To close this point, we need not roam
For inftances fo far from home.
What parts gay France from fober Spain ?
A little rifing rocky chain.
Of men born fouth or north o'th' hill,
Thofe feldom move; thefe ne'er stand still
Dick, you love maps, and may perceive
Rome not far diftant from Geneve.
If the good Pope remains at home,
He's the first prince in Christendom:
Choose then, good Pope, at home to flay;
Nor westward curious take thy way.
Thy way unhappy fhould't thou take
From Tyber's bank to Leman-lake;
Thou art an aged priest no more,
But a young flaring painted whore;
Thy fex is loft: thy town is goney
No longer Rome, but Babylon.
That fome few leagues fhould make this change,
To men unlearn'd feems mighty strange.
But need we, friend, infift on this?
Since in the very Cantons Swiss,
All your philofophers agree,.
And prove it plain, that one may be
A heretic, or true believer,
On this, or t' other fide a river.
Here with an artful fmile, quoth Diek,
Your proofs come mighty full, and thick-
The bard on this extenfive chapter,
Wound up into poetic rapture,
Continu'd: Richard caft your eye
By night upon a winter fky:
Caft it by day-light on the ftrand,
Which compaffes fair Albion's land:
If you can count the stars that glow
Above, or fands that lie below;
Into these common places look,
Which from great authors I have took;
And count the proofs I have collected,
To have my writings well protected.
Thefe I lay by for time of need;
And thou may'ft at thy leifure read.
For ftanding ev'ry critic's rage,
I fafely will to future age
My Syftem, as a gift bequeath,
Victorious over spight, and death.
ICHARD, who now was half a fleep, Rous'd; nor would longer filence keep: And fenfe like this, in vocal breath Broke from his twofold hedge of teeth." Now if this phrafe too harsh be thought; Pope, tell the world, 'tis not my fault, Old Homer taught us thus to speak; If 'tis not fenfe; at least 'tis Greek.
As folks, quoth Richard, prone to leafing, Say things at first, because they're pleasing; Then prove what they have once afferted; Nor care to have their lie deferted; 'Till their own dreams at length deceive 'em; And oft repeating, they believe 'em : Or as again thofe am'rous blades, Who trifle with their mother's maids: Though at the firft their wild defire, Was but to quench a prefent fire: Yet if the object of their love Chance by Lucina's aid to prove; They seldom let the bantling roar In basket, at a neighbour's door : But by the flatt'ring glass of nature, Viewing themfelves in Cake-bread's feature ;
With ferious thought and care fupport,
What only was begun in sport.
Juft fo with you, my friend, it fares, Who deal in philofophic wares;
Atomes you cut; and forms you measure, To gratify your private pleasure ; 'Till airy feeds of cafual wit
Do fome fantaftic birth beget:
And pleas'd to find your System mended,
Beyond what you at firft intended,
The happy whimsey you pursue:
'Till you at length believe it true.
Caught by your own delufive art,
You fancy firft, and then affert.
Quoth Matthew friend, as far as I
Through art or nature caft my eye:
This axiom clearly I difcern,
That one must teach, and t'other learn.
No fool Pythagoras was thought:
Whilft he his weighty doctrines taught;
He made his lift'ning scholars ftand,
Their mouth ftill cover'd with their hand;
Elfe, may be, fome odd-thinking youth,
Lefs friend to doctrine than to truth,
Might have refus'd to let his ears
Attend the mufic of the fpheres;
Deny'd all tranfmigrating scenes,
And introduc'd the use of beans.
From great Lucretius takes his void;
And all the world is quite destroy'd.
Deny Des-cart his subtle matter;
You leave him neither fire, nor water.
How odly would Sir Ifaac look,
If you, in anfwer to his book,
Say in the front of this difcourfe,
That things have no Elaftic force?
How could our Chymic friends go on,
To find the Philofophic ftone;
If you more pow'rful reafons bring,
To prove, that there is no fuch thing?
Your chiefs in fciences and arts,
Have great contempt of Alma's parts,
They find, fhe giddy is, or dull;
She, doubts, if things are void, or full:
And who fhould be prefum'd to tell,
What the herself fhould fee, or feel?
She doubts if two and two make four,
'Though he has told them ten times o'er,
It can't it may be-and it must:
To which of these muft Alma truft?
Nay further yet they make her go,
In doubting, if the doubts, or no.
Can Syllogifm fet things right;
No: Majors foon with Minors fight:
Or, both in friendly confort join'd,
The Confequence limps faft behind.
So to fome cunning man fhe goes,
And asks of him how much he knows.
With patience grave he hears her speak;
And from his fhort notes, gives her back
What from her tale he comprehended :
Thus the difpute is wifely ended:
From the account the lofer brings,
The conj'ror knows, who stole the things..
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