From Story is not mighty clear:
Of many knotty Points They spoke;
And Pro and Con by turns They took.
Ratts half the Manufcript have eat:
Dire Hunger! which We ftill regret:
O! may they ne'er again digeft
The Horrors of fo fad a Feaft.
Yet lefs our Grief, if what remains,
Dear JACOB, by thy Care and Pains
Shall be to future Times convey'd.
It thus begins:
* * * Here MATTHEW faid:
ALMA in Verfe; in Profe, the MIND,
By ARISTOTLE's Pen defin'd,
Throughout the Body fquat or tall,
Is, bonâ fide, All in All.
And yet, flap dash, is All again
In every Sinew, Nerve, and Vein.
Runs here and there, like HAMLET'S Ghoft;
While every where She rules the roaft.
This System, RICHARD, We are told,
The Men of OXFORD firmly hold.
The CAMBRIDGE Wits, You know, deny
With Ipfe dixit to comply.
They fay (for in good truth They speak
With small Respect of that old GREEK)
That, putting all his Words together,
'Tis Three blew Beans in One blew Bladder.
ALMA, They strenuously maintain,
Sits Cock-horse on Her Throne, the Brain;
And from that Seat of Thought difpenfes
Her Sov'reign Pleasure to the Senfes.
Two Optic Nerves, They fay, She tyes,
Like Spectacles, a-cross the Eyes;
By which the Spirits bring her Word,
Whene'er the Balls are fix'd, or stirr'd;
How quick at Park and Play they ftrike;
The Duke they court; the Toaft they like;
And at ST JAMES's turn their Grace.
From former Friends, now out of Place.
Without these Aids, to be more ferious,
Her Pow'r, They hold, had been precarious:
The Eyes might have confpir'd her Ruin;
And She not known, what They were doing.
Foolish it had been, and unkind,
That They fhou'd fee, and She be blind.
Wife Nature likewise, They suppose,
Has drawn two Conduits down our Nofe:
Cou'd ALMA clfe with Judgment tell,
When Cabbage ftinks, or Rofes fmell?
Or who wou'd ask for her Opinion
Between an Oyster, and an Onion?
For from most Bodies, DICK, You know,
Some little Bits ask Leave to flow;
And, as thro' thefe Canals They roll,
Bring up a Sample of the Whole.
Like Footmen running before Coaches,
To tell the Inn, what Lord approaches.
By Nerves about our Palate plac'd,
She likewife judges of the Tafte.
Else (dismal Thought!) our Warlike Men
Might drink thick Port for fine Champagne;
And our ill-judging Wives and Daughters
Mistake Small-beer for Citron-Waters.
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