'd short, and fled into the wood. 
 
 Danger dismiss'd, the gentle goddess smil'd 
 Like a fond parent o'er her fearful child; 
 And thus began to drive the dire surprise, 
 Forth from my anxious breast in jocund wise; 
 
 * Alluding to some Short-hand Characters neatly cut in paper by the 
 auiu<>r' s sister, which were presented to M. F. Esq.
 
 11 
 
 w My son, 1 ' said she, " this fellow is no * WestoH, 
 
 ** No adversary, child, to make a jest on; 
 
 " With ink sulphureous upon human skin 
 
 " He writes, indenting horrid marks therein; 
 
 " But thou hast read his fate, the halter'd slave 
 
 " Shall quickly sing his penitential stave. 
 
 " Pursue thy route, and when thou tak'st another, 
 u Bestride some gen'rous quadruped or other. 
 " Let this enchanted vehicle confine 
 " From this time forth no votaries of mine ! 
 ** Let me no more see honest short-hand men 
 ** Coop'd up in wood, like poultry in a pen. 
 " And at Trin. Coll. whene'er thou art enlarging 
 ** On this adventure, note within the margin, 
 
 " Let Cambridge scholars who are not quite bare, 
 " Shim Epping Forest' 's track and ride througk 
 Ware, 
 
 u Adieu! my son; resume thy wonted jokes, 
 " And write account of this to Martin Folkes." 
 This said, she mounts; the characters divine 
 Through the bright path immensely brilliant shine. 
 Safely arriv'd, first for my boots I wrote ; 
 I tell the story, and subjoin the note. 
 And lastly, to fulfil the dread commands, 
 These hasty lines presume to kiss your hands. 
 Excuse the tedious tale of a disaster 
 From me, your humble servant and f Grand Master. 
 
 * The inventor of a short-hand system formerly in great vogue. It* 
 irregularity and defects our author had often humorously exposed. 
 t A title usually given to the author by his pupils in Stenography.
 
 12 
 
 A LETTER, 
 
 0/t his departure from London, to JR. L. Esq. 
 Usually called by his College acquaintance Sir Peter. 
 
 DEAR Peter, your absence at present I rue 
 Whatever a week or two hence I may do, 
 These lines in great haste I convey to the Mitre, 
 To tell the sad plight of th' unfortunate writer. 
 You have left year old friend so affected with grief 
 That nothing but rhyming can give me relief; 
 Though the Muses were never worse * put to their trumps 
 To comfort poor bard in his sorrowful dumps. 
 
 The moment you left us, with grief be it spoken, 
 This poor heart of mine felt as though it was broken; 
 And I almost faint still if a carriage approach, 
 Which looks like a Highgate or Barnet stage coach; 
 Indeed when at first that old vehicle gap'd 
 To take in friend P. so the fare had but scap'd, 
 If I did not half wish the man might o'erturn It 
 And break it to pieces, fl am a sous'd Gurnet. 
 
 The Rhenish and sugar drunk at your departure, 
 I hoped would make me to grief less a martyr; 
 But the wine yet more strongly to weeping inchVd, 
 And my grief by the sugar was double rehVd. . 
 
 It is not to tell how my heart fell a throbbing 
 When at the last parting our noses were bobbing; 
 Those sad farewell accents! I think on them still 
 * You'll remember to write, John? 1 ' "Yes, Peter, 
 I will." 
 
 You no sooner were gone than this famous metropolis, 
 Which appear'd just before so exceedingly populous, 
 When tow'rds it I turn'd me, seem'd all of a sudden 
 As though it was mov'd from the place it had stood in. 
 
 * To be put to their trumps to be forced on their last expedient. 
 t A phrase used by Shakspeare and others of the same age. Gurnard 
 r Gurnet is a kind offish nearly resembling a Piper.
 
 IS 
 
 I should hardly have known how to find my way back, 
 But for Squire Hazel's brother, sagacious Jack; 
 How he brought me from Smithtieid to Dick's I can't say, 
 I remember the Charter-house stood in the way. 
 
 At Dick's I repos'd me andcall'd for some coffee, 
 And sweet'ned, and supp'd, and was still thinking of ye; 
 Hut not with such pleasure as when I came there 
 To wait till Sir Peter should chance to appear; 
 There while I was turning you o'er in my mind, 
 ," Doctor, how do you do?" says a voice from behind; 
 I thought to myself, I should know this same organ;" 
 And who should it be, but my friend Doctor Morgan* 
 
 The Doctor and I walk'd together, and then 
 He went somewhere else, I to Richard's again: 
 All ways have I try'd my sad loss to forget, 
 I saunter'd, wrote short-hand, ate custard, ct cet. 
 With honest Duke Humphrey I pass the long day, 
 To others, as yet, having little to say ; 
 For indeed, I must own, since the loss of my * chum, 
 I am grown, as it were, a mere tCorund in dumb. 
 
 But, Muse* we forget that our gjrief will prevent us ' 
 From treating of matters more high and momentous. 
 Poor Jonathan Wild J Clowes, Peer Williams, and I 
 Have just been all waiting to see him pass by: 
 How crowded and crainui'd were the houses with mob*. 
 Which look'dl&e Leviathan's picture in Hobbes, 
 From the very ground floor to the top of the leads, 
 While Jonathan pass'd through allolbarn of heads. 
 
 From Newgate to Tyburn ho made his procession. 
 Supported by two of the nimble profession ; 
 Between the unheeded poor wretches he sat, 
 In his night-gown and wig, without ever a hat; 
 With a book in his hand Ik? wont weeping and praying. 
 The mob all along, as he paas'd them, huzzaing; 
 While parcels of verses the hawkers were hollaing, 
 Of which I can only remember the following; 
 
 * A companion. t A playful allusion to a participial affection of 
 
 the verb, of which there arc three in the Latin touguc, called Ihegermtf* 
 in di, do, and dum.
 
 14 
 
 * The cunning old pug ev'ry body remembers, 
 
 * That when he saw chesnuts lie roasting in embers, 
 * To save his own bacon took puss's two foots, 
 
 * So out of the embers he tickled his nuts. 
 ** Thus many poor rascals, as I understand, 
 
 * For getting him nuts have been burnt in the hand; 
 ** But he was not so cunning as Esop's old ape, 
 
 ** For this monkey could not keep himself from the scrape.** 
 
 And now, Peter, I'm come to the end of my tether, 
 So I wish you good company, journey and weather. 
 When friends in the country enquire after John, 
 Pray tender my service to every one, 
 To the ladies at Toft, Master Legh of High Legh, 
 To the Altringham meeting, if any there be, 
 Darcy Lever, Will Drake, Master Cattell and Cottam, 
 Which appears a good rhyme to insert at the bottom. 
 
 Richard's, Monday Night May 24, 1725. 
 
 P. S. What news? why the Lords, if the minutes say 
 
 true, 
 Have pass'd my *Lord Bolingbroke's bill three to two; 
 Three to one, I would say ; and I've understood 
 They've resolv'd that the Commons ftheir charge have 
 
 made good; 
 To-morrow, Earl Thomas's fate to determine, 
 Their Lordships come clothed with judgment and ermine. 
 The surgeons, they say, have got Jonathan's carcase, 
 If so, I'll go see it, or 'twill be a hard case. 
 
 * After being attainted of high treason, on his submission he had receiv- 
 ed His Majesty's pardon. But this, though it hindered the execution of* 
 the law against his life, did not enable him to enjoy any possessions which 
 might devolve on him. A bill therefore passed through both Houses, 
 about the time mentioned by our author, which empowered him to suc- 
 ceed to the family inheritance. 
 
 i This was the impeachment of Thomas Earl of Macclesfield, Lord 
 Chancellor of England. He was convicted of fraudulent practices in 
 the High Court of Chancery ; and condemned to pay a fine of Thirty 
 Thousand Pounds, and to be imprisoned till that sum should be paid. 
 He was *oou after liberated ou producing the mosey.
 
 15 
 
 VERSES, 
 
 Spoken extempore at the Meeting of a Club, 
 
 On the appearance of the President in a Black Bob Wig, wu 
 had usually worn a White Tie. 
 
 OUR President in days of yore 
 Upon his head a Caxen wore, 
 Upon his head he wore a Caxen 
 Of hair as white as any flaxen; 
 And now he heeds it not a fig, 
 But wears upon his poll a wig, 
 A shabby wig upon his poll 
 Of hair as black as any coal. 
 
 A sad and dismal change, alas ! 
 Choose how the deuce it came to pass : 
 Poor President ! what evil fate 
 Re vers 1 d the colour of his pate? 
 For if that lamentable dress 
 Were his own choosing, one would gues^, 
 By the deep mourning of his head, 
 His wits were certainly gone dead. 
 
 Sure it could ne'er be his own choosing 
 To put his head in such a housing: 
 It must be ominous I fear; 
 Some mischief to be sure is near: 
 Nay, should that black foreboding phiz 
 Speak from that sturdy trunk of his, 
 Who could forbear to think it spoke 
 Just like a raven from an oak ? 
 
 A Caxen of so black a hue 
 On our affairs looks plaguy blue: 
 We do not meet with such an omen 
 In any story, Greek or Roman: 
 A comet or a blazing star 
 Were not so terrible by far; 
 No; in that wig the Fates have sent us 
 Of all the portents the most portentous.
 
 16 
 
 Who does not tremble for the club 
 That looks upon his wig so scrub ! 
 Without a knot! without a tiel 
 What can we hang together by? 
 So scrub a wig to look upon f 
 How can the dire phenomenon 
 Be long before it has undone us'f 
 Oh ! 'tis a cruel bob upon us. 
 
 The president, with wig so white, 
 Appear'd another moTtal quite; 
 Nay, when he sprinkled it with powder. 
 No man in Manchester talk'd louder. # 
 How blest were we ! but now, alack ! 
 The wearing of a wig so black, 
 Such a disgrace has brought about, 
 Burn it! 'twill never be worn out. 
 
 Thou art a Lawyer, honest Joe, 
 I prithee, wilt thou let us know 
 Whether the black act won't extend 
 So as to reach our worthy friend? 
 What! can he wear a wig so shabby, 
 When folks are hang'd from Waltham Abbey y 
 For loving ven'son, and appearing 
 So like his head, so much like fearing? 
 
 You're a Divine, Sir; I'll ask you, 
 Is that a Christian, or a Jew, 
 Or Turk? "Aye, Turk as sure as hops* 
 " You see the Sar'cen in his chops r" 
 And yet these chops, tho' now so homely, 
 Were christian-like before, and comely. 
 That wicked wig ! to make a face 
 So absolutely void of grace! 
 
 You, master Doctor, will you try 
 Your skill in Physiognomy? 
 Of what disease is it a symptom? 
 Don't look at me, but look at him, Tom. 
 Is it not scurvy think you ? " Yes, 
 4i 1 f aught be scurvyish, it is. 
 " A frenzy 'tis, or per'wigmanie 
 *' That overruns hfe perieratBei"
 
 17 
 
 ** It seems to me a complication 
 i4 Of all distempers iu some fashion: 
 44 It is a coma, that is plain, 
 44 A great obstruction of the brain. 
 44 A man to take his brains and bury 'em 
 " In such a wig, shews a delirium! 
 " I never saw a human face 
 44 That suffer'd more by such a case. 
 
 " If you examine it, you'll see 'tis 
 " Pissburnt; that shews a diabetes. 
 " Bad weather has relax'd, you see, 
 44 The fibres to a great degree. 
 44 Certes* the head, in these black tumours, 
 44 Is full of vitiated humours; 
 44 Of vitiated humours full, 
 44 Which shews a numbness of the skull. 
 
 44 So of the rest" But now, friend Thomas, 
 The cure will be expected from us; 
 For while it hangs on him, of course 
 It will, if possible, grow worse. 
 44 Habit so foul! there is, in short, 
 44 Nothing but salivation for't." 
 But what can salivation do? 
 It has been flux'd and reflux'd too. 
 
 But why to doctors do I urge on 
 The bus'ness of a barber-surgeon? 
 Your barber-surgeon is the man 
 It must be cur'd by, if it can. 
 Ring for my landlord Lawrenson; 
 Come let's e'en try what can be done ; 
 A remedy there may be found 
 Provided that the brain be sound. 
 
 * Certainly.
 
 18 
 
 The 
 
 ASTROLOGER'S ADDRESS. 
 
 The point of this satirical piece is not lost by the notices it contains 
 of events, which occurred at the period when it was written } 
 neither do they prevent it from being ranked amongst the most, 
 ingenious reprehensions of eventful prognosticators and almanack 
 prophet?. 
 
 FELLOW Citizens all, for whose safety I peep 
 All night at the stars, and all day go to sleep, 
 Attend while I shew you the meaning of Fate 
 In all the strange sights we have seen here of late; 
 And thou, Astrology, Goddess divine, 
 Celestial Decipheress, gently incline 
 Thine ears and thine aid to a lover of science. 
 That bids to all learning but thine a defiance. 
 
 For what learning else is there half so engaging 
 As an art where the terms of themselves are presaging? 
 By mult'ring o'er which, any gentle mechanic 
 May put his whole neighbourhood into a panic; 
 Where a noddle wellturn'd for prediction and shoes. 
 If it can but remember hard words, cannot choose, 
 From the Prince on the throne to the dairy maid milking. 
 But read all their fortunes in yonder blue welkin. ' 
 
 For the sky is a book, which in letters of gold 
 Shews all things that almanacks ever foretold; 
 Which he that can read and interpret also 
 What is there that such an one cannot foreshew ? 
 When a true son of art ponders over the stars 
 They reflect back upon him the face of affairs; 
 Of all things of moment they give him an inkling, 
 While Empires and Kingdoms depend on their twinkling
 
 19 
 
 Your transits, your comets, eclipses, conjunctions^ 
 Have all, it is certain, their several functions, 
 And on this globe of earth here both jointly and singly 
 Do influence matters most astonishingly. 
 But to keep in some method on this same occasion, 
 We'll give you a full and true interpretation 
 Of all the Phenomena we have rehears'd, 
 Of which in their order; and first of the first: 
 
 As for Mercury's travelling over the sun, 
 There's nothing in that, Sirs, when all's said and done; 
 For what will be, will be; and Mercury's transit, 
 I'm pos'tive, will neither retard nor advance it. 
 But when a conjunction or comet takes place, 
 Or a total eclipse, that's a different case; 
 They that laugh at our art, may here see with their eyes, 
 That some things, at least, may appear from the skies. 
 
 A conjunction of Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars, 
 You, gentlemen, may, if you please, turn to farce ; 
 But what if it plainly appear that three men 
 Are foretold by three planets, what will ye say then? 
 Now, to prove this, I'll only make one small request, 
 Which is, that you'll all turn your faces to th' East \ 
 And then you shall see ere I've done my epistle, 
 If I don't make it out as clean as a whistle. 
 
 In the first place, *old Saturn we very well know, 
 Lost his kingdom and provinces some time ago; 
 
 * This refers to the intestine troubles of Persia. Schsih Hassain, King 
 f Persia, was in 1722 deposed by Mahmoud, chief of the Afgans, or 
 Aghuans. Acherof, or Esreff, succeeded Mahmoud. This usurper en- 
 deavoured to seize Prince Tamas, heir apparent to the Persian throne. 
 For this purpose he invited him to a conference on au extensive plain, 
 where he intended to surround him and his attendants. The Prince was 
 apprized of his designs, in proper time for securing his safety by flight, 
 lie applied to the neighbouring sovereigns, to restore him to his dominions. 
 They had only remained inactive that they might more readily subdue a 
 nation weakened by civil convulsions. Accordingly soon afterwards the 
 Grand .Seignior commanded his troops to march against the rebels, for 
 the ostensible purpose of placing Prince Tama* on the throne. They 
 conquered several tine provinces, and menaced Ispahan itself. Achcrof 
 routed them, when within four leagues of that city. 
 
 Peter the Great, Emperor of Russia, also in 1723 carried bis victori- 
 ous arms beyond the Caspian Sea, and invaded the Persian dominions, 
 certain districts of which were secured to him by the treaty, concluded 
 soon after at ConUtutinoplc. btwc6n hitu aud the Grand ^ei^uior.
 
 20 
 
 Nor was it long after old Saturn's disgrace 
 That Jupiter mov'd to step into his place; 
 And Mars we all know was a quarrelsome bully, 
 That beat all his neighbours most unmercifully; 
 And now who can doubt who these gentlemen are ? 
 Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Sophi, Sultan, and Czar. 
 
 But to prove nearer home that the stars have not trifl'd, 
 Pray have we not lost (cruel star !) * Doctor By field? 
 Alas ! friends at Richard's, alas ! what a chasm 
 Will be made in the annals of enthusiasm ! 
 As soon as the comet f appear' d in the sky, 
 Pray did not the Doctor straight sicken and die? 
 I wonder how folks could discover a comet 
 And yet never draw this plain consequence from it? 
 
 The death of the Regent X might shew, if it needed, 
 Why they saw it in France so much plainer than we did. 
 And how well it forebodes to our nobles and princes, 
 That its tail was here shorter by several inches. 
 But so near to the Eagle this comet appcar'd, 
 That something may happen, it is to be fear'd ; 
 Great men have been known by the arms which they bore, 
 But " God bless the Emperor, 1 ' I say no more. 
 
 * Dr. Byfield, a chemist of an extravagant genius, and inventor of the 
 Sol volatile oleosum. The author had frequent skirmishes of wit and 
 humour with hrm at Richard's Coffee-House, and upon his deatli wrote 
 the following short epitaph impromptu : 
 
 Hicjacet Doctor Byfield, diu volatilis, tandem Jiocus. 
 
 After having long flown about, here at length Dr. Byfield lies at rest. 
 
 The epigrammatic turn of the medical words is nearly lost in a literal 
 translation. Their spirit is, perhaps, better preserved in the following 
 expansion of the idea. 
 
 Of ev'ry fragrant essence rifl'd, 
 
 Here lies what's left of Doctor Byfield ; 
 
 Si'aVd up within his parent earth, 
 
 No more can he diffuse his mirth ; 
 
 Nor from that store-room in his pate 
 
 Can any wit evaporate; 
 
 For his smooth tongue, once volatile, 
 
 Now fix'd, remains for ever still. 
 
 t It was seen in September, 1723. 
 
 $ Philip, Duke of Orleans, Regent of France during the minority ot 
 Lewis XV. He died in December, 1723; a period sufficiently near for 
 causing our vain astrologer to impute that catastrophe to the malign 
 influence of the comet.
 
 21 
 
 And now for th' eclipse, which is such an appearance 
 As perhaps will not happen for many a year hence; 
 The King of France died, the last total eclipse 
 Of a mortification near one of his hips; 
 From whence by our art may be plainly made out 
 That some great man or other must die at this bout; 
 The eclipse is not yet, a king's death is there neither, 
 So there's time enough left to predict about either. 
 
 Yet two that are safe I shall venture to name, 
 Men of figure and parts and unspotted in fame; 
 Who, all parties will own, are, and always have been 
 Great ornaments to the high station they're in, 
 Admir'd of all sides, who will therefore rejoice, 
 When, consulting the stars, I pronounce it their voice, 
 That for all this eclipse, no harm shall befal 
 Those two honest Giants that are in Guildhall. 
 
 So much for great men ; I come now to predict 
 What evils in general will Europe afflict: 
 Now the evils that conjurers tell from the stars 
 Are plague, famine and pestilence, bloodshed and wars, 
 Contagious diseases, great losses of goods, 
 Great burnings by fire, and great drownings by floods, 
 Hail, rain, frost and snow, storms of lightning and thunder; 
 And if none of these happen, 'twill be a great wonder. 
 
 Lewis the XIV. died September 14th, 1715, five months and four 
 days after a total eclipse of the Sun. That distance of time answered 
 the star-gazer's purpose, as well as if the King had died during the eclipse. 
 
 C2
 
 22 
 
 BBS9S5SSBBBB55BESfiBS3(55B 
 
 CONTENTMENT, 
 
 Or </tc HAPPY WORKMAN'S SONG. 
 
 I AM a poor workman as rich as a Jew, 
 A strange sort of tale, but however 'tis true; 
 Come, listen awhile and I'll prove it to you 
 
 So as nobody can deny, &c. 
 
 I am a poor workman, you'll easily grant, 
 Yet I'm rich as a Jew, for there 1 s nothing I want, 
 I have meat, drink, and clothes, and am hearty and cant;* 
 Which nobody &c. 
 
 I live in a cottage, and yonder it stands; 
 And while I can work with these two honest hands, 
 I'm as happy as they that have houses and lands, 
 VVhicli nobody &c. 
 
 I keep to my workmanship all the day long, 
 I sing and I whistle, and this is my song, 
 " Thank God, who has made me so lusty and strong/ 3 
 Which nobody &c. 
 
 J never am greedy of delicate fare, 
 If God give me enough, though 'tis ever so bare, 
 The more is his love, and the less is my care; 
 Which nobody &c. 
 
 My clothes on a working day looken but lean, 
 But when I can dress me, on Sundays I mean, 
 Tho' cheap, they are warm; and tho' coarse, they are clean, 
 Which nobody &c. 
 
 Folk cry out " hard times," but I never regard, 
 For I ne'er did, nor will set my heart fupo' th' ward; 
 So 'tis all one to me, ^bin they easy or hard, 
 Which nobody &c. 
 
 Cheerful. t Upou the world. f Be.
 
 23 
 
 I envy not them that have thousands of pounds, 
 That sport o'er the country with horses and hounds; 
 There's nought but contentment can keep within bounds, 
 Which nobody &c. 
 
 I ne'er lose my time o'er a pipe or a pot, 
 Nor cower in a nook like a sluggardly sot, 
 But I buy what is wanting with what I have got. 
 Which nobody &c. 
 
 And if I have more than I want for to spend, 
 I help a poor neighbour or diligent friend; 
 He that gives to the poor, to the Lord he doth lend. 
 Which nobody &c. 
 
 I grudge not that gentlefolk dressen so fine; 
 At their gold and their silver I never repine; 
 13ut I wish all their guts were as hearty as mine, 
 Which nobody &c. 
 
 With quarrels o' th' country and matters of state, 
 With Tories and Whigs I ne'er puzzle my pate; 
 There are some that I love, but none that I hate, 
 Which nobody &c. 
 
 What tho' my condition be ever so coarse, 
 I strive to embrace it for better and worse, 
 And my heart, I thank God, is as light as my purse, 
 Which nobody &c. 
 
 Whatever, in short, my condition may be, 
 'Tis God that appoints it as far as I see, 
 And I'm sure I can never do better than he, 
 Which nobody &c.
 
 24 
 
 THE 
 
 DISSECTION OF A BEAU'S HEAD. 
 
 Addison's paper on this subject in the Spectator, No. 275, is here 
 so well versified as, on a perusal of both productions, would make 
 it difficult to determine, whether of them had been first composed. 
 Hut our author copied the substance of his rhymes from Addison's 
 prose, for his own amusement. 
 
 WE found by our glasses, that what at first sight 
 Appear d to be brains was another thing quite; 
 A heap of strange stuff fill'd the holes of his skull, 
 Which perhaps serv'd the owner as well to the full. 
 And as Homer acquaints us t (who certainly knew) 
 That the blood of the GodH was not real and true, 
 Only something that had a resemblance thereto, 
 Some such likeness to brain has the brain of a Beau. 
 
 The Pineal Gland, where the soul's residence is, 
 Smelt desp'rately strong of perfumes and essences; 
 With a bright horny substance encompass'd around, 
 That in numberless forms, like a diamond, was ground; 
 Insomuch that the spirit, if any was there, 
 Must have kept pretty constant within its own sphere, 
 Having bus'ness enough, without seeking new traces, 
 To employ all its time with its own pretty faces. 
 
 In the head's hinder part there was Brussels and Mechlin 
 Wit!) ribands, and fringes, and such kind of tackling; 
 Billet-doux, and soft rhymes lin'd the whole cerebellum, 
 Op'ra songs, and prick'd dances, as 'twere upon vellum; 
 A brown kind of lump, that we ventur'd to squeeze, 
 Dispers'd in plain Spaiiish, and made us all sneeze. 
 In short, many more of the like kind of fancies 
 Too tedious to tell, fill'd up other vacancies. 
 
 On the sides of this head were in several purses 
 On the right, sighs and vows; on the left, oaths and eurses: 
 These each sent a duct to the root of the tongue, 
 From whence to the tip they went jointly along.
 
 25 
 
 One particular place was observed to shine 
 With all sorts of colours most wond'rously fine; 
 But when we came nearer to view it, in troth, 
 Upon examination 'twas nothing but froth. 
 
 A pretty large vessel did plainly appear 
 In that part of the skull 'twixt the tongue and the ear, 
 With a spongy contrivance defended it was, 
 Which the French virtuosos call galimathias ; 
 We Englishmen, nonsense; a matter indeed 
 That most people's heads are apt sometimes to breed; 
 Not one head free from it entirely in twenty, 
 But a beau's, 'tis presum'd, always has it in plenty. 
 
 Mighty hard, thick, and tough was the skin of his front. 
 And what is more strange, not a blood vessel on't; 
 From whence we concluded, the party deceas'd 
 Was never much troubled with blushing at least. 
 The Os eribriforme as full as could stuff 
 Was cramm'd, and in some places damag'd with snuff: 
 For beaus with this ballast keep stuffing their crib, 
 To preserve their light heads in a true equilib. 
 
 That muscle, we fonnd v was exceedingly plain, 
 Which helps a man's nose to express his disdain, 
 Tf you chance to displease him, or make a demand, 
 Which is oft the beau's case, "that he don't understand I** 
 The reader well knows 'tis about this same muscle 
 That, the old Latin poets all make such a bustle, 
 When they paint a man giving his noddle a toss, 
 A nd cocking his nose like a Rhinoceros. 
 
 Looking into the eye, where the musculi lay, 
 Which are called amatorii, that is to say, 
 These muscles, in English, wherewith a man ogles, 
 When on a fair lady he fixes his goggles, 
 We found them much worn ; but that call'd th' elevator. 
 Which lifts tiie eyes up tow'rds the summit of nature, 
 Seeni'd so little us'd, that the beau, I dare say, 
 Never dazzl'd his eyes much with looking that way. 
 
 The outside of this head, for its shape and its figure. 
 \\ as like other heads, neither lesser nor bigger. 
 1 is owner, as we were inforoi'd. when alive 
 Had pass'd for a raau of about thirty-Jive.
 
 26 
 
 He ate and he drauk, just like one of the crowd : 
 
 For the rest, he dress'd finely, laugh'd often, talk'd loud. 
 
 In his way he had talents, sometimes at a ball 
 
 The beau shewed his parts and outcaper'd 'em all. 
 
 Some ladies, they say, took the beau for a wit. 
 But, truly, there lay in his head not a bit. 
 He was cut off, alas ! in the flow'r of his age 
 By an eminent cit, that was put in a rage: 
 The beau was, it seems, complimenting his wife, 
 When excessive civility cost him his life; 
 For his eminence took up an old paring shovel, 
 And on the hard ground left my gein'man to grovel. 
 
 Having finish'd our work, we began to replace 
 The brain, such as 'twas, in its own proper case. 
 In a fine piece of scarlet we laid it in state, 
 And resolv'd to prepare so extraordinary a pate; 
 Which would eas'ly be done, our anatomist thought, 
 Having found many tubes, that already were fraught 
 With a kind of a substance he took for Mercurial, 
 Lodg'd there, he suppos'd, long before the beau's burial. 
 
 The head laid aside, then he took up the heart, 
 Which he likewise laid open with very great art, 
 And with many particulars truly we met, 
 That gave us great insight into the coquette: 
 But having, kind reader, already transgress'd 
 Too much on your patience, we'll let the heart rest; 
 Having giv'n you the beau for to-day's speculation, 
 We'll reserve the coquette for another occasion.
 
 27 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 WHY, prithee now, what does it signify 
 
 For to bustle and make such a rout? 
 It is virtue alone that can dignify, 
 
 Whether clothed in ermine or clout. 
 Come, come, and maintain thy discretion; 
 
 Let it act a more generous part; 
 For I find by thy honest confession, 
 
 That the world has too much of thy heart. 
 
 Beware that its fatal ascendancy 
 
 Do not tempt thee to mope and repine; 
 With a humble and hopeful dependency 
 
 Still await the good pleasure divine. 
 Success in a higher beatitude 
 
 Is the end of what's under tbe pole; 
 A philosopher takes it with gratitude, 
 
 And believes it is best on the whole. 
 
 The world is a scene, thou art sensible, 
 
 Upon which, if we do but our best, 
 On a wisdom that's incomprehensible 
 
 We may safely rely for the rest. 
 Then trust to its kind distribution, 
 
 And however things happen to fall, 
 Prithee, pluck up a good resolution 
 
 To be cheerful and thankful for all.
 
 2S 
 
 EXTEMPORE VERSES 
 
 On a Trial of Skill betwen Messrs. Figg and Sutton, 
 The Two great Masters of the noble Science of Defence. 
 
 LONG was the great Figg, by the prize-fighting swains, 
 Sole monarch acknowledg'u of Mary-bone plains; 
 To the towns far and near did his valour extend, 
 And swam down the river from Thame to Gravesend, 
 Where liv'd Master Sutton, pipe-maker by trade, 
 Who hearing that Figg was thought such a stout blade, 
 ResolvM to put in for a share of his fame, 
 And so sent to challenge the champion of Thame. 
 
 With alternate advantage two trials had pass'd, 
 When they fought out the rubbers on Wednesday last. 
 To see such a contest the house was so full, 
 There hardly was room left to thrust in your skull. 
 With a prelude of cudgels we first were saluted, 
 And two or three shoulders most handsomely fluted; 
 Till wearied at last with inferior disasters, 
 All the company cried, "Come! the masters! the masters V* 
 
 Whereupon the bold Sutton first mounted the stage, 
 Made his honours, as usual, and yearn'd to engage; 
 Then Figg with a visage so fierce and sedate, 
 Came and enter'd the list with his fresh-shaven pate. 
 Their arms were encircled by armigers two, 
 With a red ribbon Sutton's, and Figg's with a bide; 
 Thus adorn'd the two heroes 'twixt shoulder and elbow, 
 On commencing shook hands, and the watch-word was 
 " Bilbo. 1 ' 
 
 Sure such a concern in the eyes of spectators 
 Was never yet seen in our amphitheatres; 
 Our Commons and Peers, from their several places. 
 To half an inch distance all pointed their faces:
 
 29 
 
 While the rays of old Phoebus that shot through the sky-light, 
 Seem'd to make on the stage a new kind of twilight; 
 And the Gods, without doubt, if one could but have seen 'era, 
 Were peeping there thro 1 to do justice between 'era. 
 
 Figg struck the first stroke, and with such a vast fury, 
 That he broke his huge weapon in twain, I assure ye; 
 And if his brave rival this blow had not warded, 
 His head from his shoulders had quite been discarded. 
 Figg again arm'd himself, they took t'other tilt, 
 And then Sutton's blade ran away from its hilt. ( 
 The weapons were frighted, but as for the men, 
 In truth they ne'er minded, but at it again. 
 
 Such a force in their blows, you'd have thought it a wonder 
 Ev'ry stroke they receiv'd did not cleave them asunder ; 
 Yet so great was their courage, so equal their skill, 
 That they both seem'd as safe as a thief in a mill: 
 While in doubtful attention dame Victory stood, 
 And which side to take could not tell for her blood, 
 But remain'd without moving an inch either way, 
 Like the ass in the tale 'twixt two bottles of hay: 
 
 Till Jove to the Gods signified his intention, 
 In a speech that he made them, too tedious to mention; 
 The upshot of it was, that, at that very bout, 
 From a wound in Figg's side the hot blood spouted out. 
 Her Ladyship then seem'd to think the case plain ; 
 But Figg stepping forth, with ullen disdain, 
 Shew'd the gash, and appeal'd to the company roUnd, 
 If his own broken sword had not giv'n hmi the wound. 
 
 That bruises and wounds a man's spirit should touch 
 With danger so little, with honour so much! 
 Well, they both took a dram,return'd to the battle. 
 And with a fresh fury they made the swords rattle; 
 While Sutton's right arm w;is observed to bleed 
 By a touch from his rival, so Jove had decreed; 
 Enough just to shew that hi-: blood was not Icor, 
 But made up, like Figg's, of the common red liquor. 
 
 Again they both rush'dwith so "qual a fire on, 
 That the company cried, "Hold 1 enough of cold iron! 
 
 44 To the Quarter Staff now, lads!" So first having 
 
 dranun'd it, 
 They took to their wood, and i' faith never sham'd it.
 
 .30 
 
 The first bout they had was so fair and so handsome, 
 That to make a fair bargain 'twas worth a king's ransom^ 
 And Sutton such bangs to his neighbour imparted, 
 Would have made any fibres but Figg's. to have smarted. 
 
 Then after that bout they went on to another ; 
 But the matter must end in some way or other; 
 So Jove told the Gods he had made a decree, 
 That Figg should hit Sutton a stroke on the knee. 
 Though Sutton, disabled as soon as he hit him, 
 Would still have fought on, but Jove would not permit him. 
 'Twas his fate not his fault, that made him to yield; 
 And thus the great Figg became Lord of the field. 
 
 Now after such men, who can bear to be told 
 Of your Roman and Greek puny heroes of old? 
 To compare such poor dogs as * Alcides and Theseus 
 To Sutton and Figg would be very facetious. 
 Were great Hector himself, with Apollo to back him, 
 To encounter with Sutton, how well he would thwack him I 
 Or Achilles, tho' old mother Thetis had dipp'd him, 
 With Figg,= how grandly would our brave man have 
 unripp'd him. 
 
 To Ca?sar and Pompey, for want of things juster, 
 We compare these brave boys, but 'twill never pass muster. 
 Did those mighty fellows e'er fight hand to fist once? 
 No, I thank you, they kept at a laudable distance. 
 What is Pompey the Great, with his armour begirt, 
 To the much greater Sutton who fought in his shirt v 
 Or is Figg to be pair'd with a cap-a-pee Roman, 
 Who scorn'd any fence but a jolly abdomen? 
 
 * Hercules, the graa'dson of AIc<en<v
 
 31 
 
 i 
 
 VERSES 
 
 Spoken at the Free Grammar School, in Manchester, 
 On the Commencement of a Vacation. 
 
 THE THREE BLACK CROWS. 
 
 A TALK. 
 
 ** TALE!"' That will raise the question, I suppose, 
 <4 What can the meaning be of three black crows? 1 * 
 It is a London story, you must know, 
 And happen'd, as they say, some time ago. 
 The meaning of it custom would suppress 
 Till to the end we come: nevertheless, 
 Tho' it may vary from the use of old 
 To tell the moral ere the tale be told, 
 We'll give a hint for once, how to apply 
 The meaning first; then hang the tale thereby. 
 
 People full oft are put into a pother 
 For want of understanding one another; 
 And strange amusing stories creep about, 
 That come to nothing if you trace them out ; 
 Lies of the day perhaps, or month, or year, 
 Which, having serVd their purpose, disappear. 
 From which, meanwhile, disputes of every size, 
 That is to say, misunderstandings rise, 
 The springs of ill, from bick'ring up to battle. 
 From wars and tumults, down to tittle tattle. 
 Such, as for instance, (for we need not roam 
 Far off to find them, but come nearer home;) 
 Such as befal by sudden misdivining 
 On cots, on coals, on boxes, aoid on signing,
 
 32 
 
 Or on what now, * in the affair of mills, 
 To us and you portends such serious ills. 
 To note how meanings that were never meant, 
 By eager giving them too rash assent, 
 Will fly about, just like so many crows 
 Of the same breed of which the story goes, 
 It may, at least it should, correct a zeal 
 That hurts the public or the private weal. 
 
 Two honest tradesmen meeting in the strand, - 
 One took the other briskly by the hand; 
 ' Hark ye,' said he, ' 'tis an odd story this 
 4 About the crows !' ' J don't know what it is,* 
 Replied his friend. * No ! I'm surpris'd at that, 
 4 Where I come from it is the common chat. 
 8 But you shall hear, an odd affair indeed* 
 4 And that it happen'd, they are all agreed. 
 4 Not to detain you from a thing so strange, 
 4 A gentleman that lives not far from Change, 
 
 * This week, in short, as all the alley knows, 
 
 * Taking a puke, has thrown up Three Black Crows!' 
 
 ' Impossible!' ' Nay, but indeed 'tis true; 
 
 * I have it from good hands, and so may you;' 
 
 4 From whose, I pray?" 1 So, having nam'd the man, 
 
 Straight to enquire his curious comrade ran. 
 
 ' Sir, did you teW relating the affair, 
 
 4 Yes, Sir, I did; and if 'tis worth your care, 
 
 4 Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me ; 
 
 * But, by the bye, 'twas Two black crows, not Three.' 
 Resolv'd to trace so wond'rous an event, 
 
 Whip to the third the virtuoso went. 
 
 4 Sir" 1 and so forth 4 Why, yes; the thing is fact; 
 
 4 Tho' in regard to number not exact: 
 
 4 It was not Two black crows, 'twas only One; 
 
 4 The truth of that you may rely upon. 
 
 4 The gentleman himself told me the case.' 
 
 4 Where may [find him?'' 4 Why, in such a place.' 
 
 Away goes he, and having found him out, 
 4 Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt,'' 
 
 * Some local matters were then in agitation at Manchester, particit- 
 arly an application to Parliament fof a I*iII to abrogate the custom of 
 grinding wheat at the School Mills.
 
 33 
 
 Then to hi? last informant he referr'd, 
 
 And begg'd to know if true what he had heard: 
 
 * Did you, Sir, throw up a black crow?' ' Not IP 
 4 Bless me! how people propagate a lie! 
 
 4 Black crows have been thrown up, Three, Two y and One, 
 
 * And here, I find, all comes at last to none. 
 4 Did you say nothing of a crow at all?'' 
 
 4 Crow ! Crow ! Perhaps I might, now I recal 
 
 * The matter over.' ' And pray, Sir, what was't?' 
 4 Why, I was horrid sick, and at the last, 
 
 4 I did throw up, and told my neighbour so, 
 4 Something that was as black, Sir, as a crow.' 
 
 VERSES 
 
 On the danger and impropriety of hastily attaching wrong ideas to 
 words or epithets. 
 
 SPOKEN ON THE SAME OCCASION AS THE PRECEDING. 
 
 1 TIS not to tell what various mischief springs 
 From wrong ideas fix'd to words or things, 
 When men of hasty and impatient thought 
 Will not examine matters as they ought; 
 But snatch the first appearance, nor suspect, 
 What is too oft the case, their own defect. 
 
 Now this defect, upon occasion, makes 
 The most absurd, ridiculous mistakes. 
 To say no worse ; for, evils to recite 
 Of deeper kind, is notour task to night; 
 But just to versify a case or two, 
 That grave divines relate; and when they do, 
 Justly remark, that, in effect, the prone 
 To hasty judgment makes the case their own. 
 
 D
 
 34 
 
 When Martin Luther first grew into fame, 
 His followers obtain'd a double name; 
 Some call'd them Martinists, and some again 
 Express'd by Lutherans these pious men. 
 Their meaning was the same, and same the ground ; 
 But mark the force of difference in the sound: 
 Two zealous proselytes to his reform, 
 Which then had rais'd an universal storm, 
 Meeting by chance upon a public walk, 
 Soon made religion subject of their talk; 
 Its low condition both dispos'd to own, 
 And how corrupt the church of Rome was grown. 
 In this preliminary point indeed, 
 Tho' strangers to each other, they agreed; 
 But, as the times had bred some other chiefs, 
 Who undertook to cure the common griefs, 
 They were oblig'd, by farther hints, to find 
 If in their choice they both were of a mind. 
 After some winding of their words about, 
 To seek this secondary problem out, 
 I am, declar'd the bolder of the two, 
 A Martinists and so, I hope, are you. 
 4 No, 1 said the other, growing somewhat hot, 
 
 * But I'll assure you, Sir, that I am not; 
 
 * I am a Lutheran, and live or die, 
 
 4 Shall not be any thing besides, not I.' 
 If not a Martinist, his friend replied, 
 Truly I care not what you are beside. 
 The fray began, which critics may suppose, 
 But for spectators, would have come to blows ; 
 And so they parted, matters half discuss'd, 
 With equal tokens of complete disgust. 
 
 The prose account in Doctor More, I think, 
 Relates this story of two clowns in drink. 
 The verse has cloth' d it in a different strain: 
 But either way this gentle hint is plain, 
 That 'tis a foolish bus'ness to commence 
 Disputes on words, without regard to sense* 
 
 Such was the case of these two partizans; 
 Another 1 have heard, a single man's, 
 Still more absurd, ii possible, than this: 
 Must I go on and tell it you? (Chorus.) " Yes, yes. 1
 
 35 
 
 A certain artist, I forget his name, 
 Had got for making spectacles a fame, 
 Or hklps to read, which when they first were sold, 
 Was written, on his glaring sign, in gold. 
 And for all uses to be had from glass, 
 His were allow'd all others to surpass. 
 There came a man into his shop one day, 
 * Are you the spectacle-contriver, pray?' 
 Ye#, Sir, said he, I can in that affair 
 Contrive to please you, if you want a pair. 
 ' Can you? Pray do then.' So at first he chose 
 To place a youngish pair across his nose, 
 And book produc'd, to see how they would fit; 
 Ask'd how he lik'd 'cm ' Like 'em ! not a bit!' 
 Then, Sir, I fancy, if you please to try, 
 These in my hand will better suit your eye. 
 4 No, but they don't.' Well, come, Sir, if you please, 
 Here is another sort, well now try these ; 
 Still somewhat more they magnify the letter, 
 Now, Sir. ' Why now I'm not a bit the better." 
 No! Here take these, that magnify still more; 
 How do they jit? ' Like all the rest before.' 
 
 In short, they tried a whole assortment thro', 
 But all in vain, for none of them would do. 
 The Operator much surpris'd to find 
 So odd a case, thought sure the man is blind ! 
 What sort of eyes can you have got? said he; 
 4 Why, very good ones, friend, as you may see.' 
 Yes, I perceive the clearness of the ball: 
 Pray, lit me ask you, can you read at all? 
 4 No, you great blockheid! If I could, what need 
 4 Of paying you for any helps to read?' 
 And so he left the maker in a heat, 
 Ilesolv'd to post him for an arrant cheat*
 
 36 
 
 THE 
 
 APE AND THE FOX, 
 
 Or the Fruits of Greediness and Credulity* 
 
 A FABLE. 
 Spoken on the same occasion as the preceding. 
 
 OLD Esop so famous was certainly right 
 In the way that he took to instruct and delight, 
 iiy giving to creatures, beasts, fishes, and birds, 
 Nay to things, tho 1 inanimate, language and words. 
 Thus he gain'd by his fables the attention of youth, 
 And forcM even fiction to tell them the truth. 
 
 They're not quickly forgotten, since man is more able 
 To retain a true hint in the shape of a fable; 
 And allusions to nature insensibly raise 
 Reflections suggested by tabular phrase, 
 Which aii'ord less exception for cavil to find, 
 While the moral more gently slides into the mind. 
 
 Thus to hint that a kingdom will flourish the most, 
 Where each man in high station is tit for his post; 
 That disgraces attend both on person and station, 
 If regard be not had to due qualification, 
 He invented, they tell us, this fable of old, 
 Which the place where I stand, now requires to be told. 
 
 The beasts, on a time when the lion was dead, 
 Met together in council to choose them a head; 
 The fox, being fam'd for his cunning and wit, 
 Was propos'd to their choice; but they did not think fit 
 To elect such a sharper, lest, watching his hour, 
 lie should cunningly creep into absolute pow'r.
 
 37 
 
 They'd bo fear from the ape of being so rid; 
 He would mind his diversion, and do as they did. 
 So to give to their new constitution a shape 
 Resembling :he human, they fix'd on the ape; 
 They crown'd and proclaim'd him by parliament plan, 
 And never was monkey so like to a man. 
 
 Sly Reynard, on this, was resolv'd to expose 
 Poor Pug, whom the senate so formally chose; 
 And having observ'd in his rambles a gin 
 Where a delicate morsel was nicely hung in, 
 He let the king know what a prize he had found, 
 And the waste where it lay was his Majesty's ground. 
 
 * Shew me where,' said the ape; so the treasure was 
 shewn, 
 Which he seiz'd with paw royal to make it his own ; 
 But the gin at the time was dispos'd to resist, 
 And clapping together caught pug by the wrist, 
 Who perceiv'd by his fingers laid fast in the stocks, 
 What a trick hud been play'd by his subject the fox. 
 
 4 Thou traitor P said he, ' but I'll make thee anon 
 * An example of vengeance." and so he went on, 
 With a rage most monarchical. Reynard, who ey'd 
 The success of his scheme, gave a sigh and reply'd, 
 Well) adieu! Royal Sir, 'twas a cruel mishap. 
 That your Majesty"'* Grace did not understand trap. 
 
 D2
 
 38 
 VERSES 
 
 IN PRAISE OF SACRED POESY. 
 
 POKEN ON THE SAME OCCASION AS THE PRECEDING. 
 
 Dukes ante omnia Musae. 
 
 Virg. Georg. Lib. ii. 4?.i. 
 
 Sweet above all things are the Muses. 
 
 OF all companions that a man can choose, 
 Methinks the sweetest is an honest muse; 
 Ready with subject proper, in due time, 
 To cheer the soul with harmony of rhyme; 
 Ol all the muses, for they tell of nine, 
 Melpomene, sweet flowing Mel. be mine. 
 
 Hers is the friendly and judicious part 
 To clear the head, to animate the heart; 
 Their kindred forces, temp'ring, to unite; 
 Grave to instruct, and witty to delight: 
 With judgment cool, with passions rightly warm, 
 She gives to numbers all their strength and charm, 
 
 Her lilies, whatever the occasion be, 
 Flow without forcing, natural and free; 
 No -turning of thcin with poetic starch. 
 Whether her bard is to be grave or arch; 
 Of various topics which the times produce 
 She prompts the fittest lor the present use. 
 
 On piety when called to attend, 
 V ci. Liittia d sue decks her sacred, best Iov'd friend: 
 Religion, virtue, mora!-, and good sense 
 Deck'd with a grace, she arms with a defence: 
 Whatever tends to benefit the mind 
 Sots Mel. to work, true friend of human kind.
 
 39 
 
 A foe she is. but void of rancour, foe 
 To all the noisy bustlings here below, 
 To all contention, clamour, or debate, 
 That plagues a constitution, church, or state, 
 That plagues a man's own self, or makes him will 
 His other self, his neighbour, any ill. 
 
 Life, as Mel. thinks, a short, uncertain lease, 
 Demands the fruits of friendship and of peace; 
 " Arms and the man 1 ' her sister Ciio sings, 
 To her she leaves your heroes and your kings, 
 To sound the present, or to act the past, 
 To tread the stage in buskin and bombast. 
 
 With nymphs and swains fond Mel. would strew the fields, 
 With flocks and herds, instead of spears and shields; 
 Recall the scenes that blest a golden age, 
 Ere mutual love gave way to martial rage, 
 And bards high soaring above simpler phrase, 
 To genuine light preferr'd the artful blaze. 
 
 She scorns alike ignobly to rehearse 
 The spiteful satire, or the venal verse; 
 Free in her praise, and in her censure too, 
 True merit or amendment is her view; 
 A rising worth still higher to exalt, 
 Or save a culprit from a future fault. 
 
 No sour, pedantical, abusive rage, 
 No vicious rant defiles her freest page; 
 No sally vile, indecent, or profane, 
 To please low fools, or give the wise a pain; 
 Her mirth is aim'd to mend us, if we heed, 
 'Tis what the chastest of her sex may read. 
 
 She looks on various empires, various men, 
 As all one tribe, when she directs the pen; 
 She loves the Uriton, and she loves the Gaul, 
 Swede, lluss, or Turk, she wishes well to all; 
 They all are men, all sons of the same Sire, 
 And must be all belov'd, if Mel. inspire. 
 
 It would rejoice her votaries to see 
 All Europe, Asia, Africa agree.
 
 40 
 
 " But the new world, new England's dire alarms! 
 " Should not Melpomene now sing to anno?" 
 No; she must ever wish all wars to cease; 
 While folks are fighting, she must hold her peace, 
 
 Content to hope that, what events are r'ue 
 Will bless new England, and old England too: 
 She's to lair trade a friend, free navigation, 
 A friend to Spain, but foe to depredation; 
 And friend to France, but let heroic Clio 
 Demolish French encroachments at Ohio. 
 
 Safe from all foreign and domestic foes 
 Be all your liberties in verse or prose! 
 Be safe abroad your colonies and trade. 
 From Guarda-costas and from Gasconade ! 
 At home your lives, your acres, and your bags! 
 May plots against you vanish into rags ! 
 
 Be it observed in my concluding line, 
 Great part of safety rests with you ; in fine, 
 Home, or abroad, the world is but a school, 
 Where all things roll to teach one central rule; 
 That is, " If you would prosper and do well, 
 ** Love one another, and remember Mel."
 
 41 
 
 i i i i ,, rs~ 
 
 THE 
 
 COUNTRY FELLOWS AND THE ASS, 
 
 OR THE 
 
 Absurdity of attempting to please all Men. 
 
 A FABLE. 
 
 Spoken on the same Occasion as the preceding. 
 
 A COUNTRY Follow and his Son, they tell 
 In modern fables, had an ass to sell: 
 With this in view, they turn'd it out to play, 
 And fed it so, that by the destufd day 
 They brought the creature into sleek repair, 
 Then drove it gently to a neighboring fair. 
 
 As they were jogging on, a rural class 
 Was heard to say, u Look ! look there, at that ass ' 
 " And those two blockheads trudging on each side, 
 u Neither of whom has souse enough to ride! 
 44 Asses all three !" And thus the country folks 
 On man and boy began to cut their jokes. 
 
 Th' old fellow minded net a thing they said, 
 [Jut ev'ry word stuck in the young one's head; 
 And thus began their comment thereupon, 
 Nt Vr hted'nn lad. ' Nay, father, do get on.* 
 Not I indeed. ' Why then lei me, I pray. 1 
 Well) do; and s<e what prating tongues uill say. 
 
 The boy was mounted; and they had not got 
 Much farther on before another knot, 
 Just as the ass was pacing by, pad. pad, 
 Cried, u O lth.it lazy looby of a lad! 
 k How unconcernedly the gapinn brute 
 ' Lots the poor aged fellow walk a foot!"
 
 42 
 
 Down came (lie son, on hearing this account, 
 And begg'd and pray'd, and made his father mount; 
 Till a third party on a farther stretch, 
 Exclaim'd, '''See! see that old hard-hearted wretch! 
 " How like a justice there he sits, or squire, 
 " While the poor lad keeps wading through the mire!" 
 
 ' Stop, 1 cried the lad, still deeper vex'd in mind, 
 ' Stop, father, stop; let me get on behind/ 
 This done, they thought they certainly should please. 
 Escape reproaches, and ride on at ease: 
 For having tried each practicable way, 
 What could be left for jokers now to say? 
 
 They were accosted next in surly tone, 
 " Hark ye, you fellows! Is that ass your own'/ 
 " Get off; for shame! Or one of you at least; 
 " You both deserve to carry the poor beast, 
 " Ready to drop down dead upon the road 
 " With such a huge, unconscionable load." 
 
 On this they both dismounted, and some say, 
 ContrivM to carry like a truss of hay, 
 The ass between 'em. Prints, they add, are seen 
 With man, and lad, and slinging ass between: 
 Others omit that fancy in the print, 
 As overstraining an ingenious hint. 
 
 The copy that we follow says, the man 
 Jlubb'd down his ass; pursu'd his first-form'd plan; 
 Walk'd to the fair, and sold him; got his price, 
 And gave his son this pertinent advice, 
 Let talkers talk; stick thou to what is best: 
 To think of pleasin g all is but a jest.
 
 43 
 
 g 'n 'ii i i ' i n 
 
 VERSES 
 
 ON THE TRANSMIGRATION OF SOULS. 
 
 Spoken on the same Occasion as the preceding . 
 
 In nova fert animus inutatas dicere formas Corpora. 
 
 Ovid. Metam. i. j. 
 
 Jtlij mind excites me to discourse about forms changed into fresh 
 bodies. 
 
 PYTHAGORAS, an ancient sage, opin'd 
 That form and shape were indexes of mind; 
 That minds of men, when they departed iience, 
 Would all be form'd according to this sense, 
 Some animal, or human shape again, 
 Would shew wliat had been souls of former men. 
 
 Let us adopt this transmigration plan, 
 And mark how animal exhibits man; 
 Tyrants, for instance, to begin with those 
 Who cause the greatest noise, the greatest woes, 
 Of their dominion lions are the key, 
 That reign in deserts now, and hunt their prey; 
 Sometimes dethroned, and brought upon a stage, 
 Or coop'd. like Bajazet, wi'hin a cage; 
 For sixpence, safe from all tyrannic harms, 
 One may see kings, perhaps at the King's Arms; 
 See savage monarchs, who had shewn before 
 The tusky temper of the wildest boar, 
 Vested in proper shape, wlmn they are dead, 
 Revived, caught, and shewn at the Blur's Haul. 
 
 In some tam'd elephant our eyes may scan 
 The once rich, overgrown, half-reasoning man: 
 My Lord had sense to wind into his maw 
 All within reach, that lay within the law; 
 What would have fed a thousand mouths was sunk 
 To itll his own, bv monstrous length of trunk.
 
 44 
 
 He grew to wondrous grandeur, liv'd a show, 
 And stones high raised tell where he's laid low: 
 By transmigration it appears, at least, 
 That such great man is but a bulky beast. 
 
 From animals that once were men, to pass 
 To men of nearly now ambiguous class, 
 Players, and harlequins, and pantomimes, 
 Who sell their shapes to mimic men and times, 
 With all the servile, second-handed tribe 
 Oi imitators, endless to describe, 
 In their own figures when they come to range, 
 With small transition into monkies change; 
 For now men-monkies have not in their view 
 What should be done by men, but what they do. 
 
 Of tempers, by inferior forms express'd, 
 And seen for nothing, something may be guess'd. 
 When the sly fox ensnares the silly geese, 
 Who does not see that mind is of a piece 
 With former Lawyers, who devour'd by far 
 The sillier clients, drawn into the bar? 
 
 " Why not Physicians?" hear the lawyer say, 
 " Are they not too as wily in their way?" 
 Why, yes, dear Barrister, but then they own 
 The shapes in which their cunning arts are shewn; 
 Serpents confess, around the rod entwin'd, 
 Wily, or wise, the Esculapian kind. 
 
 " Why not Divines?" the doctor may object, 
 " They have devourers too in ev'ry sect." 
 True; but if one devour, a dismal, grim, 
 And proper transmigration waits for him; 
 1 n human shape when he has spent his years, 
 Stripp'd of sheep's clothing the true wolf appears. 
 
 'Tis plain in quadrupeds; now let us try 
 What instance iirst occurs in such as fly: 
 The parrot shews by its unmeaning prate, 
 Full many a talker's metamorphos'd fate, 
 Whose tongue outstrips the clapper of a mill, 
 And keeps on saying the same nothing still ; 
 As full the city, and as full the court, 
 As India's woods with creatures of this sort.
 
 45 
 
 If right the gayly feather d bird foretells 
 The future shape of chatty beaux and belles, 
 They, transmigrated, will, like human dolls, 
 Talk on, and shine caress' d as u pretty polls/' 
 
 Belles, you may 9ee, pursue a butterfly, 
 With painted wings, which flutter in the sky, 
 And, sparkling, to the solar rays unfold 
 lted mix'd with purple, green with shining gold: 
 Wonder not fit the fond pursuit, for, know 
 That this same butterfly was once a beau, 
 And, dress'd according to the newest whim. 
 Ran alter them as they run after him. 
 
 Footed or flying all decipher men; 
 Enough to add another instance, then, 
 A supple courtier, little creeping thing, 
 That takes new colours as there comes new king, 
 Lives upon airy promises and dies; 
 His transmigration can be no surprise, 
 The low Chameleon's shape he comes to share, 
 Stiil chauges colours, and still feedd on air. 
 
 By his ingenious fiction in the end, 
 What could the wise Pythagoras intend? 
 Too wise a man not to intend a clue 
 To that great change,* which litVally is true. 
 The solar system of our boasted age 
 Was known of old to this onlightenM sage; 
 So might his thoughts on man's immortal soul, 
 How e'er cxpress'd, be right upon the whole: 
 He meant, one need not scruple to affirm, 
 This real truth by transmigration term. 
 
 Our tempers here must point to the degree 
 In which herealter we design to bo. 
 From vice in minds undoubtedly will grow 
 More ugly shapes than any here below ; 
 But sacred virtue, piety, and love, 
 What beauteous forms wilt they produce above! 
 
 They that have done good shall come forth unto the resurrection of 
 lift'; and they that have done evil uuto the resurrection of damnation. 
 John *. 89.
 
 46 
 
 THE POND. 
 
 At qui tantnlo eget, quanto est opus, is neque Unto 
 Turbaiam kaurit aquam, neque vitam amittit in undis. 
 
 Horat. Sat. Lib. i. 1. 59. 
 
 But he who wants only just as much as is necessary, neither 
 draws up muddy water, nor loses his life in the waves. 
 
 ONCE on a time a certain man was found, 
 That had a pond of water in his ground, 
 A line large pond of water fresh and clear, 
 Enough to serve his turn for many a year. 
 Yet so it was, a strange, unhappy dread 
 Of wanting water seiz'd the fellow's head. 
 When he was dry, he was afraid to drink 
 Too much at once, for fear his pond should sink. 
 Perpetually tormented with this thought, 
 He never ventur'd on a hearty draught; 
 Still dry, still fearing to exhaust his store, 
 When half refresh'd he frugally gave o'er; 
 Reviving of himself reviv'd his fright, 
 *' Better," quoth he " to be half choak'd than quite." 
 
 Upon his pond continually intent, 
 In cares and pains his anxious life he spent: 
 Consuming all his time and strength away, 
 To make the pond rise higher ev'ry day; 
 He wrought and slav'd, yet " Oh, how slow it fills !" 
 Pour'd in by pailful-;, and took out by gills. 
 
 In a wet season he would skip about, 
 Placing his buckets under ev'ry spout, 
 From falling show'rs collecting fresh supply, 
 And grudging ev'ry cloud that passed by; 
 Cursing the dryne-s of the times each hour, 
 Altho 1 it rain'd as fast as it could pour. 
 Then he would wade thro 1 ev'ry dirty spot, 
 Where anv little moisture eouid be sot;
 
 47 
 
 And when he had done draining off a bog, 
 
 Stiil kept himself as dirty as a hog, 
 
 And cried, whene'er folks blam'd him, " What d'ye mean? 
 
 " It costs a world of water to be clean !" 
 
 If some poor neighbour call'd to slake his thirst, 
 " What, rob my pond! I'd see the rogue hang'd first. 
 *' A burning shame these vermin of the poor 
 " Should creep unpunish'd thus about my door ! 
 ** As if 1 had not frogs and toads enow, 
 " That suck my pond whatever I can do." 
 
 The sun still found him, as he rose or set, 
 Always in quest of matters that were wet. 
 Betimes he rose to sweep the morning dew, 
 And rested late to catch the ev'ning too. 
 With *soughsand troughs he labour'd to enrich 
 The rising pond, from ev'ry neighb'ring ditch. 
 With soughs, and troughs, and pipes, and cuts, and sluices, 
 From growing plants he drain'd the very juices; 
 Made ev'ry stick of wood upon the hedges 
 Oi good behaviour to deposit pledges; 
 By some conveyance or another, still 
 Devis'd recruits from each declining hill: 
 He left, in short, for this beloved plunder, 
 No stone unturn'd, that could have water under. 
 
 Sometimes, when fore'd to quit his awkward toil, 
 And. sore against his will, to rest awhile, 
 Then straight. he took his book, and down he sat 
 To calculate th' expences he was at, 
 How much he suffer'd at a mod'rate guess, 
 From all those ways by which the pond grew less; 
 For as to those by which it still grew bigger, 
 For them he reckoned not a single figure: 
 He knew a wise, old saying, which maintained, 
 That "'twas bad luck to count what one had gain'd.** 
 
 " First, for myself. my daily charges here 
 " Cost a prodigious quantity a year; 
 " Altho', thank heaven, 1 never boil my meat, 
 " Nor am I such a sinner as to sweat: 
 
 * Drains.
 
 4S 
 
 ** But things, are come to such a pasa, indeed, 
 
 ' We spend ten times the water that we need. 
 
 " People are grown, with washing, cleansing, rinsing, 
 
 44 So finical and nice, past all convincing; 
 
 " So many proud, fantastic modes, in short, 
 
 44 Are introduc'd, that my poor pond pays for't. 
 
 " Not but I could be well enough content 
 44 With what upon my own account is spent; 
 " But those large articles from which I reap 
 44 No kind of profit, strike ine on a heap. 
 44 What a vast deal, each moment, at a sup, 
 44 This ever thirsty earth itself drinks up! 
 44 Such holes and gaps! Alas! my pond provide? 
 44 Scarce for its own unconscionable sides. 
 44 Nay, how can one imagine it should thrive, 
 44 So many creatures as it keeps alive ! 
 44 That creep from ev'ry nook and corner, marry I 
 44 Filching as much as ever they can carry. 
 44 Then all the birds that fly along the air 
 44 Light at my pond, and come in for a share. 
 14 Item at ev'ry puff of wind that blows 
 44 Away at once the surface of it goes, 
 44 The rest, in exhalations to the sun; 
 44 One month's fair weather, and I am undone." 
 
 This life he led for many a year together, 
 Grew old and grey in watching of the weather; 
 Meagre as death itself, till this same death 
 Stopp'd, as the saying is, his vital breath. 
 For as th 1 old fool was carrying to his field 
 A heavier burden than he well could wield, 
 He miss'd his footing, or some how he fumbled 
 In tumbling of it in, but in he tumbled. 
 Mighty desirous to get out again, 
 He scream'd, and scrambled, but 'twas all in vain:. 
 The place was grown so very deep and wide, 
 Nor bottom of it could he feel, nor side; 
 So in the middle of his pond he died. 
 
 What think ye now, from this imperfect sketch, 
 My friends, of such a miserable wretch ? 
 * Why 'tis a wretch, we think, of your own making ; 
 K No fool can be suppos'd in such a taking:
 
 49 
 
 " Your own warm fancy" Nay, but warm, or cool, 
 
 The world abounds with many such a fool. 
 
 The choicest ills, the greatest torments, sure, 
 
 Are those which numbers labour to endure 
 
 " What ! for a pond!" Why, call it an estate, 
 
 You change the name but realize the fate. 
 
 THE NIMMERS. 
 
 TWO Foot Companions once in deep discourse,- 
 Tom, says the one, lefs go and steal a horse. 
 ' Steal! says the other, in a huge surprise, 
 4 He that says I'm a thief, I say he lies.' 
 Wel^ well) replies his Iriend, no suck affront, 
 J did but ask ye; if you won't, you woiCt, 
 So they jogg'd on, till, in another strain, 
 The querist mov'd to honest Tom again; 
 Suppose, says he, for supposition's sake, 
 ''Tis but a supposition that I make, 
 Suppose that we should filch a horse, I say? 
 
 * Filch! filch!' quoth Tom, demurring by the way, 
 ' That's not so bad as downright theft, I own; 
 
 * But yet methinks 'twere better let alone. 
 
 * It soundeth something pitiful and low; 
 
 * Shall we go filch a horse, you say, why, no; 
 4 I'll filch no filching, and I'll tell no lie; 
 
 * Honesty's the best policy, say I." 
 
 Struck with such vast integrity quite dumb, 
 His comrade paus'd; at last says he, Come, come! 
 Thou art an honest fellow, I agree, 
 Honest and poor; alas! that should not be; 
 And dry into the bargain, and no drink! 
 Shall ue go nim a horse? What dost thou think? 
 
 How clear things are, when liquor's in the case! 
 Tom answers quick, with casuistic grace, 
 ' Nim? yes, e'en let us nim with all my heart. 
 
 * I see no harm in dimming, for my part. 
 
 E
 
 50 
 
 ' Hard is the case, now I look sharp into 't, 
 
 ' That honesty should trudge i'th' dirt on foot; 
 
 ' Th-t honesty should wear its bottoms out, 
 
 ' So many empty horses round about. 
 
 ' Besides, shall honesty be chok'd with thirst? 
 
 4 Were it my Lord Mayor's horse, I'd nim it first. 
 
 ' And, by the bye, my lad, no scrubby tit 
 
 ' There is the best that ever wore a bit 
 
 ' Not far from hence,' / take you, quoth his friend, 
 
 Is not yon stable, Tom, our journey' 1 s end? 
 
 Good wits will jump; both meant the very steed, 
 The top o'th' country, both for shape and speed: 
 So to't they went; and, with a hatter round 
 His feather'd neck, they nimm'd him off the ground. 
 
 And now, good people, we should next relate 
 Of these adventurers the luckless fate: 
 Poor Tom! but here the sequel is to seek, 
 Not being yet translated from the Greek. 
 Some say, that Tom would honestly have 'peach'd 
 But by his blabbing friend was over-reach'd; 
 Others insist upon't, that both the elves 
 Were, in like manner, halter-nimm'd themselves. 
 
 It matters not; the moral is the thing, 
 For which our purpose, neighbours, was to sing. 
 If it should hit some few amongst the throng, 
 Let them not lay the fault upon the song. 
 Fair warning all; he that has got a cap, 
 Now put it on. or else beware a rap ; 
 'Tis but a short one, it is true, but yet 
 Has a long reach with it, Videlicet, 
 " 'Twixt right and wrong how many gentle trimmers 
 44 Will neither steal, nor filch, but will be plaguy 
 " nimmers!"
 
 51 
 
 CARELESS CONTENT. 
 
 I AM content, I do not care, 
 
 Wag as it wiii the world for me; 
 When fuss and fret was ail my fare, 
 It got no ground as I could see: 
 So when away my caring went, 
 I counted cost, and was content. 
 
 With more of thanks, and less of thought, 
 
 I strive to make my matters meet; 
 To seek, what ancient sages sought, 
 Physic and food in sour and sweet; 
 To take what passes in good part, 
 And keep the hiccups from my heart. 
 
 With good, and gentle humour'd heart*. 
 
 I choose to chat where'er I come, 
 Whate'er the subject be that starts; 
 Hut it 1 get among *the glum, 
 I hold ni) tongue to tell the troth, 
 And keep my breath to cool my broth. 
 
 For chance or change, of peace or pain, 
 
 For tort u no's favour, or her frown, 
 For lack or glut, for loss or gain, 
 I never dodge, nor up, nor down; 
 But swing what way the ship shall swim, 
 Or tack about, with equal trim. 
 
 I suit not where I shall not speed, 
 Nor trace the turn of ev'ry tide; 
 If simple sense will not succeed, 
 I make no bustling, but abide: 
 For shining wealth, or scaring woe, 
 I force no friend, I fear no foe. 
 
 The Sullen.
 
 52 
 
 Of ups and clowns, of ins and outs, 
 
 Of they are wrong, and we are right, 
 I shun the rancours and the routs. 
 And, wishing well to every wight, 
 Whatever turn the matter takes, 
 I deem it all but ducks and drakes. 
 
 With whom I feast, I do not fawn, 
 
 Nor if the folks should flout me, faint; 
 If wonted welcome be withdrawn, 
 I cook no kind of a complaint ; 
 With none dispos'd to disagree, 
 But like them best, who best like me. 
 
 Not that I rate myself the rule 
 
 How all my betters should behave ; 
 But fame shall find me no man's fool r 
 Nor to a set of men a slave : 
 I love a friendship free and frank, 
 And hate to hang upon a hank. 
 
 Fond of a true and trusty tie 
 
 I never loose where'er I link ; 
 Though if abus'ness budges by. 
 I talk thereon just as I think: 
 My word, my work, my heart, my hand, 
 Still, on a side, together stand. 
 
 If names or notions make a noise, 
 Whatever hap the question hath, 
 The point impartially I poise, 
 
 And read or write, but without wrath; 
 For should I burn or break my brains, 
 Pray, who will pay me for my pains? 
 
 I love my neighbour as myself, 
 
 Myself like him too, by his leave; 
 Nor to his pleasure, pow'r, or pelf, 
 Came I to crouch, as I conceive : 
 Dame Nature doubtless has design'd 
 A man the moaareh of his mind. 
 
 Now taste and try this temper, Sirs, 
 Mood it, and brood it in your breast;
 
 53 
 
 Or if ye ween, for worldly stirs 
 
 That man does right to mar his rest, 
 Let me be *deftand debonair, 
 I am content, I do not care. 
 
 ON PATIENCE, 
 
 Written at the request of a friend. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 " A VERSE on patience?" yes; but then prepare 
 Your mind friend T c t, with a reading share; 
 Or else to hear it, rather less than more 
 It will impart than you.possess'd before: 
 If it be mine to write, it is your task 
 To Lear the lines which you are pleas" d to ask. 
 
 Patience the theme! A blessed inmate this! 
 The nursing parent of our bosom bliss. 
 Abroad for bliss she bids us not to roam, 
 Hut cultivate its real tund at home. 
 A noble treasure, when the patient soul 
 Siis in the centre, and surveys the whole ! 
 
 The bustling world to fetch her out from thence 
 Will urge it's ev'ry plausible pretence; 
 Will praise perfections of a grander name, 
 Sound groat exploits, and call her out to fame ; 
 Amuse and flatter, till the soul, too prone 
 To self-activity, deserts her throne. 
 
 Be on your guard : the business of a man 
 Is properly, to do what good he can ; 
 Hut first at home let patience rule within, 
 Where charity, you know, must first begin; 
 Not monied love, as fondly understood, 
 But calm, sedate propensity to good. 
 
 * Dextrous. 
 E 2
 
 54 
 
 This is the product of the virtue, friend, 
 Which you oblige me here to recommend; 
 The trial this of all the rest beside, 
 
 For, without patience, they are all but pride ; 
 
 A strong ambition shines within its sphere, 
 But proves its weakness when it cannot bear. 
 
 There lies the test; bring ev'ry thing to that; 
 It shews us plainly what we would be at. 
 Of gen'rous actions we may count the sum, 
 Scarcely their worth, till disappointments come ; 
 Men oft are then most gen'rously absurd, 
 Their own good actions have their own bad word. 
 
 Impatience hates ingratitude, forsooth! 
 For it discovers this ungrateful truth, 
 That, having done for int'rest or for fame 
 Such and such doings, she has lost her aim; 
 While all unthankful people in her debt 
 Have got their ends, and put her in a fret. 
 
 Possess'd of patience, a right humble mind 
 At ail events is totally resign'd ; 
 Does good for sake of good, not for th 1 event; 
 Leaves that to Heav'n, and keeps to its content; 
 Good to be done it acts; it bears the ill 
 To be endur'd, with meek, submissive will. 
 
 " Enough, enough! Now tell me, if you please, 
 " How best I may obtain this mental ease." 
 Cod knows, 1 know not, how it is acquir'd; 
 Hut this I know, if heartily desir'd, 
 We shall be thankful for the Donor's leave 
 To ask, to hope, to wait till we receive. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 " Virtues, you say, by patience must be tried ; 
 '' If that be wanting, they are all but pride: 
 " Of rule so strict I want to have a clue." 
 Well, if you'll have the same indulgence too, 
 And take a fresh compliance in good part, 
 I'll do the best I can, with all my heart.
 
 55 
 
 Pride is the grand distemper of the mind, 
 The source of evVy vice ot ev'ry kind. 
 That love of self, wherein its essence lies, 
 Excites bad tempers, and affords supplies; 
 We coin a world of names for them, but still 
 All comes to -fondness for our own dear will. 
 
 We see by facts, upon the triple stage 
 Of this short life, Youth, Manhood, and old Age,- 
 How three conditions commonly bewitch, 
 To be delighted, honoured, and rich. 
 'Tis selfish pride, if human faults you weigh, 
 That grows from young to old, from green to grey. 
 
 Pride is, indeed, a more accustomM name 
 For quest of grandeur, eminence, or fame; 
 But search for pleasure, and for gold, betrays 
 What inward principle it is that sways: 
 The rake's young dotage, and the miser's old. 
 The same enslaving love to .self unfold. . 
 
 If pride be thus ihe fountain of all vice, 
 Whence must we say that virtue has its rise, 
 But from humility? And what, the sure 
 And certain si<i;n that even this is pure? 
 For pride will like humility appear, 
 When nothing comes to precious self too near. 
 
 But when provok'd, admit unjustly too, 
 Then pride disrobes itself; makes much ado; 
 Then, who can blame the passion of a pride 
 That has got reason, reason on Us Bide? 
 II>'s iii the wrong, and I am in the right; 
 Resentment, come! Humility, good night! 
 
 Now the criterion, I apprehend, 
 If any, upon which we may depend, 
 Is patience, is to bear, and to forbear, 
 
 To which the truly virtuous adhere; 
 Resolv'd to suffer, without Pro and Con, 
 A thousand evils rather than do one. 
 
 To be devoid of patience, yet not proud. 
 Is contradiction not to be allow'd;
 
 56 
 
 All eyes are open to so plain a cheat, 
 
 Except those blinded by the self-deceit, 
 
 Who, with a like consistency, may tell, 
 
 That nothing ails them, though they are not well. 
 
 Strict is the rule, its consequences true, 
 However 1 fall short of it, or you; 
 Our stock we shall augment, if it be small, 
 By dealing in it with our neighbours all ; 
 And then, who knows but we shall, in the end, 
 Learn to have patience with ourselves, and mend ! 
 
 REMARKS 
 On Dr. Akenside's and Mr. Whitehead's Verses, 
 
 WHICH WERE ADDRESSED TO THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND, 
 In the Year 1758. 
 
 In these remarks is seen much of a party spirit. They severely comment on 
 an Ode and Verses, irlrich were written to excite the martial ardour of the 
 country soon qfter the execution of Admiral Byng. Mr. Pitt and Mr. Legge, 
 who were no favourites with our author, being about that time called into the 
 Administration, by their rigorous measures, with the blessing of Heaven, 
 soon turned the tide of success in our favour. Yet it must be acknowledged 
 that the critical animadversions on Dr. Akenside's Ode, are very just and 
 proper. 
 
 WHITHER is Europe's ancient spirit fled? 
 How came this query in the Doctor's *head? 
 
 * Ode to the country Gentlemen cf England, 1758. 
 
 Pusticorum mascula militum 
 Proles, Sabellis docta ligonibus 
 
 Versare glebas. Hot: Lib. 3. Od. 6. 37. 
 
 A masculine race of country soldiers, skilled in cultivating 
 the earth with Samnite spades. 
 
 Whither is Europe's ancient spirit fled; 
 
 Where are those valiant tenants of her shore, 
 Who from the warrior bow the strong dart sped, 
 
 Or with firm hand the rapid pole-axe bore? 
 Freeman and Soldier was their common name, 
 Who late with reapers to the furrow came; 
 Now in the front of battle eharg'd the foe, 
 And gave the guardian laws their majesty to know.
 
 57 
 
 " Whither is Britain's?" one had sooner guess'd 
 
 In ode to his own countrymen address'd: 
 Hut it must certainly he Europe's -pir it. 
 As six outlandish rivers soon infer it. 
 
 Of valiant tenants on her .shore 'tis said, 
 They from the nxirrior bow the strong durt sped 
 Let how he warrior, and let dart be strong, 
 Verse docs not speed so speedily along; 
 The strong dart sped does but go " thump, thump, thump-," 
 Which quick as thrown should pierce the liver plump. 
 
 And with firm hand the rapid pole-axe bore ; 
 If it Lad been the rapid dart before, 
 And ike strong pole-axe here, it !.ad agreed 
 W;;!i d firm hold as well, and darting speed: 
 Whither are lb d from Ode-veraitfcation 
 The ancient " Pleasures of Imagination?"* 
 
 Really these fighting poe's want a tutor 
 To teach them " Ultra crepidam ne sator;"T 
 To teach the Doctor, and to teach the Laureat, 
 " .\ Ile'icone san^uinem ne hauriat;" 
 Tho 1 blood and wounds infect its limpid stream, 
 It should run clear before they Bing a lh< me. 
 
 Ye BriluM i '>met'} deeds of death! says one; X 
 ff'\ii'</r, t! next, is Europe s spirit gone? 
 
 l:'t \\ !u> are ycr ieom Ebro's loit'rinp sons 
 To Tiber"- |>a$eant<, to the sports of Seine ; 
 
 From Rhine's my.'! p., luces, to Danube's thrones, 
 And cities on the Ciwhrit main, 
 
 Yi lost, ye self-deserted I whtw proud Lords, 
 
 lure battled your tame hand*, and m i \ c t. yon swords, a.". 
 
 Dr. \M.NMDE. 
 
 * The title of a charming di<lactie poem, by Dr. Vkcnsi It. 
 
 t Let not tlie stitch* r wander in yond Ion slipper. 
 
 i That lie draw not blood from ileli 
 
 j See Verses to the People .f England, t?5H; by William White- 
 bead, Esq. Pott Lauuat. l'nc following beautiful extracts ftoui them 
 are not inapplicable to the pre-; nt cri 
 
 Marcs animus i martia )>''.; 
 Vrrribus exacuit. II r. De Arte Pott. to?. 
 
 By his verses he quickened tin ir manly spirits to warlike contests. 
 
 Britons, rouse to dt < !.- of death! 
 Waste not zeal in idle breath,
 
 5$ 
 
 While real warriors think it all a farce 
 For them to bounce ol either Mors or Mars;. 
 Sate as one sacks it under bloodless bay, 
 And sure as t'other even death must pay.* 
 
 Nor lose the harvest of your swords 
 In a civil-war of words. 
 
 Wherefore teems the shameless press 
 With labour'd births of emptiness? 
 Let th' undaunted iGrecian teach 
 The use and dignity of speech, 
 At whose thunders, nobly thrown, 
 Shrunk t!ie .Man of Mackdon. 
 If the storm of words must rise 
 Let it blast our enemies, 
 Sure and nervous be it hurl'd 
 On the Philips of the world. 
 
 Give to Fiance the honours due, 
 France has chiefs and statesmen too; 
 13 leasts which patriot-passions feel, 
 Lovers of the common-weal. 
 And when such the foes we brave, 
 Whether on the land or wave, 
 Greater is the pride of war, 
 And the conquest nobler far. 
 
 But glory which aspires to last, 
 Leans not meanly on the past. 
 'Tis the present now demands 
 British hearts and British hands. 
 Curst be he, the willing slave, 
 Who doubts, who lingers to be brave! 
 Curst be the coward tongue, that dare 
 Breathe one accent of despair, 
 Cold as Winters icy hand 
 To chill the genius of the land. 
 
 If protected commerce keep 
 Her tenor o'er von heaving deep, 
 What have we from war to fear? 
 Commerce steels the nerves of war, 
 Heals the havoc rapine makes, 
 And new strength from conquest takes. 
 If to ns indulgent Heaven 
 Nobler seeds of strength has given, 
 Nobler should the produce be; 
 Brave, yet gen'rous, are the free. 
 t Demosthenes. 
 
 * The ingerious antithesis in these four lines will be relished by the 
 classical reader. To the unlearned the meaning of the last line will not, 
 perhaps, he obvious. But if it be recollected that Dr. Akenside was a 
 physician, there wili be no difficulty in drawing the inference of his 
 fees beint paid, whether his advice or prescriptions hastened the death 
 or the recovery of his patient.
 
 59 
 
 But you shall hear what Captain ***** said, 
 When he had heard both Ode and Verses read: 
 On motios versions excuiiit, 
 And proles militum he mus'd a bit; 
 Then having cast his hunting wits about 
 In quest of rhymes, he thus at last broke out, 
 
 " Poh ! let my Serjeant when his dose is taken, 
 " Britoxs strike Home! with moisten'd pipe rehearse, 
 
 " To deeds of death ? tvvill sooner much awaken, 
 " Than cart loads full of such poor Ode and Verse. 
 
 " If these two bards will by a tuneful labour, 
 " Show without sham, their love to killing life, 
 
 " Let Akenside go thump upon a tabor, 
 " And Whitehead grasp th 1 exacuating fife." 
 
 A HINT TO A YOUNG PERSON, 
 
 For his better Improvement, 
 BY READING OR CONVERSATION. 
 
 IN reading authors, when you find 
 Bright passages that strike your mind, 
 And which, perhaps, you may have reason 
 To think on at another season, 
 He not contented with the sight, 
 But take them down in [Slack and White; 
 Such a respect is wisely shewn 
 As makes another's sense one's own. 
 
 When you're asleep upon your bed* 
 A thought may come into your head, 
 Which may be useful, if 'tis taken 
 Due notice of when you are waken. 
 Of midnight thoughts to take no heed 
 Betrays a sleepy soul indeed ; 
 It is but dreaming in the day 
 To throw our nightly hours away. 
 
 * These eight lir.es are an epitome of two excellent papers (No. 586. 
 ami 593) which were written by the author and inserted in the Spectator.
 
 60 
 
 In conversation when you meet 
 With persons cheerful and discreet, 
 That speak or quote, in prose or rhyme, 
 Facetious things, or things sublime, 
 Observe what passes, and anon 
 When you get home, think thereupon; 
 Write what occurs, forget it not, 
 A good thing sav'd is so much got. 
 
 Let no remarkable event 
 Pass with a gaping wonderment, 
 A fool's device, " Lord, who would think *' 
 Rather record with Pen and ink 
 Whate'er deserves attention now; 
 For when 'tis gone you know not how, 
 Too late you'll find that, to your cost, 
 So much of human life is lost. 
 
 Were it not for the written letter, 
 Pray what were living men the better 
 For all the labours of the dead? 
 For all that Socrates e'er said ? 
 The morals brought from Heav'n to men 
 He would have carry *d back again; 
 'Tis owing to his Short-hand youth 
 That Socrates does now speak truth. 
 
 TO LADY B W 
 
 N HER PRESENTING THE AUTHOR WITH THE MOIETY OF A 
 
 LOTTERY TICKET. 
 
 " THIS Ticket is to be divided;" well, 
 To Lady Betty let these presents tell 
 How much I value, chances all apart, 
 This gentle token of her friendly heart. 
 Without regard to prizes or to blanks, 
 My obligation is immediate thanks ; 
 And here they come, as hearty and as free 
 As this unlook'd-for favour came to me.
 
 61 
 
 ' Five thousand Pounds, perhaps; a handsome Sum !" 
 Aye, but in Specie five may never come. 
 That as you please, Dame Fortune! In my mind 
 I have already taken it in kind, 
 Am quite contented with my present lot, 
 Whether you're pleas' d to second it or not; 
 Chance is but Chance, however great or small; 
 The spirit of a loving gift is all. 
 
 " Three Tickets offer'd to make choice of one, 
 " And write the memorandum thereupon, 
 " Spread in successive order as they lie, 
 " May all be prizes for her sake !" thought I. 
 That upon which my fancy chose to fix, 
 Was, let me see, Four hundred fifty-six; 
 Four, five, and six ; they arc, if I can read, 
 Numbers that regularly should succeed. 
 
 Thou backward Fortune, that, in days of yore, 
 Hast read from six to five, from five to four, 
 Once for the Lady's sake reverse thy spight, 
 And trace a luckier circle to the right! 
 If thou art angry that I should despise 
 Thy gifts, which never dazzled much my eyes, 
 Now speak me fair, nor let th' occasion slip 
 Of such an honourable partnership. 
 
 Stand still a moment on thy bridge's pier, 
 While the conditions of success we hoar; 
 Say what the bard shall offer at thy shrine, 
 Any thing less than worship, and 'tis thine. 
 Thou'rt not, as they describe thee, quite gone blind, 
 Our names thou canst see here together join'd; 
 I'd rather thn/ Ten Thousand Pounds should own, 
 Than court thee for ten Million Pounds alone. 
 
 " For poets, seldom conversant in Pounds, 
 " Millions and Thousands, Sir, are pompous sounds," 
 Yes; but Pm only viewing the event 
 As corresponding to a kind intent. 
 Should it turn out its Thousands, more or less, 
 I should be somewhat puzzled, 1 profess; 
 I must upon a case so new, so nice, 
 Fly to my benefactress for advice.
 
 62 
 
 M What shall I do with such a monstrous prize ?" 
 Rat we'll postpone the question till it rise; 
 Let its to-morrow manage that. To-day 
 Accept the thanks which I am bound to pay; 
 Tin rich, if you permit me still to share 
 Your wish of welfare, and your gen'rous care: 
 The greatest bliss, if I have any skill, 
 Of human life is mutual good-will. 
 
 This without question has your handconfess'd; 
 This, without flatt'ry, warms your willing breast. 
 So much good nature shewn with so much ease ! 
 Bestow your sums, Dame Fortune, where you. please, 
 That kind of satisfaction which I feel, 
 Comes not within the compass of your wheel ; 
 No Prize can heighten the unpurchas'd grace, 
 Nor Blanks the grateful sentiments efface. 
 
 THE CENTAUR FABULOUS. 
 
 The delicate poignancy of wit, with which this allegorical pitce is 
 enlivened, will be evident to the reader, who is acquainted with the 
 writings of the celebrated author of the Divine Legation. Any ex- 
 tracts, therefore, to illustrate the epithets and allusions, which refer to 
 them in the following verses, would only serve to swell the notes into 
 a tedious prolixity. One quotation, in which our author is stigma- 
 tized as a Behmenist, is annexed, for the purpose of justifying a 
 charge, whicht might be suspected exaggeration by those who are 
 trangers to the learned writer's manner of treating his opponents. 
 
 ZEUXIS of old a female Centaur drevv 
 To shew his art, and then expos'd to view; 
 The human half with so exact a care 
 Wasjoin'd to limbs of a Thessalian mare, 
 That seeing from a diff'rent point the piece, 
 Some prais'd the Maid, and some the Mare, of Greece. 
 
 Like to this Centaur, by his own relation, 
 Is Doctor Warburton's Divine Legation; 
 Which superficial writers on each hand, 
 Christians and Deists, did not understand, 
 Because they both observ'd from partial views 
 Th 1 incorporated Church and State ot Jews
 
 6.3 
 
 Th 1 ingenious artist took the pains to draw, 
 F\i; . the compmmd' of -the law, 
 
 The two i . the civil kind 
 
 A.ui the religious, perfectly combin'd, 
 With Cud Amiighty as a temp'ral prince 
 To govern both, asali his proofs evince, 
 
 Without the doctrine of a future state. 
 Here with opponents lies the main debate. 
 The) cannot reconcile to serious thought 
 God"? Church and State, with LIFE to come untaught; 
 With Law or Gospel cannot make to suit 
 Virgin ol Sion sinking down to Brute. 
 
 Zeuxis the new, tliey argue, takes a pride 
 In shapes s<- incompatible allied; 
 And talks away f>s if he had pourtray'd 
 A real creature, niix'd oi Mare f ;id Maid. 
 All who deny th 1 existence of tiie pad; 
 He cenluurize* into Fool ;'.ud mad,* 
 
 If one*objected to a Maiden hoof 
 " ll~!i ;. "tin an Animal.' 1 ' 1 was all his proof; 
 If to a: aniruai with human head, 
 " 0! V/v u beauteous woman" Zeuxis said. 
 " WJih' ! Vnimaland Woman both at once?'" 
 " Yes, tiiaCx < stsenliul to ttu wAoie, ye dunce!" 
 
 Hi- primary and secondary sen^e. 
 L/ik( Man and A! .id, support Ins fond pretence. 
 From in i ing spot he skips to each extreme, 
 Or strides to both, and guards he motley scheme; 
 ,s' ',,,;_; u'Uhliki (' itaurijor/tial < 
 Lau\ I'rovhets, Gospel, quoted as you please. 
 
 Thus both went on long labour'd volumes through: 
 Now what must lair, impartial reader* <'.<? 
 
 Who has not signalit against the Dieine Legation? liignts, 
 
 Itutchinsouiant, Mttltodists, Answerers, tree-thinkers, and lunatics, hare, 
 in their turns, been a'l up in arms against it. The scene tras opened by a 
 false Zealot, and at present unit* Iiki ', t > ltd l>j a UJunntist :---A natu- 
 ral and easy progress from POLLY to m yM ss. 
 
 Dedication to the first vol. of the second part of the 
 Divine Legation.
 
 64 
 
 Must they not grieve, if either of them treat 
 On Law, or Grace, with rudeness or with heat? 
 Allowing either Zeuxis wondrous skill, 
 T^ y say, " The Centaur is a fable still." 
 
 Thoughts on the Constitution of Human Nature, 
 As represented in the Systems of Modern Philosophers. 
 
 nmMtfw i 
 
 STRONG passions draw, like horses that are strong, 
 The body coach of flesh and blood along; 
 While subtle Reason, with each rein in hand, 
 Sits on the box, and has them at command; 
 Rais'd up aloft to see and to be seen, 
 Judges the track, and guides the gay machine. 
 
 But was it made for nothing else, beside 
 Passions to draw and Reason to be guide? 
 Was so much art employ'd to drag and drive 
 Nothing within the vehicle alive? 
 No seated Mind that claims the moving pew, 
 Master of Passions and of Reason too? 
 
 The grand contrivance why so well equip 
 With strength of Passions, ruPd by Reason's whip? 
 Vainly profuse had apparatus been, 
 Did not a reigning Spirit rest within; 
 Which P?ssions carry, and sound Reason means 
 To render present at pre-order'd scenes. 
 
 They who are loud in human Reason's praise, 
 Who celebrate the Drivers of our days, 
 Seem to Hiopose by their continual bawl 
 That Passions, Reason, and Machine, are all; 
 To them the windows are drawn up; and clear 
 Nothing that does not outwardly appear. 
 
 Matter and Motion,' and superior Man 
 By head and shoulders, form their reas'ning plan;
 
 65 
 
 View'd and demurely ponder'd as they roll ; 
 And scoring traces on the Paper soul, 
 Blank, shaven white, they fill tlf unfurnish'd Pate 
 With new Ideas, none of them innate. 
 
 When these adepts are mounted on a Box 
 Away they gallop thro 1 the gazing flocks, 
 Admir'd the Trappings and high-mettled Brute, 
 And Reason balancing its either foot; 
 While seeing eyes discern at their approach, 
 Fulness of skill and emptiness of Coach. 
 
 'Tis very well that lively Passions draw, 
 That sober Reason keeps them all in awe; 
 The one to run, the other to control, 
 And drive directly to the destined goal. 
 " What goal?" Ay, there the question should begin ;- 
 What Spirit drives the willing Mind within? 
 
 Sense, Reason, Passions, and the like, arc still 
 One self-same Man, whose action is his will; 
 Whose will, if right, will soon renounce the pride 
 Of an own Reason, for an Only Guide ; 
 Will still direct the Drift of his desire 
 As God's unerring Spirit shall inspire. 
 
 ON THE PATRON OF ENGLAND, 
 
 IN A LETTER 
 TO LORD H ILLOUGHRY, 
 
 PRESIDENT OF THE itNTIQU.ARUN SOCIETV. 
 
 The curious hypothesis maintained i* these verses, qf Pope Gregory the Great 
 Iteing tin Patron nf' England, ha* been ably rej'utcd by Dr. l'eggein the 
 bth vol. of the Archa-oUigia. 
 
 Will you please to permit me, my very good Lord, 
 Some night when you meet upon ancient record, 
 Full worthily tilling Antiquity's throne, 
 To propose to your sages a doubt of my own, 
 A certain moot point of a national kind? 
 For it touches all England to have it defin'd 
 F
 
 66 
 
 With a little more fact, by what sort of a right 
 Her Patron, her Saint, is a Cappadox Knight. 
 
 I know what our songs and our stories advance, 
 That St. George is for England, St. Den) s for France; 
 But the French, tho' uncertain what Denys it was, 
 All own he converted and taught 'em their mass; 
 And most other nations, I fancy, remount 
 To some Saint whom they chose upon such an account: 
 But I never could learn, that for any like notion 
 The English made choice of a Knight Cappadocian. 
 
 Their conversion,--a turn worth rememb'ring, I'd hope, 
 To Gregory was owing, a Saint, and a Pope, 
 Who was known by the title of first and the great: 
 He sent to relieve them from Pagan deceit 
 St. Austin the Monk; and both sender and sent 
 Had their days in old Fasti, which mark'd th' event. 
 Now, my Lord, I would ask of the learn'd and laborious, 
 " Has not Geor-gi-us been a mistake for GregoriusV" 
 
 In names so like Ietter T d it would be no wonder 
 If hasty transcribers had made such a blunder; 
 And mistake in the names by a slip of their pen 
 May, perhaps, have occasion'd mistake in the men. 
 That this has been made, to omit all the rest, 
 Let a champion of yours, your own Selden, attest; 
 See i4 on titles of honour" his book in that quarter 
 Where he treats of St. George and the Knights of the garter 
 
 There he quotes from Froissart how at first, on the plan 
 Of a Lady's blue garter, blue Order began, 
 In One Thousand, Three hundred, and forty, and Four; 
 But the name of the Saint in Froissart is Gregore: 
 " So the chronicle-writer or printed, or wrote 
 " For George, without doubt," says the marginal note. 
 Be it there a mistake; but, my Lord, I'm afraid 
 That the same, vice versa, was anciently made. 
 
 For tho' much has been said by the great Antiquarian 
 Of an Orthodox George, Cappadocian, and Arian; 
 " How the soldier first came to be Patron of old 
 " 1 have not," (says he.) " light enough to behold."
 
 67 
 
 He thinks, since of proofs he is sorely in want, 
 A soldier-like nation would choose him for Saint ; 
 For in all his old writings no fragment occurr'd 
 That saluted him Patron till Edward the third. 
 
 That reign he had guessM to be the first time, 
 But for old Saxon prose and for old English Rhyme, 
 Which mention a George, a great Martyr and Saint, 
 Tho 1 they say not a word of the thing that we want. 
 They tell- of his tortures, his death, and his prayV, 
 Without the least hint of the questioned affair, 
 Not being the Patron; with submission to Sodden, 
 1 conjecture, (hat light he was never beheld in. 
 
 The name in French, Latin, and Saxon, 'tis hinted, 
 Some three or four times is mis-writ or mis-printed; 
 He renders it George; but allowing the hint, 
 And the justice of change both in writing and print, 
 Some George by like error, which adds to the doubt. 
 Has turnM our Converter. St. Gregory, out; 
 He or Austin the monk, bids the fairest by far 
 To be Patron of England till Garter and Star. 
 
 In the old Saxon custom of crowning our Kings, 
 As Kclilen has told us, amongst other things 
 They nam'd in the pray'rs which his ]>ages transplant, 
 The VIRGIN, sr. PET Kit, and one other saii.t. 
 Whose connection with Kngland is also expressM, 
 And yields in this case such a probable test, 
 That, a Patron supposed, we may fairly agree 
 Such a Stint is the person, whoever he be. 
 
 Now with MARY and peter, when Monarchs wercrrowird 
 There is only a *sa\cits GKEGOKIl'S found; 
 And his title *ANGLOK(7M iPOSl'OLl'S too. 
 With which a st. geokge can have nothing to do. 
 While Scotland, France, Ireland, and Spain put in claim* 
 Tost. ANDREW. ST. DENVS, ST. PATRICK, ST. J Ml 
 Both Apostle and Patron, an Apostle, her own. 
 Why should England reject lor a Saint so unknown? 
 
 Saint Gregory, the Apostle of the English.
 
 68 
 
 This my Lord, is the matter ; the plain, simple rhymes 
 Lay no fault, you perceive, upon Protestant times. 
 I impute the mistake, it" it should be one, solely 
 To the PontiiTs succeeding who christen'd wars holy, 
 To Monarchs, who, madd'ning around their round tables, 
 Preferr'd to conversion their fighting and fables; 
 When Soldiers were many, good Christians but few, 
 St. george was advanced to st. Gregory's due. 
 
 One may be mistaken, I therefore would beg 
 That a Willis, a Stukeley, an Ames, or a Pegge, 
 In short, that your Lordship and all the fam'd set, 
 Who are under your auspices happily met, 
 In perfect good-humour, which you can inspire 
 As I know by experience, would please to inquire, 
 To search this one question, and settle I hope, 
 " Was old England's old Patron a knight, or a pope?" 
 
 SPECIOUS AND SUPERFICIAL WRITERS. 
 
 HOW rare the case, tho' common the pretence, 
 To write on subjects from a real sense! 
 'Tis many a celebrated author's fate, 
 To print effusions just as Parrots prate; 
 He moulds a matter, that he once was taught, 
 In various shapes, and thinks that it is Thought. 
 Words at command he marshals in array. 
 And proves whatever he is plcas'd to say; 
 While learning like a torrent pours along, 
 And sweeps away the subject, right or wrong. 
 One follows for a while a rolling theme, 
 Toss'd in the middle of the rapid stream ; 
 Till, out of sight, with like impetuous force 
 Torn from its roots, another takes the course, 
 While froth and bubble glaze the flowing mud, 
 And the man thinks all clear and understood;
 
 69 
 
 A ihining surface and a transient view 
 Make the slight-witted reader think so too. 
 It entertains him, and the hook is bought, 
 Read, and admir'd without expense of thought; 
 No tax impos'd upon his wits, his cash 
 Paid without scruple, he enjoys the trash. 
 
 THE 
 
 PASSIVE PARTICIPLES PETITION 
 
 TO THE 
 PRINTER OF THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE. 
 
 URBAN, or Sylvan, or whatever name 
 Delights thee best, thou foremost in the fame 
 Of Magazining chiefs! whose rival page 
 With monthly medley courts the curious age. 
 Hear a poor Passive Participle's case, 
 And, if thou canst, restore me to my place. 
 
 Till just of late good English has thought fit 
 To call me written, or to cail me writ; 
 Hut what is writ or written bv the vote 
 Of writers now. hereafter must be wrote; 
 And what is spoken too, hereafter spoke; 
 And measures, never to be broken, broke. 
 
 I never could be driven ; but, in spite 
 Of Grammar, they have drove me from mv right. 
 None could have risen to become my foes; 
 Hut what a world of enemies have rote! 
 Who have not gone, but they have went about, 
 And, torn as 1 have been, have tore me out. 
 
 Passive I am and would be; and implore 
 That such abuse may be henceforth forbore, 
 If not f arbor n ; for by each spelling book 
 If not mistaken, they are all mistook;
 
 70 
 
 And in plain English it had been as well 
 If what has faU'n upon me, had not fell. 
 
 Since this attack upon me has began, 
 Who knows what length in language may be ran? 
 For if it once be grew into a law, 
 You'll see such work as never has been saw; 
 Part of our speech, and sense, perhaps, beside, 
 Shakes when I'm shook, and dies when I am died. 
 
 Then let the Preter and Imperfect Tense 
 Of my own words to me remit the sense; 
 Or, since we two are oft enough agreed, 
 Let ail the learned take some better heed, 
 And leave the vulgar to confound the due 
 Of Preter tense, and Participle too. 
 
 THE BEAU AND THE BEDLAMITE. 
 
 A patient in Bedlam that did pretty well, 
 Was permitted sometimes to go out of his cell. 
 One day when they gave him that freedom, he spied 
 A beauish young spark with a sword by his side, 
 With a huge silver hilt, and a scabbard of steel, 
 That swung at due length from his hip to his heel. 
 
 When he saw him advance on the gallery ground, 
 The Bedlamite ran, and survey'd him all round; 
 While a waiter suppress'd the young Captain's alarm 
 With " You need not to fear, Sir, he'll do you no harm." 
 At the last he broke out Ave, a very fine show! 
 May I ask him one questio?i? ' What's that?' said the Beau. 
 
 Pray, what is that long, dangling, cumbersome thing, 
 Which you seem to be tied to with riband and string? 
 1 Why, that is my sword?" And what is it to do? 
 ' Kiil'my enemies, master, by running them thro.' 
 Kill your enemies'. Kill a fool' 's head of your own! 
 They'll die of themselves, if you let them alone. 
 2
 
 n 
 
 A REBUS. 
 
 44 THE noblest object in the works of art, 
 *' The brightest scene that nature can impart, 
 " The well-known signal in the time of peace, 
 " The point essential in the tenant's lease, 
 " The farmer's comfort when he holds the plough, 
 44 A soldiers duty, and the lover's vow, 
 44 A contract made before the nuptial tie, 
 " A blessing riches never can supply, 
 44 A spot that adds new charms to pretty faces, 
 " An engine us'd in fundamental cases, 
 " A planet seen between the earth and sun, 
 41 A prize which merit never yet has won, 
 " A loss which prudence seldom can retrieve, 
 " The death of Judas, and the fault of Eve, 
 44 A part between the ancle and the knee, 
 14 A patriot's toast, and a Physician's fee, 
 44 A wife's ambition, and a parson's dues, 
 44 A miser's idol and the badge of Jews. 
 44 If now your happy genius can divine 
 44 The correspondent words to every line, 
 44 IJy the first letters will be plainly found 
 44 An ancient city which is much renown'd."* 
 
 "This Rebus, commonly ascribed to Lord Chesterfield, was sent to the 
 Author with the follow ini; letter, requesting his solution of it. 
 
