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By medicine well applied, but without grace The heart's insanity admits no cure. Enraged the more, by what might have reformed His horrible intent, again he fought Deftruction, with a zeal to be destroyed, With sounding whip, and rowels dyed in blood. But ftill in vain. The Providence, that meant A longer date to the far nobler beaft, Spared yet again the ignobler for his fake. And now, his prowess proved, and his fincere Incurable obduracy evinced, His rage grew cool; and pleased perhaps t' have earned So cheaply the renown of that attempt, With looks of some complacence he resumed His road, deriding much the blank amaze Of good Evander, still where he was left Fixt motionless, and petrified with dread. So on they fared. Discourse on other themes Ensuing seemed to obliterate the past; And tamer far for so much fury shown, (As is the course of rash and fiery men) The rude companion fmiled, as if transformed. But 'twas a tranfient calm. A storm was near, An unfufpected storm. His hour was come. The impious challenger of Power divine Was now to learn that Heaven, though flow to wrath,
Is never with impunity defied.
I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polished manners and fine fenfe, Yet wanting sensibility) the man, Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. An inadvertent step may crush the snail, That crawls at evening in the public path; But he that has humanity, forewarned, Will tread aside and let the reptile live, The creeping vermin, loathsome to the fight, And charged perhaps with venont, that intrudes, A visitor unwelcome, into scenes Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, The chamber, or refectory, may die :
A neceffary act incurs no blame.
And conscious of the outrage he commits,
Diftinguified much by reason, and still more By our capacity of grace divine, From creatures, that exift but for our fake, Which, having served us, perish, we are held Accountable ; and God some future day Will reckon with us roundly for the abuse Of what he deems no mean or trivial truft. Superior as we are, they yet depend Not more on human help than we on their's. Their strength, or speed, or vigilance, were given In aid of our defects. In fome are found Such teachable and apprehenfive parts, That man's attainments in his own concerns, Matched with the expertness of the brute's in their's, Are oft-times vanquished and thrown far behind. Some Now that nice fagacity of smell, And read with such discernment, in the port And figure of the man, his secret aim, That oft we owe our safety to a skill We could not teach, and must despair to learn. But learn we might, if not too proud to ftoop To quadrupede inftructors, many a good And useful quality, and virtue too,
Rarely exemplified among ourselves.
Man praises man. Defert in arts or arms Wins public honour ; and ten thousand fit Patiently present at a sacred song, Commemoration-mad; content to hear (Oh wonderful effect of music's power!) Messiah's eulogy for Handel's sake. But less, methinks, than facrilege might serve(For was it less, what heathen would have dared To ftrip Jove's ftatue of his oaken wreath, And hang up in honour of a man ?) Much less might serve, when all that we design Is but to gratify an itching ear, And give the day to a musician's praise. Remember Handel? Who, that was not born Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets, Or can, the more than Homer of his age?
Yes--we remember him; and while we praise