Then you and Memmius fhall agree,
How nicely men would walk, or fee.
But Wisdom, peevish and cross-grain'd,
Must be oppos'd, to be fuftain'd.
And fill your knowledge will increafe,
As you make other people's lefs.
In arms and fcience 'tis the fame :
Qur rival's hurts create our fame.
At Faubert's, if difputes arife
Among the champions for the prize;
To prove who gave the fairer butt,
John fhews the chalk on Robert's coat.
So, for the honour of your
book,
It tells where other folks miftook :
And, as their notions you confound,
Thofe you invent get farther ground.
The Commentators on old Ari-
ftotle ('tis urg'd) in judgement vary:
They to their own conceits have brought
The image of his general thought;
Juft as the melancholic eye
Sees fleets and armies in the fky;
And to the poor apprentice car
The bells found, "Whittington lord mayor."
The conjurer thus explains his scheme ;
Thus fpirits walk, and prophets dream ;
North Britons thus have fecond-fight;
And Germans, free from gun-fhot, fight.
Theodoret and Origen,
And fifty other learned men,
Atteft, that, if their comments find
The traces of their maiter's mind,
Alma can ne'er decay nor die :
This flatly t' other fect deny;
Simplicius, Theophraft, Durand,
Great names, but hard in verfe to ftand.
They wonder men should have miflook
The tenets of their mafter's book;
And hold, that Alma yields her breath,
O'ercome by Age, and feiz'd by Death.
Now which were wife? and which were fools? 230 Poor Alma fits between two stools:
The more fhe reads, the more perplext;
The comment ruining the text:
Now fears, now hopes, her doubtful fate:
But, Richard, let her look to that-
Whilft we our own affairs pursue.
Thefe different fyftems, old or new,
A man with half an eye may fee,
Were only form'd to disagree.
Now, to bring things to fair conclufion,
And fave much Chriftian ink's effufion;
Let me propofe an healing scheme,
· And fail along the middle stream :
For, Dick, if we could reconcile
Old Ariftotle with Gaffendus;
How many would admire our toil!
And yet how few would comprehend us!
Here, Richard, let my fcheme commence:
Oh! may my words be loft in fenfe!
While pleas'd Thalia deigns to write
The flips and bounds of Alma's flight.
My fimple fyftem shall suppose,
That Alma enters at the toes;
That then the mounts by juft degrees
Up to the ancles, legs, and knees;
Next, as the fap of life does rife,
She lends her vigour to the thighs;
And, all thefe under-regions paft,
She neftles fomewhere near the waift;
Gives pain or pleasure, grief or laughter;
As we fhall fhew at large hereafter.
Mature, if not improv'd by time,
Up to the heart the loves to climb;
From thence, compell'd by craft and age,
She makes the head her lateft ftage.
From the feet upward to the head-
Pithy and fhort, fays Dick, proceed.
Dick, this is not an idle notion :
Obferve the progress of the motion.
First, I demonftratively prove
That feet were only made to move :
And legs defire to come and go;
For they have nothing else to do.
Hence, long before the child can crawl, He learns to kick, and wince, and fprawl:
To hinder which, your midwife knows
To bind thofe parts extremely clofe;
Left Alma, newly enter'd in,
And ftunn'd at her own chriftening's din,
Fearful of future grief and pain,
Should filently fneak out again.
Full piteous feems young Alma's cafe';
As in a lucklefs gamefter's place,
She would not play, yet must not pass.
Again; as the grows fomething stronger,
And mafter's feet are fwath'd no longer,
If in the night too oft he kicks,
Or fhews his loco-motive tricks;
These first affaults fat Kate repays him;
When half-asleep, the overlays him.
Now mark, dear Richard, from the age
That children tread this worldly stage,
Broom-ftaff or poker they beftride,
And round the parlour love to ride;
Till thoughtful father's pious care
Provides his brood, next Smithfield Fair,
With fupplemental hobby-horfes :
And happy be their infant courses!
Hence for fome years they ne'er stand still:
Their legs, you fee, direct their will;
From opening morn till fetting fun,
Around the fields and woods they run :
They frifk, and dance, and leap, and play;
Nor heed what Freind or Snape can say.
To her next stage as Alma flies,
And likes, as I have faid, the thighs,
With fympathetic power the warms
Their good allies and friends, the arms;
And Sufan is at ftool-ball feen;
While John for nine-pins does declare;
The nymph too longs to be alone;
Leaves all the fwains, and fighs for one.
The nymph is warm'd with young
defire;
And feels, and dies to quench his fire.
They meet each evening in the grove :
Their parley but augments their love;
So to the priest their case they tell :
He ties the knot; and all goes well.
But, O my Mufe, just distance keep;
Thou art a maid, and must not peep.
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