 "Good Mr. Diaphanus, 
 
 " I have a very ercat opinion of your ingenuity ; 
 " and I know yon love to employ it. If you'll not think my askine 
 " the favour to unravel the following Reboa too isreat an impertinence, 
 " you will, by the discovery, very much oblige, 
 
 Your friend, and most obedient Servant 
 " Chester, March 22nd, 1765. APHANUS. 
 
 ' P. S. You'll please to direct to your old acquaintance Benjamin 
 " >, s."
 
 72 
 
 AN ANSWER 
 TO THE FOREGOING REBUS. 
 
 PAUCIS, friend Aphanus, abhinc diebus,* 
 With no small pleasure I receiv'd a Rebus. 
 *Twas old acquaintance Benjamin's own hand 
 That gave the pleasure, you must understand ; 
 For, all the blesings showVd on mortal men, 
 Rebus in omnibus,t I wish to Ben. 
 
 At his request I sought for ancient city, 
 That lay conceaPd in cabalistic ditty ; 
 So did \ye all: for, when his letter came, 
 Some friends were chairVl around the focal flame ; 
 Not one 'mongst all, the Rebus out could make; 
 Diaphanus himself was quite opaque 
 
 Tho 1 pleas* d with pleasing when he can do. so, 
 His ingenuity he loves to shew; 
 He is as free to own when it does not, 
 If such a thing falls out to be his lot, 
 He had none here, nor any succedaneum, 
 Which could discover this same herculaneum~ 
 
 Altho' it seem'd to ask, when it appear'd, 
 No great Herculean labour to be clear'd; 
 So many difFrent wits at work, no doubt 
 The city's name would quickly be found out ! 
 But notwithstanding ^Variorum lecture, 
 The name lay snug without the least detecture. 
 
 You stand entitled hereupon to laugh 
 At hapless genius in your friend Diaph. 
 But, in excuse for what he must confess, 
 Nor men, nor even Ladies, here could guess; 
 No more of ancient city than Old Sarum 
 To Variorum seen r or Variarum. 
 
 A few days ago. t In all things. % The reading of various men. 
 Of various Ladies.
 
 73 
 
 One good, however, rose on this occasion,- 
 It put an end to fears of French Invasion; 
 And wits, quite frighten'd out of Dames and Men y 
 When Rebus came, came into them again; 
 Tho' little skill'd to judge of either matter, 
 Vet the more pleasing puzzle was the latter. 
 
 It will occur to you, on second thought, 
 That, though we miss'd the city that was sought, 
 We might have told you somewhat ol the guesses 
 Of bidders neighbours and neighbouresscs ; 
 So let us try to give you just an Item, 
 For it would take a volume to recite 'em. 
 
 ' I can't divine,' said Chloe, * for my part, 
 4 What the man means by noblest work of art: 
 4 From clock to temple, pyramid, and ship, 
 ' And twenty diff'rent handiworks you skip. 
 1 Now I dare say, when all your votes are past, 
 4 City er work, 'tis Dresden at the last.' 
 
 ' Nor I,' said Phyllis, ' what the man can mean 
 ' Ry his next hint of Nature's brightest seme. 
 ' Among so many of her scenes so bright 
 4 Who can devise whi^h of them is the right? 
 4 I'll name a word where brightest scene must lie; 
 4 To speak my own opinion, Sirs, 'tis Eye,' 
 
 4 Peace,' said a third of I forget what sex, 
 4 Has well-known sipial that may well perplex; 
 4 It should be Olive branch, to be well known; 
 4 But Rebus, unconfin'd to that alone, 
 4 May mean abundance, plenty, riches, trade; 
 4 Who knows the signal that is here display'd?' 
 
 Thus they went on: but, though I stir its embers, 
 It is not much that memory remembers. 
 Two Ladies had a long disputing match 
 Whether charm-adding spat was Mole or patch; 
 While none would venture to decide the Vole,* 
 One had a patch and t' other had a Mole. 
 
 *Tlie winning of all the tricks at card*.
 
 74 
 
 So Wife's Ambition made a parted school; 
 Some said, " to please her husband," some, " to rule;" 
 On this moot point, too, Rebus would create, 
 As you may guess, a pretty smart debate, 
 Till one propos'd to end it thus with ease, 
 " The only way to rule him is to please." 
 
 Hold ! 1 forgot : One said, a Parson's dues 
 Was the same thing with shining badge of Jews, 
 And it was Tithe, of corn, or pig. or goose ; 
 What earth, or animals of earth produce, 
 From calf and lamb to turnip and potatoe, 
 Might be the word, which he had nought to say to. 
 
 For an excuse is made, upon the whole, 
 The two great number of the words, that poll 
 For correspondency to ev'ry line, 
 And make the meant one tedious to divine ; 
 But we suspect that other points ambiguous, 
 And eke unfair, contribute to fatigue us. 
 
 For, first, with due submission to our betters, 
 What ancient city could have eighteen letters? 
 Or more? for, in the latter lines, the clue 
 May have one correspondent word or two. 
 Clue should have said, if only one occurr'd, 
 Not " correspondent worda" to each, but " icord." 
 
 From some suspicions of a bite, we guess 
 The number of the letters to be less ; 
 And from expression of a certain cast, 
 Some joke unequal to the pains at last. 
 Could you have said that all was right and clever, 
 Ours would have been more fortunate endeavour. 
 
 " There should be always in a *JEU de mots 
 " Clear-pointed turn, short, fair, and a propose 
 " Wit without straining; neatness without starch, 
 " Hinted tho 1 hidden; decent, tho' 'tis arch; 
 " No vile idea should disgrace a Rebus," 
 
 SIC DICUNT MUS.S, SIC EDICIT PHffiBUS. t 
 
 : A sport with words, t So say the Muses, so commands Apollo (the 
 tutelary God of poetry and elocjuence.)
 
 75 
 
 This, Aplianus, tho 1 short of satisfaction, 
 Is what account occurs of the transaction, 
 1 in pertinent enough ; but you'll excuse 
 What your own Postscript half enjoin'd the Muse 
 She, when she took the sudden task upon her, 
 Did it, believe me, to oblige your honour. 
 
 THOUGHTS 
 
 ON RHYME AND BLANK VERSE. 
 
 WHAT a deal of impertinent stuff at this time 
 Comes out about verses in Blank and in Rhyme. 
 To determine their merits by critical Prose, 
 And treat the two parties as if they were foes! 
 The allotting so gravely, for settling their rank, 
 Of all bondage to Rhyme and all freedom to Blank, 
 lias provok'd a few Rhymes to step forth and repress. 
 The pedantical whim, now increas'd to excess; 
 
 Not to hinder the dupes of this fanciful wit 
 From retailing its maxims whene'er they think fit; 
 Hut to caution young Bards, if in danger to waste 
 Any genius for verse on so partial a taste, 
 That (while to hlank verse is allow'd the pretence 
 Which to freedom it claims) they, supported by sense. 
 For words without any, may never neglec t 
 Of Rhyme freely Bowing the pleasing effect. 
 
 Here are two special terms which the Sophisters mingle, 
 To be sauce for the rest, to wit. Fetters and J inj 
 And because a weak writer may chance to expose 
 Very ill-chosen words to such phrases as those, 
 The unthinking reflectors sit down to their rote. 
 And pronounce against Rhyme th 1 undi-tinguishing vote. 
 Sole original this, in the petulant school, 
 Of its idle objections to METRE and RULE.
 
 76 
 
 For to what other fetters are verses confin'd 
 Whether made up of blank or of metrical kind? 
 If a man has not taste for poetical lines, 
 Can't he let them alone, saying what he designs 
 Upon some other points in his unfetter'd way, 
 And contemn, if he will, all numerical lay? 
 But the fashion, forsooth, must affect the sublime, 
 The grand, the pathetic, and rail against Rhyme. 
 
 Blank verse is the thing: tho\ whoever tries both, 
 Will find of its fetters a plentiful growth, 
 Many chains to be needful to measure his ground, 
 And keep the sublime within requisite bound. 
 If a laudable product in Rhyme should, perhaps, 
 Extort some applause from these exquisite Chaps, 
 They express it quite shily, for fear of a fetter, 
 " Had the Rhyme been neglected the work had been better." 
 
 'Tis thus they begin with their jingle (or rattle 
 As some of them call it) the delicate battle ;! 
 44 By the nature of Rhyme, 1 ' they cry, "to be sure 
 "The sense must be cramped and render'd obscure." 
 As if Blank by its grandeur and inagnify'd pause, 
 Was secure in its freedom from any such flaws; 
 Tho' so apt in bad hands to give readers offence, 
 By the rattling of sound and the darkness of sense. 
 
 All the arguments form'd against metrical song, 
 And twisted and twin'd as they prose it along, 
 Presuppose the poor maker to be but a dunce: 
 For, if that be not true, they all vanish at once. 
 If it be, what advantage has blank in the case 
 From counting bad verses by unit or brace? 
 Nothing else can result from the critical rout 
 But, "A Blockhead's a Blockhead, with Rhyme or without." 
 
 It came, as they tell us, from ignorant Moors, 
 And by growth of fine taste will be turn'd out of doors: 
 Two insipid conceits at a venture intwin'd 
 And void of all proof both before and behind. 
 Too old its reception to tell of its ao-e; 
 Its downfall, if taste could but fairly presage,
 
 77 
 
 When the bees of the country make honey no more, 
 VViii then certainly come, not a moment before. 
 
 Till then it will reign; and, while here and there spread. 
 Blank verse like an Aloe rears up its head, 
 And fre.-h from the hot-house successfully towVs 
 To make people stare at the height ot its fiow'rs, 
 The variety, sweetness, and smoothness of Rhyme 
 Will flourish, bedeck'd, in its natural clime, 
 With numberless beauties; will frequently shoot 
 If cherish'd aright, into blossom and fruit. 
 
 But stuffing their heads in these classical days. 
 Full of Homer, and Virgil, and Horace, and Plays; 
 And finding that Rhyme is in none of the four, 
 'Tis enough, the tine-tasters have gotten their lore. 
 And away they run on with their words in a string, 
 Which they throw up at Rhyme with a finical fling; 
 But to rpach its full sweetness not willing nor able, 
 They talk about taste like the Fox in the fable. 
 
 To the praise of old Metre it quitted the Stage, 
 In abhorrence of tragical ranting and rage, 
 Which with heights and with depths of distresses enrich'd. 
 Verse and Prose, art and nature, and morals bewitched, 
 All the native .agreements of language disgrae'd, 
 Thai theatrical pomp might intoxicate taste ; 
 Still retaining poor Blank, in its tetters held fast, 
 To bemoan its hard fate in romantic bombast. 
 
 "Tis the Subject, in fine, in the matter of song. 
 That inikesa Blank verse or a Rhyme to be wrong; 
 If unjust or improper, unchaste or profane, 
 It disgraces alike all poetical strain; 
 J I' not. the possessor of tunable skill 
 Unfetter'd, unjingled, may take which he will, 
 Any plan to which freedom and judgment impel; 
 All the business he knows is- to execute well.
 
 78 
 
 SAINT PHILIP NERI AND THE YOUTH. 
 
 But seek ye Jirst the kingdom of God and his righteousness ; and all these 
 things sJiall be added unto you. Mat. vi. 33. 
 
 SAINT Philip Neri, as old readings say, 
 Met a young stranger in Rome's streets one day ; 
 And being ever courteously inclin'd 
 To give young folks a sober turn of mind, 
 He fell into discourse with him; and thus 
 The dialogue they held comes down to us, 
 ' Tell me what brings you, gentle youth, to Rome?' 
 To make myself a scholar, Sir, I come. 
 4 And when you are one, what do you intend?' 
 To be a Priest, I hope, Sir, in the end. 
 4 Suppose it so, what have you next in view?' 
 That I may get to be a Canon too. 
 
 4 Well; and how then?" 1 Why, then, for aught I know < 9 
 I may be made a Bishop. i Be it so ; 
 ' What then?' Why, Cardinal's a high degree; 
 And yet my lot it possibly may be. 
 4 Suppose it was; what then?' Why, who can say 
 But Pee a chance of being Pope one day? 
 4 Well; having worn the mitre, the red hat, 
 ' And triple crown, what follows after that?' 
 Nay, there is nothing further, to be sure, 
 Upon this earth that wishing can procure. 
 . When Pve enjorfd a dignity so high 
 As long as God shall please, then I MUST DIE. 
 4 What! must you die, fond youth ?--and at the best 
 4 But wish, and hope, and may be all the rest? 
 4 Take my advice; whatever may betide, 
 4 For that which must be first of all provide, 
 4 Then think of that which may be; and indeed, 
 4 When well prepard who knows what may succeed? 
 4 You yet may be, as you are pleas'd to hope, 
 4 Priest, Canon, Eishop, Cardinal, and Pope.'
 
 79 
 
 ADVICE 
 
 TO THE REV. MESSRS. H AND H . 
 
 RESPECTING THEIR PREACHING SLOJfLY. 
 
 Brethren, this comes to let you know 
 That I would have you to preach slow ; 
 To give the words of a discourse 
 Their proper time, and lite, and force ; 
 To urge what you think lit to say 
 In a sedate, pathetic way, 
 Grave and delib'rate,* as 'tis fit 
 To comment upon Holy Writ. 
 
 Many a good sermon gives distaste, 
 By being spoke in too much haste; 
 Which, had it been pronoune'd with leisure, 
 Would have been listen'd to with pleasure; 
 And thus the preacher often gains 
 His labour only for his pains; 
 As, if you doubt it, may appear 
 From evVy Sunday in the year. 
 
 For how, indeed, can one expect 
 The best discourse should take effect, 
 Unless the maker thinks it worth 
 Some cap' and pains to set it forth? 
 What! does he think the pains he took 
 To write it fairly in a book, 
 Will do the bus*ness? -Not a bit: 
 It must be spoke as well as writ. 
 
 What is a sermon, good or bad, 
 If a man reads it like a lad? 
 To hear some people when they preach 
 I low they run o'er all parts of speech, 
 And neither raise a word nor sink. 
 Our learned bishops, one would think,
 
 80 
 
 Had taken school boys from the rod 
 To make ambassadors for God. 
 
 So perfect is the Christian scheme, 
 He that from thence shall take his theme, 
 And time to have it understood, 
 His sermon cannot but be good. 
 If he'll not cease from preaching stuff, 
 No time, indeed, is short enough ; 
 E'en let him read it like a letter, 
 The sooner it is done the better. 
 
 But for a man that has a head, 
 (Like yours or mine, I'd almost said) 
 That can upon occasion raise 
 A just remark, a proper phrase, 
 For such a one to run along, 
 Tumbling his accents o'er his tongue, 
 Shews only that a man at once 
 May be a scholar and a dunce. 
 
 In point of sermas, 'tis confess'd, 
 Our English Clergy make the best. 
 But this appears, we must confess, 
 Not from the pulpit, but the press. 
 They manage, with disjointed skill, 
 The matter well, the manner ill; 
 And, what seems paradox at first 
 They make the best and preach the worst. 
 
 Would they but speak as well as write, 
 Each excellence they would unite; 
 The outward action being taught 
 To shew the strength of inward thought. 
 Now, to do this our short-hand school 
 Lays down this plain and gen'ral rule, 
 " Take time enough," all other graces 
 Will soon fill up their proper places.
 
 81 
 
 VERSES 
 
 To the same Gentlemen, 
 
 ON PREACHING EXTEMPORE. 
 
 THE hint I gave some time ago, 
 Brethren, about your preaching slow, 
 You took, it seems; and thereupon 
 Could make two Sermons out of one. 
 Now this regard to former lines 
 Paid so successfully, inclines 
 To send my counsel's second part, 
 " Try if you cannot preach by heart. 1 ' 
 
 Be not alarm'd, as if regard 
 To this \vould prove so very hard. 
 My first admonishment you fear'd . 
 Would so turn out; till it appearM 
 That custom only made to seem 
 So difficult in your esteem 
 What, upon trial, now procures 
 Your hearers' 1 case, and also yours. 
 
 Do but consider hotv the case 
 Now stands in fact in evVy place, 
 All Christendom almost around, 
 Except on our reformed ground, 
 The greatest part untaught to brook 
 A preacher's reading from a book, 
 Would scarce advance within his reach. 
 Or then acknowledge him to preach. 
 
 Long after preaching first began 
 How unconceivM a READING plan! 
 The rise of which, whatever date 
 May be assign'd, is very late. 
 The manuscriptal reading rote 
 Is from antiquity remote;
 
 82 
 
 No need, no reason prompted then 
 The pulpit to consult the pen. 
 
 However well prepar'd before 
 By pond'ring or by writing o'er 
 What he should say, still it was SAID 
 By him that preach'd, it was not read. 
 Could ancient memory, then, better 
 Forbear from poring o'er the letter 
 Than yours? Brethren, if you'll but try r 
 That fact I'll venture to deny. 
 
 Moderns of late give proofs e'now, 
 Too many ! as it seems to you, 
 That matters of religious kind 
 Stor'd up within the thoughtful mind, 
 With any care and caution stor'd, 
 Sufficient utterance afford 
 To tell an audience what they think, 
 Without the help of pen and ink. 
 
 How apt to think, too, is the throng 
 A preacher short, a reader long ! 
 The people claim to be the book 
 That should attract a pastor's look. 
 If you lament a careless age, 
 Averse to hear the pulpit page, 
 Speak from within not from without. 
 And heart to heart will turn about. 
 
 Try this, and if you can't succeed, 
 'Twill then be right for you to read ; 
 Altho' the heart, if that's your choice,. 
 Must still accompany the voice. 
 Should you at length succeed, and take 
 The hint, you must not merely make 
 Preaching ex tempore* the view, 
 
 But EX jETERNITATE too. 
 
 * Extempore, when used as an adopted English word, signifies without 
 premeditation. But a double meaning being here intended, in con- 
 nection with ex eetemitate, it conveys this advice, " Preach not with 
 a view to present things alone, but as for eternity.
 
 83 
 
 VERSES 
 
 On Clergymen preaching politics, 
 ADDRESSED TO RALPH LEYCESTER ESQ. 
 
 INDEED, Sir Peter, I could wish, I own, 
 That parsons would let politics alone; 
 Plead, if they will, the customary plea 
 For such like talk when o'er a dish of tea; 
 But when they tease us with it from the pulpit, 
 I own, Sir Peter, that I cannot gulp it. 
 
 If on their rules a Justice should intrench, 
 By preaching us a sermon from the bench, 
 Would you not think, your brother magistrate 
 Was touch'd a little in his hinder pate? 
 Now, which is worse, Sir Peter, on the total, 
 The lay vagary or the sacerdotal? 
 
 In ancient times when preachers preach'd indeed 
 Their sermons, ere the learned learnt to read, 
 Another Spirit and another life 
 Shut the Church doors against all party strife; 
 Since then how oft is heard from sacred rostrums 
 The lifeless din of Whig and Tory nostrums! 
 
 Tis wrong, Sir Peter, I insist upon't, 
 To common sense a manifest affront. 
 The parson leaves the Christian in the lurch, 
 Whene'er he brings his politics to Church. 
 If he his cant, on either side, calls preaching 
 The man's wrong-headed, and his brains want bleaching. 
 
 Recall the time from Conquering William's reign. 
 And guess the Iruits of such a preaching vein: 
 How oft its nonsense must have veer'd about. 
 Just as the politics were in or out!
 
 84 
 
 The pulpit govern'd by no Gospel data T 
 But new success still mending old errata. 
 
 Were I a king, God bless me! I should hate 
 My chaplains meddling with affairs of state; 
 Nor would my subjects, I should think, be fond 
 Whene'er their priests the Bible went beyond. 
 How well, methinks, we both should live together, 
 If these good folks would keep within their tether! 
 
 THE 
 
 VISION OF MOSES. 
 
 MOSES, to whom by a peculiar grace 
 God spake the Hebrew phrase is, " face to face," 
 Caird by a heav'nly voice, the Rabbins say, 
 Ascended to a mountain's top one day, 
 Where, in some points perplex'd, his mind was eas'd, 
 And doubts concerning providence appeas'd. 
 
 During the Colloquy Divine, say they, 
 The prophet was commanded to survey 
 And mark what happen' d on the plain below: 
 There he pereeiv'd a fine, clear spring to iiow 
 Just at the mountain's foot, to which, anon, 
 A soldier in his course came riding on ; 
 Who taking notice of the fountain, stopp'd, 
 Alighted, drank, and in remounting dropp'd 
 A purse of gold; but, as the precious load 
 Fell unsuspected, he pursued his road. 
 Scarce had he gone when a young lad came by ; 
 And, as the purse lay just before his eye, 
 He took it up, and, finding its content, 
 Secur'd the treasure, and away he went. 
 Soon after him a poor, infirm old man, 
 With age and travel weary quite, and wan, 
 Came to the spring to quench his thirst ; he drank, 
 And then sat down to rest him on the bank.
 
 85 
 
 While there he sat, the soldier on his tratk, 
 
 Missing hw gold, return'd directly back, 
 
 Lit from his horse, began to swear and curse, 
 
 And ask'd the poor old fellow for his purse. 
 
 He solemnly protested o'er and o'er, 
 
 With liands and eyes uplifted to implore 
 
 HeavVs attestation to the truth, that he 
 
 Nor purse nor gold had ever chancM to see; 
 
 'Twas ail in vain, the man beiiev'd him not, 
 
 But drew his sword and stabb'd him on the spot. 
 
 Moses with horror and amazement seiz'd, 
 Fell on his face; The Voice Divine was pleas'd 
 To give the prophet's anxious mind relief, 
 Preventing thus expostulating grief; 
 44 Be not Burprk'd, nor ask how such a deed 
 " The world's Just Judge could suffer to succeed. 
 " The child has caus'd the passion, it is true, 
 " That made the soldier run the old man thro'; 
 " But know one fact, tho' never ye! found out, 
 4i And judge how that would banish ev"ry doubt, 
 41 This same old man, through passion once as wild, 
 " Murder'd the father of that very child." 
 
 ON 
 
 THE AUTHORS COAT OF ARMS. 
 
 Some sire of ours, beloved kinsfolk, chose 
 The Hedge-hog for his arms; I would suppose 
 With aim to hint instruction wise and good 
 To us. descendants of his Byrom blood: 
 I would infer, if you be of this mind. 
 The very lesson that our sire designed. 
 
 He had observ'd that nature gave a sense 
 To ev'ry creature, of its own defence, 
 G 2
 
 86 
 
 Down from the lion with his tearing jaws, 
 To the poor cat that scratches with her paws, 
 All shew'd their force, when put upon the proof 
 Wherein it lay, teeth, talons, horn, or hoof. 
 
 Pleas'd with the Porcupine, whose native art 
 Is said to distance danger by his dart, 
 To rout his foes before they come too near, 
 From ev'ry hurt of close encounter clear; 
 This, had not one thing bated of its price, 
 Had been our worthy ancestor's device. 
 
 A foe to none, but ev'ry body's friend, 
 And loath, ah ho' offended, to offend, 
 He sought to find an instance, if it could 
 By any creature's art be understood, 
 That might betoken safety when attack'd, 
 Yet where all hurt should be a foe's own act. 
 
 At last the Hedge-hog came into his thought, 
 And gave the perfect emblem that he sought. 
 This little creature, all offence aside, 
 Rolls up i<self in its own prickly hide 
 When danger comes ; and they that will abuse, 
 Do it themselves, when their own hurt ensues. 
 
 Methinks, I hear the venerable sac;e, 
 " Children! Descendants all thro' ev'ry age! 
 " Learn from the prudent Urchin in your Arms, 
 " How to secure yourselves from worldly harms. 
 " Give no offence, to you if oihers will, 
 " Firmly wrapp'd up within yourselves, be still. 
 
 " This animal is giv'n for outward sign 
 " Of inward, true Sincerity Divine. 
 " Sharp on your minds let pointed virtues grow, 
 " That, without injuring, resi.-t a foe.: 
 " Surround with these an honest, harmless heart, 
 t; And He that dwells in it will take your part. 
 
 " Whatever ills your Christian peace molest, 
 " Turn to the source of grace within your breast; 
 " There lies your safety Oh! that all my kin 
 " May ever seek it, where 'tis found, within! 
 ; "No ills can ever long that soul annoy 
 Which makes its God tlie ce 'J r /e of its joy."
 
 87 
 
 VERSES 
 
 Intended to have been spoken 
 
 At the commencement of the vacation of the Free Grammar School in 
 
 Manchester, in the year 1748. 
 
 At this time Lauder's charge of plagiarism against Milton engaged the 
 attention of the public, and wax eagerly embraced and invidiously retailed 
 by some names eminent in literature. Among the most malevolent oj these 
 was Dr. Johnson, our great lexicographer. H. gloried in Laudn's sup- 
 posed discovery, with all the phlegmatic rancour which he entertained 
 against Milton for his attachment to Republicanism and for his excellence 
 as an epic poet. Whether this conduct proceeded fio in a disposition natu- 
 rally too prone to credulity, or from low malignity mi wit ''ousy, 
 remains yet undetermined. The truly charitable will alw ly* inclin the 
 former opinion. Certain it is, however, thai when the deteeter tn '- 
 rism was himself found guilty of the grossest fabrications, .1 .hi. .. ised 
 from his unmanly persecution itf' the honoured manes <f Milton : an 1 to his 
 honour let it be recorded, that he could neier qfterwards bear .-. n '.'< ca- 
 sual mention of Lauder's name, without a bins! of -., mw or of si one 
 at baring been connected with him in an attempt toplut k well-earned laurels 
 from the brow of genius. 
 
 A fine and diversified vindication qfthegreatest qfour British Hards is 
 presented to 111 in these purposely puerile effusions. All of them set out 
 with allowing the fact, of Milton having taken the matters 1,. st suitable 
 to his purposes from every quarter where they could be discovered. 
 
 THE MASTER'S SPEECH. 
 
 Our worthy Founder, Gentlemen, this day 
 Appoints our youth an hour's poetic play, 
 And that 1 yearly at this time should choose 
 A smgie sin) eci tor their varied muse, 
 That you may see how fancy will create 
 A different image in each youngster's pate. 
 
 Now. since our Milton, a renowned name. 
 Has been affack'd tor stealing into tame, 
 ? told them, " Lads, new be upon your guard; 
 " Exert yourselves, and save your famous hard. 
 * k He's call'd a plagiary ; 'tis yours to shew 
 The vain reproach, to *iicncc Milton's foe,
 
 88 
 
 " The point at which ye now must take your aim, 
 " Remember as ye rhyme, is milton's FAME; 
 " Fame as a Poet only, as attack'd 
 " For plund'ring verses: ne'er contest the fact; 
 " Defend your bard, tho 1 granted ; and confine 
 " To three times six, at most, your eager line." 
 
 Then lend a fav'ring ear while they rehearse 
 Short, and almost extemporary verse, 
 A thought work'd up that came into the mind, 
 With rhymes the first and fittest they could find: 
 Such was their task ; the boys have done their best ; 
 Take what you like, Sirs, and excuse the rest. 
 
 THE FIRST BOY. 
 
 Milton pursued in numbers more sublime, 
 Tilings unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. 
 'Tis said, ' the bard did but pretend to soar ; 
 4; For, such and such attempted them before." 
 
 An age has now elaps'd since Milton writ: 
 The rest are sunk into oblivion's pit; 
 A critic diving to their wrecks, perhaps, 
 Has now and then brought up some loosen'd scraps. 
 
 We'll not dispute the value of them now, 
 But say one thing which critics must allow, 
 Which ail the nations round us will confess, 
 " Milton alone attempted with success." 
 
 THE SECOND BOY. 
 
 When Milton's ghost into Elysium came 
 To mix with claimants for poetic fame, 
 Some rose (he celebrated bard to meet, 
 Welcom'd, and laid their laurels at his feet. 
 
 " Immortal Shades," said he, if aught be due 
 " To my attempts, 'tis owing all to you;" 
 Then took the laurels fresh'ning from his hand, 
 And crown'd the temples of the sacred band.
 
 89 
 
 Others in crowds stood muttering behind, 
 " Who is the truest? He looks as lie were blind.- 
 "Oil! this is Milton, to be sure,- the nun, 
 " Who stole from others all his rliymelessplan; 
 
 " From those conceited gentlemen, perchance, 
 44 Who rush to hail him with such complaisance. 
 44 Ay, that's the reason of this fawning fuss: 
 " I like ftiui not; HE NEVER stole from us." 
 
 THE THIRD BOY. 
 
 " Crime in a Poet, Sirs, to steal a thought?" 
 No, that 'tis not, if it be good for aught. 
 'Tis lawlul theft; 'tis laudable to boot; 
 'Tis want of genius if he cannot do't. 
 The fool admires, the man of sense alone 
 Lights on a happy thought, and makes it all his own, 
 
 F.ips like a bee along the muse's field, 
 Peeps in and tastes what ev'ry flow'r can yield, 
 Free, from tie various blossoms that lie moots, 
 T< pick and cull, and carry homo the sweets; 
 W'liiic* ini^i u thousand sweets the stingless drone, 
 Sluggishly sauut'ring forth, makes none of them his own. 
 
 THE FOURTH HOY. 
 
 A critic one* to a Miltonian made 
 Of Milton's plagiarisms a long parade. 
 To prove Ins work not owing to hi* genius, 
 Bui t> AiM'.irs KxrL and MaSENH :>, 
 That he had stol'n the greater pari by much 
 Both of his plan and matter from the ditch. 
 
 His Abdiel, linesf characters, he took. 
 And heav'nly scenes, from such and such a book; 
 His liollish too the same, from such a one 
 Ho stole his Pandemonium, and so on; 
 Till Milton's Iriend criod out at last, quite giddy, 
 44 Poh! hold thy tongue! He stole the devil, did he?'
 
 90 
 
 THE FIFTH BOY. 
 
 When Oxford saw in her Radclivian dome 
 Greek skill and Roman rivallM here at home, 
 Wond'ring she stood, till one judicious spark 
 Address'd the crowd, and made this sage remark, - 
 *' The most unlicens'd plagiary, this Gibbs! 
 " Nothing in all his pile but what he cribs. 
 
 " The ground he builds upon is not his own ; 
 " I know the quarry whence he had his stone, 
 44 The forest too where all his timber grow'd, 
 " The forge in which his fused metals flow'd; 
 " Slightly survey the edifice intire, 
 " 'Tis all a borrow'd work from base to spire."" 
 
 Thus with our epic architect he deals. 
 Who says that Milton in his poem steals; 
 Steals, if he will.;" but without license?" No; 
 Pedlars in verse unmeaningly do so. 
 Him Phoebus licens'd ; and the Muses nine 
 Help'd the rare thief to raise up a design. 
 
 THE SIXTH BOY. 
 
 Lauder ! thy authors Dutch and German 
 There is no need to disinter, man! 
 To search the mouldVing anecdote 
 For source of all that Milton wrote; 
 We'll own, from these and many more 
 The bard enrichM his aniole store 
 
 Phoebus himself could not escape 
 The tricks of this poetic ape; 
 For, to complete his daring vole,* 
 From his eniiven'd wheels he stole, 
 Prometheus like, the solar ray 
 That animated all his clay. 
 
 * A corruption of t!ie French word vol, which signifies theft.
 
 91 
 
 Prometheus like, then, chain him down, 
 Prey on his vitals of renown, 
 With critic talons and with beak 
 Upon his fame thy vengeance wreak; 
 It grows again at ev'ry hour, 
 Fast as the vulture can devour. 
 
 THE SEVENTH BOY. 
 
 Miltonum vir (O facinus nefarium!) 
 Exagitavit tanquam plagiarium. 
 Miramur, hanc qui protulisset thesin, 
 Quid esse Mom us erederet Poesin. 
 Num. (ju.rso, vu!t ut, hftc obstetricante, 
 Dicendum m quod nemo dixit ante ? 
 
 O admirandam hominis versuti 
 (' iiditatera, qua volebat uti! 
 Dixissct ip.-:e. nimium socurus, 
 QiH"i nemo dicet praesens aut futurus, 
 I). .1,1 felis ungues persequontur murcm, 
 Miltonum, scilicet, luisse turem. 
 
 Exulent ergo, (ejus ex e flat is) 
 Quicunque n< men usurparint vat is; 
 Nullum vocemus, prorsus, ad examen 
 Enruiii sensum, vim. aut raodulamen; 
 Furantur < nines: habeamus verum 
 Piiciam exhinc unicum Lauderr.ni!* 
 
 * Ti:< c Mi t.kis! rhymes maj be thu* translated, O base villainy! A 
 man ha persecuted Milton a* a plagiary ! \\ e wonder in what poetry 
 would lie thought t.i consist l>v Momus, 1 1 1 * rod of caviller* > who mast 
 have broached this opinion. Do you suppose it to he his wish, when 
 po< iv lends her aid, that a person should then utter what no one ever 
 said in fore i 
 
 () the wondrous wisdom of a clever man, which he was desirous of 
 practising! He in too much security would have said that " Milton has 
 been a thief;" an assertion which no one now or hereafter will make, a* 
 long the claws of a cat shall wage warajrainst a mouse 
 
 Banished therefore, according to his maxims, be every one who has 
 arrogated to liimseifthe title of bard. In examinine them let us entire- 
 ly disregard their sense, force, or harmony. All of them are robbers; 
 Jet us henceforth have one true poet, and let bun be La* der.
 
 92 
 
 / A DIALOGUE ON CONTENTMENT. 
 John and Phebe. 
 
 John. WHAT ills, dear Phebe, would it not prevent 
 To learn this one short lesson, *> be content!" 
 No very hard prescription in effect 
 This same content; and yet thro' its neglect, 
 Whai mighty evils do " we human elves," 
 As Prior calls us, bring upon ourselves! 
 Evils that nature never meant us tor, 
 Vacuums which heartily she does abhor. 
 Of all the ways of judging things amiss 
 No instance shews our weakness more than this, 
 That men on earth won't set their hearts at rest, 
 When God in heaven does all things lor the best. 
 What strange, absurd perverscness! 
 
 Phehe. Hold, good brother! 
 Don't put yourself, I pray, in such a pother. 
 " 'Tis a line ihing to be content;" why, true, 
 "Tis just and right we know as well as you; 
 And yet to be so, after all this rout, 
 Has sometimes puzzled you, I make no doubt. 
 Folks in the vigour of their health and strength 
 May rail at discontent, in words at length., 
 Who yet when disappointed of their wishes, 
 Will put you oif with surly humphs and pishes. 
 ** Let's be content and easy," gen'ral stuff! 
 Your happy people are content enough. 
 If you would reason to the purpose, shew 
 How they who are unhappy may be so; 
 How they who are in sickness, want, or pain, 
 May get their health, estate, and ease again; 
 How they 
 
 John. Nay, Phebe, don't go on so fast; 
 Your just rebuke now suits yourself at last. 
 Methiuks ycu wander widely from the fact; 
 'Tis not how you, or I, or others act,
 
 93 
 
 That we are talking of, but how we should; 
 
 A rule tho 1 ill observ'd may still be good. 
 
 Nor did I say that a contented will 
 
 Would hinder all, but many sorts of ill; 
 
 This it will do; and give me leave to say, 
 
 Twill lessen what it cannot take away. 
 
 You said yourself, 'twas just; I think you did, 
 
 Phebe. Yes; I don't deny it; 
 
 John. Good sense forbid 
 JThat e'er you should! Its practice then, perchance, 
 Is monstrous hard in many a circumstance. 
 
 Phebe. " Monstrous!" why " monstrous?" Let that 
 word he barr'd, 
 I shall not hesitate to think it " hard," 
 And very hard; nay, I could almost add, 
 That in some cases 'tis not to be had. 
 
 John. " Not to be had!" Content! It C09ts us nought: 
 'Tis purchas'd only with a little thought; 
 We need not fetch it from a distant clime, 
 At home it may be found at any time; 
 Our very cares contribute to its growth; 
 It knows no check but voluntary sloth; 
 None but ourselves can rob us of its fruit; 
 It finds, whene'er we use it. fresh recruit; 
 The more we gather, still the more it thrives, 
 Fresh as our hopes and lasting as our lives. 
 " Not to be had" is wrong; but I forgot, 
 You did not say quid: absolutely u not," 
 Hut could almost have said so; the ulmont 
 Was meant perhaps against a florid boast 
 Of such content as when atrial came 
 Severe enough, would hardly own its name. 
 
 Phebe. Perhaps it was, and now your fire is spent, 
 You can reflect, I find, that this content, 
 Which you arc fond of celebrating so, 
 May now and then be difficult to shew; 
 So difficult that 
 
 John. Hold a bit, or ten 
 To one the chance, thai I shall fire again;
 
 ' 'Tis just and right,' 1 is own'd by you and me; 
 Now lor my part, I rather choose to see 
 The easiness of what is just and right, 
 Which makes it mere encouraging to sight, 
 Than scare-crow hardships that almost declare 
 Content an uncome-at-able affair. 
 And consequently tenpt one to distrust 
 As difficulties, what is right and ju.4. 
 Thus 1 object to hardship; if you please, 
 Shew for what reason you object to ease; 
 
 Pkebe. Why, for this reason, tho 1 it should be true 
 That what is just and right is easy too, 
 Such ease is nothing of a talking kind; 
 It is right will, which likes to be resign'd, 
 And cherishes a grace which with regard 
 To the unpiactis'd, may sometimes be hard. 
 You treat content as if it were a weed 
 Of neither cost nor culture, when indeed, 
 It is as line a flow'r as can be found 
 Within the mind's best cultivated ground; 
 Where like a seed, it must have light and air 
 To help its growth, according to the care 
 That owners take, whose philosophic skill 
 Will much depend upon the weather still; 
 Good should not make them careless, nor should bad 
 Discourage 
 
 John. Right, provided it be had ; 
 I'll not dispute, but own, what you have said 
 Has hit the nail directly on the head. 
 Easy or hard, all pains within our pow'r 
 Are well bestow'd on such a charming flow'r.
 
 95 
 
 TOM THE PORTER 
 
 AS Tom the porter went up Ludgate Hill, 
 A swingeing show'r oblig'd him to stand still; 
 So in the right-hand passage thro' the gate 
 He pitch'd his burden down just by the grate, 
 From which there came in doleful sounds away, 
 *' Pity the poor and hungry debtors pray. 1 ' 
 
 To the same garrison from Paul's Churchyard 
 A half-drown'd soldier ran to mount the guard; 
 Now Tom, (it seems) the Ludgafeer, and he 
 Were formerly acquaintances all three; 
 And as the coast was clear by cloudy weather, 
 They quickly fell into discourse together. 
 
 'Twas in December when the Highland Clans 
 Had got to Derbyshire from Preston"Pans, 
 Had struck all London with a wolul panic; 
 But mark the force of principles Britannic: 
 
 The soldier told them fresh ilio city news, 
 Just piping hot from Stock-jobbers and Jews. 
 Of French fleets landing and of Dutch neutrality, 
 Of jealousies at Court amongst the quality, 
 Of Swarston bridge that never waspulTd down, 
 Of all the rebels in full march to town, 
 And of a hundred things beside that made 
 Lord May'r himself and aldermen afraid; 
 Painting with many an oath the case in view, 
 And ask'd the porter what he thought to do. 
 
 " Do?" says ho gravely," what I did before; 
 u What I have done these thirty years and more; 
 " Carry, as I am like to do, my pack, 
 " Glad to maintain my belly by my back; 
 " If that but hold, I care not, for my part, 
 " Come as come will, '(shall u-vor break my heart. 
 " I don't see folks that fight about their thrones, 
 " Mind either soldiers' flesh or porters 1 bone*.
 
 96 
 
 n Whoe'er gets better when the battle's fought* 
 44 Thy pay nor mine will be advanc'd a groat. 
 44 But to the purpose; now we are met here, 
 " I'ii join with thee for one full mug of beer." 
 
 The soldier touch'd a little with surprise 
 To see his friend's indifference, replies, 
 *' What you say, Tom, I own, is very good; 
 44 But our religion!" and he d mn'd his blood- 
 " What wiii become of our religion?" 4 * True," 
 Says the Jail-bird, ' 4 and of our freedom too? 
 44 If the Pretender (rapp'd he out) comes on, 
 44 Our liberties and properties are gone!" 
 
 And so the soldier and the pris'ner join'd 
 To work up Tom into a better mind. 
 He staring dumb, with wonder struck and pity, 
 Took up his load and trudg'd into the city. 
 
 A LANCASHIRE DIALOG UE, 
 
 OCCASIONED BY 
 
 A CLERGYMAN PREACHING WITHOUT NOTES. 
 
 Die good sense and pleasantry of this and the following dialogues will, with- 
 out a t rami at. ':on, be unintelligible to persons that are strangers to the 
 Lancashire dialect. This consid<ration has been an inducement to the 
 renvei ing of the sentences written in that idiom, as nearly as possible into 
 the proper vernacular language. 
 
 JAMES AND JOHN. 
 
 James. Wus yo at Church o' Sunday morning, John? 
 John. Ay, Jeeams, I wus; and would no' but ha' gone 
 For ne'er so mich. What, wur no yo theer then? 
 James. Nou; and I ha' no' miss'd, I know no' when. 
 
 James. Were you at Church on Sunday morning. John? 
 John. Ay, James, I was; and would not but have gone 
 For ne'er so much. Were not you there then? 
 
 James. No; and I have not miss'd, I know not when.
 
 97 
 
 John. Whoy, yo had e'en faoo luck on't. - 
 
 James. So I hear, 
 At maes me ash ye, whether yo wur theer. 
 They tell'n me that a pairson coome, and took 
 His text bi hairt, and preach'd withaoot a book. 
 
 John. He did, for sartin, and hauf freeten'd mee 
 And moor besoide; but he soon leet us see 
 He wanted noane. 
 
 James. Whoy, could he do withaoot? 
 
 John. Yoi, better, mon, bi hauf for being baoot. 
 It gan me sich a notion, for my pairt, 
 I think 'at au true preaching is by hairt: 
 Sich as we han I do no' meean to bleeame, 
 But conno' cau it fairly bi that neeame. 
 A book may do at whooam for laming seeake, 
 But in a pilpit, wheer a mon sliid speeake, 
 And look at th' congregation i' their feeace, 
 He canno' do't for pappers in a keease. 
 He ta'es fro' them what he mun say, and then 
 Just looks as if he gan it 'urn again. 
 It is i' th' Church, or one could hairdly tell 
 
 John. Why, you had e'en foul luck on't. 
 
 James. So I hear. 
 That makes me ask you whether you were there. 
 They tell me that a parson came, and took 
 His text by heart, and preacJCd without a book. 
 
 John. He did, for certain, and half frightened me 
 And more besides; but he soon let us see 
 He wanted none. - 
 
 James. Why, could he do without? 
 
 John. Yes, better, man, by half for being without. 
 It gave me such a notion, for my part, 
 I think that all true preaching is by heart. 
 Such as we have I do not mean to blame, 
 But cannot call it fairly by that name. 
 A book may do at home for learning's sake, 
 But in a pulpit, where a man should speak 
 And look at th'' congregation i' th' their face, 
 He cannot do't for papers in a case. 
 He takes from them what he must say, and then 
 Just looks as if he gave it them again. 
 It is f th? Church, or one could hardly tell 
 
 H
 
 98 
 
 But he wur conning summat to himsel: 
 
 Monny a good thing, there, I ha' hard read oo'er, 
 
 But never knew what preeaching wus befoor. 
 
 James. And prei ye, John, haoo done ye know it naoo? 
 John. Lukko, this mon has tou't it me sumhaoo. 
 James. A ready scholar ! 
 
 John. "Scholar?" whoy, a dunce 
 May sec, beloike, what's shown him au at wunce. 
 
 James. It ma'es me think, yo're allivated soa, 
 Cone that's gloppen'd 'at has seen a shoa. 
 
 John. Would yo had seen and hard, as weel as I* 
 And if I shid say felt , I shid no' lie, 
 What it wus moy good luck to hyear and see ! 
 Yo'd a bin gloppen'd too, as weel as me. 
 
 James. Happen, I meeght; but con I understond 
 Onny thing on't, Good John, at second hond? 
 Yo han this preeaching seeacret at a hit; 
 Con yo remember haoo it wus a bit? 
 
 John. " Con yo remember?" comes into mi hyead 
 .Your telling once o'whot yoar lowyer said 
 Agen ou'd Hunks, the Justice o' the peeace, 
 
 But he was conning somewhat to himself: 
 
 Many a good thing, there, I have heard read o'er, 
 
 But never knew what preaching was before. 
 
 James. And -pray you, John, how do you know it now? 
 
 John. Look you, this man has taught it me somehow. 
 
 James. A ready Scholar! 
 
 John. " Scholar?" why a dunce 
 May see, belike, what's shewn him all at once. 
 
 James. It makes me think you're elevated so, 
 Of one amazed that lias seen a show. 
 
 John. Would you had seen and heard, as well as 1, 
 And if I should say felt, I should not lie, 
 What it was my good luck to hear and see ! 
 You'd have been wondering too as well as I. 
 
 James. Perhaps I might; but can I understand 
 Any thing on't, good John, at second hand? 
 You have this preaching secret at a hit; 
 Can you remember how it was a bit? 
 
 John. " Can you remember?" comes into my head 
 Your telling once of what your lawyer said 
 Against old Hunks, the Justice of the peace,
 
 99 
 
 'At would ha' ta'en away yoar faither's leease: 
 Haoo yo discroib'd him, what a inori o'th' lows .' 
 What a fine tungue ! and haoo he geet the coaze ; 
 Haoo thooas at wur not at the Soizes too 
 Could no' believe Tone hauf oVhot wus true! 
 James. " Remember?' 1 Ay, and shall do while I'm 
 whick, 
 Haoo bravely he fund aoot a knavish trick. 
 Ho seeav'd my faither monny a starling paoond, 
 And bu' for Kim I had no' bin o' th' graoond. 
 That wus a mon worth hyearing! if yoar nion 
 Could talk loike him, I shid be gloppen'd, John. 
 Hut, lukko 1 me, theeas lowyers are au tou't 
 To speak their nomminies as soon as thou't: 
 Haoo done yo think would Judge and Jury look, 
 li onny on 'urn shid go tak a book 
 Aoot of his pockett, and so read away? 
 They'd'n soon think he had no' mich to say. 
 Aoor honest lowyer had my faither's deed; 
 But. mon, ho gan it th' cl.'rk o 1 th' coort to read; 
 And then he spooak! And if you had bu' seen 
 VVhoy, tlr Judge himsel could ne'er keep oil* his eon; 
 
 That would have ta'en away your father** lease; 
 J low you described him, what a man o' th" laws! 
 What a fine, tongue! and how he got the cause; 
 How those that wire not at th" 1 As izes too 
 Could not believe th' one half of what was true! 
 
 James. * Remember?'* Ay, and shall do while Tm quick, 
 How bravely he found out a knavish trick. 
 He sav'd 1111/ father many a sdrling pound, 
 Ami out for him I'd not been on the ground. 
 That was a man worth hearing! if your man 
 Could talk like him. I should be jill'd with wonder, John. 
 But, luck on me. (look at me), these lawyers areall taught 
 To speak their speeches out as soon as thought: 
 How do you think would Judge and Jury look, 
 If any of them should go take a book 
 Out of hi* pocket, and so read away? 
 They would soon think he had not much to say. 
 Our honest lawyer hail my father's died: 
 But, man, he gave it th' clerk o" th' court to read; 
 And then he spoke! And if you had but seen 
 Why, the Judge himself could ne'er keep off his eyes;
 
 100 
 
 The jury gaupt agen; and weel they raeeght, 
 For e'ry word 'at he had said wus reeght. 
 1 John. Weel, Jeeams, and if a man shid be as wairm 
 Abaoot his hev'n as yo abaoot yoar fairm, 
 Dunno 1 yo think he'd be as pleeast to hear 
 A Pairson mak his reeght to houd it clear? 
 And show the De'el to be as fause a foe 
 As that ou'd rogue, the Justice, wus to yo? 
 
 James. Naoo, John, I see what yo been driving at, 
 And I'm o' yoar oppinion as to that. 
 I shid no grutch at takking a lung wauk 
 To hyear a Clargyman, that could bu' tauk 
 As that mon did, could sarch a thing to th' boan, 
 And in good yarnest, mak the coaze his ooan. 
 I seeldom miss a Sunday hyearing thooas, 
 'At preeachen weel enugh as preeaching gooas; 
 But I ha' thou't sumtimes, haooever good, 
 A sarmon meeght be better, if it would; 
 'At if it could no' mak folks' een to weep, 
 It sartinly mit keep 'um au fro' sleep. 
 Yet I ha' seen 'um nodding, toimes enoo, 
 
 The Jury gap'd again; and well they might, 
 For ev'ry word that he had said was right. 
 
 John. Well, James, and if a man should \>e as warm 
 About his hcav'n as you about your farm, 
 Do not you think he'd be as pleased to hear 
 A Parson make his right to hold it clear? 
 And .-hew the Devil to be as false a foe 
 As that old rogue, the Justice, was to you? 
 
 James Nozv, John, I see what you are driving at, 
 And Pm of your opinion as to that. 
 I should not grudge at taking a long walk 
 To hear a Clergyman, tliat could but talk 
 As that man did, could search a thing to tlC bone, 
 And in good earnest, make the cause his own. 
 I seldom miss a Sunday hearing those, 
 That preach well enough as preaching goes; 
 But I have thought sometimes, however good, 
 A sermon might be better, if it woidd; 
 That if it could not make folks' 1 eyes to weep, 
 It certainly might keep them all from sleep. 
 Yet I have seen them nodding, times enow,
 
 101 
 
 Not only childer, but church-wairdens too. 
 
 Could your fine preeacher morning was too soon 
 
 Ha' kept folks wakken, John, i' th' afternoon? 
 
 John. I wish he vvouid ba 1 tri'd; and, I dare say., 
 That morning meeght have answer'd for au day. 
 He must ha 1 ta'en a pretty dose, I think, 
 'At coud ha 1 gen that afternoon a wink. 
 Sich looking! and sich list'ning ! one mit read 
 In e'ry leeace, ** Ay, heer's a mon indeed !" 
 Some meeght ha 1 slept, if he had ccm'n agen, 
 Befoor he spooak ; I'm shure they could no 1 then. 
 
 James. They wurn, its loike, whamt fond o' summiit 
 new. 
 
 John. Nea, nea; that winno' haud a sarmon throo. 
 Au they that listen'd when he first begun 
 Kept listening- moor and moor till he had done. 
 Had he gone eend away, I gi' mi word, 
 }\ had me fast bi th' ears, I'd not ha 1 stirr'd. 
 Naoo yo uiun think 'at he taukt weel at leeast, 
 And passing weel, 'at eich-body wur pleeast. 
 They would no', loikly, give him au their vooatt 
 Oonnlv becose o' preeaching withaoot nooats. 
 
 Not only children, but church-wardens too. 
 Could your fine preacher (morning was too soon) 
 Have kept folks waken, John, in th' afternoon? 
 
 John. / wish he, would have tried; and, I dare say+ 
 That morning might have answered for all day. 
 He muni have tak"n a pretty dose, I think, 
 That could hace got that afternoon a wink. 
 Such looking! and such list'ning! one might read 
 In ev'ry face, " Ay, here's a man indeed!" 1 
 Some might hare slept, if he had come again, 
 Before he spoke; - Vm sure the\> could not then. 
 
 James. They were, 'tis likely^ strangely fond of somewhat new. 
 
 John. Nay* nay; that will not hold a sermon through. 
 All they that listened when he jirsl begun 
 Kept listening more and more till he had done. 
 Had he gone forward, (endways) I can give my word. 
 He had me fast by th'' ears, Td not have stirr'd. 
 Now you must think that he talk'd well, at least. 
 And passing well, that each body was pleas' d. 
 They would not, liktly, give him all thiir votes 
 Only because of preaching without notes. 
 
 H 2
 
 102 
 
 James. Whoy, but according to my thinking, John, 
 It gi's a hugeous vontidge to a mon 
 To preeacli withaoot book, if he can bu' do't, 
 And he mun needs be better heard, to boot. 
 Aoor lowyer had noane, and I hauf can feci 
 It \vu the reason whoy he spooak so weei: 
 Yet, as yo sen, " tliat ooanly winno' do," 
 For tii' mon agen him praited like a too. 
 
 John. Jeeams, its e'en haird upon a lovvyer's tungue, 
 They hoirn it aootto oather wreeght or wrung; 
 A diiTrent keease to that o' pairsons vvoide, 
 They are or shid be au o' the same soide; 
 It maks, mayhap, aoor lowyers reeadier far 
 To pleead withaoot book, til aoor pairsons are. 
 
 James. Its loike it duz; for folks will larn to speeak 
 Sanner bi hauf for eontradickshon's seeak; 
 And specially if when their tale istoud, 
 1' truth or loies, they mun be paid i' goud. 
 Pairsons are paid; and if they win, may pay 
 Thir curates, John, to preeach for urn or pray: 
 And then they do not, when they ma'en a raoot, 
 
 James. Why, but according to my thinking, John, 
 It gives a huge advantage to a man 
 To preach without book, if he can but rfoV, 
 And lie must needs be belter heard, to boot. 
 Our lawyer had none, and I half can feel 
 It was the reason why he spoke so well: 
 Yet, as you say, " that only will not do," 1 
 For tli mun against him prated like a fool. 
 
 John. James, "'tis e^en hard upon a lawyer's tongue, 
 They hire it out to either right or wrong; 
 A. cliff" rent case to that, of parsons wide, 
 They are, or should be, all on the same side; 
 It makes, perhaps, our lawyers readier far 
 To plead without book, than our parsons are. 
 
 James. 'Tis likely it does; for folks will learn to speak 
 Sooner by half for contradiction 1 's sake, 
 And specially if when their tale is told 
 In truth or lies, they must be paid in gold. 
 Parsons are pirid; and if they will, may pay 
 Their curates, John, to preach for them or pray: 
 And then they do not, when they make a rout,
 
 103 
 
 Tungue it so mich as fling thir book abaoot. 
 Yet word o 1 maooth, it* it be reeght, 's no sin ; 
 Whoy conno pairsons preeach by't if they win? 
 
 John. I know no*: custom's druven to extrccam; 
 This may be one 'at they han getten, Jeeams; 
 Some feeamous fellies meeght at first begin; 
 And au the rest han follow'd 'urn e'er sin: 
 When a bell-weather leeaps but o'er a stray, 
 At that same plcck au th' rest mun jump away. 
 
 James. Marry, I wish 'at pairsons, one i 1 ten, 
 Would bu' jump back into th' oud way agen. 
 Some han greeat books, enoo to fril a cairt: 
 Strange ! "at they conno' lay a thing to hairt, 
 Sich as they loikon best, and ha the paoor 
 To dray it fro' within for one hauf haoor! 
 Ilaoo coome this man to do't? 
 
 John. I conno' tell: 
 Do it he did; so yeeasy to himsel, 
 And yet wi so mich yarnestness and fooarce 
 Of tungue, and bond, and look, and good discooarse, 
 Au smooth and clear; and e'ry turn it took, 
 
 Ton one it so much asjiing their book about. 
 Yet word of mouth, if it be right, '* no sin ; 
 Why cannot parsons preach by't if they will? 
 
 John. I know not: custom 's driven to extremes; 
 This may be one that they have gotten, James; 
 Some famous fellows might at Jirst begin; 
 And all the rest have followed them e'er since: 
 If 'hen a bellwether leaps, but o'er a straw, 
 At that same place all th' rest must Jump away. 
 
 James. Hy Mary! I wish that parsons, one in ten, 
 Would but jump back into th'' old way again. 
 Some have great bonis, enough to fill a cart: 
 Strange! that they cannot lay a (lung to heart. 
 Such us they like best, and have the pow'r 
 To draw it from within for one half hour! 
 How came this man to do't? 
 
 John. / cannot tell:- 
 Do it he did; so easy to himself, 
 And yet with so much earnestness and force 
 Of tongue, and hand, and look, and good discourse, 
 AU smooth and clear; atid ev'ry turn it took,
 
 101 
 
 Still woinding to't loike weater in a brook; 
 'At onny man o' laming, takking aiam, 
 Meeght ha' larnt fro' him to ha' done the saiame. 
 
 James. " Laming!" when preeachers first coome iff, 
 
 they sen, 
 They wurn no' monny on 'urn larned men, 
 Nor gentry nooather 
 
 John. Whoy, and they sen true: 
 But in aoor days I daoot it woono' do, 
 To ha' thooas preeach 'at com'n so meeghty short 
 O'th' first beginners, so weel fitted for't. 
 Would but aoor gentlemen o' laming troy 
 To preeach fro' th' hairt, and lay theeir pappers bye, 
 We-shid no 1 think warse on 'urn for thir kin, 
 Nor loike "um less, haooever larn'd they bin: 
 Aoor folks i 1 th' church-time would be moor devaoot, 
 And moind the bus'ness 'at they wurn abaoot: 
 And thooas good sarmons 'at mooast on um ma'en t 
 By au good folks would be mich better ta'en. 
 Witness this gentlemon, o' Sunday morn, 
 The best 'at I e'er hard sin I wur born. 
 But, come, I'll say no moor: yo'st hear him first: 
 
 Still winding toH, like water in a brook; 
 
 That any man of learning, taking aim, 
 
 Might have learned from him to have done the same. 
 
 James. " Learning!'''' when preachers first came in, they say, 
 They were not many of them learned men, 
 Nor gentry neither 
 
 John. Why, and they say true: 
 But in our days I doubt it will not do, 
 To havethdse preach that come so mighty short 
 Of th'' first beginners, so well fitted for't. 
 Would but our gentlemen of learning try 
 To preach from th^ heart, and lay their papers by, 
 We should not think worse of them for their kin, 
 Nor like them less, however learn'd they bet 
 Our folks in Church-time would be more devout, 
 And mind the business that they were about: 
 And those good sermons that most of them make, 
 By all good folks would be much better taken. 
 Witness this gentleman, on Sunday mom, 
 The best that I e'er heard since I wsis born. 
 But, come, /// say no more; you shall hear him first:
 
 105 
 
 I wish with au my hairt he wur the worst. 
 
 James. Ay, yo may wish; but will he preach agen? 
 Haoo ar yo shure o' that? 
 
 John. Nay, soa they sen, 
 YoVe loike to tak yoar chaunce as weel as I. 
 
 James. If onny comes, I'll tak it; John, Good bye! 
 
 I wish with all my heart he was the worst. 
 
 James. Ay, you may wish ; but will he preach again ? 
 How are you sure of that? 
 
 John. Nay, so they say, 
 You're like to take your chance as well as I. 
 
 James. If any comes, Nl take it; John, goodbye! 
 
 A DIALOGUE, 
 
 OCCASIONED BY THE 
 
 March of the Highlanders into Lancashire, 
 
 In the Year 1745. 
 
 Tltc principles avowed by Harry, in this and the following conversation, were 
 imhihed by a majority of the inhabitants in that part of Lancashire, which. 
 was visited by the army of the Pretender. Hut the feelings here men- 
 tioned were not those of the mob alone : many in the more elevated circles 
 were converts to the same political doctrines. Among them may be reck- 
 oned our author. The manly benevolence of his heart would, of itself, 
 hare excited him to utter such sentiments in behalf of greatness in 
 misfortune: but when he writes in the person of "a friend to Prince 
 Charles," he developes what were his own views. From these and other 
 places it is easy 'to be inferred, even by those who were not mcquaintcd 
 with him, that his principles were those of an old Tory. 
 
 SIR JOHN JORSON AND HARRY HOMESPUN. 
 
 Sir J. WERE you not sadly frighten'd, honest Harry. 
 To see those Highland fellows? 
 
 Harry, i Not I, marry, 
 Sir J. No ! How comes that? 
 
 HARRY. 
 
 \ Not I, by Mary. 
 
 I
 
 106 
 
 Harry. * Whoy, Sur, I conno' sec 
 What theer wur in 'um that shid freeten me. 
 
 Sir J. So many armed ruffians as came here 
 Was there not cause enough for all to fear? 
 
 Harry. 2Au whoa, Sur John? It happen rait be so 
 Wi sich foine loardly Gentlemen as yo; 
 But we poor foke 
 
 Sir J. Why, prithee,- poor or rich, 
 Is it not much the same ? 
 
 Harry. 3Nou; not so mich. 
 We warken hard as't iz for meeat and clooas, 
 And connot eem to he so feert, God knooas. 
 
 Sir J. But, Harry, to see fire and sword advance! 
 To have such enemies as Rome and France! 
 Should not this move alike both rich and poor 
 To drive impending ruin from their door? 
 
 Harry. 4 As for the rich, Sur John, I conno' tell; 
 But for the poor, I'll onser for mysel: 
 If fire shid come, I ha 1 nout for it to burn, 
 Nor wark to find for oather swooard or gun; 
 For France and Rome my feering is no greater, 
 They lyen, I think, o' th 1 tother side o' th weater. 
 
 Sir J. You don't consider what may be the end 
 Of such a strange indifference, my friend. 
 Pray, whether you have more or less to lose, 
 Would you not guard your country from its foes? 
 
 harry. 
 1 Why, Sir, I cannot see 
 What there was in them that should frighten me. 
 
 2 All who, Sir John? It haply might be so 
 With such fine lordly gentlemen as you; 
 But we poor folks 
 
 3 No; not so much. 
 We work hard as it is for meat and clothes, 
 And have no time (cannot aim) to be so feafd, God knows. 
 
 4 As for the rich, Sir John, I cannot tell; 
 But for the poor, ril answer for myself: 
 If fire should come, I have nought for it to burn, 
 Nor work to find for eitlier sword or gun; 
 For France and Rome my fearing is no greater, 
 They lie I think, on V other side o' th? water.
 
 107 
 
 .Harry, i Moy country, Sur? I have, yo understond, 
 In aw the country not one inch o' land. 
 They that wood'n foight, and ha' Dion's blood be spilt, 
 May if they win, but whoy mun 1 be kilt? 
 
 Sir J. Your country, friend, is not tae ground alone; 
 There is the King that sits upon the tin one; 
 The Protestant Succession lies at stake, 
 Which bloody-minded Papists want to shake. 
 Now, you have some religion left. I hope, 
 And would not tamely give it to the Pope. 
 
 Harry. 2 He would no 1 have it, happen, if I would; 
 Th 1 oud mon beloike nut think his ooan as gud; 
 And true religion, Sur, if I have onny, 
 No man i' th' ward can tak fro 1 ine, con lie? 
 
 Sir J. If you but knew, friend Harry, what a scene 
 Of mischief happen'd in King James's reign; 
 How but for Orange's immortal Prince, 
 The Protestants had all been kill'd long since; 
 III should tell you 
 
 Harry. ^ Nay, we aw, Sur John, 
 Known weel enough that yo're a larncd raon ; 
 So wus my gronfaythcr, and ore his ale 
 Monny a toime has toud another tale. 
 And 1 darr say my gronfayther toud true: 
 For, lukko me, th' oud felly was no foo, 
 Nor rebbil noathcr 
 
 Sir J. And what was't he told? 
 
 HARRY. 
 
 1 My country, Sir? I have, you understand, 
 In nil the country not one inch of land. 
 
 They that would fight, and have man's blood be spilt, 
 May if they will, but why must I he kill'd? 
 
 2 Perhaps, he would not have it, if 1 would; 
 TA' old man ''tin likely might think his own as good; 
 And true religion. Sir, if I hare any. 
 
 No man i' th' world (<in take it from me, can he? 
 
 3 Nay, we all. Sir John, 
 Know well enough that you're a learned man; 
 So was my grandfather , and o'er his ale 
 Many a time kas told another tale. 
 And I dare say my grandfather told true; 
 For, look on me (luck on me) the old fellow was no fool. 
 Nor rebel neither
 
 108 
 
 Harry. 1 Whoy, moor a deeal than my brainpon con 
 houd. 
 Its loike yo known as haoo, Sur, th' Oliverians 
 Cut off th 1 King's hyead 
 Sir J. Yes, 
 
 Harry. 2 And haoo th' Presbyterians 
 Turnt aoot his son and maden a rebelution. 
 
 Sir. J. They did it, man, to save the constitution; 
 'Tvvas Churchmen too who brought King William in 
 As well as they 
 
 Harry. 3 Whoy, be they whooa they winn, 
 One egg, he sed, wus ne'er moor loike another 
 Than thooas two mac o foke wurn loike tone t'other. 
 They wurn at aw toimes enmies to th 1 Blood Royal, 
 And naoo woudn ha it that none but hom are loyal. 
 Haoo con that be, Sur? 
 
 Sir J. Why, I'll tell thee how 
 Harry. 4 Nay, but yo connot 
 
 Sir J. Well, but hear me now; 
 Our Kings are stewards 
 
 Harry. 5 Sur, yo meean they "wurn;" 
 For things, yo known, han tan another turn; 
 The Stuart Race is 
 
 Sir J. Poh! thou tak'st me wrong 
 Harry. Haoo mun I tak 00 reet? 
 
 Sir J. I say, so long 
 As Kings are our Protectors 
 
 harry. 
 1 Why more a deal than my brain-pan can hold. 
 'Tis likely, Sir, you know how the Oliverians 
 Cut off th'' King's head 
 
 2 And how tK Presbyterians 
 Turned out his son, and made a revolution. 
 
 3 Why, be they who they will, 
 One egg, he said, was ne'er more like another 
 
 Than those two make (sort) of folks were like each other. 
 They were at all times enemies to th" 1 Blood Royal, 
 And now would have it, that none but they are loyal. 
 How can that be, Sir? 
 4 Nay, but you cannot 
 
 5 Sir, you mean they "were;" 
 For things, you know, have to 1 en another turn; 
 
 The Stuart Race is 
 
 6 How must I take you right?
 
 109 
 
 Harry, i Luk ye theer ! 
 Oud Oliver agen 
 
 Sir J. Nay, prithee, hear; 
 And keep thy nonsense in till I have done 
 
 Harry. 2 Weel, Weel; lzt heear yooars first, then, 
 
 if I mun, 
 Sir J. The people. Harry, when they all agree 
 Harry. 3 Aw. Sur? 
 
 Sir J. Be quiet! choose them a trustee; 
 And call him King. Now if he break his ! rust, 
 They have a right to turn him out; and must, 
 Unless they would be ruin'd. Dosi thou think, 
 For one nun's swimming all the rest should sink ? 
 Harry. 4 Yo Iovn a King, Sur, waintly ; sink or 
 im, 
 No mon, i l'oind, is to be draoont but him. 
 This chozzen Kitiu: mit happen draoon yo furst, 
 Then yo mit sink him after an yo durst. 
 If loke may tak whot Kiivrs they han a moind, 
 Whot faui wi aw theese Scotchmen con yo foind? 
 
 Sir J. Hang thorn ll ! Have they not a King alreadj 
 That keeps his contract with the people steady? 
 Rebeih! 
 Harry. 5 VVhoy, ay, that's rect; for they wur 
 byetten, 
 They lost the leight; but haoo, if they had getten, 
 \V<uld yo ha 1 Iikt it, Sur, if an Hcelander 
 Had toud 00 " Sauce for th 1 goose wur sauce for th' gonder?" 
 
 11 A BRY. 
 
 1 ImoU you then! 
 Old Oliver again 
 
 2 Well, well; Til hear yours frst then, if I must 
 
 3 All, Sir? 
 
 1 You lovt a King, Sir, strangely; sink or swim, 
 No man, I jind, is to be (hound but he. 
 This vhosen Kirig, perhaps, might drown youfmt, 
 Thai you might .-ink him after, if /<< durst. 
 If folk* may take tthut Kings they haven mind, 
 What fault kith all these Scotchmen ran you Jind? 
 
 ."> if hy, ay, that's right ; for th- y were beaten, 
 They lost thejight ; -but how, if they had gotten, 
 If out I you have lik'd it. Sir. tj a Highland! r 
 Had told you k * Sauce for goose was sauce for gander.'* 
 
 I 2
 
 110 
 
 Sir J. Thou'rt a *sly tyke I'll talk with thee no more- 
 
 Harry. I Whoy, if yo pleeasen then, Sur, ween 
 give ore, 
 Wishing that eery mon may have his reet, 
 Feightas feight winn; and so, Sur John, good neet! 
 
 Sir J. Thou'lt look, I find, to thy own carcass still. 
 
 Harry. 2 Yoi, Sur, as lung as ere I con, I will. 
 
 HAHRY. 
 
 1 Why, if y 'ou please, then, Sir, we will give o'er , 
 Wishing that etfry man may have his right. 
 
 Fight who will fight, and so, Sir John, good night! 
 
 2 Yes, Sir, as long as e'er I can, I will. 
 
 * Sly Fellow. 
 
 A DIALOGUE, 
 
 About compelling a Person to take the Oaths to the Government. 
 
 SIR JOHN JOBSON AND HARRY HOMESPUN. 
 
 Sir J. WHY so grave, Harry? What's the matter, 
 pray? 
 What makes thee look so sorrowful to-day? 
 
 Harry. 1 Whoy, Sur, I geet sore trubbled i' my 
 moind, 
 At whot yon foke hand toud me wheer I doind. 
 Sir J. Prithee, what's that? 
 
 Harry. 2 They touden me, Sur John, 
 That yo han sent a summons to a mon 
 To tak an ooath, a meety long on too ; 
 An they aw sen its moor till he can do. 
 
 Sir J. Do or not do, what bus'ness is 't of thine? 
 
 HARRY. 
 1 Why, Sir, I got sore troubled in my mind, 
 At what yon folks have told me where I dirfd. 
 
 2 They told me, Sir John, 
 That you have sent a summons to a man 
 To take an oath, a mighty long one too; 
 And they all say, "'tis more than he can do.
 
 Ill 
 
 Harry, i " Bus'ness?" whpy, he's a naibor, Sur, o* 
 mine ; 
 An yo ban hard, beloike, aoor pairson tell 
 'At one raun love their naibor as theirsel; 
 Besoides at he's a sarviseable felly 
 As onny at we ban o' th' busness, welly. 
 And then, an ooath yo shanno hyear come aoot 
 O that mons maooth, Sur John, the year abaoot; 
 And if he be i' th' moind at he has been, 
 Yo'n foind it mich ado to cram one in. 
 
 Sir J. Harry, that matter we shall soon discuss; 
 Trial of skill is now 'twixt him and us. 
 We must and will subdue him, if we can; 
 He's a refractory, seditious man. 
 
 Harry. 2 Nay, if ye biu for giving aoot o'hond 
 Hard words, Sur, at one connot understond, 
 I'll say no moor; or else I ha taen a wauk 
 That yo and I mit'n have a bit o' tauk. 
 But happen naoo yo're not i' th' humour 
 
 Sir J. Yes; 
 Talk what thou wilt 
 
 Harry, s And yo'n no' tak't amiss? 
 
 Sir J. No; 
 
 Harry. 4 Then I'll tell 00, mrstcr, whot I think. 
 
 Sir J. Sit thee down first; wilt have a little drink? 
 
 harry. 
 
 1 "Bu.uim:" 1 Why hSs a neighbour, Sir, of mine; 
 And you have heard, perhaps, our parson till 
 
 That one must love one's neighbour as one's self; 
 Besides l hat he's a serviceable fellow 
 Nearly as any that we have of th' harness. 
 And then, an oath you shall not hear come out 
 Of that nam's mouth, Sir John, the year about ; 
 And if he be in th' mind that he has been, 
 You'll find it much ado to cram one in. 
 
 2 Nay, if you be for giving out of hand 
 Hard words. Sir, that one cannot understand, 
 ril say no more, or else I have ta'en a walk 
 That you and 1 might have a bit of talk. 
 But now, perhaps, you're not in th' humour 
 
 3 You'll not lake it amiss? 
 
 4 Then I'll tell you, master, what J think.
 
 112 
 
 Harry, i Now; nor yo noather; we'n be soaber booath* 
 God willing;, Sur, and tauk abaoot this ooath. 
 
 Sir J. What dost thou know about it? 
 
 Harry. 2 Whoy, no mich, 
 That's true enough, thank God ! I'm no so rich ; 
 But I con guex abaoot it weel enough: 
 Foke at ban tan it, sen it's weary tough. 
 There's monny a one that would ha gen a craoon, 
 With aw his heart, he neer had leet it daoon. 
 
 Sir J. But it shall cost this fellow more than so 
 If he don't take it; that I'll let him know. 
 
 Harry. 3 Win ye, Sur? 
 
 Sir J. Yes, I will. 
 
 Harry. 4 And if yo win, 
 Sur John, yo're guilty of a wicked sin. 
 
 Sir J. Am I? How so? 
 
 Harry. 5 Whoy, dunnot yo maintain 
 At mon may tak God's holy name f vain? 
 
 Sir J. No; indeed don't I; 'tis what I abhor. 
 
 Harry. 6 Then pray ye naoo, whot is this Summons for ? 
 Is is not sent to mak a mon to swear 
 Summot abaoot the King and his reet Heir? 
 And ar not yo weel satisfy'd, to boot, 
 'At he mun tak God's name i' vain to do't? 
 
 harry. 
 1 No; nor you neither ; we'll be sober both, 
 God willing, Sir, and talk about this oath. 
 
 2 Why, not much, 
 That's true enough, thank God! Tm not so rich; 
 But I can guess about it well enough ; 
 Folks that have ta'en it say, 'tis weary lough. 
 There's many a one that would have giv'n a crown 
 With all his heart, he ne'er had let it down. 
 3 Will you, Sir? 
 
 4 And if you will, 
 Sir John, you're guilty of a wicked sin. 
 
 5 Why, do not you maintain 
 A man may take God's holy mime in vain? 
 
 6 Then pray ye now, what is this Summons for? 
 Is it not sent to make a man to swear 
 Something about the King and his right heir? 
 And are you not well satisfy'd, to boot, 
 That he must take God's name in vain to do't?
 
 113 
 
 Sir J. That's his affair to look to, and not ours ; 
 We act according to the legal pow'rs. 
 If private conscience slight the public call, 
 It must e'en take the consequence ; that's all. 
 
 Harry, i Marry, enough o'conscience, and good feeake, 
 Too mich by hauf, if consciences may speeak. 
 What mak han yo to mak another mon 
 T' swear agen his? What cawn ye that, Sur John? 
 
 Sir J. We cannot make him, man, unless he will. 
 
 Harry. 2 Sur, Sur, it comes to the same mischief still, 
 Or war?e, if ooather ; for, if he fears God, 
 And winno swear, then yo tan up the rod. 
 Here's a commandment kept that God has spokken, 
 And he mun pay for one o' yo'rs that's brokken. 
 I say agen that, shift it haoo yo win, 
 Sur John, yo're guilty of a wicked sin. 
 
 Sir J. Harry, as Justice of the peace I'm ty'd 
 For public peace and safety to provide; 
 So are my brethren; now with this intent 
 The law directs our summons to be sent; 
 If disaffected persons will not give 
 The constitution under which they live 
 Proper security, they must be made 
 To feel the force of what they would evade. 
 If we should suffer these nonjuring knaves, 
 We shall in time be Papists all and slaves. 
 
 Harry. 3 " Papists and slaves!" Whoy, good Sur John, 
 the Pope, 
 The Deel himsel can do no more, I hope, 
 
 harry. 
 
 1 By Mary, enough of conscience, and. good faith, 
 Too much by half, if consciences may speak. 
 
 What make (sort) have you to make another man 
 
 To swear against his? What call you that, Sir John? 
 
 2 Sir, Sir, it comes to the same mischief still, 
 Or worse, if either ; for, if he fears God, 
 
 And will not swear, then you take up the rod. 
 Here's a commandment kept that God has spoken, 
 And he must pay for one of your s that's broken. 
 I say again that, shift it how you will, 
 Sir John, you're guilty of a wicked sin. 
 
 3 " Papists and slaves /" Why, good Sir John, the Pope, 
 TheDev'l himself can do no more, I hope, 
 
 K
 
 114 
 
 Then tempt a raon to utter with his tung 
 I' th' name o' God whot he believes is rung. 
 Mun we be Papists, if we dunnot make 
 A mon belye his Maker for aoor sake? 
 Mun we be slaves, except we forcen foke 
 To come and put their necks into aoor yoke? 
 
 Sir J. Thou dost not, Harry, understand the laws 
 
 Harry, i Whoy, han they, Sur, sich desperate lung 
 claws, 
 That a mon 1 s conscience hid within his hairt 
 Mun be scratch'd aoot on't by um? For my pairt, 
 Laws or noa laws, I'm sure we shidden do 
 As we aw wishen to be done unto. 
 
 Sir J. Good faith! thou preachest tolerably well: 
 But wouldst thou have thy neighbour to rebel ? 
 To make disturbances in Church and State, 
 And not be punish'd till it is too late? 
 Magistrates, man, must have a care in time, 
 And in the bud must nip the sprouting crime. 
 
 Harry. 2 " Nip it i' th' bud ?" And so it mun be doon, 
 Yo thinken then, by punishing too soon? 
 Magistrates, Sur, so haesty and and so hard, 
 Maen aw th' Rebellions at thir ar i' th' ward. 
 Let foke be quiet when they ar so, Sur, 
 And noather Church nor State will mak a stur. 
 
 harry. 
 Than tempt a man to utter with his tongue 
 In th" 1 name of God what he believes is wrong. 
 Must we be Papists, if we do not make 
 A man belie his Maker for our sake? 
 Must we be slaves, except we force folk 
 To come and put their necks into our yoke? 
 
 1 Why, have they, Sir, such desperate long claws r 
 That a mail's conscience, hid within his heart, 
 
 Must be scratch' d out of it by them? For my part, 
 Laws or no laws, I am sure we should do 
 As we all wish to be done unto. 
 
 2 " Nip it in th' bud?' And so it must be done, 
 You think then, by punishing too soon? 
 Magistrates, Sir, so hasty and so hard, 
 
 Make all th' rebellions that there are in th' world. 
 
 Let folks be quiet when they are so, Sir, 
 
 And neither Church nor State will make a stir.
 
 115 
 
 But, to be made to pay, or be forsworn, 
 Vexes 'em boath, as sure as yo ar baurn. 
 Wlioy mun yo inak my naibor pay sich scores? 
 His soul is his, as weel as yoars is yoars. 
 
 Sir. J. The law, not I, obliges him to pay. 
 
 Harry, i Whoy win yo tak that iow ageu him, hay? 
 If yo mun do't whether yo win or not, 
 Are yo a Papist, or a slave, or whot? 
 Tell me, (if this faoo play be not yoar ooan) 
 What mun yo pay for letting him alooan? 
 
 Sir J. I pay ? No law obliges me to that. 
 What is it, Harry, that thou wouldst bo at? 
 
 Harry. 2 Whoy, Sur, at this, When laws maen 
 mich adoo, 
 Monny a wise mon is made into a foo; 
 Freeteifd o' th" sudden aoot of his reet sense, 
 He'll sell his wits and aw to save his pence. 
 But, pray, whot mon with hauf o 1 yoar good thout 
 Would do his naibor an ill turn for nout, 
 When he himsel gets nere a farthing by't 
 But shaum of hurting aoot of arrant spite? 
 This is the wark, if yo'n consider weel, 
 Not of a mon, Sur John, but of a Deel. 
 
 HARRY. 
 But, to be made, to pay, or be forsworn, 
 Vexes them Itoth, as sure as you are born. 
 Why must you make my neigh/tour pay such scores* 
 His soul is his, as well as yours is yours. 
 
 1 Why will you lake that law against him, Art? 
 If you must do't whether you will or not, 
 
 Are you a Papist, or a slave, or what? 
 Tell me. if this foul play be not your own, 
 What must you pay for letting him alom ? 
 
 2 Why, Sir, at this. When laws make much ado, 
 Many a wise man is made info a fool ; 
 FrighterCd on th' sudden out of his right sense, 
 He'll sell his wits and all, to save his pence. 
 
 But. pray, what man with half of your good thought 
 Would do his neighbour an ill turn for nought, 
 When he himself gds ne'er a farthing by't 
 But shame of hurling out of arrant spite? 
 This is the work, if you'll consider well. 
 Not of a man. Sir John, but of a Devil.
 
 116 
 
 If one cud tak a look at that mon's breast, 
 
 We shudden see him what they cawn " possest." 
 
 Sir J. Thou mak'st a Devil of me. Very well ! 
 
 Harry, i Now, now; its yo that maen one o' yorsel. 
 I'd mak a mon o' ye, Sur, it I cud, 
 A gradely mon, that seeches to do good, 
 And not to labbor books and sarch a cawse 
 For hately doings in hard favor'd laws. 
 
 Sir J. Thou " sarches" me, I'm sure. Where hast 
 thou had 
 This same book-searching information, lad? 
 We have, 'tis true, been studying in what shape 
 We best might catch thy neighbour in a scrape. 
 But, by thy talking, we might spare the pains, 
 And better bus'ness might employ our brains 
 
 Harry. 2 Ay marry, meeght it. Thooas that letten aoot 
 Their breeans to mischiet mit as weel be baoot; 
 Whoile they done so it con be no greeat news 
 That fokes shid caw um summr.t warse then foos. 
 
 Sir J. Harry, thou'rt got into a talking cue. 
 
 Harry. 3 Yo gin me leeaf, do not ye? 
 
 Sir J. I do. 
 Now, prithee, tell me then and talk away, 
 Nor mince the matter. what do people say? 
 
 Harry. 4 I'll tell 00, Sur;" Aoor Justices," they sen, 
 " That tan themselves to be sich loyal men. 
 " Makken moor enemies to th 1 King and Craoon 
 
 HARRY. 
 
 If one could take a look in that mail's breast, 
 We should see him what they call "possessed.*' 
 
 1 No, no ; 'lis you that make one of yourself. 
 Fd make a man of you, ir, if I could, 
 
 A worthy (clever) man that searches (seeks) to do good. 
 And not to labour books and search a cause 
 For hately doings in hard favour' d laws. 
 
 2 Ay, by Mary, might it. Those that let out 
 Their brains to mischief might be as well without; 
 While they do so it can be no great news 
 
 That folks should call them something worse than fools. 
 
 li You give me leave, do not you? 
 
 4 Til tell you, Sir; " Our Justices,''' they say, 
 " That take themselves to be such loyal men, 
 11 Make more enemies to the Kins and crown
 
 117 
 
 ** Till onny twenty men besoide i' th' taoon. 
 
 ** They praise n micli this Government of aoor 
 
 44 iVcose i( has no harbittary paoors; 
 
 44 For trade, religion, liberties enjoy'd, 
 
 4 It s!i^ds aw th 1 Governments i' th 1 ward besoide; 
 
 *' His aonn oppinion eVy mon may take ; 
 
 " Noa parsicut ion int tor conscience'' sake. 
 
 44 Monny sich words they han as smooth as oil, 
 
 44 And dekds as sharp as Alegar aw th 1 whoile. 
 
 44 They gotten to a corner by 'umsels, 
 
 " And there they done, i' th' ward o 1 God, nowt elz 
 
 *' But 'in their books, their bacco, and their beer, 
 
 44 And con urn up poor fellies to appear; 
 
 "And then the gost'ling what'n ye caw it? Corum 
 
 44 M;n huff, and ding, and carry aw before urn." 
 
 SiK J. A fine description, truly! and quite free! 
 But, Harry, how did it appear to thee? 
 Couldsi thou not find, where thou hast been to dine, 
 One word to say tor an old friend of thine? 
 
 Hitkitv. 1 V oi, Sur, I said asmich as ere I could; 
 But whaiiu ado 1 had to mak it good. 
 This summons, Sir. this summons! Kie upon't ! 
 Whot arguii'd my tung ajjen yoar iiondt? 
 
 HARRY. 
 
 44 Than any twenty men besides C th" 1 town. 
 
 44 They praise murk tht? government of ours 
 
 4 * Hccause it has no arbitrary powers; 
 
 41 For trade, religion, liberties enjoy'd, 
 
 44 Ic shade., all in' government- in th'' world beside; 
 
 44 His own opinion ev'ry man may take; 
 
 44 Ad persecution inH for conscience' sake. 
 
 44 Many such WORDS they have as smooth as oil, 
 
 44 And dkkds as sharp as alegar all th" while. 
 
 44 They get to a corner by themselves, 
 
 4 * And there they do, by th" word of God, nought else 
 
 44 liiit take their books, tobacco, and their b<er, 
 
 44 And conjure (summon) up poor fellow > to appear; 
 
 44 And then the bullying (what do you call it?) quorum 
 
 44 Must huff', and ding, and carry all before them." 
 
 1 i'es, Sir, I said as much as e'er I could; 
 But strange ado I had to make it good. 
 This summons, Sir, this summons! Fie upon't! 
 Of what service was my tongue against your hand? 
 
 K 2
 
 118 
 
 Whene'er they thrutten that into my dish, 
 
 It strick me dumb aootreet as onny fish. 
 
 Had I gooan on, I know, Sur, whot I know, 
 
 They'd soon ha' said 1 wur as bad as yo, 
 
 Yo.conno think, if I may be beiiev'd, 
 
 Yo conno think, Sur, haoo my heart wus griev'd. 
 
 I'd fain ha' yo belovM, Sur, in yoar turn 
 
 As aw yoar anciters before ye wurn; 
 
 And I believe that none o 1 th 1 race before, 
 
 Be who they win, could ere desarve it moor, 
 
 If thooas good qualities that God has gin ye, 
 
 Mit but appear withaoot as they are in ye. 
 
 But r this one faoo pleck, I need mun say, 
 
 Yo generaten fro 1 um quite away. 
 
 I hope yo tan it i' good part, Sur John: 
 
 I ineean to sarve ye 
 
 Sir J. Honest lad! Go on, 
 I think thou dost. Thee I shall sooner heed 
 Than twenty prating wiseacres. Proceed. 
 
 Harry. I Whoy then, Sur John, if I may be soboud, 
 Good-will when getten is as good as goud. 
 Yoar faither left ye here a foine estate, 
 
 HARRY. 
 
 Whenever they thrust that into my disk. 
 
 It struck me dumb outright as any fish. 
 
 Had I gone on, J know, Sir, what I know, 
 
 They'd soon have said I was as bad as you. 
 
 You cannot think, if I may be believ d, 
 
 You cannot think, Sir, how my heart was griev'd. 
 
 rdfain have you beloved, Sir, in your turn 
 
 As all your ancestors before you were; 
 
 And I believe that none of th? race before, 
 
 Be who they will, could e'er deserve it more, 
 
 If those good qualities that God has gio'n you, 
 
 Might but appear without as they are in you. 
 
 But in this one foul place, I needs must say, 
 
 You degenerate from them quite away. 
 
 J hope you take it in good part, Sir John; 
 
 J mean to serve you 
 
 1 Why then, Sir John, if I may be so bold, 
 Good will when gotten is as good as gold. 
 Your father left you here a fine estate,
 
 119 
 
 He sout his naibors' love and not their hate; 
 
 His principles vvurn of annother mack 
 
 From thooas at yo han been advois'd to tak. 
 
 This greet lung ooath he neer could undcrstond; 
 
 If yo bin wiser, naoo yo han his lond, 
 
 Better for yo; and yet 1 conno skill 
 
 Haoo it shid happen; but be that as 'twill, 
 
 Yet for yoar faither's seeake 'ats deead and gone, 
 
 Yo shid'n consider wi' yoar sel, Sur John, 
 
 Whether its hondsom for his Son and Heir 
 
 To foorce loike-moinded men to come and swear ; 
 
 Monny han said that seen ye so behave, 
 
 " Sur John here tramples on his faither's grave/' 
 
 If when th 1 oud mester wur alive himsel, 
 
 The Justices for feear he shid rebel 
 
 Had usend him as yo done other foke, 
 
 Y'oar wheels had wanted monny a pratty spoke. 
 
 Had he been made agen his ooan consent 
 
 A Papish, Sur, by Act o' Parliament, 
 
 Yo wouldn ha' caw'd urn by their proper name 
 
 HARRY. 
 He sought his neighbours'* love and not their hate; 
 His principles were of another make (sort) 
 From those that you have been advised to take. 
 This great long oath he ne'er could understand; 
 If you lie wiser, now you have his land, 
 Better for you ; and yet I cannot skill 
 How it should happen ; but be. tluit as "'twill, 
 Yet fur your fathers sake, that's dead and gone, 
 You should consider with yourself, Sir John, 
 Whether 'tis hand so me for his son and heir 
 To force like-minded men to come and swear; 
 Many have, said that see you so behave, 
 ** Sir John here tramples on his father's grave,' 1 
 If when th" 1 old master was alive, himself^ 
 I he Justices for far he should rebel 
 Had used him as you do other folk, 
 Your wheels had wanted many a pretty spoke. 
 Had he been made against his own consent 
 A Papist, Sir, by Act of Parliament, 
 You would have eaWd them by their proper nam*
 
 120 
 
 That did the thing, tho' naoo yo done the same. 
 
 Th' oud mon's hard yoozitch would ha 1 rais'd yoar blood - 
 
 . Sir J. So really, Harry, I believe it would: 
 
 I should not quietly have sitten still, 
 
 Had any of them us'd my father ill. 
 
 Harky. i Whoy, Sur, and conno' yo think at it, then, 
 And show some marcy naoo to other men? 
 Suppose this mon, becose he conno' think 
 Just as yo done, had nooather meeat nor drink, 
 Could no', becose 'at laws ma'en sich a paoose, 
 Wark in his bus'ness and maintain his haoose; 
 But aw his childer wurn to beg i' th' street, 
 Woulden yo think it sich a blessed seet? 
 Would no' yo say at seeing rags and ruin, 
 " The Deel wus in me ! What wus I adoing ?" 
 Yo gan me leeaf to tauk, Sur 
 
 Sir J. So I did, 
 And must confess that I am fairly chid ; 
 Thy honest bluntness oft has made me smile, 
 Harry, but I ne'er hed* thee all the while: 
 Now I believe that thou hast gain'd thy end, 
 And I, a better temper tow'rdsthy friend. 
 
 Harry. 2 Eh! Sur! God send it! If yoar heart wur 
 oppen'd 
 To loving thouts. haoo naibors would be gloppen'd ! 
 Before this Justicing made sich a pother, 
 
 HARRY. 
 That did the thing, tho'' now you do the same. 
 Th' old man's hard usage would have raised your blood 
 
 1 Why, Sir, and cannot you think at it, then, 
 And shew some mercy now to other men? 
 Suppose this man because he cannot think 
 Just as you do, had neither meat nor drink, 
 Could not, because that laws make such a pause, 
 Work in his bus'ness and maintain his house; 
 But alt his children were to beg in th'' street, 
 Would you think it such a blessed sight? 
 Wotdd not you say at seeing ragi and ruin, 
 *' The Devil was in me! What was I a doing ?" 
 You gave me leave to talk, Sir 
 
 2 Oh! Sir! God send it ! If your heart were open'd 
 To loving thoughts, how neighbours would be astonished! 
 Before this Justicing made such a pother, 
 
 w- 11 p m 1 1 ^mm i 
 
 * Minded.
 
 121 
 
 Haoo naiburly we liven'd with t'orte t'other ! 
 But naoo 
 
 Sir J. Well, Harry, thou hast said enough: 
 I hope I shan't herereafter be so rough, 
 Nor sharpen, when they come within my sphere, 
 Laws, of themselves sufficiently severe. 
 When thou shalt see him, tell thy friend from me, 
 If he'll be quiet, quiet he shall be. 
 Tell all thy neighbours that the thing is done, 
 The father's mem'ry shan't reproach the son; 
 Though all his thoughts and mine were not the same, 
 His worth and virtues shall direct my aim. 
 And, now I have confessed to thee, friend Harry, 
 We'll call another cause if thou canst tarry ; 
 This thou hast richly merited to win: 
 Here! who's in waiting? Bring a tankard in. 
 
 Harry. \ Nay, Sur, yo mun excuse me, if yo pleeasen; 
 Yoar kindness here in barkening to reeason 
 Has made my hairt, dry as a kex, Sur John, 
 Weoter and lceter till gud likkor con. 
 I'll go mi ways, Sur, whooam afore its dark, 
 And let aoor naibors know o' this day's wark; 
 I lung to see um, feeling whot I feel; 
 At present, Sur, God bless ye! and fareweel! 
 
 How neighbourly we liv'd one with Pother! 
 But now 
 
 1 Nay, Sir, you must excuse me if you -please; 
 Your kindness here in hearkening to reason 
 Has made my heart, dry as a kex, Sir John, 
 Wetter and lighter than good liijwrr can. 
 ril go my ways, Sir, home before 'tis dark, 
 And let our neighbours know of this day's work; 
 I long to see them, feeling what I feel; 
 At present, Sir, God bless you! and farewell!
 
 122 
 
 -j_ ^^ ^ 
 
 A GENUINE DIALOGUE, 
 
 Between a Gentlewoman at Derby and her Maid r 
 In the Beginning of December, 1745. 
 
 MISTRESS AND JENNY. 
 
 Mrs. JENNY, come here: I'm told that you have been 
 To see this man 
 
 Jenny. What man? 
 
 Mrs. Why you have seea 
 The young Pretender, hussy, at his lodging. 
 Is it not so? Come, tell me without dodging. 
 
 Jenny. Why, really, Madam, I was passing by, 
 Thinking no harm, not in the least, not I; 
 And somebody or other that I met 
 Mrs. What ""somebody?" 
 
 Jenny. Indeed, now I forget 
 Said what a handsome man he wa9; and so, 
 Begging your pardon, Madam, I did go; 
 But had no ill intention in the thing, 
 A cat may look, as folks say, at a King. 
 
 Mrs. " King" do "you call him, you rebellious slut? 
 Jenny. I did not call him so, good Madam, but 
 Mrs. But me no butting ; not another day 
 Shall any rebel in my service stay. 
 I owe you twenty shillings, there's a Guinea; 
 Pack up and go about your bus'ness, Jenny.- . 
 Matters are come indeed to a fine pass! 
 The next thing, I suppose, you'll go to Mass. 
 
 Jenny. " To Mass?" What road? For I don't know 
 the place, 
 Nor could I tell which way to turn my face. 
 
 Mrs. " Turn?" You'll turn Papist and believe Black's 
 
 White. 
 Jenny. Why, bless me, Madam, I've not lost my sight! 
 Mrs. And then the Priest will bid you cut my throat. 
 Jenny. Dear loving Mistress, how you talk by rote I 
 I would not hurt a hair of your dear head, 
 Were all the Priests in Mass to kill me dead:
 
 123 
 
 And I don't say it with design to brag,- 
 Since I've been with you, you han't lost a rag. 
 I " cut your throat !" because I saw the Prince, 
 And never thought of black or white e'er since. 
 
 Mrs. Good! this is you that did not call him King; 
 And is not Prince, you minx, the self-same thing? 
 
 Jenny. You are so hasty, Madam, with your snarls! 
 Would you have me call the gentleman plain Charles? 
 
 Mrs. " Prince Charles" again ! Speak out your 
 treason tales, 
 " His Royal Highness Charles, the Prince of Wales!" 
 
 Jenny. Ob! Madam! you say more of him than me; 
 For I said nothing of his pedigree. 
 
 Mrs. " Pedigree !" Fool ! What would the wench beat? 
 What pedigree has any bastard brat? 
 
 Jenny. Nay, I'm no Harold, be he what he will, 
 He is a charming man to look at still. 
 When I was got in there amongst the throng, 
 His Royal Highness 
 
 Mrs. Hussy ! hold your tongue ! 
 
 Jenny. You call'd him so yourself but just e'en now. 
 
 Mrs. Yes, so I did; but then, the manner how? 
 
 Jenny. And will you turn a servant out of doors, 
 Because her manners ben't so fine as yours? 
 
 Mrs. Jenny! I say you had no bus'ness, neither 
 To see the creature, nor go near him either. 
 
 Jenny. "Creature!" Nay, pardon, Madam, he's no 
 creature, 
 But a sweet comely Christian, ev'ry feature. 
 
 Mrs. " No creature?" Would you worship him, you 
 dunce? 
 
 Jenny. I would you were to see his Worship once! 
 
 Mrs. How can the girl cross questions like a fool? 
 Or think that I should go and see the tool? 
 Jenny! though you have done so much amiss, 
 I pity such an ignorance as this. 
 If you'll go mind your work as heretofore, 
 And keep at home, I'll pass the matter o'er. 
 
 Jenny. Ah! Madam, you're so good! let me but speak 
 My simple mind, or else my heart will break, 
 I've such a strange foreboding in my heart, 
 If you but saw him once we should not part. 
 Do see him once! What harm is there iu seeing? 
 If alter that there be not an agreeing.
 
 124 
 
 Then call me twenty Rebel sluts, if you, 
 When you have seen him, ben't a Rebel toe 
 
 Now whether Jenny did persuade her dame r 
 Is not as yet betrumpeted by fame. 
 Sometimes there happen to be secret views' 
 That are not put into the public news; 
 But by report, that private rumour gives, 
 She'll never part with Jenny while she lives. 
 
 CONTRAST BETWEEN TWO LORDS, 
 
 AT THEIR EXECUTION. 
 
 The untimely fate of the Lords Kilmarnock and Balmerino excited almost 
 universal commiseration. It is said to have drawn from Dr. Johnson 
 some verses, which commenced with the following couplet, 
 
 Pity'd by gentle minds Kilmarnock died ; 
 The brave, Balmerino, were on thy side. 
 
 We can note form but inadequate conceptions of public feeling on this occasion, 
 when the opinions of many good men wen divided on such a subject for 
 discussion as a disputed right of succession to the crown afforded. Kil- 
 marnock was conscious before his death of having acted criminally, by 
 engaging in the rebellion not so much from principle, as from resentment. 
 Balmerino, on the contrary, having supported, in the best manner he was 
 able, that cause which he believed had justice in its favour, disdained by 
 any act to disparage his fair character, or by apparent penitence to induce 
 a belief of his former conduct having been unprincipled and his prof cssions 
 insincere. The exit of such a man from the stage of life, as might have 
 been calculated upon, reflected no discredit on his reputation. He resign- 
 ed himself to death with the equanimity of a martyr to the claims of in- 
 jured royalty, and seemed nobly to exult in what he was called on that 
 account to endure. After he was beheaded the following short epitaph, 
 says the Gentleman's Magazine, icus written on him; 
 
 Here lies a Baron bold: take care, 
 There may be treason in a tear; 
 But yet my Arthur may find room 
 Where greater folks don't always come. 
 
 AS crowds attended when the fatal blow 
 Took off Kilmarnock and Balmerino, 
 Men were surpris'd that warriors on a side 
 Should in the common field of death divide:
 
 125 
 
 By the same path descending to the grave, 
 In the same cause so widely to behave! 
 What turns of anger, pity, censure, praise, 
 Did such a contrast of deportment raise ! 
 
 One, struck with horror at rebellion's crime, 
 Seeks by repentance to redeem the lime; 
 Begs of offended Majesty the grace, 
 That future conduct may the past efface; 
 Would live, but only till his blood be spilt 
 In such a cause as may atone for guilt; 
 Would die, if such shall be his Sovereign's doom, 
 And, praying for ins race, approach the tomb. 
 
 Approach he must, and be the first to bleed; 
 The scene beheld Tis terrible indeed! 
 The sable scaffold, coffin, axe, and block, 
 And circling eyes, on him concenler'd, shock 
 Yet not confound: instructed to prepare, 
 He meets with death too serious to dare; 
 Receives (his crime avow'd, and mercy clos'd) 
 Th' impending stroke reluctantly compos'd. 
 
 The other, firm and steady in trie cause 
 Of injur'd monarchs and of ancient iaws, 
 By change of conduct never sfain'd his fame, 
 Child, youth, and man, his principles the same. 
 How greatly generous his last adieu, 
 That from his friend one more confession drew! 
 He clears his Prince's honour and his own, 
 And only sorrows not to die alone. 
 
 " Pledge me," he cries, " one step to heav'n, my friends!*' 
 And in his wonted dress thereon asconds; 
 Scorning when pant thro' life with conscience clear, 
 In death to play the hypocrite and fear. 
 His head adorned with the Scottish plaid, 
 His heart confiding upon God for aid, 
 He as a guest, invites his welcome fate, 
 Fearless, intrepid, gallant, and sedate. 
 
 What shall we say? If both of them were bad, 
 The one was coward, and the other mad; 
 If one was wrong, the other in the right; 
 The which 'tis plain to ev'ry party wight. 
 L2
 
 126 
 
 If each obeyM the dictates of his breast, 
 And of true worth sincerity be test, 
 Then to Kilmarnock's penitence give quarter, 
 And Balaieriko call, " a valiant martyr." 
 
 EPISTLE TO A FRIEND, 
 
 ON THE 
 
 Art of English Poetry. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 THE art of English Poetry, I find, 
 At present, Jenkins, occupies your mind; 
 You have a vast desire to it, you say, 
 And want my help to put you in the way, 
 Want me to tell what books you are to read, 
 How to begin at first, and how proceed. 
 
