Our patient fathers trifling themes laid by, And roll'd o'er labour'd works th' attentive eye; 180 Page after page, the much-enduring men Explored the deeps and shallows of the pen; Till, every former note and comment known, They mark'd the spacious margin with their own: Minute corrections proved their studious care; The little index, pointing, told us where; And many an emendation show'd the age Look'd far beyond the rubric title-page. Our nicer palates lighter labours seek, Cloy'd with a folio-_Number_ once a week; 190 Bibles, with cuts and comments, thus go down: E'en light Voltaire is _number'd_ through the town: Thus physic flies abroad, and thus the law, From men of study, and from men of straw; Abstracts, abridgments, please the fickle times, Pamphlets and plays, and politics and rhymes: But though to write be now a task of ease, The task is hard by manly arts to please, When all our weakness is exposed to view, And half our judges are our rivals too. 200 Amid these works, on which the eager eye Delights to fix, or glides reluctant by, When all combined, their decent pomp display, Where shall we first our early offering pay? To thee, DIVINITY! to thee, the light And guide of mortals through their mental night; By whom we learn our hopes and fears to guide; To bear with pain, and to contend with pride; When grieved, to pray; when injured, to forgive; And with the world in charity to live. 210 Not truths like these inspired that numerous race, Whose pious labours fill this ample space; But questions nice, where doubt on doubt arose, Awaked to war the long-contending foes. For dubious meanings, learn'd polemics strove. And wars on faith prevented works of love; The brands of discord far around were hurl'd, And holy wrath inflamed a sinful world-- Dull though impatient, peevish though devout, With wit disgusting and despised without; 220 Saints in design, in execution men, Peace in their looks, and vengeance in their pen.