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Others on blazing piles the body burn,
And store their afhes in the faithful urn;
But all in one great principle agree,
To give a fancy'd immortality.
Why fhould I mention those, whose ouzy
Is render'd fertile by the o'erflowing Nile?
Their dead they bury not, nor burn with fires,
No graves they dig, erect no fun'ral pires ;
But, washing firft th' embowel'd body clean,
Gums, fpice, and melted pitch they pour within;
Then with ftrong fillets bind it round and round,
To make each flaccid part compact and found;
And laftly paint the varnish'd furface o'er
With the fame features which in life it wore:
So ftrong their presage of a future state,
And that our nobler part furvives the body's fate.
Nations behold, remote from Reafon's beams,
Where Indian Ganges rolls his fandy ftreams,
Of life impatient rush into the fire,
And willing victims to their gods expire!
Perfuaded the loos'd foul to regions flies,
Bleft with eternal fpring, and cloudlefs fkics.

Nor is lefs fam'd the oriental wife
For ftedfaft virtue, and contempt of life:
Thefe heroines mourn not with loud female cries
Their husbands loft, or with o'erflowing eyes;
But, ftrange to tell! their funeral piles afcend,
And in the fame fad flames their forrows end;
In hopes with them beneath the fhades to rove,
And there renew their interrupted love.

Well worth our fearch difcoveries may be made
By Nature, void of this celeftial aid:
Let's try what her conjectures then can reach,
Nor fcorn plain Reafon, when the deigns to teach.
That mind and body often fympathize,
Is plain; fuch is this union Nature ties:
But then as often too they difagree,
Which proves the foul's fuperior progeny.
Sometimes the body in full ftrength we find,
Whilft various ails debilitate the mind;
At others, whilft the mind its force retains,
The body finks with fickness and with pains:
Now did one common fate their beings end,
Alike they'd ficken, and alike they'd mend.
But fure experience, on the slightest view,
Shews us, that the reverse of this is true;
For when the body oft expiring lies,
Its limbs quite fenfelefs, and half clos'd its eyes,
The mind new force and eloquence acquires,
And with prophetic voice the dying lips infpires.

In climes where Boreas breathes eternal cold,
Sce num'rous nations, warlike, fierce, and bold,
To battle all unanimously run,
Nor fire, nor fword, nor inftant death they fhun.
Whence this difdain of life in ev'ry breast,
But from a notion on their minds impreft,

}

Of like materials were they both compos'd,
How comes it that the mind, when fleep has clos'd
Each avenue of fenfe, expatiates wide,
Her liberty reftor'd, her bonds unty'd;
And like fome bird who from its prifon flies,
Claps her exulting wings, and mounts the skies?
Grant that corporeal is the human mind,
It must have parts in infinitum join'd;
And each of thefe muft will, perceive, defign,
And draw confus'dly in a diff'rent line;
Which then can claim dominion o'er the reft,
Or ftamp the ruling paffion in the breast?

Perhaps the mind is form'd by various arts
Of modelling and figuring thefe parts;
Juft as if circles wifer were than fquares:
But furely common fenfe aloud declares
That fite and figure are as foreign quite
From mental pow'rs, as colours black or white.
Allow that motion is the caufe of thought,
With what ftrange pow'rs muft motion then be
fraught!

Reafon, fenfe, fcience, muft derive their fource
From the wheel's rapid whirl, or pulley's force;
Tops whipp'd by fchool-boys fages muft com--

How have the fears and follies of mankind
Now multiply'd their gods, and now fubjoin'd
To each the frailties of the human mind!
Nay, fuperftition fpread at length fo wide,
Beafts, birds, and onions too were deify'd.

}

Th' Athenian fage, revolving in his mind
This weak nefs, blindness, madnefs of mankind,
Foretold, that in maturer days, tho' late,
When Time should ripen the decrees of Fate,
Some God would light us, like the rifing day,
Thro' error's maze, and chase these clouds away
Long fince has time fulfill'd this great decree,
And brought us aid from this Divinity.

Add too to thefe the once-prevailing dreams
Of sweet Elyfian groves, and Stygian streams;
All fhew with what confent mankind agree
In the firm hope of immortality.
Grant thefe inventions of the crafty priest,
Yet fuch inventions never could fubfift,
Unless fome glimmerings of a future state
Were with the mind coæval, and innate;
For ev'ry fiction which can long perfuade,
In truth must have its firft foundations laid.

Because we are unable to conceive
How unembody'd fouls can act, and live,
The vulgar give them forms, and limbs, and faces,
And habitations in peculiar places:
Hence reas'ners more refin'd, but not more wife,
Struck with the glare of such abfurdities,
Their whole existence fabulous fufpect,
And truth and falfehood in a lump reject;
Too indolent to learn what may be known,
Or elfe too proud that ignorance to own.
For hard's the task the daubing to pervade
Folly and Frand on Truth's fair form have laid:
Yet let that task be ours; for great the prize;
Nor let us Truth's celeftial charms defpife,
Because that priefts or poets may difguife.

That there's a God, from Nature's voice is clear;
And yet what errors to this truth adhere!

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Juft as th' Almighty Univerfal Soul Informs, directs, and animates the whole.

Ceafe then to wonder how th' immortal mind Can live, when from the body quite disjoin'd; But rather wonder, if the e'er could die, So fram'd, fo fashion'd for eternity: Self-mov'd, not form'd of parts together ty'd, Which time can diffipate, and force divide; For beings of this make can never die, Whofe pow'rs within themselves and their own effence lie.

If to conceive how any thing can be From fhape extracted and locality Is hard; what think you of the Deity? His Being not the leaft relation bears, As far as to the human mind appears, To fhape or fize, fimilitude or place, Cloth'd in no form, and bounded by no space. Such then is God, a Spirit pure, refin'd From all material drofs; and fuch the human mind.

For in what part of effence can we fee
More certain imarks of Immortality?
Ev'n from this dark confinement with delight
She looks abroad, and prunes herself for flight;
Like an unwilling inmate longs to roam
From this dull earth, and feck her native home.

Loos'd and mature the fhall her strength difplay, And foar at length to Truth's refulgent ray.

Inquire you how thefe pow'rs we thall attain, 'Tis not for us to know; our fearch is vain: Can any now remember or relate How he exifted in the embryo ftate? Or one from birth infenfible of day Conceive ideas of the folar ray?

Go then, forgetful of its toil and strife, Pursue the joys of this fallacious life; Like fome poor fly, who lives but for a day, Sip the freth dews, and in the funfhine play, And into nothing then diffolve away. Are these our great purfuits? Is this to live? Thefe all the hopes this much-lov'd world can give?

}

How much more worthy envy is their fate,
Who fearch for truth in a fuperior state!
Not groping step by step, as we pursue,
And following Reafon's much entangled clue,
But with one great and inftantaneous view.

But how can fenfe remain, perhaps you'll fay,
Corporeal organs if we take away?
Since it from them proceeds, and with them
muft decay.

Why not? or why may not the foul receive
New organs, fince ev'n art can these retrieve?
The filver trumpet aids th' obftructed ear,
And optic glaffes the dim eye can clear;
Thefe in mankind new faculties create,
And lift him far above his native state;
Call down revolving planets from the sky,
Earth's fecret treasures open to his eye,
The whole minute creation make his own,
With all the wonders of a world unknown.

How could the mind, did the alone depend On fenfe, the errors of thofe fenfes mend? Yet oft, we fee, thofe fenfes the corrects, And oft their information quite rejects. In diftances of things, their shapes, and fize, Our reafon judges better than our eyes. Declares not this the foul's pre-eminence Superior to, and quite diftinct from sense? For fure 'tis likely, that, fince now so high Clogg'd and unfledg'd the dares her wings to try,

That light 's deny'd to him, which others fee,
He knows, perhaps you'll fay,-and fo do we.
The mind contemplative finds nothing here
On earth that's worthy of a wish or fear:
He whofe fublime purfuit is God and truth,
Burns, like fome abfent and impatient youth,
To join the object of his warm defires;
Thence to fequefter'd fhades and streams retires,
And there delights his pattion to rehearse
In Wifdom's facred voice, or in harmonious verfe.