 Now tho" in short-hand, my Salopian friend, 
 To give directions I may well pretend, 
 As having had the honour to impart 
 Its full perfection to that English art, 
 Which you and many a sagacious youth 
 By sure experience know to be the truth; 
 Yet how in matters of poetic reach 
 Shall I, myself untaught, pretend to teach? 
 Well I remember that my younger breast 
 The same desire, that reigns in yours, possess'd. 
 Me, numbers flowing to a measur'd time, 
 Me, sweetest grace of English verse, the Rhyme, 
 Choice epithet, and smooth, descriptive line, 
 Conspiring all to finish one design, 
 Smit with delight; full negligent of prose, 
 And thro' mere liking tempted to compose, 
 To rate according to my school-boy schemes, 
 Ten lines in verse worth half a hundred themes.
 
 127 
 
 Without one living person to consult, 
 The years went on from tender to adult; 
 And as lor poring to consult the dead, 
 Truly, that never came into my head. 
 44 Not Homer, Virgil, Horace?" do you ask? 
 Why, yes; the rod would send me to the task. 
 But all the consultation that came out 
 Had this in view to scape the whipping bout. 
 Was any subject waiting to be sung? 
 The Muse was question'd in the vulgar tongue; 
 Who, if she could not answer well in that, 
 Would hardly mend herself in Greek or Lat. 
 Tis poor encouragement for you to hope 
 That my instructions will attain the scope. 
 Yet since the help which you arc pleas* d to seek, 
 Does not concern the Latin or the Greek; 
 In ancient Classics tho 1 but little read, 
 I know and care as little what they said, 
 In plain, familiar English for your sake, 
 This untried province I will undertake, 
 And rules for verse as readily instil, 
 As if ability had equalPd will: 
 Fair stipulation first on either side, 
 In form and manner here annex'd, imply'd, 
 Conditions are that if the Muse should err, 
 You gave tir occasion and must pardon her; 
 If aught occur, on sitting down to try, 
 That may deserve (he casting of your eye, 
 If hint arise in any sort to suit 
 With your intent, you shall be welcome to*t. 
 
 You may remember when you first began 
 To learn the truly tachygraphic plan. 
 How, tracing step by step the simplest line, 
 We grounded, rais'd, and finished our design; 
 How we examin'd language and its powYs, 
 And then adjusted ev'ry stroke to ours. 
 Whilst the same me: hod, follow'd in the main. 
 Made other matters more concisely plain, 
 Made English, French, Italian, Hebrew too, 
 Appear the clearest in a short-hand view; 
 Which in all points where language was concern'd. 
 Explain'd how be*t and soonest they were learn'd.
 
 128 
 
 Shew'd where to end as well as to commence 
 At lhat one central point of view 600D sense. 
 
 There fix your eye, then, if you mean to write 
 Verse that is fit to read or to recite. 
 A Poet slighting this initial ruie 
 Is but at best an artificial fool ; 
 Needless of learning verse were the expense, 
 Plain prose might serve to shew his want of SENSE. 
 
 But you who have it, and would give to prose 
 The grace that English Poetry bestows, 
 Consider how the short-hand scheme in part 
 May be apply'd to the poetic art : 
 To write or read in that, you understood, 
 There must be sense, and sense that must be good; 
 The more where words were proper and exact, 
 In book or speech, the more we could contract; 
 The hand, you know, became a kind of test, 
 In this respect what writings were the best. 
 If incorrect the language or absurd, 
 It cost tiie fuller noting of each word; 
 But when more apt. grammatical, and true, 
 Full oft a letter for a word would do. 
 
 Form to yourself directly the design 
 Of so constructing a poetic line, 
 That it may cost in writing it our way, 
 The least cxpencc of ink, as one may say; 
 That word or phrase, in meagre that you please, 
 May come the nearest to prosaic ease. 
 Whilst this directs in gen'ral your attempt, 
 You'll see the cases from the ruie exempt, 
 How word or sentence you may oft transpose, 
 And verse be still as natural as prose. 
 
 " As natural,' 1 for, tho' we call it art, 
 The worth in Poetry is nature's part. 
 Here " arts est cefare artem,*" here 
 Art must be hid that nature may appear, 
 So lie conceal'd behind the shining glass 
 That nature's image may the best repass; 
 
 * It is the perfection of art to conceal art.
 
 129 
 
 All o^er, indeed, must quicksilver be spread, 
 But all its useless motion must lie dead. 
 
 The art of swimming, that comes next to mind, 
 Perhaps may shew you what is here design'd; 
 A young beginner struggling, you may see, 
 With all his might, 'twas so at least with me, - 
 With all the splutter of his limbs, to swim 
 And keep his brains and breath above the brim; 
 Whilst ihe more eager he to gain his art 
 The sooner ev'ry limb is thrown athwart, 
 Till by degrees he learns, with less ado 
 And gentler stroke, the purpose to pursue. 
 To nature's motions, poising, he conforms, 
 Nor puts th* unwilling element in storms, 
 Taught, as the smoother wave shall \ield, to yield, 
 And rule the surface of the wat'ry held. 
 
 Soon as you can, then. learn to lay aside 
 AH wild endeavours against nature's tide; 
 Which way she bend* take notice, and comply; 
 Wnat ver- -. will n.)i, burn, or throw them by. 
 Perhaps th subject dees not suit your skill, 
 Di tniss it then, till one comes up that will. 
 If sense, if nature succour not the theme, 
 A!! art or skill is strife against the stream; 
 If the) assi.-t to wait your verses o'er, 
 Stretch forward, and possess the wi&h'd-for shore. 
 
 This, from a certain native sense and wit 
 Arose, -" Poeta nascitur, non fit,"* 
 Adage lorb dding any rhyming blade. 
 Who was not born a poet, to be made. 
 For, if to sing, in Music, or to hear 
 Require a nat' rally good voice and ear; 
 II art and rule but awkwardly advance, 
 Without a previous pliant shape, to dance, 
 Well may the Muse of supple wit require 
 Versatile force before she can inspire. 
 
 Of this if Critics should demand a sign, 
 Strong inclination should be one of mine. 
 A fair desire is seldom known to spring 
 But whore th' re is some fitness for the thing; 
 
 * A Poet ii bom such ; lie cannot be made.
 
 130 
 
 Tho 1 by untoward circumstances check'd 
 
 There lies a genius, but without effect. 
 
 Many a fine plant, uncultivated, dies, 
 
 And worse, with more encouragement, may rise. 
 
 " Des Mecasnates;"* what had Maro been, 
 
 Had not Mecaenas rais'd the Muse within? 
 
 Yours, honest pupil, when you are inclin'd, 
 May versify according to your mind; 
 She has no reason, to no patron tied, 
 To prostitute her favours to a side; 
 Nor to false taste, (if into such the age 
 Shall plunge itself) to sacrifice her page; 
 Much less with any vicious topic vile 
 An art of chaster offspring to defile. 
 All verse unworthy of an English Muse 
 Of short-hand race, she may, and must refuse. 
 
 Ancient and modern aptitude to run 
 Into some errors which you ought to shun 
 Will now and then occasion, I foresee 1 ,' 
 In place or out, a praecipef from me. 
 When this shall happen, never stand to try 
 The where of its appearance, but the why; 
 Lest by authorities, or old or new, 
 You should be tempted to incur them too; 
 Since the most celebrated names infer 
 No sott of privilege in you to err. 
 Far from it: Even where they may excel, 
 Barely to imitate is not so well; 
 Much less should their authority prevail, 
 Or warrant you to follow where they fail. 
 
 'Tis not to search for precedents alone, 
 But how to form a judgment of your own, 
 In writing verse that is your main affair, 
 Main end of all my monitory care, 
 Who hate servility to common law 
 That, keeps an equitable right in awe; 
 By use and custom justifies its lot, 
 Its modes and fashions, whether right or not; 
 Cramps the free genius, clips the Muse's wing, 
 And to one poet ties another's string, 
 
 * Ob bestd'w on us such men as Mecaenas (patrons of learning). 
 t A Command.
 
 131 
 
 Producing from their hardly various lines, 
 So many copies and so few designs. 
 
 Neither by names nor numbers be deterr'd, 
 Nor yield to mix amongst the servile herd: 
 Exert the liberty which all avow, 
 Tho 1 slaves in practice, and begin just now; 
 Begin with me, and construe what I write 
 Not to preclude your judgment, but t 1 excite; 
 Just as you once examin'd what 1 taught 
 From first to last, with unaddicted thought, 
 So while at your request 1 venture here 
 To play the master, see that all be clear, 
 Preserve the freedom which you always took, 
 Nor, if it teach amiss, regard the book. 
 
 Thus unencumberM let us move along, 
 As road shall lead us, to the mount of song; 
 Still keeping, so far by agreement tied, 
 Good verse in prospect, and good sense for guide. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 SENSE presuppos'd and resolute intent, 
 To regulate thereby poetic bent, 
 Let us examine language once again, 
 As erst we did to regulate the pen; 
 And then observe how the peculiar frame 
 Of words in English may assist your aim. 
 
 Tho end of speech vouchsafd to human kind, 
 is to express conceptions of the mind. 
 By painted speech, or writing's wond'rous aid, 
 The lines of thought are legibly display'd, 
 In any place, at any time appear, 
 And silent figure speaks to mental ear, 
 Surprising permanence of meaning found 
 For distant voice and momentary sound. 
 Whether by heav'n at first the huge effect 
 ReveaPd, or by inventive wit, reflect 
 What good may follow if a man exert 
 The talent right, what ill, if he pervert ;
 
 132 
 
 And to exertion, whether good or bad, 
 What strength engaging poefy may add; 
 That if successful in your present drift, 
 You may not risk to desecrate the gift. 
 
 You see, in speaking, or by sound or ink, 
 The grand inceptive caution is to think, 
 To measure, ponder, ruminate, digest, 
 Or any phrase that will betoken best 
 A due attention to make art and skill 
 Turn all to good, or least of all to ill, 
 Never to give on any warm pretence, 
 To just observers cause of just offence. 
 To truth, to good undoubtedly belong 
 The skill of poets and the charm of song. 
 
 In verse or prose, in nature or in art, 
 The head begins the movement, or the heart; 
 If both unite, if both be clear and sound, 
 Then may perfection in a work be found, 
 Then does the preacher, then the poet shine, 
 And justly take the title of Divine. 
 By common sense the world has been all led 
 To make distinction of the heart and head 
 Distinction worthy of your keenest ken 
 In passing judgment upon books and men, 
 Upon yourself, before you shall submit 
 To other judges what yourself has writ. 
 
 The heart, the head, it may suffice to note, 
 Two different kinds of poetry promote; 
 One more sublime, more sacred, and severe, 
 That shines in Poetry's celestial sphere; 
 One of a useful, though a humbler birth, 
 That ornaments its lower globe of. earth. 
 These we shall here ascribe, if you think fit, 
 One to good sense, the other to good wit; 
 And grant that whichsoever be display'd, 
 It must have something of the other's aid; 
 Without some wit solidity is dull, 
 As bad the sprightly nonsense, to the full. 
 
 To clothe them both in language and by rule. 
 Let us again revise the short-hand school,
 
 133 
 
 And trace the branching stamens of discourse 
 
 From their most plain and primerly resource. 
 
 Four parts of speech, you know, we us'd to make 
 
 The best arrangement for enquiry ''s sake ; 
 
 And how spontaneous to determine those, 
 
 The noun and adnoun, verb and adverb rose. 
 
 Occurring hints, but to no stiffness tied 
 
 Of formal method, let these four divide; 
 
 They do in fact partition out, you know, 
 
 The sense of words as far as words can go ; 
 
 For of a thing the clear ideal sense, 
 
 The properties tbat really spring from thence, 
 
 Actions and modes of action that ensue, 
 
 Must all unite to make the language true : 
 
 If false, some one or other of these four 
 
 Unvails delusion enfring at its door ; 
 
 But wonted lessons I shall here pass by, 
 
 Trusting to your remembrance and apply. 
 
 The noun, the name, the substantive, or thing. 
 May represent the subject that you sing, 
 The main, essential matter whereupon 
 You mean to set the muse at work anon. 
 Ere you begin the verse that you intend, 
 " Respice finem" think upon its end. 
 One single point on which you are to fix, 
 Must govern all that you shall intermix; 
 Before you quest for circumstances round, 
 Peg down at first the centre of your ground; 
 Each periodic incident when past, 
 Examine gently whether that be fast. 
 How can you help, if it should eVr come out. 
 Mistaking quite the point you are about? 
 How help, no tether lix'd to your designs, 
 Unmeaning, loose, and incoherent lines? 
 
 You need not ask of classic Rome or Greece 
 Whether your work should all be of a piece; 
 The thing is plain, and all that rule can tell 
 Is Memorandum to observe it well, 
 To frame, whatever you shall intersperse 
 Of decoration, well connected verse; 
 That shalf, whatever may across l>e spread, 
 From end to end maintain an equal thread;
 
 134 
 
 That botch, or patch, or clumsy, awkward seaw 
 Mar not poetic unity of theme. 
 
 Thi- theme or subject for your English Muse 
 Belongs of right to you and her to choose. 
 Your own unbiass'd inclinations best 
 The freer topics for a verse suggests 
 All within bound of innocence is free; 
 And you may range without consulting me, 
 The just, delightful, and extensive sphere; 
 All else what need of caution to forbear ? 
 None ; if the bards, and some of them renown'd r 
 Had not transgress'd and overleap'd the bound. 
 This may indeed bid you to have a care, 
 Me 10 renew the warning to beware: 
 While unrfstrain'd you set yourself the task, 
 Let it be harmless, and 'tis all I ask. 
 
 Some, to be sure, more excellent and grand, 
 Your practisM genius may in time demand; 
 To these in view, no doubt, you may in will- 
 Devote at present your completer skill; 
 And whilst in little essays you express, 
 Or clothe a thought, in versifying dress, 
 On fair ideas they may turn, and just, 
 And pave the way to something more august. 
 If well your earlier specimens intend, 
 From small beginnings you may greatly end, 
 Write what the good may praise as they peruse, 
 And bless, with no unfruitful fame, the Muse. 
 
 A youthful Muse, a sprightly one may crave 
 To intermix the cheerful with the grave; 
 Indulge her choice, nor stop the flowing stream 
 Where verse adorns an inoffensive theme. 
 Unwili'd endeavour is the same as faint, 
 And brisk will languish if it feel constraint. 
 From task impos'd, from any kind of force, 
 A stiff and starch'd production comes of course, 
 Unless it suit, as it may chance to do, 
 The present humour of the Muse and you; 
 Sooner, so ask'd, that, willing numbers flow 
 The more acceptable and a propos. 
 Tho' prompt, if proper the occasion rise, 
 Her nimbler aid no gen'rous Muse denies;
 
 135 
 
 But if a fair and friendly call invite, 
 Speeds on the verse to opportune delight, 
 Cuts all delays to satisfaction short 
 When friends and seasons are in temper for't; 
 As by this present writing one may see, 
 Dear Muse of mine, is just the case with thee. 
 
 A gen'rous Muse, I must again repeat, 
 Disdains the poor poetical conceit 
 Of poaching verse for personal repute, 
 And writing only to be thought to do't, 
 Without regarding one of its chief ends, 
 At once to profit and to please one's friends. 
 Tho' to the bard she dictate first the line, 
 The reader's benefit is her design. 
 Mistaken poets seek for private fame; 
 'Tis gen'ral use that sanctifies the name. 
 Be free and choose what subject then you will; 
 But keep your readers in remembrance still, 
 Your future judges, tho' 'tis in your choice 
 In what committees who shall have a voice; 
 Their satisfaction if the Muse prefers, 
 And their esteem who justly merit hers, 
 They who do not, however prompt of throat, 
 Stand all excluded from the legal vote. 
 Verse, any readers, for whom verse is writ, 
 May to the press or to the flames commit; 
 A poet signs the judgment on his verse, 
 If readers worthy to be pleas'd, rehearse; 
 But when the blockheads meddle in the cause, 
 Laughs at their blame, and smiles at their applause. 
 
 'Twill add to future versifying ease 
 To think on judges whom you ought to please, 
 To fancy some of your selected friends 
 Discussing points to which a subject tends, 
 By whom, you guess, it would be well discuss'd, 
 And judgment form'd that you might safely trust. 
 If you conceive them sitting on the bench, 
 Hints what is fit to add or to retrench 
 Anticipating fancy may supply. 
 And save the trouble to the real eye; 
 Judgment awaken'd may improve the theme 
 With righter verdict, tho' the court's a dream.
 
 136 
 
 iwiMiin [mmrnrrnnrn 
 
 TO RALPH LEYCESTER, ESQ. 
 
 On his sending the Author a HARE, according to annual Custom. 
 
 WHAT ! another hare * Peter ! Well so much the better ^ 
 I acknowledge myself to he doubly your debtor; 
 Should have thank'd you indeed for the last afore now, 
 But the forelock of time has been short of somehow : 
 I hope you won't take it, Sir, as an affront; 
 'Twas an excellent good one for what there was on't. 
 But since by your favour, here, two at a time, 
 Let that be for sense, and this other for rhyme: 
 
 Indeed when old Jackson, your namesake and neighbour, 
 Had brought what you call'd there, "the fruits of your labour, 
 44 Of a whole day's whole labour," so labour'd the mountain, 
 Thought I, and when got to the end of her counting, 
 While the neighbours all round her with wonder struck dumb, 
 Stood to see what huge monster was waiting to come, 
 At last she with much ado brought forth a hero, 
 Which, when dress'd, would make much the same bill of 
 fare-o. 
 
 Not that I lik'd your present one penny the worse; 
 No; if these be your thoughts, you are out of your course; 
 Your intention had had the same courtesy in't if 
 The fruits of your labour were e'er so dimin'tive. 
 Nor should I have fail'd of my thanks, if old Jackson 
 Had not told me that he was oblig'd to go back soon; 
 I began once to write but I could not proceed in't, 
 And indeed, as it happens, 'tis well that I didn't. 
 
 Had I answer'd your Minor, perhaps 'tis a wager 
 Whether ever or not I had heard of your Major; 
 But now having laid down your premises twain, 
 The conclusion is good, and the consequence plain ; 
 For, as old Aristotle said some time agone, 
 '* Two hens and two bacons are better than one," 
 
 * The Author had, this year, received two hares from his friend, and 
 wrote these verses in answer to the receipt of the latter.
 
 137 
 
 Second hares are the best, as a body may say; 
 D'ye take, Sir, the force of the argument? Ha? 
 
 But as after your short hare you sent a long ditto, 
 So you should by your letter, and lengthen it out too.. 
 You made me to cry with your bit of a scrawl, 
 Like our Trinity friend you know who Is this alJ? 
 I expected to find an account of Miss Pus 
 As long as my arm, and to fob me off thusl t . 
 
 I thought, when a Cheshire Squire sent a hare hither, 
 That at least he'd have scat the luire'.s pedigree with her. 
 
 Sir Peter of Chester* would ne'er have been hind'red 
 From searching of writings to find out their kindred; 
 The field they were in he'd have blazon'd, I trow, 
 And have shew'd if your hares had been co-heirs or no; 
 With many such questions, so nice and so knotty; 
 Of which you have said not a syllable- 
 Yet you fancy that I should have somewhat to say to 'em, 
 As if I had any thing to do, but to eat 'em. 
 
 w Dr. John, 'tis long since I receiv'd any poe- 
 " try, Argol I've sent hare and service unto ye. 
 Very good, master Peter; you think, I suppose, 
 That verses with me are mi common as prose. 
 ' I send you a hare; send you me a conceit;" 
 Is the old grammar-rule then gone out of your pate? 
 Did your master ne'er tell you, anion, st other stories. 
 The dilf'rencc betwixt Upoves and leporeslf 
 
 The last time, indeed, that you sent me a h*rc, 
 My fury was mov"d with another affair/; 
 And the creature arriv'd, just as I had my head foil 
 Of a Butcher- Hall chalfenge so dire and so dreadful. 
 But now our dear friend is reinov'd to Chcupside, 
 With right hand, and left hand, and pen laid aside; 
 And for fear I should take his bread from him, lias fled straight 
 From Butcher-Hall Lane to the corner of Bread-Street. 
 
 * Sir P. Leicester, who published the Antiquities of Cheshire. 
 
 t The classical reader need not Ik- i < min led of itpna a hare, making 
 leporis, with the o short, and lepur, pleasantry, kpori$, with the D lony. 
 
 Molding to the appearance at that time of an advertisement in the 
 public newspapers, in which Weston (ronecrniii whom see paje 11) 
 asserted the superior cxreHenee of his own method of writing shorthand 
 in point of expedition, and offered to make trial of skill in it with out 
 author, or any of his scholars. 
 
 M 
 

 
 138 
 
 Having put our antagonist therefore to flight 
 I return to the hare here odzooks, what a weight! 
 The last that you sent us was presently gone, 
 But this, on my word, is a *whopper o' one. 
 Adzookus, whene'er we begin to see th' end on't, 
 We'll remember, old Arnold, thy worthy descendant; 
 With knives, and with forks, and with spoons we will 
 
 thump her, 
 And then " to the Ladies of Toft" in a bumper. 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 IN ANSWER TO THE FOLLOWING LETTER: 
 
 Dear Byrom, A Toft hare was used in former days to produce a copy of 
 verses; and I hope you still like hare as well as I do verses. Be thai 
 as it will, I shall be glad to hear in verse or prose that you are as well as 
 J could wish you to be. I grow old, stir little from home, and lament 
 I am not able to put myself in V our wa y as formerly. 
 
 P.S. K. George and Mr. Pitt are, it seems, at present the darlings of 
 the nation. I shall hereafter be surprised at nothing. 
 
 Killed ljth Nov. 
 
 DEAR Peter, this tells you as soon as it could, 
 That the hare which you sent us was tender and good ; 
 And we send you thanks for it. You say, " a Toil hare 
 " Was wont to produce a verse-copied affair;" 
 Which is true in the main; but Philosophers oft 
 Give effects to wrong causes; it neither was Toft 
 Nor hare, that was really productive of metre, 
 But (as here you may see by self-evidence) Peter. 
 
 The hare was no more than occasional item 
 That if verses were willing one might as well write 'em; 
 And Toft, tho' within but a few mille passus,f 
 Was as fit for the purpose as foreign Parnassus. 
 Its good-natur'd owner was proximate cause 
 Of the free-flowing rhyme and its modify'd pause, 
 The Phebus, at whose innuendo the Muse 
 Her assistance, jam nunc, J knows not how to refuse. 
 
 * A provincial term for, " a fine, or a large one." t Miles. 
 
 Nodding. j Just now.
 
 139 
 
 Still, it seems, "you like verse as you hope I like hare: 1 ' 
 Ay, for intercourse-sake, not the worth of the ware. 
 Shops would answer your taste with a much better line; 
 And shambles, with full as good provender, mine. 
 Nay if one should reflect upon cruelty's source, 
 In the gentlemen butchers, the hunt and the course, 
 'Twere enough to prevent either pudding or jelly 
 From storing such carcass within a man's belly. 
 
 Still I think of old Elvvall invited to sup 
 At your Chester abode, when a hare was cut up, 
 How he gave me this answer concerning this prog, 
 " Dost thou ever eat hare?" " Dost thou ever eat dog?" 
 Don't think that hereby one intends to degrade 
 The presentment, Sir Peter, which now you have made ; 
 I would only suggest that the thanks which I render 
 Stand up on their feet not to hare, but hare-sender, 
 
 Whose case you describe so exactly like mine, 
 That it runneth almost in a parallel line ; 
 '* You grow old," I grow older; " stir little from home," 
 I, less; and abroad more unable to roam: 
 You lament that " yon cannot come in a friend's way 
 *' As you formerly could," the same also I say. 
 Now, the case being common, how should it affect us, 
 Seeing '* aliter non fit, avite, senectus?"* 
 
 With gratitude first, as I take it a truth 
 Which is common, indeed, both to age and to youth; 
 But if youth has neglected to fill up that page, 
 My case, it belongs to executor age 
 To supply the defect, which, tho' negligent, still 
 We suppose the said youth to have had in its will; 
 Old tsenectus is ty'd then, for benefits lent us, 
 To pay the just debts of testator Juventus. 
 
 With temperance next; since if gratitude binds 
 For the sake of past youth our senescenterj minds, 
 They must in a body more subject to Phthisic, 
 Guard against all excess and turn food into Physic. 
 One sees how corpuscular eating and drinking 
 JVlake youth in its mentals so stout, and unthinking; 
 
 Old man, age comes not on without these. t Ape. 
 
 Youth who has willed them. t Inclining to old age.
 
 140 
 
 Age therefore, ahho' not so paunchful or patefu!, 
 Will be much better off, being sober ftnd grateful. 
 
 Two helps without which the mere animal pow'r 
 In young or old blood grows insipid or sour. 
 If the two ventilators of liie do not mix, 
 Old age would, 1 tind, be as cross as two sticks. 
 Oh ! grant me, ye pow'rs both of verse and of prose, 
 To be thoughtful and thankful, choose how the world goes! 
 Not, though the old man should become twice a child, 
 To be peevish and fretful, but placid and mild. 
 
 Now as touching King George and his pensioner Pitt, 
 Your two present darlings of national wit, 
 And the strange alterations that seem, in your eyes, 
 So great as if nothing henceforth couid surprise ; 
 If you have not yet seen men and matters *o vary 
 As to bring you before to a ** nil admirari*" 
 In this changeable island, one need not be told 
 That you are but a youngster, but newly grown old. 
 
 What a pleasure to come, has our coming to age, 
 To emancipate thought from so shifting a stage! 
 And to fax it on matters that will in all cases, 
 Stand tirm on their solid, immoveable bases; 
 Real objects! your epitaph, else, on the hare 
 " KilTd November thirteenth" is but one of a pair 
 With a poor hunted Peer's DECOLLAT.f such a day 
 What more than the puss has the peerage, I pray? 
 
 It would else be too true what comes into my mind, 
 How our old master Bentley divided mankind; 
 He was talking of short-hand, and how an erroneous 
 " Natare"4 the blockheads had made Suetonius 
 To write for " notare;"'^: the world, he then said, 
 Was made up of two sorts, worriers, worried. 
 Dick, he told me, should learn, and, amidst the world's hurry^ 
 As the potenter choice, be a lawyer and 4i worry." 
 
 You see now, old friend, how intentional aim 
 Sets out to comply with your copyhold claim; 
 How age would run on, if the Muse did not fix 
 The Rhythmus of dactyls to ninety and six; 
 
 * To wonder at nothing. t Let him be beheaded. 
 
 To swim. $ To write.
 
 141 
 
 And prompt what the household requires me to add, 
 That to hear of To It- welfare they always are glad, 
 Being always poasess'd of a competent stock 
 Of the best of good wishes for the whole of your flock. 
 
 ON 
 
 TNOCULJTION FOR THE SMALL POX. 
 
 Written when it first began to be practised in England. 
 
 I HEARD two neighbours talk the other night 
 
 About this new distemper-giving plan, 
 Which some so wrong, and others think so right ^ 
 
 Short was the dialogue, and thus it rati, 
 '* If I had twenty children of my own, 
 
 " I would inoculate them evVy one." 
 Ay, but should any of (hem die, what moan 
 
 If'oidd then lie math for venturing thereupon} 
 " No; 1 shouid think that I had done the beat, 
 
 " And be resigifd whatever should befall." 
 But could you really be so quite at rest? 
 
 " I could." Then why inoculate at all, 
 Since to resign a child to God, who gave. 
 
 Is full as e'lsi/ and as just a part 
 When sick and led by nature to (he grave. 
 
 As when in health l<> drive it there by art? 
 
 ANSWER TO SOME ENQUIRIES, 
 
 Concerning the Author's Opinion of a Smnon, on the Operation of the 
 Holy Spirit. 
 
 " SAY to the Sermon?" Why, you all were by. 
 And heard its whole contents as well as I. 
 Without discussing what the preacher *aid, 
 I'll tell you Sir=. what came into my head. 
 M 2
 
 142 
 
 While he went on and learnedly perplex'd 
 The genuine meaning of his chosen text, 
 1 cast my eyes above him, and explor'd 
 The dove-like form upon the sounding-board. 
 
 That bird, thought I, was put there as a sign 
 What kind of Spirit guides a good divine, 
 Such as at first tauxht preachers to impart 
 The pure and simple gospel to the heart; 
 
 A perfect, plain, intelligible rule, 
 Without the dark distinctions of " the school," 
 That, with a nice, sophistical disguise, 
 Hide the clear precepts from the people's eyes. 
 
 Whatever doctrine in one ago was true 
 Must needs be so in all succeeding too; 
 Tho' circumstance may change, its inward aim 
 Thro' ev'ry outward state is still the same. 
 
 No thinking Christian can be pleas 1 d to hear 
 Men, who pretend to make the scriptures clear, 
 With low remarks upon the letters play, 
 And take the spirit of it quite away. 
 
 Be time, or place, or person, or what will, 
 Urg'd in support of such a wretched skill, 
 It all amounts but to a vain pretence 
 That robs the Gospel of its real sense, 
 
 Taught by the Saviour and by holy men ; 
 'Tis now the very same that it was then ; 
 Not to be alter'd by unhallow'd pains; 
 The world may vary, but the truth remains. 
 
 Its consecrated phrases one would think 
 That priests and pulpits were not made to sink; 
 Profaner wits can do it that disgrace, 
 What need of holy orders in the case? 
 
 The modish, critical haranguer heard, 
 May be admir'd, may be, perhaps, preferr'd, 
 Who sinks the dictates of the Sacred Page 
 Down to the maxims of the present age. 
 
 But o'er his sounding canopy why bring 
 The harmless dove to spread its hov'rinjj winj?
 
 143 
 
 How, in the Church by such a shape, expressM 
 Fulness of brain and emptiness of breast? 
 
 Of heads so fattenM and of hearts so starv'd 
 A different emblem should, methinks, be carv'd,- 
 The Owl of Athens, and not Siau's Dove, 
 The bird of learning, not the bird of love. 
 
 REMARKS 
 
 On Dr. Brown's "ESTIMATE," written in tlic Character 
 of a Lady. 
 
 The shocking death of Dr. Brown, who committed suicide, would hare dw- 
 armed our author's criticism of its asperity, had the probability of such 
 an erent, or a propensity towards it, been anticipated by him. Hut it 
 was written long before that distressing catastropht took place, and while 
 the hero of it was in the zenith of popularity which he had acquit ed b y 'he 
 publication of the first part of his " Estimate." The following account, 
 by Hf,de Voltaire, qf Us animating tendency is very creditable to Dr. 
 Brown's talents, and is inserted as an antidote to whatercr muy b>' con- 
 sidered too virulent in the assumed Lady's strictures ; u When Marshal 
 " Richelieu, in 1756, laid seigc to Port Malum, tlie capital of Minorca, 
 " the British sent out Admiral Byng with a strong narai force, to drive 
 " the French fleet off the island and raise tlu siege. At this ti>m there ap- 
 " peared a book entitled An Estimate of the Manners ok the 
 " Times ; of' which no less than fire editions were printed off in London 
 " in the space of three months. In this treatise the author propes that 
 " the English nation was entirely degenerated ;lhai it was nea, Us 
 " ruin; that its inhabitants were no longer so robust and hardy us in 
 "former times ;---and that its soldiers liad lost their courage. This wirk 
 " roused the sensibility of the English nation,and produced tlu foli-tnng 
 *' consequences :- They attacked, almost at one and the same time, .'< the 
 " sea coasts of France, and her possessions in Asia, Africa, and America." 
 
 THE book appears to my perusing sight 
 So rambling, scambling, florid, and polite, 
 That, tho" 1 a manly skill may trace the due, 
 A simple female knows not what to do, 
 Where to begin remark, or where to close, 
 Lost in a thousand beauties, 1 suppose. 
 
 One specious proof of such a coalition 
 Of num'rous beauties is a fifth edition, 
 As I have, reading authors, just now found 
 in the Whitehall " Price three and sixj>ence, bound/
 
 144 
 
 Many a good book, but le3S of print concise, 
 Less clean of margin, sells for half the price. 
 
 So that the nation grows in books, 'tis plain, 
 " Luxurious, effeminate, and vain,"* 
 That is, the purchasers; or, if I durst, 
 I would have said, the writers of them first; 
 And the luxuriant iramer of this plan 
 First of the first, should be the leading man. 
 
 Somewhere before the middle of the book, 
 It seems, the author (whom I really took 
 But fur a Politician) was, in tine, 
 To my surprise, a Protestant Divine; 
 A Protestant Divine, in whose high flight 
 The question capital is, " who shall light?"t 
 
 Not "who shall pay?" as some Divines have plann'd, 
 From what we hear, the capital demand: 
 Both needless questions when Divines arose 
 Who neither sued (heir friends, nor fought their foes. 
 Now, what more " vain, effeminate, luxurious"' 
 Than parson's talk, so " capitally" furious? 
 
 Truly, the works of distaff and of needle 
 Are worth whole volumes of courageous tweedle, 
 With the sum total ' Britons! all be free; 
 " Take the Brown musket up and follow me; 
 " Let us be strong, be hardy, sturdy, rough, 
 " Till we are all beatify'd in buff." 
 
 With manners just the same, as we are told, 
 Men are effeminate and women bo!d. 
 
 * We may with truth and candour conclude tliat the ruling character 
 of the present times is that oi a vain, luxurious, and selfish effeminacy. 
 
 Brown's Estimate, Sec. 6. 
 
 t It hath been urged, indeed, as a proof that the natural spirit of de- 
 fence is not yet extinguished, that we raised such large *unts during the 
 rebellion, and still continue such plentiful supplies for the support of 
 our fleets and armies. This is weak reasoning; for will not cowardice, 
 at least, as soon as courage, part with a shilling, or a pound to avoid 
 danger? The capital question therefore stil! remains, not "who shall 
 pay," but "who shall fight?"- Sec 6. 
 
 The sexes have now little apparent distinction beyond that of per- 
 son and dress. Their peculiar and characteristic manners are confound- 
 ed and lost, the one sex having advanced into boldness, as the other ha* 
 sunk into effeminacv. Sec. 5.
 
 145 
 
 If aught like satire, or like ridicule, 
 Should seem to rise, we must apply this rule. 
 To solve the case, and so, I think, we may, 
 " It comes from folly's natural display."* 
 
 Person and dress are left us to apply, 
 And little else, to know the sexes by. 
 Characteristics iormeriy made out, 
 Are now coftfotinded oy a present rout; 
 All would be lost, if, as the cassock warm, 
 With rage as just the petticoat should arm. 
 
 But while men fight, both clergifj'd and lay, 
 Who left but women to cry, " let us pray?" 
 While men are marshalling in prose Pindaric 
 " Religion, Virtue, Warburton, and (? >riick, ,, j 
 Women must pray that heaven would yet annex 
 Some little grace to the talk-valiant sex. 
 
 " Love of our country," is the manly sound 
 That dads in armour all the virtues round. 
 Where is this lovely country to be sought? 
 Why, 'tis Great Britain in their little thought; 
 And the two states, which these Divines advance, 
 The Heav'n of England and the Hell of France. 
 
 Women must pray, and (if Divines can reach 
 No higher a theology) must p reach. 
 This world this sea-bound spot of it may seem 
 The central paradise in mt it's esteem, 
 Who have great souls: but women, who have none, 
 Have other realms to fix their hearts upon: 
 
 If such there be, the only certain scheme 
 To guard against each possible txtreme 
 I- to put on, amidst the world's alarms, 
 With a goid heart our real country?* arms, 
 Faith, hope, and PATIENCE, irom the tow'rs above, 
 
 ALL-BRARING MEKKNESS, AXO ALL-CON(i'RI NG LOTS. 
 
 Tin;- \\ t !;.!; atttmpttd ;i simple delineation of the ruling manners 
 of the times If any thing like ridicule appears to mix it self with this 
 review, it arisetli not from the aggravation, but the natural display of 
 folly. Sec .). 
 
 t Subjects on which Dr. Brown had written.
 
 146 
 
 REMARKS 
 
 On a Pamphlet entitled, Epistles to the Great from Aristippus in 
 Retirement. 
 
 IN A LETTER TO DR. S- 
 
 These epistles were published in the yew 1757. " The species of poetry," says 
 the editor, " in which they are written has been used with great success 
 " among the French by Chapelle, Cliaulieu, La Farre, (hessct, Madam 
 " Deshoulieres, and others." To quote from them all the expressions 
 alluded to in tlie following verses, would but swell out the notes to an un- 
 necessary length. It is thought sufficient, therefore, to distinguish such 
 allusions by Italic characters. 
 
 *V!S<SV 
 
 DOCTOR, this new poetic species 
 Semel* may do, but never decies\\ 
 For a Chapelle, or a Chaulieu, 
 The new devis'd conceit may do; 
 In rambling rhymes La Farre, and Gresset, 
 And easy diction may express it; 
 Or Madam's Muse, Deshoulieres, 
 Improve it farther still than theirs: 
 But, in the name of all the Nine, 
 Will an epistolary line 
 In English verse and English sense 
 Admit, to give them both offence, 
 The Gaul-bred iiisipiditee 
 Of this new fangled melodee? 
 Indeed it won't; if Gallic phrase 
 Can bear with such enervate lays 
 Nor pleasure, nor pain-pinion'd hours 
 Can ever suffer them in ours; 
 Nor, ivy-croun'd, endure a theme 
 Silver'd with moonshine's maiden gleam: 
 Not tho' so garlanded andjlow'ry, 
 So soft, so sweet, so Myrtle-bowery, 
 So Ixdmy, palmy and so on 
 As is the theme here writ upon; 
 Writ in a species that, if taking, 
 Portends sad future verse-unmaking: 
 
 * Once. t Ten times.
 
 147 
 
 Brown's " Estimate of times and manners," 
 
 That paints effeminacy's banners, 
 
 Has not a proof in its detail 
 
 More plain than this, it this prevail. 
 
 Forbid it, sense! forbid it, rhyme! 
 
 Whether tamiliar or sublime, 
 
 Whether ye guide the poet's hand 
 
 To easy diction or to grand-, 
 
 Forbid the Gal he namby-pamby 
 
 Here to repeat its crazy cramby. 
 
 One instance of such ->pecial stuff, 
 
 To see the way on't, is enough; 
 
 Kxcus'd for once; if Aristippus 
 
 Has any more within his cippus,% 
 
 Let him suppress, or sing 'em he 
 
 With gentle Muse, svreet Euttrpee; 
 
 Free to salute her while they chirp, 
 
 For easier rhyming sweet Euterp. 
 
 It is allow'd that verse, to please, 
 
 Should move along with perfect ease; 
 
 But this coxcombically mingling 
 
 Of rhymes unrhyming, interjingling, 
 
 For numbers genuinely British, 
 
 Is quite too finical and skittish; 
 
 But for the masculiner belles, 
 
 And the polite Me'moiselles,* 
 
 Whom Dryads, Naiads, Nymphs, and Fauns, 
 
 Meads, wowis. and groves, and lakes, and lawns, 
 
 And loves, and doves, and fifty more 
 
 Such jaded terms, besprinkled o'er 
 
 With compound epithets uncouth, 
 
 Prompt to pronounce them verse, forsooth ! 
 
 Verse let them be; tho' I suppose, 
 
 Some verse as well might have been prose, 
 
 That EngLtmCs common courtesy 
 
 Politely call., good Poetry. 
 
 For if the Poetry be good, 
 
 Accent at least is understood. 
 
 Number of syllables alone 
 
 Without the proper stress of tone. 
 
 Will make our metre flat and bare 
 
 As Hebrew verse of Bishop Hare. 
 
 * Storks tor the feet, a jail. Misses.
 
 148 
 
 Add, that regard to Rhyme is gone, 
 And verse and prose will be all one, 
 Or, what is worse, create a pother 
 By species neither one nor t'other; 
 A case, which there is roopi to fear 
 From dupes oi' Aristippus here. 
 The fancied sage in feign'd retreat 
 Laughs at the follies of the great, 
 With wit, invention, fancy, humour, 
 Enough to gain the thin}? a rumour. 
 But if he writes, resolv'd to shine 
 In unconiiifd and motley fine, 
 Let him Pindaric it away, 
 And quit the lazy-labour'd lay, 
 Leave to La Farre and to La France 
 The warbling, soothing nonchalance,*. 
 When will our bards unlearn at last 
 The puny style and the bombast? 
 Nor let the piiiful extremes 
 Disgrace the verse of English themes; 
 Matter no more in manner paint 
 Foppish, affected, queer, and quaint; 
 Nor bounce above Parnassian ground, 
 To drop the sense and catch the sound; 
 Except in writing for the stage, 
 Where sound is best for buskin'd rage; 
 Except in Operas, where sense 
 Is but superfluous expense? 
 Be then the bards of sounding pitch 
 Consi^nM to Garrick and to Rich, 
 To Tweedledums and Tweedledees, 
 The singy-songing Euterpee.?. 
 
 * Supinencss.
 
 149 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 TO 
 
 HURLO-THRUMBO, OR THE SUPERNATURAL" 
 
 '/ft/.* play was written by Mr. Saw in iJolmson, a Dancing Master, of Cheshire y 
 and was performed in the year l?3St, at ike little tluatre in the Hay- 
 market, where it hail a run of above thirty nights. We must refer the 
 nader to the piece itsr[)' to gkc him a just idea of the humour and pro- 
 priety of the following Epilogue, which was written with a friendly in~ 
 tention of pointing out to Mr. Johnson the e.rlracugunee and altsurdity of 
 hit play, Mr. Johnson, however, so far from pt reciting the ridicule, 
 received it as a compliment, and had it both spoken and printed. 
 
 HURLO-THRUMMO, CRITIC, AND AUTHOR. 
 
 Hurlo. LADIES and Gentlemen, my Lord oifiame 
 Has sent mo here to thank you in his name; 
 Proud of your smiles he's mounted many a story 
 Above the tip-top pinnacle of jrlory; 
 Thetice he defies the sons of day the critics 
 44 Fellows,' 1 says he, M that are mere paralytics; 
 " With judgments lame and intellects that halt, 
 14 Because a man outruns them, they find fault/' 
 He is, indeed, to speak my poor opinion, 
 Out of the reach of ait if at dominion. 
 
 (Enter Critic.) 
 Adso! here's one of them 
 
 Critic. A strange odd play, Sir; 
 (Enter Author who pushes Hurlo-'ihrumbo aside.) 
 Author. Let me come to him. Pray, what's that you 
 
 s;i\ , Sir? 
 Critic. I say, Sir, rules are not obwv'd here 
 
 Author. Rules, 
 Like clocks and watches, were all made for fools. 
 44 Rules make a play?" that is 
 
 Critic. What, Mr. Singer? 
 Author. As if a knife and fork should make a linger. 
 Critic. Pray, Sir. which is the hero of your play? 
 Author. Hero? why they're all heroes in their way.
 
 150 
 
 Critic. But here's no plot! or none that's understood. 
 
 Author. There's a rebellion, tho'; and that's as good. 
 
 Critic. No spirit, nor genius in't 
 
 Author. Why, didn't here 
 A spirit and a genius both appear? 
 
 Critic. Poh! 'tis all stuff and nonsense 
 
 Author. Lack-a-day ! 
 Why that's the very essence of a play. 
 Your old house, new house, opera, and ball, 
 'Tis nonsense, Critic, that supports them all; 
 As you yourselves ingeniously have shewn, 
 Whilst on their nonsense you have built your own. 
 
 Critic. Here wants 
 
 Author. Wants what? Why, now, for all your 
 canting, 
 What one ingredient of a play is wanting? 
 Music, love, war, death, madness without sham, 
 Done to the life by persons of the Dram; 
 Scenes and machines descending, and arising, 
 Thunder and lightning; ev'ry thing surprising! 
 
 Critic. Play, farce, or op'ra is't? 
 
 Author. No matter whether; 
 'Tis a rehearsal of them all together. 
 But come, Sir, come! troop off, old blundermonger! 
 And interrupt the epilogue no longer. 
 
 (Author drives the Critic off the stage.) 
 Hurlo, proceed! 
 
 Hurlo. Troth! he says true enough; 
 The stage has given rise to wretched stuff. 
 Critic or player, a Dennis or a Cibber, 
 Vie only which shall make it go down glibber. 
 A thousand murd'rous ways they cast about 
 To stifle it, but, murder like, 'twill out. 
 Our author fairly, without so much fuss, 
 Shews it in " puris naturalibus,'"* 
 Pursues the point beyond its highest height, 
 Then bids his men of fire and ladies bright 
 Mark how it looks, when it is out of sight. 
 So true a stage, so fair a play for laughter 
 There never was before, nor ever will come after. 
 Never; no, never! not while vital breath 
 Defends ye from that long liv^d mortal Death. 
 
 * In its pure natural condition.
 
 151 
 
 Death! Something hangs on my prophetic tongue; 
 I'll give it utt'rance, be it right or wrong; 
 Handel himself shall yield to Hurlo-Thrumbo, 
 And Bononcini too shall cry, " Succunibo."* 
 That's if the ladies condescend to smile, 
 Their looks make sense or nonsense in our isle. 
 
 REMARKS 
 
 " Dr. Middletou's examination of the Lord Bishop of London's 
 Discourses concerning the use and intent of Prophecy." 
 
 2 Peter 1. 19. We have also a more sure word of Prophecy ; whereunto ye 
 do well that ye take heed, as unto a light that shineth in a dark place, 
 until the day dawn, and the day star arise in your hearts. 
 
 flft flft9^ w e * 
 
 THIS passage, Sir, which has engag'd of late 
 So many writers in such high debate, 
 About the nature of prophetic light, 
 Has not, 1 think, been understood aright; 
 Nor does the critic Middleton's new tract 
 Relate the meaning fairly, or the fact. 
 
 Peter, you know, Sir, by his own account, 
 Was with our Saviour in the holy mount, 
 Where he and two disciples more beheld 
 The SHECHINAB, or glory that excel i'd; 
 Saw that Divine appearance of our Lord 
 Which three of the Evangelists record; 
 Hh lace a sun, and light his whole array, 
 Prophetic glimpse of that eternal day, 
 Wherein the glance of Sun and Moon suppress'd, 
 God shall Himself enlighten all the blest; 
 Shrt.ll from hw temple, from the sacred shrine 
 Shine forth of human Majesty Divine. 
 To this grand vision which the chosen three 
 Were cail'd, before they tasted death, to see, 
 Was added proof to the astonish'd ear 
 That made prescntial Deity appear, 
 
 * I bend, or submit,
 
 152 
 
 And by a voice from God the Father's throne 
 His well-beloved Son was then made known. 
 
 Now, search of mysteries the whole abyss, 
 What more intire conviction, Sir, than this? 
 Of human reason search the wide pretence, 
 What more miraculous and plain to sense? 
 But reason oft interprets past event 
 Just as the human heart and will tire bent. 
 The Doctor, whom his own productions call 
 No hearty friend to miracles at all, 
 Disguises this to bring his point about, 
 As if both sight and hearing left a doubt, 
 Left some perplexity on Peter's mind. 
 Quite against all that he himself defin'd. 
 *This wondrous apparition, Sir, might leave 
 Something too hard precisely to conceive; 
 And circumstances raise within his soul 
 Suspense about the nature of the whole. 
 
 What kind of saunt'ring spirit could suggest 
 Such groundless cavil to a Christian breast? 
 What Christian priest at least would choose to paint 
 His Saviour's glory in a light so faint? 
 But let this suit the priesthood, if you will; 
 Pray, what foundation for his critic skill, 
 For Peter's doubting what he saw and heard, 
 For scruples iirst imagin'd, then inferred? 
 
 The reason here assign'd mfear and dread, 
 So great that Peter knew not what he said; 
 He, and his partners in the vision too, 
 Fell on their faces at its awful view, 
 Nor durst look up, till Jems at the last 
 Came to and raised them when 'twas overpast. 
 
 * This wonderful apparition and heavenly voice might be accompa- 
 nied with snch circumstances, as would naturally leave some doubt and 
 perplexity on the mind concerning the precise manner and nature of the 
 whole transaction. For Peter, as we read, was in such a fright and 
 amazement at what he saw and heard, that " he knew not what he said." 
 Aud both he and the other two Apostles then with him, James and John, 
 were so greatly terrified that " they fell upon thtir faces to the ground, 
 and durst not so much as look up," till Jesus, when the vision was over, 
 tame to raise aud eucourage them. 
 
 Doctor Middleton's Treatise, p. 55.
 
 153 
 
 Oh! vain suggestion! Could they see and hear 
 Without an adoration, without fear? 
 If they were struck with more than mortal awe, 
 Their very fear was proof of what they saw; 
 For, strength to see and weakness to sustain 
 Made both alike the heav'nly vision plain : 
 Nor has he once attempted to devise 
 What else should strike them with so great surprise. 
 
 If overcome with reverential dread 
 Th' amaz'd Apostle wist not what he said, 
 Unbiassed reason would itself confess 
 A greater light, diminishing its less. 
 Thus in the sacred books if we recall 
 The first recorded presence since the fall, 
 Themselves from God when our first parents hid 
 It might be said, they wist not what they did. 
 Yet were they taught their comfortable creed, 
 The promise of the woman's conq'ring seed; 
 As here th' Apostles were empowVd to see 
 That Jesus, God's beloved Son, was he. 
 
 If when God spake each fell upon his face 
 How oft in ancient times was this case? 
 What prophet, Sir, to whom He spake of yore, 
 His voice or vision, unsupported, bore? 
 Moses himself, when unawares he trod 
 On holy ground and heard the Voice of God, 
 Tho' turn'd aside on purpose to inquire 
 What kept the bush unburnt amidst the fire, 
 Stopp'd in his search by the Divine Rebuke, 
 Straight hid his face and was afraid to look. 
 
 Abram, the covenanted sire of all 
 Who in his faith upon the Lord should call, 
 When he receiv'd the seal of it, the sign 
 Of circumcision, from the Voice Divine, 
 Fell on his face ; and must we then conceit 
 His proofs, that God talk'd with him, incomplete? 
 
 Read how Isaiah thought himself undone 
 When he had seen God's glory in his Son, 
 Until the Seraph with a living coal 
 From off the altar purg'd the prophet's soul. 
 V
 
 154 
 
 Read how Ezekiel too with like surprise, 
 When Heav'n was open'd to his wond'ring eyes, 
 Fell on his face at the same glorious sight, 
 Till by God's Spirit made to stand upright. 
 Thus Daniel prostrate ; thus the great Divine 
 Who saw th r Apocalyptic scenes; in fine, 
 Thus human strength alone could never stand 
 When God appear'd, unaided by His hand. 
 To urge a reason, then, from fear, to doubt 
 The glorious fact that could not be without, 
 Only befits a feeble, faithless mind, 
 To heav'nly voice and vision deaf and blind. 
 
 The learned prelate, against whose discourse 
 This gentleman has aim'd his present force, 
 Thought it absurd in any one to make 
 St. Peter, for his own conviction's sake, 
 Say that old prophecies should be preferr'd 
 To God's immediate voice which he had heard. 
 Such a comparison, he thought, became 
 No sober man, much less the Saint, to frame, 
 Concluding it impossible from hence 
 That this could ever be St. Peter's sense. 
 
 Tho' His not only possible, it seems, 
 But weak moreover, as the Doctor deems, 
 To doubt it, -a comparison so just 
 Peter not only might have made but must * 
 And then he cites Rabbinical remarks 
 To prove the paradox from learned clerks; 
 Not that he minds what any of them writes, 
 But most despises whom he chiefly cites. 
 Lightfoot's authority, to instance one, 
 Is first and last and most insisted on; 
 The soundness of whose faith, he interjects, 
 
 * Let us now return to the Bishop's discourses, in which he goes on 
 to demonstrate the inconsistency of' the author's (Collins) exposition, 
 by telling as, that " it makes Peter to say, in his own person, that the 
 " dark prophecies of the Old Testament were a surer and more certain 
 " evidence to himself than the immediate voice of God, which he had 
 " heard with his own ears. And is it possible," adds he, " that St. 
 " Peter, or any man in his witSj could make such a comparison ?" To 
 which question, so smartly and confidently put, I readily answer that 
 it is not only possible that St. Peter might make such a comparison, but 
 even weak to imagine that he could make any other. Page 47.
 
 155 
 
 And erudition nobody suspects.* 
 
 Or if the reader wants a lull display 
 
 Of these endowments, Lightfoot .hews the way 
 
 How by assuming liberty to take 
 
 For granted straight what premises we make, 
 
 Whatever notions or opinions tend 
 
 To fa four that which we would recommend, 
 
 We may demonstrate by such arts as these 
 
 A doctrine true, Divine, or what we please.f 
 
 This, Sir, is his description of sound faith; 
 Let us now see what argument it hath. 
 This trusty evidence, among the rest, 
 Is calPd to prove a voice from Heav'n a jest, 
 The Jews' Bath Kol, a cunning acted part, 
 A fable, fantasy, or magic art, 
 Voice of the Devil, or of Dcv'lish elves 
 To cheat the people and promote themselves. 
 And hence th' Apostle, is the inPrence drawn 
 That claims the special notice of the lawn, 
 That comes to clear this famous prelate's sight, 
 With reason good, preferr'd prophetic light. 
 
 So introduce a Hebrew, foreign term, 
 Take all for true that quoted lines affirm, 
 And then assume that the Apostle too 
 Just thought and argued as these critics do, 
 And we may prove from Peter's own design 
 That God the Father's voice was not Divine. 
 
 * Dr. Lightfoot also, the soundness of whose faith and erudition is al- 
 lowed by all, speaks still more precisely to my present purpose, and 
 says, " iliat if we observe two things, first, that the Jewish nation, nn- 
 ' der the second temple, was given to mazical arts beyoud measure ; 
 ' we may safely suspect that those voices which they thought to be from 
 4 Heaven, and noted with the name of Hath Kol, were formed either by 
 ' the Devil in the air to deceive the people, or by Magicians with devilish 
 4 art to promote their own affairs." From which he draws this infe- 
 rence, which I would recommend to the special consideration of this 
 eminent prelate; " hence," adds he, " the Apostle Peter saith with good 
 " nason that the word of prophecy was surer than a voice from heaven." 
 Page 52. 
 
 t Now, by the same method of reasoning, and the liberty which his 
 Lordship every where assumes, of supposing whatever premises be 
 wants, and taking every thing for granted which tend* to confirm his 
 hypothesis, we may prove any doctrine to be true, or divine, or whatever 
 we please tomake of it. Dr. Lightfoot has shewn us the way. Page til.
 
 156 
 
 But should the Prelate think it mere grimace 
 To talk of fable in St. Peter's case, 
 Whose vvords exclude it, and expressly speak 
 Of heavenly truth; how frivolous and weak, 
 In his more sober and sedate esteem, 
 Must all his patchwork-erudition seem ! 
 How will a Christian Bishop, too, conceive 
 Of what, the Doctor's margins interweave 
 Touching that scripture where our Saviour pray'd, 
 And Heav'n the glorifying answer made?* 
 While from his note, Sir, nothing can be leam'd 
 But casual thunder, or Bath Kol concern'd. 
 
 Will he not ask, " is it this author's aim 
 " Under his Bath Kol figments, to disclaim 
 " All faith in voices of a heav'nly kind? 
 " Is that the purpose of his doubting mind? 
 " You see th' apostle is extremely clear, 
 " That such a voice himself did really hear ; 
 " He also had such wondrous proofs beside, 
 " That voice concurrent cannot be deny'd. 
 " And, when our Lord had been baptis'd, there came 
 " A voice from Heav'n in words the very same. 
 " Here, in his answer'd prayer, tho', by mistake, 
 
 " Some said " it thunder </," some " an Angel spake, " 
 
 " We have his own authority Divine; 
 
 " This voice" said he, "came fur your sakes, not mine.'' 
 
 Would not the Bishop rightly thus oppose 
 Plain Scripture facts to learning's empty shows ? 
 What signifies it, then, upon the whole, 
 How poor blind Jews have talk'd about Bath Kol? 
 What jarring critics of a later day, 
 Or Lightfoot, here thrice ridicul'd, may say? 
 Or Middleton himself (whose pious care 
 For giftless churches prompts him to compare 
 
 * Thus when Jesus, a little before his death, was addressing himself 
 to the Father in the midst of his disciples and the people of Jerusalem , 
 and saying, "Father, save me from this hour! Father, glorify thy name." 
 Tliere came a voice from Heaven saying, " J have both glorified it, and will 
 glorify it again." Upon ichich the people that stood by, and heard it, said 
 that it thundered ; others said that an angel spake to him. John 12.28. 
 That is, part of the company believed it to be nothing more than an ac- 
 cidental elap of thunder; while others took it to be the Bath Kol, or 
 the voice of God, or of an angel, which was always accompanied with 
 thunder. Page 48.
 
 157 
 
 Voices from Heav'n in his assuming page, 
 To miracles beyond th' Apostles' age)* 
 Taking for granted, without more ado, 
 His wild hypothesis about Mem too? 
 
 Prodigious effort! See obstructed quite 
 The Gospel promise and the Christian right; 
 Cut off. at once, miraculous supply ; 
 All healing ceases when Apostles die; 
 No tongue inspir'd, no Demon dispossess'd, 
 With them the working Spirit went to rest, 
 Forgot the prophecies that Christ had made, 
 And left believers without signal aid; 
 Altho' no limit in what scripture sii;h 
 Be put to miracles but want of faith; 
 Altho', without one, foolish to pre* nd 
 To know their nature, or to fix their end; 
 Yet if a daring genius advertise 
 That all but Scripture miracles arc lies. 
 What crowds embrace the now belief and hope! 
 It suits their taste, and saves them from the Pope. 
 Others contend that wondrous gilts survive 
 The first three centuries, or four, or Jive; 
 Then, Sir, they close their jealous, partial view. 
 And grudge diviner influence its due; 
 Take diff'rent stations in the Doctor's track, 
 Blaming and backing his more close attack; 
 All miracles, beyond his earlier fence, 
 Are want of honesty, or want of sense; 
 All faith in Bishops, Confessors, and Saints 
 Who witness facts, a Christian priest recants; 
 They must, he say* they must, be fables a!l 
 That pass the bounds of his gigantic wall. 
 
 Such strange delusion if a man embrace 
 Without some voice, some miracle of grace, 
 It is in vain to reas'ners of his cast 
 To urge the evidence of ages past. 
 With minds resolv'd to disbelieve or doubt 
 Small is the force of history throughout. 
 
 The reality of this oracular voice (Rath Kc!) is attested, as I have said, 
 by all the Jewish writers after the relation of prophecy, in the same 
 positive manner a< the miraculous gifts of the Christian chorch by the 
 primitive fathers, after the days of the Apostles. Page 50. U2. 145. 171 . 
 
 N -
 
 158 
 
 Freedom of thought exerted and of will, 
 To claim the privilege of judging ill, 
 Prophets, Apostles. Martyrs cannot move, 
 Nor holy Church throughout the world disprove. 
 
 But to return; how does his first assault 
 On miracles defend a second fault? 
 Or Rabbis, or Rabbinical Divines, 
 Help Lightfoot's comment, or his own designs? 
 Lightfoot, without detracting from his skill, 
 Wrote in this instance with a careless quill; 
 Such inf'rence, else, had never been annex'd; 
 He must have seen that the Apostle's text 
 Could not, with reason either good or great, 
 Compare the Prophets with a dev'lish cheat. 
 This learned writer, Sir, did not attend 
 To Peter's meaning, or, not apprehend; 
 Or, if excuse may for his haste atone, 
 He did not well, perhaps, express his own. 
 
 Since by his present citer here you see 
 How quite forgetful learned men may be; 
 For alter all the scraps he had amass'd, 
 And this triumphant inference at last 
 The text, he says, had, in St. Peters views, 
 No refrence to himself, but to the Jews: * 
 Not in his haste aware that what he said 
 Knock'd all the Br.th Kol pedantry o' th' head, 
 That what he thought his borrow'd pages won 
 His own gave up, as soon as he had done. 
 For if St. Peter s words do not imply 
 What he himself was most persuaded by, 
 But only shew wlmt arguments Wire fit 
 For their attention, Sir, to whom he writ, 
 
 * Vet St Peter's words, after all, as they are expounded by the frce- 
 thinking author above-mentioned, do not necessarily implj him to mean, 
 that prophecy was a surer argument to himself then the voice from Hea- 
 ven, but to the Jewish converts in general, who did not hear that voice, 
 but received it only from the report of others. It was not his view in this 
 epistle to declare what sort of arguments was the most convincing to him- 
 self, but to propose such as were most worthy of the attention of those 
 to whom lie was writing. Page 53. When St. Peter therefore says, " we 
 have a more sure word of prophecy," the occcasion of his words 
 obliges us to interpret them as spoken, not with any particular reference 
 to himself, but to the general body of the Jewish converts. Page 54.
 
 159 
 
 The Bishop's reas'ning which he strives to cloud, 
 Is not unanswered only, but allow'd; 
 The very thing; pretended to be shewn 
 Is, by his own confession, overthrown. 
 
 Do but observe the point in question, Sir, 
 On which the Doctor makes this learned stir, 
 How he, who talks of its perpetual change* 
 By others, takes the liberty to range; 
 When a comparison was judg'd absurd, 
 Peler could make no otliei- was the word; 
 Then, by a contradiction plain and flat, 
 Peter's comparison could not be that', 
 And then again supposing that it could; 
 Thus he attempts to make the matter good. 
 
 Let Peter be himself assured, says he, 
 As fully as "'twas possible to be, 
 Of etfry circumstance that pass\l, he might 
 Have still preferred the old prophetic light. 
 This was a standing evidence, and lay 
 Open to cool, deliberate reasons sway, 
 A firmer argument that brought along 
 Conviction, Sir, more permanent and strong 
 To men of sobtr senses, and .ecLile, 
 Than could the visit, n. which his words rtlate.f 
 Set the perplcx'd equivocation by 
 That's here involv'd, how easy the reply 
 To reasons void, if.we distinguish right 
 Betwixt a real and reported sight! 
 For be the proof that prophecies procure 
 More, to the Jews, comparative Iv sure, 
 As oft the text is commented upon 
 Thro' a mistake, (as will appear anon) 
 
 * And thus the Apostle's sense, as it is expounded by the author 
 (Collinst is clear and consistent, not liable to any exception, but what 
 
 flows from that perplexity in which his Lordship has involved it, by 'ii> 
 use of equivocal terms and perpetual change Of the point in question. 
 Page 62. 
 
 t Let Peter be as perfectly assured, as we can suppose him to be, or 
 every circumstance which passed in the mount, he might still take pro- 
 phecy, considered as a standing evidence, always lying open to tin cool 
 and deliberate examination of reason, to be a firmer argument on the 
 whole, and to carry a more permanent conviction with it to the sober 
 senses of men than the vision with which he here compares it. Page 52.
 
 160 
 
 Yet his conviction vacates the pretence 
 Of reason, argument, and sober sense; 
 Because the prophets here to be compar'd, 
 As evidences of what God declar'd, 
 Could but originally hear and see, 
 And be as fully satisfy'd as he. 
 
 The use of reason has, I apprehend, 
 When full assurance is attaiu'd, an end. 
 When we are certain that we see and hear, 
 And ev'ry circumstance is plain and clear, 
 What can examination teach or learn? 
 By what criterion, Sir, shall we discern, 
 When reason comes to be so deadly cool, 
 The sage deiiberator from the fool? 
 
 Conceive St. Peter, if you can, entic'd 
 (Eye-witness of the majesty of Christ, 
 Of what the Father, in the mount, had done 
 By shewing forth the glory of the Son) 
 To disbelieve his senses, and to pore 
 Some ancient, standing evidences o'er, 
 To see if that which, on the holy spot, 
 He saw and heard, was seen and heard or not: 
 Would such a cool, deliberating plan 
 Have made him pass for a more sober man ? 
 If so, then Middleton has hit the white; 
 Sherlock, if not, is thus far in the right, 
 And well may say that no man in his wits 
 Could be attack'd by such cold reas'ning fits. 
 
 But thus the frigid argument is brought 
 Why Peter might, in full, persuaded thought, 
 Prefer predictions in the ancient law 
 To what himself most surely heard and saw: 
 For after alt the fall convincing scene 
 
 IVhich ke had witnessed, how did he demean? 
 
 With faith infirm he shamefully demfd 
 His Master, seen so greatly glorifyd* 
 
 Yes, so he did, and gave a humbling stroke 
 To human confidence in reason's cloak; 
 
 * For, after all the conviction which he himself had received from it, 
 we know that his faith was still so infirm as to betray him into a shameful 
 denial of his Master, whom he had seen so wonderfully glorified. Page 56.
 
 161 
 
 Enough to lay all syllogizing trust 
 In bare conclusions only in the dust; 
 An ample proof that in a try ing hour 
 Ev'n demembration loses all its pow'r, 
 That, without grace and God's assisting hand 
 In time of need, no evidence can stand. 
 
 Suppose a person of the clearest head, 
 In Logic arts well grounded and well read, 
 If, with a selfish love to truth alone, 
 He arm himself with weapons all his own, 
 When a temptation comes, alas ! how soon 
 The valiant reas'ner turns a mere poltroon! 
 
 Peter, tho' void of learning and of art, 
 Had a courageous, had an honest heart; 
 Had natural abilities, beyond 
 All those ol which the critics are so fond; 
 Had hidden qualities beyond their ken; 
 They fish for words, he was to fish for men. 
 His ia.it h in outward evidence was such 
 That Peter trusted to himself too much ; 
 When his denial plainly was foretold, 
 What should have humbled made him grow more bold; 
 " Tho 1 all should be offended, yet not I; 
 " Not death itself shall tempt me to deny. 1 ' 
 
 We we in him, Sir. what the utmost height 
 Of boasted reason, evidence, and light, 
 Of courage, honesty, and event love 
 Could do without assistance from above. 
 // could to humbler thoughts resist the call; 
 U proudly could prefer itself to all; 
 // could, in >hort, upon conclusions true 
 Do all that numbers upon false ones do 
 Ite.-i on itself, be confident, and bounce, 
 And, when the call to suffering came, renounce. 
 
 Vs human resolution, courage, skill. 
 Conviction, evidence, or what you will. 
 Can in their nature only reach so far 
 As things arc subject to a human bar; 
 All these, tho* actuating Peter's real, 
 To Christian doctrine could not set the seal. 
 God-like humility, the sacred root 
 Whence ev'ry virtue branches into fruit,
 
 162 
 
 Lays the foundation of the Christian life, 
 As reason governs that of human strife. 
 And I appeal, Sir, setting grace aside, 
 How oft is human reason human pride? 
 Human desire of victory or fame, 
 A Babel tow'ring to procure a name? 
 A self assurance, an untutord boast? 
 Thar can but form intention, at the most; 
 Which, tho' directed right, must humbly ask 
 Divine assistance to perform its task. 
 
 In this fail'd Peter; and a servant maid 
 Made him, with all his bold resolves, afraid; 
 With all his sure convictions, he began 
 To curse and swear, and did " not know the man, 1 
 Till, for a lesson wondroufly address'd 
 To sink full deep into his humbled breast, 
 The cock pronfmnc'd by all awak'ning crow 
 Peter the man, whom Peter did not know. 
 
 But how, Sir, did his coward speech betray 
 Doubt of his Maker's glorious display? 
 By what account in hist'ry are we taught 
 That e'er it came into his frighted thought? 
 Or since 'tis certain that he did deny, 
 What prophecy did he prefer thereby? 
 'Tis then a cold absurdity to draw 
 From Peter's weakness this pretended flaw, 
 To hint delusion in the god-like sight, 
 Because the man was put into a fright. 
 If from distrust of evidence his fears, 
 From whence his bitter, penitential tears? 
 Whence was it that the Holy Pris'ner shook 
 The soul of Peter with one gracious look? 
 No glory then to credit or distrust; 
 And vet the Apostle's penitence was just, 
 And he a lively proof, upon the whole, 
 That grace alone can fortify a soul. 
 
 'Tis urg'd, that, on the other hand we find, 
 With faith confirm 'd and with enlighten 'd mind, 
 After the mission of the Holy Ghost, 
 That argument which he apply d the most 
 Was what he calls (Tor so the Doctor too 
 Takes here a vulgar error to be true)
 
 163 
 
 This more sure word of prophecy, the chief 
 Of all his motives to enforce Ulief', 
 Fram whence he proved that Jesu< was of old 
 Describ'd by all the prophets, and foretold.* 
 
 Peter's condition, Sir, is that of all 
 Who from the heart obey the Christian call. 
 They by experience have the triple sight 
 Of weakness, penitence, and heav'nly light; 
 While others wrangle about outward show, 
 Nature, and grace, and miracle they know. 
 Tho' not inspir'd, like Peter and th' Eleven, 
 Nor struck, like walking Paul, by voice from Heav'n* 
 They meet, what others foolishly evade, 
 The real mission of celestial aid; 
 Of which, howe'er the tokens are perceived, 
 No faithful soul can ever be bereav'd. 
 
 What does the share of it that Peter had 
 To ail the Doctors fore'd refinements add/ 
 Might not the Bishop justly give him back 
 Some compliments bestow'd in his attack? 
 Such as, the nothing but an empty strain 
 Of Rhetoric, insignificant, and vain 
 The choosing not to see of any theme 
 More than may suit his pit -adopted scheme 
 Thf passing over what he should confute 
 With matters foreign to the main dispute t 
 And such like flow'ra upon his pages thrown. 
 That, full as well, become the Doctor's own. 
 
 * We know <>n tin- other band tl.ut after our Lord's ascension, when 
 his faitli was nunc tally eoiifinneil, and his understanding enlightened 
 by Hie mis-, on of the Holy Ghost, the chief argument which he applied 
 in all his sermons, to evince the truth of tin- gospel, was this "more 
 sure word of prophecy," as he calls it ; from which he demonstrated to 
 the Jews how the character, doctrine, and mission of Jesos were fore- 
 told and described by the mouths of all their prophets. Pace 56. 
 
 t Yet all this pomp of words, tin's solemn appeal to the whole college 
 of the Apostles and Evangelists, is nothing else but an empty strain of 
 rhetoric, without any argument or signi6cancy in it whatsoever. Page 60. 
 One would be apt to suspect, that his Lordship never chooses to see 
 more of any subject than what may serve that particular hypothesis 
 which he comes prepared to support. Page ol. It is this alone, which 
 the nature of the subject required him to confute, and what he had un- 
 dertaken to confute; but, instead, he changes the question upon us, 
 and when we were expecting reasons, \e. Page .'29.
 
 164 
 
 For has the Bishop in his book deny'd 
 That prophecy was properly applied? 
 No; but that Peter did a thing; so odd 
 As to prefer it to the voice of God. 
 This was the point requir'd to be explainM 
 In contradiction to what he maintain'd, 
 That which the Doctor undertook to clear 
 And make the pret'rence of the Saint appear. 
 But while we lookM what reasons he would bring 
 For so incomprehensible a thing, 
 As common sense must reckon an appeal 
 From what th 1 Almighty should Himself reveal, 
 Shifting the circumstances, time, and place, 
 In short, the question, to another case, 
 He tells us not of prophecy preferr'd 
 To voice from heav'n which he had just averr'd, 
 But how the Saint apply'd in his discourse 
 Prophetic words to give the gospel force; 
 How Peter argued, from them, he relates, 
 And proves full well what nobody debates. 
 How gravely, Sir, from fallacy so crude 
 He prompts the amused reader to conclude 
 That any man, especially a Jew 
 As Peter was, might think the preference due! 
 And what himself had heard tk' Almighty speak 
 Might he esteem" d comparatively weak!* 
 
 Under this mill-stone oft the struggling page 
 Bestirs itself, but cannot disengage. 
 At all events resolving to confute 
 (To use his Logic) or at least dispute, 
 Its author shews great spirit and great art, 
 And well performs the contradicting part ; t 
 But in his subsequent remarks we find 
 How lamely confutation limps behind. 
 
 Fully resolv'd, and singly, to maintain 
 A paradox so quite against the grain, 
 
 * I might now leave it to the reader to judge whether, in contradic- 
 tion to what the Rishop maintains, a man in his wits, and especially a 
 Jew, might not think prophecy a stronger argument in general, than a 
 voice from Heaven which he himself had heard. Page 56. 
 
 t This was the ground of his Lordship's resolution to confute, or, at 
 all events, to contradict them (the free-thinker's words) which last part 
 he has performed with great spirit ; but how far he has succeeded in the 
 first will he .seen in the following remarks. Page 29.
 
 165 
 
 The learned Antithaumatist* must choose 
 
 Not to instruct his reader, but amuse, f 
 
 Whene'er he touches a prophetic clause 
 
 Not to illustrate, but perplex the cause, 
 
 To speak some truth that shews the favour'd side, 
 
 And that, which gives the whole connexion, hide. 
 
 Why else a total silence on the head 
 
 Of miracles in what St. Peter said? 
 
 How could recited prophecies alone 
 
 Prove to the Jews that Jesus was foreshewn, 
 
 Had there not been that other previous proof 
 
 To ev'ry thoughtful Jew in his behoof, 
 
 Had not such wond'rous facts struck up the light 
 
 That shew'd their application to be right? 
 
 Trace the quotations, Sir, that Peter made, 
 
 And see their force impartially displayed. 
 
 See what solution stated fact supplies, 
 
 Without contriv'd evasion or disguise.^ 
 
 The first occasion which th 1 Apostle took 
 To cite a passage from a Prophet's book, 
 Was at that public, wonderful event 
 Upon the Blessed Spirit's first descent. 
 The faithful flock that met with one accord 
 To wait the gilts of their ascended Lord, 
 Soon as the tokens of His presence came, 
 The sound celestial and the sacred flame, 
 Began to speak, with holy ardour lir'd 
 In various hymns by Heav'n itself inspir'd. 
 This joyful voice of a diviner laud 
 Was spread through all Jerusalem abroad, 
 And pious Jews from ev'ry distant clime 
 Residing there, that providential time! 
 Devout epitome of all mankind. 
 Were drawn to witness that which God design'd. 
 His wondrous works as Galileans sung. 
 All understood the Spirit-utterM tongue; 
 
 * An opposer of wonders or miracles. 
 
 t Speaking uf the Bishop's work, proper rather to perplex than to illus- 
 trate the notion of prophecy; and to amuse rather than instruct an in- 
 quisitive reader. Page 4. 
 
 <j Instead of contriving any evasive expedients or fanciful systems to 
 elude the force of smb. objections, I thought it my duty to examine seri- 
 ously and impartially what solution of them the subject itself, when fairly 
 staled, would supply. Page 155.
 
 166 
 
 Of language then was no confusion known, 
 Each heard (his one, and heard it as his own. 
 God gave the word Himself, and all " the good ,T 
 Shard in the promis'd gift, and understood, 
 Tho' then astonish'd at the wondrous theme, 
 Prepar'd to spread it to the world's extreme. 
 
 Others insensible of Grace Divine, 
 Mock'd at its influence and talk'd of wine, 
 Themselves intoxicated with that pride 
 By which the deaf in spirit still deride. 
 'Twas then that Peter, standing up to shew 
 Th' absurd reproach, gave all of them to know 
 That wh;it these mockers call'd a drunken fit 
 Was God's performance of what Joel writ 
 Of days then dawning, when he would impart 
 His gospel gifts to ev'ry faithful heart, 
 Pour out His Heav'nly Spirit, and refresh 
 Not only single nations, but "all flesh:" 
 All should partake, that would, of richer grace, 
 Now fully purchas'd for the human race. 
 
 For this was what St. Peter, then inspir'd, 
 Went on to shew, and argument requir'd. 
 The Jews all knew Messiah was to come, 
 That this of all prediction gave the sum; 
 The question was, if it had been fulfill'd 
 In Jesus, whom their wicked hands had kill'd? 
 
 Now, to prove this th' Apostle first applies 
 The miracles perform'd before their eyes; 
 God's approbation of him, he defines, 
 Was manifest by wonders and by signs 
 Done in the midst of them. See here the ground 
 Prepar'd, before he ofFer'd to expound, 
 By arguments of such immediate force, 
 So plain, so sir iking, that they must of course . 
 Make, secondly, to such as should take heed 
 The word of prophecy more sure indeed. 
 
 And then he shews how the prophetic word 
 With its exact accomplishment concurr'd; 
 " What David had prophetically said 
 " Jesus fulfill'd in rising from the dead,
 
 167 
 
 " Whereof we all are witnesses." Here lay 
 
 Tlie strength of all that any words could say; 
 
 When numbers present could the fact attest, 
 
 Thousands of souls th' accomplisk'd word confess'd, 
 
 That this- was He, the Lord, the Holy One, 
 
 Whom David fiVd his heart and hopes upon, 
 
 And so describ'd as- only could agree 
 
 With Him, whose " flesh should no corruption see/* 
 
 His resurrection, you perceive, it was 
 
 That shew'd the prophet's word now come to pass, 
 
 That made th' Apostle's intimation clear, 
 
 " He shed forth this which we now see and hear. 1 ' 
 
 Again, when Peter had restor'd the lame 
 To perfect soundness in our Saviour's name, 
 He told the wond'ring throng that they had slain 
 The Prince of life whom God had rais'd again; 
 " Whereof we are the witnesses," says he, 
 Then shews how all the prophecies agree, 
 " All have successively foretold these days, 
 " And mark'd the Prophet whom the Lord should raise." 
 
 So when the priests and Sadducees aggriev'd 
 That such increasing multitudes believ'd, 
 Ask'd by what pow'r he acted, Peter said, 
 By that of Jesus risen from the dead, 
 " By Him this healing miracle is wrought;" 
 Then quotes, " the Stone which ye have set at nought, 
 " On this, rejected by the builders' hands, 
 " As a sure basis, all salvation stands." 
 No priest was then so impotently skill'd 
 As to suggest the passage unfulfill'd; 
 All by the wondrous cure were overcome, 
 The living proof was there and struck them dumb. 
 
 In vain a council then, as well as now, 
 To silence miracles or disavow. 
 Peter and John could neither be deterr'd, 
 They needs must speak what they had seen and heard. 
 Nor charge, nor chains, nor meditated death 
 Could stop to God's commands th' obedient breath; 
 His final argument still Peter brings, 
 " We are His witnesses of all these things."
 
 168 
 
 This you may read, Sir, was the real path 
 That Piter trod in his confirmed faith, 
 That all (lie preachers of the Gospel trod 
 When they explained the oracles of God, 
 Preach'd what themselves without a learned strife. 
 " Saw, heard, and handled of the word of life, 1 " 
 When in their days so mightily it grew 
 And wrought such proofs that prophecy was true. 
 Which tho' it pointed to the future scene, 
 And oft preiigur -d the Messiah's reign, 
 Yet gave a light comparatively dim, 
 That ovv'd its shining certainty to Him. 
 
 Thus, Sir, -to come directly to the text 
 With which the critics are so much perplex'd, 
 Whereof the real meaning, fairly trae'd, 
 Lays heaps of paper, printed on it, waste; 
 Had they adverted that St. Peter still 
 From what he saw upon the holy hill, 
 Argues Apostles not to have surmis'd, 
 Or follow'd fables cunningly devis'd; 
 But to have witness'd only what they knew 
 From their own sight and hearing to be true, 
 And to have justly gathered from thence > 
 The sure completion of prophetic sense; 
 To which the Jews did rightly to attend 
 Till they themselves should see it in the end. 
 Had they consider'd this, they would have found 
 Of all their wide perplexities the ground, 
 Have soon perceiv'd that, in the various brawl, 
 A wrong translation was the cause of all. 
 
 Peter makes no comparison between 
 Prophetic word and what himself had seen, 
 As if he thought the vision in the mount 
 Less sure to him upon his own account. 
 This is a stretch by which the Doctor meant 
 Of public patience, sure, to try th" 1 extent ;* 
 
 * But, to say the truth, I have never observed a stranger instance of the 
 public patience, and blind deference to the authority of a great name, 
 than m the ea ; e of these very discourses ; which, though in all parts 
 greatly exceptionable, and furnishing matter of offence in every page, 
 have yet passed through many editions not only without reproof, but 
 with some degree even of approbation. And it was the experience, 
 perhaps, of what the world would bear, which made his Lordship resolve
 
 169 
 
 Of, still to copy so polite a clown, 
 
 To try how far his noxsensr would go dowrtt 
 
 To say the truth, his pages indevout 
 
 Have furnish' d matter of offence throughout; 
 
 But here, from knowing wluit the world would bear f 
 
 Grown without ceremony quite severe, 
 
 He would oblige his readers to admit 
 
 A thing that shocks a. plain, or critic wit, 
 
 That dark, old prophecy, in Peter's choice, 
 
 Was held more 6ure than God's immediate voice; 
 
 They must admit, or else they must be weak, 
 
 Something more sure than truth itself could speak. 
 
 Nor does St. Peter, as the learned gloze,* 
 Speaking to Jewish converts, here suppose 
 That they would think comparative distrust 
 Of an Apostle's own experience just: 
 No true construction of the text can guide 
 To such suspicion, Sir, on either side. 
 
 His words import directly, if you seek 
 Their genuine meaning in the Vulgate Greek, 
 And mind the previously related scene, 
 His words, I say, most evidently mean, 
 44 We saw the glory, heard the voice, and thus 
 " Have the prophetic word made sure to us; 
 " Which ye do well to follow as a spark 
 " That spreads a ray through places that are dark, 
 " Till ye with U9 enjoy the perfect light, 
 ** And want no prophecies to set you right." 
 
 An English reader may be led, indeed, 
 To think that, as th* Apostle's words proceed 
 With " we have also it was something more, 
 Some surer proof than what had gone before 
 But " also," tho' without Italics read, 
 Is an addition to what Peter said; 
 
 to withdraw his preface, and to treat us no longer with anv ceremony ; 
 having seen that, notwithstanding the consciousness which he had decla- 
 red of being in the wrong, the public was still disposed to think him ia 
 the rigkt, and that his nonsense would go down with tlum without giv 
 iug him the trouble of making an excuse for it. Page B. 
 Insinuate. 
 
 o
 
 170 
 
 It only shews how our translation faiPd, 
 And made the blunder that has since prevail'd; 
 Which, tho 1 , sufficiently provok'd to mend, 
 The learned still choose rather to defend. 
 
 A writer, whose freethinking schemes incite 
 The Bishop and the Doctor both to write, 
 Who had, it seems, in prophecies a rule 
 First to extol, and then to ridicule, 
 Took, Sir, his stand on this corrupted place, 
 From whence lie both might heighten and disgrace j 
 One point the vulgar error gain'd alone, 
 While for the other he employ'd his own. 
 Ingenious authors answer'd him apace, 
 But got no triumph in this knotty place; 
 Good sense oblig'd them wholly to reject 
 St. Peter's prefrence in his own respect; 
 Collins himself th' absurdity forbore; 
 That height was left for Middleton to 6oar. 
 But still some other they suppos'd there was, 
 Something that prophecy must needs surpass. 
 What it was not they easily could see, 
 But what it was, scarce two of them agree. 
 Intent some kind of prefrence to provide 
 Which u also" plainly, and " more sure" implyNf, 
 All by an error, (which the simple thought 
 Of construing right had rectify'd) were caught. 
 
 In this mistake the Bishop too has shar'd 
 Asserting prophecy indeed compared* 
 And by St. Peter to the voice preferred 
 Which he himself upon the mount had heard. 
 Yet not, says he, as that freethinker meant; 
 The words relate but to that one event 
 Which stands upon prophetical record, 
 To wit, the glorious coming of our Lord. 
 
 * His Lordship's exposition of the text is this; that the word of pro- 
 phecy is compared, indeed, and preferred here by St. Peter to the evi- 
 dence of that heavenly voice, which he himself had heard in the mount, 
 yet not, as that freethinking author imagines, on the account of its being 
 a surer proof or better argument for the general truth of the Gospel, but 
 only for the particular article of Christ's coming again in glory, to which 
 case alone the comparison relates : for, with regard to the truth of the 
 gospel Peter is so far from speaking of prophecy in this place as the best 
 evider.ee, that he manifestly speaks of it as not the best. Page 29.
 
 171 
 
 But, one or all, to make a surer word 
 Then heav'nly demonstration, is absurd, 
 And glaring in the instance that he chose, 
 Because that coming, a9 the context shews, 
 Was of such majesty as Peter knew 
 That Christ was really cloth'd with in his view; 
 And therefore could not possibly say " we 
 " Have also something surer than to see; 
 "We were eye-witnesses of what we preach, 
 *' Yet think more certain what the Prophets teach. 1 
 
 He contradicts* in splitting on the shelf 
 Of our translation, Peter and himself; 
 The Saint, by such restriction of his own 
 As was by him unthought of and unknown; 
 Himself, who says that Peter in this place, 
 Admitting Gospel truth to be the case, 
 Far from preferring the prophetic test, 
 Has manifestly said 'twas not the best. 
 
 And of all Gospel truths that you can name 
 This glorious coming is the one great aim, 
 The sum and substance, with respect to man, 
 Ot heav'nly purpose since the world began. 
 Divine intention could no more have been 
 For Christ to suffer, them for man to sin ; 
 Tho', since that fatal accident befel, 
 Inornate Love would save him from a hell. 
 Whereas his glorious reign amongst mankind 
 Might from their first existence be design'd; 
 And, since his suffering, saving advent past, 
 What sense of justice can deny the last? 
 " His reigning glory," were the prophets dumb, 
 All things in nature cry aloud " will come." 
 
 Besides, what better does the text afford, 
 To any tolerable sense restor'd, 
 (Compare, prefer, or construe how you will) 
 Than that Divine Appearance on the hill? 
 That ascertaining in a heiiv'nly light 
 Our Saviour's glory by a present sight? 
 That record, which the Father thereupon 
 Gave of his Son to Peter, James, and John? 
 So full of proofs that, let what will be chief. ' 
 Doubt is too near akin to disbelief.
 
 m 
 
 The Doctor says, His surely no offence 
 To true religion, or to common sense, 
 To think that, tracing circumstances out, 
 Perplexed Apostles might be left in doubt:* 
 A serious reader, yet, may think it is 
 From one plain circumstance, and it is this, 
 When they descended from the sacred place 
 After partaking of this heav'nly grace, 
 Our Saviour charg'd them that they should not tell 
 To any man the vision that befel, 
 Till He Himself was risen from the dead. 
 The vision, then, (if He knew what He said> 
 Was true and reai; while, if you complete 
 The Doctor's hints of possible deceit, 
 To give his rash' reflections any force 
 Our Lord Himself must be deceiv'd, or worse: 
 Such things would follow, but the horrid train 
 Is too offensive, even to explain. 
 
 In fine, these comments which the learned make 
 On Peter's words are owing to mistake ; 
 Those which the Doctor has been pleas'd to frame 
 Upon his whole behaviour are the same. 
 Nor is more learning needful in the case 
 Than to consult the untranslated place : 
 The phrase, you'll see, asserts what I assort. 
 And leaves no critic room to controvert. 
 Grotius, whose paraphrase the Doctor quotes, 
 Gives it this meaning in his learned notes, 
 The word of prophecy we all allow 
 To be of great authority, but now 
 With u& much greater, who have seen th? event 
 So aptly correspond with its intent, f 
 This paves the way to a becoming sense, 
 And overthrows out author's vain pretence- 
 Fain art and pains employed upon the theme, 
 To dress up an imaginary scheme, 
 
 * It is no offence surely, either to reason or religion, to imagine that 
 this wonderful apparition, &c. before quoted in page 153. Page 54. 
 
 t And Grotins paraphrases the same words, as if the Apostle had said, 
 The word" of prophecy had always great authority with us, but now a much 
 greater, after we have seen the events correspond so aptly with the predictions 
 concerning the Messiah. Page S2.
 
 173 
 
 Of which, the whole New Testament around, 
 Nor foot, nor footstep, Sir, in to be found.* 
 
 Tradition tho 1 of Apostolic kind, 
 Such as was Enoch's prophecy you find 
 Contemptuously calPd, I know not what If 
 Tho' by St. Jude so plainly pointed at. 
 Because, if Jude's authority be good 
 Prophets existed long before the flood. 
 That glorious advent, set so oft in view 
 Both in the ancient scriptures and the new, 
 Of Him, who first was promis'd at the fall, 
 Hope of all ages, was fore' old in all. 
 If Enoch and if Noah preach'd away, 
 Was Adam, think you, silent in his day? 
 Had he no loss to tell his children then? 
 No saving righteousness to preach to men? 
 Did God ordain two Saviours in the case 
 Of ante and of post-diluvian race? 
 Let oral mention or let written fail, 
 If good, that is, if Christian sense prevail, 
 It never can permit us to reject 
 Consistency of truth for their defect. 
 One God, one Saviour, and one Spirit still 
 Recur, let book-worms reason as they will. 
 Whatever saves a man from being curst, 
 What man can say " God hid it from the first?" 
 Or if he does, and talks as if he knew, 
 Will want of writings prove that he says true? 
 With or without them fancy can take aim, 
 If wanting, triumph, or if not, disclaim; 
 Let them abound, no miracles make out, 
 Let them be silent, make Apostles doubt. 
 
 The two main pillars of his whole discourse, 
 Whereon the Doctor seems to rest its force, 
 And begs the reader, Sir, to recollect 
 In his conclusion are to this effect, 
 That gospel proofs on prophecies rtlifd, 
 
 * I found much art and pains employed (by the Bishop) to drrss np 
 an imaginary scheme, of which I had not discovered the least trace in 
 any of the four gospels. Page 4. 
 
 t Nor do they (the Apostles) refer as for the evidence* of onr faith la 
 I know not what prophecies of Enoch. Page 18. 
 
 02
 
 174 
 
 Singly and independently apply" 1 d; 
 
 And that the first, from whom its preachers draw 
 
 Their proof of Christ, is Moses in the law.* 
 
 Both which St. Peter's evidence again 
 
 Shew? to be slips of his too hasty pen ; 
 
 For when th' Apostle at the temple gate 
 
 Restor'd the cripple to a perfect state, 
 
 And took occasion from the healed lame 
 
 To preach the Gospel in our Saviour's name, 
 
 Thus he bespake the people that stood by, 
 
 ' God by the mouth," (observe the sacred tie) 
 
 " Of all his prophets hath foreshewn His Son 
 
 " Je^-us, by whom this miracle is done." 
 
 Which of them singly then did Peter cite? 
 
 What independency where all unite, 
 
 Where all predicted as one Spirit bid 
 
 That Christ should suffer as he really did? 
 
 " And enter into glory" for, that next 
 The preacher speaks to, in the following text; 
 Where in his exhortation to repent, 
 " Jesus," he tells them, * shall again be sent ; 
 " Heav'ns must receive mankind's appointed head, 
 " Till time hath done whatever God hath said, 
 " By all His prophets since the world began :'* 
 For so the sense, without curtailing, ran, 
 Of which the Doctor, quoting but a part, 
 Has yet dissolv'd the charm of all his art, 
 Since all the prophets let the world begin 
 With Moses, if he will are taken in; 
 And, join'd together, must, whate'er he thinks, 
 Produce a chain, however few the links. 
 
 'Tis true he afterwards begins to quote, 
 And first " the Prophet of whom Moses wrote;" 
 Adding, " that all who in succession came 
 " Had likewise spoken of the very same:" 
 *' The same" see how prophetic words conspire 
 God's Own, predicted to the Jewish Sire, 
 " And in thy seed," so Peter's words attest, 
 ** Shall all the kindreds of the earth be blest." 
 Proofs of our Saviour Christ you see him draw 
 From in, from after, from before the law. 
 
 * See quotation, Page 175.
 
 m 
 
 What can be said in answer, Sir, to this? 
 The fact is plain, tho' Peter judg'd amiss; 
 For, such defect (he scruples not to own) 
 Collins against th' Evangelist hus shewn: 
 The very GosjhIs have some proofs ussign'd 
 Of loose, precarious, and uncertain kind* 
 This unbeliever, in the shocking terras, 
 In which his cause a Clergyman confirms, 
 Has arguments unanswerably strong 
 To prove their manner of applying wrong: 
 Altho', whatever difficulties lie 
 Against the way tvherein they shall apply, 
 It is the best, which, of all other ways, 
 The case affords; so runs his rev'rend phrase. 
 So Deist and Divine, but both in vain, 
 Seek to unfasten the prophetic chain. 
 
 Should the New Testament be treated so 
 By one whose character we did not know, 
 Might not the language miss its aim'd effect, 
 And rather tempt the reader to suspect 
 That some presumptuous mocker and self-will'd 
 Had Enoch's, Jude's, and Peter's words fulfill'd? 
 
 To clear a tortur'd passage from abuse 
 This good effect may possibly produce, 
 That when a writer of the modern mode 
 Shall cast reflections on the Sacred Code, 
 Men will not, merely upon sudden trust 
 In bold assertions, take them to be just; 
 Since it may be that in- 1ms only mode 
 Of great mistakes a critical parade; 
 Has only spoken evil of those things, 
 
 * From these two observations it follows, that, whatever difficulties 
 may be charged to the particular application! of prophecies which are 
 found in the New Testament, jet, on the whole, that way of applying 
 them must be esteemed by Christians as the best which the cast affords . 
 and that the authority of the Gospel, as far as it is grounded on prophecy, 
 rests on those single and independent predictions, which are delivered 
 occasionally here and there in the law and the prophets. It must be 
 confessed, however, that the author, against whom the Bishop's discour- 
 ses are levelled, has alleged several strong and even unanswerable objec- 
 tions to some of them, which are cited by the Evangelists in proof the 
 mission ot Jesus, as being of too loose and precarious a nature to build 
 any solid argument upon. Page 131
 
 176 
 
 Of which he does not really know the springs; 
 Has met with matters high above his reach, 
 And, scorning to be taught, presum'd to teach, 
 Raising about them an affected cry 
 That ends in nothing but a " Who but I?" 
 
 Bare prophecy, the Doctor has profess'd,* 
 Admits completion only for its test; 
 TA' event foretold by it must also be 
 What human prudence never could foresee. 
 Nor human povo'r produce; or else no sign 
 Could thence appear of Agency Divine. 
 
 Prophecy then, as his descriptions own, 
 Can be made sure by miracles alone; 
 It is, what he himself is pleasM to call, 
 While unfulfilPd, no evidence at all. 
 
 How is it then, in his repeated term, ; 
 
 Of standing evidence mor-e sure and firm? 
 How is this consonant to standing still, 
 As none at all, tjll miracles fulfil? 
 If it has none till they are overpast, ' 
 Is not the evidence irom<theD) at last? 
 From them prophetic word, before obscure, 
 Becomes an evidence cqnfirm'd and sure ; 
 Its truth is first demonstrated, and then 
 Reflects its light on miracles again. 
 
 A hungry question, therefore, to inquire, 
 Of two great proofs that actually conspire 
 44 Which is the best?" when with united light 
 They both produce an evidence so bright. 
 But the freethinker with a crafty view, 
 (If what his learn'd assistant says be true)t 
 
 * Whereas a bare prophecy, delivered as the proof of a Divine cha- 
 racter in any person or doetrine, is incapable of any persuasive force or 
 of giving any sort of conviction until it be accomplished ; the completion 
 of it being the sole test by which its veracity can be determined. The 
 event likewise foretold by it must be of a kind which neither human 
 prudence could foresee, nor human power produce ; for otherwise it 
 could not give any assurance of a Divine interposition. Page 40. 
 
 t As far as these words go there is certainly nothing in them but what 
 a sincere advocate of the Gospel nii^ht freely allow and join issue;upon ; 
 but tlicy come from an enemy, who had a crafty view in extolling the 
 credit of prophecy, in order to depress it afterwards the more effectu- 
 ally. And this was the ground of his Lordship's resolution to confute, 
 or, at all events, to contradict them, &c. Page 29.
 
 177 
 
 Had raised prophetic credit to excess, 
 In order more securely to depress ; 
 And for this cause his Lordship undertook 
 To write, it seems, at all events, a book. 
 
 Thig being; then, the motive which he had, 
 A reader ales, ** what is there in it bad?" 
 With what decorum does a priest accuse 
 A Bishop writing against crafty views, 
 Views of an enemy to Gospel truth? 
 Is the defending of him less uncouth? 
 Dees such defence, with such a rudeness writ, 
 The Priest, the Bishop, or the cause befit? 
 So interlarded with that loose rcpioich 
 Which want of argument is wont to broach, 
 So deeply ting'd the Ciceronian style 
 With what the critics commonly call bile, 
 That they, who thought it worth their while to seek 
 The author's motive, judg'd it to be pique. 
 
 Soon as you enter on the work, you see 
 An instant sample what the whole will be; 
 First, being jealous of the Bishop's views, 
 His /took for yean he dnr\i not to peruse, 
 Afraid to trust so eminent a guide 
 For fear his judgment should be warped aside:* 
 Tho 1 quite secure, for he had ever found 
 Authority to be a treacherous ground; 
 And t cen this, this capital ujf'uir. 
 That was to lead his judgment to a snare, 
 He found and just as he expected too 
 Who feared before a bias from /lis view, 
 When graciously inclined to see it since, 
 Quite of a kind that never can convince: 
 Which, to be sure, afforded reason good 
 To write a hook against it, lest it should. 
 
 i ^^K^mtmmmm - 
 
 * I knew Ills Lordship also to be eminently qualified to dress up any 
 subject into any form which would best serve his own views, and wn 
 jealous of warping my judgment by some bias which his authority might 
 be apt to imprint: for, so far as my cxpeiience mid reached, I had ever 
 found authority a treacherous gaide to a searcher after truth. Page 3. 
 Upon this task I soon after entered, and found thin capital work of Jm 
 Lordship's to be just such as I expected, exhibiting a specie* of reason 
 ing peculiar to himself, ever subtle and refined, vet m ver convincing. 
 Pace 4.
 
 178 
 
 Had anv other author, less polite, 
 With vulgar phrase attempted thus to write, 
 And thus begun so fine a scheme to spin, 
 The reas'ners of this world had broken in, 
 Rudely unravetPd all his fine-spun scheme,* 
 And sent him forth to seek another theme. 
 
 How suited this to any good design 
 That should engage a Christian, a Divine? 
 But what are names, if not a single one 
 Be worth regard for sixteen ages gone'} 
 Jf to inquire what any of them say, 
 Be, as he thinks, but wasting time away?f 
 Himself excepted in the modest creed, 
 Unless he writes for nobody to read. 
 
 Sure of all treach'rous guides the greatest cheat 
 Is that of wild unchristian self-conceit: 
 Possess'd by this domestic, inbred pride, 
 The wise free-thinkers scorn the name of guide. 
 Their own sufficiency with eyes their own 
 Clearly beheld, they trust to that alone ; 
 ResolvM no other maxims to imbibe 
 Than what their reason and their sense prescribe: 
 That is, themselves for what a man calls his 
 In such a case is really what he is: 
 Choose how refin'd an egotist may be 
 His reason, judgment, mind, and sense is he. 
 In such confinement if he sits enthrall'd, 
 No matter by what title he is call'd, 
 Blind as a Sudducee to heav'nly light, 
 He will believe his own conceptions right; 
 No prophecy to him can seem more sure, 
 Nor miracle attested work his cure. 
 That of conversion from his own dark mind 
 Must first convince him that he once was blind; 
 
 * But his Lordship being apprehensive that the reasoners of this world 
 
 might break in upon him, and rudely unravel his fine-spun scheme. 
 
 Page 106. 
 
 t I thought it an idle curiosity and waste of time to inquire what any 
 modern Divine had preached or written about it (viz. the nature of pro- 
 phecy) because the whole that can be known authentically, concerning 
 its relation to Christianity, must be learned from those who first planted 
 Christianity, aud were instructed by the Author of it on what founda- 
 tion it rested, and how far the argument of prophecy was useful to its 
 propagation and support. Page 3.
 
 179 
 
 Then may he see with salutary grief 
 The dire effects of wretched unbelief; 
 Looser, and yet more loose from sacred ties, 
 To what strange heights a self-taught Sophist flies. 
 
 Friendship to Doctor Middleton sincere 
 Must, if exerted, wish him to forbear 
 A kind of writing on the Christian cause, 
 That gains him no desirahle applause, 
 That, whether meant or not. may unawares 
 Involve a reader in free-thinking snares; 
 Involve himself. If frequent the relapse, 
 A teacher of Divinity, perhaps, 
 May run the risk of being quite bereft, 
 Of having nothing but the habit left. 
 
 May that, which teaches rightly to divide 
 The word of truth, be his petition'd guide! 
 Or, if resolv'd at present to pursue, 
 At future leisure, a mistaken clue, 
 May future leisure an uncertain date 
 If granted, find him in a better state! 
 
 FOUR EPISTLES 
 
 To the Rev. Mr. Lancaster, late Vicar of Bowden, 
 
 ON THE 
 
 MIRACLE AT THE FEAST OF PENTECOST. 
 
 Our author here repeats, and endeavour* to support a sentiment which is men- 
 tioned by him, I'age 165, 166. He thinks, and brings rcrij plausible 
 reasons for maintaining, that the extraordinary effusion (if the Holy Spirit 
 on the day of Pentecost, in the gift of tongues, did not consist- in the 
 communication to the Apostles of a miraculous power to utter different 
 languages ; but in bestowing on I'arthiuns, Medts, T.lamites, and others, 
 a capacity for understanding that one tongue used <i th, solttnn occasion, 
 which was accompanied with such an anointing of the Holy One, that 
 it may with great propriety rt a in the appellation of the universal language 
 of spiritual Cunaanites on that day. The first intimation nhich he had of 
 it was from Jacob lithiums' writings, of which he was an enthusiastic 
 admirer. 
 
