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CONTENTS of the Seventh Night.

IN

the Sixth Night Arguments were drawn, from NATURE, in Proof of Immortality: Here, others are drawn from MAN: From his Difcontent, p. 187; from bis Paffions and Powers, 188; from the gradual Growth of Reafon, 189; from his Fear of Death, ibid. from the Nature of Hope, 190; and of Virtue, 191, &c. from Knowlege, and Love, as being the most effential Properties of the Soul, 195; from the Order of Creation, 196; from the Nature of Ambition, 197, &c. Avarice, 202, 203; Pleafure, 204. A Digreffion on the Grandeur of the Paffions, 205, 206. Immortality alone renders our prefent State intelligible, 206, 207. An Objection from the Stoics Disbelief of Immortality, anfwered, 207, 208. Endless Questions unrefolvable, but on Suppofition of our Immortality, 208. The natural, most melancholy, and pathetic Complaint of a Worthy Man under the Perfuafion of no Futurity, 209, &c. The grojs Abfurdities and Horrors of Annihilation urg'd home on LoRENZO, 215, &c. The Soul's vaft Importance, 221, &c, from whence it arifes, 224, 225. The Difficulty of being an Infidel, 227. The Infamy, ibid. the Caufe, 229. and the Character, 229, 230, of an Infidel-State. What True Free-thinking is, 230, 231. The neceffary Punishment of the Falfe, 232. Man's Ruin is from Himfelf, 233. An Infidel accufes himself of Guilt, and Hypocrify; and that of the worst Sort, 234. His Obligation to Christians, ibid. What Danger he incurs by Virtue, 235. Vice recommended to Him, 236. His high Pretences to Virtue, and Benevolence, exploded, ibid. The Conclufion, on the Nature of Faith, 238. Reason, 239; and Hope, 239, 240; with an Apology for this Attempt, 240.

H

EAV'N gives the needful, but neglected, Call.

What Day, what Hour, but knocks at humant To wake the Soul to Senfe of future Scenes? [Hearts, Deaths ftand, like Mercurys, in ev'ry Way;

And kindly point us to our Journey's End.

POPE, who couldft make Immortals! art Thou dead?
I give thee Joy: Nor will I take my

Leave;
So foon to follow: Man but dives in Death;
Dives from the Sun, in fairer Day to rife;
The Grave, his fubterranean Road to Bliss.
Yes, infinite Indulgence plann'd it fo;
Thro' 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) fhall dare deny?
If Nature's Arguments appear too weak,
Turn a new Leaf, and ftronger read in Man.

If Man fleeps on, untaught by what he fees,

*

Night the Sixth.

Can

Can he prove Infidel to what he feels?

He, whofe blind Thought Futurity denies,
Unconscious bears, BELLEROPHON! like thee,
His own Indictment; he condemns himself;
Who reads his Bofom, reads immortal Life;
Or, Nature, there, impofing on her Sons,
Has written Fables; Man was made a Lye.
Why Difcontent for ever harbour'd there?
Incurable Confumption of our Peace!
Refolve me, why, the Cottager, and King,
He whom Sea-fever'd Realms obey, and he
Who steals his whole Dominion from the Waste,
Repelling Winter Blafts with Mud and Straw,
Difquieted alike, draw Sigh for Sigh,

In Fate fo diftant, in Complaint fo near?

Is it, that Things Terreftrial can't content?
Deep in rich Pafture, will thy Flocks complain?
Not fo; 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 fuffice,
Poor in Abundance, famish'd at a Feast,

Sighs on for fomething more, when most enjoy'd.
Is Heav'n then kinder to thy Flocks, than Thee

Not fo; thy Pafture richer, but remote;

7

In

In

part, remote; for that remoter Part

Man bleats from Inftinit, tho', perhaps, debauch'd
By Senfe, his Reafon fleeps, nor dreams the Caufe.
The Cause how obvious, when his Reason wakes!
His Grief is but his Grandeur in Disguise;
And Discontent is Immortality.

Shall Sons of Æther, shall the Blood of Heaven,
Set up their Hopes on Earth, and ftable here,
With brutal Acquiefcence in the Mire?
LORENZO! no! they fhall be nobly pain'd;
The glorious Foreigners, diftreft, fhall figh
On Thrones; and Thou congratulate the Sigh:
Man's Mifery declares him born for Bliss;
His anxious Heart afferts the Truth I fing,
And gives the Sceptic in his Head the Lye.

Our Heads, our Hearts, our Paffions, and our Powers; Speak the fame Language; call us to the Skies: Unripen'd Thefe in this inclement Clime,

Scarce rise above Conjecture, and Mistake;
And for this Land of Trifles Thofe too strong
Tumultuous rife, and tempeft human Life:
What Prize on Earth can pay us for the Storm?
Meet Objects for our Paffions Heav'n ordain'd,
Objects that challenge all their Fire, and leave
No Fault, but in Defect: Bleft Heav'n! avert
A bounded Ardor for unbounded Blifs;

O for a Blifs unbounded! Far beneath

A Soul immortal, is a mortal Joy.
Nor are our Pow'rs to perish immature;
But, after feeble Effort bere, beneath
A brighter Sun, and in a nobler Soil,
Tranfplanted from this fublunary Bed,
Shall flourish fair, and put forth all their Bloom.
Reafon progreffive, Inftinct is complete;
Swift Inftinct leaps; flow Reafon feebly climbs.
Brutes foon 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 Leffon half-unlearnt.

Men perish in Advance, as if the Sun
Should fet ere Noon, in Eastern Oceans drown'd;
If fit, with Dim, Illuftrious to compare,

The Sun's Meridian, with the Soul of Man.
To Man, why, Stepdame Nature! fo fevere?
Why thrown aside thy Mafter-piece half-wrought,
While meaner Efforts thy laft Hand enjoy?
Or, if abortively poor Man muft die,

Nor reach, what reach he might, why die in Dread?
Why curft with Forefight? Wife to Mifery?

Why of his proud Prerogative the Prey?

Why