The Mind as vifibly is feen
Extended through the whole machine.
Why fhould 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 mufic, grant the head receive it;
It is the artift's hand that gave it;
And, though the skull 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 else but fleep and ake,
Nor matters it, that you can show
How to the head the fpirits go;
Thofe fpirits started from fome goal,
Before they through the veins could roll.
Now, we fhould hold them much to blame,
If they went back, before they came.
If therefore, as we must fuppofe,
They came from fingers, and from toes;
Or toes, or fingers, in this cafe,
Of Num-feull's felf fhould 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, nor feet purfue :
But heedlefs Nature did produce
The members firft, and then the use.
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 wondering fees
Nor books nor medals on his trees.
Yet Poet and Philofopher
Was he, who durft fuch whims aver.
Bleft, for his fake, be human reason,
That came at all, though late in feafon.
But no man fure e'er left his houfe,
And faddled Ball, with thoughts fo wild,
To bring a midwife to his fpoufe,
Before he knew fhe 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 verse.
Verfe! Mat reply'd; is that my care?
Go on, quoth Richard, foft and fair.
This looks, friend Dick, as Nature had
But exercis'd the falesman's trade ;
As if the haply had fet down,
And cut-out cloaths for all the town:
Then fent them out to Monmouth-street,
To try, what perfons they would fit.
But every free and licens'd taylor
No, no he views with ftudious pleasure
Your fhape, before he takes your measure.
For real Kate he made the boddice,
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 fize he aim'd his fkill:
Elfe, pr'ythee, who would pay his bill?
Next, Dick, if Chance herfelf fhould vary,
Obferve, how matters would mifcarry :
Across your eyes, friend, place your fhoes:
Your fpectacles upon your tees:
Then you and Memmius shall agree,
How nicely men would walk, or fee.
But Wifdom, peevish and cross-grain'd,
Muft be oppos'd, to be fuftain'd.
And fill your knowledge will increase,
As you make other people's lefs.
In arms and fcience 'tis the fame :
Our 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 mistook :
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 ear
The bells found, "Whittington lord mayor.”
The conjurer thus explains his fcheme;
Thus fpirits walk, and prophets dream;
North Britons thus have fecond-fight;
And Germans, free from gun-shot, 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 decav nor die :
This flatly t'other sect deny;
Simplicius, Theophraft, Durand,
Great names, but hard in verse to stand.
They wonder men fhould have mitlook
The tenets of their mafter's book;
And hold, that Alma yields her breath,
O'ercome by Age, and feiz'd by Deach.
Now which were wife? and which were fools? 230 Poor Alma fits between two ftools:
The more she 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 purfue.
Thefe different fyftems, old or new,
A man with half an eye may fee,
Were only form'd to difagree.
Now, to bring things to fair conclufion,
And fave much Chriftian ink's effufion;
Let me propofe an healing feheme,
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 comprehend us? Here, Richard, let my fcheme commence: Oh! may my words be loft in fente!
|