 OUR folks gone a visiting, Reverend Sir, 
 Having left me at home here, loss able to stir, 
 I am thinking on matters that lovingly pass'd 
 Whore the squire of the house and I visited last,
 
 180 
 
 At the Vicar's of Bowden, old friend of us two, 
 And a lover of learning, fair, honest, and true, 
 Especially such as shall make to appear 
 Any passage of Scripture more easy and clear. 
 
 The Scripture was writ and is oft understood 
 By persons unlearned, yet pious and good, 
 Who have much better helps than mere learning can yield; 
 Which may yet be of use in its own proper held, 
 If it be but. to mend its own faults in a brother, 
 And correct in one man the mistakes of another, 
 Or to combat our scruples and fix a true thought 
 When the head shall confirm what the heart has been taught. 
 
 One thing, I remember, that fell in our way 
 Was " the speaking in tongues on the Pentecost day; 11 
 Which our friend the Divine had conceiv'd in a light, 
 That, however so thought, does not seem to be right. 
 AH the comments, '(is true, with which one has met 
 Concur with his notions about it; but yet 
 The mistake is so plain that I wish by some means 
 To obtain his review of those wonderful scenes. 
 
 It is not my thought ; for I first was appriz'd 
 Of the thing by a Jacob, too greatly despis'd; 
 Dipping into whose writings, which little I knew, 
 Some expression like this was presented to view, 
 All languages spoken by Peter in one 
 A truth, which the moment I enter'd upon, 
 All the force of simplicity, fitness, and fact 
 Extorted assent that I could not retract. 
 
 If the honest old Vicar, our visited friend, 
 To St. Luke's own account will be pleas'd to attend, 
 I cannot but think that the current conceit 
 Will yield to solution so clear and complete 
 Of a number of difficult points, that arise 
 Upon viewing the text with unprejudic'd eyes; 
 If speakers were more than Apostles, and SPOKEN . 
 But to one in fifteen was a sensible token. 
 
 For the names to that number, if rightly I count 
 By a Baguly Bible, of nations amount, 
 Who all understood what a Peter or John, 
 Or whoever he will, was discoursing upon,
 
 181 
 
 And to all at one time; for, bow plain to be seen 
 That persons nor place could admit of fifteen, 
 When Parthians, and Modes, Elamites, and the rest, 
 Must be too intermixed to be singly address'd! 
 
 " Are not these," said the men, the devout of each 
 land, 
 11 Galileans that speak, whom we all understand?" 
 As much as to say, " by what wonderful pow'rs 
 M Does the tongue Galilean to us become ours?" 
 While the good were so justly astonish'd, the bad 
 Whose hearts were unopen'd cry'd out, they are mad!" 
 Unaccountable charge ! if we do not recall 
 That in one single tongue the Apostles spake all. 
 
 For, separate speakers and tongues, it is clear, 
 Good and bad without madness might equally hear; 
 And surprise in the bad would be equally keen, 
 How illiterate men ciild speak all the fifteen. 
 But the miracle wrought in the simplest of ways 
 In both good and bad well accounts for amaze; 
 One was sensibly touch'd with a gift so Divine, 
 One stupidiy rais'd the reproach of" new wine." 
 
 When St. Peter stood up, and to all that great throng 
 Shew'd the truth in a sermon so good and so long, 
 Hut to one fifteenth part was it only then shewn? 
 To the worst, the Jerusalem scoffers alone, 
 Whilst all the good strangers, not knowing one word, 
 Stood unedify'd by? This is greatly absurd. 
 God pour'd out his Spirit, that answers all mock, 
 And spake by St. Peter to the whole of his flock. 
 
 The vulgar objection, which commenting strain 
 Has made to a thing so exceedingly plain, 
 Is " the miracle then would not be in the speaker, 
 " It would be in the hearers;" now, what can be weaker* 
 For the gift in this case had a twofold respect, 
 And must needs be in both to produce its effect, 
 To account for the fact which the comments forgot, 
 Why the pious could hear what the mockers could not. 
 
 It 19 no where affirin'd that th' Apostles acquir'd 
 Any tongue but their own, tho 1 Divinely irisnir'd.
 
 182 
 
 St. Peter, St. John are soon mention'd again, 
 
 And describ'd as unlearned and ignorant men. 
 
 But enough ! or loo much ! for, the shortness of time 
 
 Gives a hint to set bounds to th 1 extension of rhyme: 
 
 Our friend will acknowledge, tho' hasty the letter, 
 
 This question's solution, or give us a better. 
 
 So I shall not here touch upon Hebrew and Greek, 
 Where a Rabbi so able, if minded to seek, 
 May observe other points in which learning, that makes 
 Many things clear enough, has occasion'd mistakes. 
 Whether this be one instance I only desire 
 That a suitable leisure may prompt to inquire; 
 For to me it appears, that the miracle done 
 Was all by one language, as clear as the sun. 
 
 Baguley, August 12th 1756. 
 
 EPISTLE SECOND. 
 
 MANY thanks have been order'd this day to attend 
 The receipt of your letter, dear Vicar and friend ; 
 Which at first being left to your leisure to frame, 
 Was sure to be welcome whenever it came. 
 The point, which the Muse had a mind to propose 
 In her free-spoken rhymes, you have handled in prose ; 
 All fair on both sides, because, say it or sing, 
 In this affair truth is the principal thing. 
 
 But I cannot but marvel that much better sight 
 Than my own should not see so meridian a light 
 As that of the speaking, at Pentecost time, 
 By the Spirit of God, to the good of each clime, 
 In one single tongue by that Spirit inspir'd, 
 Whose assistance did all that could then be requir'd; 
 Whose power, it is certain, could make itself known 
 By a number of tongues, or by one tongue alone. 
 
 So needless the many, so simple the one, 
 That I wonder what judgment can hesitate on, 
 Or a learned inquiry that finds, if it seek, 
 That the tongue might be one in construction of Greek;
 
 183 
 
 Which, as comma takes place, (as old Gregory saiu, 
 Nazianzen 1 think) either way may be read, 
 " They speak in our tongues, 1 ' or, as crystaline clear 
 The fact is to my understanding, H we hear. 1 ' 
 
 I sent you some reasons from Baguley, why 
 The tongue was but one, which you choose to pass by, 
 And to comment St. Luke in a many-tongu'd way 
 That darkens the light which I took to be day. 
 And day it is still; for, account that you give 
 So plain and so obvious is water in sieve; 
 Which seems to be something at first-looking view, 
 But by holes plain and obvious it quickly runs through. 
 
 The tongues which appeared, and which sat upon each, 
 All cloven and fiery, you argue,* may teach. 
 And by notice symbolical make it discern d, 
 That they spake in such tongues as they never had learned. 
 Need I tell a Hebraean that tongue is the same 
 In relation to fire as the English word flame? 
 Which appears to be cloven, and proof, that is spun 
 From the tougues or the flames, has too much of the pun. 
 
 When you ask, Pray, what reason can else be assigned 
 For tongues? I ask you, " Pray, what reason for wind?* 1 
 Not to shun a fair question; but tongue being flame 
 May have answered already your questioning aim. 
 I think that an air, that a flame from above- 
 Both is and betokens the life and the love, 
 Which if 'Christians were blest with, one language would do, 
 And their whole body fill'd with, there could not be two. 
 
 But let them be symbols, (the tongues) if you will, 
 Of the grace which the Spirit was pleas' d to instil, 
 His gift is as good, if, in speaking their own, 
 Men made the same truth in all languages known. 
 
 * The cloven tongues like fire which sat upon each of the person* 
 mentioned (Acts 1. 15.) were a plain symbolical notice, that by the Holr 
 Ghost, with which they were then baptized, they should be endowed*, 
 for the propagation of the Gospel in all nations, with divers languages. 
 If this is not the case, pray what reason can be assigned why there 
 should be an appearance of fiery tongues divided, and sitting upon 
 each of the Apostles and disciples? Rev. Mr. Lancaster's letter ts the 
 Anther.
 
 184 
 
 This effect you will grant the good gift to intend; 
 Now, supposing two ways of attaining one end, 
 Is that explication less likely or just, 
 Which takes the more simple, more plainly august? 
 
 Your account is quite new in one thing that I meet. 
 That is, that the speakers went into the street, 
 Or went out of the hou-e to the multitude met, * 
 For, of this going out t have never read yet ; 
 Or if ever I did, have forgotten the hook, 
 And can find nothing said in fh' account of St. Luke, 
 But what should imply both profane and devout 
 Coming into the house, and not them to go out. 
 
 May one ask what authority, then, you have got 
 For the scene and succession, which here you allot 
 To the speaking disciples, in number fifteen, 
 By an order well fanied, but not to be seen 
 In the Acts, or elsewhere the New Testament through? 1 
 Nor (what I shall just give a hint of to yon ) 
 Will you find an Apostle* not even a Paul, 
 In a tongue, not his own, ever preaching at all. 
 
 I agree that the mockers wh& mocked with the throng, 
 Knew only their vulgar Jerusalem tongue ;f 
 But when yen say farther, what cannot but strike, 
 'That the nations too all understood it alike, 
 Your order'd confusion of speaking a store 
 To a crowd out of doors is more puzzling and more. 
 In the midst of such darkness if you can see light, 
 You need not complain of the need of eye-sight.$ 
 
 * The Apostles and Disciples, upon the rumour of what had happened 
 being spread abroad, by those of the house in which they were assem- 
 bled, went out to the multitude, whom such a report had brought to- 
 gether; and then in order, first one of them in one language and then 
 another of them in another, and so on till all the languages of the nati- 
 ons specified were used, addressed the multitude ; who hearing illiterate 
 Galileans speaking after such a manner to each different class amongst 
 them in their own proper language in which they were born, were ama- 
 zed and confounded. Mr. L.'s letter. 
 
 t The mockers appear to be such as understood the Jewish language. 
 St. Peter's speech beginning (Acts 2. 14.) is addressed to all the multi- 
 tude, and, as being so, is spoken in the Jewish language, which all of 
 them, tho' of different nations, understood. Mr. L.'s letter. 
 
 t A much greater complaint than this I have to make, and that is 
 waul of eyesight ; for what appears to you a.% clear as the sun does not 
 appear to me clear at all. Mr. L.'s letter.
 
 185 
 
 Thus, my dear old acquaintance, I run thro 1 your plan, 
 And defend my conviction as well as I can. 
 As to what a Bengelius or Wesley* may raise 
 From Twelve Hundred and Sixty prophetical days, 
 As the book is not here, if it otherwise could, 
 My skill in the German can do you no good; 
 But the part that you mention, my author foretells, 
 Will be put in our tongue by a Doctor at Wells. 
 
 So writes younger Wesley, who call'd here and din'd; 
 And to him I subscribe for it, tho', in my mind, 
 What prophets have written 'tis learning in vain, 
 Without some prophetical gift, to explain; 
 Nay, in points ihat are clear beyond any fair doubt, 
 It is fifteen to one that the learned are out. 
 This ratio I find in one instance is true; 
 Excuse the presumptipn. Dear Vicar, adieu ! 
 
 EPISTLE THIRD. 
 
 I HOPE that the Vicar will pardon the haste 
 With which an occasion once more is embrac'd 
 Of getting some knowledge, in points that I seek, 
 From one so well vers'd both in Hebrew and Greek, 
 In a question of fact, where a friendly pursuit 
 Has the truth for its object, and not the dispute: 
 Which, tho' haste should encroach upon metrical leisure. 
 Will be sure, if it rise, to be kept within measure. 
 
 It would save much voluminous labour sometimes, 
 If disputes were tied down to dispassionate rhymes, 
 As well as to reason. But, not to digcess, 
 Having weigh'd his responses both larger and less, 
 I resume the same subject, same freedom of pen, 
 To intreat for some small satisfaction again 
 In relation to points, which, appearing absurd, 
 Have extorted poetical favour the third. 
 
 * The Krv. John Wesley, in his explanation of the New Testament, this 
 year published, says that the 1160, prophetical days in the Revelations 
 arc not, as some have supposed, 1160, hut 777 common years, and that 
 Hengclius'in his German Introduction has shewn this at large. You 
 understand the German language, and therefore, if Bengelius be in your 
 library, I desire in a few Hues you will let me know how be makes thi* 
 out. Mr. L.'s I tit er. 
 
 P
 
 186 
 
 Three things are laid down in prose favour the last,* 
 And regard to his thoughts would have none of them past; 
 To his first it was paid, to his future shall be; 
 But let tt Veritas naagis arnica 1 ' t be free. 
 First manage the comma, says he, how you will, 
 Speak, or hear, the same sense will result from it Hill: 
 Yes, the sense of the context, XstXouv-rwv arv,$ 
 *' While they speak in their tongue, we all bear in our own.'"' 
 
 The Hebrew word |iL^7, or Tongue, says he next, 
 
 Whene'er it is us'd by itself in a text-, 
 
 Never signifies fire, never signifies flame, 
 
 And, believing it true, I say also the same. 
 
 But in joint $$ |it^,|| tongue of fire, or a blaze, 
 
 Foreign languages claim no symbolical phrase; 
 Tho 1 tongue may occasion mistake to befal, 
 It has here no relation to language at all. 
 
 Short issue, he thinks, the dispute will admit, 
 And desires me to answer this query, to wit, 
 Were the tongues, the new tongues, which a promise was made 
 That Disciples shoidd speak, as St. Mark hath displayed, 
 New languages, such as have never been got 
 By learning beforehand to speak them, or not? 
 To which.for the present, till somebody shew 
 That it must have this meaning, my answer is-, " no." 
 
 Now this, if he can-, Leould wish he would do, 
 And prove the construction NEW languages true- 
 In the sense that he means: for, when all understood 
 One person who spake, it was- really as good 
 As if numbers had spoken, or promised grace 
 Were interpreted languages here in this place. 
 
 * You send me to Hebrew and Greek, and the result of my inquiry 
 is, however the comma be managed in the verse yon mean, (Acts 2. 11.) 
 the sense is the same; and that Vj>7, when nsed by itself, never signi- 
 fies fire or flame. And therefore, to bring the dispute to a short issue r 
 I desire your answer to the following query :--rWere the aew tongues,, 
 with which our Saviour (Mark 16. 17.) promised his disciples should 
 speak, new languages, that is, such as they had never learned, or not? 
 Mr. L.'s letter. 
 
 t Truth yet a greater friend. X Lalountoon autoon. j Lashon. 
 || Lashon esh.
 
 187 
 
 The effect was the same, and may answer the piCh 
 Of all that his second has favoured me with. 
 
 Still difficult, then, if we carefully sift, 
 Is the, vulgar account of the Pentecost pit, 
 Which the learned advance, and establish thereon 
 What th Vicar has built his ideas upon, 
 With additions thereto, which, a< far as I see, 
 Not one of the learned has added, but he; 
 For example, if some, very few, I presume, 
 Have described the Disciples as quitting the room. 
 
 But let them be many, what reason, what trace 
 Do we find of their leaving the sanctify'd place? 
 Of a wind from above did they fear at the shake? 
 And the house, thro' a doubt of its falling, forsake? 
 Or did they go forth to the gathering quire, 
 Lest the many bright flames should have set it on fire? 
 If a thought could have enter'd of going away, 
 What circumstance was not strong motive to stay? 
 
 Then again that the foreigners, all of them, knew 
 The language then tufd at Jerusalem too 
 For the miracle's sake one would here have demurr'd; 
 Which is render'd so needless, improper, absurd, 
 That Jerusalem mockers would really have had 
 A pretence to al ledge that the pious were mad; 
 For of speaking strange tongues what accountable aim, 
 Or of hearing fifteen, when they all knew the same? 
 
 Add to this the Disciples, the Hundred and Twenty, 
 Spake amongst one another strange tongUM in like plrnly. 
 One by one, says the Vicar, who very well saw 
 What confusion would rise without some such a law 
 As ilie text has no hint of, which says "they began 
 14 To speak by the Spirit, 11 not man after man: 
 Could time have sufiie'd for bo doing, yet whv 
 Speak the tongues of such men, as were none of them by? 
 
 The Vicar saw too that this could not attract 
 Any multitude thither, supposing it fact; 
 And so he conceivM that rumour was -jjread 
 By the men of the house, of whom nothing is said. 
 Now, when men of his learning are forcM to find out 
 Such unchronicled salvos to dissipate doubt,
 
 188 
 
 One is apt to infer a well grounded suspense, 
 And the more to look out for more natural sense. 
 
 I wish my old friend would consider the case, 
 And how ill it consists with effusion of grace 
 To speak Parthian and Median, and so of the rest, 
 To none but themselves being present address'd: 
 Unless he can grant, on revolving the point, 
 That indeed there is something not rightly in joint, 
 Or solve one's objections, or shew one the way 
 How to clear up the matter. What can a man say? 
 
 EPISTLE FOURTH. 
 
 I HAVE with attention, dear Vicar, repass'd 
 Your obliging reply to the lines in my last; 
 Am sorry 'tis final, yet cannot but say 
 That your patience to hear me, has gone a great way. 
 And extinguish'd all right to require any more, 
 If I put you to prove two and two to make four* 
 Very difficult task! as one cannot deny, 
 When there's nothing more plain to demonstrate it by. 
 
 But if two and two, four, I am thinking, has claim 
 To self evident truth, has this comment the same? 
 The new tongues, which are mention d in promising page, 
 Are the old ones subsisting for many an age: 
 Is it really as plain, as that four is twice two, 
 That in no other sense they could ever be new, 
 But as new to the speaker, John, Peter, or Paul, 
 While the tongues in themselves had no newness at all? 
 
 Were this a true thesis, and right to maintain, 
 Yet " two halves are one whole" is, however, more plain, 
 Till the proof which is wanted shall make it appear 
 How the two propositions are equally clear. > 
 
 * Your answer to the query, " were the tongues, which our Saviour 
 M promised his disciples (Mark 16. 17.) they should speak with, such lan- 
 " guages as they then knew not?" is, " no." This is doing things to the 
 purpose, a bold Alexandrian stroke; and I am put upon the difficult 
 task of shewing that two and two make four. Mr. L.'s letter.
 
 189 
 
 This proof may be had from the Chapter, you say, 
 Which relates whut wan done on the Pentecost day, 
 The best of all proofs; but, to do the foir thing, 
 Give me leave to examine what reasons you bring. 
 
 That y\ou<r<7'U% is LANGUAGES oft, if you seek 
 In the Septuagint, or the New Testament Greek, 
 Acknowledge you must. *Yes. 'ti- really the case - 
 TalV r,(j.cTfxis y\uaaa.is X l this very place 
 Must mean IN oi'R languages; ;ente, you must own. 
 Is the mme as in rr, oiu.7Jx.ru v(auiv,% 
 I// our languages, or in our dialect. Yes, 
 Two and two making tour is net plainer than this. 
 
 But how it flows hence that in cited St. Mark 
 It has no other moaning, I'm quite in the dark. 
 Few words of a language are always coniin'd 
 To a meaning precisely oi just the same kind: 
 For the roots of the Hebrew in Hutchinson's school 
 I rememher they had such a kind oi a rule, 
 But the reach of its proof has been out of my pow'r, 
 Tho' I've talk'd with their master full many an hour. 
 
 I believe that by grace, which the Spirit instill'd, 
 " They shall speak with new tongues" was exactly fulfill'd 
 In our Saviour's Disciples; that, grace being got, 
 They did so speak in tongues as before they could not 
 With respect to good strangers partaking of grace; 
 For *' speak with new tongues" with new languages 
 
 place, 
 And the promise fullill'd we may very well call, 
 By one Spirit-form'd tongue which instructed them all. 
 
 If the bold Alexandrian stroke of a '* No' 1 
 Had been " Yes' 1 in nay last (and it would have been so 
 
 * You cannot but own that thr word yXo/TTxi in several places of the 
 Old Testament according: to the Seventy, and in many places of the New 
 Testament signifies language*. And that it does so in the above cited 
 (Mark 16. if.- may be fully proved from the very chapter (Acts 2.) in 
 which what was done on the day of Pentecost is related. In verse 11, 
 the signification of tzTs hy.irifzis y7.u7azis u evidently " in our lan- 
 guages," the same as is otherwise expressed i H verse 6, by rn 15/^ 5wt- 
 Xt'xTw, and in verse r>, by r7, ciz7jx.ru rj/xiv. Mx. L.'s UUtr. 
 i uloossai. Tais cenieierais gloossais.- Toe dialectoo ecmoon. 
 P 'J
 
 190 
 
 If the facts had require! it) what could it have shewn, 
 Tho 1 the text had this meaning, if not this alone? 
 For how do *' all languages spoken in one 1 ' 
 Disagree with the promise insisted upon? 
 I allow it fulfiird; let the Vicar allow 
 The fulfilling itself to determine the how. 
 
 God's wonderful Works vvhen disciples display^ 
 And spake by the Spirit's omnipotent aid, 
 Ev'ry one understood in a language his own, 
 Loquentibus illis, XaXouVruv ainuv 
 * ; While they spake' 1 at the first; for, good Greek and 
 
 good sense 
 Forbid us to form an unwritten pretence 
 For dividing of tongues, when the Spirit's descent 
 Gave at once both to speak and to know what was meant. 
 
 But thus to interpret, it seems, you forbid,* 
 By placing the stop as old Gregory did, 
 Who thought as you think; tho' you bring, I agree, 
 At least a more plausible reason than he, 
 From a passage that suits with your meaning alone, 
 Acts the tenth, " for they heard" vikouov yxp uvrajy f 
 AxkouvTa>it " them speaking,' 1 and yXdiiTais ' in tongues," 
 Where indeed to that Greek that construction belongs. 
 
 By transposing two words the grammatical lot 
 Shews when they are absolute, when they are not; 
 But be it " them speaking," as you would collect, 
 " In our languages," still it will never affect 
 The force of those reasons from which 1 tis inferr'd 
 That at once they were spoken, at once they were heard; 
 Nor of those which deny that tongues, quatenus new, 
 Mean always precisely what languages do. 
 
 That evidence, Vicar, which here you have brought, J 
 Cross-exam in'd, will certainly favour this thought; 
 
 * Let me observe that the words "Kakouvruv avrwv (v. 11.) are Hot, as 
 you would have them, put absolutely, but are governed of axoyoptev, as 
 XaXoima/v auTu/v (v. 6.) are of v,x.ouov, and as avrwv XuXouvrw* 
 yXuGnais are of the same verb (Acts 10. 46.) Mr. L.'s letter. 
 
 t Eecouftn gar antoon. j So fur as, or, for as much as they are new. 
 4 See the reference to Acts 10. 46.
 
 191 
 
 For Cornelius converted, and company too, 
 
 Without intervention of languages new, 
 
 How can any one think, but from prejudice bred, 
 
 ThV honest, from what he has often heard said, 
 
 That then they were all on a sudden inspired 
 
 To speak with strange tongues, when no reason requir'd? 
 
 But now being got to the end of a tether 
 Prescrib'd to your trouble, I leave to you whether 
 Tongues any where else, in the acnse you assert, 
 Were spoken to purpose, that is, to convert? 
 Or whether your patience can bear to, excuse 
 A reply to your hints on the sense that I choose? 
 In the nvan time I thank you for favours in hand; 
 And, speaking or silent, am youra to command, 
 
 jr. B. 
 
 An Epistle to J. Bl k n, Esq. 
 Occasioned by a Dispute concerning the Food of 
 
 ST. JO//A THE BAPTIST. 
 
 The arguments are certainly my ingenious, by which the author attempts (<> 
 prove that the food qj' John the Baptist consisted of vegetables, or the 
 tups of trees, and not of that most distinctive among volatile mseels, the 
 Locust. He is not singular in his opinions almut this matter : Athniiu 
 xius, Isidorus, Tlwophijlact, and others han adopted the same ideas res- 
 pecting it, und some of them hare employed similar reasoning. Thr 
 most plausilile i>arts of what is used on both sidiS tcill lie found in Ih* 
 following notes. 
 
 THE point, Mr. Bl k n, disputed upon, 
 * Whether insects or herlts were the food of St. John,' 
 Is a singular proof how a learned pretence 
 Can prevail with some folks over natural sense, 
 So consistent with herbs, as you know was allow'd. 
 But the dust that is rais'd by a critical crowd 
 Has so blinded their eyes, that plain, simple truth . 
 Is obscur'd by a posse of Classics, forsooth .'
 
 192 
 
 Diodorus and Strabo, Solinus and ^rElian, 
 And authorities down from the Aristotelian, 
 Have mention'd whole clans that were wont to subsist 
 Jn the East upon Locusts as big as your fist: 
 Therefore so did the Baptist; now, were it all true 
 That reporters affirm, but not one of them knew, 
 What follows but hearsay how savages eat, 
 And how locusts sometimes are necessity's meat?* 
 
 If amongst their old tales they had chanc'd to determine 
 That the Jews were accustom'd to feed on these vermine, 
 It would have been something; or did they produce 
 Any one single hermit that stor'd them for use, 
 Having pick'd them, and dry'd them, and smok'd in the sun. - 
 For, this before eating, they tell us, was done, f 
 The example were patter than any they bring 
 To support such an awkward, improbable thing. 
 
 Hermitical food the poetical tribe 
 Of Classics have happen'd sometimes to describe, 
 And their native descriptions are constantly found 
 To relate in some shape to the fruits of the ground; X 
 If exception occurs, one may venture to say 
 That the Locust conceit never came in their way, 
 Or let its defender declare, if he knows, 
 Any one single instance in verse or in prose. 
 
 " But the word which the text has made use of," 'tis said, 
 " Means the animal Locust, wherever 'tis read, 
 
 * This is very true. No one can suppose that these voracious crea- 
 tures are preferred in the East to other sustenance. The acounts, which we 
 have to this effect from travellers, can only apply to the natives making 
 the best of a had affair: when the rising vegetables and grain are laid 
 waste by these destroyers, in what better way can they employ themselves 
 than in pickling and eating the creatures which have caused such injury? 
 
 t And on this account it is said to be improbable that St. John, whose 
 life is reckoned almost that of an ascetic, would irf the wilderness use 
 the iabour that is requisite in seizing and in salting locusts sufficient for 
 his consumption in a year. If he submitted to this, it would detract 
 greatly from those ideas, which, in the Gospels, we arc led to form of his 
 abstinence. He would then, instead of eating simple fare, be indulging 
 in delicacies ; for, as such, we are assured, the Easterns esteem them 
 when thus prepared. 
 
 % It i^ related by Burchard, in his description of the Holy Land, that 
 he found near the river Jordan a sort of herb, called Locusta, which the 
 Monks in that part use for food, and which, they say, was eaten by 
 John the Baptist. Pods also, or the tops of boughs on trees, are called 
 by the Germans to this day, "St. John's bread."
 
 193 
 
 ** Of a species which Jews were permitted to eat; 
 *' There is therefore no need of a planlal conceit, 
 *' Of tops, summits, or buds, pods, or berries of trees, 
 " For to this,' 1 the sole proof is, " no Classic agrees; 
 " And the Latin Locustte* came, only from want 
 *' Of attention, to signify tops of a plant. 1 * 
 
 It would take up a volume to clear the mistakes, 
 Which in this single case Classic prejudice makes, 
 Thro' attachment to writers, who pass a relation 
 Which others had signed without examination; 
 As the authors have done, who have read and have writ 
 That Locusts are food which the law did permit: 
 And the place, f which they quote for a proof that it did, 
 Is one that will prove them expressly forbid. 
 
 * This word is also used by modern Botanists for the tender extremi- 
 ties of the branches of trees. 
 
 t Levit. xi. '21. S3. In the authorised English version, from the words 
 in Italics, which the translators inserted as supplementary to the meaning 
 which they attached to these three verses, it will be seen that there is 
 a great confusion and contradiction in the terms of the pretended indul- 
 gence, to the Israelites, of eating locusts. But this is easily cleared up 
 by perusing the Hebrew text without undue bias. The permission in the 
 twenty-first verse runs thus, " Yet ye may eat these of every flying rcp- 
 " tile that moveth upon four, not having legs above its feet with which 
 " it may leap upon the earth." This last el.iuse, containing an exception 
 to the creatures of this general class about to be allowed for food, is, 
 according to all naturalists, an exact description of the locust. There- 
 fore either some other insect than the common migratory locust must be 
 found to answer, in the following verse, to the Hebrew word " 
 
 which we translate "locust;" or "the locust after his kind" must mean 
 that it was allowable to eat all of the locust gewi/s, in which are included 
 several species, provided they did not come under the foregoing specific 
 exception of having legs, with which to leap when the \ were upon the 
 ground. These considerations, on investigating the whole, will cause 
 the intelligent reader to believe that all, who have interpreted these ver- 
 ics as granting a licence to locust-eaters, have been c\idcntly induced 
 no to explain them from the single circumstance of their being said to be 
 the food of John the Baptist. They uniformly quote this passage (Mat. 
 iii. 4.) in support of Hie turn which they give to the prohibition; and 
 thus, without any cause, they break the integral harmony of scripture, by 
 rudely attempting to bend one portion of it to what they have errone- 
 ously conceived of another. 
 
 For the refutation of this rather lame piece of criticism it is sufficient 
 to observe, (1.) That in the above, and in other fourteen Hebrew t<xt, 
 the Masora teaches us, and the labourers in our venerable version ha\ e been 
 so persuaded, that Uie negative J^S not. i> inserted for some mysterious 
 reason, instead of the pronoun ^ to it ; ami. therefore, that our English
 
 194 
 
 I appeal to the Hebrew, and for the Greek word 
 To the twenty-third Iliad, where once it occurr'd, 
 And where the old Prince of the Classics, one sees, 
 Never once thought of insects, but branches of trees,* 
 As the context evinces; tho', all to a man, 
 Translators adopt the Locustical plan. 
 How the Latin Locustce should get a wrong sense 
 Is their bus'ness to prove, who object the pretence. 
 
 translation is correct; (2) that in Exodus x. 14. 15. and in several other 
 passages, which contain accounts of the habits, or the ravages of the 
 locusts,they are designated by the same name (T^fl^ as in Leviticus ; 
 
 (3) that the following and similar descriptions of them can suit no other 
 flying reptiles with which we are acquainted, "The East wind brought 
 " the locusts. For they covered the face of the whole earth, so that the 
 " land was darkened; and they did eat every herb of the land, and all 
 " the fruit of the trees which the hail had left ; and there remained not 
 " any green thing in the trees, or in- the herbs of the field;" (4) that 
 wherever these ravenous multitudes are mentioned in the Hebrew Bible 
 their correspondent name in the Septuagint is duplies ; (5) and that, till 
 it be proved that nearly the same thing is intended by dxpu and ax-px, 
 on which unauthorised assumption the whole weight of this construction 
 rests, we must be content with the common English reading of Levit. 11 . 
 and of the disputed passage, Mat. iii. 4. (6) Especially when we have, 
 in favour of such acquiescence, the great name of Dr. Shaw, in these 
 words, " Neither has any authority been hitherto produced for taking 
 '" a.x.pi()S according to the Greek appellation, for the fruit of the lo- 
 " enst-tree, or the tops of plants; the name itself being rather derived from 
 " the desire, or appetite, which this insect has, in particular, of living 
 " upon such food." On the same side are ranged all the able modern 
 commentators; and consonant with theirs is the decision of that amiable 
 man and acute critic, the late Dr. Campbell, who says, " I see no ground 
 " to doubt that it was the animal so named that is meant here. I have 
 " never had satisfactory evidence that the word is susceptible of any 
 " other interpretation." 
 
 * Here comes an attempt at reducing the Greek word xxplSzs to the 
 meaning of the tops of trees. Homer gives the following simile, Iliad 21. 12. 
 'fls $' '69' v<nx\ pmr,s zsuphi oxp'Sgy riz%sQovT<iti 
 
 Thus correctly translated by Cowper, 
 
 As when, by violence of fire expell'd, 
 Locusts uplifted on the wing escape 
 To some broad river, swift the sudden blaze 
 Pursues them, they, astonish'd, strew the flood, 
 So, by Achilles driv'n, &c. 
 Let branches of trees be substitutes for locusts, and then let the impar- 
 tial reader determine which of the two is the most appropriate and beau- 
 tiful comparison. The first accords very accurately with the means which 
 the inhabitants of eastern countries use for the destruction of their rep- 
 tile ravagers ; the second, which here follows, does not appear so natural,
 
 195 
 
 But the classical Greek, tho' it often confirm, 
 Cannot always explain a New Testament term, 
 Any more than an Old one; and therefore, to pass 
 All authorities by of a Paganish class, 
 Let them ask the Greek Fathers, who full as well knew 
 Their own tongue and the Gospel, which meaning is true. 
 But for ihset-ts to find a plain proof in their Greek 
 Will cut a librarian out work for a Week. 
 
 For herbs here is one, which, unless it is match'd, 
 Ought to carry this question as fairly dispatch'd, 
 Isidorus, Greek Father of critical fame, 
 Has a letter cffncernirtg this very Greek name, 
 Dismissing the doubt which a querist had got, 
 If the Baptist did eat atiimalctdes of not; 
 " God forbid,'" says the Father, " a thirtg so absurd* ! 
 4i The summits of pldnis k the sense of the word." 
 
 Such an ancient decision, so quite propos, 
 Disperses at once all the Classical show 
 Of a learning that builds upon Africa's Eatf, 
 And the tiles, how wild people were fabled to feast 
 Upon fancied huge locusts, which never appear, 
 Or huge or unhuge, but five months in the year, 
 To bo hoarded, and pickled in salt and in smoke, 
 How Saint John is employed by these Critical folk!* 
 
 since we an- not told that the trees grew on the hanks of a river, nor 
 that the branches, already partially scorched by the fire, were driven 
 into the stream by the fury of the wind. The. word (pitryt'/xevaj would 
 induce the reader to conclude that they were at some distance, unless it 
 be referred to the height intended by %ip^ovrai, which has the further 
 signification of "being suspended." Taking ixpl^cS in this sense, the 
 pa.ige will he almost literally translated thus. 
 
 As when, by force of fire, branches <rf trees 
 
 Erected stand, into a river's bed 
 
 About to drop, just then the flame, unspent, 
 
 Excited fresh, with sudden fury burns, 
 
 And makes them down into the water fall, 
 
 So, by Achilles, &c. 
 " Many of the commmentators see no reason for supposing that St. 
 John cooked them in any form. The accounts given of his food and 
 clothing convey the idea of both being simple, and requiring little or no 
 preparation. The honey and the locusts might be mixed together, and 
 rendered palatable. The Psendj-Gospel according to the Hebrews af- 
 fords a colouring to this opinion. It says, " his meat was locusts and 
 *' wild honey: and the taste of it (of (his mixture) was that of mannas.
 
 196 
 
 Where the Locust could feed, such an abstinent saint- 
 Of food for his purpose could never have want. 
 If the desart was sandy and made such a- need, 
 How account for the Locusts descending to feed? 
 In short, Mr. Bl k n, they cannot escape 
 The charge of" absurd," in all manner of shape; 
 If they can, let them do it; meanwhile I conclude 
 That St. John's was the plantal not animal food. 
 
 Thus, Sir, I have stated, as brief as I'm able, 
 The friendly debate that we had at your table, 
 Where the kind entertainer, I found, was inclin'd, 
 And acknowledge the pleasure, to be of my mind. 
 Having only to add, now I make my report, 
 That howe'er we may differ in points of this sort, 
 Our reception at Orford all pleas'd we review, 
 And rejoice in the health of its master; Adieu! 
 
 " like sweet-meats kneaded with oil." The advocates, too, for axct'r 
 being a plant lay hold on this latter circumstance,, and assert that the 
 commixtion of honey with the juicy pods, or extremities of boughs, be- 
 sides the greater probability of it, would be far more agreeable to the 
 taste than the other medley. 
 
 And here, in these notes, is an end of what the judicious Poole calls 
 "great and insignificant disputes,, about the habit and the diet of St. 
 " John the Baptist."
 
 197 
 
 THREE EPISTLES TO G. LLOYD, ESQ. 
 
 On the following Passage in Homer. 
 
 Ougrtais /w.ev zapulov eirwyjtlo, xai xvvzs dpyovs 
 Avrap sirstT avroTai (ZiXoi ey( / '7rvxbf a^ieis - , 
 BaXX'* diel Js zsv(>%\ vsxuuv xa/ov7o &a/xEtai. 
 
 Iliad. 1. 50. 
 
 Mules first and dogs he struck, but, at themselves 
 
 Dispatching soon his bitter arrows keen, 
 
 Smote them. Death-piles on all sides always blazed. 
 
 Cowper's Homer. 
 
 Hie dr\ft of our author's observations on the common rendering of mules and 
 dogs, in this place, is certainly good, and elucidatory of Homer's mean- 
 ing, which, in many pissages, without it, would be obscure. He wishes 
 to see them generally translated " guards and patroles." For this change, 
 from irrationals to creatures endued with understanding, headdHces ap]H>- 
 site quotations. The plausibility of his arguments is increased by the 
 weight tf authority: Aristotle, in the 27th chapter of his "Poetics," 
 says, *' Oupr,xs, in this sentence, he does not make equal to mules ; but 
 " rather calls them guards, or sentinels." 
 
 THUS Homer, describing the pestilent lot 
 That amongst the Greek forces Apollo had shot, 
 Tells how it began, and who BUner'd the first, 
 When his ill-treated priest the whole army had curst, 
 Or rather what suffer'd, for custom computes 
 That Apollo's first shafts fell amongst the poor brutes, 
 Instructing both Critics to construe, and Schools, 
 Ki/vzs apyovs* ' the dogs," and ouprxztf " the mules.'" 
 
 Now, observing old Homer's poetical features, 
 I would put in one word for the guiltless dumb creatures, 
 And the famous blind bard; for, as far as I see, 
 The learn'd in this case are much blinder than he. 
 At the mules and the dogs in his versified Greek, 
 Nor Phoebus, nor priest had conceiv'd any pique; 
 
 Kim. i- argous. t Oureeas, 
 
 Q2
 
 198 
 
 And I doubt, notwithstanding the common consent, 
 That the meaning is miss'd which Maeonides* meant. 
 
 Why the brutes were first plagued, an Eustathius. and other* 
 Have made a great rout, with their physical pothers 
 Of the nature, and causes, and progress of plague, 
 And all to the purpose quite foreign and vague. 
 But be medical symptoms whatever they will, 
 Such matters I leave to friend Heberden's skill, 
 And propose a plain fact to all cunninger ken, 
 That the mules and the dogs, in this passage, are men. 
 
 Just then, as they rise, to explain my ideas 
 Let the Lexicon tell what is meant by oupyas , 
 In plain, common sense, without physical routs, 
 '.* The Grecian outguards, the custodes, or scouts.'''' 
 The word may be mules too, for aught that I know. 
 For my Scapula says, "'tis lonicet so;" 
 And refers to the Hues above qujoted from Homer, 
 Where mules, I conceive, is an arrant misnomer. 
 
 If a word has two meanings, to critical test 
 That which makes the sense better is certainly best: 
 The plague is here plainly describ'd to begin 
 In the skirts of the camp, then to enter within, 
 To rage, and occasion what Iliad styles 
 " Incessantly burning their funeral piles;" 
 Which the Greeks, I conjecture, were hardly such fool* 
 As to burn, or erect for, the dogs and the mules. 
 
 The common Greek word, the Homerical too, 
 For mules is r>(J*iovous,% where it will do; 
 And there was, as it happenM, no cause to coerce 
 Its use in this place, for it suited the verse. 
 Whereas a plain reason oblig'd to discard, 
 If this was the point to be shewn by the bard, 
 That first to the parties about the main camp 
 Apollo dispatch'd the vindicative damp. 
 
 Thus much for oupr,as: the meaning of x,uvz.s 
 Is attended, I own, with a little more newness; 
 For the sense, in this place, will oblige us to plant 
 A meaning for xuvss which lexicons want. 
 
 * Homer. $ The Editor of a Greek Lexicon, 
 
 t Ira the language of Ionia. X Eemionous, a half-ass, or mule.
 
 199 
 
 And if that be a reason for some to rejeet, 
 
 'Tis no more than correction, tho' just, may expect; 
 
 " But if it be just," the true critics will add, 
 
 " 'Tis a meaning which Lexicons ought to have had." 
 
 Both canes* in Latin, and kvvss in Greek, 
 And the Hebrew word for them, if critics would seek, 
 Should be render'd sometimes, in prose-writers or bards, 
 By "slaves, or by servants, altendants, or guards." 
 Oupr,a.s and xvvxs have here, in my thought, 
 Much a like kind of meaning, as really they ought; 
 The difference, perhaps, that, for camp-preservation 
 One mov'd or patrolPd, while (he other kept station. 
 
 'A^your, which is " white" in the commonest sense, 
 To describe the dogs here has no sort of pretence ; 
 Nor here will the Lexicons help a dead lift 
 That allow the odd choice too of " slow," or of " swift." 
 l( the dogs were demolish'd, 'twill certainly follow 
 That white, slow, or swift was all one to Apollo, 
 Whose fanvd penetration was rather too deep 
 To mistake dogs for soldiers, as Ajax did sheep. 
 
 Why them'? or why mules? For, Description allows 
 That he shot at no horses, bulls, oxen, or cows; 
 With a vengeance selecting, from all other classes, 
 Poor dogs of some sort, and impeccant half-asscs. 
 Now grant, what his poem shews plainly enough, 
 That Homer abounds with nonsensical stuff. 
 Yet it should for his sake, if it can, bo confin'd 
 To the Pagan, and not the Poetical kind. 
 
 The Mules and the dogs, being shot at, coheres 
 No better with sense than the bulls and the bears. 
 To exculpate old Homer, my worthy friend Lloyd, 
 Some sort of correction should here be emplny'd; 
 And for languages 1 sake, in which matters are spread 
 Of a greater concern, if old writers are read, 
 Where it seems to be wanting, the critics should seek 
 To make out fair English for Latin or Greek. 
 
 If the words have a meaning both human and brute 
 Where Homer describes his Apollo to shoot, 
 
 Dogs.
 
 200 
 
 Tho' brute in the Latin possesses the letter, 
 I take it for granted that human is better. 
 Do you think this a fair postulatum? " I do; 
 ** But you only affirm that the human is true. 1 ' 
 That's all that I want in this present epistle; 
 In the next I shall prove it, as clear as a whistle. 
 
 EPISTLE SECOND. 
 
 YOUR consent I made bold to suppose, in my last, 
 To a fair postulatum had readily past, 
 That a mulish distemper, or that a canine, 
 Neither suited Apollo's, nor Homer's design, 
 Like making the subjects, who felt its first shock, 
 To be men like their masters, tho' baser of stock. 
 Now, proof at the present comes under the pen 
 That ovpr)a.s and xvvzs may signify " men." 
 
 You'll draw the conclusion so fair and so just, 
 That if they may do it, they certainly must\ 
 It would look with an unphilosophical face, 
 And anti-Rawthmelian,* to question the case. 
 Tho' the proofs of this point, which I formerly noted, 
 Have slipt my remembrance, and cannot be quoted, 
 From Homer himself it may chance to appear, 
 As I promis'd to make it, no whistle more clear. 
 
 That ovpriss are " guards" in Iliadal lore 
 You may see in book Kappa, line eighty and four;:}: 
 Where the wise commentators confess in their rules 
 That " Here it is guards, not r,pu'ovoi mules:" 
 Being join'd with 'traipoif companions, they knew 
 As trzipoi were men, that odpr,ss were too. 
 Now let us illustrate the combated place 
 As near as we can by a parallel case. 
 
 * Referring to Rawtbmel's coffee-house, where several members of the 
 Royal Society usually spent their evenings together. 
 
 J Hi riii' ovpr.uv Si^/y-cvoy, *j Ttv' Irai^wv. ILIAD. 10. 84. 
 
 Com'st thon abroad 
 Seeking some friend or soldier of the guard? Cowper. 
 
 t Etairoi.
 
 * 
 
 201 
 
 Plain sense, as I take it, (if once it is shewn 
 That Homer opposes to " being alone," 
 44 Having two xt/vsr dpyol along with a Hero") 
 Will call them * companions," not " dogs" in Homero. 
 Turn, then, to his Odyssey, Beta, line ten, f 
 Where dogs, as they call them, are certainly men, 
 Attended by whom (he will second, who seeks) 
 Telemachus went to a council of Greeks. 
 
 With his sword buckled on, and a spear in his hand, 
 He went (having summon'd) to meet the whole band, 
 So bravely set forth, so equipp'd, and so shod, 
 That, as Homer has phras'd it, " he look'd like a God; X 
 " Not alone" to enchance the description of song, 
 " Hut he took with him two xvvas dpyous along:" 
 Tito sicift-foutcd dogs.' Yes, two puppies, no doubt, 
 That Apollo had savM from the general rout! 
 
 One can but reflect how we live in an age 
 That scruples the sense of all sensible page, 
 Any kind of old nonsense more pleas'd to admit, 
 If in Homer, or Virgil, or Horace 'tis writ; 
 Hut yet, to do justice to these and the rest 
 Of the poor Pagan poets, it must be eonfess'd 
 That time, and transcribing, and critical note 
 Have father'd much on them which they never wrote. 
 
 This place is a proof how the critics made bold 
 To foist their own sense into verses of old; 
 For instead of two Greeks, here, attending their master, 
 And footing a pace neither sl.mer nor faster, 
 They have made, in soni" places, to follow his track 
 Ol their switt-footed doga an indefinite pack, 
 The son of Ulysses unskilfully forcing 
 To go to a council, as men go a coursing. 
 
 Qua oloi y oC/k oi'r,. for 4i master and dame 
 " Not alone" to interpret by Homer's true aim, 
 
 * In Homer. 
 
 '\ OCr* oio< } oi/u Kvva a-pyoi ino/lo. ODYS. '2. 10. 
 
 Nor alone lie went, 
 But follow \1 by his hounds, a faithful pair. Cowpe*. 
 
 i And, godlike, issu'd from his cliambcr-door. Cowper. 
 
 <j Onk oios ouk oiee.
 
 202 
 
 There are places enow to evince, that attendants 
 
 Were men or were maidens, were friends or dependant*. 
 
 Thus Achilles oux. ow, Omega rehearses,* 
 
 Had two S'ff azrovrssf both nam'd in the verses, 
 
 " Automedon, Alcimus," whom, it is said, 
 
 i; He valued the most, for Patroclus was dead." 
 
 Penelope thus, in first Odyssey strain,}: 
 Two xiAfyiwoXoif follow'd, two women, 'tis plain, 
 When the dame was oux. olV), and mentioned anon, 
 How they stood to attend her, on either side one. 
 Had a/x^tTroXoi signify'd " cats" in the Greek, 
 Would not sense have oblig'd us new meaning to seek? 
 And two dogs as unlit as two cats you will own 
 To describe man or woman " not being alone. 1 ' 
 
 To close the plain reasons that rise in one's mind, 
 Take an instance from Virgil of similar kind, 
 Where, in fair imitation of Homer, no doubt, 
 He describes King Evander to dress and march out; 
 And discern, by the help of his Mantuan pen, 
 How cusludes and canes were both the same men, 
 Where canes are " dogs," as all custom opines; 
 See Virgil's eighth book ; come. I'll copy the lines 
 Necnon et gemini custodies limine ab alto% 
 Procedunt, gressumque canes comitantur he?~ilem 
 
 Huvcs dpyol in Homer were then in his view, 
 When Virgil in Latin thus painted the two; 
 
 * Ova. olos, Sum Szpxzovlzs tito-flo 
 
 "H^cui Aulo^icuv, S)'C. ILIAD. 24. 575. 
 
 Of whom two alone 
 Served at his side, Alcimus, branch of Mars, 
 And brave Automedom Cowper. 
 
 t Therapontes. Amphipoloi. 
 
 * Oux oir) ajU-^/jroXoi 06' tvovlo. ODYS. 1. 331. 
 
 Not sole, for two fair handmaids follow'd her. Cow per. 
 
 Most of the translators give these lines the following signification: 
 Two trusty dogs go also before turn through the stately entrance, and attend 
 on the footsteps of their master. They may, with as great propriety, stand 
 thus: Tico guards inarch likewise before him from the lofty door, and dags 
 accompany, the steps of their master. 
 
 It is our author's wish to have them understood after this manner, 
 Two gvai'ds go also before him from the lofty entrance, and, like dogs, accam^ 
 pany the steps of their master. Or, giving canes the signification of sA- 
 rants, Two menial guards go also, fyc.
 
 203 
 
 And the canes in him are the very custodes. 
 
 Most aptly repeated, dignissime sodis.* 
 
 Did ever verse yet, or Prose ever record 
 
 Any literal dogs that kept pace with their lord? 
 
 " Proceeding, attending" how plain the suggestion 
 
 That dogs in the case are quite out of the question ! 
 
 And now I appeal to all critical candour, 
 If Homers young hero and senior Evander 
 Had dogs lor companions, to honour their gressu$,f 
 As translators in verse and in prose would possess us. 
 The moderns, I think, though a lover oi' ineire, 
 Should manage with judgment a little discreeter, 
 Than to gape and admire what old poets have sung, 
 If it will not make sense in their own mother tongue. 
 
 EPISTLE THIRD. 
 
 HAVING sliewn you the passage, one cannot avoid 
 An appendix so proper, kind visitant Lloyd, 
 To the mules and the dogs, which a little while since 
 Were guards and piquets, as verse sought to evince. 
 Whether x^v;y attended, two-looted or four, 
 Upon heroes and kings let the critics explore; 
 But ovfias fur ki mules," in old Homer's intent, 
 I suspect that his rhapsodies never once meant. 
 
 The word is twice us'd, in the twenty third book.* 
 J n the space of five lines, where I made you to look. 
 I'll refresh your attention Achilles, know then, 
 Had desir'd Agamemnon, the monarch of men, 
 To exhort them to bring, when the morning appear'd, 
 And prepare proper wood lor a pile to he rear'd, 
 For the purpose of burning, a> custom instill'd. 
 The remains of Patroclus whom Hector had kilPd. 
 
 When the morning appear'd \>ith her rosyried fingers, 
 Agamemnon ohey'd, and exhorted the bringcrs, 
 
 * In a most becoming manner, 1 beseech yon. t Steps. 
 
 . Oi5 ":zs Tuirpun kxI dvcfxs. ILIAD. 23. 111. 
 
 Then royal Agamemnon call'd abroad 
 Mules and miife-drivers from the tents in ha^tc 
 To catlier wood. Con plr.
 
 204 
 
 The mules and the men as translation presents 
 
 Exhorted them all to come out of their tents. 
 
 So the men and the mules lay amongst one another, 
 
 If this be the case, in some hammocks or other; 
 
 And the men taking with them ropes, hatchets, and tools, 
 
 Were conducted, it seems, to the wood by the mules. 
 
 For " the mules went before them,"* the Latinists say, 
 Which, a man may presume, was to shew them the way; 
 Or since there was danger, the mules going first 
 Might, perhaps, be because not one of them durst; 
 For they all were to pass, in their present employ, 
 To the woods of mount Ida belonging to Troy; 
 And if Trojans fell on them for stealing their fire, 
 The men, in the rear, might sooner retire. 
 
 However, both mulish and w r ell-booted folks 
 Came safe to the mountain and cut down its oaks, 
 And with more bulky pieces of timber cut out 
 They loaded such mules as were mules without doubt. 
 When you found in the Latin so certain a place, 
 Where the loading description shew'd mules in the case. 
 Your eyes to the left I saw rolling to seek 
 If the word for these "mules 1 ' was ouprtcov in Greek. 
 
 And had they discover'd that really it was, 
 Conjecture had come to more difficult pass; 
 But since it was not, since ^/x/ovcwv came, 
 What else but the meaning could vary the name? 
 Why should Homer, so fond (as you very well noted) 
 Of repeating the words which his Muse had once quoted, 
 Make so awkward a change, without any pretence 
 Of reason suggested by metre or sense? 
 
 *H/x/ovoi, "mules," tho' a masculine ender, 
 Is always in Creek of tbe feminine gender; 
 But ouprics, you'll find, let it mean what it will, 
 Never is of that gender, but masculine still. 
 How ridiculous, then, that ou%r,ts, the he's, 
 Should become by their loading r/puovot, she's? 
 
 Poo 5'a' ov$ricS xiov acurcuv. ILIAD. 23. 115. 
 
 They, bearing each in hand his sharpen'd ax 
 And twisted cord, thence journey'd forth, the mules 
 driving before them. Cowper. 
 
 Or rather, went before them.
 
 205 
 
 In a Latin description, would poetry pass, 
 
 That should call them mulos,* and load them mulas?* 
 
 Both the word, and the sense, which is really the bard's, 
 Shew the masculine mules to be certainly guards. 
 Any mules I desire any critic to name, 
 If Jack's in the gender, that are not the same; 
 One place, which I hinted at over our tea, 
 May be offer'd, perhaps, as a masculine plea; 
 But if folks were unbiass'd, they quickly would find 
 A mistake to be there of the very same kind. 
 
 The Trojans met Priam at one of their gates, 
 With the corpse of his Hector, Omega relates, 
 Whom they would have lamented there all the day long, 
 Had not Priam, addressing himself to the throng, 
 Made a speech, "let me pass with the mules," f and so on, 
 For mules drew the hearse which the corpse lay upon: 
 Now the words that he said at the entrance of Troy 
 Were oupti/ai 5ieX9e'/xev s\'%ak /x. 
 
 Priam said to the people still hurrying down 
 " Let me pass thro' the guards" to go into the town; 
 This is much better sense, by the leave of the schools, 
 Than for Priam to say " Let me pass with the mules"- 
 For Idxus directed the mulish machine, 
 While horses drew that in which Priam was seen, 
 Who thought of no mules, but of reaching the dome. 
 Where they all might lament over Hector at home. 
 
 The mules had been nam'd very often before 
 In the very same book, times a dozen or more, 
 And the proper term for them had always occurr'd: 
 It is only this once that we meet with this word. 
 That it signifies "guards," it is granted, sometimes, 
 As I instane'd, you know, in the Baguley rhymes; 
 And will critics suppose that the poet would make 
 Variation for mere ambiguity's sake? 
 
 That Apollo should plague, Agamemnon exhort 
 These irrational creatures is stupid, in short; 
 
 * He mules and She mults. 
 t Fall back on either side, and let the mules 
 
 Past on. Iliad. 24. T16- Cowpek. 
 
 Oureiui dieltheiuen cixate nioi.
 
 206 
 
 Where no metamorphosis, fable, or fiction, 
 Can defend such abuse of plain, narrative diction. 
 Perchance, as a doctor, you 1 ll think me unwise 
 For poring on Homer with present Sore eyes-, 
 But a glance the most transient may see in his plan 
 That a mule is a mule, and a mart is a man. 
 
 Critical Remarks in English and Latin, 
 
 Upon several Passages in Horace. 
 
 The name of Dr. Bentley will be familiar to the reader who is acquainted 
 with the progress of Literature in the eighteenth century : and when he is 
 reminded of what occurs in the first page of this icork, he will not be sur- 
 prised at some among the following emendations of Byrom, the pupil, 
 equalling in boldness the conjectures of Bentley, who teas his master. 
 
 AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND, 
 
 Proposing a Correction in the following Passage : 
 
 Si n6n Acrisium rirginis abdita 
 Custodem pavidum Jupiter et Vends 
 RLsissent Lib. 3. Ode 16. 
 
 If Jupiter and Venus had not laughed at Acrisius, the affrighted 
 keeper of the concealed virgin. 
 
 By the insertion of que, (and) after custodem, (keeper) and by cutting off p 
 from the beginning of the next word (of both which alterations the mea- 
 sure will admit) our author proposes to read the second line thus, Custo- 
 denique avidwwv, ife. asd the covetous guard, whom Acrisius had 
 placed as a strict watchman over his incarcerated daughter. By (his he 
 makes the guard to hate been bribed, and not Acrisius, who is nowhere 
 charged with such a love for the precious metals as to prefer the possession 
 of than to his existence. 
 
 SO then you think Acrisius really sold 
 His daughter Danae, himself, for gold; 
 When the whole story of the Grecian king 
 Makes such a bargain so absurd a thing, 
 That neither poetry nor sense could make 
 The poet guilty of the vile mistake.
 
 207 
 
 No, Sir; her father here was rich enough; 
 Satire on him, for selling her, is stuff. 
 Fear was his motive to a vast expence 
 Of gates and guards to keep her in a fence; 
 But some dull hlockhead happening to transcribe 
 When half asleep, has made him take the bribe,. 
 Which Jupiter and Venus, as the bard 
 Had writ, made use of to corrupt the guard. 
 All the remarks on avarice are just; 
 But 'twas the keeper that betray'd his trust. 
 
 Passage from Virgil which you here select us 
 How gold is " cogent of mortale pectus,* 
 And from Euripides, that " gold can ope 
 44 Gates" unattempted even by the Pope, 
 Show money's force on subjects that are vicious: 
 But what has this to do with king Acrisius, 
 Who spar"d no money to secure his life, 
 Lost, if his daughter once became a wife? 
 He shut her up for fear of death and then 
 Sold her himself! all stuff! I say again. 
 Death was his dread, nor was it in the pow'r 
 Of love's bewitchment, or of money'd show'r, 
 Of Venus, Jupiter, or all the fry 
 Of Homer's heav'n, to hire the man to die. 
 
 Where is his avarice of any kind 
 Noted, in all the fables that you lind, 
 Except in those of your inventing fashion 
 That make him old, and avarice his passion? 
 To hide the blunder of amanuenses, 
 Who, writing words, full oft unwrit the senses 
 Fact, that in Horace, in a world of plan-. 
 Appears by irrecoverable traces; 
 On which the critics raise a learned dust, 
 And, still adjusting, never can adjust. 
 Having but one of all the Roman lyrics 
 To feed their taste for slavish panegyrics, 
 The more absurd the maiuiscriptal letter, 
 They paint from thence some fancied beauty better; 
 Hunting lor all the colours round about, 
 To make the nonsense beautifully out; 
 
 The toenut of a human being.
 
 208 
 
 Adorning richly, for the poet's sake, 
 Some poor hallucinating scribe's mistake. 
 
 Now I would have a short-hand son of mine 
 Be less obsequious to the Classic line, 
 Than, right or wrong, to yield his approbation 
 Because Homeric, or because HoraTian; 
 Or not to see, when it is fairly hinted, 
 Either original defect or printed. 
 Not that it matters twopence in regard 
 Of either Grecian, or of Roman bard, 
 If schools were wise enough to introduce 
 Much better books for education's use. 
 But since, by force of custom or of lash, 
 The boys must wade thro' so much scum and trash- 
 To gain their Greek and Latin, they should learn 
 True Greek, at least, and Latin to discern; 
 Nor for the sake of custom to admit 
 The faults of language, metre, sense, or wit. 
 Because this blind attachment by command 
 To what their masters do not understand, 
 Makes reading servile, in the younger flock, 
 Of rhyming Horace down to prosing Locke; 
 Knowledge is all mechanically known, 
 And no innate ideas of their own. 
 
 But while I'm rhyming to you what comes next, 
 I shall forget th' Acrisius of the text. 
 Your reasons, then, why this custodem pavidum 
 Should not be chang'd to custodemque avidum, 
 Turn upon avarice: you think the father 
 Fond of the bribe; 1 think the keeper rather; 
 Who had no fear from Danae, the wife. 
 Who could receive the gold, and lose no life, 
 Must needs be he, and that, without the change, 
 The verse is unpoetically strange. 
 
 You make Acrisius to have been the guard, 
 And to be pavidus. Extremely hard 
 To make out either ! For, what other place 
 Shews that the king was jailer in the case? 
 And is not pavidus a dictum gratis? 
 Was not his Danae munita satis? 
 
 A word that passes/or nothing, a word more free than true.
 
 209 
 
 " Safe kept enough?" If pavidus come after, 
 The Dear Joy Horace must provoke one's laughter, 
 Plain common-sense suggesting all the while, 
 *' Not fear, but fancied safety gave the smile." 
 Safe as Acrisius thought himself to be, 
 The custon avidus would take a fee; 
 A golden shower, they knew, would break his oath, 
 And Jupiter and Venus laugh'd at both. 
 
 Sume, M<ecenas, cyathos amid 
 
 Sospitis centum. Lib. 3. Ode 8. 
 
 
 
 Take, Maecenas, a hundred cups with thy frieud, who 
 is now in safety. 
 
 The alteration hire proposed is the substitution o/*oantum fa song) for centum 
 (a hundred). The difference causid in the sense of the passage by this 
 change will be shewn in the last paragraph. 
 
 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 JOHN AND RICHARD. 
 
 John. WHAT! must Maecenas, when he sups 
 With Horace, drink a hundred cups? 
 A hundred cups Maecenas drink! 
 Where must he put them all, d'ye think? 
 Pray, have the critics all so blund'red, 
 That none of them corrects this hundred? 
 
 Richard. Not that I know has any one 
 Had any scruple thereupon. 
 And lor what reason, pray, should you? 
 The reading, to be sure, is true; 
 A hundred cups that is to say 
 " Maecenas! come, and drink away." 
 
 John. If that was all the poet meant, 
 It is expresjrd without the Cent. 
 11
 
 210 
 
 Sume, M<Bcenas, cyatkos * 
 Does it full well without the dose, 
 The monstrous dose in cup or can, 
 That suiis with neither bard nor man. 
 
 Richard. Nay, why so monstrous? Is it told- 
 How much the cyathusf would hold? 
 You think, perhaps, it was a mug, 
 As round as any Jonian Jug. 
 They drank all night; if small the glass, 
 Would centumf mount to such a mass? 
 
 John. Small as you will, if 'twas a bumper*. 
 Centum for one would be a thumper. 
 Its bulk Horatian terms define, 
 Fates attonitus with nine; 
 Gratia^ forbidding more than thr ee - 
 They were no thimbles you may see. 
 
 Richard. Not in that ode; in this they might 
 Intend a more diminish'd plight; 
 And then Maecenas and the bard 
 That night, I warrant ye, drank hard; 
 Perfer in lucem, || Horace cries 
 To what a pitch might numbers rise ! 
 
 John. A desperate long night, my friend, 
 Before their hundred cups could end; 
 Nor does the verse invite, throughout, 
 Maecenas to a drunken bout: 
 Perfer in lucem comes in view 
 With procul omnis clamor too.T 
 
 Richard. Was it no bout, because no noise 
 Should interrupt their midnight joys? 
 
 ' Take some cups, Maecenas. t A cup. t A hundred. 
 
 $ Qui Musas amat impares, 
 Ternos ter cyathos attonitus petet 
 Vates : 
 The inspired (thunderstruck) poet, who loves the unequal- 
 numbered (the nine ) Muses, shall call for bumpers three times 
 three. Hon. Lib. 3. Ode 19. 
 
 X One of the Graces. || Keep up till day-break. 
 
 f Far from hence be all noise.
 
 211 
 
 Horace, you read, with annual tap, 
 Notes his escape from dire mishap: 
 Must lie, and friends conven'd, be sober, 
 Because 'twas March and not October ? 
 
 John. Sober or drunk is not the case, 
 But word and meaning to replace, 
 Both here demolished. Did they, pray, 
 Do nothing else but drink away? 
 For friends conven'd had Horace got 
 No entertainment but to sot? 
 
 Richard. Yes, to be sure, he might rehearse 
 Some new or entertaining verse ; 
 Might touch the lyre, invoke the Muse, 
 Or twenty things that he might choose; 
 No doubt but he would mix along 
 With cup and talk, the joyous song. 
 
 John. Doubtless he would; and that's the word. 
 For which a centum so absurd 
 Has been inserted, by mistake 
 Of his transcribers, scarce awake ; 
 Which all the critics when they keep, 
 Are, quoad hoc,* quite fast asleep. 
 
 Richard. * And that's the word" What word tfyr 
 mean? 
 For song does centum intervene? 
 Song would be O, I take your hint 
 Cantum not centum you would print; 
 Sospitis cantum but the clause 
 Can have no sense with such a pause. 
 
 John. Pause then at sospitis, nor strike 
 The three caesuras all alike; 
 One cup of Helicon but quaff, 
 The point is plain as a pikestaff; 
 " The wine, the song, the lustre's light" 
 The verse, the pause,* the sense is right. 
 
 Richard. Stay, let me read the Sapphic out 
 Both ways, and then resolve the doubt 
 
 'I I II. i I i,| - i , , I.I 1 1 1 I' 
 
 In this particular.
 
 212 
 
 8 time, Maeenas, cyathos amici 
 Sospitis centum et vigiles lucernas 
 Perfer in lucem procul omnis esto 
 
 Clamor et Ira. 
 Sume, Maecenas, cyathos amici 
 Sospitis, cantum, et vigiles lucernas 
 Perfer in lucem: procul omnis esto 
 
 Clamor et ira.* 
 Well, I confess, now I have read, 
 The thing is right that you have said: 
 One vowel rectified how plain 
 Does Horace's intent remain ! 
 
 Nonumque prematur in Minium. 
 
 Hor. Art. Poet. L. 388. 
 
 And let it be suppressed till the ninth year. 
 
 The emendation propounded in these lines is unumque (and one) for nonum- 
 qne (ami the ninth): thus making the period for the revisal and correc- 
 tion of any work to be one year instead of nine. 
 
 YE poets, and critics, and men of the schools,. 
 Who talk about Horace and Horace's rules. 
 Ye learned admirers, how comes it, I wonder, 
 That none of you touch a most tangible blunder? 
 I speak not to servile and sturdy logicians, 
 Who will, right or wrong, follow printed editions; 
 But you, who are judges, come, rub up your eyes, 
 And unshackle your wits, and I'll shew where it lies. 
 
 Amongst other rules, which your Horace has writ, 
 To make his young Piso for Poetry fit, 
 He tells him that verses should not be pursued 
 When the Muse or Minerva was not in the mood ; 
 
 * The latter verse with the amended reading may be thus rendered. 
 Maecenas, take some cups (of wine), on account of your friend being 
 in safety, begin a song, and keep up the chcarful lights till day-break r 
 let all noise and anger be far removed."
 
 213 
 
 That " whate'cr he should write, he should let it descend 
 *' To the ears of his father, his master, his friend;"* 
 ** And let it lie by him 11 now prick up your ears 
 Nonumque prematur in annum " nine years." 
 
 " Nine years!" I repeat For, the sound is enough, 
 With the help of plain sense, to discover the stuff. 
 If the rule had been new, what a figure would " nine" 
 Have made with your Pisos, ye masters of mine? 
 Must a youth of quick parts, for his verse's perfection 
 Let it lie for " nine years" in the house of correction! 
 Nine years if his verses must lie in the leaven, 
 Take the young rogue himself, and transport him for seven. 
 
 To make this a maxim that Horace infuses, 
 Must provoke all the laughter of all the nine Muses. 
 How the wits of old Rome in a case so facetious 
 Would have jok'd upon Horace, and Piso, and Metius, 
 If they all could not inakc a poetical line 
 Ripe enough to be read, till the year had struck nine! 
 Had the boy been possess'd of nine lives like a cat, 
 Yet surely he'd ne'er have submitted to that. 
 
 " Vah !" says an old critic, " indefinite number 
 " To denote many years" (which is just the same lumber) 
 Quotes a length of Quintilian for time to retouch, * 
 Rut wisely stops short at his blaming too much. 
 " Some took many years," he can instance, in fine, 
 " Isocrates ten, Poet Cinna just nine" 
 Rare instance of taking, which, had he been cooL, 
 Th 1 old critic had seen, never could be a rule. 
 
 " Indeed," says a young one. 4l nine years, I confe--, 
 " Is a desperate while for a youth to suppress; 
 44 I can hardly think Horace would make it a point; 
 44 The word, to be sure, must be out of its joint; 
 44 Lie by with a nonum! Had I been his Piso, 
 14 I would have told little Faliy, mine never should lie so. 
 44 Had he said for nine months, I should think them enow : 
 44 This reading is false. Sir, pray tell us the true." 
 
 * Si quid tamem olim 
 Sciipseris, in Mctii descendat judicis aures, 
 Et patris, et nostras. De Arte Tost. 333. 
 
 I Quint. In tit. Orat. Lib. 10. cap. 1. 
 R 2
 
 2U 
 
 Why, you are not far off it, if present conjecture 
 May furnish the place with a probable lecture ; 
 For by copies, I doubt, either printed or written, 
 The hundreds of editors all have been bitten. 
 Nine months you allow. " Yes." Well, let us, for fear 
 Of affronting Quintilian, e'en make it a year: 
 Give the critics their numque, but as to their no 
 You have one in plain English more fit to bestow. 
 
 I take the correction, iinumque prematur 
 " Let it lie for one twelve-month" " Ay, that may hold water? 
 " And time enough too for consulting about 
 " Master Piso's performance before it came out. 
 " What! would Horace insist that the sketch of a boy 
 " Should take as much time as the taking of Troy? 
 " They that bind out the young one say. when the old fellow 
 " Took any time like it, to make a thing mellow, 
 
 " Tho' correct in his trifles, 1 ' Young man, you say right; 
 And to them that will see, it is plain at first sight; 
 But critics that will not are hunting all round 
 For something in sameness, in sense, or in sound; 
 It is all one to them, so attach 'd to the letter 
 That, to make better sense, makes it never the better. 
 Nay the more sense in readings, the less will they own 'em; 
 You must leave to these sages their mumpsimus nonum. 
 
 " Do you think," they cry out, " that with so little wit 
 " Such a world of great critics on Horace have writ? 
 " That the poets themselves, were the blunder so plain, 
 " In a point of their art too, wouid let it remain?" 
 For you are to consider, these critical chaps 
 Do not like to be snubb'd; you may venture, perhaps, 
 An amendment where they can see somewhat amiss; 
 But may raise their ill blood, if you circulate this. 
 
 " This as surely will circulate, Sir, as their blood* 
 ** Or, if not, it will stand as in Horace it stood. 
 " They may wrangle and jangle, unwilling to see, 
 " But the thing is as clear as a whistle to me. 
 " This nonum of theirs no defence will admit, 
 " Except that a blot is no blot till 'tis hit;
 
 215 
 
 ** And, bow you have lit it, if nonunt content *em, 
 A * So would, if the verse had so had it, nongentum.' 1 ** 
 
 You'll say, " this is painting of characters" true ; 
 But really, pood Sirs, I have met with these two: 
 The first, in all comments quite down to the Delpkin, 
 A man, if he likes it, may look at himself in: 
 The last if you like, and, along with the youth, 
 Prefer to nonumqite poetical truth, 
 Then blot out the blunder, now here it is hinted, 
 And by all future primers unumque be printed. 
 
 Nunc et campus, et are.*:, 
 Lemsque sub noctem susurri 
 Compusiid repetantur hora. 
 
 Hok. Lib. 1. Ode 9. 18. 
 
 Now let both the Campus Martius, and the open squares, and 
 soft whispers be resorted to again, at the hour of assignation. 
 
 Our author wished canrns (a song), and alea; (dice), to he put in the place 
 of campus (a large plum, particularly thai in which the popular assem- 
 blies of the Romans were held J, and areee (any open places wkattttrj. 
 
 BY campus and by area, my friends, 
 The question is what Horace here intends? 
 For, such expression with the current style 
 Of this whole ode is hard to reconcile: 
 Nay, notwithstanding critical pretence, 
 Or I mistake, or it can have no sense. 
 
 The ode, you find, proceeding to relate 
 A winter's frost in its severest slate, 
 Gills out for fire, and wine, and loves, and dance, 
 And all that Horace rambles to enhance; 
 But how can this fair-weather phrase belong 
 To such a wintry, saturnalian song? 
 
 * Nino baud red.
 
 216 
 
 A learned Frenchman quotes these very line* 
 As really difficult; and thus refines, 
 " We use these words, 1 " says Monsieur Sanadon., 
 " For nightly meetings hors de la maison;* 
 " But 'tis ridiculous in frost and snow, 
 " Of keenest kind, that Horace should do so." 
 
 Right, Monsieur, right! such incoherent stuff 
 Is here, no doubt, ridiculous enough. 
 The Campus Martius and its active scenes, 
 Which commentators say the expression means, 
 Have here no place; nor can they be akin 
 To scenes, not laid without doors, but within. 
 
 " Nuncf must refer," proceeds the French remark, 
 " To donee X puer age of Taliarque, || 
 " Not to the frost; for which the bard before 
 " Design'd the two first strophes, and no more; 
 ** As commentators rightly should have taught, 
 " Or inattentive readers else are caught." 
 
 Now inattentive critics too, I say, 
 Are caught sometimes in their dogmatic way. 
 United here, we must divide, forsooth, 
 The time of winter from the time of youth; 
 When all expressions of Horatian growth 
 Do plainly, in this ode, refer to both. 
 
 Youthful th' amusements, and for frosty week; 
 From drinking, dancing, down to hide and seek: 
 But campus comes and arete between, 
 By a mistake too big for any screen; 
 And how nonsensically join'd with " lispers, 
 "By assignation met, of nightly whispers!" 
 
 Strange how interpreters retail the farce 
 That campus here should mean the field of Mars ! 
 When in their task they must have just read o'er 
 Contrast to this, the very ode before, 
 Where ev'ry manly exercise disclos'd 
 To love's effeminacy stands oppos'd. 
 
 * Out of doors. t Now. {Until." Being a youth. 
 
 Thaliaichus, the young man, to whom Horace addressed this ode.
 
 217 
 
 In this no thought of any field on earth, 
 But warm fire-side, and Roman winter's mirth: 
 No thought of any but domestic ring* 
 Where all Decembrian customs took their swing; 
 And where but come, that matter we'll suppress; * 
 There should be something for Cantabsf to guess. 
 
 I'll ask anon, from what has now been said, 
 If emendation pops into your head; 
 Or if youMl teach me how to comprehend 
 That all is right, and nothing here to mend. 
 Come, sharpen up your Latin wits a bit; 
 What further use have all the odes that Horace writ? 
 
 ( 'eda coemptis saltibus, et damo ; 
 / illdqtte, fiavus quam Tiberis lavit, 
 Cedes; et extructis in altum 
 Divitiis potietur heres. 
 
 Hon. Lib. 2. Ode 3. 17". 
 
 You shall leave your purchased lawns, and your house; you 
 shall retire troni the villa, which is washed by the yellow 
 Tiber; and an heir shall enjoy your riches high piled up. 
 
 The Liberty here taken trith Horace is to change divitiis (riches) into a'difi- 
 riis ( buildings ). Hy this means an additional syllable is created, which 
 is proposed to In /dared, after the Horatian fashion, at the end of altum ; 
 the last syllable of which, coming before a diphthong, it, by the rules of 
 Latin prosody, cut off' by Ecthlipsit, Hut this emendation is the least 
 plausible of all the corrections of Horace, which our author has offered. Tin', 
 recurrence of so many buildings, in the new description, would be tautology. 
 Thus, your house, your villa, your high raised edifices appear dis- 
 agreeable and unpoetical repetitions. 
 
 THIS phrase of " riches built on high" 
 
 Has something in it, at first sight, 
 Which, if the Latin language try, 
 Must needs appear not to be riglit: 
 Produce an instance, where before 
 'Twas ever us'd, I'll say no more. 
 
 Another meaning at Area. 
 t Members of the University of Cambridge.
 
 218 
 
 Talk not of " riches pil'd on heaps" 
 
 To justify the Latin phrase; 
 For if you take such critic leaps, 
 You jump into Dog-Latin days; 
 And- 1 shall answer to that trick 
 In med mente non est sic* 
 
 That " lands" were here the poet's thought, 
 
 " And house along the river's side, 
 " And lofty villa,*' built or bought, 
 Is much too plain to be deny 1 d. 
 These 41 high extructed spires" he writ 
 That mortal Deltiusf soon must quit. 
 
 ** Well, Sir, supposing this the case, 
 
 " And structures what the poet meant, 
 " How will you fill the faulty place 
 '.* With phrase that suited his intent, 
 " Meaning and metre both arrange, 
 ** And 6inall, if possible, the change?" 
 
 Smaller and better, to be sure, 
 
 Into their place amendments fall: 
 What first occurs will here secure 
 Meaning and metre, change and alL 
 May it not be that for divitiis 
 Th' original had cudijiciis? 
 
 If you object that sep'rate JE 
 
 Makes in one word an odd division, 
 Horace, I answer to that plea, 
 
 Has more than once the like elision: J 
 In short, upon correction's plan, 
 Give us a better if you can. 
 
 According to my mind, it is not so. 
 
 t"The man to whom the ode is inscribed. 
 
 i Such a separation of the beginning of a word at the end of a line 
 from the rest of it, plated at the commencement of the next line, is not 
 nnfrequent among some of our ancient and fantastic poets. This dis- 
 union is needless in the English language, as, from the easy divisibility 
 of our compound words, almost every variation that can be desired Is 
 readily effected.
 
 219 
 
 Non est meurn, si mugiat Africu 
 Mai us procellis, ad miser as pieces 
 Decurrere, et votis pacisci, 
 Ne Cypria Tyriauue merces 
 
 Adda nt avaro divitias mari. 
 Tu m me bir&nis pncsidio scapha 
 Tutum per Mgaios tumult us 
 
 Aura febet, geminusque Pollux. 
 
 Hor. Lib. 3. Ode f9* 57. 
 
 It "is no part of my concern, if the mast be cracked by Africa* 
 storms, to descend to piteous in treaties, and by my vows to make 
 an agreeirx nt thatiny Cyprian and Tynan wares shall not augment 
 the treasures of the greedy ocean. Then under the safeguard of 
 a two-oared skiff, the breeze and the twin-brother Pollux will 
 waft me safely through the /Egean tempests. 
 
 Only a slight variation from the original text is here set down. Turn (thetfy 
 is changed into cum {when), and feret (will bear) into ferat (nuiy bear*) 
 The sense of the passage will then be as set down in the last verse. 
 
 THIS passage, Sirs, may put ye, one would think, 
 
 In mind of him, who, in a furious storm, 
 Told that the vessel certainly would sink, 
 Made a reply in the Horatian form; 
 " Why, let it sink, then, if it will," quoth he, 
 " I'm but a passenger, what is't to me?* 1 
 
 So " non est meum"* Horace here cries out, 
 
 u To purchase calm with wretched vows and pray'rs; 
 " Let them who freight the ship be thus devout, 
 " Tin not concerned in any of its wares." 
 May not one ask, if common sense will read, 
 Was ever jest and earnest more agreed? 
 
 * 4 Nay, but you see the reason," 'tis replied, 
 " Why lie rejects the bargaining of pray'r; 
 
 * It is not my business.
 
 220 
 
 44 His little skiff will stem the raging tide 
 k * With double Pollux and with gentler air. 
 ** This is his moral,'" say his under-pullers. 
 44 The poor and innocent are safe in scullers. 1 ' 
 
 Why, so they may be, if they coast along, 
 
 And shun the winds that make a mast to moan, 
 But here, according to the critic throng, 
 Horace was in the ship, tho' not his own. 
 Suppose a sculler just contriv'd for him, 
 When the ship sunk, would his biremis* swim? 
 
 Can you by any construing pretence, 
 
 (If you suppose, as commentators do, 
 Him in the Ship) make tolerable sense 
 Of his surviving all the sinking crew? 
 With winds so boisfrous, by what cunning twist 
 Can his clear stars and gentle air resist? 
 
 ' The gifts of fortune Horace had resign'd, 
 
 " And poor and honest his just fancy'd case, 
 44 Nothing to do had he with stormy wind, 
 4t Nor in ^Egean seas to seek a place. 
 41 How is it likely, then, that he should mean 
 44 To paint himself in such an awkward scene? 
 
 Why, but tum me biremisf must suppose, 
 By then escaping that he sure was in't; 
 And feret% too, that comes into the close 
 
 In all the books that we have here in print 
 Both words are wrong tho', notwithstanding that, 
 Tum should be cum, imdferet heferat. 
 
 The sense or moral, if you please, is this, 
 
 Henceforth be probity, tho" 1 poor, my lot, ' 
 
 The love of riches is but an abyss 
 
 Of dangirous cares, that now concern me not. 
 Caught in its storms, let avarice implore, 
 I thank my stars, I'm rowing safe to shore. 
 
 * A two-oared vessel. t Then bliall a two-oared vessel convey me.
 
 221 
 
 These obsci'rat ions on a few rerses of Horace, which are given in the second* 
 paragraph below, contain an emendation of invisam (huted) into inver- 
 sam (turned up ) which appears better to agree with terrain (the ground ) 
 if other parts of the description were equally agreeable: concerning his 
 further objections against the weather he does not decide. 
 
 WHENE'ER this Horace comes into one's hand, 
 One meets with words full hard to understand: 
 If one consult the critics thereupon, 
 Some places have a note, some others none ; 
 And when they take interpretating pains, 
 Sometimes the difficulty still remains. 
 
 To you that see, good friends, where I am blind, 
 Let me propose a case of either kind: 
 Premising first, for both relate to weather, 
 That winter and December come together: 
 The Romans too, as far as I remember, 
 Have join'd together winter and December. 
 
 In book the third of Horace, ode eighteen, 
 Ad Faunum* these two sapphics here are seen: 
 Ltulit HRRBOSO pecus omnc campn, 
 Cum til/i nonee redeunt DECEMBRIS: 
 Fcstus in PRATIS vacat otioso 
 Cum buvf pa gun. 
 
 Inter audaces lupus errat agnos; 
 Spa/git agre*tes tibi silva FRONDES'; 
 Guudet INVISAM pepulisse fossor 
 Ter pede terram.f 
 
 lion. Lib. 3. Ode. 18. 9. 
 
 Now, in December, if we reason close, 
 Are fields poetically calPd " herbose?" 
 Is that the month, tho' Faunus kept the fold, 
 For " daring lambs'" to frisk about so bold? 
 
 To Faunas, the person to whom the ode is inscribed. 
 
 + All the eattle play upon the grassy plain, when the nones of Decem- 
 ber to thee return: the festive village is at leisure in the meadows with 
 the idle ox; the wolf wanders among the dauntless lambs; for thee the 
 wood seatters rural leaves; the digger rejoiee* to have beaten the hated 
 &rouud in a triple dance.
 
 222 
 
 * Leaves" I would add too but the learn" d Dacief 
 Has made this point elaborately clear, 
 As one that artful Horace interweaves, 
 *' The trees in Italy then shed their leaves ; 
 " And this the poet's artifice profound, 
 " The trees themselves for Faunus strew'd the Ground. * T 
 
 It is. we'll say, a fine Horatian flight; 
 But is the herbage, are the lambs so right? 1 
 Is there in all the ode a single thing, 
 That makes the winter differ from the spring? 
 Nones oi December are indeed hybernal, 
 Hut all the rest is absolutely vernal. 
 
 Lenis incedis per aprica RURA * 
 Does this begin like winter? but quid plural -f 
 Read how it all begins, goes on, or ends, 
 Nothing but nones is winterly, ray friends; 
 Neither in human, nor in brutal creatures, 
 One trace observ'd of winter's stormy features. 
 
 May not there be, then, tho' the critics make 
 No hesitation at it, a mistake ? 
 The diggers dancing too has somewhat spissy, 
 Gaudet invisam terrain pepulisse. 
 " He in revenge," say comments " beats the soil, 
 " Hated, because it gave him so much toil." 
 
 As oft the diggers, whom we chance to meet, 
 Turn up the ground, and press it with their feet, 
 Horace himself, perhaps we may admit, 
 INVERSAM terram wot invisam writ; 
 Hut this at present our demand postpones; 
 Pray solve the doubts on these Decembrian Nones. 
 
 * Thou pleasantly walkest among thy sunny fields. t What more 5
 
 223 
 
 Ut tuto ab atris corpore viperis 
 Dormirem et Ursis; 
 
 Hor. Lib. 3. Ode 4. It. 
 
 How I could sleep with my body secured from black vipers 
 and bears. 
 
 The change of ursis (bears) into hircis (goats) accords better with the climate 
 of Italy, than the common reading, which is well suited to Greenland, 
 or any cold country. 
 
 HORACE, an infant, (here he interweaves 
 
 In ramblinp ode, where no design coheres) 
 By fabled stock-doves cover'd up with leaves, 
 
 " Kept safe from black-akimid vipers and from bears f 
 But passing by the incoherent ode, 
 I ask the critics "where the bears abode?" 
 
 The leaves, indeed, that stock -doves could convey, 
 
 Would be but poor defence against the snakes, 
 And sleeping boy be still au easy prey 
 To black pervaders of the thorny brakes; 
 The bears, I doubt too, would have smelt him out, 
 If there had been such creatures thereabout. 
 
 The snakes were black ; the bears, I guess, were \vbite T 
 
 (Or what the vulgar commonly call bulls) 
 Bears had there been. Another word is right, 
 That has escap'd the criticising skulls, 
 Who suffer bears as quietly to pass 
 As if the bard had been of Lapland class. 
 
 A word where sense and sound do so agree, 
 That I shall spare to speak in its defence; 
 And leave absurdity, so plain to see, 
 
 With due correction, to your own good sense; 
 'Tis this, in short, in these Horatian verses, 
 41 Fer bears read goats" pro ursis Urge hi bus
 
 224 
 
 Roma, pjincipis urbium, 
 Dignatur sobo/es inter amabiles 
 I at um ponere me choros. 
 
 Hoa. Lib. 4. Ode 3. 13. 
 
 The children (inhabitants) of Rome, the queen of cities, deign 
 to place me among the amiable bands of poets. 
 
 The change of a single final rowel makes ;m>;ihilis (amiable) the singular of 
 amabiles. Our author will have it applied to soboles (offspring) and 
 not to choros (bands). The sense will then be The amiable children, 
 fyc. among the bands of poets. 
 
 THIS is one ode, and much the best of two, 
 Fam'd above all for Scaliger's ado. 
 44 I rather would have writ so good a thing 
 44 Than reign," quoth he, " an Arragonian king." 
 Had he been king, and master of the vote, 
 I doubt the monarch would have chang'd his note, 
 And loading verses with a huge renown, 
 Would still have kept his Arragonian crown. 
 
 This ode, howe'er, tho 1 short of such a rout, 
 He shew'djsome judgment when he singled out, 
 Compar'd with others, one is at a stand 
 To think how those should come from the same hand. 
 For, if they did, 'tis marvellous enough 
 That such a muse, with such a breath, should puff; 
 That such a delicate, harmonious Muse 
 Should catch the clouds, or sink into the stews. 
 
 But fame has sold them to us in a lot, 
 And all is Horace, whether his or not. 
 For his or whose you will, then, let them pass, 
 What signifies it who the author was? 
 44 Dunghill of Ennius," as we are told 
 By ancient proverb. 44 might afford some gold: 1 ' 
 And that's the case of what this Horace sung, 
 Some grains of gold, with tinsel mix'd, and dung.
 
 225 
 
 We'll say this ode, allowing for the age 
 That Horace writ in, was a golden page; 
 The words well chosen, easy, free, and pat, 
 The lyric claim so manag'd and all that 
 What I would note is, that no critic yet, 
 Of them, I mean, whose notes my eyes have met, 
 Has seen a blemish in this finished piece, 
 Outdone, they say, by neither Rome nor Greece. 
 
 Yet there is one, which it is somewhat strange, 
 That none of them should see a cause to change, 
 But let a great indelicacy stanJ, 
 As if it came from Horace' 's own hand; 
 To the bands of Poets join'd AMABILES, t 
 When,jwhat he meant was lovely soboles. 
 Meo periculoZ, sirs, alter this, 
 If taste be in you, read amabilis. 
 
 If ye refuse, I have no more to say, 
 Keep to flat print, and read it your own way ; 
 Let fear to change a vowel's rote dispense 
 With jingling sound, and unpoliter sense. 
 I don't expect that critics, with their skill, 
 Will take the hint, but all true poets will. 
 Be it a test, at present, who has got 
 The nicer taste of liquid verse, who not. 
 
 Iracunda diem proferet i/io, 
 
 Matronisaxie Phrygum, classis Achillei; 
 
 Post certas hyemes uret Achaicus 
 
 Ignis Iliacas domos. Hon. Lib. 1. Ode 15. 
 
 The enraged fleet of Achilles shall brine on Troy and Trojan 
 matrons the day, when, after a certain number of winters, 
 Grecian Fire shall consume Trojan houses. 
 
 SPONDiEO a stabili, si numeros modo 
 Observare velis, incipit ultimus 
 Versus non poterunt Carminis et pedem 
 Leges ferre Trochaicum. 
 
 t Lovely. $ Offspring. | At my risk. 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 The last verse, if thou wilt only observe the numbers, begins with a 
 firm spondee ; and the laws of the poem will not allow trochee to be
 
 226 
 
 Castigant Pueros Archididascali, 
 Pro longa fuerit syllaba si brevis j 
 Et credunt critici dicere Horatium 
 " Ignis Iliacas domos?" 
 
 Sunt, qui, cum peaitus sensus abest metro, 
 Pugnant, ac vitium mille modis teguut; 
 Quos vocum ratio dissona plurimos 
 Fixis Mentibus ingerit. 
 
 Verum, Carminibug Gum sua Quantitas 
 Desk, quam ratio metriea postulat, 
 Num peccare velit, tam pueriliter, 
 Romanae fidicen lyrae? 
 
 Si demum parilis culpa notabitur 
 Vatum, quam pariter corrigere est nefas, 
 Defendat numerus; Tu tamen, interim, 
 Verum restituas metrum. 
 
 Voci, quas Iegitur, litera defuit 
 Princeps, quam soliti pingexe, forsitan, 
 Haud scripsere* legas u ure.t Ackaicip 
 Lignis Iliacas domos.*" 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 
 placed there. Schoolmasters chastise their boys, if a short syllable be pnt 
 for a long one ; and yet do the critics believe that Uorace says, Ignis 
 Iliacas domos (wood shall consume Trojan edifices ?) Some people there 
 are who, when sense is totally absent from metre, qnarrel, and cover the 
 fault by a thousand methods, many of which the discordant meaning of 
 tin: words fastens the more strongly on their determined minds. But can 
 the minstrel of the Roman lyre be wishful of blundering in such a childish 
 way, when the verses are deficient in their proper quantity which the 
 conditions of the metre require ? If at length a similar fault shall be no- 
 ticed in the poets, which it is in like manner a crime to correct, let the 
 numbers of the place defend them. "Vet do thou, in the mean time, re- 
 store the true metre. The principal letter was wanting to a. word which 
 is read in this poem ; which letter, it is probable, those who are accus- 
 tomed to invention have never written : Thou mayst read it Uret 
 Achaicis Lignis fyc. (will born with Grecian wood jthe Trojan dwellings.) 
 
 * One author would change Achaicus Ignis (Grecian fixe -trill, fyc.) into 
 Achaicis liignis, {the fieet will burn with Grecian wood the Trojan dwel- 
 lings.) Hisreasonsfor the alteration will be seen in his verses, a translation 
 of which i$ added above.
 
 227 
 
 -Quis neget arduis 
 
 Pronos relabi posse rivos 
 Montibus, et Tyberim reverti, 
 Cum lu coemptos undique nobiles 
 Libros Patueti, Socraticam et domutn 
 Mutare loricis Iberis, 
 Pollicitus meliora, tendis? 
 
 Hob. Lib. 1. Ode 39. 
 Who can now deny the possibility of rapid rivers flowing back 
 again to the high mountains, and of fheTyber's return, when 
 thou aimest at exchanging the noble books of Pansetius, pur- 
 chased in all quarters, and the houshold of Socrates /or 
 Iberian coats of mail, after having promised better things ? 
 (/"nobilis, at, tutere,and vendis supply theplaces of nobiles, et, mutare,awf 
 tendis, as our author proposes, the quotation from Horace will read as in 
 the last verse, which, with the others, is translated below. 
 
 " NON esse," dices, " credo, poeticum 
 " Hoc tendis; et quo tenderet Iccius? 
 " Mutare Iibros?-r-at vieissim 
 " Non alios habuisse fertur. 
 
 " Mutare, rursus, Socraticam domum?" 
 Haec velle Sectam linquere te decent: 
 At Secta loricas Iheras 
 
 Nulla novo dederat Clienti. 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 
 " I think," thou wilt say, " this word tendis is not poetic: and whither 
 " would Iccius be tending? To cliange lus books? Bat by turns he 
 " he is said to have had no others. Again, is he aiming at changing the 
 " Socratic house?" These words teach thee that he is wishful or leaving 
 a sect : But no sect had given Spanish Coats of Mail to one who had but 
 recently put himself under its protection. Whilst at a mere glance 
 coemptos (purchased) and the words which follow it, compared with those 
 which precede it, raise a persuasion that Pollicitus meliora, tendis (thou 
 
 ?i. i i i:s t, having promised better things') should be here read. Iccius, the 
 iiturc miM id . and a man of science, sold the books which he had bought. 
 " and," says Horace, in a jesting manner, "he is not willing to defend 
 science with books, but with warlike weapons." The ode, full of Irony, 
 blames the leader of such a discordant military service ; but busy hands 
 seem to have vitiated the latter part of it. The band of Horace, had, I 
 think, described his wavering friend thus Quis neget, Sec. ' Who can 
 4euy that it is possible for precipitate rivers to flow back to the higb 
 mountains, and for the T^berto return, since tfaoa sellest the books of 
 the noble Pun.et in*, that thou mayst defend the houshold of Socrates with 
 Iberian coat? of mail, after having afforded more hopeful promises?"
 
 
 228 
 
 Dum vox coemptos, intuitu mero, 
 Et quae sequuntur verba, prioribus 
 Col lata, suadent hie legendum 
 44 Pollicitus meliora, vendis." 
 
 Libros coemptos vendidit Icciiis, 
 Miles futurus, virque Scientiae, 
 44 Quam nolit hie libris tueri," 
 
 Flaccu9 ait, joculans, " sed armis." 
 
 Tarn discrepantis militiae ducem 
 Ironiarum plena redarguit 
 Ode; sed extremum videtur 
 Multa manus vitiasse carmen.. 
 
 Sic ipsa Flacci pinxerat, autumo, 
 Incertuuv amicum " Quis neget arduis 
 Pronos relabi posse rivos 
 
 Montibus, et Tyberini reverti ; 
 
 44 Cum tu coemptcte undique nobilis 
 Libros Panaeti Socraticam ut domum 
 Tutere loricis Iberis, 
 Pollicitus- meliara, vendis?"* 
 
 HoR. Lib. 2. Ode 14. 
 
 *" EHEU! fugacesy Posthume, Posthume, 
 ** Labuntur anni; nee pietasmoram 
 44 Rugis, et instanti Senectee 
 44 Afferet, indomit&que morti. 
 
 44 Non si trecenis quotquot eunt dies, 
 44 Amice, places illachrymabilem 
 44 Plutona taurif Hem! trecenis? 
 Nolumus hanc posuisse vocem, 
 
 * By the change of trecenis (three hundred) into tercentum (thr'ee hundred 
 times) the poet will be understood to say that if Posthumus sacrifice one Bull 
 every morning for three hundred days together, he will not appease Pluto. 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 
 Alas! Posthumns, Posthumus! the fleeting years slide onward ; nor 
 will piety cause any delay to wrinkles, and advancing old age, and un- 
 conquerable death. Yon appease not, my friend, the pitiless Pluto with 
 three hundred bulls on each passing day. 
 
 What! with three hundred? We cannot admit, Oh Foxley, that Ho- 
 race placed this word here quotquot eunt dies, &c. The immense
 
 229 
 
 Foxleie, Flaccum " quotquot eunt dies, 
 Tauris trecentis illachrymabilera 
 Placare divum!" immanis, ipso] 
 Intuitu, nunicrus patescit. 
 
 Quovis trecenos lumine Posthumum 
 Mactare tauros, si bene finxerit 
 Vates, quot exactos, memento, 
 Myriadas feriat per annos ! 
 
 Haec inter artes norma poeticas, 
 " Famam sequi, vel convenientiam" 
 Praescripta Flacco, quaiu trecenis 
 Iramodice violata tauris ! 
 
 Vult quando centum pocula sospitiz, 
 -Codex, Amici turn sibi sapphicum 
 Quid carmen cxposcat volutans, 
 Te, statuo, repetente Cantum. 
 
 Idem in trecenis hreo, suspicor ; 
 Et, non jocantcm, simplicius velim 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 
 number is evident at the first glimpse. If the poet nave happily imagi- 
 ned that Posthumus ktfls three hundred bulls every morning, recollect 
 how many myriads he will sacrifice before hU years are brought to a close. 
 This rule among the poetical arts is prescribed by Horace " Abide by 
 common report or by what appears to be fitting," which rule is immode- 
 rately violated by three hundred bulls'! When a (codex) copy wishes 
 (centum) a hundred cups on account of the safety of a friend, then pondering 
 on what a sapphic poem requires for itself", I place (cantum) a song, and 
 thou repeatest it. I hesitate also about (trecenis) three hundred, am 
 mistrustful, and with that tin- poet who was in jest, bad said what he is 
 so earnest about in more simple language; for it was capable of being 
 said more simply that death is as near to kings a* to clowns; death, not to 
 be avoided by Posthumus when he three hundred times sacrifices bulls 
 as oft as each rising morn shines forth. Unless I am mistaken, every vic- 
 tim of Posthumus which is sacrificed to Pluto required but one bullock 
 on each day, whilst the hand of Horace was in its proper vigour, who 
 wrote, or who ought to have written, (as thou sayest in a late poem, 
 which while the vehement muse refutes, she entirely furnishes this at- 
 tempt to thee) non si, &c. which I think the poem thus to have number* 
 ed in a better manner. If the word be right, do not remove it ; it it be 
 not right, thou whose associates arc men of extensive genius, tell us with 
 what word thy companions would fill up the vacaujev, wlyle I remain 
 silent about it. 
 
 S 2
 
 230 
 
 Dixissc vatem, (naihque dici 
 Simplicius potuit) quod urguet : 
 
 Quod, nempfe, mors et regibus imminet 
 JEque ac colonis; Mors neque Posthumo 
 Vitanda tercentuM imfliolando 
 Lux quoties nitet orta, tauros. . 
 
 Ni fallor, oranis victima Posthurai 
 Duntaxat unura quoque die bovem 
 Mactata Plutoni poposcit, 
 
 Dum valuit marius ipsa Flacci r 
 
 Qui scripsit. aut qui scribere debuit, 
 (Tu sicut inquis, carmine hupero; 
 Quod musa, pugnax, dum refellit, 
 Hoc penitus tibi subdit ausum.) 
 
 " Non si *** quotquot eunt dies, 
 " Amice, places illachrymabilem 
 " Plutona tauris 1 ' quos opinor 
 Sic melius numerase carmen. 
 
 Si sana vox sit, ne moveas loco 
 Si non sit amplis ingenio viris 
 Immiste, die quanam sodales 
 (Me tacito) repleant Hiatum? 
 
 Thure placaris et hornd 
 Fruge Lares ayiddque pored, 
 
 Hon. Lib. 3. Ode 23. 
 
 And thon shalt have appeased the honshold Gods, by an offering 
 of frankincense, and fruits of this year's gi-owth, and a 
 greedy swine. 
 
 When avidasqne Parcas (the greedy Fates) is written instead of avidaquc- 
 Porca, (a greedy swine,) our author thinks the connection with Lares 
 will be more consistently prestrted than as it now stands. 
 
 QILE mens sit hujus carminis, obsecro, 
 Spectes; monenda est rustica Phydile, 
 Vel thure, vel fructu, vel herba 
 Ruricolas placuisse Divis. 
 
 Si pura mens sit, si manus innocens, 
 Placare possint absque cruoribus;
 
 231 
 
 Primumque et extremum poeta 
 Quis negat hoc voluisse versum? 
 
 Vix ergo Porcam velle putaveris, 
 Urbane, Flaccum frugibiis additam; 
 Nam tli ura. nam fruges, et omnem 
 Sordida Sue vidavit herbam. 
 
 Quid parva laudat, Numina, munera, 
 Si Porca tandem victimaposcitur? 
 Quid rirosit immunis manusve, 
 Farve pium, saliensque mica? 
 
 Aut omnis ut res hsereat, indica, 
 Aut vile mcndum corrige protinus; 
 Non multa mutabis Jegendo, 
 
 " Fruge Lares avidasque Parcas." 
 
 The foregoing Criticism, 
 
 IN ENGLISH VERSE. 
 
 THE whole design of this Horatian strain 
 Is so exceeding obvious and plain, 
 That one would wonder how correcting eyes 
 Could overlook a blot of such a size, 
 As aviddqae Pored; when the line, 
 So read, quite ruins Horace"'* design. 
 
 He, as the verse begins, and as it ends, 
 This point to rustic Phydile commends, 
 That innocence to gifts the gods prefer, 
 And frugal ofFrings would suffice from her; 
 That want of victims was in her no fault; 
 She might present fruit, incense, cake, and salt. 
 
 With what connexion could he add to these 
 A greedy swiiie, in Order to appease 
 Those very deities, whom ode is meant 
 To paint with cheap and bloodless gifts content, 
 From pious hands receive, tho 1 e'er do small ? 
 But aviddque Pored spoils it all. 
 