To me most happy therefore he appears,
Who having once, unmov'd by hopes or fears,
Survey'd this fun, earth, ocean, clouds, and flame,
Well fatisfy'd returns from whence he came.
Is life an hundred years, or e'er fo few,
'Tis repetition all, and nothing new;

A fair, where thoufands meet, but none can flay; An inn, where travellers bait, then poft away; A fea, where man perpetually is toft, Now plung'd in bufincfs, now in trifles loft: Who leave it first, the peaceful port first gain; Hold then! nor farther launch into the main : Contract your fails; life nothing can bestow By long continuance, but continued woe; The wretched privilege daily to deplore | The fun'rals of our friends, who go before; Difeafes, pains, anxieties, and cares, And age furrounded with a thousand snares.

But whither, hurry'd by a gen'rous fcorn Of this vain world, ah whither am I borne ? Let's not unbid th' Almighty's ftandard quit; Howe'er fevere our poft, we muft fubmit.

Could I a firm perfuafion once attain, That after death no being would remain; Where all muft fleep, this drama at an end, To thofe dark shades I'd willingly defcend,

Nor life accept, altho' renew'd by Fate Ev'n from its earliest and its happiest state.

Might I from Fortune's bounteous hand receive Each boon, each bletling in her pow'r to give, Genius and fcience, morals and good fenfe, Unenvy'd honours, wit, and eloquence; A num'rous offspring to the world well known Both for paternal virtues, and their own; Ev'n at this mighty price I 'd not be bound To tread the fame dull circle round and round; The foul requires enjoyments more fublime, By space unbounded, undeftroy'd by time.

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But hold, prefumptuous! charge not Heav'n's
With fuch injustice, fuch partiality.
Yet true it is, furvey we life aund,
Whole hofts of ills on ev'ry fide are found;
Who wound not here and there by chance a foe,
But at the fpecies meditate the blow.
What millions perish by each other's hands
In War's fierce rage! or by the dread commands
Of tyrants languish out their lives in chains,
Or lofe them in variety of pains!
What numbers pinch'd by want and hunger die,
In fpite of Nature's liberality!
(Thofe, ftill more num'rous, I to name difdain,
By lewdness and intemperance justly flain)
What numbers guiltlefs of their own difcafe
Are fnatch'd by fudden death, or wafte by flow
degrees!

Where then is Virtue's well-deferv'd reward?
Let's pay to Virtue ev'ry due regard;
That the enables man, let us confefs,
To bear thofe cvils which fhe can't redrefs,
Gives hope and conscious peace, and can assuage
Th' impetuous tempefts both of luft and rage,
Yet fhe's a guard fo far from being fure,
That oft her friends peculiar ills endure:
Where vice prevails fever eft is their fate,
Tyrants purfue them with a three-fold hate :
How many struggling in their country's cause,
And from their country meriting applaufe,
Have fall'n by wretches fond to be enflav'd,
And perifh'd by the hands themselves had fav'd!

Soon as fuperior worth appears in view,
See knaves and fools united to pursue!
The man fo form'd they all confpire to blame,
And envy's pois'nous tooth attacks his fame:
Should he at length, fo truly good and great,
Prevail, and rule with honest views the state,
Then muft he toil for an ungrateful race,
Submit to clamour, libels, and difgrace,
Threaten'd, oppos'd, defeated in his ends,
By foes feditious, and afpiring friends.
Hear this, and tremble! all who would be great,
Yet know not what attends that dang'rous wretched
state.

*

Is private life from all thefe evils free?
Vice of all kinds, rage, envy there we fee,
Deceit, that Friendthip's mask infidious wears,
Quarrels, and feuds, and law's entangling fnares.
But there are pleasures ftill in human life,
Domeftic cafe, a tender loving wife,
Children whofe dawning fmiles your heart engage,
The grace and comfort of foft-ftcaling age:
If happiness exifts, 'tis furely here;
But are thefe joys exempt from care and fear?
Need I the miferies of that ftate declare,
When diff'rent paffions draw the wedded pair?
Or fay how hard thofe pathons to discern,
Ere the die 's caft, and 'tis too late to learn?
Who can infure, that what is right, and good,
Thefe children fhall purfue? or if they should,
Death comes when leaft you fear fo black a day,
And all your blooming hopes are fnatch'd away.

