[figure]
EPISTLE THE FIRST.
[5]WHILE zeal, beyond the grave, purſues
Whom prieſt and patriot abuſe,
With ſome the foſter-ſire of lies,
Extoll'd by others to the ſkies,
An honour'd and a blaſted name!
Lorenzo aſks, ingenuous youth,
What is, and who believes, the truth.
The truth my friend, wouldſt learn of me?
'Tis that wherein mankind agree.
At leaſt no ſafer truth we know
Than that the world will grant us ſo.
"But when and where?" —the ſages tell,
Of yore 'twas buried in a well, b
So deep, that hid, for want of light,
From ev'ry peeping mortal's ſight,
The more ſuſpicious than the reſt
[7] Conceiv'd the ſtory was a jeſt;
And, as no ſoul could find it out,
That truth itſelf was all a doubt.
Philoſophizing train of thought!
Since by improving moderns caught;
Who tell us nature trick'd mankind,
When giving eyes ſhe left us blind:
Heav'n making fools, and thinking fit c
To play upon their want of wit.
But ſure we boldly may receive
As truth what all mankind believe:
Such univerſal faith a guide
In ſkepticiſm itſelf implied.
"Yet ſay in what the world unite,
[8] "Elſe uſeleſs this our rule of right;
"Elſe ſtill inquiry's at a pauſe;
"Still vague inveſtigation's laws."
Lorenzo, all, with you and me,
In points demonſtrable agree:
Conviction, right, or wrong, the teſt d
Of truth in ev'ry human breaſt:
While truths, demonſtratively ſo,
Who once believe profeſs to know.
On Science hence our ſearch muſt reſt;
That univerſal rule confeſs'd.
Laid then thoſe ſubtilties aſide
Where human certitude's denied,
[9] Inquiry ſafely may proceed
To form its ſcientifick creed.
Doth Solomon himſelf profeſs
His ſcience all uncertain gueſs, e
Th'egregious ſophiſter affirms
A contradiction, ev'n in terms.
Who can his ignorance ſuppoſe
Of that he's conſcious that he knows? f
Sayſt thou ſlow knowledge faith outflies;
Believers ſpurning at the wiſe;
Opinion, wing'd, feet, hand and head,
[10] In haſte, without her errand, ſped;
Or driv'n, inactive, here and there,
With ev'ry vagrant breath of air.
Wouldſt, therefore, know what ſyſtems err,
To whom opinions to refer,
Where trembling doubt and errour blind
At once a guard and guide may find;
At once ſucceſsfully apply,
And give to falſhood's face the lie?
No ſect, alas! profeſs the rule
That reconciles the knave and fool;
Unites the ignorant and wiſe:
Revering theſe what thoſe deſpiſe.
Whether from nature's general law
The outlines of our creed we draw,
Or think the truth be only given
[11] In revelation pure from Heaven,
It matters not; unleſs we find
Some active index in the mind,
Some ray of Heaven's unerring light,
To point, or here or there, aright.
Let Chriſtianity diſplay
Its wond'rous volume to the day;
The ſacred lines, however true,
Alike affect not me and you:
Th' accepted ſenſe of holy writ
Still reſting on th' accepting wit.
For who that read but comprehend
As taught by father, prieſt or friend,
Or tenets new, more nice than wiſe,
Peculiar to themſelves, deviſe.
How then prevails the ſacred text,
[12] If by the comment thus perplex'd;
If hereticks, of ev'ry kind,
Their tenets in the goſpel find;
If thus the ſpirit hide the flaw
That mars the letter of the law!
Let Nature's ſtriking ſcenes engage
The letter'd and unletter'd age;
Various as ev'ry varied tribe
The notions hence the world imbibe.
When meteors glow and comets blaze,
How wond'ring ignorance doth gaze;
Foretelling, ev'n in errour wiſe,
The judgments gath'ring in the ſkies!
Th' aurora g ſtreaming from the pole,
What groundleſs fear sthe weak control
[13] Hear them addreſs their angry God,
And take his mercies for his rod:
Whilſt thine, or Bradley's curious, eyes
As calmly view the threat'ning ſkies,
The plagues, the famines, wars they yield,
As Colin drives his team a-field.
