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CONTENTS of the Seventh Night.
N the Sixth Night Arguments were drawn, from NA-

TURE, in Proof of Immortality: Here, others are drawn from MAN: From his Discontent, p.187; from bis Passions and Powers, 188 ; from the gradual Growth of Reason, 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 essential Properties of the Soul, 195; from the Order of Creation, 196; from the Nature of Ambition, 197, &c. Avarice, 202, 203; Pleasure, 204. A Digression on the Grandeur of the Passions, 205, 206. Immortality alone renders cur present State intelligible, 206, 207. An Objection from the Stoics Disbelief of Immortality, answered, 207, 208. Endless Questions unresolvable, but on Supposition of our Immortality, 208. The natural, most melancholy, and pathetic Complaint of a Worthy Man under the Persuasion of no Futurity, 209, &c. The gross Absurdities and Horrors of Annihilation urg'd home on LoRENZO, 215, &c. The Soul's vost Importance, 221, &c. from whence it arises, 224, 225. The Difficulty of being an Infidel, 227. The Infamy, ibid. the Cause, 229. and the Character, 229, 230, of an Infidel-State. What True Free-thinking is, 230, 231. The necessary Punishment of the False, 232. Man's Ruin is from Himself, 233. An Infidel accuses himself of Guilt, and Hypocrisy; and that of the worst Sort, 234. His Obligation to Christians, ibid. What Danger he incars by Virtue, 235. Vice recommended to Him, 236. His high Pretences to Virtue, and Benevolence, exploded, ibid. The Conclusion, or the Nature of Faith, 238. Reason, 239; and Hope, 239, 240; with an Apology for this Attempt, 240.

HE AV’N

H

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

What Day, what Hour, but knocks at human To wake the Soul to Sense of future Scenes ? [Hearts, Deaths stand, like Mercurys, in ev'ry Way ; And kindly point us to our Journey's End. Pope, who couldst make. Immortals! art Thou dead ? I give thee Joy: Nor will I take

my

Leave;
So soon to follow : Man but dives in Death;
Dives from the Sun, in fairer Day to rise ;
The Grave; his subterranean 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 unrolld!) 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) shall dare deny ?
If Nature's Arguments appear too weak,
Turn a new Leaf, and stronger read in Man.
If Man Neeps on, untaught by what he sees,

* Night the Sixth.

Can

Can he prove Infidel to what he feels ?
He, whose blind Thought Futurity denies,
Unconscious bears, BELLEROPHON! like thee,
His own Indictment; he condemns himself;
Who reads his Bosom, reads immortal Life ;
Or, Nature, there, imposing on her Sons,
Has written Fables; Man was made a Lye.

Why Discontent for ever harbour'd there?
Incurable Consumption of our Peace !
Resolve 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 Blasts with Mud and Straw,
Disquieted alike, draw Sigh for Sigh,
In Fare so distant, in Complaint so near ?

Is it, that Things Terrestrial can't content ? Deep in rich Pasture, will thy Flocks complain? Not so; 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 suffice, Poor in Abundance, familh'd at a Feast, Sighs on for something more, when most enjoy'd. Is Heav'n then kinder to thy Flocks, than Thee i Not fo ; thy Pasture richer, but remote ;

In part, remote ; for that remoter Part
Man bleats from Inftinet, tho', perhaps, debauch'd
By Sense, his Reason Neeps, nor dreams the Caufe.

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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, Ser

up their Hopes on Earth, and stable here,
With brutal Acquiescence in the Mire?
LORENZO! no! they shall be nobly pain'd;
The glorious Foreigners, distrest, shall figh
On Thrones; and Thou congratulate the Sigh:
Man's Misery declares him born for Bliss;
His anxious Heart asserts the Truth I fing,
And gives the Sceptic in his Head the Lye.

Our Heads, our Hearts, our Paffions, and our Powers;
Speak the same 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 Those too strong
Tumultuous rise, and tempest human Life :
What Prize on Earth can pay us for the Storm?
Meet Objects for our Pasions Heav'n ordain'd,
Objects that challenge all their Fire, and leave
No Fault, but in Defect: Blest Heav'n! avert
A bounded Ardor for unbounded Bliss;

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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,
Transplanted from this sublunary Bed,
Shall fourish fair, and put forth all their Bloom,

Reason progressive, Instinal is complete ;
Swift Instinɛt leaps; Now Reason feebly climbs.
Brutes soon their Zenith reach; their ļittle All
Flows įn 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 Lesson half-unlearnt.
Men perish in Advance, as if the Sun
Should seg ere Noon, in Eastern Oceans drown'd;
If fit, with Din, Illuftriqus to compare,
The Sun's Meridian, with the Soul of Man.
To Man, why, Stepdame Nature ! so severe?
Why thrown aside thy Master-piece half-wrought,
While meaner Efforts thy last Hand enjoy ?
Or, if abortively poor Man must die,
Nor reach, what reach he might, why die in Dread?
Why curst with Foresight? Wise to Misery?
Why of his proud Prerogative the Prey?

Why

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