Poems by several hands, and on several occasions collected by N. Tate.

The ATHEIST.

I.

GReat knowing Hero! Who dares boast A Conquest o're the Lord of Host! Thou wear'st a Soul that scorns to be Corrupted with the Notion of a Deity; Thou know'st this World was made by chance, In thy eternal Atoms luckey Dance, That in their heedless motion hit At last on thee, thou mighty Man of Wit. Thy shuffl'd Atoms that thus joyn'd, And to make a World combin'd, By the last Trumps inliv'ning sound Shall be without blind chance calld from the world round; And when they're all together met, Shall the Agony beget, Then thou shall be Rebuilt to an Eternity

Of still beginning misery, And thy great Nature too shall fall like thee.

II.

Nature, God's Steward, only can disburse Events which he before ordain'd, And uncontroul'd ne're govern'd us, But like the Causes too is chain'd. If God from Nature should withdraw his hand, The seeble Atlas reels, and cannot stand.

III.

Proud Fool! recant thy vain Philosophy That of thy God so long has cousin'd thee: Thy pinion'd Reason, Flesh with Faith and Soar Above thy Reason, Nature's God t'adore: This will correct thy Reason and thy Pride, And shew thee the Eternal, crucified; Tho you before did think his Blood did never glide But in a Picture from his Side; And that God only in a pious Romance dy'd.

This surely, Lord, thy Torments must renew, And crucifie thy God-head too: For 'tis a double Pain To dye for Man that will an Infidel remain.