Rolls the big thunder o'er the plain,
Melt the fierce light'nings clouds to rain,
Ah me! how impious, Crito cries,
To lift thy hand againſt the ſkies;
Thy lines of magick ſteel to form,
To brave the fury of the ſtorm;
With Franklin, h madly to defy
The thunderer's red right-arm, on high,
Bold Titan! to erect thy ſtand
[14] To wreſt the light'nings from his hand! i
Yet thoſe in phyſicks better read
At honeſt Crito ſhake the head;
In pity, or deriſion, ſmile;
Nature and truth their guard the while.
Thus, by unlike experience taught,
Peculiar are our modes of thought;
Explain'd, by Cuſtom's partial nod,
The voice of nature and of God.
Doſt thou apply to ſaint or ſage,
The guides of each believing age,
The truths, which myſteries conceal,
Or thoſe of ſcience to reveal?
[15] From far and near, what tales abſurd
Adulterate the written word!
How oft the pure, and perfect, text
Have baſe Theologiſts perplex'd!
What tranſcripts! what interpolation!
Eternal ſource of diſputation!
Alas, Lorenzo, few believe,
In fact, the doctrines they receive.
How few of ev'n the reverend tribe
The very canons they ſubſcribe!
Do ſuch their mother-church defend?
On her pluralities depend:
The mitre and the ſine-cure
Preſerving beſt her tenets pure.
For, rob the prieſthood of its gain,
What pillar will the church ſuſtain.
[16] What cement binds the crazy wall,
Whoſe ſapt foundation threats its fall.
Do ſuch profeſs to turn the key
On myſt'ries, hid from you and me;
Or of the oracles of old
The dubious phraſes to unfold;
To teach the truth to vulgar minds,
Which Heav'n's own blaze of rhetorick blinds?
Ah, think not theſe will e'er diſplay
Their ſecrets to the eye of day.
Tell me what artiſt will impart
To thee th' arcanum of his art.
Not one—but all, reſerv'd and ſly,
Affect to cheat th' obſerver's eye:
Their ſlighteſt knacks important made,
To raiſe the wonder of their trade.
Thus oft the reverend tiro, taught
[17] That none may ſerve their God for naught,
Caſts o'er his ignorance a veil,
Or maſks the moral of his tale;
Securely laughing in his ſleeve,
When fools the tale itſelf believe.
To ſave his calling from abuſe
His caution here, in fact, of uſe.
For once his art and miſt'ry k known
Who church-authority would own?
As, when ſublime conundrums hit,
We laugh to ſcorn the quibbler's wit;
So, in rever'd enigmas wiſe,
His riddling reverence we deſpiſe.
Sayſt thou, ſince reformation's hand
From ſpiritual ſlav'ry freed the land,
The ſacerdotal hydra chain'd,
[18] By truth opinions are reſtrain'd?
Look round, believing friend, and ſee
How pious Proteſtants agree.
In what leſs fickle do we find
The daughter's than the mother's mind!
For know th' abandon'd ſcarlet whore l
Our preſent alma-mater bore;
Whoſe beauty, modeſty and truth
Were all debauch'd in early youth,
While in ſeraglio, cloſe confin'd,
Sly prieſts conceal'd her from mankind.
And tho', when zeal to hide her ſin
[19] Had almoſt ſtript her to the ſkin;
To ſkreen her batter'd charms from ſhame,
She laid to truth her artful claim;
Yet, once ſecure, the cunning jade
Gave up its temporary aid;
Playing again her mother's game
With prieſts of ev'ry church the ſame. m
For tho', in pure exceſs of grace,
Miſs perk'd it in her mother's face,
Her diſobedience felt the ſmart,
When ſtabb'd her int'reſt to the heart.
What tho' ſhe flaunt no longer gay;
[20] Her tawdry trappings caſt away;
Her trim ſimplicity, at beſt,
Is vanity but ſprucely dreſs'd.
What tho' forbid to patch and paint,
And paſs the ſinner for a ſaint,
Yet ſtill the holy dame, afraid
That truth and reaſon ſpoil her trade,
Her pulpit-trumpet ſounds to arms,
And fills the zealot with alarms.
Awaken'd by her fearful cries,
Behold her doughty champions riſe;
Arm'd cap-a-piè each mother's ſon,
To ſave their parent, roaring run;
Conſcious how greatly to their coſt
Might church-authority be loſt.
While thus the orthodox in grain,
In ſpite of fate, their church maintain;
[21] The truth, a term of meaning wide,
To all the prieſt affirms applied;
No leſs the het'rodox than they,
From pride or av'rice, go aſtray:
As motives ſimilar prevail
With thoſe who brew or broach the tale.
