Classic Poem

Ye Stoicks! say without Pretence,
Whence springs your famous Indolence?
Is't from a Principle divine?
Or but a Notion superfine?

II

If Self-existent in the Mind
It were not to one Sect confin'd,
All humane Kind the Gift would share,
And never know, or Love, or Care.

III.

But if a Cobweb of the Brain,
Impossibilities to feign?
Maugre the Jargon of the Schools,
You are but hypocritick Fools.

IV.

Who vainly boast, and proudly dare,
Yet at the best, but Mortals are;
And subject to the like Surprize
Of Passions and Infirmities.

V.

For while we Humane Bodies own,
Humane Passions will be shown;
And all your fancied Apathy,
Is but a specious Fallacy.

VI.

When touch'd with Love's superiour Force,
Philosophy's a vain Recourse:
Demostbenes did Love pursue,
And Plato had his Nymph in view.

VII.

Love's wond'rous Pow'r all must obey,
And soon or late confess his Sway:
But never! never yet was found
From Love, or Death, a second Wound.

VIII.

The Heart once touch'd can love no more,
Mistaken Choice it may deplore:
But freed from Love's tyrannick Chain,
It unmolested will remain.

IX.

Sense and Int'rest Love disarm,
Sympathy's the only Charm,
Like Lutes tun'd up to Unison,
They are no longer Two, but One.

X.

If Pain, the absent Part does seize,
The other Half can find no Ease:
Oh Love! Oh Harmony Divine!
Where Sympathy the Souls combine.

XI.

Each others Thoughts by Instinct shown,
Their Wills by Intuition known:
What Wonders could my Pen rehearse,
Of such angelical Converse?