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Th' ideas and the images which lie
No, he before his fight must place
The real object must command
Each judgment of his eye and motion of his hand.
From these and all long errors of the way,
Bacon, like Mofes, led us forth at last :
The barren wilderness he paft;
Did on the very border stand
Of the bleft promis'd land;
And, from the mountain's top of his exalted wit,
Saw it himself, and fhew'd us it.
But life did never to one man allow
Nor can fo fhort a line fufficient be
To fathom the vast depths of Nature's sea.
From you, great champions! we expect to get
Countries, where yet, instead of Nature, we
These large and wealthy regions to fubdue,
A better troop fhe ne'er together drew :
To do those noble wonders by a few:
"Too many to o'ercome for me;"
And now he chooses out his men,
The ftream, juft fo as by their mouths it fled:
Thus you prepar'd, and in the glorious fight
And crowds of golden worlds on high,
Which from the fpacious plains of earth and fea
By failors' or Chaldeans' watchful eye.
Nature's great works no distance can obscure,
Of her imperceptible littleness!
- Y' have learn'd to read her fmalleft hand,
Mischief and true dishonour fall on thofe
So human for its ufe, for knowledge fo divine.
Impertinent, and vain, and small,
Those smallest things of nature let me know,
So, when, by various turns of the celestial dance,
A ftar, fo long unknown, appears,
Though heaven itself more beauteous by it grow,
With courage and fuccefs you
the bold work begin;
Your cradle has not idle been :
None e'er, but Hercules and you, would be
And ne'er did Fortune better yet Th' hiftorian to the story fit:
you from all old errors free And purge the body of Philofophy; So from all modern follies he
Has vindicated Eloquence and Wit.
His candid style like a clean stream does flide,
It does, like Thames, the best of rivers! glide,
But gently pour, the crystal urn,
And with judicious hand does the whole current guide: 'T has all the beauties Nature can impart,
And all the comely drefs, without the paint, of Art.
CHAIR made out of Sir FRANCIS DRAKE'S SHIP, Prefented to the University Library of Oxford, by John Davis of Deptford, Efquire.
O this great fhip, which round the globe has run, And match'd in race the chariot of the fun, This Pythagorean ship (for it may claim Without prefumption fo deferv'd a name, By knowledge once, and transformation now) In her new shape, this facred port allow.
Drake and his fhip could not have wish'd from Fate
For lo! a feat of endless rest is given
To the CUTTER OF COLMAN STREET.
AS, when the midland fea is no where clear
From dreadful fleets of Tunis and Argier-
Juft fo the timorous wits of late refuse,
It is a party numerous, watchful, bold;
They can from nought, which fails in fight, with-hold; Nor do their cheap, though mortal, thunder spare ; They shoot, alas! with wind-guns charg'd with air. But yet, gentlemen-criticks of Argier,
For your own interest I 'd advise
To let this little forlorn-hope go by
Safe and untouch'd. "That must not be" (you 'll cry.) If ye be wife, it must; I'll tell you why.
There are feven, eight, nine-stay-there are behind Ten plays at least, which wait but for a wind,