Lord Somers.

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Or comes the Stoic nearer to the right ?
He holds, that whatfoever yields delight,
Wealth, fame, externals all, are ufclefs things;
Himself half-ftarving happier far than kings.
'Tis fine indeed to be fo wondrous wife!
By the fame reafoning too he pain denies;
Roast him, or flay him, break him on the wheel,
Retract he will not, tho' he can't but feel:
Pain 's not an ill, he utters with a groan;
What then? An inconvenience 'tis, he'll own:
What vigour, health, and beauty are these good?
No; they may be accepted, not pursued:
Abfurd to fquabble thus about a name, [fame.
Quibbling with diff'rent words that mean the
Stoic, were you not fram'd of flesh and blood,
You might be bleft without external good;
But know, be felf-fufficient as you can,
You are not fpirit quite, but frail and mortal man.
But fince thefe fages, fo abfurdly wife,
Vainly pretend enjoyments to defpife,
Becaufe externals, and in Fortune's pow'r,
Now mine, now thine, the bleffings of an hour;
Why value, then, that ftrength of mind they boaft,
As often varying, and as quickly loft?
A head-ach hurts it, or a rainy day,
And a flow fever wipes it quite away. Thand
See one whofe councils, one + whofe conqu'ring
Once fav'd Britannia's almost sinking land,
Examples of the mind's extenfive pow'r;
Examples too how quickly fades that flow'r.
Him let me add, whom late we faw excel

In each politer kind of writing well;
Whether he ftrove our follies to expofe
In easy verse, or droll and hum'rous prose;
Few years, alas! compel his throne to quit
This mighty monarch o'er the realms of wit:
See felf-furviving he 's an idiot grown!
A melancholy proof our parts are not our own.
+ Duke of Marlborough.
+ Dean Swift.

Thy

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Thy tenets, Stoic, yet we may forgive,
If in a future ftate we ceafe to live.
For here the virtuous fuffer much, 'tis plain;
If pain is evil, this muft God arraign;
And on this principle confefs we muft,
Pain can no evil be, or God must be unjust.
Blind man whose reason such strait bounds
confine,

That ere it touches Truth's extremeft line,
It stops amaz'd, and quits the great defign.
Own you not, Stoic, God is juft and true?
Dare to proceed; fecure this path pursue:
"Twill foon conduct you far beyond the tomb,
To future justice, and a life to come.
This path, you fay, is hid in endless night;
'Tis felf-conceit alone obftructs your fight;
You ftop ere half your deftin'd courfe is run,
And triumph when the conqueft is not won:
By this the Sophifts were of old mifled; [bred!
See what a monstrous race from one miftake is
Hear then my argument:-Confefs we muft,
A God there is, fupremely wife and juft:
If fo, however things affect our fight,
As fings our bard, whatever is, is right.
But is it right, what here so oft appears,
That Vice fhould triumph, Virtue fink in tears?
The inference then that clofes this debate,
Is, that there muft exift a future ftate.
The wife, extending their enquiries wide,
See how both states are by connection ty'd;
Fools view but part, and not the whole furvey,
So crowd existence all into a day.

Hence are they led to hope, but hope in vain,
That Juftice never will refume her reign;
On this vain hope adulterers, thieves rely,
And to this altar vile affaffins fly.

As in benevolence: the patriot's foul
Knows not self-centred for itself to roll,
But warms, enghtens, animates the whole :
Its mighty orb embraces first his friends,
His country next, then man; nor here it ends,
But to the meanest animal defcends.

}

The laws of life, why need I call to mind,
Obey'd by birds and beasts of ev'ry kind;
By all the fandy defert's favage brood,
And all the num'rous offspring of the flood?
Of these, none uncontroul'd and lawless rove,
But to fome deftin'd end fpontaneous move;
Led by that inftinct Heav'n itself infpires,
Or fo much reafon as their state requires:
See all with skill acquire their daily food,
All use thofe arms, which nature has bestow'd;
Produce their tender progeny, and feed
With care parental, whilft that care they need;
In thefe lov'd offices completely bleft,
No hopes beyond them, nor vain fears moleft.

