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And at St. James's turn their grace
From former friends now out of place.
Without these aids, to be more serious,
Her power, they hold, had been precarious :
The eyes might have conspir'd her ruin ;
And the not known what they were doing.
Foolish it had been, and unkind,
That they should see, and she be blind.
Wise Nature likewise, they suppose,
Has drawn two conduits down our nose :
Could Alma else with judgement tell,
When cabbage stinks, or roses smell?
Or who would ask for her opinion
Between an oyster and an onion?
For from most bodies, Dick, you know,
Some little bits ask leave to flow;
And, as through these canals they roll,
Bring up a sample of the whole;
Like footmen running before coaches,
To tell the Inn, what Lord approaches.
By nerves about our palate plac'd,
She likewise judges of the taste.
Else (disinal thought!) our warlike men
Night drink thick port for fine champagne;
And our ill-judging wives and daughters
Mistake small-beer for citron-waters.
Hence too, that she might better hcar,
She fets a drunn at either ear;
And, loud or gentle, harsh or sweet,
Are but th' alarums which they beata
Last, to enjoy her sense of feeling
70 (A thing she much delights to deal in), A thousand little nerves the fends Quite to our toes, and fingers' ends; And these in gratitude again Return their fpirits to the brain ;
75 In which their figure being printed (As just before, I think, I hinted), Alma inform’d can try the case, As she had been upon the place.
Thus, while the Judge gives different journies 80
To country counsel and attornies,
He on the bench in quiet fits,
Deciding, as they bring the writs.
The Pope thus prays and ileeps at Rome,
And very seldom flirs from home :
Yet, fending forth his holy spies,
And having heard what they advise,
He rules the church's blest 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 confess
The difference but from more to lets.
The Mind, say they, while you sustain
To hold her station in the brain ;
You grant, at leaft, the is extended :
Ergo the whole dispute is endlid.
For till to-morrow fhould you pleal,
From form and structure of the head;
'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 music, grant the head receive it;
It is the artist's hand that gave it;
And, though the skull may wear the laurel,
The soldier's arm sustains the quarrel.
Besides, the nostrils, 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 show
How to the head the spirits go;
Those spirits started from some 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 suppose,
They came from fingers, and from toes;
Or toes, or fingers, in this case,
Of Num-scull's self should take the place :
Difputing fair, you grant thus much,
Thar all sensation is but touch.
Dip but your toes into cold water,
Their correspondent teeth will chatter :
And, strike the bottom of your feet,
You set your head into a heat.
The bully beat, and happy lover,
Confess, 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 pursue :
But heedless Nature did produce
'The members first, and then the use.
What cach must act was yet unknown,
Till all is mov'd by Chance alone.
A man first builds a country-seat ;
Then finds the walls not good to eat.
Another plants, and wondering sees
Nor books nor medals on his trees.
Yet Poet and Philofòpher
Was he, who dlurst such whims aver.
Bleft, for his sake, bc human reason,
That came at all, though late in scason.
But no man sure e'er left his house,
And saddled Ball, with thoughts so wild,
To bring a midwife to his spouse,
Before he knew she was with-child. And no man ever resiliis corn,
Or from the o!20 view lis breach, Ere linds and bakers yet were born,
That taught them both to low and knead.
Before they ’re ask'd, can maids refuse? 160 Can-Pray, says Dick, hold-in
While you Pindaric truths rehearse,
She hobbles in alternate verse.
Verse ! 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 salesman's trade;
As if the haply had set down,
And cut-out cloaths for all the town :
Then sent them out to Monmouth-street, 170
To try, what persons they would fit.
but every free and licens’d taylor
Would in this thesis find a failure.
Should whims like these his head perplex,
How could he work for either sex?
His cloaths, as atoms might prevail,
Might fit a pisınire, or a whale.
No, no: he views with studious pleasure
Your shape, before he takes
measure. For real Kate he made the boddice,
So 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 size he aim'd his skill: Else, pr’ythee, who would pay his bill?
Next, Dick, if Chance herself should vary, Observe, how matters would miscarry : Across your eyes, friend, place your shoes ; Your spectacles upon your tocs :