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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 lefs.
The Mind, fay they, while you fuftain
To hold her station in the brain;
You grant, at least, she is extended;
Ergo the whole difpute is ended.
For 'till to-morrow fhou'd you plead
From form and ftructure of the head:
The Mind as visibly is feen
Extended through the whole Machine.
Why fhou'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 artist's hand that gives it.
And though the fcull may wear the laurel;
The foldier's arm fuftains the quarrel.
Befides, the noftrils, 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 muft make;
Do nothing elfe, but fleep and ake.

Nor matters it, that you can fhow,
How to the head the fpirits go.
Thofe fpirits ftarted from fome 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 muft fuppofe,
They came from fingers, and from toes;
Or toes, or fingers, in this cafe,

Of Num-fcull's felf fhou'd take the place.
Difputing fair, you grant thus much,
That all fenfation is but touch,
Dip but your toes into cold water,
Their correfpondent teeth will chatter;
And ftrike the bottom of your feet;
You fet your head into a heat.
The bully beat, and happy lover
Confefs, 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 purfue;
But heedlefs nature did produce
The members firft, and then the ufe.
What each muft act, was yet unknown,
'Till all is mov'd by chance alone.

A man firft builds a country feat;
Then finds the walls not good to eat.
Another plants, and wond'ring fees
Nor books, nor medals on his trees.
Yet poet and philofopher

Was he, who durft such whims aver.
Bleft, for his fake, be human reason,
That came at all, though late, in feafon.
But no man füre e'er left his house,
And faddl'd Ball, with thoughts fo wild,

To bring a midwife to his fpouse,
Before he knew he 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 fow and knead.
Before they're afk'd, can maids refuse?
Can-pray, fays Dick, hold in your mufe,
While you Pindaric truths rehearse;
She hobbles in Alternate verfe.

Verfe? 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 Salefmand's trade:
As if the haply had fat down,
And cut out cloaths for all the town;
Then fent them out to Monmouth street,
To try, what perfons they would fit.
But ev'ry free and licens'd tailor
Would. in the Thefis find a failure.
Should whims like thefe his head perplex,
How could he work for either fex?
His cloaths, as atomes might prevail,
Might fit a pifmire, or a whale.

No, no: he views with ftudious pleasure
Your fhape, before he takes your measure.
For real Kate he made the bodice,
And not for an Ideal goddess.

No error near his thop-board lurk’d:
He knew the folks for whom he work'd.
Still to their fize he aim'd his skill:

Life, pr'ythee, who would pay his bill?

Next, Dick, if Chance herself fhou'd vary; Obferve, how matters would miscarry: Across your eyes, friend, place your fhoes; Your fpectacles upon your toes;

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 sustain’d.
And fill your knowledge will increafe,
As you make other people's lefs.
In arms and science 'tis the fame:
Our rivals 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 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.

Juft 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 fcheme :
Thus fpirits walk, and prophets dream;
North Britons thus have Second fight;
And Germans free from gunshot fight.

Theodoret, and Origen,

And fifty other learned men

Atteft, that if their comments find The traces of their master'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 fhould have mistook The Tenets of their mafter's book; And hold, that Alma yields her breath, O'ercome by age, and feiz'd by death. How which were wife? and which were fools? Poor Alma fits between two ftools: 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 that-Whilft we our own affairs pursue. Thefe 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 conclufion, And fave much Chriftian ink's effufion; Let me propose an healing Scheme, And fail along the middle ftream: For, Dick, if we could reconcile

Old Ariftotle with Gaffendus;

How many would admire our toil?

And yet how few would apprehend us?
Here, Richard, let my fcheme commence,

Oh! may my words be loft in fense;

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