Man o'er a wider field extends his views;
God thro' the wonders of his works pursues;
Exploring thence his attributes, and laws,
Adores, loves, imitates th' Eternal Caufe;
For fure in nothing we approach fo nigh
The great example of Divinity,

Wife Nature has this focial law confirm'd
By forming man fo helplefs, and unarm'd;
His want of others' aid, and pow'r of speech
T'implore that aid, this leffon daily teach:
Mankind with other animals compare,
Single, how weak and impotent they are!
But view them in their complicated state,
Their pow'rs how wondrous, and their ftrength
how great,

When focial virtue individuals joins,

And in one folid mafs, like gravity, combines !
This then 's the first great law by Nature giv'n,
Stamp'd on our fouls, and ratify'd by Heav'n;
All from utility this law approve,
As ev'ry private blifs must spring from focial love.
Why deviate then fo many from this law?
See paffions, cuftom, vice and folly draw!
Survey the rolling globe from East to West,
How few, alas! how very few are bleft!
Beneath the frozen Poles, and burning Line,
What poverty and indolence combine
To cloud with Error's mifts the human mind!
No trace of man, but in the form we find.

And are we free from error and distress, [bless?
Whom Heav'n with clearer light has pleas'd to
Whom true Religion leads? (for the but leads
By foft perfuafion, not by force proceeds ;)
Behold how we avoid this radiant fun,
This proffer'd guide how obftinately fhun,
And after Sophiftry's vain systems run!
For these as for effentials we engage
In wars and maffacres with holy rage;

"But rules not God by general laws divine Man's vice or virtue change not the defign:" What laws are thefe Inftruct us if you can:-Brothers by brothers' impious hands are flain,

Miftaken Zeal, how favage is thy reign!

There's one defign'd for brutes, and one for man:
Another guides inactive matter's courfe,
Attracting, and attracted by its force :
Hence mutual gravity fubfifts between
Far diftant worlds, and ties the vaft machine.

Unpunish'd vices here fo much abound,
All right and wrong, all order they confound;
Thefe are the giants who the gods defy,
And mountains heap on mountains to the sky: i
Sces this th' Almighty Judge, or feeing spares,
And deems the crimes of Man beneath his cares?
He fees; and will at last rewards bestow,
And punishments, not lefs affur'd for being flow.
Nor doubt I, tho' this ftate confus'd appears,
That ev'n in this God fometimes interferes :
Sometimes, left man thould quite his pow'r difown,
He makes that pow'r to trembling nations known:
But rarely this; not for each vulgar end,
As Superftition's idle tales pretend,
Who thinks all foes to God who are her own,
Directs his thunder, and ufurps his throne.

Nor know I not how much a confcious mind
Avails to punifh, or reward mankind;
Ev'n in this life thou, impious wretch, muft feel
The Fury's fcourges, and th' infernal wheel;
From man's tribunal tho' thou hop'ft to run,
Thyfelf thou can't not, nor thy confcience fhun:
What muft thou fuffer when each dire difeafe,
The progeny of Vice, thy fabric feize 1

Confumption,

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Confumption, fever, and the racking pain Of fpafms, and gout, and stone, a frightful train! When life new tortures can alone fupply, Life thy fole hope thou 'lt hate, yet dread to die. Should fuch a wretch to num'rous years arrive, It can be little worth his while to live: No honours, no regards his age attend, Companions fly, he ne'er could have a friend: His flatterers leave him, and with wild affright He looks within, and fhudders at the fight: When threat'ning Death uplifts his pointed dart, With what impatience he applies to art, Life to prolong amidft difeafe and pains! Why this, if after it no fenfe remains? Why fhould he choofe thefe miferies to endure, If Death could grant an everlasting cure? 'Tis plain there's fomething whispers in his ear, (Tho' fain he 'd hide it) he has much to fear.

