Page:The dispensary - a poem in six canto's (sic) (IA b30356775).pdf/86

 Zeno, a Priest, in Samothrace of old, Thus reason'd with Philopidas the bold; Immortal Gods you own, but think 'em blind To what concerns the State of Human Kind. Either they hear not, or regard not Pray'r, That argues want of Pow'r, and This of Care. Allow that Wisdom infinite must know; Pow'r infinite must act. I grant it so. Haste strait to Neptune's Fane, survey with Zeal The Walls. What then? reply'd the Infidel. Observe those num'rous Throngs in Effigy. The Gods have fav'd from the devouring Sea. 'Tis true, their Figures that escap'd you keep, But where are Theirs that perish'd in the Deep?

Vaunt now no more the Triumph of your Skill, But, tho' unfeed, exert your Arm, and kill. Our Scouts have learn'd the Posture of the Foe; In War, Surprizes surest Conduct show.

But Fame, that neither good nor bad conceals, That Pks Worth, and Os Valour tells, How Truth in B, how in Csh reigns Varros Magnificence with Maros Strains; But how at Church and Bar all gape and stretch If W plead, or S or Oly preach, On nimble Wings to Warwick-Lane repairs, And what the Enemy intends, declares. Confusion in each Countenance appear'd, A Council's call'd, and Stentor first was heard; His lab'ring Lungs the throng'd Prætorium rent, Addressing thus the passive President. Machaon,