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Hearing a lawyer, grave in his address,

With adjurations ev'ry word impress,
Suppos'd the man a bishop, or at least,
God's name fo much upon his lips, a prieft;

Bow'd at the clofe with all his graceful airs,

And begg'd an int'reft in his frequent pray'rs.

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Go, quit the rank to which ye ftood preferr'd,
Henceforth affociate in one common herd;
Religion, virtue, reason, common sense,
Pronounce your human form a falfe pretence;
A mere disguise, in which a devil lurks,
Who yet betrays his fecret by his works.

Ye pow'rs who rule the tongue, if such there are,

And make colloquial happiness your care,

Preferve me from the thing I dread and hate-
A duel in the form of a debate.

The clash of arguments and jar of words,
Worfe than the mortal brunt of rival swords,
Decide no queftion with their tedious length,
(For oppofition gives opinion strength)

Divert the champions, prodigal of breath,
And put the peaceably-difpofed to death.
Oh, thwart me not, fir Soph, at ev'ry turn,
Nor carp at ev'ry flaw you may difcern;
Though fyllogifms hang not on my tongue,
I am not surely always in the wrong!
'Tis hard if all is falfe that I advance-

A fool must now and then be right, by chance.
Not that all freedom of diffent I blame;

No-there I grant the privilege I claim.

A difputable point is no man's ground;
Rove where you please, 'tis common all around.
Discourse may want an animated-No,

To brush the furface and to make it flow;
But still remember, if you mean to please,
To prefs your point with modefty and ease.
The mark, at which my jufter aim I take,
Is contradiction for its own dear fake.

Set your opinion at whatever pitch,

Knots and impediments make fomething hitch.

Adopt his own, 'tis equally in vain,
Your thread of argument is fnapt again;
The wrangler, rather than accord with you,

Will judge himself deceiv'd, and prove it too.
Vociferated logic kills me quite;

A noify man is always in the right

I twirl my thumbs, fall back into my chair,
Fix on the wainscot a distressful stare,
And, when I hope his blunders are all out,
Reply difcreetly-To be fure-no doubt!

DUBIUS is fuch a fcrupulous good man-
Yes you may catch him tripping if you can,
He would not, with a peremptory tone,
Affert the nose upon his face his own;
With hefitation admirably flow,

He humbly hopes-prefumes-it may be fo.

His evidence, if he were call'd by law

To fwear to fome enormity he saw,

For want of prominence and juft relief,

Would hang an honest man, and save a thief.

Through conftant dread of giving truth offence,

He ties

up

all his hearers in suspense;

Knows what he knows as if he knew it not,

What he remembers feems to have forgot;
His fole opinion, whatsoe'er befall,

Cent'ring at last in having none at all.

Yet, though he teafe and baulk your lift'ning ear, He makes one useful point exceeding clear;

Howe'er ingenious on his darling theme

A fceptic in philofophy may feem,
Reduc'd to practice, his beloved rule
Would only prove him a confummate fool;

Useless in him alike both brain and speech,
Fate having plac'd all truth above his reach,
His ambiguities his total fum,

He might as well be blind, and deaf, and dumb.
Where men of judgment creep and feel their way,
The pofitive pronounce without difmay;
Their want of light and intellect fupplied
By fparks abfurdity strikes out of pride:

Without the means of knowing right from wrong,

They always are decifive, clear, and strong.
Where others toil with philofophic force,

Their nimble nonfenfe takes a fhorter courfe;
Flings at your head conviction in the lump,
And gains remote conclusions at a jump:
Their own defect, invisible to them,

Seen in another, they at once condemn;
And, though felf-idoliz'd in ev'ry cafe,
Hate their own likeness in a brother's face.
The caufe is plain, and not to be denied,
The proud are always moft provok'd by pride.
Few competitions but engender fpite;

And those the moft, where neither has a right.

The point of honour has been deem'd of use,
To teach good manners, and to curb abuse.
Admit it true, the confequence is clear,
Our polish'd manners are a mask we wear,
And at the bottom barb'rous ftill and rude;
We are reftrain'd, indeed, but not subdued.

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