A work of such inestimable worth,

There are but two the world has yet brought forth :
Homer and Virgil! with what sacred awe

Do those mere sounds the world's attention draw!
Just as a changeling seems below the rest
Of men, or rather as a two-legg'd beast;
So these gigantic souls amaz'd we find
As much above the rest of humankind:
Nature's whole strength united! endless fame,
And universal shouts attend their name!
Read Homer once, and you can read no more;
For all books else appear so mean, so poor,
Verse will seem prose; but still persist to read,
And Homer will be all the books you need.
Had Bossu never writ, the world had still,
Like Indians, view'd this wondrous piece of skill;
As something of divine the work admir'd;
Not hop'd to be instructed, but inspir'd:
But he, disclosing sacred mysteries,

Has shown where all the mighty magic lies;
Describ'd the seeds, and in what order sown,
That have to such a vast proportion grown.
Sure from some angel he the secret knew,
Who through their labyrinth has lent the clue.
But what, alas! avails it poor mankind,
To see this promis'd land, yet stay behind?
The way is shown, but who has strength to go?
Who can all sciences profoundly know?
Whose fancy flies beyond weak reason's sight,
And yet has judgment to direct it right?
Whose just discernment, Virgil-like, is such
Never to say too little or too much?
Let such a man begin without delay;
But he must do beyond what I can say;
Must above Tasso's lofty flights prevail,
Succeed where Spenser, and ev'n Milton, fail.

MATTHEW PRIOR.

ALMA:

or,

THE PROGRESS OF THE MIND,

In Three Cantos.

Πανία γέλως, και παλα κονις, και πανία το μηδεν Πανία γαρ εξ αλογων εςι τα γιγνομενα.

M

CANTO I.

Incert, ap. Stobæum.

[ATTHEW met Richard*, when or where
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 ate;
Dire hunger! which we still regret;
O! may they ne'er again digest
The horrors of so sad a feast:
Yet less our grief, if what remains,
Dear Jacobt, by thy care and pains
Shall be to future times convey'd:
It thus begins;

... Here Matthew said,
'Alma, in verse; in prose, the mind;
By Aristotle's pen defin'd,
Throughout the body squat or tall,
Is bona fide, all in all:

And yet, slap dash, is all again

In every sinew, nerve, and vein;

Runs here and there, like Hamlet's ghost,
While every where she rules the roast.

'This system, Richard, we are told

The men of Oxford firmly hold:

Richard Shelton. ↑ Jacob Tonson, the bookseller,

The Cambridge wits, you know, deny
With ipse dixit to comply:

They say, (for in good truth they speak
With small respect of that old Greek)
That, putting all his words together,
"Tis three blue beans in one blue bladder.
'Alma, they strenuously maintain,
Sits cock-horse on her throne, the brain,
And from that seat of thought dispenses
'Her sovereign pleasure to the senses:
Two optic nerves, they say, she ties,
Like spectacles, across the eyes,
By which the spirits 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;
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 she 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 judgment 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 (dismal thought!) our warlike men
Might 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 hear,
She sets a drum at either ear,

And loud or gentle, harsh or sweet,
Are but the alarums which they beat.

Last, to enjoy her sense of feeling,
(A thing she much delights to deal in)
A thousand little nerves she sends
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 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 To country counsel and attornies,

He on the bench in quiet sits

Deciding, as they bring the writs.

The Pope thus prays and sleeps at Rome,
And very seldom stirs from home,

Yet sending forth his holy spies,
And having heard what they advise,
He rules the church's bless'd dominions,
And sets 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 less:
The Mind, say they, while you sustain
To hold her station in the brain,
You grant, at least, she is extended,
Ergo, the whole dispute is ended:
For till to-morrow should you plead
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 see
Each in his way as brisk as he?

For music, grant the head receives it,
It is the artist's hand that gives 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 ache.

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 numskull's self should take the place;
Disputing fair you grant thus much,
That 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 each must act was yet unknown,
Till all is mov'd by Chance alone.