So one, whose story serves at least to show
Men lov'd their own productions long ago,
Woo'd an unfeeling ftatue for his wife,
Nor refted till the gods had given it life.
If fome mere driv'ler fuck the fugar'd fib,
One that still needs his leading-string and bib,
And praife his genius, he is foon repaid

In praise applied to the same part—his head.
For 'tis a rule, that holds for ever true,
Grant me difcernment, and I grant it you.
Patient of contradiction, as a child

Affable, humble, diffident, and mild;

Such was fir Ifaac, and fuch Boyle and Locke:
Your blund'rer is as fturdy as a rock.

The creature is fo fure to kick and bite,
A muleteer's the man to fet him right.
First appetite enlifts him truth's fworn foe,
Then obftinate felf-will confirms him fo.
Tell him he wanders; that his error leads
To fatal ills; that, though the path he treads
Be flow'ry, and he fee no caufe of fear,
Death and the pains of hell attend him there;
In vain; the flave of arrogance and pride,
He has no hearing on the prudent fide.

His ftill refuted quirks he ftill repeats;
New-rais'd objections with new quibbles meets;
Till, finking in the quickfand he defends,
He dies difputing, and the contest ends→→→→
But not the mischiefs; they, ftill left behind,
Like thistle-feeds, are fown by ev'ry wind.

Thus men go wrong with an ingenious skill;
Bend the ftraight rule to their own crooked will;
And, with a clear and fhining lamp supplied,
First put it out, then take it for a guide.
Halting on crutches of unequal fize;
One leg by truth supported, one by lies;
They fidle to the goal with awkward pace,
Secure of nothing-but to lose the race.

Faults in the life breed errors in the brain;
And these, reciprocally, thofe again.
The mind and conduct mutually imprint
And ftamp their image in each other's mint:
Each, fire and dam of an infernal race,
Begetting and conceiving all that's bafe.

None fends his arrow to the mark in view,
Whofe hand is feeble, or his aini untrue.
For though, ere yet the shaft is on the wing,
Or when it first forsakes th' elastic string,

It err but little from th' intended line,
It falls at laft far wide of his defign:
So he, who seeks a manfion in the sky,
Muft watch his purpose with a ftedfast eye;
That prize belongs to none but the fincere,
The leaft obliquity is fatal here.

With caution tafte the sweet Circean cup:
He that fips often, at last drinks it up.
Habits are foon affum'd; but, when we strive
To ftrip them off, 'tis being flay'd alive.
Call'd to the temple of impure delight,
He that abftains, and he alone, does right.
If a wish wander that way, call it home;
He cannot long be fafe whose wishes roam.
But, if you pass the threshold, you are caught;
Die then, if pow'r Almighty fave you not.
There, hard'ning by degrees, till double steel'd,
Take leave of nature's God, and God reveal'd;
Then laugh at all you trembled at before ;
And, joining the free-thinkers brutal roar,
Swallow the two grand noftrums they difpenfe-
That scripture lies, and blafphemy is fenfe.
If clemency revolted by abuse

Be damnable, then damn'd without excuse.

Some dream that they can filence when they will The ftorm of paffion, and say, Peace, be ftill; But "Thus far and no farther," when addrefs'd To the wild wave, or wilder human breast, Implies authority that never can,

That never ought to be the lot of man.

But, muse, forbear; long flights forebode a fall; Strike on the deep-ton'd chord the sum of all. Hear the just law-the judgment of the skies! He that hates truth fhall be the dupe of lies: And he that will be cheated to the laft, Delufions, ftrong as hell, fhall bind him faft. But, if the wand'rer his mistake discern, Judge his own ways, and figh for a return, Bewilder'd once, muft he bewail his lofs For ever and for ever? No-the crofs ! There, and there only (though the deist rave, And atheist, if earth bear fo base a slave); There, and there only, is the pow'r to fave. There no delufive hope invites despair; No mock'ry meets you, no deception, there. The spells and charms, that blinded you before, All vanish there, and fascinate no more.

I am no preacher, let this hint fufficeThe cross, once seen, is death to ev'ry vice: Elfe he that hung there fuffer'd all his pain, Bled, groan'd, and agoniz'd, and died, in vain.