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Written at Moor-park, June, 1689.
Till, its first emperor, rebellious man
By many a petty lord possess’d,
who must this land subdue,
Where none ever led the way,
Like the philosopher's stone,
With rules from musty morals brought,
With antique reliques of the dead,
And we, the bubbled fools,
We oddly Plato's paradox make good,
Remembrance is our treasure and our food;
Stale memorandums of the schools:
Her priest, her train, and followers show
Affect ill-manner'd pedantry, Rudeness; ill-nature, incivility,
And, fick with dregs of knowledgè growr.
Which greedily they swallow down,
(If it may lawful be
(Which since has seiz’d on all the rest) That knowledge forfeits all humanity; Taught us, like Spaniards, to be proud and poor,
And fling our scraps before our door!
You cannot be compar'd to one:
Borr w from every one à grace ;
Their courting a retreat like you, Unless I put in Cæsar's learning too :
frame at once controuls This great triumvirate of souls.
He sav'd his country by delays,
But you by peace: