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This fact well considered, would make our infidels withdraw their admiration from Socrates; or make them endeavour, by their imitation of this illustrious example, to share his glory: And, consequently, it would incline them to peruse the following pages with candour and impartiality: Which is all I desire; and that, for their sakes For I am persuaded, that an unprejudiced infidel must, necessarily, receive some advantageous impressions from them.

July 7, 1744.

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IN the sixth Night arguments were drawn, from Nature,

in proof of immortality: Here, others are drawn from

MAN: From his Discontent, p. 8; from his Passions

and Powers, 9; from the gradual growth of Reason,

ibid. from his fear of Death, 10; from the nature of

Hope, ibid. and of Virtue, 11, &c. from Knowledge,

and Love, as being the most essential properties of the soul,

14; from the Order of Creation, 15, &c. from the na-

ture of Ambition, 17, &c. Avarice, 20; Pleasure, 21.

A digression on the grandeur of the Passions, 22, 23. Im-

mortality alone renders our present state intelligible, 23.

An objection from the Stoics disbelief of immortality an-

swered, 24. Endless questions unresolvable, but on sup-

position of our immortality, 25. The natural, most mel-

ancholy, and pathetic complaint of a worthy man, under the

persuasion of no futurity, 26, &c. The gross absurdities

and horrors of annihilation, urged home on LORENZO, 31,

c. The souls vast importance, 36, &c. from whence

it arises, 39, 40. The Difficulty of being an infidel, 41,

the Infamy, ibid. the Cause, 42, and the Character, ibid.

of an infidel state. What true free-thinking is, 43, 44.

The necessary punishment of the false, 45. Man's ruin

is from himself, 46. An infidel accuses himself of guilt,

and hypocrisy ; and that of the worst sort, ibid. His ob-

ligation to Christians, 47. What danger he incurs by

Virtue, ibid. Vice recommended to him, 48. His high

pretences to Virtue, aud Benevolence, exploded, ibid. The

conclusion on the nature of Faith, 49. Reason, ibid;

and Hope, 50; with an apology for this attempt, 51.

THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED.

PART THE SECOND.

HEAV'N gives the needful, but neglected, call. What day, what hour, but knocks at human hearts, To wake the soul to sense of future scenes ? Death's stand, like Mercury's, in ev'ry way, And kindly point us to our journey's end. POPE, who couldst make immortals! art thou dead? I give thee joy: Nor will I take my leave; So soon to follow. Man but dives in death; Dives from the sun, in fairer day to rise; The grave his subterranean road to bliss. Yes, infinite indulgence plann'd it so ; Through various parts our glorious story runs ; Time gives the preface, endless age unrolls The volume (ne'er unroll'd!) of human fate. This, earth and skies* already have proclaim'd. The world's a prophecy of worlds to come; And who, what GOD foretels (who speaks in things, Still louder than in words) shall dare deny ? If nature's arguments appear too weak, Turn a new leaf, and stronger read in man. If man sleeps on, untaught by what he sees, Can he prove infidel to what he feels? He, whose blind thought futurity denies, Unconscious bears, BELLEROPHON! like thee, His own indictment; he condemns himself; Who reads his bosom, reads immortal life; Or, nature, there, imposing on her sons, Has written fables; man was made a lie.

Night the Sixth.

Why discontent for ever harbour'd there?
Incurable consumption of our peace!
Resolve me, why, the cottager, and king,
He, whom sea-sever'd realms obey, and he
Who steals his whole dominion from the waste,
Repelling winter blasts with mud and straw,
Disquieted alike, draw sigh for sigh,
In fate so distant, in complaint so near?

Is it, that things terrestrial can't content?
Deep in rich pasture will thy flocks complain?
Not so; but to their master is deny'd
To share their sweet serene. Man, ill at ease,
In this, not his own place, this foreign field,
Where nature fodders him with other food,
Than was ordain'd his cravings to suffice,
Poor in abundance, famish'd at a feast,
Sighs on for something more, when most enjoy'd.
Is heav'n then kinder to thy flocks than thee?
Not so; thy pasture richer, but remote;
In part, remote; for that remoter part
Man bleats from instinct, tho' perhaps debauch'd
By sense, his reason sleeps, nor dreams the cause.
The cause how obvious, when his reason wakes!
His grief is but his grandeur in disguise;
And discontent is immortality.

Shall sons of ether, shall the blood of heav'n,
Set up their hopes on earth, and stable here,
With brutal acquiescence in the mire ?
LORENZO ! no! they shall be nobly pain'd;
The glorious foreigners, distrest, shall sigh
On thrones; and thou congratulate the sigh:
Man's misery declares him born for bliss;
His anxious heart asserts the truth I sing,
And gives the sceptic in his head the lie.

Our heads, our hearts, our passions, and our powers, Speak the same language; call us to the skies:

Unripen'd these in this inclement clime,

Scarce rise above conjecture, and mistake;

And for this land of trifles those too strong
Tumultuous rise, and tempest human life :
What prize on earth can pay us for the storm?
Meet objects for our passions heav'n ordain'd,
Objects that challenge all their fire, and leave
No fault, but in defect: Blest Heav'n! avert
A bounded ardor for unbounded bliss!
O for a bliss unbounded! Far beneath
A soul immortal, is à mortal joy.
Nor are our pow'rs to perish immature ;
But, after feeble effort here, beneath
A brighter sun, and in a nobler soil,
Transplanted from this sublunary bed,
Shall flourish fair, and put forth all their bloom.
Reason progressive, instinct is complete ;
Swift instinct leaps; slow reason feebly climbs.
Brutes soon their zenith reach; their little all
Flows in at once; in ages they no more
Could know, or do, or covet, or enjoy.

Were man to live coëval with the sun,
The patriarch-pupil would be learning still;
Yet, dying, leave his lesson half unlearnt.
Men perish in advance, as if the sun

Should set ere noon, in eastern oceans drown'd;
If fit, with dim, illustrious to compare,
The sun's meridian with the soul of man.
To man, why, stepdame nature! so severe ?
Why thrown aside thy master-piece half-wrought,
While meaner efforts thy last hand enjoy ?
Or, if abortively, poor man must die,

Nor reach, what reach he might, why die in dread?
Why curst with foresight? Wise to misery?

Why of his proud prerogative the prey?

Why less pre-eminent in rank, than pain?
His immortality alone can tell ;

Full ample fund to balance all amiss,
And turn the scale in favour of the just!

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