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Πάνα γέλως, καὶ πάλα κόνις, καὶ πάντα τὸ μηδέν
Πάνα γὰρ ἐξ ἀλόγων εσὶ τὰ γιγνόμενα.

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M

CANTO I.

ATTHEW* met Richard †, when or were From story is not mighty clear: Of many knotty points they spoke, And pro and con by turns they took. Rats half the manuscript have eat : Dire hunger! which we ftill regret. O! may they ne'er again digest The horrors of fo fad a feast! Yet lefs our grief, if what remains, Dear Jacob, by thy care and pains

* Himself. + Mr. Shelton.

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+ Tonfon.

Shall

Shall be to future times convey'd.

It thus begins:

***

Here Matthew faid,

Alma in verfe, in prose the Mind,
By Ariftotle's pen defin❜d,
Throughout the body squat or tall,
Is, bond fide, all in all.

And yet, flap-dash, is all again
In every finew, nerve, and vein:

Runs here and there, like Hamlet's ghost;
While every where fhe rules the roast.
This fyftem, Richard, we are told,
The men of Oxford firmly hold.
The Cambridge wits, you know, deny
With ipfe dixit to comply.

They fay (for in good truth they speak
With small refpect of that old Greek),
That, putting all his words together,
'Tis three blue beans in one blue bladder.
Alma, they ftrenuously maintain,
Sits cock-horfe on her throne the brain;
And from that feat of thought difpenfes
Her fovereign pleasure to the senses.
Two optic nerves, they fay, fhe ties,
Like fpectacles, across the eyes;
By which the fpirits bring her word,
Whene'er the balls are fix'd or stirr'd,
How quick at park and play they strike;
The duke they court; the toast they like;

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And

And at St. James's turn their grace
From former friends now out of place.

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Without thefe aids, to be more ferious, Her power, they hold, had been precarious : The eyes might have confpir'd her ruin,

And the not known what they were doing.
Foolish it had been, and unkind,

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That they should see, and she be blind.
Wife Nature likewife, they suppose,
Has drawn two conduits down our nose:
Could Alma elfe with judgment tell

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When cabbage ftinks, or roses smell?
Or who would ask for her opinion
Between an oyster and an onion?

For from moft bodies, Dick, you know,

Some little bits afk leave to flow;

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And, as through these canals they roll,
Bring up a fample of the whole;
Like footmen running before coaches,
To tell the Inn, what lord approaches.
By nerves about our palate plac'd,

She likewife judges of the taste.

Elfe (difmal thought!) our warlike men
Might drink thick port for fine champagne
And our ill-judging wives and daughters
Miftake fmall-beer for citron-waters.

Hence too, that she might better hear,
She fets a drum at either ear:
And, loud or gentle, harfh or fweet,
Are but th' alarums which they beat.

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Laft

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Laft, to enjoy her sense of feeling

(A thing the much delights to deal in),
A thousand little nerves fhe fends
Quite to our toes, and fingers' ends;
And these in gratitude again
Return their spirits to the brain;
In which their figure being printed
(As juft before, I think, I hinted),
Alma inform'd can try the case,
As fhe had been upon the place.

Thus, while the judge gives different journies

To country council and attornies,

He on the bench in quiet fits,

Deciding, as they bring the writs.

The Pope thus prays and fleeps at Rome,

And feldom ftirs from home:

very

Yet, fending forth his holy fpies,

And having heard what they advise,
He rules the church's bleft dominions,
And fets men's faith by his opinions.
The scholars of the Stagyrite,

Who for the old opinion fight,

Would make their modern friends confefs
The difference but from more to lefs.
The Mind, fay they, while you fuftain
To hold her station in the brain;

You

grant, at least, the is extended:
Ergo the whole difpute is ended.
For till to-morrow fhould you plead,
From form and ftructure of the head,

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The

The Mind as visibly is seen
Extended through the whole machine.
Why should 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 artist's hand that gave it;

And, though the fkull 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 must make;
Do nothing else but sleep and ake.

Nor matters it, that you can fhow
How to the head the spirits go;
Thofe fpirits started from fome goal,
Before they through the veins could roll.
Now, we should hold them much to blame,
If they went back, before they came.

If therefore, as we must fuppofe,

Or toes, or fingers, in this case,

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They came from fingers, and from toes;

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Of Num-fcull's felf fhould take the place:
Difputing fair, you grant thus much,

That all fenfation is but touch.

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