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Ill habits gather by unfeen degrees,

As brooks make rivers, rivers run to feas.
The fow, with her broad fnout for rooting up
Th' intrusted feed, was judg'd to fpoil the crop,
And intercept the sweating farmer's hope:
The covetous churl, of unforgiving kind,
Th' offender to the bloody priest refign'd:
Her hunger was no plea; for that she dy'd.
The goat came next in order, to be try'd:
The goat
had cropt the tendrils of the vine:
In vengeance laity and clergy join,

Where one had loft his profit, one his wine.
Here was, at leaft, fome fhadow of offence:
The sheep was facrific'd on no pretence,
But meek and unrefifting innocence.
A patient, ufeful creature, born to bear

The warm and woolly fleece, that cloath'd her

murderer,

And daily to give down the milk fhe bred,
A tribute for the grafs on which the fed.
Living, both food and raiment fhe fupplies,
And is of least advantage when she dies.

How did the toiling ox his death deserve,
A downright fimple drudge, and born to serve?
O tyrant! with what justice canft thou hope
The promise of the year, a plenteous crop;

When thou destroy'ft thy lab'ring fteer, who till'd,
And plow'd, with pains, thy elfe ungrateful field?
From his yet reeking neck to draw the yoke,
That neck with which the furly clods he broke ;
And to the hatchet yield thy husbandman,
Who finish'd autumn, and the fpring began!
Nor this alone! but heav'n itself to bribe,
We to the Gods our impious acts ascribe:
First recompenfe with death their creature's toil,
Then call the bless'd above to share the spoil :
The fairest victim must the pow'rs appease:
(So fatal 'tis fometimes too much to please!)
A purple fillet his broad brows adorns,
With flow'ry garlands crown'd, and gilded horns:
He hears the murd'rous pray'r the priest prefers,
But understands not, 'tis his doom he hears:
Beholds the meal betwixt his temples caft,
(The fruit and product of his labors past ;)
And in the water views perhaps the knife
Uplifted, to deprive him of his life;
Then broken up alive, his entrails fees

Torn out, for priests t' infpect the Gods decrees.
From whence, O mortal men, this guft of blood
Have you deriv'd, and interdicted food?
Be taught by me this dire delight to fhun,
Warn'd by my precepts, by my practice won:

And when you eat the well-deferving beast,

Think, on the lab'rer of your

field you

feaft!

Now fince the God infpires me to proceed,
Be that, whate'er infpiring Pow'r, obey'd.
For I will fing of mighty myfteries,

}

Of truths conceal'd before from human eyes,
Dark oracles unveil, and open all the skies.
Pleas'd as I am to walk along the fphere
Of fhining stars, and travel with the year,
To leave the heavy carth, and scale the height
Of Atlas, who fupports the heav'nly weight:
To look from upper light, and thence furvey
Mistaken mortals wand'ring from the way,
And wanting wisdom, fearful for the state.
Of future things, and trembling at their fate!
Those I would teach; and by right reafon bring
To think of death, as but an idle thing.
Why thus affrighted at an empty name,
A dream of darknefs, and fictitious flame?
Vain themes of wit, which but in poems pass,
And fables of a world, that never was!
What feels the body when the foul expires,
By time corrupted, or confum'd by fires?
Nor dies the fpirit, but new life repeats
In other forms, and only changes feats.

Ev'n I, who these myfterious truths declare,
Was once Euphorbus in the Trojan war;
My name and lineage I remember well,
And how in fight by Sparta's king I fell.
In Argive Juno's fane I late beheld

My buckler hung on high, and own'd my former fhield.

Then death, fo call'd, is but old matter drefs'd In fome new figure, and a vary'd veft: Thus all things are but alter'd, nothing dies; And here and there th' unbody'd fpirit flies, By time, or force, or fickness difpoffeft, And lodges, where it lights, in man or beast; Or hunts without, till ready limbs it find, And actuates those according to their kind; From tenement to tenement is tofs'd; The foul is ftill the fame, the figure only loft: And as the foften'd wax new feals receives, This face affumes, and that impreffion leaves; Now call'd by one, now by another name; The form is only chang'd, the wax is still the fame : So death, fo call'd, can but the form deface, Th' immortal foul flies out in empty space; To feek her fortune in fome other place.

Then

Then let not piety be put to flight,
To please the taste of glutton appetite;
But fuffer inmate fouls fecure to dwell,
Left from their feats your parents you expel;
With rabid hunger feed upon your kind,
Or from a beast diflodge a brother's mind.

And fince, like Tiphys, parting from the shore,
In ample feas I fail, and depths untry'd before,
This let me further add, that nature knows
No stedfast station, but, or ebbs, or flows:
Ever in motion; fhe deftroys her old,
And cafts new figures in another mold.
Ev'n times are in perpetual flux; and run,
Like rivers from their fountain, rolling on;
For time, no more than streams, is at a stay:
The flying hour is ever on her way;
And as the fountain still supplies her store,
The wave behind impels the wave before;
Thus in fucceffive courfe the minutes run,
And urge their predeceffor minutes on,
Still moving, ever new: for former things
Are fet afide, like abdicated kings:
And every moment alters what is done,
And innovates fome act till then unknown.

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