Obferve how Cuftom, Dick, compells
The Lady that in EUROPE dwells:
After her Tea She flips away;
And what to do, One need not say.
Now fee how great POMONQUE'S Queen
Behav'd Herself amongst the Men:
Pleas'd with her Punch, the Gallant Soul
First drank, then water'd in the Bowl;
And sprinkl'd in the Captain's Face
The Marks of Her Peculiar Grace-
To close this Point, We need not roam
For Inftances fo far from Home.
What parts gay FRANCE from sober SPAIN?
A little rifing Rocky Chain.
Of Men born South or North o'th' Hill,
Those seldom move; Thefe ne'er ftand still.
DICK, You love Maps, and may perceive
ROME not far diftant from GENEVE.
If the good POPE remains at Home,
He's the First Prince in CHRISTENDO ME.
Choose then, good POPE, at Home to stay;
Nor Weftward curious take Thy Way.
Thy Way unhappy fhould'ft Thou take
From TIBER'S Bank to LEMAN-Lake;
Thou art an Aged Prieft no more,
But a Young flaring Painted Whore:
Thy Sex is loft: Thy Town is gone,
No longer ROME, but BABYLON.
That fome few Leagues fhould make this Change,
To Men unlearn'd feems mighty strange.
But need We, Friend, infift on This?
Since in the very CANTONS SWISS,
All Your Philofophers agree,
And prove it plain, that One may be
A Heretic, or True Believer,
On this, or t'other Side a River.
Here with an artful Smile, quoth DICK, Your Proofs come mighty full, and thick
The Bard on this extensive Chapter,
Wound up into Poetic Rapture,
Continu'd: RICHARD, caft your Eye
By Night upon a Winter-Sky:
Caft it by Day-light on the Strand,
Which compaffes fair ALBION's Land:
If You can count the Stars that glow
Above, or Sands that lie below;
Into those Common-places look,
Which from great Authors I have took;
And count the Proofs I have collected,
To have my Writings well protected.
These I lay by for Time of Need;
And Thou may'ft at thy Leisure read.
For standing every Critic's Rage,
I fafely will to future Age
My System, as a Gift, bequeath,
Victorious over Spight, and Death.
RICHARD, who now was half a-sleep,
Rous'd; nor would longer Silence keep:
And Senfe like this, in vocal Breath
Broke from his twofold Hedge of Teeth.
Now if this Phrafe too harth be thought;
POPE, tell the World, 'tis not my Fault.
Old HOMER taught us thus to fpeak:
If 'tis not Sense; at leaft 'tis GREEK.
As Folks, quoth RICHARD, prone to Leafing,
Say Things at first because they're pleasing;
Then prove what they have once afferted,
Nor care to have their Lie deferted;
'Till their own Dreams at length deceive 'em;
And oft repeating, they believe 'em.
Or as again thofe am'rous Blades,
Who trifle with their Mother's Maids;
Tho' at the first their wild Defire,
Was but to quench a prefent Fire;
Yet if the object of their Love
Chance by LUCINA's Aid to prove;
They feldom let the Bantling roar
In Basket, at a Neighbour's Door:
But by the flatt'ring Glass of Nature,
Viewing themselves in Cake-bread's Feature;
With ferious Thought and Care support,
What only was begun in Sport.
Just so with You, my Friend, it fares,
Who deal in Philofophic Wares :
Atoms You cut; and Forms You measure,
To gratifie your private Pleasure ;
'Till airy Seeds of cafual Wit
Do fome fantastic Birth beget:
And pleas'd to find your System mended,
Beyond what You at firft intended,
The happy Whimsey You pursue;
'Till You at length believe it true.
Caught by your own delusive Art,
You fancy firft, and then affert.
Quoth, MATTHEW: Friend, as far as I
Thro' Art or Nature caft my Eye,
This Axiom clearly I difcern,
That One muft Teach, and t'Other Learn.
No Fool PYTHAGORAS Was thought:
Whilft He his weighty Doctrines taught;
He made his lift'ning Scholars ftand,
Their Mouth ftill cover'd with their Hand:
Elfe, may be, fome odd-thinking Youth,
Lefs Friend to Doctrine than to Truth,
Might have refus'd to let his Ears
Attend the Musick of the Spheres ;
Deny'd all transmigrating Scenes,
And introduc'd the Ufe of Beans.
From great LUCRETIUS take His Void;
And all the World is quite destroy'd.
Deny DBS-CART His fubtil Matter;
You leave Him neither Fire, nor Water.
How odly would Sir IS A A C look,
If You, in Answer to his Book,
Say in the Front of your Discourse,
That Things have no Elaftic Force?
How could our Chymic Friends go on,
To find the Philofophic Stone;
If You more pow'rful Reasons bring,
To prove, that there is no fuch Thing?
Your Chiefs in Sciences and Arts,
Have great Contempt of AL MA's Parts.
They find, She giddy is, or dull;
She doubts, if Things are void, or full:
And who fhould be prefum'd to tell,
What She Her felf fhould fee, or feel?
She doubts, if two and two make four;
Tho' She has told them ten times o'er.
It can't it may be—and it must:
To which of these must ALMA trust?
Nay, further yet They make Her go,
In doubting, if She doubts, or no.
Can Syllogyfm fet Things right?
No: Majors foon with Minors fight:
Or, Both in friendly Confort join'd;
The Confequence limps false behind.
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