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The scholars of the Stagyrite,
Who for the old opinion fight,
Would make their modern friends confefs,
The diff'rence but from more to less.
The Mind, say they, while you sustain
To hold her station in the brain;
You grant, at least, she is extended;
Ergo the whole dispute is ended.
For 'till to-morrow shou'd you plead
From form and structure of the head:
The Mind as visibly is seen
Extended through the whole Machine.
Why shou'd all honour then be ta’en
From lower parts to load the brain :
When other limbs we plainly fee,
Each in his way, as brisk as he ?
For music, grant the head receives it;
It is the artit's hand that gives it.
And though the scull may wear the laurel,
The foldier's arm sustains the quarrel.
Besides, the nostrils, ears and eyes
Are not his parts, but his allies.
Ev’n what you hear the tongue proclaim,
Comes ab origine from them.
What could the head perform alone,
If all their friendly aids were gone ?
A foolish figure he must make ;
Do nothing else, but fleep and ake.

Nor matters it, that you can show,
How to the head the spirits go.
Those spirits started from some goal,
Before they through the veins cou'd roll.

Now we should hold them much to blame, If they went back, before they came.

If therefore, as we must suppose, They came from fingers, and from toes; Or toes, or fingers, in this case, Of Num-scull's self shou'd take the place. Difputing fair, you grant thus much, That all sensation is but touch, Dip but your toes into cold water, Their correspondent teeth will chatter; And strike the bottom of your feet; You set your head into a heat. The bully beat, and happy lover Confess, that feeling lies all over.

Note here, Lucretius dares to teach
(As all our youth may learn from Creech)
That eyes were made, but could not view;
Nor hands embrace, not feet pursue ;
But heedless nature did produce
The members first, and then the use,
What each must act, was yet unknown,
'Till all is mov'd by chance alone.

A man first builds a country seat;
Then finds the walls not good to eat.
Another plants, and wond'ring lees
Nor books, nor medals on his trees.
Yet poet and philosopher
Was he, who durft such whims aver.
Bleit, for his fake, be human reason,
That came at all, though late, in season.

But no man süre e'er left his house, And saddl'd Ball, with thoughts so wild,

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To bring a midwife to his spouse,
Before he knew she was with child.
And no man ever reapt his corn,
Or from the oven drew his bread,
Ere hinds and bakers yet were born,
That taught them both to sow and knead.
Before they're alk’d, can maids refuse ?
Can--pray, says Dick, hold in your muse,
While you Pindaric truths rehearse;
She hobbles in Alternate verse.
-Verse ? Mat. reply'd: is that my care?
Go on, quoth Richard, soft and fair.

This looks, friend Dick, as nature had
But exercis'd the Salesmand's trade :
As if she haply had sat down,
And cut out cloaths for all the town;
Then sent them out to Monmouth street,
To try, what persons they would fit.
But ev'ry free and licens'd tailor
Would, in the TheGs find a failure.
Should whims like these his head perplex,
How.could he work for either sex?
His cloaths, as atomes might prevail,
Might fit a pismire, or a whale.
No, no: he vicws with studious pleasure
Your shape, before he takes your measure.
For real Kate he made the bodice,
And not for an Ideal goddess.
No error near his shop-board lurk’d:
He knew the folks for whom he work'd.
Still to their Gize he aim'd his skill :
Llse, priythee, who would pay his bill?

Next, Dick, if Chance herself thou'd vary;
Obferve, how matters would miscarry:
A cross your eyes, friend, place your shoes;
Your spectacles upon your toes ;
Then you and Memmius shall agree,
How nicely men would walk or see.

But wisdom; peevish and cross-grain’d,
Must be oppos'd, to be sustain'd.
And fill your knowledge will increafe,
As you make other people's less.
In arms and science 'tis the same:
Our rivals hurts create our fame.
At Faubert's if disputes arise
Among the champions for the prize;
To prove, who gave the fairer butt,
John thews the chalk on Robert's coat.
So, for the honour of your book,
It tells, where other folks mistook:-
And, as their notions you confound,
Those you invent get farther ground.

The commentators on old Ari.
ftotle ('tis urg'd) in judgment vary:
They to their own conceits have brought
The image of his general thought.
Just as the melancholic eye
Sees fleets and armies in the sky;
And to the poor apprentice ear
The bells found Whittington Lord May!r.
The conj’rer thus explains his scheme :
Thus spirits walk, and prophets dream;
North-Britons thus have Second fight;
And Germans free from gunshot fight.

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Theodoret, and Origen, And fifty other learned men Attest, that if their comments find The traces of their master's mind; Alma can ne'er decay nor die : This flatly t’other sect deny, Simplicius, Theophraft, Durand; Great names, but hard in verse to stand, They wonder men should have mistook The Tenets of their master's book; And hold, that Alma yields her breath, O'ercome by age, and seiz'd by death. How which were wise? and which were fools? Poor Alma fits between two stools : The more she reads, the more perplext;: The comment ruining the text : How fears, now hopes her doubtful fate : But Richard, let her look to thatWhilst we our own affairs pursue. These diff'rent Systems, old or new, A man with half an eye may fee, Were only form'd to disagree. How to bring things to fair conclusion, And save much Christian ink's effufion ; Let me propose an healing scheme, And fail along the middle stream: For, Dick, if we could reconcile

Old Aristotle with Gaflendus; How many would admire our toil ?

And yet how few would apprehend us?

Herè, Richard, let my scheme commence, Oh! may my words be lost in sense ;

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