Say, elſe, if ſelf-conviction true
The conſcientious Henley knew;
Fir'd by a pure religious zeal,
That champion of the publick weal,
For pence, the primacy to ſlight, n
To jeſt with ev'ry ſacred rite,
To trample, with avow'd deſign,
On laws both human and divine.
Say what his aim, whoſe dread rebukes
Who, godly warfare proud to ſeek,
In ſuff'rance turns the ſmitten cheek:
As knaviſh Jews, to ſell their ware,
Abuſe and inſult tamely bear.
No worldly gain to Whitfield yields
The plenteous harveſt of Moor-Fields;
While from the gift of ſterling gold,
Like off'rings to the Lord of old, p
The coatleſs prieſt with Aaron vies, q
And modern tabernacles riſe?
Or, are fanatick weavers led
Becauſe his vanity is fed;
[23] A tickling tranſport that he feels,
To find his thouſands at his heels;
To hear the Io poeans ring,
Due to the hero, ſaint or king;
Which, ne'ertheleſs, the mob beſtow,
On ſainted pick-pockets, below.
If then, by poverty or pride,
The prieſt and parſon led aſide;
While theſe, th' inſtructors of mankind,
Our ignorance their intereſt find;
O ſhun, Lorenzo, ſhun the ſtreet
Where diſputant theologues meet.
See the wing'd cork, from ſide to ſide
Rebound, the truant ſchool-boy's pride,
With equal warmth, with equal noiſe,
So theſe, by turns, like truant boys,
Between what ſaint or father ſaith,
[24] Bang the light ſhittle-cock of faith.
But hark! what jargon ſtrikes our ear?
What hebrew madmen have we here?
What pen the frenzy ſhall deſcribe
Who, ſcorning reaſon's vain pretence,
Make war, a dire croiſade, on ſenſe?
If reaſon, then, reprizals make,
At once their cauſe and them forſake,
What wonder? yet, in truth, 'twere well
Might Bedlam ſpare one vacant cell;
Since no good chriſtian, yet, for Law, s
Hath ſtrown his darken'd room with ſtraw.
Theologiſts ſo prone to err,
[25] Doſt thou philoſophers prefer?
Theſe oft, an intereſted ſect,
Like poverty or pride affect.
Logicians, caſuiſts by trade,
At random draw their furious blade;
Taking, in gladiatorial pride,
The cudgels up on either ſide.
To them indiff'rent wrong or right;
Swiſs champions! theirs the taſk to fight:
And ſhare, with venal art, the prey;
The golden gettings of the day.
At once for honour and for bread:
And Powel's u virtuous thirſt of fame
Inur'd his iron lips to flame.
[26]The learn'd, prodigious wiſe indeed
The man by Heav'n inſpir'd to read!
Affecting merely to decide,
Indulge their magiſterial pride,
And, deigning ſcarce on ſenſe a look,
Profoundly dogmatize by book:
Save here thoſe champions of the gown,
To real merit ne'er allied
The pedant's, or the parſon's pride,
By ſingularity of taſte
Good ſenſe and lit'rature diſgrac'd,
See wrangling Sophiſters, intent
On croſs-grain'd paradoxes bent;
As if to truth they made pretence
By wand'ring but from common-ſenſe.
[27]Among the witty and the wiſe,
Hence oft in words their difference lies;
While empty terms, for years, engage
The ſcholar's and the ſkeptick's rage:
Till, wearied out, they ſtare to ſee
In fact how nearly all agree.
So, poiz'd between two empty ſcales,
Now here, now there, the beam prevails,
That, as their falſe vibrations ceaſe,
In equilibrio reſts in peace.
Nor ſeldom, when in fact diſſent
Theſe ſlaſhing ſons of argument,
The ſubject-matter in debate
Beneath the pains t'inveſtigate.
Philoſophy at Arthur's y taught,
So Bond and Brag, diſputing, fought,
To croſs the old bridge or the new.
"Could neither wheel nor chain decide?"
Alas, my friend, they never tried.
For neither of theſe learned youth
Car'd one braſs farthing for the truth:
But each, to make his judgment out,
Would drive full-ſpeed ten miles about.
