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202 Ton eprit énervé croupit dans la Molee. Reveille toi, ois hommes, & ors de ton Yvree. L'homme et né pour agir, & tu pretens pener? &c.

The Original runs thus:

Hold, mighty Man, I cry all this we know, And 'tis this very Reaon I depie, This upernatural Gift, that makes a Mite Think he's the Image of the Infinite; Comparing his hort Life, void of all ret, To the eternal and the ever blet. This buy, puzzling Stirrer up of Doubt, That frames deep Myteries, then finds 'em out, Filling, with frantic Crowds of thinking Fools, Thoe reverend Bedlams, Colleges and Schools; Borne on whoe Wings, each heavy Sot can pierce The Limits of the boundles Univere. So