By medicine well applied, but without grace The heart's infanity 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 founding 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 pleafed perhaps t' have earned
So cheaply the renown of that attempt,
With looks of fome complacence he resumed His road, deriding much the blank amaze Of good Evander, ftill where he was left Fixt motionless, and petrified with dread. So on they fared. Difcourfe on other themes Enfuing feemed to obliterate the past;
And tamer far for fo much fury fhown, (As is the course of rash and fiery men) The rude companion fmiled, as if transformed. But 'twas a tranfient calm. A ftorm was near, An unfufpected ftorm. His hour was come. The impious challenger of Power divine
Was now to learn that Heaven, though flow to wrath,
1s never with impunity defied.
His horse, as he had caught his mafter's mood, Snorting, and ftarting into sudden rage, Unbidden, and not now to be controlled, Rushed to the cliff, and having reached it, ftood. At once the shock unfeated him: he flew Sheer o'er the craggy barrier; and immersed Deep in the flood, found, when he fought it not, The death he had deserved, and died alone. So God wrought double juftice; made the fool The victim of his own tremendous choice, And taught a brute the way to safe revenge.
I would not enter on my lift of friends (Though graced with polished manners and fine fense, Yet wanting fenfibility) the man,
Who needlessly fets foot upon a worm.
An inadvertent ftep may crush the snail, That crawls at evening in the public path; But he that has humanity, forewarned,
Will tread afide and let the reptile live. The creeping vermin, loathsome to the fight, And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes, A vifitor unwelcome, into fcenes
Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove,
The chamber, or refectory, may die:
A neceffary act incurs no blame.
Not fo when, held within their proper bounds, And guiltlefs of offence, they range the air, Or take their paftime in the spacious field: There they are privileged; and he that hunts Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong, Difturbs the economy of nature's realm, Who, when she formed, defigned them an abode. The fum is this. If man's convenience, health, Or fafety, interfere, his rights and claims Are paramount, and muft extinguish their's. Elfe they are all—the meaneft things that are, As free to live, and to enjoy that life, As God was free to form them at the first, Who in his fovereign wifdom made them all. Ye therefore, who love mercy, teach your fons To love it too. The fpring-time of our years Is foon difhonoured and defiled in moft
By budding ills, that afk a prudent hand
To check them. But alas! none fooner shoots, If unreftrained, into luxuriant growth,
Than cruelty, moft devilish of them all. Mercy to him, that shows it, is the rule And righteous limitation of its act,
By which Heaven moves in pardoning guilty man; And he that shows none, being ripe in years,
And confcious of the outrage he commits, Shall feek it, and not find it, in his turn.
Diftinguished much by reason, and still more By our capacity of grace divine,
From creatures, that exift but for our fake, Which, having ferved us, perish, we are held Accountable; and God fome 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 ftrength, 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 show that nice fagacity of fmell,
And read with fuch difcernment, in the port And figure of the man, his fecret aim,
That oft we owe our fafety to a skill
We could not teach, and muft despair to learn. But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop To quadrupede inftructors, many a good
And ufeful quality, and virtue too,
Rarely exemplified among ourselves. Attachment never to be weaned, or changed By any change of fortune; proof alike Against unkindness, abfence, and neglect; Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat Can move or warp; and gratitude for small And trivial favours, lafting as the life, And gliftening even in the dying eye.
Man praises man. Defert in arts or arms Wins public honour; and ten thousand fit Patiently present at a facred fong,
Commemoration-mad; content to hear (Oh wonderful effect of mufic's power!) Meffiah's eulogy for Handel's fake.
But less, methinks, than facrilege might serve- (For was it lefs, 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
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