EPISTLE THE FIRST. to LORENZO

While zeal pursues, beyond the Grave, Whom Priest nor Patriot could save, Lost St. John, sav'd and damn'd by Fame, An honour'd & a blasted Name; Lorenzo asks, ingenuous Youth, What is, & who beleives, the truth.

Lorenzo, wouldst thou learn of me? Truth is where all the world agree. Is there no point where all unite? I answer, none are in the right. Yet wouldst thou know, so Skepticks err, To whom enquiry may refer; Where trembling doubt & error blind At once a guard & guide may find, At once successfully apply, And give to Falsehood's face the Lye? Alass! denied the perfect rule, That serves alike the Knave & Fool, Alike the Ignorant & the Wise; Adoring these what those despise. Whether we judge, from Nature's Law That Truth infallibly we draw, Or think the just Criterion given In Revelation pure from Heaven, It differs not, unless we find Some active index in the mind, Some Ray of Heaven's unerring light, To guide in this or that aright.

Let Christianity display It's wond'rous Volume to the day; The sacred lines, however true, Alike affect not me & you; Th' accepted sense of holy writ Still resting on th' accepting wit. For who that read but comprehend As taught by Father, Priest, or Friend: Or tenets new, more nice than wise, Peculiar to themselves devise.

How then prevails the sacred text, If by the comment thus perplex'd, If Hereticks, of ev'ry kind, Still in the word their Gospel find; Still if the spirit hides the flaw That marrs the letter of the Law!

Let Nature's striking scenes engage The letter'd & unletter'd Age, No fix'd Ideas yet we find Convey'd from hence to Humankind. When meteors shine or Comets blaze, Behold the wond'ring Crito gaze, Prognosticate, in error wise, The Judgments gathering in the skies: Th' Aurora streaming from the Pole, What mighty fears his Heart controul! See him confess his angry God, And dread his mercies as his rod: Whilst thou, Blasphemer! Crito cries, Liftst up thine hand against the skies; Fearless, in Scientific pride, On the wild whirlwind's wings wouldst ride: When Thunder splits the Clouds in twain, Or Lightnings melt them into Rain, 'Gainst Heaven itself so mad to arm, In magick steel, you brave the storm; With Franklin, impiously defie The Thunderers red right arm on high; Bold Titan! take your mounted stand, To wrest the Light'nings from his hand.

Thus, by no certain instinct led, We comprehend what's seen or read; But, from unlike experience taught, Peculiar are our modes of thought.

Dost pause when Pleas of right or wrong To captious opponents belong; While this affirm'd or that denied With equal force on either side? Avoid Lorenzo vain dispute: 'Tis empty triumph to confute. No Honour whets the Champion's Blade: Truth warms no Casuist by Trade. See the wing'd Cork from side to side Rebound, the truant school boy's pride! With equal warmth, with equal noise, So Disputants, like truant Boys, Between what Saint or Father saith Bang the light Shittlecock of Faith. Our first mistake, Lorenzo, this. All on their faith wou'd found their bliss; And, here while flattering hope depends, To truth presumptuous faith pretends. Thus contradictions are profess'd, Yet truth must be to all the test.

But tell me what connection ties So close the Happy and the Wise. Ah! what avails the Truth to know, When Truth the frequent source of woe; While gilded Fiction's flattering rays With sunshine beautifie our days; Or, mildly shed, it's silver beams, Reflected, light our nightly dreams; While Pleasure & it's laughing train Dance by the Moonshine of the brain.

From hence doth bliss or misery flow, The truth to know or not to know? For bliss in vain the Learn'd explore; Swift as their search it flies before, Thro' ev'ry Clime, on ev'ry wind, And leaves their panting wish behind. O say what truth doth science reach, The Infant's peace of mind to teach! O say what truth shall faith receive Exclusive happiness to give! In Pope or Mufti what is given But fear of Hell & hope of Heaven; A view of future bliss or woe, The guiding prospect here below; If promis'd, then, Seraphick skies, Or Osman's sensual Paradise, Or, with the Indian, taught t'ascend To converse with a former friend; Still if the tenet moves to act, Words & Opinions bow to Fact; To truth or Knowledge unconfin'd The Bliss or Woe of Humankind: As happy those who blindly trust In Pope, or Mufti, if as just; No more requir'd by gracious Heaven Than to requiring Man is given.

Let Calvin, then, selecting, rave, Or Luther souls unsorted save, Or Peter's heir deny the Keys Of Heav'n to Hereticks like these; Rejecting thou the vain abuse, Know ev'ry System hath it's use, Or new or old, or yours or mine, Subservient all to Heav'ns design: Tho' truth from each be distant far As Good hope from the Polar star. As parts to complex Engines prove, Inspir'd, by Mechanism, to move, This retrogade & that direct, In diff'rent modes to one effect; So these, or moral or divine, In nature's grand machine combine. Machine how vast! how lost is man In nature's wonder-working plan!

The reason this,—we ever drew Of Nature a perspective view; Fix'd to one Station, Time & place, In power no just survey to trace. So individuals also draw; Their eye their rule, their will their law. No wonder then that wrong & right Perplex, from various points of Sight; That widely diff'rent both appear If view'd from thence or seen from here.

Place lights, with art, the shades between; And black & white the varying scene: At points oppos'd each strikes the eyes, And this affirms what that denies. The demonstration of his Sight Who doubts? who knows not black from white The proofs of both exactly suit, And evidence supports dispute. How madly then the world agree To rave at alien Heresy! Heirs to Religion's brighter sphere, How strangely damn'd & damning here! Halfwitted Zeal, of all the test, Itself condemning with the rest: By Sampson's rage, so thousands lost Fell but at blinded Sampson's cost.

Lorenzo, is't thyself to please? Dost covet truth in hopes of ease? Woulds't thou of future bliss or woe Secure thy hopes and fears below? Be truth no more thy ardent search; Behold thy nostrum in the Church; Faith, by indulgent Heaven, design'd, To help the weak, to lead the blind, To check the rash, to warn the bold, T'affright the young, t'amuse the old, From our ownselves ourselves to save, And bring us smiling to the Grave. Ask'st thou what Church? by each confest His own superior to the rest. Enquire of all—of all enquir'd, Their medium is the term desir'd. Dost thou require this term of me? Go, seek it in Conformity: At London, Pekin, or Peru, A constant rule for ever true. From hence deduce that golden mean Each dagger-drawing Church between; Nor doubt if here thou fixest right: In half their difference all unite. Their half of difference, if unknown, Will Moderation make thine own.

Hard is the task, advent'rous Youth, And bold thy enterprize for truth. Yet canst thou bliss or ease forego, And burns thy bosom but to know? Hast, in thine earlier hours, been taught The gen'rous fortitude of thought, To set blind prejudice apart, To rend th'old Woman from the Heart, To damn tradition's idle rules, The Mother & the Nurse of Fools? Th' ingenuous muse shall lead the way Safe in the theme, tho' rude the lay, Truth hopes not for poetic praise: To Fiction sacred are the Bays.