Yet Nations own, and Men their Influence feel,
They rule the Publick, and the Private Will;
The Proofs are plain. Thus from a diff'rent Star
We find a fruitful, or a barren Year;
Now Grains increase, and now refufe to grow,
Now quickly ripen, now their Growth is flow.
The Moon commands the Seas; fhe drives the Main
To pafs the Shores, then drives it back again.
And this Sedition chiefly fwells the Streams,
When oppofite the views her Brother's Beams:
Or when the near in close Conjunction rides,
She rears the Floods, and fwells the flowing Tides;
Or when attending on the yearly Race,
The Equinoctial fees her borrow'd Face.
Her Pow'r finks deep, it fearches all the Main,
Teftaceous Fish, as the her Light regains,
Increase, and ftill diminish in her Wane.
For as the Moon in deepest Darkness mourns,
Then Rays receive, and points her borrow'd Horns;
Then turns her Face, and with a Smile invites
The full Effufions of her Brother's Lights,
They to her Changes due Proportions keep,
And fhew her various Phafes in the Deep.
So Brutes, whom Nature did in Sport create,
Ignorant of themselves, and of their Fate,
A fecret Instinct ftill erects their Eyes
To Parent Heav'n, and seems to make them wife.
One at the new Moon's Rife to diftant Shores
Retires, his Body fprinkles, and adores:
Some fee Storms gather, or Serenes foretel,
And scarce our Reafon guides us half fo well.
Then, who can doubt that Man, the glorious Pride
Of all, is nearer to the Stars ally'd ?
Nature in Man's capacious Soul has wrought,
And given him Voice expreflive of his Thought:
In Man the God defcends, and joys to find
The narrow Image of his greater Mind.
But why fhou'd all the other Arts be shown,
Too various for Productions of our own?
Vol. IV.
Why shou'd I fing how diff'rent Tempers fall,
And Inequality is feen in all?
How many ftrive with equal Care to gain
The highest Prize, and yet how few obtain ?
Which proves not Matter fways, but Wisdom rules,
And measures out the Bignefs of our Souls.
Sure, Fate ftands fixt, nor can its Laws decay,
'Tis Heav'ns to rule, and Matter's Effence to obey.
Who cou'd know Heaven, unless that Heav'n bestow'd
The Knowledge? Or find God, but Part of God?
How cou'd the Space immenfe be e'er confin'd
Within the Compafs of a narrow Mind?
How cou'd the Skies, the Dances of the Stars,
Their Motions adverfe, and eternal Wars,
Unless kind Nature in our Breafts had wrought
Proportion'd Souls, be fubject to our Thought?
Were Heav'n not aiding to advance our Mind,
To know Fate's Laws, and teach the Way to find ;
Did not the Skies their Kindred Souls improve,
Direct, and lead them thro' the Maze above,
Discover Nature, fhew its fecret Springs,
And tell the facred Intercourfe of Things,
How impious were our Search, how bold our Course,
Thus to affault and take the Skies by Force?
A most convincing Reafon's drawn from Sense, That this vaft Frame is mov'd by Providence, Which, like the Soul, does ev'ry Whirl advance; It must be God, nor was it made by Chance, As Epicurus dreamt: He madly thought This beauteous Frame of heedlefs Atoms wrought. The Seas and Earth, the Stars and fpacious Air, Which forms new Worlds, or does the old repair, First rose from thefe, and ftill fupply'd remain, And all must be, when Chance fhall break the Chain, Diffolv'd to thefe wild Principles again, Abfurd and Nonfenfe! Atheist ufe thine Eyes, And having view'd the Order of the Skies, Think, if thou can't, that Matter, blindly hurl'd, Without a Guide, fhou'd frame this wond'rous World.
But did Chance make, and Chance ftill rule the whole?
Why do the Signs in conftant Order roll,
Obferve fet Times to fhut and open Day,
Nor meet, nor jostle, and mistake their Way,
Perform their Courfe as if by Laws confin'd,
None haften on, and leave the reft behind?
Why ev'ry Day does the difcov'ring Flame
Shew the fame World, and leave it still the fame
And ev❜n at Night, when Time in Secret flies,
And veils himself in Shades from human Eyes,
Can by the Signs Men know how fast he fled,
And in the Skies the hafty Minutes read?