The firſt-philoſophy aa in uſe
Thus argumentative abuſe:
While truth and falſehood, right and wrong,
Serve as the burthen of a ſong:
With ſophiſts, as with ſcolding wives,
Quarrel the buſineſs of their lives.
[29]Leave then; Lorenzo, vain diſpute.
Empty the triumph to confute.
Nor thoſe for truth's defenders take,
Who cavil but for cavil's ſake.
But is there, lay-man or divine,
In whom good ſenſe and temper join;
A prieſt of honeſt bb Clogher's mould,
Or theiſt moderate as bold,
To whom indulgent Heav'n aſſign'd
A truly ethick turn of mind;
Who dares the mob in ſcorn to hold;
Hath weigh'd the happineſs of gold;
Hath found the pond'rous cheat ſo light,
That avarice gets nothing by't;
Who rates the value of a name
[30]From th' inſignificance of ſame;
Not vainly ſeeking more to know
Than God, has giv'n to man, below;
Yet, whereſoe'er diſplay'd her charms,
Embracing truth with open arms.
On ſuch Lorenzo may depend,
For guide, philoſopher and friend.
"But where ſuch friend and guide" you cry.
Knowſt thou no ſuch? alas, nor I.
For O, the truth, in fact, how few
Have pow'r or talents, to purſue.
Alike th' abilities unfit
Of pedant dull or ſprightly wit,
Of captious criticks, ſcholiaſts vain,
Of ev'ry ſuperficial brain.
Indeed too oft ev'n genius gains
Its labour only for its, pains:
[31]Immortal bards not ſeldom here,
Dupes, from their mother's milk, to fear.
Tho' ſmoothly run the hackney'd lay
Along the beaten, moral way;
Should truth on cuſtom turn its back,
Or deviate from the vulgar track,
Like crabs, with retrogreſſive feet,
Such temporizing bards retreat;
Humming, their credit to maintain,
To worn-out tunes th' old catch again.
Ev'n thus thy fav'rite bard retir'd,
Whom ev'ry muſe at once inſpir'd,
Whoſe ſtrains immortalize the guide.
His ſcholiaſt piouſly decried,
Thy Pope, who, like a forward child,
In leading-ſtrings, ran bold and wild;
But, fearful of himſelf to ſtand,
[32]Seiz'd his old, tottering mother's hand. cc
Look back, Lorenzo, never thou,
When ſet thy hand unto the plough.
In vain we ſacrifice to truth
The ſportive giddineſs of youth,
If falſhood's painted charms engage
The doting levity of age.
Truth's thorny paths who fear to run,
Should e'er her dang'rous portal ſhun:
Nor ſet like heroes boldly out,
To founder in the deeps of doubt.
[33]Yet ne'er forget—tho' boldneſs thine,
Temp'rance that boldneſs muſt refine.
True temp'rance, rational and brave;
To ſtoick pride no ſullen ſlave:
Not ſuch as, gently meek and mild,
Betrays the weakneſs of a child;
Nor that, without or fear or wit,
By chance, ev'n blunderers may get.
The raſh, too angry to be bold,
By falſhood oft are bought and ſold.
The proud, too haughty to be wiſe,
See not where grov'ling errour lies.
The heedleſs counts without his hoſt,
Or runs his noſe againſt the poſt:
And oft their tim'rous indolence
The meek indulge, at truth's expence.
So hard to keep that middle way,
[34]From which inquiry ne'er ſhould ſtary;
While, for the taſk, as hard to find
A truly firm, capacious mind;
No wonder fools, the would-be-wiſe,
Suppoſe in doubt that wiſdom lies:
Or that, becauſe ſo ſhort their ſight,
Truth may be errour, wrong be right. dd
For ignorance, to ſooth its pride,
Muſt ſeek its own defects to hide.
[35]
Affecting, hence, all unbelief,
Is Scoto infidel in chief;
His hand and heart, his ears and eyes
Confeſſing what his tongue denies?
To truth in ev'ry ſyſtem blind,
Yet ſeeking it where none ſhall find;
Lorenzo, here his wit a cheat,
That mocks his judgment with deceit.
Where'er opinion gaily dreſs'd,
Runs gadding in her rainbow veſt,
Among her ſiſterhood, a crew
Of motley wives black, red or blue;
See ſkeptick faith, the truth in chaſe,
Run giddily, from face to face;
Now this, now that, by turns, enjoy;
Nor find them falſe till found to cloy.
Thus, with the fair he moſt admires,
[36]Full ſoon the wav'ring lover tires.
