Till, every former Note and Comment known, They mark’d the spacious Margin with their own: Minute Corrections prov’d 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; Bibles with Cuts and Comments, thus go down; Ev’n 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, Abridgements, 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 expos’d to view, And half our Judges are our Rivals too. Amid these Works, on which the eager Eye Delights to fix, or glides reluctant by; When all combin’d, their decent Pomp display, Where shall we first our early Off’ring 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 griev’d, to pray; when injur’d, to forgive; And with the World in Charity to live. Not Truths like these, inspir’d that numerous Race, Whose pious Labours fill this ample Space; But Questions nice, where Doubt on Doubt arose, Awak’d 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 inflam’d a sinful World.-- Dull though impatient, peevish though devout, With Wit disgusting and despis’d without; Saints in Design, in Execution, Men, Peace in their Looks and Vengeance in their Pen.