See the reverfe: how happy those we find, Who know by merit to engage mankind! Prais'd by each tongue, by ev'ry heart belov'd, For virtues practis'd, and for arts improv'd; Their cafy afpects fhine with fmile ferene, And all is peace and happinefs within: Their fleep is ne'er difturb'd by fears or ftrife, Nor luft, nor wine, impair the springs of life. Him fortune cannot fink, nor much elate, Whofe views extend beyond this mortal state; By age when fummon'd to refign his breath, Calm, and ferene, he fees approaching death, As the fafe port, the peaceful filent shore, Where he may reft, life's tedious voyage o'er : He, and he only, is of death afraid, Whom his own confcience has a coward made; Whilft he who Virtue's radiant course has run, Defcends like a ferenely-fetting fun, His thoughts triumphant Heav'n alone employs, And hope anticipates his future joys.

So good, fo bleft th' illuftrious Hough we find, Whofe image dwells with pleature on my mind, The Mitre's glory, Freedom's conftant friend, In times which aik'd a champion to defend; Who after near an hundred virtuous years, His fentes perfect, free from pains and fears, Replete with life, with honours, and with age, Like an applauded actor left the ftage; Or like fome victor in th' Olympic games, Who, having run his courfe, the crown of Glory claims.

From this just contraft plainly it appears, How confcience can infpire both hopes and fears: But whence proceed these hopes, or whence this dread,

If nothing really can affect the dead?
See all things join to promife, and prefage
The fure arrival of a future age!
Whate'er their lot is here, the good and wife
Nor doat on life, nor peevishly defpife.
An honeft man, when Fortune's storms begin,
Has confolation always fure within;
And if the fends a more propitious gale,
He's pleas'd, but not forgetful it may fail.

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Nor fear that he who fits fo loose to life, Should too much fhun its labours, and its ftrife; And scorning wealth, contented to be mean, Shrink from the duties of this bustling fcene; Or, when his country's fafety claims his aid, Avoid the fight, inglorious and afraid : Who fcorns life moft muft furely be most brave, And he who pow'r contemns, be least a flave: Virtue will lead him to Ambition's ends, And prompt him to defend his country and his

But ftill his merit you cannot regard, [friends. Who thus pursues a pofthumous reward; His foul, you cry, is uncorrupt and great, Who, quite uninfluenc'd by a future state, Embraces Virtue from a nobler sense Of her abstracted, native excellence, From the felf-confcious joy her effence brings, The beauty, fitnefs, harmony of things. It may be fo: yet he deferves applaufe, Who follows where inftructive Nature draws; Aims at rewards by her indulgence giv'n, And foars triumphant on her wings to heav'n.

Say what this venal virtuous man pursues; No mean rewards, no mercenary views; Not wealth ufurious, or a num 'rous train, Not fame by fraud acquir'd, or title vain! He follows but where Nature points the road, Rifing in virtue's fchool, till he afcends to God.

But we, th' inglorious common herd of Mau, Sail without compass, toil without a plan ; In Fortune's varying ftorms for ever toft, Shadows purfue, that in purfuit are loft; Mere infants all till life's extremest day, Scrambling for toys, then toffing them away. Who refts of Immortality affur'd Is fafe, whatever ills are here endur'd: He hopes not vainly in a world like this, To meet with pure uninterrupted blifs; For good and ill, in this imperfect state, Are ever mix'd by the decrees of fate. With Wifdom's richest harveft Folly grows, And baleful hemlock mingles with the rofe; All things are blended, changeable, and vain, No hope, no with we perfectly obtain; God may perhaps (might human Reafon's line Pretend to fathom infinite defign) Have thus ordain'd things, that the restless mind No happinefs complete on earth may find; And, by this friendly chastisement made wife, To heav'n her fafeft beft retreat may rife.

Come then, fince now in fafety we have pafs'd Thro' Error's rocks, and fee the port at last; Let us review and recollect the whole.Thus ftands my argument. The thinking souf Cannot terreftrial or material be, But claims by Nature Immortality; God, who created it, can make it end, We queftion not, but cannot apprehend He will; because it is by him endued With ftrong ideas of all perfect Good; With wondrous pow'rs to know and calculate Things too remote from this our earthly state;

Bishop of Worcester.

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