 What moral meant, if they requir'd, in fine, 
 From rustic Phydile, a great fat swine?
 
 232 
 
 Why little gods and little matters nam'd, 
 If such a sacrifice as this was claim'd? 
 Pored is wrong, Sirs, whether we regard 
 The gods, the countrywoman, or the bard. 
 
 What must be done in such a case as this? 
 One must amend, tho' one should do't amiss. 
 I'll tell you the correction, frank and free, 
 That upon reading first occurr'd to me; 
 And seem'd tp suit the bard's intention better, 
 With small mutation of the printed letter. 
 
 Tho' avidaque Porca runs along 
 With verb, and case, and measure of the song, 
 Yet, if the poet is to be renown'd 
 For something more, than mere Italian sound, 
 For life and sense, as well as shell and carcass; 
 Head Fruge Lares, avidasque Parca$. 
 
 Vile potabis modicis Sabinum 
 Cantkaris 
 
 Hon. Lib. 1. Ode 20. 
 Thou shalt drink weak Sabine Mine in little cups. 
 
 Our author wishes potabis ( thou shalt drink) to be changed into petabo (J 
 will drink) for reasons assigned in his verses. 
 
 HAVE ye ne scruple, sirs, when ye rehearse 
 This hissing kind of an Horatian verse? 
 To me, I own, at sight of triple is, 
 Suspicion said that something was amiss; 
 And, when one reads the triple Sapphic thro 1 , 
 'Tis plain that what suspicion said was true. 
 
 Critics, as custom goes, if one shall bring 
 The plainest reason, for the plainest thing, 
 Will stick to Horace, as he sticks to print, 
 And say, sometimes, that there is nothing in't. 
 Or here mistake, perhaps, may be my lot; 
 Now tell me, neighbours, is it so or not? 
 
 This ode, or (since apparently mishap 
 Has lost the true beginning of it) scrap, 
 
 $ And thou shalt have appeased the houshold Gods, and the greedy Fate* 
 with frankincense and fruits of this year's growth.
 
 233 
 
 Informs Mtectnas that poor Sabine wine 
 Shall be his drink, in Horace's design; 
 Wine which the poet had incask'd, the day 
 That people shouted tor the knight away. 
 
 This is the first thing that it says the next, 
 Without one word of intervening text, 
 Says, he shall drink (and in poetic shape 
 Wine is describ'd) the very richest grape; 
 " My cups Falernian vintage, Formian hill" 
 (Is all that follows after) u never fill." 
 
 These, and these only, in the printed code, 
 Are the two periods of this pigmy ode: 
 And how they stand, in contradiction flat, 
 Whoe'er can construe Latin must see that. 
 The critics saw it, but forsook their sight, 
 And set their wits at work, to make it right. 
 
 How they have done it such a9 have a mind 
 To know their fetches, if they look, may find; 
 And smile thereat; one ounce, that but coheres, 
 Of mother wit, is worth a pound of theirs; 
 Who having, by tjapir dint of learning, seen 
 That moon is cheese, soon prove it to be green. 
 
 'Twill be enough to give ye just a taste, 
 From Delphin here, of criticising haste; 
 '* Miecenas, setting on some journey out, 
 " Sent Horace word, before he took his rout, 
 " As Cruquius, Lubin, Codex too pretend, 
 " That he would sup with his assured friend. 
 
 " Horace writes back and this, it seems, the ode,- 
 " !Tis mighty kind to take me in your road ; 
 " But you must be content with slender fare, 
 " Such as my poor tenuity can spare: 
 " File potabis Sabine wine the best 
 " As learnedly Theod. Marcil. has guess'd." 
 
 So far, so good but why should Horace, slap, 
 Say You shall drink the wines of richest tap?"
 
 234 
 
 *' That is," quoth margin of the Delphin tome, 
 ' Domi potabis you shall drink at home;" 
 Hcec vina quideni bihes apud fe, 
 Says note, non ita vero apud me.* 
 
 ." Certe" it adds, " as Pliny understood, 
 *' The knight's own wine was exquisitely good '' 
 Good, to be sure, tho' Pliny had been dumb; 
 But how does all that has been said o'er come 
 The contradiction? Why, with this assistance, 
 'Tis plain they supp'd together at a distance. 
 
 One easy hint, without such awkward stirs, 
 Dissolves at once the difficulty, sirs, 
 Let Horace drink himself of his own Vinnm 
 Vile potabo modicis Sabinumf 
 Cantoris and Maecenas do so too 
 Tu bibes Ccecubum and all is true. 
 
 No verbal hissing spoils poetic grace, 
 Nor contradiction stares ye in the face; 
 But verse intention, without farther tours 
 " I'll drink my wine, Maecenas and you yours." 
 Should not all judges of Horatian letter 
 Or take this reading, or propose a better? 
 
 wmftggggmgm fr * &&&& 
 
 A LETTER TO R. L. ESQ. 
 
 If Senesino do but rift 
 " O Caro, caro! that flat fifth!" 
 rd hang if e'er an Opera witling 
 Could tell CuazoNi from a kitting. 
 
 DEAR Peter, if thou canst descend 
 From R6delind to hear a friend, 
 And if those ravish'd ears of thine 
 Can quit the shrill celestial whine 
 
 * These wines thou shalt drink at thy own house, but such thou canst 
 not have at mine. 
 1 1 will drink weak Sabine wine in little cups. 
 $ Thou shalt drink Caecuban wine.
 
 233 
 
 Of gentle eunuchs, and sustain 
 Thy native English without pain y 
 I would, if 't h't too great a burden, 
 Thy ravish'd ears intrude a ord in. 
 
 To Richard's and to Tom's full oft 
 Have I stept forth, O 'squire of Toft, 
 In hopes that I might win, perchance, 
 A sight of thy sweet countenance; 
 Forth have I stept, but still alas! 
 Richard's or Tom's, 'twas all a case ; 
 Still met I with the same reply 
 "Saw you sir Peter?" "No, not 1." 
 
 Being at length no longer able 
 To bear the dismal trissyllable, 
 Home I retir'd in saunt'ring wise, 
 And inward turning all my eyes, 
 To seek thee in the friendly breast, 
 Where thou hast made a kind of nest, 
 The gentle muse I 'gan invoke, 
 And thus the neck of silence broke : 
 
 * Muse!" quoth I, treading on her toes, 
 " Thou sweet companion of my woes, 
 That whilom wont to ease my care, 
 And get me now and then a hare: 
 Why am I thus depriv'd the sight 
 Both of the alderman and knight? 
 Tell me, O tell me, gentle muse, 
 Where is Sir Peter, where is Clowes?'''' 
 
 " Where vour friend Joseph is or goes," 
 Reply'd Melpomene, " Lord knows; 
 And what place is the fairest bidder 
 For the knight's presence let's consider 
 Your wandering steps you must refer to 
 Rehearsal;, op'ra, or concerto; 
 At one or other of the three 
 You'll find him most undoubtedly." 
 
 Now, Peter, if the muse says true, 
 To all my hopes I bid adieu ; 
 Adieu my hopes, if op'ramany 
 Has seiz'd on Peter's pericranie.
 
 236 
 
 Drunk with Italian Syren's cup! 
 Nay then, in troth, I give him up: 
 The man's a quack, whoe'er pretends he 
 Can qure him of that fiddling phrenzy. 
 
 THE POETASTER. 
 
 WHEN a poet, as poetry goes now-a-days, 
 Takes it into his head to put in for the bays, 
 With an old book of rhymes, and a half pint of claret, 
 To cherish his brain, mounted up to his garret, 
 Down he sits, with his pen, ink, and paper before him, 
 And labours as hard as his mother that bore him. 
 
 Thus plac'd, on the candle he fixes his eyes, 
 And upon its bright flame he looks wonderful wise 
 Then snuffing it close, he takes hold of his pen, 
 And, the subject not starting, he snuffs it again; 
 Till perceiving at last that not one single thought, 
 For all his wise looks, will come forth as it ought, 
 With a bumper of wine he emboldens his blood, 
 And prepares to receive it, whenever it should. 
 
 Videlicet, first, he invokes the nine muses, 
 Or some one of their tribe for his patroness chooses; 
 The girl, to be sure, that, of all the long Nomine, 
 Best suits with his rhyme as for instance, Melpomene. 
 '* And what signifies then this old bard-beaten whim? 
 " What's he to the muses, or th' muses to him?" 
 Why, the bus'ness is this the poor man, lack-a-day! 
 At first setting out, don't know well what to say. 
 
 Then he thinks of Parnassus, and Helicon streams, 
 And of old musty bards mumbles over the names; 
 Talks much to himself of one Phoebus Apollo, 
 And a parcel of folks that in's retinue follow; 
 Df a horse nam'd Pegasus, that had two wings, 
 Of mountains, and nymphs, and a hundred fine things; 
 Tho' with mountains, and streams, and his nymphs of Parnass: 
 The man, after all, is but just where he was.
 
 237 
 
 TO 
 
 HENRY WRIGHT, of MOBBERLEY, Esq: 
 
 ON 
 
 Buying the Picture ofF. Malebranche, at a Sale. 
 
 (Inserted in Nichols' Select Poems.) 
 
 WELL, dear Mr. Wright, I must send you a line; 
 The purchase is made, Father M alebranche is mine ; 
 The adventure is past, which I long'd t achieve, 
 And I'm so overjoy'd, you will hardly believe. 
 If you will but have patience, I'll tell you, dear friend, 
 The whole history out, from begining to end. 
 Excuse the long tale; I could talk, Mr. Wright, 
 About this same picture from morning to night. 
 
 The morning it Iower'd like the morning in Cato, 
 And brought on, methought, as important a day too ; 
 But about ten o'clock it began to be clear ; 
 And the fate of our capital piece drawing near, 
 Having supp'd off to breakfast some common decoction, 
 Away trudged I in all haste to the Auction. 
 Should have call'd upon you, but the weaver committee 
 Forbad me that pleasure; the more was the pity ! 
 
 The clock struck eleven as I enter'd the room, 
 Where Rembrandt and Guido stood waiting their doom, 
 With Holbein and Rubens, Van Dyck, Tintoret, 
 Jordano, Poussin, Carlo Dolci, et cet. 
 When at length in the corner perceiving the Pere,* 
 * Ha P 1 quoth I to his face, " my old friend, are you there t" 
 And methought the face smiPd, just as tho' it would say, 
 " What, you're come, Mr. Byrom, to fetch me away !" 
 
 Now, before I had time to return it an answer, 
 Comes a short-hander by, Jemmy Ord was the man, sir, 
 " So, Doctor, good morrow!" So, Jemmy, bonjourlf 
 " Some rare pictures here ;" So there are, to be sure. 
 " Shall we look at some of 'em? With all my heart, Jemmy; 
 So I walk'd up and down, and my old pupil wi' me; 
 
 & . -K __. 
 
 * Father. t Good morninj.
 
 S38 
 
 Making still sueh remarks as our wisdom tiiought proper, 
 Where things were hit off in wood, canvas, or copper. 
 
 When at length about noon, Mr. Auctioneer Cox, 
 With his book and his hammer, mounts into his box; 
 ** Lot the first number one;" then advanced his upholder 
 With Malebranche: So Atlas bore Heaven on his shoulder. 
 Then my heart, sir, it went pit-apat, in good sooth, 
 To see the sweet face of the searcher of truth :f 
 " Ha!" thought I to myself, " if it cost me a million, 
 " This right honest head, then, shall grace my pavilion." 
 
 Thus stood lot the first both in number and worth, 
 If pictures were priz'd for the men they set forth, 
 I'm sure, to my thinking, compar'd to this number 
 Most lots in the room seem'd to be but mere lumber. 
 The head then appearing, Cox Jeft us to see 't, 
 And fell to discoursing concerning the feet; 
 " So long, and so broad. 'Tis a very fine head! 
 " Please to enter it, gentlemen" was all that he said. 
 
 Had I been in his place, not a stroke of a hammer 
 Till the force had been tried both of rhet'rick and grammar. 
 " A very fine head!" had thy head been as fine, 
 All the heads in the house had ved'd bonnets to thine : 
 Not a word whose it was but, in short, 'twas a head-r- 
 " Put it up what you pjease." So somebody said, 
 *' Half a piece" and so on. For three pounds and a crown, 
 To sum up my good fortune, I fetch'd him me down. 
 
 There were three or four bidders, I cannot tell whether, 
 But they never could come two upon me together; 
 For as soon as one spoke, then immediately pop 
 I advanc'd something more, fear the hammer should drop* 
 I ponsider'd, should Cox take a whim of a sudden 
 What a hurry it would put a man's Lancashire blood in ! 
 li Once twice three pounds* five" So, nemine con. 
 Came an absolute rap, and thrice happy was John. 
 
 " Who bought it?" quoth Cox. " Here's the money," 
 quoth J, 
 Still willing to make the securest reply : 
 And the safest receipt that a body can trust, 
 For preventing disputes, is " Down with your dus,t!" 
 
 t He wrote a treatise called" A Search a/tfr Truth."
 
 239 
 
 So I bought it, and paid for V, and boldly I say, 
 'Twas the best purchase made at Cadogan's that day ; . 
 The works the man wrote are the finest iu nature, 
 And a most clever piece is his genuine portraiture. 
 
 For the rest of the pictures, and how they were sold, 
 To others* there present, I leave to be told. 
 They seem'd to go off, as at most other sales, 
 Just as tolks' money, judgment, or fancy prevails; 
 Some cheap, and some dear. Such an image as this 
 Comes a trifle to me: and an odd wooden Swiss 
 Wench's head (God knows who) forty-eight guineas, if her 
 Grace of Marlborough likes it; so fancy will differ. 
 
 When the bus'ne&s was o'er, and (he crowd somewhat gone, 
 Whip into a coach I convey number one. 
 " Drive along, honest friend, fast as e'er you can pin." 
 So he did, and 'tis now safe and sound at Gray's Inn; 
 Done at Paris, it says, from the life by one Gkk v; 
 Who that was I can't tell, but I wish his heart merry; 
 In the year ninety-eight sixty just from the birth j 
 Of the greatest divine that e'er liv'd upon earth. 
 
 And now, if some evening when you are at leisure, 
 You'll come and rejoice with me over my treasure, 
 With a friend or two with you, that will in free sort 
 Let us mix metaphy6ick6 and short-hand and port, 
 We'll talk of his book, or what else you've a mind, 
 Take a glass, read, or write, as we see we're inclin'd. 
 Such friends and such freedom! What can be more clever* 
 Huzza! Father Malebranche and short-hand for ever. 
 
 Miscellaneous Pieces, 
 
 CONSISTING OF 
 
 THOUGHTS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS, FRAGMENTS 
 EPIGRAMS, &c. 
 
 TIME that is>past thou never canst recal; 
 Of time to come thou art not sure at all; 
 Time present only is within thy ppw'r; 
 Now, now improve, then, whilst thou caBSt, the bour.
 
 240 
 
 SET not the faults of other folks in view, 
 But rather mind what thou thyself shouldst do; 
 For, twenty errors of thy neighbour known 
 Will tend but little to reform thy own. 
 
 SAFER to reconcile a foe, than make 
 A conquest of him for the conquest's sake ; 
 This tames his pow'r of doing present ill, 
 But that disarms him of the very will. 
 
 TO give reproof in anger, to be sure, 
 Whate'er the fault, is not the way to cure: 
 Would a wise doctor offer, dost thou think, 
 The sick his potion scalding hot to drink? 
 
 A GRACEFUL manner, and a friendly ease 
 Will give a " No," and not at all displease; 
 And an ill-natur'd or ungraceful " Yes, 1 ' 
 When it is giv'n, is taken much amiss. 
 
 BUT small the difference, if Tertullian's right. 
 To do an injury, or to requite; 
 " He is," said he, " who does it to the other, 
 " But somewhat sooner wicked than his brother." 
 
 MY reason is I, and your reason is You, 
 And, if we shall differ, both cannot be true: 
 If reason must judge, and we two must agree, 
 Another third reason must give the decree, 
 Superior to ours; and to which, it is fit, 
 That both, being weaker, should freely submit: 
 Nov* in reason submitting, is plainly implied 
 That it does not pretend, of itself, to decide. 
 
 IN truths that nobody can miss, 
 It is the Quid that makes the Quits ; 
 In such as lie more deeply hid, 
 It is the Quis that makes the Quid.
 
 241 
 
 i! " i 
 
 A QUERY. 
 
 SHOULD a good angel and a bad between 
 Th' infirmary and theatre be seen; 
 One going to be present at the play, 
 The other, where the sick and wounded lay; 
 Quere Were your conjecture to be had, 
 Which would the good one go to, which the bad? 
 
 FERSES 
 
 DESIGNED FOR A WATCH CASE. 
 
 COULD but our tempers move like this machine) 
 Not urg'd by passion, nor delay'd by spleen; 
 But, true to nature's regulating pow'r, 
 By virtuous acts distinguish ev'ry hour; 
 Then health and joy would follow, as they ought, 
 The laws of motion, and the laws of thought; 
 Sweet health, to pass the present moments o'er; 
 And everlasting joy, when time shall be no more. 
 
 AN 
 
 ADMONITION AGAINST SWEARING, 
 
 Addressed to an Officer in the Army. 
 
 O THAT the muse might call, without offence, 
 The gallant soldier back to his good sense! 
 His tcmp'ral field so cautious not to lose ; 
 So careless quite of his eternal foes. 
 Soldier ! so tender of thy prince's fame, 
 Why so profuse of a Superior Name? 
 For the king's sake the brunt of battles bear; 
 But, for the King of King's sake, Do not sweak. 
 
 TO THE SAME, EXTEMPORE, 
 Intended to allay the Violence of Party-Spirit, 
 
 GOD bless the king, I mean the faith's defender; 
 God bless (no harm in blessing)-* the pretender; 
 S
 
 242 
 
 But who pretender is, or who is king, 
 God bless us all that's quite another thing. 
 
 1 
 
 ON THET 
 
 NATURALIZATION BILL, 
 
 COME all ye foreign strolling gentry, 
 Into Great Britain make your. entry, 
 Abjure the Pope, and take the oaths, 
 And you shall have meat, drink, and clothes. 
 
 ON THE SAME. 
 
 WITH languages dispers'd, men were not able 
 To top the skies, and build the tow'r of Babel ; 
 But if to Britain they shall cross the main, 
 And meet by act of parliament again, 
 Who knows, when all together shall repair, 
 How high a castle may be built in air ! 
 
 ON THE SAME. 
 
 THIS act reminds me, ge'men, under favour, 
 Of old John Bull, the hair-merchant and shaver: 
 John had a sign put up, whereof the writing 
 Was strictly copied from his own inditing : 
 Under the painted wigs both bob And full 
 Moast mutiny fade for living here 
 
 John Bull. 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT UPON THE SAME. 
 
 NOW upon sale, a bankrupt island, 
 To any stranger that will buy land - 
 The birthright, note, for further satis- 
 faction, is to be thrown in gratis.
 
 243 
 
 ON PRIORS SOLOMON. 
 
 AN EPIGRAM. 
 
 WISE Solomon, with all his rambling doubts, 
 Might talk two hours, I guess, or thereabouts; 
 " And yet," quoth he', * 4 my elders, to their shame, 
 44 Kept silence all, nor answer did they frame." 
 Dear me! what else but silence should they keep? 
 He, to be sure, bad talk'd them all asleep. 
 
 EPIGRAM 
 
 ON THE 
 
 Feuds between Handel and BononcinL 
 
 SOME say, compared to Bononcini, 
 That Mynheer Handel's but a ninny; 
 Others aver, that he to Handel 
 Is scarcely fit to hold a candle: 
 Strange all ibis difference should be, 
 'Twixt tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee! 
 
 AN ANECDOTE. 
 
 THE French Ambassador had been to wait 
 On James the First, in equipage of stale: 
 Bacon was by; to whom the king began 
 " Well now, my lord, what think you of the man?" 
 He" 1 * a tall proper person, sir, said he 
 44 Aye," said the king, 44 that any one may see; 
 44 But what d'ye think of head-piece in the case? 
 44 Is he a proper person for his place?" 
 My lord, who thought he was not, I suppose, 
 Gave him this answer, as the story goes 
 Tall men are oft like houses that are tall ; 
 The upper roorns are furnished worst of all.
 
 244 
 
 BONE and Skin, two millers thin, 
 Would starve us all, or near it : 
 But be it known to Skin and Bone, 
 That Flesh and Blood can't bear it.* 
 
 EPIGRAM. ' 
 
 CiESAR Pompeium vicit quae Nomina ! Quia tu 
 
 Accipe quam fuerit Fama, Jacobe, nihil. 
 Caesar, id est Victor; Victor quoque Caesar: eundera 
 
 Fama hominem binis Vocibus ergo notat: 
 Sic etiam ceu Pompeium tu dicere mavis, 
 
 Ceu victum, Res est unica, Verba duo: 
 Sensus idem nobis, id enim Nos novimus unum 
 
 Quod quivis quendam vicerit hie Honor est I 
 
 IN CALVUM. Epigram. 
 
 >" PRIMUS in Orbe Deos fecit Timor" Hac mihi, Calve, 
 
 Est ubi de Sacris Quaestio, vociferas: 
 Cum fueris tute ipse hominum timidissimus, unde est, 
 
 Improbe, quod dubites an sit ubique Deus? 
 
 * The wit of this epigram was pointed at the father of Judge Y , 
 
 and a Mr. D-w-n; two tall meagre men, who were trustees of the cha- 
 rity-school, at Manchester: for the support of which school three mills 
 were left. As all the town had a right in this school,all the town were 
 to grind their corn at these mills. The town, however, grew too popu- 
 lous for the mills; and yet the concientious trustees wanted to prevent 
 the inhabitants from grinding their corn any where else. See page 32. 
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 * Caesar vanquished Porapey What great names ! But do thou, James, 
 hear how fame shall be nothing : Caesar, that is the Conqueror ; the Con- 
 queror also Caesar ; fame therefore denotes the same man by two words. 
 So likewise, whether thou wouldst rather say Pompey or the vanquish- 
 ed, the thing is one, the words two. The sense is the same to us, for 
 we know this circumstance only that a certain person conquered another 
 here is the Honour. 
 
 b " Fear first made gods in the world"- This question about religion, 
 thou, Calvus, dost sometimes bawl out before me. But since thou hast 
 thyself been one of the most fearful of men, whence is it, villain, that 
 thou doubtest whether God be in every place?
 
 245 
 
 IN EUNDEM. 
 
 ' DUJV1 Calvum objurgo quod nunquam Templa frequentct- 
 " Illud plebs," inquit, " carpet anilis Iter; 
 
 " Templa petal qui vult; at Ego, qujecunquc Sacerdos 
 " Ex cathedra possit dicere jam teneo." 
 
 Quis neget ^Etatem nobis esse ingeniosam 
 ingeuium cum sijt posse manere Domi? 
 
 IN EUNDEM. 
 
 *DUM bibitur Calvus Rationem laudat Amicis, 
 
 Et quantum satis est omnibus ore trahit; 
 Rectam, sinceram, coelestem, et camera damans, 
 
 Tu Ratio nobis Numcn es atque bibit; 
 Donee vix tandem potis est incedere rectus, 
 
 Aut verbum recta de Ratione loqui: 
 Dum Socium intueor " quaenam haec Dementia Cal\i 
 
 " Tarn cito quae laudet perdere?" sic roonuit 
 Desine mirari; nihil est nisi quod Rationem 
 
 Nuncupet hie aliis quod sotet esse Merunt. 
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 * When I reprimand Calvus for npt repairing to church "The doating 
 multitude," says lie, " will take that road ; lt;t him go to church that 
 wishes, but for my part I already know whatever the priest can deliver 
 from the pulpit." Mho can now assert that our age is not ingenious, 
 when it is a mark of genius to be able to remain at home? 
 
 b While Calvus is drinking, he extols reason among his friends, and 
 drawls out as much as is sufficient for all, calling her " right, sincere, 
 heavenly," and by other epithets; " Thou art a Goddess to us, O Rea- 
 son" and drinks; till at length he is scarcely able to walk erect, or to 
 speak a word of right reason. I look at his companion and ask " What 
 madness is this of Calvus in destroying so soon what he praises?" Who 
 answered, "Cease thy wondering; it is nothing but his calling tbat by 
 the name of Reason which i kuown to others by the name of Wins. '
 
 246 
 
 In Madidam Memoriam* Johannis Harrington, 
 Eqnitis Argentei, hitjusce Collegii olim Commensalfs. 
 
 To the bedewed memory of John Barrington, a Silver Knight, formerly a commoner of this college. 
 
 AN EPITAPH. 
 
 STAY, Traveller, the Barrington lies here, who left us poor mortals 
 to bewail his loss, June 24, 1713. 
 
 He was a philosopher of the Plat-onic sect ; so true a friend, that there 
 never was any but would let him into . their secrets at the first acquain- 
 tance. He was a man of metal, and feared no colours but Browne, t 
 
 He kept company with learned men, and was a good critic himself, 
 especially at the filling up of an Hiatus. He could enter into the heart 
 of an author immediately. He dealt much in fragments. He was an ex- 
 cellent physician, and could give a man a stool or a vomit, a cordial or a 
 sleepy dose, just as a man's body required it. He understood anatomy so 
 well, that he could dissect a man alive, and trace through every part and 
 yet never hurt him. As well as he was skilled in optics, he never made 
 use of any glasses. He was a jeweller, and has adorned many a man 
 with carbuncles of his own making. 
 
 In short, he was every thing; a man of an excellent taste, though some- 
 thingfrothy. He was of an aspiring temper, and would get to the head 
 in all company he came into; though he had this check on his ambition, 
 that always the higher he mounted, the lower he sunk. 
 
 He was generally very mild, and never in a passion ; and yet, traveller, 
 would not stick to tun through the best friend he had, and so sharp some- 
 times, that if a man meddled with him, he would cut his throat. He had 
 a confounded large mouth and ears, but scarce any of his other member* 
 perfect not above four feet high, and yet many a one has died for love 
 of him. 
 
 He had such an ingenious way of reprimanding a man, that if he hit you 
 in the teeth with a thing, you would not take it ill. He was a comical 
 blade enough; had no eyes himself, but would have made thee stare. He 
 had never a hand, yet would have knocked thee down. Sometimes he 
 had a head, and sometimes none ; and when he had, what is falsely re- 
 ported of a certain saint is true of him, that he carried it in his mouth. 
 When he was drunk he had not a drop of liquor in him, quite contrary to 
 other men. He would often change his inside, but never his outside. I 
 could tell thee more wonders, traveller, but thou art puzzled already. 
 In short, he had that in him, which thou wouldst wish to have in thee, 
 and go fare thee well. 
 
 * A silver two-handed cup, belonging to the Bachelors of Trinity College, Cambridge, and 
 called the Barrington, from the name of the donor. It was usually served up to table full of ale 
 but this custom being forbidden, for some particular reasons, by the Fellows of the College, gave 
 occasion to this epitaph. 
 
 t One of the Bachelors at that time in College, of a remarkably strong arm and head who is 
 said to have lifted it full to his mouth with one hand, and to have drunk it off at a draught. 
 
 END OF VOLUME FIRST. 
 
 iamct Nichols, Printer, X, Briggate, Lete'
 
 CONTENTS TO VOLUME FIRST. 
 
 Page. 
 
 A PASTORAL-first printed in the 8th 
 vol. of the Spectator, 1 
 
 A description of Tunbridgc, in a letter to 
 P. M. Esq. 4 
 
 A full and true account of a horrid and bar- 
 barous robbery, committed on Epping 
 Forest, on the body of the Cambridge 
 Coach, in a letter to M. F. Esq. 7 
 
 A letter to R. 1 .. Esq. on his departure 
 from London. 12 
 
 Verses spoken extempore at the meeting of 
 a club, upon the President appearing in 
 a black Bob Wig, who usually wore a 
 white Tie. 15 
 
 Tke Astrologer. 18 
 
 Contentment, or the happy Workman's 
 Song. 22 
 
 The I >i- -. vtion of a Beau's 1 Icad.from the 
 Spectator. 24 
 
 A Song. 27 
 
 Extempore verses, on a trial of skill be- 
 tween the two great masters of the noble 
 science of defence, Mess. Figg & Sutton. 28 
 
 Verses spoken at the breaking up of the 
 Free Cramni.ir School, in Manchester. 
 The Three Black Crows, a tale. 31 
 
 Verses spoken on the same occasion as the 
 preceding. 33 
 
 The Ape and the Fox, a fable, spoken on 
 the same occasion. 36 
 
 Dulces Ante Omnia Muss?, spoken on the 
 same occasion. 38 
 
 The ( 'oimtry Fellows and the Asg, a fable, 
 spoken on the same occasion. 41 
 
 In Nova Fert Animus Mutatas Dicere 
 Formas Corpora, spoken on the same 
 occasion. 43 
 
 The Pond. 46 
 
 The Nimmcrs. 49 
 
 Careless Content, in imitation of Sir Philip 
 Sidney. 51 
 
 On Patience. 53 
 
 Keroarlu on Dr. Akcnsidc'sand Mr. White- 
 head's verses, which were addressed to 
 the people of England, in the year 1758. 56 
 
 A Hint to a young Person, for his better 
 improvement by reading or conversation. 59 
 
 To Lady B W , upon her presenting 
 the Author with the moiety of a lottery 
 ticXrt. 60 
 
 The Centaur Fabulous. 62 
 
 Thoughts on the Constitution of human 
 Nature, as represented in the Systems of 
 modem Philosophers. 64 
 
 On the Patron of England, in a Letter to 
 Ix>rd Willoughby, President of the An- 
 tiquarian Society. 65 
 
 On specious ami superficial Writers. 68 
 
 The passive Participle's Petition to the 
 Printer of the Gentleman's Magazine. 69 
 
 The Beau and Bedlamite 70 
 
 An Answer to a Letter, requesting the Au- 
 thor's Solution of a Rebus, 71 
 
 Thoughts on Rhyme and Blank Verse. 75 
 
 St. Philip Ncri aud (he Youth. 78 
 
 Rage. 
 
 Advice to the Rev. Messrs. H and H 
 to preach slow. 79 
 
 To the same, on preaching extempore. 81 
 
 On Clergymen preaching Politics, to R 
 I-, Esq. 83 
 
 Moses's Vision. 84 
 
 < )n the Author's Coat of Arms. 85 
 
 Verses intended to have been spoken at the 
 breaking up of the Free Grammar School 
 in Manchester, in the Year 1748, when 
 Lauder's Charge of Plagiarism upon 
 Milton engaged the Public Attention. 87 
 
 A Dialogue on Contentment. 92 
 
 Tom the Porter. 95 
 
 A Lancashire Dialogue occasioned by "a 
 Clergyman's preaching without Notes. 96 
 
 Another, occasioned by the March of the 
 Highlanders into Lancashire, in the Year 
 17. 105 
 
 Another, about compelling a Person to 
 take the Oaths to the Government. 110 
 
 A genuine Dialogue, between a Gentlewo- 
 man at Derby, and her Maid Jenny, in 
 the Beginning of December, 1745. 122 
 
 The Contrast between Two executed 
 Lords. 124 
 
 An Epistle to a Friend, on the Art of 
 English Poetry. 126 
 
 To R. L. Esq. on his sending the Author 
 a Hare according to an annual Custom. 13fJ 
 
 To the same. ijjj 
 
 On Inoculation, when it first began to be 
 practised in England. 141 
 
 An Answer to some Enquiries, concerning 
 the Author's opinion of a Sermon preach- 
 ed upon the Operations of the Holy 
 Spirit. Hi 
 
 Remarks on Dr. Browne's Estimate, writ- 
 ten hi the Character of a Lady. 143 
 
 Remarks on a Pamphlet entitled Epistles 
 to the Great, from Aristippus in Retire- 
 ment. i4fi 
 
 Epilogue to Hurlothrumbo. 149 
 
 Remarks on Dr. Mkidleton's Examination 
 of the late I .on I Bishop of London's Dis- 
 courses, concerning the Use and Intent 
 of Prophecy. 151 
 
 Four Epistles to the Rev. Mr. I/, late 
 Vicar of Bowdcn, on the Miracle at the 
 Feast of Pentecost. 179 
 
 An Epistle to J. Ill k n, Esq. occasioned 
 by a Dispute concerning the Food of 
 John the Baptist. 191 
 
 Three Epistle* to G. Lloyd, Esq. on a Pas- 
 sage in Homer. 197 
 
 Critical Remarks in English and Latin, 
 upon several Passages in Horace. 206 
 
 A Letter to R. L. Esq. S34 
 
 The Poetaster 23$ 
 
 To Henry Wright, of Mobberloy, Esq. on 
 buying the l > icture of Father Malc- 
 branche at a Sale. 237 
 
 Miscellaneous Pieces, consisting of 
 Thoughts on various Subjects, Frag- 
 ments, Epignurtf, 4c 2 
 
 An Epitaph. 246
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 Page 221 Note, for the person read the imaginary personage, 
 226 Note, for one read our.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 u # <& m , 
 
 BY JOHN BYROM, M. A. F. R. S. 
 
 SOME TIME FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, AND INVENTOR 
 OF THE UNIVERSAL ENGLISH SHORT-HAND. 
 
 TO WHICH ARE ADDED HIS LIFE AND NOTES BY THE EDITOR, 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL II. 
 
 LEEDS : 
 Printed by and for James Nichols, 
 
 AND SOLD IN LONDON, BY CRADOCK AND J<1y, GALE, CURTIS AND FENNEB, 
 
 AND BAYNES; BY WILSON AND SON, YORK; J. CUMMINO, DUBLIN; J. 
 
 AND J. ROBERTSON, EDINBURGH; FORD, MANCHESTER; KATE, 
 
 LIVERPOOL; HARTLEY, ROCHDALE; TURNER, HULL} 
 
 BLACKBURN. DARLINGTON; STANFIELD, 
 
 BRADFORD; NICHOLSON, CAMBRIDGE; 
 
 SUGDEN, HALIFAX; AND OTHER 
 
 BOOKSELLERS. 
 
 1814.
 
 ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL.
 
 CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. 
 
 Page. 
 AN Epistle to a Gentleman of the Tem- 
 ple, occasioned by two treatises wherein 
 the fall of man is differently represented, 1 
 Enthusiasm, a Poetical Essay in a letter to 
 
 a friend in town, 14 
 
 A Paraphrase on the Lord's Prayer, 27 
 
 A Divine Pastoral, 30 
 
 A Thanksgiving Hymn, 32 
 
 A Hymn on the Divine Omnipresence, 34 
 The Collect for Advent Sunday, 35 
 
 Hymns for Christmas Day, 36 
 
 On the Epiphany, 39 
 
 Meditations for every day in Passion Week, 41 
 The Collect for Easter day, 48 
 
 Hymns for Easter Day, 49 
 
 On Whitsunday, 51 
 
 On Trinity Sunday, 52 
 
 A Caution against Despair, 55 
 
 A Penitential Soliloquy, 56 
 
 An Encouragement to earnest and impor- 
 tunate Prayer, 57 
 A Soliloquy on reading the 5th and 8th 
 
 Verses of the xxxvii Psalm, 58 
 
 An Epistle from the Author to his Sister, 
 
 with the foregoing Soliloquy inclosed, 59 
 Verses written under a Print representing the 
 
 Salutation of the Blessed Virgin from 
 
 a design of Anthony Coypd, 61 
 
 Verses written under a Print representing 
 Christ in the midst of the Doctorsfrom 
 a design of F. J. Andray, 63 
 
 Monsieur Pascal's Character of himself, 64 
 
 Armelle Nicholas's Account of herself, from 
 
 the French, 65 
 
 Reflections on the foregoing Account, 67 
 
 St. Cecilia's Hymn, 68 
 
 A Letter to a Lady occasioned by her desir- 
 ing the Author to revise and polish the 
 Poems of Bishop Ken, 69 
 
 A Hint to Christian Poets, 72 
 
 On the Disposition of Mind requisite for 
 
 the right Use of the Holy Scriptures, 74 
 
 On the same Subject, in a Letter to Mr. 
 
 Ponthieu, 75 
 
 A Stricture on the Bishop of Gloucester's 
 
 Doctrine of Grace, 78 
 
 On the Conversion of St. Paul, 79 
 
 A Contrast between human Reason, and 
 Divine Illumination, exemplified in three 
 different Cliaracters, 81 
 
 Socrates's Reply concerning Heraclitus's 
 
 Writings, 83 
 
 Thoughts upon Human Reason, occasion- 
 ed by reading some extravagant declama- 
 tions in its favour, 85 
 On Faith, Reason, and Sight, considered 
 as the throe distinct medium u f human 
 Perception, $6 
 
 Page. 
 A Dialogue between Rustieus, Theophilus, 
 and Academicus, on the Nature, Power, 
 and Use of human Learning in matters 
 of Religion, from Mr. Law's Way to 
 Divine Knowledge, 88 
 
 A Poetical Version of a Letter from the 
 
 Earl of Essex to the Earl of Southampton, 94 
 The Italian Bishop, an Anecdote, 98 
 
 On Resignation, to a Friend in Trouble, 100 
 A Poetical Version of ja Letter from J. 
 Behmen to a Friend, on the same occa- 
 sion, 101 
 On bearing the Cross, * Dialogue, 107 
 A Soliloquy on the Cause and Consequence 
 
 of a doubting Mind, 108 
 
 A Plain Account of the Nature and Design 
 
 of true Religion, 109 
 
 On the true Meaning' of the Scripture Terms 
 
 Life and Death, when applied to Men, 110 
 On the Ground of tni ami false Religion, 1 1 1 
 Peter's Denial of his Master, lit 
 
 On the Cause, Consequence, and Cure of 
 
 Spiritual Pride, 113 
 
 The Beggar and the Divine, 115 
 
 Fragment of a Hymn on the Goodness of 
 
 God. 117 
 
 Universal Good the object of the Divine 
 Will, and Evil the necessary Effect of the 
 Creature's opposition to it, ISO 
 
 On the disinterested Love of God, 181 
 
 On the same Subject, 123 
 
 On the Meaning of the word Wrath, as 
 
 applied to God in Scripture, 125 
 
 The foregoing Subject more fully illustrated 
 
 in a Comment on St. John, hi. Ifi, 126 
 
 The true Grounds of eternal and immuta- 
 ble Rectitude, m 
 On the Nature and Reason of all outward 
 
 Law, 130 
 
 Divine Ixjve the essential Characteristic of 
 
 true Religion. 131 
 
 On Works of Mercy 'nnd'Compaasion, con- 
 sidered as the Proofs of true Religion, 133 
 Verses designed for an Infirmary, 134 
 
 A Hymn to Jesus, 1.15 
 
 A Hymn on Simplicity, from the German, 136 
 A Farewell to the World, from the French, 138 
 A Hymn, from the French, 139 
 
 The Soul's Tendency towards its true Cen- 
 tre, 140 
 The Desponding Soul's Wish, 140 
 The Answer, 141 
 A Hymn to Jesus, from the Latin of St. 
 
 Bernard, 142 
 
 A Paraphrase on the Prayer, used in the 
 Church Liturgy, for all sorts and condi- 
 tions of men, 142 
 Thc Prayer of Ruibrochius, 145
 
 IV 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 A Prayer from Mr. Law's Spirit of Prayer, 146 
 On Attention, 148 
 
 A Prayer used by Francis the First, when 
 he was at war with the Emperor Charles 
 the Fifth, 149 
 
 A Comment on a Passage in the general 
 Confession of Sins, used in the Church 
 Liturgy, 150 
 
 For the due Improvement of a Funeral 
 
 Solemnity, 151 
 
 On Church Communion; in seven Parts, 
 
 from a Letter of Mr. Law's, 152 
 
 A Dying Speech from Mr. Law, 162 
 
 A Comment on John i. i. 163 
 
 A Memorial Abstract of a Sermon, preached 
 by the Rev. Mr. H , on Proverbs C. xx. 
 V. 27. 165 
 
 On the Union, and Threefold Distinction 
 of God, Nature, and Creature in two 
 Parts, , 167 
 
 On me Origin of Evil, 170 
 
 A Friendly Expostulation with a Clergyman 
 concerning a Passage in his Sermon, 
 relating to the Redemption of Man- 
 kind, 171 
 On the same Subject, written on another 
 
 occasion, 174 
 
 An Expostulation with a zealous Sectarist, 
 who inveighed in bitter terms against the 
 Clergy and Church Institutions, 175 
 
 Page. 
 
 Thoughts on Imputed Righteousness, occa- 
 sioned by reading the Rev. Mr. Herveys 
 Dialogues between Theron and Aspasio, 178 
 
 On the Nature of Free Grace, and the Claim 
 to Merit for the Performance of good 
 Works, 184 
 
 A Soliloquy on reading a Dispute about 
 Faith and Works, 185 
 
 Thoughts on Predestination and Reproba- 
 tion, 187 
 
 194 
 
 195 
 
 196 
 
 The Potter and his Clay, a Hymn ascribed 
 to Dr. Watts, 
 
 A Contrast to the foregoing Hymn, 
 
 An Argument for David's Belief of a future 
 State inferred from Bathsheba's last 
 Words to him upon his Death-bed, 
 
 On the Fall of Man, occasioned by Dr, 
 Roger's Representation of that event, 
 in his " Persuasive to Conformity, ad- 
 dressed to the Quakers, 197 
 
 A Letter to a Friend, upon the Meaning of 
 St Paul's expression of " speaking with 
 Tongues" Corinth, xiv. 198 
 
 Familiar Epistles to a Friend, upon a Ser- 
 mon, entitled, The Office and Operations 
 of the Holy Spirit, by the Rev. Mr. 
 Warburton, 203 
 
 Miscellaneous Pieces, consisting of Thoughts 
 on various Subjects, Fragments, Epi- 
 grams, &c. 219
 
 AN 
 
 Epistle to a Gentleman of the Temple, 
 
 OCCASIONED BY 
 
 Two Treatises, wherein the Fall of Man is differently represented, viz. 
 
 I. MR. LAWS SPIRIT OF PRAYER. 
 II. THE BISHOP OF LONDON'S APPENDIX. 
 
 Shewing that, according to the plainest sense of Scripture, the 
 Nature of the Fall is greatly mistaken in the latter. 
 
 In this poetical letter our author very ingeniously shews the absurdity 
 of saying that " the execution of the sentence denounced against 
 " the breach of the command given to Adam in innocence, did not 
 " immediately follow hit transgression of that law; hut that it Mas 
 " graciously respited, and not executed till the day of his natural 
 " death!" He tells us that Adam lost all spiritual and hcarenly life 
 in the very moment of his sinning. When he goes beyond this, and 
 begins philosophically to describe what that vast space, " far as the 
 orb of our created day," was before its being converted, by Divine 
 Power, into a habitation for human beings, he falls into one of the 
 wonderful depths of Behmenism, and his account becomes irrational 
 and unscriptural. 
 
 SIR, upon casting an attentive look- 
 Over your friend, the learned Sherlock's, book, 
 One tiling occurs about the fall OF man, 
 That does not suit with the Mosaic plan; 
 Nor gives us fairly, in its full cxtenf, 
 The scripture doctrine of that dire event. 
 
 When tempted Adam, yielding to deceit, 
 Presum'd of the forbidden tree to eat. 
 The Bishop tells us, That he did not die: 
 Pray will you ask him, Sir, the Reason why? 
 
 VOL. II. B
 
 2 
 
 Why he would contradict the sacred texf, 
 
 Where death to sin so surely is annex'd? 
 
 " The day thou- eatest " are the words, you know: 
 
 And yet, by his account, it was not so ; 
 
 Death did not follow, tho" 1 it surely would: 
 
 How will he make this hardy comment good? 
 
 Sentence, says he, was respited But, pray, 
 Where does the Scripture such a saying say? 
 What word, that means to respite or revoke, 
 Appears in all that God or Moses spoke? 
 
 It will be said, perhaps, " now it appears 
 " That Adam liv'd above nine Hundred years 
 " After his fall" True; But what life was that? 
 The very death, Sir, which his fall begat. 
 The Life, which Adam was created in, 
 Was lost the day, the instant of his sin. 
 Just as the rebel angels, when they fell, 
 Were dead to Heav'n, altho' alive to Hell ; 
 So Man, no longer breathing heav'nly breath, 
 Fell to this life, and died the Scripture Death. 
 
 While in the state of innocence he stood, 
 He was all living, beautiful, and good: 
 But when he fed on the forbidden fruit, 
 Whereof corruption was the latent Root, 
 He died to Paradise, and, by a birth 
 That should not have been rais'd, he livM to earth} 
 Fell into bestial flesh, and blood, and bones, 
 Amongst the thorns and briars, rocks-and stones. 
 That which had cloth'd him, when a child of light, 
 With all its lustre, was extinguish'd quite; 
 Naked, asham'd, confounded, and amaz'd, 
 With other eyes, on other scenes he gaz'd. 
 All sensibility of heav'nly bliss 
 Departing from him what a Death was this! 
 
 His soul, indeed, as an immortal fire, 
 Could never die, could never not desire: 
 But, Sir, he had, what glorious angels claim, 
 A heav'nly spirit, and a heav'nly frame ; 
 Form'd in the likeness of the Sacred three, 
 He stood immortal, powerful, and free;
 
 Image of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 
 The destin'd sire of a new heav'nly host; 
 Partner of their communicated breath, 
 A living soul, unsubjected to death. 
 Since, then, he fell from this sublime estate, 
 Could less than death have been his real fate? 
 No; as in life he chose not to abide, 
 It must be said, that Adam surely died. 
 
 Say, that "he died not, as it was foretold, 
 ''But when nine Hundred years and thirty old; 1 * 
 And then, if death be sentence for a /a//, 
 How proves the Bishop that he died at all? 
 For if the death he talks of be this last, 
 How does that answer to the sentence pass'd? 
 Was his departure from this world the time 
 That our first father suffer 'd for his crime? 
 One rather should believe, or hope at least, 
 That (so be it !) his sufferings then ceas'd ; 
 And that the life, which had been lost at first, 
 Was then regain'd, and he no longer curst. 
 
 If on, the Bishop's 'scutcheon, when he dies, 
 (Long be the time deferr'd!) the mourning eyes 
 Should read Mors vit^e Janua,* in paint, 
 What must they think him, sinner, then y or saint? 
 Must not these words direct them to suppose 
 An end oi all a Christian Bishop's woes; 
 Who like to Adam, father of mankind, 
 Had pass'd his time of penitence enjoin'd; 
 Who, like to Christ, the second Adam too, 
 Had always had redemption in his view; 
 Had taught himself and others to revive 
 From " dead in Adam" to " in Christ alive;" 
 Had been as true a shepherd to his flock, 
 As'the poor hind that really wears a frock; 
 So trod this earthly passage, that, in sum, 
 Death was to him the gate of life become? 
 
 "Gate of what life?" Undoubtedly the same 
 Which Adam fell from, when he first became 
 
 * Peatk is the gats of life.
 
 A creature of this world; when first he felf, > 
 
 Thanks to Divine Foregoodness ! not to hell, 
 
 But to this earth this state of time and place, 
 
 Where, dead by Nature, man revives by Grace; 
 
 Where, tho 1 his outward system must decay, 
 
 His inward ripens to eternal day ; 
 
 Puts off th' Old Adam, and puts on the New ; 
 
 And having found the first sad sentence true, 
 
 Now finds the truth of what the second said, 
 
 " The woman's Seed shall bruise the serpent's head. ,r 
 
 Again to urge the instance that I gave, 
 Attend we this good Bishop to his grave: 
 The priest comes forth to meet the sable hearse, 
 And then repeats the well-appointed verse; 
 Verse, one would think, that might decide the Strife: 
 I am the Resurrection and the Life 
 
 What life is that, which jesus is and gives, 
 In and by which the true believer lives? 
 That of this world? Then were it must absurd 
 To a dead Bishop to apply the word. 
 'Tis that which human nature had before; . 
 
 Which , being Christ's, Christ only can restore. 
 What meaning is there, touching the deceas'd, 
 Now from the burden of the flesh releas'd, 
 But that his soul is going to be clad 
 With heavenly flesh and bloody which Adam had, 
 Before he enter'd into that which Paul 
 " Body of death" might very justly call? 
 A flesh and blood, that, as he hints elsewhere, 
 Not born from Heav'n, can never enter there: 
 Mass of this world, whose kingdom Christ disclaim'dy 
 The life whereof is but a life so nam'd ; 
 A life of animal and insect breath, 
 Which, in a man, is rightly styl'd a death. 
 
 Thus, Sir, throughout the Burial Office run, 
 You'll find that it proceeds as it begun. 
 Read any office Baptism, if you will 
 From first to last, you'll find the reason still. 
 Why any, or why all of them are read; 
 Reason of all that's either sung or said,
 
 Is by this one great solemn truth explain'd, 
 
 Of life in Adam lost, in Christ regain'di 
 
 Lost at the fall not at the end of years 
 
 That Adam labour'd in this vale of tears, 
 
 When death thro 1 Christ was happy, 'tis presum'd, 
 
 And vanquish'd that to which he first was doom'd. 
 
 Doonfd not by any act of wrath in God; 
 A point wherein the Bishop seems to nod. 
 No death of pure, of tainted life no pain, 
 Did His severe inflicting wUl ordain. 
 He is all glory, goodness, bght, and love, 
 Life that from Him no creature can remove; 
 But from itself it may, as Adam did, 
 If it will choose what light and love forbid. 
 Trull/ forewarn'd of what would truly be, 
 His life was poison'd by the mortal tree: 
 He ate he fell he died 'tis all the same; 
 One loes of life under a triple name. 
 
 No test was made, by positive command, 
 Merely to try if he would fall or stand, 
 Like that the serpentine Satanic snare 
 Of which the man was bidden to beware. 
 "Eat not thereof, or thou wilt surely die," 
 Was spoken to prevent, and not to try, 
 To guard the man against his subtle foe, 
 Who sought to teach him M what 'twas death to know." 
 
 Death to his pristine, spiril-life divine, 
 And separation from its sacred shrine; 
 The pure, unmix'd, incorruptible throne, 
 Wherein God's image first embodied shone. 
 Tho' form'd to rule the new created scene, 
 Built from the Chaos of a former reign; 
 To bring the wonders of this world to view, 
 And ancient glories to an orb renew ; 
 He also had, as being to command 
 See and be seen, in this new-formed land, 
 This intermediate temporary life, 
 Where, only, good and evil are at strife, 
 Outward corporeal form, whereby he saw, 
 And heard, and spoke, and gave to all things law; 
 B2
 
 6 
 
 They none to him. His far superior mind 
 Was, as he pleas'd, united or disjoin'd: 
 So far united, that all good was gain'd; 
 So far disjoin'd, that evil was restrain'd : 
 It could not reach him for, before his fall, 
 Nothing could hurt this human lord of all; 
 No more than Satan or the serpent could, 
 If in his first creation he had stood. 
 
 Such was his blest estate wherein is found 
 Of Adam's happy ignorance the ground. 
 His outward body and each outward thing, 
 From whence alone both good and ill could spring, 
 Could not affect, while he was free fronusin, 
 The life of the celestial man within. 
 Glorious condition! Which, howe'er, imply'd 
 That man, at first plac'd in it, must be try'd : 
 Not from God's will or arbitrary voice ; 
 His trial follow'd from his pow'r of choice: 
 God will'd him that, himself was to re-will, 
 And the Divine Intentions to fulfil; 
 To use his butward body as a means, 
 Whereby to raise in time and place the scenes 
 That should restore the once angelic orb, 
 And all its evil, introduc'd, absorb. 
 
 Evil, that, prior to the fall of man, 
 From him, whose name in Heaven is lost, began. 
 Moses has plainly hinted at the fiend, 
 Whose malice in a borrow'd shape was screen'd, 
 Who, under reason's plausible disguise, 
 Taught our first parents to be worldly wise: 
 Succeeding lights have risen up to shew 
 Of God and man, more openly, the foe. 
 
 He, once a thron'd Archangel, had the sway 
 Far as this orb of our created day;* 
 Where then no sun was wanted to give light, 
 No moon to cheer yet undiscover'd night; 
 
 * Is not this account of Lncifer, his fall, and the consequences of it, 
 a specks ef wisdom above that which is revealed in the Bible?
 
 Immensely luminous his total sphere, 
 
 All glory, beauty, brightness, ev'ry where: 
 
 Ocean of bliss, a limpid chrystal sea, 
 
 Whose height and depth its angels might survey; 
 
 Call forth its wonders, and enjoy the trance 
 
 Of joys perpetual thro 1 its whole expanse: 
 
 Ravishing forms arising without end 
 
 Would, in obedience to their wills, ascend; 
 
 Change, and unfold fresh glories to their view, 
 
 And tune the Hallelujah song anew. 
 
 If, when we cast a thoughtful, thankful eye 
 Towards the beauties of an ev'ning sky, 
 Calm we admire, thro' the ethereal Held, 
 The various scenes that even clmids can yield ; 
 What vast delight must nature's fund afford. 
 Where all the rich realities are stor'd, 
 Which God produces from its vast abyss, 
 To His own glory and His creatures'' bliss? 
 
 His glory, first, all nature must display, 
 Else how to bliss could creatures know the way? 
 Order, thro 1 all eternity, requires, 
 That to His will they subject their desires; 
 That, with all meekness, the created mind 
 Be to the Fountain of its life resign'd ; 
 Think, speak, and act in all things for his sake; 
 This is the trite perfection of its make. 
 
 Both men and Angels must have wills their own, 
 Or God and nature were to them unknown: 
 "Tis their capacity of life and joy, 
 Which none but they c&n ruin or destroy. 
 God, in himself, was, is, and will be good, 
 And all around pour forth th' enriching flood. 
 From Him tis nature's and religion's creed 
 Nothing but Good can possibly proceed. 
 That creature only, whose recipient will 
 Shuts itself up within itself, is ill: 
 Good cannot dwell in such a harden'd clay, 
 But stagnates, and evaporates away. 
 
 Thus when the regent of tlT angelic host, 
 That fell, began within himself to boast j
 
 8 
 
 Began, endow'd with his Creator's pow'rs 
 That nothing could resist, to call them "Ours;" 
 To spread thro' his wide ranks the impious term, 
 And they their leader's doctrine to confirm; 
 Then self, then evil, then apostate war 
 Rag'd thro' their hierarchy wide and far; 
 Kindled to burn, what they esteem'd a rod, 
 The meekness and subjection to a God. 
 Resolv'd to pay no hymning homage more, 
 Nor, in an orbit of their own, adore ; 
 All right of Heav'n's Eternal King abjur'd, 
 They thought one region to themselves secur'd; 
 One out of three, where Majesty Divine 
 Shone in its glorious Outbirth Unitrine ; 
 Shone and will shine eternally, altho' 
 Angels or men the shining bliss forego. 
 
 Straight, with this proud imagination fir'd, 
 To self -dominion strongly they aspir'd; 
 Bent all their wills, irrevorably bent, 
 To bring about their devilish intent. 
 How ought we mortals to beware of pride, 
 That such great angels could so far misguide ! 
 No sooner was this horrible attempt, 
 From all obedience to remain exempt, 
 Put forth to act, but instantly thereon 
 Heav'n, in the swiftness of a thought, was gone; 
 From lovers beatifying pow'r estrang'd, 
 They found their life, their bliss, their glory chang'd. 
 That state, wherein they were resolv'd to dwell, 
 Sprung from their lusting, and became their Hell. 
 
 Thinking to rise above the God of All 
 The wretches fell, with an eternal fall, 
 In depths of slavery, without a shelf; 
 There is no stop in self-tormenting self. 
 Just as a wheel, that's running down a hill 
 Which has no bottom, must keep running still, 
 So down their own proclivity to wrong, 
 Urg'd by impetuous pride, they whirl along; 
 Their own dark, fiery, working spirits tend 
 Farther from God, and farther to descend.
 
 He made no Hell to place his angels in;* 
 They Btirr'd the fire that burnt them, by their sin; 
 The bounds of nature and of order broke, 
 And ali the wrath that followed them awoke. 
 Their own disorder'd raging; was their pain; 
 Their own unbending harden'd strength their chain; 
 Renouncing God, with their eternal might, 
 They sunk their legions into endless night. 
 
 Meanwhile the glorious kingdom, where they dwelt, 
 Th 1 effect of their rebellious workings felt; 
 Its clear materiality, and pure, 
 Could not the force of raging fiends endure; 
 Its elements, all heav'nly in their kind 
 In one harmonious system when combin'd, 
 Were now disclos'd, divided, and opaque; 
 Their glassy sea became a stormy lake; 
 The height and depth of their angelic world 
 Was nought but ruins upon ruins hurl'd. 
 Chaos arose, and, with its gloomy sweep 
 Of dark'ning horrors, overspread the deep; 
 All was confusion, order all defae'd, 
 ToAk, and BoAu, the deformed waste, f 
 Till the Almighty's gracious fiat came, 
 And stopp'd the spreading of the hellish flame; 
 Put to each fighting principle the bar, 
 And calm'd, by just degrees, th 1 intestine war. 
 Light, at His word, th 1 abating tempest cheer'd; 
 Earth, soa. and land, sun, moon, ami stars appcar'd; 
 Creatures of cv'ry kind, and food for each ; 
 And various beauties clos'd the various breach: 
 Nature's sir properties had each llieir day. 
 Lost Heav'n, as far as might Ik 1 , to display; 
 And in the seventh, or body of them all, 
 To rest from what they yet must prove a fall. 
 
 * How <les tins agree with the following portion of Scripture? 
 " Depart from nie, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared/or the Deril 
 ami liis angels." Mat. x\v. 41. 
 
 t 1J"QT inJIj tohu vabohu, " without form, and void." Gen. i. 2.
 
 10 
 
 For had not this disordered chaos been ; 
 Had not these angels caus'd it by their sin ; 
 Nor had compacted earth, nor rock, nor stone, 
 Nor gross materiality been known. 
 All that in fire or water, earth or air, 
 May now their noxious qualities declare, 
 Is as unknown in Heav"n as sin or crime, , 
 And only lasts for purifying time : 
 Till the great end, for which we all came here, 
 Till God's restoring goodness shall appear. 
 Then, as the rebel creatures' false desire 
 Awak'd in nature the chaotic fire; 
 So when Redeeming Love has found a race 
 Of creatures worthy of the heav'nly place, 
 Then shall another fire enkindled rise, 
 And purge from ill these temporary skies ; 
 Purge from the world its deadness and its dross, 
 And of lost Heav'n recover all the loss. 
 
 Why look we then with such a longing eye 
 On what this world can give us or deny g 
 Of man and angel laps'd the sad remains ? 
 It has its pleasures but it has its pains. 
 It has, (what speaks it, would we but attend, 
 Not our design'd felicity) an end. 
 Sons of eternity, tho' born on earth, 
 There is within us a celestial birth ; 
 A life that waits the efforts of our mind, 
 To raise itself within this outward rind. 
 This husk of ours, this stately stalking clod, 
 Is not the body that we have from God ; 
 Of good and evil 'tis the mortal crust, 
 Fruit of Adamical and Eval lust ; 
 By which the man, when heav'nly life was ceas'd, 
 Became a helpless, naked, biped beast: 
 Forc'd, on a cursed earth, to sweat and toil, 
 To brutes a native, Him a foreign, soil ; 
 And, after all his years employ'd to know 
 The satisfactions of a life so low, 
 Nine hundred, or nine hundred thousand, past, 
 Another death to come, and hell at last 
 But for that new mysterious birth of life ; 
 That Promised Seed to Adam and his wife ;
 
 11 
 
 That quick'ning Spirit to a poor dead soul ; 
 Not part of scripture doctrine, but the whole ; 
 Which writers, figuring away, have left 
 A mere dead letter, of all sense bereft ; 
 But for that only help of man forlorn, 
 The incarnation of the Virgin-born. 
 
 This Serpent-Bruiser, Son of God and man. 
 Who, from the first, His saving work began, 
 Rcvers'd, in full maturity of time, 
 In his own sacred Person, Adam's crime ; 
 Brought human nature from its deadly fall, 
 And made salvation possible for all. 
 
 Without acknowledging that Adam died, 
 Scripture throughout is, in effect, denied ; 
 All the whole process of Redeeming love, 
 Of life, of light, and Spirit from above , 
 Loses, by learning's piteous pretence 
 Of Modes and Metaphors, its real sense ; 
 All the glad tidings, in the gospel found, 
 Are sunk in empty and unmeaning sound. 
 If, by the first man's sin, we understand 
 Only some breach of absolute command 
 Half-punish' (1, half-remitted, by a grace 
 Like that which takes in human acts a place ; 
 The more we write, the mor we still expose 
 The christian doctrine to its reas'ning foes. 
 But, once convine'd that Adam, by his crime, 
 Fell from eternal lifo. to that of time; 
 Stood on the brink of death eternal too, 
 1'iiloss created unto life anew, 
 Then ev'ry reason teaches us to see 
 How all the truths of sacred writ agree ; 
 How life restored arises from the grav> : 
 How man could perish, and how Christ could save. 
 
 Man perish'd by the deadly food he took, 
 And needs must lose the life that he forsook, 
 Not unadvis'd. The moment he inclin'd 
 To this inferior life his nobler mind, 
 God kindly warn'd him to continue fed 
 With food of Paradise, with angels' bread ;
 
 12 
 
 To shun the tree, the knowledge, whose sad leav'n 
 Would quench in him the light and life of Heav'n ; 
 Strip him of that angelical array, 
 Which thro' his outward body spread the day ; 
 Kept it from ev'ry curse of sin and shame,' 
 From all those evils that had yet no name ; 
 That prov'd, alas ! when he would not refrain, 
 The loss of Adam's proper life too plain. 
 Who can suppose that God would e'er forbid 
 To eat what would not hurt him if he did ; 
 Fright his lov'd creature by a false alarm; 
 Or make what, in itself, was harmless harm ? 
 
 O how much better he from whom I draw, 
 Tho' deep, yet clear his system, Master Law ! 
 " Master" I call him ; not that I incline 
 To pin my faith on any one divine ; 
 But, man or woman, whosoe'er it be, 
 That speaks true doctrine, is a Pope to me. 
 Where truth alone is interest and aim, 
 Who would regard a, person or a name? 
 Or, in the search of it impartial, scoff 
 Or scorn the meanest instrument thereof? 
 
 Pardon me, Sir, for having dar'd to dwell 
 Upon a truth already told so well ; 
 Since different ways of telling may excite, 
 In different minds, attention to what's right ; 
 And men I measure by myself sometimes, 
 Averse to reas'ning, may be taught by rhimes ; 
 If where one fails, they will not take offence 
 Nor quarrel with the words, but seek the sense. 
 
 Life, death, and such-like words, in scripture found, 
 Have certainly a higher, deeper ground, 
 Than that of this poor perishable ball, 
 Whereon men doat, as if it were their all ; 
 As if they were like Warburtonian Jews, 
 Or, Christians nam'd, had still no higher views; 
 As if their years had never taught them sense 
 Beyond " It is all one a hundred hence." 
 
 'Tvvas of such worldlings that our Saviour said 
 To one of his disciples, Let the dead
 
 13 
 
 Bury their dead: But do thou follow me. 
 He makes no more distinction, Sir, you see, 
 But that, with ref 'rence to a life so brute, 
 The speuking carcases interr'd the mute. 
 
 Life, to conclude, was lost in Adam's fall, 
 Which Christ, our Resurrection, will recall: 
 And, as death came into the world by sin, 
 Where one began, the other must begin. 
 Why will the learned sages use their art, 
 From scripture truth, so widely, to depart ? 
 But, above all, a Bishop, grave and wise, 
 Why will he shut, against plain text, his eyes; 
 Not see that Heav'n's prediction never lied ; 
 That Adam fell by eating, sinn'd, and died 
 A real death, as much as loss of sight 
 Is death to ev'ry circumstance of light ? 
 Tho' a blind man may feel his way and grope, 
 Or for recovered eyes be made to hope ; 
 We might as well set glasses on his nose, 
 And sight, from common helps of sight, suppose, 
 As say, when Adam's heav'nly life was kilPd, 
 That sentence was not instantly fulfill'd. 
 
 Persuade your mitred friend, then, if you can, 
 To re-consider, Sir, the full of man ; 
 To see and own the depth of it ; because, 
 'Till that is done, we may as well pick straws, 
 As talk of what, and who the serpent was 
 That brought the fall, not understood, to pass. 
 
 One thing he was. Sir, be what else he will 
 A critic, that employ'd his fatal skill 
 To cavil upon words, and take away 
 The sense of that which was an plain as day. 
 And thus the world, at present, by his wiles, 
 Tho" not in outward shape, he still beguiles ; 
 Seeking to turn, by comments low and lax, 
 The word of God into a nose of wax ; 
 To take away the marrow and the pith, 
 Of all that Scripture can present us with. 
 May Heaven deliver, from his winding tours, 
 The Bishop, and us all ! I am, Sir, Fours.
 
 14 
 
 ENTHUSIASM, 
 
 A 
 
 Poetical Essay, 
 
 IN A LETTER TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. 
 DEAR FRIEND, 
 
 I HAVE here sent you the verses of which you 
 desired a copy. The book,* that gave occasion to them, has 
 treated the subject whereon they are made, in such a brief, sensible, 
 and lively manner, as might well excite one to an attempt of this 
 nature. Just and improving sentiments deserve to be placed in 
 any light that may either engage the attention of the reader, or 
 assist his memory; and verse, as I have found by experience, 
 does both. For which reason, when I first met with an account 
 of Enthusiasm so quite satisfactory, I chose to give it the dress 
 wherein it now appears before you. 
 
 Enthusiasm is grown into a fashionable term f reproach, that 
 usually comes uppermost, when any thing of a deep and serious 
 nature is mentioned. We apply it, through an indolent custom, 
 to sober and considerate assertors of important truths, as readily 
 as to wild and extravagant contenders about them. This indis- 
 criminate use of the word has evidently a bad effect; it pushes 
 the general indifferency to matters of the highest concern into 
 downright aversion. The best writers upon the best subjects are 
 unattended to ; and the benefit accruing from their love and 
 their labours, is not perceived by us; because we are hurried on, 
 by the idlest of all prejudices, to condemn them without a read- 
 ing, or to pronounce them to be unintelligible upon such a slight 
 one, as can hardly be called an endeavour to understand them. 
 We have heard it said, and have seen it printed, that they are 
 Enthusiasts; and to avoid the imputation of that character, we 
 run into it at second-hand, and adopt the rashness and injustice 
 of impetuous originals. We take the stalest exclamations for 
 
 * Mr. Law's Appeal to all that doubt, &c." Page 305.
 
 15 
 
 the freshest proofs; and the affected retailing of Madness, Mys- 
 ticism, Behnwnism, and of the like decisive outcries, contents us 
 as if there were something of sense, wit, or demonstration in it. 
 
 When this low kind of Enthusiasm is alert enough to gain its 
 point, the writer of a good book may possibly lose the applause, 
 for which, it is highly probable, he never sought. But what doeB 
 a reader get the while, by his tame resignation, of the right of 
 judging for himself, to such incompetent authority? Men of 
 superior fluency in expressing their own conceptions are not 
 always sedate enough to examine, or judicious enough to disco- 
 ver, the principles which might undeceive them. The first ob- 
 struction to their hypothesis may pass, with them, for an imme- 
 diate confutation of any book whatsoever. They may shew their 
 learning, their zeal, or their contempt, and speak of an Enthu- 
 siasm different from their own, as quickly as they please; but 
 where the question is momentous, and the celebration of their 
 fame quite foreign to it, what should induce any one, who is 
 really desirous of information, to remit the freedom of inquiry 
 after it for their dicacity? 
 
 How many pathetic accounts of living piety, how many excel- 
 lent treatises, composed for the advancement of it, are neglected 
 or unknown, because we are so easily prepossessed by popular 
 hearsay and wretched compilers ! How many has the sourness 
 of controversy, the bitterness of party, or the rotation of amuse- 
 ment, in a manner, suppressed ! The Enthusiasm which is hence 
 enkindled reigns and rages unsuspected, while that of a juster 
 kind, the genuine effect of a true life and spirit, arising from 
 what is lovely, harmonious, and substantial, is in danger of be- 
 ing extinguished by it; and whenever it is so, the variety of de- 
 lusion with which a different spirit may then possess its votaries, 
 will centre, properly speaking, in Endemoniasm. 
 
 In short, there is a right Enthusiasm, as well as a wrong 
 one ; and a man is free to admit which he pleases. But one he 
 must have, as sure as he has a head; assure as he has a heart 
 that fondly pursues the object of its desire, whatever it be. If 
 (hat be pointed right; if it roach after that godlike state and con- 
 dition, to which all mankind were originally created; if it long 
 to be freed from the disorders of its present state, to be restored 
 again to that enduring rest, light, and liberty, which alone can 
 accomplish and beautify it; how can it be too constant, or too 
 vigorous?
 
 16 
 
 If the desire be otherwise inclined, how little does it signify 
 to the main purpose of what ingenuity, parts, or learning, of 
 what natural or acquired talents, men may be possessed ? 
 So long as they have only light enough to hate light, they may, 
 upon the first glimpse of it, retire into their earthliness, and push 
 out their works as thick as mole-hills.- But, in reality, a single 
 page, proceeding from a right spirit, whose Enthusiasm they 
 all despise, is worth a library of such produce. 
 
 In such a spirit I take the Appeal, to which the following 
 lines are owing, to be written; and am persuaded, that if any 
 sober-minded Deist, who is prejudiced against Christianity, be- 
 cause he does not really know what it is; that if any Christian, 
 so called, who has been led into mistakes about it, because he 
 does not really know what it is not ; in fine, that if any one, 
 whose heart is so far converted as to desire conversion, should be 
 disposed to read it through, he would find his account in it; he 
 would be struck with it, he would be edified by it. 
 
 There is, apparently, something so solid and so animated, 
 through the whole of it; such an impartial regard to truth, 
 wherever it may be found, and such happy illustration of it, 
 where it really has been found, that I had some thoughts of tran- 
 slating it for the use of Foreigners, believing that such a service 
 would be acceptable to the more searching and unbiassed disposi- 
 tions amongst them, and also help to fix many awakening and com- 
 fortable truths upon my own mind; which is the interest that I 
 would propose to obtain by it. If I shall find myself capable of 
 executing this design with justice to the original, you shall hear 
 further from me. In the mean time I have transcribed for you 
 these verses upon the incidental subject of Enthusiasm^ as they 
 were first composed for private recollection; and, as I can rely 
 upon your judgment concerning them better than I can upon 
 my own, they are wholly submitted to your correction and dis- 
 posal. I am, 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
 J. B. 
 
 Manchester, September 3, 1751.
 
 17 
 
 ENTHUSIASM. 
 
 Poetical Essay. 
 
 " FLY from Enthusiasm It is the pest, 
 " Bane, poison, frensy, fury, and the rest." 
 This is the cry that oft, when truth appears, 
 Forhids attention to our list'ning ears ; 
 Checks our first entrance on the main concern, 
 When, Btunn'd with clamour, we forbear to learn ; 
 Mechanically catch the common cant, 
 And fly from what we almost know we want 
 A deeper sense of something, that should set 
 The heart at rest, that never has done yet ; 
 Some simpler secret, that, yet unreveaPd, 
 Amidst contending systems lies conccaPd. 
 
 A book, perhaps, beyond the vulgar page, 
 Removes at once the lumber of an age ; 
 Truth is presented ; strikes upon our eyes; 
 We feel conviction, and we (ear surprise; 
 We gaze, admire, dispute, and then the bawl 
 " Fly from' enthusiasm" That answers all. 
 Now, if my friend has patience to enquire, 
 Let us a while from noisy scenes retire ; 
 Let us examine sense, as well as sound, 
 And search the truth, the nature, and the ground. 
 
 'Tis in'//, imagination, and desire 
 Of thinking life, that constitute tiie tire, 
 The force, by which the strong volitions drive, 
 And form the scenes to which we are alive. 
 What? tho', unsprouted into outward shape, 
 The points of thought our grosser sight escape ? 
 VOL. II. C
 
 18 
 
 Nor bulky forms in prominent array 
 
 Their secret cogitative cause betray ? 
 
 Once fix the will, and nature must begin 
 
 T' unfold its active rudiments within; 
 
 Mind governs matter, and it must obey ; 
 
 To all its op'ning forms desire is key ; 
 
 Nor mind nor matter's properties are lost, 
 
 As that shall mold this must appear emboss'd* 
 
 Imagination, trifling as it seems, 
 
 Big with e/feets, its own creation, teems. 
 
 We think our wishes and desires a play, 
 
 And sport important faculties away. 
 
 Edg'd are the tools with which we trifle thus; 
 
 They carve out deep realities for us. 
 
 Intention, roving into nature's field, 
 
 Dwells in that system which it means to build y 
 
 Itself the centre of its wish'd-for plan ; 
 
 For where the heart of man is, there is man. 
 
 Ev'ry created, understanding mind 
 Moves as its own self-bias is inclin'd: 
 From God's free Spirit. breathed forth to be, 
 It must of all necessity be free; 
 Must have the pow'r to kindle and inflame 
 The subject-matter of its mental aim ; 
 Whether it bend the voluntary view 
 Realities or fictions to pursue. 
 Whether it raise its nature, or degrade, 
 To truth substantial, or to phantom shade, 
 Falshood or truth accordingly obtains-; 
 That only, which it wills, to gain, it gains 
 Good, if the good be vigorously sought, 
 And ill, if that be first resoly'd in thought. 
 All is one good, that nothing can remove, 
 While held in union, harmony, and love. 
 But when a selfish, separating pride 
 Will break all bounds, and good from good divide, 
 'Tis then extinguished, like a distant spark, 
 And pride self-doom'd into its joyless dark. 
 The miscreant desire turns good- to ill, 
 In its own origin, the evil will; 
 A fact, that fills all Histories of old, 
 That glares in proof, while conscious we behold
 
 19 
 
 The bliss, bespoken by our Maker's voice, 
 Fix'd or perverted, by a man's own choice. 
 
 Now when the mind determines thus its force, 
 The man becomes enihusiast, of course. 
 " What is Enthusiasm ?" What can it be, 
 Buf thought enkindled to a high degree? 
 That may, whatever be iis ruling turn, 
 Right, or not right, with equal ardour burn? 
 It must be therefore various in its kind, 
 As objects vary, that engage the mind. 
 When to Religion we confine the word, 
 What use of language can be more absurd? 
 "Tis just as true that many words beside, 
 As love, or zeal, are only thus apply'd. 
 To ev'ry kind of life they all belong; 
 Men may be eager 1110' their views be wrong: 
 And hence the reason, why the greatest foes 
 To true religious earnestness are those 
 Who fire their wits upon a different theme, 
 Deep in some false enthusiastic scheme. 
 
 One man, politely seiz'd with classic rage, 
 Dotes on old Rome, and its Augustan age; 
 On those great souls who, then or then-abouts, 
 Made in their state such riots and such routs. 
 He fancies all magnificent and grand, 
 Under this mistress of the world's command, 
 Scarce can his breast the sad reverse abide,- 
 The dame dcspoil'd of all her glorious pride; 
 Time, an old Goth, advancing to consume 
 Immortal Gods and once-eternal Rome; 
 When the plain gospel spread its artless ray, 
 And rude unsculptur'd fishermen had sway; 
 Who spar'd no idol, tho' divinely carv'd, 
 Tho' art, and muse, and shrine-engraver starv'd; 
 Who sav'd poor wretches, and destroy'd alas! 
 The vital marble, and the breathing brass. 
 Where does to him all sense and reason shine? 
 Behold in Tully's rhetoric divine! 
 " Tully!" Enough high o'er the Alps he's gone, 
 To tread the ground that Tully trod upon; 
 Haply, to find his statue or his bust, 
 Or medal green'd with Ciceronian rust;
 
 20 
 
 Perchance, the rostrum yea, the very wood 
 Whereon this elevated genius stood, 
 When forth on Catiline, as erst he spoke, 
 The thunder of Quousque tandem* broke-. 
 
 Well may this grand Enthusiast deride 
 The dulness of a. pilgrim's humbler pride, 
 Who paces to behold that part of earth, * 
 
 Which to the Saviour of the world gave bjrth; 
 To see the sepulchre from whence He rose; 
 Or view the rocks that rended at His woes; 
 Whom Pagan relics have no force to charm, 
 Yet ev'n a modern crucifix can warm; 
 The sacred signal, who, intent upon, 
 Thinks on the Sacrifice that hung thereon. 
 
 Another's heated brain is painted o'er 
 With ancient Hieroglyphic marks of yore : 
 He old Egyptian Mummies can explain, 
 And raise them up almost to life again; 
 Can into deep antique recesses pry, 
 And tell, of all, the wherefore and the why; 
 How this Philosopher and that has thought, 
 Believ'd one thing, and quite another taught; 
 Can rules of Grecian sages long forgot, 
 Clear up, as if they liv'd upon the spot. 
 
 What bounds to Nostrum'? Moses and the Jews, 
 Observ'dthis learned legislator'sf views, 
 While Israel's leader purposely conceal'd 
 Truths, which his whole economy reveal'd ; 
 No Heav'n disclos'd, but Canaan's fertile stage, 
 And no for-ever, but a good old age; 
 Whilst the well untaught people, kept in awe 
 By meanless types and unexplained law, 
 
 * Cicero begins his oration against Catiline, in this animated manner : 
 " Quousque tandem abntere, Catilina, patientia nostra?" How far, at 
 length, O Catiline, wilt thou abuse our patience ?" 
 
 t In this description, of what was avowedly intended by The Divine 
 Legation of Moses, the enthusiastic Dr. Warburton will be easily recog- 
 nised as " this learned legislator." See in Vol. I. page 62, the castiga- 
 tion which he received from our author in "The Centaur Fabulous."
 
 21 
 
 Pray'd to their local God to grant awhile 
 The future state, of corn, and wine, and oil; 
 Till, by a late captivity set free, 
 Their destin'd error they began to see; 
 Dropp'd the Mosaic scheme, to teach their youth 
 Dramatic Job, and Babylonish truth. 
 
 To soar aloft on obeliskal clouds; 
 To di<: down deep into the dark for shrouds; 
 To vex oid matters, chronicled in Greek, 
 While those of his own parish are to seek; 
 What can come forth from such an antic taste, 
 Hut a Clarissimusf Enthusiast? 
 Fraught with discoveries so quaint, so new, 
 So deep, so smart, so Ipse dixit % true, 
 See arts and empires, ago*, books, and men, 
 Rising, and falling, as he points the pen! 
 See frauds and forgeries, if aught surpass, 
 Of nobler stretch, the limits of his class, 
 Not found within that summary of laws, 
 Conjecture, tinsePd with its own applause. 
 
 Where Erudition so unblest prevails, 
 Saints and their lives are legendary tales; 
 Christians, a brain-sick, visionary crew, 
 That read the Bible with a Bible-view, 
 And thro 1 the letter humbly hope to trace 
 The living Word, the Spirit, and the Grace. 
 
 It matters not, whatever be the state 
 That full-bent will and strong desires create; 
 Where'er they fall, where'er they love to dwell, 
 They kindle there their Heaven, or their Hell; 
 The chosen Scene surrounds them as their own, 
 All else is dead, insipid, or unknown. 
 However poor and empty be the sphere, 
 "Tis All, if inclination centre there: 
 Its own Enthusiasts each system knows, 
 Down to \&c'dfops, and powder-sprinkled beaux. 
 
 t Most famous. t He hath said. 
 
 C 2
 
 22 
 
 Great wit** affecting, what they call, to think. 
 That, decp-immersM in speculation, sink, 
 Are great Enthusiasts, howe'er refinM, 
 Whose brain-bred notions so inflame the Mind, 
 That, during the continuance of its heat, 
 The summitm bonum% is its own conceit. 
 Critics, with all their learning recondite, 
 Poets, that, sev'rally be-mused, write; 
 The Virtuosos, whether great or small ; 
 The Connoisseurs, that know the worth of all ; 
 Philosophers, that dictate Sentiments, 
 And politicians, wiser than events; - 
 Such, and such like, come under the same law, 
 Altho' their heat be from a flame of straw, 
 Altho' in one absurdity they chime, 
 To make religious entheasm a crime. 
 
 Endless to say how many of their trade 
 Ambition, pride, and self-conceit have made. 
 If one; the chief of such a num'rous name, 
 Let the great scholar justify his claim. 
 Self-love, in short, wherever it is found, 
 Tends to its own enthusiastic ground; 
 With the same force that goodness mounts above, 
 Sinks, by its own enormous weight, self love. 
 By this the wav'ring libertine is press'd, 
 And the rank Atheist totally possess'd. 
 Atheists are dark Enthusiasts indeed, 
 Whose fire enkindles like the smoking weed: 
 Lightless and dull the clouded fancy burns, 
 Wild hopes and fears still flashing out by turns. 
 Averse to Heav'n amid the horrid gleam, 
 They quest Annihilation's monst'rous theme, 
 On gloomy depths of Nothingness to pore, 
 Till All be none, and Being be no more. 
 
 The sprightlier Infidel, as yet more gay, 
 Fires off* the next ideas in his way, 
 The dry fag ends of ev'ry obvious doubt; 
 And puffs and blows for fear they should go out. 
 Boldly resolv'd, against conviction steel'd, 
 Nor inward truth, nor outw T ard fact to yield; 
 
 $ The chief good.
 
 23 
 
 Urg'd with a thousand proofs, he stands unmov'd 
 Fast by himself, and scorns to be out-prov'd; 
 To his own reason loudly he appeals, 
 No saint more zealous for what God reveals. 
 
 Think not that you are no enthusiast, then: 
 All Men are such, as sure as they are men. 
 The thing itself is not at all to blame: 
 'Tis, in each staie of human life, the same; 
 The fiery bent, the driving of the will, 
 That gives the prevalence to good, or ill. 
 You need not go to cloisters, or to cells, 
 Monks, or field-preachers, to see where it dwells: 
 It dwells alike in lulls and masquerades; 
 Courts, camps, and \hanges, it alike pervades. 
 Thrre bo Enthusiasts, who love to sit 
 In coffee-houses, and cant out their wit. 
 The first in most assemblies would you see, 
 Mark out the first haranguer, and that's he : 
 Nay 'tis what silent meetings cannot hide, 
 It may be notic'd by its mere outside. 
 Beaux and coquets would quit the magic dress, 
 Did not this mutual instinct both posess. 
 The mercer, taylor, bookseller grows rich, 
 Because fine clothes, fine writings can bewitch. 
 A Cicero, a Shaftesbury, a Bayle, 
 How quick would they diminish in their sale! 
 Four filths of all their beauties who would heed, 
 Had they not keen Enthusiasts to read? 
 
 That which concerns us therefore is to see 
 What species of enthusiasts we be ; 
 On what materials the fiery source 
 Of thinking lilo shall execute its force: 
 Whether a man shall s'ir up love or hate, 
 From the mix'd medium of this present state; 
 Shall choose, with upright heart and mind, to rise, 
 And reconnoitre Heav'n's primeval skies; 
 Or down to Ium and rapine to descend, 
 Brute for a lime, and demon at its end. 
 " Neither, perhaps," the wary sceptics cry, 
 And wait till nature's river shall run dry;
 
 24 
 
 With sage reserve not passing o'er to good, 
 Of time, lost time, are borne along the flood ; 
 Content to think such thoughtless thinking right, 
 And common sense enthusiastic flight. 
 
 " Fly from Enthusiasm ?" Yes, fly from air, 
 And breathe it more intensely for your care. 
 Learn, that, whatever phantoms you embrace, 
 Your own essential property takes place: 
 Bend all your wits against it, 'tis in vain; 
 It must exist, or sacred, or profane. 
 For flesh or spirit, Wisdom from above 
 Or from this world, an anger or a love, 
 Must have its fire within the human soul : 
 'Tis ours to spread the circle, or control; 
 In clouds of sensual appetites to smoke, 
 While smoth'ring Lusts the rising conscience choke; 
 Or, from ideal glimmerings to raise, 
 Showy and faint, a superficial blaze; 
 Where subtle reasons with their lambent flames, 
 Untouch'd the things, creep round and round the names; 
 Or with a true celestial ardour fir'd, 
 Such as at first created man inspir'd, 
 To will, and to persist to will the light, 
 The love, the joy, that makes an angel bright, 
 That makes a man, in sight of God, to shine 
 With all the lustre of a life divine. 
 
 When true Religion kindles up the fire, 
 Who can condemn the vigorous desire? 
 That burns to reach the end for which 'twas giv'n, 
 To shine, and sparkle in its native Heav'n? 
 What else was our Creating Father's view? 
 His image lost why sought He to renew ? 
 Why all the scenes of love that christians know, 
 But to attract us from this poor Below? 
 To save us from the fatal choice of ill, 
 And bless the free co-operating will? 
 
 Blame not Enthusiasm, if rightly bent; 
 Orblame of Saints the holiest intent,
 
 25 
 
 The strong persuasion, the confirm'd belief, 
 
 Of all the comforts of a soul the chief, 
 
 That God's continual will and work to save, 
 
 Teach, and inspire, attend us to the grave; 
 
 That they, who in his faith and Jove abide, 
 
 Find in liis Spirit an immediate guide. 
 
 This is no more a. fancy, or a whim, 
 
 Than that " we live, and move, and are in Him." 
 
 Let Nature, or let Scripture be the Ghround, 
 
 Here is the seat of true Religion found. 
 
 An earthly life, as life itself explains, 
 
 The Air and Spirit of this world maintains: 
 
 As plainly does a heav'nly life declare 
 
 A Heav'nly Spirit, and a holy air. 
 
 What truth more plainly does the Gospel teach, 
 What doctrine all its missionaries preach, 
 Than this, ** that ev'ry good desire and thought 
 " Is in us by the Holy Spirit wrought?" 
 For this the working faith prepares the Mind; 
 Hope is expectant, Charity resign'd. 
 From this blest guide the moment we depart, 
 What is there left to sanctify the heart? 
 " Reason and Morals?" and where live they most? 
 In Christian Comfort, or in Stoic boast? 
 Reason may paint unpractis'd truth exact, 
 And morals rigidly maintain no fact: 
 This is the poufr that raises them to worth, 
 That calls their rip'ning excellences forth. 
 " Not ask for this?" May Heav'n forbid the vain, 
 The sad repose! What virtue can remain? 
 What virtue wanting, if, within the breast, 
 This faith, productive of all virtue, rest, 
 That God is always present to impart 
 His light and Spirit to the willing eahrt? 
 
 He, who can say "my willing heart began 
 " To learn this lesson," may be christen'd man: 
 Before, a son of elements and earth \ 
 But now, a creature of another birth; 
 Whose true regenerated soul revives, 
 And life from Him, that ever lives, derives; 
 
 D TOL
 
 26 
 
 Freed by compendious faith from all the pangs 
 
 Of long-fetch'd motives, and perplex' d harangues ; 
 
 One word of promise stedfastly embrac'd, 
 
 His heart is fix'd, its whole dependence plac'd : 
 
 The hope is rais'd, that cannot but succeed; 
 
 Infallibility is found indeed. 
 
 Then flows the love that no distinction knows 
 
 Of system , sect, or party, friends, or foes; 
 
 Nor loves by halves; but, faithful to its call, 
 
 Stretches its whole benevolence to all; 
 
 Its universal wish, th' angelic scene, 
 
 That God within the heart of man may reign; 
 
 The true Beginning to the final whole, 
 
 Of Heav'n and heav'nly life within the soul. 
 
 This faith and this dependence once destroy'd, 
 Man is made helpless, and the Gospel void. 
 He that is taught to seek elsewhere for aid, 
 Be who he will the teacher is betray'd: 
 Be what it will the system, he's enslav'd; 
 Man by man's Maker only can be sav'd. 
 In this One Fountain of all help to trust, 
 What is more easy, natural, and just? 
 Talk what we will of morals, and of bliss, 
 Our safety has no other source but this. 
 Led by this faith, when man forsakes his sin, 
 The gate stands open to his God within : 
 There, in the temple of his soul, is found, 
 Of inward central life the holy ground; 
 The sacred scene of piety and peace, 
 Where new-born Christians feel the life's increase; 
 Blessing and blest, revive to pristine youth, 
 And worship God in Spirit and in truth. 
 
 Had not the soul this origin, this root, 
 What else were man but a two-handed brute ? 
 What but a devil, had he not possess'd 
 The seed of Heav'n, replanted in his breast? 
 The spark of potency, the ray of light, 
 His call, his help, his fitness to excite 
 The strength and vigour of celestial air, 
 Faith, and, the breath of living Christians, pray'r?
 
 27 
 
 Not the lip-service, nor the mouthing waste 
 OI" heartless words without an inward taste; 
 But the true kindling of desirous love, 
 That draws the willing Graces from above; 
 The thirst of good that naturally pants 
 After that light and Spirit which it wants; 
 In whose blest union quickly coincide 
 To ask and have, to want and be supply'd. 
 Then does the faithful suppliant discern 
 More of true good, more of true nature learn, 
 In one meek intercourse with Truth Itself, 
 Than from a thousand volumes on the shelf. 
 
 All that the Gospel ever could ordain, 
 All that the church's daily rites maintain, 
 Is to keep up, to strengthen, and employ 
 This lively faith, this principle of joy; 
 This hope and this possession of the end, 
 Which all her pious institutes intend; 
 Fram'd to convey, when freed from wordy strife, 
 The truth and Spirit of an inward life; 
 Wherein th' Eternal Parent of all good 
 By his own influence is understood, 
 That man may learn infallibly aright, 
 Blest in His presence, seeing in His light, 
 To gain the habit of a godlike mind, 
 To seek his Holy Spirit, and to And. 
 
 In this Enthusiasm, advancM thug high, 
 "Tis a true Christian wish, to live and die. 
 
 A 
 
 PARAPHRASE 
 
 ON THE 
 
 LORDS PRAYER. 
 
 Our Father which art in Heaven 
 
 " FATHER" to think of His paternal care 
 Is a most sweet encouragement to pray'r. 
 k ' Our Father" all men's Father; to remind 
 That we should love, as brethren, all mankind.
 
 28 
 
 " Which art in Heaven" assures a heav'nly birth 
 To all his loving children upon earth. 
 
 Hallowed be thy name. 
 
 " Name 1 ' is expressive of a real thing, 
 With all the pow'rs of which it is the spring. 
 ' Thy name" is therefore to be understood 
 Thy Blessed Self, thou Fountain of all good! 
 " Be hallowed" be lov'd, obey'd, ador'd, 
 By inward pray'r habitually implor'd. 
 
 Thy kingdom come. 
 
 " Kingdom" -of grace at present, seed and root 
 Of future glory's everlasting fruit. 
 " Thy kingdom" not the world's war-shifted scene 
 Of pomp and shew, but love's all peaceful reign. 
 ** Come" rule within our hearts by grace divine, 
 Till all the kingdoms of the world be thine. 
 
 Thy will be done in earth as it is in Heaven. 
 
 " Thy will" to ev'ry good that boundless pow'rs 
 Can raise, if we conform to it with ours. 
 " Be done in earth," where doing of His will 
 Promotes all good and overcomes all ill. 
 " As 'tis in Heav'n" where all the blest above 
 Serve, with one will, the Living Source of love. 
 
 Give us this day our daily bread. 
 
 " Give us" implies dependence, whilst we live, 
 Not on ourselves, but what He wills to give. 
 " This day" cuts off all covetous desire 
 Of more and more, than real wants require. 
 " Our daily bread" whatever we shall need 
 And rightly use, to make it ours indeed. 
 
 And forgive us our trespasses 
 
 44 Forgive" betokens penitential sense, 
 And hope for pardon, of confess'd offence. 
 M Us" takes in all; but hints the special part 
 Of ev'ry one to look to his own heart. 
 " Our trespasses" which the forgiving grace, 
 By our sincere conversion, must efface.
 
 29 
 
 As we forgive them that trespass against us. 
 
 " As we forgive" because the fairest claim 
 To mercy, pray'd for, is to shew the same. 
 And we, who pray, should all be minded thus, 
 To pardon " them that trespass against us." 
 Without forgiving, Christ was pleas'd to add, 
 Our own forgiveness never can be had. 
 
 And lead up not into temptation. 
 
 " Temptation*" rises in this world, the field 
 Of good and evil, and inciter to yield. 
 k4 Lead us not into it' 1 becomes the voice 
 Of all who would not go to it by choice; 
 Whose resignation, mix'd with meek distrust 
 Of their own strength, is more securely just. 
 
 But deliver us from evil. 
 
 " But" when temptation will, of course, arise, 
 The Hand that leads can minister supplies. 
 " Deliver us" instructs the soul to place 
 Its firm reliance on protecting grace. 
 " From evil" from the greatest evil, sin, 
 The only one not to be safely in. 
 
 For Thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory. 
 
 " Thine is the kingdom" the essential right 
 To sov'reign rule, and majesty, and might. 
 " Thine is the pow'r" to bless and to redeem ; 
 All else is weak, whatever it may seem. 
 " Thine is the glory" manifestly found 
 In all thy works, the whole creation round. 
 
 For ever and ever. 
 
 " For ever" from an unbeginning source, 
 Almighty Love pursues its endless course. 
 Through all its >cenes, Eternity displays 
 New wonders to our Heav'nly Father's praise. 
 King, Father, Leader, Judge, His hallow'd name 
 Was, is, and ever will be still the same. 
 
 Amen. 
 " Amen" is "truth," in Hebrew and "consent; 
 " To truth receiv'd," by its long use, is meant. 
 D 2
 
 30 
 
 Jesus, Himself the Truth, .the living way, 
 The Faithful Witness, teaches thus to pray. 
 Again should we be learning, and again, 
 Till life becomes a practical " Amen." 
 
 DIVINE PASTORAL. 
 
 THE Lord is my Shepherd, my Guardian, and Guide; 
 Whatsoever I want he will kindly provide: 
 Ever since I was born, it is he that hath crown'd 
 The life that he gave me, with blessings all round. 
 While yet on the breast a poor infant I hung, 
 Ere time had unloosen'd the strings of my tongue, 
 He gave me the help which I could not then ask; 
 Now therefore to thank him shall be my tongue's task, 
 
 Thro' my tenderest years, with as tender a care, 
 My soul, like a lamb, in his bosem he bare; 
 To the brook he would lead me, whene'er I had need, 
 And point out the pasture where best I might feed. 
 No harm could approach me ; for he was my shield 
 From the fowls of the air, and the beasts of the field ; 
 The wolf, to devour me, would oftentimes prow T l, 
 But the Lord was my Shepherd, and guarded my soul. 
 
 How oft in my youth have I wander'd astray ! 
 And still he hath brought me back to the right way! 
 When, lost in dark error, no path I could meet, 
 His word, like a lantern, hath guided my feet. 
 What wondrous escapes to his kindness I owe, 
 When, rash and unthinking, I sought my own woe ! 
 My soul had, long since, been gone down to the deep, 
 If the Lord had not watched when I was asleep. 
 
 Whensoe'er, at a distance, he sees me afraid, 
 He skips o'er the mountain, and comes to my aid; 
 Then leads me back gently, and bids me abide 
 In the midst of his flock, and feed close by his side.
 
 31 
 
 How safe in his keeping, how happy and free, 
 Could I always remain where he bids me to be! 
 Yea, blest are the people, and happy, thrice told, 
 That obey the Lord's Voice, and abide in his fold. 
 
 The fold is capacious, the pasture is green; 
 All is friendship and love, and no enemy seen: 
 There the Lord dwells, amongst us, upon his own hill; 
 With the flocks all around him awaiting his will; 
 Himself, in the midst, with a provident eye 
 Regarding our wants and procuring supply, 
 An abundance springs up of each nourishing bud, 
 And we gather his gifts, and are filled with good. 
 
 At his voice or example, we move or we stay ; 
 For the Lord is himself both our Leader and Way: 
 The hills smoke with incense where'er he hath trod, 
 And a sacred perfume shews the footsteps of God. 
 While blest with his presence, the valleys beneath 
 A sweet smelling savour incessantly breathe; 
 The delight is renew'd of each sensible thing; 
 And beheld in their bloom is the beauty of spring. 
 
 Or, if a quite different scene he prepare, 
 And we march thro' the wilderness, barren and bare; 
 tty his wonderful works we see plainly enough, 
 That the earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof. 
 If we hunger, and thirst, and are ready to faint, 
 A relief in due season prevents our complaint; 
 The rain, at his word, brings us food from the sky, 
 And rocks become rivers when we are adry. 
 
 From the fruitfullest hill to the barrenest rock, 
 The Lord hath made all for the sake of his flock ; 
 And the flock, in return, the Lord always confess 
 In plenty their Joy, and their Hope in distress. 
 He beholds in our welfare his glory display'd, 
 And we find ourselves blest in obedience repay'd; 
 With a cheerful regard we attend to his ways; 
 Our attention is pray'r and our cheerfulness praise. 
 
 The Lord is my shepherd; what then shall I fear? 
 What danger can frighten me whilst he is near? 
 Not, when the time calls me to walk thro' the val 
 Of the shadow of death, shall my heart ever fail;
 
 32 
 
 Tho' afraid, of myself, to pursue the dark way, 
 Thy rod and thy staff be my comfort and stay ; 
 For I know, by thy guidance, when once it is pass'd, 
 To a fountain of life it will bring me at last. 
 
 The Lord is become my salvation and song, 
 His blessing shall follow me all my life long: 
 Whatsoever condition he places me in, 
 I am sure 'tis the best it could ever have been: 
 For, the Lord, he is good, and his mercies are sure; 
 He only afflicts us in order to cure, 
 The Lord will I praise while I have any breath ; 
 Be content all my life, and resign'd at my death. 
 
 A 
 THANKSGIVING HYMN. 
 
 O COME let us sing to the Lord a new song, 
 And praise him to whom all our praises belong; 
 While we enter his temple, with gladness and joy, 
 Let a psalm of thanksgiving our voices employ: 
 O come, to his name let us joyfully sing ! 
 For the Lord is a great and omnipotent King; 
 By his word were the heav'ns and the host of them made, 
 And of all the round world the foundation he laid. 
 
 He plac'd, in the centre, yon beautiful Sun; 
 And the orbs that, about him, due distances run ; * 
 To receive, as they haste their vast rounds to complete, 
 Of a lustre, so dazzling, the light and the heat. 
 What language of men can the brightness unfold 
 Of His presence, whose creature they cannot behold? 
 What a light is His light ! Of its infinite day 
 The sun by his splendour can paint but a ray. 
 
 The Sun, in the evening, is out of our sight, 
 And the Moon is enlighten'd to govern the night. 
 His pow r er we behold, in yon high arched roof, 
 When the Stars, in their order, shine forth in its proof:
 
 33 
 
 While the works, so immense, of thy fingers we see, 
 And reflect on our littleness, Lord, what are we? 
 Yet, while 'tis our glory thy name to adore, 
 Even angels of Heav'n cannot boast any more. 
 
 Praise the Lord, upon earth, all ye nations and lands, 
 Ye seasons and times, that fulfil his commands; 
 Let his works, in all places, his goodness proclaim, 
 And the people, who see them, give thanks to his name. 
 For the good, which He wills to communicate, brings 
 Into visible form his invisible things: 
 Their appearance may change, as his law shall ordain, 
 But the goodness that forms will for ever remain. 
 
 What a world of good things does all nature produce, 
 Which the Lord, in his mercy, hath made for our use ! 
 The earth, by his blessing bestow'd on its soil, 
 By his rain and his sunshine, gives corn, wine, and oil. 
 Let men to adore Him, then, thankfully join, 
 When filPd with his bread, or made glad by his wine; 
 As in wealth, so in gratitude, let them abound; 
 And the voice of His praise be heard all the world round. 
 
 They, that o'er the wide ocean their bus'ness pursue, 
 Can tell to his wonders what praises are due: 
 When tost, to and fro, by the huge swelling wave, 
 They rise up to Heav'n, or sink down to the grave ; 
 Dlsmay'd with the tempest, that mocks at their skill, 
 They cry to the Lord, and he maketh it still. 
 His works in remembrance, ye mariners, keep, 
 And praise Him whose judgments are like the great deep. 
 
 He stilleth the waves of the boisterous sea, 
 And the tumults of men, more outrageous than they. 
 Thy goodness, O Lord, let the people confess, 
 Whom wars do not waste, nor proud tyrants oppress; 
 And devoutly contemplate thy wonderful ways, 
 Thou that turnest the fierceness of men to thy praise: 
 Then lands, in due season, shall yield their increase, 
 And the Lord give his people the blessings of peace. 
 
 The Lord is on high, far above all our thought 
 How then shall we worship him so as we ought? 
 What tongue can express, or what words can shew forth 
 The praise which is due to his excellent worth?
 
 34 
 
 Ye righteous, and ye that in virtue excel, 
 Begin the glad task which becomes you so well; 
 The Lord shall be pleas'd when he heareth your voice, 
 And in his own works shall th' Almighty rejoice. 
 
