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Thofe fpeeches would send up unheeded prayer;
That fcorn of life would be but wild despair :
A tymbal's found were better than my voice:
My faith were form: my eloquence were noise.
Charity, decent, modeft, eafy, kind,

Softens the high, and rears the abject mind;
Knows with juft reins and gentle hand to guide,
Betwixt vile fame and arbitrary pride.
Not foon provok'd, the eafily forgives;

And much the suffers, as the much believes.
Soft
peace fhe brings where-ever fhe arrives;
She builds our quiet, as fhe forms our lives;
Lays the rough paths of peevish nature even;
And opens in each heart a little Heaven.

Each other gift, which God on man beftows,
Its
bound and due restriction knows;
proper
To one fixt purpose dedicates its power;

And, finishing its act, exists no more.

Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees,
Knowledge fhall fail, and Prophecy fhall ceafe;

But lafting Charity's more ample sway,

Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay,

In happy triumph fhall for ever live,

And endlefs good diffuse, and endless praise receive. As, through the artist's intervening glass,

Our eye

obferves the diftant planets pafs;

A little we difcover, but allow,

That more remains unfeen, than art can fhow:

So, whilft our mind its knowledge would improve Its feeble eye intent on things above),

High as we may, we lift our reafon up,
By Faith directed, and confirm'd by Hope:
Yet we are able only to furvey

Dawning of beams, and promifes of day.

Heaven's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled fight ;
Too great its fwiftness, and too ftrong its light.
But foon the mediate clouds fhall be difpell'd;
The fun fhall foon be face to face beheld,
In all his robes, with all his glory on,
Seated fublime on his meridian throne.

Then conftant Faith and holy Hope fhall die,
One loft in certainty, and one in joy;
Whilft thou, more happy power, fair Charity,
Triumphant fifter, greatest of the three,
Thy office and thy nature still the fame,
Lafting thy lamp, and unconfum'd thy flame,
Shalt ftill furvive

Shalt ftand before the hoft of Heaven confeft,
For ever bleffing, and for ever bleft.

CUPID IN

AMBUS H.

IT oft' to many has fuccefsful been,

Upon his arm to let his miftrefs lean;

Or with her airy fan to cool her heat,

Or gently fqueeze her knees, or prefs her feet.
All public fports, to favour young defire,
With opportunities like this confpire.
Ev'n where his skill the gladiator fhows,
With human blood where the Arena flows;

There

There oftentimes Love's quiver-bearing boy

Prepares his bow and arrows to destroy :
While the fpectator gazes on the fight,

And fees them wound each other with delight;
While he his pretty mistress entertains,
And wagers with her who the conquest gains;

Slily the God takes aim, and hits his heart,
And in the wounds he fees he bears his part.

ENGRAVED ON A COLUMN
In the Church of HALSTEAD in ESSEX;
The Spire of which, burnt down by Lightning, was
rebuilt at the Expence of Mr. SAMUEL FISKE, 1717.

IEW not this fpire by measure given

VIE

To buildings rais'd by common hands:

That fabrick rifes high as Heaven,

Whose basis on devotion ftands.
While yet we draw this vital breath,
We can our Faith and Hope declare :

But Charity beyond our death

Will ever in our works appear.
Beft be he call'd among good men,
Who to his GOD this column rais'd:
Though lightning ftrike the dome again;
The man, who built it, shall be prais'd,
Yet fpires and towers in dust shall lie,

The weak efforts of human pains;
And Faith and Hope themselves fhall die;
While deathlefs Charity remains.

ALMA:

A L M A:

OR

THE PROGRESS OF THE MIND.

IN THREE CANTOS.

Πάντα γέλως, καὶ πάλα κόνις, καὶ πάντα τὸ μηδέν
Πάνα γὰρ ἐξ ἀλόγων εσὶ τὰ γιγνόμενα,

Incert. ap. Stobæum.

CANTO I.

MATTHEW*

met Richard†, when or where
From story is not mighty clear:
Of many knotty points they fpoke;
And pro and con by turns they took.
Rats half the manuscript have eat:
Dire hunger! which we still regret.
O! may they ne'er again digeft
The horrors of fo fad a feast!

Yet lefs our grief, if what remains,
Dear Jacob, by thy care and pains

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It thus begins:

***

Here Matthew faid:

Alma in verse, in profe the Mind,
By Aristotle's pen defin'd,
Throughout the body fquat or tall,
Is, bona fide, all in all.

And yet, flap-dafh, is all again
In every finew, nerve, and vein :

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

This fyftem, Richard, we are told,
The men of Oxford firmly hold.
The Cambridge wits, you know, deny
With ipfe dixit to comply.

They fay (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-horfe on her throne the brain;
And from that feat of thought difpenfes
Her fovereign pleasure to the fenfes.
Two optic nerves, they say, she ties,
Like fpectacles, 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;

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