THE

LOGICIANS REFUTED.

IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT.

LOGICIANS have but ill defin'd
As rational the human mind;
Reason, they say, belongs to man,
But let them prove it if they can,
Wise Aristotle and Smiglesius,

By ratiocinations specious,

Have strove to prove with great precision,

With definition and division,

Homo est ratione preditum ;

But for my soul I cannot credit 'em:
And must in spite of them maintain

That man and all his ways are vain;
And that this boasted lord of nature
Is both a weak and erring creature :
That instinct is a surer guide

Than reason, boasting mortals' pride;

And that brute beasts are far before 'em,

Deus est anima brutorum.

Who ever knew an honest brute

At law his neighbour prosecute;

Bring action for assault and battery,

Or friend beguile with lies and flattery?
O'er plains they ramble unconfin'd,

No politics disturb their mind;

They eat their meals, and take their sport,

Nor know who's in or out at court;

They never to the levee go

To treat as dearest friend a foe;
They never importune his grace,

Nor ever cringe to men in place;
Nor undertake a dirty job,

Nor draw the quill to write for Bob;
Fraught with invective they ne'er go
To folks at Pater-noster-row:

No judges, fidlers, dancing masters,
No pickpockets, or poetasters,
Are known to honest quadrupedes;
No single brute his fellows leads;

Brutes never meet in bloody fray,
Nor cut each other's throats for pay.
Of beasts, it is confess'd, the ape
Comes nearest us in human shape,
Like man, he imitates each fashion,
And malice is his ruling passion:
But both in malice and grimaces,
A courtier any ape surpasses.
Behold him, humbly cringing, wait
Upon the minister of state:

View him soon after to inferiors
Aping the conduct of superiors:

He promises with equal air,

And to perform takes equal care.
He in his turn finds imitators;

At court, the porters, lackeys, waiters,
Their masters' manners still contract,
And footmen lords and dukes can act;
Thus at the court, both great and small
Behave alike-for all ape all.

ON

A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH,

STRUCK BLIND BY LIGHTNING.

IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.

SURE 'twas by Providence design'd, Rather in pity, than in hate,

That he should be, like Cupid, blind, To save him from Narcissus' fate.

A

NEW SIMILE,

IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT.

LONG had I sought in vain to find
A likeness for the scribbling kind;
The modern scribbling kind, who write
In wit, and sense, and nature's spite:
Till reading, I forget what day on,
A chapter out of Tooke's Pantheon,
I think I met with something there,
To suit my purpose to a hair;
But let us not proceed too furious,
First please to turn to god Mercurius:
You'll find him pictur'd at full length

In book the second, page the tenth:
The stress of all my proofs on him I lay,
And now proceed we to our simile.