 The Lord hath his dwelling far out of our view, 
 And yet humbleth Himself to behold what we do; 
 To his works, all around Him, his mercies extend, 
 His works have no number, his mercies no end; 
 He accepteth our thanks, if the heart do but pay ; 
 Tho' we never can reach Him, by all we can say. 
 How just is the duty ! How pure the delight ! 
 Since whilst we give praises we honour him right. 
 
 Praise the Lord, O my soul ! All the pow'rs of my mind, 
 Praise the Lord, who hath been so exceedingly kind! 
 Who spareth my life and forgiveth my sin, 
 Still directeth the way that I ought to walk in: 
 When I speak, let me thank Him; whenever I write, 
 The remembrance of Him let the subject excite; 
 Guide, Lord, to thy glory, my tongue and my pen : 
 Yea, let ev'ry thing praise Thee Amen, and Amen. 
 
 A 
 
 HYMN 
 
 ON THE 
 
 DIVINE OMNIPRESENCE; 
 
 Being a Paraphrase on Psalm cxxxix. Verse 1 la. 
 
 OH Lord! thou hast known me, and searched me out. 
 Thou seest, at all times, what I'm thinking about; 
 When I rise up to labour, or lie down to rest, 
 Thou markest each motion that works in my breast; 
 My heart has no secrets, but what thou canst tell, 
 Not a word in my tongue but thou knowest it well; 
 Thou seest my intention before it is wrought, 
 Long before I conceive it, thou knowest my thought.
 
 35 
 
 Thou art always about me, go whither I will, 
 All the paths that I take to, I meet with thee still ; 
 I go forth abroad, and am under thine eye, 
 I retire to myself, and behold ! thou art by. 
 How is it that thou hast encompassed me so 
 That I cannot escape thee, wherever I go? 
 Such knowledge as this is too high to attain, 
 'Tis a truth which I feel, tho' I cannot explain. 
 
 Whither then shall I flee from thy Spirit, O Lord? 
 What shelter can space from thy presence afford; 
 If I climb up to Heav'n, lo! there is thy throne; 
 If I go down to Hell, even there thou art known; 
 If for wings I should mount on the morning's swift rav. 
 And remain in the uttermost parts of the sea, 
 Even there, let the distance be ever so wide, 
 Thy hand would support me, thy right hand would guide. 
 
 If I say, " peradventure, the dark may conceal 
 " What distance, tho' boundless, ,is forc'd to reveal;*' 
 Yet the dark, at thy presence, would vanish away, 
 And my covering, the night, would be turn'd into day. 
 It is I myself only who could not then see, 
 Yea, the darkness, O Lord, is no darkness to thee: 
 The night and the day are alike in thy sight, 
 And the darkness, to thee, is clear as the light. 
 
 A 
 
 PARAPHRASE 
 
 ON THE 
 
 Collect for Advent Sunday. 
 
 ALMIGHTY God, thy heav'nly grace impart, 
 And cast the works of darkness from our heart; 
 Send us thy light, and arm us for the strife 
 Against all evils of this mortal life, 
 O'er which our Saviour, Jesus Christ, thy Son, 
 With great humility the conquest won:
 
 36 
 
 That when, in glory, our Victorious Head 
 Shall come, to judge the living and the dead, 
 We may, thro 1 Him, to life immortal spring, 
 Wherein He reigns, the Everlasting King-, 
 The Father, Son, and Spirit may adore, 
 One glorious God Triune, for evermore. 
 
 HYMN 
 
 CHRISTMAS DAT. 
 
 ON this auspicious, memorable morn, 
 God and the virgin's holy child was born; 
 Offspring of Heav'n, whose undefiled birth 
 Began the process of redeeming earth; 
 Of re-producing paradise again, 
 And God's lost image in the souls of men. 
 
 Adam, who kept not his first state of bliss, 
 Rend'red himself incapable of this; 
 Nor could he, with his outward helpmate Eve, 
 This pure, angelic, virgin birth retrieve: 
 This, in our nature, never could be done, 
 Until a virgin should conceive a Son. 
 
 Mary, prepar'd for such a chaste embrace, 
 Was destin'd to this miracle of grace; 
 In her unfolded the mysterious plan 
 Of man's salvation, God's becoming man; 
 His power, with her humility combin'd, 
 Produc'd the sinless Saviour of mankind. 
 
 The height and depth of such amazing love 
 Nor can we measure, nor the blest above; 
 Its truth whoever reasons right will own; 
 Man never could be sav'd by man alone:
 
 Figure I . Kersal Cell, near Manchester 
 
 Where Dr John Byrom wa born and where he wrote 
 "Christians, Awake" 
 
 A beautiful old doorway gives 
 access to Kersal Cell (see Figure i), a 
 quaint old timbered building on the out- 
 skirts of Manchester. Dr. John Byrom 
 was born within its walls, and there he 
 wrote "Christians, awake, salute the 
 Happy Morn." The manuscript of that 
 
 Id! 
 
 well-known hymn fell into the hands of 
 fohn Wainwright, the organist of the 
 Manchester Parish Church, who set it to 
 the tune of "Stockport," and on.' 
 Christmas live he took his choristers j' ; 
 over to Kersal and they sang the hymn 
 as they stood around the old doorway, 
 much to the surprise of Byrom, who 
 listened entranced within.
 
 is to be seen on the outskirts ot Wool, 
 in Dorset. It forms part of the ancestral 
 home of the D'Urbervilles, and is especi- 
 
 God ni 
 Offspri 
 Began 
 Ofre- F 
 AndG 
 
 . ill, {Bourne, Lincolnshire 
 
 - ,. iave harboured the Gunpowder Plot conspirators 
 
 liend'n 
 Nor co 
 
 Tliispu ally interesting from the fact that it is 
 This, ir the Wellbridge " of Thomas Hardy's 
 Untl1 a realistic novel, " Tess of the D'Urber- 
 Mary villes " (see Figure 5). Here Tess and 
 Was dee Angel Clare spent their ill-fated honey- 
 In her u moon, and the visitor to this picturesque 
 1 old manor house may still see the por- 
 traits on the staircase which gave poor 
 Tess such a fright, and which are as 
 The h( likely as ever to haunt the beholder in 
 his dreams. 
 
 Of the many haunts of Dickens, pro- 
 bablv none is so little known as the 
 "Chesnev Wold" of "Bleak House." 
 
 His pow 
 
 Product 
 
 Nor can 
 Its truth 
 Man nev
 
 37 
 
 Salvation is, if rightly we define, 
 Union of human nature with divine. 
 
 What way to this, unless it had been trod 
 By the new birth of an Incarnate God? 
 Birth of a life that triumphs over death, 
 A life inspir'd by God's immortal breath; 
 For which Himself, to save us from the tomb, 
 Did not abhor the virgin mother's womb. 
 
 O may this Infant Saviour's birth inspire 
 Of real life a humble, chaste desire ! 
 Raise it up in us ! Form it in our mind, 
 Like the blest Virgin's, totally resign'd! 
 A mortal life from Adam we derive; 
 We are, in Christ, eternally alive. 
 
 HYMN 
 
 FOR 
 
 CHRISTMAS DAY. 
 
 CHRISTIANS awake, salute the happy morn, 
 Whereon the Saviour of the world was born; 
 Rise, to adore the mystery of love, 
 Which hosts of angels chanted from above: 
 With them the joyful tidings first begun 
 Of God Incarnate, and the virgin's Son: 
 Then to the watchful shepherds it was told, 
 Who heard the angelic herald's voice " Behold! 
 " I bring good tiding* of a Saviour's birth 
 44 To you and all the nations upon earth ; 
 " This day hath God fulfill'd his promis'd word; 
 " This day is born a Saviour, Christ, the Lord; 
 "In David's city, shepherds, ye shall find 
 44 The long-foretold Redeemer of mankind.
 
 38 
 
 '* Wrapt up in swaddling clothes, the Babe Divine 
 44 Lies in a manger ; this- shall be your sign." 
 He spake, and straightway the celestial choir, 
 In hymns of joy, unknown before, conspire: 
 The praises of redeeming love they sung, 
 And Heav'n's whole orb with Hallelujahs rung. 
 " God's highest glory" was their anthem still; 
 14 Peace upon earth, and mutual good will." 
 To Bethlehem straight th 1 enlightened shepherds ran, 
 To see the wonder God had wrought for man; 
 And found, with Joseph and the blessed Maid, 
 Her Son, the Saviour, in a manger laid. 
 Amaz'd, the wondrous story they proclaim ; 
 The first Apostles of his infant fame: 
 While Mary keeps, and ponders in her heart, 
 The heavily vision, which the swains impart. 
 They to their flocks, still praising God, return, 
 And their glad hearts within their bosoms burn. 
 
 Let us, like these good shepherds, then, employ 
 Our grateful voices to proclaim the joy; 
 Like Mary, let us ponder in our mind 
 God's wondrous love in saving lost mankind; 
 Artless, and watchful, as these favour'd swains, 
 While virgin meekness in the heart remains, 
 Trace we the Babe, who has retriev'd our loss, 
 From his poor manger to his bitter cross; 
 Treading his steps, assisted by his grace, 
 Till man's first Heav'nly state again takes place. 
 Then may we hope, th' Angelic thrones among, 
 To sing, redeem'd, a glad triumphal song: 
 He that was born upon this joyful day, 
 Around us all, his glory shall display; 
 Sav'd by his love, incessant we shall sing 
 Of angels, and of angel-men, the King.
 
 39 
 
 ON 
 
 THE EPIPHANY 
 
 LED by the guidance of a living star, 
 The eastern sages traveled from afar 
 To seek the Saviour, by prophetic fame 
 DescrhVd to them as " King of Jews" by name ; 
 Whose birth, to Gentiles worthy of his sight, 
 Was now declar'd by this angelic light. 
 
 To its full height th' expectancy had grown 
 Of what the learned foreigners made known ; 
 When at Jerusalem the sacred news 
 Was spread by them to Herod and the Jews; 
 " Where is he born ? For, by his star," they said, 
 " Thus far, to worship him, have we been led." 
 
 Herod, who had in his tyrannic mind 
 No thought of empire, but of earthly kind, 
 Jealous of this new King of Jewish tribes, 
 In haste assembled all the Priests and Scribes; 
 Where Christ was to be born was his demand 
 M In Bethlehem," they said, M in Juda's land." 
 
 He call'd the Magi, privately again, 
 To learn from them the time, precisely, when 
 The star, which had conducted them, appear'd: 
 And, having all his wily questions clear'd, 
 Bade them to seek the Child, and from the view 
 Come, and tell him, that he might worship too. 
 
 They journey'd on to the appointed place, 
 Which Jewish Priests from prophecy could trace : 
 Cheer'd by the star's appearance on the way, 
 That pointed where the Infant Saviour lay; 
 Meekly they stepp'd into his humble shrine, 
 And fell to worshipping the Babe Divine. 
 
 The virgin mother saw them all prefer 
 Their ofFrings, gold, and frankincense, and myrrh
 
 40 
 
 But warn'd of God, his Father, in a dream, 
 They disappointed Herod's murd'rous scheme ; 
 And, having seen the object of their faith, 
 Sought their own country by another path. 
 
 Does not reflection justly hence arise, 
 That in the East, so famous for the wise, 
 The truest learning, sapience, and skill, 
 Was theirs, who sought, amidst the various ill 
 Which they beheld, for that predicted scene, 
 That should on earth commence a heav'nly reign ? 
 
 These true inquirers into nature saw 
 That nature must have some superior law ; 
 Some Righteous Monarch, for the good of all, 
 To rule with justice this disorder'd ball ; 
 Their humble sense of wants, o , erlook 1 d by pride, 
 Made them so worthy of the star-like guide. 
 
 We read how, then, the very Pagan school 
 Was fill'd with rumours of a Jewish rule: 
 Tho 1 Jews themselves, as at this present day, 
 Dreamt of a worldly domineering sway ; 
 The truly wise, or Jew or Gentile, sought 
 A Christ, the object of a happier thought. 
 
 They best could understand prophetic page, 
 Simple or learn'd, the shepherd or the sage : 
 Their eyes could see, and follow a true light, 
 That led them on from prophecy to sight; 
 Could own the Son, who by the Father's will, 
 Should reign a King on Sion's holy hill. 
 
 Of treasures which the wise were mov'd to bring, 
 If gold presented might confess the King, 
 Incense to his Divinity relate, 
 And Myrrh denote his bitter, sufTring state, 
 They offer'd types of the Theandric* plan 
 Of our salvation, God's becoming man. 
 
 In this redeeming process all concurr'd 
 To give sure proof of the prophetic word ; 
 
 * Having the divine and human nature in conjunction.
 
 41 
 
 Jesus, Immanuel, the Inward Light 
 Of all mankind, who seek the truth aright, 
 Forms, in the heart of all the wise on earth, 
 The true day-star, the token of his birth. 
 
 MEDITATIONS 
 
 FOR 
 
 EVERY DAY IN PASSION WEEK. 
 
 . MONDAY. 
 
 GOD IN CHRIST IS ALL LOVE. 
 
 BEHOLD the tender love of God! Behold 
 The Shepherd dying to redeem his fold! 
 Who can declare it? Worthy to be known 
 What tongue can speak it worthily? His own: 
 From his own sacred lips the theme began, 
 The glorious Gospel of God's love to man. 
 
 So great, so boundless was it, that he gave 
 His only Son " And for what end ?" To save; 
 Not to condemn , if men reject the light, 
 They, of themselves, condemn themselves to night; 
 God, in his Son, seeks only to display, 
 In ev'ry heart, an everlasting day. 
 
 " God hath so shewn his love to us," says Paul, 
 " Even yet sinners, that Christ died for all:" 
 Peter, that " God's all gracious aim is this, 
 " By Christ to call us to eternal bliss:" 
 Of all th 1 inspir'd to understand the view , 
 
 Love is the text, and Love the Comment too; 
 
 The ground to build all faith and works upon; 
 For God is Love, says the beloved John: 
 Short word, but meaning infinitely wide, 
 Including all that can be said beside; 
 
 VOL. II. E
 
 42 
 
 Including all the joyful truths above 
 
 The pow'r of eloquence, for " God is Love."* 
 
 Think on the proof that John from Jesus learn'd, 
 " In this was God's amazing love discern'd, 
 " Because He sent his Son to us; that we 
 " Might live thro 1 Him." How plain it is to see 
 That, if in this, in ev'ry other fact 
 Where God is agent, love is in the act ! 
 
 Essential character, (whatever word 
 Of diff'rent sound in scripture has occurr'd) 
 Of all that is ascrib'd to God ; of all 
 That can by his immediate will befall: 
 The Sun's bright orb may lose its shining flame- 
 But love remains unchangeably the same. 
 
 TUESDAY. 
 
 HOW CHRIST QUENCHETH THE WRATH OF GOD IN US, 
 
 THE Saviour died, according to our faith, 
 To quench, atone, or pacify a wrath. 
 But " God is love;" He has no wrath his own; 
 Nothing in him to quench or to atone: 
 Of all the wrath that scripture hath reveal'd, 
 The poor fall'n creature wanted to be heal'd. 
 
 God, of his own pure love, was pleas'd to give 
 The Lord of life, that thro' Him it might live; 
 Thro" Christ; because none other could be found 
 To heal the human nature of its wound: 
 This great Physician of the soul had, sure, 
 In Him, who gave him, no defect to cure. 
 
 He did, he suffer'd ev'ry thing, that we 
 From wrath, by sin enkindled, might be free; 
 The wrath of God, in us, that is, the fire 
 Of burning life, without the love-desire; 
 Without the light, which Jesus came to raise, 
 And change the wrath into a jojful blaze.
 
 43 
 
 The wrath is God's; but in Himself unfell ; 
 As ice and frost are his, and pow'r to melt : 
 Not even man could any wrath, as such, 
 Till he had lost his first perfection, touch: 
 God has but one immutable good-will, 
 To bless his creatures and to save from ill. 
 
 Cordial or bitter a physician's draught, 
 The patient's health is in his ord'ring thought: 
 44 God's mercies," or 44 God's judgments" be the name, 
 Eternal health is his all-saving aim. 
 44 Vengeance belongs to God" and so it should 
 For, love alone can turn it all to good. 
 
 All that in nature by his act is done 
 Is to give life; and life is in his Son: 
 When his humility, his meekness finds 
 Healing admission into willing minds, 
 All wrath disperses, like a gath'ring sore; 
 Pain is its cure, and it exists no more. 
 
 WEDNESDAY. 
 
 CHRIST SATISFIETH THE JUSTICE OF GOD BY FULFILLING 
 ALL RIGHTEOUSNESS. 
 
 44 JUSTICE demandeth satisfaction" Yes; 
 And ought to have it where injustice is: 
 But there is none in God it cannot mean 
 Demand of justice where it has full reign: 
 To dwell in man it rightfully demands, 
 Such as he came from his Creator's hands. 
 
 Man had departed from a righteous state, 
 Which he at first must have, if God create; 
 'Tis therefore call'd God's righteousness, and must 
 Be satisfied by man's becoming just; 
 Must exercise good vengeance upon men, 
 Till it regain its rights in them again.
 
 44 
 
 This was the justice, for which Christ became 
 A man, to satisfy its righteous claim; 
 Became Redeemer of the human race, 
 That sin, in them, to justice might give place. 
 To satisfy a just and righteous will 
 Is neither more, nor less, than to fulfil: 
 
 It was, in God, the loving will that sought 
 The joy of having man's salvation wrought: 
 Hence, in his Son, so infinitely pleas'd 
 With righteousness fulfill'd and wrath appeas'd: 
 Not with mere suff'ring, which he never wills, 
 But with mere love that triumph'd over ills. 
 
 'Twas tender mercy by the church confess'd r 
 Before she feeds the sacramental guest; 
 Rememb'ring Him, who offer'd up his soul 
 " A sacrifice for sin, full, perfect, whole, 
 '* Sufficient, satisfactory" and all 
 That words how short of merit! can recal. 
 
 And when receiv'd his body and his blood, 
 The life enabling to be just and good, 
 Off'ring, available thro' Him alone, 
 Body and soul, a sacrifice her own: 
 From Him, from his, so justice has its due; 
 Itself restor'd,- not any thing in lieu. 
 
 THURSDAY. 
 
 CHRIST THE BEGINNER ANI> FINISHER OF THE NEW 
 LIFE IN MAN. 
 
 DEAD as men are, in trespasses and sins, 
 Whence is it in them that new life begins? 
 'Tis that, by God's great mercy, love, and grace, 
 The seed of Christ is in the human race; 
 Th^t inward, hidden Man, that can revive, 
 And, " dead in Adam," rise " in Christ alive."
 
 45 
 
 Life natural and life divine possess'd 
 Must needs unite, to make a creature bless'd. 
 The first, a feeling hunger and desire 
 Of what it cannot of itself acquire; 
 Wherein. the s.econd, entering to dwell, 
 Makes all a heav'n, that would be else a hell. 
 
 As only light all darkness can expel, 
 So was his conquest, over death and hell, 
 The only possible, effectual way 
 To raise to life what Adam's sin could slay: 
 Death, by the falling ; by the rising man, 
 The resurrection of the dead began. 
 
 This heav'nly Parent of the human race 
 The steps, that Adam fell by, could retrace; 
 Could bear the suff'rmgs requisite to save ; 
 Could die, a man, and triumph o'er the grave: 
 This, for our sakes, Incarnate Love could do; 
 Great is the mystery, and greatly true. 
 
 Prophets, Apostles, Martyrs, and the choir 
 Of holy virgin witnesses, conspire 
 To animate a Christian to endure 
 Whatever cross God gives him, for his cure: 
 Looking to Jesus, who has led the way 
 From death to life, from darkness into day. 
 
 Unmov'd by earthly good or earthly ill, 
 The man Christ Jesus wrought God's blessed will: 
 Death, in the nature of the thing, that hour 
 Wherein he died, lost all its deadly pow'r: 
 Then, then was open'd, by what he sustained, 
 The gate of life, and Paradise regain'd. 
 
 FRIDAY. 
 
 HOW THE SUFFERINGS AND DEATH OF CHRIST ARE 
 AVAILABLE TO MAN'S SALVATION 
 
 WITH hearts deep rooted in love's holy ground 
 Should be ador'd this mystery profound 
 E2
 
 46 
 
 Of God's Messiah suffering in our frame; 
 
 The Lamb Christ Jesus blessed be his name ! 
 
 Dying, in this humanity of ours, 
 
 To introduce his own life-giving pow'r s. 
 
 Herein is Love ! descending from his throne, 
 The Father's bosom, for our sakes alone, 
 What earth, what hell could wrathfully unite 
 Of ills, he vanquish' d with enduring might: 
 Legions of angels ready at command, 
 Singly he chose to bear and to withstand; 
 
 To bear, intent upon mankind's relief,-*- 
 Ev'ry excess of ev'ry shame and grief; 
 Of inward anguish, past all thought severe; 
 Such as pure innocence alone could bear. 
 Dev'lish temptation, treachery, and rage, 
 Naked, for us, did innocence engage. 
 
 Nail'd to a cross it suffer'd and forgave; 
 And shew'd the penitent its pow'r to save; 
 Its majesty confess 1 d by nature's shock, 
 Darkness, and earthquake, and the rented rock, 
 And opening graves the prelude to that pow'r, 
 Which rose in suff'ring love's momentous hour. 
 
 No other pow'r could save, but Jesus can ; 
 The living God was in the dying man ; 
 Who, perfected by sufferings, from the grave 
 Rose in the fulness of all pow'r to save: 
 With that one blessed life of God to fill 
 The vacant soul, that yieldeth up its will. 
 
 To learn is ev'ry pious Christian's part, 
 From his Great Master, this most holy art; 
 This our high calling, privilege, and prize, 
 With Him to suffer, and with Him to rise: 
 To live to die meek, patient, and resign'd 
 To God's good pleasure, with a Christ-like mind.
 
 47 
 
 SATURDAY. 
 
 HOW CHRIST BY HIS DEATH OVERCAME DEATH. 
 
 JESUS is crucified the previous scene 
 Of our salvation and his glorious reign: 
 Mysterious process! Tho', by nature's laws, 
 Such an effect demanded such a cause: 
 For none but He could form the grand design, 
 And raise, anew, the human life divine. 
 
 No less a mystery can claim belief, 
 Than what belongs to our Redeeming Chief; 
 Divine and supernatural, indeed, 
 The love that mov'd the Son of God to bleed; 
 But what he was and did, in each respect, 
 Was real cause producing its effect. 
 
 Children of Adam needs must share his fall; 
 Children of Christ can re-inherit all: 
 This was the one, and therefore chosen way, 
 For love to manifest its full display. 
 Absurd the thought of arbitrary plans! 
 Nature's one true religion this and man's. 
 
 All that we know of God and nature too, 
 Proves the salvation of the gospel true; 
 Where all unites in one consistent wluil* 
 The life of God renew'd within the soul: 
 Renew'd by Christ He only could restore 
 The Heav'n in man to what it was before: 
 
 Could raise God's image, clos'd in death by sin, 
 And raise Himself, the Light of life, therein: 
 The one same Light that makes angelic bliss; 
 That spreads a Heav'n thro' nature's whole abyss: 
 The Light of nature, and the Light of men, 
 That gives the dead his pow'r to live again. 
 
 The way, the truth, the life whatever terms 
 Preferr'd, 'tis He that every good affirms^
 
 48 
 
 The one true Saviour; all is dung and dross, 
 In saving sense, but Jesus and hi? cross: 
 All nature speaks; all scripture answers thus- 
 Salvation is the life of Christ in us. 
 
 EASTER COLLECT. 
 
 ALMIGHTY God! whose blessed will was done 
 By Jesus Christ, our Lord, thine only Son; 
 Death overcome, and open'd unto men 
 The gate of everlasting life again ; 
 Grant us, baptiz'd into his death, to die 
 To all affections, but to things on high; 
 That when, by thy preventing grace, we find 
 The good desires to rise within our mind, 
 Our wills may tend as thine shall still direct, 
 And bring the good desires to good effect; 
 Thro' Him, the one Redeemer from the fall, 
 Who liv'd and died, and rose again for all. 
 
 EASTER DAY. 
 
 THE morning dawns; the third approaching day 
 Can only shew the place where Jesus lay: 
 Angels descend remember what he said 
 " He is not here, but risen from the dead; 
 " Betray'd info the hands of sinful men, 
 " The Son of man must die, and rise again." 
 
 So sang the prophets, ever since the fall ; 
 Of rites ordain'd the meaning this, thro' all. 
 This, by the various sacrifice of old, 
 Memorial type, and shadow, was foretold: 
 Even false worship^ careless what it meant, 
 Gave to this truth an ignorant consent.
 
 49 
 
 Christ is the sum and substance of the whole 
 That God has done or said, to save a soul, 
 To raise himself a Church ; when that is done, 
 The world becomes the kingdom of his Son; 
 A Heav'n restor'd to the redeem'd, the born 
 Of Him who rose on this auspicious morn. 
 
 He that was dead, in order to restore,. 
 Behold! He is alive for evermore: 
 A heav'nly Adam, full empowVd to give 
 The life that men were first design'd to live: 
 Fountain of life! come, whosoever will, 
 To quench his thirst, and freely take his fill. 
 
 Mankind, in Him, are life's predestin'd heirs; 
 His rising glories the first-fruits of theirs. 
 Hearts that renounce the slavery to sin, 
 Feel of his pow'r the living warmth within; 
 Of strengthening faith, of joyous hope possess'd, 
 And Heav'n-producing love within the breast: 
 
 The breast the temple of the Holy Ghost, 
 When once enliven'd by this heav'nly host: 
 His resurrection, the sure proof of ours, 
 Will there exert his death-destroying pow'rs; 
 Till all his sons shall meet before his throne 
 In glorious bodies, fashfon'd like his own. 
 
 Hymn for Easter Day. 
 
 THE Lord is risen! He, who came 
 
 To suiter death and conquer too, 
 Is risen; let our song proclaim 
 
 The praise toman's Redeemer due: 
 To Him. whom God, in tender love, 
 
 Always alike to bless inclin'd, 
 Sent to redeem us, from above; - 
 
 To save, to sanctify mankind.
 
 50 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Worthy of all pow"r and praise, 
 
 He who died and rose again; 
 Lamb of God, and slain to raise 
 
 Man, to life redeem" d Amen. 
 
 That life, which Adam ceas'd to live, 
 
 When to this world he turn'd his heart, 
 And to his children could not give, 
 
 The Second Adam can impart. 
 We, on our earthly parent's side, 
 
 Could but receive a life of earth ; 
 The Lord from Heaven, He liv'd, and died, 
 
 And rose, to give us heav'nly birth. 
 
 Cho. Worthy of all pow'r and praise, fa. 
 
 This mortal life, this living death, 
 
 Shews that in Adam we all die ; 
 In Christ we have immortal breath, 
 
 And life's unperishing supply: 
 He took our nature, and sustain'd 
 
 The mis"ries of its sinful state; 
 Sinless Himself, for us regain'd 
 
 To Paradise an open gate, 
 
 Cho. Worthy of all pouPr and praise, fa. 
 
 As Adam rais'd a life of sin, 
 
 So Christ, the serpent-bruising Seed, 
 By God's appointment could begin 
 
 The birth, in us, of life indeed. 
 He did begin ; parental head, 
 
 As Adam fell, so Jesus stood; 
 Fulfill'd all righteousness, and said 
 
 " 'Tis finish'd!" on the sacred wood. 
 
 Cho. Worthy of all pow'r and praise, fa. 
 
 Finish'd his work, to quench the wrath 
 That sin had brought on Adam's race ; 
 
 To pave the sole and certain-path 
 From nature"s life, to that of grace.
 
 51 
 
 For joy of this, God's only Son 
 
 Endur'd the cross, despis'd the shame, 
 
 And gave the victory, so won, 
 For imitating love to claim. 
 
 Cho. Worthy of all pow'r and praise, fyc. 
 
 To tread the path that Jesus trod, 
 
 Aided by Him, be our employ; 
 To die to sin, and live to God, 
 
 And yield him the fair purchas'd joy: 
 To all the laws that love has made 
 
 Steadfast, unshaken, to attend; 
 He died, He rose, Himself our aid, 
 
 hoi 1 am with you to the end. 
 
 Cho. Worthy of all pow'r and praise, f^c. 
 
 on 
 WHITSUNDAY. 
 
 JESUS, ascended into Heav'n again, 
 Bestow'd this wondrous gift upon good men, 
 That various nations, by his Spirit led, 
 All understood what Galileans said: 
 He gave the word, who form'd the list'ning ear, 
 And truth became in ev'ry language clear. 
 
 One country's tongue, to his Apostles known, 
 To ev'ry pious soul became its own: 
 The well-dispos'd, from all the world around, 
 With holy wonder, heard the gospel sound; 
 Their hearts prepar'd to hear it God's command 
 No obstacle in nature could withstand. 
 
 Nature itself, if ev'ry heart was right, 
 All jarring languages would soon unite: 
 Hers is but one intelligible guide; 
 But tongues are numberless where hearts divide:
 
 52 
 
 The Babel projects brjng them to their birth,. 
 And scatter discord o'er the lace of earth. 
 
 The Prince of Peace now sending, from above, 
 His Holy Spirit of uniting love, 
 By its miraculous effusion shew'd 
 How great a pow'r he promis'd and bestow'd; 
 Pow'r to reverse confusion, and impart 
 One Living Word to ev'ry honest heart. 
 
 Deaf to its influence the wicked stood, 
 And inock'd the just amazement of the good; 
 For want of sense, ascribing to new wine 
 Their joint acknowledgments of grace divine: 
 The world's devout epitome was taught, 
 And hid from pride the miracle, when wrought. 
 
 Known to the meek, but from the worldly wise, 
 From scoffers, hid the wonderful supplies 
 Of God's good Spirit, now as near to men 
 Whose hearts are open to the truth, as then : 
 Blest, in all climates, all conditions they 
 Who hear this inward teacher and obey. 
 
 ON 
 
 TRINITY SUNDAY. 
 
 CO-EQUAL Trinity was always taught 
 By the divines most fam'd for pious thought. 
 The men of learning lill'd, indeed, the page 
 With dissonant disputes, from age to age: 
 But with themselves, so far as one can read, 
 About their schemes are not at all agreed, 
 When they oppos'd, by reason or by wrath, 
 This grand foundation of the Christian Faith. 
 
 For what more fundamental point, or grand, 
 Than our ascending Saviour's own command? 
 " Go, and baptize all nations in the name" 
 Of whom, or what? (For thence the surest aim
 
 53 
 
 Of Christian doctrine must appear the most.) 
 
 " The name of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost"- 
 
 Oiir Lord's interpretation here we see 
 
 Of " Thou shalt have no other Gods but Me." 
 
 For can the phrase, so highly sacred, shew 
 The name of God to be omitted? No; 
 By its essential Trinity express'd, 
 It shew'd what faith Christ will'd to be profess'd: 
 One God the Jews had own'd ; and One Supreme, 
 With others lower, was the Pagan theme; 
 How One was true, and how Supreme profan'd, 
 Our Lord's baptismal ordinance explaiu'd. 
 
 The one Divinity of Father, Son, 
 And Spirit, teaches christian thought to shun 
 Both Pagan and Rabbinical mistake, 
 And understand what holy prophets spake, 
 Or in the ancient writings or the new, 
 To which this doctrine is the sacred clue, 
 That so conducts us to the saving plan 
 Of true religion, as no other can. 
 
 For were the Son's Divinity denied, 
 The Father's must of course be set aside, 
 Or be a dark one How can it be bright, 
 But by its own eternal, inborn light? 
 The glory of the Father is the Son, 
 Of all his pow'rs begotten, or begun, 
 From all eternity: Take Son away, 
 And what the Father can delight in, say. 
 
 The love, paternally divine, implies 
 Its proper object, whence it must arise, 
 That is, the Son; and so the filial, too, 
 Implies paternal origin in view; 
 And hence the third distinctly glorious tie 
 Of love, which both are animated by: 
 All is One God, but He contains divine. 
 Liviug relations, evidently Trine. 
 
 So far from hurting unity, that hence 
 The fulness rises of its perfect sense;
 
 54 
 
 And ev'ry barren, spiritless dispute, 
 Against its truth, is pluck'd up by the roots 
 The faith is solid to repose upon, 
 Father, Word, Spirit, undivided One; 
 By whom mankind, of threefold life possess'd, 
 Can live, and move, and have its being blest. 
 
 Not by three Gods; or One supremely great, 
 With two inferiors; or the wild conceit, 
 God, Michael, Gabriel ; or aught else devis'd 
 For christians, in no creature's name baptized: 
 But of the whole inseparable Three, 
 Whose fertile Oneness causes all to be, 
 And makes a Heav'n thro' nature's whole abyss. 
 By its Paternal, Filial, Spirit bliss. 
 
 ON THE SAME. 
 
 ONE God the Father certainly this term 
 Does not a barren Deity affirm, 
 Without the Son; without the native light, 
 By which its fiery Majesty is bright; 
 Without the Spirit of the fire, and flame 
 Of life divine, eternally the same. 
 
 More one than any thing beside can be, 
 Because of its inseparable three; 
 Which nothing can diminish or divide, 
 Tho' it should break all unity beside; 
 For this, as self-begetting, self-begot, 
 And to itself proceeding, it can not. 
 
 This total oneness of its threefold bliss, 
 Life, light, and Joy of nature's vast abyss, 
 No tongue so well can utter, but the mind, 
 That seeks for somewhat to object, may find. 
 No end of questions, if we must contest 
 A truth, by saints, of ev'ry age, express'd. 
 
 The church did always, always will agree 
 In its one worship of the Holy Three;
 
 55 
 
 As taught by Christ, that unity divine 
 Was full and perfect, that is, unitrine: 
 He said, Baptize all nations, and proclaim 
 Of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, the name. 
 
 The Holy! Holy! Holy! of the host 
 Of Heav'n, is Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; 
 Not holy holier and holiest 
 But one, triune, same holiness confess'd; 
 One God, one loving and beloved love; 
 On Earth below ador'd, in Heav'n above. 
 
 One living fulness of all perfect good; 
 Its own essential fountain, stream, and flood: 
 And, when according to the Christian creed, 
 Men worship God in spirit, word, and deed; 
 Faith, hope, and love's triunity of grace, 
 Will find in their true, single hearts a place. 
 
 Caution against Despair. 
 
 DESPAIR is a cowardly thing, 
 And the spirit, suggesting it, bad; 
 
 In spite of my sins I will sing, 
 That " Mercy is still to be had." 
 
 For He that has shewn it so far 
 
 As to give me a sensible heart, 
 How heinous soever they are, 
 
 Delights in the merciful part. 
 
 By affliction, so heavy to bear, 
 
 He searches the wound He would cure: 
 
 'Tis his to be kindly severe, 
 
 'Tis mine, by his grace, to endure. 
 
 O ! comfort thyself in His love, 
 
 Poor sinful and sorrowful soul! 
 Who came, and still comes, from above, 
 
 To the sick that would fain be made whole:
 
 56 
 
 Who said, and continues to say, 
 In the deep of a penitent breast, 
 
 " Come, sinner, to me come away; 
 
 " I'll meet thee, and bring thee to rest." 
 
 A refusal to come is absurd; 
 
 I'll put myself under his care; 
 I'll believe his infallible word, 
 
 And never, no, never despair. 
 
 PENITENTIAL SOLILOQUY. 
 
 WHAT! tho 1 no objects strike upon the sight. 
 Thy sacred presence is an inward light ! 
 What! tho 1 no sounds should penetrate the ear, 
 To list'ning thought the voice of truth is clear; 
 Sincere devotion needs no outward shrine ; 
 The centre of a humble soul is thine! 
 
 There may I worship ! And there mayst thou place 
 Thy seat of mercy, and thy throne of grace ! 
 Yea, fix, if Christ my Advocate appear, 
 The dread tribunal of thy justice there: 
 Let each vain thought, let each impure desire 
 Meet, in thy wrath, with a consuming fire. 
 
 Whilst the kind rigours of a righteous doom 
 All deadly filth of selfish pride consume, 
 Thou, Lord! canst raise, tho' punishing for sin, 
 The joys of peaceful penitence within: 
 Thy justice and thy mercy both are sweet, 
 That make our sufferings and salvation meet. 
 
 Befall me, then, whatever God shall please ! 
 His wounds are healing, and his griefs give ease: 
 He, like a true Physician of the soul, 
 Applies the med'cine that may make it whole. 
 I'll do, I'll suffer whatsoe'er He wills; 
 I see his aim thro' all these transient ills.
 
 57 
 
 'Tis to infuse a salutary grief ', 
 To fit the mind for absolute relief; 
 That, purg'd from ev'ry false and finite love, 
 Dead to the world, alive to things above, 
 The soul may rise, as in its first-form'd youth, 
 And worship God in Spirit and in Truth. 
 
 AN 
 
 ENCOURAGEMENT 
 
 TO 
 
 Earnest and Importunate Prayer. 
 
 Llllc" 18. 1. AND HE SPAKE A PARABLE UNTO THEM, TO THIS END, 
 THAT MEN OUGHT ALWAYS TO PRAY, AND NOT TO FAINT. 
 
 A BLESSED Truth for parable to paint, 
 " That men should always pray, and never faint!" 
 Just the reverse of this would Satan say, 
 44 That men should always faint, and never pray." 
 He wants to drive poor sinners to despair ; 
 And Christ, to save them by prevailing pray'r. 
 
 The judge, who feared neither God nor man, 
 Despis'd the widow when she first began 
 Her just request; but she, continuing on 
 The same petition, wearied him anon; 
 He could not bear to hear her praying still; 
 And did her justice, tho' against his will. 
 
 Can perseverance force a man, unjust, 
 To execute, however loth, his trust? 
 And will not God, whose fatherly delight 
 Is to save souls, so precious in his sight, 
 Hear his own offspring's persevering call, 
 And give the blessing which He has for all? 
 
 Yes, to be sure, He will; the lying "No 11 
 Is a downright temptation of the foe; 
 Who first emboldens sinners to presume, 
 As if a righteous judgment had no room; 
 F
 
 58 
 
 And, having lead them into grievous faults^ 
 With the despair of mercy then assaults. 
 
 Dear soul, if thou hast listen'd to the lies 
 Which, at the first, the tempter would devise, 
 Let him not cheat thee with a second snare, 
 And drag thee into darkness by despair; 
 Pray against all his wiles, for God will hear, 
 And will avenge thee of him, never fear. 
 
 He gives the grace to sorrow for thy sin, 
 The sign of kindling penitence within; 
 Let not the smoke disturb thee; for, no doubt T 
 The light and flame will follow, and break out ; 
 And love arise to overcome restraint, 
 That thou mayst always pray and never faint. 
 
 A 
 
 SOLILOQUY, 
 
 On reading the 5th and 8th Verses of the 31th Psalm. 
 
 LEAVE OFF FROM WRATH, AND LET GO DISPLEASURE : FRET NOT 
 THYSELF, ELSE SHALT THOU BE MOVED TO DO EVIL. V. 8. 
 
 IN psalm, this evening order'd to be read, 
 Fret not thyself, the royal Psalmist said. 
 His reason why, succeeding words instil ; 
 Or else, says he, "'twill move thee to do ill. 
 Now, tho 1 I know that fretting does no good, 
 Its evil movement have I understood? 
 
 Move to do evil I Then, dear soul of mine, 
 Stir it not up, if that be its design: 
 Its being vain is cause enough to shun; 
 But if indulg'd, some evil must be done; 
 And thou, according to the holy king, 
 Must be the doer of this evil thing. 
 
 Men use thee ill ; that fault is theirs alone ; 
 But if thou use thyself ill, that's thy own:
 
 59 
 
 Meekness and patience are much better treasure ; 
 Then leave off wrath, and let go all displeasure: 
 Tho' thou art ever so ill treated, yet 
 Remember David ; and forbear to fret. 
 
 COMMIT THY WAY UNTO THE LORD AND PUT THY TRUST IN HIM, 
 AND HE WILL BRING IT TO PASS. V. 5. 
 
 Commit thy way unto the Lord; resign 
 Thyself intirely to the Will Divine. 
 All real good, all remedy for ill, 
 Lies in conforming to His blessed will. 
 By all advice that holy books record, 
 Thou must commit thy way unto the Lord. 
 
 And put thy trust in Him; all other trust, 
 Plac'd out of Him, is foolish and unjust: 
 His loving kindness is the only ground 
 Where solid peace and comfort can be found: 
 What other prospects either sink or swim, 
 Do thou stand firm, and put thy trust in Him. 
 
 And He will bring thy way to pass; the whole 
 Of all that thou canst wish for to thy soul: 
 He wills to give it, and thy seeking mind, 
 By faith and patience, cannot fail to find; 
 To him, whatever good desire it has, 
 Commit and trust, and He will bring to pass. 
 
 AN 
 
 EPISTLE 
 
 From the Author to his Sister, 
 
 WITH THE FOREGOING SOLILOQUY INCLOSED. 
 
 DEAR SISTER, 
 
 If soliloquy conduce, 
 (Meant, as the name declares for private use) 
 To your contentment; if such kind of fruit 
 Pleases your taste, you're very welcome to't : 
 Tho' pluck'd, one day in April, from the ground, 
 It keeps, in pickle, all the seasons round.
 
 60 
 
 'Tis Summer now, and Autumn comes anon^ 
 Winter succeeds, and Spring, when that is gone ; 
 But be it Winter, Summer, Autumn, Spring, 
 To nurture fretting is a simple thing: 
 A weed so useless, to the use of reason, 
 Can, absolutely, never be in season. 
 
 Without much nursing, that the weed will grow 
 I wish T had some reason less to know; 
 Some less to see, how folly, when it grew 
 In my own ground, could cultivate it too; 
 Could hedge it round, and cherish and suppose 
 That, being mine, the thistle was a rose. 
 
 You know the saying, of I know not whom, 
 Little Misfortunes serve till greater come; 
 And saying, somewhere met with, I recall, 
 That 'tis the greatest to have none at all: 
 Rare case, perhaps; they reach, we often see, 
 All sorts of persons, him, her, you, or me. 
 
 " This being, then," Experience says, " the case, 
 " What kind of conduct must a man embrace? 1 ' - 
 My 'pothecary, as you think, replies 
 " Pray take 'em quietly, if you be wise; 
 " Bitter they are, 'tis true, to flesh and blood; 
 " But if they were not, they would do no good." 
 
 One time, when 'Pothecary Patience found 
 That his persuasion got but little ground, 
 He call'd in Doctor Gratitude, to try 
 If his advice could make me to comply; 
 " I recommended patience, Sir," said he, 
 " Pray will you speak, for he regards not me.'-' 
 
 " Patience ! a custard lid !" said Doctor Grat. 
 " His case wants, plainly, something more than that; 
 " 'Tis a good recipe, but cure is longer 
 " Than it should be; we must have something stronger: 
 " A creeping pulse ! Bare patience will not do 
 " To get him strength, he must be thankful too. 
 
 " He must consider" and so on he went, 
 To shew thanksgiving's marvellous extent;
 
 61 
 
 And what a true catholicon* it was; 
 And what great cures it had but brought to pass ; 
 And how best fortunes, wanting it, were curst; 
 And how it turn'd to good the very worst. 
 
 O what a deal lie said! And in the light, 
 Wherein he placed it, all was really right: 
 But, like good doctrine, of some good divine, 
 Which, while 'tis preach'd, is admirably fine, 
 When Doctor Gratitude had left the spot, 
 All that he said was charming and forgot. 
 
 Your doctor's potion, patience and the barky 
 May hit both mental and material mark; 
 One serves to keep the ague from the mind, 
 As t'other does, from its corporeal rind ; 
 There is, methinks, in their respective growth, 
 A fair analogy betwixt 'em both. 
 
 For what the bark is to the growing tree, 
 To human mind, that, patience seems to be; 
 They hold the principles of growth together, 
 And blunt the force of accident and weather: 
 Bar'd of its bark, a tree, we may compute, 
 Will not remain much longer on its root. 
 
 And mind in mortals, that are wisely will'd, 
 Will hardly bear to have its patience peel'd. 
 Nothing, in fine, contributes more to living, 
 Physic, or food, than patience and thanksgiving; 
 Patience defends us from all outward hap; 
 Of inward life thanksgiving is the sap. 
 
 VERSES WRITTEN UNDER A PRINT, 
 
 REPRESENTING! 
 
 The Salutation of the Blessed Virgin. 
 
 SEE represented here, in light and shade, 
 The angel's visit to the bfessed maid; 
 
 * Uuiversal remedy. 
 F 2
 
 62 
 
 To Mary, destin'd, when the time should come, 
 To bear the Saviour in her virgin womb; 
 Explaining to her the mysterious plan 
 Of man's redemption his becoming man. 
 
 When ev'ry previous wonder had been done, 
 The virgin then was to conceive a Son; 
 And to prepare her for the grand event, 
 From God, his Father, Gabriel was sent, 
 To hail the chosen organ of his birth 
 Of God with us, of Jesus upon earth. 
 
 Unable to express celestial things 
 Imagination adds expanded wings 
 To human form exact, and beauteous face; 
 Which angels have, but with angelic grace, 
 Free from all grossness and defect; nor seen, 
 But with a pure chaste eye, divinely keen. 
 
 Such Mary's was, whose posture here design'd 
 The most profound humility of mind; 
 Modestly asking how the thing could be; 
 And saying, when inform'd of God's decree, 
 Behold the handmaid of the Lord! His will 
 Let Him, according to thy word, fulfill. 
 
 What fair instruction may the scene impart 
 To them who look beyond the painter's art! 
 Who, in th' angelic message from above, 
 See the revealing of God's gracious love 
 To ev'ry soul, that yields itself to all 
 That pleases Him, whatever may befall! 
 
 Whatever circumstance of heav'nly grace 
 Might be peculiar to the virgin's case, 
 That holy thing, that saves a soul from sin, 
 Of God's good Spirit must be born within: 
 For all salvation is, upon the whole, 
 The birth of Jesus in the human soul.
 
 63 
 
 VERSES UNDER A PRINT, 
 
 REPRESENTING 
 Christ in the midst of the Doctors. 
 
 ENGAG'D, amidst the Doctors here, behold, 
 In deep discourse, a child of twelve years old; 
 Who shew'd, whatever question they preferr d, 
 A wisdom that astonish'd all who heard ; 
 And found, in asking or in answ'ring youth, 
 Of age so tender, such a force of truth. 
 
 Observe his mild, but penetrating look; 
 Those bearded sages poring o'er their book; 
 That meek old priest, with placid face of joy; 
 That pharisaic frowner at the boy; 
 That pensive Rabbi, seeming at a stand; 
 That serious matron, lifting up her hand. 
 
 A group of heads, as painting fancy taught, 
 Hints at the various attitude of thought 
 In difF'rent hearers, all intent upon 
 The wondrous graces that in Jesus shone: 
 Each aspect witnessing the same surprise, 
 From whence his understanding should arise. 
 
 We know, at present, what the learn'd Jew, 
 Disputing in the temple, little knew; 
 That thro'' this child, in every answer made, 
 God's own eternal wisdom was displayed; 
 That their Messiah, then, the truths instill'd, 
 Which, grown te man, He perfectly fulfilFd. 
 
 We know that His corporeal presence then 
 On earth, as man, was requisite for men; 
 That, by his Spirit, He is present still, 
 And always was, to men of upright will: 
 To saving truth, whatever doctors say, 
 His inward guidance must assure the way.
 
 64 
 
 Whether his actions, therefore, be pourtray'd 
 In printed letter or in figur'd shade, 
 The books, the pictures, that we read or see, 
 Should raise reflection, in some due degree; 
 And serve as memorandums, to recal 
 The teacher Jesus, in the midst of all. 
 
 PASCAL'S CHARACTER OF HIMSELF. 
 
 I LOVE and honour a poor humble state, 
 Because my Saviour Jesus Christ was poor; 
 And riches, too, that help us to abate 
 The miseries which other men endure. 
 
 I render back no injuries again, 
 Because I wish the doer's case like mine; 
 In which, nor good nor evil, as from men, 
 Is minded much, but from a Hand Divine. 
 
 I aim sincerely to be just and true ; 
 For my good-will to all mankind extends: 
 A tenderness of heart, I think, is due, 
 Where stricter ties unite me to my friends. 
 
 Whether in conversation or alone, 
 Still to my mind God's presence I recal: 
 My actions wait the judgment of his throne, 
 And 'tis to Him I consecrate them all. 
 
 These are my thoughts, and briefly thus display'd ; 
 I thank my Saviour for them ev'ry day; 
 Who, of a poor, weak, sinful man, has made 
 A man exempt from vice's evil sway. 
 
 Such is the force of His inspiring grace! 
 For all my good to that alone I owe; 
 Since, if my own corrupted self I trace, 
 J'm nothing else but misery and woe,
 
 65 
 
 Armelle Nicholas's Account of Herself. 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH. 
 
 " TO the God of my love, in the morning," said she, 
 Like a child to its parent, when waking, I flee; 
 With a longing to serve Him and please Him, I rise 
 And before Him kneel down, as if seen by these eyes: 
 I resign up myself to his absolute will, 
 Which I beg that in me He would always fulfil: 
 That the pray'rs of the day, by whomever preferr'd. 
 For the good of each soul, may be also thus heard. 
 
 If, oblig'd to attend on some houshold affair, 
 I have scarce so much time as to say the Lord's Pray'r, 
 This gives me no trouble: my dutiful part 
 Is obedience to Him, whom I have at my heart 
 As well at my work as retiring to pray; 
 And his love does not suffer in mine a decay: 
 He has taught me Himself, that a work, which I do 
 For his sake, is a pray'r very real and true. 
 
 I dress in his presence, and learn to confess 
 That his provident kindness supplies me with dress: 
 In the midst of all outward employment I find 
 A conversing with Him of an intimate kind; 
 How sweet is the labour! His loving regard 
 So supporting one's mind, that it thinks nothing hard; 
 While the limbs are at work, in the seeking to please 
 So belov'd a companion, the mind is at ease. 
 
 In his presence I eat and I drink; and reflect 
 How food, of his gift, is the growing effect; 
 How his love to my soul is so great and so good, 
 Just as if it were fed with his own flesh and blood: 
 What a virtue this Feeder, his meat, and his drink 
 Have to raise in one's heart, I must leave you to think. 
 He alone can express it; no language of mine, 
 Were my life spent in speaking, could ever define.
 
 66 
 
 When perhaps by hard usage or weariness press'd, 
 I myself am too apt to be fretful at best, 
 Love shews me forthwith how I ought to take heed 
 Not to nurse the least anger, by word or by deed; 
 And He sets such a watch at the door of my lips, 
 That of hasty cross words there is nothing that slips; 
 Such irregular passions, as seek to surprise, 
 Are crush'd, and are conquer'd, as soon as they rise. 
 
 Or, if e'er I give place to a humour so bad, 
 My mind has no rest till forgiveness be had; 
 I confess all my faults, as if He had not known, 
 And my peace i6 renew'd, by a goodness his own; 
 In a manner so free, as if, after my sin, 
 More strongly confirm'd than before it had been. 
 By a mercy so tender my heart is reclaim'd, 
 And the more to love Him by its failing inflam'd. 
 
 Sometimes I perceive that He hideth his face, 
 And I seem like a person depriv'd of all grace; 
 Then I say " Tis no matter, altho' thou conceal 
 " Thyself as thou pleasest, I'll keep to my zeal; 
 41 I'll love Thee, and serve Thee, however this rod 
 " May be sent to chastise, for I know Thou art God;" 
 And with more circumspection I stand upon guard, 
 Till of such a great blessing no longer debarr'd. 
 
 But a suft'ring, so deep, having taught me to try 
 What I am in my self-hood, I learn to rely 
 More firmly on Him, who was pleas'd to endure 
 The severest extremes, to make way for our cure. 
 To conform to his pattern, as love shall see fit, 
 My faith in the Saviour resolves to submit; 
 For no more than my self (if the word may go free) 
 Can I live without Him, can He help loving me. 
 
 Well assur'd of his goodness, I pass the whole day, 
 And my work, hard or easy, is felt as a play; 
 I am thankful in feelings, but, pleasure or smart, 
 It is rather Himself that I love in my heart. 
 When they urge me to mirth, I think, " O ! were it known 
 " How I meet the best Company when I'm alone!" 
 To my dear fellow-creatures what ties me each hour 
 Is the love of my God, to the best of my pow'r,
 
 67 
 
 At the hour of the night, when I go to my rest, 
 I repose on his love, like a child at the breast; 
 And a sweet, peaceful silence invites me to keep 
 Contemplating Him, to my dropping asleep. 
 Many times a good thought, by its gentle delight, 
 Has with-held me from sleep, a good part of the night, 
 In adoring his love that continues to share 
 To a poor, wretched creature, so special a care. 
 
 This, after my heart was converted at last, 
 Is the life I have led for these twenty years past: 
 My love has not chang'd, and my innermost peace, 
 Tho' it ever seem'd full, has gone on to increase: 
 'Tis an infinite love that has fill'd me, and fed 
 My still rising hunger to eat of its bread; 
 So satisfied still, as if such an excess 
 Could have nothing more added than what I possess." 
 
 REFLECTIONS 
 
 ON THE FOREGOING ACCOUNT. 
 
 HOW full a proof of heavVs all-present aid 
 Was good Armelle, a simple servant maid! 
 A poor French girl, by parentage and birth 
 Of low and mean condition upon earth; 
 By education ignorant indeed, 
 She, all her life, could neither write nor read. 
 
 But she had that which all the force of art 
 Could neither give nor takeaway a heart; 
 An honest, humble, well disposed will, 
 The true capacity for higher skill 
 Than what the world, with all its learned din, 
 Could teach she lcarn'd her lesson from within; 
 Plain, single lesson of essential kind, 
 The love of God's pure presence in her mind. 
 Her artless, innocent, attentive thought 
 Was at the Source of all true knowledge taught:
 
 68 
 
 There she could read the characters impress'd 
 Upon the mind of ev'ry human breast; 
 The native laws prescrib'd to ev'ry soul; 
 And love, the one fulfiller of the whole. 
 
 This holy love to know and practise well, , 
 Became the sole endeavour of Armelle: 
 Of outward things the management and rule 
 She wisely took from this internal school: 
 In ev'ry work well done by such a hand, 
 The work was servile, but the thing was grand. 
 There was a dignity in all she did, 
 Tho' from the world by meaner labours hid; 
 If mean below, not so esteem'd above, 
 Where all the grand of labour is the love: 
 In vain to boast magnificence of scene; 
 It is all meanness, if the love be mean. 
 
 St. Cecilia's Hymn. 
 
 O! BORN of a virgin, most lowly and meek, 
 Thou sent of thy Father lost creatures to seek, 
 Vouchsafe, in the manner that pleaseth thee best, 
 To kindle thy love, in my virginal breast; 
 Let the words of my mouth, and the thoughts of my heart, 
 Obey the sweet force, which thy grace shall impart ; 
 Whilst angels assist me to offer my vows 
 To the God of my Life, my Redeemer, and Spouse. 
 
 My life, I esteem, O Creator Divine, 
 As a loving impression out-flowing from thine; 
 As an act of thy bounty, that gives us a part 
 Of the light, love, and glory, which thou thyself art; 
 May I always as little thy pleasure oppose, 
 As the pure simple nature from whence I arose; 
 And, by thee and for thee created, fulfil 
 In thought, word, and deed, thy adorable will. 
 
 By this blessed will, howsoever made known, 
 With a dutiful joy will I govern my own;
 
 69 
 
 And, deaf (o all tempting enchantments of sin, 
 I will hearken *o Thee, my Redeemer, within; 
 Thy words will I ponder, by night and by day, 
 And the light of thy gospel shall mark out my way: 
 Till at length I arrive at the honour I claim, 
 To live, like a virgin baptiz'd in thy name. 
 
 A 
 
 LETTER TO A LADY, 
 
 OCCASIONED 
 
 By her desiring the Author to revise and polish the 
 Poems of Bishop Ken. 
 
 YOUR book again with thanks. Of worthy men 
 One of the worthiest was Bishop Ken. 
 Without offence to authors, far above 
 Ten men of learning is one man of love : 
 How many Bishops and Divines renown'd, 
 Time after time, the Catechism expound ! 
 And which, of all, so help it to impart 
 Th' essential doctrine, purity of heart? 
 
 His choice of poetry, when civil rage 
 OVrturnM a throne, the last revolving age, 
 When Churches felt, as well as States, the shock 
 That drove the pious Pastor from his flock ; 
 His choice of subjects, not of party kind, 
 But simply fit for ev'ry christian mind, 
 Are proofs of gen'rous virtue and sublime, 
 And high encomiums on the force of rhyme; 
 
 His rhymes. If those of Dryden or of Pope, 
 Excel on subjects of a different scope, 
 It is because they only chose the mold 
 Where ore shone brightest, whether lead or sold: 
 He, less concern'd for superficial glare, 
 Made weight and worth his more especial care ;
 
 70 
 
 They took the tinsel of the fabled Nine, 
 He, the substantial metal from the mine. 
 
 His phrase (sometimes same sentence may be past 
 On^theirs) might have more artificial cast; 
 But, in the main, his pieces, as they stand, 
 Could scarce be alter'd by a second hand. 
 Patchwork improvements, in the modern stile, 
 Bestow'd upon some venerable pile, 
 Do but deface it: Poems to revise 
 That Ken has writ, another Ken must arise. 
 
 The dedication, where the case is shewn 
 Of a Greek saint of old, so like his own; 
 The preface, introduction, and the view 
 To Jesus point which all his works pursue 
 Arise to mind, and tempt to try the case 
 Of representing the imperfect trace; 
 To make, (as memory can best recal 
 Its leading thoughts,) one preface out of all. 
 
 Imagine then the good old man reclin'd 
 On couch or chair, and musing in his mind 
 How to adjust the prefatory hint, 
 To all the lines that he gave leave to print; 
 Thinking on Gregory, whose former fate 
 Bore such resemblance to his own of late; 
 Thinking on Jesus, and oppress'd with pain, 
 Inditing thus th' apologizing strain: 
 
 " In all my pains I court the sacred muse, 
 " Verse is the only laudanum I use ; 
 " Verse, and the name of Jesus in the line, 
 " The Christian's universal anodyne; 
 " To hymn his saving love to all mankind 
 " Softens my grief, and recreates my mind; 
 " Thy glory, Jesu, while my songs intend, 
 " May thy good Spirit bless them to that end! 
 
 " Like destin'd Jonah, cast into the deep, 
 " To save the vessel from the stormy sweep, 
 " And, wafted providentially to shore, 
 " I risk the boist'rous element no more; 
 " But whilst alone I tread the distant strand, 
 " Safe o'er the waves that all may come to land
 
 n 
 
 " Whom once I call'd companions on the sea, 
 " I pray to Jesus whom the winds obey. 
 
 " Thus Nazianzen Gregory of old, 
 " Whom faction drove from his beloved fold, 
 " Could will a Jonahs lot, to be cast o'er, 
 " If his dismission might the calm restore. 
 " However short of this illustrious Saint, 
 " Yet I can find, from virtues that I want, 
 " A cause to pray that reigning feuds may cease, 
 " To hope in Jesus for a calming peace. 
 
 " The Saint, expell'd by a tumultuous rage, 
 " Cheerd with diviner songs- his drooping age ; 
 " With will resign'd, in his retir'd abode, 
 " On christian themes compos'd the various ode: 
 " Thus, to my closet prompted to retire, 
 " Nothing on this side Heav'n do I require; 
 " Employ'd in hymns, tho' with unequal skill, 
 41 To consecrate to Jesus all my will. 
 
 " With pain and sickness when the Saint was griev'd, 
 " His anxious mind a sacred song reliev'd; 
 " Oft, when oppress'd, the subject which he sang, 
 " Mix'd with devotion, sweeten'd ev'ry pang; 
 " So, being banish'd by unruly heat, 
 " With hymns I seek to solace my retreat; 
 " Be my confinement ever so extreme, 
 " The love of Jesus is a special theme. 
 
 " When the apostate Julian decreed 
 " That Pagan poets Christians should not read. 
 " The Saint, who knew the subtle edict's cause, 
 " Made verse to triumph o'er the tyrant's laws: 
 ; - May I, while poetry is unrestrain'd, 
 " Tho' more in these, than pagan times profan'd, 
 " Shew, that what real charms it has belong 
 " To Jesus, Founder of the Christian song. 
 
 " When Gregory was forc'd to leave his flock, 
 41 He chose in verse the Gospel to unlock; 
 " Th.it flowing numbers might th' attention gain. 
 " So long forbidden to his preaching strain:
 
 72 
 
 ** My care for them whom I was forc'd to leave, 
 
 44 Taught and untaught what doctrine to receive, 
 
 " Would hint in rhymes, to all whom they shall reach, 
 
 41 What Jesus only, in themselves, can teach. 
 
 44 For sake of peace did Gregory withdraw, 
 44 And vvish'd more leaders to observe that law ; 
 44 By which resigners of dominion, here, 
 44 Purchase much greater in the heav'nly sphere: 
 44 In hopes of peace, more joyfully I shook 
 44 Preferment off, than e'er I undertook ; 
 44 For all the flock, and banish'd head beside, 
 44 My comfort is that Jesus can provide. 
 
 44 When worldly politics and lust of rule 
 44 PrevaiPd against him in a christian school, 
 41 The Saint retir'd, and labour'd to disperse 
 44 Ungrateful discord by harmonious verse: 
 41 Sharing his fate, I share in his desire 
 44 Of discord drown'd, and of a hymning lyre, 
 44 To tune the hopes of peace; and in the name 
 44 Of Jesus, rightly hop'd for, to proclaim. 
 
 44 This Prince of peace, this Origin Divine, 
 44 Vouchsafe to aid the well intended line, 
 44 To teach the reader's heart ; and, by his grace, 
 44 Make these poor labours useful in their place ! 
 44 O might they raise, in any single soul, 
 44 One spark of love, one glimpse of the Great Whole, 
 44 That will possess it, when by thee possess'd, 
 44 Jesus! th' eternal song of all the blest!" 
 
 Hint to Christian Poets. 
 
 WHERE now the Jove, the Phoebus, and the Nine, 
 Invok'd in aid of Greek and Roman line; 
 The verse-inspiring oracle and stream, 
 Delphos, and Helicon, and every theme
 
 73 
 
 Of charming fictions, which the poets sung 
 To shew the beauties of a reigning tongue? 
 
 The wars of gods, and goddesses, and men, 
 Employ'd a Homer's and a Virgil's pen: 
 An Epicurus taught, that, with this ball, 
 The gods, at ease, had no concern at all: 
 And a Lucretius follow'd, to rehearse 
 His Greek impieties in Latin verse. 
 
 Such were the Bibles of the Pagan age, 
 Sung at the feast, and acted on the stage ; 
 Transform'd to pompous or to luscious ode, 
 As Bacchus, Mars, or Venus was the mode; 
 Dumb deities, at wit's profuse expence, 
 Worshipp'd with sounds that eehoed to no sense. 
 
 The Christian bard has, from a real spring 
 Of inspiration, other themes to sing; 
 No vain philosophy, no fabled rhyme, 
 But sacred story, simple and sublime, 
 By holy prophets told; to whom belong 
 The subjects worthy of the pow'rs of song. 
 
 Shun then, ye born with talents that may grace 
 The most important truths, their hapless case 
 From ranting, high, theatrical bombast, 
 To low sing-song of meretricious cast; 
 Shun ev'ry step, by which a Pagan muse 
 Could lead her clients to the stage or stews. 
 
 Let no examples tempt you to profane 
 The gift abhorrent of all hurtful strain : 
 Contemn the vicious, tho' prevailing fame, 
 That gains, by prostituting verse, a name: 
 Take the forbearing hint; and all the rest 
 Will rise spontaneous in your purer breast. 
 
 V0fc, II.
 
 n 
 
 ON THE 
 
 DISPOSITION OF MIND, 
 
 REQUISITE FOR 
 
 The right Use and Understanding of the Holy Scriptures. 
 
 TO hear the words of scripture, or to read, 
 With good effect, requires a threefold heed; 
 If incomplete, it only can produce 
 Hearings and readings of no sort of use. 
 
 The first, Intention ; or a fix'd design 
 To learn the truth concerning things divine; 
 If previous disposition be not good, 
 How shall a serious point be understood? 
 
 The next, Attention; not the outward part, 
 But the fair list'ning of an honest heart: 
 Sound may, and figure, strike the ear and eye, 
 But sense and meaning to the mind apply. 
 
 The last, Retention; or the keeping pure, 
 From hurtful mixtures, what is clear and sure ; 
 In vain the purpose and the pains have been 
 To gain a good, if not secur'd within. 
 
 Without Intention truth no more can stay, 
 Than seed can grow upon a public way; 
 The more it is affecting, plain, and grand, 
 The less will heedless persons understand. 
 
 Without Attention 'twill have no more fruit, 
 Than seed on stony ground, for want of root; 
 That makes a show with hasty shoots awhile, 
 And then betrays the barrenness of soil. 
 
 Without Retention all is lost at last, 
 Like seed among the thorns and briars cast: 
 So worldly cares, and worldly riches both, 
 May mix with truth, and choak it in its growth.
 
 75 
 
 As ground produces goodly crops of corn, 
 If good, and free from footstep, stone, or thorn 
 That of good hearts has properties as plain 
 To seek the truth, receive it, and retain. 
 
 ON 
 
 The same Subject as the preceding, 
 
 IN A 
 
 LETTER TO MR. PONTHIEU. 
 
 WE ought to read, my worthy friend Ponthieu^ 
 All holy scriptures, with a scripture-view; 
 Writ for our learning, as their aim and scope 
 Are patience, comfort, and the blessed hope 
 Of everlasting life, a reader's aim, 
 To understand them right, should be the same. 
 
 The prosecution of this happier quest 
 If doubts and difficulties shall molest; 
 And huge debates, on passages obscure, 
 Be suffer'd to eclipse the plain and sure ; 
 The more he reads, the more this rambling art 
 Will fill his head, but never touch his heart; 
 With controversial circumstances fill, 
 On which the learned have employed their skilly 
 With such success, that scarce the plainest text 
 Can be produc'd, but what they have perplex'd 
 In such a manner, that, while all assign 
 To scripture-page authority divine, 
 The compliment is rather paid, for sake 
 Of such constructions as they please to make. 
 
 Down from the Pope to the obscurest sect, 
 Too many proofs are seen of this effect; 
 Of making one same scripture a retreat 
 For ev'ry party's opposite conceit. 
 Profaner wits, observing this, mistook, 
 And laid the fault upon the Bible book:
 
 76 
 
 Taking the same variety of ways, 
 By fancied meanings for its ancient phrase, 
 To cry it down, as sects were wont to use 
 To cry it up, for their peculiar views. 
 
 As this excess, from age to age, has grown 
 To such a monstrous height within our own, 
 What a sincere, impartial, honest mind 
 In search of truth, does it require to find! 
 What calm attention, what unfeign'd desire 
 To hear its voice does truth itself require ! 
 In scripture-phrase, what an unceasing pratfr 
 Should for its sacred influence prepare ! 
 Because, whatever comments we recal, 
 The disposition of the mind is all. 
 
 'Tis in this point (undoubtedly the main) 
 That sacred books do differ from profane: 
 They do not ask so much for letter'd skill 
 To understand them, as for simple will. 
 For as a single, or clear-sighted eye 
 Admits the light, like an unclouded sky, 
 So is the truth, by scripture phrase designM, 
 Receiv'd into a well disposed mind; 
 By the same Spirit, ready to admit 
 The written word, as they possess'd who writ; 
 Who writ, if Christians do not vainly boast, . 
 By inspiration of the Holy Ghost. 
 
 In books so writ this great advantage lies, 
 That the first Author of them never dies; 
 But is still present to instruct and shew, 
 To them who seek Him, what they need to know ; 
 Still, by his chosen servants, to unfold, 
 As He sees fit, the mysteries of old; 
 To re-confirm what any sacred pen 
 Has writ, by proof within the hearts of men. 
 
 This is the true and solid reason why 
 No difficulties, now objected, lie 
 Against the volumes writ so long ago, 
 And in a language that few people know; 
 Subject, as books, to errors and mistakes, 
 Which oft transcribing or translating makes;
 
 77 
 
 While ianners, customs, usages of phrase 
 Well known of old, but not so in our days, 
 For many obvious reasons, must elude 
 The utmost force of criticising feud: 
 Still, all editions verbally contain 
 The simple, neces-ary truths, and plain, 
 Of gospel doctrine ; and the Spirit's aid, 
 Which is the chief, is not at all decay'd. 
 
 Nor can it "hurt a reader to suspend 
 His judgment, where he does not comprehend 
 A darker text ; however it appear, 
 He knows it cannot contradict a clear: 
 So that with all the helps, of ev'ry kind, 
 The shortest and the surest is to mind, 
 (When read or heard,) and inwardly digest 
 The plainest texts, as rules to all the rest; 
 To pray for that Good Spirit, which alone 
 Can make its former inspirations known; 
 The promis'd Comforter, th' unerring Guide, 
 Who, by. Christ's word, was always to abide 
 Within His church, not only in the past, 
 But in all ages while the world should last; 
 A church disringuish'd, in the sacred code, 
 By his perpetual guidance and abode. 
 
 Such is the Teacher whom our Saviour chose, 
 And writ no books, as human learning knows; 
 Loth as it is, of later years, to preach, 
 That by this Teacher He will always teach; 
 Bless all the means of learning, or the want, 
 To them who after His instructions pant: 
 Of reading helps what holy men express'd, 
 When mov'd to write, are certainly the best; 
 But for the real, understanding part, 
 The Book of books is ev'ry man's own heart. 
 
 G 2
 
 78 
 
 A STRICTURE 
 
 ON 
 
 BISHOP WARBURTON'S DOCTRJNE OF GRACE, 
 
 WRITING or scripture, sacred or profane, 
 Can only render history more plain 
 Of what was done or said, by God or man, 
 Since the creation of the world began : 
 Tho' ev'ry word in sacred page be true, 
 To give account is all that it can do. 
 
 Now an account of things, as done or said, 
 Is not a living letter, but a dead; 
 A picture only, which may represent, 
 But cannot give us what is really meant: 
 He that has got a map into his hand 
 May use the name, but knows it is not land. 
 
 So in the Bible when we come to look, 
 
 (That is, by way of eminence, the book,') 
 
 We must not fancy that it can bestow 
 
 The things themselves, which we desire to- know; 
 
 It can but. yield, however true and plain, 
 
 Verbal directions how we may obtain. 
 
 Tho' a prescription be directly sure, 
 Upon the patient's taking it, to cure, 
 No one imagines that the worded bill, 
 Becomes, itself, the remedy for ill; 
 The med'cines taken, as the bill directs, 
 Procure the salutiferous effects. 
 
 Who, then, can place in any written code 
 The Holy Ghost's, the Comforter's, abode? 
 * Constant abode supreme illumination 
 What copy can be this, or what translation? 
 
 * For though, according to the promise, his ordinary influence occa 
 sionally assists the faithful of all ages ; yet his constant abode, and su- 
 preme illumination, is in the sacred scriptures of the New Testament, 
 p. 39. The Doctrine of Grace, by the Bishop of Gloucester.
 
 79 
 
 The Spirit's dwelling, by th' attesting pen 
 Of all th' inspir'd, is in the hearts of men. 
 
 Were books his constant residence indeed, 
 What must the millions do who cannot read? 
 When they, who can, so vary in their sense, 
 What must distinguish true from false pretence? 
 If they must follow where the learned guide, 
 What diff'rent spirits in one book abide? 
 
 Genius for paradox, however bright, 
 Cannot well justify this oversight: 
 Better to own the truth, for the truth's sake, 
 Than to persist in such a gross mistake. 
 Books are but books; th' illuminating part 
 Depends on God's Good Spirit in the heart. 
 
 The Comforter, Christ said, will come unto, 
 Abide with, dwell in, (not your books, but) yoiu 
 Just as absurd an ink and paper throne 
 For God's abode, as one of wood or stone: 
 If to adore an image be idolatry, 
 To deify a book is bibliolatry* . 
 
 ON 
 
 THE CONVERSION OF ST. PAUL. 
 
 IN Paul's conversion we discern the case 
 Of human talents, wanting heav'nly grace : 
 What persecutions, till he saw the light, 
 Against the Christian church did he excite ! 
 By his own reason led into mistake, 
 Amongst the flock what havock did he make! 
 Within himself when, verily, he thought, 
 That all the while he did but what he ought. 
 
 His use of reason cannot be denied, 
 Nor legal zeal, nor moral life beside; 
 Blameless as any Jew or Greek could claim, 
 Who shew'd aversion to the Christian name. 
 
 * A worshipping of books.
 
 80 
 
 His fund of learning some are pleas'd to add; 
 And yet, with all th' endowments which he had, 
 From place to place, with eager steps, he trod, 
 To persecute the real church of God. 
 
 When to Damascus, for the like intent, 
 With the High Priest's authority he went; 
 Struck to the ground, by a diviner ray, 
 The reasoning, legal, moral zealot lay ; 
 To the plain question put by Jesus Why 
 Persecute me? had only to reply, 
 What shall I do? His reason and his wrath 
 Were both convinc'd, and he embraced the faith. 
 
 His outward lost, his inward sight renew'd, 
 Truth in its native evidence he view'd; 
 With three days' fast he nourish'd his concern, 
 And, a new conduct well prepar'd to learn, 
 Good Ananias, whom he came to bind, 
 Was sent to cure and to baptize the blind: 
 A destin'd martyr to his Jewish zeal 
 Of Christian faith confers the sacred seal. 
 
 Of nobler use his reason, while it stood 
 Without a conference with flesh and blood, 
 Still, and submissive; when, within, begun 
 The Father's revelation of the Son ; 
 Whom, till the Holy Spirit rise to shew, 
 No pow'r of thought can ever come to know; 
 The saving mystery, obscur'd by sin, 
 Itself must manifest itself, within. 
 
 Thus, taught of God, Paul saw the truth appear 
 To his enlighten' d understanding clear: 
 The pow'r of Christ himself, and nothing less, 
 Could move his persecutor to profess: 
 He learn'd, and told it from the real ground, 
 And prov'd, to all the christian world around, 
 That true religion had its true foundation, 
 Not in man's reason but God's revelation.
 
 81 
 A CONTRAST 
 
 BETWEEN 
 
 Human Reason and Divine Illumination, 
 
 EXEMPLIFIED IN 
 
 THREE DIFFERENT CHARACTERS. 
 
 Tftis and the piece which follows it, with another, beginning at page 88, contain an excellent 
 apology for moderation in Judgment among religious peovle, and an able defence of mystic 
 writer!,' and of the most abstruse of them, our hut/tor's favourite, Jacob Belimen* 
 
 A HUMBLE Christian to whose inward sight 
 God shews the truth, and then inspires to write, 
 Because of deeper certainties declar'd, 
 Than what the .mind perceives, when unprepar'd, 
 From them who measure all on which he treats, 
 By the tiVd standard of their own conceits, 
 Meets with contempt ; and very few will own 
 The real truths which he has really shown. 
 
 A sharp philosopher, who thinks to find, 
 By his own reason, his own strength of mind, 
 Sublimer things, that lie so far beyond 
 The scenes to which such forces correspond, 
 From them who love to speculate like him, 
 And think all light, but that of reason, dim, 
 Meets with admirers; tho' he reasons wrong, 
 And draws the dupes, if plausible, along. 
 
 Now, tho' a searcher should no more despise 
 The use of reason, than he should of eyes; 
 Yet, if there be a still superior light, 
 Than faculty of Reason has, or Sight; 
 Which all religion seems to pre-suppose, 
 That God, on such, as rightly seek, bestows; 
 In higher matters how should he decide, 
 Who takes his reason, only, for his guide? 
 
 Such words as Nature, Reason, Common Sense, 
 Furnish all writers with one same pretence ;
 
 82 
 
 Altho', in many an acknowledg'd case, 
 
 They must fall short, without superior Grace: 
 
 So that, in things of more momentous kind, 
 
 Nature itself directs us not to mind, 
 
 If sacred truth be heartily desir'd, 
 
 The greatest reas'ners, but the most inspired. 
 
 Whence comes the value for the scripture page, 
 So justly due, so paid thro 1 ev'ry age? 
 Not writ by men of learning, and of parts, 
 But honest, humble, and enlighten'd hearts; 
 Who, when they reason'd, reason' d very well; 
 But how enabled, let their writings tell; 
 Not one of all, but who ascribes the force 
 Of truth discover'd to a higher source. 
 
 Take these three men, so diff'rent in their way, 
 For instance, Behmen, Bolingbroke, and Hay; 
 They all philosophize on sacred themes, 
 And the two last on reason build their schemes: 
 The first affirms, that his principia flow 
 From what God's Spirit gave him pow'r to know; 
 As much a promis'd as a certain Guide, 
 With Christ's disciples ever to abide. 
 
 If Bolingbrokian reason must prevail, 
 All inspiration is an idle tale : 
 Writers by that, from Moses down to Paul, 
 I spare to mention how he treats them all: 
 " Now if he err'd, whence did that error spring?" 
 His reason told him there was no such thing ; 
 Foundress, in her philosophizing cast, 
 Of all hh first philosophy and last. 
 
 Hay, better taught and more ingenuous spark, 
 Gropes with his reason betwixt light and dark ; 
 Now, gentle glimmerings of truth displays; 
 Now, lost in fancy's intricater maze, 
 A motley mixture of such things has got 
 As reason could discover and could not; 
 Which all the builders on its boasted plan 
 Prove to be just as manifold as man. 
 
 This Behmen knew; and, in his humble way, 
 Became enlighten'd by a steadier ray;
 
 83 
 
 First taught himself by what he heard and 9aw, 
 Of grace and nature he explain'd the law; 
 That sacred Spirit, from which both arose, 
 Taught him, of both, the secrets to disclose 
 To them, who, using eyes and reason too, 
 Were fit for truth in a diviner view. 
 
 He does not write from reason ; nor appeals. 
 Of course, to what that faculty reveals; 
 Yet, if the common privilege be mine, 
 Reason may see, that something more divine 
 Lies hid, in what the books of Behmen teach. 
 Tho' it surpass its apprehensive reach; 
 May see, from what it really apprehends, 
 That all mere reas'ners Behmen far transcends. 
 
 Fond of his reason as a man may be, 
 He should confess its limited degree; 
 And, by its fair direction, seek to find 
 A surer Guide to things of deeper kind; 
 The most sharp-sighted seek for other men, 
 Who may have seen what lies beyond their ken; 
 And, in religious matters, most appeals 
 Are made by men to that which God reveals. 
 
 How is it possible to judge aright 
 Of heav'nly things, but by a heav'nly light? 
 Contemn'd by Bolingbroke, by Hay confessed, 
 By Behmen, possibly at least, possess'd; 
 Truly inspir'd, as pious minds have thought, 
 Jacob was known to live as he had taught; 
 And at his last departing moment cried, 
 How I go hence to Paradise and died. 
 
 THE REPLY OF SOCRATES, 
 
 CONCERNING 
 
 The Writings of Heraclilus. 
 
 WHEN Socrates had read, as authors note, 
 A certain book that Heraclitu9 wrote;
 
 84 
 
 Deep in its matter, and obscure beside; 
 Ask'd his opinion of it, he replied, 
 " All that I understand is good and true, 
 " And what I don't is, I believe, so too." 
 
 Thus answer'd Socrates, whom Greece confess'd 
 The wisest of her sages and the best; 
 By justice mov'd, and candour, of a piece 
 With that Philosopher's repute in Greece: 
 Worthy of imitation, to be sure, 
 When a good writer is sometimes obscure. 
 
 All the haranguing, therefore, on the theme 
 Of deep obscurity, in Jacob Behme, 
 Is but itself obscure; for he might see 
 Farther, 'tis possible, than you or me: 
 Meanwhile, the goodness of his plainer page 
 Demands the answer of the Grecian sage. 
 
 The stuff and nonsense, labyrinth and tnaze^ 
 Madness, enthusiasm, and such like phrase, 
 Its quick bestowers are oblig'd to own, 
 Ought not to move us, by its eager tone, 
 More than they ought, in reason, to be mov'd, 
 Should we so paint a work which they approv'd. 
 
 He, whom the fair Socratical remark 
 Describes, was call'd oxoreivoi* or the dark', 
 Yet his wise reader, from the good in view, 
 Thought that his darker passages were true : 
 He would not judge of what, as yet, lay hid, 
 By what he did not see, but what he did. 
 
 The books of Behme, as none are tied to read, 
 To blame unread, they have as little need : 
 As they who read them most, the most commend, 
 Others, at least, may venture to suspend; 
 Or think, with ref'rence to such books as these, 
 Of Heraclitus and of Socrates. 
 
 * Skoteinos.
 
 85 
 
 THOUGHTS UPON HUMAN REASON, 
 
 OCCASIONED 
 
 By Reading some extravagant Declamations 
 ih its Favour. 
 
 YES, I have read them but I cannot find 
 Much depth of sense in writers of this kind: 
 They all retail, as they proceed along, 
 Or superficial sentiments or wrong: 
 Of " Reason! Reason!" they repeat the cries, 
 And " Reason's use 1 ' which nobody denies. 
 
 All sharers in it follow, I suppose, 
 Each one his reason, as he does his nose, 
 When he intends to reach a certain spot, 
 Whether he finds the road to it or not: 
 With equal sense a postulatum begs 
 The use of reason as the use of legs. 
 
 Full well these rational adepts declaim 
 On points, at which their reason can take aim; 
 But when they talk beyond them, what mistakes, 
 Of various kind, their various reason makes! 
 All are for one same rule; and in its use 
 All singly clear, and mutually abstruse. 
 
 What plainer demonstration can be had, 
 That their original pretence is bad; 
 Who say Their own, or human reason's light 
 Must needs direct them to determine right? 
 What greater proof of a superior skill 
 Needful to reas'ners, reason how they will? 
 
 Sense to discern, and Reason to compare, 
 Are gifts that merit our improving care; 
 But want an inward light, when all is done, 
 As seeds and plants do that of outward sun: 
 Main help neglected, tasteless fruits arise; 
 And wisdom grpws insipid in the wise.
 
 86 
 
 Tho' all these reason-worshippers profess 
 To guard against fanatical excess; 
 Enthusiastic heat, their fav'rite theme, 
 Draws their attention to the cold extreme; 
 Their fears of torrid fervors freeze a soul; 
 To shun the zone they send it to the pole. 
 
 The very sound of rational and plain 
 Contents, where sense is neither of the twain,. 
 A world of readers; whose polite concern 
 Is to be learned, without pains to learn. 
 To please their palates with a modish treat, 
 Cheap is the cost, and here is the receipt 
 
 " Let reason, first, imagination, passions, 
 " Be clean dress'd up in pretty-worded fashions; 
 " Then let Imagination, Passions, Reason, 
 " Change places round, at each commodious season; 
 " Till Reason, Passions, and Imagination 
 " Have prov'd the point, by their complete rotation.' 
 
 ON 
 
 FAITH, REASON, AND SIGHT, 
 
 CONSIDERED AS 
 
 The Three distinct Mediums of Human Perception* 
 
 THERE is a threefold correspondent light, 
 That shines to faith, to reason, and to sight. 
 The first, eternal, bringing into view 
 Celestial objects, if the faith be true; 
 The next, internal, which the reas'ning mind 
 Consults in truths of an ideal kind ; 
 The third, external, and perceiv'd thereby 
 All outward objects that affect the eye. 
 
 Each light is good within its destin'd sphere; 
 Nor with each other do they interfere. 
 Faith does not reason, reason does not see, 
 Nor sight extend beyond a fixt degree:
 
 87 
 
 Yet faith in light of a superior kind 
 Cannot be call'd " irrational or blind; 1 ' 
 Because a higher certainty, display'd, 
 Includes the force of all inferior aid. 
 
 As Body, Soul, and Spirit make a man, 
 Each has the help of its appointed plan ; 
 Sight, hearing, smell, and taste, and feeling sense, 
 What the corporeal nature wants, dispense: 
 Thinking, comparing, judging, and the whole 
 Of reas'ning faculties, assist the soul: 
 Faith, and whatever else may be express'd 
 By " grace celestial," make the spirit blest. 
 
 To heal defect, or to avoid excess, 
 The greater light should still correct the less; 
 And form, within the right obedient will, 
 A seeing, reasoning, and believing skill: 
 While Body moves as outward Sense directs; 
 And Soul perceives what Reason's light reflects; 
 And Spirit, fill'd with lustre from above, 
 Obeys by Faith, and operates by Love. 
 
 A sober person, tho' his eyes are good, 
 Slights not the truths by Reason understood ; 
 Nor just conclusions, under the pretence 
 Of contradiction to his seeing Sense; 
 Knowing the limits too that reason hath, 
 He does not seek to quench the light of Faith; 
 But rationally grants, that it may teach 
 What human stretch of reason cannot reach. 
 
 As Sight to Reason, in the things that lie 
 Beyond the ken of the corporeal eye, 
 Unhurt, uninjur'd, yields itself of course, 
 So well-taught Reason owns a higher force; 
 By Faith enlighten'd, it enjoys a rest 
 In clearer light to find its own snppress'd; 
 Suff'ring no more, for want of its display, 
 Than moon and stars in full meridian Day. 
 
 To make the reas'ning faculty of man 
 Do more or less to help him than it can,
 
 88 
 
 Is equally absurd; but worse to slight, 
 Or want the benefit of faith, than sight: 
 If he who sees no outward light be blind. 
 How dismal dark must be the faithless mind ! 
 The one is only natural defect, 
 The other wilful, obstinate neglect; 
 
 Pretence of Reason; for it is pretence 
 Foolish and fatal, in the saddest sense; 
 For Reason cannot alter what is true, 
 Or any more prevent than eyes can do; 
 Both, by the limits which they feel, proclaim 
 The real want of a Celestial Flame : 
 How is it possible to see, in fine, 
 The things of God without a Light Divine? 
 
 DIALOGUE 
 
 BETWEEN 
 
 RUSTICUS, THEOPHILUS, AND ACADEMICUS, 
 
 ON THE 
 
 Nature, Power, and Use of Human Learning, 
 
 IN MATTERS OF RELIGION. 
 
 From Mr. Law's Way to Divine Knowledge. 
 
 Rust. YES, Academicus, you love to hear 
 The words of Jacob Behmen made so clear; 
 But the truth is, the fundamental good 
 At which he aims, you have not understood; 
 Content with such good notions as befit 
 Your learned reason and your searching wit, 
 To make a talk about, you gather still 
 More ample matter for your hear-say skill: 
 You know yourself, as well as I, that this 
 Is all your joy in him; and hence it is 
 That you are so impatient, ev'ry day, 
 For more and more of what his pages say;
 
 89 
 
 So vex'd and puzzled, if you cannot find 
 Their meaning open'd to your eager mind ; 
 Nor add new notions and a stronger force, 
 To heighten still your talent of discourse. 
 
 With all your value for his books, as yet 
 This disposition makes you to forget 
 How oft they fell you, and how well they shew, 
 That this inordinate desire to know, 
 This heaping up of notions, one by one, 
 For subtle fancy to descant upon, 
 While Babel, as you think, is overthrown, 
 Is building up a new one of your own; 
 Your Babylonish reason is the pow'r, 
 That seeks materials to erect its tow'r. 
 The very scriptures, under such a guide, 
 Will only nourish your high-soaring pride; 
 Nor will you penetrate, with all your art, 
 Of Jacob's writings the substantial part. 
 
 The works of Behmen would you understand? 
 Then, where he stood, see also that you stand;. 
 Begin where he began; direct your thought 
 To seek the blessing only, that he sought 
 The heart of God; that, by a right true faith, 
 He might be sav'd from sin and satan's wrath. 
 While thus the humble seeker stood resign'd, 
 The light of God broke in upon his mind: 
 But you, devoted to the pow'r alone 
 Of speculative reason, all your own, 
 Would reach his ladder's top at once, nor try 
 The pains of rising, step by step, so high 
 But, on this subject, by your looks, I see, 
 You'd rather hear Theophilus than me. 
 
 Theoph. Why really, Academicus, the main 
 Of all that Rusticus, so bluntly plain, 
 Has here been saying, tho' it seem so hard,' 
 Hints truth enough to put you on your guard. 
 Much in the same mistake your mind has been, 
 That many of my learned friends are in; 
 Who, tho' admirers to a great degree, 
 Of truths in Jacob Behmen. which they see, 
 vol. II. H
 
 Yet, of all people, have the least pretence 
 
 To real benefit receiv'd from thence. 
 
 Train'd up in controversy and dispute; 
 
 Accustom'd to maintain or to refute 
 
 All propositions, only by the light 
 
 Of their own reason judging what is right, 
 
 They take this guide in truths of ev'ry kind, 
 
 Both where it sees and where it must be blind; 
 
 So that in regions, where a light divine 
 
 Demonstrates truth, and reason cannot shine, 
 
 The real good is hidden from their view, 
 
 And some such system rises up in lieu, 
 
 As birth or education, mode or place, 
 
 In course of life, has led them to embrace. 
 
 Thus with the learned Papist, in his creed, 
 The learned Protestant is not agreed; 
 Not that to either truth and light have taught 
 To entertain so opposite a thought; 
 But education's contrary supplies 
 Have giv'n them protestant and popish eyes; 
 And reason being the accustom'd light 
 Of both the parties, and of either sight, 
 Decisions protestant, and popish too, 
 Can find it work enough, and tools enow, 
 To shape opinions of a diff'rent growth, 
 Whilst learning is an open field to both; 
 And, of its harvest, the inur'd to reap 
 With greater skill can shew the greater heap. 
 
 Academ. So then I must, as I perceive by you, 
 Renounce my learning and my reason too, 
 If I would gain the necessary lights 
 To understand what Jacob Behmen writes. 
 I cannot yield, as yet, to such advice; 
 Nor make the purchase at so dear a price: 
 I hope the study of the scripture-text 
 Will do for me; and leave me unperplex'd 
 With his deep matters. Little did I know 
 That learning had, in you, so great a foe. 
 
 Theoph. Be not uneasy, learning has in me 
 No foe at all, not in the least degree ;
 
 M 
 
 No more than has the science or the skili 
 To build a house to dwell in, or a mill 
 For grinding corn I think an useful art 
 Of human things the noblest, for my part: 
 Knowledge of books or languages, or aught 
 That any person has been duly taught, 
 I would not ask him to renounce, or say 
 They might not all be useful, in their way: 
 I would not blame, within its proper place, 
 The art of throwing silk, or making lace; 
 Or any art, confiVd to its own sphere; 
 But then the measure of its use is there. 
 Some we call liberal, and some we call 
 Mechanic; now the circle of them all 
 Does but shew forth, in its most perfect plan, 
 The natural abilities of man; 
 The pow'rs and faculties of human mind, 
 Whether the man be well or ill inclin'd. 
 The most unjust and wicked debauchee, 
 Regarding neither God nor man, may be, 
 In any one, or more, of all the train, 
 Of greater skill than others can obtain. 
 
 But now, redemption of the human race 
 By Christ, with all its mysteries of grace, 
 Is in itself, as it has always been, 
 Of quite another nature; nor akin 
 To art or science, which, for worldly views, 
 The natural or outward man can use. 
 It is an inward fitness to revive 
 That heav'nly nature, which was once alive 
 In Paradise; that blissful life within 
 The human creature, which was lost by sin. 
 It breathes a spark of life, to re-create 
 The poor fall'n man in his first happy state; 
 By which, awaken'd into new desires, 
 After his native country he enquires; 
 How he may rise above this earddy den, 
 And get into his Father's house again. 
 
 This is redemption; or the life divine- 
 OfTring itself, on one hand, with design
 
 92 
 
 That inward man, who lost it, to restore 
 To all the bliss which he was in before; 
 And, on the other, 'tis the man's desire, 
 Will, faith, and hope, which earnestly aspire 
 After that life; the hunger, thirst, and call 
 To be deliver'd, by it, from the fall. 
 
 Now whether man, in this awaken'd strife, 
 Breathe forth his longings after this good life, 
 In Hebrew, Greek, or any English sound, 
 Or none at all, but silent sigh profound, 
 Can be of no significancy; He y 
 That knows but one, or uses all the three, 
 Neither to him more distant or more near, 
 Will this redeeming life of God appear: 
 Can you conceive it more to shine upon 
 Men of more languages than men of one? 
 He who can make a Grammar for High Dutch, 
 Or Welch, or Greek, can you suppose, as such, 
 In faith, and hope, and goodness, will excel 
 A man that scarce his mother-tongue can spell? 
 If this supposal, then, be too absurd, 
 No hurt is done, no enmity incurr'd, 
 To learning, science, reason, critic wit, 
 By giving them the places which they fit, 
 Amongst the ornaments of life below, 
 Which the most profligate as well may know, 
 One of the most abandon'd vicious wilL 
 As one who, fearing God, escheweth ill. 
 
 Therefore no truths, concerning this divine 
 And heav'nly life, can come within the line 
 Of all this learning : as exalted far 
 Above the pow'r of trial at its bar ; 
 Where both the jury, and the judges too, 
 Are born with eyes incapable to view; 
 Living and moving in this world's demesne, 
 They have their being in another scene ; 
 The life divine no abler to descry, 
 Than into Heav'n can look an eagle's eye. 
 
 If you, well read in ancient books, my friend, 
 To publish Homer's Iliad should intend,
 
 93 
 
 Or Caesar's Commentaries, and make out 
 
 Some things more plain, you have the skill, no doubt; 
 
 As well provided for the work, perhaps, 
 
 As one to make his baskets, one his traps; 
 
 But if you think that skill in ancient Greek 
 
 And Latin, helps you,' of itself, to seek, 
 
 Find, and explain the spirit and the sense 
 
 Of what Christ said, it is a vain pretence, 
 
 And quite unnatural; of equal kind 
 
 With the endeavour of a man, born blind, 
 
 Who talks about exhibiting the sight 
 
 Of different colours, beautifully bright. 
 
 Doctrines, wherein redemption is concern'd, 
 No more belong to men, as being learn'd, 
 Than colours do to him, who never saw 
 The light that gives to all of them the law. 
 From like unnatural attempt proceeds 
 That huge variety of sects and creeds, 
 Which, from the same true scripture, can deduce 
 What serves each diff'rent error, for its use: 
 Papist or Protestant, Socinian class 
 Or Arian, can as easily amass 
 The texts of scripture, and by reason's ray, 
 One as another, urge the endless fray; 
 Retort absurdities, whenever press'd 
 Prove its own system, and confute the rest; 
 Just as blind men, in their disputes, can do 
 Each others' notions of red, green, or blue. 
 
 The light of the celestial inward man, 
 That died in Paradise, when sin began, 
 Is Jesus Christ; and, consequently, men 
 By Him alone can rise to life again: 
 He, in the heart of man, must sow the seed, 
 That can awaken heav'nly Life indeed: 
 Nothing but this can possibly admit 
 Return of Life, or in the least be fit 
 Or capable, or sensible of pow'r 
 From Jesus Christ, in his redeeming hour. 
 The light, and life, which He intends to raise, 
 Have no dependence upon word and phrase; 
 
 H 2
 
 94 
 
 Life, in itself, be it of Heav'n or earth, 
 
 Must have its whole procession from a birth. 
 
 Would it not sound absurdly, in your mind, 
 
 That, if a man be naturally blind, 
 
 Care must be had to teach him Grammar well, 
 
 Or in the art of Logic to excel; 
 
 That he will best obtain, when this is done, 
 
 Knowledge of light and colours from the sun? 
 
 Yet not one jot is it the less absurd 
 
 To think that skill in Greek or Hebrew word, 
 
 Of man's redemption can explain the whole, 
 
 Or let the Light of God into his soul. 
 
 This matter, Academicus, if you 
 Can set in a more proper light pray do. 
 
 A 
 
 POETICAL VERSION OF A LETTER, 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 Earl of Essex, to the Earl of Southampton. 
 
 A Copy of the Original Letter may be seen in Cogan's Collection of Tracts from Lord Somer's 
 Library, Vol. 4, P. 132, under the Title of " A precious and most divine Letter, from that 
 famous and ever-to-be>-renowned Earl of Essex, f Father to the now Lord General his excel' 
 lence) to the Earl of Southampton, fn the latter End of Queen Elizabeth's Reign-* 
 
 MY Lord, untaught by nature or by art, 
 To give the genuine dictates of my heart 
 The gloss of compliment, I never less 
 Than now should aim at that polite excess; 
 Now, that my wand'ring thoughts are fix'd upon, 
 Not Martha's many things, but Mary's one. 
 
 'Tis not from any ceremonious view, 
 But to discharge a real, needful due 
 From friend to friend in absence, that I write 
 To mine, secluded from his wonted sight; 
 By force oblig'd to give, and to receive 
 A long, perhaps, a last departing leave;
 
 95 
 
 For small, by ev'ry test of human ken, 
 The hopes of meeting, in this world, again. 
 
 Under such circumstances, I recal 
 My friend, whose honour, person, fortune, all 
 So dear to me, make bosom-wish to swell, 
 That he may always prosper and do well; 
 Where'er he goes, whate'er he takes in hand, 
 Under the favour, service, and command 
 Of His protecting Providence, from whom 
 All happiness, if truly such, must come. 
 
 My friend's abilities, and present state 
 Of natural endowments how I rate; 
 To God what glory, to himself what use, 
 The best exertion of them might produce, 
 I shall not here express; enough to note 
 That, at such times as I was most remote 
 From all dissembling, witnesses enow 
 Can vouch my speaking what I thought was true. 
 
 The truths, which love now prompts me to remind 
 Your lordship of, are of the following kind: 
 First; that whatever talents you possess, 
 They are God's gifts whom you are bound to bless. 
 Next; that you have them, not as things your own, 
 Tho 1 for your use, yet not for yours alone; 
 But as a human stewarty or trust, 
 Of which account is to be giv'n and just: 
 So that, in fine, if talents are applied 
 To serve the spirit of the world, in pride 
 And vain delights, as he, who rules the scenes' 
 Of guilty joy, the prince of darkness, means, 
 It is ingratitude, injustice too, 
 Yea, 'tis perfidious treachery in you? 
 For if a servant of your own should dare 
 To use the goods committed to his care, 
 To the advantage of your greatest foe, 
 What would you think of his behaving so? 
 Yet how with God would you yourself do lest, 
 Having from Him whatever you possess, 
 And serving with it, in the Donor's stead, 
 That foe to Him- by whom the world is led?
 
 96 
 
 A serious thought if you can ever lend 
 To admonition, from your truest friend; 
 If the regard, due to your country, sways, 
 Which you may serve so many glorious ways; 
 If an All-ruling, Righteous Pow'r above 
 Can rise your dread of justice or your love; 
 If you yourself will to yourself be true, 
 And everlasting happiness pursue 
 Before the joys of any worldly scheme, 
 The short delusions of a pleasing dream; 
 Of which, whatever it may represent, 
 The soul, soon wak'd, must bitterly repent ; 
 If these reflections, any of them, find 
 Due estimation in your prudent mind; 
 Take an account of what is done and past, 
 And, what the future may demand, forecast; 
 The leagues, whatever they import, repeal, 
 To which good conscience has not set the seal: 
 And fix your resolution firm, to serve 
 Him, from whose will no loyal thought can swerve; 
 That gracious God, from whom, in very deed 
 All your abilities and gifts proceed, 
 Whether of bodily or mental trace, 
 Without, within, of nature or of grace. 
 
 Then He, who cannot possibly deny 
 Himself, or give his faithfulness the lie, 
 Will honour his true servant, and impart 
 That real peace of mind, that joy of heart; 
 Of which until you are become possess'd, 
 Your heart, your mind shall never be at rest; 
 And when you are, by having well approv'd 
 The one true way, it never shall be mov'd. 
 
 This, I foresee, your lordship may object, 
 Is melancholy's vaporous effect; 
 That I am got into a prisoner's style: 
 Far enough from it, all the jocund while 
 That I was free like you and other men; 
 And, fetters gone, should be the same again. 
 
 To which I answer " Say it tho' you should, 
 " Yet cannot I distrust a God so good,
 
 97 
 
 " Or mercy failing me, so greatly shewn, 
 " Or grace forsaking, but by fault my own. 
 " So deeply bound to Him, my heart so burns 
 44 To make his mercy suitable returns, 
 '* That not to try, of all th 1 apostate class 
 44 Worse should I be than any ever was: 
 44 I have with such repeated, solemn stress, 
 44 Avow'd the penitence which I profess; 
 44 From time to time so call'd on not a few, 
 44 To witness, and to watch if it was true, 
 44 That of all hypocrites, if found to lie, 
 44 That e'er were born, the hollowest were I. 
 
 44 But should I perish in my sins, and draw 
 44 Upon myself my own damnation's law, 
 44 Will it not be your wisdom to embrace 
 44 God's offer'd mercy of a saving grace? 
 44 To profit by example, if you see 
 44 The fearful case of miserable me?" 
 
