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That Bible, bought by sixpence weekly sav'd,
Has choicest prints by famous Hands engrav'd;
Has choicest notes by famous Heads made out,
That teach the simple reader where to doubt;
That make him stop, to reason why? and how?
And where he wonder'd then, to cavil now.
Oh! rather give me Commentators plain,
Who with no deep researches vex the brain;
Who from the dark and doubtful love to run,
And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun;
Who simple Truth with nine-fold Reasons back,
And guard the point, no enemies attack.
Bunyan's fam'd Pilgrim rests that shelf upon,
A genius rare but rude was honest John;
Not one who, early by the Muse beguil'd,
Drank from her well, the waters undefil'd;
Not one who slowly gain'd the hill sublime,
Then often sipp'd, and little at a time;
But one who dabbled in the sacred springs,
And drank them muddy, mix'd with baser things.
Here to interpret Dreams we read the rules,
Science our own! and never taught in schools;
In moles and specks we Fortune's gifts discern,
And Fate's fixt will, from Nature's wanderings learn.
Of Hermit Quarle we read in island rare,
Far from mankind and seeming far from Care;
Safe from all want and sound in every limb,
Yes! there was he, and there was Care with him.
Unbound and heap'd these valued works beside,
Laid humbler works, the Pedlar's pack supplied;
Has choicest prints by famous Hands engrav'd;
Has choicest notes by famous Heads made out,
That teach the simple reader where to doubt;
That make him stop, to reason why? and how?
And where he wonder'd then, to cavil now.
Oh! rather give me Commentators plain,
Who with no deep researches vex the brain;
Who from the dark and doubtful love to run,
And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun;
Who simple Truth with nine-fold Reasons back,
And guard the point, no enemies attack.
Bunyan's fam'd Pilgrim rests that shelf upon,
A genius rare but rude was honest John;
Not one who, early by the Muse beguil'd,
Drank from her well, the waters undefil'd;
Not one who slowly gain'd the hill sublime,
Then often sipp'd, and little at a time;
But one who dabbled in the sacred springs,
And drank them muddy, mix'd with baser things.
Here to interpret Dreams we read the rules,
Science our own! and never taught in schools;
In moles and specks we Fortune's gifts discern,
And Fate's fixt will, from Nature's wanderings learn.
Of Hermit Quarle we read in island rare,
Far from mankind and seeming far from Care;
Safe from all want and sound in every limb,
Yes! there was he, and there was Care with him.
Unbound and heap'd these valued works beside,
Laid humbler works, the Pedlar's pack supplied;