Why fhou'd I count how oft the Earth has mourn'd
The Sun's Retreat, and fmil'd when he return'd
How oft he does his various Courfe divide
'Twixt Winter's Nakednefs and Summer's Pride?
All mortal Things must change. The fruitful Plain,
As Seafons turn, fcarce knows herself again;
Such various Forms the bears: Large Empires too
Put off the former Face, and take a New :
Yet fafe the World and free from Change does laft,
No Years encrease it, and no Years can wafte.
Its Course it urges on, and keeps its Frame,
And ftill will be, becaufe 'twas ftill the fame.
It stands fecure from Time's devouring Age,
Fortis a God that guides, nor can it change with Age.
E Ghofts of Trigg, old Saffold, and Ponteus,
Arife! arife! to meet the Great KIRLEUS:
And ye kind Damfels of this finful Town,
Us'd to difpenfe Love's Joys for Half a Crown,
Lament, for now your trufty Friend is gone.
Ye Holborn Bullies, ftrew his Herfe with Rofes,
For to his heav'nly Skill you owe your Noses.
Weep, Cupid, weep, nor thy juft Sorrow fmother,
For, Child, thou'dft better far have loft thy Mother.
With Rev'rend Kirle Love's Power will fall away,
His Empire leffen, and his Strength decay.
Thy Pills, Old Bard, in Spite of State and Kirk,
Ev'n on the Sabbath-Day it felf wou'd Work:
And Sinners brought (fo righteous was thy Sentence)
To penfive Stool of forrowful Repentance.
Since Death on thee has laid her Fingers Icy,
Ipfe te Pinus, ipfe flevere Myrica,
And Sympathetick Fits in mournful State,
With Tears of Turpentine bewail'd thy Fate.
Thou never did't reject poor daggled Mifs,
Altho' fhe fued in forma Pauperis.
Grave Shop-keepers were fet up by thy Aid,
And many a found Divine by thee was made.
In Term and out of Term Kirle ferv'd the Nation,
And knew no Intervals of dull Vacation.
Say what you will, this Matter of true Fact is,
That few exceeded him in Chamber-Practice.
Lawyers in Crowds to his fam'd Manfion preft,
In hopes to have their Caufe by him redreft:
For none knew better how to make an End on't,
"Twixt Plantiff Counfellor, and Clap Defendant.
Tho' the Difeafe prov'd ne'er fo ftiff and croft,
He foon cou'd check it with a Noli Prof.
Young Clerks, when ftray'd from Noverint Univerfi,
By him were cur'd; and was not that a Mercy?
He was Love's Shire've, and prove Infection,
Chac'd Ulcers by a Potion of Ejection;
And as for th' oldeft Ills, knew how to fcare 'em,
By marching with a Poffe Pillularum.
Methinks I ftill behold Majestick Kirle,
With folemn Air his Belgick Whiskers twirle;
Wrapt in blue Rug, methinks I hear him talk,
And prole for Customers in Gray's Inn Walk.
But why, fond Hopes fhou'd I thus feed in vain ?
He's gone, alas! and ne'er will come again.
Since, then, he's left us for a better Place,
Remember, Gentlemen, your Friend John Cafe.
An Epitaph on Dr. Kirleus of Gray's Inn-Lane, occafion'd by bis Friends reporting him only gone into the Country.
HE famous Kirleus, Collegiate Phyfician,
As cheap a Practitioner as you cou'd with one,
Who only with Diet-Drink, and a few Pills,
Cur'd Gout, Stone, and Pox, and a Thousand more Ills,
Is gone to the Country infernal with Phyfick,
To cure Rhadamanthus, they fay, of the Ptiflick.
Let not Nendick then brag,
Of his Tetrachymag,
Nor himself Tilburg Prize on
Drinking Rumpers of Poifon.
So ufeful a Doctor our Youngsters will mifs,
He hinder'd no Bufinefs, 'till Death hinder'd his.
A Journey thus tedious all Sporters may mourn,
For 'tis Forty to One that he'll never return.
The Fable of the Satyr and the Traveller.
Traveller
poor Cell a Satyr led
A Traveller with Cold half dead,
And with great Kindness treated :
A Fire Nofe-high he made him ftrait,
Shew'd him his Elbow-Chair of State,
And near the Chimney feated.
His tingling Hands the Stranger blows,
At which the Satyr wond'ring rofe,
And bluntly afk'd the Reason.
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