At morn, her ſmiles with joy he meets;
At night, affronts her in the ſtreets;
By looſe ſuſpicion wand'ring led,
Or ſpider fancy's flimſy thread;
Till, on ſome lying whore, at laſt,
He lights, and holds her dogmas faſt.
Oppos'd to theſe, nor ſtrange to find,
In uniformity combin'd,
Believing thouſands; who ſuppoſe
Truth with a mob for ever goes:
As if convinc'd the rabble rout,
Becauſe too obſtinate to doubt.
Yet cuſtoms old or faſhions new
Are all th' unthinking herd purſue.
The orthodox in dreſs and ſong
[37]As modiſh as to right and wrong. ee
Of cuſtom born, to faſhion bred,
Thus blind credulity is led:
While modes of faith, like modes of dreſs,
Mankind capriciouſly profeſs.
Yet all agreed, through ſhame or pride,
Nature's ſimplicity to hide,
Whate'er the faſhion of the time,
It holds the naked truth a crime.
Thus, to a man, we find the crowd,
To doubt too baſhful, or too proud,
In errour rather chuſe to fall,
Than boaſt no ſcheme of faith at all.
Impatient, hence, of ſtop or ſtay,
They blunder on the broadeſt way;
[38]Or make a guide, in ev'ry ſtreet,
Of fool or knave, the firſt they meet.
Authorities how blind and lame
Hence bring the credulous to ſhame;
While all revere the mould'ring page,
Where moths have ſpent their gothick rage.
Tales half deſtroy'd, the reſt ſo true!
So much inſpir'd the Lord-knows-who! ff
Couldſt thou, Lorenzo, build thy hopes.
On muftis, patriarchs or popes;
On names implicitly depend,
And mere authorities defend?
Split on this rock, miſtaken youth,
Loſt were thy voyage to the truth:
'Twere beſt to give thy labour o'er,
[39]Nor urge in vain thy genius more.
Lorenzo, credit not too ſoon
Fine tales and tidings from the moon:
Nor, howſoever learn'd or juſt;
In prieſt or prophet put thy truſt.
By Paul or by Apollos taught,
Still to one teſt their tenets brought,
Their doctrines, howſoever true,
Adopt not till they're ſo to you.
For oft, when ſtript of its diſguiſe,
Folly the wiſdom of the wiſe.
Yet ſuperciliouſly reject
No dogmas that the world reſpect.
'Gainſt ſuch too raſhly ne'er inveigh;
Nor caſt thy grandſire's wit away.
Diſdaining at the lamp to pore,
That lights us to the claſſick lore,
[40]The half-taught deiſt thus exclaims
At texts rever'd and hallow'd names,
Damning profane or ſacred writ,
That ſquares not with his ſhallow wit.
But while, through ignorance or pride,
Opinions thus the world divide;
Faith made the prieſt's and ſtateſman's tool;
By turns while truth and falſhood rule,
Or, with ſome temporizing view,
Nonſenſe, that's neither falſe nor true;
Canſt thou, at eaſe in doubt, my friend,
On points too dark thy faith ſuſpend?
Canſt thou the world's eſteem forego;
And burns thy boſom but to know?
Is truth thy only creed profeſs'd?
Canſt leave to providence the reſt?
Throw partial ſyſtems all aſide,
[41]And take thy knowledge for thy guide.
See where the ſtream of Science flows
From nature's fountain, whence it roſe;
Through hills and dales meand'ring led,
As clear as at the fountain head.
Stand thou not ſhiv'ring on the brink,
Once well embark'd thou canſt not ſink:
Nor can the current falſely guide,
While reaſon's banks incloſe the tide;
Whence truth, in ſight, on either hand,
Smiles on thy voyage through the land.
But, O, with caution, hoiſt thy ſail,
To court the metaphyſick gale;
Leſt, hurried on, thy heedleſs youth
Should loſe, with land, the ſight of truth:
Turn'd forth adrift, thy lot to take,
On errour's broad unfathom'd lake;
[42]'Mong ſtruck leviathans, in vain,
To plunge and flounder through the main:
Where tides nor ſet, nor currents ſteer;
But winds all round the compaſs veer;
While floating iſles, that cheat the ſight,
To faithleſs anchorage invite:
Hobbes, St. John, Hume and hundreds more,
Rich barks! all wreck'd upon the ſhore.
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