Speak, goddess! since 'tis thou that best canst tell How ancient leagues to modern discord fell; And why physicans were so cautious grown Of others' lives, and lavish of their own; How by a journey to the Elysian plain Peace triumphed, and old Time returned again. Not far from that most celebrated place, Where angry Justice shows her awful face; Where little villains must submit to fate, That great ones may enjoy the world in state; There stands a dome, majestic to the sight, And sumptuous arches bear its oval height; A golden globe, placed high with artful skill, Seems, to the distant sight, a gilded pill: This pile was, by the pious patron's aim, Raised for a use as noble as its frame; Nor did the learn'd society decline The propagation of that great design; In all her mazes, nature's face they viewed, And, as she disappeared, their search pursued. Wrapped in the shade of night the goddess lies, Yet to the learn'd unveils her dark disguise, But shuns the gross access of vulgar eyes. Now she unfolds the faint and dawning strife Of infant atoms kindling into life; How ductile matter new meanders takes, And slender trains of twisting fibres makes; And how the viscous seeks a closer tone, By just degrees to harden into bone; While the more loose flow from the vital urn, And in full tides of purple streams return; How lambent flames from life's bright lamps arise, And dart in emanations through the eyes; How from each sluice a gentle torrent pours, To slake a feverish heat with ambient showers; Whence their mechanic powers the spirits claim; How great their force, how delicate their frame; How the same nerves are fashioned to sustain The greatest pleasure and the greatest pain; Why bilious juice a golden light puts on, And floods of chyle in silver currents run; How the dim speck of entity began To extend its recent form, and stretch to man; To how minute an origin we owe Young Ammon, Caesar, and the great Nassau; Why paler looks impetuous rage proclaim, And why chill virgins redden into flame; Why envy oft transforms with wan disguise, And why gay mirth sits smiling in the eyes; All ice, why Lucrece; or Sempronia, fire; Why Scarsdale rages to survive desire; When Milo's vigour at the Olympic's shown, Whence tropes to Finch, or impudence to Sloane; How matter, by the varied shape of pores, Or idiots frames, or solemn senators.

Hence 'tis we wait the wondrous cause to find, How body acts upon impassive mind; How fumes of wine the thinking part can fire, Past hopes revive, and present joys inspire; Why our complexions oft our soul declare, And how the passions in the features are; How touch and harmony arise between Corporeal figure, and a form unseen; How quick their faculties the limbs fulfil, And act at every summons of the will. With mighty truths, mysterious to descry, Which in the womb of distant causes lie.