202
Letters concerning
Ton eſprit énervé croupit dans la Moleſſe.
Reveille toi, ſois hommes, & ſors de ton Yvreſſe.
L'homme eſt né pour agir, & tu pretens penſer? &c.
The Original runs thus:
Hold, mighty Man, I cry all this we know,
And 'tis this very Reaſon I deſpiſe,
This ſupernatural Gift, that makes a Mite
Think he's the Image of the Infinite;
Comparing his ſhort Life, void of all reſt,
To the eternal and the ever bleſt.
This buſy, puzzling Stirrer up of Doubt,
That frames deep Myſteries, then finds 'em out,
Filling, with frantic Crowds of thinking Fools,
Thoſe reverend Bedlams, Colleges and Schools;
Borne on whoſe Wings, each heavy Sot can pierce
The Limits of the boundleſs Univerſe.
So