 A longer time was I a slave to sin 
 And a corrupted world, than you have been; 
 Had many a too, too-slowly-answer'd call, 
 That made still harder my return from thrall. 
 To come to Christ was requisite, I knew, 
 But softer pace, I flatter'd me, would do; 
 The journey's end, contented, I remain'd 
 To see and own, tho' still 'twas unattain'd. 
 Therefore the same good providence that call'd, 
 With a kind violence has pull'd and haul'd; 
 As public eye may, outwardly at least, 
 Have seen, and dragg'd me to the marriage feast. 
 
 Kind, in this world, affliction's heaviest load, 
 That in anoiher bliss might be bestow'd; 
 Kind the repeated stripes, that should correct 
 Of too great knowledge a too small effect. 
 God grant your lordship may, with less alloy, 
 Feel an unfeign'd conversion's inward joy, 
 As I do now; and find the happy way, 
 Without the torments of so long delay ! 
 
 To the divines (and there were none beside 
 That nam'd conversion to me) I replied
 
 98 
 
 ** Could my ambition enter and possess 
 
 44 Your narrow hearts, your meekness would be less'; 
 
 " Were my delights, to which it gives the rise, 
 
 " Tasted by you, you would be less precise." 
 
 But you, my lord, have the momentous hint, 
 
 From one that knows the very utmost stint 
 
 Of all that can amuse you whilst you live, 
 
 Of all contentments which the world can give. 
 
 Think then, dear earl, that I have stak'd and buoy'd 
 The ways of pleasure, fatally enjoy'd, 
 And set them up, as marks at sea, for you 
 To keep true virtue's channel in your view: 
 Think, tho' your eyes should long be shut and fast, 
 They must, they must be open'd at the last: 
 Truth will compel you to confess, like me, 
 That to the wicked peace can never be. 
 With my own soul, (that heav'n may deign to aid 
 My heart's address,) this covenant is made ; 
 My eyes shall never yield to sleep at night, 
 Nor thoughts attend the bus'ness of the light, 
 Till I have pray'd my God. that you may take 
 This plain, but faithful warning for his sake, 
 With a believing profit; then in you 
 Your friends, your country will be happy too; 
 And all your aims succeed. Events so blest 
 Would fill with comfort, not to be express'd, 
 Your Lordship's cousin and true friend, so tied 
 That worldly cause can never once divide 
 
 ESSEX. 
 
 THE ITALIAN BISHOP. 
 
 AN ANECDOTE. 
 
 THERE is no kind of a fragmental note, 
 That pleases better than an anecdote, 
 Or fact unpublish'd, when it comes to rise, 
 And give the more agreeable surprise:
 
 99 
 
 From long oblivion sav'd, an useful hint 
 Is doubly grateful when reviv'd in print : 
 A late and striking instance of this kind 
 Delighted many an attentive mind; 
 This anecdote my task is to rehearse, 
 As highly fit to be consign'd to verse. 
 
 There liv'd a Bishop, once upon a time, 
 Where is not said, but Italy the clime; 
 An honest, pious man, who understood 
 How to behave as a true Bishop should; 
 But thro' an opposition, form'd to blast 
 His good designs, by men of diff'rent cast, 
 He had some tedious struggles, and a train 
 Of rude affronts and insults to sustain ; 
 And did sustain; with calm unruffled mind 
 He bore them all, and never once repin'd: 
 An intimate acquaintance, one who knew 
 What difficulties he had waded thro' 
 Time after time, and very much admir'd 
 A patience so provok'd and so untir'd, 
 Made bold to ask him, if he could impart. 
 Or teach the secret of his happy art ; 
 " Yes," said the good old prelate, ; ' that I can, 
 " And 'tis a plain and practicable plan; 
 " For all the secret that I know of, lies 
 " In making a right use of my own eyes." 
 Begg'd to explain himself, how that should be 
 " Why, in whatever state I am," said he, 
 " I first look up to Heav'n; as well aware, 
 " That to get thither is my main affair. 
 " I then look down upon the earth, and think, 
 " Ina short space of time, how small a chink 
 " I shall possess of its extensive ground; 
 " And then I cast my seeing eyes around, 
 ** Where more distress appears, on ev'ry side, 
 " Amongst mankind, that I myself abide. 
 " So that, reflecting on my own concern, 
 14 First where true happiness is plac'd, I learn : 
 " Next let the world, to what it will, pretend, 
 " I see where all its good and ill must end: 
 " Last how unjust it is, as well as vain, 
 M Upon a fair discernment, to complain.
 
 100 
 
 " Thus looking up,, and down, and round about, 
 " Right use of *yes may find my secret out: 
 44 With heav'n in view his real home in fine, 
 " Nothing on earth should make a man repine. 1 ' 
 
 ON 
 
 RESIGNATION. 
 
 TO A FRIEND IN TROUBLE. 
 
 DEAR child, know this, that He who gave thee breath, 
 Almighty God, is Lord of life and death, 
 And all things that concern them, such as these, 
 Youth, health, or strength; age, weakness, or disease; 
 Wherefore, whatever thy affliction be, 
 Take it as coming from thy God to thee: 
 Whether to teach thee patience be its end, 
 Or to instruct such persons as attend, 
 That faith and meekness, tried by suff'rings past, 
 May yield increase of happiness at last; 
 Or whether it be sent for some defect, 
 Which He, who wants to bless thee, would correct; 
 Certain it is, that if thou dost repent, 
 And take thy cross up patiently, when sent, 
 Trusting in Him, who sends it thee, to take 
 For Jesus Christ, his Son, thy Saviour's sake, 
 Wholly submitting to His blessed will, 
 Whose visitation seeks thy profit still; 
 All that thou dost or ever canst endure, 
 Will make thy everlasting joy more sure. 
 
 Take therefore what befals thee, in good part, 
 As a prescription of love's healing art; 
 " Whom the Lord loveth he chastiseth too," 
 Saith Paul, " and scourgeth with a saving view; 
 " It is the mark, by which he owns a child, 
 " Without it, not so honourably stil'd; 
 " Fathers according to the flesh, when they 
 " Correct them, children rev'rence and obey;
 
 101 
 
 " How much more justly may that Father claim, 
 
 " By whom we live eternally, the same? 
 
 " They oft chastise thro 1 humour of their own, 
 
 " He always for our greater good alone; 
 
 " Chast'ning, below, that we may rise above 
 
 " Holy, and happy in our father's love. 1 ' 
 
 These things for comfort and instruction fit, 
 In holy scripture, for our sakes, are writ. 
 That with a patient and enduring mind, 
 In all conditions we may be resign'd; 
 And reverencing our Father and our Friend, 
 Take what his goodness shall be pleas'd to send. 
 What greater good, considering the whole, 
 Than Christ's own likeness in a christian soul 
 By patient suff'ring? Think what ills, before 
 He enter'd into joy, our Saviour bore; 
 What things he suffer'd to retrieve our loss, 
 And make his way to glory, thro' the cross, 
 The way for us; he wanted none to make, 
 But for the poor lost human sinners' sake: 
 For them he suffer'd more than words can tell, 
 Or thought conceive; reflect upon it well, 
 Dear child ! and whether life or death remains, 
 Depend on Him to sanctify thy pains; , 
 To be Himself thy strong defence and tow'r, 
 To make thee know and feel his saving pow'r: 
 Still, taught by Him, repeat Thy will be done! 
 And trust in God thro* his beloved Son. 
 
 Poetical Version of a Letter, 
 
 ON RESIGNATION, 
 
 moM 
 Jacob Behmen, to a Friend in Trouble. 
 
 DEAR Brother in our Saviour Christ His grace 
 And love premis'd, in your afflictive case; 
 I have consider'd of it, and have brought 
 The whole, with christian sympathetic thought.
 
 102 
 
 Before the will of The Most High, to see 
 What it would please him to make known to me. 
 
 And thereupon, I give you, Sir, to know, 
 What a true insight He was pleas'd to shew, 
 Into the cause and cure of all your grief 
 And present trial ; which I shall, in brief, 
 Set down for a memorial, and declare 
 For you to ponder with a serious care. 
 
 First then, the cause, to which we must assign 
 Your strong temptation, is the love divine, 
 The goodness supernatural, above 
 All utt'rance, flowing from the God of love; 
 Seeking the creaturely and human will, 
 To free it from captivity to ill: 
 
 And then the struggle with so great a grace, 
 In human will, refusing to embrace ; 
 Tho' tender'd to it with a love so pure, 
 It seeks itself, and strives against a cure; 
 From its own love to transitory things 
 More than to God, the real evil springs. 
 
 . 'Tis man's own nature, which, in its own life, 
 
 Or centre, stands in enmity and strife, 
 
 And anxious, selfish, doing what it lists, 
 
 (Without God's love) that tempts him and resists: 
 
 The devil also shoots his fiery dart, 
 
 From grace and love to turn away the heart. 
 
 This is the greatest trial; 'tis the fight, 
 Which Christ, with his internal love and light, 
 Maintains within man's nature, to dispel 
 God's anger, satan, sin, and death, and hell; 
 The human self or serpent to devour, 
 And raise an angel from it by his pow'r. 
 
 Now if God's love in Christ did not subdue, 
 In some degree, this selfishness in you, 
 You would have no such combat to endure; 
 The serpent then, triumphantly secure, 
 Would, unoppos'd, exert his native right, 
 And no such conflict in your soul excite.
 
 103 
 
 For all the huge temptation and distress 
 Rises in nature, tho' God seeks to bless; 
 The serpent feeling its tormenting state, 
 (Which, of itself, is a mere anxious hate) 
 When God's amazing love comes in, to fill, 
 And change the selfish to a god-like Will. 
 
 Here Christ, the Serpent-bruiser, stands in man, 
 Storming the devil's hellish, self-built plan; 
 And hence the strife within the human soul; 
 Satan's to kill, and Christ's to make it whole; 
 As by experience, in so great degree, 
 God, in his goodness, causes you to see. 
 
 Now, while the serpent's head is bruis'd, the heel 
 Of Christ is stung; and the poor soul must feel 
 Trembling and sadness, while the strivers cope, 
 And can do nothing but stand still in hope; 
 Hardly be able to lift up its face, 
 For mere concern, and pray to God for grace. 
 
 The serpent, turning it another way, 
 Shews it the world's alluring, fine display; 
 Mocking its resolution to forego, 
 For a new nature, the engaging show; 
 And represents the taking its delight 
 In present scenes, as natural and right. 
 
 Thus, in the wilderness with Christ alone, 
 The soul endures temptation of its own; 
 While all the glories of this world display'd, 
 Pleasures, and pomps, surround it, and persuade 
 Not to remain so humble and so still, 
 But elevate itself in own self-will. 
 
 The next temptation, which befalls of course 
 From satan, and from nature's selfish force, 
 Is when the soul has tasted of the love, 
 And been illuminated from above; 
 Still in its self-hood it would seek to shine, 
 And, as its own, possess the light divine. 
 
 That is, the foolish nature, take it right, 
 As much a serpent, if without God's light.
 
 104 
 
 As Lucifer, this nature still would claim 
 
 For own propriety the heav'nly flame; 
 
 And elevate its fire to a degree, 
 
 Above the light's good pow'r, which cannot be. 
 
 This domineering self, this nature fire, 
 Must be transmuted to a love desire : 
 Now, when this change is to be undergone, 
 It looks for some own pow'r, and, finding none, 
 Begins to doubt of grace, unwilling quite 
 To yield up its self-willing nature's right. 
 
 It ever quakes for fear, and will not die 
 In light divine, tho' to be blest thereby : 
 The light of grace it thinks to be deceit, 
 Because it worketh gently without heat: 
 Mov'd too by outward reason, which is blind, 
 And of itself sees nothing of this kind. 
 
 " Who knows," it thinketh, " whether it be true 
 " That God is in thee, ahd enlightens too? 
 " Is it not fancy? for thou dost not see 
 " Like other people, who, as well as thee,. 
 " Hope for salvation by the grace of God, 
 " Without such fear and trembling at his rod." 
 
 Thus the poor soul, accounted for a fool, 
 By all the reas'ners of a gayer school, 
 By all the graver people who embrace 
 Mere verbal promises of future grace, 
 Sighs from its deep internal ground, and pante 
 For such enlightn'ning comfort as it wants; 
 
 And fain would have; but nature can, alas! 
 Do nothing of itself to bring to pass; 
 And is, thro' its own impotence, afraid 
 That God rejects it, and will give no aid; 
 Which, with regard to the self-will, is true ; 
 For God rejects it, to implant a new. 
 
 The own self-will must die away, and shine, 
 Rising thro' death, in saving will divine; 
 And, from the opposition which it tries 
 Against God's will, such great temptations rise:
 
 105 
 
 The devil too is loth to lose his prey, 
 And see his fort cast down, if it obey. 
 
 For, if the life of Christ within arise, 
 Self-lust, and false imagination dies; 
 Wholly it cannot in this present life, 
 But by the flesh maintains the daily strife; 
 Dies, and yet lives ; as they alone can tell, 
 In whom Christ fights against the pow'rs of hell. 
 
 The third temptation is in mind and will, 
 And flesh and blood, if satan enter still; 
 Where the false centres lie in man, the springs 
 Of pride, and lust, and love of earthly things; 
 And all the curses wish'd by other men, 
 Which are occasion'd by this devil's den. 
 
 These in the astral spirit* make a fort, 
 Which all the sins concentre to support; 
 And human will, esteeming for its joy 
 What Christ, to save it, combats to destroy, 
 Will not resign the pride-erected tow'r, 
 Nor live obedient to the' Saviour's povv'r. 
 
 Thus I have giv'n you, loving sir, to know 
 What our dear Saviour has been pleas'd to shew 
 To my consideration; now, on this, 
 Examine well what your temptation is: 
 We must leave all, and follow Him, He said, 
 Right Christ-like poor, like our Redeeming Head. 
 
 Now, if aelf-lust stick yet upon your mind, 
 Or love of earthly things of any kind, 
 Then, from those centres, in their working force, 
 Such a temptation will rise up of course: 
 If you will follow, when it does arise, 
 My child-like counsel, hear what I advise. 
 
 * Several excellent observations occur in this letter; but they are so 
 enveloped in mystical expressions as to be nearly'unintelligiblc to no- 
 vices. Unless the friend, to whom it is addressed, were anions: the in- 
 itiated in Behmen's philosophy he would receive little consolation from 
 its perusal. The devil's fort, false centres, the astral spirit, are terms pecu- 
 liar to Mysticism, and differ much from the p'ain expressions of scripture, 
 which cannot be equalled, insignificancy, by the words of man's wisdom. 
 
 VOL. II. I
 
 106 
 
 Fix your whole thought upon the bitter woe r 
 Which our dear Lord was pleas'd to undergo ; 
 Consider the reproach, contempt, and scorn, 
 The worldly state so poor and so forlorn, 
 Which he was so content to bear; and then, 
 His suflPring, dying for us sinful men. 
 
 And thereunto give up your whole desire. 
 And mind, and will; and earnestly aspire 
 To be as like Him as you can; to bear, 
 (And with a patience bent to persevere) 
 All that is laid upon you; and to make 
 His process yours, and purely for His sake ; 
 
 For love of Him, most freely to embrace 
 Contempt, affliction, poverty, disgrace; 
 All that can happen, so you may but gain 
 His blessed love within you, and maintain; 
 No longer willing with a self-desire, 
 But such as Christ within you shall inspire. 
 
 Dear sir, I fear lest something still amiss, 
 Averse to Him, cause such a strife as this: 
 He wills you, in his death, with Him to die 
 To your own will, and to arise thereby 
 In his arising; and that life to live, 
 Which He is striving in your soul to give. 
 
 Let go all earthly will; and be resign'd 
 Wholly to Him, with all your heart and mind: 
 Be joy or sorrow, comfort or distress, 
 Receiv'd alike, for He alike can bless, 
 To gain the victory of christian faith 
 Over the world and all satanic wrath. 
 
 So shall you conquer death, and hell, and sin; 
 And find, at last, what Christ in you hath been: 
 By sure experience will be understood 
 How all hath happen'd to you for your good : 
 Of all his children this hath been the way; 
 And christian love here dictates what I say.
 
 107 
 
 ON 
 
 BEARING THE CROSS. 
 
 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 Take up the cross which thou hast got, 
 For love of Christ, and bear it not 
 As Simon of Cyrene did, 
 CompeUM to do as he was bid. 
 
 " Pray, am not I, who cannot free 
 " Myself, compell'd as much as he? 
 " I cannot shun it, and, of course, 
 " Must bear this heavy cross by force.' 5 
 
 What dost thou get then by disgust 
 At bearing that, which bear thou must? 
 Nothing abates the force of ill 
 Like a resign'd and patient will. 
 
 " 'Tis true; but how shall I obtain 
 "Such an abatement of my pain? 
 " Compulsion tempts me to repine 
 " At Simon's case becoming mine." 
 
 Look then at Jesus gone before ; 
 Reflect on what thy Saviour bore; 
 Bore, tho 1 he could have been set free, 
 Death on the cross, for love of thee. 
 
 " He did so Lord! what shall I say? 
 " Do thou enable me to pray, 
 " If 'tis not possible to shun 
 " This bitter cross Thy will be done!''
 
 108 
 
 A 
 
 SOLILOQUY, 
 
 ON THE 
 CAUSE AND CONSEQUENCE OF A DOUBTING MIND. 
 
 I Muse, I doubt, I reason, and debate 
 Therefore I am not in that perfect state, 
 In which, when its creation first began, 
 God plac'd his own beloved Image, man; 
 From whose high birth, at once design'd for all, 
 This ever poring reason proves a fall. 
 
 Whilst Adam stood in that immortal life, 
 Wherein pure truth excluded doubt and strife, 
 He knew, he saw, by a diviner light, 
 All that was good for knowledge or for sight ; 
 But when the serpent-subtlety of hell 
 Brought him to doubt and reason then he fell. 
 
 Fell, by declining from an upright will, 
 And sunk into a state of good and ill: 
 The very state of such a world as this 
 Became a death to his immortal bliss: 
 Bliss, which his reason gave him not, before 
 The loss ensu'd, nor after could restore. 
 
 From him descending, all the human race 
 Must needs partake the nature of his case: 
 Just as the trunk, the branches, or the fruit, 
 Derive their substance from the parent root: 
 What life or death into the father came, 
 The sons, tho' guiltless, could but have the same. 
 
 If I am one, if ever I must live 
 The blissful life, which God designM to givej 
 As reason dictates, or as some degree 
 Of higher light enables one to see, 
 It cannot rise from being born on earth, 
 Without a second, new, and heav'nly birth.
 
 109 
 
 The gospel doctrine, which assures to men 
 The joyful truth of being born again, 
 Demands the free consent of every will, 
 That seeks the good, and to escape the ill : 
 In all the sav'd, right reason must allow 
 Such birth effected, tho' it knows not how. 
 
 Such was the faith in Life's Redeeming Seed, 
 Of poor fall'n man the comfort and the creed: 
 Such was the hope before and since the flood, 
 In ev'ry time and place, of all the good: 
 Till the new Birth of Jesus, from above, 
 Reveal'd below the Mystery of Love. 
 
 His virgin birth, life, death, and re-ascent, 
 Explain what all God's dispensations meant 
 God give me grace to shun the doubting crime ! 
 Since nothing follows intermediate time, 
 But life, or death, eternally to rule 
 A blessed christian, or a cursed fool. 
 
 A 
 
 PLAIN ACCOUNT 
 
 OF THE 
 
 NATURE AND DESIGN OF TRUE RELIGION. 
 
 WHAT is Religion? Why it is a cure, 
 Giv'n in the Gospel, gratis, to the poor, 
 By Jesus Christ, the healer of the soul; 
 Which all, who take, are sure to be made whole; 
 And they who will not, all the art of man 
 May strive to cure them, but it never can. 
 
 Cure for what malady? For that of sin, 
 From whence all other maladies begin; 
 It had its rise in Adam, first of all; 
 And all his Sons, partaking of his fall 
 Want a new Adam to beoet them free 
 From sin and death; and Jesus Christ is He. 
 I 2
 
 110 
 
 How is it g-tVn? By raising a new birth 
 Of heav'nly life, surviving that of earth; 
 Which may, at any time, at some it must 
 Return its mortal body to the dust; 
 And then the born of God in Christ again 
 Will rise immortal, true angelic men. 
 
 Why in the Gospel ? Gospel is, indeed, 
 In its true living sense, the holy seed, 
 By God's great mercy, first, in Adam sown, 
 And first, in Christ, to full perfection grown: 
 Fulness, from which all holy souls derive, 
 And bodies too, the pow'r to be alive. 
 
 Why gratis giv'n? Because the love-desire 
 Of God, in Christ, can never work for hire: 
 Its nature is to love for loving's sake, 
 To give itself to ev'ry will to take ; 
 To them it brings, amidst the darkest night, 
 Its life and immortality to light. 
 
 Why to the poor? Because they feel their want, 
 Which trust in riches, is so loth to grant; 
 The rich have something which they call their own; 
 The poor have nothing, but to Christ alone 
 They owe themselves, and pay him what they owe, 
 And what religion is they only know. 
 
 ON 
 
 THE TRUE MEANING 
 
 OF THE 
 
 SCRIPTURE TERMS LIFE and DEATH/ 
 
 WHEN APPLIED TO MEN, 
 
 TRUE life, according to the scripture plan, 
 Is God's own likeness in his image, man; 
 This was the life that Adam ceas'd to live, 
 Or lost by sin; and therefore could not give: 
 So that his offspring, all the born on earth, 
 Want a new parent of this heav'nly birth.
 
 Ill 
 
 This, Christ alone, God's Image most express, 
 The Second Adam, gives them to possess; 
 Becoming man, reversing human fall, 
 And raising up the first, true life in all; 
 Healing our nature's deadly wound within, 
 And quenching wrath, or death, or hell, or sin; 
 
 For all such words describe one evil thing, 
 Or want of good ; that has one only spring, 
 The love of God, in Christ, which form'd at first 
 A blessed Adam, and redeem'd a curst 
 By his own act good only was design'd 
 For Adam, and, in him, for all mankind. 
 
 He fell from good, misusing his free-will, 
 Into this world, this life of good and ill; 
 From whence the willing to be sav'd revive 
 Thro' faith and penitence, in Christ alive; 
 A second death succeeds, if they refuse; 
 For choosing creatures must have what they choose. 
 
 Not bare existence, when we go from hence, 
 Is Immortality, in scripture sense; 
 For thus, alike immortal, are confess'd 
 The good, the bad, the ruin'd, and the blest; 
 Whose inbred tempers hint the reason, why 
 They live for ever, or for ever die. 
 
 God's likeness, light, and Spirit in the soul, 
 Make, as at first, its blest immortal whole; 
 'Tis death to want them; vaift is all dispute; 
 The gospel only reaches to the root: 
 All the inspir'd have understood ^ thus; 
 Immortal life is that of Christ in xts. 
 
 TJie Ground of True and False Religion. 
 
 EXPLAIN religion by a thousand schemes, 
 Still God and se/f will be the two extremes; 
 In Him the one true good of it is found; 
 Iu self, of all idolatry the ground:
 
 112 
 
 False worship, paid at all its various shrines, 
 One same departure from his love defines. 
 
 By love to Him blest angels kept their state ; 
 Which the apostate lost by cursed hate; 
 Setting up self in the Almighty's room, 
 It sunk them down into its dreadful gloom: 
 On separation from his love, the source 
 Of all felicity was lost, of course. 
 
 By love to Him, the first-created man 
 Was highly blest; till selfishness began, 
 Thro' serpentine delusion, to arise, 
 And tempt above God's wisdom to be wise ; 
 When he had chosen to prefer his own, 
 The naked, miserable self was known. 
 
 Hence we inherit such a life as this, 
 Dead, of itself, to paradisic bliss: 
 Hence all our hopes of a diviner birth 
 Depend on Christ, and his descent on earth ; 
 Subduing self, as Adam should have done, 
 And loving God thro' his Beloved Son, 
 
 The Mediator betwixt God and men, 
 Who brings their nature back to Him again, 
 Sav'd from all sinful self, or deadly wrath, 
 Or hellish evil, by the pow'r of faith 
 Working by love, of which it is the strength; 
 And must attain the full true life at length. 
 
 Born of this holy, virgin Seed Divine, 
 To a new life within this mortal shrine, 
 The faithful breathe a Spirit from above, 
 And make of self a sacrifice to love: 
 By Christ redeem'd, they rise from Adam's fall, 
 From earth to Heav'n, where God is all in all. 
 
 PETEK's DENIAL OF HIS MASTER. 
 
 " THO' all forsake thee, master, yet not I ; 
 " I'll go to prison with thee, or to die," 
 Said Peter yet how soon did he deny!
 
 113 
 
 A striking proof, that, even to good-will, 
 The help of grace is necessary still, 
 To 9ave a soul from falling into ill. 
 
 His Master told him how the case would be, 
 But Peter could not see himself, not he; 
 Till grace withdrew, that he might come to see. 
 
 Peter, so valiant on a selfish plan, 
 Quite frighted by a servant maid, began 
 To curse and swear, and did not know the Man. 
 
 'Tvvas thus that satan sifted him like wheat. 
 And made him think his courage was so great; 
 While Jesus pray'd that he might see the cheat. 
 
 High-minded in himself, he fell how low, 
 The cock instructed him, foretold to crow: 
 His real self then Peter came to know. 
 
 He that would die with him, tho' all forsook, 
 Dissolv'd in tears, when Jesus gave a look; 
 And learn'd humility by love's rebuke. 
 
 Lesson for us is plain from Peter's case, 
 That real virtue is the work of grace, 
 And of its height humility the base. 
 
 ON 
 
 THE CAUSE, CONSEQUENCE, AND CURE 
 OP 
 
 Spiritual Pride. 
 
 SUPPOSE a heater burning in the fire 
 To be alive, to will, and to desire; 
 To reason, feel, and have, upon the whole, 
 What we will call " an understanding soul;" 
 Conscious of povv'rful heat within its mold, 
 And colour bright above the burnish'd gold. 
 
 Suppose that pride should catch this heater's heart, 
 And from the fire persuade it to depart; 
 
 M
 
 114 
 
 To shew itself, and make it to be known, 
 That it can raise a splendour of its own; 
 An own rich colour, an own potent heat, 
 Without dependence on the fire, complete. 
 
 It leaves, in prospect of so fine a show, 
 The fiery bosom where it learnt to glow; 
 Cools by degrees, till all its golden hue 
 Is vanish'd, and its pow'r of heating too; 
 Its own, once hidden nature domineers, 
 And the dark, cold, self-iron lump appears. 
 
 Transfer this feign'd, imaginary pride, 
 To that which really does too oft betide, 
 When human souls, endu'd with grace divine, 
 Become ambitious, of themselves, to shine; 
 And, proud of qualities which grace bestows, 
 Forsake its bosom for self-shining shows. 
 
 And thence conceive the natural effects 
 Of pride, in either single men, or sects ; 
 That for variety of selfish strife 
 Forsake the one true Cause of all true life; 
 The heav'nly Spirit-fire of love, within 
 Whose sacred bosom all their gifts begin. 
 
 From which, if reason, learning, wit, or parts, 
 Tempt their ambition to withdraw their hearts, 
 There must ensue, whatever they may mean, 
 The disappearance of the glowing scene; 
 From the most gifted vanishing, of course, 
 When dis-united from its real source. 
 
 As only fire can possibly restore 
 The heater's force, to what it was before; 
 So that of love alone consumes the dross 
 Of wrathful nature, and repairs its loss; 
 It will again unite with all desire, 
 That casts itself into the holy fire. 
 
 \
 
 115 
 
 THE 
 
 BEGGAR AND THE DIVINE. 
 
 IN some good books one reads of a divine, 
 Whose memorable case deserves a line; 
 Who. to serve God the best and shortest way, 
 Pray'd for eight years together every day, 
 That in the midst of doctrines and of rules, 
 However taught and practis'd by the schools, 
 He would be pleas' d to bring him to a man 
 Prepar'd to teach him the coimpendious plan. 
 
 He was himself a doctor, and well read 
 In all the points to which divines were bred; 
 Nevertheless, he thought, that what concern'd 
 The most illiterate as well as learn'd, 
 To know and practise, mu6t be something still 
 More independent on such kind of skill: 
 True christian worship had, within its root, 
 Some simpler secret, clear of all dispute; 
 Which, by a living proof that he might know, 
 He pray'd for some practitioner to shew. 
 
 One day, possess'd with an intense concern 
 About the lesson which he sought to learn, 
 He heard a voice that sounded in his ears 
 " Thou hast been praying for a man eight years; 
 " Go to the porch of yonder church, and find 
 " A man prepar'd according to thy mind." 
 
 Away he went to the appointed ground; 
 When, at the entrance of the church, he found 
 A poor old beggar, with his feet full sore, 
 And not worth two-pence all the cloaths he wore. 
 Surpris'd to see an object so forlorn 
 My friend, said he, / Uriah thee a good morn 
 " Thank thee," replied the beggar, " but a bad 
 " I don't remember that I ever had." 
 Sure he mistakes, the doctor thought, the phrase 
 Good fortune, friend, befall thee all thy days!
 
 116 
 
 " Me,' 1 said the beggar, "many days befall, 
 " But none of them unfortunate at all" 
 God bless thee, answer plainly, I request, 
 " Why, plainly then, I never was unblest" 
 Never? thou speakest in a mystic strain, 
 Which more at large I wish thee to explain. 
 
 " With all my heart Thou first didst condescend 
 "To wish me kindly a good morning, friend; 
 " And I replied, that I remember'd not 
 "A bad one ever to have been my lot: 
 " For, let the morning turn out how it will, 
 " 1 praise my God for ev'ry new one still: 
 " If I am pinch'd with hunger or with cold, 
 " It does not make me to let go my hold; 
 "Still I praise God Hail, rain, or snow, I take 
 " This blessed Cordial, which has pow'r to make 
 "The foulest morning, to my thinking, fair; 
 " For cold and hunger yield to praise and pray'r. 
 " Men pity me as wretched, or despise; 
 " But whilst I hold this noble exercise, 
 " It cheers my heart to such a due degree, 
 " That ev'ry morning is still good to me. 
 
 " Thou didst, moreover, wish me lucky days, 
 " And I, by reason of continual praise, 
 "Said that I had none else; for come what would 
 " On any day, I knew it must be good 
 " Because God sent it; sweet or bitter, joy 
 " Or grief, by this angelical employ, 
 " Of praising Him, my heart was at its rest, 
 " And took Whatever happen'd for the best; 
 " So that my own experience might say, 
 " It never knew of an unlucky day. 
 
 " Then didst thou pray God bless thee and I said 
 " I never was unblest; for being led 
 " By the Good Spirit, of imparted grace * 
 
 " To praise his name, and ever to embrace 
 " His righteous will, regarding that alone, 
 " With total resignation of my own, 
 " I never could, in such a state as this, 
 " Complain for want of happiness or bliss ;
 
 117 
 
 " Resolv'd, in all things, that the Will Divine, 
 " The Source of all true blessing, should be mine." 
 
 The doctor, learning from the beggar's case 
 Such wondrous instance of the pow'r of grace, 
 Propos'd a question, with intent to try 
 The happy mendicant's direct reply 
 What wouldst thou say, said he, should God think fit 
 To cast thee down to the infernal pit? 
 
 " He cast me down? He send me into hell? 
 11 No He loves me, and I love Him too well: 
 " But put the case He should, I have two arms 
 " That will defend me from all hellish harms, 
 t; The one, humility, the other, love; 
 " These I would throw below Him and above; 
 " One under his Humanity I'd place, 
 " His Deity the other should embrace; 
 " With both together so to hold Him fast, 
 " That He should go wherever He would east, 
 " And then, whatever thou shalt call the sphere, 
 " Hell, if thou wilt, 'tis Heav'n if He be there." 
 
 Thus was a great divine, whom some have thought 
 To be the justly fam'd Taulerus, taught 
 The holy art, for which he us'd to pray, 
 That to serve God the most compendious way, 
 Was to hold fast a loving, humble mind, 
 Still praising Him, and to his will resign'd. 
 
 FRAGMENT OF A HYMN, 
 
 ON 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF GOD. 
 
 > 
 O Goodness of God! more exceedingly great 
 Than thought can conceive, or than words can repeat; 
 Whatsoever we fix our conceptions upon, 
 It has some kind of bounds, but thy goodness has none: 
 
 x
 
 113 
 
 As it never began, so it never can end, 
 But to all thy creation will always extend; 
 All nature partakes of its proper degree, 
 But the self-blinded will that refuses to see. 
 
 Whensoever new forms of creation began, 
 Thy goodness adjusted the beautiful plan; 
 Adjusted the beauties of body and soul, 
 And plac'd in the centre the good of the whole; 
 That shone, like a sun the circumference round, 
 To produce all the fruits of beatified ground: 
 To display, in each possible shape and degree, 
 A Goodness eternal, essential to Thee. 
 
 Blest orders of angels surrounded thy throne, 
 Before any evil was heard of or known; 
 Till a self-seeking Chiefs unaccountable pride 
 Thine immutable rectitude falsely belied; 
 And despising the Goodness that made him so bright, 
 Would become independent, and be his own light; 
 And induc'd all his host to so monstrous a thing, 
 As to act against nature's Omnipotent King. 
 
 Then did evil begin, or the absence of good, 
 Which from Thee could not eome from a creature it could ; 
 Who, made in thy likeness, all happy and free, 
 Could only be good as an image of thee: 
 When an angel profan'd his angelical trust, 
 And departed from order, most righteous and just; 
 Self-depriv'd of the light, that proceeds from thy throne, 
 He fell to the darkness, by nature, his own. 
 
 For nature itself is a darkness express, 
 If a splendour from thee does not fill it and bless; 
 An abyss of the pow'rs of all creaturely life, 
 Which are, in themselves, but an impotent strife 
 Of action, re-action, and whirling around, 
 Till the rays of thy light pierce the jarring profound; 
 Till thy Goodness compose the dark, natural storm, 
 And enkindles the bliss of light, order, and form. 
 
 Thy unchangeable Goodness, when wrath was begun, 
 Soon as e'er it beheld what an angel had done,
 
 119 
 
 Exerted itself in restoring anew 
 
 A celestial abode, and inhabitants too; 
 
 Made a temporal world in the desolate place, 
 
 And thy likeness, a man, to produce a new race; 
 
 That the evil brought forth might in time be suppress'd, 
 
 And a new host of creatures succeed to be blest. 
 
 When the man, whom thy counsel design'd to have stood, 
 Fell into this mixture of evil and good; 
 And, against thy kind warning, consented to taste 
 Of the fruit that would lay his own Paradise waste; 
 Thy mercy then sought his redemption from sin, 
 And implanted the hope of a Saviour within; 
 Of a Man to be born, in the fulness of time, 
 To supply his defect, and abolish his crime. 
 
 All the hopes of good men, since the ruin began, 
 Were deriv'd from the grace of this wonderful man: 
 His life, in the promise, has secretly wrought 
 Its intended effect, in their penitent thought, 
 Who believ'd in thy word, in whatever degree 
 They knew, or knew not, how his coming would be: 
 A true faith in a Saviour was one and the same, 
 Both before his blest coming as after He came. 
 
 Patriarchal, Mosaic, Prophetical views, 
 The desire of all nations, or Gentiles or Jews, 
 Who obey'd, in the midst of their natural fall, 
 The degree of his light, which enlighten'd them all, 
 Still centered in Him, the Messiah, the Man 
 Who should execute fully thy merciful plan; 
 And impart the true lifc, which thy Goodness design'd. 
 By creating a Man, to descend to mankind. - 
 
 When this Son of thy love was incarnate on earth, 
 And the Word was made flesh by a virginal birth, 
 Thy angelical host usher'd in the great morn, 
 With the Tidings of Joy , that a Saviour was born; 
 Of joy to all people, who round the whole ball, 
 Should partake of the Goodness, that came to save all; 
 To erect, upon earth, a true kingdom of grace 
 And of glory to come, for whoe'er would embrace.
 
 120 
 
 Universal Good, 
 
 THE OBJECT OF THE DIVINE WILL; 
 
 JND EVIL, 
 
 THE 
 Necessary Effect of the Creature's Opposition to it. 
 
 THE God of love, delighting to bestow, 
 Sends down his blessing to the world below: 
 A grateful mind receives it, and above 
 Sends up thanksgiving to the God of love: 
 This happy intercourse could never fail, 
 Did not a false, perverted will prevail. 
 
 For love divine, as rightly understood, 
 Is an unalterable will to good: 
 Good is the object of His blessed will, 
 Who never can concur to real ill; 
 Much less decree, predestinate, ordain 
 Words oft employ'd to take His name in vain. 
 
 " But he permits it to be done," say you 
 Plain, then, I answer, that He dees not do; 
 That, having will'd created angels free, 
 He still permits or wills them so to be; 
 Were His permission ask'd, before they did 
 An evil action, He would soon forbid. 
 
 Before the doing He forbids indeed, 
 But disobedient creatures take no heed: 
 If He, according to your present plea, 
 Withdraws his grace, and so they disobey, 
 The fault is laid on Him, not them at all; 
 For who can stand whom He shall thus let fall?' 
 
 Our own neglect must be the previous cause, 
 When it is said the grace of God withdraws; 
 In the same sense, as when the brightest dawn, 
 If we will shut our windows, is withdrawn;
 
 121 
 
 Not that the sun is ever the less bright, 
 But that our choice is not to see the light* 
 
 Free to receive the grace, or to reject* 
 Receivers only can be God's elect; 
 Rejecters of it, reprobate alone, 
 Not by Divine Decree, but by their ovoni 
 His love to all, his willing none to sin, 
 Is a decree that never could begin. 
 
 It is the order, the eternal law, 
 The true free grace, that never can withdraw; 
 Observance of it will, of course, be blest, 
 And opposition to it self-distress'd; 
 To them, who love its gracious Author, all 
 Will work for good, according to St. Paul. 
 
 An easy key to each abstruser text, 
 That modern disputants have so perplex'd ; 
 With arbitrary fancies on each side, 
 From God's pure love, or man's free-will denied; 
 Which, in the breast of saints, and sinners too, 
 May both be found self-evidently true. 
 
 ON THE 
 
 DISINTERESTED LOIE OF GOD. 
 
 THE love of God with genuine ray 
 Inflain'd the breast of good Cambray;* 
 And banish'd from the prelate's mind 
 All thoughts of interested kind: 
 
 * Fenelon, Archbishop of Cambray, wrote a mystical book, entitle^ 
 An Explication of the maxims of tin; Saints concerning the interior life; it 
 which he seemed to favour the extravagant notions of Madame Ouioi,. 
 and the principles of Quietism. Pur this he was obliged to leave tli | 
 court of France for ever, after having been upwards of seven yeai 
 tutor to the Dukes of Burgundy and Anjou. In him were combine* 
 without injury, the good Divine and the able politician an union ver 
 desirable, yet seldom found. He was a man ot great genius, deep piet> 
 and of extensive attainments. 
 
 VOL. II. K
 
 122 
 
 He saw, and writers of his clas3 y 
 (Of too neglected worth, alas!) 
 Disinterested Love to be 
 The Gospel's very ABC. 
 
 When our redeeming Lord began 
 To practice it Himself, as Man; 
 And, for the joy then set before 
 His loving view, such evils bore; 
 Endur'd the cross, despis'd the shame 
 Had He an interested aim? 
 Surely the least examination 
 Shews, that the joy was our salvation. 
 
 For us He suffer'd, to make known 
 The love that seeketh not its own ; 
 Suffer'd, what nothing but so pure 
 A love could possibly endure : 
 No less a sacrifice than this 
 Could bring poor sinners back to bliss; 
 Or execute the saving plan 
 Of reuniting God and man. 
 
 This love was Abram's shield and guard; 
 Was his exceeding great reward ; 
 This love the Patriarchal eye, 
 And that of Moses, could descry; 
 In this disinterested sense, 
 They sought reward or recompense, 
 City or country, heav'n above, 
 The seat of purity and love. 
 
 This the high calling, this the prize, 
 The mark of Paul's so steady eyes; 
 For, with the self-forgetting Paul, 
 Pure love of God in Christ was all: 
 The text of the beloved John 
 Has all, that words can say, in one; 
 For God is Love compendious whole 
 Of all the blessings of a soul. 
 
 What helps to this a soul may want, 
 Pure love is ready still to grant ;
 
 123 
 
 But with a view to wean it still 
 From selfish, mercenary will: 
 Of all reward, all punishment, 
 This is the end, in God's intent, 
 To form, in offsprings of his own, 
 The bliss of loving His alone. 
 
 Sole rule of all affection due 
 Both to ourselves, and others too; 
 Meaning of ev'ry scripture text, 
 By interested love perplex'd, 
 Promise or precept, gospel call 
 Or legal love, fulfils them all; 
 From base arising up to spire, 
 Superior both to fear and hire. 
 
 Love of disinterested kind, 
 The man, who thinks it too refin'd, 
 May, by ambiguous language, still 
 Persist in metaphysic skill; 
 Even the justly fam'd Cambray, 
 In such a case, could only pray, 
 That love itself would only dart 
 Some feeling proof into his heart. 
 
 ON 
 
 THE SAME SUBJECT. 
 
 I LOVE my God, and freely too, 
 With the same love that He imparts; 
 
 That He, to whom all love is due, 
 Engraves upon pure, loving hearts. 
 
 1 love, but this celestial fire 
 Ye starry pow'rs! Ye do not raise: 
 
 No wages, no reward's desire, 
 Is in the purely shining blaze. 
 
 Me, nor the hopes of heav'nly bliss, 
 Or Paradisic scenes excite ; 
 
 Nor terrors of the dark abyss, 
 Of death's eternal den, affright.
 
 124 
 
 No bought-and-paid-for love be mine> 
 I will have no demands to make; 
 
 Disinterested, and divine 
 Alone, that fear shall never shake. 
 
 Thou, my Redeemer, from above, 
 Suffering to such immense degree, 
 
 Thy heart has kindled mine to love, 
 That burns for nothing but for Thee. 
 
 Thy scourge, thy thorns, thy cross, thy wounds. 
 Are, ev'ry one of them, a source, 
 
 From whence the nourishment abounds 
 Of endless love's unfading force. 
 
 These sacred fires, with holy breath, 
 Raise in my mind the gen'rous strife; 
 
 While, by the ensigns of thy death 
 Known, I adore the Lord of Life. 
 
 Extinguish all celestial light, 
 The fire of love will not go out; 
 
 The flames of hell extinguish quite, 
 Love will pursue its wonted route. 
 
 Be there no hope if it persist 
 Persist it will, nor ever cease; 
 
 No punishment if 'tis dismiss'd 
 What caus'd it not will not decrease. 
 
 Shouldst thou give nothing for its pains y 
 It claims not any thing as due ; 
 
 Shouldst thou condemn me, it remains 
 Unchang'd by any selfish view. 
 
 Let Heav'n be darken' d, if it will, 
 Let hell with all its vengence roar; 
 
 My God alone remaining, still 
 I'll love Him, as I did before.
 
 125 
 
 ON 
 
 The MEANING of the WORD "WRATH," 
 
 AS APPLUED TO GOD IN SCRIPTURE. 
 
 THAT God is love is in the scripture said; 
 That He is wrath is no where to be read; 
 From which, by literal expression free, 
 " Fury (He saith himself) is not in me;" 
 If scripture, therefore, must direct our faith, 
 Love must be He, or in Him; and not wrath. 
 
 And yet the wrath of God, in scripture phrase, 
 Is oft express'd, and many difTrent ways: 
 His anger, fury, vengeance, are the terms, 
 Which the plain letter of the text affirms: 
 And plain, from two of the apostles' Choir, 
 That God is love and a consuming fire. 
 
 If we consult the reasons that appear, 
 To make the seeming difficulty clear, 
 We must acknowledge, when we look above, 
 That God, as God, is overflowing love: 
 And wilful sinners, when we look below, 
 Make (what is call'd) the wrath of God to flow. 
 
 Wrath, as St. Paul saith, is the treasured part 
 Of an impenitently harden 1 'd heart: 
 When love reveals its own eternal life, 
 Then wrath and anguish fall on evil strife; 
 Then lovely justice, in itself all bright, 
 Is burning fire to such as hate the light. 
 
 If wrath and justice be indeed the same, 
 No wrath in God is liable to blame; 
 If not; if righteous judges may and must 
 Be free themselves from wrath, if they be just, 
 Such kind of blaming may, with equal sense, 
 Lay on a judge the criminal's offence. 
 
 God, in Himself unchangeable, in fine, 
 Is one, eternal Light of love divine; 
 K2
 
 126 
 
 In Him there is no darkness, saith St. John, 
 
 In Him no wrath the meaning is all one ; 
 
 'Tis our own darkness, wrath, sin, death, and hell, 
 
 Not to love Him, who first lov'd us so well. 
 
 The MEANING of the WORD WRATH," 
 
 ILLUSTRATED IN A 
 COMMENT ON THE FOLLOWING SCRIPTURE: 
 
 God so loved the World, that He gave his ordy begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him 
 should not perish, but have everlasting life' (St. John iii. 16.) 
 
 God so loved the world! By how tender a phrase 
 The design of his Father our Saviour displays! 
 Love, according to Him, when the world was undone, 
 Was the Father's sole reason for giving his Son. 
 No wrath in the Giver had Christ to atone, 
 But to save a poor perishing world from its own. 
 A belief in the Son carries with it a faith, 
 That the Motive Paternal was love, and not wrath. 
 
 Ev'ry good, perfect gift, cometh down from above, 
 Front the Father of lights, thro' the Son of his Love. 
 As in Him there is no variation or change, 
 Neither shadow of turning, it well may seem strange 
 That, when scripture assures us so plainly, that He, 
 His will, grace, or gift, is so perfectly free, 
 Any word should be strain'd to inculcate a thought 
 Of a wrath in his mind, or a change to be wrought. 
 
 All wrath is the product of creaturely sin; 
 In immutable love it could never begin; 
 Nor, indeed, in a creature, till opposite will 
 To the love of its God had brought forth such an ill; 
 To the love that was pleas'd to communicate bliss 
 In such endless degrees, thro' all nature's abyss: 
 Nor could wrath have been known, had not man left the state, 
 In which nature's God was pleas'd man to create. 
 
 He saw, when the world in its purity stood, 
 Every thing He had made, and Behold it was good; 
 And the man, its one ruler, before his sad fall, 
 As the image of God, had the goodness of all:
 
 127 
 
 When He fell, and awak'ned wrath, evil, and curse 
 In himself and the world, was God become worse, 
 Who so lov'd the world still, that, when wrath was begun, 
 To redeem the lost creature, he gave his own Son? 
 
 Freely gave Him; not mov'd or incited thereto 
 By a previous appeasing, or payment of due 
 To his wrath, or his vengeance, or any such cause 
 As should satisfy Him for the breach of his laws: 
 This language the Jew Nicodemus might use; 
 But our Saviour's to him had more excellent views; 
 " God so loved the world," (are his words,) " that he gave 
 " His Only-begotten in order to save." 
 
 Love's prior, unpurchas'd, unpaid-for intent 
 Was the cause, why the Only-begotten was sent, 
 That thro* Him we might live; and the cause why He came, 
 Was to manifest love, ever one and the same: 
 Full conquest of wrath ever striving to make, 
 And blotting transgressions out for Us own sake; 
 Wanting no satisfaction itself, but to give 
 Itself, that the world might receive it, and live 
 
 Might believe on the Son, and receive a new birth 
 From the love, that in Christ was incarnate on earth; 
 When a virgin brought forth, without help of a man, 
 The Restorer of GOD's true, original plan; 
 The one Quencher uf wrath, the Atoner of sin, 
 And the Bringer of justice and righteousness in; 
 The Renewer, in man, of a pow'r and a will 
 To satisfy justice that is, to fulfil. 
 
 There is nothing that justice and righteousness hath 
 More opposite to it than anger and wrath; 
 As repugnant to all that is equal and right, 
 As falshood to truth, or as darkness to light. 
 Of GOD, in Himself, what the scripture affirms 
 Is truth, light, and love plain significant terms; 
 In his Deity, therefore, there cannot befal 
 Any falshood, or darkness, or hatred at all. 
 
 Such defect can be found in that creature alone, 
 Which against his good will seeks to set up its own;
 
 128 
 
 Then, to GOD and his justice it giveth the lie, 
 And its darkness ana 1 wrath are discover 'd thereby: 
 What before was subservient to life, in due place, 
 Then usurps the dominion, and death is the case ; 
 Which the Son of GOD only could ever subdue, 
 By doing all that which love gave Him to do. 
 
 If the anger of GOD, fury, wrath, waxing hot,' 
 And the like human phrases that scripture has got, 
 Be insisted upon, why not also the rest, 
 Where GOD, in the language of men, is express'd 
 In a manner, which, all are oblig'd to confess, 
 No defect in his nature can mean to express? 
 With a GOD, who is love, ev'rj word should agree; 
 With GOD, who hath said, Fury is not in me. 
 
 The disorders in nature, for none are in GOD, 
 Are intitled " his vengeance, his wrath, or his rod," 
 Like " his ice, or his frost, his plague, famine, or sword"- 
 That the love, which directs them, may still be ador'd; 
 Directs them, till justice,--caird his or call'd ours, 
 Shail regain, to our comfort, its primitive pow'rs; 
 The true, saving justice, that bids us endure 
 What love shall prescribe, for effecting our cure. 
 
 By a process of love, from the crib to the cross, 
 Did the Only-begotten recover our loss; 
 And shew in us men how the Father is pleas'd, 
 When the wrath in our nature by love is appeas'd, 
 When the birth of His Christ, being formed within, 
 Dissolves the dark death of all self-hood and sin ; 
 Till the love that so lov'd us, becomes once again, 
 From the Father and Son, a life-spirit in man. 
 
 THE TRUE GROUNDS 
 
 OF 
 
 ETERNAL and IMMUTABLE RECTITUDE, 
 
 TH' Eternal Mind, ev'n heathens understood, 
 Was infinitely powerful, wise, and good;
 
 129 
 
 In their conceptions, who conceiv'd aright, 
 These three essential attributes unite: 
 They saw, that, wanting any of the three, 
 Such an All-perfect Being could not be. 
 
 For pow'r, from wisdom sufFring a divorce, 
 Would be a foolish, mad, and frantic force: 
 If both werejoin'd, and wanted goodness still, 
 They would concur to more pernicious ill : 
 However nam'd, their action could but tend 
 To weakness, folly, mischief without end. 
 
 Yet some of old, and some of present hour, 
 Ascribe to God an arbitrary pow'r; 
 An absolute decree ; a mere command, 
 Which nothing causes, nothing can withstand: 
 Wisdom and goodness scrace appear in sight; 
 But all is measur'd by resistless might. 
 
 The verbal question comes to this, in fine, 
 " Is good, or evil, made by Will Divine, 
 " Or such by nature? Does command enact 
 " What shall be right, and then 'tis so in fact? 
 ** Or is it right, and therefore, we may draw, 
 " From thence the reason of the righteous law?" 
 
 Now, tho' tis proof, indisputably plain, 
 That all is right, which God shall once ordain; 
 Yet, if a thought shall intervene between 
 Things and commands, 'tis evidently seen 
 That good will be commanded: men divide 
 Nature and laws, which really coincide. 
 
 From the Divine, Eternal Spirit springs 
 Order, and rule, and rectitude of things; 
 Thro' outward nature, His apparent throne, 
 Visibly seen, intelligibly known: 
 Proofs of a boundless pow'r, a wisdom's aid, 
 By goodness us'd, eternal and unmade. 
 
 Cudvvorth perceiv'd, that what divines advance 
 For sov'reignty alone is fate or chance: 
 Fate, after pow'r had made its forcing laws; 
 And chance, before, if made without a cause :
 
 130 
 
 Nothing stands firm, or certain, in a state 
 Of fatal chance or accidental fate. 
 
 Endless perfections, after all, conspire, 
 And to adore excite and to admire; 
 But to plain minds, the plainest pow'r above 
 Is native goodness, to attract our love: 
 Centre of all its various power and skill 
 Is one divine, immutable good-will. 
 
 ON 
 
 THE NATURE AND REASON 
 
 OF ALL 
 
 OUTWARD LAW. 
 
 The Sabbath was made for Man; not Man for the Sabbath. 
 [<MARK ii. 27.) 
 
 FROM this true saying one may learn to draw 
 The real nature of all outward law ; ' 
 In ev'ry instance, rightly understood, 
 Its ground and reason is the human good: 
 By all its changes, since the world began, 
 Man was not made for law; but law for man. 
 
 Thou shalt not eat (the first command of all) 
 Of good and ill, was to prevent his fall: 
 When he became unlit to be alone, 
 Woman was form'd out of his flesh and bone: 
 When both had sinn'd, then penitential grief, 
 And sweating labour, was the law relief. 
 
 When all the world had sinn'd, save one good sire, 
 Flood was the law that sav'd its orb from fire: 
 When fire itself upon a Sodom fell, 
 It was the law to stop a growing hell: 
 So on the law with riches or with rods, 
 Come as it will, is good, for it is God's. 
 
 Men who observe a law, or who abuse, 
 For selfish pow'r, are blind as any Jews;
 
 131 
 
 On sabbath, constru'd by rabbinic will, 
 God must not save, and men must seek to kill ; 
 Such zeal for law has pharisaic faith, 
 Not as 'tis good, but as it worketh wrath. 
 
 Jesus, the perfect Law-fulfiller, gave 
 The victory that taught the law to save ; 
 Pluck'd out its sting, revers'd the cruel cry, 
 " We have a law by which he ought to die;" 
 Dying for man, this conquest he could give, 
 " I have a law by which he ought to live." 
 
 Whilst in the flesh, how oft did He reveal 
 His saving will, and god-like pow'r to heal ! 
 They whom defect, disease, or fiend possess'd, 
 And pardon'd sinners by his word had rest; 
 He, on the Sabbath, chose to heal and teach; 
 And law-proud Jews to slay him for its breach. 
 
 The Sabbath, never so well kept before, 
 May justify one observation more; 
 Our Saviour heal'd, as pious authors say, 
 So many sick upon the sabbath day, 
 To shew that rest and quietness of soul, 
 Is best for one who wants to be made whole; 
 
 Not to indulge an eagerness too great, 
 Of outward hurry, or of inward heat; 
 But with a humble temper, and resign'd, 
 To keep a sabbath in a hopeful mind; 
 In peace and patience meekly to endure, 
 Till the good Saviour's hour is come, to cure. 
 
 DIVINE LOVE, 
 
 THE 
 
 Essential Characteristic of True Religion. 
 
 RELIGION'S meaning when I would rccal, 
 Love is to me the plainest word of all; 
 Plainest: because that what I love or hate 
 Shews me directly my internal state:
 
 132 
 
 By its own consciousness is best defin'd, 
 Which way the heart within me stands inclin'd. 
 
 On what it lets its inclination rest, 
 To that its real worship is address'd: 
 Whatever forms or ceremonies spring 
 From custom's force, there lies the real thing: 
 Jew, Turk, or Christian, be the lover's name, 
 If same the love, religion is the same. 
 
 Of all religions if we take a view, 
 There is but one that ever can be true; 
 One God, one Christ, one Spirit, none but He; 
 All else is Idol ^ whatsoe'er it be; 
 A good that our imaginations make, 
 Unless we love it purely for His sake. 
 
 Nothing but gross idolatry alone 
 Can ever love it, merely, for its own: 
 It may be good, that is, may make appear 
 So much of God's one goodness to be clear; 
 Thereby to raise a true, religious soul, 
 To love of Him, the One Eternal Whole ; 
 
 The one Unbounded, Undivided Good, 
 By all his creatures partly understood: 
 If therefore sense of its apparent parts 
 Raise not his love or worship in our hearts, 
 Our selfish wills or notions we may feast, 
 And have no more religion than a beast. 
 
 For brutal instinct can a good embrace, 
 That leaves behind it no reflecting trace; 
 But thinking man, whatever be his theme, 
 Should worship Goodness in the Great Supreme; 
 By inward faith, more sure than outward sight, 
 Should eye the Source of all that's good and right. 
 
 Religion then is Love's celestial force, 
 That penetrates thro' all to its true source; 
 Loves all along, but with proportion'd bent, 
 As creatures further the divine ascent; 
 Not to the skies or stars; but to the part 
 That will be always uppermost the Heart.
 
 133 
 
 There is the seat, as holy writings tell, 
 Where the Most High Himself delights to dwell; 
 Whither attracting the desirous will 
 To its true rest, He saves it from all ill; 
 Gives it to find, in his abyssal love, 
 A Heav'n within, in other words, above. 
 
 ON 
 
 WORKS of MERCY and COMPASSION, 
 
 CONSIDERED 
 
 As the Proofs of True Religion. 
 
 OF true religion works of mercy seem 
 To be the plainest proof, in Christ's esteem: 
 Who has himself declar'd what He will say 
 To all the nations, at the judgment day: 
 " Come" or " Depart," is the predicted lot 
 Of brotherly compassion shewn, or not. 
 
 Then, they who gave poor hungry people meat, 
 And drink to quench the thirsty suff'rer's heat; 
 Who welcom'd in the stranger at the door, 
 And with a garment cloth'd the naked poor; 
 Who visited the sick to ease their grief, 
 And went to pris'ners, or bestow'd relief 
 
 These will be deem'd religious men, to whom 
 Will sound Ye blessed of my Father, come, 
 Inherit ye the kingdom, and partake 
 Of all the glories founded for your sake: 
 Your love to others I was pleased to see, 
 What you have done to them was done to me. 
 
 Then, they who gave the hungry poor no food; 
 Who with no drink the parch'd with thirst bedew 'd; 
 Who drove the helpless stranger from their fold, 
 And let the naked perish in the cold; 
 Who to the sick no friendly visit paid, 
 Nor gave to pris'ners any needful aid
 
 134 
 
 These will be deem'd of irreligious mind; 
 And hear the Go, ye men of cursed kind, 
 To endless woes, which ev'ry harden 'd heart 
 For its own treasure has prepared depart: 
 Shewn to a brother, of the least degree, 
 Your merciless behaviour was to me. 
 
 Here, all ye learned, full of all dispute, 
 Of true and false religion lies the root: 
 The mind of Christ, when he became a man, 
 With all its tempers, forms its real plan; 
 The sheep from goats distinguishing full well 
 His love is Heav'n; and want of it is hell. 
 
 VERSES 
 
 DESIGNED FOR AN INFIRMARY. 
 
 DEAR loving sirs! Behold, as ye pass by, 
 The poor sick people with a pitying eye: 
 Let pains, and wounds, and suff'rings of each kind, 
 Raise up a just compassion in your mind; 
 Indulge a gen'rous grief at such a sight, 
 And then bestow your talent, or your mite. 
 
 Thus to bestow is really to obtain 
 The surest blessing upon honest gain: 
 To help th' afflicted, in so great a need, 
 By your supplies, is to be rich indeed: 
 The good, the pleasure, the reward of wealth 
 Is to procure your fellow-creatures health. 
 
 In other cases, men may form a doubt, 
 Whether their alms be properly laid out; 
 But in the objects, here, before your eyes, 
 No such distrust can possibly arise; 
 Too plain the miseries ! which well may melt 
 A heart, sincerely wishing them unfelt. 
 
 The wise consider this terrestrial ball, 
 As Heav'n's design'd Infirmary for all,
 
 135 
 
 Here came the Great Physician of the soul, 
 To heal man's nature, and to make him whole: 
 Still, by his Spirit, present with all those, 
 Who lend an aid to lessen human woes. 
 
 A godlike work; who forwards it is sure 
 That ev'ry step advances his own cure; 
 Without benevolence, the view to self 
 Makes worldly riches an unrighteous pelf; 
 While blest thro' life, the giver, for his love, 
 Dies to receive its huge reward above. 
 
 To them who tread the certain path to bliss, 
 That leads thro' scenes of charity like this, 
 Think what the Saviour of the world will say 
 " Ye blessed of my Father, come your way; 
 "'Twas done to me, if done to the distress'd: 
 " Come, ye true friends, and be for ever blest. 
 
 A HYMJV TO JESUS. 
 
 COME, Saviour Jesus ! from above, 
 Assist me with thy hcav'nly grace; 
 
 Withdraw my heart from worldly love, 
 And for thyself prepare the place. 
 
 Lord ! let thy sacred presence fill, 
 And set my longing spirit free; 
 
 That pants to have no other will, 
 But night and day to think on thee. 
 
 Where'er thou leadest, I'll pursue, 
 Thro' all retirements or employs; 
 
 But to the world I'll bid adieu, 
 And all its vain delusive joys. 
 
 That way with humble speed I'll walk, 
 Wherein my Saviour's footsteps shine: 
 
 Nor will I hear, nor will I talk 
 Of any other love but thine.
 
 136 
 
 To Thee my longing heart aspires; 
 
 To Thee I offer all my vows: 
 Keep me from false and vain desires, 
 
 My God, my Saviour, and my Spouse! 
 
 Henceforth, let no profane delight 
 
 Divide this consecrated soul! 
 Possess it Thou, who hast the right, 
 
 As Lord and Master of the whole. 
 
 Wealth, honours, pleasures, or what else 
 This short-enduring world can give, 
 
 Tempt as they will, my heart repels, 
 To Thee alone resolv'd to live. 
 
 Thee one may love, and thee alone, 
 With inward peace and holy bliss; 
 
 And when thou tak'st us for thy own, 
 Oh ! what a happiness is this ! 
 
 Nor Heav'n nor earth do I desire, 
 Nor mysteries to be reveal'd; 
 
 'Tis love that sets my heart on fire : 
 
 Speak Thou the word, and I am heal'd. 
 
 All other graces I resign; 
 
 Pleas'd to receive, pleas 1 d to restores 
 Grace is thy gift, it shall be miae 
 
 The Giver only to adore. 
 
 A 
 
 HYMN ON SIMPLICITY. 
 
 9ROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 JESU! teach this heart of mine 
 
 True simplicity to find ; 
 Child-like, innocent, divine, 
 Free from guile of ev'ry kind: 
 And since, when amongst us vouchsafing to live, 
 So pure an example it pleas'd Thee to give ; 
 O. 1 let me keep still the bright pattern in view, 
 And be, after thy likeness, right simple and true.
 
 137 
 
 When I read, or when I hear 
 
 Truths that kindle good desires; 
 How to act, and how to bear 
 
 What heav'n-instructed faith requires; 
 Let no subtle fancies e'er lead me astray, 
 Or teach me to comment thy doctrines away; 
 No reas'nings of selfish corruption within, 
 Nor sleights by which satan deludes us to sin. 
 
 Whilst I pray before thy face, 
 
 Thou! who art my highest good! 
 O! confirm to me the grace, 
 
 PurchasM by thy precious blood: 
 That, with a true filial affection of heart, 
 I may feel what a real Redeemer thou art ; 
 And, thro 1 thy Atonement to justice above, 
 Be receiv'd, as a child, by the Father of love. 
 
 Give me, with a child-like mind, 
 
 Simply to believe thy word; 
 And to do whate'er I find 
 
 Pleases best my dearest Lord: 
 Resolving to practise thy gracious commands; 
 To resign myself wholly up into thy hands: 
 That, regarding Thee simply in all my employ, 
 I may cry, " Abba! Father!" with dutiful joy. 
 
 Nor within me, nor without, 
 
 Let hypocrisy reside; 
 But whate'er I go about, 
 Mere Simplicity be guide : 
 Simplicity guide me in word and in will; 
 Let me live let me die in simplicity still: 
 Of an epitaph made me let this be the whole 
 Here lies a true child, that was simple of soul. 
 
 Jesu ! now I fix my heart, 
 
 Prince of life! and Source of bliss! 
 Never from Thee to depart, 
 
 Till thy love shall grant me this: 
 Then, then, shall my heart all its faculties rai9e 5 
 Both here, and hereafter, to sing to thy praise: 
 O! joyful! My Saviour says "So let it be!" 
 Amen to my soul, Hallelujah to thee! 
 
 VOL. II. L
 
 138 
 
 A 
 
 FAREWELL TO THE WORLD, 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH. 
 
 WORLD, adieu, thou real cheat! 
 
 Oft have thy deceitful charms 
 Fili'd my heart with fond conceit, 
 
 Foolish hopes, and false alarms: 
 Now I see, as clear as day, 
 How thy follies pass away. 
 
 Vain thy entertaining sights; 
 
 False thy promises renew'd; 
 All the pomp of thy delights 
 
 Does but flatter and delude: 
 Thee I quit for Heav'n above, 
 O'vect of the noblest love. 
 
 Farewell honour's empty pride ! 
 
 Thy own nice, uncertain gust, 
 If the least mischance betide, 
 
 Lays thee lower than the dust : 
 Worldly honours end in gall, 
 Rise to-day, to-morrow fall. 
 
 Foolish vanity, farewell! 
 
 More inconstant than the wave; 
 Where thy soothing fancies dwell, 
 
 Purest tempers they deprave: 
 He, to whom I fly from thee, 
 Jesus Christ, shall set me freev 
 
 Never shall my wandering mind 
 Follow after fleeting toys; 
 
 Since in God alone I find 
 Solid and substantial joys : 
 
 Joys that, never overpast, 
 
 Thro 1 eternity shall last. 
 
 Lord-, how happy is a Heart, 
 After Thee while it aspires !'
 
 139 
 
 True and faithful as thou art, 
 
 Thou shall answer its desires: 
 It shalt see the glorious scene 
 Of thy everlasting reign. 
 
 A HYMN. 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH. 
 
 HOW charming! to be thus confin'd 
 
 Within this lovely tow'r; 
 Where, with a calm and quiet mind, 
 
 I pass the peaceful hour: 
 Stronger than chains of any kind 
 
 Is love's enduring pow'r. 
 
 These very ills are my delight: 
 My pleasures rise from pains; 
 
 The punishments, that most affright, 
 Become my wislTd-for gains: 
 
 Whatever torments they excite, 
 Pure-sighing love remains. 
 
 Pain is no object of my fear, 
 
 Tho' help is not in view; 
 Sure as I am, from evils here, 
 
 That blessings will ensue: 
 To sov'reign beauty it is clear, 
 
 That sov'reign love is due. 
 
 I suffer; but along with smart 
 
 Is grace and virtue sent: 
 Presence of God, who takes my part, 
 
 So sweetens all event! 
 He is the Patience of my heart, 
 
 The Comfort, and Content.
 
 140 
 
 i^ y 
 THE 
 
 Soul's Tendency towards Us True Centrev 
 
 STONES towards the earth descend; 
 
 Rivers to the ocean roll; 
 Ev'ry motion has some end: 
 
 What is thine, beloved soul? 
 
 Mine is, where my Saviour is; 
 
 There with Him I hope to dwell: 
 Jesu is the central bliss; 
 
 Love the force that doth impel. 
 
 Truly, thou hast answer'd right: 
 Now may HeavVs attractive grace, 
 
 Tow'rds the Source of thy delight, 
 Speed along thy quick' ning pace ! 
 
 Thank thee for thy generous care! 
 
 Heaven, that did the wish inspire, 
 Through thy instrumental prayer, 
 
 Plumes the wings of my desire. 
 
 Now, methinks, aloft I fly: 
 Now, with angels bear a parti- 
 
 Glory be to God on high! 
 
 Peace to ev'ry christian heart ! 
 
 THE DESPONDING SOWS WISH, 
 
 MY spirit longeth for thee, 
 Within my troubled breast; 
 
 Altho 1 I be unworthy 
 Of so divine a guest. 
 
 Of so divine a guest 
 Unworthy tho' I be;
 
 141 
 
 Yet has my heart no rest. 
 Unless it come from thee. 
 
 Unless it come from thee, 
 In vain I look around; 
 
 In all that I can see, 
 No rest is to be found. 
 
 No rest is to be found, 
 
 But in thy blessed love ; 
 
 O! let my wish be crown'd, 
 And send it from above! 
 
 THE ANSWER. 
 
 CHEER up, desponding soul; 
 
 Thy longing, pleas'd, I see; 
 'Tis part of that great whole, 
 
 Wherewith I long'd for thee. 
 
 Wherewith I long'd for thee, 
 And left my Father's throne; 
 
 From death to set thee free, 
 To claim thee for my own. 
 
 To claim thee for my own, 
 I suffer'd on the cross: 
 
 Oh! were my love but known, 
 No soul could fear its loss. 
 
 No soul could fear its loss, 
 But, fill'd with love divine, 
 
 Would die on its own cross, 
 And rise for ever mine. 
 
 K 2
 
 142 
 
 A 
 
 HYMN TO JESUS. 
 
 (FROM THE LATIN OF ST. BERNARD.) 
 
 JESU ! the soul that thinks on thee, 
 How happy does it seem to be! 
 What honey can such sweets impart, 
 As does thy presence to the heart ! 
 
 No sound can dwell upon the tongue, 
 Nor ears be ravish'd with a song, 
 Nor thought by pondering be won, 
 Like that of God's Beloved Son. 
 
 Jesu ! the penitent's retreat, 
 The wearied pilgrim's mercy-seat: 
 If they that seek thee are car est, 
 How are the finders of thee blest ! 
 
 Jesu ! the Source of life and light, 
 That mak'st the mind so blest and bright; 
 Fulness of joy Thou dost inspire 
 Beyond the stretch of all desire. 
 
 This can no tongue that ever spoke, 
 Nor hand express by figur'd stroke : 
 It is experience that must prove 
 The pow'r of Jesus and His love. 
 
 A PARAPHRASE 
 
 ON THE 
 
 PRAYER, USED IN THE CHURCH LITURGY, 
 
 For all Sorts and Conditions of Men. 
 
 IT will bear the repeating again and again, 
 Will the pray'r for all sorts and conditions of men;
 
 143 
 
 Not to this or that place, name or nation cbnfin'd, 
 
 But embracing, at once, the whole race of mankind; 
 
 With a love universal instructing to call 
 
 On the One Great creating Preserver of all; 
 
 That his way may be known upon earth, and be found 
 
 His true saving health, by the nations all round. 
 
 He, who willeth all men to be sav'd, and partake 
 Of the bliss, which distinguish'd their primitive make; 
 To arise to that life, by a second new birth, 
 Which Adam had lost, at his fall upon earth ; 
 Will accept ev'ry heart, whose unfeigned intent 
 Is to pray for that blessing, which He himself meant, 
 When he gave his own Son, for whoever should will 
 To escape, by his means, from the regions of ili. 
 
 But tho' all the whole world, in a sense that is good, 
 To be God's house, or church, may be well understood; 
 And the men who dwell on it, his children, for whom 
 It has pleas' d Him that Christ the Redeemer should come; 
 Yet his church must consist, in all saving respect, 
 Of them who receive him, not them who reject; 
 And his true, real children, or people, are they, 
 Who, when call'd by the Saviour, believe and obey. 
 
 Now this excellent pray'r, in this sense of the phrase, 
 For the Catholic Church more especially prays; 
 That it may be so constantly govern'd, anil led 
 By the Spirit of God, and of Jesus its head, 
 That all such as are taught to acknowledge its creed, 
 And profess to be christians, may be so indeed; 
 May hold the one faith, in a peace without strife, 
 And the proof of its truth, a right practical life. 
 
 No partial distinction is here to be sought; 
 For the good of mankind still enlivens the thought', 
 Since God, by the Church, in its Catholic sense, 
 Salvation to all is so pleas'd to dispense, 
 That the farther her faith and her patience increase, 
 More hearts will be won to the Gospel of ppace; 
 Till the world shall come under truth's abs< 'ute sway, 
 And the nations, converted, bring on the great day.
 
 144 
 
 Meanwhile, tho' eternity be her chief care, 
 The sufTrers in time have a suitable share: 
 She prays to the fatherly goodness of God, 
 For all, whom affliction has under its rod; 
 That inward or outward the cause of their grief, 
 Mind, body, estate, He would grant them relief, 
 Due comfort, and patience-, and finally bless 
 With the most happy ending of all their distress. 
 
 The compassion, here taught, is unlimited too, 
 And the whole of mankind the petitioning view : 
 As none can foresee, whether Christian or not, 
 What afflictions may fall in this world to his lot; 
 The Church, which considers whose providence sends, 
 Prays that all may obtain its beneficent ends; 
 And whenever the suff'rings, here needful, are past, 
 By repentance and faith may be sav'd at the last. 
 
 The particular mention of such, as desire 
 To be publickly pray'd for, as made in our quire, 
 Infers to all others God's merciful grace ; 
 Tho' we hear not their names, who are in the like case j 
 It excites our attention to instances known, 
 Of relations, or neighbours, or friends of our own; 
 For the pray'r, in its nature, extends to all those, 
 Who are in the same trouble, friends to us or foes. 
 
 All which she entreats, for His sake, to be done, 
 Who suffer' d to save them, Christ Jesus, his Son; 
 In respect to the world, the Redeemer of all; 
 " To the church of the faithful, most chiefly," saith Paul; 
 And to them, who shall sufter, whoever they be, 
 In the Spirit of Christ, in the highest degree: 
 How ought such a goodness all minds to prepare, 
 For a hearty Amen to this catholic pray'r ! 
 
 The church is, indeed, in its real intent, 
 An assembly, where nothing but friendship is meant; 
 And the utter extinction of foeship and wrath, 
 By the working of love, in the strength of its faith: 
 This gives it its holy and catholic name, 
 And truly confirms its apostolic claim; 
 Shewing what the one Saviour's one mission had been, 
 Go and teach all the world ev'ry creature therein.
 
 145 
 
 In the praise ever due to the gospel of grace, 
 Its universality holds the first place: 
 When an angel proclainVd its glad tidings, the morn 
 That the Son of the virgin, the Saviour was born; 
 Which shall be to all people was said to complete 
 The angelical message, so good and so great ; 
 Full of Glory to God, in the regions above, 
 And of Goodness to men, is so boundless a love. 
 
 This short supplication, or litany, read, 
 When the longer with us is not wont to be said, 
 Tho' brief in expression, as fully imports 
 The Will to all blessings for men of all sorts; 
 Same brotherly love, by which christians are taught 
 To pray without ceasing, or limiting thought; 
 That religion may flourish upon its true plan, 
 Of glory to God, and salvation to man. 
 
 THE 
 
 PRAYER OF RUSBROCHIUS. 
 
 John Rvsbmchius was born in a village in Brabant, called nuisbrocrh; from which, accord' 
 ing to thef.ishlon nj the Jirurteenth century, when he, flourished, he deriivd the literary name 
 which is jirefixed to his works- He wrote " The Sum of the Spiritual Life f and tome other 
 Theological treatises, which are in high estimation among the mystics. 
 
 O MERCIFUL Lord! by the good which Thou art, 
 I beseech thee to raise a true love in my heart 
 For ihee, above all things thee only; and then 
 To extend to all sorts, aud conditions of men 
 Religious or secular; kindred, or not; 
 Or near, or far off. or whatever their lot; 
 That be any man's state rich or poor, high or low, 
 As myself I may love him, Friend to me or foe. 
 
 May pay to all men a becoming respect, 
 Not prone to condemn them for seeming defect; 
 But to bear it, if true, with a patience exempt 
 From the proud, surly vice of a scornful contempt:
 
 146 
 
 If shewn to myself, let me learn to endure, 
 And obtain, by its aid, my own vanity's cure: 
 Nor, however disdainM, in ihe spiteiuilest shape, , 
 By a sinful return ever think to escape. 
 
 Let my pure, simple aim, in whatever it be, 
 Thro 1 praise or dispraise, be my duty to Thee* 
 With a fixt resolution, still eyeing tha scope 
 To admit of no other, fear be if or hope. 
 But the fear to offend thee, the hope to unite, 
 In thy honour and praise, with all hearts that are right, 
 Wishing all the world well; but intent to fulfil, 
 Be they pleasM or displeas'd, thy adorable will. 
 
 Preserve me, Dear Lord, from presumption and pride, 
 That upon my own actions would tempt to confide: 
 Let me have no dependence on any but thine, 
 With a right faith and trust in thy merits divine: 
 Still ready prepar'd, in each requisite hour, 
 Both to will and to work as thou givest the pow'r; 
 But may only thy love flame thro 1 all my whole heart, 
 And a fake selfish fire not affect the least part. 
 
 To this end, let thine arrow pierce deeply within, 
 Letting out all the filth and corruption of sin; 
 Ail that in the most secret recesses may luik, 
 To prevent or obstruct thy intention or work: 
 O ! give me the knowledge, the feeling, and sense, 
 Of thy all-blessing powV, wisdom, goodness immense! 
 Of the weakness, the folly, the malice alone, 
 That, resisting thy will, I should find in my own! 
 
 Never let me forget, never, while I draw breath, 
 What Thou hast done for me, thy passion, and death! 
 The wounds and the griefs of thy body and soul, 
 When assuming our nature thou madest it whole; 
 Taughtest how to engage in thy conquering strife, 
 And regain the access to its true divine life : 
 Let the sense of such love kindle all my desire, 
 To be thine my life thro 1 ; thine to die and expire. 
 
 To hearts, in the bond of thy charity knit, 
 EvVy thing becomes easy to do or omit; 
 The labour is pleasant, the sharpest degree 
 Of suffering can find consolation in thee :
 
 147 
 
 That which nature affords, or an object terrene, 
 When it does not divert from a perfecter scene, 
 Is receiv'd with all thanks, if thou pleasest to grant, 
 By a mind, if thou pleasest, as willing to want.. 
 
 The amusements, on which it once set such a stojre, 
 Are now as insipid, as grateful before; 
 With a much greater comfort it gives up each toy, 
 Than the fondest possessor could ever enjoy: 
 If e'er I propos'd such unsuitable ends 
 To the thought of religious or secular friends, 
 Expel the vain images, fancies of good, 
 And in their heart and mine, make thyself understood. 
 
 Extinguish, O Lord, let not any one take, 
 A complacence in me, which is not for thy sake; 
 In me too root out the respect, of all kind, 
 Which does not arise from thy love in my mind: 
 No sorrow be spar'd, no affliction, no cross, 
 That may further this love, or recover its loss; 
 This is always thy meaning; O let it be mine 
 To confess myself guilty, repent, and resign. 
 
 With a real contempt of all self-seeking views, 
 To embrace, for my choice, what thy wisdom shall choose; 
 Looking up still to Thee, to receive all event 
 Which it wills, or permits, with a thankful content: 
 Not regarding what men shall do to me, or why, 
 But the provident aim of thine all-seeing eye ; 
 Ever watchful o'er them who persist, in each place, 
 To rely on its presence O give me thy grace ! 
 
 Tho' unworthy to ask it, poor sinner! I trust 
 In the merits and death of a Saviour so just; 
 Whom the Father, well pleas'd in his satisfied will, 
 The design to save sinners saw rightly fulfil: 
 In me let thy grace, O Redeemer within, 
 Re-establish his justice, and purge away sin; 
 That freed from its evils, in me may be shewn 
 The effect of thy all-saving merits alone. 
 
 May death, and its consequence, still in my eyes, 
 So remind me to live, that it may not surprise: 
 May the horrible torments excite a due dread, 
 Which impenitent sinners bring on their own head:
 
 148 
 
 May I never seek peace, never find a delight, 
 But when I pursue what is good in thy sight: 
 Whatsoever I do, suffer, feel to befall, 
 Be Thou the sole cause, the one reason of all! 
 
 A PRAYER, 
 
 FROM 
 
 MR. LAW'S SPIRIT OF PRAYER. 
 
 OH Heav'nly Father! Gracious God above! 
 Thou boundless depth of never-ceasing love! 
 Save me from self, and cause me to depart 
 From sinful works of a long-harden'd heart; 
 From all my great corruptions set me free ; 
 Give me an ear to hear, an eye to see, 
 A heart and spirit to believe, and find 
 Thy love in Christ, the Saviour of mankind. 
 
 Made for thyself, O God, and to display 
 Thy goodness in me, manifest, I pray, 
 By grace adapted to each wanting hour, 
 Thy holy nature's life-conferring pow'r: 
 Give me the faith, the hunger, and the thirst, 
 After the life breath'd forth from thee, at first; 
 Birth of thy Holy Jesus in my soul; 
 That I may turn, thro' life's succeeding whole, 
 From ev'ry outward work, or inward thought, 
 Which is not Thee, or in thy Spirit wrought. 
 
 ON ATTENTION. 
 
 SACRED attention ! true effectual pray'r ! 
 Thou dost the soul for love of truth prepare. 
 Blest is the man, who, from conjecture free, 
 To future knowledge shall aspire by thee;
 
 149 
 
 Who in thy precepts seeks a sure repose, 
 
 Stays till he sees, nor judges till he knows; 
 
 Tho 1 firm, not rash; tho' eager, yet sedate; 
 
 Intent on truth, can its instruction wait; 
 
 Aw'd by thy powerful influence to appeal 
 
 To Heaven, which only can itself reveal; 
 
 The soul in humble silence to resign, 
 
 And human will unite to the divine; 
 
 Till fir'd at length by Heaven's enlivening beams, 
 
 Pure, unconsum'd, the faithful victim flames. 
 
 A PRAYER, 
 
 USED BY 
 
 Francis the First, when he was at War with the Emperor 
 Charles the Fifth. 
 
 ALMIGHTY Lord of Hosts, by whose commands 
 The guardian angel* rule their destin'd lands; 
 And watchful, at thy word, to save or slay, 
 Of peace or war administer the sway ! 
 Thou, who against the great Goliah's rage; 
 Didst arm the stripling David to engage; 
 When, with a sling, a small unarmed youth 
 Smote a huge giant, in defence of truth; 
 Hear us, we pray thee, if our cause be true, 
 If sacred justice be our only view; 
 If right and duty, not the will to war, 
 Have forc'd our armies to proceed thus far, 
 Then turn the hearts of all our foes to peace, 
 That war and bloodshed in the land may cease; 
 Or, put to flight by providential dread, 
 Let them lament their errors, not their dead. 
 If some must die, protect the righteous all, 
 And let the guilty, few as may be, fall. 
 With pitying speed the victory decree 
 To them, whose cause is best approv'd by thee; 
 That sheat^d on all sides the devouring sword. 
 And peace and justice to our land restor'd, 
 We all together, with one heart, may sing 
 Triumphant hymns to thee, th' Eternal King.
 
 150 
 
 A COMMENT 
 
 ON THE 
 
 Following Passage, in the general Confession of Sins, 
 
 USED IN THE CHURCH LITURGY,- 
 
 According to thy Promises declared unto Mankind in Christ Jesti our Lord- 
 
 ACCORDING to thy promises Hereby, 
 Since it is certain that God cannot lie, 
 The truly penitent may all be sure 
 That grace admits them to its open door; 
 And they, forsaking all their former sin, 
 However great, will freely be let in. 
 
 Declared By all the ministers of peace, 
 God has assur'd repentance of release; 
 And intervening penitence, we see, 
 Could even change his positive decree; 
 As in the Ninevites; if any soul 
 Repent, the promise is the sure parole. 
 
 Unto mankind not only to the Jews, 
 Christians, or Turks, in writings which they use; 
 Writ on the tablet of each conscious heart, 
 " Repent, from all iniquity depart;" 
 Not for no purpose ; for, the plain intent 
 Is restoration, if a soul repent. 
 
 In Christ by whom true scripture has assur'd 
 Redeeming grace for penitents procur'd; 
 The fainter hopes, which reason may suggest, 
 Are deeply, by the gospel's aid, impress'd: 
 'Twas alway hop'd for was the promis'd good, 
 But, by his coming, clearly understood. 
 
 Jesu Jehovah's manifested love, 
 In Christ, th' anointed Saviour from above; 
 The demonstration of the saving plan, 
 For all mankind, is God's becoming man: 
 No truth more firmly ascertain'd than this 
 " Repent, be faithful, and restor'd to bliss."
 
 151 
 
 Our Lord our new, and true^ parental Head; 
 Our second Adam, in the first when dead; 
 Who took our nature on Him, that in men 
 His Father's image might shine forth again : 
 Sure of success may penitents implore 
 What God, thro' Him, rejoices to restore. 
 
 FOR 
 
 The Due Improvement 
 op 
 A FUNERAL SOLEMNITY. 
 
 AROUND the grave of a departed friend, 
 If due concern has prompted to attend, 
 Deep on our minds let the affecting scenes 
 Imprint the lesson, which attendance means: 
 For who can tell how soon his own Adieu 
 The solemn service may, for him, renew? 
 
 He that believes on me (what Christ had said 
 The priest proclaims) shall lice tho^ he were dead: 
 To ev'ry heart this is the gracious call, 
 On which depends its everlasting all; 
 The ever hoping, loving, working faith, 
 That saves a soul from death's devouring wrath. 
 
 The patient Job, by such a faith within, 
 Strength'ning his heart, could say this mortal skin 
 Destroyed, I know that my Redeemer lives 
 In flesh and blood, which his redemption gives, 
 Job, from the dust, expected to arise, 
 And stand before his God with seeing eyes. 
 
 The royal Psalmist saw this life of man, 
 How vain, how short, at its most lengthened span; 
 Conscious in whom the human trust should be, 
 Truly my hope, he said, is ec'n in Thee 
 And pray'd for its recover'd strength, before 
 He tcent from hence, here to be seen no more.
 
 152 
 
 The mystic chapter is rehears'd, wherein 
 Paul sings the tnaraph over death and sin; 
 The glorious body, freed from earthy leav'n, 
 Image and likeness of the Lord from Heav'n; 
 For such th' abounding in his work shall gain; 
 Labour, we know, that never is in vain. 
 
 Hence comes the sure and certain hope, to rise 
 In Christ; tho' man, as born of woman, dies: 
 True life, which Adam died to, at his fall, 
 And Christ, the sinless Adam, can recall, 
 By a new, heav'nly birth from Him revives, 
 And breathes again God's holy breath of lives. 
 
 A voice from Heav'n bade hearing John record, 
 Blest are the dead, the dying in the Lord 
 In them, the pray'r, which man's Redeemer will'd 
 " That men should pray," is perfectly fulfili'd: 
 This perfect sense the words that we repeat, 
 Require, to make the pray'd-for good complete. 
 
 Thanks then are due for all the faithful dead, 
 Departed hence to be wkh Christ, their Head; 
 And pray'r, unfainting, for his come ye blest 
 Come, ye true children, enter into rest; 
 Live in my Father's kingdom, and in mine, 
 In grace, and love, and fellowship divine. 
 
 ON 
 
 CHURCH COMMUNION. 
 
 IN SEVEN PA$TS; 
 FROM A LETTER OF MR. LAW'S. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 RELIGION, church communion, or the way 
 Of public worship, that we ought to pay, 
 As it regards the body, and the mind, 
 Is of external, and internal kind; 
 The one consisting in the outward sign, 
 The other in the inward truth divine.
 
 153 
 
 This inward truth intended to be shewn, 
 So far as outward signs can make it known, 
 Is that which gives external modes a worth, 
 Just in proportion as they shew it forth; 
 Just as they help, in any outward part, 
 The real, true religion of the heart. 
 
 Now what this is, exclusive of all strife, 
 Christians will own to be an inward life, 
 Spirit, and pow'r, a birth (to say the whole,) 
 Of Christ himself, brought forth within the soul ; 
 By this all true salvation is begun, 
 And carried on, however it be done. 
 
 Christianity, that has not Christ within, 
 Can, by no means whatever, save from sin; 
 Can bear no evidence of Him, the End, 
 On which the value of all means depend : 
 Christian Religion signifies, no doubt, 
 Like mind within, like show of it without. 
 
 The will of God, the saving of mankind, 
 Was all that Christ had in his inward mind; 
 All that produc'd his outward action too, 
 In church communion while a perfect Jew; 
 Like most of his disciples, till they came, 
 At Antioch, to have a Christian name. 
 
 If Christ has put an end to rites of old, 
 If new recall what was but then foretold, 
 The one true church, the real heav'nly ground, 
 Wherein alone salvation can be found, 
 Is still the same; and, to its Saviour's praise, 
 His inward tempers outwardly displays; 
 
 By hearty love, and correspondent rites 
 Ordain'd, the members to the head unites, 
 And to each other: In all stated scenes, 
 The life of Christ is what a christian means; 
 Tho 1 change of circumstance may alter those, 
 In this he places and enjoys repose. 
 
 Church unity is held, and faith's increase, 
 By that of spirit in the bond of peace, 
 vol. II. M
 
 154 
 
 And righteousness of life; without this tiff 
 Forms are in vain prescrib'd to worship by, 
 Or temples modell'd; hearts as well as hands, 
 A holy church and catholic demands. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 IF once established the essential part, 
 The inward church, the temple of the heart, 
 Or house of God, the substance and the sum 
 Of what is pray'd for in Thy kingdom come 
 To make an outwatd correspondence true, 
 We must recur to Christ's example too. 
 
 Now, in his outward form of life, we find 
 Goodness demonstrated of ev'ry kind ; 
 What he was born for, that he shew'd throughout: 
 It was the bus'ness that he went about; 
 Love, kindness, and compassion to display 
 Tow'rds ev'ry object coming in his way. 
 
 But love so high, humility so low, 
 And all the virtues which his actions shew; 
 His doing good, and his enduring ill, 
 For man's salvation and God's holy will, 
 Exceed all terms: His rnward, outward plan 
 Was love to God, express'd by love to man. 
 
 Mark of the church, which he establish'd, then, 
 Is the same love, same proof of it to men ; 
 Without, let sects parade it how they list, 
 Nor church, nor unity can e'er subsist; 
 The name may be usurp'd, but want of pow'r 
 Will shew the Babel, high or low the tow'r. 
 
 And where the same behaviour shall appear 
 In outward form, that was in Christ so clear, 
 There is the very outward church, that He 
 Will'd all mankind to shew, and all to see; 
 Of which, whoever shews it from the heart, 
 Is both an inward and an outward part.
 
 155 
 
 What excommunication can deprive 
 A pious soul, that is in Christ alive, 
 Of church communion? Or cut off a limb 
 That life, and action both unite to Him, 
 For anv circumstance of place, or time, 
 Or mode, or custom, which infers no crime? 
 
 If He be that which his beloved John 
 Calls him, The Light enlightening exPry one 
 That comes into the worldwill he exclude 
 One from his church, whose mind he has renew'd 
 To such degree, as to exert, in fact, 
 Like inward temper, and like outward act? 
 
 Invisible, and visible effect, 
 Of true church membership, in each respect, 
 Let the One Shepherd from above behold; 
 The flocks, howe'er dispers'd, are his one fold; 
 Seen by their hearts, and their behaviour too, 
 They all stand present in his gracious view : 
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 A LOCAL union, on the other hand, 
 Tho 1 crowded numbers should together stand, 
 Joining in one same form of pray'r and praise, 
 Or creed express 1 d in regulated phrase, 
 Or aught beside tho' it assume the name 
 Of christian church, may want the real claim. 
 
 For if it want the spirit, and the sign, 
 That constitute all worship as divine, 
 The love within, the test of it without, 
 In vain the union passes for devout; 
 Heartless and tokenless if it remain, 
 It ought to pass, in strictness, for profane. 
 
 At first, an unity of heart and soul, 
 A distribution of an outward dole, 
 And ev'ry member of the body fed, 
 As equally belonging to the head, 
 With what it wanted, was, without suspence, 
 True church communion, in full christian sense.
 
 156 
 
 Whether averse the many or the few 
 To hold communion in this righteous view, 
 Their thought commences heresy, their deed 
 Schismatical, tho' they profess the creed; 
 Ways of distributing, if new, should still 
 Maintain the old communicative will; 
 
 Broken by ev'ry loveless, thankless thought, 
 By not behaving as a christian ought ; 
 By want of meekness, or a show of pride 
 Tow'rds any soul for whom our Saviour died ; 
 While this continues, men may pray and preach 
 In all their forms, but none will heal the breach. 
 
 Whatever helps an outward form may bring 
 To church communion, it is not the thing; 
 Nor a society, as such, nor place, 
 Nor any thing besides uniting grace: 
 They are but accessories, at the most, 
 To true communion of the Holy Ghost. 
 
 This is th 1 essential fellowship, the tie 
 Which all true christians are united by; 
 No other union does them any good, 
 But that which Christ cemented with his blood, 
 As God and man; that, having lost it, men 
 Might live in unity with God again. 
 
 What He came down to bring us from above 
 Was grace and peace, and law-fulfilling love; 
 True spirit-worship, which his Father sought, 
 Was the sole end of what He did and taught; 
 That God's own church and kingdom mis;ht begin, 
 Which Moses and the Prophets usher'd in. 
 
 PART FOURTH. 
 
 " THE church of Christ, as thus you represent, 
 u And all the world is of the same extent : 
 " Jews, Turks, or Pagans may be members too; 
 " This, some may call a dreadful mystic clue, 
 " A combination of the Quaker schemes 
 " With latitudinarian extremes."
 
 157 
 
 They may ; but names, so ready at the call 
 Of such as want them, have no force at all 
 To overthrow momentous truths, and plain, 
 The very points of scripture, and the main; 
 Such as distinguish, in the clearest view, 
 Th' enlighten'd Christian from the half-blind Jew. 
 
 What did the sheet let down to Peter mean, 
 Who calPd the Gentiles " common or unclean?" 
 Let Peter answer God was pleas'd to shew 
 That I should call no man whatever so; 
 In evPry nation he that serves him right 
 Is clean, accepted, in his equal sight. 
 
 If Peter said so, who will question Paul ? 
 He, in a manner, made this point his all; 
 The real sense of what has here been said 
 In mystic Paul is plainly to be read; 
 Nothing but obstinate dislike to terms 
 Obscures what all the testament affirms. 
 
 The Jews objected, "to this gospel clue, 
 A What advantage therefore hath the Jew? 
 Or, of what use is to be circumcised? 
 So may some Christians say " to be baptis'd" 
 May form like questions, like conclusions draw, 
 And urge the church, as they did, and the law. 
 
 Th' Apostle's reas'ning from the common want 
 Of God's free grace ; its universal grant 
 By Jesus Christ; its reach to all mankind, 
 For whom the same salvation was design'd, 
 Shews that his church, as boundless as Ins grace, 
 Extends itself to all the human race. 
 
 With pious Jews of old, our King implied 
 The One True King of all the earth beside; 
 Whose regal right, tho' he was pleas'd to call 
 Jacob his lot, extended over all; 
 Tho' Israel gloried in acknowledg'd light, 
 Its virtue was not bounded by their sight. 
 
 So will a Christian piety confess 
 A church of Christ, with boundaries no less; 
 M 2
 
 158 
 
 Will speak, as ev'ry conscious witness ought, 
 To what it knows, but scorn the partial thought 
 Of grace, or truth, or righteousness confin'd 
 To modes and customs of external kind. 
 
 PART FIFTH. 
 
 THE church consider'd only as possess'd 
 Of England, Rome, Geneva and the rest 
 Notion of church so popularly rife, 
 Such cause of endless enmity and strife, 
 Did but arise in a succeeding hour, 
 When Christians came to have a worldly pow'r. 
 
 The first apostles spread, from place to place, 
 The gospel news of universal grace ; 
 Inviting all to enter, by belief, 
 Into the church of their Redeeming Chief; 
 Entrance accessible in ev'ry part, 
 And shut to nothing but a faithless heart. 
 
 But when the princes of the world became, 
 And kings, protectors of the Christian name, 
 Pow'r made ambitious pastors, ease remiss, 
 And churches dwindled into that and this; 
 The one, divided, came to want, of course, 
 Supports quite foreign to its native force. 
 
 Contentions rose, all tending to create 
 Still new alliances of church and state; 
 FornTd and reform'd, and turn'd and overturn'd, 
 As force prevail'd, and human passion burn'd; * 
 Old revolutions when by new dissolv'd, 
 Both church and state accordingly revolv'd. 
 
 Such is the mixture of a human sway. 
 In all external churches at this day; 
 To the same changes liable, anew, 
 That forms of government are subject to; 
 While the one church in its true sense, in name 
 And thing remains unchangeably the same.
 
 159 
 
 The private christian, bearing Christ in mind, 
 Whose kingdom was not of a worldly kind, 
 Has little, or has no concern at all, 
 With these external changes that befall ; 
 Let Providence permit them or prevent, 
 With truth and Spirit he remains content. 
 
 Not that he thinks that evil, more or less, 
 Is in its nature alter'd by success ; 
 The good is good, tho' suffering a defeat, 
 The bad but worse, if its success be great; 
 He measures neither by th' event that's past, 
 For what they were at first they are at last. 
 
 But, by the spirit of the Gospel, free, 
 Whatever state of government it be, 
 That God has plac'd him under, to submit, 
 So in the church he thinks the freedom fit, 
 Whilst, on occasion of the outward part, 
 He can present what God requires a heart. 
 
 PART SIXTH. 
 
 THE heart is what the God of it demands, 
 Who dwelleth not in temples made with hands: 
 When hands have made them, if no hearts are found 
 DisposM aright to consecrate the ground, 
 Vainly is worship said to be divine, 
 While in the breast its object has no shrine. 
 
 But if it has, in that devoted breast 
 A right intention, surely, will be blest; 
 Tho' forms, prescrib'd by pastors in the chair, 
 Should be adjusted with less perfect care ; 
 Tho 1 , in some points, the services assign'd 
 Differ from those of apostolic kind. 
 
 What outward church, or form, shall we select, 
 That is not chargeable with some defect? 
 Each is prepared, in all the rest, to grant 
 A superfluity, or else a want, 
 Or both; a distance from perfection wide, 
 Retorted on itself by all beside.
 
 160 
 
 What safer remedy than pure intent 
 To seek the good by any of them meant? 
 Which He, who mindeth only what the heart 
 Brings of its own, is ready to impart; 
 No human pow'r, should it enjoin amiss 
 A ceremonious rite, can hinder this. 
 
 Even in sacrament, what frequent storms 
 Has superstition rais'd about the forms? 
 In rites baptismal, which the true result 
 Immersion, sprinkling, infants, or th' adult? 
 In the Lord's Supper, does the celebration 
 Make trans or con or non-substantiation? 
 
 These and a world of controversies more 
 Serve to enlarge the bibliothecal store; 
 While champions make antiquity their boast, 
 And all pretend to imitate it most; 
 Prone to neglect, for criticising pique, 
 Essential truths eternally antique. 
 
 Thus inward worship lies in low estate, 
 Opprest with endless volumes of debate 
 About the outward; soon as old ones die, 
 All undecided, comes a new supply 
 Of needless doubts to a religious soul, 
 Whose upright meaning dissipates the whole. 
 
 Clear of all worldly, interested views, 
 The one design of worship it pursues; 
 Turns all to use that public form allows, 
 By ofFring up its ever private vows 
 For the success of all the good design'd 
 By Christ, the common Saviour of mankind. 
 
 PART SEVENTH. 
 
 A CHRISTIAN, in so catholic' a sense, 
 Can give to none, but partial minds, offence: 
 Forc'd to live under some divided part, 
 He keeps intire the union of the heart; 
 The sacred tie of love; by which alone, 
 Christ said, that his disciples would be known.
 
 161 
 
 He values no distinction, as profess'd 
 By way of separation from the rest; 
 Oblig'd in duty, and inclin'd by choice, 
 In all the good of any to rejoice; 
 From ev'ry evil, falsehood, or mistake, 
 To wish them free, for common comfort's sake. 
 
 Freedom, to which the most undoubted way 
 Lies in obedience (where it always lay) 
 To Christ himself; who, with an inward call, 
 Knocks at the door, that is, the heart of all; 
 At the reception of this heav'nly guest, 
 All good comes in, all evil quits the breast. 
 
 The free receiver then becomes content 
 With what God orders, or does not prevent: 
 To them that love Him, all things, he is sure, 
 Must work for good; tho' how may be obscure: 
 Even successful wickedness, when past, 
 Will bring to them some latent good at last. 
 
 Fall'n as divided churches are, and gone 
 From the perfection of the christian one, 
 Respect is due to any, that contains 
 The venerable, tho' but faint remains 
 Of ancient rule, which had not, in its view, 
 The letter only, but the Spirit too. 
 
 When the variety of new-found ways 
 Which people so run after in our days, 
 Has done its utmost ; when Lo here, ho there, 
 Shall yield to inward seeking, and sincere; 
 What was at first, may come to be again 
 The praise of church assemblies amongst men. 
 
 Meanwhile, in that to which we now belong, 
 To mind in public lesson, pray'r, and song, 
 Teaching, and preaching, what conduces best 
 To true devotion in the private breast, 
 Willing increase of good to ev'ry soul, 
 Seems to be our concern, upon the whole. 
 
 So God, and Christ, and holy angels stand 
 Dispos'd to ev'ry church, in ev'ry land;
 
 162 
 
 The growth of good still helping to complete, 
 Whatever tares be sown amongst the wheat: 
 Who would not wish to have and to excite 
 A disposition so divinely right? 
 
 DYING SPEECH. 
 
 FROM MR, LAW. 
 
 It is'not tlie least part of the story of the Church of England that people, different from eacli otlur 
 in their sentiments about minor points of doctrine, can remain her sincere members and can 
 heartily unite in the services which she prescribes : tliis they can do without the least breach 
 of Christian fellmoship, or any compromise of individual opinion. One who has embraced the 
 tenets of John Calvin, and another inclined to the opinions of James Arminius; a lover of 
 revealed truth and of scriptural religion, and an admirer of ' Mysticism who dives into the 
 depths of what was never written; are alike loud in their praises of her devotional offices and 
 of her catholic spirit, and believe tlmt her liturgy and prayers arein favour of their peculiar 
 opinions. This is an excellence in the Book of Common Prayer, which gives it a greater 
 resemblance to the scriptures of truth than any other human composition ever bore. 
 
