Philofophers, who darken and put out
Eternal truth by everlasting doubt,
Church quacks, with paffions under no command, Who fill the world with doctrines contraband, Discov❜rers of they know not what, confin'd Within no bounds, the blind that lead the blind, To streams of popular opinion drawn,
Depofit in those fhallows, all their spawn.
The wriggling fry foon fill the creeks around,
Pois'ning the waters where their fwarms abound
Scorn'd by the nobler tenants of the flood,
Minnows and gudgeons gorge th' unwholesome food.
The propagated myriads spread so fast,
E'en Leuwenhoek himself would stand aghaft,
Employ'd to calculate th' enormous sum,
And own his crab-computing pow'rs o'ercome.
Is this Hyperbole? The world well known,
Your fober thoughts will hardly find it one.
Fresh confidence the fpeculatift takes
From ev'ry hare-brain'd profelyte he makes,
And therefore prints. Himself but half-deceiv'd,
'Till others have the foothing tale believ❜d.
Hence comment after comment, fpun as fine
As bloated spiders draw the flimfy line.
Hence the fame word that bids our lufts obey,
Is mifapplied to fanctify their fway.
If stubborn Greek refuse to be his friend,
Hebrew or Syriac fhall be forc'd to bend;
If languages and copies all cry, No-
¿ Somebody prov'd it centuries ago.
Like trout purfued, the critic in despair
Darts to the mud and finds his fafety there!
Women, whom custom has forbid to fly
The scholar's pitch (the scholar best knows why)
With all the fimple and unletter'd poor,
Admire his learning, and almost adore.
Whoever errs, the priest can ne'er be wrong,
With fuch fine words familiar to his tongue.
Ye ladies! (for, indiff'rent in your caufe,
I should deferve to forfeit all applause)
Whatever shocks, or gives the least offence
To virtue, delicacy, truth or sense,
(Try the criterion, 'tis a faithful guide)
Nor has, nor can have scripture on its fide.
None but an author knows an author's cares,
Or fancy's fondness for the child fhe bears.
Committed once into the public arms,
The baby seems to fiile with added charms.
Like fomething precious ventur'd far from shore,
'Tis valued for the dangers fake the more.
He views it with complacency fupreme,
Solicits kind attention to his dream,
And daily more enamour'd of the cheat,
Kneels, and asks heav'n to bless the dear deceit.
So one, whose story serves at least to show
Men lov'd their own productions long ago,
Wooed an unfeeling statue for his wife,
Nor refted till the Gods had giv'n it life.
If fome mere driv'ler fuck the fugar'd fib,
One that still needs his leading ftring and bib,
And praise his genius, he is foon repaid
In praise applied to the fame part, his head.
For 'tis a rule that holds for ever true,
Grant me difcernment, and I
Patient of contradiction as a child,
Affable, humble, diffident and mild,
Such was Sir Ifaac, and fuch Boyle and Locke,
Your blund'rer is as sturdy 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 cause 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 still 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 still left behind,
Like thistle-feeds are fown by ev'ry wind,
Thus men go wrong with an ingenious skill,
Bend the ftrait 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 fupported, one by lies,
They fidle to the goal with aukward pace,
Secure of nothing, but to lose the race.
Faults in the life breed errors in the brain,
And these, reciprocally, those 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 base.
None fends his arrow to the mark in view,
Whose hand is feeble, or his aim untrue.
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