Continu'd: Richard, cast your eye
By night upon a winter-sky;

Cast it by day-light on the strand
Which compasses fair Albion's land;
If you can count the stars that glow
Above, or sands that lie below,
Into these common-places look,

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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'st at thy leisure read:
For standing ev'ry critic's rage,
I safely will to future age
My System, as a gift, bequeath,
Victorious over spite and death.

CANTO III.

RICHARD, who now was half asleep,
Rous'd, nor would longer silence keep;
And sense like this, in vocal breath,
Broke from his twofold hedge of teeth.
Now if this phrase too harsh be thought,

Pope, tell the world 'tis not my fault.
Old Homer taught us thus to speak;
If 'tis not sense, at least 'tis Greek.

As folks, quoth Richard, prone to leasing,
Say things at first because they're pleasing,
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Then prove what they have once asserted,

Nor care to have their lie deserted,

Till their own dreams at length deceive 'em,
And oft' repeating they believe 'em ;
Or as, again, those am'rous blades
Who trifle with their mothers' maids,
Tho' at the first their wild desire
Was but to quench a present fire,
Yet if the object of their love
Chance by Lucina's aid to prove,
They seldom let the bantling roar
In basket at a neighbour's door,
But by the flatt'ring glass of 'Nature
Viewing themselves in Cakebread's feature,
With serious thought and care support
What only was begun in sport.

Just so with you, my friend, it fares,
Who deal in philosophic wares;

Atoms you cut, and forms you measure,
To gratify your private pleasure,

Till airy seeds of casual wit

Do some fantastic birth beget;

And pleas'd to find your system mended
Beyond what you at first intended,
The happy whimsey you pursue,
Till you at lengtb believe it true:
Caught by your own delusive art,
You fancy first, and then assert.

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Quoth Matthew; Friend, as far as I,
Thro' Art or Nature cast my eye,
This axiom clearly I discern,

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That one must teach and th' other learn.
No fool Pythagoras was thought;
Whilst he his weighty doctrines taught,
He made his list'ning scholars stand,

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Their mouth still cover'd with their hand ;

Else, may be, some odd-thinking youth,

Less friend to doctrine than to truth,
Might have refus'd to let his ears
Attend the music of the spheres,
Deny'd all transmigrating scenes,
And introduc'd the use of beans.
From great Lucretius take his void,
And all the world is quite destroy'd.

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Deny Descart his subtile matter,

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You leave him neither fire nor water,

How oddly would Sir Isaac look,

If you, in answer to his book,
Say in the front of your discourse,
That things have no elastic force?
How could our chymic friends go on
To find the philosophic stone,
If you more pow'rful reasons bring
To prove that there is no such thing?
Your chiefs in sciences and arts
Have great contempt of Alma's parts:

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They find she giddy is or dull,
She doubts if things are void or full;
And who should be presum'd to tell
What she herself should see 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, farther yet they make her go,
In doubting if she doubts or no.
Can syllogism set things right?
No; majors soon with minors fight;
Or, both in friendly concert join'd,
The consequence limps false behind.
So to some cunning man she goes,

And asks of him how much she knows;
With patience grave he hears her speak,
And from his short notes gives her back
What from her tale he comprehended;
Thus the dispute is wisely ended.

From the account the loser brings,

The conj'ror knows who stole the things. 'Squire (interrupted Dick) since when

Were you amongst these cunning men?

Dear Dick, quoth Matt, let not thy force Of eloquence spoil my discourse:

I tell thee this is Alma's case.

Still asking what some wise man says,

Who does his mind in words reveal,
Which all must grant, tho' few can spell.

You tell your doctor that ye 're ill,

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And what does he but write a bill?

Of which you need not read one letter;

The worse the scrawl, the dose the better:

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Now as, engag'd in arms or laws,

You must have friends to hack your cause,

In philosophic matters so

Your judgment must with others go:

For as in senates so in schools,

Majority of voices rules.

Poor Alma, like a lonely deer,

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O'er hills and dales does doubtful err :
With panting haste and quick surprise,
From ev'ry leaf that stirs she flies,
Till mingled with the neighb'ring herd,
She slights what erst she singly fear'd,
And now, exempt from doubt and dread,
She dares pursue if they dare lead;
As their example still prevails,

She 'tempts the stream or leaps the pales.

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