 But while these orthodox members agree to differ without becoming Schismatics, Avians, Socinians, 
 and all who disbelieve the Godhead of Christ or the virtue of his atonement are wisely precluded 
 from holding communion with them. See " Church Communion," in this volume, (specially 
 page 155, Sfc. 
 
 IN this unhappily divided state, 
 That christian churches have been in of late, 
 One must, however catholic the heart, 
 Join and conform to some divided part: 
 The Church of England is the part that I 
 Have always liv'd in and now choose to die; 
 Trusting, that if I worship God with her 
 In spirit and in truth, I shall not err; 
 But as acceptable to Him be found, 
 As if, in times for one pure church renowned, 
 Born, I had also liv'd in heart and soul 
 A faithful member of th' unbroken whole. 
 
 As I am now, by God's good will, to go 
 From this disorder'd state of things below; 
 Into his hands, as I am now to fall, 
 Who is the great Creator of us all; 
 God of all churches, that implore his aid, 
 Lover of all the souls that he hath made; 
 Whose Kingdom, that of universal love, 
 Must have its blest inhabitants above,
 
 163 
 
 From ev'ry class of men, from all the good, 
 
 Howe'er descended from one human blood; 
 
 So, in this loving spirit, I desire, 
 
 As in the midst of all their sacred Choir, 
 
 With rites presented, and with a christian view, 
 
 Of all the world to take my last Adieu; 
 
 Willing in heart and spirit to unite 
 
 With ev'ry church, in what is just and right, 
 
 Holy and good, and worthy, in its kind, 
 
 Of God's acceptance from an honest mind : 
 
 Praying, that ev'ry church may have its saints, 
 
 And rise to that perfection which it wants. 
 
 Father ! Thy kingdom come ! Thy sacred will 
 May all the tribes of human race fulfil ! 
 Thy name be prais'd by ev'ry living breath, 
 Author of Life, and Vanquisher of Death! 
 
 A COMMENT 
 
 ON 
 THE FOLLOWING SCRIPTURE: 
 
 In the beginning teas the Word. John, i. 1. 
 
 IN the beginning tvas the word saith John 
 " The life, the light, the truth," for all are one; 
 One All-creating Pow'r, A.ll-wise. All-good, 
 In which, at first, the whole creation stood; 
 Moving, and acting in the pow'r alone; 
 How bright, how perfect, and no evil known! 
 How blest was nature's universal plan, 
 And, the fair image of his Maker, man! 
 
 The word, the pow'r, is Christ, th' Eternal Son 
 Of God, by whom the Father's will is done; 
 Each is the other's glory; and the love 
 From both the bliss of all the blest above: 
 Angels in heav'n stand ready to obey, 
 And as the Word directs them, so do they;
 
 164 
 
 So must we men, born here upon this earth, 
 If ever we regain the heav'nly birth; 
 
 Lost by poor Adam, in the fatal hour 
 Of lusting after knowledge without pow'r; 
 When, yielding to temptation, tho' forbid 
 To eat what was not good for him, he did: 
 The pow'r of life consenting to forego, 
 For what was told him would be death to know, 
 He died to his celestial state, and then 
 Could but convey an earthly one to men. 
 
 From which to rise, and in true fife to live, 
 What but the Word, wherein was life, could give; 
 Ingrafted, as a holy Seed within, 
 Ad born to save the human soul from sin? 
 The Word made man by virgin birth, and free 
 From sin's dominion, Jesus Christ is he ; 
 Whom, of pure love, the Father sent to save, 
 And finish man's redemption from the grave. 
 
 This second Adam, Healer of the breach 
 Made by the first, nor sin nor death could reach: 
 He conquer'd both; and, in the glorious strife, 
 Became the Parent of an endless life 
 To all who ever did or shall aspire 
 To life and spirit from thjs heav'nly Sire; 
 And cultivate the seed which he hath sown 
 In ev'ry heart, till the new man be grown. 
 
 The old, we know, must die away to dust, 
 And a new image rise amongst the just; 
 When, at the end of temporary scene, 
 Christ shall appear, eternally to reign 
 In all his glory, human and divine, 
 When all the born of God in Him shall shine, 
 Rais'd to the life that was at first possess'd, 
 And bow the knee to Jesus, and be blest. 
 
 Since then the cause of our eternal life 
 Is Christ in us, what need of any strife 
 In his religion? Of" Lo here I Lo there!" 
 When to all hearts He is himself so near?
 
 165 
 
 With pow'r to save us from the cause of ill, 
 A worldly, selfish, unbelieving will; 
 To bless whatever tends to make the mind 
 Meek, loving, humble, patient, and resigned ; 
 
 The mind to Christ so far as God shall draw 
 By nature, scripture, reason, learning, law, 
 Or aught beside so far their use is right, 
 Proclaiming Him, and not themselves, the Light. 
 From first to last his Gospel is the same ; 
 
 And of all worship, that deserves a name, 
 
 The word of life by faith to apprehend 
 That was in the /jeginning is the end. 
 
 A 
 
 MEMORIAL ABSTRACT 
 
 OF A 
 SERMON PREACHED BY THE REV. MR. H-, 
 
 On Proverbs, xx. 27. 
 
 THE human spirit, when it burns and shines, 
 " Lamp of Jehovah" Solomon defines 
 Now, as a vessel, to contain the whole, 
 This Lamp denotes the body, Oil the soul; 
 
 (As H observes) which, tho' itself be dark, 
 
 Is capable of light's enkindling spark; 
 But, as consider'd in it's own dark root, 
 Still wants the unction, and the lighfs recruit. 
 
 Brighter than all, that now is look'd upon, 
 This lamp of God, at its creation shone ; 
 The body, purer than the finest gold, 
 Had no defect in its material mold; 
 The soul's enkindled oil was heav'nly bright, 
 Till evil mixture darken'd its good light; 
 And hid the supernatural supply, 
 That fed the glorious lamp of the Most High.
 
 166 
 
 That fatal poison quench'd, in human frame, 
 The spirit flowing from the vital flame: 
 Adam's free will consenting to such food, 
 Death, as its natural effect, ensu'd: 
 True life departing left him naked, blind, 
 And spiritless, in body, soul, and mind-, 
 Dead to his -paradisic life, a birth 
 From sin began his mortal life on earth. 
 
 His faith, his spiritual discernment gone, 
 He fell into a poring, reas'ning one; 
 Into a state of ignorance he fell, 
 Which brutal instincts very oft excel: 
 What his self-seeking will would know was known, 
 The light of this terrestrial orb alone ; 
 Dark, in comparison, when this was done, 
 As moon, or star-light to meridian sun. 
 
 What help, when lesser light should vanish too, 
 And death discover a still darker view, 
 Had not the Christ of God, sole help for sin, 
 Rais'd up salvation as a Seed within? 
 That sprouting forth by penitence and faith, 
 Could pierce thro' death, and dissipate its wrath; 
 Till God's true image should again revive, 
 And rise, thro" 1 Him, to its first life alive. 
 
 This Parent Saviour, God's anointed Son, 
 Begets the life that Adam should have done; 
 Reforms the lamp; renews the holy fire, 
 And sends to Heav'n its flaming love-desire: 
 'Tis He, the life that was the light of men, 
 Who fits them to be lamps of God again ; 
 Restores the vessel, oil, and light, and all 
 The spirit-life that vanish'd at the fall. 
 
 Reason has nothing to proceed upon, 
 Without an unction from this Holy One; 
 Without a Spirit, to dispel the damp 
 Of nature's darkness, and light up the lamp : 
 Nothing whatever, but the touch divine, 
 Can make its highest faculties to shirte; 
 All just as helpless in their selfish use, 
 As lamps their own enkindling to produce.
 
 167 
 
 All true religion teaches then to trim , 
 The lamp, that must receive its light from Him; 
 From Him, the Quick'ning Spirit to obtain 
 The life that must for ever blest remain: 
 The life of Christ arising in the soul, 
 This, this alone makes human nature whole ; 
 Makes ev'ry gift of grace to reunite, 
 And shine for ever in Jehovah's sight. 
 
 ON 
 
 The Union and Three-fold Distinction 
 
 OF 
 GOD, NATURE, and CREATURE. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 ALL that comes under our imagination 
 Is either God, or nature, or creation: 
 God is the free eternal Light or Love, 
 Before, beyond all nature, and above: 
 The one unchangeable, unceasing will 
 To ev'ry good, and to no sort of ill. 
 
 Nature, without him, is th' abyssal dark, 
 Void of the light's beatifying spark; 
 Th" attraction of desire, by want repell'd, 
 Whence circling rage proceeds, and wrath unquell'd : 
 But, by the light's all-joyous pow'r, th' abyss 
 Becomes the groundwork of a threefold bliss. 
 
 Creation is the gift of light and life 
 To nature's contrariety and strife; 
 For without nature, or desirous want, 
 There would be nothing to receive the grant; 
 Nor could a creature, or created scene 
 Exist, did no such medium intervene. 
 
 Creature and God would be the same; the thought, 
 Which books inform us that Spinoza taught,
 
 168 
 
 Would then be true; and we be forc'd to call 
 Things good or bad, " the Parts of the great All:" 
 Jn whatsoever state itself may be 
 Nature is his, but nature is not He. 
 
 Like as the dark, behind the shining glass, 
 By hind'ring rays that of themselves would pass, 
 Affords that glimpse of objects to the view, 
 Which the transparent mirror could not do; 
 So does the life of nature, in its place, 
 Reflect the glories of the life of grace. 
 
 Of ev'ry creature's happiness, the growth 
 Depends upon the union of them both; 
 And all, that God proceeded to create, 
 Came forth, at first, in this united state ; 
 No evil wrath or darkness could begin 
 To shew itself, but by a creature's sin. 
 
 And were not nature separate, alone, 
 Such a dark wrath, it could not have been shewn: 
 Its hidden properties are ground as good 
 For life's support, as bones to flesh and blood: 
 The false, unnatural, ungodly will, 
 That lays them open, is sole cause of ill. 
 
 When it is caus'd, renouncing, to be sure, 
 All such-like wills, contributes to the cure; 
 That nature's wrathful forms may not appear, 
 Nor what is made subservient domineer; 
 But God's good will all evil ones subdue, 
 And bless"all nature, and all creature too. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 THIS universal blessing to inspire 
 Was God's eternal purpose or desire; 
 Desire, which never could be unfulfill'd; 
 Love put it forth, and Heav'n was what it will'd; 
 And the desire had in itself the means, 
 From whence the love could raise the heav'nly scenes. 
 
 Hence an eternal nature, to proclaim 
 By outward, visible, majestic frame,
 
 169 
 
 The hidden Deity, the pow'r Divine, 
 By which th' innumerable beauties shine; 
 That by succession, without end, recal 
 A God of Love, a present All in All. 
 
 From Love, thus manifested in the birth 
 Of nature and the pow'rs of Heav'n and earth, 
 The various births of creatures, at the voice 
 Of God, came forth to see, and to rpjoice; 
 To live within his kingdom, and partake 
 Of ev'ry bliss, adapted to their make. 
 
 For as, before a creature came to see, 
 No other life but that of God could be; 
 No other place but Heav'n, no other state; 
 So, when it pleas'd th' Almighty to create, 
 From Him must come the creature's life within; 
 Its outward state from nature must begin. 
 
 Oh ! what angelic orders ! what divine, 
 And heav'nly creatures answer"d the design 
 Of God's communicative goodness, shewn 
 By giving rise to offsprings of his own ! 
 With godlike spirits how was nature fill'd, 
 And beauteous forms, as its Great Author will'd! 
 
 Thus in its full perfection then it stood, 
 Seeking, receiving, manifesting good, 
 By virtue of that union which it had 
 With Him, who made no creature to be bad; 
 But highly blest; and with a potent will 
 So to continue, and to know no ill. 
 
 Nature's united properties had none 
 Whence then the change that it has undergone, 
 But from the creatures striving to aspire 
 Above the light, which their own dark desire 
 Quench'd in themselves, and rais'd up all the storms 
 Of nature's wrathful, separated forms? 
 
 So Lucifer and his proud legions fell, 
 And turn'd their heavenly mansion to a hell; 
 To that dark, formless void, wherein the light 
 Ent'ring again with nature to unite, 
 vol. H. N
 
 vw 
 
 The new creation of a world began, 
 And, God's own image lord of it, a man. 
 
 ON THE 
 
 ORIGIN OF EVIL. 
 
 EVIL, if rightly understood, 
 Is but the skeleton of good, 
 Divested of its flesh and blood. 
 
 While it remains,- without divorce r 
 Within- its hidden, secret source, 
 It is the good's own strength and force* 
 
 As bone has the supporting share, 
 In human form divinely fair, 
 Altho' an evil when laid bare ; 
 
 As light and air are fed by fire, 
 A shining good, while all conspire, 
 But (separate) dark, raging ire; 
 
 As hope and love arise from faith r 
 Which then admits no ill, nor hath; 
 But, if alone, it would be wrath; 
 
 Or any instance thought upon, 
 In which the evil can be none, 
 Till unity of good is gone ; 
 
 So, by abuse of thought and skill, 
 The greatest good, to wit, free-will, 
 Becomes the origin of ill. 
 
 Thus when rebellious angels fell, 
 The very heav'n, where good ones dwell, 
 Became th' apostate spirits' hell. 
 
 Seeking, against eternal right, 
 A force without a love and light, 
 They found, and felt its evil might.
 
 in 
 
 Thus Adam biting at their bait, 
 Of good and evil when he ate, 
 Died to his first thrice happy state ; 
 
 Fell to the evils of this ball, 
 Which, in harmonious union all, 
 Were Paradise before his fall. 
 
 And when the life of Christ in men 
 Revives its faded image, then 
 Will all be Paradise again. 
 
 A 
 
 FRIENDLY EXPOSTULATION 
 
 WITH A CLERGYMAN, 
 
 CONCERNING 
 
 A Passage in his Sermon, relating to the Redemption 
 of M unkind. 
 
 'TWAS a good sermon; but a close review 
 Would bear one passage to be alte^d too; 
 Because it did not, in the least, agree 
 With the plain text (as it appear'd to me) 
 Nor with your comment, on what God had done 
 To save mankind, by his Redeeming Son. 
 
 You did, if I remember right, admit 
 That Other means, if He had so thought ft, 
 Might have obtained the salutary views, 
 As well as those which he was pleas' d to choose; 
 That it was too presumptuous to confine, 
 To those, alone, th? Omnipotence Divine; 
 As if a Wisdom Infinite could find 
 No other method how to save mankind: 
 Tho" 1 that, indeed, which had beenfix^d upon, 
 Was, in effect, become the only one. 
 
 Now this, however well design'd, to raise 
 An awful sense, by its respectful phrase,
 
 172 
 
 An adoration of the boundless pow'rs 
 
 Of the Almighty, when compar'd with ours; 
 
 To sink in humble rev'rence, and profound, 
 
 All human thoughts of fixing any bound 
 
 To an Unerring Wisdom, which extends 
 
 Beyond what finite reason comprehends; 
 
 Yet, if examin'd by severer test, 
 
 It is, at least, incautiously express'd; 
 
 And leaves the subtlest of the gospel's foes, 
 
 The Deists, this objection to propose, 
 
 To which they have, and will have a recourse, 
 
 And still keep urging its unanswer'd force: 
 
 " If there was no necessity," they say, 
 " For saving men in this mysterious way, 
 " What proof can the divines pretend to bring, 
 " (While they confess the nature of the thing 
 " Does not forbid,) that the celestial scenes 
 44 Will not be open'd by some other means? 
 " What else but book authority, at best, 
 44 Asserts this way, exclusive of the rest, 
 " Of equal force, if the Almighty's will 
 " Had but appointed them to save from ill? 
 " This way, in which the Son of the Most High 
 " Is, by his Father's pleasure, doom'd to die, 
 44 For satisfaction of paternal ire; 
 44 Which (when they make religion to require) 
 44 Confounds all sense of justice, by a scheme 
 44 The most unworthy of the Great Supreme: 
 44 As other ways might have obtain'd the end, 
 44 Nature, and reason force us to attend 
 44 To huge absurdities which follow this, 
 44 And, since it was not needful, to dismiss." 
 
 This is the Rourdon* of deistic song, 
 Which rising volumes labour to prolong; 
 Take this away, the rest would all remain 
 As flat and trifling, as it is profane; 
 But this remaining, hither they retreat, 
 And lie secure from any full defeat. 
 
 * Bourdon, Burden, or Burden, in Music, is the bass and the string that 
 plays it. Hence the burden of a song is the verse or chorus repeated in asong.
 
 173 
 
 But when the need most absolute is shewn 
 Of man's redemption, by the means alone, 
 The birth, and life, and death, and re-ascent, 
 Thro' which the one Theandric Saviour went, 
 To quench the wrath of nature in the race 
 Of men, (not God, in whom it has no place,) 
 Then scripture, sense, and reason coincide, 
 And all conspire to follow the One Guide; 
 Of possibilities to wave the taJk, 
 In which it is impossible to walk-, 
 And raise the soul to seek and find the good, 
 By this one method, which no other could. 
 
 Then true religion, call it by the name 
 Christian or natural, is still the sirae ; 
 From Christ deriv'd, a^ Healer of the soul, 
 Or nature, made b\ his re~intranee whole; 
 Who is, in ev'ry maa, th' enlight'ning ray, 
 The faith and hope of love's redeeming day; 
 The only name or pow'r that can assure 
 Nature's religion, that is, nature's cure.. 
 But if salvation might have been bestow'd 
 By other means, than what the sacred code 
 Declares throughout, the Dei.*ts will soon say, 
 " The means, that might be possible, still may: 
 And, led to think that scripture is at odds 
 With nature, take some other to be God'a: 
 Thus may a no necessity, allow'd, 
 Tend to increase the unbelieving crowd. 
 
 As Adam died, and in him all his race, 
 Not to the life of nature, but of grace, 
 There could be no new birth of it, or growth, 
 But from a parent union of them both; 
 Such as. in ev'ry possible respect, 
 Jesus incarnate only could effect; 
 From Him alone, who had the life, could men 
 Have it restored, reneuPd, revived again: 
 But I am trespassing too much, I fear, 
 And preaching, when my province is to hear 
 
 Millions of ways could we suppose beside, 
 This, we are sure, which saving love has tried, 
 
 ,vi
 
 174 
 
 Must be the best, must be the straighteat line 
 Of action, when consider'd as divine; 
 This way alone then must as sure be gone, 
 As that a line, if straight, can be but one. 
 
 ON 
 
 THE REDEMPTION OF MANKIND. 
 
 Written upon another Occasion, 
 
 " MANKIND'S redemption," you are pleas'd to say, 
 " By Jesus Christ, was not the only way 
 " That could succeed; indefinitely more 
 " Th' Almighty's wisdom had within its store; 
 " By any chosen one of which, no doubt, 
 " The same redemption had been brought about. 
 
 " For who shall dare," you argue, " in this case, 
 " To limit the Omnipotence of grace ? 
 '* As if a finite understanding knew 
 " What the Almighty could, or could not do: 
 il Tho' since He chose this method, we must own, 
 " That our dependence is on this alone." 
 
 Now, Sir, acknowledging his pow'r immense, 
 Beyond the reach of all created sense ; 
 Does it not seem to follow, thereupon, 
 That his true way must be directly One? 
 To save the world he gave his only Son, 
 Therefore by Him alone it could be done. 
 
 Variety of ways is the effect 
 Of finite view, that sees not the direct; 
 But the Almighty, having all in view, 
 Must be suppos'd to see, and take it too ; 
 To see at once, tho' we are in the dark, 
 The one straight line to the intended mark. 
 
 Saint Paul's assertion of no other name 
 Given under Heaven appears to be the same 
 With this " no other name, or pow'r, could save 
 But that of Jesus, which Jehovah gave;"
 
 175 
 
 More sons, more saviours, as consistent seem 
 A9 more effective methods to redeem. 
 
 / am the way said Christ; there could not be, 
 By just conclusion, any, then, but He: 
 I am the truth whence it appears anew, 
 That no way else could possibly be true: 
 I am the life to which, as Adam died, 
 Nothing could bring mankind again, beside. 
 
 AN 
 
 EXPOSTULATION WITH' A SECTARIST, 
 
 Who inveighed in bitter Terms against the Clergy and 
 Church Institutions. 
 
 NO, sir; I cannot see to what good end 
 Such bitter words against the clergy tend; 
 Pour'd from a zeal so sharp, so unallay'd, 
 That suffers no exception to be made; 
 While the most mild persuasions, to repress 
 The bitter zeal, still heighten its excess. 
 
 Its own relentless thought while it pursues, 
 What unrestrain'd expressions it can use ! 
 Places of worship, which the people call 
 Churches, are " synagogues of Salon" all ; 
 At all liturgic pray'r and praise it storms, 
 As maiis inventions, Spirit-quenching forms.; 
 And, from Ixiptismal down to burial rite, 
 Sets ev'ry service in an odious li^ht: 
 All previous order, with regard to time, 
 Place, or behaviour, passes for a crime. 
 
 Of Pharisaic pride it culls the marks, 
 To represent tho Bishop and his Clerks; 
 Who are, if offer'd any gentler plea, 
 The Devil's Ministers, both they and he*
 
 176 
 
 Blind guides, false prophets, and a lengthen'd train 
 
 Of all hard words that chosen texts contain: 
 
 These are the forms which, when it would object 
 
 To those in use, it pleases to select; 
 
 Repeated by its devotees, at once, 
 
 As like to rote as any church response: 
 
 Nor is a treatment of this eager kind 
 
 To this or that society confin'd, 
 
 Sect, or profession No, no matter which, 
 
 Leaders or led, all fall into the ditch; 
 
 None but its own severe adepts can claim 
 
 Of truth and Spirit-worshippers the name. 
 
 In vain it seeks, by any sacred page, 
 
 To justify this unexampled rage: 
 
 Prophets of old, who spake against th" abuse 
 
 Of outward forms were none of them so loose 
 
 As to condemn, abolish, or forbid 
 
 The things prescrib'd, but what the people did; 
 
 Who minded nothing but the mere outside, 
 
 Neglecting wholly what it signified ; 
 
 At this neglect the prophets all exclaim'd; 
 
 No pjous rites has any of them blanr'd; 
 
 Their true intent was only to reduce 
 
 All outward practice to its inward use. 
 
 The world's Redeemer, coming to fulfil 
 All past predictions of prophetic quill, 
 Who more amidst the Jewish priestly pride, 
 Than he, with all Mosaic rites complied? 
 Say that the Christian priests are now as bad 
 As those blind leaders which the Jews then bad, 
 Was Zachariah's, Simeon's, Anna's mind, 
 Any good priest, or man, or woman blind, 
 To offer incense, or to bear a part 
 In temple service, with an upright heart? 
 
 Can then the faults of Clergymen, or Lay, 
 Destroy heart-worship at this present day? 
 Will pray'r, in vain by Pharisees preferr'd, 
 Not from repenting Publicans be heard? 
 Will the devout among the christian flock 
 Not be accepted, tho' the priest should mock?
 
 177 
 
 If they do right in their appointed spheres, 
 His want of truth and spirit is not theirs. 
 
 Our Lord's apostles, with an inward view 
 To reconcile lite Gentiij and the Jew, 
 To faith in Him, made ev'ry outward care 
 Tin* most -subservient to that main affair : 
 The jrreatest friend In christian freedom, Paul, 
 Intent to save, was " ev'rv thing to all;" 
 To keep, whate/er toims should rise or cease, 
 Union of spirit in the bond of peace; 
 Th' effects of hasty, rash, condemning zeal 
 He saw, and mourn'd, and labour'd to repeal. 
 
 Succeeding saints, when priest or magistrate 
 Became tyrannical in church or state, 
 ReprovM their evil practices, but then 
 ReverM the office, tho' they blam'd the men. 
 They gave no instance of untemper'd heat, 
 That roots up all before it, tares or wheat; 
 As if, by humanly invented care 
 Of cultivation, wheat itself was tare. 
 'Tis true all sects are grown corrupt enough, 
 But zeal, so indiscriminately rough, 
 May well give others reason to suspect 
 Some want of knowledge in a novel sect, 
 (If such there be) that seems to take a pride 
 In satanizing all the world beside; 
 Withe ut the least tuthority, yet known, 
 Or species of example, but its own. 
 
 One mischief is, that its unguarded terms 
 Hurt many sober truths which it affirms; 
 Worship >n Truth and Spirit suffers too, 
 By being plac'd in such a hostile view: 
 " Oh! but all self-will worshiping is wrong" 
 True: but to whom does that defect belong? 
 Is tiie obedience to a rule or guide, 
 For order's sake, fair proof of such a pride? 
 If it. be none at all for men to broach 
 Riwle, har?h, and undistinguishing reproach, 
 With resolution to reptat it still, 
 Pray by what marks are we to kftbw self-will?
 
 m 
 
 Thoughts on Imputed Righteousness, 
 
 OCCASIONED 
 
 By reading the Rev. MR. HERVEY's DIALOGUES, between 
 THERON and ASPASIO. 
 
 A Fragment, 
 
 IMPUTED Righteousness! beloved friend, 
 To what advantage can this doctrine tend? 
 If, at the same time, a believer's breast 
 Be not by real righteousness possess'd; 
 And if it be, why volumes on it made, 
 With such a stress upon imputed laid? 
 
 Amongst the disputants of later days, 
 This, in its turn, became a fav'rite phrase, 
 When much divided in religious schemes, 
 Contending parties ran into extremes ; 
 And now it claims the attention of the age, 
 In Hervey's elegant and lively page: 
 This his Aspasio labours to impress, 
 With evVy turn of language and address; 
 With all the flow of eloquence, that shines 
 Thro' all his (full enough) embellished lines. 
 
 Tho' now so much exerting to confirm 
 Its vast importance, and revive the term, 
 He was himself, he lets his Theron know, 
 Of diff 'rent sentiments not long ago ; 
 And friends of yours, it has been thought, I find, 
 Have brought Aspasio to his present mind. 
 Now having read, but unconvine'd I own, 
 What various reason for it he has shewn, 
 Or rather rhetoric if it be true, 
 In any sense that has appear'd to you, 
 I rest secure of giving no offence, 
 By asking " How you understand the sense?"
 
 179 
 
 By urging, in a manner frank and free, * 
 What reasons, as I read, occur to me, 
 Why righteousness, for man to rest upon, 
 Must be a real, not imputed one. 
 
 To shun much novel sentiment, and nice, 
 I take the thing from its apparent rise; 
 It should seem, then, as if imputed sin 
 Had made imputed righteousness begin; 
 The one suppos'd, the other, to be sure, 
 Would follow after like disease and cure; 
 Let us examine, then, imputed guilt, 
 And see on what foundation it is built. 
 
 As our first parents lost a heav'nly state, 
 AH their descendants share their hapless fate; 
 Forewarn'd of God, when tempted not to eat . 
 Of the forbidden tree's pernicious meat; 
 Because incorporating mortal leaven 
 Would kill, of course, in them, the life of heav'n! 
 They disobey d, did Adam aud his wife, 
 And died of course to their true heav'nly life: 
 That life thus lost, the day they disobey'd, 
 Could not by them be possibly convey'd; 
 No other life could children have from them, 
 But what could rise from the parental stem: 
 That love of God, alono, which we adore, 
 The life, so lost, could possibly restore: 
 Their children could not, being born to earth, 
 Be born to Heav'n, but by a heavenly birth: 
 God found a way, explain it how we will, 
 To save the human race from endless ill; 
 To save the very disobeying pair; 
 And made their whole posterity his care. 
 
 Has this great goodness any thing akin 
 To God's imputing our first parents' sin 
 To their unborn posterity? What sense 
 In such a strange and scriptureless pretence? 
 For the men ieel so far we are agreed 
 The consequences of a sinful deed; 
 Yet where ascrib'd, by any sacred pen, 
 But to the doers, is ihedeed to men?
 
 180 
 
 Where to be found, in all the scripture thro', 
 This imputation, thus advanc'd anew? 
 
 Adam and Eve, by satan's wiles decoy'd, 
 Did what the kind commandment said avoid 
 To them with justice, therefore, you impute 
 The sin of eating the forbidden fruit; 
 And ev'ry imputation must, in fact, 
 If just, be built on some preceding act; 
 Without the previous deed suppos'd, the word 
 Becomes unjust, unnatural, absurd. 
 
 If, as you soem'd to think the other day, 
 All Adam's race, in some mysterious way, 
 Sinn'dwhen he sinn'd, consented to his fall; 
 With justice then impute it to them all: 
 But stiil it follows, that they all contract 
 An imputation founded upon fact; 
 And righteousness of Christ, in christian heirs, 
 Must be as deeply and as truly theirs, 
 A heav'nly life in order to replace, 
 As was the sin that made a guilty race: 
 So that imputing either good or ill 
 Must pre-suppose a correspondent will; 
 Or else imputers certainly must make, 
 Thro' ignorance or other cause, mistake. 
 
 Old Eli thus, not knowing what to think, 
 Imputed Hannah's silent pray'r to drink; 
 Little supposing that her silent pray'r 
 Would a successor unto him prepare. 
 There may be other meanings of the phrase, 
 To be accounted for in human ways; 
 But God's imputing to the future child 
 The sin, by which his parents were beguil'd, 
 Seems to establish an unrighteous blame, 
 That brings no honour to its Maker's name. 
 
 God's honour, glory, majesty, and grace, 
 I grant, is your intention in the case; 
 But wish revolv'd in your impartial thought, 
 How far the doctrine tends, when it is taught, 
 To such an honest purpose; and how far 
 Justice and truth may seem to be at war,
 
 181 
 
 If God impute to guiltless children crimes, 
 Committed only in their parents' times. 
 
 Pious Aspasio, I imagine too, 
 Had God's resistless sovereignty in view ; 
 The charge of Puritan, or other name, 
 He scorn'd aright, and making truth his aim, 
 Found it, he thought, in eminent divines; 
 Of whose opinion these are the outline's ; 
 They think, at least they seem to represent, 
 That God, in honour, upon sin's event, 
 Could not forgive the sinners that hadstray'd, 
 Without a proper satisfaction made 
 To his offended justice; and because, 
 Upon their breach of the Almighty's laws, 
 None else was adequate to what was done, 
 The vengeance fell on his Beloved Son ; 
 Who gave himself to suffer, in our stead, 
 And thus to life again restor'd the dead; 
 Because, consistently with justice, then 
 God could bestow his mercy upon men: 
 Man had contracted, in that fatal day, 
 Debt so immense, that man could never pay; 
 He who was jGW as well as Man, he could; 
 And made the satisfaction thro' his blood; 
 Paid all the just demand imputed thus 
 Our sin to him, his righteousness to us 
 This sets the doctrine, if I take aright 
 Their words and meaning, in the plainest light. 
 
 Now since accounting for the truth amiss 
 May give distaste in such an age as this, 
 And be a stumbling-block to them who might 
 Receive an explanation that was right; 
 Not as a captious foe, but hearty friend, 
 May one inlreat such teachers to attend, 
 And reconcile their system, if they can, 
 To God's proceeding with his creature man; 
 To that paternal, tender love and grace, 
 Which at man's fall immediately took place; 
 That inward, holy thing, imbreathed then, 
 Which would rekindle Heav'n in him again:
 
 182 
 
 Does wrath, or vengeance, or a want appear 
 Of satisfaction, or of payment here, 
 In man's Creator? For mankind had He 
 A purchased grace, which contradicts a. free? 
 Is it not plain, that an unaltered love 
 Sent help to poor fall'n creatures from above, 
 Unbargain'd, unsolicited, unmov'd, 
 But by itself, as its exertion prov'd; 
 No foreign promise ; no imputed ease ; 
 But remedy as real as disease; 
 That would, according to true nature's ground, 
 Bring on the cure, and make the patient sound. 
 That Christ, that God's becoming man was it, 
 Your friends with highest gratitude admit; 
 Whose utmost talents are employ'd to shew 
 The obligations that to him we owe ; 
 To press the object of our faith and trust, 
 Christ, all in all, the righteous and the just; 
 The true, redeeming life essential this, 
 To ev'ry christian who aspires to bliss; 
 Why not subjoin I cite the hero Paul, 
 And make appeal to christians in you all? 
 Formed in you, dwelling in you, and within, 
 Regenerating life, dethroning sin; 
 Working, in more and more resigned wills, 
 The gradual conquest of all selfish ills; 
 Till the true christian to true life revive, 
 Dead to the world, to God, thro' him, alive. 
 
 What num'rous texts from Paul, from ev'ry saint, 
 Might furnish out citations, did we want; 
 And could not see, that righteousness, or sin, 
 Arise not from without, but from within? 
 That imputation, where they are not found, 
 Can reach no farther than an empty sound ; 
 No farther than imputed health can reach 
 The cure of sickness, tho' a man should preach 
 With all the eloquence of zeal, and tell 
 How health imputed makes a sick man well : 
 Indeed, if sickness be imputed too, 
 Imputed remedy, no doubt, may do; 
 Words may pour forth their entertaining store, 
 But things are just, as things were just before-.
 
 183 
 
 In so important a concern as that 
 Which good Aspasio's care is pointed at, 
 A small mistake, which at the bottom lies, 
 May sap the building that shall thence arise. 
 Who would not wish that architect, so skill'd, 
 On great mistake might not persist to build; 
 But strictly search and for sufficient while, 
 If the foundation could support the pile? 
 
 This imputation, which he builds upon, 
 Has been the source of more mistakes than one: 
 Hence rose, to pass the intermediate train 
 Of growing errors, and observe the mam, 
 That worse than Pagan principle of late, 
 Predestination's partial love and hate; 
 By which, not tied, like fancied Jove, to look 
 In stronger destiny's decreeing book, 
 The God of christians is suppos'd to will 
 That some should come to good, and some to ill; 
 And for no reason, but to shew, in fine, 
 Th 1 extent of goodness and of wrath divine. 
 
 Whose doctrine this? I quote no less a man 
 Than the renowned Calvin for the plan ; 
 Who having labour'd, with distinctions vain, 
 Mere imputation, only, to maintain, 
 Maintains, when speaking on another head, 
 This horrid thought, to which the former led: 
 " Predestination here I call," (says he 
 Defining) " God's eternal, fix'd decree; 
 " Which having settled in his will, he pass'd 
 '* What ev'ry man should come to at the last;" 
 And lest the terms should be conceiv'd to bear 
 A meaning less, than he propos'd, severe, 
 " For all mankind" ' (he adds to definition,) 
 " Are not created on the same condition:" 
 Pari Conditione is the phrase; 
 If you can turn it any other ways; 
 " But life to some, eternal, is restrain'd, 
 " To some, damnation endless pre-ordain'd." 
 
 Calvin has push'd the principle, I guess, 
 To what your friends would own to be excess;
 
 184 
 
 And probably Aspasio less inclin'd 
 
 To run directly into Calvin's mind, 
 
 Would give imputing a more mod'rate sense, 
 
 That no damnation might arise from thence; 
 
 But how will mollifying terms confute 
 
 The fam'd reformer's notion of impute? 
 
 If it confer such arbitrary good, 
 
 The dire reverse is quickly understood; 
 
 So understood, that open eyes may see 
 
 'Tis Calvin's fiction, and not God's decree: 
 
 Not His, whose forming love, and ruling aid, 
 
 Ceaseless extend to all that He hath made; 
 
 Who gave the gift which He was pleas'd to give, 
 
 That none might perish, but that all might live, 
 
 His only Son, in whom the light, that guides 
 
 The born into the world to life, resides; 
 
 A real life, that by a real birth 
 
 Raises a life beyoud the life of earth, 
 
 In all his children but, no more to you, 
 
 Better than me, who know it to be true ; 
 
 And if Aspasio's really humbled soul 
 
 Be by a touch of garment-hem made whole, 
 
 He might, as I should apprehend, be sure 
 
 That imputation could not cause the cure. 
 
 When the poor woman, in the gospel, found 
 
 Touch of the Saviour's cloaths to make her sound, 
 
 We know the virtue did from Him proceed, 
 
 That, mix'd with faith, restor'd her, as we read; 
 
 Gone out of Him obliges to infer, 
 
 That 'twas by faith attracted into her. 
 
 on the 
 
 Nature of Free Grace, 
 
 AND THE 
 
 CLAIM TO MERIT FOR THE PERFORMANCE OF 
 GOOD WORKS. 
 
 GRACE, to be sure, is, in the last degree, 
 The gift of God, divinely pure and free ;
 
 185 
 
 Not bought or paid for, merited or claim'd, 
 By any works of ours that can be nauf d. 
 
 What claim, or merit, or withal to pay, 
 Could creatures have before creating, day? 
 Gift of existence is the gracious one, 
 Which all the rest must needs depend upon. 
 
 All boasting then of merit, all pretence 
 Of claim from God, in a deserving seftse, 
 Is, in one word, excluded by St. Paul 
 " Whate'er thou hast, thou hast receiv'd it all." 
 
 But sure the use of any gracious pow'rs, 
 Freely bestow'd, may properly be ours; 
 Right application being ours to choose, 
 Or, if we will be so absurd, refuse. 
 
 In this respect what need to controvert 
 The sober sense of merit or desert ? 
 Works, it is said, will have and is it hard 
 To say deserve or merit? their reward. 
 
 Grace is the real saving gift; but, then, 
 Good works are profitable unto men; 
 God wants them not; but, if our neighbours do, 
 Flowing from grace, they prove it to be true. 
 
 When human words ascribe to human spirit 
 Worthy, unworthy, merit or demerit, 
 Why should disputes forbid the terms a place, 
 Which are not meant to derogate from grace? 
 
 All comes from God, who gave us first to live, 
 And all succeeding grace; 'tis ours to give 
 To God alone the glory; and to man, 
 ImpowVd by Him, to do what good we can. 
 
 A SOLILOQUY, 
 
 On reading A DISPUTE about FAITH and WORKS. 
 
 W I 
 
 WHAT an excessive fomP^ss for debate 
 Does this dividing faith fromkuorks create ! 
 vol. ii. O
 
 186 
 
 Some say " Salvation is by faith alone 
 " Or else the gospel will be overthrown:"' 
 Others, for that same reason, place the whole 
 In works which bring salvation to the soul. 
 
 Gospel of Christ, consistently applied, 
 Unites together what they both divide: 
 It is itself, indeed, the very faith 
 That works by Lo,ve and saves a soul from wrath s 
 A new dispute should some third party pave, 
 Nor faith, nor works, but love alone would save. 
 
 The Solifidian takes a text from Paul, 
 And "works are good for nothing, faith is all-," 
 Doctrine, which his antagonist disclaims, 
 And shews how works must justify, from James; 
 A third, in either, soon might find a place, 
 Where love is plainly the exalted grace. 
 
 There is no end of jarring system found, 
 In thus contending not for sense, but sound; 
 For sound, by which th 1 inseparable three 
 Are so distinguished, as to disagree; 
 Altho' salvation, in its real spring, 
 Faith, work, or love, be one and the same thing; 
 
 One pow'r of God, or life of Christ within, 
 Or Holy Spirit washing away sin; 
 Not by repentance only ,* or belief 
 Only, that slights a penitential grief 
 And its meet fruits, and justifies alone 
 A full conceiv'd assurance of its own; 
 
 Nor by works only, nor, tho' Paul above 
 Both faith and works have lifted it, can love 
 Have, or desire to have, the exclusive claim, 
 In men's salvation, to this on/t/fame; 
 By all together souls are sav'd from ill, 
 Whene'er they yield an unresisting will. 
 
 God has a never-ceasing will to save, 
 And men, by grace, mavavingly behave: 
 This would produce lessWndness for a sect, 
 And more concern about the main effect;
 
 187 
 
 Then faith alone might save them from the fall, 
 As one good word, in use, that stood for all. 
 
 By native union, all the blessed pow'rs 
 Of grace, that makes salvation to be ours, 
 One in another, spring up in the breast, 
 No soul is sav'd by one without the rest: 
 Since, then, they all subsist in any one, 
 Division ceases, and dispute is gone. 
 
 THOUGHTS 
 
 ON 
 
 Predestination and Reprobation. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 FLATTER me not with your predestination, 
 Nor sink my spirits with your reprobation! 
 From all your high disputes I stand aloof, 
 Your pre" 1 * and re's, your destin, and your proof. 
 And formal, Calvinistical pretence, 
 That contradicts all gospel and good sense. 
 
 When God declares so often, that he wills 
 All sort of blessings and no sort of ills; 
 That his severest purpose never meant 
 A sinner's death, but that he should repent: 
 For the whole world, when his Beloved Son 
 Is said to do whatever he has done ; 
 To become man, to suffer, and to die, 
 That all might live, as well as you and I; 
 Shall rigid Calvin after this, or you, 
 Pretend to tell me that it is not true? 
 But that eternal, absolute decree 
 Has damn'd beforehand either you or me, 
 Or any body else? That God design'd 
 When he created, not to save mankind,
 
 188 
 
 But only some? "The rest," this man maintain'd, 
 *' Were to decreed damnation pre-ordain'd;" 
 No, Sir ; not all your metaphysic skill 
 Can prove the doctrine, twist it as you will. 
 
 I cite the man for doctrine so accurst, 
 In book the third, and chapter twenty-first, 
 Section the fifth a horrid, impious lore, 
 That one would hope was never taught before; 
 How it came after to prevail away, 
 Let them, who mince the damning matter, say ; 
 And others judge, if any Christian fruit 
 Be like to spring from such a Pagan root. 
 
 "Pagan", said I? I must retract the word, 
 For the poor Pagans were not so absurd; 
 Their Jupiter, " of gods and men the king," 
 Whenever he ordain'd a hurtful thing, 
 Did it, because he was oblig'd to look 
 And act, as /ate had bid him, in a bookr 
 For gods and goddesses were subject, then, 
 To dire necessity, as well as men ; 
 Compell'd to crush a hero or a town, 
 As destiny had set the matter down. 
 
 But, in your scheme, 'tis God that orders ill, 
 With sov'reign pow'r, and with resistless will; 
 He, in whose blessed Name is understood 
 The one eternal will to ev T ry good, 
 Is represented, tho' untied by fate, 
 With a decree of damning to create 
 Such as you term " the vessels of his wrath," 
 To shew his pow'r, according to your faith r 
 Just as if God, like some tyrannic man, 
 Would plague the world, to shew them that he can. 
 While others (they, for instance, of your sect.) 
 Are mercy's vessels, precious and elect; 
 Who think, God help them.'- to secure their bliss 
 By such a partial, fond conceit as this. 
 
 Talk not to me of Popery and Rome, 
 Nor yet foretel its Babylonish doom; 
 Nor canonize reforming saints of old, 
 Because they held the doctrine that "you holdi
 
 189 
 
 For if they did, altho' of saint-like stem, 
 In this plain point we must reform from them: 
 While freed from Rome, we are not tied, I hope, 
 To what is wrong in a Geneva Pope; 
 Nor what is right should sirname supersede 
 Of Luther, Calvin, Bellarmine, or Bede. 
 Rome has been guilty of excess, 'tis true, 
 And so have some of the reformers too ; 
 If in their zeal against the Roman seat, 
 Plucking up tares, they plucked up also wheat, 
 Must we to children, for what they have said, 
 Give thk predestination-stone for bread? 
 
 Sir, it is worse, is your predestination, 
 Ten thousand times than transubstantiation: 
 Hard is the point, that Papists have compil'd, 
 With sense and reason to be reconcil'd ; 
 But yet it leaves to our conception still 
 Goodness in God, and holiness of will.; 
 A just, impartial government of all; 
 A saving love; a correspondent call 
 To ev'ry man, and, in the fittest hour 
 For him to hear, all offer'd grace and pow'r, 
 Which ho may want and have, if he will crave 
 From Him who willeth nothing but to save. 
 
 Whereas, this reprobation doctrine here, 
 Not only sense and reason would cashier, 
 But take, by its pretext of sov'reign sway, 
 All goodness from the Deity away; 
 Both heav'n and hell confounding with its cant, 
 Virtue and vice, the sinner and the saint; 
 Leaving (by irresistible decree, 
 And purpose absolute, what man shall be,) 
 Nothing, in sinners, to detest so much 
 As God's contrivance how to make them such. 
 
 That ever Christians, blest with revelation, 
 Should think of His decreeing men's damnation ! 
 The God of love ! the fountain of all good! 
 ' Who made," says Paul, "all nations of one blood 
 " To dwell on earth; appointing time and place" 
 And for what end this pre-ordaining grace ?
 
 190 
 
 " That they might seek, and feel after, and find 
 The life in God, which God for man design'd. 
 
 " We are his offspring" for, in that decree, 
 The Pagan poet and St. Paul agree: 
 " We are his offspring" Now, sir, put the case 
 Of some great man and his descending race ; 
 Conceive this common parent of them all, 
 As willing some to stand, and some to fall: 
 Master, suppose, of all their future lot, 
 Decreeing some to happiness, some not; 
 In some to bring his kindness into view ; 
 To shew in others what his wrath can do; 
 To lead the chosen children by the hand, 
 And leave the rest to fall who cannot stand. 
 
 I might proceed, but that the smallest sketch 
 Shews an absurd and arbitrary wretch, 
 Treating his offspring so, as to forbid 
 To think that ever God Almighty did ; 
 To think that creatures, who are said to be 
 His offspring, should be hurt by his decree ; 
 Which had they always minded, good alone 
 And not a spark of evil had been known. 
 For his decree, appointment, order, will, 
 Predestinating goodness, pow'r, and skill, 
 Is, of itself, the unbeginning good, 
 The pouring forth of an un-ending flood 
 Of ever-flowing bliss, which only rolls 
 To fill his vessels, his created souls. 
 
 Happy Himself, the true divine desire, 
 The love that flames thro' that eternal fire, 
 Which generates in Him th' eternal light, 
 Source of all blessing to created sight, 
 Longs with a holy earnestness to spread 
 The boundless glories of its fountain head; 
 To raise the possibilities of life, 
 Which rest in Him, into a joyful strife; 
 Into a feeling sense of Him, from whom 
 The various gifts of various blessings come. 
 
 To bless is his immutable decree, 
 Such as could never have begun to be:
 
 191 
 
 Decree (if yon will use the word decreed) 
 Did from his love eternally proceed, 
 To manifest the hidden pow'rs that reign 
 Through outward nature's universal scene; 
 To raise up creatures from its vast abyss, 
 Form'd to enjoy communicated bliss; 
 Form'd, in their several orders, to extend 
 Of God's great goodness wonders without end. 
 
 Who does not see that ill, of any kind, 
 Could never come from an Jill-perfect mind? 
 That its perception never could begin, 
 But from a creature's voluntary sin, 
 Made in its Maker's image, and impress'd 
 With a free pow'r of being ever blest; 
 From ev'ry evil, in itself, so free, 
 That none could rise but by its own decree? 
 By a volition, opposite to all 
 That God could will, did evil first befall, 
 And still befalls; for all the source of ill 
 Is opposition to His blessed will: 
 And union with it plainly understood 
 To be the source of ev'ry real good. 
 
 To certain truths, which you can scarce deny., 
 You bring St. Paul's expressions in reply; 
 Some few obscurer 6ayings prone to choose, 
 Where he was talking to the Roman Jews; 
 You never heed the num'rous texts, and plain, 
 That will not suit with your decreeing strain, 
 Confirming God's unalter'd will to bless, 
 In words as clear as language can express: 
 " Who willeth all men to be sav'd" is one 
 "Too plain for comment to be made upon: 
 So that, if some be not the same as all, 
 You must directly contradict St. Paul, 
 Whene'er you push, to its direct extreme, 
 Your wild, absurd predestination scheme. 
 
 Paul's open, generous, enlighten'd soul, 
 Preach'd to mankind a Saviour of the whole, 
 Not part of human race ; the blinded Jew 
 Might boast himself in this conceited view;
 
 192 
 
 Boast of his father Abraham, and vent 
 
 The carnal claims of family descent: 
 
 But the whole family of heav'n .and earth, 
 
 Paul knew, if blest, must have another birth; 
 
 That Jew and Gentile was, in ev'ry place, 
 
 Alike the object of a saving grace: 
 
 Paul never tied salvation to a sect ; 
 
 All who love God, with him, are God's elect. ' 
 
 This plain, good maxim he himself premis'd 
 To those fam'd chapters, which were so disguis'd 
 By studied comments of a later day; 
 When words were press'd to serve a partial fray; 
 And scripture turn'd into a magazine 
 Of arms, for sober or for frantic spleen. 
 
 " All who love God" how certain is the key! 
 Whate'er disputed passages convey; 
 " In Paul's epistles if some things are read, 
 " Hard to be understood," as Peter said, 
 Must this be urg'd to prove in men's condition 
 Their pre-election, and their prceterition 
 Or predamnation? For, that monstrous word, 
 Of all absurd decree the most absurd, 
 Is into formal definition wrought 
 By your divines unstartled at the thought 
 Of Sov'reign Pow'r decreeing to become 
 The Author of salvation but to some; 
 To some, resembling others, they admit, 
 Who are rejected- " Why?" He so thought Jit: 
 Hath not the potter pow'r to make his clay 
 Just what he pleases? Well, and tell me, pray, 
 What kind of potter must we think a man, 
 Who does not make the best "of it he can? 
 Who, making some fine vessels of his clay, 
 To shew his pow'r, throws all the rest away, 
 Which, in itself, was equally as fine? 
 What an idea this of pow'r divine ! 
 Happy for us, if under God's commands 
 We were as clay is in the potter's hands; 
 Pliant, and yielding readily to take 
 The proper form, which He is pleas'd to make !
 
 193 
 
 Happy for us that he has Povfr! Because 
 An equal Goodness executes its laws; 
 Rejecting none but such as will behave 
 So as that no Omnipotence can save. 
 
 Who can conceive The Infinitely Good 
 To shew less kindness than he really could? 
 To pre-concert damnation, and confine. 
 Himself, his own Beneficence Divine? 
 An impotency this, in evil hour, 
 Ascrib'd to God's beatifying pow'r, 
 By bitter logic and the sour mistake 
 Which overweening zeal is apt to make; 
 Describing sov'reignty as incomplete, 
 That does not shew itself less good than great. 
 Tho' true in earthly monarchs it may be, 
 That Majesty and Love can scarce agree, 
 In His Almighty Will, who rules above, 
 The pow'r is grace, the majesty is love. 
 What best describes the Giver of all bliss, 
 Glorious in all his attributes, is this, 
 The so v 'reign Lord all creatures bow before, 
 But they who love Him most, the most adore. 
 
 From this one worship if a creature's heart, 
 Fix'd on aught else, determines to depart, 
 There needs no pre-deter mining the case; 
 Idolatry ensues, and fall from grace; 
 Without and contrary to God's intent, 
 Its own self ruin is the sure event: 
 The love forsaken which alone could bless, 
 It needs must feel wrath, anger, and distress; 
 The sensibilities that must arise. 
 If nature wants what sacred love suppliee. 
 
 Ctetera desunt.
 
 194 
 
 THE POTTER AND HIS CLAY. 
 
 A HYMN ASCRIBED TO DR. WATTS. 
 
 BEHOLD the Potter and the clay, 
 He forms his vessels as he please ; 
 
 Such is our God, and such are we, 
 The subjects of his high decrees. 
 
 Does not the workman's pow'r extend 
 O'er all the mass which part to choose 
 
 And mould it for a nobler end, 
 And which to leave for viler use ? 
 
 May not the Sov'reign Lord on high 
 Dispense his favours as He will; 
 
 Choose some to life, while others die, 
 And yet be just and gracious still? 
 
 What if, to make his terror known, 
 He lets his patience long endure, 
 
 Suff'ring vile rebels to go on, 
 
 And seal their own destruction sure; 
 
 What if He means to shew his grace, 
 And his electing love employs, 
 
 To mark out some of mortal race, 
 
 And form them fit for heav'nly joys, 
 
 Shall man reply against the Lord? 
 
 And call his Maker's ways unjust, 
 The thunder of whose dreadful word 
 
 Can crush a thousand worlds to dust? 
 
 But, O my soul! if truth so bright 
 Should dazzle and confound thy sight, 
 Yet still his written will obey, 
 And wait the great decisive day. 
 
 Then shall He make his justice known; 
 And the whole world before his throne, 
 With joy or terror, shall confess 
 The glory of his righteousness.
 
 195 
 
 THE CONTRAST TO IT. 
 
 BEHOLD the Potter and the Clay, 
 He forms his vessels to his mind; 
 
 So did Creating Love display 
 Itself, in forming human kind. 
 
 Th 1 Almighty Workman's pow'r and skill 
 Could have no vile but noble ends ; 
 
 His one immutable good-mil 
 
 To all, that he hath made, extends. 
 
 This Gracious Sov'reign Lord on high, 
 By his eternal word and voice, 
 
 Chose all to live and none to die, 
 Nor will he ever change his choice. 
 
 Not by his will, but by their own, 
 Vile rebels break his righteous laws; 
 
 And make the terror to be known, 
 
 Of which they are themselves the cause. 
 
 His all-electing love employs 
 
 All means the human race to bless, 
 
 That mortals may his heav'nly joys, 
 By re-electing Him, possess. 
 
 Shall man rpply that " God decreed 
 
 " FalPn Adam's race not to be blest? 11 
 
 That " for a few his Son should bleed, 
 " And Satan should have all the rest?" 
 
 Do-thou, poor sinful soul of mine, 
 By faith and penitence, embrace 
 
 Of doubtless, boundless Love Divine, 
 The free, the universal grace. 
 
 Let God, within thy pliant soul, 
 
 Renew the image of his Son, 
 The likeness marr'd will then be whole, 
 
 And shew what he, in Christ, has done.
 
 196 
 
 An Argument, 
 
 FOR 
 
 DAVID'S BELIEF OF A FUTURE STATE, 
 
 INFERRED FROM 
 Bathsheba's last fVords to him, upon his Death-bed. 
 
 IF David knew not of a future life, 
 How understood he Bathsheba, his wife? 
 Who, when lie lay upon his death-bed, came 
 To plead for Solomon's succeeding claim; 
 And, having prosper'd in her own endeavour, 
 Said Let my Lord, King David, Live for ever! 
 
 What real wish was Bathsheba's intent, 
 If life hereafter was not what she meant? 
 Say that for ever to a king in health, 
 Meant "a Jong life, prosperity, and wealth ;" 
 To one that lay a dying, you must own, 
 'Twould be a mere burlesque upon his throne. 
 
 If she had pray'd for David's mild release, 
 Or "Let my Lord, the King, depart an peace! 1 ' 
 (Tho', even then, 'twere difficult to stint 
 Her utmost thought to so minute a hint,) 
 The short-liv'd comment might have some pretence, 
 But Live for ever! has no sort of sense, 
 
 Unless we grant her meaning to extend 
 To fiiture life that never has an end: 
 Piety will, and reason must, confess, 
 That her intention could be nothing less: 
 King, live for ever! and God save the King! 
 Old or new phrase, salvation is the thing. 
 
 No poor salvation to be quickly past, 
 And with a deadly exit at the last; 
 To which, when David was so near, what share 
 Could he enjoy of Live for everts pray'r, 
 Had he not known what Bathsheba design'd, 
 A bfe to come, of everlasting kind?
 
 197 
 
 Tho 1 num'rous proofs might, readily, be brought 
 That this was always holy David's thought; 
 Yet since by learned and long-winded ways, 
 Men seek to break the force of ancient phrase, 
 1 single out this plain, familiar one 
 Now give as plain an answer thereupon. ^ 
 
 ON 
 
 THE FALL OF MAN: 
 
 OCCASIONED BY 
 
 The following Representation of that Event: 
 
 Neither can it seem strange, that God should lay stress on such outward actions, in their own 
 nature neither good nor evil, when we consider, that in all his distiensalions to mankind he 
 has done the same- What was it he made the test of Adam's obedience in Paradise, bid the 
 eating of a fruit Y An action in itself perfectly indifferent, and from which, if God had not 
 forbidden it, it would liave been superstitious to have abstained. A Persuasive to Conformity, 
 addressed to the Quakers, by John Rogers, D. I). (Page 28.) 
 
 OF man's obedience, while in Eden blest, 
 What a mere trifle is here made the test ! 
 An outward action, in itself, defin'd 
 To be of perfectly indifferent kind; 
 Which, but for God's forbidding threat severe, 
 It had been superstition to forbear. 
 
 A strange account; that neither does, nor can, 
 Make any part of true religion's plan; 
 But must expose it to the ridicule 
 Of scoffers, judging by this crooked rule : 
 Its friends, defending truth, as they suppose, 
 Lay themselves open to acuter foes. . 
 
 To say that action, neither good nor bad, 
 Front which no harm in nature could l>e had, 
 Was changed, (by positive, commanding will, 
 Or threat forbidding. J to a deadly ill, 
 Charges, by consequence the most direct, 
 On God himself that ill and its effect. 
 
 Language had surely come to a poor pass, 
 Before an author, of distinguish'd class
 
 198 
 
 For shining talents, could endure to make, 
 In such a matter, such a gross mistake ; 
 Could thus derive death's origin and root, 
 From Adam's eating of a harmless fruit. 
 
 " From Adam's eating?" Did not God forbid 
 The taste of it to Adam ? Yes He did 
 And was it harmless, must we understand. 
 To duobey God's positive command? 
 No, by no means; but then the harm, we see, 
 Came not from God's command, but from the tree. 
 
 If He command, the action must be good; 
 If He forbid, some ill is understood: 
 The tree, the fruit, had dreadful ills conceal'd, 
 Not made by his forbidding, but reveaVd; 
 That our first parents, by a true belief, 
 Might know enough to shun the fatal grief. 
 
 The dire experience of a world of woe, 
 Forbidding Mercy will'd them not to know; 
 Told them what ill was in the false desire, 
 Which their free wills were tempted to admire; 
 That, of such fruit, the eating was To die 
 Its harmless nature was the tempter's lie. 
 
 To urge it now, and to impute the harm 
 Of death, and evil, to the kind alarm 
 Of God's command, so justly understood 
 To will his creatures nothing else but good, 
 Is, for a Babel fiction, to resign 
 Right reason, scripture, and the love divine. 
 
 g . . E i 
 
 A 
 
 LETTER TO A FRIEND, 
 
 ON THE 
 
 Meaning of St. PauVs Expression o/speaking with Tongues. 
 
 (1 CORINTHIANS 14.) 
 
 IF you remember, rev'rend sir, the talk 
 That pass'd betwixt us in the garden walk,
 
 199 
 
 The gift of tongues wa9 mention'd; when I thought 
 That notion wrong, which learned men had taught, 
 And that this gift was not at all concern'd 
 With that of speaking languages unlearn'd. 
 
 St. Paul, I said, in his Corinthian charge, 
 Had treated on the subject more at large; 
 From whose account one plainly might deduce 
 The genuine gift, its nature, and its use ; 
 And make appear, from passages enow, 
 The vulgar notion not to be the true: 
 But that to speak in tongues, or speak in tongue, 
 Was meant of hymns which the Corinthians sung : 
 This is the gift which the apostle paints, 
 And lays its practice under due restraints. 
 
 You know the chapter First then let us see 
 How tongues do there with languages agree; 
 Then how with hymns ; and let which better suits 
 Th 1 apostle's context regulate disputes. 
 
 First He that speaketh in a tongue (" unknown" 
 Translators add, for reasons of their own,) 
 Speaketh to God, and speaketh not to men 
 Peculiar tokens of a hymn again, 
 For no man understandeth him from hence 
 'Tis plain, that languages was not the sense: 
 Would he rise up, who had them at command, 
 To speak in one that none could understand? 
 What can be more unlikely to suppose? 
 Yet thus the learned commentators glose; 
 As their mistake about the gift imply'd 
 The christians guilty of this awkward pride: 
 Such fact they make no scruple to advance, 
 As would appear absurd in a romance. 
 
 One in his softer, one his harsher terms, 
 The same miraculous disgrace affirms: 
 All, from the difficulty try some shape, 
 Whilst there is no escaping, to escape. 
 
 Whereas, to hymns all phrases correspond; 
 Of them Corinthian converts were too fond ; 
 And Paul, who wilPd them really to rejoice, 
 But more with heart affected than with voice,
 
 200 
 
 Authority, with reason mix'd, employs, 
 
 Not to repress, but regulate their joys. 
 
 The benefit of hymns he understood; 
 
 But, most intent upon the church's good, 
 
 The gift prophetic more expedient found, 
 
 (That is, to preach the gospel or expound,) 
 
 Than to sing hymns The prophet speaks, says Paul, 
 
 To men; instructs, exhorts, and comforts all. 
 
 Speaking in tongues, or hymning, to proceed, 
 May edify the singers self indeed; 
 But prophecy, the church; a private soul 
 Should always yield the prefrence to the whole: 
 Consistent all, if hymning he explains; 
 If languages unknown, what sense remains? 
 Would Paul affirm, that speaking might do good, 
 In foreign languages, not understood, 
 To a man's self? Would he so gently treat 
 Such a suppos'd enormous self-conceit? 
 Would he vouchsafe to pay, the chapter thro', 
 Respect to tongues, if taken in this view? 
 Would he allow, nay choose it? For that next 
 Is said of tongues in the succeeding text. 
 
 I will you all to speak with tongues " to sing" 
 Makes this a plain, intelligible thing; 
 The other meaning, which they spread about, 
 No commentators have, or can make out. 
 That he should will them all to sing was just, 
 And properly to use the gift or trust; 
 For his intention was not to reduce 
 Singing itself, but its improper use: 
 It was the good apostle's great concern, 
 To preach the gospel so that most might learn: 
 This was the gift, in which he rather will'd 
 Such as had been converted to be skill'd. 
 Speaking in tongue was good; but this, he knew, 
 Was the more useful talent of the two: 
 Greater its owner, but with an except, 
 That shews the justice for a hymner kept; 
 The matter sung, who, if he could express, 
 To edify the hearers, was not less;
 
 201 
 
 Interpretation render' d them alike; 
 
 But does not this absurd supposal strike, 
 
 That in plain speaking, on some christian head, 
 
 One should interpret what himself had said; 
 
 First use a language to the church unknown, 
 
 Then, in another, for his fault atone? 
 
 What reason possible can be aseign'd, 
 
 Why the known tongue should be at first declin'd? 
 
 This difficulty, and so all the rest, 
 
 The nature of a hymn explains the best. 
 
 Now should I come among you, says the saint, 
 Speaking with tongues, should only come to chant - 
 What shall it profit you, except I preach ; 
 Some revelation, knowledge, doctrine teach? 
 And here the vulgar meaning of the word, 
 For apostolic use, is too absurd; 
 He scarce would if the speaking in a tongue, 
 Unknown to christians, whom he came among; 
 Nor would a question find with him a place, 
 About their profit in so gross a case. 
 He plainly hints a coming, not design'd 
 To please their ear, but to instruct their mind; 
 The real profit which he pointed at ; 
 And hymns themselves were useless without that. 
 
 That such a speaking as is mention'd here, 
 Was musical, is evidently clear 
 From the allusion which he then propounds, 
 To pipe, and harp, and instrumental sounds; 
 Which none can urge, with reason, to belong 
 So properly to language as to wing; 
 Tho' it may serve for both, in some respect, 
 Yet here one sees to which it mut direct; 
 If pipe or harp be indistinctly heard, 
 No tune or meaning can be thence inferred; 
 If an uncertain sound the trumpet yield, 
 How shall a man make ready for the field? 
 
 Thus of dead instruments ; of them that live, 
 So ye, th' apostle adds, except ye give 
 Words, by the tongue, that man can apprehend. 
 Ye speak, but, as to hearers, to no end; 
 OL II. P
 
 202 
 
 And (what with hymning posture seems to square,) 
 Will be like men who speak into the air. 
 
 So ye, to shew how tongue and song agree, 
 Except ye utter with the tongue, says he, 
 Words that are easy to be understood, 
 (Which in a foreign tongue they never could,) 
 How shall the thing be known to any one 
 That ye have spoken (that is, sung) upon? 
 And, what with hymning posture seems to square, 
 He adds, for ye shall speak into the air. 
 
 Except ye utter with the tongue " unknown'* 
 Translators here thought fit to let alone ; 
 " Unknown, and easy too to understand ;" 
 That could not be unknown they must disband. 
 It was enough to shew them their mistake, 
 To see what incoherence it would make ; 
 Yet they not minding, just as they think fit, 
 Sometimes insert it and sometimes omit. 
 But if the epithet, at first, be right, 
 Why is it kept so often out of sight? 
 Do not omissions carry, all along, 
 Tacit confession of its being wrong ; 
 Tacit confession, which is open proof 
 How little can be said in its behoof. 
 
 They who shall speak in tongue, and they who hear, 
 Unless the meaning of the voice be clear, 
 (The sense not being within mutual reaeh,) 
 Will be, says Paul, Barbarians each to each, 
 Or foreigners and, therefore, is his drift, 
 With all your fondness for the speaking gift, 
 Have the whole church's benefit in view; 
 Let him, who speaks in tongue, interpret too. 
 
 Can such confession, such allowance made, 
 Suit with that insupportable parade, 
 And show of gift, which commentators vent, 
 Giving a meaning that could scarce be meant? 
 While zeal for hymns, a natural effect 
 In novices, tho' wanting to be check'd, 
 Accounts for checking, for allowing phrase, 
 For ev'ry motive that St. Paul displays; 
 His placid reas'ning, and his mild rebuke; 
 For which no insolence of gift could look:
 
 203 
 
 No insolence, I say, of such a kind 
 As commentators, rashly- have assign'd 
 To the first christians; which the latter now, 
 Suppose it offer'd, never would allow. 
 
 For if I pray in tongue, St. Paul pursues, 
 My spirit prayeth; but no fruit accrues 
 To them who do not understand my pray\s 
 And what the remedy which he prepares? 
 Why, it is this / will so (sing or) pray, 
 That all may understand what I shall say: 
 Plain the two phrases in the verse proclaim, 
 That praying here and singing is the same; 
 That some Corinthians so displayed their art, 
 That none but they themselves could bear a part: 
 Hence " to interpret hymns'' 1 his words ordain, 
 Or else * to sing intelligibly plain ; M 
 Praying, or praising for, says he auain, 
 How shidl unlearned persons say " amen''' 
 To thy thanksgiving, if when thou shalt bless, 
 They understand not what thy words express? 
 Thou verily hast given thanks, and well; 
 But this, unedified, they cannot tell; 
 The common benefit is still his aim, 
 True, real glory of the christian uame. 
 
 In languages unknown, was pray'r and praise 
 Performed by christians, in th 1 apostle's days ? 
 Was that a time, or was the church a place, 
 For gifted ostentation to disgrace? 
 
 (Ctetera desunt.) 
 
 FAMILIAR EPISTLES TO A FRIEND, 
 
 Upon a SERMON entitled, 
 " The Office and Operations of the Holy Spirit" 
 
 BY THE REV. MR. WARBURTON. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 A STRANGE discourse, in all impartial viewg,- 
 This that you lent me, Doctor, to peruse:
 
 204 
 
 Had you not ask'd, a subject of this sort 
 Might, of itself, a few remarks extort, 
 To shew how much a very learned man 
 Has been mistaken in his preaching plan. 
 
 Preaching (a talent of the gospel kind, 
 By preaching peace through Jesus Christ defin'd) 
 Should, one would think, in order to increase; 
 The gospel good, confine itself to peace; 
 Exert its milder influence, and draw 
 The list'ning crowds to love's uniting law- 
 For should the greatest orator extend 
 The pow'rs of sound to any other end; 
 Regard to healing sentiments postpone, 
 And battle all that differ from his own; 
 Tho' he could boast of conquest, yet how far 
 From peace through Jesus, through himself is war! 
 How widely wanders, from the true design 
 Of preaching Christ, the bellicose divine ! 
 
 If amongst them who all profess belief 
 In the same gospel, such a warlike chief 
 Should, in the pulpit,- labour to erect 
 His glaring trophies, over ev'ry sect 
 That does not just fall i with his conceit, 
 And raise new flourish upon each defeat ;. 
 As if, by dint of his haranguing strain, 
 So many foes had happily been slain; 
 Tho' it were sure that what he said was right, 
 Is he more likely, think you, to invite, 
 To win th' erroneous over to his mind, 
 By eloquence of such a hostile kind^ 
 Or to disgrace, by arts so strongly weak, 
 The very truths that he may chance to speak? 
 
 Like thoughts to these would naturally rise 
 Out of your own occasional surprise, 
 When, purchasing the book, you dipp'd into't, 
 And saw the preacher's manner of dispute; 
 How man by man, and sect by sect display'd, 
 He pass'd along from preaching to parade ; 
 Confuting all that came within his way, 
 Tho' too far off to hear what he should say:
 
 205 
 
 Reason, methinks, why candour would not choose, 
 Where no defence could follow, to accuse; 
 Where gen'rous triumph no attacks can yield 
 To the unquestion'd master of the field: 
 Where names, tho' injur'd, without reason why, 
 Absent or present, can make no reply 
 To the most false or disingenuous hint, 
 Till time, perchance, produces it in print: 
 When, we may take for granted, it is clad 
 In its best fashion, tho' it be but bad. 
 
 This one discourse is printed, we are told, 
 The main of several sermons to unfold. 
 For one grand subject all. of them were meant 
 The Holy Spirit, whom the Father sent; 
 Th 1 indwelling Comforter, th' Instructing Guide; 
 " Who was," Christ said, " for ever to abide 
 u With, and .in his disciples here below, 
 " And teach them all that they should want to know/ 
 
 A glorious theme! A comfortable one! 
 For preachers to exert themselves upon; 
 First taught themselves, and fitted to impart 
 God's truth and comfort to an honest heart. 
 Some such, at least, imagine to have been 
 Amongst the flock that came to Lincoln's Inn; 
 With a sincere desire to hear and learn 
 That which became a christian's chief concern; 
 Pleas'd with the preacher's text, with hopes that be 
 Might prove an instrument, in some degree, 
 Of their perception of a holy aid, 
 Fruit of that promise which the Saviour made; 
 Might help them, more and more, to understand 
 Howfjnear true help and comfort is at hand; 
 How soon the Spirit moves upon the mind, 
 When it is rightly humbled and resign'd; 
 With what a love to ev'ry fellow-soul 
 One member of the church regards the whole; 
 Looks upon all mankind as friends, or shares 
 To heartiest enemies his heartier pray'rs. 
 
 I might go on ; but you, I know, will grant, 
 Such is the temper that we really want: 
 
 P %
 
 206 
 
 And such, if preachers ever preach indeed, 
 If pastors of a flock will really feed, 
 They will endeavour solely to excite 
 And move divided christians to unite; 
 If not in outward forms, that but supply 
 A loftier Babel without inward tie, 
 Yet in a common friendliness of will, 
 That wishes well to ev'ry cieature still; 
 That makes the centre of religion's plan 
 A god-iike love embracing ev'ry man. 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 NO office seems more sacred and august, 
 Than that of preachers who fulfil their trust; 
 Working with God, and helping men to find 
 The Prince of life, the Saviour of mankind: 
 Who came himself a preacher, from on high, 
 Of peace to all, the distant and the nigh. 
 
 So said the saint whose preaching was the same, 
 To Jew, to Greek Salvation thro' His name 
 Who taught, thro' Him, to preach immortal life, 
 " Avoiding questions that engender strife; 
 " Patient, and meek, and gentle unto all, 
 " Instructing ev'n opposers without gall; 
 " If peradventure God might give them grace 
 " The truth, when kindly offer'd, to embrace." 
 
 If these conditions preaching may demand, 
 What must we think of the discourse in hand; 
 Which, when we read, is apter to suggest 
 A diff'rent temper in the preacher's breast; 
 A text perverted from its native scope ; 
 A disappointment of all hearing hope ? 
 Here is a long dispute, in his first head, 
 About what Doctor Middleton had said; 
 That "" when the gift of tongues was first bestow'd, 
 " 'Tvvas but an instantaneous sign, that shew'd 
 " The gospel's chosen minister; and then, 
 " That purpose signified, it ceas'd again:
 
 207 
 
 ** So was its type, the fiery tongue, a flash 
 
 *' Of light'ning quickly vanish'd" and such trash 
 
 To which a minister, who knew the press, 
 
 111 chose the the time, when preaching, to digress; 
 
 To take a text affording, thro' the whole, 
 
 Such grounds of comfort to a christian soul, 
 
 And then neglect ; to preach a poor debate, 
 
 That could but shine at pamphleteering rate; 
 
 That, from the pulpit, must disgust the pew 
 
 Of sager Bench, and sober students too. 
 
 You may, hereafter, if you chose it, see 
 How they mistook, both Middleton and he, 
 The gift of tongues; how little, quite throughout, 
 They knew, tho' learned, what they were about: 
 In present lines, I shall but just relate 
 One instance of the, no uncommon, fate 
 Of learned men, who, in deep points exact, 
 Forget sometimes the most apparent fact. 
 
 Th' apostles, gifted by the Holy Ghost, 
 Began to speak with tongues at Pentecost; 
 " But did net" so the preacher says " begin 
 " To speak, before the multitude came in.^' 
 He urges roundly how, in this respect, 
 " The learned Middleton did not reflect, 
 41 That in a private room they all were set, 
 " And tongues not spoken till the people met." 
 
 Now if you read the Pentecostal facts, 
 As you will find them written in the Acts, 
 From his reflection tho' the point lay hid, 
 The text affirms, expressly, that they, did. 
 No learning wanted to determine this; 
 'Tis what a reading child could never miss; 
 This very gift, it is exceeding clear, 
 Was that which brought the multitude to hear: 
 Speaking with tongues, foregoing words proclaim; 
 The next When this was noised abroad they came. 
 
 Scarce to be thought that, studying the case, 
 With formal purpose to explain a place, 
 A man so learned, and acute, could make, 
 Could preach, could publish such a flat mistake:
 
 208 
 
 But 'tis the fate of great and eager wits, 
 To trust their memory too much by fits. 
 
 To prove that Middleton's dispute was wrong 
 Takes up the pages, for a sermon, long: 
 Soon after this you'll see another start, 
 To fill his first division's second part : 
 For having touch'd upon the names of all 
 The gifts enumerated by saint Paul, 
 Then, in what sense the scripture was inspir'd, 
 Higher or lower, comes to be enquir'd: 
 The high he calls organieal; the low 
 Partial and true; as he proceeds to shew. 
 
 This is the summary of what is said, 
 Touching the Holy Ghost, in his first head; 
 As Guide to truth, and aiding to excite, 
 To clear, to give the understanding light. 
 What makes it Sermon is the Ttxt prefix'd, 
 Tho' scarce a word of it is intermix'd; 
 Consistently enough, for it has none 
 Which suit the topics that he dwells upon: 
 Topics, without a dignity to grace 
 Text, office, audience, person, time, or place. 
 
 But were this all, and did not what he spakfr 
 Lead by degrees to serious mistake, 
 Taking a text, for form's sake, to prepare 
 The church to hear some shop-renown d affair, 
 (Too oft the turn of the polite divine) 
 Would hardly merit your regard, or mine; 
 But, sir, it is not only misapplied 
 This glorious text but in effect denied; 
 Or misconceiv'd; and therefore cutting short, 
 At present, errors of less fatal sort, 
 Let us pursue this subject, in the text, 
 And from the Sermon vindicate the Text. 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 YOU wonder'd much, why any man of parts 
 Would use, in preaching, low, invective arts;
 
 209 
 
 By which the vain disputings that infest 
 The christian world, have seldom been suppress'd,; 
 But often heighten'd, and that use destroy'd 
 For which fine Talents ought to be employ'd. 
 
 If one can judge from reading this divine, 
 Whose parts, and talents, would be really fiue, 
 If juster notions of the heavenly grace 
 Taught but the earthly not to quit their place, 
 If one can judge, I say, from stated lavv9, 
 In his discourses, what should be the cause 
 Of such perversion of a lively wit, 
 In erudite possessors, this is it: 
 They think that now religion's sole defence 
 Is learning. History, and critic sense; 
 That with apostles, as a needful Guide, 
 The Holy Spirit did indeed abide; 
 But, having dictated to them a rule 
 Of faith, and manners, for the Christian school, 
 Immediate revelation ceas'd, and men 
 Must now be taught by apostolic pen: 
 Canon of scripture is complete; and they 
 May read, and know what doctrine to obey: 
 To look for inspiration is absurd; 
 The Spirit's aid is in the written word; 
 They who pretend to His immediate call, 
 From Pope to Quaker, are fanatics all. 
 
 Thus, having prov'd, at large, to christians met, 
 What no one christian ever doubted yet, 
 That the New Testament was really writ 
 By inspiration, which they all admit, 
 He then subjoins that M this inspir'd record 
 " Fulfill'd the promise of our bless'd Lord; 
 (Fulfill'd it " eminently!* is the phrese) 
 44 For tho' the faithful, in succeeding days, 
 " Occasionally find, in every place, 
 M The Spirit's ordinary help and grace, 
 " His light supreme, his constant, tix'd abode, 
 " Is in the scriptures of this sacred code." 
 
 This was the sense, not eas\ to explore, 
 When, reck'ning up the Spirit'* fruits before.
 
 210 
 
 44 Scripture," said he (which this account explain^) 
 
 " Does not record them only, but contains; 
 
 " CONTAINS," in capitals as if he took 
 
 The scripture to be something more than book; 
 
 Something alive, wherein the Spirit dwelt, 
 
 That did not only tell His fruits, but felt. 
 
 ** The sure deposit of the Spirit's fruits 
 
 " In holy scripture," (he elsewhere computes) 
 
 ** FultilPd the Saviour's promise, in a sense 
 
 *' Very sublime" so it should seem, from hence, 
 
 That eminently, and sublimely, thus , 
 
 The Holy Spirit should abide with us. 
 
 If I mistake him, or misrepresent, 
 You'll shew me where, for 'tis without intent: 
 I want, if possible, to understand 
 A sentence coming from so fam'd a hand. 
 Tho' plain the words, 'tis difficult to solve 
 What christian sense he meant them to involve ; 
 In ev'ry way that words and sense agree, 
 'Tis perfect bibliolatry to me: 
 No image worship can be more absurd, 
 Than idolizing thus the written word ; 
 Which they who wrote, intended to excite 
 Attention to our Lord's predicted Light; 
 To that same Spirit, leading human thought, 
 By which themselves and all the good were taught; 
 Preaching that wcrd, which a diviner ,art, 
 Which God himself had written on the heart. 
 
 How can the best of books (for 'tis confess'd 
 That, of nil books, the bible is the best) 
 Do any more than give us an account - 
 Of what was said, for instance, on the mount? 
 Of what was done, for instance, on the cross, 
 In order to retrieve the human loss? 
 What more than tell us of the Spirit's aid, 
 Far as his fruits by words can be display'd? 
 But words are only the recording part, 
 The things contain'd must needs be in the heart; 
 Spirit of God no more in books demands 
 To dwell, Himself, than temples made with hands.
 
 211 
 
 Fruits of the Spirit, as St. Paul defin'd, 
 Are love, joy, peace the blessings of the mind; 
 The proofs of his abiding. Who can brook 
 " A meek, a gentle, good, long-suff'ring book;" 
 Or let true faith and temperance be sunk 
 To faith in writings, that are never drunk? 
 In fine, whatever pen and ink presents, 
 Can but contain historical contents; 
 Nor can the fruits of Spirit be in print, 
 In any sense but as recorded in't. 
 
 Plain as this is, and strange, as you may think, 
 The learned worship paid to pen and ink, 
 It is the main hypothesis, you'll find, 
 On which are built discourses of this kind ; 
 Which yet can give us, for a scripture clue, 
 What contradicts its very letter too: 
 As this has done be shewn as we go on 
 By these important verses of St. John. 
 
 LETTER IF. 
 
 THE gospel's simpler language being writ, 
 Not tor ihe sake of learning or of wit, 
 But to instruct the pious and the meek; 
 When its intent mere critics come to seek, 
 We find, on plain intelligible text. 
 The variorum* comments most perplex'd. 
 
 Such is the text before us; and so plain 
 The Saviour's promise which the words contain, 
 That men. tor modern erudition's sake. 
 Must read and study to acquire mistake; 
 Must first observe the notions that prevail, 
 Among the famous in their church's pale; 
 Firm in the pre,udice, that all is right 
 Which books or persoiis, most in vogue, recite; 
 
 * The comments qf rurious authors.
 
 212 
 
 Then seek to find how scripture coincides 
 With each decision of their knowing guides. 
 
 Without some such preparatives as these, 
 How could the forc'd interpretation please, 
 That makes a sacred promise, to bestow 
 Perpetual aid, exhausted long ago? 
 In one shortage? For God's abiding Guide 
 Withdrew, it seems, when the apostles died ; 
 And left poor millions ever since to seek 
 How dissonant divines had constru'd Greek. 
 
 In graver writers one has often read 
 What in excuse of bookworship is said; 
 " It is not ink and letter that we own 
 " To be divine, but scripture sense alone ; 
 " We have the rule which the apostles made, 
 " And no occasion for immediate aid." 
 Suppose for once the gross delusion true ; 
 What must a plain and honest christian do? 
 The Spirit's aid how far must he extend, 
 To bring his Saviour's promise to an end? 
 This he perceives discourse to dwell upon ; 
 And yet for ever to abide has none. 
 He, for the sake of safety, would be glad 
 To have that Spirit which th' apostles had; 
 Not one of them has writ, but says he may; 
 That "'tis the bliss for which he ought to pray: 
 That God will grant it him, his Saviour said, 
 Sooner than parents give their children bread. 
 If reading scripture can improve a soul, 
 This is the sum and substance of the whole, 
 And gives it value of such high degree : 
 For tho' as sacred as a 600A: can be, 
 'Tis only so because it best revives 
 Thought of that Good which animated lives; 
 Because its authors were inspir'd to write, 
 And saw the truth in its own heav'nly light; 
 Because it sends us to that promised source 
 Of light and truth, which govern'd their discourse, 
 The Holy Spirifs ever present aid, 
 With us and in us so the Saviour pray'd
 
 213 
 
 That when he left the world, the Holy Ghost 
 Might dwell with christians, as an inward host ; 
 That teaching, truth, and comfort in the breast, 
 Might be secur'd by this abiding Guest. 
 
 " Yes, with apostles" sunk, by such a thought, 
 Th 1 inestimable treasure down to nought! 
 A history of sunshine may as soon 
 Make a blind man to see the shining noon, 
 As writings only, without inward light, 
 Can bring the world's redemption, into sight. 
 Jesus the Christ the very book has shewn, 
 Without the Holy Spirit none can own; 
 In words they may, but, what is plainly meant, 
 They cannot give a real heart consent. 
 What friend to scripture, then, sir, can displace 
 This inward Witness of redeeming grace; 
 And rest the gospel on such outward view, 
 As any Turk may rest his Koran too? 
 Nay, he can own a written word or work 
 That Christians do, and yet continue Turk. 
 
 Why do the christian disputants so fill 
 The world with books of a polemic skill, 
 When 'tis the sacred and acknowledg'd one 
 That all their jarring systems build upon, 
 But that the Spirit does not rule their wit, 
 By which at first the sacred one was writ? 
 Of whose support great scholars stand in need, 
 As much as they who never learnt to read: 
 Unhappy they! but for that living guide, 
 Whom God himself has promis'd to provide, 
 A Guide, to quote the blessed text again, 
 For ever to abide with christian mon. 
 
 Fond of its books, poor learning is afraid; 
 And higher guidance labours to evade: 
 Books have the Spirit in supreme display ! 
 Men, but in lower, ordinary way ! 
 This strange account of men and books is true, 
 It seems, according to the promise too! 
 
 Such wild conceits all men have too much wit, 
 Or learned or unlearned, to admit ;
 
 214 
 
 But when some interest or custom rules, 
 And chains obsequious wills to different schools, 
 The wisest, then, sir, will relinquish thought, 
 And speak, like Parrots, just as they are taught. 
 What this should be, what spends in vain the tire 
 Of brisker tempers let us next enquire. 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 WHEN christians first receiv'd the joyful news 
 Messiah come unmix'd with worldly views; 
 When the whole church with heavenly grace was bless'd, 
 And, from the Spirit Comforter, possess'd 
 One heart, one mind, one view to common good; 
 Then was the real gospel understood. 
 
 Then was the time to cite what you will find 
 The preacher noting " when the world combin'd 
 " Its pow'rs against it, but could not destroy; 
 " When holy martyrs, with enraptur'd joy, 
 " Encounter'd death; enabled to sustain 
 " Its utmost terror, and its utmost pain: 
 " At. such a juncture, heav'n's uncommon aid 
 " Shone forth, to help humanity display'd. 
 
 " But now" his reason for abated grace, 
 Diff'rence of primitive and. present case 
 " Now ease, and honour" (mind the maxim, friend;) 
 " On the profession of the faith attend : 
 " At first establish'd by diviner means, 
 " On human testimony now it leans: 
 " Supports itself, as other facts must do, 
 " That rest on human testimony too; 
 " Sufficient strength is the conviction there, 
 " To make the present christian persevere.'* 
 
 Here lies the secret -that may soon unfold 
 Why modern christians fall so short of old; 
 Why they appear to have such diff'rent looks, 
 The men of spirit, and the men of books:
 
 215 
 
 When racks and gibbets, torment and distress 
 Attended them who ventur'd to confess, 
 They had, indeed, a fix'd" and firm belief, 
 To die for one who suffer d like a thief; 
 Stretch'd on the wheel, or burning in the flame, 
 To preach a crucified Redeemer's name; 
 Courage, like this, compendious proof supplied 
 Of heavVs true kingdom, into which they died: 
 Thus was the wisdom of the world struck dumb, 
 And all the pow'rs of darkness overcome; 
 Gospel prevail'd, by its internal light, 
 And gave the subject for the pen to write. 
 
 But when the world, with a more fatal plan, 
 To flatter, what it could not force, began; 
 When ease and honour, as the preacher saitb, 
 Attended the profession of the faith; 
 Then wrought itsmischief, in the too secure, 
 The secret poihon", slower but more sure: 
 Commodious maxims then began to spread, 
 And set up learning in the Spirit's stead: 
 The life liminish'd as the books increas'd, 
 Till men tound out that miracles were ceas'd; 
 That, with respect to succours more sublime, 
 The gospel promise was but for a time; 
 That inspiration, amongst men of sense, 
 Was all a mere fanatical pretence: 
 And divers like discoveries, that grant 
 To ease and honour just what faith they want 
 
 Faith to profess that wondrous things of old 
 Did really happen, as the books have told; 
 But with a caution, never to allow 
 The possibility of happening now: 
 For, as the world went on, it might affect 
 An honourable ease, in some respect, 
 To own celestial comfort still inspir'd, 
 And suff'ring courage, as at first requir'd; 
 Quite proper then ; but equally unfit, 
 When once the sacred canon had been writ: 
 For upon that (is gravely here averr'd) 
 Part of the Spirit's office was transferr'd; 
 Books once composed, th' illuminating part 
 He ceas'd Himself; and left to human art
 
 210 
 
 To find, within his scriptural abode, 
 
 Th' enlight'ning grace that presence once bestow'd. 
 
 These suppositions if a man suppose, 
 You see th' immediate consequence that flows; 
 That men and churches afterwards attack'd, 
 Are pre-demolish'd, by asserted fact; 
 Which, once advanc'd, may, with the greatest ease, 
 Condemn whatever christians he shall please : 
 Owing to his forbearance, in some shape, 
 If aught th' extensive havoc shall escape. 
 
 With such a fund of learning, and a skill 
 To make it serve what argument he will ; 
 With choice of words, for any chosen theme, 
 With an alertness rulingly supreme; 
 What, sir, can single persons or a sect, 
 When he is pleas'd to preach at 'em, expect? 
 
 Just what they meet with, in the present case- 
 All the dogmatic censure and disgrace 
 That a commanding genius can exert, 
 When it becomes religiously alert; 
 With narrow proofs, and consequences wide, 
 Sets aJl opponents of its rote aside; 
 The Papists first, and then th' inferior fry, 
 Fanatics, vanquish'd with a " Who but I?" 
 These are the modish epithets that strike 
 At true religion and at false alike; 
 Of these reproaches infidels are full; 
 Their use in others verging down to dull : 
 How one, who is no infidel, applies 
 The hackney'd terms may next salute your eyes. 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 BY " reformation from the Church of Rome" 
 We mean, " from faults and errors," I presume ; 
 Against her truths to prosecute a war 
 Is protestant aversion push'd too far: 
 In them, should ease and honour not attend 
 The fair profession, one should be her friend.
 
 217 
 
 She thinks that Christ has given to his bride, 
 His holy church, an ever-present Guide; 
 By whose divine assistance, she has thought, 
 That miracles sometimes were really wrought; 
 That, by the virtue which His gifts inspire, 
 Great Saints and martyrs have adorn'd her choir. 
 Now say the worst that ever can be said, 
 Of that corruption which might overspread 
 This church in gen'ral cast at her the stone, 
 They who possess perfection in their own; 
 Yet, were instructive volumes to enlarge 
 On bright exceptions to the gen'ral charge, 
 They that love truth wherever it is found, 
 Would joy to see it, ev'n in Romish ground; 
 Where, if corruption grew to such a size, 
 The more illustrious must examples rise 
 Of life and manners these, you will agree, 
 Are true reformers, whercsoe'er they be. 
 
 Of all the churches, (justly loth to claim 
 Exclusive title to a sacred name,) 
 What one, I ask, has ever yet denied 
 The inspiration of the promis'd Guide? 
 Our own to which the def 'rence that is due, 
 Forbids no just respect for others too 
 Believes, asserts, that what reform she made 
 Was not without the Holy Spirits aid : 
 If to expect His gifts, however great, 
 Be popish and fanatical deceit, 
 She, in her offices of ev'ry kind, 
 Has also been fanatically blind. 
 What form of her composing can we trace 
 Without a pray'r for His unstinted grace? 
 Taught, by the sacred volumes, to infer 
 A Saviour's promise reaching down to her, 
 Greatly she values the recording books; 
 But, for fulfilling, in herself she looks. 
 
 That she may always think aright, and act 
 By God's Good Spirit, is her prayed-for fact; 
 Without his grace, confessing, as she ought, 
 Her inability of act or thought: 
 Nor does she fear fanatical pretence, 
 When asking aid in asublimer sense; 
 vol if. Q
 
 218 
 
 Where she records among the martyr 'd host y 
 A Stephen -filled with the Holy Ghost 
 She prays for that -same plenitude of aid, 
 By which the martyr for his murd'rerspray'd; 
 That she, like him- in what she undergoes, 
 May love and bless her persecuting foes. 
 
 Did but one spark of so supreme a grace 
 Burn in the breast when preaching is the case, 
 How would a priest, unpersecuted, dare 
 To treat, when mounted on a sacred chair, 
 A church of Christ, or any single soul, 
 By will enlisted on the Christian roll, 
 With such a prompt and contumelious ire r 
 As love nor blessing ever could inspire ? 
 
 Altho' untouch'd with the celestial Flame, 
 How could an English priest mistake his aim? 
 So far forget the maxims that appear 
 Throughout his church's Liturgy so clear? 
 Wherein the Spirit's ever constant aid, 
 Without a feign'd distinction, is display'd; 
 Without a rash attempting to explain, 
 By limitations foolish and profane, 
 When, and to whom, to what degree and end, 
 God's graces, gifts, and pow'rs were to extend; 
 So far withdrawn that christians must allow 
 Of nothing extra-ordinary, now: 
 The vain distinction, which the world has found, 
 To fix an unintelligible bound 
 To gospel promise, equally sublime, 
 Nor limited by any other time 
 Than that, when want of faith, when earthly will, 
 Shall hinder heav'n's intentions to fulfill. 
 
 If, not confining any promis'd pow'rs, 
 The Romish church be faulty, what is ours? 
 Does our own church, in her ordaining day 
 Does any consecrating Bishop say, 
 When on the future priest his hand is laid, 
 " Receive the Spirit's ordinary aid?" 
 
 Do awful words receive the Holy Ghost 
 
 Imply that He abides in books the most? 
 
 Books which the Spirit who first rul'd the hand, 
 
 They say themselves, must teach to understand.
 
 219 
 
 His inspiration without limits too, 
 All churches own, whatever preachers do: 
 Not even miracles, tho 1 set aside , 
 
 In private books, has any church denied: 
 How weak the proofs, which this discourse has brought, 
 To justify the fashionable thought, , 
 
 That gospel promises of auy kind, 
 By Spirit or by scripture are contin'd 
 To apostolic or to later times, 
 May be the subject of succeeding rhimes. 
 
 Miscellaneous Pieces, 
 
 CONSISTING OF 
 
 THOUGHTS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS, FRAGMENTS, 
 EPIGRAMS, &c. 
 
 WITH peaceful mind thy race of duty run; 
 God nothing does, or suffers to be done, 
 But what thou wouldst thy self, if thou couldst se"e 
 Through all events of things as well as He. 
 
 NATURAL knowledge is a moonshine light, 
 And dreaming sages still keep sleeping by 't; 
 But heav'nly wisdom, like the rising sun, 
 Awakens nature, and good works are done. 
 
 LET thy repentance be without delay- 
 If thou defer it to another day, 
 Thou must repent for a day more of sin, 
 While a day less remains to do it in. 
 
 WHAT is more tender than a mother's love 
 To the sweet infant fondling in her arms? 
 What arguments need her compassion move 
 To hear its cries, and help it in its harms? 
 Now, if the tend'rest mother were possess'd 
 Of all the love, within her single breast, 
 Of all the mothers since the world began, 
 1 Tis nothing to the love of God to man.
 
 220 
 
 TO be religious, something it will cost; 
 Some riches, honours, pleasures will be lest; 
 But if thou countest the sum total o'er, 
 Not to be so will cost a great deal more. 
 
 HE, that does good with an unwilling mind, 
 Does that to which he is not well inclin'd: 
 'Twill be reward sufficient for the fact, 
 If God shall pardon his obedient act. 
 
 IF outward comforts, without real thought 
 Of any inward holiness, are sought, 
 God disappoints us oft, and kindly too 
 To make us holy is his constant view. 
 
 THINK and be careful what thou art within; 
 For there is sin in the desire of sin: 
 Think and be thankful, in a diff'rent case; 
 For there is grace in the desire of grace. 
 
 PRAY'R does not ask or want the skill and art 
 Of forming words but a devoted heart: 
 If thou art really in a mind to pray, 
 God knows thy heart and all that it would say. 
 
 CONTENT is better, all the wise will grant, 
 Than any earthly good that thou canst want; 
 And discontent, with which the foolish fill 
 Their minds, is worse than any earthly ill. 
 
 TWO heav'ns a right contented man surround, 
 One here, and one hereafter to be found: 
 One in his own meek bosom, here on earth, 
 And one in Abraham's, at his future birth. 
 
 " A HEATED fancy or imagination 
 " May be mistaken for an inspiration" 
 True ; but is this conclusion fair to make, 
 That inspiration must be all mistake? 
 " A pebble stone is not a diamond" true ; 
 But must a diamond be a pebble too?
 
 221 
 
 NO Faith towards God can e'er subsist with Wrath 
 Tow'rds man, nor Charity with want of Faith ; 
 From the same root hath each of them its growth; 
 You have not either, if you have not both. 
 
 FAITH is the burning ardor of desire*, 
 Hope is the light arising from its fire; 
 Love is the spirit that, proceeding thence, 
 Completes all virtue in a christian sense. 
 
 NOR steel, nor flint alone produces fire; 
 No spark arises till they both conspire; 
 Nor faith aloue, nor work without, is right; 
 Salvation rises, when they both unite. 
 
 ZEAL without meekness, like a ship at sea, 
 To rising storms may soon become a prey; 
 And meekness without zeal is like the same 
 When a dead calm stops every sailing aim. 
 
 IF gold be offer'd thee, thou dost not say, 
 " To-morrow I will take it, not to-day:*" 
 Salvation offer'd, why art thou so cool, 
 To let thyself become to-morrow's fool? 
 
 HYPOCRITES in religion form a plan 
 That makes them hateful both to God and man; 
 By seeming zeal they lose the world's esteem, 
 And God's because they are not what they seem. 
 
 A HUMBLE man, tho' all the world assault 
 To pull him<lown, yet God will still exalt; 
 Nor can a proud, by all the world's renown, 
 Be lifted up. for God will pull him down. 
 
 HE is no fool who charitably gives 
 What he can only look at whilst be lives; 
 Sure as he is to find, when hence he goes, 
 A recompence which he can never lose. 
 
 a 2
 
 222 
 
 IF giving to poor people be to lend 
 Thy money to the Lord, who is their friend, 
 The highest int'restupon int'rest, sure, 
 Is to let out thy money to the poor. 
 
 WHEN grief or joy shall press upon thee hard, 
 Be then especially upon thy guard; 
 Then is most danger of not acting right: 
 A calmer state will give a surer light. 
 
 IF we mind nothing but the body's pride, 
 We lose the body and the soul beside ; 
 If we have nothing but the earth in view, 
 We lose the earth, and heav'nly riches too. 
 
 " HE is a sinner," you are pleas' d to say, 
 Then love him for the sake of Christ, I pray, 
 If on his gracious words you place your trust, 
 I came to call the sinners, not the just 
 Second his call; which if you will not do, 
 You'll be the greater sinner of the two. 
 
 WHY should I be so eager to espy 
 The mote that swims upon my brother's eye? 
 And still forget, as if I had not known, 
 The dark'ning beam that overspreads my own? 
 
 O let me play the hypocrite no more ! 
 But strive to cure my own obstructed sight ! 
 Then shall I see, much clearer than before, 
 To get my undiscerning brother right. 
 
 TO own a God who does not speak to men, 
 Is first to own and then disown again; 
 Of all idolatry the total sum 
 Is having gods that are both deaf and dumb. 
 
 LOVE does the good which God commands to do: 
 Fear shuns the ill which he prohibits too: 
 They both describe, tho' by a different name, 
 A disposition of the mind the same.
 
 223 
 
 PRAY'R and thanksgiving is the vital breath 
 That keeps the spirit of a man from death; 
 For pray'r attracts into the living soul 
 The life that tills the universal whole; 
 And giving thanks is breathing forth again 
 The praise of Him who is the life of men. 
 
 ON THE 
 
 Epicurean, Stoic, and Christian Philosophy. 
 
 THREE difF'rent schemes philosophers assign; 
 A Chance, a Fate, a Providence Divine: 
 Which to embrace of these three sev'ral views, 
 Methinks, it is not difiicult to choose. 
 
 For first, what wisdom, or what sense, to cry, 
 Things happen as they do we know not why? 
 Or how are we advanc'd one jot, to know, 
 When once things are that they must needs be so? 
 
 To see such order, and yet own no laws; 
 Feel such effects, and yet confess no cause; 
 What can be more extravagant and odd? 
 He only reasons who believes a God. 
 
 A THEISM, 
 
 THE ONLY GROUND OF DISCONTENT. 
 
 IF reason does each private person bind, 
 To seek the public welfare of mankind; 
 If this be justice, and the sacred law 
 That guards the good, and keeps the bad in awe; 
 If this great law but op'rates to fulfill 
 One vast Almighty Being's righteous will; 
 And if he only, as we all maintain, 
 Does all things rule, and all events ordain ; 
 Then reason binds each private man t' assent, 
 That none but atheists can be discontent. 
 
 God the only true Teacher. 
 
 THE Lord is my light; by his teaching I learn, 
 With a right understanding, his works to discern:
 
 224 
 
 While I dwell in his presence 'tis then that 1 live, 
 
 And enjoy a content which he only can give: 
 
 In all other things I have labour'd to find 
 
 That truth which might fill an intelligent mind; 
 
 But I labour'd in vain, for it is He alone 
 
 That can give me instruction, and make himself known. 
 
 AN EPIGRAM, 
 
 ON THE BLESSEDNESS OF DIVINE LOVE. 
 
 FAITH, Hope, and Love were question'd what they thought 
 Of future glory, which religion taught: 
 Now faith believed it, firmly, to be true; 
 And hope expected so to find it too ; 
 Love answer'd, smiling with a conscious glow, 
 " Believe? Expect?" I know it to be so. 
 
 A CONTRAST, 
 
 BETWEEN TWO EMINENT DIVINES. 
 
 TWO diff'rent painters, artists in their way, 
 Have drawn religion in her full display ; 
 To both she sat one gaz'd at her all o'er; 
 The other fix'd upon her features more: 
 Hervey has figur'd her with ev'ry grace 
 That dress could give but Law has hit her face. 
 
 ON PREACHING. 
 
 AN EPIGRAM. 
 
 THE specious sermons of a learned man 
 Are little else but flashes in the pan; 
 The mere haranguing upon what they call 
 Morality, is powder without ball; 
 But he who preaches with a christian grace, 
 Fires at our vices, arid the shot takes place. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Jam* Nichols, Printer, 36, Briggate Leech.
 
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