Th' ideas and the images which lie In his own fancy or his memory.
No, he before his fight must place The natural and living face;
The real object must command
Each judgment of his eye and motion of his hand.
From these and all long errors of the way, In which our wandering predecessors went, And, like th' old Hebrews, many years did stray, In deferts but of small extent,
Bacon, like Mofes, led us forth at last :
The barren wilderness he past;
Did on the very border stand
Of the blest promis'd land;
And, from the mountain's top of his exalted wit,
Saw it himself, and shew'd us it.
But life did never to one man allow Time to discover worlds and conquer too; Nor can fo short a line fufficient be
To fathom the vast depths of Nature's sea. The work he did we ought t' admire; And were unjust if we should more require From his few years, divided 'twixt th' excefs Of low affliction and high happiness : For who on things remote can fix his fight, That 's always in a triumph or a fight?
From you, great champions! we expect to get These spacious countries, but discover'd yet;
Countries, where yet, instead of Nature, we Her images and idols worship'd see : These large and wealthy regions to fubdue, Though Learning has whole armies at command, Quarter'd about in every land,
A better troop she ne'er together drew : Methinks, like Gideon's little band, God with design has pick'd out you, To do those noble wonders by a few: When the whole host he saw, "They are" (faid he) "Too many to o'ercome for me;" And now he chooses out his men, Much in the way that he did then; Not those many whom he found Idly' extended on the ground, To drink with their dejected head The stream, just so as by their mouths it fled: No; but those few who took the waters up, And made of their laborious hands the cup.
Thus you prepar'd, and in the glorious fight Their wondrous pattern too you take : Their old and empty pitchers first they brake, And with their hands then lifted up the light.
Io! found too the trumpets here ! Already your victorious lights appear; New scenes of heaven already we espy, And crowds of golden worlds on high, Which from the spacious plains of earth and fea Could never yet difcover'd be,
By failors' or Chaldeans' watchful eye.
Nature's great works no distance can obfcure, No smallness her near objects can secure; Y' have taught the curious fight to press Into the privateft recefs
Of her imperceptible littleness !
- Y' have learn'd to read her smallest hand, And well begun her deepest sense to understand !
Mischief and true dishonour fall on thofe Who would to laughter or to scorn expose So virtuous and fo noble a design, So human for its use, for knowledge so divine. The things which these proud men despise, and call Impertinent, and vain, and finall,
Those smallest things of nature let me know, Rather than all their greatest actions do ! Whoever would deposed Truth advance
Into the throne ufurp'd from it, Must feel at first the blows of Ignorance, And the sharp points of envious Wit.
So, when, by various turns of the celestial dance,
A star, so long unknown, appears, Though heaven itself more beauteous by it grow, It troubles and alarms the world below; Does to the wife a star, to fools a meteor, show.
With courage and success you the bold work begin;
Your cradle has not idle been :
None e'er, but Hercules and you, would be
At five years age worthy a history.
And ne'er did Fortune better yet Th' historian to the story fit :
As 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 slide, And his bright fancy, all the way,
Does like the fun-shine in it play;
It does, like Thames, the best of rivers! glide, Where the God does not rudely overturn, 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 dress, without the paint, of Art.
CHAIR made out of Sir FRANCIS DRAKE'S SHIP, Presented to the University Library of Oxford,
by John Davis of Deptford, Esquire.
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 so deserv'd a name, By knowledge once, and transformation now) In her new shape, this sacred port allow.
Drake and his ship could not have wish'd from Fate
A more blest station, or more blest estate;
For lo! a feat of endless rest is given
To her in Oxford, and to him in heaven.
To the CUTTER OF COLMAN STREET.
AS, when the midland fea is no where clear
From dreadful fleets of Tunis and Argier- Which coaft about, to all they meet with foes, And upon which nought can be got but blows- The merchant-ships so much their passage doubt, That, though full-freighted, none dares venture out,
And trade decays, and scarcity ensues : Just so the timorous wits of late refuse, Though laded, to put forth upon the stage, Affrighted by the criticks of this age. 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 ye here,
To let this little forlorn-hope go by
Safe and untouch'd. That must not be"(you'll cry.) If ye be wise, it must; I'll tell you why. There are seven, eight, nine-stay-there are behind Ten plays at least, which wait but for a wind,
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