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The other ready ftands to give us Help;'

And of our Maladies fupplies the Cure.
Hence is Life's various Colour, hence proceeds
Of Good and Evil all that mingled Crop,
And Snake pernicious hid in Rofy Bow'rs.
Think you that this the Cafe then? Let me afk,
'This Pow'r to diff'rent Principles afcrib'd,
Is it the fame in Both! or is it not?

If Equal, either ev'ry Thing would foon
To antient Chaos back again return,
Or into Being nothing could be brought :
For Good and Evil wage perpetual War.
But if unequal, then muft quickly yield
One to the Other by his Force fubdu'd;
And ev'ry Footstep of the antient Strife
The Victor would efface. These idle Dreams
Of Eastern Magi let us then dismiss;

These two shap'd Monsters of the muddy Nile.

Ought better is the Stoic? He forfooth

Holds not for Goods, what fondly We admire.
Fame, Riches, ev'ry Thing that's from without,
The wife Man Nothing counts, or of them all
He only has Poffeffion; has them all,
Tho' Beggar and unheard of. Nobly faid!
How fine 'tis to be Wife! with equal Senfe,
Still with himself confiftent, he denies,

That

That Pain's an Evil. Caft him to the Flames,

Cut off his Limbs, or put him to the Rack,
Confeffion from him you shall ne'er extort
That these are Evils.

Inconveniencies

He will allow they are: but tell me, Stoic,

Of Beauty what you think, and Health, and Strength;
Are thefe Things Goods or not? Why yes, they may
Be taken, but not wifh'd for. Who can bear
This Sophifter, that diff'rent Tenets holds?
Diff'rent in Words, but in the Thing the fame.

In short, without external Things you might
Hope to live happy, were you nothing else.
But Spirit; mean while, Stoic, learn to know
What thy own Nature; thou waft born a Man,,
And Man's of Body made as well as Mind.
Again, if Fortune ev'ry outward Thing
Beftows at Pleasure, and again refumes,
Now kind and crofs by Turns, to Me, to Him,
Nor is there ought that's properly our own;
Of this fame wife Man what muft then become,
To ev'ry Change expos'd, no lefs than We?

Befides, this Strength of Mind, on which depends
All that's worth wifhing for in your Efteem,

How oft Disease impairs, how oft destroys,
That hardly any Trace of it remains ?
Both He, who by his Counfels, and the Man,

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Who by his Arms, reftor'd the British State,
When just desponding, fhew, how great the Pow'r
Of Wisdom and of Valour and how frail
Of Man's Abilities the Flow'r itself.

He too, whom late the prefent Age beheld,
Mafter of ev'ry Excellence of Pen;
What Character foever he affum'd,

The Wit, the Poet, or the Orator,

How great in All! yet 'twas not many Years,
Before this wondrous Man, loft to the World,
And all his Parts extinct, outliv'd Himself.
So liable to hurt from outward Stroke

Is ev'ry Thing on Earth. The Stoic's Thought
Yet ftill may be forgiv'n. For after Death
If neither is Reward nor Punishment;
Where are we got to then? What follows next?
Either the Deity without Regard

To Juftice orders all Things here below;
Or unconcern'd minds Nothing; or the World
If well he governs, then it cannot be,
That bad Men fhould be happy, or the Good
Unhappy; as the Stoic Sect maintains.

Oh! fatal Blindness of the Minds of Men!
No fooner have they reach'd the Verge of Truth,
But fast they stick; and, just like Men amaz'd,
Their Work, within one Stroke, unfinish'd Leave.
Strange, that the Stoic can God's Justice own,

Yet

Yet not perceive, what rightly it implies.

Why bolder dost thou not the Track pursue,
That leads directly to an endless Life?

"But That, whate'er it is, dark Night conceals.”

No, 'tis thine own presumptuous Confidence,

That blinds thee; hence that Darkness, hence that Night.
Because thou triumph'ft ere thy Point is gain'd;
Because unable to lay down the whole,

Got but half Way, thou stoppeft in thy Course;
As all the Perfian Magi, all the Tribe
Of Greek Philofophers. See from one Root
Of Error, what Abfurdities will spring!

Hear what I lead to. That there is a God,
We all acknowledge: But, if just and wise
The Cause fupreme, that into Being brought
This World's fair Fabric, and its Courfe directs;
Then, as the Poet fings, Whatever is,

Is right; nor fuffers Justice, that the Good
Should always grieve, or that Iniquity
Should always triumph. But yet this the Cafe,
If all by Death are utterly extinct.
Whatever is, is Right, take in the Whole;
Not, if no part of Us furvive the Grave.
Both Lives the Man that's wife and good connects.
But fome, who can no deeper reach than Words,

Not

Not the grand Syftem view, but fingle Parts,
And to Time prefent the whole Scene confine.
Hither for Shelter flies the Band of Thieves,
Th' Adulterer, the Murderer himself
This Altar, for his Sanctuary, feeks.

But has not God himfelf appointed Laws
In order firm establish'd; not in Pow'r
Of Man to violate, or Good or Bad?
Be the
poor Creature what he will, yet These
He's neither able to refcind, nor change:
All Nature conftant keeps its proper Courfe.

Say, of what Order, or what Laws you speak;
For Laws, to each peculiar, are ordain'd
For Man, for Brutes, for Mafs of Reafon void.
First, Matter for its Law, has Gravity;
By this, and not by Pow'r its own, it acts,
Attracts, and is attracted; hence impell'd
Directions different receives; hence ftands
The World's compacted Frame and vast Machine.
What shall I fay of Thofe, to whom is giv'n
Life merely animal? Of Birds and Beasts
The various Species, whether tame or wild,
Or fertile Ocean's Progeny immense?

Of Thefe not one at Random lawless roves;
But, or by Instinct guided, or a Share
Of Reafon juft fufficient for their Ufe,

All

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