And throw down turnpikes, where we pay
For ftuff, which never mends the way;
And tythes, a Jewish tax, reduce,
And frank the gospel for our use.
They fable standing armies break;
But the militia useful make:
Since all unhir'd may preach and pray,
Taught by these rules as well as they;
Rules, which, when truths themselves reveal,
Bid us to follow what we feel.
The world can't hear the small still voice,
Such is its bustle and its noise
Reafon the proclamation reads,
But not one riot paffion heeds.
Wealth, honour, power the graces are,
Which here below our homage share :
They, if one votary they find
To mistress more divine inclin❜d,
In truth's pursuit to caufe delay
Throw golden apples in his way.
Place me, O heav'n, in fome retreat,
There let the ferious death-watch beat,
There let me felf in filence shun,
To feel thy will, which fhould be done.
Then comes the Spirit to our hut,
When faft the fenfes' doors are shut;
For fo divine and pure a guest
The emptieft rooms are furnish'd best.
O Contemplation! air ferene
From damps of fenfe, and fogs of spleen!
Pure mount of thought! thrice holy ground,
Where grace, when waited for, is found.
Here 'tis the foul feels fudden youth,
And meets exulting, virgin Truth;
Here, like a breeze of gentleft kind,
Impulses ruftle through the mind;
Here fhines that light with glowing face,
The fufe divine, that kindles grace;
Which, if we trim our lamps, will last,
'Till darkness be by dying paft,
And then goes out at end of night,
Extinguish'd by fuperior light.
Ah me! the heats and colds of life,
Pleasure's and pain's eternal strife,
Breed stormy paffions, which confin'd,
Shake, like th' Æolian cave, the mind,
And raise despair; my lamp can last,
Plac'd where they drive the furious blast.
Falfe eloquence, big empty found,
Like showers, that rush upon the ground,
Little beneath the furface goes,
All streams along and muddy flows.
This finks, and fwells the buried grain,
And fructifies like fouthern rain.
His art, well hid in mild discourse,
Exerts perfuafion's winning force,
And nervates fo the good defign,
That king Agrippa's cafe is mine.
Well-natur'd, happy fhade, forgive!
Like you I think, but cannot live.
Thy scheme requires the world's contempt,
That, from dependence life exempt;
And conftitution fram'd fo ftrong,
This world's worst climate cannot wrong.
Not fuch my lot, not Fortune's brat,
I live by pulling off the hat ;
Compell'd by station every hour
To bow to images of power;
And, in life's busy scenes immers❜d,
See better things, and do the worst.
Eloquent Want, whose reasons sway,
And make ten thousand truths give way,
While I your scheme with pleasure trace,
Draws near, and ftares me in the face.
Confider well your state, fhe cries,
Like others kneel, that you may rife;
Hold doctrines, by no fcruples vex'd,
To which preferment is annex'd,
Nor madly prove, where all depends,
friends.
Idolatry upon your
See, how you like my rueful face,
must wear, if out of place.
Crack'd is your brain to turn reclufe
Without one farthing out at use.
They, who have lands, and safe bank-stock,
With faith fo founded on a rock,
May give a rich invention ease,
And conftrue fcripture how they please.
The honour'd prophet, that of old
Us'd heav'n's high counfels to unfold,
Did, more than courier angels, greet
The crows, that brought him bread and meat.
Has quoniam cæli nondum dignamur bonore,
Quas dedimus certè terras habitare finamus.
NOW had th' archangel trumpet, rais'd fublime
Above the walls of heav'n, begun to found;
All æther took the blaft, and hell beneath
Shook with celeftial noife; th' almighty host
Hot with purfuit, and reeking with the blood
Of guilty cherubs fmear'd in fulphurous duft,
Pause at the known command of founding gold.
At first they close the wide Tartarian gates,
Th' impenetrable folds on brazen hinge
Roll creaking horrible; the din beneath
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