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If then a blind, well-meaning, Indian stray,
For better ends our kind Rei'eemer dy'de
Or the faln angels room will be but ill supply'd.
| That Chrift, who at the steat dec.ding day, D E gone, you faves, you idle vermin go, D Fly from the scourges, and your master know;
(For he declares what he resolves to say)
Will damn the goats for their ill-natur'd faults, Let frec, impartial mer, from Dryden learn
And save the Meep for actions, not for thoughts, Mysterious secrets, of a high concern,
Hath too much mercy to send men to hell, And weighty truths, folid convincing sense,
For humble charity, and hoping well. Explain'd by uraffected eloquence.
| To what stupidity are zealots grown, What can you (Reverend Levi) here take ill?
Whore inhumanity profusely shown Men still had faults, and men will have them till;
In damning crowds of souls, may damn their own.) He that hath none, and lives as angels do,
fr'll err at least on the securer fide, Must be an angel, but what's that to you?
A convert free from malice and from pride. While mighty Lewis finds the poi e too great, And dreads ite yoke of his imposing seat, Qur sects a more tyrannic power assume, And would for scorpiors change the rods of Rome; TO MY FRIEND, MR. JOHN DRYDEN, That church detain'd the legacy divire; Fanatics cast the pearls of heaven to swine:
ON HIS SEVERAL EXCELLENT TRANSLATIONS What then have thinking honest men to do,
OF THE ANCIENT POETS. But chuse a mear between ch' usurping two? Nor can th' Ægyptian patriarch blame thy muse, I BY G. GRANVILLE, LORD LANSDOWNL. Which for his firmness does his heat excuse; Whatever councils have approv'd his creed, LA S flowers transplanted from a southern sky, The preface sure was his own act and deed.
A But hardly bear, or in the raising die; Our church will have that preface read, you'll say: Missing their native sur, at test retain 'Tis true: but so the will th' Apocrypha;
But a faint odour, and survive with pain : And such as can believe them, freely may.
Thus ancient wit, in modern numbers taught, 2 But did that God (so little understood)
Wanting the warmth with which its author wrote, Whose darling, attribute is being good,
Is a dead, image, and a senseless draught. -
Muft imitate with Roman force and fire,
And in the sparkling genius, and the fame. To yelling furies, and for ever burn
| Whence we conclude from thy tran Nated song, In that sad place from whence is no retur, So just, so smooth, so fost, and yet so strong, For ur belief in one they never knew,
Coeleftial poet! foul of harmory! Or for not doing what they could not do!
That every genius was revivid in thee. The very fiends know for what crime they fell, Thy trumpet sounds, the dead are rais'd to light, And so do all their followers that rebel :
Never to die, and take to heaven their fight; VOL. III.