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Than these thou bear'st that title, have propos'd
What both from men and Angels I receive,
Tetrarchs of fire, air, flood, and on the earth
Nations befides from all the quarter'd winds,
God of this world invok'd and world beneath;
Who then thou art whofe coming is foretold
To me fo fatal, me it moft concerns.
The trial hath endamag'd thee no way,
Rather more honour left and more esteem;
Me naught advantag'd, miffing what I aim'd.
Therefore let pass, as they are transitory,

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The Kingdoms of this world; I shall no more 210
Advise thee, gain them as thou canft, or not.
And thou thy felf feem'ft otherwise inclin'd
Than to a worldly Crown, addicted more
To contemplation and profound dispute,
As by that early action may be judg'd,
When flipping from thy Mother's eye thou went’st
Alone into the Temple; there was found
Among the graveft Rabbies difputant

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On points and queflions fitting Moses' Chair,
Teaching not taught; the childhood (hews the man,
As morning thews the day. Be famous then 221
By wifdom; as thy Empire muft extend,

So let extend thy mind o'er all the world,
In knowledge, all things in it comprehend:
All knowledge, is not couch'd in Mofes' Law, 225
The Pentateuch, or what the Prophets wrote,
The Gentiles alfo know, and write, and teach
To admiration, led by Nature's light;

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And with the Gentiles much thou must converfe,
Ruling them by persuasion as thou mean'ft,
Without their learning how wilt thou with them,
Or they with thee hold converfation meet?
How wilt thou reafon with them, how refute T
Their Idolifms, Traditions, Paradoxes ?

Error by his own arms is best evinc'd.

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Look once more ere we leave this fpecular Mount
Weftward, much nearer by South-weft, behold
Where on th'Agian fhore a City stands

Built nobly, pure the air, and light the foil,
Athens the eye of Greece, Mother of Arts
And Eloquence, native to famous wits
Or hofpitable, in her sweet recefs,

City or Suburban, ftudious walks and shades;
See there the Olive Grove of Academe,
Plato's retirement, where the Attic Bird

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Trills her thick-warbl'd notes the fummer long,
There flow'ry hill Hymettus with the found
Of Bees industrious murmur oft invites

To ftudious mufing; there Iliffus rolls

His whifp'ringftream; within the walls then view 250
The Schools of ancient Sages; his who bred
Great Alexander to fubdue the World,

Lyceum there, and painted Stoa next :

There thou shalt hear and learn the fecret pow's Of harmony in tones and numbers hit.

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By voice or hand, and various-measur'd verfe,
Æolian charms and Dorian Lyric Odes,
And his who gave them breath, but higher fung,

Blind Melefigenes thence Homer call'd,

Whofe Poem Phabus challeng'd for his own. 260
Thence what the lofty grave Tragoedians taught
In Chorus or lambic, teachers beft

Of moral prudence, with delight receiv'd,
In brief fententious precepts while they treat

Of fate and chance, and change in human life; 26j
High actions, and high paffions best describing:
Thence to the famous Orators repair,

Those ancient, whofe refiftlefs eloquence
Wielded at will that fierce Democratic,
Shook th' Arfenal and fulmin'd over Greece,

To Macedon, and Artaxerxes' Throne ;
To fage Philofophy next lend thine ear,
From Heav'n defcended to the low-rooft houfe
Of Socrates, fee there his Tenement,
Whom well infpir'd the Oracle pronounc'd
Wifeft of men; from whofe mouth iffu'd forth
Mellifluous ftreams that water'd all the Schools
Of Academics old and new, with those
Sirnam'd Peripateticks, and the Sea
Epicurean, and the Stoic fevere;

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Thefe here revolve, or, as thou lik'ft, at home,
Till time mature: thee to a Kingdom's weight;
These rules will render thee a King compleat
Within thy felf, much more with Empire join'd.
To whom our Saviour fagely thus reply'd. 285
Think not, but that I know these things, or think
1 know them not; not therefore am I short
Qf knowing what I aught; he who receives

Light from above, from the fountain of light,
No other doctrine needs, though granted true; 290
But these are falfe, or little elfe but dreams,
Conjectures, fancies, built on nothing firm.
The first and wifeft of them all profefs'd
To know this only, that he nothing knew ;

The next to fabling fell, and smooth conceits; 295
A third fort doubted all things, though plain sense;
Others in virtue plac'd felicity,

But virtue join'd with riches and long life,
In corporal pleasure he, and careless ease.
The Stoic laft in Philofophic pride,

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By him call'd virtue; and his virtuous man,
Wife, perfect in himself, and all poffeffing
Equal to God, oft fhames not to prefer,
As fearing God nor man, contemning all
Wealth, pleasure, pain or torment, death and life,
Which when he lifts, he leaves, or boafts he can, 305
For all his tedious talk is but vain boast,
Or fubtle shifts conviction to evade.
Alas what can they teach, and not mif-lead;
Ignorant of themselves, of God much more,
And how the world began, and how man fell
Degraded by himself, on grace depending?
Much of the Soul they talk, but all awry,
And in themselves feek virtue, and to themselves
All glory arrogate, to God give none,
Rather accufe him under ufual names,

Fortune and Fate, as one regardless quite

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Of mortal things. Who therefore feeks in these

True wisdom, finds her not, or by delusion
Far worse, her falfe refemblance only meets
An empty cloud. However many books
Wife men have faid are wearifom; who reads
Inceffantly, and to his reading brings not
A fpirit and judgment equal or fuperior,

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(And what he brings, what needs he elsewhere feek) Uncertain and unfettled ftill remains,

Deep verft in books and shallow in himself,

Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys,

And trifles for choice matters, worth a spunge;
As Children gath'ring pibles on the shore.
Or if I would delight my private hours
With Mufick or with Poem, where fo foon

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As in our native Language can I find

That folace? All our Law and Story strew'd
With Hymns, our Pfalms with artful terms inferib'd,
Our Hebrew Songs and Harps in Babylon,
That pleas'd fo well our Victors ear, declare
That rather Greece from us thefe arts deriv'd;
Ill imitated, while they loudeft fing

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The vices of their Deities, and their own

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In Fable, Hymn, or Song, so personating
Their Gods ridiculous, and themselves past shame,
Remove their swelling Epithetes thick laid

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As varnish on a Harlot's cheek, the rest,
Thin fown with aught of profit or delight,
Will far be found unworthy to compare
With Sion's fongs, to all true tafts excelling,
Where God is prais❜d aright, and God-like men

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