1^6 ov DR. young's night thoughts. . June 8, 



" Reafon alone baptiz'd? alone ordain J 



" To touch things facred. 



" Oh ye cold-hearted, frozen, formalifts ! 

 " On fuch a theme, 'tis impious to be calm j 



" PaJJian is reafon ; tranfjiort, temper, here ■ - , 



Night 4th, 1. 62j|,' 



" Devotion, when lukewarm, is undevout. 



" Lorenzo ! haft thnn ever iveigh'd ajigb ? 

 " Or ftudied the pbiUfsphy of tears ! 



Night jth, 1. Jl6. 

 " Death's dreadful advent Is the mark of man, 



" And every thought that niifles it, is blind. 



*' Revere thyfelf : — and yet thyfglf defpife. 



Night 6th, 1. 11.%. 

 " Man's mifry declares him born for bltfs ; 

 " His anxious heart afferts the truth I fing, 

 " And gives fthe fceptic in hit head the lie. 



Night 7th, 1. 6o. 

 •' Man's heaft eats all things, and is hungry ftill ; 



" More, more ! tlie glutton crys : 



Ibid. I. 123. 

 " The world's all title-page, there's no contents ; 

 " The world's allyicc; the m^n who (hews his heart, 

 " Is hooted for his nudities, and fcorn'd. 



Night 8th, I 333- 



" Lorenzo ! 



" This is the moft indulgence can afford ; 



" Thy ivifdom all can do, but make thee -wife ; 



" Nor think this cciifure is fevertj on thee ; ' 



" Satan, thy mafter, I dare call a dunce. 



Night Qth, 1. 1414. 

 " When pain can't hlifs, heaven quits us in defpair. 



Night 5th, 1. 497. 



After all, and as fome apology to the numerous ad- 

 mirers of Dr. Young, I allow that there are ftrokcs and 

 paflages of genuine poetry to be found, though thinly 

 fcattered, among the wild elFufions of this long and la- 

 boured poem. I refer, in particular, to llie firft five 

 lines of Night Firft, and to the thirteen firft lines of 

 Night Fourth. For the fake of juftice to our authorj 

 the two paflages fhall be inferted at full length. 

 Night Firft. 



" Tir'd nature's fweet rcftorer, balmy fleep ! 



" He like the world, his ready vifit pays, 



" ^V^lere fortune (miles : the wretched he forfakcs j 



" Swift, on his downy pinions, flies from wot, 



* And lights on lids unfullied by a tear. 



