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pitch. All his internal powers, are at work: all his external, teftify their energies. Within, the memory, the fancy, the judgment, the paffions, are all bufy: without, every mufcle, every nerve, is exerted; not a feature, not a limb, but fpeaks. The organs of the body attuned to the exertions of the mind, thro' the kindred organs of the hearers, inftantaneously, and, as it were, with an electrical fpirit, vibrate thofe energies from foul to foul.Notwith@anding the diverfity of minds in such a multitude, by the lightning of eloquence, they are melted into one mafs the whole affembly, actuated in one and the fame way, become, as it were, but one man, and have but one voice.-The univerfal cry is LET US MAKCH AGAINST PHILIP




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EMOTE from cities, liv'd a fwain,
Unvex'd with all the cares of gain.
His head was filver'd o'er with age,
And long experience made him fage:
In fummer's heat, and winter's cold,
He fed his flock, and penn'd the fold:
His hours in chearful labour flew,
Nor envy nor ambition knew:
His wifdom, and his honeft fame,
Through all the country rais'd his name.

A deep philofopher (whose rules
Of moral life were drawn from schools)
The shepherd's homely cottage fought,
And thus explor'd his reach of thought.

WHENCE is thy learning? Hath thy toil O'er books confum'd the midnight-oil ?


Haft thou old Greece and Rome furvey'd,
And the vaft fenfe of Plato weigh'd ?
Hath Socrates thy foul refin'd,

And haft thou fa hom'd Tully's mind?
Or, like the wife Ulyffes, thrown,
By various fates, on realms unknown,
Haft thou through many cities ftray'd,
Their customs, laws, and manners weigh'd?

THE fhepherd modeftly reply'd-
I ne'er the paths of learning try'd:
Nor have I roam'd in foreign parts,
To read mankind, their laws, and arts;
For man is practis'd in disguise;
He cheats the most difcerning eyes:
Who, by that fearch, fhall wifer grow,
When we ourselves can never know?
The little knowledge I have gain'd,
Was all from fimple nature drain'd :
Hence my life's maxims took their rise ;
Hence grew my fettled hate to vice.

THE daily labours of the bee
Awake my foul to industry.
Who can obferve the careful ant,
And not provide for future want?
My dog (the truftieft of his kind)
With gratitude inflames my mind:
I mark his true, his faithful way,
And, in my fervice, copy Tray.
In conftancy, and nuptial love,
I learn my duty from the dove.
The hen, who, from the chilly air,
With pious wing, protects her care;
And every fowl, that flies at large,
Instructs me in a parent's charge.

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