And fprinkled in the captain's face
The marks of her peculiar grace
To close this point, we need not roam
For inftances fo far from home.
What parts gay France from fober Spain?
A little rifing rocky chain.
Of men born fouth or north o'th' hill,
Choose then, good Pope, at home to stay,
Nor weftward curious take thy way:
Thy way unhappy should't thou take
Here, with an artful fmile, quoth Dick,
The bard, on this extenfive chapter
Wound up into poetic rapture,
Continued: Richard, cast your eye
By night upon a winter-sky:
Caft it by day-light on the ftrand,
Which compaffes fair Albion's land:
If you can count the stars that glow
Above, or fands that lie below,
Into thofe common places look,
Which from great authors I have took,
And count the proofs I have collected,
To have my writings well protected.
Thefe I lay by for time of need,
And thou may'st at thy leisure read.
For, ftanding every critic's rage,
I fafely will to future age
My fyflem, as a gift, bequeath,
Victorious over fpight and death.
C A NTO III.
RICHARD, who now was half asleep,
Rous'd, nor would longer filence keep;
And fenfe like this, in vocal breath,
Broke from his two-fold hedge of teeth.
Now, if this phrase too harsh be thought,
Pope, tell the world, 'tis not my fault.
Old Homer taught us thus to speak;
If 'tis not fenfe, at least 'tis Greek.
As folks, quoth Richard, prone to leafing,
Say things at firft, because they're pleafing,
Then prove what they have once afferted,
Nor care to have their lie deferted,
Till their own dreams at length deceive 'em,
And, oft' repeating, they believe 'em :
Or as, again, those amorous blades,
Who trifle with their mothers' maids,
Though at the first their wild desire
Was but to quench a prefent fire;
Yet if the object of their love
Chance by Lucina's aid to prove,
They feldom let the bantling roar
In basket at a neighbour's door;
But, by the flattering glass of nature
Viewing themselves in cake-bread's featurė,
With ferious thought and care fupport
What only was begun in sport :
Juft fo with you, my friend, it fares,
Who deal in philofophic wares.
Atoms you cut, and forms you measure,
To gratify your private pleasure ;
Till airy feeds of cafual wit
Do fome fantastic birth beget;
And, pleas'd to find your fyftem mended
Beyond what you at first intended,
The happy whimsey you pursue,
Till you at length believe it true.
Caught by your own delufive art,
You fancy firft, and then affert..
VOL. XXXIII.
Quoth Matthew: Friend, as far as I
Through art or nature cast my eye,
This axiom clearly I difcern,
That one muft teach, and t'other learn.
No fool Pythagoras was thought;
Whilst he his weighty doctrines taught,
He made his liftening scholars ftand,
Their mouth ftill cover'd with their hand:
Elfe, may be, fome odd-thinking youth,
Lefs friend to doctrine than to truth,
Might have refus'd to let his ears
Attend the mufic of the spheres ;
Deny'd all tranfmigrating fcenes,
And introduc'd the use of beans.
From great Lucretius take his void,
And all the world is quite deftroy'd.
Deny Des-cart his fubtil matter,
You leave him neither fire nor water.
How oddly would. Sir Ifaac look,
If you, in answer to his book,
Say in the front of your
discourse,
That things have no elaftic force!
How could our chemic friends go on,
To find the philofophic ftone,
If you more powerful reafons bring,
To prove that there is no fuch thing?
Your chiefs in fciences and arts
Have great contempt of Alma's parts
They find the giddy is, or dull;
She doubts if things are void,
And who fhould be prefum'd to tell
What the herself should fee, or feel?
She doubts if two and two make four,
Though she has told them ten times o'er.
In can't-it may be-and it muft:
To which of these must Alma truft?
Nay further yet they make her go
In doubting, if she doubts, or no,
Can fyllogifm fet things right?
No: majors foon with minors fight;
Or, both in friendly confort join'd,
The confequence limps falfe behind.
So to fome cunning man she goes,
And asks of him, how much she knows.
With patience grave he hears her speak,
And from his short notes gives her back
What from her tale he comprehended:
Thus the difpute is wifely ended.
From the account the lofer brings,
The Conjuror knows who stole the things.
'Squire (interrupted Dick) fince when
Were you amongst these cunning men?
Dear Dick, quoth Mat, let not thy force
Of eloquence fpoil my discourse.
I tell thee, this is Alma's cafe,
Still afking what fome wife man fays,
Who does his mind in words reveal,
Which all must grant, though few can spell.
You tell your doctor that y'are ill:
And what does he, but write a bill?
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